“We appreciate your help and all, but don’t worry about us anymore. Spend the rest of your day swimming or doing whatever you do. We can take it from here.”
Again he stood staring at her with a slackjawed expression, as if he were expending every ounce of mental energy trying to process her comment. Just when Gabby thought she was going to have to draw him a diagram, he broke off eye contact. “All right,” he said, nodding and scratching his head. His gaze wandered from the wall to the floor to the rip in the sofa’s armrest—anyplace but Gabby. “Guess I’ll head on back if y’all are all set.”
“We’re set.”
Suddenly his eyes were back on her. “You know, I really do hope y’all are happy here,” he said.
His good-ol’-boy voice was surprisingly warm and earnest. Gabby had to turn away. Why didn’t he just leave already? Did he expect a tip?
“I really don’t mind helping. So if you girls—ladies—ever need anything …” He held something out toward her, and Gabby took it without really looking at it. “Just give us a holler.”
She watched him head out the door. A second later he reappeared through the window, loping down the white gravel path to the main house.
Gabby glanced down at the object he’d given her: a thick, professionally produced business card that read Prentiss R. Applewhite in fancy embossed letters, followed by his cell number and email address.
“No, thank you,” she muttered.
“Aw, man. He’s gone.” Daphne came back into the house holding her plastic-draped prom dress over her shoulder. “I was hoping he’d ask us to swim.”
“I don’t think they let tenants do that,” Gabby said, quickly stashing the card in her purse before her sister noticed it and wanted it.
Daphne glanced out the window at Prentiss’s retreating form. “He’s cute.”
“I’m sure you think so.”
“Oh, come on! He’s really cute. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
“You’re right. I’m sure he thinks he’s cute, too.”
“And he’s nice. Why do you not like him?”
“Because he’s so … Paleolithic.”
Daphne let out a frustrated grunt. “You’re so negative.”
“No, I’m smart. I’m the only one acting sensible around here!” Gabby exclaimed, pressing her hand to her collarbone. “Someone died because of that guy, and everyone seems to be forgetting that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Sonny Hutchins. Prentiss’s cousin. Remember? Prentiss was driving.”
“Oh, yeah. I do sort of remember,” Daphne said, her eyes swiveling up toward the ceiling. “That was sad. But you’re acting like he killed someone in cold blood. It was just an accident, right?”
“It was his fault. He was drunk, and he’s obviously stupid to begin with, and he got them into a wreck.”
“You make it sound like he’s evil. You said it yourself—it was a big, stupid mistake. That’s not the same thing as being evil. He probably feels awful about it.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think he does,” Gabby said, frowning at the mansion across the yard. “He got away with it, so now everyone—including him—is acting like it never happened. Like Sonny was never even here.”
Daphne shook her head. “Only you could turn an awesome house on a rich cute guy’s property into a big grumble-fest.” She spun around and headed for their new room, holding her dress high out in front of her.
Gabby looked around. The half-filled front room seemed to be smiling at her, with its cheery paint colors and rays of sunshine streaming through the freshly cleaned windows. Once again, she pressed her fingers to the nearby wall, sliding them over the rough texture. It felt almost tickly, like goose bumps. As if the house itself were excited to have them there. And Gabby was the only thing, living or not, who was less than thrilled with the situation.
Daphne lay on her back on her bare mattress, staring at the ceiling of their new room. It was so gleaming white and spotless—like a giant piece of printer paper. Their old room’s ceiling had been covered in that bumpy acoustic spray—a popcorn ceiling, her mom had called it—and Daphne would search for pictures hidden in the texture. Throughout their years in the rental she’d managed to find a rose, a lion’s head, a sailboat, a weeping willow tree, and a poodle on a skateboard. Then there were the fleeting images she discovered that stood out so clearly at the time, only to disappear the moment she looked away, never to be seen again. Her mom had hated those ceilings and the way they trapped dirt and rained down powder if you accidentally scraped them with something like a broom handle. But Daphne found herself missing them a bit. No hidden pictures here, just a broad white canvas. A big blank.
