Under the Dusty Moon (15 page)

“And you liked the card, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” I said, “it was so sweet. Nobody's ever made me a card like that before.”

“And they never will,” he said. “That's a limited edition of one.”

“It's perfect,” I said. “And I really like you.”

“Yeah?” He sounded surprised, and I wondered if I'd said too much.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to will myself to maintain whatever allure I had left. “I just … it's me. I'm not ready.” I realized that it was the truth the second the words left my mouth, even though I really wanted to be.

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

“Plus, like with my arm and everything. I just … I think maybe we should wait until my cast comes off, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, like … yeah, okay. Whatever you, you know, need. It's cool.”

“Thanks,” I said. And I meant it.

“I really like you, too, you know,” he said, looking away from me. “You're, like, the coolest girlfriend I've ever had.”

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

The word sounded utterly amazing.

“You're not so bad yourself,” I said.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and he turned back toward me and kissed my forehead. Then he reached into the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a baby joint and a lighter.

“You wanna just, like, watch a movie on my laptop?”

“Yeah,” I said, “that'd be great.”

“It's kinda hot, though. You mind if I take off my shirt?”

“Be my guest,” I said, smiling.

And he was right, it was way too sweltering, even with the window open, for us to be completely dressed.

Shaun took off his shirt and I slid out of my cutoffs so I was lying in his bed in just my shirt and
brand-new
bright purple underwear. And my cast, of course. He gave me a big hug and kissed the top of my ear before pulling out his computer.

And we lay there, with me cuddled up on his chest, forcing myself to breathe in and out. In and out. In and out.

And it was kind of perfect.

I
didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep like that, curled up on Shaun's chest — two and half movies, one gin and juice, and half a joint later — until the alarm on my phone went off at six the next morning. I was glad I'd at least had the foresight to make sure that I got myself up in time so that I wouldn't get caught sneaking out of the house. Shaun's parents had come home pretty late. Late enough that they didn't bother checking in on him, and for that I was incredibly grateful.

Shaun didn't seem to hear my alarm, or at least he chose to ignore it, so I slunk around his room gathering up the few things I'd brought with me. I folded his
preschool-style
birthday card in half and tucked it into my bag.

The Con was next week and we were going.

Together.

And I was Shaun's girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

His girlfriend whom he hadn't slept with yet, and which he was apparently cool with. At least until my cast came off, anyway. I looked back down at my sandals. There was no way I was going to be able to wrestle them back onto my feet, especially with a broken zipper. What was I going to do, go home barefoot?

I slunk back over to the bed and kissed Shaun to wake him up, still hardly believing that this was where I was, and that this was what I was doing.

“Hey,” I whispered, “I better, uh, get going, you know? Before your parents wake up.”

“Hey,” he croaked, turning over to face me. His eyes barely opened, but they were still the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, with a little gold ring around his pupils that I'd never noticed before. He looked so peaceful lying there, defenseless. I really didn't want to go. Like, seriously. I could have lived in those eyes for a long, long time.

“Hey,” I said again, sitting down next to him on the bed.

“I'm really glad you stayed over,” he mumbled, apparently too tired to sit up.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding dozily.

“Hey, uh, do you have any, like,
flip-flops
I could borrow?” I asked. “I can't exactly wear my sandals home.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he said, smiling. “I've got a pair under the bed you can borrow.”

I got down on my hands and knees and peered underneath the bed where I still couldn't believe I'd spent the night.

Amidst the tumbleweeds of dust and boy hair were a grungy pair of
flip-flops
. They'd clearly been black at some point, but in their current
caked-in
-grime and
sun-baked
state they were more of a greyish brown. I fished them out with one hand and tried them on. They stuck out two inches in the back, but they'd have to do.

“They look good on you,” Shaun teased as I inspected my hilariously
tiny-looking
feet.

“Maybe I'll keep them,” I said, tapping my feet lightly on the floor.

“Maybe I'll let you.”

He pulled me in for another kiss. His morning breath was disgusting, but I didn't mind. Well, maybe just a little.

“Anyway,” I said when we finally came up for air, “I should get going. Text me later?”

“I'll think about it,” he said, turning over onto his side. “Just be quiet when you leave, okay?”

“Obviously,” I whispered, kissing him on top of his fuzzy head.

“I like it when you do that,” he mumbled, and then promptly started snoring.

