Handcuffs

by Bethany Griffin

  “You aren’t going to tell me what happened?” Why does it was amazing, tho pop into my head right now? Stupid, stupid Kandace Freemont. If only it could’ve been smooth, like kissing him.

  “Not yet, Raye. Maybe you can tell me how things were with Ian?” I’m stalling because I don’t know how to talk to her about this.

  “Yeah, maybe. I wish we could go someplace. Are you still grounded?”

  “Honestly, Raye, I don’t think that my parents care anymore. Why don’t you pick me up at about five tonight? We can go to the mall. That way they can stop me if I’m still under house arrest. Will you take me to the bank on the way?” I want to go with her, to forget about the butterflies devouring my stomach and maybe have some fun. To prove to myself that I can still have fun, even when he isn’t around.

  “Sure.” She kind of shrugs. “Cute Cookie Guy has been seriously missing you. He says all the M&M cookies are getting hard and moldy waiting for you to come and buy them.”

  We smile at each other, and it feels good.

  “I’ve almost gotten the Sbarro pizza out of my system. It’s time for a big slice of pepperoni.”

  “Okay, it’s a date.”

  “Raye? Do you think that maybe he doesn’t want me anymore, now that he got what he wanted?” It’s hard to say this, to even ask.

  The bell rings before she can answer.

  32

  It’s almost time for fifth period, and the concert band is filing into the band room. Raye goes out into the main part of the classroom and I try to slip out the side of the band-practice-room door. I’ve missed all of my history class and I need to make it into advanced British lit without Mr. Leonard spotting me. You would think that with all the years of being quiet and unobtrusive I could slip unnoticed from one place to another, but no such luck. Standing right in front of the door that connects the auditorium to the rest of the school is Marion Henessy, holding a clarinet.

  She looks so awful that I almost laugh. She’s wearing tight flared jeans that accentuate the fact that her thighs are dumpy, and a little tight short sweater that accentuates the fact that her chest is flat and her stomach isn’t. It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for Marion. Almost.

  “Parker Prescott.” She brandishes the clarinet like a sword and then points it at me. She sounds pissed. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Have you been avoiding me?”

  Yeah, like we’ve talked even once in the last year. How am I going to avoid that? She walked out when I walked into the Gap. I imagine myself saying, No, I’ve been in a sex-induced daze, write about that on your blog, you bitch, but of course I don’t. I don’t even have to answer because she keeps talking.

  “You tell your sister to stay away from Kyle. She already ruined his life once. You tell her not to call our house because I will hang up the phone.” She’s actually waving the clarinet now. I take a step back to keep it from connecting with my face.

  “Since when is being the object of a freak job stalker’s obsession ruining someone’s life? Just leave us alone, Marion.” She wants to blame Paige, and by extension me and the rest of the family, because Kyle screwed up. I’m so unbelievably tired of this.

  Marion’s mouth drops open. Because I stood up for myself? I shake my head;

  half of that response didn’t make a damn bit of sense. I stomp out of the auditorium. Sit through advanced British lit even though being this close to him makes me fear I will spontaneously combust.

  I don’t talk to him. Ms. White is lecturing and I don’t have a chance. I want him to say something perfect and wonderful to me. I’m afraid that if I talk first I’ll say something reprehensibly stupid, so I just take notes and glance over at him once in a while. Several times he catches my glances. The second time he smiles. He leans toward me just a little bit, and then Ms. White turns around and he stops, jots something down on his paper. Class goes on. After class I have to hurry to meet Raye. He knows this, so we don’t really have any time for more than this blissful thirty seconds where we look at each other.

  “I’ll e-mail you as soon as I get home, okay?” he says. Um, sure, that’s okay, that’s perfectly, perfectly, wonderfully okay. After an entire day of waiting, just hearing his voice is enough.

