Something in the Way: A Love Saga (The Complete Collection) Read online

  “You had no trouble with Catch-22. That’s a big one.”

  “Because I liked it.”

  “You liked it?” For whatever reason, that seemed to surprise him. “So did I. But not liking a book isn’t a reason to hold up the whole list.”

  I recalled my conversation with Manning earlier about reading what I wanted, not what was required. “Maybe I could take a break and read something for fun.”

  “There’ll be a lot you won’t want to read in college. Just push through, Lake.” He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me. “Besides, I’d like you to finish so I can give you my own list.”

  That was my summer in a nutshell. I didn’t need to ask why it had to be packed with schoolwork; I already knew. USC wasn’t looking for the type of student who finished some or most of her reading list. They wanted the ones who went above and beyond. Who had a second list. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it—I loved to read. But maybe Manning and Tiffany were right. Would it be so bad if I did something that wasn’t mandated by my dad, like picked up a book that interested me or took a night off?

  “I want to go to the fair,” I said. “With Tiffany.”

  He inspected the bottom of the handheld bulbous device that attached to the computer—a mouse, he’d called it, which had made me giggle. “I already said no.”

  “I’ve been working really hard, Dad. I did summer school, I’ve been reading or studying non-stop, and next month, I’m volunteering to be a camp counselor again. Shouldn’t I get to have a little fun before summer ends?”

  He looked up. “You know who has fun? Your sister. Do you want to turn out like her, no job, no money, living with us after high school? She had a chance to read the same books and get the same education you are, but she chose to goof off instead.”

  At times, his disappointment in her seemed unfair. As long as I could remember, he’d expected little of her and a lot of me. I was just fulfilling his expectations—wasn’t it possible she was doing the same?

  Before I could decide whether or not to defend her, he sighed. “You can go to Balboa and that’s it. Come straight home after.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Daddy. I’ll finish the book by then, promise.”

  I went directly from his study to knock on Tiffany’s door. Her music was up loud, so I had to pound a little harder.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “It’s me.”

  “I know.”

  I entered, even though Tiffany might eviscerate me, to tell her the good news.

  She lay on her bed, a pillow over her face. “What do you want?”

  I stayed by the door in case she threw anything. She’d once broken the receiver of her touchtone because Dad had blown up over the phone bill. I couldn’t tell if she was crying. Usually when she did, it was loud enough for all of us to hear. Tiffany didn’t really see the point of crying if nobody knew about it.

  “Dad’s letting us go out Saturday night.”

  “I should’ve just had you ask in the first place. Duh. You always get what you want.”

  I’d tried to do something nice, and now I was the bad guy. “Because I actually had something to bargain with. I’m doing well in school, so I get to ask for things. Maybe you should try to do something, too.”

  She grabbed the pillow and flopped it on the bed next to her. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know . . . get a job?”

  “I barely got through high school.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” I said. “Your grades just weren’t up to Dad’s impossible standards. You should just try to find something, even if it’s part-time.”

  “Where?”

  I rubbed my nose. “How about Nordstrom? You spend enough time there anyway.”

  She blinked up at the ceiling. I thought I saw a hint of a smile. “At the mall the other day, this guy asked if I was a model. Maybe I could do that.”

  “Like . . . as a career?”

  “Um, have you heard of Claudia Schiffer?” she asked. “Or Linda Evangelista? She doesn’t wake up for less than ten thousand dollars a day.”

  Tiffany was beautiful, there was no denying it. Truthfully, I couldn’t think of anyone I knew personally who was prettier than my older sister. But I wasn’t sure I could picture her walking the runways like the models in her coveted magazines. “I think you have to be, like, five-eight,” I said. “Or at least five-seven like Kate Moss.”

  “I am five-seven.” She balked at me. “You and I are the same height.”

  I wasn’t getting into that argument again. Mom had measured us both months ago, but despite the evidence, Tiffany insisted she wasn’t a half inch shorter than me. “Maybe you could model for Nordstrom, like in their catalogues,” I suggested.

