Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys

by Kate Brian

  Megan leaned back and took a deep breath. Apparently Sean was in a band. And the motorcycle had to be his. Maybe one day she would ask him about it. If a day ever came when she felt comfortable under that gaze of his.

  For now, finding a hiding place for her bras, panties, and tampons was a far more important priority. Megan ignored her grumbling stomach, turned away from the kitchen, and trudged back upstairs.

  From: Kicker5525@yahoo.com

  To: TooDamn-Funky@rockin.com

  Subject: Boy Guide

  Megan Meade’s Guide to the McGowan Boys

  Entry One

  Observation #1: When they’re beautiful, they know they’re beautiful.

  Like the second-to-oldest one, Evan. He’s a senior. He is perfection personified. And he knows it. You can tell because he just sort of smiles knowingly when you gape at him. Not that I’ve been gaping at him. Not at all. Anyway, too soon yet to tell if it negatively affects his behavior. (Like Mike Blukowsi and his Astrodome-sized ego problem.)

  Observation #2: They like skin.

  Especially skin they think they’re not necessarily supposed to be seeing. Like the space between your belly tee and your waistband.

  Observation #3: They have no problem bringing up events that would mortify me into shamed silence if the roles were reversed.

  Like Evan totally brought up the wiffleball bat incident, when if that had happened to me, I’d be wishing on every one of my birthday cakes for everyone to forget it.

  Observation #4: They gossip.

  Can you believe it? I overheard Finn and Doug in the backyard talking about some girl named Dawn who blew off some guy named Simon for some other guy named Rick for like TWENTY MINUTES! They sounded like those old mole-hair ladies at Sal’s Milkshakes. ’Member the ones who lectured us for a whole hour that day about how young women shouldn’t wear shorts? Wait, okay, I got sidetracked.

  Observation #5: The older ones are so cute with the younger ones.

  They were playing ultimate Frisbee when I first got here and Evan totally let Caleb and Ian tackle him. It was soooooo cute. **sigh**

  Observation #6: They’re cliquey.

  I mean, eye-rolling, secret-handshake, don’t-talk-to-us-unless-you’ve-got-an-X-and-a-Y cliquey. Very schooled in the art of the freeze-out.

  Observation #7: They have no sense of personal space.

  I need a lock on my door. STAT.

  Observation #8: Boys are icky.

  Do not even get me started on the state of the bathroom. I’m thinking of calling in a haz-mat team. Seriously.

  Observation #9: They have really freaky things going on down there.

  Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready to elaborate on that one yet.

  Observation #10: They know how to make enemies.

  Big time.

  Two

  “Yo, dorkus! Pass the Cocoa Puffs!”

  “What the? Who drank all the orange juice?”

  “Coffee’s ready! Who wants?”

  Megan walked into the kitchen, noted the mayhem at the breakfast table, and joined Regina at the center island, where the coffee was brewing.

  “Good morning, Megan!” Regina said brightly. She glanced at Megan’s outfit—army tee and frayed boy jeans—and her smile became slightly strained. “You look . . . comfortable.”

  “I am,” Megan replied. “Mind if I have some?” She gestured at the coffee.

  “Please! Feel free,” Regina replied. “This is your house now.”

  Actually, I think this house belongs to the crazies at the table, Megan thought, reaching for the pot. She couldn’t believe that after everything the younger McGowans had done to her that morning, they were all just crunching away at their cereal, totally guilt-free. They didn’t even seem worried that she would tell. Maybe they could just tell that Megan wasn’t the tattling type.

  “Listen, Regina . . . did I really take Doug’s room?” Megan asked, lowering her voice.

  “Why? Is he torturing you about it?” Regina asked.

  “No, it’s just . . . I don’t want to put anybody out.”

  “Please don’t give it another thought,” Regina said, touching Megan’s hand. She leaned in closer and whispered, “Between you and me, Doug needed to be knocked down a peg.”

  Megan smiled awkwardly and filled her mug with coffee. Miller walked in and stood next to his mother. He held one arm straight down at his side and gripped his elbow with his other hand so that his arms formed a number four across his body. He looked down at the floor.

