Stealing Parker (9 page)

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I like baseball too, and I know you want to watch the game with your parents, right?”

His head bobs up and down.

“Can I pick you up?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

I lift Bo in my arms, and I’m moving toward the stands when Corndog sprints up and takes the little boy into his arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, kissing Bo’s temple and patting his floppy brown hair. “Shhh.”

“Is this your…?”

“Little brother. Did you get lost, buddy?”

Bo nods and hiccups again.

“Let’s get you back to Daddy, okay?” Corndog says, hugging him.

“Nice to meet you, Bo,” I say, starting to turn.

“What’s you?” he replies.

“I think he wants to know your name,” Corndog says, giving me a weird look.

“Parker. Have fun at the baseball game, okay?” I hustle back to the dugout before Brian gets all up in my grill for being gone so long.

“Can I have more gum?” I ask Brian, putting out a hand. He gives me another piece, and smiles before focusing on the game again. I retrieve the stats book and grab a seat on the bench. A minute later, Corndog sits down and narrows his eyes and stares at me for a long time, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“What?” I ask, slipping the new gum into my mouth.

“That was nice.” He jerks his head toward the spot where I helped Bo.

“He was real sweet. His blue eyes are so pretty. Just like yours.”

Corndog looks like he can’t help but smile. “How’d you do that?”

I chew. “Do what?”

“How did you calm Bo down?”

“We talked. I dunno,” I say with a shrug. We’re in the middle of the lineup—I circle Drew’s name in the stats book.

Corndog seems amazed. He grins again. “I’m surprised he talked to you. He’s sorta, um, autistic,” he whispers, his eyes darting around. “Bo’s got Asperger’s.”

Having a sick brother must be tough. “Oh. Well, I couldn’t tell anything’s wrong with him.”

He squeezes my wrist and searches my face, looking deeper than anyone has in a while. It gives me chills.

“It’s really hard sometimes,” Corndog says quietly. “Last night I heard my mom crying, and I got upset. That’s why I was a dick today. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Shitty stuff happens, you know?”

“I do know.” He averts his eyes.

“Parker,” Brian says, beckoning me. “Let’s talk.”

I walk over to Brian, carrying the stats book. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Stand with me, okay?”

“You double-checking my work?” I joke.

He chomps his gum. “I guess you could say that.”

I’m smiling the rest of the game.

And we win four-two.

I’m very happy.

•••

Now I’m very unhappy.

As the team’s boarding the bus after the game, I’m watching Brian flirt with a woman who’s with the Tullahoma softball team. Is she their coach? She’s wearing a Wildcats parka, jeans, and ballet flats. Seriously? I can’t believe he’d talk to a coach who’d dare to wear something so ridiculous onto a baseball field.

Then I look down at my clothes. Tight sweater, skinny jeans and Converses. My makeup is perfect, and I woke up extra early to tangle my hair. I guess I’m not behaving any better than Coach Vixen over there.

She’s much prettier and curvier than me, and I can tell Brian likes her because he’s leaning toward her and laughing at everything she says.

I should stop watching, but I can’t look away. My chest hurts. My eyes burn. Then it gets worse: she pulls her phone out of her back pocket and hands it to him. He enters his numbers for her.

And to think I played MASH with him.

I stomp up the stairs to the bus and flop onto my bench. When Brian climbs aboard, I fold my arms across my stomach.

Sam is loudly telling this story about how he saw a hot pink dildo laying on the concrete behind the cafeteria back at Hundred Oaks and all the guys are hollering and carrying on, trying to guess how it got there.

“I bet it belongs to Ms. McCanly,” Jake Sanders says.

“I bet it was put there by aliens!” Corndog calls out.

“Oh God,” Brian groans.

I sneak a peek at him. His eyes are shut and he looks exasperated, thanks to the tale of the dildo. He glances over at me and smiles. “C’mere.”

I’m pissed, but I slide across the aisle anyway. None of the guys are paying attention to me. Dildos are way too distracting.

“What?” I ask, making sure not to touch him.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been upset a lot today.”

I pick at the hole in my jeans.

“Is this ’cause I’m marrying Kim Kardashian?”

A laugh escapes my lips. “No.”

“Then what is it?” he asks softly. There’s care in his voice.

I look out the window as we fly past cornfields. “Who was that lady you were talking to? You know, Coach Vixen in the ballet flats.”

“Coach Vixen?” he exclaims. “Coach Black? Jenna?”

