Identical (23 page)

of smells: tuna casserole, over-

cooked broccoli, onion laced

salads. Booze, in assorted flavors.

Flowers. Didn’t know all their names.

But their combined perfumes

smelled like death. Mom sat on

an overstuffed sofa, vacant-eyed,

silently sipping vodka on the rocks.

Daddy gulped whiskey, and might

have passed out quietly except…

Someone stumbled through the door,

wearing an aura of Scotch and a marble

expression on her face—the one I just

barely remember. She went straight up

to her son.
You!
She shoved him

into the wall.
L-look at you, Raymond.

All red eyed and drippy nosed.

You don’t fool me. Don’t f-f-fool them….

She gave a vague wave.
W-we all know

just what you are—a m-monster!

That scene, which grew as ugly

as any my mind can replay.

Grandma and Daddy sparred. Verbally.

Then physically, until someone

pulled them apart, spitting poison

as they separated, not just for that

evening, but, at least if Daddy

has his way, forever afterward.

That’s the last solid memory I have

of her, broken by secrets. Splintered

by pain. Escorted into the night, out

of our lives. Does she really dare

try to reenter now? What if I decide

to let her back in? I’m guessing

I’d be crematorium fuel. No

coffin. No flowers. Just a hot

white fire, melting me into

bone fragments and ashes.

My parents might think cremation

too good for me. As I slide books

into my backpack, it comes to me

they might just weight me down

and throw me into Cachuma.

Down, down, into that cold blue

lake I’d go, no one the wiser.

Who would even miss me?

Maybe Ian, but after the last

couple of days, I’m not so sure.

We’ve got drama today.

Hopefully our little love

scene will warm him (me?)

up some and we can talk

after. A long conversation,

like we used to have all

the time. That’s what we need.

But first I have to get to

school. Which means it’s time

to poke the sleeping bear.

It’s a less than pleasant

experience, starting with

the obnoxious breath

coming out of his open

mouth. “Daddy? Wake

up. You’ll be late for work.”

He snorts and his eyes

flutter open.
Wha…?

What happened? Where

am I? What time is it?

“You’re in the living

room. You fell asleep

on the sofa. It’s a little

after seven and I have to

hurry to catch the bus.”

After seven?
He jumps

upright, too fast. I can

see the pounding in his

temples.
Why didn’t you

wake me sooner?

“I tried, but you went

back to sleep, I guess.”

Total lie. But he’ll never

know it. And right now,

all he’s thinking about

is how his head feels.

Shit. I’ve got a heavy

docket today.
Finally

his eyes focus.
And I

feel like a truck ran

over the top of my head.

“Sorry you don’t feel

well, Daddy. But I’ve

got to run. See you later,

okay?” I grit my teeth

and take a step toward

the front door.

That’s as far as I get.

Daddy’s hand clamps

around my wrist.
Wait

just a minute. Do you

remember last night?

Now my teeth grind

uncomfortably. What

about last night, exactly,

does he want to discuss?

“Uh, sure, Daddy.”

All right, then. No rides

with any Brittanys,

okay? I want you all

in one piece.
He doesn’t

say just what for.

Who comes chugging up

as I wait for the bus

but the very Brittany

in question.
Wanna ride?

She’s alone in the car,

an explanation at the ready.

The guys got in trouble

for being late yesterday.

Well, so did I, but I don’t

want to talk about it. “Ah.”

Get in. My mom bought me

all new tires, so you’re safe.

Not really, but I don’t want

to say that, either. “Um…”

You’re not scared, are you?

She almost looks hurt.

I glance around, see no sign

of Daddy. “Oh, why not?”

Cool. Let’s go. Don’t want

to be late two days in a row!

No, we most definitely

don’t want that.

Ten minutes early. And I have

to admit even Brittany’s nonstop

chatter wasn’t as bad as listening

to freshmen guys talk about zits.

I can’t believe I actually defied

Daddy in such an overt manner.

But it feels good. Even better,

in fact, than missing the zit talk.

At least as long as I don’t get

caught. That probably wouldn’t

feel too great. So far so good,

though you never know where

his spies might be hiding. No

use worrying about them now.

Brittany parks. A bit crooked,

but what else could I expect?

She giggles.
Even new tires

can’t help my peripheral vision.

I’m supposed to wear glasses,

but they make me look ugly.

Oh, wonderful. I can just see

the news:
Judge’s daughter

killed in accident with not-ugly

half-blind friend at the wheel.

Thank Brittany for the ride,

head toward the human knots

clogging the locker breezeways.

Pre-first-bell yells. Catcalls.

Laughter. A few tears.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

But just as I reach my own

locker, a loud guffaw makes

me turn to search for its source.

It’s Shaun, apparently the chief

of a small tribe of geeks. When

I draw my glare even with his eyes,

he turns his back to me, lowers

his voice, and says something

to his not-so-braves that makes

them all laugh out loud.

Something inside me snaps,

almost audibly. I slam

my locker, take dead aim at

the geeklets’ chieftain. Straight

up in his face, “Something funny?”

His eyes dart back and forth

among his stick figure friends.

But no one comes to the rescue.

Uh. No. Not really.
Then he tries

to draw strength from numbers.

We were just talking about girls

and what they do for attention.

He pulls himself up as tall as he

possibly can.
What do you do?

If his buddies think about

laughing, the look on my face

must make them think twice.

Ice-cold anger pulses in my veins.

I can feel it in my temples. And

something else, too. Something

brand-new. “Anything I do is no

business of yours, you little shit.

But if you want my attention,

here it is.” That something new—

courage—brings my palms flat

against his shoulders. Hard.

To make him stumble backward,

bump his head against a post.

I’ll probably get in real trouble

for this, but at the moment I couldn’t

care less. “Enough attention?”

This time his friends do laugh.

Shaun’s face turns the color

of strawberry jam.
What the fuck

is your problem? Not my fault

you’re a trashy little skank.

Suddenly a hand is at my elbow

and a voice falls into my ear.

C’mon. This is beneath you.
Ian!

He turns on his brother.
You shut

your mouth and keep it that way.

Ian puts his arm around my

shoulder, guides me away from

the dissolving drama. Dueling

emotions take aim inside me.

Relief. Hurt. Happiness. Fury.

We turn a corner and at the far

end of the building, few eyes

to see, Ian pulls me into his chest.

My eyes sting and my legs go weak

and I let myself gather his strength.

The first bell rings and I start

to pull away, but his arms grip

tighter.
Tell me what happened.

He looks down into my tear-

blurred eyes, and next thing

I know we’re kissing. Really,

truly kissing, like it’s from the heart

and we really mean it and there’s no

one else, never will be. Finally I have

to come up for air. “I love you.”