When Everything Feels like the Movies (7 page)

Luke looked at me, and the spotlight became so hot that I was on fire. Madison barely glanced over. She was used to me gawking at her boyfriend, and she was over it. She just looked down at Alexis’s phone, telling her which photos to delete and which to tag her in.

“What’s the matter?” Matt asked Luke. “He’s practically a girl.”

“Oh, Matt,” I sighed. “Just because you want to fuck my ass like it’s a pussy, doesn’t make me a girl.”

9

Flashback

“T
rey Morris,” Angela said, coming up from underneath our booth with a smug look on her face.

“As if,” I gasped.

“Nope, we did it last night.”

“Trey Morris as in Luke Morris’s brother?”

“Older and wiser, he can buy my Budweiser.”

“He’s your high school jock?”

“I thought you knew,” she shrugged, but she knew I didn’t.

“No fucking way!” I squealed. I couldn’t contain myself. “Have you been over to their house?”

“Yeah. It was awkward. Luke wouldn’t even look at me.”

“What’s he like?” I asked. “I mean, what’s he
like
?”

“He’s not bad.”

“Big?”

“Horse.”

“Balls?”

“ ’Roid raisins.”

“Bacne?”

“I didn’t want to look.”

“Premature ejaculation?”

“No, but pre-come. It flowed like the Mississippi.”

“Moan?”

“Grunt.”

“Elvis?”

“Britney.”

“Jesus!”

“But it was kind of cute. Besides, I think he’s going to be quarterback next year, so I’ll already have slept with the quarterback by the time I start high school.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Probably.”

“Well, better than a wife.”

“Yeah,” she took a sip from her milkshake and burped. “Or a baby.”

I stabbed my hash browns with my fork, but I wasn’t even hungry anymore. I had lost my appetite with jealousy. Sometimes when I looked at Angela, I got so jealous that I almost fell over. I couldn’t help but think that, if I were her, I’d have everything. Or at least, everyone.

“So, are you going to take Trey to the dance?” I asked.

“As if. I don’t even think I’m going unless I feel like spending the weekend e-tarded.”

“Could you imagine Madison’s face if you walked into the gym with Luke’s
brother
? She’d die.”

“On second thought, maybe I should go. Are you going?”

“Only if I can go with Luke.”

“I can ask Trey to put a good word in for you.”

“Right.”

“I can! I have a double-jointed tongue. I’m very persuasive.”

“I just can’t believe you’ve been inside Luke’s house.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” She smiled like she does whenever Mr Mead checks her out. “They’re throwing a party this weekend ’cuz their parents are out of town. You should come.”

“A party? Or a bunch of hicks drinking beer in a garage?”

“Shut up, as if you’d pass up the opportunity to get inside Luke’s house.”

I knew she was right. “Will he be there?” I asked.

“Probably. It’s his house.”

“What would he do if he saw me? What would Madison do?”

“Just don’t let them see you.”

“I’ll never make it through the front door.”

“You will if you’re with me. I’ll wear a low-cut shirt.”

“Fine,” I sighed as if I were being forced into it, even though I couldn’t wait. I sensed a paparazzi ambush. “But if there’s a deer’s head mounted on the wall,” I said, “I’m getting the hell out of there before mine ends up beside it.”

After Angela left, I stayed at the Day-n-Nite to read
Pink
by Gus Van Sant, which Mr Dawson had lent me. I was obsessed with River Phoenix. I’d go over to Angela’s house and we’d pop some of her mom’s Percocets as we popped our popcorn, watch
My Own Private Idaho
, and swoon.

Mr Dawson always lent me the best books. Looking back, I should’ve known. But I honestly had no clue. It’s weird when I think about it. I see everything so differently now, it’s like watching a movie for a second time and seeing all the subliminal symbols brainwashing you.

Mr Dawson’s wife dropped in one time when I was eating lunch in his classroom. She knocked on the door tentatively, and he quickly stood up, ushering her in. She had hazel eyes and brown frizzy curls.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Mr Dawson told her. “You know, Jude?”

“Of course! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, shaking my hand.

Finally? I had no idea she knew I existed.

“I’m Lisa,” she beamed. “Christopher has told me so much about you.” I cringed when she pointed to Mr Dawson like I couldn’t figure out who she was talking about. “I think you’re just great,” she said, like I had asked.

I spent the rest of lunch hour trying to guess what Mr Dawson had told her about me. I wondered what tabloid version of my life he subscribed to. I wanted to know what he thought, if he knew me at all, or if I was just some unusual object he had collected. Were the little smiles he gave me from his desk genuine? Or was that just how he looked basking in my spotlight?

I didn’t get through much of
Pink
before Brooke kicked me out of the Day-n-Nite for holding up the booth. I called her a philistine and then walked home. I usually tried not to go home until after dark to avoid being around Ray, but sometimes there was no escaping him or his demons.

My mom had already left for work, and Ray was on the couch watching TV. It smelled like fast food, but that might’ve just been his sweat. Keefer was in his PJs, playing with Lego on his bed.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I asked, turning off his bedroom light.

“Hey, screw you!” he yelled. “Turn that back on.”

“What did I tell you about that kind of language?”

“That it’s for trashy degenerates!”

“That’s right.”

“But you talk like that.”

“Exactly. Now get to bed. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“I was waiting for you to read to me.”

“What’d you get?”

