Read Online Underneath Everything by Marcy Beller Paul - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcy Beller Paul
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soccerandthesamepartyeveryweekend,whereeveryoneadoredhim.Nowit’sworkinghiswayupat thebestlawfirminNewYorkbyputtinginlonghoursandtellingallthestoriesinhisarsenal,whichare endlessandalwaysnablaughs.
Notexactlymykindofnormal.
Inarrowmyeyesathim.Heopenshiswide.
“Okay,okay.”Momcutsusoff.“Jake,”shesays,withatipofherheadandasaccharineedge,“tellus what’sgoingon!”
“Yeah.Howarethingsatthefirm?”mydadasks,leaningoverthetabletocuthimselfasecondpiece ofpie.“Theystillworkingyoutothebone?”
Andthat’sallJakeneeds.Helaunchesintosomestory.Andjustthisonce,IappreciateJake’sability todominatedinner,oranythingatallforthatmatter.
Ileanbackinmychairandsneakglancesatmylap,whereIleftmyphone.
Just when I’ve given up on hearing from Kris—it’s been over twenty-four hours since we spoke, whichislikeayearinme-and-Kristime—mycellbuzzes.
Asmylastsanctionedelectroniccommunicationforanentireweek,I’mtextingyou,eventhough I’mstillofficiallypissed.Whathappenedlastnight?Everythingcool?TellmeMondaymorning, whenIgetreleasedforschool.
Mondaymorning.Thatseemslikeyearsaway.KrisandIusuallyseeeachothereveryday,especially over break. But it’s okay, as long as she doesn’t hate me. At least not yet. She still doesn’t know what happened....
“So,everything’sokaywithyouandKris?”Mymomleansforward,armoutstretched,andstabsone ofmystrawberries.
“Isaiditwas,didn’tI?”Islidemyplateawayfromher.“Anyway,it’snotevenabouther.Ihavemore thanonefriend,Mom.”
“Good,”shesays,settingdownherforkonhernapkin.Dropsofredjuicespotthewhitepaper.“You should.Imean,youknowIloveKris,butbeingfriendswithherdoesn’tmeanyoucan’tbefriendswith anyoneelse.”
Actually,that’sexactlywhatitmeans.ButIdon’tbothercorrectingher.
ShestandsupandstacksthedirtyplatesasJakeandmydadstartgettingintoitaboutthelonghaulto lawfirmpartnershipandwhetherornotit’sworthit.They’vehadthisconversationbefore.Mydadused toworkatafirm,too,beforehewentin-houseforasoftwarecompany.Ipushmychairawayfromthe table.Itscrapesthefloor,butthatdoesn’tinterruptthem.Jakekeepstalking,mydadkeepslistening,andI makemywaytomyroomwhilemymom’sstillchewingonmystrawberry.
“Hey,”Jakesays,pushingopenmybedroomdoorafewhourslater.
“Knockmuch?”Iask.He’sstillinhissuit.Itlooksweirdtome,eventhoughIknowhewearsitevery day.Inmyhead,he’salwaysinaconcertteeandjeans.
“Talkmuch?”Heleansagainstthedoorframebutdoesn’tcomein.
“Noonetalksasmuchasyou,”Isay,puttingmyphonedownnexttomeonthebed.
“Nooneelsehasasmuchtosay.”Hecrosseshisarmsandsmiles.
Irollmyeyes.“Areyoustaying?”EventhoughJakeistotallyfullofhimself,itwouldn’tsucktohave him around for a few days. Even when he got all popular in high school, he’d still stay home with me sometimes. We’d watch movies, listen to music. Last year when he came home from college, we even smokedtogether.ButIdidn’tgethigh,sinceitwasmyfirsttime.Jakesaiditusuallytookafewtries.
“Nope,”hesays,standingupstraightagain.“Gottago.ButI’llbebackSaturdayforthegame.”
“Whatgame?”Iaskhim.
Jake shakes his head. “Seriously, little sister, you need to get out more.” He checks his watch. It’s thick and gold. We used to have identical diving watches until he started working. “The soccer game.
Alumni versus varsity. Saturday after Thanksgiving, every year. I’m not playing—wouldn’t want to hurt anyoneoranything—butpeoplewillbethere.I’mguessingyouwon’t?”
“I’vegotbetterthingstodothanwatchyouchugbeer,”Isay,wishingitweretrue.
“Yourloss,”hesaysashewalksdownthehall.“Takeashower,bytheway.Youreek.”
“Leave!”Icallouttohim.Andhedoes.
