could give her extra lovin’s.”
I snorted at the dumb phrase.
“Extra lovin’s,” huh?
Was that what Matthew had been giving Becky?
I sit down on the short wall delineating the grass from the parking lot, switching my cell to my other ear. “Mom and Dad again, huh?” I ask Becky. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Becky says. “Just everything.”
“What can I do? Name it.”
Becky is quiet. I don’t push. I’ve learned over the last year it won’t get me anywhere. So I sit and wait, wishing for the first time in my life that I smoked so I’d have something to do.
“I don’t know where else to go,” she says finally.
“Go?”
“I mean … I don’t know.”
“Becky, if you want me there, I’m there. You know that.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Another long pause.
“You gotta talk to me,” I venture. “I’ll sit here on the phone all night if you want me to, or I’ll come over, or bring you a freaking gallon of Ben and Jerry’s, or whatever, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me how.”
“Ben and Jerry’s only comes in pints, Sparky.”
“Then I will fly to Vermont and make it happen by brute force and naked aggression.”
Becky sniffs. Such a small sound, but it hurts so much. It’s like a laugh, but not.
While I think dumbly,
I just said “naked” to Becky Webb, huh huh huh huh!
, Becky says, “Tell me about the magazine.”
I didn’t talk to Becky in the two days after opening night of
Mockingbird
. Didn’t even look for her. Went to the booth, did my job, went home. That Friday morning before school, Mom asked me about “the little girl who played Scout.” I passed on that one.
I didn’t explain that the “friend of mine” I’d talked about in the car on opening night was Becky, didn’t want to point her out as the girl who needed “extra lovin’s.” What was a cute euphemism for encouragement from my mom became an ironic dagger in my belly when I thought of what Matthew had done opening night.
On closing night, Ross asked again if I was coming tothe cast party. I hadn’t intended to, not after the Matthew thing. But when he asked, I said, “Yeah, I am. Could I get a ride?”
“I can get you there, yeah,” Ross said. “But you might want to find another way home. No way am I driving anywhere!”
I sent a text to Gabby first to see if she’d mind picking me up.
Sure
, she wrote back.
You drinking?
No
, I wrote.
Good man. Sydney coming with?
No
, I wrote.
She didn’t write anything back after that. Sydney probably could have come, but technically since she wasn’t involved in the show, she didn’t get an invite.
I managed to wait until after the curtain call to ask Ross if Becky was going to the party. Ross grunted and grinned. Beneath the red glare of the booth lights, his face looked wicked.
“I hope so,” he said.
I didn’t like the sound of that. “How come?” I asked.
Ross didn’t even glance at me. “Just … stick around,” he said.
When we’d finished our idiot check—I’d lost track entirely of Becky, which was partly on purpose because I was still fuming—Ross drove me and a couple other techies to the party. The entire cast and crew were there, and nearly everyone was drinking. Ross fetched me a beer from acooler, slapped it into my hand, and said, “Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do!”
“Right, got it,” I said. “Hey, whose house is this, anyway? Is it cool that we’re here?”
“Matthew’s,” Ross said, and my stomach twisted. “Yeah, it’s cool. His parents go out of town all the time. See ya!”
With that, he abandoned me for the backyard, where most of the cast had migrated.
I opened the beer and took just enough of a sip to convince anyone looking that I was, in fact, drinking the thing. It tasted awful. I spent ten minutes kicking back against one wall, nodding and saying hi to people who passed by and congratulated me on my first tech experience. This included, of course, Neapolitan
I snorted at the dumb phrase.
“Extra lovin’s,” huh?
Was that what Matthew had been giving Becky?
I sit down on the short wall delineating the grass from the parking lot, switching my cell to my other ear. “Mom and Dad again, huh?” I ask Becky. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Becky says. “Just everything.”
“What can I do? Name it.”
Becky is quiet. I don’t push. I’ve learned over the last year it won’t get me anywhere. So I sit and wait, wishing for the first time in my life that I smoked so I’d have something to do.
“I don’t know where else to go,” she says finally.
“Go?”
“I mean … I don’t know.”
“Becky, if you want me there, I’m there. You know that.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Another long pause.
“You gotta talk to me,” I venture. “I’ll sit here on the phone all night if you want me to, or I’ll come over, or bring you a freaking gallon of Ben and Jerry’s, or whatever, but I can’t help if you don’t tell me how.”
“Ben and Jerry’s only comes in pints, Sparky.”
“Then I will fly to Vermont and make it happen by brute force and naked aggression.”
Becky sniffs. Such a small sound, but it hurts so much. It’s like a laugh, but not.
While I think dumbly,
I just said “naked” to Becky Webb, huh huh huh huh!
, Becky says, “Tell me about the magazine.”
I didn’t talk to Becky in the two days after opening night of
Mockingbird
. Didn’t even look for her. Went to the booth, did my job, went home. That Friday morning before school, Mom asked me about “the little girl who played Scout.” I passed on that one.
I didn’t explain that the “friend of mine” I’d talked about in the car on opening night was Becky, didn’t want to point her out as the girl who needed “extra lovin’s.” What was a cute euphemism for encouragement from my mom became an ironic dagger in my belly when I thought of what Matthew had done opening night.
On closing night, Ross asked again if I was coming tothe cast party. I hadn’t intended to, not after the Matthew thing. But when he asked, I said, “Yeah, I am. Could I get a ride?”
“I can get you there, yeah,” Ross said. “But you might want to find another way home. No way am I driving anywhere!”
I sent a text to Gabby first to see if she’d mind picking me up.
Sure
, she wrote back.
You drinking?
No
, I wrote.
Good man. Sydney coming with?
No
, I wrote.
She didn’t write anything back after that. Sydney probably could have come, but technically since she wasn’t involved in the show, she didn’t get an invite.
I managed to wait until after the curtain call to ask Ross if Becky was going to the party. Ross grunted and grinned. Beneath the red glare of the booth lights, his face looked wicked.
“I hope so,” he said.
I didn’t like the sound of that. “How come?” I asked.
Ross didn’t even glance at me. “Just … stick around,” he said.
When we’d finished our idiot check—I’d lost track entirely of Becky, which was partly on purpose because I was still fuming—Ross drove me and a couple other techies to the party. The entire cast and crew were there, and nearly everyone was drinking. Ross fetched me a beer from acooler, slapped it into my hand, and said, “Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do!”
“Right, got it,” I said. “Hey, whose house is this, anyway? Is it cool that we’re here?”
“Matthew’s,” Ross said, and my stomach twisted. “Yeah, it’s cool. His parents go out of town all the time. See ya!”
With that, he abandoned me for the backyard, where most of the cast had migrated.
I opened the beer and took just enough of a sip to convince anyone looking that I was, in fact, drinking the thing. It tasted awful. I spent ten minutes kicking back against one wall, nodding and saying hi to people who passed by and congratulated me on my first tech experience. This included, of course, Neapolitan
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