Saint Anything(20)

Across the courtyard, someone laughed. Two girls in field hockey uniforms passed by, one on the phone, the other opening a piece of gum. Happy, normal lives going on in happy, normal ways, in a world that was anything but. Once you realized this, experienced something that made it crystal clear, you couldn’t forget it. Like a face. Or a name. However you first learn that truth, once it’s with you, it never really goes away.





CHAPTER

6





FOR THE first couple of days after I told Layla about Peyton, I kept waiting to regret it. It was strange, telling the story from the beginning instead of catching someone up on only the latest awful chapter. Like finally I was in a place quiet and safe enough to hear it, too. Just the facts, laid out like cards on a table. This happened, then this, then this. The end.

Even so, I’d thought it would change everything. This wasn’t unrealistic. Peyton’s crimes and convictions had skewed the view people had of my entire family. People in the neighborhood either stared or made a point of not looking at us; conversations at the pool or by the community bulletin board stopped when we came into earshot. It was like stepping into a fun house hall of mirrors, only to find you had to stay there. I was the sister of the neighborhood delinquent, drug addict, and now drunk driver. It didn’t matter that I’d done none of these things. With shame, like horseshoes, proximity counts.

But not, apparently, with Layla. Instead of keeping me at arm’s length, she looped me more tightly into her world, which I soon learned was jam-packed as it was. If I was the invisible girl, Layla was the shining star around which her family and friends revolved. We didn’t form a friendship as much as I got sucked into her orbit. And once there, I understood why everyone else was.

“Everyone, this is Sydney,” she’d announced the day after our talk, when I finally gathered up the courage to accept her invitation to join her and her friends at lunch. “She transferred from Perkins Day, drives a sweet car, and likes root beer YumYums.”

I blinked, startled at being summarized in this fashion. But it was better than any of the other labels I could think of, so I took a seat on one of three benches I now knew they staked out each day. Mac was on another, eating from a plastic ziplock bag full of grapes, while Eric, wearing a fedora, strummed his guitar, facing the courtyard.

“We’ve already met, remember?” Mac said.

“She’s met you guys,” she responded. “But not Irv.”

“Who’s Irv?” I asked.

Just then, a shadow came over me. Not a metaphorical or symbolic one, but a real, actual shadow, as in something large had blocked out the sun. I went from squinting to sitting in shade in a matter of seconds. I looked behind me, expecting to see—what? A sudden skyscraper? A wall? Instead, it was the human equivalent: the biggest, broadest, thickest black guy I had ever seen. He was wearing dress pants, a shirt and tie with a Jackson High football jersey over it, and sunglasses. As I stared at him, he held out a huge hand.

“Irving Fearrington,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

My hand looked like a toy wrapped in his. I had the fleeting thought that he could rip my entire arm out of my socket and eat it and I would not be surprised. Somehow, despite this, I managed to say, “Hi.”

“Whatcha got for lunch today, Irv?” Layla said as he lowered his huge girth onto the last open bench. “Anything good?”

“Dunno yet.” He unzipped his backpack—God, his wrists were thicker than my legs—and pulled out a large insulated cooler. As he opened it, I saw it was packed with plastic bags, which he began unloading. One had what looked like chicken legs. Another, some kind of grain. On and on, they kept coming: edamame, a stack of hamburger patties, hard-boiled eggs. And finally, at the very end, there was a bag packed with cookies.

“Score!” Layla said, seeing this. Irv grinned, suddenly looking much less intimidating. Like he might pull out your arm, but not eat it. “Toss those over.”

“I don’t think so.” He wagged a huge finger at her. “You know the rules. Protein first.”

“Irving. For God’s sake. I already have one diet nag in my life.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Mac said, eating another grape.

“Protein,” Irv repeated, waving his hand at his substantial meal. “Your choice.”

“Fine. Give me a couple of eggs.”

He handed over the bag, and she opened it, taking out two, then passed it back. Irving held it to me. “Egg? Whites are the perfect protein.”

“Um, no, thanks,” I said, holding up the grilled cheese I’d gotten. “I’m good.”

“Lucky you,” Layla grumbled, peeling an egg. “If I showed up with one of those, these two would never let me hear the end of it.”

“But you wouldn’t show up with that,” Mac said. “You’d just get fries and call it lunch. And fries aren’t a meal.”

“Fine, Grandma. Just shut up and eat your grapes, would you?”

In response, he threw one at her. It went wide, though, and hit me square in the face. As it bounced off, rolling into the grass, I saw his eyes widen, horrified.

“Nice, Macaulay Chatham,” his sister said. “Is that part of your game now? Throwing food at pretty girls to get their attention?”