by Zac Brewer
Remembering Duckie’s words, I stopped in my tracks. He kept walking. “I’m not having this conversation. You either believe me or you don’t.”
His steps slowed, but he remained facing away from me for the longest time. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes were shimmering. “I don’t want to break up.”
“Neither do I. This is ridiculous. Look, I’m not going to spend less time with Duckie, but I want to spend more time with you.”
He looked up into the overcast sky, swallowing the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m having a really hard time understanding what someone like you sees in someone like me.”
I shook my head in wonder that someone as interesting, intelligent, talented, and gorgeous could have such low self-esteem. “You happen to be a really fantastic person, Derek. But I think life has just beaten you down and made it so you can’t see how great you really are.”
He swallowed as he met my eyes. “Not just life.”
I tilted my head in wonder. “What do you mean?”
“Last night after we texted, my dad came into my room and started screaming about how we never have any food in the house because I eat it all. Something about how he can’t even have a damn sandwich when he wants one.” Derek removed his hands from his pockets and raked his fingers through his hair. Stress radiated from him. “I was already upset about our conversation, so I mouthed off to him and told him exactly why we hardly ever have any food in the house. Because he’s a shit father and a selfish alcoholic who spends all of his money on booze.”
My heart sank into my stomach. He’d said his dad was an asshole. I only had a taste of how bad it really was at Derek’s house and could already solidly agree with him on that.
“He grabbed my phone out of my hands and threw it against the wall. Totally smashed it. Then he gave me a little reminder to watch my mouth.” Hesitantly, Derek lifted his hoodie and shirt up, revealing large bruises all over the left side of his body. One of the bruises looked like it might have been made by a man’s ring.
My fingers shook as they found my mouth. “Derek. Oh my god. Are you okay? We need to get this looked at.”
He pulled his clothes down over his wounds and shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “It hurts, but I’ve had worse. It’ll heal.”
Empathy for Derek and absolute anger at his father filled me. “You need to report him. Like now.”
He threw me a look that said I had no idea what I was talking about. “To who?”
My mind raced. What kind of parent would treat his child that way? “The cops? Child Protective Services? Someone! I don’t know.”
“Brooke.” He cupped my face gently in his hands. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
I placed my hands over his and met his gaze. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. The man is a monster. He should be locked up for how he treats you.”
He touched his forehead to mine, and we both closed our eyes. His skin was warm, as was his breath on my neck. He spoke in pleading whispers. “I’ve never told anyone but you about him hitting me. I’ve never shown anyone my bruises before. Please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please, Brooke?”
An idea grabbed me and I straightened, dropping my hands to his shoulders. “When’s your birthday?”
Derek furrowed his brow in question. “April eighth. Why?”
Perfect. “You’ll be eighteen then. You could move out and get him out of your life.”
He shook his head, and there was an annoyance in his eyes that I didn’t understand. It had to be from what his dad had just put him through. “Where am I supposed to go exactly? Besides, you heard my dad. We’ll probably be long gone before then. Once he gets it in his head to move, we move.”
“Well, maybe you could stay. You could get a job and find a roommate for a few months. Or you might be able to stay with Duckie. And then this fall, you could move into the dorms.” I took a step back, nodding at my brilliant idea. He’d be free then. He’d be safe.
“Dorms?”
“Yeah.” I blinked at him, wondering why my words didn’t seem to be reaching him. “College?”
Derek turned away from me for a moment. When he turned back, he was holding his hands out, palms up, and shaking his head. “I just asked you to keep this secret for me, and you’re telling me to get a job and go to college?”
“I’m just trying to find a way out for you. For us. Maybe we could go to the same school.” Images flooded my mind of Derek and me living on the same campus, going to college parties together, somewhere away from his father. Somewhere safe.
Derek’s voice was flat. “I didn’t think there were any colleges around here.”
“There aren’t. But there are some great schools in Michigan. We wouldn’t even have to leave the state. Look at University of Michigan. Ann Arbor is awesome. Plus, it’s not too late for you to apply. They consider late applicants on a case-by-case basis.” The realization hit me that I actually was looking forward to hearing back from U of M. I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to go to college.
I wanted to live.
“Wait. After graduation, you’re moving away?”
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” And I didn’t know. But the fact that I could even see a future now that I was focusing more on what would come rather than how it would all end made me see that maybe the meds actually were working . . . and maybe all those Monopoly games with Dr. Daniels were helping too. I grabbed his hand in mine, squeezing it. “But the point is, you could come with me. We could be together. And you’d be safe.”
He shook my hand away, rubbing his hands over his face and shaking his head. “You could have told me you were planning on leaving.”
“It’s been kind of a recent development.” I furrowed my brow, honestly confused by the way he was reacting to my solution. I was just trying to help him. “Don’t you want to go to college?”
Derek shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his eyes on the direction of his house. “I just assumed I’d end up with a crappy job like my dad, living in a trailer in a shitty neighborhood or something. When you grow up like I have, Brooke, you don’t think about college. You think about survival.”
