The Boys Next Door

“Why?”

I snapped out of my daydream. I’d almost forgotten Adam was sitting there.

He put one hand on my knee, watching me, and didn’t even turn to look when Scooter purposefully spun his tires, coating one side of the pink truck in mud. “Why did you want to play with us?” Adam asked. “At that age, we were basically squirting each other in the face with water guns.”

“Compare this to sitting in my room by myself, dressing and undressing the Barbie.”

“Oh.” He nodded.

“Anyway, of course I was disappointed, as always. My mom said your mom was so nice to offer, but she didn’t want me playing with four boys very often. I’d grow up to be a tomboy.”

“What’s wrong with growing up to be a tomboy?”

“I think it’s fine until a certain age. When you’re young, being a tomboy may even give you a certain advantage. You can always beat girls like Holly Chambliss and Beige Dupree and, ohmyGod, Rachel in Little League softball. You can catch four fish in the Girl Scout fishing rodeo while they’re still refusing to bait their hooks because worms are icky.”

“Rachel will actually bait her own hook,” Adam defended her.

I didn’t want to hear it. I talked right over him. “After a certain age, people don’t know what to make of a tomboy, and you don’t fit in. You end up feeling empty and lost.”

Those frown lines appeared between his brows. He moved the plate of cheese fries behind him on the bench, slid over until his leg touched my leg, and put his hand on my knee again.

Strange how his touch made it easier for me to talk. I went on, “Just as Mom was telling your mom no, Sean came up the stairs crying. You and the other boys had dared him to stick bread between his toes and put his foot in the water. A fish mouthed him and he freaked out.”

“Er—,” Adam started.

I waved him off, because this was the most important detail. “My mom took his chin in her hand, turned his face toward me, and said, ‘Just look at those eyes. He’s going to be a heartbreaker.’” I found myself smiling at the memory. But when I turned to Adam and saw the look on his face, I stopped smiling.

“That sounds like a bad thing,” he grumbled.

“People mean it as a good thing,” I said, suddenly not as sure of this as I’d been for the last twelve years. But I couldn’t really expect him to understand. Talking about Sean around Adam was like throwing Evian on a fire. “And then Mom said, ‘Lori, just wait until you’re sixteen.’ She was stuck on the sixteenth birthday. We made a scrapbook with pictures of all my baby events, and spaces for when I would turn six and eight and ten and twelve, and a super-mondo sequined space for when I turned sixteen. She wanted me to have what she’d had, a great sixteenth birthday, exactly what any teenage girl would want. Her parents gave her a special grown-up ring, and she wore a groovy dress that’s hanging in my closet.”

We’d moved away from talking about Sean. Predictably, Adam took a deeper breath and relaxed against the bench. “Are you going to wear the dress on your birthday?”

“Are you kidding? It was 1979. White polyester, baby. Highly flammable. Burn baby burn, disco inferno. Unsafe. Uncool.”

“I’ll bet it’s pretty. You could wear it wakeboarding on your birthday, during the Crappy Festival show.” He was back to his old self.

I chuckled. “Unfortunately, you and I are the only two people in the world who would think that was funny.”

“What does that have to do with Sean?”

I squirmed a little under the gaze of the intense blue eyes. I felt his disapproval even though I hadn’t told him what he should disapprove of yet. But he was helping me with Sean, and I’d committed to telling him the whole story. “Mom died not long after that. I took it as a free ticket to Disneyworld. Yay, Mom wasn’t around to stop me! I got to play with the boys! Only I always felt guilty about being the least bit happy she was gone, even when this was the one good thing about it. And I felt guilty I didn’t tell Dad or Frances that Mom wouldn’t have wanted me over at your house. It went against her wishes for me. I promised myself I’d clean up by the time I was sixteen. And if I could finally convince Sean to ask me out by my sixteenth birthday, I would know I’d turned out okay after all.”

Adam nodded. “Because you think your mother picked Sean out for you.”

“No, not exactly—”

“Like an arranged marriage,” Adam interrupted. “That’s very forward thinking.”

