Skater Boy (8 page)

Like, by sending them the wedding invitation in the mail?

“I can't believe it's morning,” I say, glancing at my watch and then releasing a yawn. I'm so tired it's not even funny.

“Yeah, well, I'm totally going to sleep all day,” Starr says with a laugh. “Sunshine is way overrated.”

“Lucky. I've got to be at the nursing home in two hours for my volunteer work.”

“Can't you call in sick?”

“No way.” I shake my head. “The Evil Ones would like never let me stay over at your house again if I did that.”

And since staying over at her house is the only way I'm going to get to see Sean, I'm so not burning that bridge. No, I'll manage to stay awake. Somehow.

My future with Sean depends on it.

Chapter Ten

 

“Dawn, dearie, wake up.”

“Five more minutes, Mom,” I murmur, pulling the covers over my head.

Except there are no covers.

I jerk up and look around. I'm not at home. Not in my bed. In fact, I've evidently fallen asleep in Mrs. McCrery's rocking chair at the Sunnybrook Nursing Home.

“Sorry, Mrs. McCrery. I had kind of a late night last night.” I grin ruefully as I reach down to the floor to retrieve the paperback I'd been reading aloud to her.

“It's okay, sweetheart,” she coos. Mrs. McCrery doesn't have any living relatives and has taken me on as her adopted granddaughter. I could probably apologize for stealing all her Vicodin and selling it on the black market and she'd forgive me for that, too. (Um, not that I'd do that, obviously.)

I glance over at the sweet-faced woman sitting primly in her nursing-home bed. She's ninety-two and doesn't get out of bed much these days, but always insists the nurses dress her each and every morning. Heaven forbid she be asked to greet guests wearing her nightgown, she always says.

I shouldn't have even come today. I'm so tired I feel sick to my stomach. Working on less than two hours of sleep—bleh! Any reasonable person would have called in sick, but Mrs. McCrery lives for my visits and I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her. One time I skipped a Saturday because of a dance recital and the old woman tried to break out of the nursing home to come find me, convinced I'd been in a deadly car accident. That's what happened to her real-life granddaughter Kelly. It took three days and a special Tuesday visit from me to reassure her I was still alive and kicking. So no matter what else is going on in my life, I have to see Mrs. McCrery.

“Now, where were we?” I ask, flipping the pages of the romance novel I'd brought to read to her. When I first met Mrs. McCrery, the woman liked nothing but long historical epics, which bored me to tears. So now I try to mix it up a bit—broaden her literary horizons, so to speak. Like today; we're reading this way cool action romance about vampires, werewolves, and robots, all living in futuristic LA. And she's totally digging it. Which goes to show, old people can be way cooler than most people assume.

“The good part,” Mrs. McCrery crows, clapping her wrinkled hands together. I stifle a groan. By the good part, she means the sex scene. Sometimes I try to skip over those—kind of embarrassing to read out loud to a woman who could be your great-grandmother—but they're her favorite part. And since I've already fallen asleep on the job, I figure I should probably indulge her this time.

“He leaned in to caress her delicate—”

“Do you have a beau, Dawn, dearie?”

I put a finger in the book to hold its place, happy to put the sex-scene reading aside. Evidently Mrs. McCrery has picked up on my just-been-kissed afterglow. I'm not surprised. Even in my exhaustion, I feel I'm radiating nuclear-powered love vibes.

“I'm kind of seeing a guy named Sean,” I admit, fiddling with the end of my braid, a soppy smile accompanying my admission.

“Sean. Such a nice Irish name,” Mrs. McCrery says with a sigh. “What's his family name?”

Hmm. Actually, I have no idea. Weird. I mean, on one hand I feel like this guy is my soul mate, and on the other, I hardly know anything about him. Where does he live? What's his family like? When's his birthday? The only things I know are that 1) he wants to be a professional skater and go to college, and 2) he's an amazing kisser.

Luckily, with Mrs. McCrery, if you ignore her question for about two minutes, she forgets she's asked it. Which is very helpful, since she tends to ask some pretty embarrassing questions. But while this time she does forget, she also has a follow-up to her initial query.

