The Snowball Effect

by Holly Nicole Hoxter

  When Riley got there, I was back in my bed. I’d turned the TV up louder so I couldn’t hear Collin.

  “Shouldn’t he be settling down?” Riley asked. “Where’s Vallery?”

  I shrugged. “She went out. I told her we were going out with Christine and Wallace but she left anyway. She’s pretty hell-bent on that schedule she came up with.”

  He looked at his watch. “We’re supposed to go out with Christine and Wallace?”

  “They want to go Dumpster diving,” I explained. “And look for new furniture. They’re getting their own apartment.”

  Riley nodded. “That’s cool. You’re going to take Collin out at ten o’clock at night?”

  “No, they’re not getting here until midnight.”

  “When’s Vallery coming back?”

  “I don’t know. She’ll probably come back at six in the morning, just so I have to keep Collin all night.”

  “You’re seriously going to take Collin out at midnight?”

  I shrugged.

  “He’s five years old, Lainey.”

  “He’ll sleep in the van.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I don’t think it’s up to you.”

  Riley stood in the doorway and stared at me. What are you doing? I asked myself. Stop fighting with him.

  “Well, I don’t think I’m going,” Riley said.

  “That’s fine,” I tried to say in a friendly way. But then I added, “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  “You specifically said that we were supposed to go out with Christine and Wallace tonight.”

  I shook my head. I was out of control. I had no idea why I was being such a jerk. Maybe Collin’s obstinacy had rubbed off on me.

  Riley sighed. He came in and sat next to me on the bed. “Lainey, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “About what?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?” I asked, like I didn’t know.

  “Honestly?”

  I nodded.

  “Honestly, you’re being a huge bitch. I’m just trying to help you, and you don’t appreciate any of it. I know you’re going through a rough time—”

  “Shut up, Riley.”

  “Lainey, no, let’s talk about this.”

  “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

  “Lainey, come on.”

  “Shut up, Riley. Just shut up.”

  Riley stood up. I looked away from him. He stomped down the steps and then I heard the front door slam shut behind him.

  A moment later Collin appeared in my door. “Indoor voice!” he shouted, and then he ran away.

  Christine drove and Wallace sat shotgun. I was in the backseat between Owen (starting to nod off) and Collin (wide-awake). There were Cheerios crushed into the floor and seats and there were fast-food bags everywhere. Christine shared the van with her mom and had tried to convince me that I should leave Collin at her house, but I liked her mom too much to do that to her.

  It was trash night in Christine’s neighborhood, but we knew we wouldn’t find much. The trash in nicer neighborhoods was much better.

  Riley took me to see the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra once when his dad got free tickets from work. We made one wrong turn, and suddenly we were on a street full of strip clubs and drug dealers. It didn’t make any sense to me that such debauchery would be one wrong turn away from the symphony. Fortunately things weren’t like that in Corben; you had warning that you were driving into the ghetto. So we slowly drove through the slums and worked our way to the neighborhoods with better trash.

  “Where are we going?” Collin asked.

  “Just driving around,” I said.

  “McDonald’s?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Collin, you’re not hungry.”

  “We can stop if you want,” Christine said.

  “No. He’s not hungry.”

  Collin started to cry.

  “I’ve got a Fruit Roll-Up,” Wallace said.

  I leaned forward and took it from him. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  I gave it to Collin and he stopped crying. He held it out to me. “Open please,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You can do it.”

  That would keep him occupied for at least five minutes.

  As we drove, Wallace and Owen jumped out a few times to inspect something on the curb, but after an hour we hadn’t had any luck, so Christine drove to the apartment complex to show us their new place. Of course, it was nearly two in the morning, and we could only look at the outside. Collin’s head was turned away from me. I thought he’d fallen asleep, but I didn’t want to look and risk waking him up.

  “You should check the Dumpsters,” Owen suggested. “I bet they have five or ten around here.”

  “Good call,” Wallace said. He looked back at me and Owen and nodded with approval. “Very good call.”

  At the second Dumpster they found a few prospects and set them aside as they dug around. I slid up to the front seat next to Christine. I glanced back at Collin and his eyes were shut, thank God. He looked all sweet and angelic, the way kids only look when they’re asleep.

  I hadn’t done any actual diving and I was feeling pretty worthless. The least I could do was make conversation.

  “So,” I said to Christine, “how’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “Fine. We’ve got a billion things to do before the move. It’s crazy.”

  “It happened pretty quickly. I didn’t even know you were thinking about moving.”

  “Well, Wallace wanted to and I didn’t really care too much. But he started looking at apartments and we found this one for really cheap. We couldn’t turn it down.”

  I nodded. “Cool” was all I could think of to say.

  “Riley didn’t want to come out?” she asked.

  I shrugged and hesitated a little too long before I said, “He was tired.”

  Christine looked at me. “You have a fight or something?”

  “Not really.”

