Beyond the Pale

by Jennifer Millikin

  Brady grimaces. The idea of needing a tutor embarrasses him. As it is, nobody knows Brady has trouble in math. Perhaps Finn and I have done too good a job of helping him.

  “Finn is the best answer to your problem, Brady. But you know that already.” I grab his hand and pull him toward his bedroom door. “Now let’s go before your mom comes home and finds me in your room and starts getting hives.”

  “She’s not allergic to you. She was having a bad day and she gets hives when she feels overwhelmed.”

  “And finding someone like me in her home overwhelms her. I get it.” I walk out of his room and down the hall toward the stairs. I’d prefer it if my best friend’s mom liked me, but Brady’s mom is such a handful that I don’t mind it much. It’s easier for me if she doesn’t like me, because it means I’m not subjected to her boring conversation about where the other affluent people of Agua Mesa are summering. In my opinion, if you call a vacation summering, you’re spending your money the wrong way.

  We’re in the foyer when the door from the garage into the house opens. I run forward, knowing that Brady’s mom needs only to walk the short distance through the laundry room to be in the exact best position to see me. Wrenching open the front door, I rush through and turn around to look at Brady.

  He puts a finger to his lips and softly shuts the door behind us. To avoid the large windows in the front of the house, we stay up against the wall and creep around the corner. Once we make it far enough down the sidewalk, we double over laughing.

  “That was close,” I say through my laughter.

  “Too close,” Brady agrees. He straightens, his laughter fading, and his eyes turn serious.

  “She doesn’t understand,” he says, his hand reaching for mine. “She doesn’t know how perfect you are.”

  The adoration in his eyes makes my stomach feel weird. “You know how you can make this up to me?” I ask, hoping the joke forming in my head will cover some of my unease.

  “How?”

  “Bake me a cake and tell me I’m pretty.” A smile twists my mouth. I’m positive Brady doesn’t even know what a spatula is, let alone how to read the recipe on the back of a box of cake mix.

  Brady’s eyes bulge and he shakes his head back and forth rapidly.

  I smile at his refusal and start back down the road. We walk and talk about Brady’s new school until we reach the park. Finn’s sitting on a bench waiting for us.

  Brady tightens his hold on my hand, and it isn’t until he does this that I realize we’re still holding hands at all. Finn waves, and I drop Brady’s hand, a feeling of guilt I can’t explain blooming in my core.

  One of their many competitions is me.

  Brady and Finn have been throwing the football for what feels like forever but is probably only twenty minutes. I’ve spread out my homework on the metal table and am using medium-sized rocks to keep my papers from blowing away. The wind has picked up since we arrived, and it’s making my hair blow around my face. Honestly, I don’t mind being smacked in the face with my hair, because it’s long, and there is very little I wouldn’t do to keep it that way. Six years ago I promised my mother I could do my own hair every day, and that’s a promise I’ve yet to break. The grow-out period was awkward, and I had to get creative with how to make it look somewhat acceptable. If I know anything, it’s this: I’ll never have short hair again.

  Brady and Finn continue throwing the football, and I finish my math and start on outlining my English essay.

  “Lennon, would you mind?”

  I look up at Finn, who’s pointing at something behind me and to the right. Twisting, I see the football lying beside a brittle-looking bush and some rocks.

  “Why is that so far from your target?” I yell, standing up and walking out from behind the table.

  Brady rolls his eyes. “He was trying to get your attention.”

  I glare at Finn, and he laughs. “Nobody should be that into their homework. I said your name twice.”

  I cross my arms. “Maybe if you were a little more into your homework, you’d have better grades.”

  “Can you get the ball, please?” Finn gives me puppy dog eyes.

  My feet drag as I go to the ball, creating little rocky sandstorms around my sneakers. I reach down, grab the ball, and see a flash of light from under a small pile of rocks.

  Dropping the football, I bend over and use two hands to turn over the rock on the top of the pile. The shiny thing is a large piece of mylar, probably from a popped balloon.

