Lure

by Maya Sliver

  “Not many.”

  “Okay. So you’ve made one or two, is it?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?” I can sense irritation lacing my voice. Why am I getting irritated? It’s her wish. It’s okay if she doesn’t want to tell me. I should learn to respect my daughter’s decision, especially now when she’s legally going to be an adult soon.

  “Actually, I made a few friends.”

  Finally, she’s opening up.

  “Oh. Wow! That’s great. Who are they? I mean what are their names.”

  “You remember Blake,” after a brief pause, she murmurs, seeming very busy with a loose thread on her jeans.

  “Blake?” I narrow my eyes. “The girl who we met yesterday?”

  “Yeah. She studies at Westlake and we have a few classes together.”

  Silence hangs between us. Isn’t Blake a little too old for high school? While my daughter is still an innocent teenager, Blake looks ripe and womanly. She and Carrie in the same class is kind of surprising and intimidating.

  “So you make friends with a prankster, the one who kept us famished and starved the entire day.” I feel a mix of anger, surprise, and anxiety washing over me.

  “As you put it yourself it was a prank, Dad. She’s a nice girl.”

  “Nice. Huh. And how can you say that?”

  “We spent the entire day together. She introduced me to her group of friends. And they’re all cool peeps.”

  “I wonder what this new breed of youngsters is up to. They pretend to be cool, yet they miss learning some basic things of life,” I mutter under my breath.

  She falls silent. Perhaps, my philosophical rambling felt way too harsh. Okay, I’m not going to talk more about her friends, especially about that blonde with mischievous green eyes that glitter like the purest emerald.

  As far as their interaction is limited to school and classes, I need not worry about that little piece of mischief being a bad influence on my daughter’s clean-slate-like heart.

  “Fine, let’s talk about something else. Did you happen to eat anything? I believe they have a nice canteen for students.”

  “Oh, yeah, Dad. The canteen is just awesome. They serve some of the best burgers and fries I’ve ever tasted. I loved it,” she squeals. Food is my daughter’s favorite topic. She can eat and admire all kinds of foods. From bland western to spicy Asian to aromatic Greek cuisine, she loves them all.

  “Oh, fast food! Don’t they have anything healthy for the kids. Fruits and veggies.”

  “Yes, they do.” She stops giggling for a while and then speaks again, “Blake got an apple for herself. She didn’t eat anything from the canteen.” There’s a mix of guilt and regret in her voice. Of late, she’s been binging on fast food. I think it’s me who’s spoiling her. From now onward, no fast food, only home-cooked healthy meals. I make a mental note of things we must get for cooking a dinner.

  “Are you game for some grocery shopping? We’ll get some veggies and eggs and chicken too.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re making us dinner tonight.” She yawns.

  “Yeah, I am. Are you ready to help me with chopping?” I smile looking at her from the corner of my eye.

  “Oh, no, not again, Dad.”

  “I’ve learned some new recipes on the Internet, Kiddo. We’ll try one. It’ll be fun. Say yes.”

  After a short while, she speaks, “Okay. I can do the chopping.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat and looking at the crystal-clear road where the sun casts the shadows of swaying trees.

  We have long-shoot evergreen trees lacing the road on either side. The evening is charming and bright. The day is about to end on a perfect note. Me and Carrie are going for some easy grocery shopping. And if that’s not enough, we’ll be cooking our dinner today, yet another mind-calming exercise.

  I hope she’ll enjoy spending the evening with me, with her dad, cooking, chatting, and watching TV.

  Chapter Six

  Blake

  “This night out sounds like real fun. We’re going to Poppers. I can’t believe this. Great that Ben managed to get the tickets for us all.” I beam as we walk to the canteen.

  The campus is buzzing with old and new students. The day feels so good it gives me all kinds of positive vibes. Vibes to let my guard down and dance under the bright morning sun. That’s the thing about the Westlake High. It’s always so welcoming you never feel you’re at school. It always feels like home. At least, it feels like a real home to me, someone who’s spent most of her days in foster homes. I love being here, being so happy and energetic. I love my life.

