The Right and the Real (4 page)

It took me three tries to get the stupid Beast parked, and in the end, the front tire was wedged tightly against the curb, with the back stuck out into traffic a little. I gave up. There was a big stack of cardboard boxes on the porch, and my pulse flickered with excitement. Maybe Dad had ordered me the new bedroom suite from Ikea like he’d been promising. But then I saw they all had
U-HAUL
printed on the sides of them and decided they must be more of Mira’s things.

I was just about to stick my key in the front door when I saw the light blue envelope taped to the top of one of the boxes. It had my full name, Jamie Lexington-Cross, scrawled across it in my father’s handwriting. Puzzled, I yanked it off, slicing my finger on the edge of the envelope as I opened it. A single slip of blue paper fluttered to the ground, and when I picked it up, the words swam in front of my eyes.

I TORE AT THE PACKING TAPE ON THE FIRST BOX.
Inside I found all my shoes. In another, all my summer clothes. Jeans and warm sweaters were stuffed in a third one. Then I saw the labels.
Books & CDs. Mementos.
Theater Stuff.
Contents of Desk.
I didn’t believe for a minute he really meant to kick me out. He’s just trying to scare me into signing, I told myself.

Some people might be able to disown their own children, but not my dad. We were a team. We’d stuck by each other through it all. Even when I was in eighth grade and he let those recovering addicts move in with us and one of them stole my piggybank, I’d forgiven him.

And it wasn’t like I could go to my only other living relative. Dad knew how to get ahold of Mom, but I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to. She’d moved to Hollywood when I was in sixth grade with some guy whose name I chose to forget as soon as I saw the back of him. Supposedly she had a job as a personal assistant for some two-bit movie producer. More likely, she was the person who scored his drugs.

Dad would never do this to me. It had to be Mira’s idea. At first, I’d thought she was nice. Her big, doe eyes seemed kind, and her
voice was soft. For their first date, she’d insisted on including me and had cooked dinner for us at our house. She’d set the table with beeswax candles, the real silver we’d inherited from my grandmother, and cloth napkins.

I had actually been happy for Dad because he’d stopped planting himself in front of the TV every night. Or relying on me for entertainment. For years, I’d read aloud to Dad from plays, which was fun for both of us, and I think helped me to become a better actress. But it was also exhausting after a long day of school and rehearsal. With Mira, he had a distraction, and I’d been grateful.

Gradually, I’d seen a change in her, though. Slowly, but methodically, she started taking over our lives. First it was ironing my dad’s shirts. Then doing the grocery shopping. Those things weren’t so bad, but then I noticed some of our favorite knickknacks, like the Mickey Mouse clock we’d bought at Disneyland and the Winnie-the-Pooh lamp we’d gotten on a trip to England, had disappeared.

In their places were religious statues. And one of them had a little plastic figure on the cross, but I swear it had the Teacher’s beaky nose and didn’t look anything like how you might expect Jesus to. I tried to reassure myself it was a coincidence, but honestly, it kind of freaked me out.

On Sundays Dad gave Mira a ride to church “because a lady doesn’t drive herself when she has a man in her life.” And she expected him to go to Wednesday Night Fellowship and to chaperone the Friday Mixers too, wearing the new, dark suit she’d bought him. When I complained he spent too much time with her, he said, “You’re growing up, James. It feels good to have someone to take care of again.”

“I thought your therapist warned you about giving up your life for someone else,” I reminded him.

He ruffled my hair, a new habit since I’d had it cut short, and added, “Don’t worry. It’s not like when I was with your mom. I’m not trying to fix Mira. She’s perfect the way she is.”

I wasn’t dumb enough to believe she was really perfect, but it was such a relief to see a smile on his face, I’d ignored my gut feelings, and now I was homeless. As I stood there, sucking my cut finger, I got the uncomfortable feeling I was being watched. The front curtains were drawn, but maybe Mira was peeking through, trying to see how I reacted. I cringed at the thought of her hands touching my stuff. But Dad had clearly written the note himself. Maybe he really had packed it all.

