Sidekick (11 page)

“What?”

“Dude, you can beat me up. Me. You could probably take anyone on the football team with your freaky Judo powers. And you don’t take shit. You’re opinionated.” I sigh, hating to admit it. “That’s kind of intimidating, and guys have fragile egos. They’d rather go for the easier target than take a chance and get shot down.”

She glances at me, trying to stop her smile. “You’re just trying to make me feel better. You think it’s your fault.”

“Do you feel better?”

She punches me. Yeah, she’s just fine.

“Good, because I need Puke. So get out.”

She shakes her head. “Hell, no. I’m not going back in there. He’ll know he made me cry.”

I heave a sigh. I don’t have time for this. If I skip all my classes, the school will call my parents, and I won’t be able to fake sick. Mom may be busy, but she’ll notice that I wasn’t home in bed. “Don’t ask questions.”

“Fine.” Daphne smiles victoriously. I must have made her day by letting her win. I don’t mind.

Chapter Fourteen

The health department is all the way in downtown Fresno, not the nicest or safest of places, honestly. Daphne follows me into the building. As she looks around, I can tell she’s dying to ask why we’re here. She probably thought I was going somewhere fun or cool. I have no idea where I’m supposed to go, and the place is huge. There’s no choice but to ask the lady at the information desk. “Um, where do I go for a food handler’s permit?”

“Right over there, dear. Copies cost five cents a page.”

She’s pointing at two glass doors, behind which is a computer lab. I restrain myself from cursing in front of her. “It’s online?”

She nods.

“Thanks.” I head to the lab, feeling like an idiot. I just followed Charlie’s directions, but obviously he didn’t know it was online. He probably got his permit when he was ten. Either that or he was messing with me.

I sit in front of a computer and Daphne takes a seat next to me. “Food handler’s permit?”

“What did I say about questions?” I click the link for the permit and it asks me to register. Then it looks like I have to read some crap and pass a test.

“I know, but…what the hell, Russ? Why are you acting like this is some kind of scandal? It’s just a food handler’s permit.” She flicks the pencil on the desk and it rolls back to her electric blue fingernails. “Are you getting a job?”

“Not exactly.”

She shakes her head. “You’re terrified about what people think of you. Who cares if you get a job? So what if you want to work with food? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s nothing
you’d
understand.” It
does
matter what people think of me. She has no idea what I stand to lose because she’s never had it. I pull up the reading, wishing I could have been more heartless and kicked her out of the car.

“Then explain.”

“Shh.” I point to the screen. “I’m reading.”

“Fine. I was just trying to help.” She stalks off, finally giving me the space I need.

The food handler’s reading is full of ridiculously obvious stuff. Wash your hands before touching food. Wash your hands after touching meat. Wash your hands after going to the bathroom. Lots of hand washing. Keep stuff clean, don’t serve contaminated food, follow machinery instructions, don’t burn yourself, how to put out kitchen fires. It’s all pretty straightforward, though longer than necessary.

The test is cake.

I print out my certificate and get it signed by the official. Maybe coming in person was good thing after all, since I would have had to wait for this to come in the mail. I head to the lobby, where Daphne sits with a magazine. She must be bored stiff because it’s
People.
When she sees me, she tosses the magazine aside and heads for the door.

She’s leaning on Puke by the time I get there. We get in without talking. We drive five minutes in silence. I get twitchy. Not that we’re best friends or anything, but Daphne and I have always been able to carry on a conversation. I take a deep breath. “I don’t get why you’re so mad at me.”

“I’m not,” she says. “I’m mad at myself.”

“Okay…”

She pounds the seat. “Ugh, I need a punching bag. Some days Judo can’t come fast enough.”

She might claim she’s not mad at me, but she’s probably lying. She wanted me to get all touchy-feely with her in there and I didn’t. I can’t take the silence, so I plug in my iPod and flip on some Credence Clearwater Revival. She scrunches her face, trying not to smile. But old music? Yup, you have to smile.

“You’re such a dork,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah.” She’s known about my oldies obsession for a while, thanks to her practically living at my house. She and Izzy once caught me singing “Fire and Rain” with my dad while mopping the kitchen floor. For the next month, every time I’d enter the room they’d do an impression of me. “You know it makes me cool and eccentric.”

