“I’ll have to talk to your parents,” Mom says. “They should at least know where you are.”
I look at Parker anxiously, but she’s nodding. “I’ll call them in the morning,” she says. “You can talk to them.” She smiles tentatively at my mom; then she suddenly bursts into tears like a little kid. “Thank you so, so much,” she says, her voice all choked up. “I can’t believe, after all this, you’re going to let me stay here.”
My parents look at each other for a long minute, doing that silent communication thing, and then Dad says, “Well. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, blinking tears away again. “I knew you guys wouldn’t turn her out, no matter how mad you were at me. You’re the best.”
He meets my eyes for a moment and then looks down at the table. “We’ve always trusted you, Dante. And you’ve always been a private kid.” He gives a half-grin, half-grimace. “Like me that way, I guess. Not a big talker.” He looks up again and this time holds my gaze with his. “But it is easier to respect someone’s privacy if you can trust them to talk to you when they need to.”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him make such a long speech. I swallow hard. “I know. I’m really sorry.”
He and Mom look at each other again; then Mom looks at me. “Parker can stay in the spare room, Emily. It’s all made up.” She looks at her watch. “Well, my goodness,” she says brightly. “Look at the time! We’d better all go to bed.”
Conversation over, or—more likely—to be continued.
TWENTY-TWO
I show Parker to the spare room, but a few minutes later, she’s tapping lightly at my bedroom door. I jump up and let her in, and close the door quietly behind us.
“I’m so wide awake,” she whispers. “It’s practically morning. Are you going to be able to sleep?”
“Probably not, but my parents...” I don’t want to get in more trouble for having her in my room. I feel guilty enough already.
“Your parents are amazing.”
“Yeah. They’re pretty okay.” I sit down on the edge of my bed.
Parker sits down beside me, legs crossed. “I can’t believe Jamie got caught,” she whispers. Her eyes are suddenly glistening like she’s holding back tears. “Dante? If you hadn’t come and got me tonight...I’d have been there with them, you know. I’d have been caught too. So... well, I guess I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say quickly.
“I do though.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Thanks, Dante. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend like you before. I mean, I feel like I can count on you, you know?”
Now, I think. Tell her. “Parker?” I draw in a long uneven breath.
“Mmm?”
Her hand is still resting on my arm, her fingers soft and cool against my skin. I can smell the smoke on her hair. “Um, you can. Count on me, I mean.” I clear my throat. “I...look, I should tell you something. I really...I love you, Parker.”
“I love you too,” she says softly. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
I shake my head and pull my arm away. “No. I mean, I really love you. I’m in love with you.”
She stares at me, and I can see the uncertainty flickering across her face. “Um, you mean...”
“I mean, Jamie wasn’t wrong. About me.” I hate that I’m bringing Jamie into this, letting him of all people be the one to name what I am, but I can’t quite say it. And I don’t know what word to use. Queer? I haven’t used the word out loud before, not about myself anyway. Gay? Or is that only for men? Lesbian sounds so...clinical. I don’t like that word. I don’t like any of the words.
“You mean...,” Parker says again.
I clench my teeth for a second; then I spit it out. “I mean, I’m queer.”
There’s an awkward silence and I stare down at my hands.
“Oh. I didn’t...I didn’t know.” Parker’s voice is soft and careful. “Uh, Dante? I love you too, you know that, right?”
My heart lifts for a second and flutters like a pair of wings in my chest. Then I look at her, and she drops her gaze, and my heart stops fluttering. It drops like a bird that’s been shot from the sky.
“It’s just, I’m not...well, you know.” She can’t even say it. “But...well, we can still be friends, right?”
“Course we can,” I say. My cheeks are burning. I don’t know what I expected. “I just...I mean, I know you’re straight. I just had to tell you. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”
There’s a pause and then Parker giggles. “I’m kind of flattered, actually.” She’s smiling a little, her pale cheeks flushed pink. “You know. That you’re attracted to me.”
I want her to stop talking about it. I want her to leave. “Whatever. It’s no big thing.”
“You really do mean a lot to me,” she says. “You know, as a friend.”
“Yeah.” I gesture to the door. “I guess you’d better go back to your room. I don’t want to push my luck. With my parents, I mean.”
She stands up as if she’s going to leave; then she quickly bends down and kisses me, fast and hard, on the lips. “Night, Dante.”
I try to catch my breath. “Night,” I whisper. I watch her go; then I flop back down on my bed. What the fuck? That wasn’t just a friendly kiss, if there is such a thing. I can still feel the heat of her lips on mine.
Of course, I’m awake half the night. My mind runs in the same old circles until I feel like a hamster on a spinning wheel. Parker, Jamie, my parents, Leo, Parker, the school, Parker, Parker, Parker. What was I thinking, telling her how I felt? What could have made me think that was a good idea? And most of all, I’m wondering what the hell that kiss was supposed to mean. What was she thinking, kissing me like that, right after she finished her whole I love you as a friend spiel?
