Fancy White Trash (19 page)

“If you're sure,” Dad says, interrupting my thoughts and looking more than a little relieved. That's when I realize he's trying to make amends. He actually made a grand gesture for me, and although he was scared I might say yes, he did it anyway. I almost choke up. Almost.

I decide there are other ways he could make things up to me. “I really could use some money for homecoming. I need to pay Cody back for my tickets and get a dress.”

“Can't you wear one of your sister's dresses?” This is the one thing my parents always agree on. Why buy Abby something new when we can just give her a dress that's years out of date?

There should be some benefit to spending so much time with my usually absent father. I give him my most pitiful look. “Please, Dad.”

He breaks down and reaches for his wallet. “Okay, Abs. Will this do?”

He holds up a few bills. It's not as much as I would've liked, but better than wearing Shelby's hand-me-downs.

I shoot across the room, from my bed to where he sits on his, taking the cash and hugging him in one smooth move. “Thanks!”

He pats my back. “Glad I could help, pumpkin. I want to see you in that dress, you hear?”

“We'll take lots of pictures.”

“Well, now that's settled. I'll tell your mom what we decided.”

I step away. We didn't decide anything. My eyebrows crunch together. “What?”

“I'll stay on here until Shevon moves out. Maybe Shelby and Hannah will want that room in my house.”

Why does he insist on ripping our family apart time after time after time? Sure, Shelby's a pain in the butt, but what chance will Hannah have in life if the only people raising her are Shelby and Dad? This is so like my father, never thinking beyond the moment. Like Rule #4 says, Don't Need Him. Because you'll always be let down.

Two hours later, Cody and I are in our tree with a bag of Cheetos and a six-pack of Diet Cokes. This is our comfort ritual, and we are both in grave need of comfort.

“Dad's not buying it,” Cody tells me. “He keeps popping into my room unannounced. Like he expects to find me doing something gay.”

“Like what?”

“Wild monkey sex with male models? I don't know.” He stuffs five Cheetos in his mouth and crunches down.

“But you told him about Jenna. What more could he want?”

“Maybe I have to sign some kind of declaration. I, Cody Jennings, in order to form a more perfect family, establish my straightness, insure Jennings family domestic tranquillity, provide future generations of Jenningses, do ordain that I am a card-carrying heterosexual.”

I crack up. “Thomas Jefferson would die if he heard you mangle the Constitution like that.”

“What's it to him? He didn't even write the thing. But he was kind of a control freak, so I guess it's good he's already dead. I'd hate to give one of the founding fathers a coronary.” Two swigs of Diet Coke, two Cheetos. “Not that he was in any position to judge others. I'm doing this paper on him and, man, did he have some issues.”

I snake my hand in the bag and grab some Cheetos for myself. “But about your issues, Cody. What're you going to do?”

“My driver's-license test is in two days. If I pass and he hands over the keys to my car, then I'll know I'm in the clear. If not, I don't know what I'll do.”

“Tell him he's right?”

“Abby, we're talking about my car! Imagine, driving and driving until we're out of Cottonwood, out of Arizona, heading east toward the Big Apple. I thought you were with me on this?”

“You said we didn't have enough money yet.” I lick Cheeto dust from my fingers, then dive in the bag for more.

Cody crushes the soda can and drops it to the ground. It lands with a thunk against the others we've been piling up for the last hour. “We don't have nearly enough cash, but getting the car's all part of the master plan, right? We need jobs and we can't get jobs unless we have wheels. So I've got to do everything I can to convince my dad that I'm straight, straight, straight.”

“Aside from dating girls, which you are already doing, what else can you do? Either he believes you or he doesn't,” I point out.

“Maybe we could have sex in front of him and then he'd know for sure which team I'm on.” He winks at me.

“Gross!” I cannot for one second think of having sex with Cody. “You know I'm saving myself. But maybe one of my sisters . . .”

He laughs. “If only life was as easy as your sisters.”

I wiggle my back against the bark of the tree for a good scratch and suck more cheese dust off my thumb. Cody is not a finger licker. Orange fingerprints decorate his new Diet Coke.

“You gonna tell me why you're scarfing Cheetos like they're about to be put on the endangered list?” Cody asks. “Or do I have to guess?”

So I tell him about my father and the desk and Shelby and Hannah maybe moving out and before I know it, I'm crying. “Why's he such a jerk? Why?”

Cody puts an arm around my shoulder, a tricky maneuver up here in the tree. He rubs his chin on the top of my head.

“I don't know. It's not fair. You're such a great person. It's hard to believe you came out of that house.”

“Hey, you know I'm the only one allowed to rag on my family.”

“I know.” His chin bumps up and down on my head as he talks. “I'm just saying not to take it so personally. It's not your fault he is who he is.”

“What if I turn out like them? Any of them? The Rules are working so far, but what if they're not enough?”

Cody knows this is my biggest fear. He knows it's why I have the Rules. In his usual way, Cody takes a long time to answer.

“Here's the thing, Abs. I don't think the Rules are good for you.”

“What? They're working great.”

“If by
great
you mean keeping you from having any kind of romantic relationship, then yeah, they're great.”

I squirm away from him, but he hauls me back against his side.

“The one thing your family's good at is taking risks. You know, they just put themselves out there with no thought for the consequences. In a weird way, it's kind of cool. They're fearless.”

“They're humiliating,” I say. “You know better than anyone what a mess my family is.”

“I'm not saying you should be like them, but I don't think the Rules are keeping you from turning out like them. I think they're keeping you from being. Period.”

“Shut up.”

“No, Abs, you need to hear me. Love is risky. The Rules don't allow for that. Maybe you shouldn't ask Brian to homecoming. Maybe you should take a risk, ask someone you really want to be with.”

