On the Fence(14)

“Everyone.”

“My dad?”

“No. He’s at work.”

I slipped off my shoes so I could be stealthier, hooked my arm in his, and crept along the wall. “We are so winning.”

Braden smiled big. “I knew I made the right choice holdin’ out for you to get home.”

“Darn straight.”

“Let’s kick some butt,” he said, in his horrible imitation of me.

A low voice from across the hall said, “I could’ve killed you guys three times by now. Stop flirting with my sister and get your head in the game. I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”

His accusation made my heart jump. But this was Gage. He was always joking. Plus, he never stopped flirting. Ever. He probably just assumed the same of everyone else. “Shut up,” I said, then pulled Braden the opposite way down the hall. Ten seconds wasn’t very long.





Chapter 9

That night in my room I stared at the girl in the ad some more. Makeup wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t practical with sports—sweat and makeup did not mix well—but I’d worn mascara on occasion. And ChapStick was my best friend. The extra money helping Linda out with this project sounded great to put a dent in what I owed my dad so I could quit this job faster. But there was no way I’d come home with my face caked in the stuff. I’d never hear the end of it. I sighed and shoved the ad in my desk drawer.



I walked in to work Thursday, set the pamphlet on the counter in front of Linda, and said, “It’s not waterproof, right?”

“What?”

“The makeup. I want to be able to wash it off easily when I’m finished.”

“I bet your mom would love to see you all made up.”

This was why it wasn’t good to lie. I’d honestly thought the subject would never come up again. This was way worse than the pity looks she would’ve given me. I shrugged.

She looked back at the ad. “It will come off easily with a good face wash.”

I nodded slowly, still not sure I wanted to do this. “And I won’t have to talk?”

She threw her hands in the air in an excited gesture like she thought I’d made up my mind. “No. Just a canvas. It will be great. She’ll do the first class this Saturday morning.” She pulled a form out from beneath the counter, proving she knew I would agree. “Because you’re underage, I need your mother—well, either of your parents—to sign this consent form. For liability issues. Amber isn’t licensed, which is why she isn’t putting makeup on anyone but you during the class. And also, I’m not worried about it, but if you have some sort of allergic reaction, this says you won’t sue me.”

I nodded and took the form, my eyes scanning over the words but not reading them.

“You should tell your mom to come watch.”

Every time she mentioned my mother, my stomach tightened. I should just tell her the truth and get it over with. Instead the words “My mom has to work Saturday so she won’t be able to make it” came out. My mouth had a mind of its own lately. I held up the form. “But I’ll get this signed.”

“Sounds good. Let’s get to work.”



That night I couldn’t sleep for two reasons: one, because I hadn’t run, and two, because the paper that I had forged my dead mother’s signature on screamed at me. It sat in my desk drawer, yelling at the top of its lungs. I should’ve just asked my dad to sign it. He would’ve . . . probably. After asking lots of questions.

I remembered one time my dad came home with a bottle of conditioner and put it on the desk in front of me. “Do you need this? Carol at work said you might.” I stared at the bottle. Of course I knew what it was, I’d seen enough commercials, but I had never used it before. He had guilt in his eyes like he had somehow failed me. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know. It would’ve been so much easier if he had four boys. I knew that, and I knew he knew that. “No, I’m good. My hair doesn’t really get that tangled. But thanks. I’ll use it.” And I did. I couldn’t believe I had lived that long without it.

I wondered if he’d feel just as guilty now for not buying me makeup. I sighed and stared at my desk as if the form Linda gave me was going to burn its way through the drawer. I finally rolled out of bed at one a.m. and turned on the lamp on my nightstand. What was wrong with me? I had justified the act by telling myself that the release was just a formality. I wasn’t going to have an allergic reaction, so it was unnecessary. And my dad would never find out. It wasn’t like this paper would be sent to the government to check and verify. It would get filed away in the ugly metal desk in the stockroom at Bazaar, never to be pulled out again.

I made my way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, I had a clear view of Braden’s house. His bedroom light was on. I grabbed my phone and texted him. Up for a fence chat?

Yep.

“Hey,” he said when we stood separated by the wooden barrier.

“Hi.” I waited for him to talk first, even though I was the one who’d called him out here. I felt embarrassed by the rashness of that decision. Instead of facing the fence, staring at his shadowy figure through the slats, I adopted our previous pose of sitting, back to the fence, then looked up at the moon. It was so much easier to talk to the moon than to Braden. At least about real stuff. I listened as he did the same thing.