by Kieran Scott
“Hey. Have you seen Glenn yet?” Stephanie asked, pushing herself away from the wall in the lobby to fall into step with me.
My stomach clenched. I’d told Steph all about what had happened on Saturday night and she hadn’t been quite as proud as I’d hoped. In fact, she’d sounded disappointed.
“No. Why?” I asked.
“Because. He’s looking for you,” she said, all ominous-like. “Apparently he wants to ‘talk,’ ” she added with air quotes.
My hair actually drooped. Come on. I couldn’t even get one school day out of this Mean KJ thing? What the heck had I gone to all that trouble for?
We came around the corner and my Cameron radar went off. He stood in the center of a group of jocks and jock worshippers in the general vicinity of my locker, going over a play-by-play of some game or other, but when he saw me, he slapped hands with one of his buddies and jogged over. I went catatonic. I merited a jog-over? How had this happened?
“Hey, KJ,” he said, resting his basketball between his hip and his wrist. He used his free hand to adjust his hair, pulling his bangs forward, then pushing them back. “How was your weekend?”
“Good,” I replied.
Please don’t let Glenn find me now. Please, please, please.
“I heard you and Tama had a good time at the St. Luke’s thing,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling.
Stephanie shifted next to me, irritated at the very mention of my Saturday night out with Tama. Couldn’t she keep the judgmental thing under wraps for five seconds? I was talking to Cameron Richardson here!
“Yeah. It was fun,” I lied. At least the last two minutes when I’d finally told off Pockman Peter had been fun.
“Well, maybe I’ll see you at the next one,” he said, knocking my arm with his elbow. “You can help me make the ex jealous.”
I made a noise that was half laugh, half snort, then almost threw up from embarrassment. But Cameron just laughed. “Well. See you later.”
“Yeah. Later,” I managed to say.
He jogged off and I turned to Steph. “Oh. My. God! Did you hear that! He wants me to help him make his ex jealous!”
Stephanie’s face was white and expressionless. Why was she not celebrating with me? Why was she not doing cartwheels right now in the center of the hallway?
“Uh, KJ?” she said.
And then, I felt a chill down my back. The Cameron radar’s freak-out must have caused a temporary malfunction in my Glenn Marlowe Early Warning System. Because he was poking me on the shoulder. Hard.
I turned around, head held high, and looked Glenn right in the eye.
“KJ. I need to speak with you,” he said, all formal.
“What is it, Glenn?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
He folded his hands in front of him. “I just wanted to inform you that the manner in which you spoke to me on Saturday night was inappropriate and unacceptable.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He had to be kidding. The way I’d treated him was inappropriate and unacceptable? How about the way he treated me every single day of my life?
“I don’t appreciate you laughing,” he continued. “This is very serious.”
“Oh, well, of course it is. I’m dying to know where it’s going next,” I said sarcastically.
“KJ,” Stephanie said under her breath.
I looked over at her. Oh no. She was not taking his side. She was not scolding me in front of him.
“Well, I wanted to let you know that I don’t think I can be friends with you anymore,” Glenn said in a clipped manner. “I don’t wish to surround myself with people who have so little respect for me.”
A choked laugh strangled its way out of my throat. I had to be hallucinating. There was just no way that Glenn “The Groper” Marlowe was dumping me as a friend because I didn’t respect him.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Glenn was already turning around.
“Good-bye, KJ,” he said stiffly.
“Ugh! I . . . Bye!” I shouted after him at the top of my lungs. This was insane. This was totally and completely otherworldly insane. “Did that really just happen?”
“Wow. You must have really hurt his feelings,” Steph said, staring after him.
“I hurt his feelings? I hurt his feelings?” I blurted. “How can you stand there and say that after all the times he’s grabbed me and all the awful things he’s said?”
“I’m sorry! It’s just . . . he doesn’t know any better,” Stephanie said with a shrug. “You did what you did on purpose.”
“Yeah, well, I thought that maybe saying what I said would wake him up, but clearly it didn’t,” I told her, shaking. “He is beyond all hope.”
“KJ, calm down,” Stephanie said.
“I have to go,” I told her. “I’ll see you in class.”
I stormed off, not knowing which was worse—Glenn’s self-righteousness or Stephanie’s scolding.
ACT TWO, SCENE TWO
In which:
WE’RE GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD
I OPENED ONE OF THE CABINETS IN THE LARGEST OF THE THREE dressing rooms that afternoon and started to shove aside hanger after hanger. I hadn’t been able to get that conversation with Glenn out of my head all day. Where did he get off telling me we couldn’t be friends anymore? I had basically already told him that, hadn’t I? He was the one in the wrong, not me. Couldn’t he just leave me alone? Let it be? No, he had to make a statement right in the middle of the crowded hallway. Had to have the upper hand.