  She reached over and touched my shoulder. “You know, I’m here if you ever want to talk. About anything. About boyfriends or raising kids or anything.” She put her thumb and pinky up to her ear and mouth. “Just call me.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Christine.”

  Wallace came back up to the door and I moved back to my seat. “Let’s ride down a few more streets,” Wallace said. “I’m feeling lucky.”

  Christine drove out of the apartment complex, and we drove up and down streets until we found trash piled up on the curb.

  “End table!” Wallace called out when we were halfway down the block.

  “Hush,” Christine said. “Collin finally fell asleep.”

  “End table!” Wallace whispered.

  Christine pulled over to the curb, and Wallace and Owen hopped out. They inspected the end table. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone walking toward the curb.

  I didn’t think Dumpster diving was technically illegal. And if it was, it shouldn’t have been. I mean, it was trash. But some people didn’t see it that way. When we used to go real Dumpster diving behind the supermarket, we always brought a few cardboard boxes along so we could tell anyone that we were moving soon and looking for empty boxes. If people came along and saw you taking food—even from a Dumpster!—they just assumed you were doing something wrong.

  I turned to look at the guy approaching the curb. He wore a bathrobe and slippers and carried a trash bag. He dropped it by the curb, glanced at Wallace and Owen, and then lifted his hand in a polite wave. Just before he turned and walked back toward the house, I recognized his scruffy face and long hair.

  “Slurpee Guy,” I said aloud. The windows were tinted (by Wallace in an attempt to make the van look more hip; instead they were spotted with air bubbles), so I knew he couldn’t have seen me.

  “What?” Christine called from the front seat.

  Collin stirred beside me.
“Nothing,” I said. Collin’s head bobbed around for a second, and then he rested it on his shoulder and snored a little.

  I’d seen him again. That had to mean something, right? That couldn’t just be a stupid coincidence.

  Don’t see signs, I told myself. Sometimes things happened and they didn’t mean anything. Sometimes a dream was just a dream. A coincidence was just a coincidence.

  Forget about it. Don’t be Mom.

  My ringing cell phone woke me up early the next morning. Too early—and I didn’t even have to go to work. I looked at the caller ID and saw Riley’s name. I hit the “reject” button and sent him straight to voice mail. I knew I’d had a terrible attitude, but that wasn’t any excuse for him to call me a bitch.

  I got out of bed and found Vallery in the kitchen. “If Riley comes by, don’t let him in,” I said.

  “Have a fight?”

  “Just don’t let him in.” I went around and checked that the doors and windows were all locked. Not that I really thought Riley would resort to crawling in through a window.

  Vallery followed me into the living room. “Collin’s asleep in his own bed.” She pointed at her watch. “And it’s after eight A.M. Please tell me how you managed that. Is he still sick? I thought you said he was better.”

  I thought about lying, but then I decided to go for the truth. “I took him Dumpster diving last night. He didn’t fall asleep in the van until around two. Then when we got home, I carried him in and he didn’t wake up, so I left him in his bed.”

  Vallery nodded. “I’m not even going to ask what you mean when you say ‘Dumpster diving.’”

  “All right,” I said. I went to my room and got back in bed.

  I napped most of the day, which turned out to be a stupid idea. At eleven that night I sat in bed wide-awake, and for the first time I wouldn’t have minded watching Collin. At least it would have given me something to do. I could still hear him in Vallery’s room, reciting his favorite TV commercials every few minutes. Finally I slid out of bed and got out the shoe box of pictures that Riley was storing under my bed along with his crazy scissors and scrapbook papers.

  Mom’s peak picture-taking years were the first few years of Vallery’s life, and then again when she got Collin. The in-between years, the Lainey years, hardly exist. I came across a few pictures of me that my second-grade teacher took and sent home. Some Polaroids of us that one of her boyfriends had taken. A few pictures from one Christmas when I was ten. But mostly Baby Vallery and Little Collin.

  I put the pictures away and slid the shoe box back under my bed.

  Due to sheer boredom, I pulled one of Mom’s notebooks out from under my mattress. I opened to a random page and began to read.

  Be the change you want to see in the world, Ghandi says.

  “Ghandi?” Yeah, okay.

  Accept responsibility for your action. Acknowlegment of your mistakes is the first step toward peace for all. Apologize and make amends.

  I could think of a few people who should take that advice. Dad, for example, wanting to act like a real dad now but never bothering to apologize for being a jerk. Maybe I should have Mom’s words of wisdom published and pass copies out as Christmas presents.

  Don’t ever go to bed angry.

  Being kind is better than being right.

  I slammed the notebook shut and shoved it back under my mattress. Mom’s Book of Clichés made me nauseous.

  I reached back under my bed and dragged out a stack of papers. I pulled up my trash can and threw out magazines, pay stubs, school papers. And then I found a letter from my bank with that familiar four-digit code I’d somehow managed to forget.

  I put my shoes on and decided that now was as good a time as any to go to the ATM. Not having cash sucked.

