No Use For A Name (11 page)

"Grandparents?"

"Dead."

"Older brothers or sisters?"

"Deadbeats."

"Lack-of-faith based charities?"

I stuck my tongue out at him and slunk down in my seat, crossing my arms and closing my eyes, but a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"Jesus must want you pretty badly in Heaven if the devil is working so hard to keep you for himself. Mary-" He trailed off. "Huh. If your name's not really Mary, what should I call you?"

I opened my eyes and sat up straight again. "Call me whatever you want, I guess. For some god awful reason—sorry," I said. If I was going to spend any time at all with him, I was going to have to work on the whole taking the Lord's name in vain thing. And the cussing. And probably a lot of stuff. "For some reason a bunch of people got the idea that my name is Barbie, so I'm going with it for now. You can call me that if you want."

"I guess." He turned the final corner that put him onto my street, and he gave me a quick appraising look. "It doesn't really suit you, you know."

"How do you figure?"

"You're not a bitch."

"Grady Carrico! Hanging out with atheists and swearing like a sailor. You'd better get me out of your car before you start mainlining heroin."

Grady shook his head. If he knew I'd been trying to make him laugh he didn't act like it. "Think about a new name for yourself, Barbie," he said seriously. "One that you can be proud of."

Grady pulled up in front of my house and I reached for the door handle. "Do you want me to pick you up for school tomorrow?" he asked.

"No, Kaia comes in the morning. You don't have to worry about me. Thanks though. And thank you so much for saving me earlier." I pulled the handle and popped open the door.

"Wait," Grady said. "Let me come around and help you out."

I shrugged, and he pulled the emergency brake, hopped out of the driver's seat, and hurried around to my side. He opened my door the rest of the way and took my hand to help me rise out of my seat. Even though I was standing, he didn't let go of my hand.

"I'll meet you after sixth period, then," he said. He leaned his head down and touched his lips to mine. His mouth was soft and smelled like bubble gum. His eyelashes were surprisingly blonde. This was nothing like one of Derek's kisses. Suddenly terrified that Grady would open his eyes and catch me staring at him, I slammed my eyes shut. The pressure from Grady's lips receded, and I slowly opened my eyes.

"Goodnight," he said.

I knew he was watching me as I made my way across the lawn and up my front porch steps, but I didn't look back. I used the trick Joe had taught me to open the door silently. I stepped in and closed it behind myself, but before I could turn around, my mother spoke up from the living room.

"Baby, where on earth have you been?" She sounded
…
strange.
Was this what it would sound like if she was concerned?

She was sitting on one end of the couch. Phoebe was curled up on the other side, and in between them sat Derek, a Coke in his hand and a half-smile on his face.

"Baby, where have you been?" My mom repeated. "Derek's been waiting for you for over an hour."

I looked back and forth between my mom and Derek, unable to wrap my brain around what was happening in my living room. "Um
…
I went out with a friend," I finally stammered.

"That was pretty rude of you. I doubt Derek will ever want to come over again," she said, wagging her finger at me.

"Oh, no Mrs. Anderson. I didn't mind waiting at all." What in the hell was going on with Derek? He sounded like he was talking to the president or something.

A smile curled across my mother's face, and she raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, get in here, Baby. You've kept Derek waiting long enough." She snapped her fingers at my sister. "Phoebe. Get off the couch."

Phoebe shot a shocked, resentful look at my mother, but instead Derek jumped up. "No, really. It's okay. We have to chart the position of Orion every hour. If we hurry we might have enough time to catch it before ten." He turned to me. "Are you ready to go?"

"Uh, sure?"

Derek reached out to shake my mother's hand. "Thanks so much for the Coke. It was really great to meet you."

She rose to her feet. "You too. Baby's lucky to have you for a lab partner." She shrugged her right shoulder. "She's never been any good at science."

Phoebe stood up too and batted her eyelashes. "Come back anytime."

Derek smiled and nodded. He let go of my mom's hand and crossed to the door, giving me a wide berth. "Come on then. Let's get this assignment over with."

He opened the door. It squealed loudly and he beckoned me through it, a look of impatience flashing across his face.