  “What are you doing?” Brady yells.

  Grabbing the rock, I glance over my shoulder at them and shout, “Searching for buried treasure, but—”

  Hot pain sears my hand, and I scream. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and it won’t stop. Dropping the rock, I stand and cradle my hurt hand in my other.

  Footsteps thump behind me. Staring down at my hand, I look at the fleshy part of the outside of my palm, expecting to see a deep gash. The wound that should be there is missing, the skin showing only a small patch of red to signify something occurred at all.

  “Lennon, what happened?” Brady makes it to me first, but Finn is on his heels.

  “I don't know,” I gasp, trying to understand how there could be such fire blazing in my palm, and so little to show for it. “It feels like my hand is on a hot stove.”

  “Fuck,” Finn mutters.

  “What?” Panic turns my voice shrill.

  “Scorpion,” Brady says. He pushes aside the rocks with his shoe, displacing them until we see it. Small, its stinger curled, poised to defend itself.

  Finn brings his shoe down onto it, smashing and twisting until there couldn't possibly be much of it left.

  “It was defending, not attacking.” My admonishment is soft.

  “It hurt you,” Finn growls.

  Brady ignores all this, placing his hands on my shoulders and looking into my eyes. Despite the pain and my fear, I feel safe with his hands on me. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  I nod, and hope to hell he’s right.

  “What do we do?” Finn’s voice is shaking. He wraps an arm around my waist and leads me over to the table. The fire in my palm rages on.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Finn repeats, incredulous.

  Brady glances at me, his eyes unsure.

  “Just say it,” I instruct. I’d rather know the worst.

  “We’re looking for drooling and eyes that won’t focus. That would be the worst-case scenario.”

  “Get my book out of my bag.” I nod my head at my backpack lying on the table. “Read to me.”

  Finn’s eyebrows raise. “Read to you?”

  “Distraction,” I explain.

  Finn grabs my bag and drags it over. He reaches in and pulls out my copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.

  “We read this last year,” he complains.

  “Give it to me,” Brady says, swiping the book from Finn’s hand. He opens the book and begins to read.

  The rhythm of his voice lulls me. His voice breaks once, and I smile. Finn laughs and Brady shakes his head.

  “How are you feeling?” Brady asks after a while.

  I flex my fingers and realize it doesn’t hurt, because I’m numb.

  “I can’t feel my hand.” I poke at my right forearm. “Or my arm.”

  “Shit,” Finn mutters, his hands running through his hair.

  “Calm down,” Brady says to him. “Numbness is okay.”

  He reopens the book and keeps reading. Tipping my chin, I look up at the sky. When we got here, it was bright blue, but pink and orange have made space for themselves around the few wispy clouds.

  I’m glad Brady’s with me. If this happened and I was alone, I don’t know what I’d do. I look down at my hand and see Finn’s fingertips gliding over the top of it.

  How weird that I didn’t feel someone touching me. Obviously it’s because I’m numb, but still, it’s weird.

  Finn glances up at me, and his finge
rs keep going, even though he knows I can’t feel it.

  Brady closes the book and reaches over, knocking away Finn’s hand.

  Finn glares at him, but Brady says, “You know she can’t feel it anyhow.”

  Brady’s wrong. I may not be able to feel Finn’s touch on my skin, but his good intention caresses my heart.

  “Let’s go.” I stand, ready to be away from this park.

  “But we need to watch you,” Brady says, reaching out a hand to stop me.

  “You can still watch me, I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “Fair enough,” Finn says, hopping off the table. He puts his hands in his pocket and looks around. “Where to?”

  “Anywhere,” I respond, reaching for my backpack with my left hand. Brady gets there first, winding one hand through a strap and loading it onto his shoulder. I smile gratefully at him. He dips his head and touches the brim of a pretend hat, like a chivalrous cowboy in an old movie.

