Dead Ends (15 page)

“Or not,” I said, watching her knuckles turn white on the wheel. “Sorry. I didn't mean—”

“It's just hard to know when you're joking or being mean.”

It was hard for me to tell sometimes, too.

“Well, I won't do either if you don't like it,” I said.

Seely smiled tentatively. “Okay.” She stared past me out at Billy, who had stopped knocking and was now just staring at the front door as if willing it to open. “My dads think you're my boyfriend.” She laughed, but I noticed her cheeks were flush, and she looked away. Something in my chest fluttered down into my stomach, and I smiled for the first time all week.

“Then I'm in double trouble, because dads usually don't like me, and I've got
two
to worry about.” I caught Seely's eye to make sure she was still smiling. “Or is it three? Wasn't there a third guy?”

“You mean bio-dad?”

“Yeah.”

“He's just a sperm donor.”

“But your dads
had
that part.”

Seely nodded. “Yeah, a lot of people ask about that. Basically, they didn't want either one to be more of a ‘real' dad or for me to grow up looking like one of them and not the other, so they borrowed someone else's junk.”

“Borrowed?” I snickered. “Did they return it when they were done?”

Seely laughed, too, and swatted at my leg. I liked the way her hand felt there, but she pulled it away too quickly.

I was thinking about reaching for that hand with my own when the car door flew open and Billy slammed himself into the back. I flipped down the sun visor above my seat and watched him in the little mirror attached to it. He had his arms crossed and his mouth turned down. Pouting. I was still pissed, but
now I also felt something like pity. I knew how badly the kid wanted to find his dad, and it occurred to me just then that I wanted to find the guy, too—not because I owed Billy anything, not anymore—but maybe because I wanted to see if this too-good-to-be-true dad he always bragged about was the real deal. Or maybe I was just a masochist.

I sighed. “It's cool, Billy D. We'll just wait. The lady's got to come home sometime, right?”

His eyes met mine in the mirror, and I saw something hopeful there.

“Actually,” Seely said, a note of apology in her voice, “I have to have the car back before dark.”

I groaned. Having a car with a curfew was like not having a car at all. You needed wheels of your own to truly feel free.

“Well, we'll wait as long as we can,” I said.

Billy started to say something, coughed, and tried again. “You're not mad at me?”

“Yes, I am. But unlike
some
people, I keep my promises. So we'll find your stupid dad.”

Seely gave me a warning look, but I ignored it. She wanted us talking; this was what she got.

“I keep promises,” Billy said behind me. “But you don't.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped, finally turning around to face Billy square.

“You said you only hit people who deserve it.” His forehead was pinched, and he gave me an accusing look. “Only people who deserve it. That's what you said, Dane. So you broke your promise, too.”

“That's not a promise,” I said, flustered. “That's a … that's a—”

“A lie,” Billy said. “Because that boy didn't deserve—”

“I thought he
did
deserve it!” I punched the car ceiling, and both Billy and Seely flinched. “How many times do I have to say it?!”

“That's probably enough right there,” Seely said. She put a hand on my arm, but this time I shook it off.

“I didn't see the picture,” Billy said. “I just saw you hit him. I didn't … I didn't—”

“You didn't know what to do,” Seely finished the sentence in a voice meant to soothe Billy, but she was looking hard at me when she said it.

“So what?” I said. “You still should have had my back. That's what friends do, deal or no deal.”

I flopped back in my seat, looking anywhere but at Seely and Billy.

“You're still my friend?” Billy sniffled behind me.

When I said nothing, he went on. “Dane, I'm sorry. I'm really really really sor—”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Billy will make it up to you, right, Billy D.?” Seely piped up.

“Yeah.” Billy pushed his head between the front seats. “If you still help me find my dad, I'll help you find yours.”

I sighed. “Dude, I don't want—”

“We won't look in the yearbook,” he rushed to add. Then, to Seely, “Dane doesn't want to look for his dad in a yearbook.”