Irritation, confusion, and curiosity warred for dominance within me, but curiosity won. I still pinged him with a dirty look before I brushed past. I almost thought I heard him whisper "nice touch" as I skirted by.

I quick-stepped down the stairs and strode across the lawn, but Derek caught up to me and grabbed my elbow gently. "Not that way," he said in a soft voice. "We should go through the back."

I shook my head and pulled against him. "My mom has dogs. They'll bark. My neighbor hates it."

"No, you have to see something." Derek's hand slid down my arm to clasp my hand and he tugged me gently toward the back of the mobile home.

We walked around the side of the trailer, and as I'd predicted, the dogs started yapping like crazy as soon as they heard our footsteps, but the voice that answered them totally surprised me. "Oh shut up you filthy fucking mutts." Illuminated by the bright, full moon, I saw Monica walk around the clapboard side of the dog pen. She had an armful of sloppy fabric, the remnants of what used to be my clothes. She threw them down in a larger pile and grimaced at it, her lips peeled back from her tiny teeth. She rubbed her arm vigorously across her nose before turning and trudging back around the corner.

"I didn't want you to miss that," Derek whispered. He laced his fingers through mine and led me around the dogs' large pen and into the woods behind my house.

"Did you
…
" my voice trailed off. "What's going on around here?"

He led me deeper into the woods. "Give me just a few more minutes, then we'll be there and we'll talk," Derek said.

I'd been in these woods before, but I couldn't imagine where 'there' might be. When we got to a small creek, Derek stepped into the middle of the stream, turned, and then lifted me by the waist like a doll and placed me on the other side of the water. "You don't need to get those shoes dirty," Derek said, stepping up onto the shallow bank and taking my hand again. He tugged and I continued to follow.

We went another fifty yards or so, ducking under branches and weaving around tree trunks, until we came to a huge deciduous tree with branches that hung all the way to the ground like the hoop skirt on a Civil War debutante's dress. Derek headed straight for it. He held back one of the drooping branches and beckoned me under. "Come on in," he said.

I ducked inside, then straightened and looked around in awe. The branches really were like a hoop skirt. They belled out and away from the tree's trunk, hiding a clearing covered in soft leaves. It was like a fort for fairies. I looked up and saw that the leaves were sparse at the top of the tree where the branches began their curve, which allowed the moonlight to dapple us with leafy shadows.

Derek sat down with his back to the tree trunk and patted the ground beside him. I sat on my knees, my feet tucked under me. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, resting his head against the bark. "I found this place when I was ten," he said. "I used to live on the other side of these woods." He opened his eyes. "If we'd kept walking for another ten minutes, we would have come out into my old neighborhood."

"I haven't walked in the woods in a long time," I said. "Even when I did, I hardly ever crossed the creek."

"Too bad. I bet it would've been nice to know you back then."

Derek fell silent for a couple seconds, then his words poured out in a rush. "I'm sorry I said your house was a dump."

I looked at the soft leaves beneath me and twisted my fingers in my lap. "It
is
a dump."

"Yeah, but I'm still sorry." He pushed his fingers absently into the leafy carpet covering the ground. "You don't have to worry about Ashley saying anything about where you live, or that your mother's a prostitute or anything. She'll keep her mouth shut."

I shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly and kept my eyes on his fingers kneading the leaves. "Not likely. By tomorrow everyone's going to know that the whore of Spokane Street is my mom. It won't be too long before people start to ask me if it's hereditary."

I flicked my eyes up in time to see Derek shake his head. "She won't say anything. All I had to do was remind her that Kaia's not the only cheerleader that ever gave Chase a blowjob. She's just the only one who got caught."

"No!" I gasped, my lips stretching into a grin. "Your mouth is full of
lies!
"

His shoulders loosened and he leaned back on his palms. "It's the truth. Some wingman I am."

"Thank you Derek," I said, shifting to sit cross-legged. I put my hand on top of his, and he removed his weight from his hands and leaned forward, taking my hand in both of his and crossing his legs so that his knees touched mine.