I grabbed the box on top and lugged it down the driveway. Fueled by anger, I dragged the rest of the boxes to the Beast and loaded them into the back in record time. Once I was behind the wheel again, though, the hurt of Dad’s betrayal rushed through me. I knew how susceptible he was to persuasion, and I knew he’d been brainwashed, but it still just about killed me to think he could kick me out.

I needed to talk this over with someone, and if there was anyone who could give me some advice about the Right & the Real, it would be Josh. I hit number four on my speed dial, but it went straight to voice mail.

This is Josh—leave a message.

“Ummm…hi. It’s me,” I said. “Missed you at school today. Hope you’re not sick or anything. Could you give me a call? Okay…well…bye.”

There was only one place to go, Krista’s. But halfway there, I fell apart. My whole body trembled in my seat, and for the first time, I understood what it meant to cry so hard you felt like you might throw
up. I gulped for air, my hands holding tight to the steering wheel, while I looked desperately for a place to pull over.

Even though I could barely drive, there was this tiny voice inside telling me, “You can use this experience in your acting.” That happens a lot to me, and sometimes it makes me wonder if I’m actually a really shallow person, but I don’t think so, because tonight, the pain felt very real.

Once I’d gotten onto the shoulder of the road, I made myself do some deep breathing, and after a few minutes, I looked around and got my bearings. I wasn’t too far from a side street that dead-ended into a little park where the drama kids would sometimes go late at night to mess around and drink, and so I drove there.

It was only five o’clock, but almost dark already. I sat there, leaning my head against the steering wheel, and the tears came again. They poured down my face, dripping onto my jeans, leaving dark blue splotches. By the time I’d cried out every drop, the streetlights had come on, giving the park an unnatural glow. The merry-go-round sat deserted, calling to me.

A minute later, I grabbed the icy bar and ran around and around and around, my shoes sending up a spray of sodden dirt and gravel. When my legs felt all rubbery and cold air stung my lungs, I leapt up onto the rough platform and threw myself down on my back. Above me, the night sky alternated with the streetlamp, making a blur, and I held on, gripping the cold metal to keep from being flung off.

The merry-go-round creaked and groaned, eventually slowing down and then stopping. I lay there, waiting for my insides to catch up with my body and the dizziness to subside. A cloud shifted, and a tiny bit of moon poked out. The cold air had cleared my head; now I knew what to do.

I’d go to the Right & the Real for Wednesday Night Fellowship, and I’d sign the Pledge. And then my dad would let me back in the house. I knew he was just trying to scare me into thinking he was serious about kicking me out, and I decided I’d make him sweat it out a little. It wouldn’t hurt him to worry about me for a few days.

At the Coffee Espress-O, I washed my face in the bathroom sink and then I ordered a bagel and a double mocha and sat by the electric fireplace for a while. Before I left, I bought Krista a vanilla latte because it was her favorite and drove over to her house.

“Do you think your mom and George would mind if I stayed a few more days with you?” I asked when she answered the door. “The lovebirds want to be alone.” I forced a smile.

“Sure,” she said, taking the drink I offered her. “Mom had to go to Seattle for her job, but George won’t mind. Come on in.”

I could’ve told Krista what happened, but after all the crying, I didn’t really have the energy to talk about it. Besides, I only needed a place to crash for two nights. By Wednesday, I’d be back at home, so she would never need to know my dad had kicked me out.

“What are all those boxes for?” Krista asked me, when we climbed into the Beast the next morning.

I kept my voice light. “Just stuff Mira wants me to give to the Salvation Army.”

“I can barely see.” She adjusted the rearview mirror. “Maybe we should dump them off on the way to school.”

“I doubt they’re open,” I said. “I’ll do it later.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

In the locker room after PE, I mentally counted my money while I tried to make my hair look like Ms. Fitzpatrick hadn’t run us ragged in ballet. It was beginning ballet, and I only took it because it was better than volleyball or field hockey, plus it kept me in shape for my real dance classes, which I took on Saturdays at the Bright Lights Studio.

PE ballet was pretty easy, but I always worked up a sweat anyway. Short hair was tough for me. When it was long, I’d worn it in a bun like Liz, and it always looked pretty okay afterward, but now it was a damp bird’s nest. I gave up on it, applied fresh lip gloss, and touched up my eye shadow.

