Spiral (9 page)

“Brat?” I call out, checking my mom’s room, then Brenton’s. Heat rises, and my nerve endings spike. What if she went outside? What if those paparazzi vultures got to her?

Suddenly, I hear Britney giggling. The sound comes from my room, and I sigh with relief, throwing open the door with force.

Cherie and Britney are in the midst of a complicated form of patty cake, sitting cross-legged across from each other on my bed like they’re in their pajamas at a sleepover and not in fancy black mourning dresses at a Shiva.

“Hey!” Cherie gasps in surprise, clutching at her chest as if her heart stopped.

Befuddled, I stare at them and say, “My mom’s looking for you; time for the knish or something.”

They exchange glances at each other and explode with laughter. Apparently there is a joke I’m not in on.

“Silly, it’s Kaddish, not knish,” my little sister corrects me, and Cherie giggles some more. I guess Britney converted to Judaism overnight or something.

I shrug and my cheeks burn a little. “Yeah, whatever, it’s time for it.”

Cherie purses her lips and slides off of the bed with that look that says she’s exhausted being on call all of the time. I guess this must be what it feels like for her to be in movies and on TV, constantly trying to be a kid in between getting called to stand in a certain spot or say some line with the right expression on her face or the perfect emotion in her voice.

Right now the only emotion I see in her is sadness, which is punctuated by my sister’s pout.

“Can we play when you’re done?” Britney asks. I know she can be a pest, so I try to step in.

“Cherie has to be downstairs with everyone else, Brat,” I say softly.

But instead, Cherie shakes her head at me and smiles at Britney. “No, I can come back, if you promise to wait right here for me.”

Britney beams, and I do a little, but only on the inside. I won’t let on to it, but I like that she’d give this kind of attention to my little sister. Maybe Cherie’s not such a spoiled brat.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” she says over her shoulder. I follow her out of the room like a shadow. She slows until we are in step, side by side with each other.

“Sorry that I was in your room,” she says, looking up at me. “I hope it’s okay.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.” I don’t know why, but I didn’t care at all. I realize now that I should have; Cherie Belle was in my room. On my bed. Just hanging out. It seemed harmless enough, but what if she wasn’t playing with Britney the whole time? What if she looked through my things? What if she went in my nightstand? My cheeks still haven’t stopped burning, and now they’re getting hotter.

“I saw all of your football trophies,” she adds with a small, teasing smile. “What position do you play? Quarterback? Kicker?”

I look over at her in disbelief. “You know football?”

She bites her lower lip and glances down in shame. “No, I don’t; just those words. And touchdown.”

It’s my turn to laugh at her. “Oh. Well, I play tight end, which is an offensive position.” She scrunches her nose. “Uh – I come out when we are on offense. That means my team has the ball. I can catch and run with the ball, or I can block people during the play.”

“Oh. Well, you must be very good. You have a lot of trophies,” she remarks as we descend the stairs.

I hope she isn’t looking at me as I shrug again and say, “Nah, they give those out to everybody every year. It’s just like good sportsmanship and stuff.”

She is looking up at me. “I saw one that said captain on it.”

My jaw clenches. “JV. Just for a month or two. But I was on varsity this fall, so maybe I’ll be captain next year.”

“Why just a month or two?” she asks. I don’t know why she’s so curious about this. I feel like I’m being interviewed, but I’m not sure for what.

I’m slow to respond, especially as we enter the crowded living room together. But Cherie turns her eyes to me as if I’m the only person in the world and she’s totally invested in whatever I’m saying. It puts me under a sort of spell, and I feel obligated to answer.

So I tell her the abridged version. “They made me captain of the JV team last year, mid-season. I didn’t start freshman year with all of the other guys, so the coach didn’t know what to expect from me.”

“I guess he liked what he saw then.” I nod dumbly, my eyes transfixed on her pouting, shimmery lips. “Did you just start to play football last year?”

