I never thought he’d use it because I’d violated his trust.
I only have to look at Duke for a couple of seconds before he understands what’s happening and says, “I’m gonna take a walk.”
Alec barely waits for him to leave before he asks, “Was that your project for today?” He sneers it, really.
“What do you care?”
“Uh, maybe because you’re my girlfriend?”
“But that’s the thing, Alec!” I cry. “You haven’t seemed to care much at all about me lately. It’s what you want, all the time. Colleges, and now this voting thing…”
Alec’s face takes on a hard edge as he slides his sunglasses on top of his head. “Jesus, don’t you care about anything else?”
“And don’t you care about anything? Alec, these issues affect me and a lot of the people I know and love. I don’t have the luxury of just not voting, and you shouldn’t take advantage of the fact that you do!”
He doesn’t answer me, just stares straight ahead. He has no good argument for this, and I feel satisfied knowing I’ve technically won.
Except…something he said on the phone earlier keeps ringing in my ears. I’d shoved it away, not wanting to think too deeply about what it meant. But now…
I’m not changing my mind. And you’re not going to change me, so maybe you should just give up now.
How could I have pushed that to the side when he was so clearly trying to tell me something? He wasn’t just trying to get me to pick a fight with him. He—
“Are you trying to get me to break up with you?”
His jaw tenses. He doesn’t deny it.
“Who the hell are you, Alec Buckman?”
“The same guy you’ve been dating for over two years.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, pulse racing as our relationship flashes before my eyes at record speed. “You were so empathetic when I met you. You really cared about people and how they were treated and what we could do to help. That’s so much of why I started liking you in the first place.”
“I never said I was an activist,” he mutters, leaning his head against the seat as if he’s so utterly exhausted from talking to me.
“No, but you acted like one. That’s even worse. Did you ever care about all the things you said you did? Or was it all an act? Something you were trying on for a while until you realized you actually had to care to fight for them?”
“I’m tired of being angry all the time, Marva!” he yells now, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “You’re always upset about something: guns, abortion, racism, immigration, healthcare…like, damn! I’m not saying those things aren’t real problems, but it’s depressing always thinking and talking and worrying about that stuff. Sometimes I need time off.”
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry that you need a day off. Because you know what? Some of us don’t get to take a day off, Alec! Some people don’t even know if they’re going to see another day, thanks to all the things you just named. And you’re tired? Of being angry? Give me a break.”
“Just because I’m white and have money doesn’t mean I don’t have problems,” he says in a tight voice.
I close my eyes for a moment. Breathe in and out to regroup. Try to get this back on track. “I never said that. But your problems are different from other people’s. You have the resources to help make their lives better, and it doesn’t cost you much except actually putting other people’s needs ahead of yours. Not all the time. Just sometimes. Like today.”
Alec doesn’t say anything for a long time. A family of five walks by us, laughing and shouting and lugging their beach gear. The littlest kid is in front of the family, hopping to try to catch seagulls that keep ducking in and out of the parking lot.
“I guess I’m not the guy you thought I was,” he says, his gray eyes fixed on me.
And that’s when I know. It’s over.
This whole time he was telling me who he was, bit by bit, and I refused to see it. Or believe him.
I think of all the wonderful times we’ve had: getting all dressed up for school dances with corsages and boutonnieres; spending quiet nights in studying, stealing kisses between flash cards; taking long drives on Sunday afternoons with nothing but the sky and open land ahead of us…Alec Buckman has been such a big part of my life for the past two and a half years. I wouldn’t have been nearly as happy at Salinas Prep without him by my side. He’s the first guy I’ve ever loved, and I don’t regret that.
But our problem isn’t just about voting or colleges or our cultural differences. It’s foundational. And I don’t need someone in my life that I have to convince to do the right thing, over and over again.
“We need to break up,” I say, and it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.
He gives me an ugly look, and I don’t get it. Isn’t this what he wanted?
“Did you fuck that dude?”
“Fuck you, Alec,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “You know I would never, ever do that to you. You don’t have to be nasty.”
He stares at me for a long time, his face cycling through half a dozen expressions before he finally settles on anger. The one emotion I thought he was tired of.
“Fine.” He slips his Ray-Bans back on. “But don’t try to come crawling back when this guy doesn’t end up being the perfect person you want him to be. Who the hell can live up to your standards?”
“I’m not too worried,” I say. “The bar was pretty low with you.”
He scoffs, puts the car in drive, and peels out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
My shoulders sag. I just broke up with Alec. And I know, deep down, that it was the right thing to do, but my chest still hurts the same way it does on the last day of school or New Year’s Eve or the night before my birthday. It’s the end of a chapter in my life. And, yes, another one will eventually open where this one closed, but it’s scary, taking away that piece of comfort. Of routine.
I hear footsteps; they are jogging and then they stop right behind me.
“You all right?”
“We just broke up,” I say, my back still to him.
“Yeah, I figured. I’m, ah, sorry. I hope it wasn’t my fault.”
