"Yes." Maya's jaw is clenched, but she doesn't hesitate, not even for a second. "I can handle them, Eddie. I owe you this."
"You don't owe me anything, Maya," Eddie says. "You know that, right?"
"Sure. Okay. And besides, it's only for three more weeks," Maya says.
"Okay then, sis. Let's do this."
They get off the bus in front of a little Italian bakery a couple of blocks from Bridgeman High. It's still hot. It feels like mid-August, instead of early June, and Eddie wishes he had a pair of sandals. His feet are sweating inside his heavy running shoes.
The front window of the bakery is all steamed up, and the street smells like bread, donuts, sugar and cinnamon.
"Come on," Eddie says suddenly, taking hold of Maya's coat sleeve. "Let's get something from here."
"What? We can't afford bakery stuff!"
"Today," Eddie says, smiling a rare wide smile, "we fucking can."
He pushes open the door and ushers his sister inside where they are greeted by an older woman behind the counter in a green apron.
"Morning to you," she says. She sounds German, Eddie thinks, or maybe Dutch. "Vat can I get for you. Zee muffin, meybbe?"
Maya looks at Eddie with wide eyes.
"Anything you want," he tells her.
"Anything?"
"Yep."
"Even a fancy coffee and a muffin?"
"Anything means anything," Eddie tells her.
"I git for you," the woman says to Maya. "You vant blueberry meybbe? Fresh from zee oven. Only ten minutes ago. You will like?"
"Yes, please!" Maya says. Eddie hasn't seen her smile like this for a long time; her eyes are shining.
"Iz your sister?" The woman asks Eddie.
"Yeah."
"She is little beauty, no?"
Maya blushes and Eddie shrugs. "Sure. I guess."
"You guess? You guess? Ah, so lovely. A face like a painting. Zees kind of quiet beauty is rare now: she is like a little flower; a rose."
Maya giggles and pushes her hair behind her ears. She gets her blueberry muffin and Eddie orders their coffees and a bagel slathered with cream cheese.
They eat at the counter by the window, not saying much, but in those few moments, they are both completely and utterly content. Quality coffee. A muffin. It's all you need sometimes. At least for twenty minutes.
And then it's time. They can't put it off any longer.
"Come on, little flower," Eddie teases. "Time to cross the front line."
***
Maya's hands are shaking as she fumbles with the combination on her locker. She has to try it four times before it opens. Someone—Frank probably—has gone to the trouble of scrubbing off the red lettering. All that's left is a crimson smear near the bottom. Even so, Maya can feel people staring at her. She can sense them making a wide berth around her as they pass by like she's some kind of pariah.
They know. They know everything, she thinks. They know about Mark and they know about the Hotel DuMont.
Eddie closes his locker door comes over to her. He touches her shoulder briefly. He can feel the stares, too. "Remember to breathe, kid."
"I will," Maya says, but she can feel her resolve starting to fade, just the same.
As soon as her brother is out of sight, Nicole and Paige come around the corner. Maya feels frozen. Her stomach flips, and she feels like she might throw up—like she might heave right there in the middle of the hall.
Remember to breathe, kid.
Maya inhales deeply through her nose and tries to quell the manic thumping inside her chest.
"Well, look who it is!" Paige says sarcastically.
"Maya!" Nicole says in a saccharine-sweet voice. "Didn't think we'd see you around here."
"Yeah?" Maya tries hard to keep her voice from shaking. "Well, I guess you were wrong."
"Are you here to do the rest of the rugby team?" Paige says acidly.
Maya slams her locker shut and pushes past the girls, but they follow her, muttering and talking behind her back while the other students watch from their own lockers like its free entertainment.
By the time Maya is almost at her science classroom, she's feeling better. It was easy. She just walked away. That was all she had to do—just walk away and stare straight ahead. Maybe that's going to be all it takes. Maybe she will actually get through the day.
But then Mark is in front of her, leaning against the wall with Sean and Brody, and almost instantly, Maya can't feel her feet. She can't feel her legs. She feels detached from her own body. But somehow, she makes her limbs move—somehow she walks straight past them.
