Tripping Me Up (3 page)

FIVE

HADLEY

T
here is nothing stuck to my locker when I reach it in the morning. Not that I expected anything. I think Tripp got the hint last night. After entering my combination, I pop the metal door open and yank out a couple of books. Propping my backpack up on my knee, I deposit them inside. A group of boys walk toward me, and I know exactly who they are. When I dare a peek at Tripp his eyes lock with mine for an instant. Then return his attention back to his friends. He continues on without acknowledging me at all.

I guess I’m back to being invisible. My chest tightens, and it surprises me. This is what I wanted, right? I mean, I’m the one who told him to leave me alone
— multiple times, in fact. I can’t get upset because he listened. Shoving my locker closed, I push my arms through the straps of my backpack. No, it’s better this way. It’s not like Tripp and I were ever going to be friends anyway.

With my head down, I hurry to my first period class. I keep my gaze trained on the toe of my shoes, but i
n my peripheral vision I see students whisking past. The scent of deodorant, shampoo and cologne linger under my nose. Shoes squeak on the slick floors, and loud voices reverberate off the walls. The noise is jumbled like a puzzle that's been tossed on the floor, and at first I can't pick up anything that makes sense. But then a voice emerges from the others, and I freeze at the mention of a familiar name.

“Tripp finally asked you out, huh?” A
girl speaks from over my shoulder.

“About time,” a nasally voice responds. “I thought he was going to ask me out ages ago. Who knew he was so shy.”

My shoulders tense when I recognize the voice of my former best friend. Even without turning around I can picture Sonya’s long sleek black hair, her tanned complexion and rail thin body. Sonya and I were friends before she became Miss Popularity and decided to trample me in her quest to climb the social ladder.

“Maybe he was just intimidated by you,” another girl supplies.

I keep my head down and walk even faster. My stomach rolls at their conversation. I can’t believe Tripp is dating Sonya. Of course this only succeeds in confirming my thoughts about him. Clearly he wasn’t interested in becoming my friend. He’s one of them, and that’s all he’ll ever be. He doesn’t feel bad for throwing paper in my face. I know better. The kids in that group don’t feel bad for inflicting pain on others. In fact, I think it's safe to say that they thrive on it. There may have been moments when I wanted to cave; when I wanted to believe that he was genuinely reaching out to me, but it’s very obvious that isn’t the case. As I duck into my class, I think about how glad I am that I stood my ground when it came to Tripp. I’ve worked hard to steer clear of Sonya, and I have no desire to be back under her radar.

Afternoon sun beats down on my back, making me grateful for the fall breeze.  The street is serene, and I marvel at how much quieter it is to live in a suburban neighborhood than in an apartment complex.  Sitting cross-legged in Rob’s front yard, I hunch over my sketchpad. My pencil moves quickly across the white page in choppy strokes leaving gray trails in its wake. Peering up at the tree in front of me, I study the curve of its trunk, the bushiness of its leaves. I memorize every angle and nuance. Pressing my pencil back down, I do my best to transfer its likeness to the paper. A gentle breeze kicks up my hair and it whips into my face, obscuring my vision. Tucking a few strands behind my ear, I continue drawing. Grass tickles my bare feet, and I’m grateful for the jeans that protect my legs from the itchy blades. As I lean down to add the final touches, the sound of a dog barking startles me.

Bruiser bound
s in my direction, his leash trailing behind him like a skittish insect. I shove my sketch pad aside as he leaps on my legs.

“Sorry about that,” Tripp calls
, running in Bruiser’s direction. “Sometimes he’s too strong for me.”

“It’s okay.” I rub my hand over Bruiser’s furry head
, his hair sticking to my palms and shedding on my legs.

Tripp lunges forward and grabs hold of the leash. “I guess he really likes you.”

I nod, Tripp’s proximity making me uncomfortable.

Hi
s gaze lands on my picture. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Uncomfortable, I smother it with my hand. “What are you, like, stalking me or something?”

“No.” Tripp runs a hand over his brown hair, causing his t-shirt to ride up and expose his naval. Blushing, I avert my gaze.

“It’s just that you keep coming over here
,” I point out, still staring at the lawn.

“Hey, I’ve been walking my dog this route for years. Long before you lived here.” As if on cue, Bruiser nudges me with his nose.
I wipe the wetness off on the thigh of my jeans.

“There isn’t another way you can take him?” I
ask.

“Well, you know, you don’t have to sit outside all afternoon.” Tripp drops down beside me, still holding Bruiser’s leash. I scoot away from him, not appreciating what he’s insinuating. “It’s almost like you’re waiting for me to come by.”

I roll my eyes. Is he for real? “You know, contrary to popular belief, everything in life doesn’t revolve around you, Tripp Bauer.” I scoop up my sketch pad and pencil and stand up. “I came outside to be alone, certainly not to run into you.”

