Handcuffs (31 page)

“You know, the whole Ice Princess thing.”

“Yeah, what is that, Parker?” Raye hands me a cookie. “That Ice Princess thing is just Marion Henessy garbage. You need to stop listening to that crap. Would I be best friends with some kind of stupid Ice Princess?” She gets up and walks over to the oven, opens it, even though you aren’t supposed to, and looks in. “Hey, do you have any M&M’s? We can make these into Cute Cookie Guy–worthy cookies.”

“You just set your expectations too high,” Paige says slowly, like she’s really been thinking about it. “It’s like the way you put things or people on a pedestal. Nothing ever lives up to your expectations.”

There’s a crash from the living room, and Preston comes into the kitchen, followed by Mom and Dad.

“I know I never could,” Paige says. “Live up to your expectations.” We stare at each other. I’m not sure what she means, exactly. When did she ever care about what I thought? I want to ask her, but now our parents are standing in front of the kitchen counter with the glasses from their cheap after-dinner drinks.

“You guys want some cookies?” Raye asks my parents. I get up and pour Preston a glass of milk. He can never manage it without spilling half of what was meant to be in the glass all over the counter. I give him a straw. Same theory; without one he spills as much as he drinks.

“What’re you girls talking about?” Dad asks.

“School,” I say.

“Prom,” Raye says.

Paige doesn’t say anything.

In my bedroom, Raye unzips her backpack and hands me my Victoria’s Secret bag.

“Let’s see how it looks,” she says.

In the spirit of feeling slightly warmer than I was last week, I strip off my jeans and sweater and hesitate only for a second before I slither into the little nightie and matching panties.

“You’re lucky, having skin like that. When I’m pale I look all blotchy and sick. You have Snow White skin.”

“Thanks, I guess. I mean, it could be worse, but a nice bronze tan wouldn’t hurt any of us.” Raye laughs. I change into an oversized T-shirt and boy shorts for sleep. The way she’s acting is weirding me out. I mean, it’s almost, but not quite, like flirting.

Although, if you think about it, a friendship isn’t that much different from a romantic relationship. I mean, you get together because you have things in common. You stay together because you’re compatible. The only difference is that unless you’re some kind of freaks you don’t ever make out.

I take the pillows off the bed and put them on the window seat.

“Do you do that every single night?” Raye always asks this, since the first time she ever spent the night.

“Yes.” What else would I do, throw them on the floor? Raye laughs at me, not with me, and things are back to normal. We are definitely not going to make out.

“Did he like the pink canopy?” she asks. I switch off the light and get into bed, underneath the pink blankets and the silky sheets. She’s way over on the other side of my bed fluffing up her pillows.

“Yes,” I say, feeling that smile I can’t control, “he liked it very much.”

We don’t say anything else for a long time. Then she asks, “Parker, you did change the sheets, didn’t you?” I pretend I’m asleep.

38

T
he next morning I get up earlier than Raye. She’s a late sleeper, and I’m not. This is no big deal as long as we aren’t spending the night at her house. Her stepfather, the dentist, is always in the living room watching reruns of this army show and he smokes a pipe. She has a TV in her room, but if you turn it on in the morning, she pulls her pillow over her face and moans and groans.

I tiptoe over to my dresser, open my jeans drawer, and get out my favorite jeans and an Allenville hoodie that I never wear in public. I wouldn’t want to chance an uncharacteristic display of school spirit, but it’s soft and comfy so I do wear it around the house.

I glance over a few times to see if Raye is going to wake up, but no such luck.

I go downstairs, glad for the warm clothes because it’s cold down here. Preston is sitting in front of the TV eating the center of a frosted strawberry Pop-Tart.

“If you eat the sides first, then you can save the middle part for the last few bites,” I tell him. He sticks his fork into the very center, in what appears to be blatant defiance of my words.

Then he says, “Here, Parker,” and pops the fork into my mouth. The hot center of a frosted Pop-Tart. Is there anything better in the world?

“What’re you watching?”

“People jumping.”

He’s actually watching people jumping on a rerun of
Fear Factor,
which is a very poor selection of programming for Preston since his ability to make good choices is severely underdeveloped.

Speaking of poor choices, while I’m standing there, watching to see if this heavily muscled guy can walk across this beam that’s suspended way up in the air, West walks in. Of course, his eyes go straight to the TV and he says,

“Damn.”

“How did you get into the house?” I ask West.

“Little guy let me in. You got any more of those Pop Tarts?” Preston gets up to go fetch breakfast for our vile brother-in-law.

“Does Paige know you’re here?”

“She will.” When he says this he looks sinister. Usually he looks bad natured and sometimes a little bit stupid. Last week he looked kind of hot. Right now, he looks dangerous.

“Preston, run upstairs and tell Paige that her husband is here. While you’re at it, tell Mom and Dad.”

