by Amber Garza
“Sonya?”
“Yeah, isn’t she your girlfriend?”
“No.” Tripp shakes his head. “We’re just going to the fall dance together, that’s all.”
“Fall dance.” I snort. “Have fun with that.”
Tripp furrows his brows. A car passes by, faint music playing through the open windows. A lawn mower comes to life somewhere in the distance. “You have something against the fall dance?”
“Not just the fall dance. All dances.”
“Did you have a bad experience at one or something?”
“I’ve never been to one. Don’t want to.” I shrug. “Dances are lame.”
“How do you know they’re lame if you’ve never been to one?”
“Hadley!” Mom’s voice calls from the doorway. “Dinner time.”
My face heats up, and I feel like a small child all of the sudden. But truthfully I’m grateful for the interruption. I have no desire to talk about dances with Tripp. As much as I want to believe that I could care less about dances, the real reason I’ve never gone to one is because I’ve never been asked.
“I gotta go.” Still clutching my pad to my chest as if it's a lifeline, I turn around.
“See you tomorrow? Same place, same time?” Tripp asks coyly.
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to be safely inside,” I say, as I hurry away from him.
Rob and the little ones are already seated at the shiny mahogany table by the time I enter the dining room. In our apartment Mom and I had a tiny pub table in the breakfast nook. Now we have a full dining room, complete with a sparkly chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. It’s so posh, and sometimes it makes me feel out of place here. I deposit my sketch pad and pencil at my feet and scoot into my usual chair. Mom flutters about like a nervous butterfly, arranging the condiments and dishing up the kids’ food. When she finally sits down, I relax. For years it was just the two of us, and life was pretty stress-free. Dinner time was a sandwich in front of the TV, and my afternoons were spent in silence. All this commotion really wears on my nerves.
“So, who was that boy you were talking to outside, Hadley?” Mom asks, passing the salad in my direction.
“No one,” I mumble, not daring to look her in the eye. I’m sure my cheeks are red. As much as I want to pretend I’m not attracted to Tripp in the least, I know that I am. I scoop some salad onto my plate and then set the bowl down in the middle of the table.
“Does this no one have a name?” Mom raises her eyebrows.
“Tripp Bauer.” I pick up my fork and roll it in between my fingers. Light from the chandelier overhead glints from it.
“Tripp Bauer,” Mom repeats. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”
Heat creeps up my neck and spills across my cheeks. I’ve had a crush on Tripp for years. I used to scribble his name all over my notebooks. I hope she doesn’t figure it out.
“Ah, yes.” Rob wipes a napkin over his lips. He turns his grey eyes on me, running a hand over his dark hair. “I know Tripp. He lives a few houses down. His dad and I have played golf together a couple of times, and they’ve had us over for dinner before. Nice guy.”
“I tripped over my toy truck today,” Adam interjects.
I heave a sigh of relief, thinking how I never thought I’d be grateful to one of Rob's kids for interrupting. Usually it drives me crazy.
Ignoring Adam, Mom turns to me. “Well, Tripp is welcome to eat dinner here anytime.”
“Of course.” Rob grins at me in that weird Mr. Cleaver way. “The more the merrier.”
Mom giggles, leaning into his shoulder. He gives her shoulders an affectionate squeeze and internally I gag. Up until Mom married Rob I didn’t think people really acted like this except on TV shows. My parents never did. In fact, they spent more time fighting than being affectionate.
Of course my dad is a lot different than Rob. He’s a psychiatrist, and sometimes he treats Mom and I more like his patients than his family. Ever since I found out the secret about my dad, I’ve wondered if that’s why he behaves that way toward us. Not that I can talk to anyone about it. Mom only has negative things to say about him, and no one else but she and I know the truth. Well, only one other person knows, but I don’t talk to her anymore. In fact, I wish I’d never told her in the first place. It was one of the worst errors in judgment I’ve ever made.
