But I was, apparently. He probably picked up the rose while paying for his cigarettes at the gas station. I brushed the petal to the floor and handed over my license.
Carol squinted at it.
“So her meal’s free?” Joey asked.
“Anything under ten bucks.” She handed back my license, her voice softening. “You still got two bucks,” she told me. “You can get a pop instead of water.”
“That’s okay.” I lowered my head, knowing the hurt had settled on my face.
Carol took our menus and hurried off. Joey leaned across the booth. “You think I’m cheap, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, shrugged. “Free is free.”
“You’re disappointed.”
“No.”
“Just so you know? I’m trying to save up. I found this apartment I need to put a deposit on.” He leaned back in the booth. “For my dad and me.”
I glanced up. So he was supporting his dad?
“The bank foreclosed on our house after Mom went to prison. My uncle’s letting us use his address so Child Protective Services doesn’t think I’m homeless. But we’re not really living there. You’ve seen where we’re staying.”
The storage room in his uncle’s bar. I thought about taking his hand, to let him know how bad I felt. But maybe he’d see that as too touchy-feely. “That sucks,” I said.
“So that’s why I’m trying to save money.”
“Can’t your dad work?”
Joey barked a laugh. “You’ve seen him, right? He’s no better than my mom. The only difference is he hasn’t shot anyone yet.”
I swallowed. What do you say to something like that?
He leaned closer, took my hand, looked me in the eye. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice, but this was the best I could do.”
“It’s fine.” He didn’t need to apologize. “It’s great.”
Carol came back, laying down little napkins for our drinks. I liked how the straws were already in them with a bit of wrapper on top to keep them sanitary. I liked that my water came with a lemon wedge even though I hadn’t asked for one.
While Joey drained half his Coke, I squeezed the lemon into my water and watched the seeds sink to the bottom. I thought about the red rose sitting in Joey’s car, the CD of mood music in my purse. He was trying to make things special for me.
“What?” Joey asked. “Why are you smiling?”
“Was I?” I took a sip of my lemon-flavored water. “I guess you caught me.”
CHAPTER 20
Joey’s uncle Johnny lived in an old house on the east side of Decatur, the kind of neighborhood with cracked sidewalks and scraggly grass. The screened-in porch was missing half its screens. Joey unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The house was dark and silent. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the shadowy outlines of a couch and a recliner, a coffee table splattered with newspapers and remote controls. A smell like rotting fruit, but sourer.
“Smells like piss,” Joey said. “Sorry about that.”
A wave of goose bumps prickled my skin. I hugged myself, nervous, a little scared, too. I hadn’t forgotten what I’d promised him.
“You okay?” Joey asked.
I nodded. “Just cold.”
“Come on.” He led me through the dark living room to the kitchen and flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulbs flickered before settling into a muffled gloom.
“You can sit down.” He pointed to the card table against the wall.
“Thanks.” The table wobbled when I put my elbow on it.
Joey opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Ever had a screwdriver?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Vodka and orange juice. You hardly taste the vodka.” He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and blew in them before filling them with ice from the freezer.
I couldn’t stop shivering. It didn’t help that I had to use the bathroom. “Um,” I said. “Do you have a bathroom?” Stupid question. What house didn’t have a bathroom?
“Down the hallway.” He pointed. “First door on the left.”
The bathroom door was closed. Something scratched at it from the inside. Something whimpered.
“I think there’s a dog in here!” I called.
“His name’s Po’Boy,” he called back. “Try not to let him out.”
The dog barked once. Maybe he recognized his name.
When I cracked open the door, the heavy urine smell hit me in the face like a wet snowball. A big black nose poked its way out of the gap. I blocked the opening with my body and slid inside.
The dog was a black lab. He wagged his tail and stuck his nose in my crotch. I pushed his muzzle away, letting him sniff my hand and lick my fingers. “Hey, Po’Boy,” I whispered. “Good boy.”
The bathtub was streaked with yellowish-orange stains, some dry, some still wet. Kibbles of dog food crunched under my feet. The water bowl was almost empty. I rinsed it out in the sink and refilled it.
The sickly sweet stench wasn’t helping my nervous stomach. I used the toilet as fast as I could, patting Po’Boy’s head and scratching behind his ears to keep him from sniffing me. “Good boy,” I kept saying. “Good Po’Boy.”
When I got back to the kitchen, Joey had the CD out of my purse. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said. “It was right on top.”
I must have left my purse unzipped. “Should we let the dog out?” I said. “We could take him for a quick walk.”
“I’m supposed to keep him locked up.” Joey handed me a glass of what looked like orange juice on ice. “He tears up the house when he’s out.”
It seemed cruel to me, to keep a dog penned up all day, but what did I know about dogs? I’d had a dog when I was six. I barely remembered him, but I did remember how I came home from school one day and he didn’t come running to greet me. I never saw him again. Mom and Dad had said he ran away.
“Taste it,” Joey said. “Tell me what you think.”
I imagined I could smell the vodka. Or maybe it was the lingering pee smell. I took a sip. He was right. I could hardly taste the alcohol. I drank again, felt my shoulders relaxing with every sip.
