Читать книгу The Boy Most Likely To - Huntley Fitzpatrick - Страница 15

Chapter Ten

“I’m two seconds from utter and total collapse!” Andy calls from her handstand position, her legs, kicked up against the fence by the side of our driveway, swaying wildly.

“You can do this,” Samantha says, slightly breathless, in the same position. “It’s really great for your form, trust me. If you can get the handstand down, you’re golden – right, Alice?”

“It’s the core gymnastics move,” I call. Andy and I share a bedroom, a bathroom, and half my clothes. I love my sister. But I thank God Sam’s helping her practice for gymnastics tryouts.

Jase is fiddling with his Mustang. Mom’s supervising Duff and Harry, who are mostly spraying each other and throwing sponges and sometimes washing the van. George is drawing on the blacktop, standing back, then jumping on his drawing, over and over again. Patsy waves at me from the kiddie pool. “Ayiss! A me, Ayiss!”

As usual, our driveway and lawn are completely overpopulated. Perfect. Easier with a crowd.

Brad has pulled gingerly in next to the Mustang, glancing around with an anxious look. He’s terrified of our driveway. I think he worries about running over one of my siblings, but it might also be the damage Patsy’s Cozy Coupe could do to his beloved Taurus. I slide into the passenger seat and Brad gives me a damp cheek smack and a thigh squeeze.

Beyond my open window, Harry swings the hose toward Brad’s car, but, quick as lightning, Mom swoops down and puts a kink in it. “No spraying people unless they say yes, Harry. George, lovie, I think that only works when Mary Poppins is there.”

George leaps again onto a chalk painting of, I think, a palm tree and a turtle. “Text her, then, Mommy.”

“Mary Poppins doesn’t believe in cell phones.”

“So, Ally. Want to come over? We can hang with Wally, you can cook us up some mac and cheese. I scored the last copy of Annihilation 7: The Grizzlies’ Revenge. I’m going to whip Wally’s ass at it and wipe the floor with him.”

I pause, turn to him. “Here’s the thing, Brad. I’ve been thinking . . .”

Jase’s gaze lights on me for a moment, eyebrows lifting. He’s seen these dominos fall before.

“Mommy!” Harry bellows, “Patsy’s getting bitey!”

“She walked on my island picture. It’s wrecked now!” George adds, pointing accusingly at Patsy, who is chasing Harry, top-knot of hair bobbing, tiny teeth bared.

Mom scoops up Patsy, who squirms in her arms. “I tiger, Mama,” then “Grrr” to Harry.

“You’re a friendly tiger,” Mom suggests. “George, actually, the wave part looks more watery now. It’s good. Step back and take another look.”

Patsy’s still glaring at Harry. “I bite,” she says ominously.

“Mom!”

“A sleepy tiger.” Mom strokes Patsy’s back. “All cozy. With her jungle friends. Harry, you’re the elephant. The hose is your trunk. You missed a spot on the back window.”

Brad chuckles. “Your mom’s awesome.”

And then he says things like that, which make this harder. Tim’s car eases in behind Jase’s Mustang, hanging half out in the street so as not to cover George’s drawings. Sam waves him over, but he calls distractedly, “Late for a meeting! Been running. Gotta shower and book it.”

He heads past the Taurus, pauses. “Hey Alice.”

“What did you have on your feet this time?” I ask.

“Toes,” he replies easily, and grins at me, lifting one long foot to put it on the sill of the car, wiggling his toes for emphasis. There’s a jagged open cut near his big toenail. “Well, toes and blood. Cut it on a shell. But I made it all the way to the pier this time. Very Navy Seal, huh? Ran right through the pain, because I am just that full of testosterone.”

I try hard not to laugh, looking away, straight at Samantha, who’s descended from her handstand position, watching us with a very slight smile. Jase, who has a smudge of dirt on his nose, is frowning over something to do with the windshield wipers. Or something.

“Clean that up,” I say to Tim. “And put something on it to keep it clean. Toes are seriously prone to infection because the bacteria can get trapped in your shoes.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Tim says, then, seeming to notice him for the first time, “Hey, Brad.”

“Yo bro, do you mind?” Brad asks. “We’re talking here.”

Tim backs away, raising his hands in exactly the same gesture he used in the rain the other night. This flicker of – something – licks up my spine.

As he’s climbing the steps, Andy comes over and calls, “Tim! You’re a guy, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Can I ask you a question I can’t ask my brothers?”

“No,” Jase calls.

“Uh – Andy – sorry, I really have to get to a meeting,” Tim says, glancing at Jase before the garage apartment door slams behind him.

“What were you saying, Ally-baba?”

Bite the bullet.

“Look, Brad.”