What does any of this have to do with anything?
I think to myself. “No, I used to play a lot as a kid. I just wasn’t able to play for a little while, so I started late in high school.”

Her head cocks to the side. “Why?”

I shrug, and the response is automatic. “I couldn’t. I had to take care of Britney and Brenton.”
Aha
! As the words leave my tongue, I finally realize why she’s pressing me so much about my football history. Her conversation with Claudia comes burrowing through my thoughts and breaks me from the trance. As if I really could believe that this girl had any sincere interest in my football woes!

I gesture to the rabbi, who is still chewing my mother’s ear off. “I think they need you now.”

A hint of a smirk plays on her lips, as if she senses she has been caught red-handed but still feels victorious in her mission. She nods at me and floats over to my mother’s side. I turn and march back up the stairs to tell Britney she’s going to take this patty cake game down to the basement from now on.

A
fter Shiva, Mom pokes her head into my room. “Sweetheart?” she calls, smiling sweetly. “May I come in and use your laptop? Jim left his at the office, and he’s using mine to get caught up on some work.” “Yeah,” I grunt, turning off my latest movie and handing the laptop to her.

“Thank you so much.” She sits down at my desk and begins to type and click away. I lie down and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before growing bored. I pick up my phone, realizing I haven’t spoken to anyone outside of this house in almost four days. When I flip through my missed calls and messages, I see I’ve neglected about a dozen messages from my friends, Frank and Josh. I have four texts from guys on my football team and a few from numbers I don’t recognize.

What the hell?
I wonder as I sift through them. The most recent text is from Josh, asking if that was me he saw on the news again last night and why haven’t I called him back yet. The question blares at me in big, shouting capital letters. I peer up at my mom, who obliviously clicks and types at my desk. I text him back quickly and tell him to grab Frank and meet me in the food court of the mall tomorrow.

Another set of texts are from my ex-girlfriend, Katrina, who also asks what is going on and if the “rumors” are true. I’m not sure what this means. As I start to type, “What ru talking about?”, my mom begins small talk in my direction.

“Did you have a nice time with Cherie today?” she asks in a faint, hopeful voice.

“Not really,” I mutter. “Some photographers followed us. They almost trampled Britney.”

On my phone, Katrina replies, “U and Cherie Belle?”

I stare at the screen, stunned. I type, “What rumors?”

My mom sighs. “Yes, I see they found the house finally. They are brazen, aren’t they? I’m sure you took care of her. You always do.” She clicks the mouse pad. “Ooh, a coupon for Kohl’s! Didn’t you say you needed socks?”

Katrina’s scathing text replies, “Like u don’t know.”

My eyes nearly roll back into my head. I text back, “I don’t. What is it?”

“What the hell is going on then?” Katrina persists. I can feel jealousy radiating from her, and I don’t understand why or where it’s coming from.

“I don’t know what ur talking about,” I type back. No response.

My mom calls, “Jack? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, socks,” I say quickly. I sit up and roughly throw my phone into my night stand’s drawer.

Mom turns and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” I mutter. “There are some kinds of rumors going around about me and Cherie in the news, and Katrina’s mad at me.”

She squints at me as if she finds that hard to believe. Her lips purse to the side, and she tilts her head. “I know all of this media attention is hard, honey. Jim and I are trying to figure out the laws and find out what rights to privacy we have. It’s all very confusing. For now, we can’t really stop them, so just remember not to answer their questions.”

“Yeah,” I grumble. I twist onto my side and close my eyes to turn off all of the conversations around me.

Finally, Mom stands and pats my legs gently. “Thanks, honey. You can go back to your movie.”

“Pass me the laptop?” I ask, too lazy to get up. She rolls her eyes and laughs, handing me the computer before leaving.

In true Mom fashion, every tab is still open. I start to close each tab, one by one. A bunch of Mom-sites flash before me: Kohl’s New Year’s sale items,
Couponclipper.com
, a Shoprite weekly flyer. Her email is still open. As I bring the cursor to the little red “x” at the top, the first email catches my eye.