“You like it?” he asked.
“It’s good.”
He eyed my glass. “I’ll be right back. Drink up.”
He took the CD to the living room, and I sipped my screwdriver. I imagined I could feel the alcohol soaking into my flesh, draining away all the tension in my muscles. Then the music started. A slow buildup of guitar and drums flowing from what must have been an awesome stereo system. The swell of the music reminded me of being lost, of longing for something, or someone. I closed my eyes. A wave of goose bumps trailed up my neck.
“You like it?”
I opened my eyes. Joey was smiling down at me.
“Sadie was right. It’s good.”
He took my glass. “Let me get you another drink.”
The second screwdriver tasted stronger than the first, but I didn’t mind. Suddenly I felt very chatty.
“So how old are you?” I asked. “My mom wondered how old you were, and I couldn’t tell her because I don’t know. I mean, I know you’re in high school, but—”
“Would you believe me if I said I was twenty-two?”
“No.” It took me a second to figure out why I didn’t believe that. Because he’d talked with Sadie about quitting school. And he was afraid of living with foster parents. Twenty-two-year-olds didn’t live with foster parents.
“Good,” he said. “’Cause I’m seventeen, same as you. Remember the fake ID I showed you?”
“I’m eighteen,” I reminded him.
“An older woman.”
“With a lot less experience.”
He smiled with one side of his mouth. “We can fix that.”
“Oh yeah?” The words slipped out like I’d been practicing cool all my life.
He gripped the back of my neck, pulled my head toward his. Then he kissed me, his tongue gliding o
ver my bottom lip.
“You taste good,” I murmured. Had I just said that?
“How’re you feeling?” he asked. “Still cold?”
“Huh-uh.”
He stood up. “Finish your drink. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into another part of the house. I heard a door opening and closing. Po’Boy barked three times. Then he was quiet. Poor dog.
I drank, sucking the vodka from the ice cubes. Buzzed. That was the word I’d heard everyone say. I’m buzzed. Buzzed was a good way to describe it. Everything vibrated with a little more intensity.
Joey came back and leaned in the doorway. “You want to try something cool?”
“Sure.” Maybe.
He laid a pill on the table. “It’s safe.”
I stared at it. White and small. Tiny even. “Safe?”
“As in, it wasn’t made in someone’s trailer. You know what you’re getting. Just a little high. A little—” He cut himself off. “You’ll like it.”
“That’s okay.” I shook my head. Would he be mad at me for saying no?
“You sure?”
I bit my lip. “It’s not really my thing.”
He swept the pill off the table and popped it in his mouth. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Maybe you’ll try it next time when you see what it does.”
Next time. He was talking about a next time.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand to pull me up. “Since you’re into art, I want to show you something.”
I felt a little dizzy as I stood up, but his hand on my arm steadied me.
“It’s in my uncle’s bedroom. I always thought it was pretty cool.”
I followed him to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Above the bed was a wall poster of Salvador Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory, with its melting clocks and strange, mutated creature in the center. The creature was supposedly some kind of self-portrait.
Joey waved at the painting. “It’s cool, right?”
“Very cool.”
Joey grinned. “One time I stared at this thing for, like, five minutes. Come here for a second.” He climbed up to stand on the bed so his face was at eye level with the poster.
I scrambled up after him.
“Careful.” He put his hand on my back. “Look at this.” He pointed to the hands on the different clocks. “They all show different times.”
“Like for different memories.” All the times I’d seen this painting, and I’d never noticed that. I liked how Dalí’s memories seemed warped.
Our eyes met. A buzzy thrill spiraled through my core.
Joey traced the outline of my jaw. “I tricked you in here, you know.”
“It was a good trick.”
“So now that we’re here . . .” He drew me down so we were kneeling on the bed.
“Your uncle won’t come home?”
“He’s closing the bar.”
I got lost, then, while Sadie’s music caressed my senses. Joey’s mouth against mine, his tongue, the hunger of it. His body grinding against mine, his need. We didn’t move apart to undress, just groped and gasped while first his shirt came off, then my sweater and lacy black bra. They were my hands groping at his zipper. My hands pulling down his jeans.
He tugged up my skirt and peeled down my tights and underwear till they sagged at my knees. His hips toggled my legs apart. At the last second, I thought the word condom, but interrupting things in that moment would have been so typically me in all my awkward glory. He hovered over me, his attention focused on steering himself to the right place. He pushed. I gasped. And then the dog barked.
And didn’t stop. Po’Boy’s deep woofs vibrated the walls. Joey kept going. I bit my lip and gripped the edges of the bed. It didn’t hurt exactly, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything except Po’Boy. The barking turned to howling, and that’s when Joey pulled out.
“Shit,” he gasped. “Stupid fucking dog.”
Was he finished? I didn’t think he’d finished. “We forgot a condom” was all I could think to say.
“Yeah.” He was still breathing hard.
My skirt was bunched up at the waist. I pulled it down. “I think he’s lonely.”
Joey’s jaw tightened. He dropped his chin to his chest and looked down at himself. “Maybe you can quiet him down. He doesn’t like me.”
