by Julie Cross
I refuse to stand here and cry in front of Dad and Brody, so I let my inner teenage girl take over. “Why don’t you ask the responsible, nondrinking teenager in the room? He can fill you in. I’m going to bed.” I toss the beaded bag and both black heels onto the couch before stomping off to my room and slamming the door shut. Tears are already spilling down my cheeks as I shimmy out of Lenny’s dress and grab a T-shirt and flannel pants from my laundry basket to throw on. After I’m dressed, I flop onto my bed and bury my face in my pillow so no one can hear me crying.
The whole Dad-is-disappointed-with-me thing can’t even fully sink in yet because my mind is preoccupied with the fact that I kissed Brody and he turned me down—and now he probably knows exactly how I feel about him. I can’t have those secret thoughts about him without wondering if he can tell, if I’m giving something away in my expression. Those were my feelings to guard and protect and keep for only me, and now I’ve been sliced open and exposed. As much as I fantasized about Brody liking me back, I’m not sure I was ever ready for him to see inside me like that.
Is anyone ever ready for that? Is that what it’s like for Dad? Is it impossible to keep his feelings for Mom to himself even when hers are obviously not identical?
I groan. Why the fuck did I have to kiss him? Actually, why did Marie Conner have to kiss him? She’s the one to blame for waving my secrets out for Brody to see. She’s the villain.
I press my face harder into my pillow, rubbing tears and snot into the silky material. I hear the front door close and then shortly after my bedroom door opens. Dad comes in and sits beside me.
“Let me get this out of the way first,” he says quietly. He’s returned to Calm Dad at least. “You’re grounded for a month. No going anywhere except school, workouts, and whatever else isn’t fun, all right?”
I use my free hand to wipe the evidence of my sob fest from my eyes, but I still don’t roll over to face him.
His hand lands in my hair, moving it aside so he can see my face. “I’m not stupid enough to believe you’ve never done any drinking or been to parties where there’s drugs and alcohol. I didn’t worry because I know you’re too smart to do anything stupid. But using a fake ID and going into a public place where people might know who you are, Ann? That was pretty damn idiotic. You can’t pull shit like that again. You could have gotten away with it just fine in Arizona, but not here in Kansas City, not with my job now.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into the pillow.
Dad rubs my back, using the same circular motion between my shoulder blades that Brody had used to calm me down during the tornado sirens. My heart gets jabbed all over again. Brody’s always been kind to me, but not romantic. All of our interactions have evolved into so much more inside the confines of my imagination.
But not in real life. I’m just a girl he likes to keep an eye on. A girl he shares his secrets with, I can’t help thinking.
“Are you having some kind of crisis that’s causing you to go all wild and rebellious?” Dad asks.
I half laugh, half cry into my pillow. “You’re such a dork.”
“Seriously, Ann, talk to me.” There’s a plea in his voice, fear even. What is he afraid of? Me turning into an episode of Girls Gone Wild? I totally don’t have the boobs for that.
“It was just a stupid idea, that’s all.” I finally roll onto my back and look up at him. “Did you ever want to be someone else so you could do something you wouldn’t normally do? Maybe impress someone or—”
“Is this about a boy?” Dread fills his face, but he hides it quickly. “It is, isn’t it?”
I let out a breath. “Yeah, pretty much, but you have nothing to worry about because this particular boy does not share my feelings. I’m not his type.” I roll over on my side again.
“Boys are pretty stupid, Ann,” he says. “Not to sound cliché, but you’re smart and talented and often the young guys don’t want someone who’s going to make them think too hard or call them out on their own stupidity.”
“I don’t think that’s the problem.” I sigh and blink back more tears. It’s the humiliation of kissing someone who pushes you away that brings on the biggest tears. I hate looking like a fool or like a girl with a crush. Even if that’s exactly what I am. “I think we’re just different.”
The conversation is getting too awkward for Dad. I can practically feel him starting to squirm, and then he goes for his old-school fix-it Dad methods. He pats my leg and stands up. “Come on, I’ll make you an extra cheesy grilled cheese and a milk shake.”
