The Truth about Us (12 page)

A car pulls into a house across the street. Another brand-new one.

“How come you don't drive it to New Beginnings?”

My cheeks warm, and I watch a spotless convertible yellow Beetle drive by. “I don't know.”

He bumps my hip with his. “It's okay. I get it. You don't want to flaunt it?”

It's true. But I don't tell him that at first I was afraid. That it might get stolen or vandalized.

He watches me for a second. “So, what's it like? Being able to get whatever you want?” he asks in a quiet voice.

I think about his question seriously. “I don't know,” I tell him as honestly as I can. “I mean, it's the way I've always lived, I guess. We have money, yeah. We have all the material things we need, but that doesn't mean we get everything we want.” I think about how unhappy my house is. The people in it, anyhow. “Definitely not.”

We walk in silence for a while, staring straight ahead. I want to ask him what it's like not to have money. Are they happier? Do they get by with simpler things, or do they imagine money is the answer to all of life's problems?

“We're so poor, someone broke into our house and left
us
money,” he says after a moment.

I sneak a glance at his profile.

“It's a joke,” he says and smiles. “I mean, we weren't always like this. We won't be forever. And it's okay. I won't hold your Audi against you. After all, you do have an astounding knowledge of plants.”

I snort at the face he makes. The lights from the streetlamp make him look kind of bad ass. He's wearing the shit out of his jeans and T-shirt, even if they're not expensive brand names. He lifts both hands in the air to yawn and stretch, and when the stretch is done, he reaches for my hand.

“That was smooth. Right?”

“So smooth.” I grin, and my fingers tingle with happiness as they entwine with his. We walk quietly for a minute. The night air is still and cool. Perfect.

“So, those people at the party. That's who you hang with?” His voice is soft, and he pretends interest in a parked car we're passing.

I shrug. “I guess.”

He squeezes my hand. “That girl Braxton's with? She a friend of yours?”

“Jennifer?” I shrug, shaking my head. “More of a friend of a friend,” I say softly. “We don't exactly love each other.”

“What about Nance?” he asks.

“Nance and I have known each other since we were kids. Our moms used to work together,” I tell him. “We've only hung out a lot in the last couple of years though.” I pause. “I don't know if I've been a great friend. I'm kind of worried about her,” I add, surprising myself.

“Yeah?” he says. “How come?”

I think for a minute about what my mom said about Nance and her “phase” a few years ago. She's never talked about it with me. I think about her hips. The drinking and boob flashing.

“Her dad had an affair with a really young girl, got her pregnant, and married her. And her mom has a boyfriend and is hardly around. I guess she tries handling it. I mean, I've done my share of stupid things, trying to handle my own stuff…”

He doesn't say anything but squeezes my hand.

“Yeah. We find ways.”

“Nance and I started hanging out after my best friend and I, well, we had a best friend breakup.” I think about Penny. The smile we shared. “She was there tonight,” I say softly. “My old best friend. Penny. We were super tight, when I wasn't so…” I try and think of the right word. “Stupid.” I sneak a peek to see his reaction.

“What happened?” he asks. He squeezes my hand again, and I feel like I can tell him things. Everything. About how close Penny and I were. How she spent so much time at my house when her dad was sick. We talked about everything then. We had each other's backs.

“I messed up. And now, I've been partying too much, I guess.” I fiddle with an earring with my free hand. “I'm kind of crazy when I drink,” I admit. That's a big confession to make to a boy I like. “It's embarrassing. Especially the next day.” I dip my head, but he reaches over and props up my chin.

“So maybe you shouldn't do it anymore,” he says and lets my chin go. He's probably never had time to lay around all day nursing a hangover. Ugh.

“Do you ever drink?” I ask.

“I have. But I have to look out for Kyle so…” He shrugs. “My mom works a lot. She needs breaks sometimes.”

“Yeah.” The night air is cool and I shiver, but it might be from holding his hand like this. Talking to him. Getting to know him.

“It's okay. He's a good kid. Most of the time. When he doesn't hide from pretty girls looking after him.”

I smile and squeeze his hand back.

“I haven't been partying since I started at New Beginnings,” I tell him.

“Yeah? You miss it? Your friends?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “I don't. I like my new friends.”

He grins. “Like me?”

I swing his hand in the air. “No. Like Wilf. And Kyle. And Martha.”

He pretends to grab his heart.

