Unspeakable Things(49)

“Anyhow,” Lynn finished, “my dad says that Connelly is a homo, and he’s probably the peeper showing his ding dong to girls.”

The 7UP went down too fast, the carbonation burning my nose. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “If he’s a homo, why would he go to girls’ windows?”

Lynn turned on me. “Then it’s probably someone who goes to your dad’s parties. Some sex maniac.”

Everyone was staring at me. I was stuck to the carpet with no idea what to say. It had been stupid to come here. I’d even wiped out while roller-skating and burned the skin right off both knees. I considered calling Mom to pick me up early, but then Lynn’d never invite me back.

“Hey, I know!” Heidi said, saving me. “Let’s go peep on the peeper!”

Barb flinched. “What do you mean?”

Lynn put it together first. “Yeah! Let’s go spy on Mr. Connelly!”

I glanced at the VCR clock. It was 8:27 p.m. “Do we have time to get back before curfew?”

“Better hope we do,” Lynn said wickedly. “Or Chester the Molester might nab you.”





CHAPTER 30

The sun was dropping into the plate of the earth, the dusk velvet against our skin. Town had a different tenor than the country, less wild and frog song, more muffled slamming of doors and distant conversations, almost like sound came at us through a tunnel. I felt hugged to know there were so many people around, to see lights on in houses and know people were there, living safe lives, watching TV and eating popcorn and being normal, ready to offer us a cup of sugar if we needed it. I breathed in the delicious scent of someone’s grill and settled into my limbs. It felt so good to be out in the night with other people.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Lynn trilled.

“My dad’s going to kill me,” Andrea said.

Our gang of five kept to the alleyways. We stayed close to garbage cans, flattened ourselves against the sides of garages à la Charlie’s Angels, even pointed our fingers like fake guns. When our laughter grew too loud, Lynn would shush us.

“His house is over there,” Lynn said, pointing across the open expanse of Mill Street toward the back of a towering white house with black shutters. “He still lives with his parents.”

I knew Connelly hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t in him.

“Oh gawd, shoot me if I’m still living with my mom and dad after high school,” Heidi said.

It was almost full dark. A dark-colored car, maybe green, turned down Mill Street with its headlights on. We squealed and dove behind a lilac bush.

“Connelly is my favorite teacher,” I confessed as the other girls’ warm bodies pressed into mine, a human coat against the toothless cool of a May night. It was the first time I’d dropped the Mr. when saying his name.

Lynn rolled her eyes; I could hear it in the tone of her voice. “He’s fine. Don’t you think he dresses a little too fruity, though?”

“I like how he dresses,” Barb said.

My heart swelled, and her courage gave me mine. “I’ll run to his house and touch it.”

The sharp intakes of breath told me I’d said the right thing. The five of us were joined in that moment, girls impossibly strong against the world. Nothing could hurt us.

“You sure?” Lynn asked.

“You don’t have to do it,” Andrea said, but her eyes gleaming in the reflection of a yard light told me otherwise.

“You’re so brave,” Barb said, squeezing my hand.

“I have a better idea.” Lynn surveyed the distance from our hiding place to the imposing white house like a general mapping a combat mission. “Rather than only touch his house, grab one of the flowers near the door. That’ll be your battle prize.”

“Okay.”

I stood and flexed my legs, gauging the distance. A wind rustled the treetops. The irritated leaves sounded like hands rubbing together. I could still smell the scent of a charcoal grill. I glanced left and then right. A peppering of lights twinkled inside the houses, reassuring. The Connelly house was dark. An owl hooted, low and lonely. Goose bumps tickled the whole length of me. I knew I was smiling, or at least that my teeth were visible. I’d never felt so in my body.

“Now!” Lynn whispered.

I took off. Tiny pebbles skittered across the street as I kicked them free, my tennies pumping fast, making a soft clomp clomp as they pounded across Mill Street. Connelly’s house seemed to swell as I neared it. A car rumbled past the end of the road and my pulse leaped, but there was no stopping me. My right foot landed on the trimmed grass of Connelly’s yard. The earth felt alive under my feet.

The owl questioned again, and I kept running.

A light flicked on inside the Connelly house. I heard the lilac bush shriek behind me, but I couldn’t stop, not when the flowers were only feet away. The wind picked up on the treetops, shivering down the bark, that dry, rasping skin-on-skin sound even louder. I was almost there. I reached out, toward the flowers—peonies, I thought, but they weren’t. It was a rosebush, its stems studded with wicked spikes.

The curfew siren’s keening started as my hands curled around the stem, its thorns puncturing my flesh. Sweat broke out along my brow, and I pushed through the pain to twist that rose off its base. No way was I going back empty-handed. I thought I heard yelling, but it was impossible to separate from the shriek of the siren, which was rising to a terrifying crescendo.