doesn’t answer. Does not answer.
The counterwoman calls, “Order up!”
The rain hits the awning like rocks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After school I take the bus home. It’s near dark when I step out. The houses along the way are shut tight, lights off or faint behind blinds.
Passing Mrs. Daly’s old place, I let myself look. It’s run-down, a rental, the fence gone, a driveway in its place. The yard paved to hold a makeshift garage. I remember being in that yard on a blanket in the grass, doing homework while Mrs. Daly tended roses and her dog Brandy slept nearby. The bushes are there still, vines brown and twisted on the side of the house.
Our place is cold. Mom and Danny’s breakfast dishes are stacked in the sink.
I look through the kitchen for a note. A number where she’s at. Money for food. A sign they’re coming back. I don’t find anything. I check the rest of the house. Nothing. No messages on the phone.
Back in the kitchen I do a snap-fingered dance. “Party time!”
Not enough friends for a game of two square.
I find random food—a peach, cheddar popcorn—and eat it at the sink.
The front room is Danny’s world. The big TV and the couchfacing it. He’s hardly left a dent in the cushions with his long, lean body. The couch smells of him: beer-sweat and tobacco. I take an edge and watch a
Simpsons
from there. All the while I feel that Danny’s behind me. I know he isn’t, but I hold that same inch of couch. Until the show is over.
The house echoes with quiet.
I am not grounded. No one’s cared to ground me.
I call Steve.
“Um” is what he says when I ask him over.
I pace with the phone. “Forget the stuff this morning. I have.”
His cell crackles. “Angelyn, you can’t knock me around like that.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“Why should I come?” Steve asks.
“Because I’m here.”
No answer. I wait and wait.
“Steve?”
“Twenty minutes,” he says.
In his quilted jacket and big boots, Steve shrinks the room.
“You live in a dump,” he says. Turning, staring.
I fold my arms. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s cold here.” His nose wrinkles. “It
stinks.
”
“Okay, Steve. I’m poor. Is that all right?”
He faces me. “Is this why you never asked me over?”
“Yeah, and—well, you saw them. The people I live with.”
He nods. “Your mom and him are gone, you said.”
“For the weekend.”
“What’d you have in mind, Angelyn?”
“I don’t know. We could go out. See a movie. Maybe get some food.”
He’s shaking his head. “I didn’t come here to be your ride.”
“Steve—”
“Not that kind of ride.”
Despite it all, I smile. “You’re disgusting.”
He cracks a grin. “And you love it.”
“So,” I say. “You want to
do it
and leave?”
“No, I don’t want to ‘do it and leave.’ Not if we’ve got the weekend. I will stay. But why can’t we have dessert first?”
“Dessert?” I’m groaning.
“Yeah. There’s something in it for you, Ange. I’ll show you what.”
I rub my arms. “We’d go out after?”
Steve steps to me. “Whatever you want.”
Inches apart, we stare. He takes my wrists and pulls me toward the couch.
I slip free. “We don’t want that grungy thing.”
“Where, then?”
“Your truck? We could park.”
He slaps his thigh. “Here we’ve got a house and no parents—”
“Danny is not my parent.”
“No
adults
,” Steve says. “For tonight and all the way to Sunday. Right?”
I lean against the doorframe. “Right.”
“You said you didn’t want to be alone.” He points to himself. “I’m here.”
“Only not on the couch,” I say.
I let him lead me to another room. Mom and Danny’s room. Steve sits me on their bed. I think that I can do it—that it won’t matter. I stretch with him across the comforter.
His fingers tap my zipper. He’s pushing. Pressing. And I’m pulling off my shirt like I want
it
—whatever
it
is—as badly as he does.
“You are going to love
The counterwoman calls, “Order up!”
The rain hits the awning like rocks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After school I take the bus home. It’s near dark when I step out. The houses along the way are shut tight, lights off or faint behind blinds.
Passing Mrs. Daly’s old place, I let myself look. It’s run-down, a rental, the fence gone, a driveway in its place. The yard paved to hold a makeshift garage. I remember being in that yard on a blanket in the grass, doing homework while Mrs. Daly tended roses and her dog Brandy slept nearby. The bushes are there still, vines brown and twisted on the side of the house.
Our place is cold. Mom and Danny’s breakfast dishes are stacked in the sink.
I look through the kitchen for a note. A number where she’s at. Money for food. A sign they’re coming back. I don’t find anything. I check the rest of the house. Nothing. No messages on the phone.
Back in the kitchen I do a snap-fingered dance. “Party time!”
Not enough friends for a game of two square.
I find random food—a peach, cheddar popcorn—and eat it at the sink.
The front room is Danny’s world. The big TV and the couchfacing it. He’s hardly left a dent in the cushions with his long, lean body. The couch smells of him: beer-sweat and tobacco. I take an edge and watch a
Simpsons
from there. All the while I feel that Danny’s behind me. I know he isn’t, but I hold that same inch of couch. Until the show is over.
The house echoes with quiet.
I am not grounded. No one’s cared to ground me.
I call Steve.
“Um” is what he says when I ask him over.
I pace with the phone. “Forget the stuff this morning. I have.”
His cell crackles. “Angelyn, you can’t knock me around like that.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“Why should I come?” Steve asks.
“Because I’m here.”
No answer. I wait and wait.
“Steve?”
“Twenty minutes,” he says.
In his quilted jacket and big boots, Steve shrinks the room.
“You live in a dump,” he says. Turning, staring.
I fold my arms. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s cold here.” His nose wrinkles. “It
stinks.
”
“Okay, Steve. I’m poor. Is that all right?”
He faces me. “Is this why you never asked me over?”
“Yeah, and—well, you saw them. The people I live with.”
He nods. “Your mom and him are gone, you said.”
“For the weekend.”
“What’d you have in mind, Angelyn?”
“I don’t know. We could go out. See a movie. Maybe get some food.”
He’s shaking his head. “I didn’t come here to be your ride.”
“Steve—”
“Not that kind of ride.”
Despite it all, I smile. “You’re disgusting.”
He cracks a grin. “And you love it.”
“So,” I say. “You want to
do it
and leave?”
“No, I don’t want to ‘do it and leave.’ Not if we’ve got the weekend. I will stay. But why can’t we have dessert first?”
“Dessert?” I’m groaning.
“Yeah. There’s something in it for you, Ange. I’ll show you what.”
I rub my arms. “We’d go out after?”
Steve steps to me. “Whatever you want.”
Inches apart, we stare. He takes my wrists and pulls me toward the couch.
I slip free. “We don’t want that grungy thing.”
“Where, then?”
“Your truck? We could park.”
He slaps his thigh. “Here we’ve got a house and no parents—”
“Danny is not my parent.”
“No
adults
,” Steve says. “For tonight and all the way to Sunday. Right?”
I lean against the doorframe. “Right.”
“You said you didn’t want to be alone.” He points to himself. “I’m here.”
“Only not on the couch,” I say.
I let him lead me to another room. Mom and Danny’s room. Steve sits me on their bed. I think that I can do it—that it won’t matter. I stretch with him across the comforter.
His fingers tap my zipper. He’s pushing. Pressing. And I’m pulling off my shirt like I want
it
—whatever
it
is—as badly as he does.
“You are going to love
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