  “You think?” Her eyes lit up. “Then I’d get free stuff.”

  “I don’t think you get free stuff,” I pointed out, although I wasn’t sure. “Do you?”

  “You get an employee discount, so it’s practically free.”

  “So you’ll try then? Maybe go down there and see how it works?”

  She didn’t answer. I picked up the CD case next to her stereo. Gin Blossoms. The bands she listened to always had strange names. Like Pink Floyd. Was Floyd a person or a thing? If it was a thing, was it always pink, or did it come in different colors? I wanted to ask but she might’ve noticed Manning’s shirt, too, and then she’d want to know why I cared. But if it meant not embarrassing myself in front of him again, then I’d take that risk. “Do you know who Pink Floyd is?”

  “Yep,” she said.

  “Do you have their CD?” I asked.

  “I might have a tape I took from this guy I used to see. He was into them.”

  “Will you play it for me?”

  “What am I, your servant?” she asked but smiled. “Maybe later. Where’d you hear about them?”

  She must not’ve noticed Manning’s shirt after all. “At school.”

  “Of course. I hate when good stuff goes mainstream, you know?”

  I didn’t know. “Are they new?”

  “No. Even Mom and Dad know Pink Floyd. But when high school kids start talking about it, then it’s really not cool.”

  I guess Tiffany had forgotten she only graduated high school a year ago.

  She sniffled, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “Because of what Dad said.”

  “Oh. Yeah. He can be such an asshole.”

  I put the CD down and went to sit on the edge of her bed. “He just has a bad way of showing he cares.”

  “Whatever,” Tiffany muttered. “Honestly, it could be worse. I could be you.”

  “Me?” I asked. “What’s that mean?”

  “At least he mostly leaves me alone.” That was true. Dad and Tiffany fought, but he’d stopped trying to get her to do most things. She no longer came home by curfew or pretended she didn’t drink or paid for her own gas—that had lasted less than a month. “But you,” she continued, “he’ll be on your case nonstop for at least six more years, all the way through college. It’s only going to get worse as you start applying to schools.”

  I didn’t think of it like that. I was lucky to have someone who cared as much as I did, more even, about getting me in to the school of my dreams. “Maybe once I get in to USC, he’ll back off both of us,” I said.

  “Have you thought about any other schools?”

  Her hair looked soft, fanned out over the comforter. I ran my fingers through it. “Not really.”

  “Maybe you should just to be sure. There are a lot more options than ’SC.”

  I shook my head. “It’s always been my first choice.”

  “I know.” She looked away. “As long as it’s what you want, and you’re not doing it just for Dad.”

  She sounded concerned, and that didn’t happen a lot. But she’d grown up in the room next to mine; she knew I had a drawer full of USC merchandise and th
at Dad and I had toured the campus once a year since I was ten. “It is.”

  She turned back to me. “By the way, Manning’s coming to the fair with us.”

  My fingers stilled in her hair. “What?”

  “He’s so serious. I was hoping he’d ask me out, but when he didn’t, I told him about Saturday and he’s never been to Balboa Island. Can you believe it?”

  I needed to blink or swallow. I just stared at her with a dry mouth. An evening with Manning excited me, but were they going on a date? No. He hadn’t asked her, and brave as Tiffany was, she didn’t want to seem desperate. That’s what she’d said earlier about making the first move, anyway. “What about Brad?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy you were hoping would call.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “I talked to him this afternoon. I’m not sure how I feel about him.”

  I didn’t ask if that had anything to do with Manning, afraid she’d say yes. How would I respond to that?

  She sat up. “Isn’t Manning gorgeous? I should hang around you more often. You’re good luck.”

  My neck and cheeks flushed. I loved my sister—she probably knew me as well as my mom. Regardless, hearing her call Manning gorgeous made my ears hot. I’d thought he was handsome before she’d even met him. Didn’t that count for something? Just because I didn’t fawn all over him didn’t mean it was okay for her to.

