Handcuffs

  She helps herself to a cookie. Raye’s eyes meet mine over the plate. She doesn’t have much use for Paige, and neither do I, I guess.

  “So are you two going to the prom?” Paige asks. Here we go again. The things Paige thinks are important.

  “No, my boyfriend is a junior, like me,” I tell her, in case she forgot. Or doesn’t know. Or gives a damn.

  “I was going to go, but I broke up with my boyfriend just a few hours ago.” I don’t suppose I’ve given Raye appropriate sympathy, especially if she’s trying to get it from Paige.

  “I went to the prom every single year of high school,” Paige tells us, as if we don’t know. It was probably buying all the prom dresses and jewelry and shit that caused my parents to go into all this debt.

  “The guy who took me my sophomore year was such a loser.” Oh great, it’s the loser-date story. I remember this guy. He drove a white pickup truck. “Yeah,” she continues, as if we are showing some interest. “We had to stop by a grocery store on the way to prom to buy contraceptives. Like, here he was in a tuxedo, and I was in that really hot silver dress, do you remember it, Parker? And the people checking us through had to know exactly what we were doing and why.”

  “Why didn’t you go through the self-checkout?” Raye asks her.

  “I don’t know, I told you that guy was a loser.” Should I tell Paige that it sounds suspiciously like it takes one to know one? No, something else comes out of my mouth. Something that sounds surprisingly friendly, like sisterly gossip.

  “Well, at least he didn’t tell you how much he likes to fish.”

  “What?” Paige and Raye in stereo, something to remember in my old age.

  “Remember that guy Droopy that you set me up with, the one who wouldn’t pay for my movie ticket?”

  “What?”

  “Josh’s friend, the one who couldn’t stand up straight and who kept staring at my chest?” Raye obviously has no recollection of anything besides Josh’s tonsils on that date, so I launch into the details. Before I get to the attempted kiss, she and Paige are laughing so hard they’re almost crying. I think Raye might actually be crying.

  Then Paige says something I don’t know how to interpret.

  “When did you grow up, Parker? And why didn’t I notice?”

  “I think it was Thursday,” I say, still in the mood to joke around. Except I forgot that they both know what happened on Thursday. And they don’t agree with my whole not-diminishing-the-experience thing. They want the gritty details. It starts with Paige.

  “What happened?” she asks. The way she is looking at me, all wide-eyed and attentive, is the same way she always looked at her popular pretty friends. No wonder they liked telling her stuff.

  “Yeah, you never really told me, exactly . . . ,” Raye jumps in with Paige, trying to wear down my resistance. She knows I don’t want to talk about this.

  “Where are Mom and Dad? Do you think they’re listening?” I stare at the doorway that connects the kitchen to the living room, as if they’re lurking around. I kind of hope they will show up so we can change the subject. No luck.

  I sigh, really loudly. I guess I’m going to have to talk about it sometime.

  “It was just, you know, not perfect. I thought with him, it would be.”

  They both look at me. And nobody says anything.

  “I wasn’t frigid,” I say to Paige. It’s a dumb thing to say.

  Paige shakes her head. “Parker . . .”

  “Of course not.” Raye gives Paige a dirty look. “I’ve seen you with him, you know, kissing or whatever. There’s no way you’re frigid. Why would you even think that?”

  “You know, the whole Ice Princess thing.”

  “Yeah, what is that, Parker?” Raye hands me a cookie. “That Ice Princess thing is just Marion Henessy garbage. You need to stop listening to that crap. Would I be best friends with some kind of stupid Ice Princess?” She gets up and walks over to the oven, opens it, even though you aren’t supposed to, and looks in. “Hey, do you have any M&M’s? We can make these into Cute Cookie Guy–worthy cookies.”

  “You just set your expectations too high,” Paige says slowly, like she’s really been thinking about it. “It’s like the way you put things or people on a pedestal. Nothing ever lives up to your expectations.”

  There’s a crash from the living room, and Preston comes into the kitchen, followed by Mom and Dad.

