Lock & West

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  Oh, man. Shake it off, Lock.

  “I’ve got Jack tomorrow,” I say. It’s not a lie, I really do have to watch him. Mom is going to some stupid conference out of town tomorrow and won’t be back until Sunday night. She’s asked my Aunt Jill to check in on us which makes me angry. She doesn’t think I can take care of him. Oh god, I ended on five. I’ve gotta find something else to—

  “Find a babysitter.” West says it like it’s the simplest of ideas.

  I guess it is, in a sense.

  “My mom would freak.” I’m scrambling for excuses now, distracted by the odd numbered things in this room.

  “So, don’t tell her.”

  “I can’t do that. That would be lying.”

  “So?”

  “So?” I take a breath. There’s got to be something to count. Maybe the pencils I have lined up beside my notebook.

  “So, lie. It’s easy.”

  “No, it’s not!”

  West stops, turning on me with the swell of the sea in his eyes. “If you don’t want to go with me, you can just say it.” He grins, leaning way too close. “I’m a big boy, Lock. I can handle rejection.”

  I gulp. This close, I can smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. What was I doing again?

  “I-It’s not…I don’t mean…There’s just…”

  West pulls away, taking the air from my lungs with him. “It’s just a party, Lock, not the end of the world. I get it.”

  He goes for the door but I’m not ready for him to go. There are still all these odd numbered things, and I can’t breathe right. “Okay!”

  West stops, looking back at me as my fingers fall to the hem of my shirt. Oh god, what did I just say?

  “Okay?”

  “Y-Yeah.” One thread. Two threads. Three threads. Four… “I’ll get my Aunt Jill to come watch Jack. Or something. I’ll figure it out.”

  West is smiling now, a goofy grin that makes my heart flutter in a way I’ve only experienced on roller coasters...and while watching Dr. Who.

  “That’s more like it,” he says. “I’ll pick you up. Be ready by seven?”

  I nod, unable to speak because my heart is about to soar out of my throat. What is going on?

  “Cool.” He gives me one last grin. “See you then.”

  “B-Bye.”

  West closes the door behind him.

  What the eff did I just do?

  I got it. I can’t believe I finally fucking got it. It’s not like I’m an idiot, but I was honestly starting to feel that way. Lock has single-handedly saved my ass with his wiz-kid status. I need to make sure he has fun tomorrow. Then again, he seems so sheltered. I get the feeling he may spend the whole night hiding in the corner.

  Eh. That’s Future West’s problem. For now, I’m just stoked there’s a half decent chance I’ll pass my geometry test. And it’s all thanks to Lock, with his adorable stutter and severe personality.

  Wait, did I just say adorable?

  Shit.

  I’ve dreaded this call all morning, but there’s no way I’m talking myself out of it. Aunt Jill will say yes, I just know it. If I’m being honest—which I always am—that’s what I’m afraid of. I’m terrified of what it means if I can go tonight.

  The phone rings twice before she picks up.

  “Hello, my little Lan.” Aunt Jill’s voice is sugary sweet. “I was just about to check in on you boys.”

  “Hey, Jill.” She refuses to let us call her “aunt” in fear she’ll finally be the old spinster Granny predicted she’d be. In her defense, Jill’s only got three cats. So far. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Name it. I live to serve.”

  “Well, you see, there’s this party tonight my friend is going to—”

  “Who’s the friend?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter? God, are you sure you’re my flesh and blood?”

  “I’m not. You and Mom were adopted.”

  “It’s an expression, Lan.”

  “Focus, Jill.”

  “Sorry, go on.”

  “Right. There’s this party I was invited to, so I was hoping you could maybe watch Jack?”

  “Mmm…” I can hear Jill click her teeth which means she’s thinking.

  My heart pounds in my ears. Chill, Lock. You’re going to have a stroke at sixteen.

  “Who’s driving?”

  “My friend, West.”

  “Will there be dancing? Dim lighting?”

