Authors: Edith Pattou
My favorites, over and over.
Then I see a movement by the cemetery
down the block, and look over.
I get nervous when I see people there
because it’s either someone sad with flowers,
Or it’s one of the bad guys,
the people who pester us.
But this time I see that it’s just
a girl on a bike.
She’s got a dog with her, a large soft-looking dog,
and she’s petting it.
I can tell she loves her dog
and her dog loves her.
Even though she’s far away and I can’t see her face,
she looks nice,
like someone who could be a friend.
If I had friends.
Then I see her get back on her bike and
ride off, her dog running beside her.
Her ponytail flies out behind her, like that
tattered wind sock Mother put up a long time ago.
I’m feeling good, not lonely.
And then a car drives by, slowly.
I hear a muffled shout and a whistle,
and then Mother yelling back, angry.
I get angry, too. And I wish the bad guys
would just leave us alone.
If everyone would leave us alone,
except nice girls like that one with her dog,
we’d be okay.
Friday, August 27
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
Quiet day. Which is a good thing
since all hell’s gonna break loose,
starting tonight.
Weekend before school starts.
All those high school kids,
spoiled kids with too much time on their hands,
gotta blow off steam.
Some girl will end up in the ER
from too many shots of Jägermeister,
swearing to her parents it’s the first time she ever tried it.
And they’ll believe her,
God help ’em.
Some boys will go joyriding out on Highway 54
or drag racing down Central.
Worst was back in ’86,
before my time:
three seventeen-year-old boys dead,
Dad’s Jaguar wrapped around a century-old oak tree.
Me, I’ve been lucky,
knock wood.
Nobody’s died,
not on my watch.
Not yet.
Saturday, August 28, 6:00 p.m.
MAXIE
I try on about ten different combinations of
jeans and shirts,
skirts and tees,
which is so stupid,
because it really doesn’t matter
what I wear.
It’ll be lame compared to
Emma and
Chloe the gorgeous.
I put on some old jeans
and my lavender shirt,
the one I wore for the unofficial
good-bye–to–Colorado party
my best friend Mandy threw together
at the last minute.
Which was fantastic
and sad
and awkward,
all at once.
Dad is just back
from the grocery store.
He’s piled all the canvas tote bags
on the counter
and Mom is helping him
put groceries away
and I’m thinking this is a
cozy domestic scene,
tranquil even,
until Mom pulls out a six-pack
of amber
long-
necked
beer
bottles
with
orange
labels.
What’s this?
she asks, frowning.
This,
says Dad, with a silly grin,
is some seriously fine summer ale.
We can’t afford fancy-schmancy summer ale
, says Mom.
Oh, come on, Glory. We need to celebrate the end of summer.
He slides an arm
around her waist,
but Mom dodges it,
her lips tight.
Dad reaches into a drawer for
a bottle opener.
The sound isn’t the same as
the metallic pop-squelch of a can.
This is more of a
long
cool
hissing
noise.
He slips out the back door,
beer in hand.
Mom sighs.
Are you having dinner with us, Maxine?
she asks.
No, thanks,
I say.
Emma said we’d probably grab a bite somewhere.
You look nice,
says Mom, her eyes softening.
I’m so glad you’re spending the evening with Emma. Just like old times.
Did I mention
how moms can be
clueless?
Dad reappears.
And I can’t help spotting that
the beer bottle is almost
empty.
Already.
Hey, Dad, can you give me a ride to Emma’s?
I say
quickly, hoping my mom isn’t noticing what I just noticed.
Of course, Maxie-bean,
he answers.
Dad has about
a million nicknames
for me.
Mom and I watch
as he polishes off the rest of his
fine summer ale.
Let’s go, bread-face,
he says.
Honestly, who calls their kid
bread-face?
But truth is
I love it.
Reminds me of being a kid,
eating sugar sandwiches
with squishy white bread and butter.
That’s when he first
started calling me
bread-face,
when sugar sandwiches were
my favorite food
in the entire world
and I wanted them for
every meal.
Have fun, Maxine,
says Mom.
As we drive
Dad shoots me
a sideways glance.
Don’t worry, bean,
he says.
About what?
I ask, surprised.
Anything,
he answers with a grin.
Dad has always
been able to read
my face.
Okay, who am I kidding.
Most people can read
my face.
Face control is not
my strong suit.
But suddenly,
I have this feeling,
a shivery foreboding sort of feeling,
that tonight,
with Emma,
I’m going to need all
the face control I can manage.
EMMA
Up in my bedroom I can smell
cinnamon and oats, from the cookies
Faith baked earlier.
The AC is on, but I’ve got
the window open.
I like the heat.
Brendan wanted our last Saturday night
before school to be with his lacrosse buddies,
so he’s mad at me.
Too bad. But the best part
will be after anyway.
When it is just us two.
I like it with Brendan, especially
the way he kisses me.
He’s good at kissing.
It surprised me the first time.
Soft and sweet and kind of eager.
Not like I expected.
And I’ve always liked Bren best when
we’re alone. Otherwise he can be an asshole,
all Mr. Cool, life of the party.
I guess that’s because of his messed-up dad.
He never talks about his dad.
But I’ve seen.
It’d be a bummer to have a dad like that,
who expects, no,
demands
,
that his son be Perfect.