“Yeah, Coach Vixen.”

He gives me a knowing smile. “Are you stalking me?”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

He laughs, chewing his gum. “I went to high school with her. We haven’t seen each other in years.”

“She’s pretty.”

“She’s all right,” he replies, shaking his leg up and down.

I suck on my bottom lip.

He jabs me softly in the side. “Let’s play another round of that MASH game of yours. I want to see if I can live in an igloo, drive a tractor, and marry Angelina Jolie instead.”

On Sunday, Dad, Ryan, and I head to church. This morning I had to pound on Ryan’s door for five minutes before he woke up. Sweat drenched his clothes, and he could barely open his eyes as he rubbed his face. He leaned against the wall before making his way to the shower. I made him scrambled eggs and toast to fill his stomach and hopefully clean out whatever he drank/ate/snorted/shot up last night.

When I confronted Dad in the laundry room about Ryan, he said, “Your brother’s an adult.” He moved wet socks from the washer to the dryer. “I can’t tell him how to live his life.” Then Dad put an arm around my shoulder, kissed my head, and told me to call Mom sometime.

Daddy Denial, as always. I find it funny that Dad makes Ryan come to church, which seems to be telling him how to live his life, if you ask me.

The Durango pulls into the parking lot, and I see Tate standing by himself by the swing set. I hop out of the car and skip over to him.

“Doughnuts?” I ask.

Tate laughs. “You’ve been hungry lately.”

“I’m famished,” I reply, looking down at his tie that’s covered by music notes. His hair is all crazy gelled up, but I like it. Together we start walking to the Fellowship Hall. He fumbles with something in his pocket.

“Where’s Aaron?” I say.

“Uh, he went inside already,” Tate replies.

“Why?”

“You, um, never returned his calls…”

“So…?” I look at Tate sideways.

“So he thought you were interested.”

“I never said anything, though,” I blurt.

“But you made out with him. What’s he supposed to think?”

Leave it to Tate to give it to me straight. Because he went to other schools, I never really knew him until after Mom left. That’s when he started hanging around.

“So what, Aaron and I can’t be friends?” I ask, playing with my hair.

Tate lifts a shoulder. “I dunno, you should talk to him.”

Inside the church, Tate and I get in line for Coffee Time, and that’s when I see Aaron and Laura across the Fellowship Hall. Laughing and smiling and touching each other.

“Are you kidding me?” I mutter, nudging Tate and pointing. Laura just fed Aaron a grape! In Sunday school last week, she started crying because she was worried people she knows are going to Hell. She looked at me pointedly. But it’s okay for her to flirt at church?

“Is he actually interested in her? If so, why?”

Tate scratches his neck. “I dunno. She answers when he calls. Why? Do you care?”

“Not really.” Truth. Last night, I could’ve gone to Miller’s Hollow and hung out with somebody, but I stayed in and chatted with Brian over Skype. And that connection felt better than kissing could ever feel.

That’s when I see him. Standing across the room drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Brian raises his eyebrows at me, and I can see him smiling behind the cup. He’s wearing his Best Buy costume: white shirt, black tie. So nerdy hot.

I peer around the room. Ryan’s sitting between a piano and a potted plant with his head up against a wall. Dad is deep in conversation. With a woman! She looks like she might be from India. She’s gorgeous, with long black wavy hair and a nice smile. Jack Taylor of the Jack Taylor Ford dealership looks at them like they have the plague. Dad’s so busy talking to Mystery Woman he doesn’t even notice Jack. Or me.

I touch my stomach. “I need to use the bathroom. Damned stale doughnuts.”

Tate laughs. “TMI.”

I toss my napkin and cup in the trash and head toward the bathroom down the hall. Fifteen seconds later, Brian appears. We smile but don’t say a word. He glances over his shoulder. I lead him past the women’s restroom to the janitor’s closet. Inside, it’s dark. I pull on the chain cord that turns on the light and glance around at the bottles of Windex and Clorox. The stench of bleach nearly knocks me down. I’m panting.

I climb the ladder that leads up to a crawl space above the supplies. I tell Brian I know about this place because Laura and I would hide here sometimes as kids, during church-wide games of Hide and Seek. The cubby has very little space—the last time I was up here I was nine—so he and I are touching elbows and legs when we squeeze in.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi…Do you have a second job at Best Buy?”

“What? No.” He looks down at his clothes and realization dawns on his face. “You smart ass. Trouble.” His mouth twitches in amusement. “I bet there are lots of spiders up here.”