  Raye drops me off at home a few minutes earlier than usual. She’s driving straight over to her dad’s because he wants to talk to her. They’ll go the deli down the street like they always do and Raye will just eat chips. I wonder how weird it would be to have one parent living way across town. One parent actually hating the other. At least we haven’t had to go through that.

  “Good luck,” I tell her as I climb out of the car. She’s hoping to ask her dad some questions about college, but she’s nervous that he’ll be a jerk about paying, just to make her mom mad. Uncomfortable stuff.

  “Let me know if he calls or anything.” She’s all concerned about my nonrelationship and the possibility that I will get hurt.

  “Okay.” I give her a tight fake smile and walk up to the house. I go in the front door, walking just a little sideways so that I don’t have to look directly at the Century 21 sign. Paige is sitting at the kitchen table.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I live here, retard.” Oh God. She is totally hungover. I can see the signs now that she has raised her face from where it was pressed against the table. Red eyes, skin that looks bruised, stretched, thin. Before, she was always like this on the weekends after a big party. If she wasn’t too grouchy sometimes she would tell me about how great it was, all the funny jokes and the guys who flirted with her. Now it’s just kind of sad.

  “Sorry,” I say, and start to tiptoe my way out of the kitchen.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she says, and puts her head back down. My parents never realized how often she was like this. They used to play tennis on Saturday mornings before we let our club membership lapse. Leaving me alone with the monster who had had too many tequila shots. Only, now I’m not as intimidated by her as I was when I was younger. I’m actually very sorry for her; she looks like hell.

  My brother is sitting in the hallway outside my door. He knows better than to bother Paige when she’s hungover.

  He hands me a rumpled piece of paper. It has a sticker on it that looks like an award. Excellent is written in blue block letters underneath.

  “My spelling test,” he says. My brother, he’s just sitting there, waiting for me. This is exceptional because he can’t sit still for more than like thirty seconds, honestly. I feel bad. It’s like with all the chaos in our lives, he just gets ignored. You would think it would be hard to ignore him, but really, after a while, the hyperactivity just sort of becomes constant movement that blends into the wallpaper, and you don’t notice it anymore. I wish I had more time to spend with him.

  He’s a cute kid, when you can focus on him. He didn’t get the cold husky eyes. He got Dad’s warm brown eyes and dark hair. He’s small. I’ve seen him with other boys his age and they are so much bigger than him, so much bulkier. I guess that all the running and jumping burns a lot of calories.

  “Did you get all the words right?” He nods and smiles. I mean, he’s in a special kind of class, so they might put excellent on it regardless, how would I know?

  I crouch down in front of him, the spelling test still in my hand, and for a minute I want to wrap him all up in my arms and hold him. I remember how little he was, how I used to sit and watch him when he was a baby, to see what he would do. It’s amazing how sweet a kid he can be when he’s still for a minute. I want to grab him and keep him here, but then he starts to bounce. We look at each other. He can’t help himself. He starts jumping up and down, like a little pogo boy. A Mexican jumping bean. You can’t even tell the kid is reasonably cute when all you can ever see is a blur. He takes off down the hall, leaving me holding the paper, sticker, excellent comment, and all.

  In my room I sit down with the big notepad. It has a few drafts of my house plans. These are the very last ones. Between the
slush in my locker and my temper when I wadded the last one up, I’m down to just three of them. I smooth the pad with my hand and feel weirdly remorseful over all the ones that got destroyed. I get the pencil from my desk and add an addition to the back of my dream house. It’s a big play area with padded walls and lots of drums and sliding boards. If possible, it should have soundproof walls. It’s a dumb thing to do, but it makes me feel good to think that Preston will feel at home when he comes to stay with me someday in my imaginary house.

  Mom and Dad come home. I hear them talking to Paige, and I feel a little nervous. I’m still grounded. The one grounding has just kind of morphed into an ongoing punishment. They didn’t address my cutting school with a specific punishment, because there is nothing left to take away. Did I overstep? Was I wrong to think they wouldn’t stop me? Will they make a fool of me in front of Raye, with Paige laughing at me? I’m starting to wish I hadn’t been so confident when I told Raye that I could get out tonight.