I feel guilty—disloyal—for thinking this way, but I feel like she was messing with my head. Not on purpose, maybe, but still. I can’t believe I’m thinking this—I would have said I’d give anything to kiss Parker—but I almost wish she hadn’t done that.
Then again, maybe she really does like me.
I guess I eventually drift off to sleep, because the next thing I know it’s morning and Mom is standing in my doorway.
“Dante?”
“Mmmpphh?”
“I have to go to work in a few minutes.”
“Oh.” I sit up. “Okay.”
She steps closer, stands just inside my door with one hand resting on my dresser. “I wanted to talk to you before I go. Before your friend wakes up.”
I blink a few times. My mouth tastes like ashes. “Was there more on the news this morning? Is there school today?”
“No. They’re talking about bussing kids to a couple of different schools during the repairs, but they haven’t figured out details. I bet it’ll be Monday before you’re back at school.”
“Oh.” I rub my face with the palms of my hands. “Mom? Thanks for last night. For being so...understanding.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand the first thing about this.”
“Well. You know, for letting Parker stay.”
“I could hardly turn her out, could I?” She lowers her voice. “The boy who was arrested. Is that her boyfriend?”
I nod. “He’s an ass—I mean, a jerk.”
“Yes.”
There is a pause. I figure Mom probably has all kinds of questions, but I hope she doesn’t want to get into it right now. I’m barely awake.
“Were you trying to help her, Emily? Is that why you got involved in all this?”
It’d be easy to just agree. It’s the only possible explanation that could make me look at least a little bit good in her eyes. It’d be way easier than trying to tell the truth: Right now, I don’t even know what the truth is. I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Mom.” Next thing I know, my throat’s all tight and my eyes are hot and then I’m starting to cry.
Mom doesn’t
rush over to comfort me though. She just stands there, looking really tired, and she slowly shakes her head. “I thought I knew you better than this. I would’ve sworn up and down that you had far too much common sense to get mixed up with a bad crowd.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t think of a single thing to say. “I’d like to help your friend, honey, but...well, I don’t want to see her drag you down. She seems sweet enough, but it’s pretty obvious that she’s got some big problems.”
Then I hear Parker’s voice right outside my door. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t be staying.”
Mom turns, her face startled and guilty. “Goodness, you made me jump.” Her forehead creases. “Oh dear. I hope I haven’t upset you.”
“That’s okay.” Parker’s voice is stiff and she isn’t looking at me or my mom. “I have to get home anyway.”
I scramble out of bed. “Parker, it’s okay. You don’t have to go.”
She shakes her head. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
And that’s it. Just like that, she’s gone. I don’t say anything until I hear the front door slam shut. Then I turn to my mother. “Nice going, Mom. Happy now?”
“That’s not fair,” she protests. “I didn’t mean for her to hear me.”
“Are you sure about that?” A part of me knows I’m being unreasonable, that what I’m saying isn’t totally accurate, but I can’t stop myself. “Because it sure was convenient, wasn’t it? She’s gone, and you get to pretend it’s not your fault at all.”
She tugs her cardigan down and smoothes the knitted fabric over her hips. “I told her she was welcome to stay.”
My voice is getting louder. “Yeah, and then you called her messed up.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh right. You just said she had big problems. Totally different.”
“Drop the sarcasm.” Mom steps inside my room. Her face is pink and two white lines have appeared by her nostrils, always a sure sign that she’s seriously pissed off. “That’s enough. You are in plenty of trouble already, don’t you think? Sneaking out at night to hang out with a bunch of...a bunch of delinquents...I swear, Emily, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this kind of...” She breaks off and shakes her head, lips pressed together in a thin hard line.
“This kind of daughter? Is that what you were going to say? Because it’s totally obvious that’s how you feel. You didn’t get the kind of daughter you wanted. You didn’t get a pretty, perfect little girl who just wants to fit in, no matter what.”
She shakes her head and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then she takes a deep breath, loud enough that I can actually hear her do it. “Emily...”
“I’m not Emily,” I yell. “I’m not Emily and I can’t be Emily, okay? So...so...” My voice is suddenly choked with tears, but I can’t cry—I refuse to cry—so I just stop talking and try to swallow despite the knife-like pain in my throat.
There’s a long silence. I stare down at my bedspread and watch the colors swim in a blur of soft pastel. My heart is pounding, and I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure exactly what we are fighting about. Nothing. Everything. I keep hearing the sound of Parker’s feet running down the hall and the front door slamming behind her. Running back to Jamie.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me,” Mom says at last. “About these boys or about your friend and her problems.Why do you always feel like you have to deal with everything on your own?”
She doesn’t sound angry anymore. She sounds sort of defeated, and I am suddenly flooded with guilt. I rub my hands over my eyes and look up at her. “Mom...”
She ignores me. “You never did tell me anything, even when you were little. You always said everything was fine, and then I’d find out from your teacher that you were getting teased, or that you’d fallen and hurt yourself, or whatever. I used to think you didn’t trust me. Is that it? Is that why you snuck out in the night instead of coming to us?”
“It’s not about you,” I tell her. “I just didn’t think of it.”
She sighs. “That’s what your dad always told me when you were small too. That you were just too damn independent to ask for help.”