  “I can’t believe he’s from Los Angeles,” Tiffany said. “It sounds so glamorous.”

  “Pasadena’s outside of L.A.”

  “Guys my age just don’t get me, you know? It’s bad when you have more experience than a guy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tiffany smiled a little, watching me. “Sex.”

  My face got even hotter. I didn’t know what to say. Last year, I’d aced an AP English test most of my classmates had flunked. I could recite Pi to the fifteenth digit. I’d made Principal’s Honor Roll the last two years. But on this topic, I knew hardly anything. I didn’t hang around with any girls who’d had sex yet. They weren’t in my classes. They didn’t belong to the clubs I did. They were like Tiffany. “I don’t want to know,” I said. “I’m not interested.”

  “You will be soon.” She grinned as she looked over my face, which was surely red. I could never hide my blushing. “I started that stuff around the time I was your age.”

  A knot formed in my throat. What did that mean—“stuff”? I mean, I knew the logistics of it. At least, I thought I did. I tried not to think about it, though . . . sex. Girls like me worried about different things.

  “Manning just looks like he knows what he’s doing,” she added wistfully.

  That made me think of his hands, how they’d enveloped my waist and my forearm earlier, of his fingers, the way they’d set my skin prickling. I didn’t want him to touch Tiffany the way he had me.

  I bent my leg under me, picking at my sock. “So he said he’d come to the fair?”

  “Yep.”

  “What about Dad?” I asked. “I doubt he’d want you going out with one of the workers.”

  “Imagine how he’d react if I brought home someone who’s older and a construction worker,” she said.

  I didn’t understand her sudden, strange smile. “So then maybe you should think about, uh, not going out with him.”

  “Why?”

  “If it’ll make Dad mad . . .”

  Tiffany pulled me down onto the bed, hugging me as she laughed. “You have so much to learn about life. Don’t you realize part of Manning’s appeal is that he’d piss Dad off? A blind person could see that, Lake.”

  It was a lot to wrap my head around. In one afternoon, everything about my small, easy world had changed. Tiffany was talking to me about sex. I’d met Manning, who fascinated me beyond my understanding. And the three of us were going to the fair.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that even though I’d met Manning first, for some reason, Tiffany thought he belonged to her.

  4

  Lake

  Tiffany thought she had the better room between us and didn’t often let me forget it. That’s because she didn’t know what she was missing. My window opened to a flat part of the first floor’s roof. Saturday night, I crawled through, sat, and pulled my knees up to my chest to wait.

  Already, Tiffany was breaking the rules. She’d told Dad we were getting a ride with her friend Sarah instead of Manning, who was on his way to pick us up. I didn’t like lying to my dad, but to spend time with Manning, I was willing to do it.

  I set my chin on my knee. I’d been ready for hours, not that getting ready meant the same to me as it did to Tiffany. I’d put on shorts and Converse before running a brush through my hair. My fitted, pink-and-purple paisley tee came from Wet Seal. I never shopped there, but it was a hand-me-down from Tiffany. She’d been in our bathroom for an hour doing her hair and makeup, but that wasn’t unusual.

  I’d been to Balboa Park lots growing up. It was a small amusement park on the water. It’d never sounded romantic until now. It was known for its Ferris wheel, games, and chocolate-covered ice cream bars with sprinkles. There were always young couples holding hands and making out. I’d always thought that was gross, two people French kissing against a wall where others could see. I wouldn’t have minded holding Manning’s hand, though.

  Headlights appeared at the corner as a white truck pulled up outside. I got off the roof to knock on the bathroom separating Tiffany’s room from mine.

  “What?” she asked.

  I opened my door and leaned in. “I think he’s here.”

