The File on Angelyn Stark (15 page)

“Will you, Angelyn?”

“I will,” I say.
I’ll try
, I think.

Jeni waits at the lobby door. Mrs. Daly smiles up at me.

“You’re a wonderful girl,” she says.

My eyes fill. “I will come back.”

I’m light across the parking lot. Wanting to tell.

Mr. Rossi has the seat back. His head back.

“It was great,” I say, climbing in. “Mrs. Daly is so cool.
Still
cool.”

He’s blinking, sitting up. “Good. Great.”

“Mr. Rossi, I couldn’t have done it without you. I wouldn’t have!”

“All right, Angelyn. Now, you are going to have to guide me the rest of the way to your house.”

I sit there.
That’s it?

“Thank you,” I say.

He rubs his eyes. “Yeah, no problem.”

“No, really,” I say. “
Thank you
, Mr. Rossi.” And stretch to hug him.

“Whoa!” he says, but there I am, against him.

Arms at his sides, he sighs. “Angelyn.”

I breathe with him, our clean soap smell the same.

Hands at my elbows. “Enough, now.”

I tuck my head under his chin. “I’m thanking you.”

“You’re like a
cat
,” Mr. Rossi says. “A child.”

I draw back. Face to face. I kiss him, a real kiss.

His lips are warm. Dry. Pulling from mine.

Mr. Rossi turns his head. I slide off.

“I’m not a cat,” I say. “Not a child. Not to you.”

“How far is your house?” He speaks coldly.

“About three miles. Why?”

“Is it walkable?” Mr. Rossi asks.

“Why would we walk it?” I ask. Shivering inside.

“I’m letting you off here,” he says.

“Why? Don’t be mad. What did I do?”

“You can’t
be
that way with me, Angelyn. You can’t do those things.”

“I know. Okay.” I’d say anything.

“Who is that?” Mr. Rossi asks.

I look.

Jeni stands at the nursing home gate. Alone. Watching.

“That’s the girl from the frosty,” he says. “Your friend from class.”

“She’s not my friend.”

“Put on your seat belt,” Mr. Rossi says.

Someone’s egged my house. Slime trails on the door. Shells on the steps.

Mr. Rossi and I look from his car.

“Everything has to be right for me to see my son,” he says.

“I know,” I say.

“That girl could tell anyone. Anything.”

“Jeni doesn’t talk to anyone but me.”

“This weekend was a disaster,” he says.

I chew a knuckle. “Don’t let her ruin it, Mr. Rossi.”

“Don’t let her ruin it?” he says, looking at me.

My stomach twists. “Okay, Jeni shouldn’t have seen, but—”

“Angelyn, get out of the car, please.”

I face the house. The mess I’ll have to clean.

“I don’t want to get out.”

A pause. “Do you know who egged it?” Mr. Rossi asks.

STEVE
. “I think so. Yeah.”

He waits again. “Are you going to be okay here?”

I shut my eyes. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“What?”

“It’s not crazy.” I talk fast. “Mom and him won’t be back until tomorrow. Jeni—I’ll talk to her on Monday. I already told her,
Back off.
”

“You can’t stay with me,” Mr. Rossi says. “I’m not running through the same arguments I used last night.”

“You remember them?” I say. Then: “Sorry. But you can’t get into any
more
trouble if I stay another night.”

His mouth twitches. “Sure I could.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know.”

“But—tonight would be so much better. It would have to be.”

Mr. Rossi looks up. “How’s that?”

“You’re not drunk. I’m not sad, stressed, or sweated-out.”

“Not following,” he says roughly.

“We could help each other,” I say.

“Help each other do what?”

“Well.” Shy with him, suddenly. “The thing is, I don’t like sex. Sometimes touching feels good, but it never feels right. With you, I’m thinking—everything could work. Because you see more to me than anyone I’ve been with.”

“Anyone you’ve been with?” Mr. Rossi swears softly. “Angelyn, who do you think I am?”

“Someone who—likes me.” I’m sputtering. “Why are you making me say it? Why are you
pretending
?”

“Pretending. What am I pretending?”

“You’ve liked me all along. I know it. I
saw
you! I saw you look at me—” I touch my chest.
“Here.”