Obediently, Brad looks me in the eye. He’s taken a bite of one of the zillion protein bars overflowing his glove compartment, and he’s chewing, cheeks bulging. Harry and George have started playing Limbo with the water from the hose, Mom’s pulling out the back of Patsy’s swim diaper to check its contents, Jase has jerked his head up quickly and banged it on the hood, so Samantha, who’s come up beside him, is rubbing the spot, saying something under her breath. Andy’s doing a back walkover – without having stretched out enough first.

With the usual chaos and color, my chilly tone is suddenly so off.

Cold, really.

“Your family is a riot,” Brad says. “Crazy as anything, but ya know . . .” He trails off.

More than one boyfriend has said to me that breaking up meant breaking up with my family too, and that was the hardest.

But I have to push on here. No point dragging things out. Maybe I’m hard, the hardest.

Brad swallows, gnaws off another chunk, and says, mouth full, “What is it, Ally?”

“Brad. Here’s the thing.”

Jase winces. “Hey, Sam, can you hold the hood open for me? The prop rod keeps giving out.”

“Let’s all go inside, guys,” Mom says. “Duff, Harry, George – time to wash up and get something to eat. Andy, you too.” Everyone but George, who’s now jumping into the puddles left by the hose, follows. Jase keeps working on his car.

“We’ve come to the end of the road,” I say quickly. “We’ve gone as far as we can go.”

Brad looks puzzled. “It’s a driveway.”

“I mean us. As a couple . . . It’s not working out.”

“What?” Brad says frowning. “That . . . that’s not possible.”

“Can you hand me that Sharpie while still holding the hood?” Jase calls to Sam.

“We always knew it was temporary.” I’ve said these lines so many times. It’s possible that I am a complete bitch.

“We did? Why?” Brad, forehead squinched, says in a faint voice. “What was missing, Ally-baby? We hung out, we made out, we worked out. All the good stuff. I don’t get it.”

His brown eyes are pleading. Jase frowns over something on the inside of the hood. Samantha is also apparently very absorbed in the whole process.

“Brad, we never talked. We didn’t –” laugh. Tears are starting to run down his cheeks. Oh God.

“Talked?” he repeats, sounding confused. “About what?”

This is going nowhere. Wrap it up. I set my hand on his knee, squeeze. “You’re a good guy.”

“Oh, no,” he says, suddenly loud. “Don’t do that. Don’t ‘good guy’ me. I’m better than that. I’m a great guy. I’ve stuck by you. I’ve been there for you.”

He has. He’s put up with my crazy hours, all the homework and housework and babysitting I’ve had to do. On the other hand, I’ve put up with his roommate – the missing link – his CrossFit obsession, the wicked Grandmother of the West, and all those nicknames.

“You have, Brad. Which is what makes this so hard.” My voice is gentle, but it doesn’t make any difference. Now he’s actually sobbing, giant shoulders heaving, tears streaming down his face, his nose running. I flick my gaze to the garage apartment. “Brad . . .” I say helplessly. How can he have felt this deeply without me realizing it?

Now he’s buried his face in his hands. I try to rub his shoulder but he shakes me off. “Just go. Go away, Alice.”

More tears.

“Brad –” I say helplessly. “I feel –”

“You feel nothing,” he says. “You don’t even know how to feel. Get out of my car.”

My feet have barely hit the driveway when he yanks the door shut, then peels out with a screech of tires, zooms down the road, totally unlike himself. He usually drives like a little old lady.

I’m staring after him, biting my thumbnail, which I haven’t done in years. Jase slams the hood closed, wipes his greasy hands on some rag. After the roar of the car fades away, the silence is particularly loud.

“Well . . . that could have gone better,” Jase says. “Don’t you ever get tired of this, Al?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Samantha asks at nearly the same time.

I shake my head. Should I have known how he felt? Where were the signs? “I didn’t . . .” Wait. Is that the same silver car, idling across the road?

“He’s wrong. About the feelings thing. He was just pissed. Guys are dicks when their pride gets hurt,” Jase offers.

“My fault,” I say absently. “He was never a dick before.”

“Want me to beat him up for you?” he asks. “He’s big, but I could hire henchmen. George would go for it if there was a cool uniform.”

“Tim would help,” adds Samantha.

The stalker car jerks into reverse, then forward, like a replay of Brad. One of Joel’s castoffs? Tim’s drug connection? Whatever. The least of my problems.

Speak of the devil. I turn at the sound of Tim’s feet banging down the garage steps. He’s whistling, head bent, counting change. “I’ll be back around seven, guys, do you wanna –”

The tension in the air is practically solid. He looks back and forth between us. “Alice? Sam? What’d I do?”

After they all leave, I plop down on the steps next to George. He looks at me, head cocked. “He cried.”

Sighing, I tug him onto my lap, resting my chin on the top of his head. His fly-away hair tickles my nose as I inhale his scent – chalk and grass and hose water. “Yup, I know.”

“I’ve never seen someone so big cry like that. It was kind of like when the Cowardly Lion cries.”

It sure was.

Guess that makes me Tin Alice.