by M-E Girard
“This must be Pen,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you. Is Pen short for Pencil?”
“Dad, are you serious right now?”
I let out a chuckle because I’ve never heard that one before. “It’s short for Penelope. But I don’t go by that.”
“Penelope doesn’t really suit you. I like Pencil,” he says. His hair is dark—almost black like mine—but his eyes and nose are definitely the same as Blake’s. “How was Blake’s band practice?”
“It was awesome. They sound pretty sweet.”
“Did they do ‘Heartless’?” He starts humming the tune, and singing a couple of lines.
“Dad, you’re making fun of me,” Blake says. “Which is not cool.”
“Blake!” Mrs. Austin yells from somewhere down the hall. “Laundry, now! It’s not my job to put your things away. Welcome to our home, Pen. Do you put away your own laundry? I hope you do.”
“I do,” I reply.
Blake gives me this face like, This is so messed up.
“Pen can hang out with me,” Mr. Austin says. “Do you want to prepare the bell peppers?”
Blake says, “She’s not going to do that.”
“No, it’s cool. I’m actually really good at it,” I say. “I help my mom make sauce all the time. I have to gut, like, seventy of these at once.”
“Really?” Blake gives me a funny look. “Okay then. I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Don’t say anything weird, Dad.”
I wash my hands. Mr. Austin calls me to the island, where he puts a bowl of peppers in front of me and hands me a fancy-looking knife. I push up my sleeves and get to work. The knife is sharp as hell. I’m used to our dull ones with wooden handles. It takes me five minutes to get all three red peppers cleaned out and rinsed. Blake’s dad places three zucchinis in front of me.
“Dice those up,” he says. I get to work, thinking about how this isn’t really awkward as long as I’ve got vegetables to mutilate. Blake’s dad slices tomatoes and runs his knife along the edge of each quarter in one quick motion, taking the thin layer of skin right off. I wonder if he has any idea I was sucking face with his daughter a few minutes ago and that I wish I was still doing it.
“So,” he says, “should I give you the same speech I gave the other guys?”
“Um . . . I don’t know—maybe?”
“Blake’s my little girl. Should you break her heart—well, you’ve seen how good I am with a knife.” He keeps his eyes on the carrot he’s currently dicing into little cubes. When I don’t reply, he looks up with a grin that makes it clear he’s joking, but underneath the joking, there’s a real warning.
I try not to grin. “I got it, sir.”
He nods. “Now, would you like to know my spaghetti sauce secret?”
“Totally.”
He pretends to whisper. “I use a jar of nacho salsa.”
I catch his eye and nod, wondering what Blake’s dad thinks of me, who he thinks I am. I think I could be anybody as long as it means I get to keep kissing Blake.
TWENTY-THREE
LATE THE NEXT MORNING, THE SOUND OF A TRUCK door banging shut outside my window calls my attention. I know that sound. The truck’s in the driveway as usual, except the flatbed’s packed with stuff that belongs in the basement. The black floor lamp, the full-length mirror, the little microwave, and the mattress and box spring.
I race downstairs to Johnny’s place, and run into Dom and Naveed as they finish unhooking the TV and carry it toward the patio door.
“What the hell? What’s going on?” I ask.
“Hey, Pen,” Naveed says, and they both stop in their tracks. “Your brother’s coming back down in a sec. He just made a trip up.”
Dom and Naveed head outside with the TV, while I scope out the place. The bedroom’s empty, and there’s nothing hanging in the closet. Nothing at all. Not even the shirts he didn’t like—the ones he left hanging there, clean and ready for me to pick through. The living room’s barely hanging on now that the TV’s gone. The Xbox, the games—they’re gone, too.
“Hey, man,” Johnny says as he parts the blinds to come inside.
“What are you doing? What is this?”
“Found a place on short notice, so you know . . .”
“You’re moving out?”
“Yeah. Not far.”
“You’re moving and you didn’t tell me?”
“You knew. Don’t be bustin’ my balls, Pen. You—”
“Does Mãe know? Does Pai?”
