The File on Angelyn Stark (3 page)

“Sorry,” the big boy says, eyes down.

“You should be.”

“What are you going to do with that hot dog?” the little one asks.

Not believing it, I stare. A dirty grin splits his face. The kid is maybe eleven.

“You’re too young to know,” I tell him.

“You’re beautiful. Both of us think so.”

“Yeah?” The boys nod. “Go and play with your boards.”

The little one starts a spin with his toes. “You going to watch us?”

“I might. If my hot dog gets boring.”

The park is small and shaped like a bike wheel, spokes out from a cobblestone center, old oaks and pine trees keeping it shaded. I settle on a bench on the spoke opposite the boys and get to eating.

You’re smart
, Mr. Rossi said. Mrs. Daly used to say it. That makes two.

The shadows grow long. The skate kids leave. I watch the traffic, keeping an eye out for Mom’s truck.

I see Jeni before she sees me, hurrying toward the park from deeper downtown.
Keep going
, I think, but when she stops, I say hey.

Jeni nods from the sidewalk. “Hi.” Lukewarm.

Coming in, she takes the bench the boys left.

“You know what time it is?” I call.

Jeni checks her watch. “Quarter to five.”

I rub my arms. It’s getting cold. I check the traffic. Still no Mom.

“Waiting for someone?” I ask.

She huddles in her jacket. “I think maybe I missed them.”

I toss the hot dog wrapper and soda cup in the nearest can and cross to her.

“Tell me about Mrs. Daly.”

Jeni is stiff as I sit. “She’s in a wheelchair. I don’t know why.”

“That sucks. Mrs. Daly always liked to garden.”

“I think Eleanor’s okay for how she is. Just old.”

“Not Eleanor,” I say. “Mrs. Daly.” At Jeni’s expression: “That’s how I knew her.”

Jeni nods. “Mrs. Daly. Okay.”

“She was a grandma to me. The only one I knew.”

“I miss mine,” Jeni says. “It’s too far to visit her from here.”

“You’re from the Bay Area?”

“Oh, you heard that? In the bathroom. I wasn’t sure.”

“What are you doing downtown anyway?” I ask.

“Exploring,” Jeni says. “This place is like a toy town.”

I look for Mom’s truck. “The same crap happens here as anywhere.”

“I guess it does. School today was as bad as at my last one.”

“Hey, I didn’t know Mr. Rossi would give you detention. Or that you’d be in class with us. He has this thing about kids being late.”

“You knew I’d be in
some
class. Late
somewhere.
”

“We’re not in the bathroom now. Or at school. Forget that stuff.”

Jeni dips her head. “He got you anyway. On the street, with the beer.”

“Yeah. He got me. So, call it even?”

“If you want.”

We’re quiet.

“Come see Mrs. Daly,” Jeni says. “I volunteer there on weekends. It’s Blue Creek Care Home.”

“No. Her grandson wrecked what we had. Years ago. He’s a freak.”

“Her grandson—Nathan?”

“Yeah.” I draw it out. “Nathan Daly. You know him?”

“Nathan’s my ride,” Jeni says.

“He’s coming here?”

She looks confused. “I think Nathan is sweet.”

I’m standing, scooping my backpack. “Got to go.”

“Wait, Angelyn. What did Nathan do?”

I check the street. Finally, Mom’s truck.

“Ask him,” I say. Then: “Don’t. Nathan lies.”

I take off running. And hear him calling:
“Angelyn!”

Mom’s got me spotted. In stopped traffic, she’s waving like she’s on the
Titanic
. I sprint the rest of the way, settling beside her in a sweaty lump.

“Let’s go,” I say.

We’re stuck.

Mom clears her throat. “That is not who I think it is. It can’t be.”

“It’s not my fault,” I say, and see Nathan stopped on the sidewalk, his mouth turned down like some sad clown’s.

“Angelyn, it’s never your fault.”

“Mom, don’t blame me! He just showed up.”

Her mouth is tight. “You are not to see that boy. Not to talk to him.”

“I
know
. Like I’d want to. I hate Nathan worse than anyone.”

“Do you hear me?” she says, punching out each word.

“Yes,” I say.

