Stealing Parker

Page 5

I save the message. Just like all the others. I lie down on my bed and focus on the ceiling. Try to shove the loneliness out of my mind. I’ve always wanted a puppy, but Dad and Ryan are allergic. And now Mom has one—without me.
Sometimes I catch Dad staring at a picture of him and Mom that he keeps in his wallet. Dad says he’s forgiven her, but does that mean I have to?
I’ve only seen her twice in the past year. I miss her, and I want her in my life, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. I’m ashamed I never call her. But if people hear about me hanging out with my mom again, I’m afraid it’ll wreck my life even more. She ruined my family.
Why did God let this happen to me?
A few hours later, I go down the street to Drew’s double-wide trailer, walk inside without knocking, and head to his room.
His buddies on the football team love calling him Double-wide Drew, insinuating that he is well-endowed. It makes Drew laugh. Double-wides are a luxury, you see. My family’s lucky enough to have a three-bedroom house, but it’s smack dab behind a laundromat and a fried chicken joint, so you can only imagine the smell. A mix of fabric softener and grease. But besides the terrible odor and the fact we are definitely not in the ritzy section of Franklin where people have swimming pools shaped like guitars, the location rocks. It’s only three minutes by bike from school, and I love riding my bike everywhere it can take me.
I knock softly, push Drew’s door open, and find him sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop, which is surrounded by his bobble-head collection. He’s the only person I know who loves writing in his spare time. When he goes to Middle Tennessee State next year, he’s going to study journalism so he can be a sports reporter one day. As much as he loves playing football and baseball, he’ll never be good enough to get a scholarship. It’s a sore subject because he’s worked so hard for so long and could really use the money.
It’s only Drew and his mom—his dad left before he was born, and his mom waitresses at Cracker Barrel like sixty hours a week to make ends meet. I cook dinner for Dad and Ryan every night, so I usually end up making Drew a plate too. I set a bowl of steamed rice and chicken on his bedside table.
“Yo, Drewsky,” I say, tiptoeing around sports magazines and several days’ worth of discarded newspapers.
He turns and smiles wide, standing up. “Harry Potter movie marathon time!” he says, hugging me. He’s wearing a thin gray sweater layered on top of T-shirts. He has the right body to play both running back and second base, short and stocky, but somehow he’s rocking the skinny jeans. He’s fixed his hair again and doesn’t smell like boy (like socks). He smells like lemons.
Everyone is used to Drew dressing up and always looking like a million bucks, because he wants to stand on the Titans sidelines and report for ESPN someday. But I feel like it might be more than that. And I don’t want people to judge him like they’ve judged me. I can only hope that his friends would support him more than mine supported me. Corndog’s a good friend to him.
I’m not sure why Corndog’s comment about me messing around with his friends bothered me so much today, but it did. I mean, I thought guys like one-night flings. Right? I’ve only made out with, I dunno, four guys on the basketball team? And how many on the baseball team? Two? I can’t believe Paul Briggs announced that I put out, right in front of Brian. What must he think of me?
I slip my boots off while Drew inhales the rice and chicken, because he’s always hungry. He turns on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and flips off the lights. He grabs the big bowl of popcorn he popped and then we stretch out on the bed. I’ve been saving my calories all day for this popcorn.
“Who’s your favorite Harry Potter character?” Drew asks, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
“Ron. Obviously. You?”
He chews. “Hermione. She’s a little sex kitten.”
I shove his shoulder, nearly knocking him off the bed. “That’s so perverted! She’s like ten years old in this movie.”
“She’s older than me now! How is that perverted?” he says with a laugh.
“Would you rather be Hufflepuff or Slytherin?” I ask, picking my first piece of popcorn. Mmmm, butter.
“Slytherin. I like green more than yellow.” He pops a piece in his mouth. “As a house elf, would you rather be responsible for combing Hagrid’s beard or washing Snape’s greasy hair?”
“Gross! Uh, I’d rather comb the beard because I might find interesting animals or food in there. I might even find mini bottles of butterbeer or something.”
We talk during the movie, making fun of Draco’s terrible slicked-back hairdo and Hermione being a know-it-all until Oliver Wood comes on the screen.
“He’s so hot,” I say, groaning. “I want to date a guy with a British accent.”
“You? Dating?” He snorggles.
“I’d forget about my no-dating rule for Oliver Wood. Just look at him ride that broom!”
Drew bursts out laughing. “If you absolutely had to date someone who lives in Franklin, or else you’d be eaten by a dragon, who would it be?”
“Brian Hoffman.” It pops out and I cover my mouth.
“Coach Hoffman? So that’s why you wanted to follow him today?”
When Brian and I were talking, I was smiling and laughing and I felt good. I want to know more about him. I enjoyed joking around and loved making him laugh. I liked what he said…It’s a scary thing to wake up and realize the people you need most aren’t nearby anymore…But you keep moving.
I reply, “What can I say? That boy is hot.”
“That boy is a man but yeah, he’s hot.”
