When she came in, Pop was at the kitchen table. It was littered with paper, shredded envelopes, a yellow-ruled notebook on which he’d scribbled columns of diminishing numbers. Here was Pop, quietly working away on a Saturday. Here was Cherry, coming home at one o’clock in the afternoon, looking like hell warmed over. See Cherry squirm. Squirm, Cherry, squirm.
He glanced over his reading glasses.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He gathered her appearance, mentally turning it over like the problem part in a malfunctioning engine. “There’s coffee.”
“Thanks.”
Cherry didn’t drink coffee, but the smell of Chock Full o’Nuts (or as Stew called it, Chock Full o’Shit) was intoxicating. She poured a mug of the acidic brown stuff and added a heap of powdered creamer to soften the blow to her stomach.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” Pop said.
“One sec.”
Cherry arranged herself across from her executioner. The papers were bills. Shit. She recognized the cheery red Verizon checkmark, the blue Con Edison seal, those monthly harbingers of stress and cutbacks. The first of the month, Pop would go on a rampage: If it was winter, he’d torque down the heat; summer, he’d unplug the air conditioner; and Cherry and Stew would get a lecture about leaving the lights on when they left a room. The next week it would blow over, and they’d all return to normal habits. It was best to just keep your head down and above all stay out of the house when Pop did the finances. Stew was nowhere to be seen. That was smart.
I Don’t Think, thought Cherry.
Pop sealed an envelope, removed his glasses, and folded his hands.
“You okay?” he asked.
Cherry nodded.
“Good. First things first. You’re grounded. Two weeks. No television, phone, Internet. No going out on the weekends. After school you come home, or you go to work, then you come home. Got it?”
Cherry got it. She’d gotten it the moment she climbed into the Escalade outside Mel’s. Pop meted out punishments, or rather collected them, with the same neutral efficiency of the printed bills on the table. Misbehavior had a price, and you better not fuck up if you couldn’t pay. Sneak out while grounded? Your choice, but the penalty fees would stack up, your days of incarceration would grow, until you had no choice but to grit your teeth and take it. Action and consequence, it was all up to you. And really, two weeks for one all-nighter wasn’t a bad deal. Cherry had built up a few months of good credit.
Except for one thing.
“What about Lucas? Can he come over?”
“No.”
“But, Pop —”
“You’ll see him at school.”
“You’re not letting me see my fiancé?”
Pop rubbed his eyes. “Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? That’s what he is!”
Pop broke his composure. “Where’s the ring, then, huh? Where’s the plan? Where’s the job and the place to live? You’re too old to play house, Cherry.”
“I’m too old not to,” she snapped. “I gotta do something.”
“I’m not arguing with you about this. You’re grounded. That’s final.”
“Whatever.” Cherry pushed back from the table.
“We’re not done here.”
She made an exasperated noise. “Fine. What?”
Pop clicked his pen. She wanted to snap it in two. She hated his officiousness now. He was showing her how reasonable he was. How adult. There was still a dent in the wall from the coffee mug.
“I’m going to ask you for something,” Pop said. “I thought long and hard about this. It’s your life, so I’m requesting that you consider something. For me. Because I’m your father.”
He waited. Cherry held up her hands. “Well?”
“I’m asking you to wait. Wait to get married. Just a year or so. You can live here as long as you want, rent-free. You could maybe apply to a few schools. . . .” She began to protest, but he stopped her with an outstretched palm. “I’m not saying you gotta to do this. I’m not asking you to not be engaged. I’m asking you to give yourself time to see what other options are out there.”
“Options,” said Cherry, “in men?”
“In life,” said Pop.
“Don’t you think I already considered the options?”
His expression told her no, he didn’t think she had, but he was going to let her figure that out herself. He took her hand. Her skin was pink and soft, so unused next to the tanned, time-roughened, craggy terra firma of her father’s. “I love you, Snack Pack.”
The old nickname buckled Cherry’s armor. She tried not to smile.