I found my sweater and pulled it on. Stripped off my tights and underwear but left my skirt on. “Be right back,” I said.
Po’Boy almost knocked me over making his escape. That’s when I caught myself in the mirror. Used up, like a dirty dishrag. I wet my fingers and rubbed at the black smears under my eyes. I left the bathroom door open so Po’Boy could get a drink if he got thirsty.
When I got back to the bedroom, Joey was digging in the front pocket of his jeans, completely naked. He looked better in my fantasies, but this was real life. Life wasn’t perfect. Then I felt something wet trickle down my thigh. Blood?
Joey held up a little foil package in the shape of a square. “Your condom.”
Would he be grossed out if he saw me bleeding? “Can I turn off the light?”
“Go ahead.”
I flipped the switch. “Where are you?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, but I followed the rustle of the condom wrapper and groped my way toward him.
• • •
When it was over, he lay on top of me for a few seconds, his face buried in my neck. My hip joints hurt from his weight pressing on me. It felt good when he rolled away, but I wanted him to stay. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted it to feel special.
We lay side by side. His chest moved up and down as he caught his breath. He reached down, past his stomach. I heard a wet, squelching noise. I was glad for the darkness.
He sat up, slid his feet to the floor. “Be back in a minute.”
When he opened the door, a shaft of light showed me the flattened spill of my breasts. I covered myself with the blanket, felt the tacky wetness between my legs. Would I ruin the moment if I got up to clean myself?
He was gone for a long time. I heard water running. When he came back, he stood in the doorway with a towel around his waist. I pulled the blanket to my chest.
“You look tired,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
I curled the blanket around my fists and glanced at the clock beside the bed. 10:09. I’d officially turned eighteen an hour ago. Should I tell him that?
His phone rang from the pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out, answered it.
“Hey . . . Yeah, I know.” He glanced at the clock. “Okay. No problem.” He hung up.
We looked at each other. He didn’t have to say it.
“I’ll get dressed,” I said.
He was already pulling on his jeans.
I picked up my scattered clothes, headed to the bathroom. I heard Po’Boy scrambling around on the other side of the door and realized Joey must have penned him up again. The dog whined when I came in, stuck his nose between my legs.
I pushed him away. “Bad dog.”
He looked at me, wagging his tail.
I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and propped one leg on the toilet to clean myself. Disgusting. The heavy pee odor turned my stomach, and the dog wouldn’t leave me alone. He tried to lick my hands while I wiped up blood, and when I shoved him away, he whimpered but came right back and tried to sniff me.
“Stop!” I hissed, but he didn’t listen. He whined and panted and nosed for my crotch. Finally, I rapped him on the nose—once, twice—hard enough that he cringed and backed away.
CHAPTER 21
The next day at school, I was hiding out in the girls’ restroom to eat lunch when my cell phone rang. Joey had said he’d call, but it wasn’t Joey. It was Dad’s lawyer calling me back. I’d left another message for her that morning.
“Hello?”
“Tera, it’s Charlotte Gross.”
I held my breath, my hand tightenin
g around the phone.
“I got your messages,” she said. “They can’t find you in the system because your dad hasn’t put you on the approved visitors’ list.”
“But why not? He knows when my birthday is. He knows when I’m allowed to visit him.”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to him.”
“But I can’t, not until he puts me on the list. Tell him, please.”
“I will.”
This didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he want to talk to me? I gave up Paris for him, and now he didn’t want to talk to me?
“I had another reason for calling,” she said. “We’ve had time to examine the evidence. Can you come to my office this afternoon?”
“Um, sure.” She was making me nervous. “Is something wrong?”
“I can fit you in today at two-thirty.”
I’d have to skip Art, but maybe I could get Mr. Stewart’s permission. “Okay,” I said. I noticed how she hadn’t answered my question.
“I’ll see you then.” She hung up.
I threw away the rest of my lunch and went to find Mr. Stewart. If he saw how worried I was—if I explained how important it was that I see the lawyer—he’d excuse me so I wouldn’t get in trouble for skipping again.
I almost ran into Mr. Stewart coming out of the faculty lounge, right on the heels of Principal Meyer. Mr. Stewart kept walking even though I knew he saw me. I started to go after him, but Principal Meyer blocked my path. He smiled and looked down at me.
“Hello, Tera.”
I murmured a hello. Since when did the principal stop to chat?
“How are you holding up?” He cleared his throat. “What I mean is, how are you doing?”
“Fine.” I glanced behind him. Mr. Stewart was getting lost in the crowd of students.
“Are you sure? You seem distracted.”
“Sorry. I just really need to talk to Mr. Stewart.”
He frowned and looked behind him to where Mr. Stewart was disappearing down the hallway. “Mordecai!” he called.
Hearing his name, Mr. Stewart stopped in his tracks.
Principal Meyer’s chuckle sounded forced. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t get away.”
I followed the principal to where Mr. Stewart had backed himself against the wall. He kept his head down, didn’t look at me, almost like he didn’t want to be seen with me. Maybe Principal Meyer yelled at him for playing favorites.
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