Chapter 1
Crissy
A car with a loud muffler pulled into the parking lot of the Lakeside Drive-In. Only one car in town sounded like that. Brad’s 1980-something Camaro. His baby. I slouched way down in my seat and watched out of the corner of my window as he pulled into a spot across the lot from where Mandy and I were parked. I’d told him I’d be home all night tonight. If he saw me here, he’d be mad. Accuse me of lying to him.
He and his cousin got out of the Camaro and went up to the order window. Brad knew the cook and always ordered at the window so he could say hi. Then he’d let one of the rollerbladed serving girls bring the food to his car. He stayed at the window this time and waited for his order—almost certainly a triple bacon cheeseburger, no onions, and monster-size chocolate cherry malt. Good. That meant he was taking his food to go. A few minutes later with bags in hand, they went back to the car and Brad peeled out of the lot. I watched him drive away and only sat up once he was far out of sight.
I felt Mandy staring at me the whole time. If I had looked, I would’ve seen that frown. The one she wore every time the topic of Brad came up. This time all she said was, “Good thing he doesn’t know my car, hey?”
“Yeah,” I exhaled and closed my eyes, listening for the sound of that engine. Even though I couldn’t hear it anymore, I couldn’t relax. He could come back. I’d left instructions with Mom to call me immediately if he stopped by the house. Lakeside wasn’t that far away, Mandy could have me home in less than five minutes if he was there waiting.
One of the servers rolled up to the car with our food and attached the tray to Mandy’s window. The smell of French fries and deep-fried cheese curds swirled in the air around the car and my stomach rumbled.
Mandy smiled as she handed me my mug of root beer, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was waiting for me to say something, to defend myself. The last thing I wanted was to get into yet another discussion about why I should break up with Brad. I’d heard it many times. Her vote had been registered.
My throat practically cried with relief as the foamy, vanilla and licorice goodness slid down. I pressed the icy mug against my neck. Hottest freaking June in years and our A/C was out. Again. When Mandy called, asking if I wanted to get a root beer at Lakeside, our dinky-town Minnesota version of a Sonic, I jumped at the chance. The ride in her chilly car felt like a reward for being shackled to two five-year-olds and a baby all week.
She held her mug out to me in a toast. “To your first week of babysitting. How was it?”
When I’d first told her about my summer babysitting job, she nearly hyperventilated. She babysat, but one kid at a time. Her cousin. Only for a few hours on Saturday nights. In air conditioning.
“Well,” I said after one more chug, “the baby is easy since he can’t walk yet. I plop him in his playpen in the shade and toss in a bunch of toys.” I spent most of the first week in the backyard with them since it was cooler there than inside my house. “I’m used to bossing my sister around. Jaden isn’t bad. Except he thinks he’s a ninja, or something, ’cause he started taking taekwondo lessons. He hides behind stuff and jumps out at me, standing there in this ‘I can take you’ pose. Scares the carp out of me every time.”
“Carp?”
“His mother told me to watch my language around him.”
Mandy laughed. “He sounds like fun.”
“I guess. One week down, eleven to go.” Summer wouldn’t be boring, that’s for sure.
The conversation stopped and I could feel her dying to talk about things I didn’t want to talk about. “Are you ready for your trip?” I blurted
She squinted at me, as if debating whether or not to let me distract her. “I guess.”
“You aren’t excited?”
“It’s Minneapolis.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “It’s not a beach with a palm tree, but it’s also not here.”
I’d love to go anywhere for one day let alone a whole week. Literally. Anywhere. Minneapolis? Nebraska? The middle of freaking Antarctica? I’m there.
Mandy acted like she was being sent to do hard labor. Right. Watch three kids by yourself all day and then tell me about hard labor. Okay, fine, I just needed to keep them in the yard and make sure no one severed a limb or caught fire. Not that hard. But the little ninja would probably give me a nervous twitch by the end of the summer.
“What’s the problem?” I teased her. “Gonna miss Ethan too much? You think he’ll find someone new?”
Mandy scowled and shook her head. “No…well, yeah I’ll miss him. But no, I’m not worried that he’ll find someone new. We’re secure enough to survive being apart for a few days.”