“At the frosty. Okay.” Mr. Rossi nods. “Yes, I looked. Didn’t mean to, didn’t
want
to. I kicked myself after. Your shirt was tight, and you’re—”

“What?” I ask, lasering in.

“Very pretty. You’re very pretty, Angelyn.”

“Thanks.” Eyeing him.

“But there’s a difference—a world’s difference—between
looking
and doing anything about it. Or wanting to. Come on! I would never want you like that.”

“Why?” I ask. Hurt. Not believing it.

“Because you’re a child.” Mr. Rossi is calmer. “You are a child, to me.”

I feel myself losing. I put my hand between us on the gearshift.

“I’ll prove to you I’m not.”

He stares at the hand. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“You are,” I say. “You are exactly. I would never tell. No one would know.”

“I’d know,” he says. “You’d know. That would be enough.”

“Yes,” I say. “That would be enough.”

Mr. Rossi curls his hand over mine. I breathe in sharply.

Lifting it, he sets it on my lap.

“What you’re saying is wrong. Dead wrong. Don’t you know that?”

“Who says?” I ask. Flattened.

“Everyone says it, Angelyn. Everybody does.”

“They’re not here.” I remember something. “I’m the prettiest girl of the day. Today.”

“What?” Mr. Rossi looks over.

“You said that at the frosty.
‘The prettiest girl of the day.’
”

“I didn’t mean you. I didn’t. I was miles away.”

“Oh.” I try to smile. “I’m at least as cute as Dolly. Take me home, Mr. Rossi. Take me anyway.”

He holds the wheel. “Get out of the car.”

“I don’t understand. My boyfriend said,
Leave
, because I wouldn’t do it all, and you—Mr. Rossi, I’d do anything for you!”

“Out, now.”

“But I
like
you.” I’m fumbling for the door handle. “I like you too.”

“Sweetheart, get out.”

I look at him sharply. And crawl out.

With garden gloves I grab eggshells by the handful. I hose the door, the steps, and scrub them down. I clean inside—the dishes, the beds, the sweeping, the dusting. Anything to move.

Not good enough for him
.

I’ve got the TV on blasting
stuff
about
stuff
. Anytime I stop, it’s like I’ve run ten miles.

Not good
.

Dark comes. I pull a smoke from a pack Mom’s hid and have it outside. On the porch steps I stare across to a house that looks like ours. It’s empty—up for rent for months. At Mrs. Daly’s old place next door, someone’s cooking meat. Another rental, where no one stays for long.

A truck blasts by. It comes around again, slower.

“Hey, honey,” the driver calls. He’s older, mustached, features in shadow.

He would
.

“No,” I say, and straighten. “No,” I say, and go inside.

Room to room, I lock what can be locked. Back in front, I stare at the heavy mustard drape that hides the outside.

I can feel him there. See his truck parked.

Rushing to the window, I pull the drape aside—

and JUMP at my own reflection.

My hair’s a wild cloud. My eyes, panic-wide. My mouth, an open wound.

The street is empty.

He would’ve. If he could
.

I turn from the window.

Danny would have—if he’d had the chance
.

My hands shake. I don’t know what to do.

Homework
, I think, and it’s like an oasis.

Then I remember.

My homework’s with her.

Sunday they’re back late, scrabbling at the lock, stumbling laughing into the house. I’m in bed, covers to my chin, dressed underneath.

Mom calls and my eyes snap shut.

She comes in my room. “You best behaved yourself.”

I imitate a corpse.

“She’s here, at least,” Mom says.

When they’re quiet an hour, I slip outside.

I check the truck. Twice, like I could miss it.

The backpack isn’t there.

In their doorway I shout: “WHERE IS IT?”

Mom sits up. “Angelyn?” Her nightie is rumpled, and I see too much.

I fix on a point above her. “Where’s the backpack?”

“Wait,” she says a couple of times. Then: “What?”

“You drove off with it. My homework!”

Danny lifts his head. “What’s this now?”

Looking at him, I lose what I want to say next.

Rubbing on himself
, Nathan said.
Making faces
.

His chest is saggy. Not solid like before. Chest hair’s turned to gray.

I tell him: “You’re disgusting.”

I whisper it.

Mom looks between us. “Save it for the morning.”

I shake my head. “I don’t care about
him
. I need my stuff NOW.”

She shrugs a sleeve in place. “You are way out of line.”