I sit up and roll off the side of the bed. My legs are sore from the meet earlier. “Can we wake up Grams, too? You know how she loves milk shakes.”
He grins at me. “Sure, if you want.”
The story breaks on Sunday morning.
After spending Saturday in my pjs, moping around the house, drowning in my humiliation while the Royals played another home game, I’m woken early Sunday by Savannah.
“Annie, your dad told me to get you up,” she says, standing beside my bed.
The alarm clock on my nightstand reads 8:10 a.m.
“What’s going on?” I toss the covers aside and sit up. “Is Grams okay?”
“Grams is fine,” Savannah assures me before dropping the Sunday paper onto my lap.
The headline reads:
Royals Kids and Their Wild Ways: VIP rooms at downtown clubs, drugs, and alcohol are just the beginnings of the wild and cash-filled world these kids live in. A world where rules don’t apply, age isn’t a factor, and being part of a major league ball club gets you unimaginable perks.
Below the headline is a giant photo of me in Lenny’s sleazy dress. I’m standing inappropriately close to frat-boy friend of Carl’s. Lenny is off to the side in the picture, her lime-green dress and caramel skin standing out against my pale skin and gold sequins. She’s got her hands wrapped around the tie of the guy she’d danced with Friday night, his mouth practically touching hers. Then there’s Carl standing behind me, sandwiching me between two guys. I’m looking at Carl over my shoulder, our faces are unnaturally close.
And right in the center of the front page of the Sunday paper is Carl’s hand planted on my ass. The caption underneath the photo reads: Look at who is having a good time with Kansas City’s favorite celebrity kid, Carl London. And friend.
Nausea sweeps over me, and I lift my gaze to meet Savannah’s. “Oh my God.”
Her face is both tense and weary. “The Royals’ PR department wants to hold a press conference this afternoon. Frank called everyone this morning and told them to get over here right away so we can all sort through this and prepare a statement.”
My hands are shaking. “This is bad, right? Really bad?”
“You should probably get dressed,” she says, avoiding the question. “Mr. Johnson is coming by as well. He’s pretty upset.”
“The Royals’ owner is coming here?” I gulp a heavy breath. “Oh shit, this is bad.”
Chapter 14
Ten minutes is all I get before people start tumbling into our front door. I quickly brushed my teeth, tossed my hair into a ponytail, but left my tank top and flannel pajama pants on because the doorbell rang.
First Base and his wife enter the house, followed by a sleepy Lenny who’s also sporting some pajama pants and black-rimmed glasses instead of contacts. Carl has a clean-pressed polo shirt and khaki shorts on but his eyes are bloodshot. The smell of stale beer seems to have seeped through his pores as a result of whatever Saturday night adventure he engaged in.
Grams is watching TV, oblivious to the extra people and tension that have just invaded her Jeopardy marathon. “That Alex Trebek… He’s such a smart-ass. Someone needs to give him a kick to the groin.”
Dad is leaning against the fireplace, defensive stance holds him firm, his eyes zoomed in on Carl. I can’t decide if he’s more pissed off at me now that the photos are out or if he’d anticipated this already. Before I can ask him, Lenny nudges me down the hal
l toward my bedroom, shutting the door behind us.
“I swear I didn’t tell anyone where I got the fake ID from,” I say right away. Guilt has been eating at me all weekend. Dad went in search of a parent power trip yesterday and decided to take away my laptop, phone, and texting privileges for the weekend. He left me home alone with my phone (for emergencies only) during the game yesterday, so I totally could have cheated but I knew it would make him feel better if I was properly punished.
Lenny shakes her head. “Whatever. I could care less about that. This whole dragging everyone out of bed on Sunday morning is ridiculous. Carl and I have been in every tabloid in existence at one point or another, though this is our first time making the Kansas City paper, at least for something scandal-related.” She pauses like she’s thinking about whether or not that’s a bad thing. “It’s just Johnson and the big moral stick up his ass. We’ve been through four owners now since my dad’s been playing, and they all have different visions for the team.” She uses air quotes on the word visions. “He’ll catch on soon enough and get used to backing off and letting us have our way. Now back to the important stuff… What happened with Brody on Friday night? He shocked the hell out of me, going all alpha male at the club, and then you were both gone.”
