Stealing Parker (13 page)

I glance at my watch. 11:30 p.m. Dad is definitely asleep. Ryan probably passed out listening to his strange trance music.

“Now,” I say.

He says he’ll meet me at the laundromat across the road in twenty minutes. Perfect! Gives me time to take a quick shower. After doing my powder and lip gloss, I slip on black underwear, velvet sweatpants, and a matching hoodie. Then I click the front door shut and dart across the street, shivering under the streetlights. I’m glad Ryan’s window faces the backyard.

The laundromat is closed, so Brian’s truck is the only vehicle in sight, tucked behind the Dumpsters. Away from the streetlights. He smiles through the window and waves, his eyes darting around. I open the door to his truck, slide across the bench and kiss him before he can stop me. He tastes like mint toothpaste. My hands are on his neck and his are in my hair, and I can tell he’s experienced. He’s probably had sex.

He pushes me backward and climbs on top, his weight heavy, yet comforting.

This is way different than with other guys.

•••

Every Halloween, my church puts on a morality play, usually where the teenage characters get sloppily drunk and don’t treat their bodies like temples, or have sex before marriage, and end up going to Hell. People who come to watch the play walk through a room made to look and feel like Hell. A Judgment House. We crank up the heat to 100 degrees. Red Christmas lights act as burning embers in the bowels of Hell. A soundtrack featuring a weird demon-devil creature cackling plays in the darkness. Sure, people made fun of the depiction of Hell, but it always scares me because I know the real Hell must be a million times worse.

God, is my family going to end up there? Because we’re sinners?

Written before church on February 28. Burned, using a match.

•••

I whip open the front door to find Will, here to collect me for church.

“Hey, come on in,” I say, grinning.

“Thanks.” He’s wearing khakis, a blue shirt and tie, and loafers. He rubs his palms together.

“Let me just get my bag.” I skip to the bathroom and check my lip gloss and powder one more time before grabbing my purse from my bed. Instead of leather boots, I slip my feet into heels. When I go back to the foyer, Dad’s standing there pinching his bottom lip. I picked up that habit from him.

“You’re going to another church?” Dad asks, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah. Is that okay?” I ask, pulling a jacket on over my simple pink dress.

Dad sets a hand on Will’s shoulder and studies his face. “What church do you go to, Corn Fritter?”

I crack up. “It’s Corndog!”

Will covers a laugh with his fist. “I go to Westwood, sir.”

Dad turns his attention back to me. “I, uh, is there something wrong with our church?”

“Just wanted to spend time with my friend.”

Will beams at that, but I shrug, acting like going to another church is no big deal, even though it kinda is. I’ve never been anywhere but Forrest Sanctuary.

Dad takes longer than an inning to come up with a response. “This is a one-time thing, right? You’ll be back at our church for WNYG and services next Sunday?”

“Definitely,” I say, then I’m pulling Will out the front door by his wrist. We climb into his truck, and he whistles.

“You sure got a strong grip.” He rubs his wrist, chuckling. “I’m glad I’m not a ball bat.”

I laugh softly. “And I’m out of shape.”

Will inserts his key into the ignition and turns it; the diesel engine rumbles to a start. “I’d be happy to bat or throw a ball around with you anytime,” he says, pulling onto the highway. A milk truck passes us.

We ride to Westwood in a comfortable silence filled only by the soft crooning of Rascal Flatts. He has a picture of Bo and two other boys tucked against the glass above his odometer. Must be his brothers. We grin at each other.

“I wish we hadn’t competed all through school,” I say. “I wish we had been friends before now.”

“Yeah.” He focuses on the road.

We pull into the church parking lot, and even though it’s February and freezing, people our age are either playing a game of pick-up basketball or cheering the players on. Will is out of the car and jogging toward the guys before my seatbelt is unbuckled.