Bored with the vast stretch of nothing, Daphne rolled onto her side and watched Gabby as she sat cross-legged on the blue, yellow, and green braided oval rug, alphabetizing their books before she set them on the shelves. She wondered if Gabby had ever seen the pictures on their old ceiling. Probably not. Gabby wasn’t the type to simply sit still and gaze about her, thinking and dreaming. She was always writing or doing complicated math or frowning down at the pages of some book thicker than a double burger. But she did seem kind of preoccupied right now, especially since she hadn’t yelled at Daphne for stopping her unpacking.
She was probably still fretting over the whole Prentiss thing. She never could tolerate other people’s imperfections, and his mistake was a huge one. Or perhaps she really was daydreaming. Maybe, like with everything else, she was more talented at it than Daphne. Maybe she didn’t need to lie still and could actually daydream while doing other things.
“Hey, Gab?” Daphne propped her head in her right hand and let her left hand dangle, brushing the smooth hardwood with her fingertips. “Do you think you’ll miss our old place?”
Gabby let out a snort. “No way. It was a pit.” She squeezed Albert Camus’s The Stranger in between Barrie’s Peter Pan and The Complete Illustrated Lewis Carroll; then she glanced around the room and scowled. “Of course, this is probably just a different kind of pit.”
“I love all the colors here,” Daphne said, staring at the wall behind Gabby, a creamy taupe that subtly contrasted with the snowy trim and ceiling. “I wish Mr. Tibbets had let us paint at the old place. White walls are so blah.”
“Colored walls are stupid. Everyone has different preferences, so if you want to rent or sell a place it’s much smarter to keep the color scheme neutral.”
“When I get married and have a house, I’m going to have my husband paint every room a different color. Pink, lilac, aqua blue …” Daphne flopped onto her back and began superimposing images of her multihued home—and Luke looking oh-so-cute in splattered overalls—on the empty ceiling above her.
“You really have to stop.”
“What?” Daphne asked, annoyed that Gabby’s tone had dissolved the vision of her colorful and Luke-filled future.
“Stop with all the marriage stuff,” Gabby went on. “Why do you equate ‘matrimony’ with ‘happily ever after’ anyway? It’s not always the same thing. In fact, it rarely is. Just look at Mom and Dad. Think about the parents of most of the kids we know. And did you hear about Mrs. Lewis? Even she’s getting a divorce.”
Daphne sat up and scowled at her. “So I should just give up all my dreams because they failed? What about your plans? I mean, if lots of kids drop out of college because it’s hard, maybe you shouldn’t waste your time going. Same difference.”
Gabby just rolled her eyes, and Daphne couldn’t help feeling triumphant. It wasn’t like her sister to go quiet like that. The fact that she didn’t have a snappy comeback meant Daphne really did have a point.
Feeling bolder, she decided to ask a question she’d been wondering about for a while. “Gab? Why are you so determined to not have a guy in your life?”
This time Gabby’s eyes rolled the other direction. “Why are you so determined to always have a guy in your li
fe?”
“I asked first.”
Gabby made an impatient sound, as if she felt the answer was obvious. “Because it just seems … weak. Like you can’t handle things on your own. Besides, guys our age are only slightly more mature than monkeys. All they care about is food and sex and goofing around.” She frowned down at the cover of A Little Princess. “And lots of them probably get stuck that way, since there are so-called grown-up men who act like that, too.”
“So … you’re holding out for the perfect guy?” Daphne asked, trying to follow her logic.
“I’m not ‘holding out’ for anything,” Gabby said, making quote marks in the air. “I’m just trying to earn the grades and money to get out of this crappy town. If you’re smart, you’ll do that, too.”
Daphne shuddered. If you’re smart. In other words, Gabby didn’t think she was smart. Of course. She made that clear every time she talked to her.
