What We Knew (6 page)

I think I expected Chris to be an older version of Adam—physically, at least. Personality was anybody’s guess. They didn’t grow up together. When their parents split, Adam stayed here with their dad, and Chris moved to California with their mom. Looking at them you’d never think they were brothers. The guy behind the wheel had short, sandy hair and blue eyes and one of those perma-tans you only see on celebrities and people living near the ocean. Next to Chris, Adam looked like he’d been locked in a basement his whole life.

“So what do you crazy kids do for fun?” Chris asked. What we did for fun—sit around Trent’s bedroom most nights—sounded pretty lame. I shrugged. “I’m pretty awesome at mini golf.” That wasn’t true—I hadn’t played in years. “I don’t know if Adam told you, but some really big colleges are competing for me. I’m talking full ride. All expenses paid.”

Chris smiled at me in the rearview mirror. “That’s sounds like a challenge.”

I shrugged again. “If you’re okay with losing.”

My heart sank when we drove to the place where my dad used to take Scott and me. The parking lot was overgrown with weeds. A faded FOR LEASE sign hung from a chain. The storybook characters we used to climb on had shrunk and crumbled. It all looked so sad, with Rapunzel and Goldilocks and Red Riding Hood missing hunks of plaster, their chicken-wire skeletons exposed.

“Sorry,” I said.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” Chris said. Adam agreed. He told his brother how to get to another one, a better one, with a T. rex and a moated castle and a giant octopus named Timmy. Scott would love it. I’d make him take me when he came home. I’d even let him have his lucky color ball, which was my lucky color, too: orange. Adam’s was black. Chris, yellow.

While we waited to play the first hole, Chris ran to get a drink from the vending machine. Adam penciled our initials on the scorecard. I sat on the wall beside him and watched some kids tromp through the moat.

“Having fun?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” I said, bumping him with my shoulder.

“My brother thinks you’re cool.”

“Ya think?” I pressed my lips to his, infusing his face with color.

Chris poked Adam with his club. “No fraternizing with the enemy,” he said. “She’s trying to wreck your concentration.” When the group ahead of us finished, Chris bowed. “Ladies first.”

I put my ball on the rubber mat and positioned myself: feet hip-width apart, shoulders squared, elbows straight but loose. “Don’t choke,” Chris said. Adam coughed loudly. I sighted down the fairway and swung. The ball glided straight down the green toward the windmill, missing the moving paddle and continuing through the passageway. Adam ran to see where it went.

“No way!” he shouted. “You sunk it!”

My mouth fell open. Scott was the champion in our family. I was the reason mini golf had a six-stroke limit. I ran to see if Adam was lying.

“How did I not know this about you?” he said, tickling my sides. “What other talents are you hiding?”

“She’s a nuclear physicist,” Chris said.

“And a spy.” I laughed.

Somehow I managed to live up to my phony reputation. Adam did pretty well, too. He won the free ice cream on the eighteenth hole. I think it was something about Chris. He’s one of those people who brings out the best in you, like when you take a photo and tweak with the saturation, making the colors pop. Everything that night seemed a little funnier or smarter or cooler with him around.

“I need caffeine,” Chris said, taking a bite out of Adam’s cone. “What’s your favorite place?”

I’d watched the sun come up that morning with Lisa. Now the sky was pink again, the edges bruised deep purple. A longing ache filled my chest. I wanted the day to last forever. I told Adam and Chris about how my mom and dad, back when they were in high school, used to drive to New York City for a cup of coffee.

“Let’s do it,” Chris said.

“Really?” I said. “New York City? My brother’s there, you know. I’ve got to tell my mom I’m staying somewhere.”

“Tell her Rachel’s having a party,” Adam said. “Tell her she wants you to stay over.”

I didn’t think it would fly, but it did—under one condition: I was to come straight home in the morning and clean the house. My mother said she had a friend coming over and she didn’t want a mess. Deal. I hung up happy but confused. My mother doesn’t have any friends. That’s her problem. Ever since my dad left, she spends her nights alone in front of the TV.

Chris said he still needed to refuel before we hit the road. Adam suggested one of those chain coffeehouses everybody pretends to hate. While we waited for our three tall coffees and a couple of brownies, Chris went out to the parking lot to call his girlfriend, Sarah. Adam met her over Christmas break, when he went to visit his mom. I tried to imagine him in California—Rollerblading, hanging out at the beach—but couldn’t.