“What do your parents think?” she asks pointedly. Hmm. Sometimes she can be awfully keen for an old lady.

“They haven't met him yet,” I admit. “But I'm sure they'll love him when they do.”

Yeah, right. The Evil Ones will take one look at Sean's scruffy skater appearance and start sending out wedding invitations. Not! They're so pigheaded they'll never give him even the slightest chance to prove he's a good guy.

Meh. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much this whole thing sucks.

 

*

 

“Dawn, may I see you after class?”

A heavy weight plunges to the pit of my stomach at my Chemistry teacher, Sister Mary Anne's, words. The bell rings and all the other carefree, not-in-trouble students file out of the classroom and I, instead, must approach the front of the room. Not good.

It's Monday, and I'm still exhausted from Friday night's adventure. After visiting with Mrs. McCrery Saturday morning, I went straight to my gymnastics meet. I performed horribly. Even fell off the balance beam while doing the simplest turn. My coach was not happy. In fact, I had to swear my life away that I'd do better next time just to convince her not to call my parents.

Sunday, I went to church with The Evil Ones (fell asleep after the first hymn) and then had to sit through a formal dinner with all their boring old friends and listen to my dad brag about me and my accomplishments. Of course, he doesn't do this to stroke my ego—no way! He just wants them to think he's all “Father of the Year” or some such crap.

The only thing that got me through it all was my never-ending thoughts of Sean. Sean and his awesome kisses, to be precise. Every time I thought of him I got this warm, squishy feeling that made everything else seem halfway tolerable.

But I realize yummy Sean thoughts aren't going to work this time, as I watch Sister Mary Anne slam down Friday's Chemistry exam on her shiny wooden desk. Nope, no fuzzy making-out memories can soften the blow of the big red “F” scribbled at the top.

Can we say, so not good?

“Dawn, is everything okay?” Sister Mary Anne asks, her squeaky voice filled with concern. The kids call her Mary Mouse behind her back. “This isn't like you.”

“I'm fine,” I mutter, wondering how on earth I'm going to explain this to The Evil Ones. Maybe I can file papers for my emancipation before progress reports come out.

“You're one of my best students,” the Sister says, smoothing her hands over her black habit. “I can't understand this.”

I wonder what it's like to be a nun. To swear off men for life. I could not do that. I mean, what a missed opportunity. A waste of a good pair of lips. Maybe Sister Mary Anne has never met the right guy. If she had, I doubt she'd be able to live up to her vows.

“I know. I'm sorry,” I say, staring at the dusty hardwood classroom floor. Wow, all the money The Evil Ones pay for tuition and the school can't find a proper janitor.

“Is everything all right at home?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling bad for not being able to explain. I know she's genuinely worried about me and that's nice. But how do I tell a nun I didn't study ‘cause I'm dating a new boy? She'll so not be able to relate.

The Sister sighs and picks up the test. I watch in amazement as she tears it in half, then in quarters, and flutters the scraps of paper into the trash. I sure didn't see that one coming.

“I'm going to assume this was a fluke,” she says. “And I'll allow you to retake the test tomorrow during class. I'm sure you'll be able to get a better grade the next time around?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in question.

Relief floods me. “Definitely. Of course. Thank you, Sister,” I babble, practically bowing to her in my relief. This is great. I can go home and study all night. Then tomorrow I'll be able to ace the retest easy. The Evil Ones will never know the difference. Phew.

At that moment, my phone buzzes in my purse. I say a quick good-bye to the nun and dash out of the classroom. As soon as I'm in the hall, I whip out the phone to see who texted me. Hoping upon hope it was Sean.

I'm not disappointed.

>Want to come over 2night?

My heart pounds triple time as I reread the message. He wants me to come over? To his house? That's like a second date. How cool is that? And this time we'll be alone—no Starr and Eddie to interrupt us. Which means plenty of time for kissing. Man, I can't wait to kiss Sean again. I think I'm turning into a nympho or something.

Then my pounding heart sinks as reality kicks in. There's no way I can go over to his house tonight. I've got to study for my Chemistry test. I can't screw up my second chance at a good grade. That'd be suicide.

My phone buzzes a new message.