  “I know I never could,” Paige says. “Live up to your expectations.” We stare at each other. I’m not sure what she means, exactly. When did she ever care about what I thought? I want to ask her, but now our parents are standing in front of the kitchen counter with the glasses from their cheap after-dinner drinks.

  “You guys want some cookies?” Raye asks my parents. I get up and pour Preston a glass of milk. He can never manage it without spilling half of what was meant to be in the glass all over the counter. I give him a straw. Same theory; without one he spills as much as he drinks.

  “What’re you girls talking about?” Dad asks.

  “School,” I say.

  “Prom,” Raye says.

  Paige doesn’t say anything.

  In my bedroom, Raye unzips her backpack and hands me my Victoria’s Secret bag.

  “Let’s see how it looks,” she says.

  In the spirit of feeling slightly warmer than I was last week, I strip off my jeans and sweater and hesitate only for a second before I slither into the little nightie and matching panties.

  “You’re lucky, having skin like that. When I’m pale I look all blotchy and sick. You have Snow White skin.”

  “Thanks, I guess. I mean, it could be worse, but a nice bronze tan wouldn’t hurt any of us.” Raye laughs. I change into an oversized T-shirt and boy shorts for sleep. The way she’s acting is weirding me out. I mean, it’s almost, but not quite, like flirting.

  Although, if you think about it, a friendship isn’t that much different from a romantic relationship. I mean, you get together because you have things in common. You stay together because you’re compatible. The only difference is that unless you’re some kind of freaks you don’t ever make out.

  I take the pillows off the bed and put them on the window seat.

  “Do you do that every single night?” Raye always asks this, since the first time she ever spent the night.

  “Yes.” What else would I do, throw them on the floor? Raye laughs at me, not with me, and things are back to normal. We are definitely not going to make out.

  “Did he like the pink canopy?” she asks. I switch off the light and get into bed, underneath the pink blankets and the silky sheets. She’s way over on the other side of my bed fluffing up her pillows.

  “Yes,” I say, feeling that smile I can’t control, “he liked it very much.”

  We don’t say anything else for a long time. Then she asks, “Parker, you did change the sheets, didn’t you?” I pretend I’m asleep.

  38

  The next morning I get up earlier than Raye. She’s a late sleeper, and I’m not. This is no big deal as long as we aren’t spending the night at her house. Her stepfather, the dentist, is always in the living room watching reruns of this army show and he smokes a pipe. She has a TV in her room, but if you turn it on in the morning, she pulls her pillow over her face and moans and groans.

  I tiptoe over to my dresser, open my jeans drawer, and get out my favorite jeans and an Allenville hoodie that I never wear in public. I wouldn’t want to chance an uncharacteristic display of school spirit, but it’s soft and comfy so I do wear it around the house.

  I glance over a few times to see if Raye is going to wake up, but no such luck.

  I go downstairs, glad for the warm clothes because it’s cold down here. Preston is sitting in front of the TV eating the center of a frosted strawberry Pop-Tart.

  “If you eat the sides first, then you can save the middle part for the last few bites,” I tell him. He sticks his fork into the very center, in what appears to be
blatant defiance of my words.

  Then he says, “Here, Parker,” and pops the fork into my mouth. The hot center of a frosted Pop-Tart. Is there anything better in the world?

  “What’re you watching?”

  “People jumping.”

  He’s actually watching people jumping on a rerun of Fear Factor, which is a very poor selection of programming for Preston since his ability to make good choices is severely underdeveloped.

  Speaking of poor choices, while I’m standing there, watching to see if this heavily muscled guy can walk across this beam that’s suspended way up in the air, West walks in. Of course, his eyes go straight to the TV and he says,

  “Damn.”

  “How did you get into the house?” I ask West.

  “Little guy let me in. You got any more of those Pop Tarts?” Preston gets up to go fetch breakfast for our vile brother-in-law.

  “Does Paige know you’re here?”