She shakes her head. “Wanna know a secret?”

“What?”

“When I’m at home by myself, this is what I listen to.” She leans forward and switches the music to radio. After turning the dial for a second, the twangy sound of country music fills the air.

My mouth hangs open. “No way.”

“And I love Taylor Swift, even her pop stuff. I have all her albums memorized.”

I laugh. As far as I knew, Daphne listened to punk and Japanese pop just like Izzy. I can barely picture her liking country, let alone someone as mainstream as Taylor Swift. “So you’re not all freak.”

“Don’t tell Izzy. She’d disown me.”

“After all the stuff you’ve kept secret for me? Of course not.” It’s weird thinking Daphne has stuff to hide. I’d always thought she was one hundred percent herself all the time. If Dallas railed on her just for not wearing lipstick, I can see why she has to hide the “normal” parts of herself. It’s stupid. Why can’t she do what she wants without getting grief?

“You know, my mom has always taught me to be myself. It’s because of her upbringing, because she had to ‘kill her soul’ to survive in India, as she says.” Daphne stares out the window, watching the orange trees fly by. “She’s so over-dramatic.”

I don’t know all the details, but I do know that Daphne’s mom came from a very rich, very traditional Indian family. She didn’t want to live by the rules. Didn’t want an arranged marriage. Didn’t want to be the kind of woman she was expected to be. She made a deal with her family that she’d agree to a marriage if she could go on one trip around the world first. She came to America, met Daphne’s biker dad, and ran away with him to Vegas. Her family disowned her, and she couldn’t have been happier. She got her citizenship, went to college, and became a lawyer.

“Sometimes I wonder, though,” Daphne says. “How would it be if I wasn’t myself? Maybe it would be easier than being the freak. If I pretended I liked drama or pompoms or basketball, would anyone know I was a fake? Or would that become me?”

This conversation is hitting too close to home, but I have to answer her. I can’t speak my mind to anyone else. “No.”

She turns to me, surprised. “No? No to what?”

“No, no one would know you were faking. And no, you wouldn’t become whatever you faked. The only one who knows you’re faking is you, and sometimes it ‘kills your soul’ like your mom said.”

“Then why do it?”

I shrug. “I guess the pros outweigh the cons.”

“Do they?”

“Sometimes.” They used to. I never questioned it. Going along with expectations was easy. I never thought about what I really wanted. The praise, the admiration, the respect; they were enough. Besides, I never knew what I wanted to do anyway. I still don’t. I just did what Garret did because he’s my best friend and it was always fun when we did stuff together.

I park at school, hoping Izzy won’t ask why the car’s in a different spot. But Daphne and I don’t get out right away.

“Russ?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for taking me with you.”

I nod. “Thank you, too.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me with your secrets.”

She smiles wide, not a shred of her previous sadness or anger anywhere. “You know, it’s a shame you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.” She pulls the door handle. “If I had to pick between fake Russ and real Russ, I’d pick the real one every time.”

Daphne is gone before I can answer, not that I have I good reply. All I know is what she said makes me smile.

Chapter Fifteen

I suck in weight lifting. Garret spots me as I do bench presses and actually has to help me finish off ten. “You okay, dude?”

“Tired.” I sit up and put my hands on my knees for support. “Really hope Coach calls off practice.”

Garret looks out the window. It’s pouring. The first good rain of the winter. “I don’t think any of us want to go out in that. I hate trying to catch in a storm. Remember the November semifinal last year?”

“Don’t remind me.” It rained so hard even our families left for the shelter of their cars. It was our worst game ever—seven fumbles between us. And Sean, the kicker, slipped on the last field goal attempt, costing us the game and a chance at state. Losing to the weather? Not cool.

Coach comes in five minutes before school ends, wearing a heavy green raincoat. We all groan before he even opens his mouth. “We are not losing to a storm in the semifinal again. You’re gonna play in the rain until it’s second nature. Suit up.”

This is the longest day of my life. I drag my feet through the halls, my shoulder pads weighing me down.

Garret slaps my back. “This sucks.”

