Stealing Parker

Dad studied architecture at UT Knoxville, where Mom played softball.

When he was a boy, he loved poring over floor plans in house catalogs. He still loves reading those magazines today. He wanted to design homes and skyscrapers and bridges, but ended up working in the housing office at Franklin City Hall. And he’s fine there, because they pay him pretty decently and he doesn’t have to work terribly long hours. He had the opportunity to watch Ryan and me grow up. Mom got to stay home with us instead of having to work.

I remember taking a trip to Asheville, North Carolina, when I was twelve, and Dad was so excited to point out his favorite parts of Biltmore, this huge estate where the Vanderbilts once lived. He loves showing me diagrams of things like the Chrysler Building and the Shanghai Expo. His favorite building ever is the Pantheon in Rome, but he’s never been there.

He’s never been there because he saves all his money. He doesn’t want Ryan to work while he’s in college. He doesn’t want me to either. Dad’s made a lot of sacrifices for me and my brother.

If there’s one thing I want, God, it’s for Dad to take a trip to Italy. I want him to explore the Vatican and see the sculptures at the Medici Chapel in Florence. I want him to study the Bridge of Sighs in Venice.

I want so much for my father, Lord, because he wants so much for me.

Written while tucked under my covers on March 7. Burned.

When I don’t answer his texts, Brian calls my cell.

“Can we get together?” he asks, sounding upset. I can hear a hockey game in the background. Maybe he’s watching the Predators on TV?

“I’m sick of being in your truck.”

“Yeah?”

I whisper, “I deserve more than that.”

He hesitates for a long time. “I want more, but I don’t know what I can give you right now.”

Will, Will, Will. I want him. Just thinking of him makes my skin tingle, and I keep reliving that afternoon we spent napping in my bed. Wondering what might’ve happened if we’d kissed. I doubt we’d be close like we are now. It’s like relaxing during a long snow when the streets are so covered with ice, school closes. Things with Will have been sorta delayed. I’ve gotten a chance to settle in, to get to know him for him, and him for me.

Wild to think that, a couple of weeks ago, I wanted Brian bad. And I’m not sure I do anymore. Admitting this, I feel stress pulsing through me. And it’s not only because of Will that I’m thinking this way. It doesn’t feel right.

“Maybe we should be friends?” I ask Brian, my voice shaking like crazy.

“Come on, Park,” he murmurs. “We’ve got something.”

“But…”

“Yeah?”

I summon some courage. “I want you to listen to me when I talk. I want to do something other than sit in your truck. Am I even your girlfriend?”

He clears his throat. I listen to the hockey game in the background. “You know I like you and want you, but we can’t date for real.”

“Okay, well I guess that’s it then. I’ll see you at practice Monday,” I say, and as Brian tries to interrupt, I quickly add, “Bye” and hang up.

I’m proud of myself for doing that.

Aaron Pritchard and Matt Higgins and other guys had a thing for me, but I treated their feelings like they didn’t matter, believing that guys don’t mind one-night flings. I thought I liked Brian seriously. But the way he’s treating me sucks. Shame fills my heart, when I think of the guys I used to prove that I’m not like Mom.

On Sunday evening, Drew lets himself in the front door, carrying a bowl of popcorn and the Half-Blood Prince DVD. We decided to have a Harry Potter movie night at my house, because his mom recently started dating this guy, Otto.

Otto always wants to play dominoes. Drew and I have nothing against dominoes, but Otto takes the game very seriously and rolls his eyes when we start building fortresses and then knock them down with a catapult made out of a spoon and a salt shaker.

We curl up on the couch, and he lets me lean against him. Television light brightens the dim room.

“Ginny Weasley sure grew up to be a saucy minx, eh?” Drew asks, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

I’m grinning. “So did Neville Longbottom.”

“You think Neville Longbottom is a saucy minx?”

“No, no. He grew up to be kinda cute. So did Ron.”

“Don’t you think Draco is hot in an evil way?”

“No way,” I say, shoving Drew with an elbow. “He must spend hours a day gelling his hair. I could never date a guy who spends so much time on his appearance.”

“I bet Coach Hoffman spends a lot of time on his hair. It always looks perfect, even if he’s been wearing a cap.”

“We’re not dating.”

Drew turns to look at me, giving me a hard stare that says he doesn’t believe me.

“It’s true,” I say quietly. “I asked if I was his girlfriend and he said we can’t date for real. I guess he only wants to fool around.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Not really.” What I want is a two-way relationship. “I hung up on him last night after I basically said I’m not hooking up again until he lets me have a say in what we do.”

“Good for you.”

“But it sucks because I thought he really liked me.”

Drew pauses the movie. “Some guys are straight-up jerks. You can’t do anything about that.”

