Please Ignore Vera Dietz(32)
Author: A.S. King

He got detention twice that month before he bought a pack of nicotine gum and chewed it instead of smoking because his dad said if he got detention again, no bike.

Meanwhile, I was busy bugging Dad for Mom’s car, which had been locked up in the garage for four years at that point and was only taken out for an occasional run. It didn’t make sense for a man so concerned with saving money to be wasting a car like that. Plus, I was sixteen and it was time for me to have it. He was reticent, and I reminded him that this was a step toward real self-sufficiency for me. I added, “You’ll have to let me go sometime, right?”

He sat under the reading lamp, still pretending to read, and then turned to me. “Who’s going to pay for the gas?”

“I will.”

“With what?”

“I’ll get a job.”

We exchanged looks.

His look said, “Volunteering at the animal center isn’t a job.”

My look said, “Duh—who doesn’t know that?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Can I take the permit test this weekend?” I asked. I’d been studying the rules of the road all summer, and my sixteenth birthday had passed two weeks before. (I got a savings bond and a gift certificate from Dad and the same lame fifty bucks my mom always sent me.)

Charlie got his bike a few weeks before Christmas. I got my license and a fast-food job, but Dad still wouldn’t give me the car. Even when I got opening shift at Arby’s and had to be there at 5:50 on Sunday mornings he’d get up and drive me. It sucked and didn’t make any sense at all. Plus, I still had to take the school bus—now by myself, because Charlie would drive his bike to school, no matter the weather. I don’t know how he got down Overlook Road, which was so full of grit, it made Dad slow down in his car, but he did, and it meant I had to sit on the bus by myself with all the other bus people. Most of them had cell phones and sat there with zombie looks on their faces, texting their friends in the next seat.

During Christmas break, Charlie arrived in our driveway clad in a full set of blue and red racing leathers. Up until then, I’d toyed with the idea of dating him, even though I knew I wasn’t allowed. But seeing him in those leathers was the first time I really melted. I was a Vera puddle. I had to steady myself on the kitchen counter as he took off his full-face helmet, adjusted his bangs to the left, over his eyes, and walked to the door and knocked.

“Hey,” I managed. The closer he got, the more liquid I became.

“Hey.”

“You want to come in? Dad left me some real hot chocolate.”

We went in and sat at the breakfast bar, stared out the window at the bird feeder, and talked.

“I don’t see you much anymore. You liking school?” he asked.

“Yeah. Still invisible,” I said. “Which is cool.”

“Me too,” he lied. I knew he was more popular than ever since he got the bike. Kids gathered around it in the student parking lot after school, and tried to look as cool as he was. I saw them every day from the school bus as it headed for Mount Pitts, and eventually Overlook Road.

“Nah—you don’t have to say that. I know you have a ton of new friends. That’s cool.”

“But you’re still my best friend, Veer. You’ll always be.”

“This is turning into a Hallmark vomit fest,” I laughed. “Hot chocolate and all.”

“Well, it’s true. I don’t know how I’d have turned out without you being my best friend.”

“Me either.”

We were quiet, aside from slurping our hot chocolate, and I decided to ask him about the pervert guy who used to buy his underwear. I was sure he’d stopped selling them, because I was sure he knew better by now.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still—uh, you know. See that, uh—guy?”

He flashed his mischievous grin. This was why teachers passed him when he should have failed, and why the gym teachers let him wear whatever he wanted to gym.

“Do you want in?” he asked.

“Uh—no!” I said, laughing.

“It’s easy money, man. All you do is take them off at night and put ’em in a bag,” he said. “I know it sounds gross at first, but hey, man, at least he’s not molesting little kids or anything.”

“Do you know he’s not?”

“No.” He paused. “I guess not.”

Dad walked in then, fresh from buying our Christmas tree. “Hey! There’s my two favorite kids!”

“You are such a dork,” I said.

“Hey, Mr. Dietz.”

“I see you’re still completely insane, Mr. Kahn, driving a motorcycle in this weather.”

“I have to keep up my reputation, you know.” Charlie turned to me then. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Veer. You want that book?”

“Book?”

He gave me a signal with his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. The book.”

“See ya, Mr. Dietz. Have a nice Christmas.”

“You too, Charlie. Give my regards to your mother,” he said, which had to be the most obvious thing he ever said in his boring little accountant’s life.

When we got to his bike, Charlie hugged me tightly (Vera puddle again) and then held me at arm’s length. “We’re cool?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Really? Like, you won’t breathe a word?”

“About the—uh, no. No way.”

“It’s all harmless fun,” he said, putting his helmet on and attaching the strap.

“Merry Christmas,” I said.

“You too.”

Watching him drive down the road, you’d never know he was a reckless boy. You’d never think a kid who knew his hand turn signals and used them even when the road was empty would be the same sort of kid who would sell his dirty underwear to a complete stranger. But again—that was the thing about Charlie. It was the thing we all fell in love with. He was the most exciting kid on Earth.

“I hope you don’t think I was spying,” my father said as I walked in the house, “but you two sure make one cute couple.”

An uninvited anger boiled up inside me and raced out my mouth. “Jesus, Dad. Why would you want me to be with a kid you know will beat me up one day? What kind of sicko are you?”

He stood there, dumbfounded, while I rinsed the hot chocolate mugs and put them in the dishwasher, all the while thinking about Charlie and how good we looked together.