  I drove to the 7-Eleven, got my money, and wandered around inside for a while. I walked every aisle twice and flipped through about fifteen different magazines. Then I noticed the cashier glaring at me. I grabbed one of the magazines and took it up to the counter to pay.

  It wasn’t until I walked out to my car and I looked around the parking lot that I realized what I was doing, why I’d chosen to loiter at this particular 7-Eleven. I wanted to see him again. Slurpee Guy.

  But it’s hard to accidentally run into someone when you’re trying to do it on purpose.

  I got in the Grand Am and drove to the diner. I didn’t even know if Kara was working, but as I stood by the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, I spotted her red hair. She saw me from across the room and waved me over.

  “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  I sat in one of her booths, and she poured me coffee. “I’ll come sit with you when I have a minute,” she said, and then walked over to another table.

  I looked out the window at the parking lot and saw a flash of headlights. I realized that if Riley went by my house and saw my car gone, I was so predictable that he’d know exactly where to find me. He’d come in and find me sitting here. He’d get down on his knees and apologize. And it would be good enough for me. I’d apologize too. We’d hug. He’d buy me an omelet.

  As the car parked, I daydreamed that it might be Slurpee Guy instead. He couldn’t sleep either. He’d been thinking about me. He’d gone to 7-Eleven too, but I’d left right before he got there. By chance he drove to this diner. He’d see me sitting here alone and he’d come over. I’d tell him about my PIN. We’d catch up. I’d buy him an omelet.

  God, that ridiculous dream. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I thought about Slurpee Guy in his underwear, spooning me. It wasn’t even real, but it played in my mind over and over and over.

  The bell rang as the door of the diner opened. I turned. Slurpee Guy coming to formally make my acquaintance? Riley coming to reclaim me? I wasn’t sure who I wanted it to be.

  Of course it wasn’t either of them. An older couple stood in the doorway, no one I knew, looking a little weary. They’d probably just stopped for something to eat before they got back on the road and finished driving to wherever it was they really wanted to go.

  10

  ON THE VERGE

  Riley left ten messages on my voice mail before I finally decided to call him back. His tenth message said, “It’s almost your birthday. I need to know what you want to do. If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to plan something crazy.”

  I’d been trying really hard to ignore my birthday.

  “Riley,” I said when he answered the phone. “Please don’t plan anything. I don’t want to do anything.”

  “You don’t want to go out anywhere?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to see me?” he asked.

  I hesitated.

  “Lainey?”

  Of course I missed him. I knew I was supposed to be with him forever, that we weren’t supposed to stay mad at each other.

  “I want to see you.”

  “So we’re finished being mad?”

  “You were mad?”

  “No. But you were mad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

  “Lainey. A man should never talk to a woman that way. I was a complete jerk.”

  “It’s all right. Do you want to come over?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Give me like ten minutes.”

  After we hung up, I felt good for about a minute and then I felt a little sick to my stomach.

  I didn’t want to think about my birthday, because my birthday made me think of my mother. I knew that was dumb. My birthday should have been all about me. But all my happy memories of my mother seemed to happen on my birthday.

  On my birthdays I got to eat what I wanted and do what I wanted, and Mom wouldn’t tell me no. I wore a tiara and Mom called me Queen Lainey.

  On my sixth birthday I wanted a Care Bears marathon. Mom went to the store and bought all the VHS tapes she could find, and we sat on
the couch in our pajamas and watched them all day long, only taking a break to watch Heartstrings with Grandma Elaine.

  On my seventh birthday I wanted to race go-carts because I’d seen them on TV and become obsessed with them. I also asked that Daddy Steve leave for the whole day. Mom didn’t like it, but she said, “Okay, Lainey, it’s your birthday.” I heard him get out of bed and leave around eleven thirty the night before. I heard Mom yell, “Oh, get over it, Steve, it’s her birthday!” and then the door slammed shut behind him. The next night I heard him come home a few minutes after midnight.

  On my eighth birthday I wanted to do over Christmas because Christmas the year before had really sucked. Daddy Steve had gotten drunk and ruined everything. Mom got the boxes of decorations out of the hall closet. We put up the fake tree and decorated it with lights and ornaments. I climbed up on a chair and stuck the angel on top. Mom wrapped my birthday presents and we left them there all day while we baked cookies and drank cocoa. Of course I said that Daddy Steve had to leave for the whole day again. Except that year he didn’t come back. He’d left Mom a few times before, so it wasn’t all that surprising. But a month later she met Daddy Jerry, and he was a thousand times better than Daddy Steve—so when Daddy Steve begged Mom to take him back, she had enough sense to say no.

  On my ninth birthday Mom went to camp with me. It wasn’t a real camp—just a day program through the rec council. We played games and took art and dance lessons and sometimes had guest visitors, like the woman who came from the petting zoo. Mom went with me to art class, and I showed her the painting of a chameleon that I was working on. We ate lunch together in the cafeteria. She played tag with us on the playground. That night I wanted to bake a birthday cake instead of buying one from the store, and I asked Daddy Jerry to help. That made Mom happy.