The Right and the Real (18 page)

“I haven’t been since junior high, but I am awesome on skates. I can shoot the duck and skate backwards, as long as someone holds my hands. And there’s that really cool mood lighting during couples skate. But you shouldn’t wear a black shirt with a white bra because this one time, in seventh grade, this girl McKensie, she did, and when she skated under the black light, her bra glowed right through her shirt. It was actually kind of cool, but she was embarrassed. Of course, if you don’t mind me seeing your bra, I don’t mind seeing it either. I’m that kind of guy. Very adaptable.”

He stopped for air, but by then I was doubled over laughing.

“You know,” he said, after a while, when I was still gasping, “I really love it when I ask a girl out and she laughs in my face. It’s very encouraging.”

I think, in a way, my laughter was part hysteria because, while I was giggling like that, I was also thinking,
What the hell am I going to do?
I finally pulled myself together, but just as I was going to make myself answer him, one of the regulars came up to the counter to get a refill. While Trent got her coffee, I told myself very sternly that I had to tell him about Josh.

After she had taken her drink, Trent turned to me. “So, what will it be? Paris or Skate World?”

“The thing is…”

I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I get those four words out? How hard was it to say?

But do you really have a boyfriend?
asked a little voice in my head. Was Josh as committed to me as I was to him? It really didn’t seem like it lately. And if I told Trent I was dating someone else, what would happen here at work? I would hate it if my job became formal and awkward every morning.

“The thing is,” I tried again, “it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” he asked, but his face had clouded over and instead of melted chocolate, his eyes looked kind of like brown stones.

“Well—”

The bell on the door tinkled, and we both looked up to see a delivery guy carrying a huge bouquet of red roses. “I have a delivery,” he said, “for Jamie Lexington-Cross.”

“Ahhh,” Trent said. “That kind of complicated.”

I couldn’t leave the flowers in the Beast all day or they might freeze, and I didn’t have time to take them back to the motel, so I carried them into school with me. I knew lots of girls and even some of the teachers would have flowers, so no one would think much of them. Except for the fact that Josh had broken up with me so publicly. I kind of forgot about that aspect until I ran into Krista at the locker.

“Secret admirer?” she asked, eyeing the dozen roses.

“Very funny,” I said.

“Seriously, did Josh send you those?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said.

Liz glided up to us. “Nice flowers, Jamie.” As usual, she wore black stretch pants and a tight sweater and looked like she was ready to do an improvised dance down the hallway. “What the hell are you wearing?” she asked Krista.

“You’d think by now you’d be used to her,” I said. I had barely even noticed her red velvet pants and black corset laced up with a scarlet ribbon.

“Check out my new ’do,” Krista said, pulling off her newsboy cap. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, but it was now dark purple instead of pink.

“Nice,” I said. I actually liked it better. It wasn’t so girly.

“So did your secret admirer give you those roses?” Liz asked.

“Would you two stop already?”

“What?” she said. “What’d I say?”

“Jamie’s touchy about the whole secret admirer thing,” Krista said, fluffing her hair. “I don’t know why.”

The really annoying thing was I had to go with “secret admirer” all morning because everyone thought Josh and I had broken up and I didn’t know what else to say when my other friends asked who the flowers were from. By lunch, I was regretting having brought them inside at all. If Josh couldn’t give me flowers for Valentine’s like a normal boyfriend, did I even want them?

The three of us met up in the caf for lunch, and I was pawing through a box of chocolates a freshman had given Krista, trying to find the caramel ones, when she said, “Here comes your secret admirer.”

“You’re probably in trouble for flaunting your flowers,” Liz said.

“Oh, please. He’s not that bad.”

They both raised their eyebrows at me, and I made a face back at them.

I felt, more than saw, Josh come up behind me. Then he whispered, “I need to talk to you. In private.”

Krista and Liz both gave me told-ya-so looks.

I scooted my chair a little so I could look up at him, but I didn’t stand. “Why?”