Sneaking out of a boy's house first thing in the morning was
brand-new
territory for me, and the house itself seemed to have something against me from the start. There was no way the floor had been so creaky the night before. Though I was at least smart enough to carry Shaun's massive
flip-flops
with me instead of wearing them down the stairs. Their soft
fwip-fwip
-fwipping
would have given me away for sure. Still, I couldn't figure out if I'd make less noise walking fast or slow, so I compromised by taking long, slow steps as I made my way toward the stairs. Naturally, each step seemed to be squeakier than the last — I guess all the heat had made the hardwood floor swell or something — and it was a miracle that I made it down to the main floor without any strange parental heads popping out of the master bedroom.

I was about a foot away from the front door when I finally heard a noise.

“Hey.”

I looked up. Miles was still sitting on the couch in the living room, looking like he'd hardly moved an inch since we'd seen him there the night before.

“Oh. Hey,” I
stage-whispered
, pointing at the door. “I was just, you know, leaving.”

“Right,” he said, at full volume. He wasn't exactly helping me keep up my stealth act.

“Just, like, don't tell your parents I was here,” I said. “All right?”

“Yeah,” Miles said, finally lowering his voice, “our moms'll freak if they see you.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. Was it weird that Shaun hadn't mentioned his parents were gay? Did he think that I'd care or something? I didn't have long to think about it, though, because, as if on cue, I started to hear voices coming from upstairs.

“You've gotta go,” Miles said, getting up from the couch and practically pushing me out the front door. I grabbed my bag and Shaun's
flip-flops
and Miles turned the bolt on the door behind me just as I started to hear footsteps coming down the stairs. After nearly tripping on the giant rubber sandals, I started walking as fast as I could manage toward the bus stop, turning around at the end of every block to check over my shoulder for stampeding parents.

It looked like seventeen was going to be a lot more interesting than I'd imagined.

My head was still spinning as I caught the bus and rode the subway back to Gran's place, and it wasn't until I was nearly at her door that I realized I should probably tone down the goofy smile I was sporting. It was bound to give me away. I practised looking solemn and sleepy as I
flip-flopped
my way back to her house, and was surprised when she opened the door for me just as I was fitting my key into the lock.

“You look tired,” she said. She was dressed in her customary tan slacks, but was wearing a plain white
T-shirt
with them. She looked practically ready for the beach by Gran standards.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to somehow cover up my feet so she wouldn't ask questions, “you know … sleepover and everything.”

But all the shuffling of my feet only seemed to attract her attention. “Whose sandals are those?” she asked, pointing at the rubber surfboards I'd shuffled home in.

“Oh, they're, uh, Lucy's dad's,” I said. “I broke mine last night and he lent me his.”

“They couldn't lend you a pair that fit?”

“I guess this was just, like, the only extra pair they had.”

“Strange,” Gran said, looking hard at Shaun's
flip-flops
like she didn't quite believe me.

“Can I come inside now?” I asked, trying hard to change the subject.

“Oh. Well, I thought,” she cleared her throat, then paused and fished a cough drop out of her pocket, “I realized that I wasn't being quite fair to you yesterday.”

“You mean the fact that you basically ignored my birthday?”

Mom had told me over and over not to be short with Gran, that she didn't take it well, but if it hadn't been for Shaun, and Miles, for that matter, I would have had the most pathetic seventeenth birthday ever, thanks almost entirely to Gran. I was in no mood to pull my punches.

Her face darkened, and for a second I thought for sure she was going to tell me off for insubordination or whatever. She sucked harder on her cough drop and pursed her lips. “You and I clearly have very different views on birthdays. And I'm —” she coughed “— sorry if you felt that I wasn't paying you enough attention on your special day. I know that you and your mother generally celebrate your birthdays together, so I can imagine —” she coughed again “— that this may be a bit hard on you.”

“
Uh-huh
.” Strangely enough, Gran seemed like she was actually trying to offer up an apology, but that everything, even her lungs, was trying to keep her from it.

“I thought maybe I could make it up to you.” She coughed again and cleared her throat. “By taking you out for breakfast.” She cleared her throat again. Exactly how much mucus did she have rattling around, anyway?

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “What do you say?”

Apparently seventeen was full of surprises.

“Yeah,” I said, “sure. Just, um, let me get changed, okay? I'll just be a minute.”

“Fine,” she said. “I'll wait for you here.”