True. Mandy and Ethan were tight.
“What is it then?” I asked Mandy. “You’re all wigged-out about something.”
She stole one of my fried cheese curds and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes and releasing a contented sigh.
“Those are so good.”
Only Mandy could get that happy over food. “You’re avoiding my question.”
“I’m not avoiding.” She stole another curd and wiped her greasy fingertips on a napkin. “Okay, honestly? I think it’s because I have to spend a whole week with Mama. I can’t remember us ever having that much time alone together.”
I totally identified with that. No way could I handle a week with my mother. Of course mine was a fully-marinated alcoholic and drug addict (I was fairly sure about the drugs, didn’t have proof though) where Mandy’s mom was this smart, confident, professional woman. She could be kind of intimidating and sometimes got too wrapped up in her work, but overall she was cool. She’s the mom I’d pick.
“Once you’re there it’ll all be fine.”
Mandy nodded and went for another curd, I deflected her this time.
Across the parking lot a family—dad, mom, one boy, one girl, one baby—claimed one of the picnic tables set in the grassy yard. The dad sat next to the mom. The boy and girl sat next to each other, not pinching or poking or teasing. Such well-behaved children.
“Aren’t you hot?” Mandy asked.
I stared at her, confused by the out of nowhere question. “It’s like a hundred and three degrees and the humidity makes me feel like I just got out of the shower. Of course I’m hot.”
She drained her root beer and set it on the tray hanging off her window.
“Then why are you wearing long sleeves?” She had that tone in her voice, the new confrontational take-charge one she had picked up over the last few months.
I looked down at the breezy blouse I’d snatched from my older sister’s closet. It was lightweight something, linen maybe, and a really pretty red. I thought it went well with my cutoffs and red flip-flops.
“I don’t know.” I’d let myself get distracted. She was trying to open the discussion I’d been trying to keep closed. “I like this shirt. It’s Vanessa’s. You know how she hates it when I borrow her stuff. Especially her new stuff. She just got this last—”
“Let me see your arms.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Swallowed. “N-No.”
“Crissy.” Now she had this total mom look on her face. “Let me see your arms.”
A server skated over to the family with a tray full of sundaes and set it down on the table. The mom handed out the ice cream to the small, extended hands with wiggly give-it-to-me fingers.
“I don’t need to show you my arms.”
“You don’t,” Mandy agreed. “What’s the problem? Unless you’re hiding something.”
I stared at her, trying to invoke the you-can’t-make-me glare of my little sister. Mandy didn’t flinch.
“You’re not as nice as you used to be, you know,” I told her.
She shrugged and tugged on her hair to tighten her long brown ponytail. “It just seems that way. It’s more that I’m not willing to stand by and do nothing while my friend is being beaten up by her boyfriend.”
“He doesn’t beat me up.”
“Then let me see your arms.”
Mandy was like a pit bull, she wouldn’t give up. We could sit there ’til winter and she wouldn’t budge on this. I placed the cold, but no longer frosty, mug between my knees. The sudden shock against my sticky-hot skin sent an icy chill up my thighs. I pulled the left sleeve up to my shoulder and twisted my arm back and forth letting her see all around it. She nodded her approval, looked me in the eye, and gave a single nod at my right arm.
“This is stupid,” I said and jerked the left sleeve back into place.
The family was laughing now, sharing spoonfuls of their sundaes with each other. Totally oblivious to the fact that they were being watched.
In a sudden fit of…I don’t even know what—Frustration? Embarrassment? Determination to accept the tough-love being offered?—I pulled my right sleeve up to my shoulder, revealing a purple and green and yellow bruise on my upper arm. It was obviously a hand print. Each finger clearly defined. The fingertips, where he’d dug in hardest, looked like a cluster of purple grapes. I couldn’t look at her, didn’t want to see her reaction.
“He pulled me back onto the curb,” I said lamely and kept my eyes on the family. “There was this car coming and I almost stepped in front of it.”
“I don’t believe you,” Mandy said simply, not missing a beat.