My face heats up with embarrassment just thinking about the events that took place in his car. I glance at the mirror above my dresser and sure enough, my cheeks and neck are beet red. Lenny’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently for me to explain. I sink down onto the end of my bed. “You were so right about us, and I was such an idiot.”
“Let me guess,” Lenny says. “You crossed the kid-sister line, and it didn’t go over well?”
I cover my face and with my hands and groan. “It went terrible. I think I wanted him to feel the same as me so much that for a few seconds I made myself believe he was kissing me back, and then he had to practically pry my mouth from his.”
Lenny shakes her head. “Oh God. Not good. Not good at all.”
“The worst part is that I can’t even get pissed off at him or give him the silent treatment because he was infuriatingly polite about it, like he already knew his rejection would break me apart.” I drop my hands and squeeze the wooden footboard underneath me. “I hate that. I hate having him know what’s going on inside my head. It’s the worst feeling ever, like I’ve given him control or something, you know?”
She nods and pats my shoulder. “I think in the future, we’ll just stick to actually going through with the sleepover and the pizza and the ice cream because things get tragic whenever I take you out. No more dance clubs, shots of rum, and alter egos named Marie Conner, all right, young lady?”
I exhale. “Yeah. Good idea. And be sure to keep me from being alone in cars with hot boys who think of me as a kid sister.”
“Done.” She holds out a hand to help me up, just as Savannah is knocking on the door and calling us into the kitchen.
As Lenny and I walk back down the hall, we both take in six-year-old Lily seated on the couch with Grams, an episode of Good Luck Charlie now playing on the TV.
“Guess we have to be either unaware of reality or still writing letters to Santa to get out of this pre-press conference gathering, huh?” she whispers, nodding toward Lily and Grams.
I glance longingly in their direction, wanting nothing more than to curl up with Grams and watch hours of mind-numbing television and game shows even though I did that very same thing all day yesterday. “No kidding,” I mumble.
Both of us stop in the foyer before heading into the kitchen when the front door swings open and Brody walks in. He’s wearing gym shorts and a blue Royals T-shirt. He’s rubbing his eyes and his hair is adorably disheveled. He freezes when he sees us and then reaches up to smooth down his thick dark hair—which doesn’t do any good.
My face is hot again. My mouth falls open to speak, but no words come out. Lenny elbows me in the side and then says, “How did you get wrapped up in this scandal?”
He yawns and rubs his eyes again. “I’m not wrapped up in it. But Jim called me, thought it might help to tell my side of the story, so here I am.”
“Lovely,” Lenny says, rolling her eyes. “This is all a bunch of bullshit.”
Brody shrugs, but the casual body language isn’t completely hiding his anxiety. “Frank said Johnson is pretty set on taking some extreme action to redeem our image.” He also uses air quotes on the words redeem our image.
The three of us walk into the kitchen and take in the seating arrangements. Lenny’s three family members are taking up one side of the ten-person table. An empty chair lingers beside her mom. Her parents are completely stone-faced, hands carefully placed in their laps, neither of them touching the coffee mugs in front of them. Carl is between them, leaning on one elbow, like he might nod off any second.
Lenny stares at the open chair beside her mother, wrinkles her nose, and turns to me, “Guess I’ll be sitting with my kind for this meeting.”
Brody cracks a smile but tucks it away fast when Frank glares at him from his spot at the end of the table. Savannah is beside Frank. She’s already scribbling notes on a yellow tablet.
Since Dad is seated at the other end near First Base, I have no choice but to sit beside Brody. I drop into the chair closest to Dad, and Brody slides in beside Savannah. He reaches across the table and snatches a glazed donut from the box in the center. Savannah’s peace offering, I’m sure. Can’t have a morning meeting without donuts and coffee. Lenny swipes her mom’s untouched mug of coffee and takes a sip.