I waddled my way into the house in a bit of a daze. I changed out of my cutoffs,
T-shirt
, and
day-old
underwear as quickly as I could with my one good arm and pulled the one sundress I'd brought with me over my head. I twisted my hair up into a top knot — which took nearly fifteen minutes, it was surprising how hard it was to make a bun
one-handed
— stuck on some fresh deodorant and met Gran back outside. She'd been just standing there, staring at traffic.

“You look nice,” she offered, as I locked the door behind me.

“Thanks,” I said. “You, too. So where do you want to go?”

“Something casual, I thought. Is the Sunset Grill all right?”

The fact that she wanted my opinion was almost as shocking as the fact that she was taking me out for a
post-birthday
breakfast in the first place. That, and the fact that she was wearing the closest thing she owned to a leather jacket and ripped denim. I ignored the fact that it was only just after seven in the morning and that I probably wouldn't even be hungry for another couple of hours and said, “Yeah, sure, that sounds great.”

We walked in relative silence to the restaurant, which was fine by me since I seemed to be developing some kind of
time-delayed
hangover, even though I'd only had one very strong drink the night before. I felt a headache starting to throb just underneath my forehead and focused on putting one foot in front of the other until I'd eventually have a coffee and a tall glass of juice — hold the gin — in my hand.

When we got there, a woman who was way too perky for seven in the morning sat us at a table by the window. I had to gulp down a pint of water before I could even look at the menu.

“Are you all right?” Gran asked, glancing up from her menu. “You look ill.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, crunching on the last bits of ice at the bottom of my glass.

“Would you like a cough drop?” Gran asked, offering her roll of Halls to me before stopping herself. “Never mind, I don't have enough to share.”

She still had half a pack left and her cough seemed to have disappeared altogether, but I knew this wasn't a fight worth picking. “I'm good,” I said, with a certain amount of force. “Just tired.”

“Well,” Gran said.

“Well what?”

“You're well,” she said, taking off her glasses for emphasis, “you're not good.”

I took an
extra-large
pull from the steaming mug of coffee that seemed to have materialized entirely from my intense desire for caffeine. I enunciated my words slowly and clearly. “If I say I'm good, then I'm good.”

“You're well,” she said, putting her glasses back on and sipping carefully from her own glass of grapefruit juice.

“I'm hungry,” I said, finally quelling whatever weird grammar fight was brewing. “And I'm having waffles.” I pointed at a picture on the menu of a giant golden waffle. Then my eye caught the picture below. “No,” I said, stabbing at the picture of a massive Belgian waffle covered in strawberries and whipped cream with my finger. “I'm having the Sunset Waffle Supreme.”

A snarky comment of some kind — about my weight, maybe, or about having a mountain of whipped cream for breakfast, or even at the crassness of my aggressive pointing — nearly crossed her lips, I could tell. I could practically see it bubble up on her tongue and then, just as quickly, she swallowed it.

“Hmm,” she said. “That looks … good.”

“So you'll have one, too?” I asked, pushing her patience.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as if to banish the vision of cream and berries from her mind. “I'm having a Western omelette.”

Our perky server returned as we closed our menus in front of us.

“Yum!” she said, as I ordered my
over-the
-top waffle sundae. “Great choice!” And I nodded smugly at Gran as if this poor woman, who was paid minimum wage to be so
over-the
-top encouraging of people's poor choices, had somehow validated mine.

Our food arrived and we ate mostly in silence, which was clearly the only way we were going to avoid a fight. I got up to use the bathroom — drowning my hangover in whipped cream hadn't been the best choice, as it turned out — and sat in the slightly grimy little stall willing my headache to end. I read the graffiti on the stall's walls and door:

GC+SS 4ever

They only love you til you can't give them anymor

KC is a sexy scientist <3

Turning to flush, I realized that the last person to leave their mark on this unsuspecting bathroom door had left their weapon of choice behind on top of the toilet tank: a black Sharpie.

I uncapped it and then paused. I wrote:

never underestimate the power of a pair of borrowed
flip-flops

And underneath, in tiny letters,
happy 17 to me
.

Lucy texted me just as Gran was paying our bill to say that she was finally home, and I booked it straight over to her house from the restaurant. It was close to ten by the time I got there, but it was still a whole lot earlier than I usually invited myself over. Her house was unusually messy, with boxes stacked up all over the place.