Rule #9

by Sheri Duff

  #

  I hum, waltzing around the consignment shop. The beginning of my three weeks in hell with my dad, his new bride, and the old guy—and I hum.

  “Stepmom must not be too bad,” Gaby says.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I straighten the scarf on the mannequin—while humming.

  “It’s a boy!” Gaby’s voice bursts. “Not that little jerk Blake?”

  “No.” I smile.

  “It’s about damn time.” She claps her hands together.

  “Oh, stop. It’s not a big deal. I don’t even know if I really like him.” I take the hat off the mannequin. “Any cute sandals come in?”

  “You can’t fool me. The last time you dressed that mannequin, you were all angry. I liked it. Not you being all angry. I liked the outfit. I liked how you let your feelings out. And I sold the entire ensemble to an angry girl who had been dumped. Everything but the boots; they weren’t her size. Lucky for me.” She clicks the boot heels together; she’s wearing them over a pair of skinny jeans. Then Gaby continues scrutinizing the outfit I’m working on. “Looking at this, you really like him.”

  “I don’t know how you can tell that from an outfit.” I finish with a silver bracelet that has hearts dangling from it.

  “Trust me,” Gaby says. “I can.”

  I straighten the outfit, and then head to the back of the store to organize the shoes. The bells on the door ring. I look at my watch. Six forty-five p.m. Fifteen minutes and Gaby will change the sign to “Closed.” But Gaby will let this customer stay as long as they want. I don’t like leaving Gaby alone at night, so I’ll stay too.

  “Aren’t you a handsome thing.” Gaby says this to every boy who’s drug into the store by his mother. I wait for Gaby to pull out a box of trucks and lead the child into an area that she has blocked off for kids. I imagine the boy’s face lighting up. The mother can now spend more time in the store and hopefully more money. And Gaby won’t worry about the kid destroying the store.

  I don’t hear the rattling of the box. I can’t see because I’m sitting on the floor pairing the last of the shoes. I do see two enormous feet stuffed in athletic shoes beside me. I look up. Jack towers over me. He hands me a small box wrapped in pale blue wrapping paper. He sticks his other hand out. I grab hold and he pulls me to my feet. The side of my face bumps his chest. I smell the menthol soap and tropical shampoo. He’s wearing long basketball shorts and a matching loose sleeveless Stallions athletic shirt. There’s no doubt the boy works his biceps.

  I move my eyes and survey the pale blue box. “For me?” I shake it.

  “No, for me.”

  I stop shaking it and hand the box back to him.

  “Why, thank you.” He takes the wrapped gift back. “When are ya off?”

  “She’s off now.” Gaby dims the lights, switches the neon sign off, and grabs the bank bag. Jack and I follow her out the door.

  I hesitate outside of the store. “I swear, if you come back here and open back up alone, I’ll be pissed.”

  “I have a date.” Gaby smiles as she locks the bolt. She struts over to a black pickup and climbs in. I can see the outline of the man in the truck. He’s large, like his truck and the cowboy hat that covers his head.

  I lean back on the driver’s side of my car and Jack stands in front of me. I look around. There is not another car in sight. “How’d you get here?”

  “Lily brought me.” He flips the wrapped gift into the air.

  “And how did you know I’d be here?”

  “I saw the car. It does give you away.” He leans closer, and the coconut scent from his hair fills my senses, along with cinnamon gum. He taps the box on the top of my car, and then links his thumb into a loop on my jeans, which makes me wobbly.

  I clear my throat. “Edna does stand out.” My fingers rub the car door like she’s a pet.

  “Edna.” Jack looks right, then left of me, checking out my ride. “I like it. Wanna go out for coffee?”

  “You shouldn’t drink coffee during football.”

  “I don’t. Water for me. Vanilla latte, whole milk for you.”

  Oh, I’m sure my father loves him. I should stay away from this one. But how does he know my drink? I’m gonna kill Josh. Okay, maybe not.