Tripp jumps up
, wiping the grass off the back of his jeans. The motion draws my attention to his rock hard butt, and that angers me further. Bruiser barks. “It was just a joke.”

I don’t bother looking at him. I just keep walking back toward my house. “You should get going. Bruiser’s getting antsy.”

“Hadley, wait.” Tripp jogs behind me. His scent that is a combination of woodsy soap, minty shampoo and leather lingers in the air, causing my pulse to spike. I can hear Bruiser panting next to him. “Can we start over?”

Annoyed, I turn around. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re ever going to be friends. Besides, shouldn’t you be with Sonya right now?”

“Sonya?”

“Yeah, isn’t she your girlfriend?”

“No.” Tripp shakes his head. “We’re just going to the fall dance together, that’s all.”

“
Fall dance.” I snort. “Have fun with that.”

Tripp furrows his brows.
A car passes by, faint music playing through the open windows. A lawn mower comes to life somewhere in the distance. “You have something against the fall dance?”

“Not just
the fall dance. All dances.”

“Did you have a bad experience at one or something?”

“I’ve never been to one. Don’t want to.” I shrug. “Dances are lame.”

“How do you know they’re lame if you’ve never been to one?”

“Hadley!” Mom’s voice calls from the doorway. “Dinner time.”

My face heats up, and I feel like a small child all of the sudden.
But truthfully I’m grateful for the interruption. I have no desire to talk about dances with Tripp. As much as I want to believe that I could care less about dances, the real reason I’ve never gone to one is because I’ve never been asked.

“I gotta go.” Still clutching my pad to my chest
as if it's a lifeline, I turn around.

“See you tomorrow? Same place, same time?”
Tripp asks coyly.

“
Thanks for the warning. I’ll make sure to be safely inside,” I say, as I hurry away from him.

Rob and the little ones
are already seated at the shiny mahogany table by the time I enter the dining room. In our apartment Mom and I had a tiny pub table in the breakfast nook. Now we have a full dining room, complete with a sparkly chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. It’s so posh, and sometimes it makes me feel out of place here. I deposit my sketch pad and pencil at my feet and scoot into my usual chair. Mom flutters about like a nervous butterfly, arranging the condiments and dishing up the kids’ food. When she finally sits down, I relax. For years it was just the two of us, and life was pretty stress-free. Dinner time was a sandwich in front of the TV, and my afternoons were spent in silence. All this commotion really wears on my nerves.

“So, who was that boy you were talking to outside, Hadley?” Mom asks, passing the salad in my direction.

“No one,” I mumble, not daring to look her in the eye. I’m sure my cheeks are red. As much as I want to pretend I’m not attracted to Tripp in the least, I know that I am. I scoop some salad onto my plate and then set the bowl down in the middle of the table.

“Does this no one have a name?” Mom raises her eyebrows.

“Tripp Bauer.” I pick up my fork and roll it in between my fingers. Light from the chandelier overhead glints from it.

“Tripp Bauer,” Mom repeats. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

Heat creeps up my neck and spills across my cheeks. I’ve had a crush on Tripp for years. I used to scribble his name all over my notebooks. I hope she doesn’t figure it out.

“Ah, yes.” Rob wipes a napkin over his lips.
He turns his grey eyes on me, running a hand over his dark hair. “I know Tripp. He lives a few houses down. His dad and I have played golf together a couple of times, and they’ve had us over for dinner before. Nice guy.”

“I tripped over my toy truck today,” Adam interjects.

I heave a sigh of relief, thinking how I never thought I’d be grateful to one of Rob's kids for interrupting. Usually it drives me crazy.

Ignoring Adam, Mom turns to me.
“Well, Tripp is welcome to eat dinner here anytime.”

“Of course.” Rob grins at me in that weird Mr. Cleaver way. “The more the merrier.”

Mom giggles, leaning into his shoulder. He gives her shoulders an affectionate squeeze and internally I gag. Up until Mom married Rob I didn’t think people really acted like this except on TV shows. My parents never did. In fact, they spent more time fighting than being affectionate.

Of course my dad is a lot different than Rob. He’s a psychiatrist
, and sometimes he treats Mom and I more like his patients than his family. Ever since I found out the secret about my dad, I’ve wondered if that’s why he behaves that way toward us. Not that I can talk to anyone about it. Mom only has negative things to say about him, and no one else but she and I know the truth. Well, only one other person knows, but I don’t talk to her anymore. In fact, I wish I’d never told her in the first place. It was one of the worst errors in judgment I’ve ever made.