“I don't want to look for him
at all
,” I corrected.

“But—”

“Look, my dad's not in that yearbook, okay? And even if he is—and even if I wanted to find him—I know I wouldn't find him in there.” I looked hard at Billy, so he would see I was serious. “You know that feeling? When you just
know
something? Even if you can't prove it?”

Billy nodded. “I know my hamster, Larry, didn't go to a farm. Mom said he went to live with pigs and chickens and lots of other hamsters. She says she calls the farm and checks on him, and I can't prove she's not really calling, because I'm not supposed to listen to her phone calls. But Mark told me hamsters don't live on farms, and I looked it up, and they don't. So I think Larry is dead, but I can't prove it.” He paused. “Like that?”

I grinned, despite my mood. “Yeah. Like that.”

“I think my mom lies a lot,” Billy said quietly.

“A lot of parents lie about pets,” Seely said. “It's no big deal.”

“Not about pets. I think she lies about my dad.” Billy pulled back into the rear seat and tucked his knees under his chin. “She says maybe he doesn't want to be found. But he wouldn't have told me about all the cool places unless he was going there and wanted me to find him.”

It sounded to me like Billy's mom was the one who didn't want to be found.

“And she says he doesn't know how to love us, but that's dumb, because how do you know how to love someone? You just love them, right?” Billy looked at me in the mirror for confirmation.

“I don't know, Billy D.”

And I really didn't know. It sounded simple and true enough, but if you “just loved someone,” then it would have to be true that sometimes you “just didn't,” and that meant my own dad had probably walked away sixteen years ago because he fell into the “just didn't” category.

“Billy D.” Seely hesitated. “Are you
sure
your dad wants to be found?”

Billy's face morphed into a stormy combination of doubt and sadness.

She held up her hands. “I'm only asking because—”

“I'm sure,” he said.

“But
how
can you be sure—”

Billy leaned back into the front seat and raised his voice. “Because he said so. I was in the car with all the stuff, and Mom was outside with the keys, and Dad said, ‘Don't you take him away from me!'” Billy flailed his arms, talking louder. “He said it just like that. He said it a whole bunch of times. ‘Don't you take him away from me! Don't you take him away from me!'”

I gripped Billy's shoulder. “Okay, okay. We believe you. Calm down.”

After a moment, he did calm down, settling back into his seat and staring at the little blue house as though the mysterious June Bug would walk out the front door any minute.

He held still now, but inside, I was shaking
for
him. My guts rattled with rage at Billy's mom. She sounded like some pissed-off housewife whose husband probably cheated or did some other dirtbag thing, and she hit back—but way below the
belt—and hurt him in the worst way she could—by snatching his kid.

I thought about how lucky Billy was to have a dad
somewhere
who loved him—who wanted him and fought to keep him. I hated Billy's mom for taking that away from him.

“I have to go,” Billy said.

Seely shook her head. “It's okay. We can wait a little longer—”

“No,” Billy stressed. “I have to
go
.”

Five minutes later we were parked outside a gas station while Billy took his time in the bathroom. I got out of the car to stretch my legs, and Seely followed.

“My turn to drive?” I asked, holding a hand out for the keys.

She stuffed the keys in the pocket of her shorts and crossed her arms. “After you almost punched a hole in the roof of the car? How can I trust you to drive it?”

I flinched. “Sorry about that. My temper …”

“You scared me,” she said. “I thought you were going to—I mean, Billy—”

“I would never—You thought I was going to hit
Billy
?”

She shuffled her feet a bit and looked down.

“I don't beat up on guys like him,” I said.

“Guys like him?”

“No hitting girls. No hitting retar—” I swallowed. “No hitting kids who are challenged or disabled or whatever.”

Seely stared up at me. “So you have rules about who you
don't
beat up but no rhyme or reason to who you
do
?”

