She laughed and punched him again.
I dumped my ice in the sink. The sound helped drown out their laughter. From the corner of my eye, I caught the tall Asian guy watching me. He walked up and stuck out his hand. “I’m Cam, by the way.”
“Hi.” I shook his hand. “I’m Tera.”
Cam started to say something, but Joey’s laughter cut him off.
“Hey, Tera, you should go out there,” Joey said. “Tell them your dad’s a comic-book artist and see what they do. They’ll probably fall down and worship you.”
Cam looked up from filling his glass with ice. “Your dad’s a comic-book artist?”
I clenched my arms at the elbows, tried to smile. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Is he at the convention? Maybe I could get his autograph.”
“I . . .” I looked down, felt Joey’s eyes on me.
“Is your dad really an artist?” Sadie asked. “Is he famous?”
“Not really. I mean, he’s an artist and he’s sort of famous. It depends on who you talk to.”
“What’s his name?” Cam asked. “I might have some of his stuff.”
I opened my mouth to say his name. Timothy Waters. But I couldn’t get the words out. Cam’s eyes darted to Sadie, to Joey, back to me.
I kneeled down and rummaged under the sink for a clean rag, any excuse to hide my face. I heard them murmuring. I heard Sadie tell them to give me some space. When I heard them walk away, I stood.
Joey was still there, topping off a beer from the tap. He sipped off the foam. “You okay?”
I shrugged.
Setting down his beer, he moved in close and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I can make you okay,” he said. “I can make you very, very okay.”
His body pressed into mine. Warm. Hard. Good.
“Do you want that?” he whispered.
I looked into his eyes. Hazel, the pupils black and large. I nodded.
His smile was gentle, teasing. “Let me hear you say it.”
“I want that.”
“Excellent.” The growl in his voice made me shiver. “I’ll drive you home tonight.”
• • •
I finished my side-work, but I had to wait on Joey, so I took a seat in one of the empty booths to count my tip money. I liked the smell of the bills, like pages in a book. Like a fresh canvas.
“Tera?” The booth creaked as Cam sat across from me. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your dad.”
My jaw tightened, made it hard to talk without sounding rude. “What do you mean?”
“Just that . . . He’s in jail. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
And now he did. Now I wasn’t Tera who could be anybody. Now I was Tera whose dad was in jail.
For child pornography. The thought wormed its way to the front of my brain. I forced it back. My dad was innocent.
“If I’d known,” he said, “I wouldn’t have asked about an autograph.”
“Joey told you?” It had to have been him. He was the only one who knew.
“I didn’t believe it at first,” Cam said. “I have some of his graphic novels. He doesn’t seem like the type who would do that kind of thing.”
That kind of thing. But I’d never told Joey why Dad got arrested. He must have found out on his own. And now Cam knew, too, and now he wouldn’t want Dad’s autograph.
“I’m sorry.” Cam winced and rubbed his eyebrow. “I’m making this worse.”
“Nothing’s been proven.” I sounded so sure of myself. “It’ll be cleared up in a few months.”
I had to believe that. Because if I didn’t, that meant I’d given up art school for nothing. And it meant I’d spent my whole life looking up to someone who . . .
I couldn’t finish the thought because Dad wasn’t like that. He had taken only that photo of me to teach me how to sketch the human form. He didn’t realize how much it hurt me, and when he did realize it, he was so, so sorry.
“I should go,” Cam said.
As he walked away, I looked down at the pile of tip money on the table, every bill crumpled and dirty. I started straightening the bills, putting them in a neat pile. Whatever mistakes my dad had made, he wasn’t a bad person. Whatever it was they thought he did, it wasn’t true. Charlotte Gross would prove it wasn’t true.
A shadow fell across the table. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. I smelled the cigarette smoke on his clothes.
“You ready?” Joey asked.
I nodded but didn’t move to get up. How could he stand there like everything was fine between us, when he’d betrayed me by blabbing to Cam?
“So let’s go then.”
I let myself sit for another second. I could tell him I’d take the bus. I could tell him how pissed I was. Instead, I swept my tips into a pile and stuffed them into my smock. I stood.
“See you later,” Sadie called.
I made myself smile and wave.
The night sky was dusky brown. A clear night. I followed Joey across the parking lot to his car. It smelled like an ashtray. I cracked the window as he pulled out of the parking lot. His stereo blasted, but he didn’t turn it down.
“So how’d you do today?” he asked.
I stared straight ahead. “What do you mean?”
“Your tips. I saw you counting them. You had a good day?”
“I guess. I didn’t finish counting.”
Silence.
“Did you listen to those CDs?” he asked.
“There were a lot to listen to.”
“Did you listen to any of them?”
“Um, Sleigh Bells. Vampire Weekend.”
“And what’d you think? They kick ass, right?”
“They were okay.”
He shook a cigarette from his crumpled pack, lit it. Then he looked at me. “So what’s up with you?”
I shrugged, knowing he had no idea he’d done anything wrong. “It’s been a long day,” I said.
“So you’re always this moody after a long day?” He laughed as he blew out smoke. “I should have known you were too good to be true.”