Mark watches her. When she makes eye contact with him, he bends over and places his hands on an imaginary figure in front of him and moves his pelvis back and forth while his buddies crack up.
Her eyes sting but she will not cry. She can't. If she lets herself do that, it's game over. She'll be easy prey and she won't stand a chance. So, she holds her textbooks close to her chest and keeps walking, ignoring the peel of laughter from Nicole and Paige, who have joined up with the boys.
Maya walks straight into the classroom where her teacher, Ms. Callahan, is sitting at her desk, tapping a pencil against her notebook.
She sits at the far side of the classroom, next to Cassie, a quiet girl with a perpetually runny nose. She doesn't listen much to Ms. Callahan. She's talking about salmon species: chum, sockeye, Coho, pink and chinook. The only person Maya is paying attention to Frank, who is talking to Cora in the hall outside the cafeteria door. Maya can see them through the window in the door. They're laughing—most likely at one of Frank's cornball jokes, Maya thinks. Cora probably doesn't even think it's funny, but she'd laugh anyway because she's kind and polite. Maya wishes she were outside with them, talking about nothing, inside of being inside a stuffy classroom talking about fish. But she isn't really complaining because even spawning salmon are better than whatever is waiting for her out there after school is over. Maya wonders where they'll sleep tonight, and what will happen tomorrow? And the police. Mark's dad is sure to come after Eddie soon, because of that punch. Mark isn't the kind of guy to let that kind of thing go, is he, Maya wonders? And she can't report what he did. Because, she didn't really tell him to stop. And she liked it. She thought it made her special. But still, she couldn't have stopped him if she'd tried. Could she? Did she try? Did she really want him to stop? She can't remember. She is so confused. She shakes her head.
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking.
She can't start worrying about that stuff now. Right now, she decides, she will sit on a hard chair and listen to Ms. Callahan gush passionately about the circle of salmon life.
***
Eddie isn't normally a fan of P.E. It isn't that he hates sports; he likes being outside, but he doesn't exactly embrace the whole team spirit thing. So today, when the coach tells them to run laps on the rugby field, that's fine by him. He's a good runner. Fast, light—one hundred and fifty-four pounds of lean muscle.
On the field, he quickly breaks away from the others with minimal effort, and it doesn't take long for his breathing to even out and his mind to empty and within minutes, he's just running—one foot in front of the other on the grass. It's muggy, and he breaks a sweat almost right away, but it feels good. He feels strong. He feels as though he could run forever.
The sweat runs in rivulets down his back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. This is good, he thinks. This breathing and running.
He's making his eighth lap around the field when he sees her. Georgia. She's leaning against a tree, watching. Eddie nods to her as he passes, and when he passes by the tree again, she's still there.
When he jogs past her for the third time she gives him a little wave. Eddie puts his head down and keeps running. The last thing he needs is another run in with Mark Johnson. It's been too quiet in that department but he's pretty sure shit is going to hit the fan any time now.
It turns out Eddie is right. Mark
is waiting for him in the change room at the end of the period. He's standing by the showers in his boxers and wife-beater tank shirt, and when Eddie comes in, he nods to Brody and Sean then walks over with a swagger.
"Saw you running out there," Mark says, poking Eddie in the chest with an index finger.
Eddie ignores the comment and reaches in his locker for his clothes.
"What's with you and your sister, anyway?" Mark says, frowning. "Why you both gotta mess with my girlfriend?"
Eddie doesn't bite.
"I saw you mackin' on her out there, DuMont."
Eddie peels off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and pulls on a fresh one. He'll skip the shower this time.
"And your little sister," Mark laughs. "She knows Georgia and I are tight, but that didn't stop her from gettin' busy with me." He laughs, and high fives Brody and Sean.
"You didn't have to oblige," Eddie says under his breath.
"What's that?"
"I said, you didn't have to oblige!"
Mark laughs. "Gimme a break! Tasty little piece of ass like your sister shows me her ta-tas? What am I supposed to do? I'm just a guy."
"No," Eddie says calmly, "you're just an asshole."
