Tease(29)

Tommy hates football, but our dad is the world’s biggest Huskers fan, so there’s no way either of us is bringing that up.

“Football can be really dangerous,” I say. I have no idea why I’m opening this argument—the words just pop out, and immediately I wish I could shut up again. I don’t say anything when Dad’s talking to me, or about me. But when it comes to the boys I can’t keep quiet, even though I should. It’s not like we get to see him so often that we have the luxury of fighting.

But Dad’s mood has shifted again. “You’re a strong guy,” he says to Tommy, patting his shoulder. “You can take it.”

Tommy doesn’t look strong. He looks sad. I’m standing there, still holding the bowls and halfway to the sink, when Alex comes tearing back into the room, holding two baseball gloves.

“I found one of your old ones!” he tells Dad breathlessly.

“Okay, then.” Our dad gets up and takes off his wrinkled suit jacket. He rolls up his sleeves and Alex bolts to the back door, sliding it open. He looks like an eager puppy, and Tommy looks like a wounded one, though he’s getting up to go outside too.

As they all troop out the door, I wonder what I look like.

The cleaning lady, I guess.

“He’s so mean to her,” I say, almost to myself. Mel Gibson is yelling at Helena Bonham-Carter—or Hamlet is yelling at Ophelia, I guess—and even though I really only understand the gist of the dialogue, I can tell he’s being cruel.

“He’s just pushing her away,” Carmichael says. He takes a sip of his Coke and then points it at the screen. “He has a lot going on, right? His dad was murdered.”

“But she can’t help it if she likes him,” I say.

Carmichael doesn’t respond, and we watch in silence for a while. When Carmichael got here we ordered a pizza. Actually, we talked to my mom and my brothers and ordered two pizzas, but they ate theirs upstairs. My mom didn’t even blink when she saw Carmichael’s all-black ensemble. I don’t know if she saw the tattoos, but she said, “I like your T-shirt,” which today has a screen print of John Lennon. He smiled and said, “Thanks,” and I noticed Tommy looking at our mom, obviously waiting until we were gone to ask her who the guy on the T-shirt was.

I grab another slice of pizza, willing myself to eat even though it feels wrong to stuff my face in front of a boy. Carmichael already had three slices and this is only my second, but still. Around Dylan I couldn’t eat more than a couple of french fries or I’d feel fat and self-conscious.

But this isn’t Dylan. This isn’t a date. Even if did I spend an hour trying on every tank top in my wardrobe. I finally settled for a pair of shorts and my favorite gray V-neck T-shirt, the one that’s so old it’ll probably fall apart at the seams the next time I wash it. But it’s super soft and it definitely doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard.

And Carmichael’s not acting like this is a date. He’s acting like we’re just friends, or at least study partners, and I know that should be good enough for me. I shouldn’t be so lonely and desperate.

But still. I put my plate back on the table and wipe my mouth with a napkin. I fuss with my hair a little, wishing I hadn’t decided that chin-length was a good choice for summer. I tug at my T-shirt and make sure it’s not covered in crumbs.

And then, finally, I just settle back on the couch and watch the movie. For a while I actually relax. But by the time Ophelia is found floating in the river, I’m curled into a tense ball in the corner of the couch, biting my thumbnail, feeling like I might throw up all the pizza.

Carmichael looks over at me and says, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, more defensively than I mean to. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” he says easily. “I just thought, you know. It’s kind of tough, watching all this stuff about death and suicide and everything.”

I glance at him, but he’s still facing the TV. “Is it tough for you?” I ask.

“Yeah, of course.”

I don’t know what to say.

“I didn’t really know Emma,” he adds softly. “But it’s hard not to think about it. And she seemed like a good kid.”

I don’t want to talk about this. I jump off the couch, grabbing my empty Coke can. “Do you want more?” I ask. “I’m getting more.”

I don’t wait for him to answer, I just hurry upstairs. We’ve been using the basement TV while my brothers are playing Wii in the living room. I keep trying to get my mom to move the console downstairs. She says it’s easier to keep an eye on the boys this way, and she’s right, but it’s loud and obnoxious with them jumping around in there all the time. And it leaves me no choice but to invite a totally random guy from summer school down to my basement, which seems kind of desperate.

But when I reach the top of the stairs, it’s actually pretty quiet. Mom and the boys already had dinner, so I guess she went up to her room. Alex is still playing Wii in the living room but Tommy’s in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with his DS.

“Hey, bud, what’s up?” I ask him, dropping my can into the recycling bin and crossing over to the fridge. We got a bunch of free cans of soda with the pizza because they were out of liter bottles, so there are still a few left. I grab two and slam the door shut, realizing that Tommy still hasn’t said anything back.