Okay, biscuits are not exactly the big middle finger I wanted to give Bauer, but it’s better than nothing. “Do we know where he lives?”
“Yes,” Lin says. “Same street as my friend from gymnastics. And she can’t stand him—says he’s a cocky prick who gets away with murder all the time.”
My heart skips a beat. “Wait, you didn’t tell her we’re doing this, did you?”
“No. She called me last night to ask what happened, and she believes you one hundred percent. Nobody outside this room will know. Got it?”
We all put our pinkies in the middle and twine them together. When Vincent just sits there, we stare at him.
“Well?” I say. “Get in here.”
“Uh . . .” He wraps a long pinkie awkwardly around our conjoined ones, and we all laugh. Now it’s time to get ready.
We go all out with our disguises. Full black. Cheap, stretchy black gloves and beanies from the dollar shop, courtesy of Lin. Kohl eyeliner thick around our eyes. To pass the time, we turn off all the lights and shine flashlights, dancing to Kenzie’s cheer-dance mix.
At midnight, we go.
Vincent drives his own car, a black Honda coupe that will be less conspicuous than my big old minivan. I kind of love him for doing this. He takes control in a way that surprises us all and makes me feel like we’re strangely safe.
We get to the neighborhood—old money—big, classic houses with sprawling lawns and lush trees separating properties. The kind of houses with pools and gazebos in the backyards.
“That’s it up there,” Lin whispers. “She said it’s the one on the end, redbrick.”
The street is quiet and empty as Vincent makes a slow pass of the house. Bauer’s Jeep is parked in the driveway in front of the garage.
“They have floodlights at the corner of the garage,” Vincent says quietly. “It’s pointed toward the yard, so don’t set foot off the driveway or you’ll activate them. There’s one over the front door, too, so stay close to the Jeep.” He goes around the corner and parks, turning off the lights. “Don’t bump the Jeep in case there’s an alarm sensor. Be super gentle when you’re touching it.”
The four of us are nodding, and I know their hearts are beating just as hard as mine. Kenzie starts pulling the cans of biscuits out of the bag and peeling the paper, then smacking them against the dashboard to pop them. When she flinches and squeaks at the first pop, Vincent takes the others and opens them for us. We fill our hands. Since they’re not as cold as they’re supposed to be anymore, they’ve gotten sticky, and I can’t help but giggle at the glop in my gloved hands.
Vincent comes around and opens our doors as quietly as possible. We slip out into the darkness, dashing quietly along the side of the road, and crouching as we rush up the driveway. I’m so nervous I could puke. Seeing my girls on the move keeps me going.
We work fast. I think about this guy, this jerk, who believes he has a right to take what he wants from a girl and then make her feel like trash when she doesn’t want it back. I smear dough onto his back window and along the soft top wherever I can reach. I hear the gentle scuttle of my friends’ feet on each side. When our hands are empty, we huddle together, take one look at his Jeep, which now appears pockmarked and gross, and take off back down the driveway, whispering “Oh my God!” and trying with all our might not to laugh.
We sprint up the street, push our way into Vincent’s car, pull the doors closed slowly, and Vincent guns it. He doesn’t turn the lights back on until we’re at the next street, and then we fall back into our seats, howling with laughter, exhilarated and wholly entertained. Vincent grins silently as he drives us back to Kenzie’s, and we rehash every single detail of our mission.
“I just wish I could see his face tomorrow,” I say. “Biscuited by four psychos and a thug.”
Laughter. So much we can hardly breathe.
And in that moment I’m happy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Saturday Afternoon
Thankfully Saturdays are super busy at work, which makes the day fly by, and the college girl I work with is nice. But I’m still on edge, staring out at people walking by, jumping at loud male voices that pass.
Lin messages us halfway through my shift, including a link. OMG, look!! #success.
The link takes me to one of Bauer’s pages, which is public, and his message is clear: Whoever fucked with my car, I will find you and you will pay.
