Stealing Parker

“Just watching a movie, Dad.” I yawn.



“Who is this boy in your bed? And why’s there a lawnmower by our front door?”



“This is Corndog,” I say. “He’s a friend from school.”



Dad raises an eyebrow. “A friend?”



Why is Dad choosing this precise moment to stop being Daddy Denial? Gar. It’s not like I really care—I mean, this is just Corndog—what if Brian were in my bed?



“I better go,” Corndog says, giving me a nervous smile.



“I’ll walk you to the front door.” I hop out of bed and lead him down the hall. When we get to the living room, I stop dead. Mystery Woman Veena is here. Staring at me. She looks from me to Corndog and back to me again.



Who is this lady? Some angel of darkness God sent to confront me for my sins? Thanks but no thanks, God. I’ve already got Laura.



Dad walks up behind me, whistling. He drops a hand on my shoulder. “I invited Veena over for dinner.”



“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” I mumble to Corndog. My face feels hotter than a supernova.



He glances at Dad and Veena, then gives me a quick smile. “Thanks for the chick flick.”



Once he’s gone, Dad claps his hands together and looks at me. “So what’s for dinner?”



“Oh, um…” I say. I hadn’t really thought about dinner yet. I glance at my watch. It’s 6:00 p.m., and normally I’ve started cooking by now. Veena narrows her eyes at Dad. I guess he invited her over for dinner and failed to mention that his daughter makes most of the meals.



“I love cooking,” I explain, not wanting to embarrass my father. “I accidentally fell asleep. I’ll start making dinner now.” I nervously play with my hair as I head into the kitchen. Pasta is a good, fast option. I don’t have time to make a roast or anything. I could toss a salad to go with it. I grab a pot from the wall and begin filling it with water.



Brian hasn’t called all day. Didn’t that time in the closet mean anything to him? Obviously not.



I’m shutting off the water when Dad enters the kitchen. “Forget cooking. Let’s go out for a change, okay?”



Ryan said he has a paper due tomorrow (can you say “excuse”?), so it’s just me, Dad, and Mystery Woman Veena at Davy Crockett’s Roadhouse. I like this place because they serve peanuts by the bucket, and I can eat a bucket load of peanuts because my diet depends on lots of protein.



I crack open a few and line eight peanuts up across my bread plate. I’ll savor them one by one.



“Veena’s a nurse,” Dad says, touching her hand.



She blushes. Is she embarrassed of her job? Or because Dad is coming on way strong? Since when does Dad come on to anybody? He hasn’t dated since…since…ever? Since Mom.



“I work at the Murfreesboro Regional Medical Center,” she says, avoiding my eyes.



Dad rattles peanuts in his fist like a pair of dice. “And Parker is a senior at Hundred Oaks. She’s going to Vanderbilt next year.”



“Vanderbilt? Really?”



“She’s valedictorian too,” Dad adds, smiling and popping a peanut in his mouth.



I’m pleased that Dad is proud of me, but Veena looks way surprised. How humiliating. But then I remember: she doesn’t know me. She has no right to judge me. Is that why she agreed to come out with us—to judge me? But on the other hand, all the evidence I’ve given as to my personality involves me hanging out with two different guys on the same day. One in a janitor’s closet, one in my room. I rub my eyes. This isn’t what I wanted for myself. Maybe I was meant to be a sinner. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever be. Maybe Laura’s right.



A good person wouldn’t lust after a teacher. Lonely or not.



Veena takes a greasy roll from the bread basket and butters it up. Saliva forms in my mouth as I stare at the bread. I could have one bite, right? No, I shouldn’t.



“Are you coming to Forrest Sanctuary now?” I ask Veena.



She sips her water, then nods. “Yes. I just moved here from New York and don’t really know anyone except for people at the hospital. But I’ve always gone to church, so here I am.” She shrugs and blushes again. It gives her dark skin a rosy touch.



“I’m glad you came,” Dad replies. He touches her hand again. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” He stands and heads toward the restrooms.



I eat the first of my eight peanuts, savoring the salt.



Veena takes a bite of roll, and after swallowing, she whispers, “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to your father about this morning.”



I find her eyes. They are kind but questioning.



She continues, “The man you were with…he seemed older.”



I don’t respond. I concentrate on peanut #2. I want to eat it in peace.



“It’s none of my business, I know. And I’m one to talk…your father must be over ten years older than me…I’m 29…I just wanted to let you know I won’t say anything, okay?” she says.



“Okay, thank you,” I whisper. “Nothing happened, just so you know.”



She pauses. “So, Vanderbilt?”



“Yes, I got in early admission.” I say it with a strong, proud voice.



She smiles. “Good school. I didn’t get into their medical program. I’m jealous.”



“I studied hard.”



“I guess I didn’t study hard enough.” She laughs, sipping her water, and I join in laughing.



I eat peanut number two and smile at Veena as I chew. She’s very pretty and slim. I love her black curls, and it looks like she knows how to use an eyelash curler. Her full lips are painted a bronze-ish color.