I turn around and Duke is so close I have to stretch my neck to look up at him. “It’s not your fault. I think…he’s not who I thought he was. And everything that happened today made me realize it.”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Duke says. His voice is soft, but not too soft. There’s enough conviction behind it to make me know he’s not just saying that to make me feel better.
We look at each other for a while. There is so much I want to say, and I think there’s more he wants to say. But I’m too overwhelmed right now to make sense of the mess of emotions inside me.
So I say the only thing I know how to in this moment. “Thanks.”
“YO, HAVE YOU SEEN THE COMMENTS ON YOUR post? People are losing their shit about Eartha Kitty being missing,” I say as we get in the car. I hold the phone out so she can see.
Marva is back to driving, and I don’t object. I think it makes her feel better, and she looks so sad, I want to do whatever I can to make that happen. I know she said it wasn’t my fault about her and her dude, but I can’t help feeling like I had some small part in it.
“Really?” Marva puts the key into the ignition but doesn’t start the car. She looks conflicted. Like she’s not sure if she should even peek over at my phone. Finally, she does, and her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “Whoa.”
I scroll through a few dozen comments. “Yeah, and they all want to help.”
“Any leads?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Man, I don’t even know. You’ll need an assistant to get through all these. Is your phone dead yet?”
“I turned off the notifications.”
“Damn, you really think of everything,” I say, not even hiding how impressed I am. “I could help you go through them, if you want. Maybe we can send any leads to your dad?”
> “I don’t know if we have time for that.” She glances at the dashboard clock. “I really don’t want to miss out on the ballots.”
But she’s got her phone out, hesitantly pulling up the post as if her phone is going to explode once it’s on her screen. She’s silent as she looks through the comments. She smiles at a few of them, rolls her eyes, and nods every once in a while. Then she gets to one that stops her cold.
“Oh my god,” she says in a low voice. A super-pissed-off voice. One I’m glad she’s never used with me. Yet.
“What’s up?”
“People know it’s me.”
I look over her shoulder at her screen, even though mine is right in front of me. She scrolls down to the last few comments, and I see them, too:
Marva Sheridan runs this account
OMG someone just told me this is Marva’s cat!!!
Marva likes something besides studying? lol
I totally saw a pic of her with a cat once—it was TOTALLY Eartha Kitty holy shit
“Whoa. How’d they find out?” I ask. “I thought it was a big secret.”
“It was. People know who Eartha Kitty is at Salinas Prep, but I’ve never, ever told anyone she belongs to me. The only person who knew was Alec.” Her eyes narrow into the thinnest slits. “God, we broke up five minutes ago and this is the first thing he does? He doesn’t even care that she’s missing, he just wants to get back at me!”
“Guys do a lot of stupid shit when we’re upset.”
She turns her glare on me. “Don’t you dare stick up for him!”
“I’m not. I’m just saying, this probably means he does care in some messed-up way.”
“I don’t give a shit if he cares,” Marva snaps. “He’s trying to humiliate me. Get the last word. And you know what? Fuck him.”
“Yeah, fuck him,” I echo.
Marva looks at me for a couple of seconds and I think she might be about to kill me. Then she busts out laughing. A loud, long laugh. I haven’t heard her laugh like this since I met her, and it feels like when I hear a really good song for the first time and love it right away.
“He wants me to be embarrassed, so I’m going to do the opposite of what he wants. Do you mind taking a video of me?”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to post a live video on Eartha Kitty’s account. And we’re going to set up a real search party. If so many people want to help, we still have time to get them organized. Then we’ll make sure you get back to the church to vote and you can still make it to your show. And hopefully someone will find my damn cat in the meantime.”
Oh, yeah. My show. I’d almost forgotten about it. Which means this has been one hell of a day, because I never forget about a Drugstore Sorrow show. I’m usually nervous about it weeks before, but all that went right out the door when I linked up with Marva this morning.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask as she checks herself out in the rearview mirror. I don’t realize I’m checking her out, too, until she looks at me.
“Duke, yes! I’ve spent so much time worrying about what people think about me instead of letting them get to know all of me. What better time than now to set the record straight?”
“You got it, boss.”
It’s funny she thinks she needs to put on lip gloss and smooth down her braids and do all this other little stuff, because she looks perfect to me. Even when she was crying earlier, I thought how pretty she was. She looks pretty all the time, though—frowning and determined, or soft and sad. I’m here for all of it. For all of her.
She doesn’t even want to get out of the car, so she sits with her back straight against the driver’s side door and I hit RECORD when she tells me she’s ready.
“Hi,” she says. “My name is Marva Sheridan, and I’m the person who started this account. You haven’t seen my face before on here, and you probably won’t see it again anytime soon, but I want to thank everyone for all your nice messages about my cat today. She’s been missing since this morning, and my family and I haven’t been able to find her.