I smack his bicep. “Shut up, you.”

He shoves me with his elbow.

I smile at his lips. “You came to church.”

He plays with his bangs and looks at me sideways. “Yeah. I figure I need to repent for my sins.”

My eyes go all buggy. I gasp. Is he thinking the same sinful things about me that I’m thinking about him?

“What sins?”

“When I was six, I stole a Three Musketeers bar from Walmart. When I was nine, I scribbled Evan’s name on a desk with permanent marker and denied I did it. He had to scrub it off. In high school, I wrote the Pythagorean Theorem on my palm and cheated on a test.”

“But other than that, you’re perfect?”

“Totally perfect.”

I want to touch his knee and run my hand up his thigh, but I keep my hands folded tight in my lap. He crosses his arms. We’ve talked every night this week. He knows that sometimes I wear a My Little Pony T-shirt to bed. I decide being up front is best.

“Do you consider me a sin?” I whisper, my hands fidgeting.

“Talking to you? No. But…anything else? Yes, that would be bad.”

“Bad?” My voice shakes and squeaks.

He loosens his black tie. “Listen…I think you’re beautiful, and really smart and funny and kind—”

My heart swells, my pulse races, my grin explodes.

“But I teach at your school. You’re a minor.” He gives me a sad smile.

Everything slows to a stop. I’m ready to cry. I mean, why would he come up here with me, if not to do something more? We’ve been talking every night on Skype and chat. What is that supposed to mean?

“We’re friends, right?” he asks, taking my hand.

My face hurts from frowning so hard. Friends don’t hide in janitors’ closets to talk to each other.

He nudges me with his elbow. I lean against his shoulder, and he tells me about how, this morning, he ran fifteen miles in two hours, his best time yet. He’s in perfect shape to run the Nashville half-marathon in April.

“Why are you raising money for the American Heart Association?”

He holds my gaze for several seconds before rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a good cause. My grandmother died of a heart aneurism.”

I squeeze his hand. “I bet she was a great person.”

“I loved her.”

I can tell he wants to change the subject. “You know what’s also a good cause? Buying me cheese fries at Foothills Diner.” I wink at him.

“I knew I would convert you to the cult of Fries à la Appalachia. You should eat more of them. You need to put on weight.”

“Naw, I like being skinny.” He scans my body slowly, and when he looks up into my eyes, he jerks his neck, flipping hair off his forehead. He pulls his knees to his chest and clutches his shins.

I grab his wrist and pull it closer to check his watch. It’s so dim in here. “We should go. Dad’ll kill me if I miss Big Church.”

“Big Church?” Brian says, chuckling.

“Don’t ask.”

I climb down the ladder, and Brian puts his hands around my waist and helps me to the floor. I turn around to face him and stare up at his chapped lips. Does he bite them? Is he stressed? He avoids my eyes and gestures toward the door. We exit the janitor’s closet and I run straight into Mystery Woman. She sees Brian emerging behind me. She throws us a questioning look, then goes into the bathroom.

“Damn,” I whisper to him.

“Just keep walking,” he whispers.

I hustle down the hallway and up the stairs to the sanctuary, but by the time I get there, Brian’s not behind me anymore. He just…left?

I play zombie all through the service, acting like I’m in the sanctuary, but really I’m in that janitor’s closet. Our arms touching. Sharing the same Clorox-infused air. My mind wanders when we sing my favorite hymn, “I’ll Fly Away,” because the words are beautiful, but when the organ goes silent I’m thinking of his chapped lips again.

After Big Church, everyone shakes hands and chats for a while before leaving. I avoid Aaron and Laura, who are looking at each other like they’re getting married in an hour, but Tate asks where I disappeared to during Sunday school.

“The doughnut was way staler than usual,” I lie.

Outside in the parking lot, I lean up against the Durango and wait for Dad. Will Brian want to talk later today? Is this it for us? Should I stop talking to him altogether? Should I settle for being friends? Can my heart handle only being friends? Could I bring up April fifth again to see if we could hang out after that? Could I bring up hanging out after graduation?

“I want you to meet my daughter.”

I look up to find Dad standing there with Mystery Woman, smiling like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. I gasp and cross my arms and look around. I blush. She studies me like I’m a difficult calc problem.

Dad beams. “Parker, meet Veena. Veena, meet Parker.”

