Girls Don't Fly (27 page)

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Authors: Kristen Chandler

BOOK: Girls Don't Fly
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Melyssa has a pair of yellow heels that are a half size too small and kind of sexy for my taste, but they look pretty with the dress. I stand in front of the mirror looking at my work. My dress doesn’t look like a prom dress. It doesn’t even come to my knees, and it’s too simple. But when I go upstairs to model for Dad, he raises his eyebrows.
“How old is Pete again?” he says.
“Dad,” I whine. “He’s totally doing this out of pity.”
Melyssa smiles for the first time in about a hundred years. “Nobody’s going to feel sorry for you dressed like that, Little Sis. Man, why didn’t I get your legs, Dad? I was robbed.”
Mom walks into the room. She’s only been home a few minutes and she looks beat. “Myra! Twirl around, dear! Look at you.”
“She made it in one day,” says Melyssa.
Mom says, “I couldn’t make a dress like that if you gave me all month. You look as pretty as a picture.”
“Yep,” says Dad. “That little puke is going to be sorry.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “I probably won’t even see Erik there.”
“Well, he’ll see you,” says Dad. “Unless he’s blindfolded and locked in a box.”
As cheesy as this love fest is, it makes me feel fluttery and happy inside. And I like how I look even more because I made the dress myself.
“You guys aren’t all going to come to the door, are you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” says Dad. “And I plan on cleaning my gun in the living room before he gets here too.”
Mom runs to her room and brings me back her necklace with a tiny diamond. She only wears it on special occasions.
“What if I lose it?” I say.
“Put it on,” she says. “You won’t lose it. It’s your birthday present.”
I hold the necklace in my fingertips and look at my tiny mother. This is the nicest thing she owns. It’s about the only nice thing she owns, unless you count her sewing machine, which I don’t.
“I can’t,” I say. “Dad gave this to you.”
Mom puts her hand out sternly, but her eyes are wet. “It’s from both of us. Better put it on.”
I put the delicate chain around my neck. Mom fastens it for me with her small, rough fingers. Before she steps away, she whispers, “You’re growing up, my girl.”
 
I shouldn’t be surprised when Pete shows up in Chaco sandals. They don’t look bad with his wrinkled, sand-colored suit. His hair is clipped short and he’s trimmed his beard. He smells like vanilla soap. He’s holding a wilted daisy. Just one. He looks so out of place in my parents’ living room when I invite him in I almost burst out laughing.
Instead I introduce him to Dad, flanked by Mom, Carson, and Danny. You’d think I’d never had a date in my life.
Pete puts his hand out to Dad. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan.”
Carson leans over to Danny. “I thought he’d be taller.”
Dad gives Pete the business handshake. “Myra tells us you work at the marina.”
I shudder. If Dad asks Pete about his intentions, I may have to go find that gun Dad was talking about.
“Yes, sir. It’s a way to get through graduate school.” He puts out his hand to my mom and brothers. Mom acts like she’s in pain, but the two rats give Pete a smile. Melyssa walks in, says hi, looks prettier than I am in spite of being pregnant, gives me a wink, and walks out. Brett and Andrew waltz in on their way out to play basketball at the park. “Hey,” they say in unison.
“Hey,” says Pete with teenage perfect pitch.
Hey
, I think,
has sixty seconds ever felt so long?
 
We step over the Big Wheel and bikes to get to the van.
“You look phenomenal,” he says. “I like your dress.”
“I made it myself,” I say.
“I can tell,” he says.
I look up. “Really?”
“I mean, it looks like you,” he says. “It’s shiny.” He grins, and I grin back because I’m powerless not to.
“Thanks, I think. I like your sandals.”
He takes my hand, right in front of my family. “Anything for the princess.”
I scramble up into his magic pumpkin van and sail off to the ball.
Because it’s Senior Dinner Dance, we don’t have to slump around in the dumpy gym at our school. The main event is at a hotel in the city. On the way Pete says, “Your dad looked like he had his doubts about letting you go out the door with me.”
“Yeah.” I run my hands through my hair before I remember Melyssa arranged it into place with some stuff in a tube. I also seem to have forgotten how to talk.
Pete smiles like he gets it. “If you were my daughter, I’d hire a sharpshooter.”
We drive in silence the rest of the way into the city. I tap my hand on my thighs and wonder if I’m going to sweat on the material when we dance. Pete drums his fingers on the steering wheel to some angsty song I’ve never heard before.
When we pull up to the Red Lion Hotel underground parking, the tollbooth guy looks at Pete and says, “Will you two be checking in for the night?”
Pete tips his head to the man. “No, we’re just here for a quickie.”
The old geezer immediately peers over Pete to look at me, shrinking into my seat. “Don’t make it too quick, son,” he says.
That does it. The night is officially awkward.
39
 
Sky-pointing:
 
The mating dance of the blue-footed booby.
 