Mark takes steps closer to Eddie. "Beg your pardon?"
Shit, Eddie thinks. Here we go.
"You talked to my dad yet?" Mark says, all up in Eddie's face.
"No."
"Well, you will, dick wad. You will. And then shit is gonna get real."
"It was worth it," Eddie says.
"Worth it? Jesus! Are you some kind of masochrist or something?"
Eddie snorts. "MasoCHIST."
"What'd you say?
"It's masoCHIST, Einstein," Eddie says. He pulls on his jeans, grabs his pack, and heads for the door while Mark processes the comment. He doesn't bother to follow Eddie; he and his minions are still in their boxers.
"It's MasoCHIST," Eddie says under his breath, slamming the door behind him. "Fucking moron."
No one comes after him. Luck is with Eddie DuMont this time.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
JOURNAL ENTRY (June)
"There are only two types of women: goddesses and doormats." - Pablo Picasso
Pablo? I have to disagree. That quote up there, well, it's nothing more than a sweeping generalization, bud. You forgot about the other kinds of women. You forgot about the little girl. You know, the one who gets dumped on and robbed of her childhood. The one who had to figure out all of that girl shit without a mom around for support. The one who got way too pretty, way too fast, without the safe and solid foundation of a goddam home to carry her through it. You forgot all about her. Just sayin'.
Good thing I didn't.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
In the afternoon, Eddie has a spare block. He studies for his exams for a while, and then wanders outside to hang out with Rex, Frank's German Shepherd. The old dog hangs out at the school most days, regardless of whether Frank is working the day or night shift. Rex and Eddie are used to each other, and whatever food Eddie happens to have on him, he almost always shares with the old dog.
It's still hot, but the sun has disappeared and a grey haze hangs in the air. Eddie wonders if they might even get some thunder—a rare thing on this part of the coast. But thunder, he thinks, would be good. Thunder would break up the air.
He wanders over to sit on the bench near the fields, and cracks open his sketchbook. Rex hops up beside him and rests his grizzled head on Eddie's thigh. The dog smells awful, and his coat is greasy, but Eddie doesn't care. He still prefers Rex's company to most of the people he knows, any day of the week.
"You really like that dog, don't you?"
Georgia is standing behind the bench. She's wearing a green sundress, her hair falling in sandy-coloured waves around her face and shoulders. She flashes Eddie a smile, almost blinding him with her white teeth.
Eddie turns back to Rex. "Yeah," he says. "I do."
"So, are you, like, cutting class or something?"
"No." Eddie wishes she would go away. "Spare."
"Oh," she says. "I'm totally cutting. Physics is such a sweet friggin' waste of my time."
"Hmmph," Eddie says.
"You don't talk a lot, do you?"
"Nope."
"I get that. It's easier somehow." Georgia sits beside him on the bench and then, as though thinking better of it, slides a few inches farther down. She takes off her sunglasses and absentmindedly begins to clean them with the hem of her dress
Eddie looks at her and frowns.
"Oh," she says. "You're probably wondering why I have this major bruise on my face, right?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm such a freak. Took a header into Kat Macpherson's field hockey stick yesterday. Such a klutz."
"Ah," Eddie says.
"I know, right?" Georgia continues. "It hurt like a bitch yesterday, but it isn't so bad now."
"That why you're wearing the sunglasses?" Eddie says.
"What? No! It's just," she hesitates, "my eyes are really sensitive to the light lately, probably because I spend so much time on my iPhone. They're completely fried, you know?"
"Not really."
"Oh, come on! You know how it can be. So much texting and then you can't even focus on your own hand in front of your face."
"I guess," Eddie says, although he has no idea. He's never had a cell phone.
"Hey. You want to go into town? Get a coffee or something?"
"No," Eddie says, a little taken aback. "But thanks."
"Your sister could come too, you know, when classes are done. Come on," Georgia says, giving Eddie's shoulder a push. "Don't be such a drag. My treat, okay?"
Her treat? What does she think he is, some kind of loser? And then he laughs to himself, because of course, that's exactly what she thinks.
