Anyone But You Part 15
With the freeze back on between me and Sea, I had a whole lotta time to kill, and absolutely nothing to do. I wanted to call Sarah, as she was the only good thing in my life right then, but I knew she was busy. Besides, I didn't want to scare her off. Better to wait for her to come to me.
After an unsuccessful attempt to find something watchable on TV, I spotted my SAT prep book sitting on the coffee table. The last place I'd seen it was the back of my closet, where I'd chucked it the week before. Layla must've gone looking for it. I had a feeling she wouldn't let up on me until I'd taken every single practice test twice.
I'd bombed the new SATs the previous spring-got a 440 on math and a whopping 360 on verbal. And don't get me started on the essay portion. Needless to say, I couldn't even get into Delaware with those scores. Layla took me to one of those test prep centers, but a single course would've cost hundreds of dollars-dollars we didn't have. So she bought me this book off the discount rack at Barnes & n.o.ble instead.
The only thing I'd learned so far was why I sucked at standardized tests: a. My memory was for s.h.i.t, so forget about me knowing which math equation to use for each of the different problems.
b. Ditto for vocabulary. C) There was usually more than one right answer to the reading questions, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out how one could be more right than another.
c. Staring at all the empty bubbles made me sleepy.
d. All of the above.
Disgusted, I shoved the book under the couch. When would Layla learn? I was never going to be like Jesse, or even Sea. The only reason her grades were so bad was that school bored the h.e.l.l out of her. If they'd let her take cla.s.ses like the Physics of Skateboarding, she'd be on the honor roll every marking period.
Upstairs I dug through my newly organized closet, trying to figure out what I should wear to the party the next day. In my mind I saw the cover of Rod Stewart's A Night on the Town, his cla.s.sic alb.u.m featuring "Tonight's the Night." On it, he was standing in what looked like an upper-crust backyard of sorts, sporting an ascot and holding a gla.s.s of champagne. There was this old-timey straw hat on his head, like someone in a barbershop quartet might wear, only cooler. You could just tell how hard the ladies must've been sweating Rod.
Luckily, I had a hat almost exactly like it. I'd found it during one of our trips around the local thrift store circuit. The only difference was that the band on mine was dark red, whereas Rod's was black.
It would be too hot to wear the long-sleeved white shirt and sports coat that completed Rod's outfit. But I did have a short-sleeved b.u.t.ton-down that had super-thin blue pinstripes on it, and I could raid Layla's closet for a scarf that could double as an ascot. Slap on some denim cutoffs and my blue Chucks, and I would be looking fine.
What to do, what to do? Jesse wouldn't be home from work for another hour or so, and who knew if he'd even be talking to me? Then, a flash of inspiration. I'd make Sarah that mix tape. An old-school, all-Rod mix tape-the kind of tape that would not only introduce her to the true genius of Rod, but also let her know exactly how I felt.
I grabbed some paper and a pen and pulled all my Rod CDs off their shelf and onto the floor. Making this mix would require some serious planning. Not just the song selection, but also the order I should put them in. I drafted about seven different potential playlists before finally settling on the first. Then, just as I was finishing the first side, the tape ran out in the middle of "Last Summer" and I had to start all over again.
I was so absorbed in what I was certain would be my finest creation that I didn't hear Layla come into my room. It wasn't until she asked me to turn the music down that I realized she was there.
"I need to talk to you," she said, sitting on the edge of my bed.
"Before you start, I'm sorry about the car. I shouldn't have taken it."
"No, you shouldn't have, but that's not what I want to talk to you about."
"Oh?"
She looked at the mess of tapes and CDs forming a circle around me on the floor. "What's all this about?"
"Just this girl," I said. "She invited us all to this barbecue tomorrow, so I wanted to bring a thank-you gift."
"What makes you think you aren't grounded?"
"Am I?"
She sighed. "You should be."
"But I'm not, right?"
Another sigh. "Critter, I need you to listen for a minute, okay?"
I nodded.
"What happened yesterday made me realize that I am spending way too much time at work. I can't keep going like this. So on Monday, when you and Sea start summer school, I'm going to take a two-week leave of absence, to figure some things out."
"Things? What things?"
"Like how I can cut back my hours and still get the bills paid on time."
"What you need to do," I said, "is get Frank to cough up some cash. I mean, Jesus, you've been raising his daughter longer than he ever did."
"I won't do that," she said stiffly.
"Why not?"
"Because I won't. End of discussion."
I sighed. "Your problem is you're too d.a.m.ned proud. It's not weak to ask Frank for money-it's practical."
"Practical?" she repeated. "You're lecturing me on practical? Wouldn't it have been practical for you to spend the past few weeks studying, instead of chasing some girl and working on your tan?"
"At least that girl understands why school's not my thing," I said coldly.
"Oh? And why is that exactly? Because Shakespeare's not as 'cool' as Rod Stewart?"
"No!" I exploded. "It's because it's too d.a.m.ned hard!"
Her face softened. I had to look away.
"I know school doesn't come as easy to you as it does to Jesse," she said. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."
"I've been trying," I shot back.