Chris came back flashing a nervous frown. “Did you guys know the city is three and a half hours from here?” he said, showing us the map on his phone.

Adam and I glanced at each other and nodded.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I thought it was closer. If we leave now, we’re not gonna get back until five-thirty, six o’clock, and I’ve been up since four. I’m thinking driving all night probably isn’t the brightest idea. Not to mention Dad’ll kill me if the car’s not there when he leaves for work.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re not angry, are you?”

I shrugged. It was probably a bad idea, anyway, to go gallivanting in my parents’ footsteps.

“It’s not too late to take me home,” I said, picking at a brownie crumb. “I’ll just say I’m sick.”

Adam’s face fell. He kissed the back of my hand. “I don’t want to take you home,” he said.

But sleeping at Adam’s was out of the question. Their dad might’ve been cool with me crashing on the couch. Their stepmother? No so much.

“We’ll sleep in the car,” Adam said to me. And then to Chris: “If Dad asks, say I’m at Trent’s.”

Chris looked skeptical.

“They’ll never know,” Adam said. “Trust me. Dad and Linda are in bed by ten.”

He was right. The house was dark when Chris pulled into the driveway. He shut off the engine and gave Adam the keys. “Checkout’s at six. You want a wake-up call?”

“If you could get housekeeping to bring us some extra towels,” Adam said.

Chris laughed and got out. Crossing the yard, he tripped the sensor light. He froze mid-creep, like a cartoon burglar, then waved good night and let himself in through the back door.

“Is this your first time car camping?” Adam asked.

It was. It was also the first time I’d ever spent the night with a boy. But it didn’t feel weird or awkward. Adam and I belonged together. I knew it in my heart. Everyone else knew it, too. Adam pulled up a movie on his phone, and we huddled together over the tiny screen, shoulder to shoulder, our heads touching. Then our ears. Then our chins. We were kissing—just kissing—when the sensor light flooded the car, scaring the crap out of us. I climbed back in my seat. Adam paused the movie. “Sorry,” Chris whispered, passing a couple of blankets and some snacks through the window. When the light went out, I leaned my head against the door and put my feet in Adam’s lap.

“Once upon a time,” I said. “My parents and your parents were exactly like us. What happened?” I wanted to know because I was happy. And because I was happy, I couldn’t imagine what I felt that night with Adam ever ending. Not ever. “What went wrong?”

Adam shrugged. “People change.”

“People don’t change,” I said. “Not really. I think that’s the problem: no one changes.” If I had to sum up my father’s problem in a sentence, it would be this: he was bored. Bored with his job, his wife, and his kids. All of it. Adam’s parents split over incompatibility: His mom is a raging type A personality. His dad, a model cubicle rat.

“See,” I said. “Your mom probably hoped to light a fire under your dad, and your dad figured your mom would settle down. If either one had changed, they’d probably still be together.”

What I loved about Adam was that we could go from kissing to having a serious conversation to acting like little kids, snuggled up under our blankets, goofing on some lame movie. When the phone died, we talked some more, but then we were drifting, the pauses between getting longer and longer …

Branches scratched my leg. I was running through the woods. It’s always the same dream: I’m lost and then I see the shack. Only it was different. Something had changed. It was guarded by figures, brightly colored girls towering above it. My heart swelled to see them restored: Rapunzel in her turret, offering up her golden rope of hair; Goldilocks tucked neatly in the just-right bed; Red Riding Hood skipping between the trees. I was running toward them when something sent me scrambling to the surface.

The sensor light again.

Heart pounding, head pounding, I froze, straining to see what set it off. Adam was sleeping soundly. The yard was still. My brain tried reasoning with my gut—
it’s probably a cat or a skunk
—and then the light went out. Crouched in the dark, afraid to close my eyes, shards of color pierced the blackness. The storybook girls, looking exactly like they had when I was little. Paint so vivid it blinded. But they had gaping black holes for eyes. I had to go back. To fill the holes. I tore through the shack, searching. Where was the box? Day turned to night, and then Lisa found it.
It’s right in front of you, stupid
. I breathed deeply and shook my head, then went from girl to girl with a flashlight, trying to fit the empty sockets with blue and green and brown. The yawning holes swallowed the eyes, and I dropped the flashlight. Dropped the box, too. Eyes scattered everywhere.

