Handcuffs (13 page)

17

I’
m drying my hair when Mom calls for me to come downstairs. She’s thrilled that Dad made it home in time for dinner. I’m thrilled that I made it home for dinner twenty minutes before they did. We used to eat dinner together all the time, before Dad lost his job and started sitting with the newspaper and circling things. Eventually he just moved with his paper to the living room to sit in front of the TV, and the rest of us started eating wherever we could find a comfortable place to sit.

I take a deep breath, relieved. I really did just get here in time. The realization that I could’ve been in deep, deep trouble right now makes the never-ending dinner experience easier to bear.

Dad is telling us about his job interview. “It’s just a delivery job, but it has management potential,” he says between bites of some kind of mushy casserole with crushed-up Doritos on top. I’ve been trying to skim the Doritos off the surface and avoid the greasy ground beef.

Preston is actually picking the Doritos off with his fingers. He sees what I’m doing and puts a couple of big Dorito chunks on my plate. Mom raises her eyebrows but she doesn’t say anything. The fact that Preston is sitting still at the table is unusual. I think it’s possible only because he’s focusing all that energy. While his body remains still his fingers are picking, picking, picking.

“Delivery?” Paige asks.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a boutique take on an old idea. You remember, Jane, how they used to deliver milk in the old days?”

“I guess.” Mom frowns. She wants to be supportive of Dad, but he’s just such an idiot sometimes, so trusting. You can see the frustration on Mom’s face.

“Well, this is sort of a special delivery service where you can preorder certain items and have them delivered regularly.”

Preston is sucking the orange cheese powder from the orange tips of his fingers. When he goes to put another choice bit on my plate, I block him with my fork and shake my head.

“Sounds like a good idea, Daddy.” Paige’s teeth gleam in the soft light of the dining room chandelier. She’s eating the casserole mush like it’s five-star cuisine. She really wants to get on Mom and Dad’s good side for some reason.

“I thought so too, sugar. Only problem is they haven’t started their business in this area. They’re actively looking for someone who can run the business and handle sales.”

“You did all that at your old job, Chris.” Mom is smiling, but she doesn’t really look happy.

“Exactly. I got the feeling I was exactly what they were looking for.”

“That’s great, Dad,” Paige says. I can’t help wondering if he’s exactly what they’re looking for because he was willing to listen to their spiel. And because he’s so close to being desperate. I sigh.

Mom glances at me, and then looks back at Dad. “So what’s the problem?” she asks. Her perfect eyebrows are almost up to her hair. Not a good sign for Dad and the lousy job he’s describing.

“What?” Dad rubs Dorito powder across his forehead. His hair is brown, and the overhead light shows how thin it’s getting. His white dress shirt is pushed up past his elbows, and his black pants have nice creases. The man for the job. How could those people not want to hire him?

“You said there was a problem.” Mom dips her napkin into her ice water and starts scrubbing the side of Preston’s face.

“There’s a start-up fee involved. An investment to get the business going. It’s more than we have, and possibly more than I have in my 401(k).”

“Well, something else will come along, Chris.” Mom wipes the Dorito residue from Dad’s forehead with the same napkin she used on Preston. At least she didn’t use spit to moisten it. Dad scrunches up his face.

“I’m still trying to think how we can manage it, but I don’t know.” He puts his elbows on the table. He sits there looking hopeful and pathetic at the same time, wanting to cash in his retirement money to pay to deliver milk and bread to suburbanites. It makes my heart hurt for him. You shouldn’t have to pay money to get a job, even I know that.

“Did you take Preston to the indoor amusement park?” he asks Mom after another long silence, changing the subject.

“He went with his day camp today,” Mom tells Paige, because I think I was supposed to know this already because she told me yesterday. “All those rambunctious kids, it reminded me of you. Do you remember, Chris, the first time we took Paige and Parker to Disney?”