“Well, I think you’re just being snobby,” Daphne said, slouching against the wall and crossing her arms. “You refuse to like anyone—or any place. Even this house. But Mom likes it here, and so do I.”
“Of course you do. You like everything about this place. You refuse to see anything bad about anything. That’s why you love every single guy you meet. That’s why you even like Prentiss, no matter what sorts of crimes he’s committed.”
“So?” Daphne winced as soon as the word left her mouth. What made her think she could have a real talk with Gabby? Her sister always had to turn everything around to Daphne and make her feel stupid. “You hate every guy. Except Mule, and I’m not sure he is a guy. Does he even have a penis?”
Even as she said it, she knew she was being unfair. And a total hypocrite. Just the other day she’d talked about how cute and manly Mule was looking—something Gabby could very well have pointed out to her. But she couldn’t help herself. She was tired of living with boring, responsible robot people who never wanted to have a juicy conversation. She was fed up with being brushed off every time she made a comment.
And it was so worth it when she saw the look of horror on her sister’s face.
“Uck! Stop!” Gabby exclaimed.
“Oh, come on. It was just a joke. I’m sure Mule has a penis.” Daphne felt a surge of satisfaction when Gabby cringed again. “I mean, he does have a bulge in his pants.”
“God, will you quit it!” Gabby’s hands were out in front of her as if lamely attempting to shield herself from Daphne’s words. “What is wrong with you?”
“Although …,” Daphne went on, tapping her index finger against her cheek. “Have you noticed it’s typically on the left side instead of the right?”
“Mom!” Gabby shrieked, holding her hands over her ears. “Please do something about your sick, twisted daughter!”
Two seconds later Mrs. Rivera stood in the doorway with her usual weary expression. “What’s going on here?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Daphne said casually. “I was just asking about Mule’s penis.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
“You see?” Gabby said, then went back to glowering at Daphne. “Quit acting like an idiot! I swear I always regret talking to you.”
“Are you saying I should ask Mule about his penis, instead of you?”
“Daphne, please!” her mom said. “Enough with this nonsense!”
“Yeah, shut up!” Gabby’s face was now almost the same color as the prom dress hanging on the closet door.
Daphne was thoroughly enjoying herself. “What? You guys act like ‘penis’ is a bad word or something.”
“Well, it’s certainly not a topic that I wish to discuss,” her mom said, “nor do I want my fifteen-year-old daughter discussing it. So please just leave it alone. I want you girls to have this room unpacked before bedtime. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Daphne replied. Gabby nodded.
As soon as their mother trotted back down the hall, Gabby glared at Daphne fiercely. “You are such a weirdo,” she mumbled.
“Penis!” Daphne hissed back. “Penis! Penis! Penis!”
Gabby heard the bell chime and hurried to open the front door before the others emerged from their rooms.
“Hey,” Mule greeted her. He stood on the porch holding his calculus textbook in one arm and a three-liter Dr Pepper in the other.
Don’t look at his bulge, Gabby told herself. Don’t look at his bulge.
“Hi,” she said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his. “Come inside.” Eleven whole years she’d gone without ever considering Mule’s private parts. Now, thanks to her warped little sister, she was trying her hardest to not think about them.
“This place is nice.” He stepped into the living room and turned in a slow circle. “And it actually costs you guys less than the new rent at the other place?”
Gabby nodded. “That bit of information makes me suspicious,” she said.
He set his soda and book on the dining table and stretched out his arms … and there it was. Mule’s bulge. Gabby’s eyes just locked onto it as if they’d been programmed to do so. Daphne was right; it did seem to be mainly on the left side. Was that a coincidence or had Daphne actually checked it out beforehand? And was going to the left normal? Or was it supposed to go right? Or was it like right- and left-handedness, with most people going one way and some going the other?
She was suddenly, vaguely aware of Mule’s voice chattering away in the background. “… does it meet your expectations?” he asked.
“What?” Gabby’s gaze snapped back up to Mule’s eyes. She could feel her face warming over. Damn it, Daphne!