I had plenty of cash for lunch and gas because Grandpa had always given me money for birthdays and Christmas, which I’d tucked away. And I’d saved almost all the money I’d earned last summer for acting in
Peter Pan
too. I’d be fine, even if it took Dad a little while to cool off after I signed the Pledge. Krista had to go to her father’s for the weekend, but I could stay with her until Friday if I needed to.

I stuffed my dance clothes into my bag and fluffed my hair one last time. I still looked pale under my makeup, and dark circles ringed my eyes, but boys don’t notice that stuff. At least, I hoped Josh wouldn’t. I still hadn’t seen him today, but he never missed lunch.

In the cafeteria, I found Krista and Liz poking at their hot lunches—a gray lump floating in brown gravy. I decided to opt for the salad bar. “Why are you guys eating that?” I asked when I got back to the table.

“She dared me,” Liz said. “I don’t know why she bought it.”

“Death wish.” Krista stabbed the meat loaf with her fork. “Calculus test next period.”

I speared a limp lettuce leaf. “So did you guess right?” I asked Liz.

Krista had outdone herself this morning when we were getting dressed, and we’d made a bet Liz wouldn’t be able to figure out her inspiration. Today she wore slinky tights, a short skirt, and about four layers of torn-up T-shirts in neon colors. She also had a ton of metal and rubber bracelets weighing down her arms, and she’d pulled all her hair back on one side and teased out the other.

“At first I thought a young Madonna,” Liz said. “Because of the neon. But then I remembered that chick with the shaved head on one side.”

“Cyndi Lauper,” Krista reminded her. “It was kind of both of them anyway.”

Liz rumpled Krista’s hair. “Our friend is whacked,” she told me. “Totally.”

“Hey! Don’t touch the ’do!”

“At least she doesn’t listen to the music,” I said.

Krista wrinkled her nose like she’d smelled something even worse than the food. “As if. Give me some credit.”

I scanned the cafeteria, looking for the football players. “Have you guys seen Josh?” I asked.

They exchanged frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“Rumor is you two broke up,” Krista said. “But we know that’s not true because you would’ve told us.”

I swallowed back my surprise. “News to me.”

“We figured,” Liz said. She pulled the chopstick out of her bun, shook her hair loose, and retwisted it up into a knot, which she does about fifty times a day. “Megan told me she heard it from Ashleigh Robertson, who heard it from her brother. Never trust little sisters.”

I forced myself to smile and tried not to think about how Josh hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts. “We didn’t break up,” I said firmly. “I’ll go find him.”

I hadn’t even stood up yet when Josh and Derrick strolled into the cafeteria. Josh looked great in jeans and an old University of Oregon football jersey. My heart literally raced at the sight of him. He was so gorgeous. Sometimes I could hardly stand it. I know every girl’s supposed to fall for his type—friendly, tall, blond, straight teeth, and all that—but usually I was attracted to his total opposite. The skinny, dark-haired, moody, and dramatic types. Or loud, funny, and kind of awkward. And yet, every time I laid eyes on Josh, I turned to jelly, just like stereotypical girls in books.

What was kind of weird, though, was Derrick had the exact same big build, blond flattop, and blue eyes, but he wasn’t attractive at all. I think it was the sour look he always had. He didn’t like school very much. They headed over to the pop machine, shoving each other out of the way to get to it first. Then they fed dollar bills into it while they laughed and joked around.

I snuck up behind Josh and put my arms around his waist. As soon as I did it, his whole body stiffened and he pulled my hands apart. Derrick stood there watching us, his arms crossed like those guys on that
Iron Chef
TV show…the one where they try to look all hardass, but all you can think is,
Really? A tough chef? How stupid.

“Uh, Jamie,” Josh said, “let’s talk over here.”

He took me by the elbow and led me to the corner where you dump off your tray. Derrick followed so close I could practically feel him breathing on me.

Josh shifted his weight back and forth and wouldn’t look me in the eye. Finally, he said, “We have to break up.”

“What? Just like that?” I couldn’t believe it.

“I don’t have any choice.”

“If it’s because of Saturday nigh—”