SIX
TRIPP
I walk away from Hadley’s house, feeling a tightening in my chest as if someone is crushing my esophagus and cutting off my air supply. I wish she hadn’t hidden the picture she drew with her hand. It’s obvious that she didn’t want me to see it. However, I don’t understand why. Hadley is really talented. Her sketch was amazing. My mind guiltily flies to my own drawings hidden away under my mattress. Even though I’m supposed to abandon all thoughts of art, for some reason I can’t do it. I like sketching and painting, and I’m good at it. A lot better than I am at football. However, I could never say that to my dad. He’d kill me. Sons of his don’t draw or sketch or paint. In fact, he doesn’t want me to be creative at all. He just wants me to follow in his footsteps and be a popular football star. Even though that’s not what I want, I also don’t want to let him down.
When I get home I immediately head to the backyard with Bruiser. Our backyard is pretty large with enough room for Bruiser to run around in the thick green grass. We have a small patio area by the back door where a metal table and chairs sit. Near that is a large barbecue grill. In the summer Dad likes to bring his golfing buddies back here for a barbecue. They sit out here and drink and eat steak. When his friends are here, Dad always seems so friendly. I’ve often found myself wishing he’d invite me out when his friends are over, but he never does. It would be nice to get to know another side of him.
After I unhook Bruiser from his leash, he rubs his nose against my pants. I kneel down, petting his silky fur. “You’re a good boy,” I say.
When I first asked for a dog, my dad made me promise to take care of him. He told me that Bruiser would be entirely my responsibility. I had no problem with that, because I knew Bruiser would offer something no one in this house could - unconditional loyalty. And I was right. Bruiser loves me no matter what, and he always has my back. There’s no one else in this world I can say that about. After petting him a little while longer, I head inside through the side door. I hang the leash on the hooks nailed to the wall as I enter.
When I step inside our house, the stale air-conditioned air suffocates me. It’s deadly silent as I creep up the stairs, and the stifling smell of bleach and lemon spray burn my throat. Shivering, I think about how badly I want to get the hell out of here. The door to my parents’ room is closed, and my guess is that Mom is napping inside. All those antidepressants and pills she takes just to survive the day sure make her sleepy.
I head into my room, firmly closing the door behind me. The football pendants and sports posters mock me from where they are mounted to the wall. My desk in the corner is neatly organized, the papers stacked evenly without one sheet askew. I make my way toward my bed that is made, the comforter pulled tightly, and the pillows arranged carefully on top. Even though Dad is still at work, my hands shake as I pick the mattress up and feel underneath. My fingers brush over thick pages, the edges jabbing my flesh. I snatch up a couple and pull them out. The rough sketches stare back at me, most of them unfinished. Running my fingertips over the charcoal images, I long to color them in and flesh them out to create something beautiful.
I glance up at the clock and my heart sinks. There’s no time. Dad will be home soon. Jealousy surges when I think of Hadley sitting in her front yard sketching away like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s funny because I know she thinks her life is so difficult, and that I live a charmed existence. If only she knew the truth. If only I could tell her. But I can’t. I can’t tell anyone. If it ever got out it would destroy my family. I may not care about my dad, but I can’t do that to my mom. Besides, it would be hum
iliating for me too.
It’s better to just let people think that everything’s fine and continue to bide my time. I mean, I’m going to be eighteen soon enough anyway. And then I can do what I want. The home phone rings, and I jump up startled. Chastising myself for being such a wimp, I shove the sketches back under my bed, checking to be sure they are adequately hidden. Standing up, my knees crack, still sore from practice. In one fluid movement, I reach for the cordless phone on my dresser and punch the talk button.
Before saying anything, I hear voices. Mom must have already answered it. I freeze, instantly recognizing the voice talking to Mom. No, it can’t be. Holding my breath, I quietly set the phone back down on the cradle. My body is numb with shock. I had no idea that Mom still spoke to him. Dad would kill her if he knew. Literally.
Fear snakes around my heart. Fear for Mom. Fear for the situation. Fear of what will happen if Dad ever finds out.