He jets to center court, steals the ball from some guy, and shoots, nailing two points. It makes me smile, but I’m also kinda pissed he abandoned me in the car. But before I flip out, he’s jogging back over, his brown hair flopping across his forehead. He whips open my door and helps me step out, then leads me over to the courts. Only about twelve kids are here—a lot fewer than at Forrest Sanctuary. I recognize two people: Asshole Paul Briggs the catcher, and Jenna—a sophomore who plays center field for the softball team. She’s killer at bat. She gives me a little wave.

“Go say hi,” Will tells me. “I’ll introduce you around after I play some ball.” He runs off to steal the basketball again.

I take a deep breath and go see Jenna.

“Love your dress,” she says, scanning me.

“You too,” I reply. She’s wearing a cute gray dress. It looks vintage.

“You’re here with Will?” she asks, bouncing a little.

“Yep.”

“He’s never brought a girl to church before.”

“Yeah?”

Jenna nods, and proceeds to talk my ear off about softball and her crush on some sophomore named Tim Keller who I’ve never heard of, and she starts quizzing me about Will and who he’s dating. I shrug and watch as Will dodges Paul to bank a layup off the backboard. The ball swooshes through the net.

I clap and go, “Wooo!”

Will tosses the ball to some guy and heads toward me with a blazing smile on his face. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but show off a bit. Want to come inside and meet my mother?”

“Um, sure.” I tell Jenna it was nice talking to her, then follow Will inside what must be their Fellowship Hall. Will holds my elbow as we stride up to a beautiful woman drinking coffee while playing with her necklace, a chain holding a single pearl. She’s in her forties and has very structured brown hair, like she’s in a Lands’ End catalog or something. When he touches her shoulder, the woman stops talking and turns.

“You must be Parker,” she says, sticking out a manicured hand. Her nails are a deep maroon.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply. She checks out my nails too. Today I wore Blushingham Palace, a soft pink to match my dress. She releases my hand, then looks back up.

“I’m Mrs. Whitfield.” Ah. A true Southern belle. Those kind of women at my church give me total stink eye.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say, giving her a nervous smile.

“You too, dear.” She sips her coffee. “I’ve been wanting to meet the girl who’s smarter than my Wills.”

“Mom,” Will whines. “Would you stop calling me Wills? It makes me sound like I’m royalty or something.”

She sticks out her pinky finger and waves her Styrofoam cup in an aristocratic manner. “Well you are my little prince.”

His eyes bulge and his mouth falls open. “Mom. Stop.”

She smiles and wraps an arm around his waist. “Hush. You know I’ve been wanting you to bring around a respectable girl.”

My face heats up, and I can’t help but grin. Respectable. This is new and different. If the women at my church could keep their sons on a different continent than me, they would.

Will goes to get me some water and leaves me to chat with his mother, who’s thrilled to hear I’m planning on going to Vanderbilt. He comes back carrying bottled water for me in one hand and Bo in the other arm.

“You remember my brother, Bo,” Will says, looking at him proudly. Will squeezes Bo’s knee, and I’m overcome by how jealous I am of that love. “Can you say hi to Parker?”

Bo buries his face in Will’s shoulder.

“Hey, Bo,” I say. “You love baseball, right?”

He peeks up and nods, and Mrs. Whitfield raises her eyebrows at Will.

Later, Will introduces me around. I say hi to Marie Baird from school, and she says she’s glad I came to church today. And then Will’s youth pastor, this huge guy named Lance, shakes my hand like a rattle.

“Welcome to Westwood,” he says. “It’s Game Sunday.”

“Game Sunday?” I ask.

“We clear the tables out of this room and the youth play games. Today we’re gonna play Freeze Tag and Red Rover for sure.” Lance shuffles off.

“Freeze Tag is a terrible idea,” Will murmurs to me.

“Does he not notice that y’all aren’t five anymore?” I whisper.

“Lance is the king of terrible ideas.”

Lance begins moving furniture as the adults and younger children clear out of the room. Soon it’s only people our age. Jenna is flirting with some boy while Paul keeps touching Marie and she keeps batting him away.