I cover my mouth to hold back a squeal of delight because Mrs. McOllie is in the back room. We’ve made Bauer seriously mad, and that’s all I could have hoped for. I wonder if he cleaned the dough off himself or if Mommy and Daddy did it for him. Did it leave grease marks that had to be scrubbed? Does he feel violated? I want to ask him how it feels to have someone touch something of his without permission. How it feels to be completely disrespected. I know two wrongs don’t make a right and yada yada, but I have no regrets.
Still . . . I hope he never finds out it was us.
My good mood is ruined an hour before I’m supposed to get off, when I get a text from Dad: Can you and Zeb come to the restaurant for dinner around 4:45 before the evening rush starts?
I feel my lips curl into a scowl. Just the thought of seeing him makes me want to dive into my bed and cover my head with blankets. It takes me twenty minutes of deep breathing, pacing around the store, before I can text him back.
OK.
Great! See you then.
I’m tired when I get off, and I know it has everything to do with not wanting to see Dad. Then again, I feel tired a lot these days. When I pass the food court as I’m leaving, I hear my name being called and look over to see a huge group of Peakton kids. Basketball players and step teamers, and I see Joel and Kwami among them. I can’t help but smile.
“Look at you, lookin’ all cute,” says Destinee, head of the step team. She motions to the skirt and blouse I’m wearing with flats.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I like the purple in your braids.”
“Aw, you’re too sweet.” She waves off the compliment. “You coming to Quinton’s tonight?”
Quinton is our basketball point guard. He’s so good that college scouts came to nearly every game this season to watch him. Quinton turns when he hears his name, and he looks me up and down with those watchful eyes. He’s all wiry muscle. He gives me a wink and a nod, and I smile.
“Bring your girls,” Destinee says. “We gonna light it up.”
“All right,” I tell her. “Thanks.”
She turns back to the other girls and I glance at Joel, who’s watching me. I go to him and get close enough to catch the scent of his cologne, which smells so yummy I rock back on my heels and have to clear my throat. I quickly check myself.
“Hey,” I say to them.
“Hey,” Joel and Kwami both say back.
“How many cigarettes have you smoked today?” I tease.
Joel rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. “’Bout a hundred.”
Kwami laughs. “Man, you a damn liar. You ain’t had one.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed.
He gives a cool shrug. “It’s a recreational vice. I’ll kill a pack at the party tonight.”
“Will you?” I ask. “That’s sad.”
“Don’t cry,” Joel parries.
I roll my eyes and take out my phone to text Lin about the party.
“Your girl Meeka gonna be there?” Kwami asks me.
“I don’t know. She’s not really my girl.”
“For real? Y’all cheer together.”
“I know. We get along all right, but we don’t talk much.”
“Why you want that girl?” Joel asks him. “She thinks she’s too good for you.”
This prompts playful bickering between them. I ignore their conversation and respond to Lin, working out details about getting ready at her house. Then I tell the girls I’m having dinner at my dad’s work.
“Why you frownin’? Fix your face.” Joel nudges my arm and I look at h
im, my stomach turning with all the emotions. I shake my head.
“I gotta go. I’ll see y’all tonight.”
Naturally Zeb is super excited when I get home, and even Mom is smiling to see him so happy. She kisses my cheek as we’re walking out the door.
“Try to enjoy it. Daddy loves you.”
Yeah, so much that he abandoned us for some other woman.
Dad works at a barbecue sports bar known for its ribs. I am kind of looking forward to the food. He used to bring home ribs every Sunday, and I miss that.
He’s waiting for us with two beaming waitresses at the hostess stand when we come in.
“There they are!” Dad’s smile is so genuine that for a moment I forget I’m mad at him, and I just want to run into his arms. I swallow and hold back, letting Zeb be the one to run forward and hug him. I keep my arms at my sides when he gives me a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead.
Dad proudly introduces us to the two waitresses, who fuss about how adorable we are, and then he takes us to a booth. One of the waitresses comes over, a brunette probably in her midtwenties, still smiling.
“Zae, Zebby,” says Dad. “This is Jacquie. She’ll be taking care of you.”
