Stealing Parker

“I do know.” He averts his eyes.



“Parker,” Brian says, beckoning me. “Let’s talk.”



I walk over to Brian, carrying the stats book. “Yeah, Coach?”



“Stand with me, okay?”



“You double-checking my work?” I joke.



He chomps his gum. “I guess you could say that.”



I’m smiling the rest of the game.



And we win four-two.



I’m very happy.



Now I’m very unhappy.



As the team’s boarding the bus after the game, I’m watching Brian flirt with a woman who’s with the Tullahoma softball team. Is she their coach? She’s wearing a Wildcats parka, jeans, and ballet flats. Seriously? I can’t believe he’d talk to a coach who’d dare to wear something so ridiculous onto a baseball field.



Then I look down at my clothes. Tight sweater, skinny jeans and Converses. My makeup is perfect, and I woke up extra early to tangle my hair. I guess I’m not behaving any better than Coach Vixen over there.



She’s much prettier and curvier than me, and I can tell Brian likes her because he’s leaning toward her and laughing at everything she says.



I should stop watching, but I can’t look away. My chest hurts. My eyes burn. Then it gets worse: she pulls her phone out of her back pocket and hands it to him. He enters his numbers for her.



And to think I played MASH with him.



I stomp up the stairs to the bus and flop onto my bench. When Brian climbs aboard, I fold my arms across my stomach.



Sam is loudly telling this story about how he saw a hot pink dildo laying on the concrete behind the cafeteria back at Hundred Oaks and all the guys are hollering and carrying on, trying to guess how it got there.



“I bet it belongs to Ms. McCanly,” Jake Sanders says.



“I bet it was put there by aliens!” Corndog calls out.



“Oh God,” Brian groans.



I sneak a peek at him. His eyes are shut and he looks exasperated, thanks to the tale of the dildo. He glances over at me and smiles. “C’mere.”



I’m pissed, but I slide across the aisle anyway. None of the guys are paying attention to me. Dildos are way too distracting.



“What?” I ask, making sure not to touch him.



“What’s wrong? You’ve been upset a lot today.”



I pick at the hole in my jeans.



“Is this ’cause I’m marrying Kim Kardashian?”



A laugh escapes my lips. “No.”



“Then what is it?” he asks softly. There’s care in his voice.



I look out the window as we fly past cornfields. “Who was that lady you were talking to? You know, Coach Vixen in the ballet flats.”



“Coach Vixen?” he exclaims. “Coach Black? Jenna?”



“Yeah, Coach Vixen.”



He gives me a knowing smile. “Are you stalking me?”



“Only on Wednesdays.”



He laughs, chewing his gum. “I went to high school with her. We haven’t seen each other in years.”



“She’s pretty.”



“She’s all right,” he replies, shaking his leg up and down.



I suck on my bottom lip.



He jabs me softly in the side. “Let’s play another round of that MASH game of yours. I want to see if I can live in an igloo, drive a tractor, and marry Angelina Jolie instead.”



sinner extraordinaire



43 days until i turn 18



On Sunday, Dad, Ryan, and I head to church. This morning I had to pound on Ryan’s door for five minutes before he woke up. Sweat drenched his clothes, and he could barely open his eyes as he rubbed his face. He leaned against the wall before making his way to the shower. I made him scrambled eggs and toast to fill his stomach and hopefully clean out whatever he drank/ate/snorted/shot up last night.



When I confronted Dad in the laundry room about Ryan, he said, “Your brother’s an adult.” He moved wet socks from the washer to the dryer. “I can’t tell him how to live his life.” Then Dad put an arm around my shoulder, kissed my head, and told me to call Mom sometime.



Daddy Denial, as always. I find it funny that Dad makes Ryan come to church, which seems to be telling him how to live his life, if you ask me.



The Durango pulls into the parking lot, and I see Tate standing by himself by the swing set. I hop out of the car and skip over to him.



“Doughnuts?” I ask.



Tate laughs. “You’ve been hungry lately.”



“I’m famished,” I reply, looking down at his tie that’s covered by music notes. His hair is all crazy gelled up, but I like it. Together we start walking to the Fellowship Hall. He fumbles with something in his pocket.



“Where’s Aaron?” I say.



“Uh, he went inside already,” Tate replies.



“Why?”



“You, um, never returned his calls…”



“So…?” I look at Tate sideways.



“So he thought you were interested.”



“I never said anything, though,” I blurt.



“But you made out with him. What’s he supposed to think?”



Leave it to Tate to give it to me straight. Because he went to other schools, I never really knew him until after Mom left. That’s when he started hanging around.



“So what, Aaron and I can’t be friends?” I ask, playing with my hair.



Tate lifts a shoulder. “I dunno, you should talk to him.”



Inside the church, Tate and I get in line for Coffee Time, and that’s when I see Aaron and Laura across the Fellowship Hall. Laughing and smiling and touching each other.



“Are you kidding me?” I mutter, nudging Tate and pointing. Laura just fed Aaron a grape! In Sunday school last week, she started crying because she was worried people she knows are going to Hell. She looked at me pointedly. But it’s okay for her to flirt at church?