Loud Christian rock music tumbles out of the speakers. The drums make the windows vibrate. Funny. Brother John once told us that “heavy drum music makes teenagers act in sinful ways,” so we shouldn’t listen to it.

Will takes the water out of my hand and sets it on a window sill as Lance yells, “Tag, you’re it!” and slaps a younger boy’s arm. All the girls kick their heels off, so I do too. We start running, slipping on the linoleum floor, and I’m laughing like crazy. The boy tries to tag me, but I sidestep him and speed across the room.

“Nice,” Will calls out to me.

The boy takes off after Jenna and tags her. To unfreeze her, Paul tries to crawl through her legs and she’s hollering “Gross! Stop! Stop!” and batting him away.

“Paul! You’re three times her size!” Lance calls out. He’s trudging around the room at a turtle’s pace.

“So?” Paul pauses right between her legs, and it’s such a sight I stop running and I’m dying of laughter. Will is too.

“You think you can unfreeze her? You’re like ten times the size of me,” Paul says to Lance, who laughs.

The boy tags me, so I freeze. “Will! Come unfreeze me!”

He stops, finding my eyes. “Marie, help Parker!”

Marie comes and crawls through my legs, and I can’t stop laughing. After my third game of Red Rover, I take a breather. Will joins me in sitting on the window sill; our feet bang against the wall.

“Why wouldn’t you unfreeze me?” I ask, giggling.

He clears his throat. “I’m a lot bigger than you,” he says, gesturing at his body. “Besides, it’s not a very gentlemanly thing to do. I don’t want to be like Pervy Paul over there.”

“You’re all right, Will Whitfield.” I smile at him sideways.

He blushes, and gestures at his Fellowship Hall. “What do you think so far?”

“It’s fun. But don’t you have Bible Study? Or talk about good Christian behavior and whatnot?”

“Sure, sometimes,” he replies, lifting a shoulder.

“You don’t play games every week?”

He chuckles. “You’re lucky you didn’t visit on Don’t Make Bad Life Choices Sunday.”

“Don’t Make Bad Life Choices Sunday?” I laugh.

“Yeah, Lance had a doctor come in and show us pictures of what lung cancer and STDs look like under a microscope.”

My mouth drops open. “Sounds more effective than telling us we’ll go to Hell if we get trashed or have sex before marriage.”

Will’s face wears a look of horror. “It was very effective. And then the doctor told us about the tests they run to find out if you have an STD.” He swallows.

“I don’t want to know.”

“You definitely do not want to know.” He glances at me, and his face goes even redder. But then he laughs. “Paul was freaking out.”

“Waaaaay too much info, Will.”

“Hey, if I had to suffer through it, so do you.”

“You’re evil.”

“So do you want to watch
The
Notebook
this afternoon?”

•••

His mom invites me back to his house for Sunday lunch. She made baked chicken with lemon, corn on the cob, and cornbread. We hold hands while Mr. Whitfield says the Lord’s Prayer. Will has two other brothers—Trey is nine and Rory is fourteen. Will and I open our eyes during the prayer, sneaking a quick smile at each other.

I love eating a home-cooked meal that I didn’t have to make. And after that, Will and I collapse onto a couch in his basement and promptly fall asleep, like last Sunday. Only this time when I wake up, Will’s head is resting on my shoulder and his hand is draped across my thigh.

A warm breeze rushes through my body, and I feel safe. Safe with him. His hand is on my leg and I find I like it being there.

What if Drew finds out? What if Brian finds out? How could I hurt Drew like that? How could I hurt Brian, who’s risking everything for me?

Just goes to show that a trip to a new church won’t automatically make me a good person. I don’t deserve any of this.

Even if I like Will, and if by some miracle he wants me—which is kinda doubtful, considering how pissed he got that I was fooling around with his friends—I can’t do this to Drew.

No one except Tate calls to find out why I wasn’t at church. Not Aaron, not Brother John, not Laura, not Allie. Will’s right. They aren’t very Christian. Only Tate called—not my cell, but my landline.