“Parker and I were just talking about that trip.” Each of Paige’s smiles is even more dazzling than the last. Both parents turn toward her and look hopeful. They want Paige to hang out with me. They fantasize about their daughters being best friends. Even this little thing makes them hopeful. They want these things from us, but they only get them every once in a while from Paige. With her big smile and her sparkling blue eyes, she can fake interest in anything they want to talk about. That’s why she’s their favorite.

After a hesitation, when I guess he’s remembering, Dad chuckles and says, “Oh yeah, Paige was so excited when we went on the roller coaster, remember? She was whooping and hollering, and if I remember right, she peed in her pants. Parker just sat very still. She wouldn’t put her hands in the air, and she never laughed or even smiled. She just sat there with her little body shaking and her little mouth pressed into a line. It was so funny.”

“That trip was really nice,” Mom says. “It’s too bad about the Henessys.” She scoops up some dishes and carries them into the kitchen, and Dad follows her with some glasses.

“See?” Paige turns to me and smirks. “That’s why you should retain your precious virginity.”

“What?” She’s such a complete bitch, even if my parents don’t see it.

“If you can’t even let go and enjoy a roller coaster, how’re you going to manage an orgasm? Really, Parker.”

“At least I didn’t pee on myself. And how do you know I’m still a virgin?” I hiss this so that Mom and Dad won’t hear. I’m not an idiot.

Preston has his entire face in the Doritos bag now, crunching away at the little broken pieces that are always left on the bottom.

Paige gives me this big smile and hisses back, “Because your guy wouldn’t still be around if he’d already had you. Once he realizes you’re frigid, he’ll drop you and move on. Ice Princess.”

I pretend that I don’t care, but that last one hurt because that’s kind of what I’m afraid of. I know older people make that stuff up to scare you, those stories where a girl goes too far with a guy and then he takes off and never speaks to her again. But like all made-up stories, it’s probably based on some truth, and I figure the girl the legend is based on is probably someone exactly like me.

Paige and Marion gave me the nickname. Back when Marion lived next door and she was still trying to balance being my friend with worshipping Paige. That must’ve been hard for her. It was during summer vacation, and even though Paige was in middle school, Mom made her go next door when she was going to be gone all day. So Paige was sitting on Marion’s vanity stool painting her toenails. Marion found a picture in some book of this superthin dark-haired cartoon woman who had icicles for fingernails, high cheekbones, and an expression of cruel disdain. The pages after it were stuck together, so I never knew what part the ice princess played in the story. Whatever terrible fate or frog prince was waiting for her, I’m betting she didn’t rate a happily-ever-after. Paige was fascinated by the stupid thing.

I wasn’t sure at first whether I liked getting so much attention or not. Then I got a good look at Paige’s face and knew this was a bad thing that I wanted to be over. Like all their teasing, they’d get tired and forget about it when I didn’t respond.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, laughing.

“It was in a box of old books my mom keeps in the basement,” Marion told her.

Kyle came in wearing a too-tight Spider-Man undershirt and blushed bloodred when he saw Paige sitting there. I just sat quietly and waited to see if anyone was going to braid my hair. That was what we were doing before the whole dumb ice princess book was introduced. I guess that it should make me mad or something, but it’s been so long that I just can’t remember anything besides waiting to see if they were going to gossip with me about girl things, not knowing that the picture in the book would ever be important to me.

“Mom said to, um, ask you if you wanted to come downstairs. She said to come downstairs for a minute,” Kyle stammered. He was trying to look at Paige without letting her know he was staring and it got him all confused and nervous. Paige and Marion left the room, still laughing. I took a good long look at the ice princess. Other than the weird icicle fingernail thing, there were worse things you could be. A troll or a goblin, for example. The ice princess had very wide cold blue eyes.

“What does
frigid
mean?” Preston asks.

I give Paige the finger. It feels superbly awkward, sticking my middle finger up right there at the long rectangular table. I immediately wish I had thought of a less lame response. It’s kind of tough, though, because sometimes I worry that maybe I’ll freeze or do something wrong. You know, during an intimate moment. Obviously, ruining my self-esteem is Marion’s entire reason for existing, and Paige is always willing to do her part to make me feel like crap.