“Is he actually interested in her? If so, why?”



Tate scratches his neck. “I dunno. She answers when he calls. Why? Do you care?”



“Not really.” Truth. Last night, I could’ve gone to Miller’s Hollow and hung out with somebody, but I stayed in and chatted with Brian over Skype. And that connection felt better than kissing could ever feel.



That’s when I see him. Standing across the room drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Brian raises his eyebrows at me, and I can see him smiling behind the cup. He’s wearing his Best Buy costume: white shirt, black tie. So nerdy hot.



I peer around the room. Ryan’s sitting between a piano and a potted plant with his head up against a wall. Dad is deep in conversation. With a woman! She looks like she might be from India. She’s gorgeous, with long black wavy hair and a nice smile. Jack Taylor of the Jack Taylor Ford dealership looks at them like they have the plague. Dad’s so busy talking to Mystery Woman he doesn’t even notice Jack. Or me.



I touch my stomach. “I need to use the bathroom. Damned stale doughnuts.”



Tate laughs. “TMI.”



I toss my napkin and cup in the trash and head toward the bathroom down the hall. Fifteen seconds later, Brian appears. We smile but don’t say a word. He glances over his shoulder. I lead him past the women’s restroom to the janitor’s closet. Inside, it’s dark. I pull on the chain cord that turns on the light and glance around at the bottles of Windex and Clorox. The stench of bleach nearly knocks me down. I’m panting.



I climb the ladder that leads up to a crawl space above the supplies. I tell Brian I know about this place because Laura and I would hide here sometimes as kids, during church-wide games of Hide and Seek. The cubby has very little space—the last time I was up here I was nine—so he and I are touching elbows and legs when we squeeze in.



“Hi,” he says, grinning.



“Hi…Do you have a second job at Best Buy?”



“What? No.” He looks down at his clothes and realization dawns on his face. “You smart ass. Trouble.” His mouth twitches in amusement. “I bet there are lots of spiders up here.”



I smack his bicep. “Shut up, you.”



He shoves me with his elbow.



I smile at his lips. “You came to church.”



He plays with his bangs and looks at me sideways. “Yeah. I figure I need to repent for my sins.”



My eyes go all buggy. I gasp. Is he thinking the same sinful things about me that I’m thinking about him?



“What sins?”



“When I was six, I stole a Three Musketeers bar from Walmart. When I was nine, I scribbled Evan’s name on a desk with permanent marker and denied I did it. He had to scrub it off. In high school, I wrote the Pythagorean Theorem on my palm and cheated on a test.”



“But other than that, you’re perfect?”



“Totally perfect.”



I want to touch his knee and run my hand up his thigh, but I keep my hands folded tight in my lap. He crosses his arms. We’ve talked every night this week. He knows that sometimes I wear a My Little Pony T-shirt to bed. I decide being up front is best.



“Do you consider me a sin?” I whisper, my hands fidgeting.



“Talking to you? No. But…anything else? Yes, that would be bad.”



“Bad?” My voice shakes and squeaks.



He loosens his black tie. “Listen…I think you’re beautiful, and really smart and funny and kind—”



My heart swells, my pulse races, my grin explodes.



“But I teach at your school. You’re a minor.” He gives me a sad smile.



Everything slows to a stop. I’m ready to cry. I mean, why would he come up here with me, if not to do something more? We’ve been talking every night on Skype and chat. What is that supposed to mean?



“We’re friends, right?” he asks, taking my hand.



My face hurts from frowning so hard. Friends don’t hide in janitors’ closets to talk to each other.



He nudges me with his elbow. I lean against his shoulder, and he tells me about how, this morning, he ran fifteen miles in two hours, his best time yet. He’s in perfect shape to run the Nashville half-marathon in April.



“Why are you raising money for the American Heart Association?”



He holds my gaze for several seconds before rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a good cause. My grandmother died of a heart aneurism.”



I squeeze his hand. “I bet she was a great person.”



“I loved her.”



I can tell he wants to change the subject. “You know what’s also a good cause? Buying me cheese fries at Foothills Diner.” I wink at him.



“I knew I would convert you to the cult of Fries à la Appalachia. You should eat more of them. You need to put on weight.”



“Naw, I like being skinny.” He scans my body slowly, and when he looks up into my eyes, he jerks his neck, flipping hair off his forehead. He pulls his knees to his chest and clutches his shins.



I grab his wrist and pull it closer to check his watch. It’s so dim in here. “We should go. Dad’ll kill me if I miss Big Church.”



“Big Church?” Brian says, chuckling.



“Don’t ask.”



I climb down the ladder, and Brian puts his hands around my waist and helps me to the floor. I turn around to face him and stare up at his chapped lips. Does he bite them? Is he stressed? He avoids my eyes and gestures toward the door. We exit the janitor’s closet and I run straight into Mystery Woman. She sees Brian emerging behind me. She throws us a questioning look, then goes into the bathroom.