by Julie Dill
I sit for eternity, turning around every few minutes. The security guards haven’t budged from their original positions, and Nate and the lady just keep talking.
After I’ve about cried myself sick, she reenters the office.
“Chelsea. Let me explain a few things to you.”
I remain silent.
“First, I’m not sure if you realize that this casino is on tribal land . . . meaning, the Cherokee Nation Security has jurisdiction over any criminal penalties. Do you understand?”
I don’t understand what this means at all, but I nod my head yes.
Her cell phone rings, she picks it up, answers, and quickly steps back outside her office.
I wait.
I assume that a higher-up has given her a call to discuss my punishment. Jail.
Will they clean out my locker at school? Will I be known as the girl who went from cheerleader to jailbird?
After a few “yeses” and a “that sounds good,” the lady steps back into the office and takes a seat back at her desk. She’s 90 percent hard-ass, but 10 percent softie. “Chelsea. Underage gambling can be a serious offense.” She pauses and takes a drink of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “However, your friend . . . Nate . . . has assured us that we will never have this problem again. In other words, you walk out that door, and we never see you again. Well, until you’re eighteen, anyway.” She winks.
I cry more and speak words for the first time.
“Yes ma’am.” Sniffle. “I won’t come back. I promise.”
She reveals her soft side when she hands me a box of tissue and says, “Get outta here.”
I grab a few and stand to walk out.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I want to hug her.
“Oh, Chelsea. One more thing . . . Stay away from that Nate friend of yours. He’s just bad news when it comes to girls. What do you guys call it? A player?”
My heart sinks.
She goes on.
“Honestly, I don’t know how he keeps all of you straight.”
Chapter 37
Nate is waiting for me in the hallway. I wipe my nose, look at him, and keep walking. He calls me by my real name for the first time.
“Chelsea? Wait.” He catches up to me. “Let’s talk about this.”
I’m overwhelmed with the events. I don’t want to deal with him so I keep walking.
He’s angry.
“I think you owe me an apology.”
This strikes a nerve.
“An apology? I owe you an apology? For what?”
We continue our conversation while I head for the door.
“For everything. For basically lying to me about your whole entire life . . . Or instead of an apology, how about a ‘thank you’ for saving your ass.” He’s hateful.
I keep walking.
He stops. I don’t turn around.
I just keep walking.
I have a complete breakdown when I get in my car. I cry hard. Really, really hard. The kind of cry when you can’t catch your breath. I grab a tissue from my console and blow my nose then put my key in the ignition.
I’m just about to pull out when Nate walks up and taps on my window.
He uses his pointer finger to request that I roll down my window.
So I turn my key and roll down my window.
“Let’s talk about this,” he says.
I just look at him like he’s crazy. I don’t know how he keeps all of you straight.
I sarcastically laugh.
“What’s there to talk about?”
He walks around to the passenger side and tries to open the door. I unlock it, and he gets in. “We’ve been dating all this time, and I feel like I have no idea who you even are.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.” I snap back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I don’t make eye contact.
“It means I have no idea who you are either. How many girls are you dating?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why are you turning this around on me?”
I hear his question, but I don’t respond.
He shifts his body toward me and pauses before he asks, “Where do you even live?”
“I live with my dad. I’m in high school, Nate. Now will you get out of my car?” Another tear drops.
He’s stunned.
“High school?” He shifts again, this time facing forward. “Shit.”
He sits in silence for at least a whole minute. “And to answer your question, there’s been no one but you. Since the day I first saw you, you’ve been it.” He sits in silence, again, this time even longer. Finally, he takes my hand, kisses it, and gets out of the car.
I watch him as he walks back toward the building. I put my car in reverse. And for the last time, I leave the casino parking lot.
__________
I end up at Ms. Stella’s. It’s as if my car was on autopilot because when I pull into her driveway, I hardly remember the drive at all. Ms. Stella is pulling her trash can to the curb, so I turn my headlights off and step out of my car. She dusts her hands the way workers do when they complete a big task.
“What a nice surprise,” she says. “You’re just in time for a midnight snack.”
I force a smile.
“What’s wrong, dear?” She weaves her arm into mine, and pulls me into her house. I’m sure red eyes and smudged mascara is the giveaway.
I don’t respond so she starts guessing.
“Bad night on the table? Pimple? Let me see your face.”
I force another smile.
“It’s not boy trouble is it? Tell me his name, and I’ll go let the air out of his tires.”
She scurries to the kitchen and pulls some aluminum foil back off the top of a pan. I sit down at the table. She cuts two pieces of chocolate cake and licks her fingers after each piece.
“I’ll tell ya right now. Boys are stupid. The sooner you figure that out, the better.” She takes a bite of cake then sits down with me at the table.
I look her in the eyes. For a split second I think about telling her everything. All of it.