“Okay,” I say softly. “You. I like you.” I take a deep breath after I say that.

The streetlight we're walking under flickers on and off. He says something, but a car with muffler issues races by and drowns out his words.

“It's not fair,” I say when the car is gone.

“What?” he asks.

“Life,” I say glumly. “That some people have so much and other people don't.”

“Fair is a place that has corn dogs and Ferris wheels. It's not real life.”

I wonder if I would be so philosophical about it all in his place.

“It's not your fault,” he says as if he reads my thoughts. “That your family has money. It's not even bad. It's kind of the American way.”

“Maybe. But still,” I tell him. “The shelter is making me see all the things I take for granted. I've done so many stupid things, and I have so much to be thankful for.”

“We've all done stupid things,” he says.

“Not everyone. What about you?” Another streetlight flickers, and a squirrel runs up a nearby tree and makes a racket.

He laughs at the noise. “Trust me, Jess. I've done my share. I've hurt people.”

I'm pretty sure I don't want to think about that. We walk quietly, and I try to think of something to lighten our chat.

“So, how do you know Braxton?” I ask after another pause.

“He lives on my street. When we were moving in, he came over and helped me with the heavy stuff. He's around a lot now. His mom died when he was younger, and he likes my mom.”

I nod. “He seems nice. But man, he talks a lot,” I add. A car speeds by and a guy yells something out the window, but it's hard to tell what it is.

We watch them drive off.

“Yeah. He does. But he's a good guy. He loves that piece of shit car he has.”

“It is a piece of shit,” I agree. There are birds making noises in the trees around us, chattering in the night air.

“Hey,” he says, stopping abruptly and glancing up. “Did you hear that?”

I look up. All I see are the trees and the black sky.

“What?”

“Who cooks for you, who cooks for you,” he says.

I stare at him, wondering what the heck he's talking about.

He looks at my face and cracks up. “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you,” he says again.

“Um, Flynn,” I say and laugh with him. “What are you talking about?”

“The barred owl. That's his call: Who cooks for you, who cooks for you. I thought I heard it.” He drops my hand and walks under a tree, searching, I assume, for his bird friend.

I laugh even harder.

“You think I'm making it up?” he asks. “I happen to know my owls. He could be lost.”

I cover my mouth with my hand, but I can't stop giggling. Flynn is standing under a tree, searching for a bird. He throws his hands in the air then and returns to my side. “I'm not crazy. I can't see him, but he's there. Who cooks for you, who cooks for you.” He takes my hand and we start walking again, but I can't stop giggling.

“Hey. You know your flowers. I know my owls. That's the barred owl. They hang out in some of the parks around town. Trust me.”

“I totally believe you,” I tell him, trying to be serious.

“You're bullshitting me,” he says.

I giggle and then decide I like him even more.

“That owl has high standards,” he says and whistles. “Hanging out in this neighborhood.” He swings my hand up and down. “I hate it, you know.”

“What?” I ask.

“That you see me getting handouts. I'm not going to live like that forever. I'm going to do things. I have plans.”

I think of him coming in early to help out, looking after his brother, looking out for his mom.

“You already amaze me.” His situation doesn't make me like him any less. It makes him who he is. And I like that guy very much. “So, what are your plans?” I ask. We're approaching my street, almost home, and I want to take a wrong turn, keep walking with him. Hear all his plans. Every one of them.

He smiles down at me. “Construction,” he says. “I'm good with my hands. And I'm not afraid of heights. But I want to move my way up. My dad was a project manager. He did great. I want to do even more.”

“Cool,” I say, envying him, knowing what he wants to do already. And secretly, I admire his ambition. I trip on a curb I didn't see coming, and he has to balance me and then stand me upright. We both laugh.

“Thanks,” I tell him.

The way he looks down at me makes my insides swoon. His dark eyes sparkle. His bangs hang down sexily. He pushes them out of his eyes. “I'm glad you came to the party,” he says softly. I'm the happiest girl in the world.

I take a deep breath. “Me too.” I almost whisper it, because everything in me turns warm and gooey, including my voice. “I'm glad you were there.” There's so much internal heat burning in me, I wonder if he senses it.

We keep walking but we keep glancing at each other. Grinning. My heart grows and grows and grows until it's so full and so big that I'm afraid it's going to explode right out of my chest.

“So are you working tomorrow?” he asks.