Sinking down on my bed, I remember the last time I saw him. The images sweep over me in quick succession - the yelling, the accusations, the name calling, the violence, the tears and protests. Once the memories come, I can’t stop them. Feeling sick, I moan and clutch my stomach. I will the pictures to leave my mind. I will it all to go away.
I can’t let it happen again.
Forcing the thoughts to clear, I stand up. My heart slows down a little, and I step toward my window. My room is right above the garage, and from upstairs I can easily see out over most of the street. I open the blinds, and light spills inside the dimly lit room. It’s clean and smells like air freshener. Most of my friend’s rooms smell like BO and dirty socks, but not mine. My dad would never allow that.
Peering down, my gaze lands on Hadley’s house. Her yard is empty so she must still be inside. I think again of her drawing, and I wonder if I’ll ever have the guts to tell her about mine. It would be cool to have someone to share things with. I hardly know Hadley, but it’s clear that she’s a lot different from any of the girls I hang out with. And that’s what I like about her. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks, even to me.
And I suspect she’s the type of girl who is loyal to her friends. If only I had a person like that in my life.
SEVEN
HADLEY
“Wanna hang out later?” Paige sits across from me at our table in the cafeteria. She breaks off a section of her orange. Juice spurts out of it and runs down her hand.
“Can’t. I’m going to my dad’s today.” I unscrew the cap of my bottled water and take a sip. The lukewarm liquid coats my tongue and slides down my parched throat. Chatting and laughing surrounds us from all the other students. My gaze sweeps the crowded room, an array of mismatched colors like a painting with no rhyme or reason. I hone in on Tripp’s table filled with wide shouldered, muscular jocks. There is a semblance of unity about them with their short hair cuts, similar builds and sense of style. When Sonya sashays over and slips onto the bench next to Tripp, my stomach churns.
“Are you spending the weekend there?” Paige yanks my attention back to her.
I nod. “I think so.”
“Okay, well text me if you want company.”
Paige knows how lonely it can get at Dad’s condo. Ever since Mom married Rob it’s been kind of nice to have some peace and quiet every once in awhile, but it does get old. Dad spends most of his time immersed in work, or out with his girlfriend.
“I will.” I smile, reaching into my ziplock bag and picking out a grape from the cluster, prying it from the hard stem. “But I am looking forward to spending some quality time with Dad’s flatscreen. I’m a little tired of watching cartoons at Mom’s.”
Paige laughs. “I don’t envy you having to live with those two kids.”
“Seriously,” I agree, knowing that Paige understands. She is the youngest in her family. Her older brother just moved away to go to college this year. Of course, Paige is lucky. Her parents are still together and seem to be happy. “At least they’re going to be at their mom’s all next week so I’ll get a break.”
“Too bad she doesn’t just keep them.”
Relishing the thought, I pop a grape in my mouth and bite down on it allowing the tangy juices to explode in my mouth. Glancing to the left, my gaze once again lands on Tripp. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and his brown hair is tousled. Sonya leans over him, giggling about something. My mind travels back to our conversation the night before. I remember the way his eyes glistened in the dim light, and dimples appeared on his cheeks when he smiled.
“So he’s with Sonya now, huh?” Paige asks, and I’m embarrassed that she caught me staring.
“Fitting, isn’t it?” I say bitterly. Paige knows every detail of what happened between Sonya and me.
“It won’t last long. You know Tripp. He doesn’t stay with the same girl for more than a couple weeks.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. Tripp is not really the relationship type. Still it’s unnerving that he’s going out with Sonya at all. Back when she and I were friends she knew about my crush on him. I’m just hoping she doesn’t feel the need to share that information. It’s bad enough that we’re neighbors now. Remembering his words last night about me waiting for him to walk by, I wonder if she’s already told him. I suppose that’s all the more reason why I need to stay as far away from him as possible.
Guys like Tripp Bauer don’t fall for girls like me. It’s just not the way it works.
“Pizza okay for dinner?” Dad hollers from the kitchen.