Traffic moves. I sit back.

Mom sniffs. “Is that beer I smell?”

My heart beats faster. “Not on me.”

She cracks a window.

My stepdad is in the front room, spread along the couch watching baseball. Danny works on-call construction, but no one’s called in a while. He doesn’t look up as I cut through on the way to my room. Mom follows, and I hear him say, “Hey, Beautiful.”

“I ate in town,” I call back.

“You’re eating with us,” Mom says behind me.

Dinner is premade lasagna. I pick while Danny shovels. Mom talks about her job—directing traffic for the whole school, the way she tells it.

“Angelyn screwed up again,” she says at the end of one story.

I drop my fork. “Mom, I told you how it was.”

She pokes Danny’s shoulder. “Hon, you’d be so mad if you knew.”

“What was it this time?” he asks.

“Mom,” I say, as loud as I dare.

“That boy—the one who used to live next door—Nathan—”

“Mom!” I shout it.

Danny’s eyes flick past. “Sherry, you handle it. She’s yours.”

“Angelyn, you’re grounded,” Mom says.

She sounds so happy it makes me sick.

From behind the couch, Danny flips the bill of my ball cap down
.

“Got you, Angie,” he whispers. Mom is still asleep
.

“Nuh-uh.” I push it up, grinning as he vaults over to join me
.

Danny pats the cushions. “Where’s the remote?”

I snuggle into my corner. “Sunday mornings I say what’s on.”

“But—” He flaps his hand at the TV. “This stuff will rot your brain.”

MTV. A hip-hop video. The volume, low. “It’s my favorite,” I say
.

Danny folds his arms, but pretty soon he’s rapping along, wiggling his hips, dancing on the couch. So stupid I have to laugh
.

“You coming to my game?” I ask. “I pitch better when you do.”

“You bet I am,” he says. “Change the channel, ’kay?”

“With this?” I lift the remote from where I’ve got it hid
.

“Oh, girl. Give it here.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

This is our game. Our Sunday-morning game. Mom doesn’t know
.

Danny makes puppy eyes. “Please?”

“Well …” I hold out the remote
.

He reaches. I pull it away
.

“Angelyn.”

I blink
.

“Hand it over.” Like he ain’t kidding
.

This time I send it closer to Danny, unfolding my arm by inches
.

He rubs his fingers like, “Gimme, gimme.”

I pull it away again
.

He looks at me like he can’t believe it
.

I lift my shoulders and drop them. Big sigh
.

Danny sinks against the couch like he just doesn’t care
.

I hold the remote like it’s my life
.

With a low roar he springs at me. I yelp—soft—sliding under so his arms close on nothing, dropping to the floor to escape. My bare feet slap linoleum to the kitchen. Danny shuffles behind in a zombie walk. Down the hall I tiptoe past Mom’s room, hand over mouth, swallowing laughs. Danny’s circled back and he’s in the front room before me
.

“I’ll pass to you,” I say, setting my arm like a quarterback’s
.

Danny fades to the TV, hands up like a wide receiver
.

I stretch like the toss will be massive. And stay that way
.

“Fake!” I say, breathing out the letters
.

He comes at me like a train, slinging an arm around my waist, heaving me to the couch, tumbling after so it’s both of us lengthways. I breathe upholstery as Danny grabs for the remote, laughing in the fabric as I hold it to my stomach
.

“Angelyn?” someone says. Close
.

Danny stops. I shift around. “Oh. Nathan.”

Our neighbor stands maybe twenty feet away at the screen door
.

Danny rolls off the couch. “Tell him to go.”

I sit up slowly. “What do you want, Nathan?”

He holds out a bag of tomatoes. “Grandma sent these.”

I smooth my hair. My ball cap is gone. “Leave them on the porch.”

“What were you guys doing?” Nathan asks
.

“Nothing,” Danny says
.

“Just go,” I say
.

He stands there. “Angelyn?”

“What?”

Nathan’s face is as red as the tomatoes. “I can see your underwear.”

“Oh.” My sleep shirt is ridden to my waist. I tug at it, hating him
.

Danny passes me. “I’ll take the tomatoes.”

Nathan peeks around when he opens the door. “Angelyn, you okay?”