“It means ‘cold,’ honey,” Paige says.

I know I’m not frigid, because he can melt me completely, but I am always so nervous about losing control. What if my sister is right and I can’t relax enough? What if my mom is right and he only wants one thing?

18

C
inder block upon cinder block upon cinder block. That’s Allenville High to me. Faced with the criticism of being elitist, the school decided to officially stop painting. I guess they couldn’t hide the three computer labs, the state-of-the-art science and tech department, or the vast two-story library. So they haven’t even touched up the worn pea-green of the institutionalized hallway walls in the last decade.

It’s a strange situation, being part of a geeky magnet school. The popular crowd is nearly feverish in their attempts to make Allenville as snobby and social as any other place. They’ve got a big GPA to overcome.

Raye isn’t here yet. She’s running late. That’s the thing about having to bum rides. You’re always at the mercy of other people. Like my parents and, you know, fate. For instance, if something happens—like last night Raye broke up with Josh because he just wasn’t Ian, and then she sat in her little blue Honda and cried and she left the lights on and ran the battery down—then I have no way to get to school.

After Raye called to report this my mom was seriously irritated. She started to tell me about the meeting she had to get to before nine and how she needed to prepare a presentation and write a memo.

“It’s okay, Mom. I can get another ride.” I reached for the phone, trying to hide my nervousness. Would he be irritated if I called him this morning? Was he driving some other girl to school, would he come and get me if I asked?

She pursed her lips. “I can take you.”

My dad came downstairs. “You need a ride to school, sweetie? I’m not doing anything today. I can take you.”

“Well then, you need to hurry, Chris. She already has enough tardies from stopping with Raye for croissants.” She never talked to him in that tone of voice before he lost his job. Or maybe she did and I didn’t notice. I felt bad for Dad in his paisley bathrobe, and more annoyed at Mom than usual, with her day planner and her stupid high heels. I don’t know who she thinks she is. She still can’t pay the electricity bill.

“Oh, okay. Let me just grab my glasses. Do you want a croissant?”

“No, Daddy.” He should know I don’t do breakfast, but he always asks. My dad really is a great guy. I hoped he wasn’t thinking about how disappointed he was in me. I started to feel nervous. What if he said something? I didn’t think I could handle a direct confrontation. I didn’t think I could handle him saying he was disappointed in me. I realized that he was looking at me, that he had retrieved his glasses and was standing in the doorway waiting. I forced myself to look at him and smile.

“Anything? We can stop.” He stepped back into the bathroom and came out without the ratty robe. I guess he was wearing it over his normal Dad outfit, khakis and a polo shirt. I don’t think he can stand to be out of bed for five minutes without putting his polo shirt on. Anyway, he’s always wearing the robe over his clothes. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice that it’s freezing cold in our living room. Mom once said that Dad really thinks his robe is some kind of swanky-type housecoat that he ties with a sash and when he wears it he imagines he is both wise and comfortable. Like Sherlock Holmes with wire-rimmed glasses. About this one thing, I suspect she’s right.

“Chris, you barely have time to get her to school.” Mom was on edge this morning, and I wished she’d just leave us alone.

He wiped his glasses on his shirt and ushered me into the garage. It was quiet in the car. I realized that this was the first time we had been alone since it happened. It was not a good thing to think about.

“I should’ve brought that cup of coffee,” Dad said, kind of to himself. As if the coffee that he left on the counter was something he couldn’t live without. I hoped he wasn’t going to start in again, wanting to stop and get me something to eat. I hoped I could get through the ride to school, that traffic wouldn’t be bad and we could just cruise into the parking lot and be done with this. I realized as we turned, getting closer and closer to school, that I was scrunched down in the seat, almost hiding behind the thin diagonal strip of tan seat belt. I forced myself to sit straight.