Naked (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

I
sit with Alex and Jen at lunch again, and this time, I invite Jackson to join us.

Alex and Jackson make up basically all the conversation. Jen and I just listen and laugh as they argue over some of the strangest things.

“Luigi is so much better than Mario,” Jackson says.

“Are you kidding me?” Alex says, a look so full of shock I have to hold back a laugh.

I shake my head as Jackson gives his way-too-thought-out explanation as to why Luigi is better than Mario. “Seriously, Mario is just typical. And boring!” he says, leaning in, his face red like this is one serious debate.

“But Luigi is a
wuss
!”

“No! I mean, okay, a little,” Jackson says, and I laugh, awarding Alex a debate point. “But that’s part of what makes him awesome. He has so much more to overcome. He’s insecure, but he’s always there for his brother. Besides…” He holds his hands out and moves them up and down like a scale. “Green”—he lifts one hand high—“versus red.” The other hand dips below the table.

Alex shakes her head, and I can’t help but agree with her. Jackson’s weirder than I ever thought, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kind of like it. He’s the cutest geek I’ve ever met.

“You’re impossible,” Alex says.

I don’t even notice the stink-eye the “cool” kids are giving us the whole time until I notice Jen staring absently at them.

What can I do about it? Not like I expected to be beloved here. I’m just happy to actually have some friends.

Jackson turns to me. “Star Crunch or Fudge Round?”

I blink. “What?”

“Which do you like better?”

“I don’t know what either of those things are.”

He opens his mouth in exaggerated shock. “Wait a second.”

He runs, seriously runs, up to the lunch line and then comes back with two chocolate treats. One looks like a Rice Krispies Treat covered in chocolate, and the other is a thin sandwich kind of thing with frosting in the middle.

I try both and find that the crispy treat has caramel on the inside, and it definitely earns my vote. “That one,” I say, then lick my fingers.

“Ha!” Alex says, pointing at Jackson, who puts his head in his hands.

I guess he lost the bet on which one I’d choose, but he doesn’t seem too broken up about it. In fact, he shares a laugh with Alex as I take another bite of the Star Crunch.

Never in my life have I felt so completely normal.

Today, I don’t feel like a hooker.

I
walk through my front door to see Zara wagging her tail at me. I look in the kitchen. No sign of my mother.

I figure I should move Zara to the backyard before Jen comes over this time. Don’t need to freak the poor girl out again.

I unclip Zara and call her to the back door.

She follows me out. I don’t really want to just clip her in and go, so I look around for a second. She sits, her chest puffed out all proud, and watches me. I find a stick, pick it up, and wave it in front of her. She wags her tail and follows the stick with her eyes. Then she jumps at it, but I pull it away at the last second.

She barks at me, not mean, more like she’s saying, “Throw it already!”

So I do. I throw it and she runs after it, but she gets surprised when I run after it, too. She’s a lot faster, so she gets to it first and then runs around me, taunting.

I laugh and chase after her. She runs around the tree and then stops. I wait, then she sneaks her head over a little to look at me. I run at her suddenly, stomping my feet. She drops the stick and runs away, then stops and crouches. Her mouth’s open, her tongue’s out. If a dog can look happy, this one does.

“Haha!” I say as I lean over to pick up the stick.

She crouches lower, but I throw it before she jumps on me to get it.

I hear the sliding glass door open. “What are you doing?” my mother asks.

Both Zara and I stop and look up.

“Playing,” I say.

She puts her hands on her hips.

“Come inside, please.”

I give Zara a look and a shrug. I clip her back onto her chain, and then I slowly walk up to my mother, leaving Zara standing there watching us.

My mom closes the door behind us slowly.

“That dog is not safe.”

“She’s only not safe because you treat her like she’s not.” She doesn’t get it. She never has.

But now she’s looking at me with what seems genuine curiosity. “What does that mean?”

Fine. If she wants to know, I’ll tell her. “It means she’s lonely. If her only interaction with people is hitting and yelling, what do you expect her to do?”

“So running around in the backyard with a dangerous dog is going to make the dog not dangerous?”

“How else is she supposed to learn to trust people?”