“Yes,” I say, like, DUH!

Danny reaches for the bag and latches the screen door shut. He pushes the front door closed. He sets the tomatoes on an end table
.

“That kid’s not right.”

I check Mom’s room. Her door is shut, still
.

Danny comes to the couch. “Scoot.”

I sit at one end, him at the other
.

“What was that about?” he asks
.

“Nathan’s real dumb at school.”

“He likes you, huh?”

“Yuck! No.”

“Well, he’s seen you like that,” Danny says
.

I curl my legs under. Hide my face
.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says
.

“Nathan acted like I did.”

“So what on him, and, no, you didn’t.”

I peek at Danny. He’s looking over real serious
.

“Kiddo, I don’t want you to feel funny, or bad, or—”

“I feel good with you.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “Me too.”

“I guess Nathan will tell everyone he saw my pants.” I try to laugh
.

“That’s all, if we’re lucky.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe we’re in trouble,” Danny says. “He could tell any lie.”

“What lie? I won’t let him.”

He rubs a thumb over his lips. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, we’re friends.” I’m scared
.

“Friends back each other up,” he says
.

Mom’s door creaks open. “Was someone here?” she says, yawning
.

I’ve still got the remote. I slide it to Danny across the cushions
.

“Just now.” She steps into the room. “I thought I heard—”

Danny looks at me, and me at him
.

“Nothing,” he says
.

“Nobody,” I say
.

Next Morning
,

Sidewalk in Front of Ag

Steve doesn’t believe me. “Rossi was okay about the beer?”

I sway with him, my hands on his on my hips.

“Don’t bring it to school was all he said.”

Steve says, “Not a problem.”

“That’s what I told Mr. Rossi.”

He pulls me to him. “Sweet.”

Nearby, Jacey is wound around JT. Other couples hold each other along the walk, the unattached ones teasing across from boy/girl groups. This is our place before school. My place with Steve. Thirtysome of us gather.
Hicks
, the others call us. The prep kids, the rich kids, the jocks. Or,
cowboys
. The words don’t fit everyone. They sure don’t fit me. Steve’s family runs cattle. So does JT’s. Jacey and Charity live on ranch land—neighbors—but their dads are in real estate.

Me, I’m here because I’m friends with them and because last year Steve decided that he liked me.

Fine, hot girl
, he called me then.

Cowboy Steve
, I called him.

“Mom grounded me,” I say against his lips.

Steve stands back. “Because of the beer?”

On tiptoe, in his ear: “Mr. Rossi didn’t tell. She’s just being a bitch.”

He curves his hands around my butt. “Reservoir today then for sure.”

I wiggle so I face front. “I don’t know.”

He presses against me. “You can’t get any more grounded than you are.”

I stare at the ball field across the street, empty but for birds hunting breakfast.

“I can’t get any more grounded,” I say.

“Ms. Stark,” Mr. Rossi says as I walk into World Cultures with the girls.

“Hey.” I stop smiling when I see yesterday’s homework on the board.

Jacey stops at his desk. “Say hi to
us
, Mr. Rossi.”

Charity crowds next to her. “Yeah. You see us too.”

“I do,” he says. “Hello, girls.”

I push them on.

When we’re in our desks: “Did you do the homework?” I ask.

Charity says, “No.” Jacey shakes her head.

“I didn’t either. I said I would. I’m screwed.”

“Yeah, by him,” Charity says.

Mr. Rossi stops me when class is over.

“No homework?” he asks, pointing to the pile on his desk.

“Sorry, Mr. Rossi. I was fighting with my mom.”

“Bad excuse, Angelyn. Take your own responsibility.”

In the doorway the girls laugh. I send them a death stare.

“Keep your focus,” Mr. Rossi says.

“I’ll get you the work. I promise.”

“You said that before, and it didn’t happen.”

I flinch. “I’ll give you yesterday’s homework and today’s. Tomorrow.”

Mr. Rossi leans back in his chair.

“I will! I wrote the assignments down.”

“Fool me once,” he says.

“You have to believe me.” My voice shakes.

“People think I suck,” I say on Steve’s lap. “Everybody’s pissed.”