Anyone but You Page 4

  “No, no,” I said. “I meant you.”

  “Oh.”

  I knew if I didn’t say something funny, the awkward tension would suffocate whatever kind of spark there was between us. “Damn,” I said. “You sure know how to kill a guy’s mojo.”

  “Sorry,” Sarah said. “I didn’t mean to snap.” She lightly poked a pointer finger into my upper arm. “So you were flirting with me, huh?”

  “Couldn’t help it,” I said, returning the friendly poke. “I have this condition that makes it impossible not to flirt with pretty girls.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said. “It’s a shame I’m already spoken for.”

  Was that a warning? Or was it more like calculated encouragement? It didn’t matter—I was more than eager to accept the challenge.

  I ran the back of my finger across the arm of her chair, pretending I was caressing her thigh and not a piece of weather-beaten wood. “So when are we going to hang out?”

  “We’re hanging out now, aren’t we?”

  “I meant for real.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I scratched at my chin. “You know,” I said. “Going to the movies, maybe grabbing a bite to eat. The usual.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding. “You want to take me on a date.”

  I played innocent. “How could I take you on a date when you already have a boyfriend? Even if he is a thousand miles away.”

  “Try five hundred,” she said. “But he’s coming home for a visit real soon.”

  “Is that a no?”

  She didn’t answer me, not with words. Instead she leaned back in her chair, pulled a pair of silver shades over those big eyes, and smiled.

  seattle

  Grand Theft Auto

  After a detailed search of the Cougar, during which no bottle of sunscreen surfaced, I stormed back to the pool area. Critter was still sprawled out on the lawn chair, maybe four inches from Sarah’s canvas perch. He was saying something that made her touch that stupid flower in her hair and laugh, a light tinkling sound that reminded me of spaghetti-thin wind chimes. Puke. I threw the keys as hard as I could at Critter’s bare stomach.

  He shot up. “What the hell?”

  “It’s not there,” I said.

  “What’s not there?”

  “Are you kidding me? The sunscreen!”

  “So what do you want me to do about it?”

  “I want you to take me home,” I said through semi-gritted teeth. “Now.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sarah said. She dug into her yuppie bag and pulled out a sleek bottle. “Here, you can have some of mine.”

  “Yeah,” Critter said. “Use some of hers.”

  I wasn’t a crier. Never had been, not even when I was little. But at that moment, I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw myself down and beat my fists against the concrete and cry myself silly.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” Critter said, staring at me with eyes shielded by one hand.

  “No,” I said, spying the car keys. “I’m going to leave.”

  Before Critter could register what I’d said, I lunged down and grabbed the keys, turned on my heel, and walked away.

  “Are you forgetting you don’t have a license?” Critter yelled after me.

  I flipped him the bird and kept on walking.

  Benedict Critter

  I spent the bulk of the afternoon curled up in my stuffy bedroom, crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. How could Critter sell me out like that? So quickly and cleanly, like we didn’t have eight years of history. Like we weren’t partners in crime. He and Jesse shared blood, but me and Critter—I thought we had a bond even Jess couldn’t penetrate.

  We became best friends the first time our parents made us all go out together. My father had been dating Layla for a few months, and I’d been spending mad amounts of time with Colleen, this babysitter who ate all the good food (read: Tastykakes, Doritos, and Turkey Hill ice cream) in our apartment when she wasn’t busy watching MTV or talking on the phone. I was seven, and far as I knew, my father hadn’t really dated anyone since my biological mother’s death (i.e., the Day I Was Born). Meeting Layla and her sons for the first time was new territory.

  I still looked like a girl back then, my hair more like gold than like the colorless mass it turned when I hit puberty. Dad even paid Colleen extra to get me ready for the big night. She talked me into wearing the one dress I owned, a denim pinafore thing that went over a pink T-shirt, and she French-braided my hair, tying a little pink ribbon into a bow on the end of its tail.

