“Where to?” Connor called out, managing to drive, text, and smoke at the same time. He had long black shaggy hair, a pointy chin, and a wardrobe of black T-shirts and jeans. He was sexy in a rough, disheveled sort of way and I couldn’t decide if I liked him or not. At first I thought he and Freda were hooking up, but now I knew they didn’t believe in boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. Thank God. I couldn’t handle any more bullshit politics on who was with who, and who was cool to hang with and who wasn’t. After Ryan Thomas, straight-A student and track star, tried to shove his hands under my skirt at Bonnie’s house, I was done with trying to be seen with the right crowd. Even worse, when I tried to tell Bonnie and Claire what he’d done, they’d actually berated me for not wanting him, taunting me with my virgin card. Like I’d ever give it up to an asshole.
“My dad’s gone this week. We can go to my house,” David said. I studied David, taking in his messy brown hair, his dark eyes, and the scar that ran down half of his right cheek. He was the quietest one, taking things in before deciding to speak, but his body language was jerky, as if he was always nervous about what he might encounter.
We drove for a while, then pulled into a house that looked like it needed some TLC. The lot had sprung up with weeds, and the porch seemed to sag. The color was muddy brown with some shingles missing, but I already liked it better than my own house. Sometimes, I felt like I lived in a museum, with furniture I couldn’t sit on. The floors were too bare and the ceilings too high, and I was too damn lonely on a regular basis. I’d take a house well lived in anytime.
We walked inside, straight into a living room with dirty beige carpeting and a large chocolate suede couch. A beat-up leather ottoman and a coffee table were the only other furniture besides a few basic lamps and a large-screen TV. The house smelled like coffee, cigarettes, and bacon. I spotted a small kitchenette ahead and a few doors down a short hallway. The walls were covered with various framed record stuff that looked like they were some type of important awards.
Dave headed to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of vodka and a pint of OJ. Freda brought in a few glasses and we all took a seat on the couch. More cigarettes came out while Freda poured hefty servings of liquid breakfast. I put up my feet and sipped tentatively at my vodka. I’d had vodka and rum before, but never this early, and never this much.
Freda took a sip, put her feet up, and tossed me a grin. “Now, this is what life is about,” she declared. “I mean, what the hell are we ever going to use algebra for? And who cares if we know who the thirty-ninth president is? I can’t wait to start working full-time and really live.”
Connor hooked his foot over his knee and nodded. “Yeah, you can learn more about the world by actually reading books on your own and talking to people. Politics is shit. The environment is killing us. People are greedy assholes. Might as well find some pleasure in your own way.”
David tapped his fingers on the edge of the couch, drinking in silence. I turned my gaze to him automatically, wondering why he kind of fascinated me. He seemed to have some deep thoughts but he didn’t throw them out there like Freda and Connor.
“Allegra, what do you want to do when you’re sprung from prison? Join the country club? Have a bunch of babies and marry a rich guy?” Freda asked.
I shrugged, not taking offense at her question. It kind of made sense. They saw me as different from them and they still hadn’t figured me out. Neither had I. “I don’t know. My mom is really strict about my grades. Always pushing college and career goals, like if I end up falling in love and wanting babies before I’m twenty-two, she’d lose her shit and think I’m a loser. Why can’t I make my own decisions about what I want?”
Freda rolled her eyes. “I get it. They want you to be exactly like them—some sort of mini robot—but not do any of the bad stuff they used to when they were younger. They want you to live the lives they never got to.”
I jerked back. I’d never thought about it, but it was a smart observation. My mom used to tell me she dreamed of giving me opportunities she never had, but if she was never around to do anything with me, then who cares? She hadn’t even had time to fall in love and get married. She was actually proud of me not having a real dad. Being born by artificial insemination—via some random dude from a damn catalogue—sucked. It was humiliating and weird, and she’d taken away my right to have a father—or at least grieve not having a father who’s around.
“Is that how your mom is?” I asked Freda, taking a drag on the cigarette. My throat burned but I was beginning to like it.
“Yep. She used to be some big deal at a bank. Talked about Wall Street and stuff, but quit to have kids. Now she’s miserable and wants me to be this financial wiz.” Freda shook her head and laughed. “She’s cray-cray.”
“Same thing at my house,” Connor said. “Endless state tests and college admissions coming up soon. My dad thinks I’m something I’m not. I don’t intend to be trapped in some dead-end job with no vacay just for a paycheck. Fuck that.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked curiously.
“Nothing. Live. Figure things out. I always thought working on a yacht or cruise ship would be cool. Heard it was good money.”
Freda cackled. “You want to travel and go on vacation, not be the hired help.”
“Whatever.”
I turned to David. “How about you? Are you close with your parents?”
David stared back at me for a while, no expression on his face. “What kid is close to their parent?” he mocked.
“David’s dad was a famous musician,” Freda said. “He doesn’t want David to follow in his footsteps. He was on the road most of the time and his wife died a while ago, so he felt guilty and now tries to save his son from the same type of future. All hail drugs, sex, and rock and roll.”
David shot her an annoyed look. “Thanks for sharing my life story.”
Freda grinned. “Welcome.”
Now all those framed records on the wall made sense. “Are you a musician?”
For one moment, something glinted in his brown eyes, an emotion I couldn’t name. “I play guitar,” he said reluctantly. “Write some songs. No big deal.”
“Bullshit,” Connor said. “You’re talented, dude. Been telling you that a long time.”
David shrugged. “Nowhere to play in this town. Once I save enough money, I’m out of here.”
“That’s our plan for the summer,” Freda said. “Connor’s got an RV from his dad, so we’re gonna hit the road. Check out some artsy towns or maybe even the city. David will play at some clubs, and maybe I’ll do some poetry readings.”
“You write?” I asked in surprise. She looked more like the rocker type.