Authors: Courtney C. Stevens
Heather pounds the stall door. “Alexi, it can’t be that bad. Let me see.”
There’s no choice. I can’t wear a black bra under my white shirt. I’ll have to wear the polo I wore to school. Time to face Heather.
“Not what I suggested,” she says. “But it might get chilly in that.” She points to the discarded peasant shirt.
“Yeah, that’s what I was worried about.”
Sometimes the lies I tell Heather aren’t little and white. They’re a dab of honey-beige foundation applied to the blemishes of my life.
The upside of this night with Dane is that I don’t have to pay for the soccer game. The downside is his hair. He’s got all these corkscrew curls that fuzz. Most of the girls think they make him look look hot, but I can’t get serious about a dark-headed Annie guy.
“You want a popcorn or something before we sit down?” he asks.
I’ve never actually seen his hands out of his pockets, so I’m
tempted to say yes. The guy likes to use girls to carry his books instead of a backpack. Which begs the question: since he can have any of the giggly chicks, why did he decide to go out with me?
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind paying,” Dane says.
The offer is nice, but I shake my head. Maybe the next two hours won’t be so terrible.
“Suit yourself,” he says.
Then he spends twenty-four dollars on concession-stand food for himself. I carry two hot dogs and the popcorn so he can carry his nachos and an energy drink. Which he chugs before we get to our seats.
“Man, you’re handy to have around,” he says, and nudges my shoulder. Then he adds, “That’s what she said,” like he’s cracked the best joke of the century.
Collie drags one finger across his neck, giving his cousin the cutoff sign, and says, “Alexi hates ‘that’s what she said’ jokes.”
“No, I don’t,” I argue, even though he’s right. I start wishing the Seventh Circle of Hell would open wide enough to suck in the entire Rickman County soccer field. Even Heather looks embarrassed by Dane’s lameness.
“So do you like music?” she asks Dane.
The rest of hot dog number two goes into his mouth, but he still answers. “Yeah. I love rap. What do you listen to?” he asks me.
“Everything. Nothing in particular. I like words,” I say, trying not to watch him eat.
“Rap’s got words.”
There’s no good way to respond to that. Yes, genius: rap has words. I think I can eliminate Dane as the potential Captain Lyric.
Dane takes a long sip of Collie’s drink. “For a girl who likes words, you don’t talk much.”
He holds up one finger. I don’t breathe as he lays it across my lips. “Shhh,” he says playfully.
I am silent.
Frozen.
Remembering.
Another finger on my lips. Another “Shhh” followed by “Don’t tell anyone.” Hands on my hips. Against my skin.
“Please don’t,” I say, but I’m so scared, and “don’t” dies in the evening air. He thinks I’m begging for more. That’s when the demon enters, binding my lips and tying my hands and laying me down in choking silence.
That terrifies me and excites him.
The referee blows his whistle, and I come to myself. My cheeks are wet with tears, and Heather says, “Alexi?”
“I have to leave,” I tell her.
“Sure.” Miffed but clearly worried, she adds, “Should I go or stay?”
“Stay. I’ll catch a ride.” I lean over to her and whisper,
“Sorry. My granddad used to do that to me.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, Lex.”
I leave them on the bleachers. But I hear Dane grumble, “Damn, she wants to talk, let her talk. I was just messing with her.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Heather says. “Her granddad used to do that.”
I keep walking. My granddad never shushed me a day in my life.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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WHEN
Heather arrives at the Malibu after the game, I’m sitting in her parking space, propped against the passenger-side tire.
I turn off my music as she says, “I thought you were catching a ride.”
“Decided to wait. I didn’t want to go home crying and have to explain,” I say.
“I could go home naked and not have to explain.”
I’m not sure if Heather is bragging or complaining. She unlocks the doors while I stretch. The hour and a half on the pavement has been as hard on my butt as on my mental health. Thinking sucks. I wish I could be an android. Or have an on-off switch installed in my head. Flip on: Lexi is able to do homework, pick a college, plan a spring break trip with friends. Acts normal. Flip off: Lexi lives in thoughtless world of stars
and music and puppies. Feels nothing.