“I found your number in the church directory,” Tate says.

“Hi, Parker!” I hear Rachel yell in the background.

He says, “I missed you today.”

“I went to church with Will. You know, Corndog? From JB last night?”

“He seemed nice.”

“He is. We just recently started hanging out.” I tell Tate about how Will and I have been jostling for valedictorian for eons.

Tate asks, “Are you, um, interested in him?”

“My friend likes him,” I say, sinking my head into a pillow. If Drew wasn’t interested in him, and I wasn’t messing around with Brian, and if Will and I hadn’t been rivals all through school, would I be thinking way different thoughts about him? Yeah. But some hands don’t always result in a full house. Sometimes you get two of a kind or an ace high. You don’t get a royal straight flush including two happily married parents, a non-drug-using brother, and a big, slobbering dog, with none of your family members being deathly allergic to said dog.

“So Aaron’s really with Laura?” I ask. I feel bad for hurting him, but I’m ashamed I kissed a guy who was so willing to try to make me jealous.

“For now. He doesn’t like her like he likes you, though.”

“I don’t even get why he likes me.” Why anybody likes me.

He clucks his tongue. “You’re your own person. You wear what you want and don’t bother with people who annoy you. Everyone wants to be like that.”

What? Really? They think I don’t bother with people who annoy me? It was Laura who started those rumors. It was the church ladies who started telling their children to keep away from me, for fear I’d turn out like Mom. Ladies who had once been Mom’s friends.

But even if they did want to talk to me, would I want to talk to them? It’s best to keep people away. Then I remember how I told Will everything last night. Everything. And he still took me to his church. He introduced me to his family.

“Parker? You there?” Tate says over the phone.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

“About?”

I pick at a loose thread dangling from my duvet. “Do you like our church?”

He chuckles. “Not much. The people are worse than Phillies fans.”

“Harsh. You like baseball? I didn’t know that.”

“It’s hard to talk about anything when we’re always trying to stop Laura from convincing us to burn our iPods because we listen to Coldplay.”

I pause. “Drew plays baseball for Hundred Oaks. Second base.”

Tate exhales. The phone line crackles, as if he’s breathing heavily. “Why’ve you never mentioned him before? Why’d you never bring him to church?”

“Why would I subject anyone to our church?” I say with a laugh. “And like you said, I was too busy trying to stop Laura from burning my iPod to mention friends from school.”

“Ah.”

Tate and I never really talked much before Mom left. Was he lonely? Has our church always made him feel uncomfortable with who he is? Is that why he started hanging out with me? Did he think I’d understand? I flip on my TV and start flicking through the channels, waiting for Tate to add something, but he doesn’t.

I decide to tell a little lie, to get the conversation going again. “Drew said he thought you looked familiar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Maybe you could look him up on Facebook?”

I hear crackling again. “I’ll do that.”

“His last name’s Bates. Drew Bates.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

I’m grinning as we hang up. I lie back on my bed and decide not to repaint my nails.

•••

Sunday night is
Veena
Comes
Over
for
Dinner
, take two. Dad gave me a warning this time so I can cook something good!

I’m using Gramma’s hashbrown chicken casserole recipe, but I make it my own by switching out the Corn Flakes for Frosted Flakes. The sugar gives it a kick. I’m making a salad to go with it, so I’ll have something to eat after my small portion of casserole.

“Smells good,” Ryan says, coming into the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

He takes a glass from the cabinet and pours himself some water. “What’s the occasion?”

I rarely make this casserole, because it takes like two hours to put it together. “Dad’s friend Veena is coming over.”

Ryan pauses before sipping.

“She was really nice at dinner last week,” I tell him, slicing into a cucumber. “I bet you’ll like her. She’s a nurse over at Murfreesboro Regional.”

My brother doesn’t answer, but he sits down at the table while I work. It surprises me that he’s willing to keep me company.