“I don't work weekends,” I manage. “This is my street,” I add. “That's my house.” I point at it, because I doubt he remembers which one is mine from when Braxton dropped me off.

He stares at it and his chin lifts a little. He doesn't say anything.

“It's just a house,” I tell him. “I'd trade it in a minute for a happy family.” I slow down so we're barely moving.

“What's wrong with your family?”

I stare down at my feet, scared. I want to tell him. I trust him. But I haven't talked about it with anyone. Not Penny. Not Nance. Allie and I don't even talk about it, not really.

“It's okay,” he says quietly. “If you don't want to tell me.”

“I do.” My voice is like a sigh. “I want to.” I glance at my house. “It's a long story, and I'm home. And I don't know if I'm brave enough yet.”

“Jess,” he says. “You're brave. And good. If you could see yourself the way the people at the shelter see you. The way I see you.”

“That's not the way I feel,” I admit as we reach the end of my driveway.

He turns to me. Faces me. Stops walking and takes my other hand.

“You need to,” he says.

But I forget the shelter. I forget my family. The owl. The party. All I can concentrate on is what will happen. The darkness is suddenly ominous. I hold my breath. Excited. Thrilled. Nervous.

It's time to kiss.

“You're going to be amazing when you figure out what you want. And who you can trust.”

He lets my hands go, makes a fist, and softly knuckles me on the chin. Like I'm his buddy. His pal. His friend. And before I know it, he's gone.

He didn't kiss me.

The house is quiet. It's midmorning already, but I'm still in bed going over it and over and it in my mind. I've rehashed the entire walk home.
Am I not kissable?

I sit up and cross my legs, feeling like the biggest loser in the world. He should have kissed me. Everything pointed to it. I wanted him to. I thought he would. And then there was the abrupt good-bye, as he left me to walk to the closest bus stop.

I get up from bed, wishing there were someone to call to analyze everything, to dissect every second and figure out what went wrong. Nance is out of the question since (A) I lied to her and said we'd already hooked up, and (B) I know she won't want to hear about me falling for a guy like Flynn. He's supposed to be her fling.

Penny's face flashes in my head, the way she smiled at me at the party. Frustrated, I get up, but before heading downstairs, I tiptoe down the hall to my mom's room, open the door a crack, and see a lump on the bed. She's sleeping.

Downstairs, I go straight to the phone and pluck it off the cradle, staring at the numbers, but I put it back down. I can't phone Penny. It's stupid to expect to go from nothing to everything because of one smile. She didn't call me to chat when she hooked up with Keith.

Instead, I dial Nance's cell number and leave a message. I pour a bowl of cereal but only eat half before pushing it away. Unfairness overwhelms me. I can't even text her. I'm deserted and friendless in my own house. With a sigh, I wander to the living room and try to watch TV, but it's boring reality stuff. I did this to myself. It's easy to hate the person I've been the last couple of years, but I click the remote and it occurs to me—I can change channels. Why not myself?

I throw the remote down and march back to the phone, pick it up, and dial Penny's number. It rings once before my skin breaks out in a layer of sweat and I bang it back down. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Great. So caller ID just happened. Great.

Chicken. I'm a chicken. I miss Penny so much, but telling her means apologizing. Owning up. It can't be that hard, can it? I think of my sock monkey, the one I gave Carly next door. For bravery. Penny gave it to me after Mom was hurt. I bought her a bigger version when her dad went through chemo, to protect her. Bill the Protector.

A creak on the steps interrupts my thoughts, and Mom walks down the stairs. She half smiles. “You're up,” she says as if she's not creeping out of bed at noon. “I was up earlier too,” she explains. “But I went back for a nap.”

I try to smile, but my lips don't cooperate.

“How are you?” she asks as she reaches the landing.

“Good,” I tell her and twist my earring around. What if I could talk to her about Flynn? Would we talk about things like that? If none of the bad stuff happened?

“You worked late last night? Dinner?”

“Yeah. I went to a party after, but it wasn't late when I got in,” I tell her. “Before eleven.”

“Oh. That's not too bad.” She heads to the kitchen and turns on the stove to boil water for tea, then comes back to the living room, plunks down beside me on the couch, and pats my leg. “I remember when I was seventeen. I loved to stay out late. I gave your grandma and grandpa lots of heart attacks. Like you've been doing to your dad lately.” She half smiles again. “Don't look so shocked. I wasn't always your mom.”