“What are you smoking, man? We were all there yesterday. It had to be done.”
“What’s wrong with you? You think you’re too good for this place?”
He’s just shaking his head, like he has something to say but he doesn’t want to say it now. He heads for the bathroom, where he starts chucking stuff into a box. The clipper—how am I going to keep my hair short? Dom and Naveed reappear and they go for the couch. I watch them carry it out, just like they did with the TV. It’s like all of a sudden, this isn’t my life. I feel like punching them, even though they didn’t cause this.
“Where are you moving to?” I ask, once Dom and Naveed are gone again.
“McKinley buildings. It helps to know the manager.”
“You got an apartment already? For real?”
Johnny steps away from the cupboard to look at me. “Pen, man, come on. Don’t get all bent outta shape. Just take a breath. I’ll tell you what the deal is.”
But I can’t even listen.
“It’s cool. I get it. I mean, fine. Take everything and go.”
He pokes his head out of the bathroom and gives me this look like, Quit being such a drama queen.
“I’m taking my stuff,” he says, bouncing the clipper in his hand. “I got something for you, okay?”
“Yeah, that’s okay. You can keep it.” I’ll buy my own damn clipper. “See ya.”
“Hang on, Pen. Stop being such a little hotheaded idiot,” he says, but I’m already gone. I book it up the stairs. My mom’s in the front hall. She holds a rosary and stares out the front bay window, at the guys loading the couch into Dom’s truck.
“Don’t pray, Mãe. Jesus didn’t do this. You did. Why did you guys even have kids?” I say before rushing upstairs and slamming my bedroom door.
I find my phone and head for my closet, where I sit on the floor and message Blake. She’s being funny and sweet, sending me pictures of what she looks like waking up in the morning, her hair all insane, and the side of her face creased with pillow lines—and it still manages to be hot as hell. Johnny doesn’t even try to text me, so I text him two letters, F and U.
TWENTY-FOUR
I DECIDE IF I IGNORE JOHNNY’S TEXTS FOR A COUPLE weeks, it’ll send the right message. I got better things to do anyway. Hanging out with my brother all the time, getting him to drive me to school—that sounds like stuff a twelve-year-old does. Why would Blake want to date a twelve-year-old?
On the way to school one day, while Tristan drools against the bus window, I tell Colby that Johnny moved out. It’s probably time I say something about it, because Johnny’s been gone for over a week now. And maybe it’ll give me an excuse for having been ignoring Colby, too. All I’ve felt like doing lately is hanging out with Blake, or talking to her on the phone, or texting her. Or watching YouTube—been doing a lot of that.
“Get outta here,” Colby says. “He moved out?”
“Yup. Finally. As if I’d stay at home until I’m thirty.”
“Yeah, seriously. Imagine being thirty and having to screw chicks in your parents’ basement.”
“Pathetic.”
“I told you he needed to move the hell out and grow up,” Colby says. “I was wondering what was up with you going MIA for two weekends in a row.”
“Yeah, well, my mom’s been crazy, making me clean out the whole basement. She wanted me to call you guys to come help move furniture down from the spare room, but I didn’t think you and Tristan would be into doing that all weekend.” I look awa
y because I don’t want to know if he bought that or not. I’m kind of suspecting I’ve gotten better at this lying thing, which is good, but it’s also bad.
“That’s what you did on the weekend? Both weekends?” he asks.
“Last weekend, I did that. The weekend before, I was helping Johnny pack,” I say, pretending to check my phone like I got a text.
“Well, you missed a good one. We all drove to Toronto on Saturday, and we tried to get into this strip club. It was hilarious. They almost let Ike in ’cause of the beard,” he says, and I laugh. Even when his face goes back to serious, I’m still forcing out the rest of my laugh. “So you know Ike’s buddy, Jake, the one with the massive ear spacers?”
“Not really,” I say.
“That’s funny—because he’s pretty sure he knows you.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. Apparently you and him hung out the other day. A couple weekends ago, actually. That’s what he was telling me on Saturday.”