  What was his deal? Miller had yet to make eye contact with Megan since she had arrived. Megan knew what it was like to be awkward around strangers, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

  “Hey, Miller,” Megan tried.

  He didn’t answer. Trying not to feel slighted, Megan spooned some sugar into her mug from the sugar bowl. She was just going to have to accept the fact that this was not her morning. She added a little half-and-half to her coffee and stirred.

  “That doesn’t go there.”

  Megan looked up. Miller was staring at the half-and-half carton intently and gripping his arm even more tightly than before. Regina had her back to them now as she dug through the refrigerator.

  “What?” Megan asked, her heart thumping.

  “That doesn’t go there,” he said again. For a split second his eyes actually rested on Megan. It was the first time she had seen them. They were a clear, sharp blue. “That doesn’t go there,” he repeated. “It doesn’t go there.”

  Megan’s pulse started to race. “I’m sorry. . . . What doesn’t go where?”

  “That doesn’t go there,” Miller said again, a severe flush rising from his neck up to his temples. His voice was growing more and more intense.

  Megan backed up a step. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”

  “Miller likes to keep all the bottles and cartons in height order,” Regina said, placing her hands on Miller’s shoulders. Her touch seemed to calm him a little.

  “That doesn’t go there,” he said in a more explanatory tone.

  “Oh . . . okay,” Megan said.

  She felt like every vein in her body was throbbing as Miller watched her intently. The items on the island were, in fact, lined up in height order, from the coffeemaker down to the pitcher of milk, the coffee canister, and the sugar bowl. Megan picked up the half-and-half carton, her hand shaking slightly, and placed it back in the space it had been in before, right between the coffee canister and the sugar.

  Miller smiled, satisfied.

  “Miller, this is Megan,” Regina said, leaning over his shoulder. “You remember we talked about Megan coming to live here, right? Did you say hello yet?”

  “Hello,” Miller said to the floor.

  “Hi,” Megan replied.

  “Did you know Joe DiMaggio holds the Major League Baseball record for the longest consecutive game hitting streak at fifty-six games?” he asked, glancing up briefly. “He set it in 1941 as a member of the New York Yankees.”

  Megan looked at Regina again, who nodded in an encouraging way. “Really?” she said. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Miller nodded and looked at his mother before focusing on the floor again and walking off toward the breakfast table. Megan suddenly had no idea where to look. What was that all about? And why did she feel so frightened?

  “Your parents didn’t tell you about Miller, huh?” Regina asked in a hushed voice.

  Megan swallowed hard and placed her coffee on the counter. “What about him?”

  “He has Asperger’s syndrome. It’s a form of autism,” Regina said. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Not really,” Megan said, turning to watch Miller as he talked with Finn. “I mean, I’ve heard of autism, but . . .”

  “It takes all kinds of forms, but basically it’s a social dysfunction,” Regina said, stepping up next to Megan. “With Miller, it’s a few things. First, he has to have things arranged just so or he gets agitated, which
you just saw. Second, he’s not great with new people, but clearly he likes you.”

  “He does?” Megan asked.

  “Usually he doesn’t talk to a new person for at least a week. With you it only took overnight,” Regina said. “Third, he’s incredible at math and memorization and he has a knack for stats. His particular obsession is—”

  “The New York Yankees,” Megan finished, glancing at the Derek Jeter jersey he was sporting.

  “Exactly,” Regina said with a nod. “You can imagine how my die-hard Red Sox fan husband feels about one of his sons worshiping the Evil Empire.” Regina chuckled. “Anyway, if you have any questions about Asperger’s or anything, Megan, just let us know. Miller is a great kid. He just needs a little bit of extra attention, that’s all.”

  “Got it,” Megan said.

  As Regina went about straightening the kitchen, Megan stood off to the side of the action, sipping her coffee. At the far end of the table, Caleb sneezed and Megan watched, surprised, as Doug lifted a napkin to the kid’s nose and helped him blow. Then he ruffled Caleb’s hair and got up to dump the napkin in the trash.

