Double Exposure

by Bridget Birdsall

  I stop just inside the door. Take my hand back. “Should we be in here?” My throat’s like sandpaper.

  He ignores my question, reaches over, and slowly spins me toward him. The heavy door closes behind us. Dimmed florescent bulbs cast a greenish light over counters piled high with cameras, computers, and various parts. Dozens of photos hang from a laundry line that runs from one end of the room to the other.

  “I come here when I can’t stand my life anymore,” Peter whispers. One of his hands is on my arm; the other he slides around my waist.

  My eyes scan the room. Most of the pictures are of people’s faces: some superimposed on others, some clear, and some fuzzy around the edges. “He builds and designs security equipment,” Peter nods at the photos. “Those are from a security camera that can take your face-print, just like a finger print.”

  I flash back to Pepper explaining how she found Stephanie’s grade school photo.

  Does he have photos of me in here?

  He leans toward me, almost like he’s going to kiss me, and now, I feel both of his hands resting lightly on my hips. He must feel me trembling.

  “I like you, Alyx. You’re not like other girls,” he says.

  I pull away and try to laugh. “What’d you mean?”

  He shrugs, drops his arms, and laughs, too. “Well, you’re taller for one thing.” Not looking at me, he reaches behind him and takes a camera off a shelf. “You don’t talk my ear off. And when you shot that basket at the wrong hoop and shook it off,” he looks down into the camera lens still talking, “well . . . you were so cool. I wish I could be like you.”

  He takes a picture of his shoe. The flash blinds me for a moment. I watch him, remembering that night—how I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. I want to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

  He smiles and then points the camera at my shoes.

  I push it away. “I hate having my picture taken.”

  He looks surprised and lowers the camera. I see his eyes water and it looks like he’s about to cry. “Am I too much of a nerd for you?” he spouts.

  “No,” I say quickly. “It’s me. I don’t know why, but I always hated having my picture taken. You don’t have any pictures of me in here do you?” I look around.

  He shakes his head and points the camera at the ceiling, talking into the air. “Is it the rumors about Dad? Or me? They aren’t true, you know.”

  Being in this room is starting to creep me out.

  “My dad’s not really in the mob if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s not tha—” I start to say, but he keeps going.

  “Mom hurt him bad, and Pepper and I are all he’s got. That, and a bottle of scotch, or whatever latest thing he’s obsessed with.” Still looking through the lens at the ceiling, Peter starts playing with the aperture while talking. “And, well, I’m pretty much a disappointment to him. Even though I don’t go ballistic like Pepper, at least she’s into sports.”

  The camera clicks a few times and he lets it drop from his eye again. His tears catch me off guard and, without even thinking, I put my hand on his. He looks up and smiles. The smell of stale beer and musty papers makes me light-headed.

  “Alyx, I want you to know, I—”

  “Dad’s gonna kill you!” We both jump as Pepper blasts through the door, red-faced and furious. She’s holding a glass in her hand, her eyes on fire. “No one’s supposed to be in here!”

  Peter jumps up, firmly planting himself in front of Pepper. He’s holding the camera like a shield. “I’m just showing her my camera.”

  He’s pissed now, too, and I cringe, backing away from both of them.

  “Yeah, right.” Pepper winks at me and takes a long calculating drink from her glass. The ice clinks. Now the musty room smells like a bar. She pushes past Peter and focuses her attention on me.

  “Alyx,” she offers me her glass, “want a sip? Coach’ll never know, unless someone narcs.”

  Peter attempts to block her again with his body. “Leave her alone. She’s my date, remember?” He glances at me.

  I want to run, but Pepper’s blocking the door. She flicks her hand and laughs, “It’s only soda.” Then I hear a sort of strategic softening in her voice. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going to let down our team. Come on downstairs. Don’t be antisocial.”

  Her earnestness sounds calculated—too calm, too fast.

  Peter carefully puts down the camera. I watch him. Paralyzed. He looks at his sister. They both seem scared, angry, and not sure what to do.

  “Patti—”

  “I’m fine, little brother. It really is only soda.” Pepper smiles a sweet, sly smile as she opens the door. “Come on, the party’s a blast!” Light pours in from behind her. “Join us.”