  Her hair was coiled around a curling iron. The drawer between our sinks had been pulled all the way open, sagging as if it were about to fall out. It held countless lipsticks, all kinds of eye makeup, bobby pins, compacts, and more. Up until recently, the only interest I’d had in that drawer was the urge to organize it. I’d never wanted to play with makeup like Mom and Tiffany. They knew just how to apply lipstick, dab perfume, shop designer, balance in high heels. All that made their beauty rituals more intimidating than exciting.

  Tiff looked at me in the reflection of the mirror. “Go tell him I’ll be right down.”

  “What if Dad says something?”

  “Like what?” she asked. “Just lie.”

  He might stop me on my way out and ask if Sarah was out front. Or want to make sure she wasn’t drinking—he’d done that with Tiffany’s friends before. Then what? I’d omitted the truth so I could go tonight, but I wasn’t sure I could lie to his face. If I got caught scheming with Tiffany, I’d be grounded for good. Then again, these next few minutes might be the only time I got alone with Manning tonight.

  I went downstairs. The foyer fed into the living room, where my parents sat on the couch watching some action movie. Their backs were to the windows overlooking the front yard. I tiptoed past.

  “Lake?” Mom called, looking over.

  “We’re leaving for the fair,” I blurted.

  I couldn’t see my dad from where I stood. “Where’s Tiffany?” he asked.

  “Finishing her makeup.”

  “What’s Lake wearing?” I heard Dad ask.

  Mom playfully rolled her eyes at me. “Shorts and sneakers, Charlie. Hardly party attire.”

  She turned forward again. Every second I stood here was less time talking to Manning, but if I sounded too eager to leave, Dad might suspect something. The clock in the entryway ticked. A car exploded on the TV screen.

  “Fine,” Dad said. “Home by ten, all right?”

  I was relieved, but not off the hook until we were driving away. “Okay,” I said on my way out the door.

  The truck was parked at the curb of the lot next to ours, the construction site. It looked like an older model, but it was clean. A large, shadowy figure leaned against the driver’s side.

  I smelled smoke before I saw the cigarette. “Manning?”

  He turned his head but didn’t speak.

  I pushed some hair off my
face. I should’ve brushed it one last time. Because it was long, it got tangled easily. “Tiffany will be ready soon.”

  He took a long drag of his cigarette. The little orange tip flared before he dropped the butt on the street and stamped it out. “Come over here.”

  I went to stand next to him. The glare of my parents’ TV flashed in the window. I still worried they’d look out and see me standing with Manning, but not so much that I wasn’t going to do it. “Is this your car?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the smoke.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “You should. It’s bad for you. Anyone offers you one, say no. All it takes is that first time, and you’re hooked. For life. Got it?”

  I nodded as if I hadn’t been told so a thousand times by teachers, parents, PSAs on TV. I knew I’d never try it, but that didn’t stop me from being curious. “I’ll say no,” I promised.

  “Good. Did you finish the book?”

  “I had to if I wanted to come tonight.”

  “Yeah? How was it?”

  “Depressing. I probably should’ve watched the movie.”

  “But you pushed through? Just to go ride a Ferris wheel?”

  To spend an evening with you, I wanted to say. I didn’t have the guts. “No. I don’t go on the Ferris wheel.”

  “How come?”

  Something like that, you could fall off at any time, I was sure. It probably happened all the time. I didn’t want to admit I was scared, though. “I get sick.”

  “You throw up?” he asked.

  “No. Gross.”

  “What then?”

  I nudged the curb with the toe of my sneaker. The ashes of his cigarette were like silver confetti on the concrete. Big, dark Manning would’ve blended right in with the night if not for his bleach-white t-shirt.

  “If you’re scared, it’s okay to admit it.”

  Tiffany had snuck me onto a pendulum ride at a carnival when I was little and I’d peed my pants, terrified. My Dad had spanked her and we’d gone home early. “I don’t think scared is the right word . . . I just don’t trust it.”

  He checked his watch. “What’s your curfew?”