•••

When I was little, I looked up to Ryan. He was my hero: so good at baseball, so smart at school, so funny and cool with his friends. I felt like a twerp by comparison.

Opryland was Nashville’s theme park, but it went out of business a couple of years ago. It had this crazy 3-D rollercoaster called Chaos. It scared the bejesus out of me. I loved the bumper cars. I ate cup after cup of Dippin’ Dots ice cream. But my favorite attraction was the Tin Lizzie cars. Kids could drive horseless carriages from the early 1900s around a track. I did that over and over again. One time, when I was eight, I took off for the Tin Lizzies, thinking my family was right behind me.

They weren’t.

I ran around in circles, crying. My parents told me never to talk to strangers, so I wouldn’t let anyone who was trying to help me come near. I was lost for ten minutes before Ryan found me. I’ll never forget how he came sprinting up and lifted me into his arms and twirled me in a circle. My running off scared him bad.

Now, I wish I had a Tin Lizzie that I could drive to find the real Ryan. The one I love and miss. Where did he run off to? And God, will you bring him back?

Written on February 21 on a napkin. Wadded up and burned.

•••

I have never ever sat by the phone before. Never. Ever.

But that’s how I’m spending Sunday afternoon, instead of my usual: doing homework. Ring, phone, ring! He has my number—I gave it to him over Skype. Hell, he can talk to me on Skype if he wants to. But he hasn’t been online all day. The only thing in my inbox is a draft article Drew wrote that he wants an opinion on.

I compose a short email to Brian:

Hey, where did you disappear to today? Loved talking to you in the janitor’s closet. It’s my new favorite place. Let’s do it again sometime. Next Sunday during Big Church?

Egads, what am I thinking? I delete the email immediately and pray that no hacker saw that and plans to post it all over the Internet announcing it as the lamest thing anybody’s ever seen.

Maybe Brian’s online but invisible. Maybe he’s staring at my name and thinking,
Wow, she has no life and she’s sitting there waiting for me to message her. I’m gonna go running with Brandy the dog and then go drink a beer and live my real adult life and do adult things.

I click the Go Invisible button. Now he’ll think I have a life. He’ll think I’m out doing cool things, like hanging at Jiffy Burger with Drew, Corndog, and Sam, pretending to be Elaine and yelling “Get out!”

What if he’s with Coach Vixen? What if they’re doing it right now?

This goes on for two more hours. I download that movie
Never
Been
Kissed
starring Drew Barrymore from iTunes. As if anyone would actually believe a twenty-five-year-old woman who looks like her—hideous makeup or not—has never been kissed. Her teacher, who thinks she’s a teenager when she’s really twenty-five, is into her, but he doesn’t go after it until he discovers she’s really an adult.

I consider telling Brian that I’m not really a teenager. Really, I’m a twenty-five-year-old reporter for the
Tennessean
and I’m researching the athletics department at Hundred Oaks High because the football team gets all the money.

My phone buzzes. I pick it up faster than a jet at Mach 5. Aw, it’s just a text from Corndog that reads
Look outside ur window.

I move my laptop and go push the curtains aside to find Corndog sitting out front on his lawnmower. Without bothering to check my hair or makeup, I head to the front door. He gives me a big smile when I let him inside. He’s wearing a polo layered on top of long-sleeved T-shirts with a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a cap.

Ryan’s listening to some god-awful trance music in his room, and Dad is passed out on the couch with the Sunday comics draped across his face, so they don’t even notice a boy coming in. That’s what I should tell Brian.
I’m the real adult in my house, you know.

Corndog follows me to my room without a word. As soon as the door’s shut, I yell-whisper, “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs and rubs his palms together. “Bored. I don’t have any homework or practice or chores so I thought I’d see what you’re doing.”

“Me?” We’ve never really hung out alone before, considering (1) he was my nemesis for valedictorian, and (2) he’s never tried to hang out alone with me before. At least not since those science projects we did together in eighth grade.

His mouth slides into a smile. “Yes, you.”

“Don’t you need to do something on the farm?”

“Cows are milked. Eggs are collected. I got the afternoon off.”

“How’s Bo? Did he get booboos on his knees and hands?”

“Yeah. But he’ll be okay.”

Corndog starts looking around my room and beelines straight for my bookshelves. He drags a finger over my shelf o’ vampire novels, then moves on to the travel guides I grab at yard sales and used bookstores. I love collecting random travel books for places like the Galapagos and Australia and Tanzania and South Africa.