  “She will.” When he says this he looks sinister. Usually he looks bad natured and sometimes a little bit stupid. Last week he looked kind of hot. Right now, he looks dangerous.

  “Preston, run upstairs and tell Paige that her husband is here. While you’re at it, tell Mom and Dad.”

  “Mom and Dad went to play tennis. They said you would watch me,” Preston says. Crap. Sometimes now they go on Saturdays and play at the high school tennis court, and it usually takes half the day because they have to wait until the court is open. I would have liked West to think that our parents are here, that they might wander into the living room at any time. He’s making me nervous, and I know if my parents were here he’d be on his best behavior.

  Paige comes downstairs. Some part of me, some romantic part, maybe, expects West to beg and plead for her to return to him. He doesn’t, though. He just says,

  “What the hell are you doing hanging around with Kyle Henessy?”

  “Just hanging out,” Paige says, like she doesn’t care.

  “After all the effort we went to, to keep that filthy perv away from you?”

  I can kind of see his point. I mean, it doesn’t seem really smart for Paige to be dating her ex-stalker, especially while she’s still married to West.

  “You need to come home with me,” he says, glancing over her shoulder to see if the girl wearing the tank top is going to get across the beam faster than the muscular guy. The clock is ticking the seconds away.

  “No,” Paige says. I’m seriously getting ready to exit the room—my sister’s marital problems are not really my business—but then West hauls off and hits her in the face.

  I guess I’ve seen people hit each other in anger before. Even though Allenville is a great magnet school, we still have fights once in a while. Usually some guy pushes another guy and they say things to each other, and then they start whaling on one another. It happens, but not like this. Paige kind of stumbles backward against the wall.

  I never saw a guy hit a girl before. I never saw a guy hit my sister before. I sit down. Not for any reason, just my legs stop holding me up and I fall onto the couch beside my little brother. I stare at them, speechless, but they don’t seem aware of Preston or me.

  West stomps down the hall and Paige follows him. He doesn’t say anything to us, though he usually pretends to be so friendly. Paige’s face might be turning purple, or that might be some kind of shadow I’m seeing. Yeah, I think her left cheek is turning purple. I can’t really tell, because her hair is hanging in her face. If you want to know the truth, I’m not so good at telling what Paige is thinking, and I never have been. Is she sad? Scared? Completely freaked out, like I am? As she passes me, she pushes the hair back and her hand is shaking.

  West slams the front door, and then we hear the car doors. Why is she going with him?

  I know I should have stopped her, should have told Paige not to leave with him, but I couldn’t say anything. Not to Paige, or to West, or to Preston, who is sitting completely and totally still. My voice has disappeared.

  It’s been ten minutes.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Preston, finally.

  “Yes.” His eyes are big and dark. I don’t know if he’s answering my question, really. I don’t know if he knows I mean emotionally and not just physically. He doesn’t look okay.

  “Let’s get the phone and call Mom, all right?”

  “Okay.” He gets up and I walk behind him. The doorbell rings. I walk to the door. I hear Preston pattering after me, like he doesn’t want to be alone. I don’t blame him.

  “Where’s Paige?” Kyle Henessy is standing there wearing these baggy gym shorts and a shirt that says GEEKS NEED LOVE TOO.

  “She left,” I hear myself saying. “She went with West. He hit her.” I sound like a little kid, like I’m saying things my brother might say. Kyle pushes his hair back from his face.

  “What am I supposed to do?” he says, almost to himself. “I’m not even supposed to get near her. She has the restraining order, remember?”

  “What’s going on?” Raye comes downstairs. She looks tired and her hair is flat on one side. I think in my crazy overheated brain that if anyone else tries to stand on our tiny little decorative porch, Preston, being the smallest, will be knocked off into the yard.

  “Do you mind going home?” I ask her. It sounds rude. “Paige and West are fighting, and I need to deal with him.” I gesture toward my brother. Raye nods. She knows a little bit about fighting. I was at her house once when her parents were going at it. I think that’s why she’s cool with this, even though I didn’t explain things very well. I just can’t talk about it right now. About my perfect sister being hit in the face.