>My mom wants to meet u.

Aww. He told his mom about me? That's so sweet. He must really, really like me if he wants me to meet his family, right? And I so want to meet them. How can I pass up this opportunity?

You know, I could probably swing by for an hour or so and then just stay up all night and study. I'm sure it'll be fine. I've totally pulled all-nighters before. No big deal.

>See you after school!

Chapter Eleven

 

The bus pulls up to the downtown stop and I scamper out, giving the driver a friendly wave as I exit. He grunts in return.

I can't believe I'm here. Alone. Without even Starr to keep me safe. I feel all Dorothy, We're Not in Kansas Anymore. And the craziest thing is no one knows where I am. The Evil Ones think I'm safe at the library, studying. And I didn't see Starr at school to mention it to her.

I look around. Downtown is just as ghetto as I remembered it. Crumbling, boarded-up factories from back when it was a thriving shoemaking town line the street. Squat convenience stores, with bars over the windows and panhandlers by the doors, dot every other corner lot. Lovely.

I involuntarily shiver. You know, I could probably get murdered down here. Knifed or something. And no one would know where to look for my body.

I wonder which missing-girl photo my parents would select for the milk carton, should I disappear. It'd better not be that geeky one from seventh grade. The idea of me, beaming in braces, on milk cartons across the country is way more frightening than my current geographic location.

Picking up my pace, I head down to the parking deck where I'm supposed to meet up with Sean. My pulse speeds up with the anticipation of seeing him again and nervous butterflies torment my stomach. You know, if he keeps having this effect on me, I'm bound to develop some kind of cardiac arrhythmia before I hit twenty. Though at least I'll die happy.

Under the parking deck, I hear him before I can see him. The crashing, echoing of his skateboard as his wheels take flight and then collide with concrete as they descend back to earth.

I catch sight of him shortly after. He's turned a trash barrel on its side and is jumping it with his board. Once airborne, he shifts his body to the right and flips around in the air so he lands facing the other side. Impressive, if you ask me. Très impressive.

I stand back a little, wanting to watch his moves for a moment before making my presence known. Skaters are such talented athletes; it's a shame society doesn't accept their sport as mainstream. At Sacred Mary's, if a guy doesn't play football, he might as well be wearing a big “L” for loser on his chest. But it takes a lot more courage and skill to skateboard than to smack into people wearing tons of padding.

Sean's in midair when he catches sight of me. Recognition lights up his face before the distraction causes him to lose balance and crash to the ground. I gasp as his knee slams into the hard pavement and literally bounces him a few feet.

“You okay?” I ask, running toward him in concern.

He sits up, brushing himself off. The fall has torn his pants, leaving a gaping hole in the knee and I can see blood underneath. “Yeah, I'm good,” he says. Boys. They always have to be so Vin Diesel.

“You're bleeding,” I say, kneeling down to check his battle wound—a big bloody raspberry. “I may have a Band-Aid in my purse….”

He laughs. “My little Florence Nightingale,” he teases. “I don't need a Band-Aid. I just need you to kiss it better.”

I look down at the bloody mass. “You want me to kiss … that?” I ask, a little hesitantly. I mean, I like the guy and all, but eewww.

He cracks up and takes my head in his hands. “No, silly. I hurt my lips.”

I don't see as much as a scratch on his full, beautiful mouth, but who am I to argue? Giggling, I lean in for a smooch. His lips are soft and warm and his breath its usual peppermint fresh. As he kisses me, he runs his hands through my hair, evoking chills down my backside. I shiver in delight and press my mouth harder against his. I am growing to like this whole kissing business.

“I missed you,” he says as we part lips.

“I missed you, too,” I say. It's hard to believe I last saw him early Saturday morning after the rave. Only two days ago. It feels like a lifetime.

“So, you want to go meet Mrs. McNally?” I scrunch my eyebrows. “Who?”

 “Aka Mom.”

“Oh!” I laugh at my confusion. At least now I know Sean's last name. “Sure. If you're done skating.”

“Yeah. I'm good.” He scrambles to his feet and pops up his skateboard so he's now holding it in his hand. “I was just screwing around until you got here.”