He was just like my father. Thinking he was some perfect dad and expecting us all to treat him that way, even though all he did was screw up and make us all miserable. Glenn thought he was above reproach, too. He thought he could tell me that I was wrong? What was the matter with these people?
“Men suck,” I said through my teeth, yanking a silk dress out of the closet and tossing it on the “possibly useful” pile. “Every single one of them sucks.”
I slammed the cabinet door, turned around and gasped. Robbie was standing in the doorway of the dressing room, wearing a T-Bird T-shirt.
“Are you gonna punch me?” he asked, hands up.
I sat down on the only empty chair in the room and put my head between my legs. I had riled myself up to the point of nausea, and the shock of seeing him there didn’t help.
“No,” I said, my voice muffled.
“You okay?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and flipped my hair back as I came up again. “Fine. Why?”
Robbie shot me a look that told me he’d heard exactly what I’d been ranting about. “No reason.”
He leaned back against the makeup table and crossed his legs at the ankle. The drumsticks in his back pocket were forced into an odd angle, but he didn’t adjust them. He was wearing yellow Chuck T’s that were so dirty they looked more mustard. Was it possible that Robbie owned as many pairs of sneakers as I did? For a moment, he contemplated me. I stared back.
“I don’t suck, though, do I?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m a man and you said that all men suck, so—”
“You’re not a man. You’re a boy,” I improvised. Even though that logic would exonerate Glenn as well.
“I . . . am not a boy,” Robbie said, an incredulous laugh in his voice.
“Okay then, you’re a guy,” I amended. “Happy now?”
He nodded. “I’ll take it.” He stood up straight and pulled his T-shirt off over his head.
“What’re you doing?” I blurted.
And how the hell did you get that absolutely perfect body? We’re talking lean torso, visible pecs, arms with actual definition.
Robbie paused, his hair sticking straight up. “Giving you this T-shirt. Ms. Lin asked me to ask you to put it with the other T-Bird stuff.” He tossed it to me, then yanked his longsleeved Red Hot Chili Peppers tour shirt out of his backpack and put it on.
“Oh.” I cleared my throat and hung up the
T-shirt. My hand was shaking. I wasn’t used to seeing half-naked boys in school. Or anywhere, for that matter.
“So anyway, I just wanted to see if you’ve gotten anywhere with Tama yet.”
“Actually, yeah. I do have a few seeds for you,” I said, grabbing my bag and jacket. I think I’d suddenly had too much stimulation for one day.
“Really? Oh, this is great.” He rubbed his hands together. So excited it was almost annoying. “Okay, hit me.”
I sighed, feeling tired. “Actually, I was just on my way out, so . . .”
“Okay. Cool. We’ll go to your place.”
My brain automatically assessed the situation. It was Monday. Mondays were generally okay. Except for last week. But usually, Dad didn’t get to the heavy drinking until Thursday. Wednesday if it was a bad week. I could take the risk. I hated having to say no to stuff like this, because of him. Coming up with excuses was always very awkward.
“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good.”
Robbie hooked his arm over my shoulder and we walked toward the door together. “I knew teaming up with you was a solid idea, Farmer Miller,” he said, giving me a little squeeze. “Together you and me are gonna change the world.”
ACT TWO, SCENE THREE
In which:
ROBBIE AUDITIONS FOR THE FOOD NETWORK
WHEN WE GOT HOME, MY MOTHER WAS STANDING AT THE counter, her blouse untucked from her wool skirt, her hair falling out of its ponytail, chopping vegetables like she was seeking revenge. What the vegetables had done to her I had no idea, but I instantly tensed up. I hoped she’d just had a bad day at school (did I mention my mom teaches first grade?) and that there wasn’t something bigger going on.
“Hi, Mom.”
She blew out a sigh. I could tell she was about to order me to do something (unpack the grocery bags still standing all over the counters, perhaps?) when she saw Robbie standing there.
“Oh. Hello,” she said.
“Mom, this is Robbie. Robbie, my mom.”
“Hi, Mrs. Miller.” Robbie swung his bag onto a chair and walked over to wash his hands in the sink. He scrubbed them, dried them on a dish towel, then shoved up the sleeves on his shirt. My mother and I watched all of this in mute fascination. He then pulled a knife out of the block on the counter and held it up. “What’re we making?”
My mom gave me this look like What kind of psycho did you bring into my house?
“Uh . . . stir-fry?” she said.
His eyes lighted up. “Great! Can I do the carrots?” He reached for the bag. My mother watched them go like they had walked off on their own. “Oh, unless you wanted to do them. I didn’t mean to swoop in. I just love to chop.”
He said this matter-of-factly. Like he was saying he loved chocolate.
“No. I don’t mind at all.”