“Mom and Dad went to play tennis. They said you would watch me,” Preston says. Crap. Sometimes now they go on Saturdays and play at the high school tennis court, and it usually takes half the day because they have to wait until the court is open. I would have liked West to think that our parents are here, that they might wander into the living room at any time. He’s making me nervous, and I know if my parents were here he’d be on his best behavior.

Paige comes downstairs. Some part of me, some romantic part, maybe, expects West to beg and plead for her to return to him. He doesn’t, though. He just says,

“What the hell are you doing hanging around with Kyle Henessy?”

“Just hanging out,” Paige says, like she doesn’t care.

“After all the effort we went to, to keep that filthy perv away from you?”

I can kind of see his point. I mean, it doesn’t seem really smart for Paige to be dating her ex-stalker, especially while she’s still married to West.

“You need to come home with me,” he says, glancing over her shoulder to see if the girl wearing the tank top is going to get across the beam faster than the muscular guy. The clock is ticking the seconds away.

“No,” Paige says. I’m seriously getting ready to exit the room—my sister’s marital problems are not really my business—but then West hauls off and hits her in the face.

I guess I’ve seen people hit each other in anger before. Even though Allenville is a great magnet school, we still have fights once in a while. Usually some guy pushes another guy and they say things to each other, and then they start whaling on one another. It happens, but not like this. Paige kind of stumbles backward against the wall.

I never saw a guy hit a girl before. I never saw a guy hit my sister before. I sit down. Not for any reason, just my legs stop holding me up and I fall onto the couch beside my little brother. I stare at them, speechless, but they don’t seem aware of Preston or me.

West stomps down the hall and Paige follows him. He doesn’t say anything to us, though he usually pretends to be so friendly. Paige’s face might be turning purple, or that might be some kind of shadow I’m seeing. Yeah, I think her left cheek is turning purple. I can’t really tell, because her hair is hanging in her face. If you want to know the truth, I’m not so good at telling what Paige is thinking, and I never have been. Is she sad? Scared? Completely freaked out, like I am? As she passes me, she pushes the hair back and her hand is shaking.

West slams the front door, and then we hear the car doors. Why is she going with him?

I know I should have stopped her, should have told Paige not to leave with him, but I couldn’t say anything. Not to Paige, or to West, or to Preston, who is sitting completely and totally still. My voice has disappeared.

It’s been ten minutes.

“Are you okay?” I ask Preston, finally.

“Yes.” His eyes are big and dark. I don’t know if he’s answering my question, really. I don’t know if he knows I mean emotionally and not just physically. He doesn’t look okay.

“Let’s get the phone and call Mom, all right?”

“Okay.” He gets up and I walk behind him. The doorbell rings. I walk to the door. I hear Preston pattering after me, like he doesn’t want to be alone. I don’t blame him.

“Where’s Paige?” Kyle Henessy is standing there wearing these baggy gym shorts and a shirt that says
GEEKS NEED LOVE TOO
.

“She left,” I hear myself saying. “She went with West. He hit her.” I sound like a little kid, like I’m saying things my brother might say. Kyle pushes his hair back from his face.

“What am I supposed to do?” he says, almost to himself. “I’m not even supposed to get near her. She has the restraining order, remember?”

“What’s going on?” Raye comes downstairs. She looks tired and her hair is flat on one side. I think in my crazy overheated brain that if anyone else tries to stand on our tiny little decorative porch, Preston, being the smallest, will be knocked off into the yard.

“Do you mind going home?” I ask her. It sounds rude. “Paige and West are fighting, and I need to deal with him.” I gesture toward my brother. Raye nods. She knows a little bit about fighting. I was at her house once when her parents were going at it. I think that’s why she’s cool with this, even though I didn’t explain things very well. I just can’t talk about it right now. About my perfect sister being hit in the face.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll just get my bag and let myself out,” she says in a quiet and un-Raye-like voice. I want to say thanks, but Preston is pulling on my shirt. I turn to him and he starts to cry. I take the phone out of his hand.

“Look,” I say, “I’m calling Mom. She’ll go get Paige, and it’ll be okay. Okay?” He wraps his arms around me and pushes his face against me as if he’s hiding. I pat his back, then wrap my arms around him and hold him for a really long time.

I stumble into the foyer with Preston still attached to me. “Mom? Mom? West came and took Paige, and he hit her, and Preston is rubbing snot all over my favorite shirt.” I can barely hear Mom, she’s talking to Dad, but I get that they’re coming home and that they’re going to fix everything. I hope.

“I’ll call you if I hear anything,” I tell Kyle. He kind of nods and starts to walk away, following Raye, who is pulling out of the driveway.

“Do you have my cell phone number?” He takes my phone and puts his number in. I think that doing something makes him feel better, even something as small as programming his number into my phone. He doesn’t really say goodbye, he just kind of walks away and gets into his mom’s Volvo.

39

I
t’s one of those days when the sun never really comes up, so time just seems to drag on and on. After what seems like forever my parents come home. They’re trying to act calm in front of Preston.