  Peter takes my hand and leads me downstairs. I can’t speak. Protest. Anything. The cavernous room is filled with sounds. Music vibrates from the walls. There’s an enormous pool table surrounded by kids from Cudahy, bodies draped over furniture, others sprawled on the floor. I see Joel and Roslyn sitting crosslegged in a circle watching a brown bottle spin.

  It points to Roslyn. “Okay. Okay. My turn!”

  “Truth or dare!” Everyone chants.

  Someone yanks me down to join them. Peter drops beside me. Pepper smiles slyly, and folding her legs under her dress, she sits down next to Joel, who shifts to make room.

  “Alyx!” Roslyn screeches, reaching over to hug me.

  “Go.” Joel nudges Roslyn. He’s wearing swim trunks and a tie now.

  “I am!” She pauses, then points to Peter. “Dare.”

  Peter smiles, throws up his hands like he’s surrendering. Everyone laughs. I sigh, grateful she didn’t point at me. Everything in me wants to run, but I can’t seem to make a move.

  “Make him take off his pants, too!” Joel laughs.

  “Kiss Alyx!” Roslyn blurts.

  Everyone laughs, and someone calls, “Lick Alicks, too!”

  More laughter.

  “Lick Alicks, lick Alicks, lick Alicks!”

  Peter smiles and throws his hands up again in a gesture suggestion: “I can’t do it.”

  “Okay, French kiss her,” Roslyn squeals.

  “Dare! Dare! Dare!” everyone begins to chorus.

  My hands fly up to my face as laugher explodes around us.

  Joel shouts, “She’s shy!”

  Peals of laughter erupt around us, and I close my eyes, feeling the heat of Peter as he leans closer. I smell him. Musky. Minty. Sweet. Boy smells. Booze on his breath. Peter’s lips press against my hand, where my lips should be. He makes a gross sucking sound. More laughter. My hand is wet from his tongue, and when he pulls away, I let my hands drop to my lap, then his lips zoom in and touch mine for real, and a zip of electricity shoots through me. Suddenly, I start laughing, too, until I see Pepper, over Peter’s shoulder, shooting me a dangerous dagger-like look.

  Screw her! She’s the one who wanted me to ask Peter to this stupid dance in the first place! I close my eyes and kiss Peter back. Hard. Passionately. And then we’re all tongue on tongue, and I hear hoots and whistles and kids hollering all around us, until someone yells, “She doesn’t look too shy to me!” And Peter pulls away, a huge grin smeared across his face. He reaches down, placing his hand in mine. It’s slick with sweat. Our fingers intertwine. I don’t let myself look at Pepper, but just hang on to Peter, feeling oddly victorious.

  The bottle spins three more times before it points to Pepper.

  She aims a trigger finger at me, lowers her voice, and says, “Truth.”

  Peter gives my hand a light squeeze.

  I make myself breathe. I can do this. I can.

  “Truth. Truth. Truth,” the group chants, growing louder.

  “Alyx, is the editor of the honors biology text, Dr. Avery Zane Atlas, your dad?”

  “What? No way!” Peter’s head whips around, and he looks at me, surprised. “Seriously?”

  Joel laughs. “I don’
t think sooo!”

  Roslyn looks at Pepper, then me. She looks worried suddenly. My brain shifts into overdrive. Why’s Pepper asking me this? Everybody quiets, waiting for my answer. Slowly, my head starts to nod on its own.

  “See, I told you.” Pepper jabs Peter with her elbow. All the pretend friendliness disappears when she says, “So, you’re his only son?”

  There’s a noose around my neck and I gulp for air.

  Peter and Roslyn look perplexed. Everyone stares.

  “Google it.” Pepper shrugs, stands up, and starts to walk away. Then she stops, turns, and looks directly at me. “Oh and I friended your surfer-buddy, Dylan. He says to say Hi, Dude.”

  “What the hell, Pepper!” Roslyn jumps in, but Pepper’s eyes flash at me.

  “Were you gonna tell him?” She nods her head toward Peter. “Or keep lying about who you really are?”