“He’s not a total jerk…” He’s confused and down and wants to stay young. Nothing wrong with that, but I wish he would consider my feelings more.

Drew puts an arm around me and whispers, “Did you do it with him?”

I shake my head. “He said he wanted to when I turn eighteen. But I’m not ready for that. With anybody.”

“I wish I’d waited…To have sex, I mean.”

“You regret doing it with Amy?”

He hesitates. “I love her. But I want to sleep with someone I’m in love with.”

“How was mini golf?” I’ve been dying to know how Drew’s date thing went last night. I couldn’t get any details out of Tate this morning at church.

He stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth. He smiles a little. “It was good. I won by a landslide. I have no idea why someone so not athletic would want to play mini golf.”

I snorggle. “Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t give me any details.”

Drew glances at me sideways. “He didn’t mention me?”

I get the feeling that, if not for Drew, Tate never would’ve said anything to me about himself, about his life. He seems kinda private. “He didn’t say anything. But he smiled when I brought you up. Are you going to see him again?” I’m excited for my friend.

“We want to get to know each other.” He blushes. “I haven’t even told Mom about me yet…Hey, listen. Corndog looked at my article about if the Braves should make a trade for a new bat in the middle of the order. He said he loved it, but gave me some edits. Can you read it to see if you have ideas on how to make it stronger?”

“Yeah, no prob—”

The front door opens, and Dad walks in. He says hello to us and pats my head softly.

“Were you out with Veena?” I ask, turning to hang over the back of the couch.

“She’s hot,” Drew says, chomping on popcorn. “I saw her out the window when she came over to your place last weekend.”

Dad’s face turns pink. “I don’t think we’re going to see each other again.” He says it matter-of-factly and makes his way toward the kitchen. Drew and I exchange looks.

I leap to my feet and follow Dad. “What? Why? Did you have a fight?”

He opens the fridge. Bright white light tumbles out. “Jack Taylor mentioned his wife is concerned about my relationship with Veena.”

“So?” Mrs. Taylor used to be Mom’s friend; you can guess how that turned out.

Dad stares inside the refrigerator. “She and Jack don’t think I should be off dating a younger woman when I should be taking care of you and your brother.”

“What? We don’t care. We like Veena!”

“That’s not the point. This isn’t the right time for me to try dating again.” He sighs heavily, and rubs his eyes with a finger and thumb. He can’t really believe that!

“We want you to be happy!”

He pulls out the orange juice. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“That is such bullshit,” I exclaim.

“Watch your mouth.”

Ryan appears in the doorway, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He got a haircut yesterday and now looks a lot more like he did pre-Vanderbilt. I can’t help smiling.

“What are you arguing about?” he asks.

“Dad broke it off with Veena,” I reply slowly.

My brother is silent, but sadness takes over his face. He turns and leaves the kitchen. His bedroom door shuts.

I close my eyes, lean my head against the wall and pray to God, to anyone who might be listening, to please help me. Please help my family. Hasn’t our church taken enough from us?

And now they have to take our new happiness too?

Why?

Why is Dad letting these people factor into his happiness so much? Why do we care? We can’t control what those assholes say, but we can ignore them. If we were to just forget them and focus on God, would everything be better?

i’m not that kind of girl

28 days until i turn 18

After Monday’s practice, I’m unlocking my bike when Brian comes jogging up. He flips his hat around backward. His cutoff sweatshirt sleeves hang lazily over his elbows.

“Hey,” he says, breathlessly.

“What’s up?” I try to hide how annoyed I am.

“Want to do something tonight?” His eyes dart around.

Does he want to do dinner at Foothills? Or go to the Little Duck River again with Brandy? “You want to do something with me?”

“I do. Can I drop by at around eleven?” He gives me a sexy grin, a grin making it obvious what he wants. Which is not what I want.

I glance around the parking lot. Will and Drew are standing next to Drew’s VW bug, staring over at me. “I’ll text you later.”

“Is that a no?” he asks.

I play with the hem of my sweater. “I can’t.”

Brian reaches into his back pocket for a new piece of gum. “Call me whenever you’re ready to hang out, I guess. See you tomorrow.”

I hop on my bike and pedal home, pissed at myself for letting him go down my pants. And to think I thought we had a real connection. We have a physical attraction, and friendship, and commonalities, but there’s no romance. I want romance so much.

At my house, I lock my bike in the garage, then drag myself inside, all the while wishing the sweet and funny Brian I knew a few weeks ago would come back. I’m on my way to my room when I notice a leg sticking out of the bathroom. Ryan’s leg. I rush forward to find him sprawled out on the tiles, an empty bottle of Robitussin in his fist.