Yeah, but she hasn't acted like one for a long time. I glance down at my fingernails. They're kind of ragged. I haven't had a manicure since I started at New Beginnings.

“Your grandma used to get so angry.” She stares off into space. “She'd be angry with me now. She'd be kicking my butt, telling me to get back in the game.” She shakes out the memory and turns to me with a smile. “She was a feisty woman. You would have liked her.”

Her parents died before I was born, and she doesn't talk about them much. I shake my head though, ready to defend her. “No. You're recovering…”

She pats my leg as she gets up and then walks back to the kitchen to fix up her tea. “You're a good kid, Jess,” she calls over her shoulder. “I haven't been nearly present enough for you.”

“Mom,” I start, wanting to deny it, but from the kitchen she raises her hand to quiet me.

“No. It's okay. Everyone's been protecting me.” She sighs and pours water into her mug. She doesn't offer me tea. She knows I don't like it. “I'm getting tired of it. Finally. God,” she mutters to herself.

I hold my breath, no idea what to say.

“How's work?” she asks while I freak the hell out.

“Um, good,” I tell her honestly. “I like it.”

“It is good. What you're doing.” She sips her tea and a small shudder visibly clouds her. “You're careful though. Right?”

“I am, Mom.”

She droops a little as she returns to the living room, and I wonder if her meds are kicking in. It's like watching her get sucked down a hole. I have no idea how to save her or pull her back out.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?” She walks over, sits beside me, and forces a smile, her hands wrapped around her mug.

“I was thinking about going to Target to do a little shopping. Will you come with me?”

“Target?” Her brows furrow together as if she doesn't know what I mean.

“Yeah. I need to pick up a key chain. I gave the little girl next door my sock monkey one. You know? The one that hung off my purse? That one Penny gave me? Brave Monkey?”

She smiles a smile that tells me she has no idea what sock monkey I'm talking about. Or why I would give it to Carly.

“Anyhow, I want to get a new one. I'll get one for you too. A matching one. We can all use a little Brave Monkey in our lives.”

She makes a sound that almost sounds like a laugh. “You want to get me a sock monkey key chain?” she asks and brings her mug to her lips for a sip.

“I do,” I tell her.

She stares at me and finally pats my leg. “Okay. Well, let me finish my tea. And then I should change,” she says.

It's progress. And Lord knows we could both use a Brave Monkey.

• • •

Mom laughs when I attach her sock monkey to her purse. She looks younger and happier, and she leaves it dangling from her purse over her shoulder, smiling. She stayed close to me while we wandered through the aisles of Target, looking at stuff we don't need. We didn't stay long, not even an hour, and when we walk back in the house, she goes to the kitchen to put down her purse but bats at the brave monkey before turning to me.

“Thanks for taking me,” she says. “It was fun.” She glances off to the stairs. “Your dad is home tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“I'm going to go to my room now.”

My heart dips a little.

“To read,” she adds. “It's a self-help book,” she says softly. “I ordered it online.”

I take it as a good sign and silently thank her sock monkey.

When she's gone, I go to the living room and lay on the floor, trying some yoga poses to stretch out my back. The phone finally rings, and I jump up and run to it, checking caller ID before I click the on button.

“Nance,” I say instead of
hi
.

“Ugh,” she groans. “Don't talk so loud, Jess. My head is a minefield of agony.”

“Hangover? Moaning after the night before?” I tuck the phone under my chin and go back to the living room and hold it in place, lie on my back, and lift my hips in the air to attempt a bridge pose.

“Please,” she says. “I can't handle attempts at humor right now. Why don't you text me like normal people do?”

“Um, my dad took my phone for the summer, remember?” I squeeze my thighs together, trying to hold the bridge pose.

“God.” She sighs loudly, and I hear water running in the background. “I can't believe you live in a world without a cell phone. I would die. You're impossible to get a hold of. It's super annoying.”

I don't say anything. This isn't about the inconvenience for her, is it? I push my hips higher and feel the pull along my back and in my thighs.

“So. Is it super gross?” she asks, and I hear her glugging something.

“What?”

She keeps glugging. “That soup kitchen thing?” she says when she's done.

“No.” I collapse down slowly, coming down one vertebra at a time, letting out my breath as I go. The phone slips from under my chin and I grab it. “I mean. It's okay. I don't mind it.”