“No, not like that. Mom knew what was best for me, and if she were still around, she would have taught me how to get it. She’s not around, so I have to figure this out for myself. I’m transforming myself from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. There’s much preening to be done. It’s actually pretty time-consuming. I have to run my beak down every single feather to distribute the oil evenly and make myself waterproof.”

“Lori—”

“And I’ve almost perfected my Holly/Beige imitation. At least, I thought I had, until the mud riding started.”

“You think going out with Sean will turn you into Beige Dupree?”

“Sort of. If I hooked up with Sean, everyone would treat me differently. Everyone loves Sean. If Sean chose me, they’d think they’d always overlooked something special in me. Then maybe I really could become that girl. I know you hate Sean, but you understand why everyone else loves him, right?”

I took Adam’s stony silence as a yes.

“Girlfriend/boyfriend love is totally different from brotherly love. But the effect would be the same. Like standing in his aura. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like if Sean loved and valued you as a person?”

“I’d know Armageddon was coming. I’d brace myself for the locusts.”

“I’m serious. If he just looked at you the right way, that alone could probably carry you through for a month. But if he loved you…”

Adam shifted on the bench. I thought he was standing up to stalk away, disgusted. Instead, he placed his arm around my shoulders. Lightly his finger stroked valentines on my arm, which gave me the shivers all over again.

“Every word out of Sean’s mouth is meant to hurt me,” he said. “And it’s always been like that. Cameron says Sean changed after I was born. When I was a baby and Mom wasn’t looking, Sean threw blocks at my crib.”

I almost laughed. The idea was so ridiculous. It was even more ridiculous for Adam to be angry about something like that when he was sixteen years old.

I managed not to laugh. I believed him. I knew Sean.

“But that’s you,” I said. “I’m sorry he treats you that way, but I’m the one who’s going to get together with him, and he doesn’t treat me that way.”

“He will,” Adam said. “If you ever let him get close to you, he will.” The valentines he traced on my arm had turned to shapes with lots of sharp points, like in comic books when the superhero punches the villain. Ker-POW!

The tractor arrived then to pull the pink truck out of the mud. Adam took his hands off me—which I regretted more than I should have. He leaned forward to watch and make sure the driver didn’t attach the chain to the loose side of the front bumper.

“Why does it have to be Rachel?” I asked.

“It just does,” he said without taking his eyes off the truck.

“You might feel better if you talked about it.”

“I doubt it.”

“What do you like so much about her?”

When he turned to me, he seemed alarmed, as he had at the tennis court the night before. With wide eyes, he searched my eyes for something—which I probably would have given him, if I’d known what he was looking for. I asked, “What are you looking for?”

He shook his head and turned back to the mud pit. “I like her because she’s so pretty,” he said in his bullshit voice.

“That’s no fair. I gave you a straight answer about Sean.”

The tractor started forward. The chain to the pink truck pulled tighter and tighter and broke. One end of it flew over the tractor, barely missing the driver.

“She’s cute,” Adam said. “She has a nice ass. I don’t know.”

Now I understood. Talking about her hurt him too much. It was easier for him to pretend the ADHD had kicked in.

After two more chains and a rope, the tractor liberated the pink truck, and Adam bought the driver a doughnut. Adam and I drove through the mud field for another hour and a half, taking turns. Mostly we managed to forget Sean and Rachel.

Then we drove into town and hit all the teenage haunts: the arcade parking lot, the bowling alley parking lot, of course the movie theater parking lot. In theory this is exactly what I wanted. I was being seen out with Adam, in Adam’s truck. In practice, Adam had purposefully besmirched Sean’s pink truck with mud. It was like he wanted to be seen around town in it for that reason.

We rolled home at two minutes before my curfew. I’d figured he’d park the truck at his house, and I’d walk home. I was thrilled that he drove over to my driveway to drop me off. Sean wasn’t home yet to see us, but maybe someone in the Vaders’ house would watch across the yard and mention it to Sean later.