  “How am I supposed to know—”

  “Will there be underage drinking?”

  “Most likely,” I answer. There’s no point in lying about it. I’ve seen the movies, so I know how this works.

  “If you drink, will you promise not to drive or get in the car with someone who’s drunk?”

  “I can’t drive, and duh. I’m not stupid.”

  “Okay, what time should I be there?”

  “I don’t—Wait, you’re saying yes?”

  “Uh, yeah dummy.” She laughs. “Were you hoping I was going to say no?”

  I kinda was.

  “N-No… I just—”

  “Jesus, you need to get out and live a little, Lan. In my honest opinion, you’ve had to be a grown-up for too long now. If you give me the chance to let you revert to your rebellious teenage glory, even for just one night, I’m in. See you guys in an hour?”

  “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks, Jill.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure. I’ll bring the waffles!”

  The line goes dead with a click, and the reality sets in. I’m going to a party.

  God, what am I thinking?

  “Westley! I need you, please!”

  My mother’s shrill voice carries up the stairs, ruining my perfect Saturday morning.

  I haul my lazy ass out of bed—where it would have remained for another few hours—and drag it downstairs into the kitchen.

  Mother already has herself decked out in a little black dress straight from Saks Fifth Avenue and a ridiculously flashy necklace that blinds you when the sun hits it just right.

  Why’s she all dolled up?

  Knowing her hobbies, it’s a committee meeting to raise money for something that doesn’t really matter, like light bulbs for blind people or some stupid shit. Ignoring real problems is Mother’s forte.

  “What?” I ask through a yawn.

  “Jesus, West.” Mother shields her eyes. I’m surprised she didn’t say Westley again. It took months of pleading for her to even consider calling me something else. “Can you at least put some clothes on?”

  I look down. I’m wearing boxers like I always do. What’s the big freaking deal?

  “Did you need something?”

  “Your father wanted me to talk to you.” She doesn’t actually look at me, just keeps typing away on her tablet. She’s far too busy to address me directly.

  “And what exactly did the Old Man want to tell me that he couldn’t do it himself?”

  “Your father wanted to remind you that your grades aren’t at the level we expect from you.” She stops typing long enough to give me a bored look. “And that we’ll be gone over the weekend, so you are to be on your best behavior.”

  “When am I not?” I scoff, grabbing the jug of milk from the fridge. Mother makes a disgusted face as I drink from it.

  “I’m serious, West. Your father and I are this close to pulling you from that school.”

  That catches my attention. “You can’t do that.”

  “We can do as we please,” Mother responds. “And to be quite honest, I’m still trying to rationalize your reasons for staying in that place. Public school is so beneath you, Westley.”

  I cringe at the name.

  “Okay,” I give in, closing the fridge. “I’ll get it together.”

  “Be sure you do.” She’s back on the tablet, squinting because she refuses to wear her reading glasses. She considers them a sign of weakness. “Now, please go get dressed. Your sister will be here any mi
nute, and I don’t want her fiancé to see your ding-a-ling flopping around.”

  My pulse jumps. “What’s Claire doing home?”

  “She and Blake are staying for a few weeks so we can start planning the wedding. And they’ll be here in fifteen minutes, so I suggest you get moving. I’ll have Ingrid lay something out for you.”

  “I’m not twelve anymore. I can pick out my own clothes.” She cocks an eyebrow and I’m reminded of the fact that I’m currently lacking in the clothing department. “You know what I mean.”

  “Get ready, West. I’ve no problem leaving you behind, but it will upset your sister if you aren’t there.”

  “She’ll get over it,” I mutter.

  Claire is on my shit-list right now. I’m not sure I’m ready to see her. We haven’t spoken since the family vacation last summer. And as for her fiancé…

  “Make a decision,” Mother tells me, tucking the tablet under her arm before making her chilly exit. A shiver shoots up my spine, but maybe that’s just the fridge.

  Fine. I guess I’m stuck going to stupid brunch or whatever fresh hell they’ve arranged.