She glances at the dog, then back at me. “What if it’s too late for her to learn how to trust people? What if she needs a…”

“A what?” I can feel my voice shaking, but there’s no stopping it. “A firm hand?”

Her eyes go wide, and something flickers across her face. I’m not sure what it was, but I think it’s fear.

“No,” she says. “But after everything that’s happened, I need to know you won’t do anything that could get you hurt. I want you to be safe.” Her eyes seem to get sad. “I want to be able to trust that you’ll make the right decisions.”

I turn away from her, my mind flashing through all the wrong decisions I’ve made. I hate that she’s actually right. But more, I hate that she still just doesn’t get it. My heart pounds wildly as I turn back to her, slowly.

“You sure as hell never trusted me, that’s for sure. I was just a kid, but you treated me like I was evil,” I say, my face burning red, my voice getting high and louder than I mean it to. I wonder how much of that was my father, but I can’t excuse her. I can’t. She never said a word to refute my father’s words. “Automatically, everything I did was wrong, and you never, not once, stopped to listen to my story! It’s always my fault. I’m always wrong. Well, I can’t live like that, and neither can that dog. It’s not fair!”

I squeeze my eyes closed, unsure why I even bother. I knew she wouldn’t understand. She never does.

“Anna,” she says softly. “I didn’t know.” I catch a glimpse of that thing that might be fear crossing her face again. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

They’re the words I always wanted her to say, but they feel wrong. Utterly and completely wrong.

“I’m sorry,” I say before she can say anything else. My eyes sting with tears. “I’m sorry I’m the horrible daughter who could never do anything right. Who ruined everything when I ran away. I wish I could be the perfect daughter you both need me to be. But I can’t. And I’m sick of trying.”

I sit down at the table with a flop, like I’m too exhausted to stand anymore. I cover my mouth with my hand for a moment, trying to stop myself from crying.

She shakes her head. “I only ever wanted the best for you,” she whispers.

I don’t respond. I can’t. There’s nothing more to say.

“I just…want you to leave that dog alone,” she says.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” I stand suddenly. Why does she have to do this? It’s so stupid.

When I was younger, I let my father tell me whom I could be friends with. I let him steal my childhood from me because I didn’t know what else to do. And my mom never stopped him. She was like his silent partner. He took whatever he wanted, and she let him get away with it.

I won’t let them take anything else.

If I have to sneak around to be nice to a dog, then I will. But if I have to fight head-on, I’ll do that too.

I
walk to my room without another word. When I slam the door behind me, I feel like a child again, like I’m eleven years old.

Jen comes over a few minutes later. Both my mother and I pretend like nothing happened. Like we didn’t fight at all. It’s a skill, one I clearly inherited.

Jen helps me with math and all my homework. She gives me an easy book to write my English paper on and says I should read it this weekend. Um, she seriously expects me to read it in two days?

About that
.

It is small, though, so I guess I can at least start it and see how far I get.

I find myself watching the clock, eager for four o’clock to come. Not because I don’t like Jen, but because I’m…well, shit, I’m kind of excited to hang out with Jackson.

Jen leaves, and I head to my room to pretend I’m not waiting for something. Someone. Finally the doorbell rings and I fling open my bedroom door, but my mother answers the front door first.

I stand at the end of the hallway, watching awkwardly.

“Hi, Jackson. Is something wrong with that dog again?” she asks.

“No, ma’am. I’m actually here for Anna. We have a project to work on together.”

“Oh,” she says, her shoulders stiff. She turns to see me smiling innocently.

I run past her and out the door before she says anything else. “See ya, Mom.”

“Wait, Anna!” my mother calls.

I almost don’t stop. I don’t want another argument with her, and I’m afraid that’s all our relationship will ever be. But there’s something in her voice that stops me. It’s quiet, almost scared.

So I stop. I don’t turn around, but she doesn’t need me to.

“I just…” Her voice is quiet. “Want to make sure…you’re okay.” She pauses, and now I turn around to urge her to finish. “I mean, you’re coming home tonight, right?”

My mouth falls open. “You think I’m going partying or something?”

“No!” she says, her face suddenly turning red. “No, I just…” She swallows. “The last time you left…you didn’t come back.” She shifts her feet. “I never saw that coming, and after our argument today…”

I blink, all anger gone. “Oh,” I say, looking to the ground.

