Chapter 7

 

 

 

The next day, Debbie was bored and asked me if I wanted to walk down to the five-and-dime. Her older sister had gotten a job there, and Debbie said we could get free candy. Besides, I was hoping they might have some new comic books in.

Debbie’s sister, Sandy, was 19, but she wasn’t smart enough for college, so she’d gotten this job as a clerk at the dime store. We all knew that she was really just killing time, though, until she could snag some hapless guy for a husband and start popping out brats. She was no beauty queen, but she knew how to flirt, so we all kind of figured it wouldn’t take long.

Unfortunately the trip was a bust; she couldn’t get us free candy, and this month’s comics hadn’t arrived yet. Plus, Sandy was making goo-goo eyes at some young guy in a suit, and she hissed at us to “Beat it!”

I’d never especially liked Sandy.

On the way out of the dime store, Debbie paused by the racks of candy bars, took a quick glance around, and then pocketed one. I was shocked and immediately nervous; I’d never seen Debbie commit any sort of criminal act before. I was just certain we’d be apprehended at any second, squads of hidden security men swooping down on us with drawn guns and handcuffs.

“What are you DOING?” I whispered to her.

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

She rushed us out of the store, then began to giggle once we were out on the sidewalk.

 “I can’t believe you just stole from your sister’s store,” I said.

“Oh, lighten up. It’s just a candy bar. Besides, it’s not my ‘sister’s store’. She’s only a stupid clerk.”

“I think you should take it back.”

She pulled the candy bar out of the pocket she’d stuffed it into, tore the wrapping off one end, bit off a third of it, and then, as she chewed, said, “You’re right—I’m taking it back.”

I had to laugh, both at her trying to talk around a mouthful of chocolate and at how brazen she was, to stand in front of the store she’d just stolen from and eat her pilfered goods right there. She ate the rest of the candy bar and then said, “I think you should take the next one.”

“I’m not a thief.”

“Oh, well pardon me, Miss High-and-Mighty. Maybe you’ll feel differently if you ever come down out of that ivory tower and join the rest of the world. C’mon, everybody steals.”

I didn’t want to believe that, but after what I’d seen happening to my friends recently, it was starting to sound more plausible.

“I’m not high-and-mighty. You make me sound like Julie Andrews.”

We were passing an auto parts store, and Debbie patted me on the shoulder and pointed inside. “Oh yeah? Well, then, here’s your chance to prove it.”

Steve Noonan was inside, talking on the phone behind the front counter. Even from out here I could see he wore a striped button-down shirt with a sewn-on patch above the front pocket that read “Steve”.

Steve was a year ahead of Debbie and me in school, which meant he’d started junior high last fall while Debbie and I were finishing elementary school…but he’d already been huge a year ago. Now, at 13, he was nearly six feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick blonde hair, and the beginnings of a downy growth above his upper lip. Debbie had once caught me staring a little too long at Steve, and she knew I thought he was cute.

“What’s he doing in there?” I asked Debbie. “He’s not old enough to work…”

“His dad owns this store. I hear the old man’s trying to train Steve to take over the business.”

As we watched, Steve hung up the phone and scribbled notes on a pad of paper. Debbie slapped my arm. “C’mon,” she said, as she opened the door and went in, leaving me standing on the sidewalk in the grip of anxiety.

“Debbie!”

But she’d already reached the front counter. “Hi, Steve,” I heard her say.

My heart hammering, I walked up to join her.

Steve was peering over the counter at her. “Hi…uh…Debbie, right?” Then he saw me, and the recognition was genuine—and more than flattering. “Hey, Joey, long time no see.”

“Yeah. Hi, Steve.” I felt heat in my cheeks, and knew I was blushing.

“So how’s good ol’ Jackson?” Andrew Jackson was the name of our elementary school.

“It’s fine. How’s Morrison?” That was the junior high, where Steve was now ensconced.

“Dumb. Boring. You know.” He shook his head, and I liked the way it made his hair kind of bounce around. I felt myself blushing again.

I knew Debbie saw it, because she snorted laughter and then said to Steve, “So, Steve—how are the junior high girls?”

He grinned. “Well, you’ll find out in September, won’t you?” Then he stared at me, with blue eyes the color of the sky before the smog set in, and I almost turned and ran.

Debbie motioned at the door. “I guess we will. We’ll see you later then—”

Steve cut her off, still looking right at me. “Hey, are you busy the rest of the day?”

“Ummm…no…” I said, hating the way my voice came out, kind of wispy and barely audible.

“Wanna do something? We could just watch television, or play a game…”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“To hell with this.” He tore off the striped work shirt, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath, then vaulted over the front counter while shouting, “I’m done!”

He’d taken three steps forward when a huge, bear-like man staggered out of the back. Even from across the room, I could tell that this was Steve’s dad (he looked like a bigger, bald, wrinkled version of Steve) and that he was drunk…not like the way my mom got drunk when she “lunched with the ladies,” but drunk as in he was weaving, and his words were slurred, and his eyes were red. “Where the hell you think you’re goin’?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but just kept heading for the exit. “Anywhere away from here.”

“Get your ass back here NOW!” the old man bellowed from behind the counter, but Steve was already through the door and out on the sidewalk. He didn’t slow down as he hit the street, and Debbie and I had to almost run to keep up with him.

