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 didn’t have the guts to try it, but that didn’t stop me from being curious. “I’ll say no,” I promised.
“Good. Did you finish the book?”