Bright Lights, Dark Nights (5 page)

The small room was full. Jason's mom introduced Kenny again (“Mr. Mills,” I said to a smile and a nod—I'd probably always think of him as Mr. Mills), then to Naomi, and to the latest addition to the family, baby Kelly. Naomi was too busy feeding Kelly, who sat in a high chair to the right of her, to acknowledge me. I pulled a chair out at the end of the table. A family that eats together, at the same table, at the same time.

“Sit down, man,” Jason said, and I realized I'd been standing there, staring. “Grab some food if you're staying.”

A pot roast was the centerpiece, so I started there. I wondered if this was a typical Wednesday when Jason left the library and came home. “Sorry, it feels weird to have so many people in the same room for dinner,” I stammered, noticing how nervous I was. Everything felt more difficult when I got nervous. Talking. Breathing. Naomi was trying to spoon food into Kelly's mouth, and it dropped onto her little table.

“Mom, how do I get it in?” Naomi asked. She held a spoon between her right thumb and index finger, and when she moved it toward Kelly, the baby closed her mouth. When she pulled the spoon back, Kelly's mouth opened. Naomi laughed and butted her head softly against Kelly's. I could admire her like nature, or art. Like a sunset you could hang up in a museum. I pulled my eyes away and looked at my plate. It was a fancy plate.

Denise got up to help Naomi. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Walter?” she asked.

“No, it's just me and my dad,” I said, before I remembered I did have a sister. So I told her that. Then I remembered I had a mom, too. My eyes darted around the room. They had paintings on the wall, chests and drawers, a chandelier. Some kind of jazz was playing in the other room. There were no windows in the dining area, so I'd even forgotten about the storm. I had to make an effort not to look awed. It was weird how weird normal could seem.

“Walter's Dad is five-o,” Jason said with his mouth full. “One time, poh-lice. Right, Walter?”

“You listen to too much of that rap crap,” his dad said.

“Shut up, Jason,” Naomi piled on. “You think you're so funny.”

“I
am
funny,” Jason snapped back in a fashion that would make any stand-up proud. Even his clothes had a different effect in this context. He wasn't bold and fearless. He was the goofy character on a Nickelodeon show who absorbed every punch line thrown at him.

“If you were funny, we'd be laughing and you wouldn't be yelling at us,” Naomi said. I laughed, and Denise told them both to eat their food. “I'm eating,” Naomi said, taking a bite of vegetables and smiling for her mother. The first time I saw Naomi, I didn't know she was a Naomi, and especially didn't know she was a Mills. We were passing in the hall. She had her harp and looked like she could use a hand. I was late for the bus. She was pulling the harp on a stand of some kind with wheels and lost control, and it was tipping over. I caught it. “Got it?” I'd asked, and she'd said yeah and laughed.

Kelly clapped her hands and let out a joyous squeal. I smiled because it was cute, but I'm uncomfortable around babies. I have a tendency to call them “it,” and they have a tendency to scream and squirm around me. Naomi clapped her hands for Kelly, Kelly clapped her hands back, and within seconds they were having a dance party.

“How's the harp going?” I asked her, drawing on all of our history together in one power punch of an icebreaker.

“Good,” she said, not quite acknowledging our connection. Naomi straightened up in her seat, almost too straight. She had a posture that matched the chair she was in. She glanced at me, and I mimicked her straightening posture, tilted my chin up. She laughed and sat up even straighter.

“Will you sit like a man?” Jason asked, only noticing my half of the conversation. “Slouch a little—damn. You're gonna be crossing your legs next.”

“So your dad's a police officer, Walter?” Denise asked as she placed her fork down. “Does he work in the city?”

“He's, like, a beat cop or something, handing out parking tickets,” Jason said as if the question had been addressed to him. Mouth still full of food.

“Jason, could you be any more rude? Do you need all the attention?” Denise asked.

“We're having an adult conversation,” I said to Jason, and Naomi laughed. Everyone laughed, even Kelly. Naomi made a crinkled-nose face.

“I think we've got a diaper mess,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

“Let Mr. Funny Guy do it,” Mr. Mills said, and gave a stern look to Jason.

“I'll do it. I was going to anyway,” Jason said, not believably, getting up and taking the baby. “You all act like you know me, but you don't get the real me at all, okay? Let's keep that straight.”

They all laughed at tough Jason. Naomi covered her mouth when she laughed or when she was eating. You could still see the laughter in her eyes, though. I stood up after Jason to refill my glass of water from the pitcher on the table. I was used to having soda with dinner, but with fancy food like this, water was fine.

“So, Walter,” Denise started a few seconds later, just as Naomi said, “You're a senior, right?” I wasn't sure who to respond to before Naomi continued. “You're in Jason's grade?”

“Jason's grade? Yeah, Jason and I are seniors.” She knew what grade Jason was in. “You're a what?” I said, pretending I didn't know she was a junior.

“Junior,” she said, lifting her eyebrows and looking down at her plate. “Two more years until I graduate.”

“Don't say it like you're getting out of prison,” Denise said. “You do plenty and you know it.”

“Uh-uh, I can't go to a simple concert,” Naomi said, picking up on a conversation I'd guessed had been going on for a while. “Jason gets to do whatever he wants, and he did last year, too.”

“There's going to be boys and alcohol there, and you're not going,” Denise said. She picked up one food item at a time when she ate. I'd already mushed my food into a pile resembling Kelly's food at that point. “Besides, we have company, so this is not the time, okay?”

