Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(21)
Overall, my coping strategies kept me from fixating on his very attractive form, backside, confident stride, and how he stopped at every intersection to walk adjacent to me, as though he were a gentleman from a bygone age of lusty ankles and jaunty carriage rides. Afterward, he would motion that I should precede him. I refused with a tight shake of my head, a flat smile, and no eye contact. With a sigh, he would lead the way once more until the next intersection.
It was just after the fifth intersection that he attempted conversation. Not allowing me to resume my position behind him, he slowed his steps such that we were shoulder to shoulder.
“Do you play?” he asked.
I knew what he meant and I had no reason to lie. Both Lisa and I had taken piano, oboe, singing, and violin lessons. I nodded.
“What do you play?”
“Several instruments.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tilt his head to one side, as though leaning closer so he could hear better. “Like what?”
“Violin.”
“Do you still?”
“No.”
He was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating this information, before asking, “You don’t like to play?”
“No time.”
Abram made a small grunt that sounded both derisive and amused. “Too busy managing Pirate Orgy’s social calendar?”
Pirate Orgy was Tyler’s band and Tyler was the grossest human ever. Unthinkingly, I glanced at Abram’s sunglasses and caught my reflection. I might as well have had a marquee on my forehead that read INTENSE DISGUST.
Get control of your facial expressions, Mona!
His eyebrows shot high on his forehead. “You split from Tyler?”
Nodding, I wiped at the beading sweat on my forehead with the back of my wrist. “Yes.”
“Huh.”
I felt his eyes on me, so I glanced at him again. “What?”
“I’m surprised. When Leo asked me to watch you for the week, until that Steward lady gets here, he said one of the reasons your parents were so pissed was because you kept seeing Tyler behind their backs.”
I nodded even as my wheels turned, realizing that this conversation had presented me with a unique opportunity. “What else did Leo say?”
“About Tyler?”
As I studied Abram, the curiosity floodgate I’d sealed shut hours ago sprung a leak. Due to the urgency of Lisa’s predicament, I’d agreed to lie for her. And though I’d been playing along and doing my best, justifying my role as sisterly duty and worry for her and Whatcha gonna do? Decision has already been made, nothing about this hatched plan sat well with me.
The whispers of doubt I’d suppressed this morning were now asking different questions: What had Lisa done that made my parents so angry? Knowing my parents, it had to be something that had the potential to make them look bad or damage their carefully constructed images of having it all: a happy, well-adjusted family; beautiful houses and clothes and art and things; cultural relevance; respect of the industry; living their best life of ethical hedonism.
She’d done a ton to make them vaguely annoyed, but what could have possibly galvanized them into acting? It couldn’t be just Tyler. And why was she in jail?
Up to now, I’d endeavored to ignore my curiosity about the subject, reasoning that curiosity with no source of reliable information was pointless. Gabby had been either unsurprisingly vague or outright hostile when I’d asked her. I couldn’t question Lisa or Leo or my parents, and I had no idea when I’d be able to get in touch with Lisa’s lawyer.
But Abram? . . . Possibly.
Choosing my words carefully, I asked, “What else did Leo say about my parents and why they were—or are—upset?”
“Trying to find out how much they know?” He seemed to be scrutinizing me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I said nothing, hoping he’d fill in the answer for himself.
Abram watched me for a bit longer, and then released a short laugh. He shook his head. He sighed. “Um—” he sighed again “—according to Leo, it was the drugs that really freaked them out.”
“Hmm.” They were upset about drugs? That made no sense.
My parents’ attitude toward illegal substances was that nothing should be illegal. To say they were progressive would be an understatement. They’d always done a variety of drugs, even when we were little, making no secret of partaking in what they called “creativity enhancers,” like ecstasy, marijuana, and mushrooms. They’d even talked about it openly in interviews.
That said, my dad had “the drug talk” with me and Lisa when we were eight. The message had been: wait until your brain is fully developed, and then consider them like a rich dessert: fine on birthdays, bat mitzvahs, Christmas, and when you want a rare treat, but avoid more than one serving at a time.
I’d never touched anything—not cigarettes, not alcohol, not marijuana—mostly because any curiosity I might’ve experienced ended after I took a series of MIT OpenCourseWare classes on the brain and cognitive sciences, including neurochemistry. I’d subsequently decided that if I was going to put chemicals in my body, then they better be pharmaceutical grade, produced in a lab overseen by the FDA, and prescribed by a medical professional.
While I was still pondering the puzzle of his response, Abram added, “I guess they didn’t want their baby girl selling cocaine to sixteen-year-olds at concerts.” And that’s when I choked on air. Hard.