  I look up and take a deep breath in. Exhaling may cause our bodies to connect. A chance I’m willing to take. And if he leans in a tiny bit more, our lips will have no other choice but to touch. Do I want the kiss? No, I don’t want the kiss. Arrogant boy, I remind myself. Cute but arrogant football player. Cute football player. Arrogant. I wonder what those lips feel like. Arrogant boy that my father would like.

  Or would he drive my father absolutely insane?

  “My truck’s in Kentucky.” Jack wraps his arm around me, and I’m ready to lean in. Then he opens my door.

  Does he think he’s gonna take over and drive? This won’t happen. Blake tried several times to drive Edna. Never happened. Jack waits for me to plant myself in the driver’s seat before closing the door. He grins, shuts my door, and then gets in on the other side. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. I drive to Pollywog’s with the wrapped box still staring back at me…and still no kiss. Not that I want one or anything.

  Josh eyes us over his glasses. He looks like Mr. Selke when he catches people texting in class. “Regular or decaf?” Josh asks.

  “Decaf and shut up,” I say. Something I would never say to Mr. Selke.

  Josh pretends he’s mad. His dry sense of humor took time to get used to. Now I know he’s messing with me most of the time, so it’s fun to poke back.

  “Jack? Water?” Josh asks.

  Wow, he’s so much nicer to Jack. Not that this bothers me. If Josh all of a sudden started treating me this way, I would actually think something was wrong. Jack and I hijack a table stuffed in a back cubby. It’s quiet unless the bathroom is busy or if people come in and out of the Pollywog’s through the back door. We sit across from each other. Jack pulls out the box and hands it to me. But he doesn’t let go.

  In his ornery voice, slow and deliberate, he says, “We’re gonna share this.”

  I stare at him.

  Think, Massie. Say something, Massie. Anything, Massie.

  I’m an idiot. Why do I let this boy do this to me? Friends share things. I share stuff with the girls all the time. Why should this be anything different?

  Because I want that kiss.

  Jack tears a piece off of one end of the box, his face all serious. I tear from the other side, keeping my facial expression tense, like his. We look like rich old people who never smile because they’re trying to look polished or something. That ends when we tug back and forth. A small smile appears on both of our faces. Finally a box of seventy-two Aristocrat colored pencils appears.

  They cost him a small fortune. They’re like my father’s treasured pencils, the ones I can’t use. I tried to convince my mom into buying me the same set over the summer. She refused because she thought I should take art classes first. I didn’t want my passion to become a chore.

  “So I can’t draw frogs. But I can draw trees, flowers, mountains—really, any landscape.” Jack plops a new sketchbook onto the table. I don’t remember seeing him carry it in.

  “They’re pollywogs, not frogs,” I say.

  “What’s the difference? They’ll turn to frogs one day.” Jack pushes the wrapping aside and takes out a charcoal-colored pencil from the box.

  “Okay, so what’s your point?” I open the book to the first blank page.

  “Don’t have one. I thought you might like better pencils, ones that blend better. That’s all.” The tip of his pencil touches the paper and that’s all it takes.

  Jack and I doodle on the same piece of paper. He talks and I listen. Jack has been drawing and painting since he was little. His mother gave him one of those plastic easels when he turned three, and he hasn’t stopped drawing since. “I draw more in the off-season. It calms me.”

  “Football player
s are not calm,” I say.

  “Football’s my release. When I don’t have it…” He pauses. “I don’t know where to let the anger out.”

  “Yeah, slamming your fist into an SUV at a wedding isn’t the best thing to do.”

  He looks embarrassed and I feel stupid for saying anything.

  “It was my mama. She…” He pauses. “We got into a fight. That all.” Jack looks down at his phone, and then stands. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow?”

  “Don’t you need a ride home?”

  “Nope.” He takes the sheet of paper we’ve been doodling on and rips it in half. He hands me a perfect lily; then he’s gone. He’s taken my doodle with him, a young pollywog sketching a football on a chunky easel.