The Right and the Real (7 page)

“No…wait,” I said, grabbing his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It was so sweet. No one’s ever asked to kiss me before.”

“You’ve never been kissed?” he said.

Then it was my turn to blush. “Well…I mean…I just meant…no one’s
asked
.”

“Oh.”

When I finally swallowed the last giggle, he took me back in his arms and kissed me. His lips were cool, and he tasted like minty Chapstick.

The cold of the tile floor seeped through my jeans, and I squeezed my arms around me tighter as if they were Josh’s. It took me a minute to realize tears were running down my cheeks. I guess maybe because even though we were still together, everything was different too. I searched the pocket of the hoodie to see if by some miracle there might be a tissue. My fingers touched crisp paper instead, and my
heart soared. I pulled it out expecting a note from Josh, but instead I found three twenty-dollar bills folded together.

I fingered them like I’d never seen money before. I didn’t remember leaving cash in there. It was possible, but it wasn’t like I had so much I could forget about sixty bucks. As I unfolded them, a tiny slip of paper fell out.

Next week? It was only Thursday. I had been counting on Josh to help me figure out where to go this weekend. This was just great. I fingered the cash. Maybe Motel 6 would rent me a room.

After school on Friday, while Krista packed her weekend bag, I crawled into the backseat of the Beast and pulled out a few of my boxes. I’d rearranged them so they weren’t blocking the driver’s view anymore, and when Krista asked why I hadn’t dropped them off already, I just pleaded laziness.

With Krista going to her dad’s, I’d asked Liz if I could stay with her, but her grandma was in town, so I was on my own. I checked to see if my sleeping bag was in one of the cartons in case I had to camp out in the car. My dad must’ve kept it, but I did find the whole set of Princess Pink linens he’d bought me for my sixteenth birthday. That was one good thing, at least. I’d stacked a bunch of boxes in the driveway while I searched and was loading them back in when I saw the one labeled
Theater Stuff
.

I ran my hand over the cardboard, caressing it. This had to be all my scripts, plus my theater memorabilia. It probably had all the books I’d bought on that trip to New York City with the drama group, photocopies of scripts for plays we’d done at school, and the photo album from performing arts camp in it too.

It had only been six days since the wedding, but it already felt like I’d been in limbo for weeks. I had such a longing for my old life, I vowed right then I wouldn’t open this box until I was in New York at drama school. Or at least until I had my dad back and my life was on track again.

“Hey,” Krista said, startling me so I hit my head on the doorjamb, “when are you going to get rid of these boxes? You can’t be that lazy.”

“Ummm…” I should tell her right now. She could help me figure out what to do. “I—”

A horn beeped twice as a blue minivan pulled into the driveway behind us.

“Mom!” Krista said.

Margie climbed out. “My meetings ended early.” While they hugged, I quickly shoved the last of the boxes back inside and slammed the door.

“Hi, Margie,” I said, walking toward her, smiling my brightest smile.

Later, I took Krista to the mall to meet her stepmother, Lisa. “Don’t forget about your phone,” Krista said to me before they drove away.

“I won’t. I’m going there now.”

For some reason, I wasn’t getting any service. I made my way to the end of the mall to my cell provider. I paced around the tiny phone center, looking at headsets, cases, and hands-free adapters for almost
an hour, waiting for my turn to talk to one of the two gum-chewing, multitasking salesgirls. Finally, I was up, but this big guy with a beer gut and a toddler wrapped around his leg tried to cut in front of me.

“Ummm…excuse me,” I said. “I’m next.”

“I just need to buy this battery,” he told me.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been waiting for, like, an hour.”

The girl took it from him. “I’ll ring him up real fast.”

My nerves were wound so tight, it took every ounce of self-control not to totally lose it, but I managed to hold it in. Fifteen minutes and two phone calls later, she finally said, “Okay. What can I do for you?”

I took a deep breath to keep from screaming, gave her my name, and told her the problem. “There’s something wrong with my cell. It charges, but it’s not getting any service.”