“I’ll think about it,” she said softly.
“Good.” He squeezed her fingers and stood. “Now, finish paying the bills.”
“What?”
“You wanna play house? This is part of it, and you gotta learn sometime.”
“That’s not fair!”
“That’s part of your punishment.” He kissed her forehead. “Have fun.”
He retrieved a beer from the fridge. A moment later, Cherry heard the TV pop and hum to life.
The coffee did shit. She still had a headache.
And so began a weekend in isolation. No TV, no car, no freedom. Her confiscated phone disappeared into Pop’s junk drawer. Cherry didn’t mind. She wasn’t up to talking to Vi, who was probably mad at Cherry for ditching her. As for Lucas, Pop granted her one supervised phone call, like she was in prison or something, to say simply: “I’m grounded. I’ll tell you about it on Monday.”
“Oh, shit. You okay?”
The sound of his voice made her chest constrict. She wanted to melt into the receiver, twist down the curly cord, and zip across the yard to his room.
“It’s fine. I’m —”
Pop pressed the switch on the cradle, killing the connection.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Homework. Now.”
They were not phone talkers, Cherry and Lucas. Growing up next door to each other had removed the need for constant chatter. She didn’t need to fall asleep the way Vi did, cell to her ear, boyfriend’s breath crackling in the receiver. If she wanted to feel Lucas there, she could just open her eyes. His pillow was visible from her pillow, with only two screens and a hash of wire fencing between.
But not telling him about the party was agony. She had no reason to feel guilty, but, okay, it had been a serious party, and she did get seriously drunk, and there were seriously cut dudes there, including at least one seriously famous one. And though she didn’t feel like she’d done anything wrong, the need to clear it with Lucas was overpowering. The news lodged somewhere in her sinuses, an entrenched rock snot she was desperate to expel but couldn’t.
As usual, Lucas was away all Saturday night busing tables at Willie’s. Cherry normally liked her Saturday nights Lucas-free. They kept her feeling independent, like she had a life outside their relationship. But now she just wanted to see him, hit the Refresh button, convince herself that one night in Boston hadn’t changed her into someone else.
At eight Pop let her watch Archer with Stew, but she just couldn’t get into it. The boozy antics on-screen made her feel dirty. God, she was such a fuck-up.
Stew noticed something wasn’t right. When Pop wasn’t looking, he nudged her shoulder.
“You wanna . . . ?” He nodded toward his room and mimed smoking a joint. This was the last thing she wanted to do.
“No,” Cherry said. “Why do you think I would ever want to do that?”
Stew shushed her. “Jeez! Okay!”
“Stoner dumb-fuck,” she growled. “Has to make everyone as much of a loser as he is. Jesus shit, Stew.”
Her brother shrank into the couch, at once shocked and petrified Pop would hear her. “Cherry!” he hissed. “Wow, holy shit, I’m sorry. I just thought you looked stressed —”
She stood up, blocking the television. “Get your shit together! It’s not all about having a good tim
e, you know?” She slapped the edge of the plastic bowl in Stew’s lap, showering him with Doritos. Pop looked up from the kitchen table.
She went to her room and slammed the door, shaking the trailer.
“What did you do?” she heard Pop say.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Cherry noticed a catch in his throat, like he was going to cry.
Pussy.
She barely slept. She had coffee again for the second time in a year. How fast could you develop an addiction? By 7:35 she was so wired, the other cars on Hope Ave. seemed to pass in slow motion. She felt like an angry god at the wheel of her Spider, the front grille prowling over the streets of Aubrey. Faster. Stronger. That’s right, look at it. God, caffeine was good. She tapped her fingers on the wheel, humming with the radio, and made it to school eighteen minutes earlier than usual.
Sitting still was not an option, so she locked up her bag and paced the empty halls. Cherry cruised around the school like a tube in a centrifuge, her feelings separating out, the euphoria of the caffeine, the need to see Lucas, her anger at herself, and at the very bottom, the heaviest feeling of all, her fear she’d done something wrong.
