Still Waters (5 page)

As if it was that easy.

T
he girls in the back murmured, but Michael kept quiet until we reached the interstate. We were going to the swank mall, not the closer one. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Man, you’re a strange one,” Michael said. As if he wasn’t. “I mean, you have some good-looking girls practically begging to see your muscles, and you act like it’s embarrassing or something.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, I just wanted a better look, that’s all. I mean, I saw enough to get me all . . .” Monique moaned.

The girls laughed.

“But it
was
dark in there,” Samantha said.

“And I didn’t get to see at all,” Cyndra whined.

Our exit was coming up.

“Yeah, so. Again. I have to wonder why a guy doesn’t want to take advantage of all that attention.” Michael downshifted and pulled onto the access road.

I didn’t say anything.

“You got an embarrassing tattoo? Tweety Bird or something?”

I waited until he parked. Then I pushed him back in the seat and twisted the keys out of the ignition.

“What the—” Michael said

I held up a finger in front of his nose. “Stay.”

I jumped out of the seat and popped it forward. My eyes narrowed at the girls. “Get out.”

They filed out without a word. I climbed back into the front seat and slammed the door.

“What the—” Michael began again.

“Pay me. Fifty for today at school. An extra fifty for this crap.”

His lips curled up, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he understood everything now. He dug into his wallet and handed over the money.

I stuffed it into my pocket.

“Okay. Now listen.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, still smiling that superior grin.

The rest of the gang lingered outside. T-Man thumped on the rear window. A few impatient whistles echoed around us.

“If you keep dicking around, I will not only quit, I’ll tell your whole gang about our deal.”

He stopped smiling.

“And then I’ll beat the crap out of you. I’m not your dog, I’m not your friend, I’m not one of your little sycophants, either. So stop messing with me and stop trying to manipulate your ‘crew’ into doing it for you.”

You had to hand it to him. He kept cool. He just smiled that smile and nodded. Like there was a secret ace he held. Like he still had all the control.

“Fine,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be mad at us, or me, Iceman. But fine. Noted. In the future, avoid all body references. Anything else going to make you fly off the handle?”

I shrugged. “Wait and see. Don’t act like you couldn’t tell you were pushing it.”

“Oh no, I’d never act like that. It might piss you off.” His voice was cool with mockery.

I shook my head and stared out the window. Thought about getting out and walking to the nearest bus stop, wherever that was. Quitting like I had told myself I would.

My thumb brushed the bills in my pocket.

“Here’s what I know,” I told him. “The only reason you’d hire me for some vague ‘impression’ I can give is because you’re scared about something. And after today, I know that it sure as hell isn’t anyone at school.”

Michael’s eyes jumped to my face, like I’d surprised him.

“And if someone’s got you that scared, maybe you should tell me what exactly is going on.”

It wasn’t quite a resignation.

Michael changed before my eyes. The assured king-of-the-school front dropped. His eyebrows drew into a tense line.

“You’re right.” He scrubbed his palms on his thighs. “Hell.”

Dwight thumped the trunk. Monique sidled beside my window. Leaned back against it, sliding slowly from side to side.

“I can’t tell you. I can’t. You’re right. I . . . am scared,” Michael said. “It’s not good. But Saturday night, there’s a party. I need you to come. Maybe after that, we can be done. Maybe after that, it won’t be so bad.”

I wasn’t the one he was trying to convince.

“Sorry about the shirt.” His eyebrows quirked up in self-conscious apology. Like he was new to all this, too. “It won’t happen again. Truth.” His head bobbed once on the promise. His eyes met mine. Held.

“Fine. For now.” The keys chinked as I handed them over.

We got out of the car. Michael walked over to Cyndra and mumbled something in her ear. She nodded and corralled Monique and Samantha.

I guessed he had told them to lay off.

We walked inside.

A security guard eyed my stained shirt and crappy army jacket. He let me go on, probably because I was with the right people.

I’d never been in this mall, for obvious reasons. It was crazy—all sparkling glass and tile, chrome and high-end product ranging in every window. There were designer label shops and not a Sears or JCPenney to be found. Not a fingerprint, not a smear, not a scratch, or a speck of dirt anywhere. It took me a while to notice it, but there were no kiosks, either—you know, little stalls selling those silver skull rings and crosses, or phone covers and designer sunglasses.