Heather’s fingers coil around the luggage rack; she stares at me across the roof. “We won. Dane asked about you.”
“Asked if I’m crazy?”
“He didn’t understand the freak-out, but he still thinks you’re cute.”
“Then I can die happy,” I say.
Heather leaves her side of the car and reappears beside me. She’s got longer arms and legs than a runway model, so when she hugs me it’s like death by boa constrictor.
“I’m sorry you had a rough night,” she says.
My arms hang limply to the side, but I allow myself to rest my head below her shoulder.
“You’ve been a little weird lately, and I’m worried about you.”
“You’re being weird right now. Since when do we hug?”
Heather’s arms loosen and she surveys me again. “Liz is worried about you too.”
“Is this an intervention? Because I’ve got a family meeting I’d rather be at,” I say.
“No. I’m just reminding you that we’re here if you need us.”
Great. My two best friends are talking about me. And I really thought, minus tonight, I’d been pulling off the act. Time to ratchet up the efforts. “I might want to talk sometime. It’s nothing big, just lost inside my head. I’ve got a bunch of questions about God.”
“Oh.” Heather retreats.
It’s not fair that I know her well enough to push the button that makes her shrivel. But it’s the perfect distraction. She’ll tell Liz on the phone tonight, and all my actions will make perfect sense through Liz’s spiritually tinted lens.
“So this is sorta what Liz went through last year after that little kid got hit by the car?”
I nod. And now all my weirdness is logical. I just bought myself at least another month before they ask again.
“Questions like that suck. I’m sorry,” Heather says.
“Thanks,” I say, and mean it. “And thanks for the hug.”
The Malibu is a dance party from the school to my house. Evidently this is Heather’s solution to the big questions of life. Which means we sing and there is no need to talk.
“See you tomorrow,” she says before she pulls away.
Now it’s time to face the real music: the family meeting. Inside, I slip off my shoes at the back door and grab a water from the fridge before my mom hears me.
“We’re in the living room,” she yells.
The hardwood groans as I move slowly down the hallway. My mind is like old bones that creak along with the boards. This could be life-changing. I might not be able to lie my way out of it. How else can I explain the scratches?
Fight with Kayla. No, she’ll be here, and she lies better than I do.
Fight at school. No, Mom would know.
In my sleep.
That option gives me a degree of deniability. It’s really the
only choice. But it’s sort of like choosing between a boat with a hole and a raft with a leak. I still sink.
I lean around the door for a quick view of the living room. And my knees go so weak I could dissolve into a puddle on the floor.
Bodee is on the center cushion of our couch with my parents flanking him on either side. He doesn’t look up, but my dad does.
Won’t tell anyone. Jerk. He didn’t even wait a day.
Dad waves me into the room. “Come on in, Alexi. Kayla and Craig just called. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Craig’s coming?”
“Honey, they’re practically engaged,” Mom says. “Plus, you know how good he is at helping Kayla make decisions.” Mom winks, a code that reminds me of our private Kayla Debates. After a half gallon of ice cream and two spoons a year ago, we’d emerged with a strategy to use Craig to curb the worst of Kayla’s hotheaded behavior. She’s easier to deal with when he’s around.
Dad looks out the front window. “They’re here.”
Bodee is uncomfortable. The way he is at school, slumped shoulders and tucked chin, when he’s forced to speak to a teacher. Of course, his face is hidden behind his hair, so the fact that I’m giving him the death stare is totally ineffective.
“We’re here. Start the party,” Kayla yells before we see her bounce into the room with Craig in tow.
At the sight of Bodee, she shoots me a little body language
easily identifiable as WTF. I shrug as she and Craig take the love seat. And swing my legs sideways over my chair arm, which my dad hates and probably recognizes as a show of anger.
Dad wants to start in on the abuse of furniture, but Mom’s first out of the starting gate.
“Well, I’m sure you all know Bodee Lennox.” Her eyes get teary as she says his name. “And you know that his mom and I were friends.”
We nod and she continues, “I’ve had a chance to talk to Bodee several times over the last few days. Which led to some conversations between your dad and me.” Dad smiles and pats Mom’s hand.