  But I can’t say the same for Caroline. She walks by my side and looks lost.

  “I want to go to Poppers with you,” she mumbles.

  “Of course you’re going. There’s no doubt about that.” I toss the apple in the air and catch it in the cup of my hands before drifting my eyes to Caroline.

  “I can’t.” She looks at me forlorn.

  Our eyes meet, and I try to study her. We remain silent for a while and just as I round my lips to say something, someone smacks me in the back. I turn around only to find a pair of light brown eyes sinfully staring at me.

  “Hey you. Where have you been?”

  Suddenly, Joshua’s face changes color. He buries his stare to the ground.

  “Grandpa John died last week, so we’ve all been gone to Sweetwaters to attend his funeral,” Joshua speaks, sadness coursing the timber of his voice. He lifts his gaze. Again, he drops his head down as if trying to hide the glaze in his eyes.

  I know him to be a family guy. His family is a close-knitted one. And he was quite close to his maternal grandfather John. I wonder how it would feel having such a big family. And how it would feel if you lost someone in the family.

  “It’s okay, buddy. I can only imagine the pain when someone so close dies, but I know you. And I know right now you feel like shit. You need to eat, dude. You look wilted and pale. Let’s get to the canteen. Let me pay for your burgers.”

  “Hey. It’s me who lost the bet last time. It’s my turn to give you a treat.”

  “I have this.” I show him the apple. “So you are spared.”

  “I don’t want to be spared, especially not from you.” His brown eyes glint mischievously, and boy I adore his dimples.

  “Okay. Cool. You can treat my friend. She loves Henry’s burgers and fries. Here she is. Meet Caroline.” I shift a bit on my heels so that Joshua and Caroline are face to face.

  “Hey.” Caroline smiles.

  “Hey, I’m Joshua. You can call me Josh.” Joshua puts out his hand which Caroline shakes hesitatingly.

  “So what are you studying here at Westlake? Girls like you go to Harvard and all.”

  “Really? Why?”

  We all walk, making our way to the canteen.

  “You look slightly nerd. Aren’t you a bookish lady? The one who always keeps her nose buried in books.”

  “I’m not wearing specs, nor do I wear braces. How can you say that?” I notice Caroline getting conscious about her looks. All of us stop as she examines herself from chest to toe before meeting my eyes and then looking at Josh with utter uncertainty.

  “Hey, you look perfect, girl. He’s not used to seeing someone as perfect as you are looking right now. Right Josh.” I give Josh a disapproving look.

  “Sorry, ladies. Just kidding.” He raises his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture.

  “Now that you’ve apologized, we grant your wish of treating us today.” Suddenly, I feel a craving for fries. Shoving the apple in my backpack, I smile, looping my one arm with Joshua’s and offering another one to Caroline.

  ***

  “Let me talk to your dad. Together we can try to convince him.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “And why do you think like that.”

  “He doesn’t see you in a very good light. He thinks I should keep a distance from girls like you.”

&nbs
p; I like it when people speak the truth, and I simply adore Caroline’s truthfulness. So what if her father doesn’t like me. But I wonder. Wonder at how a simple harmless prank can make someone so obnoxious. And what the hell he thinks about me, that I’m a bad influence on his daughter. I’m angry. Angry at him. Angry that he thinks I’m a bad girl.

  But why am I angry? Does it matter what he thinks about me? And how does it matter if Caroline goes with me or not? She and I have been friends for only a couple of weeks. Still, I want to take her to Poppers even if it goes against her dad’s wishes.

  Do I want to make him angrier at me?

  Why does defying him feel like so much fun?

  I smile to myself.

  “Even then I’m all set to convince him. I don’t want you to miss the weekend fun we all are going to have at Poppers. Saturdays are blasting there.”