I jerked awake. Adam was watching.

“You were having a bad dream,” he said and kissed my nose. I filled my lungs and held it. The car smelled like him. Not his soap or deodorant or whatever he used on his hair, but
his
smell. Something dark and sharp and deep. Nothing like Jerk Face.
He
smelled like that obnoxious body spray for guys.

Adam kissed me again. “Are you okay? You look scared. You’re usually so tough.”

“Me? Tough?” I stretched my arms over my head. My back was killing me.

“Maybe ‘strong’ is a better word. You look … I don’t know … fragile. It makes me want to protect you.” It was something Foley would’ve said, except I knew what Adam felt was reserved only for me.

“We better vacate the premises,” I said, gathering the blankets. “Before your dad gets up.”

For the second morning in a row, I got to see the sun rise. I stood out front while Adam ran the keys inside. A garbage truck rumbled up the street, trailing putrid liquid. I checked my breath and popped a piece of gum.

“Breakfast?” Adam said.

“Whatever you want,” I said. I had an hour to kill before my mother left for work.

Adam wanted muffins. Blueberry. We walked to the gas station and then walked to the park. Not Hillhurst. The other one. The one around the corner from his house. It’s not even really a park, more like a playground with ancient swings and a teeter-totter and these iron animals on springs. I rode the duck. Adam squatted on a hippo. The muffins were stale, so we fed them to the pigeons. When it was safe to go home, Adam walked me to the door and kissed me good-bye. We wouldn’t see each other again until tomorrow. He and Chris had to do the family thing: lunch with his aunt; dinner with Grandma and Grandpa. I needed sleep, anyway. Plus, I’d promised to clean. When I finally rolled out of bed at three, I vacuumed and dusted—the works. The place was spotless. I made dinner, too: spaghetti and meatballs.

My mother was impressed. She’d also had her hair cut.

“So who’s the friend?” I asked.

“His name’s Chip.”

“Is he from work?”

“I met him online. Through one of those dating sites.”

A hunk of meat went down the wrong way. After I stopped coughing, part of me was like,
Go, Mom!
But another part was just plain sad. Sad that she was lonely. Sad that she was desperate enough to look for someone on the Internet. Sad that she was lonely and desperate enough to pick a guy named Chip.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m just surprised. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re never home long enough for me to talk to you.”

Ouch.
Point taken.

I took care of the dishes while my mom got ready, and then I got ready, too. I chose my T-shirt wisely—no inappropriate slogans or band names—and brushed my teeth. I wasn’t going to be one of those kids who sabotage her parent’s shot at a new beginning. If anybody deserved a little happiness, it was my mom. Maybe Chip had good taste in music and went to a lot of concerts. Or maybe he was really into home improvement—I’m too old for a pink bedroom anymore. Better yet, maybe Chip was the kind of guy who liked to lavish gifts on his girlfriend’s children.

Chip was okay—a little stiff. A little beefy in the face and middle, like he’d only recently started working out. He said he had a daughter my age. Maybe I knew her? She went to Nisky, the other high school.

Nisky girls are the worst. All the snobs go there. My interests? Theater. Art. Music. Chip’s daughter was into sports. Volleyball, mostly. When the interview was over, my mother was smiling. I waved good night and made my escape.

It actually felt really good to be home, in my room, in my bed, kicking back to drool over my favorite food show. I wondered what Scott would think—about our mom dating. It was weird, but for some reason I wanted to call my dad. To rub it in his face.
See, Mom’s moving on. This is your last chance.

I picked up my phone and stared at his number. I called Lisa instead. We hadn’t talked all day.

“Tracy?” Her voice sounded strained, like she’d been crying. My first thought was Gabe. He’d found out about Trent and it was over. I turned down the TV.

“What’s wrong?” I said. “What happened?”

Silence and then whispers: “He’s been here. I’m scared. What if he wants to hurt Katie?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Who?”

“The creep from the woods,” she whispered. “Banana Man. I’m gonna go find him.”