“Old drunken asshole,” Steve muttered, and I blanched; I’d only heard “asshole” used once before, when my dad had gotten mad once at a guy who’d stolen a parking space from him. My mom had chewed my dad out for “using that word in front of the children,” and I’d never heard it since.

Until today.

Steve continued to rail against his father for another block, and then he stopped and looked around. “Hey, can we go to your house?” he asked me.

“Uhhh…sure.”

Debbie shot me a look that was half-impressed and half-jealous, but my insides were already churning…we were just going to watch TV, right? What if Mom came early and saw me with a boy she didn’t know? Would she be mad? And what about CJ? He’d been so weird lately there was no telling what he might do.

But I led the way to my house. When we reached it, Debbie told me to call her later, and she crossed the street to her own place, making a kissy-face at me once before turning.

“Hey, this is okay, right?” Steve asked. I thought it was cool that he was being so polite.

“Sure, of course. My mom won’t mind.”

“Is she here?”

“No. She’s off at her Women’s Club meeting.”

I opened the front door and led the way to the living room. Steve followed behind me, looking around, making a low whistling sound. “Wow, this is really nice. My house is a dump.” His eyes really lit up, though, when he saw the Magnavox. “Is that color?”

“Yep. Hey, you want something to drink? A Coke?”

“That sounds really good.”

I got two cans of Coke, handed him one, turned on the television, and sat on the couch. An afternoon variety show came on, Herman’s Hermits were the musical guests. “These guys aren’t bad,” Steve said, in-between gulps of soda, “but my band’s better.”

“You’ve got a band?” I know I sounded like some starry-eyed fan, but I really did think that was neat.

“Yeah. I play guitar. We’re pretty good. We’re writing our own stuff, and I think we’ll get our first gig soon. I’m gonna become famous, and then we’ll see what Dad says about how I have to work in that stupid store. I’m sure not gonna throw my life away behind the counter of some two-bit car parts shop. Hell, no.”

Steve talked for a while longer about his band and the other guys he played with and how long he’d practiced guitar, and I was actually starting to get bored. I wondered where CJ was. I hoped Herman’s Hermits came back to do another song. I hoped Steve would either change the subject or leave soon.

Finally, he said, “So, what about you? What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’m not sure yet. Everybody says I’ve still got plenty of time to decide.”

Steve nodded, finished his Coke, and then said, “You got a boyfriend?”

The heat was back in my face. “No…”

“Why not? You’re pretty. I used to notice you when we were both at good ol’ Jackson.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Of course.” He set his empty can aside and said, “Hey, want to play a game?”

“Sure.” I thought maybe he meant Monopoly, or Parcheesi. Instead, he said, “Okay. First you gotta close your eyes, though.”

I giggled. “Are we going to play tag?”

He laughed, too, then said, “No, smarty-pants, we’re not going to play tag. Now close your eyes.”

I did, still giggling.

“Okay, now raise your right hand.”

When I did, he took it in his hand. Part of me melted right down into the couch. I couldn’t wait to tell Debbie that he’d held my hand. “Now, don’t open your eyes,” he reminded me.

“I won’t.”

He pulled my hand down. “You have to guess what this is.” He pushed my hand down onto what felt like the rough denim cloth of his pants but with a strange lump just underneath—it was big and hard but kind of quivered as I touched it. My first thought was that it was something alive, something he had in his pocket.

“A frog?”

He laughed, but the sound was deep and husky. “Guess again,” he said. He put his hand on top of mine and pressed it hard against the bulge.

Suddenly I knew what it was. I jerked my hand away and leapt up from the couch, remembering the torn and violated body of Mary Ann Wilson. Was Steve her killer? Her…rapist?

I stood there shaking and terrified. Below me, Steve was rolling his eyes and motioning for me to calm down, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his crotch, the way it was swollen out. I was ashamed by my own stupidity, my gullibility. I was an idiot. And now he might rape me because of it.

“Are you…” I couldn’t get out the words. “Are you going to…”

“Look, calm down.” He got to his feet and towered over me, and I stood there like a dumb animal, waiting for the predator to pounce, knowing I could neither outrace him nor fight him off.

Instead, he started for the front door. “Sorry, I thought you were…well, older, I guess.”

He left.

I didn’t watch him go. I stood rooted to where I was until I heard the front door slam. Then the tears came. I ran to my room, closed the door, and threw myself onto my bed. I cried harder than I’d ever cried in my life. I’d never felt so stupid, so betrayed.

An hour later the phone rang. By then the sobbing had subsided to the occasional sniffle, so I got up to answer the call. It was Debbie, of course, asking what happened.

“Nothing happened.” There was no way I could be honest, even to my best friend.

“Nothing?”

“We watched TV for a while. Then he left.”

“Are you okay? You sound kind of stuffy or something.”

“Yeah, I think I’m allergic to something around here. That’s mainly why he left.”

“Oh.” I knew she was disappointed, but it was better than admitting the truth: that he’d tricked me into touching his thing.

“I’ve gotta go, Debbie,” I said and then hung up on her.

I cried some more, until I heard Mom come home. I forced myself to stop; I knew if Mom asked me what was wrong, I might just start blubbering in front of her. Instead I didn’t come out until my eyes had dried and the red had faded. Fortunately she looked like she’d had more than one martini and didn’t notice anything.

“Did you do anything fun today?” she asked, as she fixed dinner.

At least I wasn’t lying when I said, “No.”