"You're welcome." His eyes locked on mine, and we gazed at each other for a few moments.

"Why would you do that for me?" I finally asked.

He continued to hold my hand with his right hand, but his left moved reflexively to the tattoo at the side of his neck. "Remember my tattoo?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you remember asking me what it meant?"

"Yeah. And you said it meant you were Irish." Derek gave me a lopsided grin. "But then you told me it actually meant you were lucky," I said.

Derek's grin waned slightly. "I am lucky."

"How so?"

He rubbed his tattoo. "My stepdad was a lot like your mom."

I laughed nervously and tried to pull my hand out of his. "Skinny and addicted to Facebook?"

The fingers of his hand tightened around mine, refusing to let me go. "No. Abusive."

I absorbed myself in the leaves on the ground. "She hasn't hit me in a long time. I mean, she almost did the other day, but mostly she just ignores me." I could practically feel Derek's gaze blistering a hole in my forehead, but I still couldn't look at him. "It doesn't bother me anymore."

I sniffed and tried to wipe my eyes with my shoulder, but it didn't work out so well. Derek let go of my hand and I swiped it across my face.

"She doesn't have to hit you to be abusive. I knew what was going on the minute I walked into your house tonight. I knew it because I've been there. I handled her the same way I learned to handle my stepdad when I was a kid."

 "How's that?" I asked, my voice ragged.

"Treat the asshole like they're the most important person in the world. Make them feel like everything else in the universe is simply an irritation designed to get in the way of the only thing you want in your life. You know, them."

"It obviously worked. I can't believe you got her to make Monica clean up the dog pen."

"It was so easy, it was laughable. Of course, it helps that your mother was sober."

"She's not much of a drinker," I said.

Derek's eyes widened. "You're lucky. My stepdad was a mean drunk. Nothing I did worked when he was wasted."

Now I was the one who reached out to take his hands in mine. "I thought you were supposed to be the lucky one." I reached up to touch the tattoo on the left side of his neck with my right hand.

Derek stretched his neck so that my hand moved a little, almost like a cat looking to be stroked. "Remember I said I used to live near here when I was ten?"

I nodded, my eyes locked with his.

"We moved right after my stepdad died."

I sucked in my breath. "I'm sorry," I said softly.

"No, don't be. No one's laid a hand on me or my mom since the day he was buried."

"He hit you guys? But
…
your mom's a guidance counselor. How could she let that happen?"

Derek's mouth twisted up in a wry smile. "Yeah, she's great at telling other people how to live their lives. Unfortunately she's way more fucked up than anyone at our school. I love her, she's my mom, but she's got issues."

"She loves you though, right?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, she does," he said quietly.

I tapped my neck, pretending to have a tattoo where Derek did. "Then you are lucky."

Derek smiled, but his face quickly grew serious again. "Yeah. I am. I'm lucky to be alive." He paused. "The day my stepdad died, I was supposed to be with him."

My mouth dropped open in surprise and my hand fell away from my neck. "What happened?"

A breeze tumbled the branches above us and it looked like the moonbeams were dancing inside our little haven. Derek shook his hair out of his eyes. "I was in Pee Wee football and it had started to snow, so practice got out early. My stepdad was picking me up but he was late. One of the other moms asked if I wanted a ride. I knew he'd probably kick my ass for it when he got home, but it was cold out." His eyes took on a distant look. "I don't know. Something just told me to take the ride, you know?"

I nodded but didn't say anything, and Derek continued. "My stepdad never came home. The cops say he slid on some ice, missed a corner, and wound up in the lake. My step-brother Tim was in the truck with him, but he doesn't remember anything. He doesn't even remember how he got out of the truck, he just 'woke up' on the side of the road, soaking wet. He flagged a car down and the cops came and, well, you know the rest."

I swallowed hard. "So do you think, like, God was watching out for you or something?"

"No," Derek said matter-of-factly, "I don't believe in God. I believe in my instincts. Ever since that day, if my brain tells me to do something, I don't second-guess it. I figure subliminally I must know something that my conscious mind can't see. Typically it results in what other people call luck. But I think I make my own luck."