I stepped closer and gently took his hand back in mine. I was going too fast, and it was freaking him out. Tempering my enthusiasm for a moment, I said, “Well, maybe you could start thinking of college as a survival opportunity.”
He was still peering down the road. I had no idea what he might be thinking. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Will you at least consider it?”
“Yes. But promise me you won’t tell anyone about . . . my dad.” When he looked at me, I could see the need in his eyes.
I placed a gentle kiss on his chin. “Of course I promise.”
He slid his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. Last night’s texts fell away into the midmorning haze. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. “Listen. I’m probably way wrong about you and your friend Duckie—”
“You are.”
“—but I do feel like every time I spend time with you, it’s after I pull you away from something you’re doing with him.”
It was true. There was no denying that. I’d never been very good at balancing Duckie and a boyfriend—which was one of the reasons I’d had so few. But Derek was important to me. I wanted to make this work. “I’m sorry. I’m just used to having him around all the time. But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting our time together. What can we do about that?”
He already looked somewhat relieved. “Hmm. It’s Friday. I heard there’s a party tonight. If you’re interested.”
“I’m totally interested. I just have to tell my parents the makeup crew is having a working party tonight. Kind of a celebration of all our hard work so far mingled with time to sort out some costuming issues? Duckie will back me up.” My eyes fell to his torso and I thought about the bruises just under two layers of relatively thin fabric. “You sure you’re feeling up to it?”
/> “Believe me. Anything that will get me out of the house . . . Besides, it’s you. And I need to be with you.” He bent down and brushed my lips in a tender kiss. All, apparently, had been forgiven.
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but it seemed like Derek had been a bit clingy since we’d first had sex. But he was my boyfriend. He was supposed to want more of my time and attention. Wasn’t he?
I hesitated before saying what else I was thinking, but finally managed to blurt it out. “What if I ask Duckie and Tucker to come along? That way, maybe you’ll see that there’s only friendship between Duckie and me.”
Derek managed a smile. “Okay. The party’s at some farm on Wilson Road.”
“I know the place. Duckie will have to drive us. It’s kinda in the middle of nowhere. What time should we leave?”
“From what I hear, things should start to get really interesting around eleven.”
“Then we’ll pick you up a few minutes before that.” I hugged him gently, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. When I met his eyes, I said, “I’m glad we talked.”
“Me too.” He kissed me on the tip of my nose, his smile broadening with relief. “See you tonight.”
As we began to part, I tilted my head at him with a question. “You sure you’re okay to go home?”
“I have to go home eventually. I’ll be okay. I promise.” His words said that he’d be just fine. His tone said that he was scared to go home. He turned and started walking back to his house. As he did, he said, “Eleven.”
“Eleven,” I said, watching my boyfriend move down the road alone toward his house. The thought of how good sex with Derek was filled my head. It was intense. Amazing. I’d felt whole, like two pieces of a complicated puzzle had at last come together (no pun intended). But this moment felt exactly the opposite of that. This was intense too, but in direct contrast to that. There had to be a way to restore the good feelings of that night at his house and erase the off-kilter feeling of this moment. It made total sense that Derek was feeling needy and even betrayed, growing up with a dad like he had. I just had to show him that not everyone intended to inflict pain on someone—that I’d really meant it every time I’d professed my love to him.
Maybe he’d understand that after the party. I hoped to hell he would.
We pulled up in front of Derek’s place at eleven o’clock and waited. I didn’t dare knock on the door to let him know we were there. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of that morning’s encounter—especially now that I’d seen how abusive his dad could really get. The very idea that someone couldn’t contain their anger and would violently lash out at another person—their own kid, even—really frightened me. I was scared for Derek. I hoped he was taking my college suggestion seriously.
Derek came out the front door and made his way into the backseat with me. It was so weird to sit in the Beast with anyone but Duckie, or to sit anywhere but my spot on the passenger’s side. But now Tucker was there, and Derek and I were in the back together. I sat on the foam side, just to be nice, but I didn’t think he really noticed. It made me think about how long Duckie and I had been sharing rides in the Beast, but this time in a way that made me feel a little more than sad. What would happen when the day came that Duckie and I had college classes, jobs, obligations, and relationships? The day would have to come that the Beast would stop running, and both of us would have lives that didn’t consist of classes and hanging out. Wouldn’t it? Or could friendships last forever?
Derek pulled the door shut behind him and said, “Hey.”
From the driver’s seat, Duckie put on his best-behavior tone and said, “Hey, Derek.”
On our way to pick up Tucker, I’d told Duckie about my talk with Derek—leaving out the subject of his dad’s abuse, as promised—and about how Derek was seriously concerned that Duckie and I might have a thing going on. It really was a ridiculous notion to think of Duckie and me hooking up, but I was hoping that maybe hanging out tonight might show Derek how unrealistic his concerns really were.
The Beast smelled like cotton linen, which meant that Duckie had purchased some new air freshener—probably because he didn’t want Tucker to associate his first night out with Duckie with the smell of Fritos. As we tore down the road, Derek reached over and took my hand in his. The boys chatted as Duckie drove us deep into nowhere, and I looked out the window at the blanket of stars above us. Duckie was being on his absolute best behavior, but I couldn’t tell if that was because he was trying to impress Tucker or if he was trying to assure Derek that he was totally harmless.