Later that night I lie in bed, listening to the rush of water from the kitchen sink downstairs, the careful clink and zip ofchinabeingpackedawayinspecialstoragebags,andthenever-endingsoundofwhistles and fouls and football fans cheering. I lie perfectly still in my perfectly clean room with my messy
Notexactlymykindofnormal.
Inarrowmyeyesathim.Heopenshiswide.
“Okay,okay.”Momcutsusoff.“Jake,”shesays,withatipofherheadandasaccharineedge,“tellus what’sgoingon!”
“Yeah.Howarethingsatthefirm?”mydadasks,leaningoverthetabletocuthimselfasecondpiece ofpie.“Theystillworkingyoutothebone?”
Andthat’sallJakeneeds.Helaunchesintosomestory.Andjustthisonce,IappreciateJake’sability todominatedinner,oranythingatallforthatmatter.
Ileanbackinmychairandsneakglancesatmylap,whereIleftmyphone.
Just when I’ve given up on hearing from Kris—it’s been over twenty-four hours since we spoke, whichislikeayearinme-and-Kristime—mycellbuzzes.
Asmylastsanctionedelectroniccommunicationforanentireweek,I’mtextingyou,eventhough I’mstillofficiallypissed.Whathappenedlastnight?Everythingcool?TellmeMondaymorning, whenIgetreleasedforschool.
Mondaymorning.Thatseemslikeyearsaway.KrisandIusuallyseeeachothereveryday,especially over break. But it’s okay, as long as she doesn’t hate me. At least not yet. She still doesn’t know what happened....
“So,everything’sokaywithyouandKris?”Mymomleansforward,armoutstretched,andstabsone ofmystrawberries.
“Isaiditwas,didn’tI?”Islidemyplateawayfromher.“Anyway,it’snotevenabouther.Ihavemore thanonefriend,Mom.”
“Good,”shesays,settingdownherforkonhernapkin.Dropsofredjuicespotthewhitepaper.“You should.Imean,youknowIloveKris,butbeingfriendswithherdoesn’tmeanyoucan’tbefriendswith anyoneelse.”
Actually,that’sexactlywhatitmeans.ButIdon’tbothercorrectingher.
ShestandsupandstacksthedirtyplatesasJakeandmydadstartgettingintoitaboutthelonghaulto lawfirmpartnershipandwhetherornotit’sworthit.They’vehadthisconversationbefore.Mydadused toworkatafirm,too,beforehewentin-houseforasoftwarecompany.Ipushmychairawayfromthe table.Itscrapesthefloor,butthatdoesn’tinterruptthem.Jakekeepstalking,mydadkeepslistening,andI makemywaytomyroomwhilemymom’sstillchewingonmystrawberry.
“Hey,”Jakesays,pushingopenmybedroomdoorafewhourslater.
“Knockmuch?”Iask.He’sstillinhissuit.Itlooksweirdtome,eventhoughIknowhewearsitevery day.Inmyhead,he’salwaysinaconcertteeandjeans.
“Talkmuch?”Heleansagainstthedoorframebutdoesn’tcomein.
“Noonetalksasmuchasyou,”Isay,puttingmyphonedownnexttomeonthebed.
“Nooneelsehasasmuchtosay.”Hecrosseshisarmsandsmiles.
Irollmyeyes.“Areyoustaying?”EventhoughJakeistotallyfullofhimself,itwouldn’tsucktohave him around for a few days. Even when he got all popular in high school, he’d still stay home with me sometimes. We’d watch movies, listen to music. Last year when he came home from college, we even smokedtogether.ButIdidn’tgethigh,sinceitwasmyfirsttime.Jakesaiditusuallytookafewtries.
“Nope,”hesays,standingupstraightagain.“Gottago.ButI’llbebackSaturdayforthegame.”
“Whatgame?”Iaskhim.
Jake shakes his head. “Seriously, little sister, you need to get out more.” He checks his watch. It’s thick and gold. We used to have identical diving watches until he started working. “The soccer game.
Alumni versus varsity. Saturday after Thanksgiving, every year. I’m not playing—wouldn’t want to hurt anyoneoranything—butpeoplewillbethere.I’mguessingyouwon’t?”
“I’vegotbetterthingstodothanwatchyouchugbeer,”Isay,wishingitweretrue.
“Yourloss,”hesaysashewalksdownthehall.“Takeashower,bytheway.Youreek.”
“Leave!”Icallouttohim.Andhedoes.
Later that night I lie in bed, listening to the rush of water from the kitchen sink downstairs, the careful clink and zip ofchinabeingpackedawayinspecialstoragebags,andthenever-endingsoundofwhistles and fouls and football fans cheering. I lie perfectly still in my perfectly clean room with my messy
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