I can’t believe she just said “damn.” She never swears.
Neither of us says anything for a minute. It’s not like we’ve resolved anything; it’s more like we both just ran out of energy for fighting, or maybe we realized there was no point to it. Finally she shrugs. “I have to go to work,” she says.
I’ve agreed to spend the day studying. It goes without saying that I’m grounded.
I try to work on my English paper, the one about Tess. It’s basically done. It just needs a conclusion, a snappy ending, something to sum it all up. And I can’t think of one. It’s all too complicated to explain in a few neat lines. Besides, I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is Parker: how she seemed when I first met her, all cocky and sure of herself; the way she always said what she thought; the way she acted as if no challenge was insurmountable; the way she seemed to believe we could do anything, change anything, as long as we threw ourselves into it hard enough; the way she didn’t believe in brick walls.
I know Mom sees her as messed up because she doesn’t go to school and doesn’t live at home, but that isn’t how I see it. I think that Parker just got dealt a lousy hand and that she did what she needed to do to get through it all. She made choices that were right for her. But Jamie...that’s a choice I can’t understand. I can’t see it as a good thing, even though Parker says it was. I picture her quick grin and the way her skin crinkles around her eyes when she laughs. How can someone be so smart and so together, and yet so screwed up, all at the same time?
I spend half the morning on the Internet, reading. Teens and Dating Violence. Understanding the Cycle of Abuse. Is someone you know in an Abusive Relationship? Spot the Warning Signs. I read about power and control and gender stereotypes and intergenerational patterns. I read about low self-esteem, about post-traumatic stress, about denial. I read that girls stay with abusive guys because they are scared to leave, because they think the abuse is a sign of love, because they think the guy will change, because they don’t have healthy role models, because they are socially isolated, because the abuse has eroded their self- confidence and ability to trust their own judgment.
In the end, I shut my laptop and stare out the window. It all makes sense and none of it makes sense. None of it is enough to help me understand Parker.
TWENTY-THREE
I’m still sitting there, sort of thinking and sort of drifting, when the doorbell rings. Parker. I run down the stairs two at a time, slide the dead bolt and throw the front door open.
It’s Leo. He shifts from one foot to the other like he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here. “I figured you’d probably be home. Not at school, I mean.”
No shit. “You want to come in?” I say, stepping back a little.
He follows me to the kitchen. I grab a couple cans of Coke—Dad’s big vice—and sit down at the table. “So.”
“Yeah.” He takes a can from me and opens it. Click-tttssss. The noise seems too loud in this big silent house. “I guess you heard? About Jamie?”
“Uh-huh. Is he...?” I don’t know what I’m asking. Is he in jail, I guess. I don’t know how these things work. “Is he back home then? Or...”
“Yeah, he’s home. He’s got a court date when he has to appear.” Leo tilts his head back and drinks; his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his skinny throat.
“Jeez.”
“I know.” He sets the can on the table in front of him and lifts it up and down a few times, moving it around, making a pattern of intersecting wet circles on the glass surface of the table. “I guess I should say thanks. If you and Parker hadn’t showed up...I mean, I’d probably have got busted too. Would’ve killed my parents, you know? And they don’t have the money to hire some fancy lawyer.”
“Do Jamie’s?”
He nods. “They already have, according to Parker.”
His eyes are locked onto mine in that way he has, that intense gaze Parker used to tease him about. Used to. Everything feels like it’s in past tense now. I clear my throat. “It all got kind of fucked up, didn’t it? What happened, Leo?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that same thing.” He hasn’t shaved, and in the sunlight streaming through the windows I can see the glint of blondish brown stubble across his cheeks and chin. “After you climbed your school that night, and we talked about GRSS and Mr. Lawson and all that stuff, it got me thinking. Remembering things that happened a few years ago.”
I nod. I know about it from Linnea, but I don’t want to tell him that.
He drops his gaze, spins the Coke can around and almost spills it. “Shit.” He sets it back upright. “It wasn’t a good time for me.”
“That’s okay, Leo. I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t...”
“I should’ve told you,” he says. “If I’d told you, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up spilling it all to Jamie just because we had a few drinks.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Yeah. And he was all sympathetic. Man, he’s a chameleon, that guy. He was all Yeah man, that totally sucks, have another drink. Then next thing I know, he’s like Let’s burn the fucker down.”
“GRSS.”
He nods. “I should’ve walked away. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“He was your friend,”I say.
“Yeah.” He traces a wet line on the table with one finger. “And when I tried to say it maybe wasn’t a good idea, he just threw it all back in my face. All the stuff I’d told him.”
I swallow hard. Guessing. Knowing. “He called you a fag.”
“Yeah.” He looks straight at me. “I’m not queer, you know. But I used to get that shit a lot when I was a kid. Beat up, called names. I don’t know why.”
“Leo?”
“Yeah.”
“I am. Queer, I mean.” It’s easier to say this time.
His eyebrows lift but he doesn’t look away, not even for a second. “Yeah? Shit. I didn’t know that.”
Inferno Page 15