“Watch my eye roll, Mom. See this? This one's for you.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

“That was an impressive eye roll,” I said. “Just the right amount of roll.”

“Mom, I've never talked to a single boy, like, ever, okay?” Naomi said, before turning her head toward me. “Do you like the Foo Fighters, Walter?”

“The Foo Fighters?” I asked. Naomi's dense sarcasm was leaching into me like a virus. “Oh, I just call them Uncle Dave's band. It's hard to even think of them as a real-life band and not just Uncle Dave and his buddies jamming in the basement.”

“I need to meet your uncle Dave. You're the coolest,” Naomi deadpanned with a smile. “You must be a huge rock fan with such impressive lineage.”

“I listen to all kinds of stuff,” I said. It was an honest answer. After my dad and I moved, I got really into music. Especially once high school started and I didn't really fit in anywhere, most of my time outside of school (and some of it in school) was spent searching for music, discovering classic albums and artists from any genre and era.

“
No way
,” Naomi said with fake enthusiasm. “All kinds of stuff? That's
my
favorite, too!”

“It's the only categorizing I'll allow on my iPod, ‘All Kinds Of Stuff.' Frank Sinatra is right next to the Fugees.”

“And Foo Fighters,” Naomi added, playing with the food on her plate.

“No, they're under ‘U' for ‘Uncle Dave's Band,'” I said. We had an easy banter, unlike the one I had with my sister, which generally ended in a headlock or smack. This was a girl around my age, someone I wasn't actually related to. At school I'd think of these kinds of retorts or jokes, but I never said them out loud. I never wanted the attention. But I wanted Naomi's attention.

Mr. Mills finished off his plate and excused himself. He started bringing dishes to the sink. “They won't admit it, but they get it from me, I'm the funny one in the family.”

“We operate on sarcasm here. You'll fit in fine,” Naomi said. I liked the sarcasm. I liked that they joked all the time and talked at dinner.

“Don't act like he's moving in,” Jason said, putting Kelly in her chair before sitting back down. “My food's cold! Come on.” Jason pushed his plate away in a slouchy sulk.

“Heat it up, then,” Denise said, getting up and bringing more dishes to the sink, leaving me, Jason, and Naomi at the table.

“So the Foo Fighters are coming to town,” Naomi said. “I assume you'll be going?”

“Not this again. Stop being random,” Jason said to Naomi. “You don't even like the Foo Fighters.”

“First of all, I'm not being random. I do like them, and Dave Grohl is hot, okay?” Naomi said. “He's the perfect mix of scruffy bad boy and dork.”

“He's also, like, fifty,” Jason said. “And stop asking about that stupid concert. You know you aren't going.”

“Scruffy bad boy and dork,” I said. “That definitely sounds like a can't-miss event.” I wanted to add on to her every argument, like we were a team.

“Since when do you talk so much?” Jason asked me. “This kid doesn't ever talk at school.”

“He's talking to me,” Naomi said flatly and immediately defusing his argument. I nodded emphatically in agreement, pointed to her and myself.

“Yeah, all right,” Jason said, flustered. He brought his plate to the microwave. “Hey, can we just admit that I am funny?”

Every heated conversation around the table seemed to cool off just as fast as it had started. I guess it wasn't about having the best one-liner with the Mills family, but having the comfort to use it.

“Jason, yes, whatever,” Naomi said. “You're absolutely hilarious.”

“He'll be here all week folks,” I said. “Be sure to tip your waitress.”

 

Chapter Three

 

I didn't live too far away from school, but the bus went up and down so many blocks, stopping every couple of streets, that it felt a lot farther than it was. With the near-two-hundred pounds of Lester Dooley taking up 75 percent of our seat, the ride felt even longer than usual. He had an easygoing way about him, a nice smile, but, damn, was he a big kid. He could pass for a huge LeBron James, who's already huge. I'd only seen him on the bus a couple of times in the past.

I looked out the window and made myself as vacant and unavailable as I could. My earbuds were in and my music was loud. I wanted to zone out for the fifteen minutes it took to get home.

I was listening to the Pharcyde on my iPad, “Passin' Me By,” and, before that, A Tribe Called Quest's “Bonita Applebum.” It was a playlist to fit my mood. I hadn't been able to shake Naomi from my head all week, and I hadn't seen her at school anywhere since. Maybe I needed to convince Jason a weekly dinner at his place was in order. Maybe I needed to friend-request her. We did have a bonding moment. It might not be creepy.

I tried to figure out what I'd say if I did cross her path at school. Maybe
No harp!
if she didn't have her harp with her. Or if she did,
Harp!
Or maybe I could bring up Uncle Dave Grohl. She seemed to think that was funny.
Uncle Dave says hi!

Lester nudged me, and I gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. It wasn't enough, though, and Lester made the “take out your earbuds” motion. I knew it would happen eventually. I took out the earbuds like I was putting on a blindfold and stepping onto the plank.

Lester was part of a trinity of kids you generally wanted to avoid when they were together, the others being Frankie Roland and Beardsley, both also on the bus today. Frankie was a giant, too; he played football, his face was mostly forehead with brown hair parted in the middle, and he was popular but pretty quiet. Beardsley was his and Lester's overexcited pet. It really wasn't an accident that Lester ended up sitting next to me.