  Okay, so maybe he isn’t the devil, Megan thought. Of course, this didn’t change the fact that her blinds were never coming up again.

  Doug grabbed a mug from the counter and poured himself some coffee. Megan noticed that the leg of his jeans was heavily decorated. The entire thigh was covered in an intricate doodle of a female anime character with spiked hair and monster breasts nearly bursting out of her bodysuit. On the other leg was a tough-looking male character brandishing a sword. For ballpoint on denim, they were definitely works of art.

  “What’re you starin’ at?” Doug said, lifting his chin.

  “Nothing,” Megan said automatically.

  Doug looked down at his jeans and smirked. “Like what you see?”

  “Did . . . did you draw those?” Megan asked, trying to make some kind of overture.

  “No, brain drain, I let some other mo-fo draw all over my leg at summer school,” he said, scrunching his face up.

  “Doug! Language!” Regina said.

  Doug looked at Megan with clear disdain. “Yo, if you find any of my old Playboys in the room, jus’ let me know.” Then he walked out without a second glance.

  “Doug! Douglas Arnold McGowan! Get back here!” Regina called after him. “I’m sorry, Megan.”

  “It’s no problem,” Megan said.

  As she sat down at the end of the table and poured herself a bowl of cereal, she did her best to relax. Of all the guys in this house, Doug was the one who put her most on edge. She just hoped that if she stayed out of his way, he would stay out of hers.

  * * *

  “This is your school?” Megan asked, staring out through the backseat window of Evan’s rusty old Saab.

  “This is it,” Finn said. “Baker High in all its glory.”

  “Impressed?” Evan asked.

  “Well, kinda,” Megan replied.

  The building looked like something out of a Harvard brochure. It was an enormous, sprawling redbrick structure with an actual clock tower at the front corner. Huge, shady trees lined the pathways leading up to the main entrance and surrounded the grounds. Dozens of gleaming windows looked out over a babbling brook that ran along the back of the football field. The grass had been clipped so recently it could have been Astroturf, and a huge banner was strung at the top of the bleachers reading Baker High: Home of the Wildcats.

  Everywhere Megan looked, fresh-faced girls in pleated miniskirts squealed and hugged each other, gushing over their summer memories. A bunch of guys in maroon varsity jackets loitered on the steps in front of the double doors, checking out the scenery. Megan was relieved when she saw a group of girls in jeans walk by, one of them cradling a soccer ball. For a moment, she’d thought she had enrolled in Paris Hilton High.

  Evan parked the Saab with a screech of brakes and Megan popped her door open, shouldering her nearly empty backpack. All she had brought with her was her wallet, one notebook, and her soccer cleats, just in case she had a chance to use them. Looking up at the towering building nearly took the breath out of her. Her high school in Texas had been one story of stucco and chrome. This place looked like it had been responsible for the education of the nation’s forefathers.

  “Come on,” Finn said. “We’ll show you where the office is.”

  “Thanks,” Megan said.

  “You didn’t think we were gonna desert you, did ya?” Evan asked, walking backward a few steps and flashing that beautiful grin.

  Megan noticed the curious stares of more than a few girls as she walked up the front steps between Evan and Finn. Evan slapped hands with a linebacker type, promising to see him at lunch, and Megan smiled. Walking in with backup was better than walking in alone any day.

  “Hey! Strickland!” Evan called the second they walked into the cozy, trophy-case-packed lobby. “Wait up!” Megan and Finn paused. “Sorry, guys. I gotta do a thing,” Evan told them. “I’ll catch ya later. Good luck, Kicker.”

  Evan bounded down a few steps to catch up with his friends. Megan watched him until he reached them, unable to tear her eyes away. They were all athletic types and they were all watching her as Evan slapped hands with them and pounded their backs. When she noticed the attention, she turned away quickly.

  “Don’t mind him. He needs to greet his people,” Finn said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Most popular . . . most athletic . . . most likely to succeed?” Megan asked.