“I want to do my homework. Is that out of line?”

Mom laughs. “Your homework?”

I step in. “This is serious. This is real.”

She fires me with hard eyes. “You better stop.”

Danny says, “Get out of our room.”

“Shut up,” I say. And
scream
it. “Asshole! Shut up shut up shut up.”

Mom’s flipping covers. “Run to your bed.”

Danny is sinking. Flat on the mattress, hands up like I’ve got a gun.

Like
I
do.

Mom drives me to school. Shut tight, I face the side.

She turns by the auditorium. “You want to be left here, right?”

I make a sound that could be “Yes.”

She pulls over. “I didn’t take your backpack on purpose.”

I look at her.

“We didn’t know we had it. Not until the first coffee stop.”

“Where is it?” My voice is rusty.

“Still in Sacramento,” Mom says.

“You left the backpack.”

“No. I forgot it. At the motel. We’ll get it back.”

“When? I’m already missing assignments.”

“I go for training again this weekend. We’ll get it then.”

“The weekend! Mom, I need the books now.”

“I can’t just pick up and go in a workweek. You know that.”

“What am I supposed to do without my stuff?”

“Borrow. Explain to your teachers. I’ll write you a note. Whatever!”

I nod to myself. “Okay, then.”

“Angelyn, I know your schoolwork is important. I’m sorry.”

Sorry?
Mom never is.

I stand in the breezeway, cold.

“Angelyn!” Steve’s voice.

From the pool area. He’s running.

Flutter of fear. I stand tall and still.

Steve skids to a stop. “What the hell?”

I lift my chin. “You tell me. What the hell?”

“Friday night! I came back and you were gone.”

“You egged my house. I knew it was you.”

“I egged it—
yeah
. I was pissed! Angelyn, where did you go?”

“What do you care? Why did you even come back? Just for that?”

“No,” Steve says. “That was after. I waited for you. I waited an hour!”

“What for?” I ask.

“I thought—” He stops. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t have left that way.”

“I told you to go.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve checks me. “Something was going on before that.”

I look away. “Don’t get complicated. You came back for another shot.”

“No—hey, Angelyn, you called
me
. You said we were going to happen.”

“I didn’t say that. You thought that.”

Steve flips his hands. “Okay, so why’d you ask me over?”

I swallow past a lump. “Because I was lonely.”

“Oh man.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Maybe this is too much for me,” Steve says.

“You think?”

“What do you want, Angelyn? I’m asking serious.”

I wilt. Steve looks pretty deflated too.

“I have no clue.”

“You are messed up,” he says. Like:
You have brown eyes
.

Lips pressed, I nod. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He looks me in the eye. Looks lower.

“Oh, these.” I sweep hands over my breasts, my hips.

“Yeah, those.” He’s pissed again. “And, I like you. Sometimes.”

“I don’t like how you like me.”

Steve sighs. “You mess
me
up.”

“Leave, then, and leave me alone.”

He looks off. “I saw you with your mom. You guys okay?”

“Well, she stole my backpack, but …”

“I know. I saw. I was there.”

“Now she’s saying—just more crap.”

Steve flexes like a wrestler. “That bitch. Let’s steal it back.”

I laugh. His face softens.

“Man, you keep me guessing.”

“Is that good or bad?”

Steve tilts his head. “Come here and find out.”

I bite my lip. “No.”

He comes to me. Arms around, rocking.

“Steve.” I don’t help him or stop him.

“Why do we fight?” he asks. “I never want to fight.”

“I have to go,” I say, my hands on his arms.

“I’ll walk you,” Steve says.

He slings an arm around, keeping it anchored.

“Come to the street, Angelyn. Everyone wants to see you.”

I glance at him. “I’m sure. Anyway, I don’t want to see them.” Steve points to the Humanities Building. “You’d rather be with her?”

Jeni is above, watching from the second-floor corridor.

“Creep,” I say.

He lifts his arm, laughing. “See you.”

I climb the stairs. Jeni waits for me at the top.

“Hi,” she says like she’s taking my temperature.

I shoulder past.

She follows me to the rail. “Are you back with him?”

“Am I
here
or with him?” I say.

“You’re here. But I wondered.”

“Stop wondering.”

Jeni stands back. “Mrs. Daly was so happy you came.”