“Johnson decided not to come?” Brody asks Frank, sounding very hopeful.
“He’ll be here soon. We wanted to get a head start,” Savannah says, answering for Frank. She raises her head from her notes, opens her mouth to speak, but stops abruptly. We all watch as Carl removes a bottle of Visine from his pocket, tilts his head back, and squeezes two drops into each eye.
Frank rubs his temples, closing his eyes briefly. “Oh Lord, this is a nightmare.”
“What is this crap?” Grams says from the other room. “Where the hell is Mickey Mouse?”
“He’s at Disney World,” Lily answers as if that was a completely valid question.
Frank is now rubbing his chest with one hand and wiping sweat from his brow with the other. I watch him carefully for more signs of distress. He is really old, like fifty or sixty, and he’s got a big beer belly. Maybe we’re giving him a heart attack with all our drama.
“Mr. Johnson asked me to mediate,” Savannah says when everyone’s attention is back on the task at hand again. “I’d like to create a list of facts related to Friday evening’s indiscretions and from there we can decide what information, if any, we’ll convey to the media during the press conference and what nonfactual embellishments we can add to the story without it coming back to bite us later.”
“You mean lies?” Lenny asks. “What lies we can make up without getting caught?”
It’s a pretty strong statement, but her tone is flat and she looks more bored than angry or even curious. Sometimes I can’t tell what’s real and what’s an act with her.
I realize that Brody’s presence beside me is affecting me more than I’d like. My back is perfectly straight, my hands twisting in my lap. Like subconsciously I’m afraid allowing even an elbow or a loose hair to fall out of my personal bubble and into Brody’s will cause me to lose control and fling myself on top of him.
“It’s not about lying,” Savannah clarifies, “it’s about presenting a united front and a streamlined seamless story for the public to ingest. But right here, right now, it’s very important that I get the entire story with every detail so that we don’t end up with any surprises after this press conference takes place.”
“What I’d like to know,” Dad says slowly, making an obvious effort to keep his tone even, “is whether or not Jake London is aware of the fact that his son provided my daughter, and probably his daughter, with fake IDs?”
<
br /> I glare at him. “I never said where I got it.”
“See?” Lenny’s mom purses her lips. “You have no evidence.”
Dad’s arms are folded across his chest as he tips his chair onto the back legs. “That’s right, she’s not willing to rat out her source, but I have no doubt that your kid is behind this.”
First Base shrugs, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. “She didn’t have to take it from him.”
Dad keeps his eyes locked on First Base. “Annie knows that and she’s been grounded for a month. She’s not going to be hanging around clubs downtown for a long time. What I’m asking is, what are you going to do about your kids?”
First Base stretches and leaves his hands behind his head. “I’ve already paid off the kid Carl gets the IDs from. He won’t say a word.”
Dad looks over at Frank. “Are you hearing this?”
“Look,” First Base says, “we’ve never had any problems until you and your kid showed up. I don’t know about your parenting skills, but I make sure to cover all my bases. Carl and Lenny are permanently on the VIP lists at all the downtown clubs and bars. They don’t drive when they go out. We hire a car service. No drugs outside of the house or Carl’s room at the frat house. Lenny knows not to stay overnight with any guys. She can bring them home, just can’t go home with them.”
Frank swears under his breath, shaking his head. Mrs. London is frozen like she’s just had Botox injections and can’t move her face. Hell, maybe she has. And First Base isn’t completely informed: my first night out with Lenny, she drove her own car to that bar. But then again, she carted a beer around but never took a sip. And she was avoiding that dinner party.
“My family is the spokesfamily for good communication and high moral standards,” First Base adds. “They communicate what they plan to do, and I have someone go behind them and cover the evidence. My kids know their limits and from the looks of this front page article, your daughter isn’t exactly the picture of innocence. Juggling two guys at once? My guess is she’s been around the block a few more times than you’re aware of.”