“Not here,” Josh said. He crouched down and tied his already tied shoelace. I guess that was supposed to be his cover. And suddenly the whole thing just seemed really stupid to me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been honestly happy to see Josh. Sometimes I thought it was back before the wedding. Lately, I’d been afraid my annoyance with him was because maybe I kinda, sorta liked Trent, but in that moment, I realized it didn’t even have anything to do with anyone else. Josh was just pissing me off lately. Either he loved me or he didn’t.

“Just say what you have to say,” I told him.

“Why are you carrying the flowers around? Everyone’s saying you got them from a secret admirer. Derrick is going to figure it out.”

I looked at Josh, hunched over his other shoe now, retying the lace that was so obviously fine, and I lost it.

“You know, I don’t think Derrick gives a damn about us. He used to cover for us all the time, Josh, remember? We used to sneak off during fellowship meetings, and he would make up stories to tell your parents. Remember that?”

Josh was standing now, looking around the cafeteria, probably for Derrick. “Shhh…Jamie, people are staring.”

I pushed my chair back, and it made a screeching sound against the linoleum. Josh cringed. “I don’t care if everyone’s looking at us.
Don’t you get it? Either you’re my boyfriend or you’re not. Either you trust your brother to have your back or you don’t. But I’m not someone you can just hide out with in a closet anymore.”

By now, pretty much everyone around us had gone quiet and was looking right at us. Josh leaned in toward me and said, “Don’t do this. I love you, Jamie.”

“You don’t act like you love me,” I said much louder than I intended to. But by now, I was tired of holding everything in, and I didn’t really care who heard us. “You want me to sneak around with you, I’m not allowed to call you or send you any e-mails, and my best friends are supposed to act like we broke up just so your parents don’t find out you’re seeing me. That is not a boyfriend, Josh. That is just a screwed-up relationship.”

“Jamie, just come with me out into the hall—”

“No,” I said, shaking his hand off my arm. “Either you say you love me loud enough for everyone to hear it, you tell Derrick the roses are from you, and you kiss me right now in front of all these people who clearly can’t concentrate on their lunch anymore, or that’s it. We’re over.”

He took a step toward me, and I thought he actually was going to kiss me, but then we both saw Derrick come into the cafeteria. Josh ran his hand over his hair, and I swear his eyes looked damp, like he was fighting tears. I almost took him in my arms and told him it was okay. I’d keep his secret, and his scholarship was safe with me, but then Derrick walked up.

“What’s up, bro?” he asked.

“Nothing. Not a thing,” Josh said. “Let’s get something to eat.” And the two of them took off together without looking back.

All around us, everyone collectively let out their breaths.

I wanted to run to the theater and hide, but instantly Liz and Krista were at my side, their arms around me, leading me out of the caf toward the girls’ bathroom.

“You did good, chickie,” Krista said. “I’m proud of you.”

Liz hugged me. “It hurts now, but you’ll be okay. We love you.”

I wiped at a single tear with my sleeve. I actually felt kind of…well, not good, but strong. And like I’d taken back a part of my life.

“I know I did the right thing,” I said. “It just, it just—” I let out a shuddering sigh. “It just kind of…sucks.”

“It does,” Krista agreed. “It totally does. But that’s why they make chocolate.”

WHEN THE FIRE DOOR TO THE STAIRS THUDDED SHUT
around eight o’clock on Wednesday night and I heard someone swear, I laid the score to
West Side Story
down. It had sounded like LaVon, but he was working. Then I heard the distinct
click-click-click
of his bicycle as he wheeled it down the hallway. I got up and opened my door a crack.

“Hey, LaVon.” He stood in front of his room, balancing his bike against his hip while he dug through his pockets. “How come you’re home so early?” I asked.

He shoved the bike against the wall, swore under his breath, and set a brown paper bag on the floor so he had both hands free.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he said, finally finding his key. He grabbed the bag and the bike and barreled into his room, slamming the door behind him.

I’d already gone back to learning my music when recognition hit me. A familiar sinking feeling whammed me right in the gut. On the side of the paper bag had been the Oregon liquor warning. I ran down the hall to LaVon’s room. He hardly ever locked his door when he was home, I guess because he figured no one would mess with
him, and I threw it open without knocking. He sat on the bed with the bottle of Jack Daniels between his knees and an empty glass in his hand. I didn’t think he’d opened it yet, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Get out,” he growled.