  “All of the above,” Finn said.

  As they walked the halls, Megan noticed that all the lockers were painted maroon and gold and that school spirit banners hung everywhere. Flyers on the walls urged students to sign up for everything from photography club to field hockey to Amnesty International.

  “Well, this is it,” Finn said, pausing outside a thick wooden door marked Main Office. “Don’t let old Betsy intimidate you. She’s just an unhappy human being.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Finn said with a half smile, lazily backing away. “Good luck!”

  Once Finn was gone, Megan stood in the hallway for a moment, taking it all in. A girl with curly red hair strolled by with her friends and shot Megan a curious but not unfriendly smile.

  Here I am again, Megan thought. New town. New school. Surrounded by thousands of new people. She could either let it break her or she could make the best of it.

  With a rush of sudden confidence, Megan squared her shoulders. She had done this before, many times. Of course, back then her parents had always been there to rally her when she got home from a bad first day, but she was older now. She could take care of herself. Megan turned on her heel and walked into the office. It was living with seven boys that was going to be challenging. A new school was a piece of cake.

  * * *

  The cafeteria was always the low point. At least in class everyone was all mixed up. Best friends were without their wingmen, cliques without their centers. But in the caf, it all came together. Everyone huddled at their predetermined tables and the new kid was more conspicuous than ever.

  Megan walked into the Baker High cafeteria armed with this knowledge and loaded down with more textbooks than any human or pack mule should ever have to carry. Her locker was on the opposite side of the building from every one of her classes, so she hadn’t had time to drop anything off. Her mind was spinning with the names of teachers and their assignments, and she was starting to realize that she might really have to bring all this stuff home every single day.

  Megan paused near the door and looked around. A few girls had introduced themselves that morning, but no one had made enough conversation to merit crashing their lunch table, and she certainly was not going to horn in on Doug, Finn, or Evan.

  She was relieved when she saw that just off the bustling minefield of the standard-issue, double-long tables was a quiet little courtyard dotted with old picnic tables and crooked benches. Only a few random loners sat ou
t there, away from the crowd. It was Megan’s utopia.

  After choosing a safe-looking deli sandwich, a bag of chips, and a soda from the lunch line, Megan backed through the courtyard door and dropped down at the first empty table.

  Shoulders slumped, brain tired, Megan slowly unwrapped her sandwich. All she had to do was get through a couple more classes and then she would be on the soccer field, where she really belonged. She only hoped that the secretary had been right this morning when she’d told Megan that the teams were still taking new-student walk-ons. Betsy didn’t seem to be entirely certain about anything except the fact that she was smarter than Megan and everyone else in the room. She had sighed whenever anyone had asked her a question, as if they should already know the answer, but then it had taken her ten minutes to look up the proper response.

  “Ah! Here it is!” she had announced, pulling a slip of paper from a folder on her desk. “Coach Leonard is the coach of the girls’ soccer team. The team has been practicing since August 20, but new students are welcome to try out. New students should report to the soccer field behind the school on the first day of classes for a tryout.”

  She lowered her glasses and looked at Megan smugly. “Hope you brought some sneakers with you, dear.”

  “Never leave home without ’em,” Megan replied, patting her backpack.

  Now her cleats were tied to the hook strap on her bag to make more room for her many books. She wondered if any of the girls from the team had noticed this in the halls—if they knew she would be coming to practice. She glanced through the window wall into the cafeteria, trying to pick out the girls on the team. Were they any good? Were they too good for her to make it?

  Megan had a sudden itch for one of her father’s patented pep talks. Too bad he’s a few thousand miles away, she thought, swallowing hard. She was not going to think about her parents. There were a couple more hours to get through and she couldn’t be wallowing now.

  The door behind her squeaked open and Miller walked out, clutching his tray. His eyes, as always, were riveted on the ground. He made a beeline for the table at the back-right corner of the courtyard, placed his tray down, and sat. He pulled a portable radio out of his black backpack and slipped the headphones over his ears. He happened to look up and saw Megan watching him. For a split second, neither of them moved.