I prepare a plate of cheese and crackers, which I push in front of him, making him smile a little. “Be right back,” he says, disappearing. When he comes back, he’s changed out of a T-shirt and into a navy blue polo shirt. If he’d cut his shaggy hair already, he’d look exactly like he did in high school, when so many girls liked him because he was so cute. I bet if Macy saw him in a polo shirt, she’d probably recite some Nietzsche quote and go on about how third-world children sew them in sweatshops, and then say if Ryan wears one, he’s the harbinger of the apocalypse.

Then the apocalypse truly happens: Ryan helps set the table.

When Veena shows up, Dad answers the door. I peek around the wall into the foyer, to see them laughing quietly and chatting as he takes her jacket. Dad leans down and gives her a peck on the lips, which makes me wonder what they did after we went to Crockett’s Roadhouse last week.

I can’t stop smiling as we sit down to eat. Dad leads us in the Lord’s Prayer, then we put our napkins in our laps and dig in.

“This looks really yummy,” Veena says, forking up some casserole.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since I left New York.”

“Is your family there?” Ryan asks, salting his casserole.

“My parents, my sister and her husband, and my grandmother. And two nieces.”

“You’re a nurse?” Ryan asks her.

“Yep,” she says, chewing.

“Did you always know that’s what you wanted to do?”

She smiles, thinking. “I wanted to be an astronaut more, but I stink at math.”

“It’s my worst subject too,” Ryan replies. “But I still want to go to med school.”

“What programs are you thinking about?”

“Vanderbilt is one of the best, but I’m not enjoying my undergrad classes there.”

She nurses her iced tea. “I didn’t like mine either. I hated taking all those politics and English courses. And don’t even get me started on art. But it’s all a means to an end.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan says. This is the most I’ve heard my brother speak in forever.

“If you want, we can get together for coffee this week sometime and talk more. Or you can come by the hospital and talk to some of the other doctors about what their undergrad experiences were like.”

“That sounds good,” Ryan replies, tapping his fork on his placemat.

Dad beams so hard he seems ten years younger.

It almost feels like a family, but I still wish Mom were here.

•••

It’s getting serious, yet it’s staying the same. Every night this week I’ve made out with Brian. Ryan and Dad notice nothing, obviously, so it’s no problem for me to sneak out of my room and dart across the street to Brian’s parked truck tucked behind the Dumpsters after eleven.

On Monday night, we just kissed.

On Tuesday night, he went up my shirt.

On Wednesday at school, I stopped by Coach Lynn’s office during study hall. Brian’s squatting there until he gets his own office next year.

“What are you doing here?” Brian asked, slipping a pen behind his ear. He leaned back in his seat and wrapped his hands behind his head, smirking at me.

I waved a hall pass. “I nicked this from Mrs. Perkins. I wanted to see what you’re up to.”

He jumped to his feet, closed the door behind me, and locked it. I walked around the office, looking at Coach Lynn’s things: silk roses in a vase, pictures of her family, the cat calendar on the wall.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Smart ass,” he replied, following me as I weaved around the desk and chairs. I wiped a finger across the desk, pretending to check for dust.

I knew it was wrong. All of it. Kissing him, and wanting to kiss him again. But when his arms are around me, everything feels good. I feel safe and cared for. And the kissing is very, very okay.

“So why did you stop by again?” He scratched the back of his neck and squinted.

I smiled mischievously. “I was in study hall and couldn’t stop thinking about last night.”

He closed the blinds. He breathed heavily. He ran a hand through his hair. He loosened his Best Buy Geek Squad tie. Then his lips were on mine and he lifted me onto the desk. He pulled my hips to his and kissed me until I was so dizzy I could barely breathe. Brian began to grind against me and I was so drunk on him, I couldn’t think at all.

Then someone knocked on the door and Brian rushed to answer it, but stopped for a second to control his breathing. He motioned at me to fix my shirt. I leaped into the chair across from his desk. He opened the door to find Sam, who had dropped by to say he wouldn’t be at practice that day because his mom was sick and his dad was out of town.