After a while, Duckie turned onto a dirt driveway and parked the Beast alongside about a dozen other cars—every one of them in better condition than the Beast, but not one of them nearly as cool. Music was pouring out of the farmhouse already, and colored lights filled the windows. The Kerrington farm had been abandoned for something like ten years, but kids had been holding parties here for the past six or seven. The cops knew about it but pretty much ignored the law breaking, so long as it didn’t get out of hand and nobody got hurt. I’d only been to two parties at the farm before this one, but Duckie had been to those two and then some.
Duckie’s parents were far more lenient than mine. Prior to my stay in Kingsdale, mine had always been pretty cool about my social life, so long as they had a vague idea of where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing. Naturally, I told them as little as possible, and nothing about parties at the Kerrington farm. It was nice that they were backing off now a bit. Still, it would be nice if I didn’t have to lie about going to a party.
We all got out of the Beast and walked toward the house, Derek holding my hand. Duckie and Tucker walked closely together but didn’t touch. Something told me that would change by the end of the evening.
People were pouring into the house. It looked like the party of the year. As we stepped through the front door, all the sounds and sights hit us at once. The buzz of the large generator sitting to the right of the door. A band playing at the back of the house, the bass thumping deeply in my chest. Somebody had rigged up DJ lights, filling the entire house with colors and what looked like tiny, blinking groups of stars. The house was full of people laughing and talking while clutching red plastic cups filled with beer. Sarah Emberson and Kristah Neil were cackling up a storm as we passed—not at me, but their laughter did send a cold sharpness up my spine. Jake Taylor was looking them both over like maybe he’d had just enough booze to get the courage to hit on one of them—either of them. Jake wasn’t exactly a picky guy.
We navigated our way through the crowd with some effort. Duckie and Tucker were soon swallowed by the darkness, disappearing to who knew where in the enormous old house. Derek gave my hand a squeeze. I looked at him and he said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the noise. Apparently he took that as a yes to whatever he was asking me, because he led me through the house until we stepped into what had been the kitchen. In the center of the room was a keg. Derek grabbed two cups and filled them rather expertly before handing me one. I didn’t bother telling him that I didn’t drink beer. Instead I shouted, “Thank you,” and hoped he heard over the noise.
He stepped closer and put his mouth right by my ear. “Quite a party.”
I spoke into his ear so that he could hear. “It’s loud. We should go upstairs.”
He nodded, and I grabbed his hand and led him back through the room where the band was playing and up the stairs. There were fewer people up here, and the music was plenty loud but more bearable. At the top of the stairs was a big loft, and standing to the right were Duckie and Tucker, who’d apparently had the same idea that we’d had about the noise. They were both grinning and chatting. Neither of them had a beer or any other kind of drink. Apparently, each other’s company was enough to make their heads swim. My heart overflowed with promise for my best friend.
We joined the two of them, and Duckie glanced at the cup in my hand and raised his eyebrows before shaking his head. Maybe he thought Derek
was a bad influence on me. It wasn’t like I was drinking the beer. It was more like I was serving as a cup holder. Derek took a healthy gulp from his cup. After he swallowed, he smiled at me. “I’m glad I came.”
I smiled back. “Me too.”
We hung out in the loft, people watching and telling dirty jokes, until Derek convinced Tucker to chug the beer I was holding. As Tucker started downing it, Duckie looked less than pleased. Seeing the intensity of his glare, I began to wonder if the Duckman would be able to hold his tongue all night. But an hour later, Duckie had his left arm around Derek’s shoulder and his right arm around Tucker. They were singing songs from Phantom of the Opera as loudly and as obnoxiously as they could and laughing their faces off. Tucker had two more beers as the night progressed. Derek had three. Duckie taught us all how to moonwalk.
To my great surprise, Claire Simpson was in the corner making out hardcore with Scott Melbur. We’re talking hands up her top, her mouth devouring his entire face making out. It was almost comical. I could just imagine the title in the school paper now: “Cheer Captain Gives Yearbook Photographer Something to Cheer About!”
Party of the year, indeed.
“Brooke! Brooke Danvers!” I turned to see who was calling my name and my eyes fell on Michael Stein. I waved him over, and as soon as he reached me, he said, “Have you seen Claire anywhere?”
I decided to spare him some heartbreak and not mention that I had seen Claire . . . and her lips on some other guy. “Afraid not. So what are you doing here, anyway? You don’t usually hit these parties.”
Sadness lurked in his eyes. “I just . . . my sister, Samantha?”
I knew Samantha. She was only five years old, and she’d been diagnosed with something called Tay-Sachs disease when she was just a baby. And she was the center of Michael’s world. In fact, when Michael’s parents had suggested he get involved in school plays, he’d initially refused, not wanting to leave his sister’s side. He said he’d feel selfish doing them. But eventually, he came around, and the plays were a welcome distraction from the stress and sadness that awaited him at home. From what Michael had told me, there was no cure for the disease.