“Hi, guys,” says Jacquie, overly chipper. “What can I get you to drink? Wait, let me guess.” She points to Zeb. “A chocolate malt.” Now me. “And a root beer float?”
Those are our all-time favorites. Zeb bounces in his seat and we look at Dad, who laughs. He must have told her before we came. It annoys me for some reason. Like everyone at his work thinks he’s Father of the Year or something.
“Actually,” I say, “I just want a Coke.”
The waitress’s smile falters, but she recovers quickly. “Sure. Be right back.”
Dad gives me a funny look. “Too old for a float now?”
I shrug, even more annoyed because I really want that stupid float. Jacquie comes back to drop off two trivia remote boxes, still looking us over with that big, pretty smile, then leaves again.
Dad rumples Zeb’s hair. “Get whatever you guys want. I’ve got a few phone calls to make—a waiter called in sick right before you got here—but I’ll be back.”
We busy ourselves with trivia, watching the big screens and answering with our remotes. One of the bar back guys passes us in a black apron, carrying a black bin, and he catches my eye, faltering. I blink in recognition. It’s Elliott Fields from English class, the lanky, camo-wearing break-dancer. His hair, like pale-yellow straw, is sticking out from the sides of his restaurant-issued hat.
“Hey,” I say.
He holds the empty bin against his waist. “How you doin’, Zae?” He glances toward the doors where Dad went. “You know Xander Monroe?”
“He’s our dad.”
Elliott looks between Zeb and me, nodding, and his face seems to register something that he doesn’t say out loud. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he want to tell me that Dad’s a jerk? It seems like he’s nice to his employees, but Elliott’s expression makes me wonder.
Jacquie brings us an appetizer of fried onion straws with special sauce, and Elliott backs away, giving me a wave as he goes to clear a table.
I get ribs and Zebby gets a giant burger. Dad is able to steal ten minutes to sit down with us while we eat. I’m thankful because I know my brother needs this. And the food is amazing.
When Dad gets up to deal with a problem in the kitchen, I go to the restroom. More people are starting to show up now. Happy hour. We can’t stay much longer. When I come out of the bathroom, there’s a huge group at the hostess stand, so I go around the other way to get back to the bar. I’ll have to cut through the waitress station, but Dad won’t care.
As I’m passing the registers in the server alley I spot Dad through the window of the swinging door, in front of his office. He’s standing close to our waitress, closer than is appropriate, gazing down at her. I stop and frown. Her head is tilted up to him, still with that smile, and she puts her hand on his arm. Everything about them screams intimacy and closeness. My heart rips. My throat dries and I can’t swallow.
It’s her. Jacquie. She’s the other woman.
“Yo, you okay?” The soft voice is Elliott, right beside me. He glances through the door and blanches as he sees what I saw.
I try to say I’m fine, but it comes out a dry croak.
My face flushes with heat under his gaze, followed by a sickly cold feeling. I turn from his worried face, dizzy, and find my way back to the booth in a fog. I grab my purse. Zeb is staring up at the trivia screen, biting his lip, ready to answer.
“It’s time to go,” I tell him in a trembling voice. “Say bye to Dad.”
“Huh?” He doesn’t look away from the screen.
“Zeb!” My shout gets his attention. “It’s time to go. It’s getting busy. They need this booth.”
“Aw, man.”
My dinner is pressing its way back up into my esophagus, and I feel hot. It’s too loud in here. I can’t get her smile out of my mind. The smile of a woman without major worries. I haven’t seen Mom smile like that in over a year. I nearly jump out of my skin when Dad and Jacquie are suddenly there.
“How was everything?” she asks brightly.
“Great!” Zeb tells her.
I fumble for my drink and suck down the last dregs as an excuse not to look at them. I can feel their presence, these two smiling people who now live together happily, while Zeb, Mom, and I are brokenhearted in our crappy apartment.
“Were your ribs okay, Zae?” Jacquie inquires.
I cannot look at her. My cloudy eyes go to Dad, but I can’t focus.
“Can I get some money for gas?” I ask, even though I have a pocketful from my paycheck.