Mule chuckled. “Is this what it’s going to be like now that you live at Applewhite Manor? You going to go all snot-nosed and ignore everything I say? Or did I not enunciate clearly enough for you rich, respectable folk?”
Gabby glared at him, but inwardly she felt better. The fact that he was being his typical annoying self meant he hadn’t noticed her ogling his nether regions.
“I asked,” he went on, “and let me go slower this time: What’s … the … new … room … like? Does … it … meet … your … expectations?”
“Yeah.” Her nod turned circular. “I mean no. I mean … The place might be nicer, but our room is actually a little smaller. I’d show you but Daffy’s still unpacking.”
“Seriously? Daphne’s not done moving in?” Mule made an exaggerated look of surprise. “Shocker!” Gabby breathed a sigh of relief when he sat down at the kitchen table, moving his left-leaning lump out of sight.
She’d always known Mule was a boy, but that was just a technicality. A fact she’d filed away in the back of her mind—along with his eye color (hazel), shoe size (twelve and a half), and sandwich preferences (mayo, mustard—but not the kind with seeds—and extra pickle). It didn’t matter, and it didn’t affect how they interacted. She’d never let that little detail between his legs loom large.
Even after the crush of puberty and the disorientation brought on by brand-new feelings, brand-new body parts, and brand-new understandings, she refused to let herself think about her best friend that way. Sure, there had been fleeting curiosity once or twice, but she would always quickly dispatch it and then reprimand her insubordinate little mind. Perhaps someday she could freely entertain such thoughts, but not now. Not when there was too much history between them and too much to lose. Not after losing her first crush (or whatever Sonny had been) and getting dumped by the only other man in her life, her dad.
Happily, Mule never seemed to bring up the possibility either. At least, not directly. Although lately all his talk of prom was freaking her out.
“And how are the landlords?” Mule asked.
“Oh, god!” Gabby exclaimed, dropping into the chair across from him. “Prentiss insisted on showing up to help—as if we’re too fragile to handle boxes that we packed!”
“Really?”
“He even insisted on giving us a guided tour. ‘This here’s the sink. And this here’s the d
oor,’ ” Gabby spoke in an exaggerated East Texas drawl at half speed. “Lemme know if y’all need any help openin’ this here door.”
Mule lost it. She loved it when he really busted out with his big, loud honk of a laugh. It never failed to make her crack up, too.
“God, he’s a moron,” she said once she’d regained her breath. “And the sad part is, I think he really thought he was charming us. Like, just because he has muscles we’re supposed to swoon at his very presence.”
“Oh?” Mule’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his curls. “The guy has muscles, huh?”
“Whatever. Muscles, yes, but brain? No. Empathy? No.” She shut her eyes and shuddered slightly. “God, it makes me sick the way Mom and Daff think he’s some guardian angel. As if he can lift a few boxes and suddenly all his past transgressions are forgiven.”
“I heard he couldn’t handle UT and left. That’s why he’s around this semester. In the fall he’ll be going to community college.”
Gabby’s eyes widened. “Community college? Oh, my god, how pathetic. He was probably out getting drunk every night and never studied. You just know his mom and dad are dying of embarrassment.”
“Probably.” Mule shrugged.
“Huh.” Gabby nodded slowly, staring off into the distance. Now it all made sense, why Prentiss was always around. “What do you know? I’d just figured his parents were paying someone else to go to class for him.”
“Anyway …” Mule looked sheepish. “Sorry I didn’t show up to help. I’d planned to, but I didn’t want you to think I was showing off my physique.”
“Yeah, right.” Gabby chuckled awkwardly, remembering that only seconds before she really had been checking out his physique—or sections of it.
“So … how often do you have to see Prentiss?” Mule asked, watching her strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is he required to come by and check on you guys and stuff?”
Gabby wrinkled her nose. “Not if I can help it.”
“You think he came by to help because his parents made him, or because he’s just a great guy? Or do you think he maybe had … ulterior motives?”
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