Enemies Abroad(16)

The screen is completely black. Her smiling face would be in its allotted rectangle, but she’s hiding in her closet with the lights off. A necessary sacrifice.

“How is it so far?” she asks, a wrapper crinkling in the background.

“Fine, mostly. Hey, I thought you finished all your candy back in April?”

“Yeah, I thought I did too, but I found a Snickers tangled in one of my thongs yesterday. Lucky me.”

Kristen pilfered some of the kids’ Halloween candy last year and hid it in her underwear drawer. Whenever she gets desperate, say, if the kids are being particularly grouchy, or if she’s about to start her period, or if it’s any day ending in Y, she dips into her stash.

“Are the middle schoolers behaving?”

“Yes. It’s not them giving me a headache.” I dig my fork aggressively into my tiramisu, using it as a makeshift stress ball.

“Noah?” she guesses immediately.

“He’s worse than ever.”

“Well at least all that evil is encased in a hot bod.”

“Kristen.”

“Oh, don’t try to deny it. I saw him, remember?”

She did. Two months ago, she brought me lunch up at the school. When she walked into my classroom, her eyes were as round as saucers.

She didn’t have to say a word.

“Noah?” I asked, annoyed by her reaction.

She nodded dumbly, her jaw still slack from shock.

I hustled toward her and pulled her all the way in, quickly shutting the door behind us. “Did you say anything to him?”

“No. I couldn’t! He smiled at me though.”

I groaned and took the Taco Bell bag from her. “Why’d you let him do that? It’s like his secret weapon. Did they put Fire sauce packets in here or just Mild?”

“Both. What was I supposed to do? He was just there and—”

“Stop.” I held up my hand. “Stop talking about him.”

She didn’t of course. Not for thirty nauseating minutes.

Fortunately now, she believes me that, hot or not, Noah is the embodiment of true evil. Like any good friend, she hates him on principle simply because I tell her to.

From the rustling on her end, it sounds like she’s trying to find another piece of chocolate lurking in her panties. She does this a lot: hides out for a moment of peace. It’s the only way we can actually have a conversation. Her husband Drew is nice, but he’s a sports fanatic. His definition of minding the kids is shouting over his shoulder for them to settle down while keeping his eyes glued to an NFL game.

“I have a date tomorrow morning,” I volunteer.

“What? With who? You just got there!”

“Oh, no one special, just the program director who just so happens to be a super-hot Italian guy.”

“Oo la la. I love the sound of this. Tell me everyth—”

Her son starts pounding on her closet door.

“MOMMY! MOMMY! I’M HUNGRY!”

“We just ate lunch!” she shouts back.

“BUT I’M HUUUNNGGRRYYYY!”

“Go find Daddy!”

“Daddy’s at work! I want Mommy!”

“Sounds like you need to go,” I tell her.

“Are you kidding me? You were just going to tell me about the hot Italian dude! Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I’ll fill you in after my date, how’s that?”

Her son succeeds in prying open the closet door, flooding the phone screen with light, and then I get a split second of Kristen’s face before her son comes into view, his blond curls bouncing as he tackle-hugs her.

The line cuts off and I know she’ll text me later, apologizing that our call didn’t last longer, and I’ll reassure her that it’s totally fine. It’s just the way it goes now that she’s a mom. No worries.

I’m more than a little envious of the chaos though.

My small room feels quieter than ever now. My meager belongings do a poor job of making this place feel homey.

Outside, the sun’s gone down, and I can’t see the garden next door.

I wish I had a friend here.

It occurs to me that Noah’s right across the hall.

I wonder what he’s doing.

Docking himself onto his charging port overnight? Crawling into his casket? Clipping his toenails?

I decide to check on the kids.

Back in my day, my friends and I would have been running amok in this place. Forget bedtimes, curfews, rules. The mere thought of meeting a boy from a school like Trinity, falling madly in love, and acting out life as the main character of some OC-inspired remake would have had me sweaty with excitement.

Today’s youth is different though.

When I go to check on them, they’re already in their respective rooms, playing video games, texting, scrolling through social media. ONE OF THEM IS READING A BOOK, like with pages you turn and everything.

Still, I go through my drill sergeant routine: “No leaving your rooms after 10 PM unless it’s to use the restroom. I’ll know if you’re being sneaky. There’s a security guard who’ll be in the hall, watching and waiting for you all to break the rules. I hear he has a taser on his belt. I’d hate to see him have to use it.”

“Uh-huh, okay, bye” is their collective bored response.