But I don’t.
I listen to Ms. Stella tell me about the meaning of life. She talks about the struggles we encounter, the highs and lows, and about how some days are diamonds and some days are stones. She talks to me in the most gentle, affectionate way, and I listen. Just listen. My piece of cake goes untouched, so she transfers it to a Tupperware container and lovingly places it in my hands.
“Chin up,” she says.
Chapter 38
Despite my efforts to try to conceal it, I know Dad can tell that I’ve been crying when I walk through the door. He sits up on the couch and uses the remote to turn off the TV. This is an upgrade from the usual muting.
“What’s going on, Chelsea. Have you been crying?” He looks me over. Oh, now you’ve decided to pay attention? I remain silent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say finally, while I gauge his expression.
“Don’t even try. You’ve been acting strange.” He looks uncertain. Probably thinks I’m just being an irresponsible, rebellious teenager. “Where have you been? I know you’ve been lying to me.”
How would I even talk to him about it? Let’s see. Where would I start? I’ve been trying to make ends meet . . . I have a mad crush on an older guy that I almost spent the night with and will likely never see again. I had to leave a stack of chips on the table that was the equivalent of an electrical bill and rent . . . Bills you couldn’t pay because you’re oblivious to our financial situation. I sit right beside him on the couch and start pulling my hair up into a knot on the top of my head.
My dad has never had to discipline me. Like everything else, I do this myself. I’m not exp
ecting to get grounded or have some type of punishment. This is not how our house works. But this is worse. He somehow knows I’ve been up to something, and I hate it. I can’t talk myself out of this one.
I weigh my options. Tell the truth? Some of it? All of it? Start small. Breathe in, breathe out.
“I’ve been hanging out at a . . . casino,” I say softly, avoiding his gaze.
“Casino? What were you doing at a casino? Gambling? Meeting someone for drugs?” He’s surprised. What was he expecting me to say?
“Drugs? Seriously, Dad?” I stare at him incredulously. Okay, I guess I am going to tell him the whole truth. Minus Nate. He doesn’t need to know about that part. “I was playing poker to make some damn money for us, because you sure as hell aren’t doing much.” I stand up and walk toward the kitchen. Is he really that oblivious?!
“Playing poker? Chelsea, I’ve been applying for jobs, and I know I’m getting a few calls back this week.” His voice calms. “We will get through this rough patch. There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger.”
“Dad, enough already! You’re not getting any calls back! I know you’re not!” I slam my purse onto the kitchen table. Whack.
“Listen here, Missy!” His tone grows stern. “You don’t come in here talking to me like that. I’m still your father!” He stands and tosses the remote onto the coffee table. “I should be the one hollering at you! Our situation isn’t that dire. We will be okay.”
I start to walk toward my bedroom. Under my breath, “You’re clueless.”
He follows me.
“EXCUSE ME? What did you say?”
“I SAID YOU’RE CLUELESS, DAD! You have no idea how many close calls we’ve had. You have no idea what I have had to do around here to get us through the day! And the next! And the next!” I wave my arms in the air.
This takes him back. He just stares at me.
I want my words back. I don’t want to hurt him. I soften my voice.
“I mean, I do a lot, Dad. I was just trying to figure out a way to make it happen!” I have no tears left.
“Chelsea, do you know what goes on in casinos? Drugs! Prostitution! Gangs! God knows what else!”
I look him in the eyes.
“I didn’t get hurt, Dad.”
“YOU COULD HAVE!” He’s yelling again.
I plop down onto my bed and he walks out.
He’s almost back to the kitchen when he yells, “YOU’RE GROUNDED.”
I half-laugh.
Grounded.
Grounded from what? My life? Because that would be great.
Chapter 39
The next day I call Cassidy. Like a confessional prayer, I tell her everything. Start to finish.
She listens.
I go deep, deep, deep into the story, something I could only do with Cassidy.
She doesn’t say much, just listens intensely with an occasional, “Are you serious?”
I give her specifics about the bust, how I thought I was going to jail, and how I can’t stop thinking about Nate. I even tell her that I faked my injury to get off the squad. When I finally finish, she’s silent for a moment.
“You still there?” I ask.
“I’m here.” More silence. I find myself counting the seconds before she speaks again.
“What are you going to do now?” she asks quietly.
“I honestly don’t know. Everything is a mess.”
I pick up dirty clothes off of my floor. She sighs.
“Chelsea, I’m your best friend, and you know I’m here for you. We can figure this out together. I have some secret cash stashed in my drawer if you need it.”
It’s the same ole same. Chelsea needs help. Cassidy saves Chelsea.
When we hang up, I glance down at my phone and see a text message notification. What? When did this happen?
It’s from Nate. My stomach flip-flops as I open the message and start speed reading.
