Pretenders (15 page)

ME:
Do you have a disease?

DAD:
No.

ME:
Does Mom?
Bubbie?

DAD:
Why would you think that?

ME:
You guys have been acting all weird lately.

He lowered his head on the wheel again. I was freaking so hard I grabbed his biceps. It used to feel stronger.

ME:
You’re scaring me, Dad. What is it?

DAD:
Can I trust you?

ME:
Yeah.

DAD:
No, really.

ME:
’Course.

DAD:
Son—

ME:
What?

DAD:
Your mother and I filed Chapter Eleven.

ME:
Oh.

DAD:
I know what you’re thinking.

ME:
You do?

DAD:
You’re wondering how we let it come to this. Believe me, I ask myself the same thing.

ME:
No I’m not.

DAD:
You’re not?

ME:
No. I’m thinking, what-in-the-H is Chapter Eleven?

For some reason this made him want to hug me.

DAD:
Let’s set up camp.

So we set up camp, started a fire, and cooked hot dogs. Then he explained.

DAD:
Chapter Eleven means bankrupt. I can’t pay the bills.

ME:
What bills?

DAD:
Mortgage, payroll, company cars, gas—

For some reason that orphan Jagger popped into my brain. Would people be leaving clothes by my locker soon, too?

ME:
What about food?

DAD:
No one is going to starve. Don’t worry. But we did close Duffy Commercial. It was the only way to get out of the red.

ME:
The red?

DAD:
It’s an expression. It means out of debt. We have to start a whole new business. We’ve laid the groundwork but it will take time.

He threw his hot dog into the fire. We watched it burn. I wondered if he should be wasting food.

He told me it was crucial that I not tell anyone about this. Especially Hudson. First Rate is their top competitor and he doesn’t want them poaching Duffy’s clients. The only way they will be able to make a quick recovery is if this stays a family secret. He made me promise to keep it. I did.

We got in the tent and zipped up our sleeping bags. Then he said one last thing.

DAD:
Our family will have to make sacrifices, you know. A lot of them.

ME:
Like eating Mom’s cooking?

He laughed.

ME:
Is that why we got rid of Rosie?

DAD:
Yes.

He rolled over so his back was to me.

Coyotes yelped all around us.

DAD:
That’s why I can’t pay your basketball expenses.

ME:
What?

DAD:
I’m sorry, son.

My legs went numb. My lungs turned to stone. I wasn’t yawning but it was hard to hear.

ME:
Can you lend me the money? I’ll get a job and pay you back right away. A bit each week. I promise.

DAD:
My funds have been frozen.

ME:
But—

DAD:
I’m sorry.

We didn’t say anything after that. We just lay there, hands folded across our chests, staring up at the canvas roof.

Eventually Dad fell asleep. I am back outside. How am I going to get $2,500 by Monday?

I am throwing dry leaves into the fire.

Feeling = Jealous of dry leaves.

They get a chance to play with the Flames.

I never will.

September 22nd

Forgive me, Journal, for I have sinned. I should be asking for forgiveness, only Dad says when a person is forgiven they must never do that wrong thing again.
³¹
And I can’t promise that. Because the wrong thing I did led to
good great
amazing things. So I’m not unequivocally sorry.

Cheating is for desperate losers and my brother. So, naturally I had second thoughts about passing “Before” Picture’s A+ off as my own. Besides, I didn’t get a B+ because I’m stupid. I got a B+ because BP told me that Blake was not, in any way,
her boyfriend. Thusly, it triggered a serotonin surge in my frontal lobe.
³²
Considering I was under the spell of powerful monoamine neurotransmitters,
³³
I think I did well. Besides, it was only a quiz.

When I got home Mom was in the kitchen flipping through a cookbook. Dad crunched a credit card bill in his fist.

“Who spends four hundred and fifty dollars on shoes?”

“Boots,” she said. “And I need them for work.”

“Odette, you sit behind the concierge desk. No one is looking at your feet.”

“Is that what you think I do? Sit behind a desk all day?”

I started to itch.

“Well, don’t you?”

Mom shut the cookbook. “No, that’s what
you
do. Only you’re not interacting with humans. Just computers. Which explains your people skills.”

“At least I
have
people skills.”

“I was being facetious.”

“Really? I thought you were being a b—”

“Hey,” I called, paper-cutting the tension with Lily’s A+. “Guess what I got?” I pressed my thumb over her name
and flashed the olive branch. Then I stuffed it in my bag and welcomed their hugs. “Beni’s tonight?”

Mom said, “I wasn’t in the mood to cook anyway.”

“Are you ever?” Dad hissed.

And that was that. We spent the rest of the night stealing shrimp off each other’s plates and sharing the details of our day.