  We drove to Pappy’s Pizzeria, my favorite. You could actually watch the guys make your pizza, and if you were extra-special nice, sometimes they’d toss you a piece of pepperoni through the opening between the kitchen and the bench you’d kneel on to watch. When we got there, Critter and Jesse were already on the watching bench, though Jesse was focused on his Game Boy. Standing beside them was Layla, who seemed to me like someone out of a fairy tale, with her long black hair swooping over one shoulder and down to her belly button. She hugged me by way of an introduction, and she smelled like peaches. I couldn’t speak, afraid that I’d say the wrong thing and make her go away.

  She introduced me to her boys—first Jesse, who lifted his head for a millisecond before plunging back into his game, and then Critter, whose first words to me were “Bet you can’t catch a mushroom in your mouth.”

  “Sure I can,” I said.

  “Prove it.”

  I climbed onto the bench as Critter yelled, “Hey, pizza guy! Toss her a mushroom! A big wet one!”

  Apparently this was a game they’d been playing— and losing—for a while, because the guy closest to us grinned, scooped up a mushroom with a spoon, and flicked it toward my head. I opened my mouth so wide it sailed in all the way to the back of my throat, and I accidentally swallowed it upon contact.

  “Whoa,” Critter said in awe. “You didn’t even chew.”

  When we were getting seated, Critter insisted I sit between him and Jesse, so they could “share” me. Critter and I split a large birch beer, two straws in one giant red plastic glass, and Critter traded me his sausage chunks for my leftover crust.

  Six weeks later, my dad and I moved out of our tiny apartment and into Layla’s town house in New Castle. That first house—the one we lost when dear old Dad took off that final time, taking with him what little of Layla’s savings he hadn’t already drained—was like a mansion to me, with three full bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a finished basement that served as our play-room. Layla took me to Home Depot, and together we picked out a paint the color of new grass. It clashed horribly with the burnt-orange shag carpeting that was already in place, but I didn’t mind. My new room had three windows, each covered in curtains Layla had sewn from a cheap purple velveteen fabric I’d also picked out myself. This, I decided, was what home was supposed to be like.

  And for the next year and a half, I felt like I had one of those happy families that only exist on TV. But when Dad got laid off by GM, Layla picked up more shifts at the hospital to make up for his lost wages, and the fighting began. Big, loud, violent fights that made me and Critter and Jesse huddle up together on the bottom bunk in the room they shared. For the last six months that we were still a quote unquote family, my father disappeared four or five times for anywhere from three days to a week, without giving any notice or even an explanation when he got back. At least not to me.

  Then he was just . . . gone. I spent the first month or so worrying—worrying that he wouldn’t come back, worrying that he would. By the middle of the second month, it became pretty clear that if he wasn’t gone for good, it would certainly be for a while.

  Every so often I wondered how things would’ve gone if Dad hadn’t hooked up with a woman as wonderful as Layla. I couldn’t imagine there were many single mothers out there who’d voluntarily take care of someone else’s kid, especially if the kid’s father had been the second guy to pretty much derail
her entire life. But Layla had never debated my staying— lucky for me, because she was the only mother I’d ever known.

  Family, it turned out, was something you really could choose for yourself.

  It was almost six when I heard the screen door slam. I blew my nose into an already snotted-up paper towel and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. The bedroom door swung open; I was surprised to see Jesse standing there.

  “Hey,” he said, doing a back flop onto his bed. “How was the pool?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Didn’t stay.”

  “Oh?”

  “Long story.”

  Jesse turned onto his side, so that he was facing me. “So where’s Critter?”

  “I left him there.”

  “At the pool?”

  I nodded.

  “Didn’t you guys take the car?”

  I nodded again.