“Of course,” I answer back, stretching my legs out on the couch. Honestly, I was surprised when he went into the kitchen to look for something to make. My dad’s house is the quintessential bachelor pad. He lives off of frozen dinners and take out. I’ll admit that when he and Mom split up I worried about him getting proper nutrition. In all the years they were together I never saw him cook. I’m still not entirely sure he’s capable of it. The most I’ve seen him make is grilled cheese and scrambled eggs.
While Dad dials the pizza place, I click on the TV. It roars to life, and I scan down the menu. Choosing my favorite reality show, I drop the remote and settle back on the couch cushion. Dad’s condo lacks the homey feel of Mom’s place, which is filled with pictures, knick knacks and other feminine touches. At Dad's there are only a couple of pictures on the stark white walls, and the only furniture he has in his family room are a couch, a TV, and end table. I think he may have a couple framed pictures of me in his room, but other than that no one would even guess he has a single relative. On the end table there is a magazine and a set of coasters, but no candles or books like at Mom’s. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have to worry where I step. The hardwood floors are devoid of toy cars and building blocks. I sigh contentedly, happy that I don’t have to fight with the noise and chaos created by Ainsely and Adam.
Just when I get comfortable, my cell buzzes in my pocket. I yank it out, glancing down at the text.
Paige: Having fun at Pop's condo?
I laugh at Paige’s choice of wording. Dad would kill me if I called him Pops.
Me: Yeah.
“Pepperoni okay?” Dad asks from the kitchen.
I roll my eyes, wondering how Dad can remember everything about his patients and yet can’t seem to recall what toppings I like on my pizza. “No, get the Hawaiian one.”
Me: We’re ordering pizza.
Paige: Hawaiian?
Me: U know it.
It’s pretty sad that Paige knows my preferences better than my own father.
Paige: I still don’t understand y u don’t like pepperoni, weirdo.
Me: You’re one to talk, Anchovy breath.
Paige: Anchovies are good.
Me: Yuck.
“Hads, the pizza will be here in twenty. I left the money on the kitchen table.”
Dad enters the room still wearing his khaki slacks and collared shirt from work, his salt and pepper hair falling in a wave over his forehead. “Where are you going?”
“Just into my s
tudy to work for a few minutes.”
I nod, knowing that a few minutes will most likely turn into the entire evening. His workaholic tendencies are just one of the many things he and Mom used to fight about endlessly. Sometimes it bothers me that he doesn’t make more time for me while I’m here, but I don’t say anything. Besides, I’m kind of scared of pushing him away. We may have our problems, but I want him in my life.
Plus, I figure if he didn’t change for Mom, he certainly isn’t going to change for me. And on the bright side of things, at least it gives me more time to do what I want. Listening to his footsteps retreat down the hallway, I resume my TV watching. It’s one of those dating shows, and my mind wanders down the Tripp path again. I wonder if he’s out with Sonya tonight. Or perhaps she’s shopping for her dress and he’s hanging with his friends. Either way, I’m sure none of them are lame enough to be lounging on their couch on a Friday night watching reality TV and eating pizza. In fact, judging by Sonya’s waist size, I think it’s pretty safe to say that she doesn’t eat pizza. I cringe, glancing down at my pudgy stomach. Perhaps I should cut back on the junk food as well. Not that it will matter. No guys are interested in me, and it has nothing to do with my size. Even if I lose weight, it’s not like I’ll suddenly turn into a boy magnet.
I just don’t live one of those charmed lives. I’m doomed to a life of invisibility, I’m certain of it.
By Sunday afternoon the silence is starting to get to me. At first it was nice, but now I’m getting bored. I scurry down the hardwood floors of the hallway and find Dad hunched over his desk in the study. His shoulders are stooped, his forehead scrunched together as he concentrates.
I lean against the doorframe. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey.” He glances up at me, blinking behind his glances.
“Do you think you can take me back to Mom’s a little early today?” I clear my throat. “I’ve got some things I need to work on for school, and the supplies are at Mom’s.” I don’t even know why I feel the need to lie. It’s not like he’s spent any time with me since I’ve been here, but still I don’t want to hurt his feelings.