“You think Coach Hoffman is hot?”
“I can tell which guys are hot and which aren’t,” he says slowly, looking at the TV. “It’s not like it’s hard.”
I clap my hands. “Okay. Here’s a test. Oliver Wood—hot or not?”
“Hot.”
“Okay, you pass the test.”
“What?” he blurts. “That was a short test.”
“Fine, fine,” I say, laughing. “Is Paul Briggs hot?”
“Oh, hell no.”
“Correct.” I tap my lip. “Is Coach Hoffman hot?”
“I believe we’ve established that. You sure are thinking about him, huh?” He taps the back of my hand.
My face heats up. “Is Corndog hot?”
“It’s weird thinking of my friend that way.” Drew quickly says, “If you could be any Harry Potter character, who would you be?”
“Professor McGonagall, so I could turn into a cat and sleep all day…If you could have any magical power, what would it be?”
He pauses long enough for Harry to fall in love with the Mirror of Erised. “I’d want to know how people would react ahead of time. To anything, you know?”
“So um, what did you want to talk about? Amy? Why didn’t you tell me things weren’t okay with her?”
He touches his throat. “Can I get a rain check? I want to watch the movie.”
I let out a sigh, relieved, glad he doesn’t want to chat.
Yeah, yeah, Brian probably won’t show at church, considering he’s never there—trust me, I would’ve noticed him—but what if he comes today?
I shave everything that needs shaving and moisturize everything that needs moisturizing. I even curl my eyelashes. “Ow,” I blurt, when I pull on them too hard. I still haven’t gotten the hang of that part of my beauty regimen yet.
I use nail polish remover to ditch the Bubblegum Pink. Then I pull open the top drawer of my vanity and dig through the heap of polishes. Malaysian Mint, Atomic Orange, Blushingham Palace, Canadian Maple Leaf…No, no, no, no.
Brian is older, classier. I bet he’d like a soft color. I paw through the bottles. Going once…going twice…Passion Peach it is. I hum as I redo my nails. Two coats of peach and a layer of clear. I keep messing up my right thumb. I remove the polish twice. Third time’s a charm.
I pull on a pink bra, and pinch the skin hanging over the elastic of the matching panties. Brian does not seem like a guy who appreciates muffin top. I drag my hands through my tangled hair, tangling it more.
Last, I put on a sleek black dress and pair it with my leather boots. I’ve been saving up my baby-sitting money for college, but I decided to treat myself to this dress. I admire it in the mirror, sliding my hands up and down my hips, making sure I look elegant. Not butch. I wince, recalling how Laura told people that.
When I bought the dress at Cool Springs Mall yesterday, Drew said it seemed like a waste of money. “You look hot in anything,” he’d said, holding a polo up to his chest, admiring himself in the mirror. “No need to go all Rodeo Drive.”
I’ve got a few minutes before we need to leave for church, so I unzip the dress and lay it carefully on the back of my desk chair. Then I lock my door, lie down on my bed, and slip my fingers under the elastic of my underwear, wondering what it would feel like if a guy touched me there.
I’m praying Brian comes to church with his parents today.
He must’ve felt the connection too, right?
Reasons Why I’m the Worst Christian of All Time
Exhibit One: I drop the F-bomb at least twice a day. To tell you the truth, I kinda love the word. It’s so versatile. It can be an adjective, a noun, a verb. Also, I take the Lord’s name in vain. Sometimes.
Exhibit Two: I break all sorts of Bible rules. I do not treat my body like a temple, like Brother John tells us we should. When Drew snuck wine to school in a Dr. Pepper bottle, I didn’t hesitate to take a few sips in the janitor’s closet between French III and World History.
Exhibit Three: I don’t see how a loving God would split a family up like he did mine. Nor would he mess with Dad’s head like that. Brother John always says, “God tests our faith.” My question? Why would an all-powerful being be so jealous?
Church is the one thing Drew won’t do with me. Not because he’s atheist or belongs to some other religion or cult or anything. He specifically dislikes Forrest Sanctuary. Mostly for how the congregation talked about us after Mom left, but also because the church gives him the heebie-jeebies.
Dad pulls the Durango into the church parking lot. Ryan rubs at his face and the smell of beer and cigarettes and weed sweating out of his body wafts over. If someone gave him a breathalyzer right now, it’d beep louder than a fire alarm. Just call my father Daddy Denial.
Thank heaven our church uses Food Lion grape juice instead of wine at communion, or my brother would probably pass out in front of the altar. Hey, it’d give new meaning to bowing before God. Ryan wouldn’t come to church if he had his way, but if he’s going to live under Dad’s roof, he has to play the game. Ryan is a very nice guy. A very nice and always stoned or drunk kind of guy who sometimes gets it on with random girls before Dad comes home. Okay, okay, it’s not “random girls.” But I’m probably “random” in Macy’s eyes. She ignores everything that isn’t a really boring book about political science. In that regard, they’re a good couple because they are moody and ignore each other for the most part.