After Oskar brought out our Bindi orange sorbets and pineapple boat A.J. said, “This was so much fun. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

I kicked him under the table because who gets A’s on a Sunday? I resented the added pressure.

“Relax, Nessa. I’ve got it.”

I rolled my eyes.
³⁴

He scooped up an entire ball of sorbet and jammed it in his mouth. Orange dribbled down his chin. I almost punched him for hogging but we were at Beni’s.
³⁵

Dad whipped a napkin at him. “A.J.!”

“It’s okay, we’ll be back tomorrow. You can order more.”

My parents looked at me like I had a big announcement to make.

“Did my bracelets arrive?”

“Nope,” A.J. said, like he even knew what they were.

I wondered if I had been nominated for the Phoenix Five but that was impossible since the ballots don’t go out until April. “Did I get early acceptance to college?”

“Did you apply to college?” Mom asked.

“No.”

A.J. lifted his Sprite.

“I got a job. A real one.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a worried glance. They had been down this dead-end road before.

“Where?”

“Spencer BMW.”

“The dealership?” Dad asked, shocked.

A.J. nodded, his green eyes extra bright. As if the internal electric bill had been paid and the power was back on.

“What will you be doing, exactly?” Mom asked, applying her signature red lipstick.

“Selling.”

“Cars?” Dad asked.

“No, stolen jewelry.”

“A.J.!”

“Of course, cars. They just got the M3 GTR. Mr. Spencer said I’ll get a thousand dollars on top of my commission if I sell it before the end of October. I’m dying to test that thing.”

Dad handed Oskar his Visa, then leaned toward the center of the table. “How did you get such a good… opportunity?”

“I know Mr. Spencer from the car wash. He requested me all the time ’cause I treated his M3 like an object of beauty, not
a car. I told him that’s because it is an object of beauty and a pleasure to wash.”

“Vomit,” I said.

“He gave me his card and told me to keep in touch. I did.”

My parents stood up to hug A.J.

“Oskar, looks like we’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” Dad said.

“Congratulations, Vanessa,” said the waiter.

“It’s me this time,” A.J. announced.

Oskar gripped his chest and stumbled backward like he was having a heart attack. Then he hugged my brother too. It was hilarious.

Ver? I didn’t feel jealous at all. How could I? Everyone was legitimately happy and A.J. was finally doing something he cared about. Anyway, it’s just as hard to stay in trouble as it is to stay out of it, and we both needed the break.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

While my hands were on Duffy’s body, sparks, akin to static-electricity-sweater-shocks, passed between us. If I had been blessed with Sheridan Spencer’s wardrobe or a fetching opening line, I could have fanned those sparks into a flame. But it had been thirteen days since the armpit hoist, and only one measly spark remained. I had to revive the passion or risk losing it forever. I had to get jeans.

Ideally, I would have been watering the grass in my new denims when the dusty 4Runner returned. Duffy would be unloading the camping gear when I caught his eye. He’d wonder if dehydration was having its way with his mind because girls like
this don’t go unnoticed. He’d drop his fishing pole to the driveway and get swept up in the rip current of love at first sight. Mr. Duffy would ask where he was floating off to. Then insist he come back and help. Duffy wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The pull would be too powerful. He’d finally be close enough to inhale my exhales. He’d say, nice jeans. I’d say, nice lips. He’d place his hand on his heart, for the words to describe his feelings would have escaped him. He’d lean toward me for a kiss. I’d meet him halfway. Then I’d nail him with the hose and we’d crack up.

This should have been our story. But Vanessa Riley had my Algebra quiz, which messed it all up. I couldn’t get my A+ money without my A+. I couldn’t get my seduction jeans without my money. And I couldn’t get Duffy without those jeans.

I wanted to skate to her house and get the quiz but Blake made me call instead. He said showing up when I hardly knew the girl made me look like a stalker. I thought calling was more stalker-ish. Blake disagreed. I almost said, “I should know what stalking is because I am a stalker.” But I didn’t. I just flopped down on my bed beside Blake and dialed.

I listened to the rings and prayed Vanessa would answer.

“What if she isn’t home?”

“Leave a message.”

“What if she says she’ll bring it to school tomorrow?”

“Say you need it today.”

I hung up.

“She’ll think I’m a freak.”

“So.”

“So, what if she asks why I need it so badly?”

“Tell her.”

“Tell her what? That I was rejected by the style club? That I can’t buy anything flattering unless I pay for it myself? I can’t tell her that!”

“Why?” Blake asked, flipping through my X–Y encyclopedia. Yep, I still use encyclopedias. They’re faster than dial-up.

“Because Vanessa Riley is perfect.”

“Then why did she get a B-plus on the Algebra quiz?”

“Valid.”

I dialed again. My heart, desperate for me to reconsider, thumped harder. I swiped a puff off Blake’s inhaler.