can see the waist, please?” She sounded like a waitress or an operator.
I pushed my chair back and stood, hitching up my pants before lifting my T-shirt.
“Well, those are clearly too big,” Cyndra said, eyeing me. “Would you come here, please?” She stopped writing and twisted sideways in her chair.
I stepped forward. Her hot hands grabbed my waist and pulled me a half step closer. Laughter from the other table rang over us. She was face level with my stomach and only a dip away from my crotch.
My head felt light as I stared down at the top of her head. She messed with my T-shirt, instructing me to hold it a little higher. She lifted my jeans and pinched the sides until her fingers lay flat against my sides.
I glanced at the others. Dwight circled his thumb and fingers and brought them to his mouth. He tongued the inside of his cheek rhythmically.
I looked away.
Cyndra let go of me, and I sat down before I embarrassed myself. Curled over the table, hands clenched on my legs.
She wrote something on the paper.
She smiled. “Well, from what little I saw of your abs, Monique was right.”
I stared at the fish.
“Shy, huh? You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I stared at the fish.
She sighed and drummed red-tipped fingers on the table. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk sometimes. Here.” She handed me a fork and walked away.
I ate the noodles.
C HAPTER S EVEN
I t should have made me happy that Cyndra thought I had nice abs, but it just pissed me off. I didn’t really know why, though. Maybe because of Dwight’s gesture, maybe because I wasn’t really part of their circle. I was bought and paid for.
And because it all brought me back to the shirt thing.
Which had to do with control—and what they didn’t know about my life at home. My dad may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. Usually. And so it’s fists and you keep your head together and it’s over and you’re okay. Live to fight another day. No real marks and you can pretend it never happened or that it’s going to stop—like my mom used to.
But once it was a broken bottle. Something had gone wrong, some buddy narc’d. Something. And I did my part, because I knew he was going to go off, and sometimes it’s better to get it over with. But I didn’t know how much he’d already drunk. I thought it would be like a pot on the stove, and he could just boil over a bit. Take the pressure off. And then it would be done.
It didn’t work out that way. He exploded. Broke the bottle he’d been drinking from against the table and came at me with the neck curled in his fist like a roll of quarters and the jagged end hanging out past his thumb and forefinger. It started out just fists but ended up a slashing arc across my back with me curled away from it. Which just made the gash worse.
Afterward, Janie patched me up. I lay out a bit, and it was like it never happened. Except for the scar. And I’ll be damned before I parade it in front of a bunch of cheerleaders.
I finished the noodles and thought about The Plan. I imagined putting the money I’d earned today into the coffee can, imagined buying Janie a little stuffed animal or necklace before going home. She’d probably rather put all the money in the coffee can, like a responsible little adult, but I liked the idea of surprising her.
I was about to get up and go find something for her when Michael sat down next to me.
“Shouldn’t take too much longer. Don’t worry. Cyn’s got good taste.”
Behind us, the others were scattering into the mall. Dwight humped a pillar, making the others laugh.
Before I could stop myself, I asked the question. “Why’d you let him do that to her?” Thinking of the suck gesture, thinking of how Cyndra hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”
Cyndra was right; his eyes didn’t smile when his mouth did.
“Like what?”
Michael held up a hand, like he was trying to keep me from interrupting, when I’d only said two words. “No, no.
I pushed my chair back and stood, hitching up my pants before lifting my T-shirt.
“Well, those are clearly too big,” Cyndra said, eyeing me. “Would you come here, please?” She stopped writing and twisted sideways in her chair.
I stepped forward. Her hot hands grabbed my waist and pulled me a half step closer. Laughter from the other table rang over us. She was face level with my stomach and only a dip away from my crotch.
My head felt light as I stared down at the top of her head. She messed with my T-shirt, instructing me to hold it a little higher. She lifted my jeans and pinched the sides until her fingers lay flat against my sides.
I glanced at the others. Dwight circled his thumb and fingers and brought them to his mouth. He tongued the inside of his cheek rhythmically.
I looked away.
Cyndra let go of me, and I sat down before I embarrassed myself. Curled over the table, hands clenched on my legs.
She wrote something on the paper.
She smiled. “Well, from what little I saw of your abs, Monique was right.”
I stared at the fish.
“Shy, huh? You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”
I stared at the fish.
She sighed and drummed red-tipped fingers on the table. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk sometimes. Here.” She handed me a fork and walked away.
I ate the noodles.
C HAPTER S EVEN
I t should have made me happy that Cyndra thought I had nice abs, but it just pissed me off. I didn’t really know why, though. Maybe because of Dwight’s gesture, maybe because I wasn’t really part of their circle. I was bought and paid for.
And because it all brought me back to the shirt thing.
Which had to do with control—and what they didn’t know about my life at home. My dad may be crazy, but he’s not stupid. Usually. And so it’s fists and you keep your head together and it’s over and you’re okay. Live to fight another day. No real marks and you can pretend it never happened or that it’s going to stop—like my mom used to.
But once it was a broken bottle. Something had gone wrong, some buddy narc’d. Something. And I did my part, because I knew he was going to go off, and sometimes it’s better to get it over with. But I didn’t know how much he’d already drunk. I thought it would be like a pot on the stove, and he could just boil over a bit. Take the pressure off. And then it would be done.
It didn’t work out that way. He exploded. Broke the bottle he’d been drinking from against the table and came at me with the neck curled in his fist like a roll of quarters and the jagged end hanging out past his thumb and forefinger. It started out just fists but ended up a slashing arc across my back with me curled away from it. Which just made the gash worse.
Afterward, Janie patched me up. I lay out a bit, and it was like it never happened. Except for the scar. And I’ll be damned before I parade it in front of a bunch of cheerleaders.
I finished the noodles and thought about The Plan. I imagined putting the money I’d earned today into the coffee can, imagined buying Janie a little stuffed animal or necklace before going home. She’d probably rather put all the money in the coffee can, like a responsible little adult, but I liked the idea of surprising her.
I was about to get up and go find something for her when Michael sat down next to me.
“Shouldn’t take too much longer. Don’t worry. Cyn’s got good taste.”
Behind us, the others were scattering into the mall. Dwight humped a pillar, making the others laugh.
Before I could stop myself, I asked the question. “Why’d you let him do that to her?” Thinking of the suck gesture, thinking of how Cyndra hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”
Cyndra was right; his eyes didn’t smile when his mouth did.
“Like what?”
Michael held up a hand, like he was trying to keep me from interrupting, when I’d only said two words. “No, no.
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