When we got to the food court, I tried not to gape. There was a two-story glass water wall with water flowing down and trickling into a trough. Like even the waterfall had to be hushed in the presence of so much money. Fat clear tubes arched overhead and connected two giant aquariums. Fish lazily swam through the tubes and into the aquariums.

Like I said, I tried not to gape. I stood in front of the larger aquarium and watched the fish chase each other. You could tell they were tropical because of how bright they were.

There was an orange-and-white fish like the one in that kids’ movie and a fat, big-lipped fish with neon speckles across its entire body. Fish darted through rocks and plants, over sand and behind a bubble jet.

“So you do smile.” Cyndra leaned against the table next to me. Behind us, the rest of the group had taken over several tables in the middle of the court.

“I smile all the time.”

“No, you don’t. Not like that.” She twirled hair around a finger and took a little step closer.

“How do I smile, then?”

Cyndra glanced over her shoulder at Michael. “Like him.”

“Mr. Movie Star? Bullshit.”

Cyndra laughed and bumped against me like I’d just said something bad. Her breast brushed against my arm. “No, not like his smile
looks
—just like his in that it’s not sincere usually. His smiles aren’t real smiles, and neither are yours.”

“Okay.”

“It’s true. His smiles are fake—they look great, but you watch his eyes. Usually there’s something else going on.”

“Like what?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” She frowned up at me. “Your smiles aren’t that mysterious.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re really not smiles at all.”

“What are they, then?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Anger.”

I snorted. “Angry smiles? Listen to yourself.”

Cyndra shook her head. “And there one is.”

The line of my mouth went flat. I went back to watching the fish.

After a moment, Cyndra murmured, “Sorry I said anything.”

I shrugged, thinking she was going to walk away. She pulled out a chair instead. I sat down next to her and propped my elbows on the table. We stared at the tank.

“You like the fish, huh?” she asked.

“I’ve never—” I stopped myself from saying that I’d never seen anything like it. Thought of how that might sound to someone like her.

“I’ve never really looked at them,” I said instead.

“They’re pretty cool,” she said, and somehow I didn’t feel so stupid for staring at them.

I imagined Janie sitting before the tank, the small frown-crease on her forehead disappearing as she watched neon colors dart around. Her gnawed fingertips resting on the table, still.

“What are you thinking?” Cyndra asked.

I shrugged. “My sister, Janie. She would love this.”

Cyndra leaned forward and brushed her hand down my arm. “We’ll bring her next time, then.”

My cheeks burned. Why was she trying to make me feel like we could be something?

I pulled my arm away. “Forget about it. She wouldn’t want to come here.”

Cyndra’s eyes tightened and she glanced away. She crossed her arms. It was like she was saying,
Fine. If that’s the way you want it.

“I’m sorry, Cyndra. I didn’t mean—” I stopped myself. The orange-and-white fish darted into a swaying plant. “It’s just . . . why act like we’re going to be friends? This isn’t about that.”

She crossed her legs away from me and stared at a tube overhead. “Right. It’s about the cash.” Her voice was flint.

My chair scraped as I shoved it away from the table. I leaned back, stretching my legs out and crossing my arms and ankles.

I watched the fish.

We sat silently. Finally, Michael walked over, depositing Chinese noodle plates in front of us.

“Dinner, as promised.” He stroked Cyndra’s hair. “If you’re going to get any shopping done, you’d better get a move on, babe. Don’t forget Iceman’s curfew.”

Cyndra sat up, straight as a razor. Her silver chopsticks clinked against the china plate as she ate.

The food smelled wonderful. My stomach rumbled as I glanced at the chopsticks laid across my plate. The corners of my mouth twitched up, and I returned to watching the fish.

After a while, I didn’t even smell the food. Mostly. There was a large white-and-black fish with trailing fins that was real tough. Anytime another fish happened by, no matter how big or how small, man, that white-and-black fish just charged at it. That fish had a whole corner to itself. It just sat there, charging at any other fish that maybe got a little too close.

Cyndra got up and carried her plate away.

I was not looking forward to the shopping.

Cyndra sat back down with a scrap of paper and a pen.

“What size shirt do you wear?” she asked.

I shrugged and fingered the T-shirt I was wearing. “This is a large.”

She wrote down
M
or
L.

“What size jeans do you wear?”

I pulled on the leg of my thrift-store jeans. “How should I know?”

She shook her head. “Would you mind standing and holding up your shirt so I can see the waist, please?” She sounded like a waitress or an operator.