I want to say that I wouldn’t make that mistake again, but that would be admitting it was a mistake. I mean, it was, but that’s not something I want to admit to her, or to anyone. But I have to say something.

I step forward and do something I don’t remember ever doing before. I wrap my arms around her. For a moment she stiffens, like she’s in shock, but then she relaxes and hugs me back.

It’s a weird moment. I’m not sure when to let go, or what to say.

“I’m sorry,” I finally get out.

I hear her sniffle and wonder if she’s crying. When I finally let go, feeling a little embarrassed, I turn away before I can see her tears.

I turn back just as I’m walking out the door and say, “Sooner or later, you have to start trusting me.”

She nods and smiles sadly. After a moment, she says, “Be home before dark.”

I turn and leave the house, and for the first time, I feel sorry for my mother.

Chapter Eighteen

W
e walk down the clean streets of our neighborhood, house after house that all look the same. Some have brick on the outside, some have white siding, some have blue. But they all seem to have the same setup. The same windows, a paved path leading up to the small patio, and the same thick door. Even the same doorknobs.

The only difference is in the gardens. One has a big tree in the front yard with a cheesy tire swing. I can only imagine a girl in a white cotton dress swinging from it—although I have no idea where that image comes from.

Another house has an overload of flowers. They’re everywhere. Nearly half the yard is covered.

Another looks like it’s trying really hard to be different. A fake well sits on one part, an angel statue on another, and a big gnome across from it. It looks completely ridiculous.

Then there are a few that were obviously professionally landscaped, with their perfectly mown grass and pretty brick ponds with waterfalls cascading down.

“I hate this neighborhood,” I mutter.

At first Jackson doesn’t respond. We keep walking slow steps down the concrete sidewalk, but when I glance over to him, his eyebrows are pressed down like he’s thinking really hard about something.

“Why?” he asks eventually.

“It’s trying too hard. Too perfect.” I miss my stupid apartment in New York that smelled like a bizarre combination of piss, fried chicken, pot, and cats. I don’t want this pretend-perfect shit.

Then again, what I probably miss most about my apartment was that Luis lived in it. And I can’t pretend he’s perfect anymore, either.

Jackson looks around. “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

I sigh. He would. Just more proof we’re too different for this project. This friendship. Or whatever this is.

He stops walking, a stress line appearing down his forehead. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think about you.”

That’s more like it. He shouldn’t know what to think. “Me either,” I say.

He surprises me with a light chuckle. “Touché,” he says. A smile spreads across his face. “You really don’t like it here?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

He nods. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”

“What about our project?”

“We’ll do that later. I want to show you something.” He must see the hesitation on my face, because then he says, “Besides, we can’t really do that project without knowing anything about each other, right? Maybe we’ll find inspiration.”

I narrow my eyes for a second. I hate that my mind wanders to those dark places even with Jackson. He’s been nothing but good to me so far, and that’s why I don’t trust him. At least when people treat me like trash, I know I’m getting what I deserve.

“Where do you want to take me?”

His smile is sweet enough to make me forget, just for a second, everything bad that’s ever happened to me. And when he takes my hand, my heart races, and I know I’m in trouble.

I like him. Really like him.

The way he looks at me. The way his hand feels on mine.

I glance at his lips, but then I look away. No one’s kissed me in years. Not in a way that didn’t leave my mouth full of the taste of cigarettes. But his lips look so inviting. And I already know what they’ll taste like. I’ve seen the fruit snacks he loves to eat.

There’s no way he wants to kiss me, too. And I guess that’s for the best. One kiss and he’d see right through me. Taste the garbage that I can’t get rid of.

With way too much pep, Jackson spins around and gently grabs my wrist to pull me along. His hand holds on to mine as I follow him, and I can feel the warmth of his fingers seep into my cold skin.

He turns and smiles, a glint in his eyes that’s different from before. So this isn’t just an innocent suburban boy. He has a mischievous side, too.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s be bad.”

My stomach flips and my lips curl into a smile, even though his version of bad can’t possibly match mine. Somehow, I like the sound of that.

We walk down one of the streets, and just when I think we’re about to walk to someone’s house, one I’m sure isn’t Jackson’s, we walk right past it. There’s a big gap between two of the houses that’s nothing but grass. It’s almost like a suburban alleyway.