  At four-thirty, I put on my favorite jeans and a pink Old Navy perfect-fit T-shirt, layer it with a white cashmere sweater, pull my hair back into a casual knot, and put on just a dab of lip gloss. Raye and I have nothing but disdain for people who dress up to go to the mall. Girls who put on red lipstick complete with lip liner to stalk the mall for boy-prey.

  Raye pulls up at exactly five. I walk downstairs. My parents are in the kitchen, sounds like they’re fighting again. I clear my throat a couple of times. This won’t work if I sound nervous.

  “I’ll be home by ten,” I call in to them.

  “Have a good time, honey.”

  Okay, my feelings are mixed about this. Relief that I’m getting the crap out of here, confusion, disappointment that I didn’t try this earlier. Was getting out of being grounded as easy as walking out the door?

  33

  In my pocket, I have my cell, the bronze lip gloss, and one of Mom’s deposit slips, carefully folded. In the other pocket, I just have my house key. I ought to carry a purse, I guess.

  Raye doesn’t even ask me why I need to go to the bank. She just pulls up and starts fiddling with the radio before I’ve even opened the door to get out.

  I go up to the ATM and try to remove all of Kyle’s money. The machine will only let me take out five hundred dollars. That means I’ll have to come back to the bank three more times. The cash comes out fast, crisp. I hold the bills in my hand. All these twenty-dollar bills. I have never had this much cash in my possession before in my life.

  I hold it for several minutes. Mostly nobody in the bank notices me, though the young guy who was behind me at the ATM is kind of staring at all the money in my hands.

  The deposit slip is already filled out, so I have to scratch out the $1970 and write in $500. I don’t have to sign it because I’m not withdrawing any money.

  I hand the cash to the teller. The line is long because it’s Friday night, so lots of people just got their paychecks, but that’s actually good, because nobody pays any attention to me.

  “Do you know that your account is overdrawn?” the teller asks.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. I don’t know what else to say.

  Raye is on her cell when I get back in the car, but as I’m buckling my seat belt, she snaps her phone shut and puts it in her purse. “Campbells Lane Mall, here we come,” she says.

  I look out the window at an empty field that will soon be a row of stores. Someday when I’m old I might tell my children how I remember how the whole area around the mall was just fields and barns and stuff. And they won’t care.

  Despite the Friday-evening traffic, we arrive fairly quickly and get a magically close parking spot.

  “Any luck with your dad?” I ask her.

  “No, he just wanted to talk about spring break. I’m supposed to spend it with him, and he wants to take his girlfriend to Europe or something.”

  “Oh. Did you ask him about . . . ?”

  “No. Maybe after his dumb spring break trip he’ll feel guilty and want to donate to the Rachel Tannahill college fund. You never know.”

  We walk into the mall and toward the food court.

  “Raye, I need to go to Victoria’s Secret,” I tell her.

  “Good lord, Parker. You don’t have to have a matching bra for every single pair of panties you own. Really.”

  “I don’t need panties or a bra.”

  I remember the way he looked at me when he asked if he bought me something lacy and see-through if I would wear it. Should I wait for him? I know I should wait. But if I buy something on my own, he’ll give me that surprised look, that slow appraisal. I want that.

  “Okay, well, you don’t have to have a different pair of pajamas for every night of the week either, especially with Paige cutting your closet space in half.”

  “I don’t need pajamas, either.”

  Raye looks at me. “All right, then, but I reserve the right to veto your purchase if it’s too sleazy. No fishnet, no mesh, and no edible panties.”

  “Um, Raye, I think you’re thinking about Frederick’s of Hollywood. I don’t think Victoria’s Secret sells edible panties.”