Dad hustles up and slides into the booth next to her. “What did I miss?” he asks, putting his napkin back on his lap.



“None of your business,” Veena replies. “Girl talk.”



I pop peanut number three in my mouth and think: don’t mess this up, Dad! She’s pretty nice.



But she knows about Brian. I hope she keeps her mouth shut like she said she would.



Before bed, I wash my face with cleanser, moisturize, and carefully tweeze my eyebrows. I slip on pajamas and climb into bed with my laptop.



My phone beeps. A text from Corndog reads: Had fun today.



I text back: Me too. Can’t wait to tell everybody u love chick flicks!



Don’t! You’ll destroy my street cred!



I log in to Skype, and ten seconds later an IM from Brian pops up.



Brian Hoffman: Hey. Sorry I flaked.



I smile, and a warm feeling rushes through my body.



Parker Shelton: No prob.



Brian Hoffman: Want to talk?



Parker Shelton: Yes!!



Skype rings, I answer, and Brian’s voice tumbles out of the speakers. “Hey, you.”



“Hi.”



“Tell me about your day.”



My phone buzzes again. I ignore it.



Drew and I don’t have many classes together.



I’m taking AP courses, while he’s in classes like music theory and art. It’s senior year and he wanted to relax. But we do take AP English together, because he cares a lot about making his writing the best it can be. He sits in the front row, next to Corndog, and I sit right behind them. And because everyone now knows Drew broke up with Amy, the girls are out in full force to win his heart. Or win a chance to fool around with him. I don’t know which.



While we’re waiting on the final bell to ring before class starts, Marie Baird is leaning against his desk, chatting, laughing, and playfully slapping his shoulder, and Kristen Markum is standing between his legs, smiling down at him. He grins up at them, shaking his leg and tapping his foot. They’re discussing what one item they’d bring if they were to go on the TV show Survivor.



“I’d bring my iPad so I could download books to read,” Marie says.



“But how would you charge the battery on a deserted island?” I hear Corndog murmur to himself. I laugh silently.



“I’d bring a big pad of paper and pen so I could work on my autobiography,” Drew tells them.



“I want to read it!” Kristen says.



“So do I,” Marie adds.



“I’d bring a cell phone, so I could call you,” Kristen says to Drew.



“But how would you charge the battery?” Corndog mutters to himself again, and I start laughing.



Corndog lobs a note onto my desk. I unfold the paper. How does Drew always get this mad play?



I write back: Because he’s Double-wide Drew. I toss the note to Corndog; he catches it one-handed and reads. Then bursts out laughing. He writes me back.



Is that all girls care about? Penis size?



You better believe it. (Just kidding. We care about how much $$ you have too.)



Marie? Is that who he’s interested in? Corndog writes.



No idea. She’s pretty and nice, though.



Yeah, she’s hot.



Why don’t you just ask him?



I fold the note and move to toss it to Corndog, but Drew intercepts my pass. “What are you talking about?” He unfolds the paper and I swipe at him, trying to get it back, but he blocks me with a forearm. Ugh, he’s such a football player. Corndog doesn’t seem to care that our note has been hijacked, because he’s giggling like a little girl.



Drew reads the paper. “Why are y’all writing notes about my junk?”



I bite my lips together to stop myself from laughing.



“I know you can’t help but think about my package all day long,” Drew says to me. “But English class is not the time or place to obsess over it.” He snorggles and flicks my forehead. I flick his forehead. And then we’re in a forehead flicking war.



“She’s so boy crazy, it’s pathetic,” Kristen whispers to Marie, throwing me a glare. I suck in a deep breath. Corndog avoids my eyes and turns to face the whiteboard.



I sink down into my seat, embarrassed. My rep must be pretty bad if Kristen Markum, the girl who gets it on with everybody, thinks I get around.



Brian works us like plow horses in gym class.



But there is a bit of good news. I get lots of smiles from him as I run laps around the track.



I speed past Laura just in time to hear her comment on how cute Brian is, and how it’s too bad he’s our gym teacher. It’s a good thing Brian’s busy yelling at the baseball players in Coach Burns’s class to pay any attention to her.



I’m on lap six of twelve, thinking about Brian’s chapped lips and wondering why he bites them so hard, when Corndog jogs up next to me.



“Hey, Parker,” he says, loping along, arms flailing all over the place.



“Your form sucks today,” I reply.



“I’m tired. I stayed up too late texting.”



I laugh. We have been texting a lot. Corndog and I talk about books and animals and how I might become a zookeeper and how he wants to study agricultural law one day. A lawyer for farmers?! I texted him last night.



A soil expert, he replied. One of the reasons farming has become so hard for people is soil erosion. It’s become chemically altered because people overuse it.



Part of me wishes we could’ve been close friends before our last semester, but considering we spent three and a half years duking it out over grades, this is the first time we’ve been able to relax around each other.

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