I pushed my chair back and stood, hitching up my pants before lifting my T-shirt.

“Well, those are clearly too big,” Cyndra said, eyeing me. “Would you come here, please?” She stopped writing and twisted sideways in her chair.

I stepped forward. Her hot hands grabbed my waist and pulled me a half step closer. Laughter from the other table rang over us. She was face level with my stomach and only a dip away from my crotch.

My head felt light as I stared down at the top of her head. She messed with my T-shirt, instructing me to hold it a little higher. She lifted my jeans and pinched the sides until her fingers lay flat against my sides.

I glanced at the others. Dwight circled his thumb and fingers and brought them to his mouth. He tongued the inside of his cheek rhythmically.

I looked away.

Cyndra let go of me, and I sat down before I embarrassed myself. Curled over the table, hands clenched on my legs.

She wrote something on the paper.

She smiled. “Well, from what little I saw of your abs, Monique was right.”

I stared at the fish.

“Shy, huh? You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

I stared at the fish.

She sighed and drummed red-tipped fingers on the table. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk sometimes. Here.” She handed me a fork and walked away.

I ate the noodles.

I
t should have made me happy that Cyndra thought I had nice abs, but it just pissed me off. I didn’t really know why, though. Maybe because of Dwight’s gesture, maybe because I wasn’t really part of their circle. I was bought and paid for.

And because it all brought me back to the shirt thing.

Which had to do with control—and what they didn’t know about my life at home. My dad may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. Usually. And so it’s fists and you keep your head together and it’s over and you’re okay. Live to fight another day. No real marks and you can pretend it never happened or that it’s going to stop—like my mom used to.

But once it was a broken bottle. Something had gone wrong, some buddy narc’d. Something. And I did my part, because I knew he was going to go off, and sometimes it’s better to get it over with. But I didn’t know how much he’d already drunk. I thought it would be like a pot on the stove, and he could just boil over a bit. Take the pressure off. And then it would be done.

It didn’t work out that way. He exploded. Broke the bottle he’d been drinking from against the table and came at me with the neck curled in his fist like a roll of quarters and the jagged end hanging out past his thumb and forefinger. It started out just fists but ended up a slashing arc across my back with me curled away from it. Which just made the gash worse.

Afterward, Janie patched me up. I lay out a bit, and it was like it never happened. Except for the scar. And I’ll be damned before I parade it in front of a bunch of cheerleaders.

I finished the noodles and thought about The Plan. I imagined putting the money I’d earned today into the coffee can, imagined buying Janie a little stuffed animal or necklace before going home. She’d probably rather put all the money in the coffee can, like a responsible little adult, but I liked the idea of surprising her.

I was about to get up and go find something for her when Michael sat down next to me.

“Shouldn’t take too much longer. Don’t worry. Cyn’s got good taste.”

Behind us, the others were scattering into the mall. Dwight humped a pillar, making the others laugh.

Before I could stop myself, I asked the question. “Why’d you let him do that to her?” Thinking of the suck gesture, thinking of how Cyndra hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”

Cyndra was right; his eyes didn’t smile when his mouth did.

“Like what?”

Michael held up a hand, like he was trying to keep me from interrupting, when I’d only said two words. “No, no. It’s a good thing. Knight in shining armor. I just never would have thought you’d be that way.”

“You’re full of it.” I turned back to the aquarium.

Michael crossed his arms and leaned back. “You don’t like that I let Dwight act up toward her. You think it’s wrong or disrespectful.”

I shrugged. But he stayed quiet, and quiet long enough that I felt the silence standing over me.

“I’m just saying,” I began, “that if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t let anyone treat her like that.”

I watched the black-and-white fish chase the others away.

“You don’t know jack about women, Iceman.” Michael stood up and grabbed my shoulders. I knocked his hands away.

“They
like
being treated that way. Especially her, man. Watch her. You’ll see. It’s a little game.”

Cyndra walked toward us, a big bag dangling from her skinny wrist. Her full lips pursed like she was on a runway and everyone was watching her go by.

Everyone was.

“Something you should learn about the world, Ice.” Michael’s voice was a reverential murmur conveying a profound truth. “There are two types of people: users and the used. The secret is to know which one you are and which one everyone else is. Which one
she
is.”

Michael’s lips curved as she hip-swayed closer.

I stood up.

Michael wrapped an arm around Cyndra, nuzzling into her neck. She leaned into it.