And then, as I was turning to Adam to thank him for teaching me to drive and allowing me to foam at the mouth about my mom, he bailed out the driver’s side door. He walked around the front of the truck. I think he would have opened my door, a gentleman on a date, if I hadn’t opened it first. It was too strange. I jumped to the ground, forgetting I was wearing my heels again. He caught me just before I pitched over onto the gravel.

“I’ll—walk—you—to—the—door,” he said slowly and clearly, like talking to someone who didn’t speak English. Or didn’t go out with girls much, or, like, ever. He took my hand. We walked toward the lights slanting through the shadows of pine trunks. Tree frogs screamed in the night, and the air was wet. I shivered.

We climbed the steps to the porch. Dad hadn’t turned on the overhead light there, thank God. Adam stood close to me in the darkness, over me, expecting something. I expected something, too. I couldn’t have stood the disappointment if we’d done all we’d done that day, hugging and giving each other smoldering looks and all, without something to show for it at the end, even if we were just friends. But my head felt too heavy to raise my chin.

“Hey.” He put his hand under my chin and gently raised it for me. “If one of us were in love with the other, if it were uneven in some way, that would be bad.” He gave me a long look I couldn’t really see. The shadows on the porch were too deep. His eyes only glittered a little in the starlight.

I tried to give the look right back to him. “But we’re not,” I said, and what was that damned high squeakiness in my voice on not? I cleared my throat.

“But we’re not,” he agreed. “We have nothing to worry about. We can do whatever we feel like.”

“Right,” I said, and meant it.

The kiss was simple. He bent down and pressed his lips to mine. We stood still except for his pressure on my lips. But inside, every cell in my body turned a back flip to blind.

“Good night, Lori,” he whispered. He bounced back to the pink truck, cranked the engine, drove one hundred feet to his own driveway, waved to me, and went inside his house.

I stood on my porch and stared at his house for a long time, telling myself that I did not like Adam that way because I liked Sean and Adam liked Rachel and I did not like Adam. It was just that Adam was very smart, and was second only to Sean at making confusing things sound simple and death-defying stunts seem like a good idea.

11

Monday night, Dad insisted that Adam come over for dinner. Adam, my dad, my brother, and I ate and joked together like we normally would out in the yard, except that it wasn’t normal. It was weird. Adam sat in my mom’s chair at the table. We might as well have been staring at a showy centerpiece made of silk flowers and hand grenades.

Tuesday night was much more comfy. Sean was over at Rachel’s and Cameron was out with his girlfriend, so Adam and I had the Vaders’ living room to ourselves to watch a DVD. At least, that’s what we did for about thirty minutes. Then we played CDs in his room, experimented with his drum set, and made milkshakes in the kitchen. Without anyone else around to show off for, we could just be ourselves. Friends.

Wednesday night we went mud riding. I wore my sensible shoes this time—rubber flip-flops that could be hosed off. I knew this wouldn’t sound very romantic when it got back to Sean or Holly or Beige. I also knew that, just like the other nights, I would stand on my porch with Adam and get the simplest, most shiver-inducing kiss. And then it would be over. The next morning, we’d go back to being friends.

Thursday night we scored. So to speak. We’d planned to go to the arcade and see who could kick the other’s ass on the snowmobile racing game, but Adam called me just before it was time to pick me up. He sounded tinny, like his hand was cupped over his mouth and the receiver. “Code green. Code green. Rachel and Sean watching DVD here tonight. Over.”

The wound Rachel had inflicted on him must have healed enough that he could stand being around her and Sean. Or he must miss her so much that he was willing to take a more active role in making her jealous. Either way, this was our big chance!

Slamming down the phone, I rushed upstairs to exchange my Skechers for Steve Madden pumps and my tank top for something that said elegance, sophistication, Express. This was how I was supposed to talk about clothes, right? Naming the brands as if I cared? Another coat of mascara and a run-through with the comb attachment to McGillicuddy’s razor and I was ready, baby. Snap!