Unspeakable Things(63)
“How?”
Mom and Dad had left us no money. After Mr. Gomez dropped off me and my bike, I’d held my first kitty clinic of the year waiting for Sephie to return from summer school. After she showed up, we cooked supper, ditching all the vegetables and baking the chicken whole, slathered in salt and butter. Then we’d cleaned up the kitchen so we wouldn’t land in trouble if they arrived home early.
What else was left to do but watch TV?
Sephie’s mouth formed a perfect O as she lengthened her eyelashes, scraping them along the black-tarred brush. When she was done, she blinked rapidly like a cartoon girl bunny. “Inviting friends over,” she said.
“What? You don’t have any friends.”
I hadn’t meant it mean, but her eyes grew all damp. If one of those salty globs dropped, that mascara was done for.
“Shows what you know!” she said.
Her reaction surprised me. I’d only been stating fact. “I’m sorry. It’s just you never talk about anyone, or have anyone over.” I thought of Clam’s comment about her being a Frito-Lay, and my mouth grew starchy. “Are girls or boys coming over?”
She shrugged and dropped the mascara into a wax-paper sandwich bag along with her Bonne Bell cherry lip gloss and blue eye shadow. “You don’t have to hang with us. Just stay out of the way.”
The air grew thicker. “Sephie, you know Mom and Dad wouldn’t want boys here.”
She unbuttoned her top button as she strolled past me and toward the stairs. “They won’t know.”
“They will if I tell them.”
She whipped around and bunched up my collar in her fist, just like in the movies. “If you tell them,” she hissed, “I’ll tell the whole world you sleep in the closet, that you won’t even leave your room at night because you’re afraid of monsters. I’ll make sure Gabriel knows.”
Her unexpected rage jolted me. Of all the people who’d said mean things to me, I’d never expected it from Sephie.
“I don’t care who you have over,” I said, jerking free and stomping off toward the living room. I made sure she didn’t see me wipe my eyes. “They better not bother me when I’m watching TV.”
When a car pulled in the driveway, I kept my face trained on the television, not even glancing out the window when the vehicle left a few minutes later. I thought for one excited second that whoever was supposed to come over had changed their mind, but then I heard Sephie opening the door and laughing too loud at some boy’s noise. Whoever was here must have been too young to drive. I strained to hear if I could recognize the voice, but the Frankenstein monster was moaning too loud. I situated myself on the recliner so I appeared focused yet casual.
My throat tightened when Wayne and Ricky appeared in the living room entry, their cologne preceding them in a sweet, boggy cloud. They’d dressed themselves up, wearing button-down shirts and jeans even though it’d been a hot day, and our house had gone approximately the temperature of middle earth since we’d used the oven. Wayne had a bruise on his chin, maybe from where I’d accidentally clocked him by the creek. Both boys looked small in my dad’s house, out of place.
Ricky spoke first. “Whatcha watching?”
I was prepared to glare at him for making me feel on display in my own house, hyperconscious of everything—the shabbiness of the furniture, how small our television was, my body—but his hunched shoulders told me he was just as uncomfortable as me. “Young Frankenstein.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Ricky said.
I let the glare fly. There’s stupid and then there’s stupid.
“Cassie, entertain Ricky, won’t you?” Sephie said as she showed up behind the boys, her voice as brittle as her face. “I’m going to show Wayne my room.”
“Yes, dear Cassie,” Wayne said, copying Sephie’s stuffy delivery, “please do entertain our Ricky. He likes to be scratched behind the balls.”
Wayne sniggered as Sephie punched him. Ricky had the decency to blush.
“Come on, you burnout,” Sephie said, pulling Wayne away. “They’re just kids, you know.”
“Wayne is only one year older than me!” I hollered, but they weren’t listening. Wayne had his arm slunk around Sephie, and she had her hand shoved in his back pants pocket, and I wanted to cry when I thought about what they’d do up in Sephie’s room. It’s not like I thought she’d still be playing willowacks with me every day. I just wasn’t sure when she’d gone from zero to easy.
“Don’t think I’ll be macking with you,” I told Ricky, too mad to even glance his way.
The movie was at the spot where the villagers storm Frankenstein’s castle, which gave me an excuse to stare at the television until my pulse calmed down. By the time the scene was over, I’d grown curious. Ricky hadn’t uttered a word since he’d sat. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, perched on the edge of Dad’s chair, his hands on his knees like he was at church.
“You can relax, you know. I don’t bite.”
Ricky glanced at his Band-Aids. He reminded me a little bit of Albert, the boy the Ingalls adopted in Little House on the Prairie. He was nervous and dimpled and might be cute if he weren’t in my living room with his warty fingers.