tuition. But if she wasn’t such a sensible girl, who knows what she might have done? A less sensible girl might be in Mexico with her boyfriend right now. He might have made her spend that money on drugs. Or made her buy him a new truck. Or … or …”
Or diapers.
His cell phone buzzes. He checks the number and his Next armor snaps back into place. “I’ve got to take this.”
He walks down the porch steps out onto the dry grass, barking Next-type phrases. “You are aware of the dossiers that I compiled. They’ve all been downloaded to a safe account out-of-network.” Like baboons, Nextarians are always trying to back one another down. “If anyone from SkyPat shows up, those dossiers will be compromised. Trust me on this. I will initiate. Do you read me? I will initiate.”
I think he’s telling them that he’s got dirt he’ll spread on all the celebrities who’ve confessed their secrets to him if they come after him. I briefly wonder if he would have ever been tough like that with Aubrey. Would she have ever dared to lie straight to his face about her “friend” Shaniqua?
Listening to Martin boom out this secret clubhouse lingo as he tramples across the crispy remnants of my lawn brings back the insoluble puzzle of how such a smart man could have fallen for such bunk. Or the real puzzle of how such a smart woman could have lost her man to it.
NOVEMBER 15, 2009
My bra is vibrating where I’d tucked my cell into it. I know it’s Tyler. This is the signal we’d arranged for him to let me know that he is waiting at the end of the block so we can go hang out at his place. When I first asked him to pick me up there instead of coming to my house, he’d said, “What? Are you ashamed of me?”
Only Tyler Moldenhauer could say this as a complete and absolute joke: No girl at Parkhaven High has ever been ashamed of bringing Tyler Moldenhauer home.
“No, my mom’s … She’s different.”
“Strict?”
“Yeah. Strict.” My mom is the complete opposite of strict, but I don’t want to go into that.
“That’s why you’re the way you are.”
“What way am I?”
“Sweet.”
“ ‘Sweet.’ ‘Nice.’ Tyler, you make me sound like a cross between vanilla pudding and a kitten.”
“You are. To me you are.”
“I’m not. I’m really not.”
“OK, you’re a giant jizbag ho. That better?” He never stops smiling.
“I wish you texted. If my mom’s there, I don’t want her hearing my phone ring.”
“Text? With these?” He held up his hands. They were as scarred and rough and almost as hard as old bricks. The little finger on his left hand stuck out at a forty-five-degree angle from where it was broken and not set right. The top of his middle right finger was missing entirely. It was hard to imagine how someone could lose the top of a finger playing football. Like his teeth, his hands are different from anyone else’s at Parkhaven. “Texting is too much like homework and you know I don’t do homework. Just put it on vibrate and stick your phone right there.”
When he touched my breast, he was the public Tyler Moldenhauer, the player who could have any girl he wanted. Who could have me. But he’d pulled his hand away, clamped it on the steering wheel. I guess he didn’t want to get my hopes up. Lead me on or something.
“That’s cool,” I said, silencing my phone and sliding it into my bra. “Vibrate is cool. Just call, hang up, and I’ll come.”
And now he is calling. I head for the door. My mom intercepts me. “Aubrey? Are you going out? You have school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Shaniqua and I need to work on our project.”
While I am trying to remember if I told her it was a project for physics or Spanish, she stations herself in front of the door, folds her arms across her chest, and says, “Aubrey, there is not a single person, male or female, at your school named Shaniqua.”
“What? You looked through the entire directory?”
“Only because Madison’s mom mentioned that you’ve been seeing Tyler Moldenhauer.”
“Madison’s mom? When did you talk to her? I thought you hated her and all the Parkhaven moms.”
“I don’t hate Joyce. I don’t hate anyone. We’re just not … Aubrey, are you dating Tyler Moldenhauer, and why haven’t you told me?”
“Dating? No one dates anyone anymore.”
“OK, hanging out, chilling, hooking up.”
“Ew.” I cannot control a full-face grimace