Little Black Lies by Tish Cohen Page A

when I was in middle school?”
    â€œToo much work.”
    â€œBut it calmed you down, remember? It was good for you.”
    â€œTook nearly an hour. I’m a single parent; I don’t have that kind of time.”
    But he has the time to circle the van all night long. This is the thing. At some point he stopped taking care of himself. Refused to take care of himself. Stopped meditating, stopped seeing his psychiatrist, stopped taking his meds. It almost cost him his last job. It played no small role in my mother’s decision to leave. And all the while he’s the most lovable man on earth. It’s crazy-making. “Pretty wild night, huh?”
    He loads two spoonfuls of sugar into his cup and looks up. “Excuse me?”
    â€œYou know … with the door handles.”
    After sipping from his cup, wiping a dribble of coffee from his chin, he nods. “They’re not in great condition, those handles. It’s impossible to tell whether they’re locked.”
    I stare at the fake wood pattern in the Formica table. There’s one pear-shaped black knot—fake knot—that is tightly wrapped in long, swerving lines. The lines nearest to the knot follow its shape closely, but as they get farther and farther away, the lines begin to lose their fruity direction, until they eventually run so straight they cannot possibly know the knot exists. “That’s not what I meant,” I mumble.
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œI spent three hours working on the transmission a few weeks ago and just listen. ” Charlie pulls the sputtering van into the school laneway and I forget any fears of door-handle checking because horrendously loud explosions have begun shooting out the back end like muffled mechanical farts, creating a ripple of excitement among the students in the parking lot. I bend down and pretend to dig something out of my backpack to avoid detection as he continues his rant. “It’s as if she’s in agony. I have half a mind to turn around and spend the rest of the day under the hood.”
    The sun hangs so low I wonder if I might reach up and twist it from the sky, blackening the whole city and rendering me invisible. If only. “It’s just a car, Dad.”
    â€œNo such thing, my girl.”
    I sink lower in my seat, sickened to be attracting such gaseous attention. Dad coasts into a parking spot mercifully close to the edge of the lot, kills the already dying engine, and climbs out. He reaches into the backseat for his jacket, pulls it on, and locks his door. Without checking to see if it really is locked, he walks around to my side and stares at me. “Coming?”
    There’s no way I’m climbing out of this vehicle. Not until anyone and everyone who witnessed our entrance has lost interest and toddled away. Still ducked down, I hold up one shoe and tug at the laces. “Leave me for dead. I’m having footwear issues.”
    â€œThey look just as loathsome as anyone else’s. What’s the problem?”
    â€œThey’re pinching. Go ahead.”
    â€œJust don’t forget to lock up. It might not sound so hot, but this bus is a classic.”
    â€œIf someone steals it, they won’t get far without attracting attention. Let that be your comfort.”
    â€œI’m being serious, Sara.”
    â€œI’ll lock up. Go forth and do that uniform proud.”
    He doesn’t move right away. Just chews on his cheek and considers the pragmatics of walking away and leaving his girl here unprotected. The van, not me.
    I decide to appeal to his sense of responsibility. “Dad, the bell’s about to ring. You don’t want to be late. First impressions, remember?”
    It works. Dad lifts his hand in a half wave, half salute and says, “Right. You have a good day, hon. Try to get your homework done right after school so you can get to bed at a reasonable hour.”
    He vanishes into the