SIX

TRIPP

I
walk away from Hadley’s house, feeling a tightening in my chest as if someone is crushing my esophagus and cutting off my air supply. I wish she hadn’t hidden the picture she drew with her hand. It’s obvious that she didn’t want me to see it. However, I don’t understand why. Hadley is really talented. Her sketch was amazing. My mind guiltily flies to my own drawings hidden away under my mattress. Even though I’m supposed to abandon all thoughts of art, for some reason I can’t do it. I like sketching and painting, and I’m good at it. A lot better than I am at football. However, I could never say that to my dad. He’d kill me. Sons of his don’t draw or sketch or paint. In fact, he doesn’t want me to be creative at all. He just wants me to follow in his footsteps and be a popular football star. Even though that’s not what I want, I also don’t want to let him down.

When I get home I immediately head to the backyard with Bruiser.
Our backyard is pretty large with enough room for Bruiser to run around in the thick green grass. We have a small patio area by the back door where a metal table and chairs sit. Near that is a large barbecue grill. In the summer Dad likes to bring his golfing buddies back here for a barbecue. They sit out here and drink and eat steak. When his friends are here, Dad always seems so friendly. I’ve often found myself wishing he’d invite me out when his friends are over, but he never does. It would be nice to get to know another side of him.

After I unhook Bruiser
from his leash, he rubs his nose against my pants. I kneel down, petting his silky fur. “You’re a good boy,” I say. 

When I first asked for a dog, my dad made me promise to take care of him. He told me that Bruiser would be entirely my responsibility. I had no problem with that, because I knew Bruiser would offer someth
ing no one in this house could - unconditional loyalty. And I was right. Bruiser loves me no matter what, and he always has my back. There’s no one else in this world I can say that about. After petting him a little while longer, I head inside through the side door. I hang the leash on the hooks nailed to the wall as I enter.

When I step inside our house, the stale air
-conditioned air suffocates me. It’s deadly silent as I creep up the stairs, and the stifling smell of bleach and lemon spray burn my throat. Shivering, I think about how badly I want to get the hell out of here. The door to my parents’ room is closed, and my guess is that Mom is napping inside. All those antidepressants and pills she takes just to survive the day sure make her sleepy.

I head into my room, firmly closing the door behind me.
The football pendants and sports posters mock me from where they are mounted to the wall. My desk in the corner is neatly organized, the papers stacked evenly without one sheet askew. I make my way toward my bed that is made, the comforter pulled tightly, and the pillows arranged carefully on top. Even though Dad is still at work, my hands shake as I pick the mattress up and feel underneath. My fingers brush over thick pages, the edges jabbing my flesh. I snatch up a couple and pull them out. The rough sketches stare back at me, most of them unfinished. Running my fingertips over the charcoal images, I long to color them in and flesh them out to create something beautiful.

I glance up at the clock and my heart sinks. There’s no time. Dad will be home soon. Jealousy surges when I think of Hadley sitting in her front yard sketching away like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s funny because I know she thinks her life is so difficult
, and that I live a charmed existence. If only she knew the truth. If only I could tell her. But I can’t. I can’t tell anyone. If it ever got out it would destroy my family. I may not care about my dad, but I can’t do that to my mom. Besides, it would be humiliating for me too.

It’s better to just let people think that everything’s fine and continue to bide my time. I mean, I’m going to be eighteen soon enough anyway. And then I can do what I want. The home phone rings, and I jump up startled. Chastising myself for being such a wimp, I shove the sketches back under my bed
, checking to be sure they are adequately hidden. Standing up, my knees crack, still sore from practice. In one fluid movement, I reach for the cordless phone on my dresser and punch the talk button.

B
efore saying anything, I hear voices. Mom must have already answered it. I freeze, instantly recognizing the voice talking to Mom.
No, it can’t be.
Holding my breath, I quietly set the phone back down on the cradle. My body is numb with shock. I had no idea that Mom still spoke to him. Dad would kill her if he knew. Literally.

Fear snakes around my heart. Fear for Mom. Fear for the situation. Fear of what will happen if Dad ever finds out.

Sinking down on my bed, I remember the last time I saw him. The images sweep over me in quick succession - the yelling, the accusations, the name calling, the violence, the tears and protests. Once the memories come, I can’t stop them. Feeling sick, I moan and clutch my stomach. I will the pictures to leave my mind. I will it all to go away.

I can’t let it happen again.

Forcing the thoughts to clear, I stand up. My heart slows down a little, and I step toward my window. My room is right above the garage, and from upstairs I can easily see out over most of the street. I open the blinds, and light spills inside the dimly lit room. It’s clean and smells like air freshener. Most of my friend’s rooms smell like BO and dirty socks, but not mine. My dad would never allow that.

Peering down, my gaze
lands on Hadley’s house. Her yard is empty so she must still be inside. I think again of her drawing, and I wonder if I’ll ever have the guts to tell her about mine. It would be cool to have someone to share things with. I hardly know Hadley, but it’s clear that she’s a lot different from any of the girls I hang out with. And that’s what I like about her. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks, even to me.

And I suspect she’s the type of girl who is loyal to her friends. If only I had a person like that in my life.