Behind the houses is a big field, and I mean
big
. For a neighborhood, anyway.

It’s smaller than a football field, I’d guess, but still big enough to play a game of touch football or something. This is probably the kind of place teenagers play all the time, the kind of place I should have come to play tag and Frisbee or whatever else kids play. Watch the boys tackle each other playing football. Ya know, if my mother had ever let me out of the house without her.

I went straight from reading books and playing puzzles to drinking and getting in cars with boys. One day I’d given up on my mother’s rules and decided to live however I could. I did anything I could have to have a life, experience things.

I wonder how long Jackson has lived here, if I would have played with him as kids. Assuming my parents would have let me out of the house. Mud fights, sledding, and stolen secret kisses in the dark. A whole life I could have had as a kid, a life I’ll never have now.

But maybe tonight’s a chance to taste the impossible.

Jackson walks over to a patch of yellow flowers that grow like weeds at the edge of the field. There’s a small batch of trees there, and as we get closer I can see a little stream flowing behind them.

He picks one of the little yellow flowers and hands it to me. I put it to my nose and smell. It’s fantastic! It smells so good, like spring. I smile ear to ear. For a moment we’re not just students working on a project, not even just friends. For a moment he’s a boy giving me flowers. A boy looking at me with bright shining eyes.

It’s cheesy, but I’ve never had cheesy before.

For a moment, I feel beautiful.

“We’re lucky they’re still here. It’s getting cold pretty quick. They’ll probably be gone soon.”

“What is it?” I ask, mesmerized by the little flower.

“Honeysuckle. You’ve never had one?”

“Had one?”

His eyes grow wide. “Seriously, who are you?”

I shrug.

He pulls another flower to show me. “Watch,” he says.

At the bottom of the flower is a little white end. He pinches it and pulls slowly. A little white string-looking thing comes out, and at the end is a drop of liquid. He holds it up, like I’m going to let him feed it to me.

First of all, I don’t know if this thing is even edible. Will it make me sick?

Second of all, even if it is edible, no way am I letting him put it in my mouth.

“What is it?” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.

“No offense, I don’t trust anyone.”

“Just try it. It’s mostly water, but it’s good. That’s why they call them honeysuckles. ’Cause of the honey.”

“Honey?”

“Sort of, but it’s not that thick. It’s good, trust me.”

I narrow my eyes, looking at him, then at the little flower. I pull the white nub and watch the string pull through the back of the bud. A little drop of liquid sits on the end.

I hang it over my tongue, and it drops before I get a chance to change my mind. It tastes a lot like it smells—like springtime. Being reborn. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I like it.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

He smirks, so cocky, but he wrings his hands together. “No, that’s not what I want to show you.”

He motions for me to follow him, then he starts running.

He runs along the tree line, then darts inside and disappears. I can’t see where he went.

I should feel afraid. A boy I barely know leading me who knows where. But my own words come back to me. Eventually, you have to trust someone.

In my world, trusting someone can get you killed.

But I don’t feel afraid.

With Jackson, I feel safe.

I jog a little more and see a break in the small tree line. There’s a little path with a bridge over the tiny stream, but I still don’t see Jackson. I walk slowly now, looking around. The little batch of trees is only about ten feet wide. It seems to split two rows of houses; their backyards aren’t visible to each other only because of this little forest.

A dog barks, but I pay no attention. Right now I’m not in the burbs. I’m in my own mini Central Park.

Inside the batch of trees, there’s a tiny clearing with two chairs and a log on its side. Sprinkled around the area are cans of soda and beer, an empty bottle that looks to have once been filled with Jack, and a couple of cigarette butts.

Did Jackson take me to his secret party spot?

Does Jackson really have a party spot?

I walk over the little wooden bridge, and then I see him standing next to a tree, waiting for me, a playful smile on his face.

“What did you want to show me?”

He smiles. “My favorite spot.”

I turn back to the clearing full of beer bottles. Not as glamorous as I’d imagine Jackson would be into, but…

“Oh, not there,” he says, following my gaze. “Some of the kids in the neighborhood meet up here sometimes, but my spot is a bit farther down.”