“If I die out there, tell Izzy she can have my laptop,” I say.

He laughs. “I wanted that!”

And then, as if washed off by the rain, Garret’s smile drops. I follow his gaze, finding Mercedes and Holly at the end of the hall with Dallas, who calls, “Hey, guys, get over here!”

The first post-breakup encounter—always a party.

Garret sucks in a breath. “You got my back, right?”

“Of course.” We head over. It’s my job to make this as painless as possible. I
want
to help him out of this, despite all the Keira crap. “Dallas, Coach’ll kill us if we don’t get out there soon.”

He waves me off. “In a sec. The girls and I were planning Halloween shit. We’re thinking a big party at Mercedes’s.”

“My parents are going to some kiddie thing at my grandparents’ house.” Mercedes stares at the ground, but then she looks at me. “They said I could have some friends over. You wanna come, Russ?”

She doesn’t invite Garret. Doesn’t even
glanc
e at Garret. Ouch.

“Uh…” I look at Garret, who suddenly finds the locker graffiti fascinating. I can’t say yes, not when my best friend isn’t invited. “I’ll think about it. We might go to the school dance and see what all the losers dress up as. Something different, you know?”

Mercedes laughs way too loudly and play-shoves me. “That actually sounds kind of fun.”

“Cool. Maybe we’ll see you there.” I step back, trying to end this disaster.

She waves as we go. “Any chance to dance with you.”

I give her a nod, hoping my smile doesn’t look as fake as it feels.

“Damn.” Dallas elbows me. “Mercedes practically jumped in your pants.”

“Whatever.”

Garret is silent. He knows I won’t mess with Mercedes, but it can’t feel good to watch your ex flirt with your best friend while completely ignoring you. He doesn’t act like it, but breakups have to hurt him on some level. It can’t be easy to just remove someone from your life.

“Let’s get this over with, my peons.” Dallas shoves his helmet on and we run into the rain.

I’m soaked through before we even start the scrimmage, but Coach has no mercy. He just stands there under his umbrella, yelling at us. I usually enjoy practice, but all I can think about is how much I’m going to sleep when this is over.

“Damn it, Russ!” Dallas kicks the ground, splashing mud all over me. “All you have to do is grab the ball! Get it together.”

“I know.” I don’t have the energy to fight. There was no reason for me to miss that pass.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what Mercedes sees in such a worthless piece of shit.”

I wipe the water from my eyes. “Are you seriously riding my ass because of a girl?”

He doesn’t answer, which basically means yes.

“Dude, there’s no way in hell I’m going after Mercedes, so just chill.”

Coach calls us in.

“Good, burger boy.” Dallas shoves the ball into my chest way harder than necessary. I swear he has some kind of grudge against me. Why, I don’t know, but I’m sick of it.

Once we get back to the locker room, we pull off our wet gear, shower, and dry off. Hardly anyone talks. The rain and mud wore us all out. By the time Garret pulls into his driveway, I barely have the energy to wave to him before I tromp to my house. I make it as far as the couch, crashing there in one big flop. Even my growling stomach isn’t enough to move me.

“Russ?” Mom pokes her head out from the kitchen.

“Hey.”

She frowns. “Oh, hon, did he really make you guys practice in the rain?”

I manage a nod.

“I was hoping you were just at Garret’s. Let me get you something.” She disappears, and I smile a bit. I’d never say it out loud, but I like when my mom takes care of me. She might have her own stuff to do, but when she is around she totally makes up for it.

The garage door slams while I wait and Dad appears, still in his pilot’s uniform. He sets his luggage by the loveseat and plops down much like I did. “Had a long day?”

“Beyond,” I say. “Looks like you did, too.”

He smiles. “Almost twenty hours straight flying.”

“Ouch.”

“So.” He pauses, which is always a sign that he’s about to bring up something I may not want to talk about. “You picked any colleges to scout out?”

I sigh. College is the absolute furthest thing from my mind at this point. “No.”

He purses his lips. “What are you not saying, son?”

I’ve been avoiding this conversation for years. Now that we’re mere months from the Big Decisions, I’m forced to face it. “Maybe I don’t want to go.”