“What are you talking about? I never hung out with that guy.”
“Went to see some band play at the community hall?” Colby says, and when I glance at him, he snorts. “He told us about how he saw this queer dyke sitting with the hottest chicks there. I’m pretty sure there aren’t that many queer dykes around here.”
“It was after I helped Johnny with his stuff. I was there with Blake for a bit.”
“Wrong,” he says. “You were there with Olivia. That’s who you were sitting with the whole time. I’m not making this stuff up. Jake was there, dude. He saw you.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
No more playful nod of the head from him now. Just slits for eyes. “What’s it like then?”
“She was sitting all by herself, so Blake was all ‘Sit with Pen.’ I mean, what was I supposed to do?” More lies. “I wasn’t gonna tell you because I knew you’d get pissed, and for nothing.”
“Why the hell was Olivia there in the first place if she wasn’t with you?”
“Uh . . . I think she’s dating the bass player.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that.
COLBY BARRELS THROUGH EVERYBODY, swipes some kid’s baseball cap only to stick it on some random girl’s head, knocks Trent’s binder out of his hands, and tells Garrett to screw off—all this on his way to the lockers from the bus. I stand at my locker, watching for Olivia’s head to appear somewhere, hoping she’s puked her way out of coming to school today. When Colby types on his phone, I’m imagining all the dumb crap he could be sending to her.
I’m such an idiot. Screwed Olivia over just to save myself.
When Blake gets to school, it makes me feel like even more of an ass. She’s deep in conversation with Robyn, and both of them have their hair super straight, like they made a deal to both go for the straightener today. It makes Blake look . . . softer, I guess? Like she’d be less likely to knee you in the balls than usual. I think she’d make an exception for me today.
So I run away to hide. I loop around the shop class hallway and come out by the end of the faculty parking lot. Then I hang by the side entrance, waiting to spot Olivia. Two minutes until the bell rings, still no Olivia.
A text comes from Blake: Where r u? Wanted 2 talk 2 u b4 class.
Me: sorry—late 2day—but i’ll be staring @ u all through french class
Her: Ok. :) Can u stay after school with me & O? About the project. Meeting with Mr. Middleton.
Me: probably—u seen Olivia 2day?
Her: Yeah. A min ago. No idea where she went.
Oh, man.
First bell goes off. Back in the grade-eleven hallway, there are only a few people left scrambling or just taking their sweet time to get to class. Tristan’s still at his locker, just waiting.
“Colby wanted me to wait for you,” he says.
“Why?”
Second bell goes off. He shrugs. “We’re late for class.”
“I know that. Just go. I’ll catch up.”
He heads off toward French class with a sigh. Once I’ve got my books, I make a stop at the bathrooms, just in case.
She’s there. At least I think it’s her, by the sound of the cough I hear coming from the one occupied stall. It sounds like her. Maybe it’s not.
I cough. Nothing.
So I clear my throat.
Wash my hands.
There’s a sniffle from behind the door, like someone’s blowing their nose. It could be her. It could be any girl in the world.
Clear my throat again . . .
Nothing.
So I go to leave, but then come back. It’s like I’m a creeper right now. I pretend to kick the garbage can. “Oh, man. Stupid thing’s always in the way.”
“Pen?”
“Finally! Yeah, it’s me.”
“What’s wrong?” she says.
“Uh . . . are you, like, done in there?”
The toilet flushes and then she comes out to wash her hands. It looks like she puked recently because her face is pale, her cheeks red, and she’s kind of . . . sweaty-looking. Strands of her black hair are stuck to her forehead and cheeks.
“I did something stupid,” I say.
She stares at me through the mirror, flicks water off her hands, then turns around. She looks ready to fall, or cry. Or both. “You told him?”
My face is what falls because I hadn’t even thought about how she’d think I told Colby she’s knocked up. It makes me breathe a massive sigh. “No! Oh, man. No, I didn’t tell him that.”
“Well—what did you do?” she asks. “Am I in trouble?”