 
When we walk into the dance, no one even looks up. We’re late, and everyone is busy acting like they do this sort of thing all the time. The truth is, us Cyprus Pirates hit the scene in downtown Salt Lake about as much as we vacation in the Hamptons or shop on Rodeo Drive.
Pete says, “Aw, I’d forgotten.”
“What?”
“How good it is to not be in high school.”
I should have known better. Even to me, all these boys in dorky tuxes and girls in push-up bras are ridiculous. “You want to leave?”
Pete takes my hand and squeezes it. “No way. I showered.”
We bump through people out onto the dance floor and a few kids look at me and then at Pete’s beard. Some look at his hand on mine. They don’t even pretend not to stare. It’s like I brought a gorilla.
Pete ignores all of them and starts shaking around. He so doesn’t blend. Which, oddly enough, is nice. When I stop looking at everyone else looking at him, I see a guy who has beautiful green eyes, a wrinkled suit, and dance moves I’m pretty sure he made up himself.
The band plays something slow and Pete grabs my arm. “Where I went to high school we had to be a Bible’s length away during the slow stuff.”
“I’ve never read the Bible,” I say.
He steps closer to me. “So we’re good then.” He feels warm and familiar. “Are you having a nice time?”
I don’t answer. I lean in and take a breath and I feel a hundred miles away but right where I am.
“Hey, teach!”
I look up and see Erik and Ariel dancing next to us. He has his hand on her back under her long, twisted curls. She steps gracefully with him, following everything he does. Then, almost as if I scripted it myself, she misses a step and he corrects her. He pulls on her fuchsia dress just hard enough that she looks up and frowns. He looks back at her with that flicker of frustration he used to give me. It’s her fault. She wasn’t keeping up.
“Hey, Erik,” says Pete. “How’s tricks?”
Erik smiles at Ariel, who looks certifiably gorgeous. “Never better,” he says.
“Glad to hear it,” says Pete.
I don’t say anything.
Ariel grins with flawless teeth. “Wow, Myra, where’d you get your dress?”
It isn’t a compliment.
“Isn’t it incredible?” says Pete. “She made it.”
“It’s
perfect
for you, Myra. It even has little homemade flowers,” says Erik. Each word comes off his lips with precision.
I know it’s just a dress and a dumb dance, but why does he have to do this? Even in all the noise, there is silence around me. Clarity.
“You’re such an ass,” says Pete.
Erik stops dancing and calls back. “At least I’m not scamming on high school girls when I’m in graduate school.”
Pete turns to face Erik. I step in front of Pete and move toward Erik. I stand right next to Erik and Ariel so only they can hear me. My voice is calm and clear. “Nobody is
scamming
on me. I’m not too stupid to know how sex works, Erik. I’m too smart to have it with you.” His handsome face is frozen. I can feel people stopping around us.
Ariel’s smile oozes condescension. She flicks her hand on Erik’s back. “He dumped you, Myra. You need to get over that.”
I smile back at her. “I think I just did.”
Erik’s face stays frozen, but our eyes connect. I don’t look away. What I see is the messed-up person I used to trust more than I trusted myself—not Prince Charming and not the measure of who I am. He’s how I got here, but he’s my past. In that split second, it’s like the whole building cracks around me so I can also see what’s on the other side of the walls. The real world.
I feel Pete’s hand in mine. “Birds of a feather are flocked up together,” he whispers as he swirls me away. I look back long enough to see Erik staring unhappily. Then a starter for the basketball team and his equally gawky six-foot date shuffle in front of us and eclipse Erik altogether.
The band plays a painful version of “I’ll Stand by You.” The lead singer’s voice breaks about eight times. I kind of love the song even more for that. Pete and I move together through the music and lights. He’s actually a really good dancer once he stops trying to be hip. Maybe all that time in South America. I dance without trying to anticipate his steps because I don’t need to and because no one can predict Pete. Then the music ends. I look up at Pete and I know it’s time to go. “I’m done.”
“You’re done? No dinner?”
“Is that okay? I want to go someplace else now. Someplace without people.”
Pete says, “I know just the place.”
 
The tollbooth grandpa is waiting for us when we pull out. Pete says, “Her mom wants her home by ten.”
“Heaven help you,” the man says.
 
I don’t ask Pete where we’re going. It doesn’t matter. There’s a little bit of daylight left and we’re going to spend it together. We head north on I-15. Pete is quiet so I roll down my window and put my arm out of the van. I weave my hand through the air. I know where we’re going.
I remember our first field trip. Pete said, “There’s always evolution, baby.” I thought Pete was crazy then, but tonight I think I know what he meant. I breathe in the wind and sun and smell of spring. Before long we are on the winding road that leads to Egg Island.
We drive to the trailhead. Pete drags out one of his moldy blankets. He isn’t talking much, especially for Pete, but I like just being with him. I walk a few steps behind him, then take off my sister’s uncomfortable shoes and make my way barefoot to the lookout rocks. The gray sand feels good between my toes.
Pete finds a dry spot on the hill, and we sit down on the blanket together, a body’s length apart. I look out over the lake and listen to the grebes chattering a half mile away. I can still hear the music from the dance playing in my head, but now there are birds singing along. The sun is dropping quickly behind the mountains, and it splits and sparkles on the water.
The space between me and Pete makes everything electric inside me. I lie back and let the breeze cool my face. I like the crazy way it makes me feel to lie down next to Pete with my eyes closed, like I’m driving with my lights off.
I feel him move closer.
I keep my eyes closed. “I love it when the days get longer. Are the days always the same at the equator? I never thought to ask.”
Pete’s voice floats over me. “Pretty much. The sun comes up at about six and sets at about six all year.”
I open my eyes and see that Pete is looking at me. I prop up on my side. “It sounds perfect.”
“I don’t know, Myra. I kind of think perfect is something you agree to, not something that happens.” He rests his hands on his knees and looks out over the water. “People are miserable there just as much as they are anywhere else. Probably more so, because there’s so much poverty. But let’s not talk about the Galápagos now.”
“Why not?” I say.
He gets up and walks around the grass-covered hill. His feet sweep into the wild grass like he’s kicking at something. It startles me. After all that’s happened tonight, I just assumed that Pete was happy too. I thought his silence in the van was because he didn’t need to say anything. When he comes back, he sits down next to me and takes my hand. His skin is rough and dark compared to mine. He traces a figure eight on my hand with his finger, then gently moves his hand up my arm. I have no idea what’s going on, but I know he’s getting ready to tell me.

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