"It's settled then," Georgia says. "We'll wait for Maya, then go."
But Eddie isn't stupid. "Why do you want to hang out with me and my sister?"
"No. It's not...I just...I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for the whole storage closet thing. That was pretty awesome what you did for me, Eddie. I mean, Mark can be such a prick sometimes, and also, I totally feel so bad for Maya. I bet Mark probably fed her a bunch of bullshit about how we broke up or something. That's the line he usually uses."
That's the line he usually uses? Is she serious? Eddie stares at her. She seems totally unfazed.
"Georgia?" Eddie says.
"Yea?" Georgia says.
"Your boyfriend is an asshole."
"Oh. Yeah, I know. Sometimes he can be a—"
A car honks—three short blasts—from somewhere in the parking lot, and a second later an engine revs.
Georgia jumps up from the bench and smooths her sundress down over her legs. "Shit. Right. I better go. I forgot I told Mark I'd meet him by the car. We'll do coffee another time, okay? But listen," she says quietly. "You have to know I really am sorry about your sister. It totally wasn't her fault. So, I'm not mad at her or anything."
Eddie stares at her with a blank expression. Incredulous.
"He's really not so bad once you get to know him, you know. And you should know he's not going to press charges about the punch. I told him if he did, he could kiss our sex life goodbye. Hah hah! Works every time!"
Eddie is at a loss for words.
"So, you see? He's going to shut up about it. He's not so bad."
Wow, Eddie thinks. Not so bad. Such a glowing endorsement.
"Listen. Can I ask you something?" Eddie asks, blinking.
Georgia looks toward the parking lot and frowns. "Well, I really should go. Mark hates it when I'm late."
"Why are you with him, anyway?"
"What?" Georgia says. "Oh, you don't know him like I do. He can be can be so sweet at times."
"So, you're totally okay with him seducing fourteen-year-old girls, then?" Eddie's eyes darken. "There's nothing about that seems even a little messed up to you?"
"Listen," Georgia sa
ys, flushing. "Like I said. You just have to get to know him. But...I really have to go." She scurries up the embankment, hitching her heavy book bag up over her shoulder. Every third or fourth step, the heel of her sandal sticks in the well-irrigated turf, causing her to lurch forward.
The Trans Am honks impatiently and Georgia quickens her pace. Why she would hurry to meet up with Mark Johnson is a real mystery to Eddie. What is it about girls and assholes? He sees it all the time. It was the same with his mother.
But they're not all like that. Take Jasmine, Eddie thinks. Jasmine wouldn't take shit from a guy like Mark. Come to think of it, Jasmine wouldn't take shit from anybody. What was that thing Picasso said about women? Yeah, he said there are two kinds: Goddesses and doormats.
Eddie's thought about that quote a lot lately.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
If you didn't have to wear such stupid shoes, Eddie thinks he might enjoy bowling. All that eyeing of the pins. All that Zen-like concentration. Lining stuff up, and then letting the ball go, nice and easy, and then...BAM! He'd knock the crap out of those pins. Strikes or spares every time. It must be satisfying, he thinks. The downside, of course, is the shoes. Why do they have to be so fugly?
The King Pin has been around for over forty years. Eddie only goes into there to use the bathrooms and for the free popcorn they hand out; big greasy bags sprinkled with Parmesan cheese on the top. It's legendary, and it's hard to pass that up. He never bowls, but he always manages to get a free bag, just the same.
He walks past a bunch of middle-aged guys sitting at the end of one of the lanes. Four of them have team shirts on that say, "Channel Surfers," and judging by the size of their collective guts, Eddie would guess channel surfing is something they're all pretty damn good at.
He sits on a chair near the concession when one of the kids working there comes up to him and says, "Want this?" He hands Eddie a paper bag with the biggest submarine sandwich Eddie has ever seen. He's pretty sure his eyes are going to pop right out of his skull.
"Why? Don't you want it?" Eddie asks the kid, but the kid just shrugs and says, "Some dude ordered it and then left before it was ready. You want it or not? If you don't, I don't care. I'll just throw it out. I hate mustard."
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