Jim’s email address glares at me, and my interest is piqued the minute I read the subject line.

Cherie.

I blink. I squint at the screen and swallow. What about Cherie?

Should I read it? I want to read it.

I shouldn’t read it. I shake my head to myself, and I almost want to slam the laptop closed and walk away before I do something I shouldn’t. Almost.

But I can’t stop myself. Hesitantly, I click on the email’s subject and open the message.

From: Goldman, Jim (
[email protected]
)

To: Eva Goldman

Subject: Cherie

Did you see this? Should we talk to them?

www.dirterazzi.com/articles/cherie-belle-new-love-affair-A-Romantic-Comedy / Sent from my iPhone

Love affair? With who? Who’s
them
? I read and reread the link over and over to myself. Twinges of curiosity are overshadowed by flames of jealousy that resonate through my limbs. I want to look. The mere title of the article makes me furious. Now I know I shouldn’t go any further. I don’t want to know who she’s dating.

So even Jim’s reading the gossip sites? What is wrong with everyone?

My hands are sweating. My heart beats rapidly inside my chest. I don’t know why this is getting me this upset, but it is, and I get even angrier that I am so angry about Cherie’s stupid love affair and Jim’s gossip site prying.

I am also mad that my thirst for the details of that article is begging to be quenched. My curious side begs,
If everyone is going ahead and reading about her and forwarding it around, why can’t I?

No, I can’t do that,
I tell myself.

I don’t want to know who she is dating. I didn’t want to know that she is dating someone at all.

I pace between my window and my front door, trying to calm down, trying to count to ten, but none of it is working. I have to go for a run. I have to clear my head. I pull up the blinds of my window and scan the dark street for photographers. There are a few waiting in their cars beside our sidewalks, so I decide to go out of the back door.

After pulling on my sneakers and my sweatshirt, I pound down the stairs and into the kitchen. Cherie is sitting at the table, painting bright pink polish on Britney’s fingernails, and the image of them sitting together, Cherie doting on her so lovingly, does something to melt my insides as I step closer. They both look up when I enter the room.

“Jackie, look!” Britney is glowing, holding up a set of perfectly painted nails that match Cherie’s.

“Nice,” I nearly grunt, trying to show approval with a small smile. Oblivious, Britney returns her attention to the table.

“Hey,” Cherie says cheerily. I smile tightly. She is wearing an over-sized sweater that swallows her whole upper body and tiny shorts that do very little to cover her legs, which are long and thin. Her hair is held in one long ponytail that drapes over her shoulder. Her green eyes look so big on her drawn, hollowed face, but she’s still as pretty as pretty can get. I don’t know if it’s because she is a celebrity or if I’m just that attracted to her, but she gives me those butterflies like movies and books always talk about. It’s really annoying, and I hate it.

“Hi.” I head straight for the refrigerator and pull out a water bottle, trying not to stare at her.

“Where are you headed?” she asks with pep.

“For a run,” I say quickly. I feel bad speaking so brusquely to her, but I feel like a thousand curses will fly out of my mouth right now if I open it too much.

She glances at the clock and then back at me. “It’s almost 8 o’clock at night.”

I shrug, growing irritated. “So?”

Cherie squints at me. “Is everything okay?”

I hate being such an easy read. “Yeah, fine. Just want to work out, that’s all.”

“You just seem…I don’t know, angry or something.” Her face falls. “I hope I wasn’t prying too much before, you know.” She thinks I’m mad at her, I’ll bet. I’m not, but maybe I sort of am. I shouldn’t be though, and I’m definitely not angry with her for the reason she thinks.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not mad, I promise,” I lie quickly. Britney’s eyes dart between us, and she impatiently slides her hand closer to Cherie on the table.

Ignoring Britney for a moment, Cherie says softly, “Okay. Well, be careful.” I hear something in her voice; disappointment maybe? I’m not sure.

I turn for the door. When my fingers touch the knob, she calls out, “Hey, Jack?”