“Your spot, huh?”

He straightens his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s mine. I claimed it when I was seven.”

He climbs back down into the stream by stepping on some big rocks. It’s almost like he has the path memorized.

“So you did grow up here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was just wondering, you know, if we would have played together as kids if…”

He blinks. “I didn’t know you grew up here.”

I nod. “My parents didn’t let me out much.”

I was only ever allowed in my backyard. They didn’t even trust my friends’ parents to watch me. Sometimes me and Lo, my only friend my age, played back there, climbing the one big tree and swinging from the play set. But as we got older, that just wasn’t enough. We both wanted more, except I wasn’t allowed any more.

So I had to find new ways to live.

Ways they couldn’t keep me from trying.

I follow Jackson down into the little stream, slowly and carefully stepping on the stones. One of them wobbles beneath me, and I almost fall in, but Jackson takes my hand and keeps me steady. He won’t let me fall.

When we come off the stream, Jackson takes me to a big rock on the bank. Above us is a particularly big tree with branches that hang down just a little. It looks almost like a weeping willow, but the leaves don’t hang down that far.

“Is this your tree?” I ask.

He nods. “You can get to it through the trees, but I figured it was better to take the scenic route with you.”

“Yeah, thanks, I could use a bath.” I lean down and touch the cold water with my fingertips, then flick it at him. He tries to cover his face with his arms. He looks at me like he’s ready to throw a slew of curse words at me, then laughs. “I’ll remember that.”

I smile and join him on the rock. I look around at the trees and the gently flowing water.

I stand and walk back to the tree with saggy branches. I grab on to one of the limbs, like I’m going to climb.

“Want to go up?” he asks me.

I look through the branches and notice a few pieces of wood nailed to the bark leading to a tiny little makeshift tree house.

When I say makeshift, I mean it looks like a death trap. Boards haphazardly joined together, none of them lined up, everything askew. I mean, it looks like I made it. Old, uneven wood and rusted nails.

“Is that thing even safe?”

Jackson smiles. “It’s nicer than it looks. You’ll see.” He hops over the bank of the stream and joins me by the tree. “But you have to get onto that first branch to make it to the ladder. Think you can handle it?”

I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I can’t say no to a challenge.

I take a jump and hang on to the branch. I swing my feet up to it, impressively ungraceful, and cling to it however I can. I pull my up body up and awkwardly am able to twist so I’m sitting on top of the branch. It shakes beneath me.

“You need practice,” Jackson says.

I look at my scraped-up arms. “I’m not bleeding. I call that a success.”

I stand on the branch and test out the ladder. This isn’t going to be fun, but I don’t let myself second-guess it. I’m already this far.

While I’m climbing the boards, trying to keep myself from shaking, reminding myself not to look down, Jackson easily pulls himself into the tree with just one quick jump and makes it all the way up to the tree house without using the ladder at all.

I pause to watch him. He makes it look so easy it’s crazy.

“Cheater,” I say when I finally reach the bottom of the tree house and pull myself up.

“How am I cheating?”

“You’ve climbed this tree too many times.”

He laughs, and I roll my eyes.

The tree house is like four feet wide. Just enough for a little bookshelf full of junk and a couple of beanbag chairs. Technically, you’d be hard-pressed to call it a house. It doesn’t even have walls. There are wood beams for a floor and a small plastic sheet he can pull out as a canopy, I guess in case it rains.

“See? Not everything is as it seems.”

I smile. “Yeah, this tree house definitely isn’t trying too hard.”

“Hey!” he says. “This is my house. I built it with my own two hands. You think you can do better?”

I shrug. He’s joking, but I can tell he’s also serious. “Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it looks great.”

He rocks his head back and forth, like he’s deciding whether to accept my sort of apology, but the smile on his face tells me he’s just giving me a hard time. “Okay,” he finally says.

He flops down on the beanbag chair and pats the spot next to him.

I pause for a beat, then sit next to him, my arm brushing his as I do.

Thanks to the lack of walls and all, there’s actually a pretty good view. You can see a baseball field not too far out and the big blue sky.

For a while we sit there, watching the clouds roll by, a slight breeze trickling in and blowing my hair back just slightly.

“Anna?” Jackson asks lightly.