  “He’ll never agree. He has never allowed me to stay out of the house beyond eight. How can he agree on something like this when we’d probably be spending the whole night under the stars.”

  “Not the whole night. It’s just a little past midnight.”

  “Still…” Her words trail as we reach the main exit gate of the school.

  “I’m coming with you. He’ll be there or not?” I ask sensing the uncertainty of her voice.

  “He won’t be there. But he’d return from work in an hour or so.”

  Where does Mister Grumpy work? I want to ask Caroline, but I save the conversation for later.

  “Great. Till that time, we’ll play Sleeping Dogs on your Playstation.”

  “Sleeping Dogs…Yikes!!!” She scrunches her nose.

  “Why? You don’t like it.”

  “I hate it. I’m keeping the DVD just for the sake of Ryan. He gifted that on my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Umm. Ryan… Your…”

  “Don’t assume anything.”

  “I’m not assuming anything. It’s the blush of your cheeks that tells me a story.”

  “Yeah. I liked him but then I moved away, and I lost contact with him.”

  “You still could have been in touch with him over texts and calls, couldn’t you?”

  “I couldn’t…” She looks down.

  “Your dad came in between?”

  “Not only Dad…”

  “What else?”

  She doesn’t speak after that and I don’t dig in much as we walk the road navigating our way to the Wilds’ house. I don’t know why this Wild surname gives me all kinds of wild thoughts. There’s something seriously wrong with me.

  “We’ll play Marvel Avengers.”

  “As you wish, Master.” I bow my head like an obedient slave as we reach the white painted metal gate of a two-story house with a pitched roof and a large central chimney.

  The grass is neatly trimmed. Rows of potted plants lace the garden on either side. The pebble-stone walkway is swept clean and free of any dust or weeds. I love the gabled roofing. It looks like a house I used to draw in my drawing book.

  “It’s such a beautiful house.”

  “Yeah, it is. You’ll love it even more when you see inside.” Caroline fishes out the keys from her backpack’s front pocket and unlocks the front white-painted wooden door.

  Pushing the door open, she speaks, “Come on in.”

  In contrast to the coldness outside, inside it’s warm and cozy. Early evening sun filters in through the windows. The house is bright and clean and cozy.

  We throw our backpacks on the living room carpet and stretch our backs. Caroline goes to the kitchen and pulls open the refrigerator door. She takes out a big pack of Delmonte orange juice. She then picks two glass tumblers from the shelf, places them on the island and fills them with the orange liquid.

  “Hey, it’s nice. Lucky bitch you are.” I look around. The small open kitchen faces the living room. The island is made of granite and has ample space for a family to sit and eat. The walls are all wall-papered with few paintings and photographs hanging on them. The house has some very sleek pieces of furniture except the giant couch. The huge size of the couch screams that it belongs to Mister Wild. He must be crashing down on it quite often, mostly when he returns home after a long and tiring day at work, I’d reckon. With that I realize I still don’t know where he works. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so much interested in my friend’s dad.

  “Where does Mister Wild work?” I ask, plopping myself down on the extra soft couch.

  “He works at Queen Music Academy.” Handing me the juice glass, she speaks, “Sorry. You’re in a no-alcohol zone.” She smirks flopping herself down next to me.

  “And what does he do there?” I don’t believe he teaches music. He’s one arrogant man. Arrogance and creativity don’t always go hand in hand.

  “He gives piano classes there.” She sips her juice before speaking.

  “What?” I choke on the juice, coughing, gasping, trying to clear my windpipe. The surprise was so sudden, it almost gave me a spasm in my stomach.

  “You okay?” Caroline sits bolt upright, her hand rubbing my back.

  “I’m fine. Need not…worry.” I cough again. She rubs my back up and down and after a while I feel better.

  “Is he a pianist?” I speak heaving, my breath still labored, recovering from the sudden episode of choking on liquid.

  “Who?” she asks with surprise, her eyes growing narrow.

  “Your dad.” I huff.