He jumped off his bed and looked for the book in his backpack, the diary of some wimpy kid. I liked reading to Keefer. His eyes zoned out like when he played Nintendo and fell into a homicidal trance. I tried to take him out of the war zone. I always hoped that if I could give Keefer another world he could escape to, he might survive this one.

“You’re not wearing nail polish,” he said as I held open the book. He looked up at me with such confusion, like he never imagined my nails could be not painted. My mind flashed back to a memory of my dad like it was a pop-up advertisement. I tried to close the tab, but it was playing so loud it stunned me. The first time I’d seen him since he’d left town. I was sitting on the porch eating a popsicle. It was mid-summer; his truck drove through the gravel and stopped at the curb in front of our house. I recognized the truck before I saw him inside it, through the leafy branches reflecting on the windshield. It took him a while to get out of the truck; he just sat there staring at me.

“I thought it was you,” he said, slamming the door and kicking up dust with his work boots as he walked toward me. He leaned in for a hug, but stopped. “You’re wearing nail polish,” he said to me, but it sounded like he was saying it to himself.

My mom was annoyed that he had just appeared out of nowhere without even calling, but when he asked to take me to the park, she said it was up to me. I said yes, even though I wanted to say no. There was something about him that made me uncomfortable.

He dug out his old baseball glove from the back of his truck and gave it to me like it was significant. I suppose it might have been, if he’d been around to teach me how to catch and throw—not that I would have made it easy for him. I could only swing my arms when I was teaching myself the choreography to a Kylie Minogue music video.

When we got back, my mom wasn’t home. There was a Post-it note on the fridge for me to call her at grandma’s. My dad came in the house, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to let him. He asked if he could take a shower. I didn’t call my mom; I just stood in the doorway of the bathroom, hoping to see a glimpse of him through the clear plastic shower curtain. I wanted to know all of him.

After his shower, he said he was going to take a nap on the couch before hitting the road again. He didn’t say where he was coming from or where he was going. By the look of it, he was living in his truck. My mom called while he was sleeping; I told her dad was resting, and she let out a long sigh before asking if I was alright. I said I’d call her when he woke up. I just sat there, watching him sleep. He mumbled to himself and farted, and I was repulsed, but still inhaled it.

I wanted to crawl next to him on the couch to see if I could still fit into the curve of his arm.

10

Sex Scene

I
thought no one would know it was me, except I was trailing Mademoiselle like a second spirit.

I decided not to be myself for the party at Luke’s house. Sometimes I had to be boring to stay alive. My goal was to blend, so before I left to meet Angela at our old elementary school playground, I put on a pair of jeans and one of Ray’s grey sweaters, which I took out of the dryer.

Angela was sitting on a swing and smiled when I approached because she’d managed to get one of the drunks who sleep on the ramp outside the liquor store to go in and buy her a mickey of vodka. Usually, they run off with your money or drink the booze before they get out of the store.

“I didn’t even have to flash him,” she said, her cheeks red from too much blush and the cold. She passed me the bottle, and I took a quick shot.

“I’m nervous,” I said.

“What’s to be nervous about?” she asked, but she didn’t really care. She pulled out her compact and put on more blush.

“Because I never go to parties. I’m not suicidal.”

“Relax,” she said, and I could tell she was irritated because all she cared about was getting laid by the teen dream and having everyone know it.

“The guys in this town are bad enough with just blood in their veins,” I said, “never mind beer. I’m going to end up the next Matthew Shepard!”

“You
wish
you were that famous.”

“Do I look okay?”

She looked at me for the first time.

“You look like … ” She snapped her compact shut, searching for the word.

“Like?”

“A boy.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I feel like I should actually pee standing up.”

“Kiss me,” Angela suddenly demanded, smacking her wet, puffy vodka lips.

“What?”

“Kiss me. With tongue.”

“What did you take from your mom’s pharmacy, and why aren’t you sharing?”

“I’m serious. Kiss me.”

“No! I don’t want to catch lip herpes.”

“I don’t have
lip
herpes.”

“Jonathan Hampton?”

“That was a zit.”

“I need a mint.”

“You’ll taste good,” she laughed. “You’ll taste like vodka.”

“Do I really look like that much of a dude?”

“It’s not because of how you look! I just need to know if I’m good at it.”

“I’m sure your dad taught you well.”

“Fuck you. Kiss me. I just want to make sure I’m good at it.”

“Of course you’re good at it. Amongst other things. It says so in every stall in the boys’ room.”

“I really like Trey, I think he could be more than just, like, you know, some thing. I think he could really be something.”

“I’m sure his girlfriend agrees completely.”

“She’s a tramp. She has bigger boobs than me, but that’s just because she’s on the pill. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” I shrugged. “Why not?”

I turned to face her, and we were about to do it, but I hesitated. “I’ve never kissed a girl,” I said.

“Oh, as if! You kiss yourself in the mirror every day.” She laughed and grabbed the back of my head. Before I knew it, lipstick and vodka were smeared on my lips, and her tongue was tied around mine.

“So?” She asked when we pulled away.

“You kiss like in the movies,” I said, and she seemed satisfied. But it wasn’t a compliment.

Angela kissed like she had to.

We left the schoolyard and walked to the party, passing the vodka bottle back and forth. When we arrived at Luke’s house, Angela stopped at the front door and started talking to a couple of guys who were smoking on the steps. I crossed my arms because I thought that if I didn’t, I’d jump out of my skin. I looked inside; there were so many people I could barely see past the welcome mat. Angela took my arm, and because she was jail-bait in a tube-top, the crowd parted like the Red Sea for Moses.