  Jesse bolted upright. “You drove? What the hell were you thinking?”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “He was being . . . I don’t know. Mean.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said, all sarcastic. “Yeah, I’m sure the cops would’ve accepted that instead of a driver’s license. ‘Sorry, officer, but my shit-head brother wasn’t being very nice, so you see I simply had to take the car.’ ”

  I didn’t say anything, because it wouldn’t have done any good. Once Jess got rolling with his dad routine, there was no stopping him.

  “And what if you’d gotten into an accident, huh? You think Layla needs to get that call? Or worse, what if you’d just ended up in her ER? And forget about how much it would’ve cost to fix the goddamned car.”

  “Will you shut up?” I yelled. “Nothing happened.”

  Jesse shook his head in that disappointed-parent sort of way. “You’re so stupid sometimes,” he said. “One of these days you’re gonna get your ass in some serious trouble.”

  I didn’t feel like being lectured, so I stomped out of the room, down the stairs, and smack into Critter.

  “Great,” I said. “You wanna yell at me, too?”

  “Dude, what’s gotten into you?” he replied. “You’re acting like a psycho.”

  “That’s it?” I shrilled. “That’s all you can say?”

  He pressed his hand against my forehead. “Did your fever come back? Seriously, Sea, something is so not right.”

  I howled in frustration. Literally howled, a million decibels, square in Critter’s face. Then I kneed him in the balls, grabbed my skateboard, and stormed right out the front door.

  These Are the People in My Neighborhood

  One problem with being best friends with your two faux brothers was that when you were pissed at both of them, there was no one you could vent to about it. Sometimes we hung out with other people, but the truth was we hated most of them. The only company we really enjoyed was each other’s.

  I threw my board onto the driveway and pushed off, coasting on the incline and popping from the curb onto flat ground. Instant exhilaration. I loved the sound my chewed-up wheels made as they spun across the asphalt.

  Where to go? That was the question. Since I didn’t have money, I couldn’t bus down to the skate park. And it was too hot to haul tail down to Community Plaza, especially since the shopping center didn’t even have any good ramps. There was always the generic, cheesy-ass playground toward the back end of our neighborhood. Its main feature was a cherry red metal merry-go-round that required the man power of at least two kids to get it moving at anything over a sluggish pace. Other than that, all the park had to offer were a semi-functional swing set and a teeter that didn’t totter. Well, those and the fact that it was usually pretty quiet during the day. It wasn’t until well after dark that the stoners co-opted the park for themselves.

  The sun had almost set, but the temperature hadn’t dropped much, and I was steaming by the time I got there. The wet air, thick like milk, made everything feel damp and moldy. I wanted to peel my skin off; that’s how gross it was.

  The merry-go-round came into view, and the fire inside me flared when I saw the neighborhood asshole, Russ Louten, sprawled on one of the sections. Russ was Critter’s age, but a sophomore like me, and mostly I tried to avoid him and his super-baked crowd. Sitting in an adjoining section was some really tall guy I didn’t recognize. I thought about turning back, but ignoring Russ Louten seemed infinitely more doable than dealing with the crap I’d left at home.

  “Hey there, pretty lady,” Russ called out. He was leaning back against the core of the merry-go-round, his legs spread as wide as possible, his left hand lazily scratching his stomach. I acted like I hadn’t heard him and stamped over to the swing set.

  Russ turned toward his friend and whispered something. He started cackling, but the tall guy nodded solemnly. Then Russ shouted, “What, you too good to talk to me now?”

  “When did I ever talk to you, Russ?” I shot back. I leaned my board up against a pole and plopped heavily into the one working swing, smug and superior, then wham! The seat snapped off its hinge, dumping my ass onto the dirt. Hard.

  “Ooh, shit!” Russ screeched. “Yo, Aiken, you been packing on the pounds?” Ignoring his cackle, I struggled to stand, leaving my last bit of dignity in a cloud of dust. As I brushed the filth off my baggy black pants, I heard the tall guy call out, “You okay there?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just fine.”