Too good to be true? I glanced over to see if he was making fun of me. Smoke from his cigarette floated around his face. He looked serious.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just . . .” I wasn’t used to calling people out, but I had to tell him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know he’d done anything wrong. “Something’s bugging me.”
“Fine.” He turned the stereo off. “What is it?”
“You told Cam about my dad.”
He scrunched his eyebrows together like he was confused. “I wasn’t supposed to tell?”
“Well, no. It was private.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It was private,” I said again.
Joey braked suddenly and turned into a strip mall. All the windows in the mall were dark, the lot completely empty. He parked in front of a chiropractor’s office and twisted in his seat to look at me.
“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? If I’d known it was a secret, I never would’ve said anything. It’s just, he was Googling your dad on his phone. So I told him what I knew—before he could read whatever shit is floating around out there about him.”
“What do you mean? There’s, like, a news story about him?”
He shrugged. “It just said he got arrested for kiddie porn. And then a bunch of people responded to it. Fans, I guess. Or former fans.”
So all those people who would have asked for his autograph . . . They wouldn’t be asking anymore. I curled my hands against my stomach and stared out the front window. I couldn’t imagine what Dad was feeling. All that work he’d put into becoming an artist people recognized. And now they’d want nothing to do with him.
Joey crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “So your dad’s a perv. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “He hasn’t had a trial.”
“Whatever you say.” Joey took my ha
nd, uncurled my fingers, squeezed. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Seriously. I’m really sorry.” His face was shadowed in darkness, but the glow from the dashboard console reflected off his eyes, made them look golden. “You forgive me?”
Did I? I kept forgetting how he didn’t think it was a big deal that his mom was in prison for murder. So of course he wouldn’t think this thing with my dad was a big deal either.
I smiled a little. “I forgive you.”
He turned off the car. “Let me make it up to you.”
The seat squeaked as he leaned in. His lips pressed into mine, warm and urgent. One of his hands slid around my back, then up my waist to my chest. His mouth found my neck while his other hand undid the buttons on my uniform blouse. He pulled up my bra, not bothering with the clasp. My breasts hung there, squished and bare.
“I want you so bad,” Joey murmured. “Tell me you want me, too.”
“I do. I want you.” Which was true, but the words felt awkward, silly. Especially with my breasts hanging beneath my bra.
He leaned back to unbuckle his belt. “Take off your pants.”
“In the car?”
“No one will see.”
“But . . .”
He pulled a condom from his jeans pocket. “See? Everything’s fine. And I need you. Right now.” He tugged his pants down his hips.
I did what he told me. I unbuttoned my uniform pants, peeled them down. He tugged at my underwear and pulled them down, too. By then, he wasn’t looking at me. By then, he was rolling on the condom. So he didn’t see how clumsy I looked getting undressed. Like a wounded spider, legs cramped and wiggling.
He edged on top of me, his weight pushing me back. My head pressed against the passenger door, my neck bent and strained.
This time it hurt more, but it was over quick. When he was done, he stayed on top of me, his breath warming my neck. I laid my hands across his sweaty back, counted his heartbeats against my chest. His breath felt heavy. He felt heavy.
When I got to twenty beats and he still hadn’t moved, I couldn’t help wondering: Was this what it felt like to be close to someone?
• • •
Joey and I didn’t talk the whole ride home. He looked over and smiled once, and then he went back to smoking and listening to his music. Was he done with me, then? Was I still “too good to be true”?
He parked the car in front of my house and tossed his cigarette out the open window. “So my uncle’s having a party tomorrow night.”
My heart pounded. I sat very still.
“You want to go?”
“Sure.” My voice sounded distant. Was that me sounding so laid back?
“I’ll pick you up around nine.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t eat before you come.”
So dinner and a party. Dessert, too, I was guessing. I knew how Joey liked his dessert.
CHAPTER 24
Five days until the contest deadline.
I’d left my Girl on a Bus painting sitting in Dad’s studio, still not sure if it was good enough for the contest. The girl in the painting was supposed to be smiling as she thought about her boyfriend, but I was worried that her smile looked too much like moustache graffiti.
So after Joey dropped me off, I crept downstairs to look at it with fresh eyes. The girl in the painting stared at herself in the rain-streaked window, her tiny smile vivid against the muted colors of her surroundings. Not moustache graffiti, I decided. The brightness of her smile made a statement. She felt happy and sad at the same time.
Mom’s voice called down from the top of the stairs. “Tera? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I just got home.”
The stairs creaked as she made her way down. “What are you doing? Are you painting?”
“Just looking,” I said.
“At what?”
I pointed to Girl on a Bus, still on the easel.
“Wow,” she said. “It’s good.”
“Good enough to win ten thousand dollars?”
She folded her arms. “You’re asking me? I’m not the artist.”
“I know. I just wanted your opinion.”
“Show it to your art teacher. He’ll know.”
But I didn’t want to show it to Mr. Stewart, not with him acting like I had some kind of plague. “There’s no time,” I lied. “I have to send it out.”
“Then send it out. What are you waiting for?”