Like Jackson, who's been avoiding me since the night I stayed with him. Outside of the rides to and from school, chaperoned by Cody, we haven't seen each other at all. Which is how I wanted it, but somehow I can't get those two homecoming tickets out of my mind. One for him and one for
someone else.
Not that I've asked or anything, but who needs to? One plus one always equals two.

“Brian and I are all set,” I say. “I told you I already asked him.”

“A perfect example of how the Rules aren't working. You're going to the dance with a gay guy. How's that going to get you closer to True Love?”

“It's not getting me further away.” I know he's right. I stuff more Cheetos in my mouth.

Cody gets intense, puts a hand on my cheek, and forces me to look at him. Into him. “Abigail Elizabeth Savage,” he says, laying on the seriousness, “relationships are messy. People screw up. They hurt you. But when you love someone, you forgive them. That's what a relationship is, Abby. Good times and bad. Together.”

I bite my lip and nod.

“Promise you'll think about it. The dance is only a few weeks away. Anything could happen between now and then.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He smiles and takes a swig of Diet Coke. “Enough heavy stuff. Let's talk about something else.”

“How about what I'm going to wear to this dance? If you pass your test Thursday, will you drive me to the mall? Dad gave me some money for a dress.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “Of course. Why do you think I want my license so much? It's only so I can chauffeur you around, cater to your every whim, especially on
my
birthday.”

“Cody!” I slap his arm, but not very hard. “You know you're dying to pick out my dress. What better present could I give you than total control over my wardrobe?”

“It's true I probably won't get much else, since my parents already gave me the Camry. Dinner and a cake is all I've got goin' on that day.” He's grinning, though, because the car is the only thing he wanted anyway.

I flip my hair, Shelby-style. “Sweet-sixteen shopping, then? You'll find me a dress that doesn't make me look like a wannabe bride?”

He looks at me with a critical eye. “You know I'm going to say red.”

“You know that's Shelby's color.”

“Blue?”

“Kait.” That's the problem with too many older sisters. There's nothing new for me.

Cody claps his hands together. “Don't worry, I'm going to find you the perfect dress!”

I swallow my last Cheeto of the night. “Finally, some good news! What're you thinking?”

“Let's go to my room later,” he says. “We can go online and check out the latest Betsey Johnson collection.”

I crinkle the empty Cheetos bag into a ball. “I can't afford her.”

“Come on, dream big. Maybe we'll find something great on sale.” Cody leans forward a bit and stares at me in his
I dare you
way. “You feel like making a deal?”

“Sure, you can borrow my eyeliner for homecoming.”

“Hey!” he tosses one of the cans at me. “Be nice or I'll dress you like a bridesmaid.”

Ducking, I catch the Diet Coke with one hand. “What then?”

“I've got something to show you.” He reaches into his back pocket, all mysterious.

I'm intrigued. What could he possibly have tucked away that would save me from bridal-party-close-out-sale fashion?

Chapter
17

The spreadsheet is something of a letdown, although I'm not sure exactly what I'd been expecting. That he'd already bought the perfect dress, folded it into a pocket-sized square, and then sat on it for hours before revealing it?

“You showed me this already, remember?” I finger the edge of the heavy card stock. It's the same breakdown of transfer students, attributes listed column by column, abbreviated so they'll fit in the boxes.

“Yeah, but now I've assigned a value to each of the Rules. If you go by the last box, you can start with the guy with the highest score and work your way down.” Cody looks exceptionally pleased with himself.

I check out column six. It's unclear to me how the system works, but everyone has a score somewhere between one and ten. It seems kind of, well, heartless.

“You're scary sometimes, you know that?” I give the list back to Cody. “I can find my own boyfriend.”

“Really? Exactly how many dates have you been on since you came up with the Rules?” He's acting pretty sure of himself, which is understandable. Because we both know the number is zero.

“Shut up. I just haven't found anyone yet.”

“Be honest. Have you even been looking?”

Of course not. I'd been so busy not looking at Jackson that I didn't have time to find anyone new with no baggage who was average-looking and wanted to run away with me. I keep thinking of Saturday night at Jackson's and how it'd been so great until I'd opened my big mouth. The only person possibly more disgusted by my behavior is Jackson himself, which makes our forced carpooling that much more awkward. Because as much as I want to throw myself at him, as much as I understand what he said about the thing with Kait being in the past, I can't pretend like Stephanie might not be his daughter.

“Let's do this thing,” I say, handing him the list. “You choose one for me. I don't care who. I'll call him when I get home and ask him out.”

“Really? An actual date-date?”

“Yep, maybe a movie or something.”

“Then let's go with Mr. Ten.” He points to the first name. Andre Castillo. Perfect score in box six. His phone number is in column two.

“But let's not wait,” Cody says, and places his cell phone in my palm.

I dial.

Jackson's horn honks outside my window and I wince. Why had I stayed up so late on a school night, two nights in a row? Wednesday, usually my favorite school day because it means Bio Lab, is already off to a bad start.

“Mom!” I screech down the hallway. “I'm gonna be late!”

More barfing sounds. We need a bigger house if for no other reason than to give Mom morning-sickness privacy. “Sorry!” she calls. “I'm trying to hurry.”

Now I feel bad. It's not her fault the baby makes her puke up her breakfast. I just hope this phase passes as quickly as it came. “Don't worry,” I say. “I'll brush my teeth at school.”

My toothbrush comes skidding down the hallway in response. Nice. Thanks, Mom. But I guess the dirt'll wash off. I pick it up and stuff it in my backpack.

“Abby?” Mom's voice is unsteady, as is her whole body where she props it against the bathroom doorframe. She holds out a tube of toothpaste to me. “Can you do me a favor?”

Jackson honks again.

“Sure.” I take the Crest and stuff it in next to the toothbrush. “What do you need?”