While she looked up my account, she took a call on her own phone, and I had to fight back the urge to rip the earpiece out of her ear. I knew part of my problem was general anxiety, but honestly, she was pushing every button I had by taking a personal call. Her fourth one since I’d walked through the doors.

“No, I can’t,” she said into her headset. “I’ve got to close tonight and then I’m meeting Spencer.” She typed a few more things into the computer. “What’s your name again?” she asked me.

“Jamie Lexington-Cross,” I spit out. “But the account’s in my dad’s name. Richard Cross.”

“Hmmm.…” She chomped on her gum. “He never said that.”

“What?” I asked.

She shook her head at me and mouthed the words, “I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I muttered, and she gave me a wide-eyed look like,
What’s your problem?

“Okay…here it is,” she said. “Your service has been canceled.”

I seriously thought she was still talking to whoever she had on the phone.

“Your service was canceled,” she said again, when I didn’t respond.

“Me?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, earlier today. Must’ve gone over your limit one too many times and pissed your dad off.” She laughed. “Happens all the time. He’ll get over it, but it will cost him fifty bucks to reinstate it. Good luck.”

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t realized this the moment it stopped working. I’d been so focused on all my other problems, though, and I’d actually thought the phone was dying because it was ancient; I’d had it for over a year. But still, how stupid could I be? He’d kicked me out. Of course he’d cancel my phone. Before I could ask about maybe getting a new plan, she had turned her attention back to her call and walked off.

“Ummm, hello? Salesgirl with the phone attached to your ear?” I said extra loudly. Everyone in the store turned to look, and a few people snickered. “I’m not exactly done here? Could you hang up and give me some customer service?”

The girl stared at me, her eyes wide again. “Ummm…I gotta go,” she said to her friend. She stepped back to the counter like I might slap her if she got too close. “How may I help you?” she asked formally.

“You could give me a little more information,” I said. “What do you mean, my account’s canceled? Like closed, or like he forgot to pay the bill?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“It appears your phone line was removed from the account by Mr.
Cross earlier today,” she said stiffly. “Perhaps you would like to open a new one? I need to see a driver’s license and credit card.”

“I don’t have a credit card,” I said.

“We have some prepay options as well,” she continued, as if she were reading out of an employee manual.

Suddenly it was too much. It was like my dad kept pecking away at me, making things worse and worse. Why couldn’t he have let me have this one thing? He knew I couldn’t afford a phone. I grabbed my purse off the counter and wove through the half dozen people who were crowded into the store, waiting.

“God, what a bitch,” I heard someone say.

“It’s called customer service,” I yelled over my shoulder, but I kept going without looking back. I had to talk to my dad. And not just about the stupid phone, but about everything.

BY THE TIME I FOUGHT MY WAY THROUGH THE RAINY
Friday night rush hour traffic, my determination to face Dad had weakened. I must’ve circled the neighborhood for half an hour trying to work up my nerve before I finally turned down our street and parked across from the house, but I left the engine idling and the windshield wipers whooshed back and forth, brushing away the rain.

The driveway was empty, but light leaked out of the living room into the yard, and after a few minutes, I saw my dad’s shadow pass behind the drapes. I killed the engine and started to get out, but then a second, smaller silhouette joined him and my body tensed. If only there was some way to get him alone.

I sat there for a long time, but after a while I knew I’d never go up to the door with Mira inside, so I drove around for an hour. When I passed the bright lights of a Mobil station, I realized how stupid I’d been. The Beast sucked down gasoline like Josh gulping Gatorade after a game. I only had thirteen hundred seventy-two dollars in my savings account, which wouldn’t last very long. Even with Josh’s sixty bucks, I couldn’t drive around randomly ever again. At least not until
I got a job, which was next on my list, right after finding a place to live.