My mother pushed one side of the cutting board toward him and he peeled the carrot in about half a second, then started chopping. Slowly I unpacked the first bag of groceries, keeping my eye on him the entire time. It was fascinating, really. On so many levels. A boy in my house was strange enough. But a guy who was that comfortable in someone else’s house, around a parent? A boy who knew how to chop vegetables? A boy who voluntarily helped with anything? Was he one of those adults masquerading as a teenager? Was he a narc or something? Maybe there was a big drug problem at my school and twenty-five-year-old Robbie had been sent in to fix it.
Except that he’d been around since kindergarten, so unless the cops planned way ahead, that was out of the question.
“Are you sure you want to chop them so small?” my mother asked as she worked on an onion.
“Yeah, well, carrots are a dense vegetable, so you either need to cook them longer or chop them smaller so they keep up with the rest of the food,” Robbie said. He smacked his hands together and walked to the stove, where the wok was already set up. “May I?” He put his hand on the knob next to the burner.
I’m pretty sure my mom thought she’d died and gone to heaven. “Sure.”
“The wok should heat up for a while so it’s nice and scalding,” Robbie said, flipping the flame to life.
I slammed the door to the refrigerator. “Okay, what are you? The Iron Chef ?”
Robbie laughed. “No, I just do a lot of the cooking in my house. My brother and my dad can’t cut butter, so . . . I just learned.”
“What about your mom?” my mother asked. She had backed to the opposite counter now and was leaning back against it. Robbie had taken over.
“My mom left when I was five,” Robbie said as he went to work on a head of broccoli. “Someone had to step up. I cooked my first Thanksgiving turkey when I was ten.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” my mother said.
“Eh, I figure we’re better off,” Robbie said with a shrug. “It’d be worse living with someone who didn’t actually want to be there, right?”
My mother and I looked at each other, stunned. So offhandedly, he’d shared this information. Like it was nothing big. Like he wasn’t even embarrassed by his situation. I wondered if I would be able to just say it like that if it ever happened.
Yeah, my dad moved out. We’re better off without him.
It had a certain ring.
Robbie threw a little oil in the wok and then added the already chopped chicken. Sizzles and pops filled the room and he shook the wok up like a pro. It was so surreal watching Robbie Delano cooking in my kitchen, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Then I heard my dad’s car pull up. Once again, Mom and I exchanged a look. It was early. Way early. What was he doing here already? My mother went for the kitchen door and opened it. I heard his engine die, the pop of his car door closing. My heart pounded with nervous fear. This was completely out of the ordinary, even for a good night. Had something happened at work? Something bad?
Please, God, just don’t let him be drunk. Please, please, please don’t let him embarrass me.
“What’s the matter?” Robbie asked me as he stirred.
“Greg! You’re home early!” my mother said brightly.
“Well. To what do I owe this greeting?” my father replied.
Normal. He sounded normal. His footsteps on the side porch weren’t heavy or dragging. Normal. My shoulders started to relax. My father stepped into the kitchen, his suit jacket folded over his arm, his briefcase in hand, his tie slightly undone. His face was white, not red. His hair combed, not mussed. His eyes not swimming. His nose of normal size. I was so happy I sprang forward and hugged him.
“Hi, Dad!”
“KJ.” He gave me a little squeeze. “What’s this?” he asked Robbie.
“Just a little stir-fry, sir,” Robbie said.
My dad grinned. Sir. He had to love that.
“Dad, this is Robbie Delano,” I said.
“Robbie.” My dad reached out his hand and Robbie wiped his on his jeans before they shook. “Any man who comes in here and gives my wife the night off is okay by me.”
He kissed my mother and she beamed, and then he headed off for his bedroom to change. My mother and I couldn’t stop grinning. Robbie must have thought we were on something, but I didn’t care. It was a rare moment when I actually liked my father.
ACT TWO, SCENE FOUR
In which:
ROBBIE EXPLORES MY BEDROOM
I TRIED TO SEE MY ROOM AS ROBBIE SAW IT. WHAT DID IT LOOK like upon seeing it for the first time? The dark purple walls. The sketches and paintings tacked up over my bed. The four long, built-in shelves with their alphabetized books and CDs. The easel in the corner with the red-and-black piece I’d done last week still sitting there, awaiting completion or destruction. The teetering piles of magazines—National Geographic, Vogue, Entertainment Weekly, Paper, W, Interview, from my artistic collage phase. The desk chair piled with ten days of discarded clothes.
Maybe I should have thought this through better.
“So this is where you live.”
Robbie went to close the door and I grabbed it. �
�No!”
“What?”
“House rules. I’m not allowed to close the door if there’s a guy over,” I said. Then wanted to shoot myself.
Robbie’s eyebrows arched. “And do you have a lot of guys over?”
“No. You’re the first.” I blushed. “Well, not in that way, because you’re not here in a guy capacity—”