As soon as Sam left, Brian exhaled, mussed his black hair, and grinned. He moved toward me. I was shaking like crazy. He swept me up in his arms and gave me a quick kiss.

“That was insanely hot,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said with a tiny voice, trembling. Honestly? It was fun, but it filled me with shame. I hope God was looking the other way.

He went on, “But it can’t happen again at school.”

“I agree.” Goose bumps popped up on my arms. I shuddered.

“We’re okay.” He pressed his forehead to mine and squeezed my hips. “You’d better get back to study hall before I give you detention.”

Brian tried to joke it off, but I had seen the change on his face. What happened freaked him out too.

My face must’ve been blazing red, but Sam didn’t say anything when I saw him later in chemistry.

On Wednesday night, Brian went up my shirt again and unsnapped my bra, and ran his hands over my bare breasts. Him running his calloused fingers over my skin took some getting used to because I couldn’t stop trembling. But when I calmed down, we fell into a rhythm. A rhythm that kept getting faster and faster until our shirts and my bra ended up on the floorboard of the truck. I touched his abs, which I’m fairly certain are made of marble. His teeth sank into my shoulder, making me gasp. I discovered he has a tattoo on his shoulder blade. A symbol, but when I asked what it meant, he refused to tell me, saying it’s private.

“Where’s your tattoo?” he teased, trying to peek under my waistband. I smacked his chest and we laughed. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that tattoo and what it means and why he couldn’t share with me.

On Thursday night, he kissed my breasts and felt me through my jeans. I wasn’t comfortable enough to touch him yet. But he took my fingers and put my hand there anyway.

A cold sweat tore over my body.

Then a cop knocked on the truck window and told us to move it along. I jumped out. Dashed into my house, to my room, panting and freaking out. My bra hung loose around my shoulders, and the top button of my jeans was undone. Brian called me when he got home. The whole thing upset him too.

But when I asked, “Can we go to your place instead of parking? I don’t want to risk getting caught again,” he replied, “We’ll find another place to park.”

“Why can’t we go to your house?”

“Because I live above my parents’ garage. What if they see you?”

“They don’t have to know I’m seventeen. Just tell them I’m older.”

“They might know you from church. I would be embarrassed if they found out about this.”

“You’re embarrassed by me?” I whispered.

“No, no. Just the situation would embarrass me. You’re a student.”

Even with my reputation, Will seemed proud of me at his church last Sunday. When he’s lying on top of me, Brian seems pretty damned pleased with me.

“Sounds like you’re embarrassed by me.”

He sighed exaggeratedly. “Whatever.”

“Could we go someplace else tomorrow night? Like dinner in Nashville?”

“That’s not a good idea. We could get in a shitload of trouble. Who knows who might see us?”

“But making out in the parking lot across the street from my house is a good idea?” I really wanted to do something other than talk on the phone and make out in his truck. That used to be enough for me with other guys. But I’m starting to want the whole shebang, and the whole shebang should include going someplace…even Foothills Diner.

At the same time, my friendship with Will keeps getting better and better. Sometimes we walk together between classes, and two times this week he called me after practice.

Wednesday night, I lay on my bed, listening as he told me a story about how when he was three, he was so smart he figured out how to unlock the gate at his preschool’s playground and he waddled down the street to McDonald’s, where he walked in, clapped his hands and yelled, “Happy Meal!”

“Why don’t you ever date?” I asked him quietly. Thinking of Drew, but also thinking of him. Him, and how my feelings for him were ballooning and floating off without my permission.

“Ehhhh,” he said. “It’s kinda silly, I guess. I never really felt like I knew who I was, and I was so into beating you at valedictorian, I didn’t want that extra burden, especially considering my parents need help with Bo and the farm.”

“I get that.”

“I mean, I see the guys on the football and baseball teams who have girlfriends, and it’s like…it’s like it’s their whole lives. I guess I want to have my own life first and then meet someone who can be a part of it…but not fill it…?”

“Huh,” I replied, wiggling my toes at the ceiling. “Cool.”

“What about you? Why don’t you ever date?”