More Than Good Enough(5)

“What you need is a real instrument, not a toy,” he’d tell me. “Soon as I get some cash, I’ll buy you a real nice bass. A Hagstrom 8-string.”

Right.

My Uncle Seth was supposed to help Dad in the job de-

partment. Something he couldn’t possibly screw up. So far, I wasn’t holding my breath. Dad mowed lawns and washed cars. When we lived at Mom’s place, he’d polished the kitchen table so many times I could scrape my initials into the wax.

We had a routine. It was called do-as-you-wish. We ate dinner whenever we felt like it, usually Lean Cuisine lasagna in front of CNN. But tonight, Dad set out place mats and our stupid Tiki Man salt shakers. He insisted we hold hands while he muttered a prayer: Heavenly Father, we are grateful for the food we are about to receive … blah blah … nourishment of our bodies … blah blah …

Amen.

I closed my eyes and beamed myself to another dimension.

When I scraped back my chair, Dad frowned.

“Going somewhere?”

“Out.” I zipped myself into my sweatshirt, tugged up the hood.

He wasn’t buying it. “Listen up, kiddo,” he said, like I was ten years old, the exact age he’d bailed on me. “It’s Tuesday. You got school tomorrow.”

“No shit.”

“Watch your mouth. I don’t want to hear that kind of language in this house.”

What’s the big freaking deal? Dad was sweating like a preacher on one of those Jesus channels, going on about bad habits and taking the high road. Did he really expect me to buy this crap?

I scooped my keys off the counter. “My boy Alvaro’s spinning at the Vagabond.”

Alvaro lived behind a golf course in Coral Gables. He had his own “music studio” in the garage. He also had a grandma who paid for it. We always talked about starting a band. Of course, this never happened. When I got kicked out of Southwinds, Alvaro thought it was hilarious. Maybe that’s why I’d been avoiding his calls. I really didn’t feel like explaining my life situation to him. Don’t get me wrong, Alvaro was cool. But I kind of doubted that he understood.

“You’re not leaving this house,” Dad said.

“I promised I’d go. You know. Moral support.”

It’s sad to admit this … but I couldn’t help wondering if Michelle would be there. We were officially over, but she hadn’t stopped texting me. I refused to acknowledge her existence ever since I’d read that sketchy text on her phone. (Okay, I was snooping. Trust me. I had my reasons.) The girl flat-out cheated. Then she had the balls to lie about it. That’s so messed up.

Anyway.

Dad smacked the keys out of my hand. They clattered across the linoleum, spun, and landed in a heap a few feet away from the table. Both of us stared at that spot, daring the other to move first. Instead, I grabbed my skateboard and escaped out the front door.

I skated to the docks, watched the men haul their boats from the water. At this point I was freaked, thanks to Dad yelling at me. I bummed a cigarette off this guy who kept dragging his boat onto the concrete, only to let it roll backward with a splash.

Talk about random. I’m no fan of cancer sticks, thank you very much. I just held the smoke in my mouth. After a couple puffs, I flicked it away. The waves were shiny with rainbow-colored bubbles. In the distance, a line of trailers clattered down the road, tugging their dripping boats behind them.

Later that night I was online, watching people act idiotic on ChatRandom. This emo-looking girl kept shaking a raccoon puppet at the camera. After a few desperate attempts at a conversation that didn’t involve sign language or stuffed animals, I was about to sign off when Michelle sent me a DM.

Michy1996: hey sexy. i miss you <3

I blinked at the screen. No explanation. Not even a simple “I’m sorry.” What the hell was she thinking? I stared until the words morphed into hieroglyphics. Then I sent a reply:

T-Rex: You left a bunch of crap with me

I didn’t mention that most of it was (a) burned beyond recognition, (b) riddled with bb pellets, (c) all the above.

Michy1996: maybe i can come over???

T-REX: if you feel like driving 20 miles

to the Everglades

I waited for her to go away.

Michy1996: text me the address? : )

Man, that girl had balls. I’d give her that much. I wanted to tell her that I stayed awake at night listening to her playlist; that I still found her curly hair all over my clothes; that she was the first girl.

The first everything.

Michelle parked her car on the front lawn, which Dad had just mowed. I didn’t want to deal with him, so we snuck through the yard and headed straight for my room.

“So this is your new place. Are you going to give me a tour?” Michelle stretched out on my “bed,” an old sleeping bag I’d unrolled on the floor. I always thought she looked good without any makeup. Her damp curls were scraped into a ponytail. God, she was hot.

“Okay. Let’s do this like MTV Cribs. There’s my amazing walk-in closet,” I said, pointing at a heap of rumpled Tshirts. “And that’s the entertainment center.” I kicked my headphones out of the way.

“Very nice, Trenton. I really like your toys,” she said, glancing at the army of Orc Shamans lined up on a shelf. For the record, I never played D&D. I just collected the miniatures. When I got stressed, I used to chew on their shields. It’s unimaginable that I didn’t get lead poisoning.