  My stomach growls as I head back up the stairs.

  Aunt Jill rolls in an hour and four minutes after getting off the phone with me.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She tosses me a bag of waffle mix, wheeling herself into the kitchen. “Now, get cracking with these eggs.”

  I hurry to move the trash can out of the way as one of her wheels bumps into it, threatening to topple the whole thing to the floor. Our kitchen isn’t the most accessible, but Jill never minds. Then again, she doesn’t let anything hold her back. She always tells me the accident gave her a chance to be fearless. I never understood how getting creamed by a drunk driver and having your vertebrae shattered is an empowering experience, but that’s Jill. She’s got silver linings for days.

  “Move it, my little Lan. Those embryos ain’t gonna mix themselves.” She pulls Mom’s Mickey Mouse waffle iron out of the cabinet, resting it on the stove. “Aren’t eggs weird? Like, who thought about eating chicken babies?”

  I shrug, gathering a mixing bowl and whisk. A powdery cloud rises into the air as I empty the bag, carefully cracking one egg after the other, counting the required amount. It asks for three, but I put in a fourth because I’m me.

  “Where’s my Jack-attack?” Jill asks after I’ve handed her the bowl of batter.

  “He’s watching cartoons,” I answer, washing the yolk from my hands. “I should let him know you’re here.” There’s no better duo than Jack and Jill. The two get into all sorts of mischief. That particular thought doesn’t make me feel any better about leaving them tonight.

  “Let him veg out,” she tells me and pours a scoop, Mickey’s face filling in with batter. “He’ll be even happier when there are waffles.”

  The lid on the iron closes, sizzling as the excess liquid pours from the side. Jill rolls back to the sink, and I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her from behind. My chin rests on top of her head.

  “Oh, Lan.” She pats my arm. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, taking in the familiar scent of strawberries and cream shampoo. At least that part of her hasn’t changed.

  It’s been almost two years since the accident. We were in Seattle when it happened. Mom flew down for a week. When she got back, she was hollow for a while. Mom always called Jill her joy. When the two of them were together, she brought the best out of my mother. Mom hasn’t smiled much since then. Especially now that Dad—

  “So, who’s West?”

  I release my hold on her, fingers finding the edge of my shirt.

  “A friend,” I tell her with a steady voice. And that’s the truth. He’s a friend. So, why is my heart racing at the mention of him?

  “Mhm…” Jill clicks her teeth, pulling one side of her chair to face me. “Does this friend happen to be cute?”

  “H-He’s a guy.”

  “And?”

  A silent moment passes, and the timer sounds. Jill turns away long enough for me to slip out before she can ask me more questions I can’t answer.

  But Blake Redding, the sorry excuse of a man who wrangled a ring onto my sister’s hand, takes the whole fucking cake. He hasn’t made it onto my list officially because it’s still a new loathing and he doesn’t deserve the headspace. That doesn’t make him any less insufferable. Nor does is erase what happened over our family’s summer vacation. But we’ve agreed to never speak of that again. Even though it would totally ruin—

  The table explodes with laughter, my father pinching his nose to keep coffee from pouring through it and onto his expensive looking dessert. I knock a strawberry off my own, using it to doodle in the chocolate sauce around the edges.

  “Goddamn.” Father wipes the end of his nose. “I haven’t laughed that hard since Hillary announced she was running for president.”

  Another round of snickering and I’m about 1,000% done. This has been the longest lunch in my entire life, and I have a party to get ready for.

  “Glad I could help, Bill.” Blake is beaming like he’s just hit the in-law lottery. He has, I guess. My parents are loaded. Like, stupid loaded. Like, I have a manager for my trust fund loaded. Like, I need wheelbarrows for all my privilege. You get the idea.

  “Claire, sweetheart.” Mother reaches across the table to take her hand. It seems like an endearing gesture, but I know she’s only sizing up the rock on her ring finger. The way her mouth twitches tells me she isn’t too pleased. “How’s your internship?”