Normally, I would’ve gone to Coffee Espress-O, but I was afraid I’d run into too many people I knew, so I drove over to a little café called the Coffee Klatch that my dad and I had discovered last summer on a dusky evening bike ride. It was in kind of a paradoxical area of town where the houses had all been redone, the lawns were trim, and kids played hopscotch on the sidewalks, but you could also hear the constant traffic on Sandy Boulevard just a few blocks away. The busy, wide street cut across Portland on an angle, and along this stretch, it was lined with dicey hotels, fast-food places, and taverns. The café was on the ground floor of an old brick building that sat right in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

I made my way to the counter, past businesspeople in ties, teens with backpacks, and college students dressed in black, who congregated on soft couches, eating, drinking, and flirting. There wasn’t anyone working behind the counter, and I stood there, waiting. After about five minutes, I decided to go somewhere else, but then the swinging door to the back opened a couple of inches and a voice yelled out, “Trent! I thought you were watching for customers.”

A guy who was sitting on one of the couches behind me yelled, “Sorry. I got it.”

He ran across the room and leapfrogged the counter so he was facing me. He brushed floppy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at me so intensely it was like I was the only person in the room. For some odd reason, instead of it being creepy, I got a rush from it. And then I blushed.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Ummm…”

I must’ve looked a little doubtful or confused, because he said, “It’s okay. I work here. I mean, I’m not working now, but I can make you a drink.” He nodded toward the swinging door. “Girl trouble, so I’m covering.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll have a mocha.” But then I remembered I needed to watch my money. “Actually, make that a regular coffee with room for cream.”

I waited while he got it for me, and even though it took forever, I was so distracted by the fact I had nowhere to sleep, I didn’t even notice he had made me a mocha until he asked if I wanted chocolate sprinkles.

“Ummm,” I said, “I ordered a coffee.”

“But you
wanted
a mocha.” He squirted a huge mound of whipped cream on top, and it wobbled as he handed it to me. “Free upgrade for having to wait.”

It honestly made me want to cry, which I knew was not the reaction he was hoping for. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Anytime. Well, not actually anytime,” he said, “because I can’t give away free drinks for no reason, but you know, if you have to wait or you’re unhappy with the service or—” I started laughing even though my insides ached. He smiled back. “Anyway…”

One of his bottom teeth was just the tiniest bit crooked, and I wondered what it might feel like to touch it with my tongue. Like if we were kissing. God! What was wrong with me? Clearly I was losing my mind.
Hello, Jamie! Remember Josh?
I couldn’t believe I’d even thought that.

“Okay, well, thanks,” I said, moving away to check out the crowded bulletin boards before he noticed I was blushing again.

“See you around,” he said.

“Thanks again,” I said, heading over to the bulletin board.

Yesterday, I’d read the ads in three newspapers looking for apartments, but found out everyone charged thirty-five dollars just for the credit check. Plus you had to be eighteen, with a job and a security deposit. I wouldn’t be eighteen until April, and I barely had enough for one month, let alone two. I scanned a bunch of handwritten ads for rooms to rent and tried not to think about the fact that the cute coffee guy was wearing an NYU sweatshirt. Did he love New York too?

I shook off thoughts of him and used a pay phone by the bathroom to call on a couple of listings. The first turned out to be all the way across town and too expensive anyway. The woman who answered at the second number said I had to be at least twenty-one because if the police found minors drinking in their house again, they were “soooo busted.” I promised I wouldn’t drink, but she blew me off.

After that, I sat on one of the couches making a list of what I might be able to sell for cash. I never wore jewelry because of dance class, so I didn’t have any of that. And my dad had kept the computer, which was a two-year-old desktop anyway, so it wouldn’t have been worth anything. So far, all I had on my list was my autographed photo of Laurence Olivier, which Grandpa had given me for my fourteenth birthday. It was a rare picture and worth a lot, maybe as much as six or seven hundred dollars, but I’d never sell it. I’d rather starve first. I crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the recycle bin.

I ended up closing down the café, but the coffee guy didn’t talk to me again. Although he did give me a little wave around eleven o’clock when he left. At midnight I found myself in the Beast, wondering where to go next. My eyelids drooped. A week of barely sleeping had
finally caught up with me right when I had no bed to crash in. I tried to think of someplace safe to park and ended up at the Doughnut Shoppe because it was open all night.