I think of Flynn and close my eyes. Her judgmental silence on the other end is heavy, but I keep my eyes closed and let the silence expand. I focus on the people at New Beginnings. They like me. I like them.

“Well, it would freak me out,” Nance finally says. She sounds pissed off she was forced to speak first. “And you were pretty lame at Brittney's last night.” My eyes pop open then, and the quiet in my head disappears.

“Oh. You do remember me being there?” I say innocently but make a face at the phone. I sit up too fast, and my head spins as the blood rushes away from my head.

“Oh, I remember,” she says all bitchy.

“Yeah. So how'd it go with Hunter Bell?” I ask, trying to sound as if I care. I wish it were Penny on the phone instead of Nance. I'm more interested in hearing about Keith. Penny's been in love with him forever. Hunter Bell is a booty call.

“Amazing.” Her voice gets a little less cranky. “He's the most amazing kisser in the entire world.”

Of course, she's said that about other guys. I stretch out my back and listen while Nance goes on, describing the softness of Hunter's lips in detail. It makes me wonder again why Flynn didn't kiss me. She stops talking for a second as the phone rattles around on her end.

“If my mom saw him, you're dead,” she calls to someone at her house. I hear laughter. It sounds like a machine gun. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Jennifer.

“Your mom wasn't even home last night!” I hear Jennifer shout back.

“Really?” Nance whistles. “I
was
wasted. I passed out on the couch without even noticing. My body hurts so freaking much.”

I relax and lie back down, still listening.

“Braxton and Jennifer hooked up over here last night,” she says to me. “Just a sec.” She covers the phone and says something to Jennifer, but it's muffled. The phone rattles. “She smuggled him into my room last night,” she says to me. “Which explains why I had to sleep on the couch. God, Jennifer. So what about the guy you hooked up with?” she asks.

My eyes pop open wide, and then I remember telling her I hooked up with Flynn so she'd back off.

“He was wearing a medical bracelet,” she says.

“Yeah.” I don't ask if she noticed that while slobbering all over him.

“Is he dying?” she asks, sounding almost hopeful, as if it would be good gossip.

“No,” I tell her. “He's not dying.”

“Hm. Well, enjoy him while you can.”

I chew my lip, reflecting on that.

“No offense, but Jennifer and I were talking about how lame you were acting,” she says. She's pissed at me. Or bitchy from the hangover. I have an urge to hang up in her ear.

“I wasn't drinking.” I cross one leg over the other and twist in the opposite direction. I remember the cooler in the kitchen with Josh. “Well, not much anyhow.”

“Boring. No offense.” She glugs some more.

Judging by the twinge in my gut, offense taken. So maybe I am lame. I probably was boring, but it doesn't bother me as much as it would have a couple of weeks ago. Is that who I turned into? A party girl who relies on alcohol to give her a personality?

“Hey,” she says. “Speaking of hooking up. Did you see Penny last night? Apparently she's hooking up with Keith Alex.”

“Yeah, I saw.” I keep the phone tucked under my chin and hug myself. She doesn't know about Penny's forever crush. I kept that secret. Keith is more than hooking up to her, and I'm thrilled for her.

Nance waits, as if she wants me to slam Penny, say something bitchy. I glance over at my purse lying on the chair and smile at the sock monkey hanging off the side. “He's a really nice guy,” I say. “I think they're good together.”

“Whatever. His dad works at McDonald's. I mean corporate, but still.”

I pause to gather courage. This is one of those moments. Those defining moments.

“So actually, I really like him,” I blurt out.

“Who? Keith?”

“No,” I tell her. “Flynn. I really like him.”

“The boy from last night? No, you don't. You're having a fling. He's hot, I get it. But that's all it is. Summer. Fling.”

“No,” I tell her. “No, it's not.” My heart beats faster. This isn't the way I talk to Nance. I can almost see her scowl.

“It's a summer fling,” she insists.

I don't respond. The silence over the phone is heavy.

“Jess. I know you're working at that place and being all virtuous and off the grid and stuff, but things go back to normal after the summer,” she says, an edge to her voice. “This is our senior year.”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “It is.”

“Do not screw this up,” she says. “Things need to be perfect this year.”

I think about her dad taking off and her mom's new boyfriend. She's as alone as I am most of the time. I picture her scars. The faded ones on her arms and the fresh ones on her hip.

“There's no such thing as perfect,” I say sadly. “It's all an illusion.”

I wonder what's going to happen when Nance figures it out too.