“Sure,” I answered. “Anybody who has it coming.”

“Like Ben Demopolous?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “How do you know about that?”

“You don't fly under the radar as much as you think you do.”

Ben had been my first detention after Mom got my slate wiped clean. He'd been bragging to his buddy in the bathroom about how he'd felt up some chick at a party after she passed out. Too bad he didn't know I was listening from inside one of the stalls. I'd shoved his face so low in the urinal, he was practically eating the deodorizing cake.

I explained what he'd said to Seely, but she dismissed my reasoning with a wave of her hand. “What about Jimmy Miller?”

“Geez, are you stalking me?” I laughed, but Seely was serious.

“I saw it happen. You knocked him off his bike for no reason at all.”

“There was a reason.”

There's always a reason.

“He wasn't even talking to you. You just walked right by, picked up a stick, and threw it in his spokes.”

“Dude, that was months ago. How do you even rememb—”

“I told you. I saw it. I was there.”

“Well, you weren't there when that little puke stole my paper, made the A look like an F, and put it up on my locker for everyone to see.”

Seely's eyes widened. “Jimmy didn't do that.”

I blinked. “Uh … I think I know.”

“Uh,” Seely mimicked. “I think you
don't
know. Jimmy didn't do that to your paper. Marcus Fletcher did.”

“What? No …” I stumbled. “He … but how could you—”

“Because actually I
was
there. I saw Marcus messing with someone's paper in art class. He used our special markers to make the red F bigger and darker than the A. I saw the paper up on a locker later, but I figured it was one of his friends—like a prank.”

“And you didn't tell anyone?”

I don't know why I sounded so shocked. I wouldn't have told anyone, either. I wouldn't have given two shits if I'd seen the paper up on someone else's locker. And I didn't like tattletales.

“No, I didn't tell anyone. Who cares? I'm just telling you now because I happen to know who did it—and it wasn't Jimmy Miller.”

The weight of that sank in. Until that day, Jimmy had never done a thing to me. But I knew I'd left that paper in biology, and Jimmy was the only one still in the classroom when I'd left. I just assumed …

Shit
.

Every asshole thing Jimmy had said to me, every dirty look he'd shot in my direction since that day was totally justified, because apparently, when he got knocked off his bike, he'd never done anything to deserve it.
Unprovoked
. That's what the warden would have called it—and for once, he would have been right.

“So Jimmy didn't do anything to me,” I said.

“Nope.” Seely rocked back on her heels. “He's just an innocent victim.”

“A victim,” I repeated. A queasy feeling seeped into my gut. “Then what am I?”

Seely shook her head as if it was obvious and half smiled. “You're the bully.”

Seely bought us all sodas from a vending machine before pulling out of the gas station and apologetically steering the car toward home. She was driving a little too fast for the bumpy back roads, so I don't know how I spotted the sign. Mexico was barely behind us, and the buildings had only just given way to leafy green trees and apple stands racing past our windows. But in the blur, I somehow read the words on one of those stands.

“June Bug's: Fresh from the Farm.”

Actually, all I got out was “June Bug's” before Seely skidded to a stop so fast I heard gravel pinging against the side of the car. She reversed into the apple stand parking lot, and I felt my stomach growl at the sweet smells that seeped into our open windows.

Billy was out of the car before it was even in park.

I opened my door and looked back at Seely. “You coming?”

“I'll keep the air conditioner running,” she said. She reached behind her seat and grabbed Billy's backpack off the floor. “And I want to check something. You go ahead.”

I followed Billy into the open-air produce market, inhaling deeply. I was so dizzy with the smell of fresh vegetables and fruit, I almost didn't notice the woman with the long, wild, gray hair and the crooked smile.

“Hello, there! You boys looking for a snack or you shoppin' for your mommas?”

I opened my mouth to say we were just browsing, to play it cool, but Billy rushed his words out first.

“My mom is Molly Drum. Do you know her?”