  “Tell me what?” Peter looks from me to Pepper.

  Pepper licks her lips. An evil smile spreads across her face. “The truth.”

  It feels like someone just sucker-punched my throat. I can’t breathe. “I need to go,” my voice squeaks, and I leap up, heading for the stairs.

  I hear Pepper say behind me, “I know the truth about you.”

  “Wait . . . Alyx.” Peter jumps up to follow me. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Tears blind my eyes. All the way to the Polish Palace, Peter keeps talking, apologizing for Pepper’s behavior, asking me what’s wrong, but all I hear is Pepper’s words stampeding through my brain: the truth about you . . . the truth about you . . . the truth.

  CHAPTER 32

  Grounded

  When I wake up the next morning, it’s light outside. I’m home, in my own bed, dressed in my orange and black Cougar sweats. My stomach’s a mess and my mouth tastes like I’ve been sucking on copper pennies. Q fish is swimming near the top of the tank. Looking for breakfast, no doubt.

  I listen for Mom or Grandpa. The house is quiet. Mom probably took Grandpa to church. I whisper to Q fish, “Should’ve listened to Grizzly.”

  Millions of slivered memories from last night’s events unfold in my brain.

  I know the truth about you, I know . . .

  Did Pepper paste it all over Facebook already? I think about Dad and wonder if maybe death is a better deal.

  Why didn’t I change my full name? How’d she find out about Dad and me? Did she find any pictures from my past—maybe the team photos from Valley League? My old yearbook? Dad’s obituary? And how did she hook up with Dylan? The jerk hasn’t even emailed me in three months. Why would he tell her about me?

  I get up and shuffle into the bathroom where my dress is laying in a corner, balled up with my underwear. I splash water on my face without looking at myself in the mirror and hobble back to bed, burying myself under Grandma Clara’s quilt. Blocking out the light.

  Mom only comes in once the whole day. She’s pissed and tells me I’m grounded for breaking curfew. I don’t bother to ask when I actually got home, or for how long I’ll be grounded, because I’m glad. As far as I’m concerned, never leaving this room again is fine by me.

  Ever.

  CHAPTER 33

  Monkettes

  I manage to get through the next two weeks of school without speaking to anyone, except twice. Once is in Mr. Anderson’s class to answer a question about DNA strands. And the other is today, before practice, when Coach hands out basketballs for winter break.

  “Can I have the one from our first game?” I ask quietly, not wanting the others lined up behind to hear.

  She waves me into her office while she searches the bottom of a bulging bag. We are now 10–0, undefeated, and expected to stay that way. According to Coach, winter vacation means extra practice time. She fishes out a ball, examines it, and hands it to me. “This is it.”

  “Thanks.” I take the ball and turn to leave.

  “Oh, Alyx—”

  I stop and turn around. Coach holds out a marker. “It’s yours.”

  “For keeps?”

  She nods. “Put your name on it.”

  “I brought music, Coach!” MJ hollers from somewhere in back of the line.

  I take the marker and sign ALYX on the ball.

  “I hear you, MJ.” Coach laughs and smiles at me. “Alyx, you love basketball, don’t you?” She takes the marker back and stares up at me. I don’t know what to say.

  “You know, I want you girls to have a little fun, too.”

  Fun. I think about Pepper’s party. A chill runs up my back.

  “Sometimes you’re so somber,” she says, studying me.

  I turn the ball over in my hands, tracing my name with my finger. She goes behind her desk, lifts a boom box off the floor, and hands it to me.

  “Find a plug in there and set this up for MJ, would you? We’re going to have some fun with practice today. ”

  I grab the handle and head for the gym. As I pass the line of waiting girls, MJ slaps a CD in my hand.

  “Turn it up,” she orders.

  When I get into the gym, Pepper breezes by silently on her way to the locker room. She’s running late. She looks away when I glance up. She’s been acting like I don’t exist, and, thank God, Peter’s making himself scarce, too.

  It occurs to me that perhaps Pepper’s waiting until after basketball season ends before she ruins my life forever.

  As the other girls trickle into the gym, I spy Roslyn. She acts like we’re still great friends, like she doesn’t even know what Pepper was insinuating the night of the party. She joins me under the basket, shooting and yakking, until Coach tells her to shoot the ball more than her mouth.