All at once she had to pee like crazy. She altered course and was in sight of the girls’ room when Lucas, a ring of keys jangling from his belt, exited the boys’ room, whistling tunelessly.
When he saw her, he smiled. The sight of his teeth filled her with a different kind of urgency.
“Hey, girl! What’s —?”
She yanked him into the girls’ room.
“Cherry! I can’t be in here.”
“That mouth’s too pretty for talking.” She pressed her lips to his. They stumbled backward into a stall. “How long has it been?”
He let her kiss his neck. “Seventy-two hours? About?”
“Too long.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
They bumped against the stall walls, reorienting. Cherry nibbled his ear.
“So, what happened?”
“I went to an all-night party.” She fumbled with his fly. “With Ardelia.”
“Ha-ha,” said Lucas. “April Fools.”
“No, for realsies. Crazy, right? Vi and I just ran into her.”
“Did you — whoa — have fun?”
“I got really drunk,” she said. “Hey, since when do you go commando?”
“Since it’s laundry day. You could have called me.”
She grinned, working for a better angle. “Maybe I didn’t want you falling for Ardelia.”
“Well, I do have a thing for accents.”
“Oh, Lucas.” Cherry did her best Ardelia impression. “Why must we fornicate in such undesirable surroundings. Wow!” she said, noticing his reaction. “You really do like accents.”
Lucas blushed. “Told you.”
Relief coursed through her. She’d told him everything, and everything was fine. He was here, he was here, he was here! His hands were on her, and wasn’t she just the most rock-star girlfriend in the universe? “Oh, dahling,” she whispered. “I’m all sunshine and rainbows.”
Grimy-kneed, breath freshened with a Life Saver, Cherry headed to the library, feeling like she had helium in her joints. There were still a few minutes before homeroom, and she was aching to find Vi, who would be so impressed that Cherry’d done what she just did on school grounds. Was there a more awesome girlfriend in the world? And it wasn’t as weird as she’d expected it to be. She’d made his knees buckle. That was a good thing, right? Maybe she was really good at blow jobs. Maybe that was her hidden talent.
“Saw you on TMZ again,” said Kaya Melton as they passed in the hall. Cherry swiveled, blushing, as if what she’d been thinking about were visible on her face. After a beat, Kaya’s words actually connected.
“April Fools?” Cherry tried.
“Naw, really,” said Kaya. “It was you going into a hotel with Ardelia Deen.”
Cherry stalled. Had there been cameras? She hadn’t noticed any.
“Come on,” she heard herself say. “You think I go to hotels with Ardelia Deen?”
Kaya crinkled her nose. “I thought it was kind of weird. But you met her, so I just figured it was you. It looks like you.”
“Can’t believe everything you see on TMZ,” Cherry said, and went inside.
Maybe it was residual thrill from what had just happened in the bathroom, but Cherry wasn’t at all upset about the alleged photo. In fact, it was kind of exciting, and she could always deny it was her. She found an empty computer terminal and tried to log on to TMZ, but the school’s site blockers said no. With her home Internet privileges revoked, she’d have to wait two weeks to see the photo, and by then it’d probably be buried or taken down. She’d have to ask Vi.
Cherry checked her e-mail. There were a few messages from university mailing lists she’d signed up for months ago, just to appease Pop. Otherwise it was all spam. One subject line jumped out:
From: Edith Hughes
To: Cherry Kerrigan
Subject: It’s Ardelia
Hey, hon,
Sorry about the e-mail address. It’s a nom de plume.
Are you free around 5? Do you want to swing by the set? I’d love to show you around. Today we’re filming here. I’d also like to talk to you about something. Don’t fret if you can’t make it.
Xoxo
A
P.S. Bring Lucas.
