the so-called good times to prove that he wasn’t always a psycho freak. Live with my dad? I think not. Not in a million years.
Hey, maybe my dad and Rob could be roommates. Rob will need someplace else to live soon enough because I’m keeping my own list. We’ll see who Mom picks. How about this? Rob NEVER does anything around the house, even though he swore he’d fix the bathroom taps, paint the hallway and replace the rotting floorboards in the kitchen while she was in camp. He doesn’t even take his crusty laundry out of the bathroom. And he has poker nights here, even though Mom said she didn’t want any gambling in this house. Plus he knocked over her expensive perfume and spilled it all, and now the house stinks of it and she’s going to flip. And I never get to watch TV because he hogs it all the time. All he ever watches is the sports channel, which is funny because he never gets off his ass to do anything, let alone play sports. Want to know what tops the list? My ace in the hole? When he does actually get his slobby self out of the house, sometimes he doesn’t come home at night at all. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?
We’ll see who Mom picks: some greasy unemployed mill worker she’d only been dating for seven months before she went up north, or her very own flesh and blood, me, her daughter, her Best Thing. That’s what she used to call me. Best Thing. No contest. Poor Rob. I’ll be sure he has my dad’s number before Mom kicks him out.
Chapter Four
Margaret says I’m starting to smell like macaroni and cheese. She says it’s leaking out my pores. She says my skin has an orange tinge. Uh-huh. Right. She’s just jealous because of my Very Own Cody Dillon Moment #2. Picture this: I’m alone in the art room, stuck washing out the brushes because I have a spare, and he comes in, all quiet and sneaky. He comes up behind me and puts his hands over my eyes. My heart’s thumping because I’m thinking someone’s playing a mean joke. But then I smell his cologne, but I’m not sure it’s him because lots of the other guys copy him. He’s not even supposed to be in the building, although he’s not someone who’d be stopped by a stupid rule.
“Guess who?”
I shake my head because I really, really don’t want to be wrong about this.
“C’mon. Guess.”
I want to touch his hands, but my hands are wet, so that’d be nasty. I can feel his breath on my neck.
“Come on, Isabelle McAfferty,” he says in that fake English accent. “You know exactly who this is.”
It’s him, and he knows my name. My whole name. “Cody Dillon?”
He keeps his hands over my eyes and puts his lips on my neck (LIPS ON MY NECK!) and whispers in his regular voice, “That’s right.” He turns me around. His face is all serious. “Got anything to drop? I could pick it up for you.”
I don’t understand, so I shake my head, just as I realize he’s referring to that time at the corner store. I consider dropping one of the brushes, but that part of the moment is over, so if I dropped something right now it would actually be lame.
“You’re kind of cute, you know.” (Margaret doesn’t believe that part, but he said it. He really did. In his regular voice.)
My face goes hot and I say nothing because I am a complete mental gimp. He backs away. He stops at the door and points at me. “I got my eye on you,” he says (HIS EYE ON ME!).
Chapter Five
This is a Rob’s-not-coming-home night. It’s five in the morning. I can’t sleep because even though I’m sure Rob the Slob is out screwing around, you never know, he might be bleeding to death in some car crash or something. I turn on the light and look in the mirror. Ugh. Cody Dillon has his eye on me, and I’m not worth having an eye on. That much is for sure.
I go to Mom and Rob’s room and use the makeup she left behind. She taught me how to do it, and I’ve been watching her all my life. It’s still hard to look good but not slutty.
Hey, maybe my dad and Rob could be roommates. Rob will need someplace else to live soon enough because I’m keeping my own list. We’ll see who Mom picks. How about this? Rob NEVER does anything around the house, even though he swore he’d fix the bathroom taps, paint the hallway and replace the rotting floorboards in the kitchen while she was in camp. He doesn’t even take his crusty laundry out of the bathroom. And he has poker nights here, even though Mom said she didn’t want any gambling in this house. Plus he knocked over her expensive perfume and spilled it all, and now the house stinks of it and she’s going to flip. And I never get to watch TV because he hogs it all the time. All he ever watches is the sports channel, which is funny because he never gets off his ass to do anything, let alone play sports. Want to know what tops the list? My ace in the hole? When he does actually get his slobby self out of the house, sometimes he doesn’t come home at night at all. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?
We’ll see who Mom picks: some greasy unemployed mill worker she’d only been dating for seven months before she went up north, or her very own flesh and blood, me, her daughter, her Best Thing. That’s what she used to call me. Best Thing. No contest. Poor Rob. I’ll be sure he has my dad’s number before Mom kicks him out.
Chapter Four
Margaret says I’m starting to smell like macaroni and cheese. She says it’s leaking out my pores. She says my skin has an orange tinge. Uh-huh. Right. She’s just jealous because of my Very Own Cody Dillon Moment #2. Picture this: I’m alone in the art room, stuck washing out the brushes because I have a spare, and he comes in, all quiet and sneaky. He comes up behind me and puts his hands over my eyes. My heart’s thumping because I’m thinking someone’s playing a mean joke. But then I smell his cologne, but I’m not sure it’s him because lots of the other guys copy him. He’s not even supposed to be in the building, although he’s not someone who’d be stopped by a stupid rule.
“Guess who?”
I shake my head because I really, really don’t want to be wrong about this.
“C’mon. Guess.”
I want to touch his hands, but my hands are wet, so that’d be nasty. I can feel his breath on my neck.
“Come on, Isabelle McAfferty,” he says in that fake English accent. “You know exactly who this is.”
It’s him, and he knows my name. My whole name. “Cody Dillon?”
He keeps his hands over my eyes and puts his lips on my neck (LIPS ON MY NECK!) and whispers in his regular voice, “That’s right.” He turns me around. His face is all serious. “Got anything to drop? I could pick it up for you.”
I don’t understand, so I shake my head, just as I realize he’s referring to that time at the corner store. I consider dropping one of the brushes, but that part of the moment is over, so if I dropped something right now it would actually be lame.
“You’re kind of cute, you know.” (Margaret doesn’t believe that part, but he said it. He really did. In his regular voice.)
My face goes hot and I say nothing because I am a complete mental gimp. He backs away. He stops at the door and points at me. “I got my eye on you,” he says (HIS EYE ON ME!).
Chapter Five
This is a Rob’s-not-coming-home night. It’s five in the morning. I can’t sleep because even though I’m sure Rob the Slob is out screwing around, you never know, he might be bleeding to death in some car crash or something. I turn on the light and look in the mirror. Ugh. Cody Dillon has his eye on me, and I’m not worth having an eye on. That much is for sure.
I go to Mom and Rob’s room and use the makeup she left behind. She taught me how to do it, and I’ve been watching her all my life. It’s still hard to look good but not slutty.
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