“This keeps getting better and better,” Colby says from behind me. The F word goes through my head over and over, and Olivia’s wide eyes are begging me to let her in on what’s happening. Too late. I turn to Colby coming into view.
“What’s up, Pen?” Colby asks. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “Hiding in the girls’ bathrooms because you think I won’t come in here?”
“You can’t just walk in here like a—” Like a stalker, but I don’t finish the sentence. “You’re not allowed in here, dude.”
“If you’re allowed, then I figure I’m allowed, too,” he says with a twisted little grin. He turns to Olivia. “How’s your bass-playing boyfriend?”
“What?” Olivia asks, searching my face.
“Oh, was it a secret?” Colby asks. “It’s not good to keep secrets.”
“Colby, man,” I tell him. “Just lay off.”
He’s ignoring me. “Don’t be mad at Pen for telling me all about your older musician boyfriend. She’s my bud, you know. It’s her job to tell me everything. Everything.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t know what’s going on here,” she says.
“Don’t lie,” Colby tells her, after taking a few steps closer to her. We’re like a triangle right now. “Lying is bad.”
“I didn’t,” she says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You move on pretty quickly, huh?” he tells her. It pisses me off so much that he said that. “Say one thing, do another. This is why I never trusted you. No matter what you said.”
Colby’s words actually seem to have hit her, like if it had been some special command in a game, it would’ve knocked a third of her health points down.
“I lied!” I say.
They both turn to look at me, but it doesn’t matter that I said that. He just wanted to lay into her about something.
“I have to get to class,” Olivia says, taking two steps back, keeping her eyes on me long enough to make it clear I’m the one she holds responsible for this. All I can do is suck in a breath and hold it while I watch her walk away.
“What the hell is your problem, huh?” he says to me. “Are you being this dumb on purpose or what?”
Some girl comes in, gives us a dirty look and leaves.
“You made this big deal about getting her off your back, and now you’re the one who won’t leave her alone,” I say. “I lied a
bout Olivia and the bass player because I thought it would get you to move on.”
“She’s my ex. I get to do what I want,” he says. “If she thinks getting a new boyfriend will bother me, she’s crazier than I thought. She’ll still be calling me.”
“She’ll call you?” I say. “Or you’ll call her.”
“What do you care, huh?”
“I don’t—”
“You do. Why do you care so much?” he says. “You’re such a bad liar. You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to come see that band play when I take you everywhere I go. Your whole basement-cleaning thing’s probably bullshit. So were you hanging out with Olivia all of this weekend, too? You didn’t want me getting in your way with her, right? Admit it, Pen. Admit you like her.”
He makes my fists curl. He makes me clench my jaw. It’s like he might as well hold a finger up to my arm and poke it, over and over. He won’t stop.
“Just leave her alone,” I tell him. “That’s all I’m saying.”
He makes this face, like I just said something funny. “Or what?”
“Just . . . stop. You just really need to lay off her,” I say.
“You like her,” he says. “Admit it!”
“Yeah, I like her,” I say. “Just not like that.”
“Like what then?”
“She’s nice and funny. You should know that since you guys had a thing,” I say. “Obviously you know that if you can’t stay away from her.”
“Oh, suck it, Pen. Stop talking like some douche with the feels.” He runs the sink and flicks water around me, never actually touching me with it. “So you’re gonna swoop in and take her, huh? Because you’re such a badass.”
“I’m not taking her,” I say. Why does having a girl’s back mean I have to have a crush on her? It makes me wonder if—“You like her, don’t you. Like, really like her. That’s why you care so much about this. That’s why you’re worse than usual.”
This time he gets me with the water, in the face. It drips down my left cheek. “I care because you’re trying to step on my territory, trying to show me up. Are you the nice guy now? Is that what your deal is? You’re Pen the Nice Guy. Girls don’t want the nice guy, dude. Girls laugh at the nice guy, especially when the nice guy is a girl with tits. Pretty nice tits, though. I’ll give you that.”