“Hi. I don’t like how things ended. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve left me with so many questions. I keep watching the front door in the poker room hoping you’ll walk in, but I know you won’t. Why did you accuse me of seeing other girls?”
Just as I finish reading, another text comes through:
“Yes I have a past, but I’d like a chance to explain. You are beautiful and I loved spending time with you. I want to know who you really are. Can we meet? Maybe just coffee or something like that? I think we need to talk.”
I read them both again.
Then one more time.
Butterflies, butterflies, more butterflies. I wait a minute then text back.
“Yes.”
Two hours later, we’re sitting across from each other in a crowded Starbucks. Dad has never grounded me before, so when I told him I was going to Cassidy’s, he didn’t even blink. Typical, oblivious Dad.
I take a drink of my tea and look across the table at Nate.
“Aren’t you going to order some coffee?”
He smiles gently. “Nah. I’m not really big on coffee.”
I grin and shake my head. “There’s tea too, you know.” He smiles, but doesn’t say anything. We people-watch for a few minutes before he breaks the silence.
“How are you?” He seems genuinely interested.
“I’m okay.” I look away. “Hangin’ in there.”
Another minute passes.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m okay. You know, not much going on. Just work.”
It hasn’t been long since I’ve seen him last, but it feels like forever ago. I feel like I have no idea what’s going on in his life—like he’s a stranger.
“So?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Sooo, what?”
“So, tell me more. Tell me more about Chelsea.”
“I’ve already told you. I’m still in high school. I’m only seventeen.”
“Yeah, I know that part.” Nate picks up my tea and takes a drink. “But like, where do you live? Where do you go to school? Why were you sneaking into casinos?”
I give him the short version. The truth, just not every detail. I tell him about dad, about cheer squad, about electric bills. I needed money.
He soaks it all in.
“Wow. Brave girl.”
“I had to do it, you know? I didn’t have a choice.”
He nods and looks at me silently for a few minutes, rubbing his hands together uncertainly as if he wants to reach for mine.
My turn.
“So, I hear you’re a player, huh?” I ask, laughing a little.
“Yeah, who told you that?”
“One of your coworkers.”
“No. I am not a player.” He’s serious. “I dated around a year or two ago. So what? I was young and having fun. But since I’ve met you, there’s been no one else. No one. Promise.”
“That’s what they all say,” I tease.
He gets firm. “Look. I promise you, Chelsea, I haven’t talked to anyone since we’ve been . . . seeing each other.”
For some reason, I actually believe him.
“Well, okay.” I look him right in the eyes.
We sit there for another hour because we don’t want it to end. Nate says he wants to still see me, but he’s worried about me being underage.
“I actually had a buddy who got in a lot of trouble for that. He ended up serving time.”
“Um, that’s not good. I turn eighteen in a few months.” I say, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait. I’m glad this relationship isn’t over. It’s just—”
“Postponed,” I laugh.
“Yeah, postponed.” Nate smiles. Dimples.
Just a few more months and maybe, just maybe, we can finally be something.
No lies, just truth.
Chapter 40
Dad shocks the hell out of me two days later when I walk into the kitchen as I’m getting ready to leave for school. He is sitting at the table with a plate of toast and coffee. He is bright-eyed with a clean shave and combed hair. It startles me at first. It’s been a long time since I’ve been greeted by him this early in the morning. He looks up and sees the shock on my face.
“Hi, hon.” He says, nonchalantly.
“Uh, what are you doing up?”
He takes a bite of toast and washes it down with coffee.
“I’m starting a job today.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m starting a job today. It’s going to be a good one . . . great benefits, guaranteed base pay, weekends off.”
Finally.
I smile.
“You had me at benefits. Where at?”
“Walker Brothers Furniture.”
“What are you going to do?”
He chomps on more toast.
“Salesman. I get commission too. And bonuses.”
“Wow. I’m really proud of you, Dad.”
He stops eating for a second and smiles. He looks at his watch (Dad’s wearing a watch?) and gets up to clean his plate. He cups the back of my head, kisses my forehead, says, “See ya tonight, kiddo,” and walks out the door.
I stand there, still in disbelief.
I look at the table where he sat.
I look at the dish in the sink to confirm that this really just happened.
I hear the garage door go up and then his truck engine turning over and giving it its best shot. Two more tries. Almost . . . almost . . . His truck starts.
Wow. This is really happening.
As I turn out all the lights and gather my backpack, I’m consumed with wild thoughts of when Dad actually starts bringing home a decent check. My imagination gets the best of me, and I envision us moving into a better house. Everything is painted brightly, no chips in the paint or stains in the carpet. There’s even a fluffy dog and picket fence for God’s sake. In my daydream, I see my Dad handing me money for lunch, flowers in a flowerbed, and someone spraying fertilizer on the lawn. It’s too real.