Just so he can tell all his buddies
what a “great fucking son”
he has.
And his mom is like a shadow.
Beautiful and country-club perfect,
but barely there.
I know I’m lucky.
I love how my dad
loves me.
And even though my mom can be a bitch,
ragging me all the time about curfew,
I know she loves me too.
I promised her I’d get home on time tonight.
But it’s the last weekend before school.
So screw that.
BRENDAN
I head down to the garage, grabbing
car keys off the hook in the kitchen.
My little brother, Bobby, is at the kitchen counter,
bent over papers spread out on the black granite.
Yo, Bobby, it’s Saturday night,
I say.
Plenty of time to crack the books tomorrow.
He smiles and jumps off the stool,
following me out to the garage.
What’s today, Bobby?
I ask
It’s a running joke we have since Bobby
found this book at the library.
It’s got all these weird holidays in it
and Bobby thinks it’s great.
It’s Race Your Mouse Day,
he says with an ear-to-ear grin.
No shit,
I say.
Too bad we don’t have one. But Happy Race Your Mouse Day, big guy.
You, too,
Bobby answers.
I grab a few plastic bags I’d hidden
behind some old ice skates.
They’re mine from a long time ago.
I’ve logged a lot of ice time on those skates.
What’s that?
Bobby asks, watching me carry the bags to the car.
Just some stuff I’m taking to the party we’re going to.
You and your girlfriend?
he asks.
He says the word girlfriend in that teasing,
exaggerated way kids do.
But he likes Emma,
has right from the start.
Yep,
I say.
And a few friends.
I open the door of the SUV,
stick the bags and a cooler inside.
Robert! ROBERT DONNELLY!
It’s Dad’s voice, coming
from inside the house.
Bobby’s face gets that
paralyzed look I know so well.
Then Dad appears in the garage doorway.
He looks pissed. Damn.
Robert, you get your ass back to that kitchen counter. Now!
Bobby doesn’t move right away and in seconds
Dad is at his side, grabbing his arm.
I can see his fingers biting
into Bobby’s tanned skin.
Hey, Dad,
I say,
it was my fault. I asked Bobby to help with . . .
He turns to me,
frowning.
Don’t make excuses for your brother,
he barks.
Robert knew he wasn’t to leave the table until he finished his assignment.
But . . . ,
I start.
Dad is already yanking Bobby
out of the garage.
Dad . . . ,
I start again, following them.
You stay the fuck out of this,
Dad says without even looking at me.
He shoves Bobby toward the granite counter,
and Bobby quickly climbs onto the chair.
I can see the white marks where Dad’s
fingers grasped Bobby’s arm.
Bobby looks over at me,
gives me a shaky grin.
Have fun with your girlfriend,
he says.
Thanks,
I say.
I’ll wish her a happy Mouse Day for you.
Happy Race Your Mouse Day
, Bobby says, correcting me.
Dad is standing there, arms folded,
watching Bobby until he picks up his pen.
It isn’t until I’m sitting behind the wheel,
turning the key in the ignition,
when I suddenly remember,
clear as a bell.
The first time Dad hit me.
I was just Bobby’s age.
ANIL
1.
I know I should wear a T-shirt and
baggy cargo shorts.
That’s what the other guys
will be wearing tonight.
For Christmas Viraj gave me
a couple of T-shirts from rock concerts
he’d been to in Boston.
Foo Fighters and Death Cab for Cutie.
Either would probably be perfect.
But I can’t.
2.
And it’s not because of the disapproving look
I would inevitably get from my father.
These American teenagers are so disrespectful,
he says frequently.
No, it’s because of some deficiency in me.
When I put the Foo Fighters T-shirt on
and gaze in the mirror,
I look like an impostor,
with my Indian eyes and brown skin
and black hair.
Viraj can pull it off.
Me, I look like I’m trying too hard.
3.
Chloe is going to meet my parents tonight,
for the first time.
She arranged it that way,
for her friends to pick us up here.
I’m not sure why.
Maybe to put some kind of
official stamp on us,
before school starts on Monday.
4.
I decide to keep the cargo shorts on,
but put away the T-shirts,
neatly folded in my dresser,
and pull on a blue sport shirt.
It isn’t every day that your parents
meet your first girlfriend
for the first time.
CHLOE
“Things We Carry”
I love that feature in
Us Weekly
magazine
where they list all the stuff
in some celebrity’s purse.
It’s like you get clues to what kind of a
person she is,
plus you get good tips on makeup
and other stuff.
There was one a few weeks ago
from an old TV star who said she
always carries:
a vibrator and
a statue of St. Francis,
which is totally hilarious.
Here’s what’s in
my
purse for
the last Saturday night before
school starts:
FELIX
mom and i are at the kitchen table, finishing our take-out dinner. mom’s been obsessed with chicken tenders lately. she says they’re healthier than burgers, but if you look it up, i don’t think so. she sure likes all the dipping sauces, honey mustard being her favorite.
i can see dad’s latest letter lying on the kitchen counter. she must’ve been rereading it while i made the food run. she starts to tell me he’s okay and in a safer part of afghanistan. i tune her out while i put our plates in the sink. so she switches to another topic, asking what my plans are for tonight. i tell her i’m seeing emma and maxie, who’s just moved back to town, and her face lights up. haven’t seen that in a while.