  “Whatever.” She makes a face at me, and I laugh.

  Most of what they have in Victoria’s Secret are bathrobes and white lingerie appropriate for a wedding night. Not exactly what I was looking for.

  “Maybe I do need to go to Frederick’s.” I hold up a purple see-through nightie with matching G-string panties. “At least these match.”

  I know Raye is rolling her eyes, even though she is standing behind me shuffling through the panties.

  “Oh my.” I look up into the always-admiring gaze of Zara Thorpe. “Oh my, Parker. Wow. I’ve got to say I’d put my money on you over Kandace any day.”

  “Are we in competition?” I ask in my coldest voice. Zara blinks at me. I feel Raye behind me.

  “So you guys aren’t going to the party tonight?” Zara says.

  “We aren’t really into the party scene.” Raye glances at me. The party scene was Paige’s scene. It turned her into someone who drinks Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle in the middle of the day. She had more fun in high school than I’ll probably have my entire life, but I know when I don’t belong.

  “What party?” I ask.

  “Some girl from school whose parents are out of town,” Raye says.

  “Were we invited?” I ask.

  Zara shrugs. “I wasn’t officially invited. Don’t know if it’s that sort of thing. I do know that there were whispers among Kandace’s friends about something big planned for tonight.”

  “Aren’t you one of Kandace’s friends?” Raye asks.

  “Kandace and I are friendly”—Zara smiles—“but that doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly with you and Parker. It isn’t like we’re dating or anything.” She smiles at me. She has dimples. “I think Kandace’s whole trying-to-get-a-guy-who-isn’t-into-her thing is just pathetic, especially when the guy is in a relationship. But she can’t seem to let it go. I hear Ellen and Marion are staging some kind of intervention. Should be funny, if nothing else. She would absolutely die if you were there to witness her humiliation.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re heading over there as soon as I’m done here.” Zara takes the purple negligee from my hands. “Are you going to buy this? Because if you aren’t I think I’ll take it.”

  “There’s a whole rack of them over there.” My voice is still cold. I want Marion and Kandace and all of their friends out of my life.

  “Yeah. I think I’ll take this one.” She gives me a lopsided smile and takes the ensemble to the checkout girl. A couple of minutes later Zara saunters out of the store, giving us a little wave.

  “What, does everyone in school have the hots for you now?” Raye sounds bothered. More than that, she almost sounds jealous. “Ian called and told me about the party. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Your opinions about what and who I would b
e interested in have been a little bit askew lately.” My voice is still cold. I grab another little lacy number from the rack, double-check that it’s really a size XS—sometimes they put them on the wrong hangers—and hand it to the cashier.

  “Wow, did I see crotchless panties on that number?”

  I laugh. “Get your mind out of Fredrick’s of Hollywood. You know they don’t sell crotchless panties at Victoria’s Secret.” The ice is still between us, but it’s cracked a little. “You know where this party is?”

  “Ian’s there. I can get directions.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “No mall pizza?”

  “You want to eat it in your car?”

  Raye sighs. There is no way she’s letting mall pizza be eaten in her car.

  “Okay, we’ll just grab a few cookies.”

  In the car, loaded with cookies and iced cappuccino, I turn to her. “Raye, I hope we can get things back to where they were before, that we can talk about anything and everything again. The worst part about being grounded is never getting to talk to you.” She doesn’t say anything, and there is silence for a long time. She takes a drink and puts the cup back in the cup holder.

  “It’s all so stupid, isn’t it?” she says finally.

  “What?”

  “Oh, high school and everything. The first day I met you, you were almost crying because those guys were teasing you, and it was just because they thought you were cute. You hate attention, that’s a given. But I like it, okay? I like to get some attention at school and when we go out. I’m kind of jealous of you, Parker.”

  “Why would you be jealous of me? You have cool hair. You can dance in public. You can say anything to anybody without the fear that you are going to freeze up and look like a moron.”