  We leave the park, winding our way around the neighborhood that surrounds it. We meet at this park because it’s halfway between Brady’s house and Finn’s house. I can feel their eyes on me, their worry pouring over me as if their emotion is liquid.

  We round a corner and I stumble on the little scalloped brick edging of a lawn. They both reach out to catch me, and of all things, this is what sends them over the precipice we’ve been balancing on for months.

  “I’ve got her,” Finn growls. His hands on my waist tighten.

  “So do I,” Brady responds, his normally even voice becoming rough.

  Finn removes his hands. Surprise and relief course through me. I don’t want to be the reason for them fighting.

  But Finn’s hands don’t stay down. He shoves Brady’s shoulder with one open palm. Brady stumbles back into the street, shock widening his eyes.

  For a few seconds, he stands there, his hands dangling at his sides, like he’s trying to decide what to do. Then he launches himself at Finn.

  I scream and jump out of the way, and Finn grunts as Brady’s whole body lands on him. Brady’s weight and forward motion sends them both backward, tripping over their own feet and falling down onto the lawn. Fists fly through the air, and it’s hard to tell whose hands belong to whom.

  “Stop,” I yell, running over. They don’t listen, or they can’t hear above their own adrenaline.

  “Fuck you,” Finn grits out as he blocks Brady’s blows.

  “Fuck you,” Brady responds, his breathing labored.

  “Come on, you guys,” I plead, dropping to my knees on the wet grass and wincing as Brady finally lands a solid punch on Finn’s cheek.

  The sound of a creak takes my attention away from Brady and Finn. I look up to see an old lady rushing as fast as she can from the house, her fist raised.

  “Get out of here, you little shits! What do you think you’re doing, fighting on my lawn?”

  Her angry voice breaks through Finn and Brady’s tussle. They disentangle and get to their feet. Brady looks sheepish. Finn looks like he’d have gladly continued.

  The old lady steps closer to Brady. She barely matches his height, but her expression makes me shrink back.

  “Who are your parents?” she asks, her finger poking into Brady’s chest. She has the thick voice of a long-time smoker.

  “Uh.” Brady glances at me, his eyes worried. Brady’s dad is a federal judge, and after his sister’s public battle with drugs, Brady can’t afford to bring any more embarrassment to his family.

  “Pamela Anderson,” Finn says, stepping up so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Brady. Brady glances at Finn, a question in his eyes.

  A laugh threatens to come out, but I swallow it and step forward so that I’m on the other side of Brady. “And his dad is Jonathan Taylor Thomas,” I add, trying like hell to keep my expression solemn.

  The old lady squints, looking at each of us in turn.

  “I know liars when I see them.” She grimaces and swats the air. “The three of you are beyond the pale. Get out of here, before I call the police and have you arrested for... for... disturbing the peace.”

  We scramble off her lawn and onto the sidewalk. Finn’s elbow digs into my ribs and I try not to laugh. We make it three houses down and it’s Brady who breaks first. He doubles over, his hands on his knees, and laughter shakes his shoulders.

  “I hit you,” he says, the word barely squeezing out around his laughter.

  Finn grimaces, his hand rubbing his jaw. “Have you ever been hit in the face, Brady?”

  Brady straightens, his laughter fading. He shakes his head, at the same time he says, “No.”

  “Well, it really fucking hurts.” Finn strides past Brady and says, “The next time you hit someone, don’t tuck your thumb inside your fist. And follow through.” Finn stops, raises two fists, and punches the air. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, and I wonder who taught him? Maybe his uncle, if he was ever sober enough to be that coordinated.

  “Finn,” Brady starts, taking a step toward him, but Finn raises an open palm to stop him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Brady.” Finn glances at me. “It probably won’t be the last time either.”

  I open my mouth, but Finn turns away. With his hands tucked inside the pockets of his ratty jeans, he walks off in the direction of his house.

  We watch him go, and when he disappears around the next corner, Brady slings an arm over my shoulder and steers me across the street.