I scan the kids’ section of the family meeting for some clue of what’s about to go down. Kayla is puzzled; Craig has a small frown between his brows. Bodee is doing what Bodee does: nothing. My toes start flexing, my calf cramps, and I shift positions. Fingers drumming on my knee, itching to get to my neck. But I can’t. I can’t. Not here. Breathe.
“Now, Alexi,” Mom says. I jerk my eyes away from my hands. “This is going to affect you more than Kayla or Craig.” My parents exchange another compassionate look. Bodee still looks like a broken bobblehead.
Oh God, I need a miracle. Please. Heal my neck, I pray, and I promise I’ll never lie again. A tremor I’m sure everyone can feel moves from my head to my toes, so I dig my fingernails into my palms and pray some more.
God’s not buying my lie.
“We’ve talked to the counselor at school and a lawyer.”
Over on the love seat, Kayla shifts closer to Craig, and they both give me an anxious look.
It’s worse than I thought. My whole family is going to have me committed. For scratching my neck. A few times. Not fair. Not effing fair. My gut twists as I vow to take every cutter with me. If I go down, all the long-sleeve girls at Rickman are going with me.
“And . . .”
My breath stops on that
and
.
“We think Bodee would be better off living here for the rest of the school year instead of at his brother’s house.”
All the air I’ve stored up rushes out in a gust of relief. Neither Kayla nor I speak. I am so happy that this is about Bodee and not me that I don’t care where he lives. Hell, he can move into my room if he wants.
Now my dad speaks. “We didn’t come to this conclusion lightly. It’s a big deal to add someone else to our household. We’ve given it a lot of prayer and consideration, but Mom and I believe our family is supposed to do this.”
“Bodee’s brother has three jobs and a lot to . . . to handle right now.” Mom’s voice falters a little as we think about why his brother has so much to do. “It’s not that Bodee isn’t welcome there, but Ben agrees with us that our home may be a better option.”
“Now,” my dad picks up where Mom leaves off, “we won’t
ask either of you girls to give up your rooms. We’ll set up a bed for him in the bonus room over the garage. He’s here tonight because we assured him you girls would be on board with our decision. Don’t you think we can make this work?”
“Why are you asking us if you’ve already come to a conclusion?” Kayla tosses her head at Bodee.
“We’re a family,” Mom says.
Craig squeezes her shoulder, and Kayla starts again with a different tone. “What I mean is, if you think this is the right thing, then it probably is.”
“I knew you would understand, Kayla. If something happened to the two of us, wouldn’t you be thankful if Liz’s mom offered to help you with Alexi?”
Kayla looks taken aback. But she and Craig both nod.
Mom and Dad are slick to have Bodee right here in the room. Brilliant plan. We can hardly vote “no” in front of him. The guy’s already been through hell. And we all know it.
Not that he’s showing a reaction.
“Lex, you’re awfully quiet,” Mom says. “We want to hear from you, too.”
“I trust you guys. He needs a room. We have an extra one. It’s perfect.”
The bobblehead comes to life. Our eyes meet, and Bodee’s lips twitch. Did he just mouth
thanks
at me?
“I knew you’d understand.” Mom practically bursts with pride, and Dad nudges my feet off the chair. Evidently, my
compliance means it’s now okay for him to correct me.
“Bodee, I know we can’t replace your family, but we hope you’ll agree to stay with us. We’ll all do everything we can to make you comfortable. I think it’s what . . . your mother would want.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Littrell.” Bodee’s polite tone sounds automated, the way Mom’s second graders recite math facts. He nods at my dad.
“Well”—Mom pats Bodee’s knee as if everything in the world has been settled—“I’ll go get some sheets for the couch. We’ll set up the bed tomorrow after we get your stuff from the house.”
And then my family follows Mom from the room. Dad to his office. Craig and Kayla to the driveway. The Littrells add a new family member and that’s it?
No one has anything more to say.
Done.
Meeting adjourned.
Bodee doesn’t move off the couch, so I put my feet back over the side of the chair. Not out of anger. Because I can’t walk away from him.
“So you live here now,” I say.
“I guess.” He brushes the blue away from his eyes.
There’ll be Kool-Aid stains in my shower.
White tees in my laundry hamper.
Presents for Bodee under my Christmas tree. . . .