  “Oh, we’re still talking about him?” She stares at me for a while and then answers, “Yeah, that’s what he does for a living—plays the instrument.”

  Chapter Seven

  William

  “How many times did I tell you to keep the door locked from inside,” I yell, dropping my keys in the tiny metal vase, sitting on top of the shoe rack. Then, I step out of my loafers, pick them up from the floor and shove them inside the wooden cabinet.

  I barge into the living room, only to have one of my feet almost getting tangled in something strappy. I look down. My eyes grow narrow noticing a pair of white strappy sandals littered on the floor like pieces of trash. Next to it, lay carelessly Carrie’s Nike sneakers.

  I hate carelessness. The way shoes are strewn on the floor, it can make my anger churn. But I’m more concerned about who we have at home. Perhaps, Carrie’s new friend from Westlake High.

  I take a deep long breath and exhale, cooling myself down. We have a guest. And not just any guest, my daughter has brought her new friend home. It’s a moment of celebration. This means she’s getting along well with kids at school. If everything goes well, we can easily stretch our stay from our typical six months to one year in this house. In the past two years, since we’ve begun house hopping, we’ve never stayed for more than six months in a particular house. The reason is clear. We don’t want unnecessary attention from folks who are a little too much interested digging out the details of others’ lives rather than getting their own shit together.

  This place seems ideal as far as we keep ourselves unnoticed and live in peace and solitude. The neighborhood is serene with not many houses around. And I hardly see anyone stepping out of those dwellings.

  Getting myself ready to meet my daughter’s new friend, I step forward. My eyes dart across the living room only to find backpacks strewn all over the carpet. I know the blue denim one belongs to my daughter. Perhaps, the pink canvas one belongs to the girl who Carrie has brought home. I want to meet the girl. She must be my daughter’s real close friend.

  If not a loner, Carrie is one of those girls who doesn’t get along well with just any boy or girl. She takes her time, and I like her attitude toward friendship and life and relationships. One should not make friends or enter a relationship getting impressed by the shiny facade of a person. As it happened to me with Stella. My ex totally knocked me down with her lusty looks and seductive charms. We were in our late teens when I proposed to her. Soon after that, we began dating and then she got pregnant. We didn’t want to involve our parents into this. So, we w
ent ahead and got married. I was young but not a kid who didn’t realize the influence of Stella’s rich parents in our lives. I dropped out of school and started teaching piano to kids. Whatever little I earned would have been enough had we adapted ourselves to a simple living. But Stella belonged to a wealthy family. She never said no to her father who showered his blessings in the form of money and materialistic things. This continued for years. She kept accepting money from her father, enjoying the bounties of being the daughter of a rich hotelier until her father’s business crumbled and the flow of money shrank from thousands to a few hundred before stopping altogether.

  Hell. I shouldn’t be thinking about all that.

  Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I walk to the kitchen. Still, I can’t see anyone. The house looks apparently quiet and undisturbed except for some orange juice splatters on the kitchen island. Two empty tumblers with remnants of orange liquid sit on the black granite counter next to the sink.

  I’m inspecting the kitchen for any more signs of careless handling of things when I hear footsteps thumping on the wooden staircase, followed by girlie chatter and giggle.

  “Hey, Dad, you’re home.” Before I could turn around, I hear Carrie chirp.

  Turning around, I meet my daughter’s eyes. I smile and my eyes drift to the girl standing next to her. The same set of green eyes that ruined our day a few weeks ago stares at me. For a moment, I freeze, my gaze traveling over her.

  Her lips are painted red. She is wearing a black miniskirt and a tank top. Her long blond hair is strewn across her shoulders. What has gone wrong with these kids and what has gone wrong with the schools?

  How can they allow students to wear such type of clothes to school? I carefully avoid ogling the long legs that the skirt reveals.

  Anyway, I’m more concerned about her presence at my house rather than her clothes and glitzy makeup.

  “Dad, I hope you know Blake. We met on the street that day, remember?” Carrie speaks, stepping toward me.