  “Sorry we acted like that. Kind of stupid, I guess.”

  I shrug my shoulders, but I don’t say anything. I know they were fighting over me. I suppose the noble thing to do would be to take a step back from our friendship, if only to preserve theirs. But I don’t want to be noble. I want Brady and Finn. I want the three of us to stay the way we are, even though I know that’s impossible.

  Brady walks me home, pausing at the edge of my front yard. He touches my forearm, but I still can’t feel it.

  He glances away, in the general direction of his house. Looking back at me, he says, “Promise me you’ll call an ambulance if you start drooling.”

  My cheeks warm. The idea of him thinking about me drooling is embarrassing.

  I nod quickly.

  “And then call me. Or have your mom call me.”

  My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Why—”

  “The antivenom isn’t cheap. Insurance doesn’t cover it, and it can be more than twenty thousand dollars per dose. Sometimes people need more than one dose. That’s a direct quote from the doctor who treated my sister when she was stung a few years ago.”

  “Oh,” I say softly, looking down at the tiny red mark on my hand.

  Brady’s finger goes under my chin, lifting my face until our eyes meet. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that, if you need it, I’d make sure you got it. That’s all.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” Up on tiptoe, I give him a quick hug and head for my front door.

  It isn’t until I’m turning the door handle that I realize how late it is. As quietly as I can, I open the front door and step inside. So far, so good, I don’t see anybody. Sounds from the television filter in from the living room. I keep my footsteps as quiet as possible and make it to bottom of the stairs. I have one foot securely on the first stair when my mother’s voice snarls behind me.

  “Where have you been? You missed dinner.”

  I turn around and face my mother. She stands with her hands on her hips, her permed hair pulled up in a tight bun on the top of her head. A few tightly curled tendrils fall down near her temples and her ears.

  My right hand inches away until it’s hidden behind my backside. It’s not as if the scorpion sting is visible, yet for some reason, I want to hide it from her.

  “I was doing homework,” I tell her.

  Her eyebrows raise. “With who?”

  “Brady and Finn.” There’s a lilt to my voice, a challenge. She
doesn’t like me hanging around boys, especially Finn. She’s constantly telling me it’ll only get me into trouble.

  “Of course you were.” She comes closer to me, until I can see the skin-colored mole in the center of her right cheek. “I know you’re being a whore, Lennon.”

  Without pause, I look her square in the eyes and say, “It takes one to know one, Mother.”

  The intake of her breath is a sharp sound, but not as sharp as the open palm she lands squarely on my cheek.

  “Don’t you ever speak to me that way again.” She runs her hands down the front of her sensible, knee-length skirt, smoothing away wrinkles that aren’t there. Her lips shake, and her eyes bulge.

  For the next three seconds, we stare each other down, and I break first. Walking to my room, I hurry and shut the door behind me. I stand in front of the mirror above my dresser, lifting my numb hand to my stinging cheek. As frustrating as Finn and Brady and their silly rivalry can be, I wish I were still with them. They are my family.

  9

  Now

  My phone is heavy in my hand. I stare down at it, at the words on the screen.

  Want to come over for a swim?

  Brady’s question is so innocent, and yet it carries with it the possibility of being not so innocent. A swim is a swim, until it’s not. Until we look at each other for too long, until we sit for too long in the same memory.

  Sure, I write back, because there is no way I’m not going. Then, I send a second message. Should we invite Finn?

  Already did, Brady responds.

  I sigh and close my eyes. As long as the three of us are together, it’s safe. It’s when I'm on my own with either one of them that things become dangerous. Like when Finn kissed me yesterday. We both know he shouldn’t have done that. As much as it surprises me, I suppose on some level I was expecting it. And on another, even deeper level, I liked it.

  I didn’t think to pack a swimsuit, but I’m hoping I’ll find one in my drawer. My mother left my room the way it was before, so maybe that extends to my drawers too.