“You don’t want to do that, LaVon,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I said get out.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just fiddled with the bottle. I knew if I could keep him from taking that first drink, he could get through this.

“La—”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

I stepped all the way into the room and shut the door. “Something happen at work?”

“What part of ‘get the hell out’ don’t you understand?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go if you give me the bottle.” He glared at me, but I held out my hand anyway. “You don’t really want it.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

“Tonight, maybe,” I said. “But what about tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer, and I waited. I made my face as blank as I could, but horrible memories of the times I’d had this same conversation with my dad almost overwhelmed me, making me nauseated with fear. I’d kept him from drinking every time, though, and I could help LaVon if he let me.

“What happened?” I asked again.

He caressed the bottle. “This dickhead at work…he just…he provoked me, so I punched him.”

“A customer?” I asked. I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.

“No. Another beer guy.”

“Did you get fired?”

“Nope. Lucky for both of us, he ducked, and I hit the wall. Left a hole, though, so I got suspended. Three games.”

Crap. That meant a lot of lost income for LaVon. He only got minimum wage, but he earned a commission on every beer he sold, plus tips, and made a ton of money that way.

“That sucks,” I said.

“No shit.”

I had to get that bottle from him. I held out my hand again. “How about if I just hold it for a while?”

“How about if you don’t?” he said. “You’ll just pour it down the toilet.”

I shook my head. “No way. I promise.”

For a second I thought he was going to hand it over, but then he unscrewed the top instead. I wanted to remind him about his grandbaby, but I knew it would be a false move. He didn’t need the guilt. He needed time to cool off.

“I swear,” I said. “I’ll just keep it in my room for a while. Then if you want it back, you can come get it.” He looked up at me. I knew he didn’t want to drink it. We both did. But we also understood the hold it had on him. “LaVon,” I said, “I may suck at cleaning, and I can’t drive worth a shit, but if there’s one thing I know a lot about, it’s addiction. Give it to me now, and if you still want it in an hour, it’s yours.”

He sat there, me staring at him, him glaring at the bottle. His clock radio ticked off five silent, dreadful minutes. Finally, he put the cap back on and handed me the booze. I clutched it to my chest and practically ran for the door.

“Call your sponsor,” I suggested on my way out.

“She’s in fuckin’ Mexico drinking virgin daiquiris with fancy umbrellas.”

“Call her anyway.”

I didn’t wait for his answer.

In my room, I held the bottle in my lap the way LaVon had. I considered having a drink myself, but I knew I wouldn’t. Except for that one time, freshman year, when Krista and I had split a bottle of Boones Ferry wine with the college guy who lived up the street from her, I never drank. That night, it had seemed fun at first, but then I couldn’t get my words out right, and it scared me.

Everyone I knew got wasted at least once in a while, but I always volunteered to be the designated driver. Driving was just easier than turning it down. My friends all thought of me as responsible instead of scared to death of becoming a drunk. The way I saw it, as a daughter of two alcoholics, I didn’t have a fighting chance against the bottle.

I watched the second hand move around on a watch I’d snagged from the lost and found at work. I thought I heard LaVon’s voice through the thin wall, hopefully talking to his sponsor, but no matter how much I strained my ears, I couldn’t be sure.

Exactly one hour later, his door opened. I thought about not answering mine when he knocked, but I’d promised. I unlocked the deadbolt and handed him the bottle. He walked past me into the bathroom. I heard the glug, glug, glug of the whiskey going down the drain. When he came out, he handed me the empty bottle and went back to his room.

I sank onto my bed, relief flooding me. I knew some people would think I’d taken a chance, that I should’ve gotten rid of it, but I’d been to enough Alateen meetings to know that you can’t stop an addict from drinking. Even if I’d ditched the whiskey, if
LaVon wanted to get drunk, he would’ve gone out and gotten more. I couldn’t have stopped him any more than I could stop my dad from joining a cult. People do what they want, especially ones with addictive personalities.