  “Come over here,” Russ commanded. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

  The tall guy offered a stoic smile and wave. He was wearing a Matrix-style trench coat—even in this heat—and something about that made me want to know who he was. I tucked my board under one arm and sauntered over, trying to look as disinterested as possible.

  “Seattle Aiken, as I live and breathe,” Russ said, a slimy grin oozing across his ugly freckled face, “this is my cousin, Scooter. Scooter’s visiting from your name-sake, aren’t you, Scooter?”

  “Scooter?” I said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Sadly, no,” Scooter said. “But nobody calls me Scooter anymore. Just Scott.”

  “Huh.”

  Russ reached out for my board, but I jumped backward before he could touch it. He made a face and said, “Jesus, I wasn’t going to take it.” I mumbled an apology and he rolled his eyes. “All’s I was going to say is that Scooter’s into that skater crap, too.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “What kind of ride you got?”

  “Darkstar deck,” he said. “Thunder trucks. They’ve got great control.”

  “What kind of wheels?” I asked Scott.

  “Spitfire Daggers.”

  “Nice.”

  A grin broke across his face. “I like to think so.” He nodded toward my board. “What do you have there?”

  “An old Kryptonics. It’s pretty much lost its pop. Element put out this Fiberlight deck I’ve been eyeing, but I don’t have the cash.”

  “You don’t have to break the bank,” Scott said. “Get a blank deck and build it yourself. If you run into the right deals, you could have a new complete for around sixty bucks.”

  “You build your own?”

  “You know it.”

  “Sick,” I said, impressed.

  “I could help you,” he offered. “Russ, your dad’s got a drill, right?” Russ nodded, clearly bored by all the skate talk. To me Scott said, “I’m here for the summer. I can teach you how to build a board, deck up.”

  “That’d be awesome.”

  Scott flashed me another grin and looked away. He had this strong jawline, all angles. And his skin was so clear, the kind that usually belonged to airbrushed underwear models. When he turned back, I saw his eyes, large as quarters and steely blue. They were framed by the longest lashes I’d ever seen, on a girl or a boy.

  “This place is tired,” Russ said, hopping off the merry-go-round. “Let’s bail.”

  Scott nodded, still solemn, still staring right at me. I let my eyes fall to his lips, a deep wine color and so so plump.

>   Russ jutted his chin at me. “You coming?”

  “Yeah,” Scott said, cocking his head. “You should come with us.”

  “Where to?”

  Russ shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  And then it hit me: “We should go to my place.”

  “My kind of girl,” Russ purred, reaching down to muss my hair.

  I swatted his hand away. “You wish.”

  Russ turned to Scott and stage-whispered, “I forgot. Seattle doesn’t like boys. She’s hard-core butch.”

  “I so am not.”

  “You got proof?”

  I jammed my hands onto my hips. “What kind of proof do you need?”

  He grabbed his crotch. “I got your proof right here.”

  Scott punched Russ in the arm. “Show some respect.”

  “Screw you, then,” Russ shot back, scowling and rubbing his arm. “I’m out of here, man.”

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Scott yelled to Russ.

  I smiled. “Then I guess it’s just you and me.”

  There’s a Boy in My Bedroom

  They’d locked me out. It took about six rings of the doorbell before Jesse let me in. I stormed by him, my board in one hand and Scott’s hand in the other, dragging Scott through the house without bothering to introduce him. We went upstairs into my room, where I found Critter rooting through a stash of Jesse’s magazines.

  “Out,” I said. He looked at me, eyes wide in surprise. “I said get out!”

  The surprise turned to anger, and Critter sprung up and thundered out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “Better,” I said. I plopped onto my bed, kicked off my shoes. Scott towered over me. “Why don’t you sit down?” He squatted on the floor. “I meant here,” I said, patting the mattress beside me. With a shy smile, Scooter scooted up next to me.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  Now that I had him there, I wasn’t sure what to do with him. After a short uncomfortable silence, I asked, “So how long have you been skating?”