“So many of you mentioned in the comments that you wanted to help, so here I am—asking for your help. If you’d like to look for her, meet at the corner of French Street and Robinson Avenue as soon as you see this. I’m on my way there now. And if you start looking for her right away—well, you know her as Eartha Kitty. But her name is Selma. And I love her very much. Thank you.”
She looks at me expectantly after I shut off the camera. “How was it?”
“Perfect.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
“It’s too late now,” I say. “That shit was live.”
“Duke!”
I grin at her. “I’m kidding. It was dope. Anyone who sees that and doesn’t want to help you find her isn’t worth your time.”
“You really think so?”
My hand brushes hers as I hand back her phone. I want to find a reason to touch her for longer, but I can’t be that dude. The one who tries to get with a girl ten seconds after she breaks up with her boyfriend.
And I still feel weird about how things are going between Kendall and me. Or not going. We weren’t ever together, but I need to fix what I did before I even think about another girl. Julian would say I need to man up and take responsibility for my actions.
Probably the weirdest part about this day is how I feel like I’ve actually done something to help someone. I can’t remember the last time I felt useful. Like, yeah, I play in Drugstore Sorrow and sometimes I help out my sister when she needs it, but that’s just part of my everyday life. This…this is different.
It feels almost like when I met Kendall on the forum and she made me realize that not talking about my problems wasn’t doing me any good. That I could process things however I wanted, but I needed to process them. Somehow. I had to make a change.
I wish Kendall could’ve talked to my dad. Everyone in my family was having a hard time with Julian’s death, but I’m pretty sure it hit him the hardest.
Then, like he knows I’m thinking about him, a text comes through. The first sign of communication since the angry messages I pulled up at Marva’s house.
You ignoring me now?
Boy you may be 18 but you not grown
Call me
MY DAD WAS NEVER LIKE A TV FATHER OR ANYTHING.
Scratch that. He’s kinda like one of those super-old-school dads on black-and-white shows who’d come home from work, kick up their feet, and read the newspaper until dinner was ready. He helped out around the house when we all lived together—it’s not like he made Ma do everything. But he’s a quiet dude and pretty hands-off when it comes to talking about problems.
He’s not really down with cracking dad jokes, and he wouldn’t be cool about making sandwiches for me and a stranger in the middle of a random school day. He’s not all warm and fuzzy and evolved about his feelings.
That’s always been his personality, but he withdrew even more after Julian died.
The way I looked up to my brother…that’s how Julian looked up to Dad. Sometimes I think it’s because they had so many years together before Ida and I came along. They didn’t have a lot in common. Dad’s never been that involved in activism; he pays attention to politics and he votes, but he’d rather spend a weekend watching sports than holding community meetings. Maybe the bond between them was something inexplicable, something I’d never understand, even if Julian were still here. Maybe it’s because my brother was his firstborn.
I once asked Julian if Dad was different when they were alone. If he opened up to him or had a whole arsenal of jokes he was just waiting to unleash on someone.
Julian curled his finger under his chin and pressed his thumb over his lips like he did when he was thinking. Finally he said, “Nah. Not different. Just…Here’s what I figured out about Dad, little homie.”
My brother called me that until the day he died, and it should’ve bothered me, since he only came up to my shoulder by then, but I dunno
. Think I would’ve missed it if he’d stopped.
“Dad may be a man of few words,” Julian continued, “but he’s always present.”
I snorted. Present? “What does that mean?”
Julian tossed a handful of spaghetti noodles into boiling water. It was just the two of us at his apartment that night—the way I liked it best. Having an activist for a brother meant having to share him with a whole lot of people, and sometimes I just wanted him to myself.
He pulled a jar of pasta sauce from the cabinet and plunked it on the counter. “I mean, even when he’s just kicking it in his recliner, watching football, he’s still there. Paying attention to what’s going on around him in the house. Have you ever noticed how he always knows what’s up with us, even though Ma was the one who talked to us about it and not him?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, because Ma tells him what we talked about.”
“Not always,” Julian said, shaking his head. “He’s there, Duke. Even if he doesn’t seem like it.”
But if Dad was quiet before, he pretty much stopped talking after Julian died. He’d answer us when we spoke to him. And lots of days he had it in him to fight with Ma—and they fought about everything: bills, housework, what to do with Julian’s stuff. I knew things were pretty much over with them when he didn’t even bother to argue back.
I thought he might change for the better when they split up and we moved into the new house, but it seemed kinda worse then. He was alone all the time when Ida and I weren’t staying with him, and you could tell. The freezer was filled with boxes of frozen dinners, and the trash piled up with old takeout containers. He didn’t date, he didn’t see anyone outside of work, and he didn’t talk to us about anything real when we were over. Just asked about school and made sure we didn’t need money before he went back to the game on TV.
Still, I’ve never forgotten what Julian said. That under that hard shell, there’s something. Someone who cares. I haven’t seen that Dad in a minute, but I’ll never forget how he helped me at Julian’s memorial service. The worst day of my life. Actually, I still haven’t been able to figure out if the worst day was the memorial service, the burial, or when he was killed.
The Voting Booth Page 13