The boy and the girl sat there in their cute little fresh-from-the-mall summer outfits, eating their ice cream without trying to steal each other’s or getting yelled at to sit still and eat. The dad gazed at the mom with love oozing from every pore of his body. The gaze said look at the beautiful life you’ve given me. Our three well-behaved children, our flawlessly kept four bedroom, three bathroom home. Our perfectly trained Labradoodle.
“Why do you defend him?” Mandy asked, anger on the edge of her voice. Then gently, “Why do you stay with him? You are the most awesome person. I don’t understand why you stay with someone who leaves bruises on you.”
When I looked at her, I saw tears sparkling in her eyes. Her words and those tears should have filled me with happiness that I had a friend who cared enough to say these things. Instead it made me feel less worthy than ever.
“I stepped in front of a car,” I repeated without emotion and returned to the family. The dad had gone around to his children’s side of the table to wipe the ice cream off their faces. As he turned away from his son’s now-clean face to wipe his daughter’s, the little girl reached up and wiped a dab of whipped cream on his nose. I inhaled, waiting for the dad’s perfect composure to crumble. He’d yell, maybe spank, grab the girl by her arm and drag her to the car, throw her in the backseat and yell for everyone to come on, we’re leaving.
Instead, the dad threw his head back and laughed. He swiped the whipped cream off his nose with the fresh wipe the mom handed him, then playfully scrubbed his daughter’s face. Next he picked the girl up and spun her effortlessly onto his shoulders while she squealed and giggled. The mom tucked the baby into its stroller and the boy helped her push as the family cautiously crossed the busy street to the park, heading toward the playground.
I pulled my sleeve down and drained my mug. “I should get home.” Even though home was the very last place I wanted to be.
Mandy waited before saying, “It’s only seven-thirty. I’m leaving in the morning and I’d like to spend some more time with you before I’m gone for a week.”
I didn’t object. Hanging around Mandy made me feel more normal. Or at least less like a freak. She was super focused and had dreams of culinary school. She inspired me, gave me a little hope. My dream was simpler, to not follow in my mom’s and sister’s footsteps and end up pregnant at seventeen.
“Okay,” I told Mandy. “We can stay. If we stop talking about Brad.”
“One more thing, then I’ll leave it alone,” she swore, one hand in the air, the other crossing her heart. “I’m issuing you a challenge. Stay away from him for the week. As much as possible. I realize you probably can’t avoid him completely.” She paused. “Unless you got a restraining order.”
Here’s me: not amused.
“Use babysitting as your excuse,” she went on. “Tell him you’re too tired to go out. Or that Vanessa got called in to work an extra shift and your mom is gone.”
I laughed. Maybe having a drunk for a mom could work to my advantage.
She pressed on. “One week. I think you’d see how much better your world would be without him.”
I twisted the silver thumb ring I’d bought myself for my seventeenth birthday in March—silver symbolized clarity and strength—and winced as a little jolt of pain shot through the bruise on my arm. This was a big one. He’d hung on extra long and squeezed extra hard. Rage had turned his face as purple as the bruise. It was partly my fault though.
He’d told me, “Make sure…are you listening to me?” He smacked the back of my head to get my full attention. “Make sure they don’t put onions on my burger.”
I’d written down everyone’s orders. Maybe I hadn’t written no onions because I knew he hated onions. Or maybe I’d forgotten to say it since I hadn’t written it down. Or maybe the headset on the girl taking my order at the drive-thru had shorted out and she hadn’t heard that part.
He’d had a really bad day, everything went wrong at the farm and all he wanted was a burger. It was a mistake I’d never make again. I’d double and triple check his order before bringing him anything next time.
“I’ll do my best,” I told Mandy. “Not much I can do if he comes to my house though.”
“Tell him it smells like diapers.”
I gave a weak laugh. “Now that might work.” Across the street at the park, the Perfect Family was still playing. The dad stepped back and forth between the boy and the girl, pushing them higher and higher on the swings. “Let’s go to the playground.”
“The playground?” If I’d asked to go to the moon, I would’ve gotten the same response.
“Yeah, I have a sudden urge to swing.” There was no breeze that night. I thought we could make our own. And for a while I’d pretend to be that little girl.
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