“We done?” I asked.

Michael turned his smile to me, just a curve of the mouth. “Almost. Gotta get you a cell phone.”

“Why?”

The scared kid ghost-flitted in his eyes. “Everyone should have a phone, Iceman. How will I let you know what’s going on without one?”

While he and the others went into the cell phone store, I darted into a gift shop and bought Janie a little stuffed poodle. It was black and growling, wearing a dippy rhinestone collar below a stupidly big head, and I thought it would make her laugh. Michael raised his eyebrows at the bag when I found them in the cell store.

He opened the phone box right there. Handed the phone to me, along with the booklet in four languages. Michael turned to the older man behind the counter.

“The problem with you people is you give too much crap,” he said, shoving the papers, the plastic wrap and shells, the empty box at him. The box thunked off the counter. The papers fell with the plastic.

The older man didn’t blink. Just stood in the wash of packaging and paper. “I couldn’t agree more.” Smooth, like he didn’t mind the piss raining on his head.

If I was him, I’d deck the little punk.

Dwight laughed. T-Man slapped his palm.

Cyndra winced at the salesman, then grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.” She led the way out the store.

In the mall, walking toward the exit, Michael sped up to catch us.

“See, Ice? What type of person was he?”

I ignored him.

“You’ll see,” he said.

At the Mustang, Cyndra climbed into the backseat. Once we were on the road, she pushed the department store bag over my shoulder.

“Okay, Ice, here’s the deal.”

I flipped down the visor. Cyndra waved a finger at me in the mirror.

“I got you a pair of jeans and two shirts, a hoodie, and that’s it. Wear the new stuff tomorrow. I think it’ll fit, but you need more, so just plan on coming out again Saturday. Bring Janie.”

I nodded like that was going to happen.

“Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourselves?” I asked.

Cyndra’s eyes narrowed in the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if I call it quits tomorrow? What if you decide you don’t need me anymore? What about all this money you’re prepared to spend on clothes, then?”

Cyndra shrugged. “You’re cute when you’re obtuse.” Her eyes locked on mine in the mirror. “Zap-zap!”

I looked away.

“Don’t worry about it.” Michael downshifted, taking the exit ramp too fast. “One: Cyndra’s stepdad doesn’t even blink at her credit card bills. Two: If it’s a big deal, we can take some clothes back. Three: I have to state the obvious—your clothes suck. So just take it, and if it keeps going, it keeps going.”

I shook my head, staring out the window as the buildings of downtown zipped past.

“What?” Michael asked.

I didn’t say anything because I knew that what I was thinking would sound pathetic.

Users and the used.

Money.

How it didn’t matter to any of them, but it mattered so much to me that I was selling little pieces of myself in order to get it.

I didn’t want to say all that. Didn’t want to say how I wished I had so much money that I didn’t need to worry about where it was coming from or going to.

And when the Mustang stopped in Lincoln Green, I thought if they had a brain between them, they’d be able to guess what I was thinking anyway.

I pulled the clothes out of the store bag and shoved them in my duffel along with the stuffed poodle. “See you tomorrow,” I said, popping the door open.

“Tomorrow,” Michael echoed as I closed the door. The Mustang idled next to the curb for a moment as I crossed the litter-strewn dirt to our unit. I didn’t hear any noise from inside, so I slid my key into the lock and let myself in.

I crossed to the stairs, avoiding looking at the piled plates crusted with rotting food, stained clothes in heaps, and drug accessories. I usually try to hold my breath until I close the bedroom door behind me. Rancid food and body odor—you don’t get used to the stink.

“Jason?” Janie’s voice called from the other side of the drywall partition. She stuck her head around the wall.

My sister has the most beautiful eyes—almost obsidian in a porcelain-pale doll’s face. I wish I had eyes like hers instead of my dad’s.

“How’d it go?” She clambered onto my bed, bouncing a little.

I dug the money out of my pocket and handed it to her. Janie squealed and clapped her hands, like a six-year-old instead of a junior-high schooler. She disappeared back around her side, and I heard her rummaging in the ceiling vent for our hidden coffee can. She brought it out, showed me the pathetic roll, counted it. After she put the money back in and stowed the can, she came back to my side.

“My hero,” she said, giving me a squeeze. She let go quickly, but I was okay with her hug. I handed her the growling poodle. She smiled and shook her head. She liked it, though.