  Our schedule’s been jam-packed. We’re averaging two games a week and even though it’s been tense on the bus and in the locker room, somehow we manage to pull it together on the court.

  We haven’t lost yet, in spite of Pepper’s refusal to pass me the ball, so why let her ruin the basketball season, too? And this is Coach’s last shot at State. She’s already announced her retirement, and I’m not going to be the one to let her down. So whether Pepper likes it or not, I’m the only player tall enough to cover the lane, I’m still bringing down more rebounds than anyone else, and I’m tied with her for lead scorer.

  Screw her.

  After practice, MJ, Martha, and Roslyn block the locker room door, keeping us from leaving.

  “Okay, you two.” Roslyn’s hands are on her hips. “We all know you’re not talkin’ but what we want to know is why.”

  I stop and can hear Pepper’s breathing behind me.

  “Yeah, we aren’t leaving until you kiss and make up.” Martha waves her hand playfully in Pepper’s stony face.

  I stand there with my bag slung over my shoulder, the hood of my jacket flipped up, staring at the ground. I shift the ball Coach gave me from one arm to the other.

  “Alyx?” Roslyn pokes me, playfully.

  “Come on you guys, this place is feeling like a damn monastery.” MJ pretends she’s praying. “It’s like you’ve turned into a couple of basketball nuns. Taking a vow of silence. What’s goin’ on?”

  Pepper sits down on the bench like a statue, staring straight ahead. She’s zombie-like.

  Stephanie comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her hair. “They’ll work it out over break.”

  “But they haven’t talked in two weeks!” Martha locks arms with Roslyn and MJ.

  “Let ’em be,” Stephanie says.

  MJ shrugs and unlocks herself from the arm grid. Martha grabs Roslyn by the waist and drags her out the door. Roslyn waves to me on her way out. “See you at the Y, Alyx!”

  Pepper remains frozen to the bench.

  I follow MJ outside. It’s like stepping into a deep freeze. The cold smacks the breath out of me and my whole body begins to shake. Why the hell did we move here?

  I lope toward the slush-covered Volkswagen.

  Grizzly’s traded in his Harley leather for an orange hunter’s parka. He glows like an imme
nse sun inside the car. I noticed he’s parked right in back of Mr. Pitmani’s Mercedes.

  It’s as cold inside the Sunbug as it is outside. The heat has never worked right.

  “Hey,” Grizzly says.

  “Hey,” I say back, Milwaukee-nese for, “Have a good day?”

  MJ stands at the corner bus shelter, shuffling from foot to foot, blowing steam from her mouth into her mittens. Grizzly nods at her. “She need a ride?”

  I shrug.

  “You need a ride?” He hollers out his half-opened window to MJ.

  She hops over a snow bank and runs toward us. “Thank you, Jesus! You got room?”

  Grizzly orders me to make room. I jump out and squeeze myself into the backseat. The plastic cracks when I sit down. I can feel my hair bumping the ceiling of the car as MJ climbs into the front seat.

  “I can sit back there,” MJ offers. Her teeth are chattering.

  “I’m fine.”

  MJ turns and grins at me. “She can talk!”

  Grizzly smiles into the rearview mirror and grunts, “Where to?”

  “Division Street. The Ridgebacks. It’s a ways—you sure it’s okay?”

  “Off thirty-second? One of Pitbull’s famous palaces?”

  MJ laughs. “It’s home. At least until I’m a big-time doctor, then I’ll be setting up my mama and my brothers in one of those luxury condos on the lake.”

  Grizzly drives dangerously close to the Mercedes as we pull out.

  MJ lives in the dumpiest apartment complex I’ve ever seen. Beer cans, old tires, and fast food bags litter the front lawn. A group of scruffy looking men are standing around a trashcan burning something. They’re surrounded by broken lawn chairs, a bunch of old potbelly grills, and some rusty cars without tires. One wears at least three different jackets and two mismatched hats. He shoves wads of rolled-up newspaper into the can. As MJ runs toward a door, he calls out to her.

  She ignores him.