He pats his back pocket and frowns. “I’m not sure I have any cash. I can run to the ATM—”
“No,” says Jacquie, reaching into her apron. “Is ten enough?” She holds it out to me, but I recoil from it, shaking my head.
“Zae, what’s wrong with you?” Dad asks.
I slide out quickly, forcing them to move aside. “I don’t feel good. I have to go.”
I rush away, hoping Zeb will follow me through the crowd of loud talkers, holding drinks, completely unaware of the girl who is roiling with disgust and betrayal.
I sprint through the parking lot and lean against the minivan with both palms, my head hanging down, trying my hardest not to cry or barf. I can’t get the image of them out of my mind or the injustice of it all. He should be looking at Mom like that, not her.
“Zae!” Dad’s voice makes me stand and blink. He stops in front of me, his face pinched with worry. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Go back in with Jacquie and don’t worry about me.” His worry slowly morphs to realization, and he pales. His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I fling open the door and climb in. Dad slowly backs away, looking unsure. I see in the side mirror that Zeb comes out and hugs him one last time before getting in the minivan with me. I don’t look at Dad again. I just drive away the second Zeb closes the door, hoping Dad enjoys his new life without me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday Night
While I was at dinner, Lin and Monica went bowling with Parker the gymnast and a few of his Garrison friends. Bauer was not there.
I try to be happy for her, but I’ve got a pit in my stomach that won’t go away. I’ve been sitting at our tiny dining room table, zoning out since Zebby and I got home. I swear, I never used to be this negative and pissed off at the world. I hate feeling this way, but I don’t know how to shake it. I can’t make Jacquie go away. I can’t get my parents back together. I can’t make boys be faithful. I can’t even make my own stupid heart not want Dean.
“I was thinking the three of us could go to church in the morning for Easter.”
I snap my head up to where Mom is standing in the kitchen. Zeb is staring with a similar look of surprise from the couch. We haven’t gone to c
hurch in years.
She goes on. “I’ve been hearing things about that one by the mall. It’s supposed to have really good music.”
Zeb looks at me, as if I can fix this.
“We don’t have to go to Sunday school, do we?” I ask. The thought of being in a small room with other kids I don’t know, probably the only one who doesn’t have Scriptures memorized, terrifies me.
“No, no,” Mom says. “Just the regular service. It doesn’t start until eleven, so you’ll have plenty of time in the morning. I’ll get home by ten twenty and we’ll leave at ten forty.”
If I wanted, I could refuse. I could get out of it. But then I think of Dad and Jacquie, all happy together, and I don’t feel like I can deny Mom this one small request.
“Okay.” And while we’re playing nice, there’s something I need to ask her that I’ve been putting off. “Hey, Mom? Um . . . tryouts are in May, and they’re requiring a roundoff back handspring. Could I, maybe, take a few lessons?”
Her entire face sags, and my heart drops with it. I know she cannot afford it, especially now. “I’m working,” I say. “So I can maybe pay half? And we can talk to Dad about pitching in.”
“Honey, things are so tight right now. One month of lessons last year used up months of our savings.”
“I know. Just . . . never mind. I need to get ready.”
She exhales as I stand to go. I don’t know what I’m going to do about cheer. The move isn’t something I can practice on my own. I need someone strong to spot me. I know it’s dumb, but I have an irrational fear of landing on my head. I have the best jumps on the squad. My motions are tight and I can dance my ass off. I’m one of the strongest bases, and I’ve never let a flyer fall, even if it means getting a black eye and minor concussion. But tumbling has always been my weakness. I can’t believe it’s come down to this. What am I going to do? Who am I if not a Peakton cheerleader? Every time I think about it, I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.
In the bedroom, I stare up at my Eiffel Tower poster, then let my eyes wander over images of the Irish Cliffs of Moher and Egyptian pyramids. What would it be like to get away from all this? To go far away and experience an old-world culture? Even my far-off dreams cannot unroot me from my troubles right here, right now. I take out my phone and scroll, then stare at Dean’s number for a long time. Then I take a deep breath and text him. Party tonight at Quinton’s.
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