"Then why didn't you sign up for the free tutoring? Or join that study group Jesse told you about?"
"It wouldn't help," I said. "Let's just face it: I'm stupid, okay? End of discussion."
"You are not stupid. You're just . . . easily frustrated."
"Christ!" I yelled. "What is it with you and school? Let me get a job, make some money. At least then I'd be useful."
"I can't say I haven't thought about you working part-time. But, Boo, if you don't get those grades up, you're not going to college. Do you want to be forty and working at a Wendy's? I certainly don't want that for you."
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe that's all I'm cut out for?"
She shook her head. "I don't buy that, not for a second."
I didn't want to be having this conversation. Not about school, not about my future, and definitely not about my mother's debt. Especially not since the bulk of it came from Frank. Why should I have to pay for her poor taste in men?
"What do you want from me?" I asked her. "You won't let me work, and I don't see how me getting Bs is going to help you put food on the table."
"That isn't your problem."
"If it's not my problem," I snapped, "then why are we even having this conversation?"
Layla seemed surprised by the sharpness of my tone. She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, closed it, then opened and closed it again. Finally, she said, "Forget I said a word."
Jesse would've followed her out. He would've given her a hug, apologized for being such a s.h.i.t, and listened to whatever it was she had to say. I had a feeling that was all she was looking for. But I wasn't Jesse.
I locked my door, cranked up the volume on my stereo, and went back to making Sarah's mix.
You Wear It Well.
I suffered the rest of the day in silence. It seemed that in the past twenty-four hours, I'd managed to p.i.s.s off every single person in my family, and no one was talking to me. I even placed a last-ditch call to Sarah, hoping for a little human contact, but I got her voice mail and she never called me back.
Around midnight, Jesse knocked on my door and asked me what time we had to leave for the party the next day.
"How do you know about the party?"
"Sea told me. What, am I not invited?"
"It's not that," I said. "It's just . . ."
"What? Spit it out."
"I didn't think you'd want to go."
"Look," he said. "I was p.i.s.sed. I'm still a little p.i.s.sed. But I've got the day off and the three of us always hang out on the Fourth. So, yeah-I'm going."
"Which means Sea is going, too."
He nodded. "Don't forget Scott."
"Of course not," I said tightly. "Who could forget about him?"
The party was starting at two, so I figured if we left at two-thirty, we'd get there forty-five minutes into the festivities-just the right side of fashionably late.
I was ready with time to spare. To keep busy, I put away all the CDs and tapes I'd dragged out to make Sarah's mix. I even made my bed; that was how bored I was. When Jesse wandered in, I was working on the last hospital corner.
"Hey," I said. "What do you think of my outfit? Slick, right?"
He snorted. "You're acting like a girl."
"I'm not," I protested. "I just . . . you know. Want to impress her."
"Sorry, bro, but I don't think you're going to do it with your keen fashion sense."
"Bite me."
"Oh, all right," he said with an annoyed sigh. "You might want to lose the scarf, but the rest of it looks okay."
"Thanks." I smiled. "Wait until you see her, Jess. Hear her voice. She's like . . . I don't even know what she's like! Delicious-that's the word. Delicious."
"Apples are delicious," he said. "Girls are just girls."
I shook my head. "You wait. Someday you'll meet some obsessive-compulsive neat freak who shares your love of early-nineties hip-hop and it'll be all over. Mark my words, man. Mark my words."
"I love how you think you're some expert on the subject."
"More like a s.e.xpert."
"Whatever," Jesse said, grinning. "But remember: just 'cause you've made your bed doesn't mean you'll get laid in it."
"Ha-ha." I fluffed my pillow and set it down. "Hey . . . why aren't you dressed?"
" 'Cause I'm getting in the shower?"
"Now?" I fumed. "Now you are getting in the shower?"
He rolled his eyes. "Calm down. It's only two o'clock."
"No it's not! It's almost two-thirty!"
"I'm not the one you should be worried about," Jesse said. "Sea left like three hours ago, and I haven't seen her since."
"Well, that's just perfect," I snarled as he ducked into the bathroom. The lock clicked behind him. "Ten minutes!" I yelled through the door. "Ten minutes and I'm leaving your sorry a.s.ses behind!"
I stomped back downstairs and collapsed on the couch. Where was she? Hanging with Skater Boy, obviously. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen next-what kind of humiliation Sea and her new boyfriend might be cooking up for me. I also couldn't stop sweating. The back of my neck was so moist it took two paper towels to mop up.
It was going on three o'clock when I heard the front door slam. I was beyond p.i.s.sed and was ready to tell my sister this when Skater Boy came into view. He was wearing baggy army pants, a skintight tank top, and black leather s.h.i.t-kicker boots pulled up over the cuffs of his pants.
"Who the h.e.l.l are you supposed to be?" I asked. "Rambo?"
"You're one to talk," he shot back. "Gatsby."
"Gat-who?"
"Gatsby. Jay Gatsby? From The Great Gatsby?"
"Yeah, whatever, dude. What's your name again? Cooter?"
He smiled, a patient little smile that made me want to pop him one. "Scooter," he said. "But most people call me Scott."