  Claire’s been interning at the CNN center in Atlanta since her graduation last spring. She tucks a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear then gushes, “It’s going so well! And Blake just started his residency at Northside. So, it’s nice that he’s close by.”

  That’s right, the dickhead is a doctor. Just what I want when I’m dying. A pompous jerk who’s going to talk to me like I’m an idiot. Maybe he’s marrying Claire just to pay off those ridiculous student loans? That makes sense.

  “How exciting.” Mother smiles, releasing Claire. “When can we expect to hear wedding bells? I’ve got a selection of venues just waiting on the word.”

  “We were thinking sometime in the Spring,” Blake chimes in, unleashing all that southern gentleman charm. “When the weather—”

  My phone vibrates against my thigh and I immediately tune out. There’s a text from Claire.

  I look to my sister, her hands seemingly folded in her lap. That sly bitch.

  I try to be just as discreet.

  Claire coughs to cover a laugh.

  Another buzz.

  I snort.

  She’s not going there.

  Chels interrupts.

  Claire flashes me a look that almost makes me consider forgiving her for what she’s done. But then that talking orangutan she’s fucking opens his mouth and the urge is gone.

  Claire isn’t on my list. But maybe, one day soon, she will be.

  I’ve been staring at the mirror for half an hour, my reflection unchanging. I go over everything again—dark hair styled, shirt not too casual, my favorite pair of skinny jeans, and my church shoes because none of my sneakers seem to go with what I’m wearing.

  West texted me a few minutes ago to let me know he’s on his way. He lives over in Buckhead, so it’ll take him a while with traffic. Still, his arrival looms over me like a countdown to certain doom.

  A soft knock on the door and it swings inward enough to let me see Jill’s crimson hair. I pull it the rest of the way, leaning against the frame. Even though they don’t share a single strand of DNA, she gives me the same dewy-eyed look my mother used to give me.

  “Phew.” She lets out a whistle. “Look at you, little Lan. Ready for a good time?”

  “I feel like I’m going to puke.”

  “That may have been all the syrup from earlier.”

  I ignore her attempts to lighten the mood. “What am I think
ing? This is a horrible idea, Jill.”

  “Possibly,” she agrees, wheeling past me with little effort. “But a lot of great times start as horrible ideas. Lot of terrible nights too, I guess.”

  “That’s not helping.” My fingers dig into the edge of my shirt.

  Jill just laughs, settling herself beside the desk speckled with sticky notes, my ancient laptop, a pile of algebra worksheets from West’s tutoring sessions, and stacks of marked up sheets from my latest project.

  She pulls a sticky note from the pad, rolling it between her fingers as she chews words.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time your parents met?”

  I shake my head. What does that have to do with anything?

  “Mom doesn’t exactly talk about that kind of thing anymore.”

  Jill nods with a knowing expression. “I don’t blame her. However, it’s my job as the little sister to divulge all her secrets, so settle in.” She reaches over the rail of her chair to pat a spot on my bed. I take her invitation and sink onto the bedspread.

  “It was one of those nights that started with a terrible idea. Jenny came home one afternoon just pissing herself with excitement. Took me near an hour to get her to spill the beans. She’d managed to get an invite to one of the spring frat parties at Georgia Tech. Both of us were eighteen and incredibly stupid, so naturally, we rallied a group of our best gals, painted our faces, and hit the scene.”

  Jill grins, eyes growing distant, like she’s reliving that night. “I was terrified walking up to that house. I think we all were, except your mom. She was such a badass, sauntering right in like she owned the place. In five minutes, she’d shot-gunned three beers, incited a fight between two seniors, and done the worm on the dance floor in a miniskirt.”

  I can’t wrap my head around the picture of my mother Jill’s painting.

  “But when she saw your dad.” Jill looks at me. I focus on breathing steady. “No one else mattered. I swear, it was just like a movie, Lan. I was right beside her when it happened. Their eyes locked across the room, and I could feel the electricity in the air.”