  “Call me if you need anything. I’ll just get my bag and let myself out,” she says in a quiet and un-Raye-like voice. I want to say thanks, but Preston is pulling on my shirt. I turn to him and he starts to cry. I take the phone out of his hand.

  “Look,” I say, “I’m calling Mom. She’ll go get Paige, and it’ll be okay. Okay?” He wraps his arms around me and pushes his face against me as if he’s hiding. I pat his back, then wrap my arms around him and hold him for a really long time.

  I stumble into the foyer with Preston still attached to me. “Mom? Mom? West came and took Paige, and he hit her, and Preston is rubbing snot all over my favorite shirt.” I can barely hear Mom, she’s talking to Dad, but I get that they’re coming home and that they’re going to fix everything. I hope.

  “I’ll call you if I hear anything,” I tell Kyle. He kind of nods and starts to walk away, following Raye, who is pulling out of the driveway.

  “Do you have my cell phone number?” He takes my phone and puts his number in. I think that doing something makes him feel better, even something as small as programming his number into my phone. He doesn’t really say goodbye, he just kind of walks away and gets into his mom’s Volvo.

  39

  It’s one of those days when the sun never really comes up, so time just seems to drag on and on. After what seems like forever my parents come home. They’re trying to act calm in front of Preston.

  “Should I drive over to the apartment and see if she’s there and not answering her phone?” Dad asks Mom.

  Mom sighs. “I’ll call West’s parents again and see if they know anything.” Dad has his keys in his hand and he keeps walking back and forth, picking up his coat and putting it down.

  We’re all sitting in the kitchen waiting to see what will happen. My mom puts a plate with chicken fingers in front of Preston, even though we all know he won’t eat them.

  “You should eat,” she says to me. I shake my head.

  I reach over and pat Miracle Child—I mean, Preston’s leg. I tell myself that no matter how screwed up our family is, I will try to be there for him. Maybe tonight I’ll play Monopoly with him, or one of his stupid video games so he can beat me. I know he’ll like that. It makes me happy when he laughs. He has a great laugh.

  The phone rings. Mom answers and we all hold our breath. She nods a couple of times. ?
??Yes, we’ll see you in a little while,” she says, but she’s worried—the line between her eyes is more pronounced than ever.

  “That was Paige. West went to his parents’ house. She’s coming home,” Mom tells us. “It’s going to be all right, everything is going to be all right.” My mom sounds all teary. I think maybe it would be good for her to let some emotions out. Maybe it would be good for all of us.

  Preston goes out onto the porch to wait for Paige. I sit at the kitchen table, voluntarily in the same room as my parents for once.

  “I got another job offer, right here in town,” Dad tells me, with a sad little smile. “Not as much money as before, but it could turn things around.”

  “That’s great, Daddy.” I smile at him across the table.

  “Mommy, Dad, there’s a police car in our driveway!” Preston calls through the open front door.

  “Now what do you suppose . . . ?” Mom’s forehead creases again with worry.

  “She said he left, didn’t she? You don’t think he came back . . . ?” Daddy stands up and they walk to the door together. I peek out around them.

  They think the police are here because of Paige and West, and I don’t know whether to hope that’s true or not. I don’t know what to think. If they are here because of Paige that might mean something bad happened, and I don’t want that, but if they aren’t here because of Paige . . . My stomach clenches and I take a step back, thinking that I’m actually truly going to throw up.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott?” the police officer asks.

  “Yes.” My father’s voice sounds quavery.

  “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Of course.” One police officer, who is tall and heavyset, falls into step beside my father and follows him into the house. The skinny one stands and watches us—well, not Preston, who’s sticking close to my side, but me.

  Skinny Policeman takes a couple of steps up the stairs. The fourth stair squeaks loudly and he looks surprised. He looks like a normal guy, like a teacher or a parent or whatever, except for the uniform.