Running into Ardelia at Mel’s had been a coincidence, but this was an actual premeditated invite. Cherry tried to read it as friendly, but the “talk to you about something” freaked her out a little, like maybe she was in trouble. Like she was about to get dumped. But that was ridiculous. Ardelia wanted to show her the set. She wanted Lucas there. These were good signs. After rereading the e-mail five times and analyzing every word, Cherry wrote a reply:
I’m there like shareware.
XO,
C
Remembering she never signed her e-mails and definitely never wrote XO, she deleted the sign-off and hit Send.
Vi was waiting for Cherry in the hall after homeroom. She was in full crisis mode, clutching her book bag to her chest like a life preserver. Her concealer barely masked the purple bags under her eyes, and when she spoke, Cherry detected a lipstick smudge on her front tooth.
“Where were you? I’ve been calling all weekend!”
“Pop took away my cell,” Cherry said. “What’s up?”
She glanced up and down the hallway, then pulled Cherry into the same girls’ room where an hour before Cherry had pounced on Lucas.
“Vi, what’s going on?”
Vi checked under the stall doors, making sure they were alone. The bell rang. They were officially late for first period.
“Okay, so. Last weekend, you know? I was with Neil, and we were fooling around and stuff, and I guess we sorta . . . did it.”
Cherry waited for the bomb. “That’s . . . nothing new, though, right?”
“Without a condom,” said Vi. “And I didn’t get my period on Sunday.”
Cherry’s smile fell. She’d expected the typical crisis du jour. Another fight with her mother or some new too-pricey lip gloss she had to have. Not . . . this. This news was panic-worthy. Cherry’s periods were maddeningly unpredictable, but Vi’s were like clockwork.
“Why didn’t you use a condom?”
“I don’t know!” Vi chewed at her hair, a nervous tic Cherry hadn’t seen since grade school. “Neil likes it better without, and I don’t know . . . It just happened!”
Cherry had thought Neil was a dog ever since he and Vi slept together on their first date. She wasn’t a prude, but Vi had been sloshed (she’d downed three nervous shots of her dad’s sambuca before Neil even arrived). Neil treated her okay, but Cherry never forgave him for taking advantage of an obviously plastered girl.
And now? This.
“I’ll kill him,” said Cherry.
“Cherry, what am I gonna do?�
� Vi wailed. “My parents will kill me! I can’t be pregnant! I don’t even know if I want kids! I can’t go to Rutgers with a baby!”
Wait.
“Rutgers?”
“I got in.” Vi looked away. “I found out a month ago.”
Cherry’s knees buckled. All thoughts of killing Neil vanishing in cold shock as the damp sink pressed against the back of her thighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe . . .” Vi met her look. “I know you don’t want to go to college and everything, Cherry, but I do. They have this amazing study-abroad program where you can go to Japan for a year.”
“Japan.”
“Yeah.” Vi shrugged. “I’d like to go to Japan.”
“Japan.” The word was a cork in her brain. As long as it was stuck there, other words, other thoughts, couldn’t come gushing out.
“Stop saying Japan,” Vi said. She cinched her eyes tight and shook her head. “Now none of that’s going to happen.”
When Vi’s eyes opened again, her gaze was distant. Cherry could see Vi imagining her future. Puke-stained shirts and warm formula and baby books. Books and books about babies. How could Vi raise a baby, or go to college, for that matter? They both involved so much reading, and Vi hated reading.
Rutgers. Japan. Baby. Holy shit, holy shit, how did this day suddenly get so real? Vi was the possibly pregnant one, but Cherry felt like she was going to puke. She wanted to shove Vi away — and hug her so closely and so tightly, her bones would snap.
It was all so impossibly hard. So impossibly hard to keep simple. Safe. Here.
It started to prickle and boil and bubble in Cherry’s brain. Heat surged up her solar plexus and turned her face the color of her Coca-Cola T-shirt. Vi recognized the crazy look in her friend’s eyes.
“Cherry, what are you going to do?”
She shoved the restroom door so hard, it smacked against the outer wall. Her rage was deafening, her vision tunneled, so all she saw was the tapering tiles of the second-floor hallway.
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