I wasn’t sure. Another idea? If something came to me, I could always enter another painting. The contest rules said you could enter up to three. So there was no reason not to send it.
After Mom went upstairs, I found Dad’s camera in one of his drawers. I wasn’t a photographer, so it took me several tries to get a shot of the painting that didn’t have a glare on it. When I was satisfied, I plugged the camera’s memory card into my borrowed laptop, filled out the online entry form, and uploaded Girl on a Bus to the contest website.
Sending it felt like the first step to getting on with my life.
• • •
In World History the next day, Haley squatted beside my desk. Her perfume reminded me of a cloying purple. She hadn’t said a word to me since that day when she’d tried to get me in her car. I thought she’d gotten the hint, but apparently not.
I glanced at the clock. One minute until class started.
“Hey,” she said. “I have to tell you something.” Her eyes strayed to the doorway as her boyfriend, Sam Minoz, strolled into the classroom. He smiled and waved. She waved back.
Smiling and waving. That’s what I wanted for Joey and me when we saw each other at work.
“I tried to ask you about it last week,” she said. “But you wouldn’t talk to me. And then my mom said I shouldn’t have any contact with you.”
A stab of anger made me sit up straighter. “It’s not like I’m contagious,” I said. “What does she think will happen if you have contact with me?”
Haley rolled her eyes. “You know how she is.”
I didn’t, actually. Haley acted like her mom was the most annoying person in the world, but I didn’t see it. Her mom didn’t have mental problems.
Haley was still talking. “So I went ahead and made an appointment to see him.”
Did I miss something? I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”
“That lawyer in your dad’s case wants to talk to me, but I don’t really know what they want.” She twisted her hair into a rope. “Do you?”
“You mean Charlotte Gross?” Why would Dad’s lawyer want to talk to Haley?
“No. The prosecuting attorney guy. Herman whatever-his-last- name-is.”
The bell rang. Mr. Wilson called for everyone to take their seats. Haley stopped playing with her hair and flopped into the seat in front of me. I stared at the back of her head and didn’t hear a word of Mr. Wilson’s lecture.
I could think of only one reason why Herman Liebowitz would want to talk to the girl who lived across the street. He wanted to find out if Dad had done anything to her.
But Haley had a big mouth. She would have said something if Dad had so much as looked at her funny. I knew for a fact she would have said something.
• • •
Joey picked me up twenty minutes late. He leaned into the steering wheel and cocked a smile as I slid into the car. “You look good.”
I smiled back. The screaming guitar on his stereo hurt my ears. The lingering smoke turned my empty stomach. But he was here. Finally.
“Before we get going . . .” He shook a pill from a tiny plastic bag and put it in my hand.
I stared at it. “What is it?”
“X. Ecstasy. You didn’t eat, did you? It works best on an empty stomach.”
“Um.” I tried to give it back. “I don’t . . .”
His voice hardened. “You don’t want it? You said you’d do it next time.”
I didn’t remember saying that. Fortunately, I had th
e perfect excuse to say no. “I have to go to the jail in the morning,” I told him. “I’m visiting my dad.”
“What time are you going?”
“Ten.”
He blew air between his lips. “It’ll be out of your system by then. You want to start with half? Then you can see what it does and take the other half later tonight.”
I knew if I didn’t take it, he’d be angry. And really, what was the harm? Everything I’d heard about it said it was awesome—a designer drug—and it wasn’t supposed to be addictive, not like heroin or crack.
“Listen,” he said. “I know you’ve been worried about your dad. This’ll help you forget, at least for a while.”
I stared at the pill in my palm. Forgetting sounded good. Forgetting sounded like heaven. “I’ll do half,” I said.
He grinned and took the pill out of my hand. Then he bit off half with his front teeth and chased it down with a swig from his water bottle. Still smiling, he held the other half out to me.
Before I could change my mind, I popped the pill into my mouth, wincing at the chalky, bitter taste. I swallowed it down with the water Joey held out to me. “Are you okay to drive?” I asked.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It takes about an hour to start working.” He popped another pill into his mouth and washed it down. Then he shifted into Drive.
• • •
It took a half-hour to get to his uncle’s house. The whole ride over, I was hyper-aware of my senses, trying to figure out if I felt anything from the ecstasy. So far, nothing. Not even a tingle.
When we got to his uncle’s house, two guys with buzz cuts were chasing Po’Boy around the yard. Po’Boy leaped around like a gazelle, barking and wagging his tail. I was glad to see him happy. On the porch, we passed a guy and girl sitting on the steps laughing hysterically. Their arms were covered in tattoos.
Joey waved me toward the door. “Go on in. I need to talk to someone.”
I was nervous. I didn’t want to be alone with a bunch of strangers. But I didn’t want Joey to think I was clingy. So I did what he said. I went inside.
The thrum of techno music swallowed me. A guy with spiky white hair and a mess of piercings crouched in front of the stereo system. Joey’s uncle lounged on the couch, rubbing at the tattoo on his neck. An older woman with fingernails like talons nestled against his chest, sucking on a cigarette.
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