Push. Claire Wallis

total sickos, but now I’m kind of glad because I know how to do lots of stuff while most of the other girls my age don’t have a clue.

      Bobby and I are making out in the locker room, and when I rub up against him, I can feel how much he likes it. I unzip his pants, pull it out, and start messing with him. For some reason he isn’t trying to take off my dress or anything, he is just letting me touch him. I drop to my knees and start sucking him, and he is shaking like a leaf with his hand on the back of my head.

      The next thing I know, the lights go on and I hear my mother screaming. Crap. Crap. Crap. I look up at Bobby, and his eyes are wide open. In an instant, he has tucked himself back into his pants and is rushing out of the locker room. I turn my head around after him and see that he is face-to-face with Michael.

      “Don’t worry, son,” Michael says to Bobby, putting his hands on Bobby’s shoulders, “I know what a manipulative little thing she is. It’s not your fault she dragged you in here. You go ahead back to the party. We’ll be there in a minute.” But I know that it isn’t true. I will not be going back to the party. I want Bobby to stand up for me, to tell Michael that he’s wrong, but I know he’s not going to. Why would he? Even my own mother won’t.

      Michael turns to her, runs his hands over his greasy hair, and shakes his head. “See? Do you see why she never deserved to have this fucking party in the first place? Do you see why I told you this was a bad idea? We have just paid two thousand dollars for that boy to get his cock sucked.” My mother is standing there doing nothing, and I can see that Michael is livid. His head is getting red, and his neck is stiff. I’m not sure exactly why my body decides to laugh, but it does. And the next thing I know, I am rolling on the floor in the men’s locker room laughing my ass off.

      “Emma,” he shouts, “stand up.” But I can’t because I am laughing so hard. I am laughing at the look on Bobby’s face, at Michael’s red cheeks, at my mother’s doe-eyed obedience, at the thought of myself rolling on a locker room floor. Michael reaches down and jerks me to my feet. “Do you think this is funny? You wanna be on your knees, huh? Well then, let’s let everyone see you on your knees.” He grabs my upper arms, pulls me past my idiot mother, out the locker room door, down the hallway, and out the door of the building.

      We are standing in the parking lot now, just outside the front door, and Michael pushes me on to the ground and tells me to kneel. The parking lot is unpaved, and I feel tiny pieces of gravel dig into my knees. Ah, here we go again. Michael and his fucking punishments. I am going to have to kneel here, on this sharp gravel, for the rest of the night. I’ll be kneeling as all my party guests pass by, as all their parents drive up to take them home, as all the country club employees leave for the night. I’ll be kneeling here for as long as he tells me to. For as long as he sees fit. For as long as he thinks I deserve to.

      I can tell you this much, though, I am not going to cry. I am not going to give him that pleasure. I am going to keep my burn inside, just like I always do with Michael.

      Chapter Eleven

      Emma—Present Day

      David doesn’t say another word, but I can hear him walk down the hall to the bathroom. I finish making the salads and put the chops on a plate. I set the table, putting out utensils, napkins and place mats. I want to get us something to drink, but then I realize I don’t know what David likes to drink.

      “What’s your poison?” I ask him when he returns from the bathroom.

      “You mean other than redheads in heels?” he asks. I immediately walk out of the kitchen and put my shoes back on. I try to do it as seductively as I can, but I think it might look more cheesy than sexy. He’s looking at me in surprise, though, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, so I know it worked. Me and my heels walk back into the kitchen where he can’t see me smiling.

      “Yes,” I say, “other than that.”

      “What are you having?” he asks.

      “You mean other than a good-looking, cocky bastard?”

      “Yes,” he chuckles, “other than that.”

      “I’m having a glass of red. But I have beer, too, if you’d rather have that.”

      “Yeah, um, about that, Emma,” he says, sheepishly, “you actually don’t have the beer anymore.”

      I put down the corkscrew and peek around the corner into the living room. He’s sitting on the sofa again, just like he was before. He looks over at me, and I put on my best ‘what are you talking about?’ face.

      “I had to get two of my guys to help me finish your kitchen today, and I gave them those two six-packs when they left,” he says.

      “Oh. Well, I guess this fine-ass kitchen was worth a couple of six-packs. Were they some of your friends from Saturday night, then?”

      “Yes. But, don’t worry, I made them go up to my place to use the bathroom. I don’t want them looking at your stuff,” he says. “Ever.”

      “I’m not worried one bit,” I say sarcastically, “especially now that I know we aren’t spending any energy on all that jealousy bullshit.”

      “Very funny,” he says. “Seriously, I was just as worried about them stealing something as I was about them looking in your bathroom drawers.”

      “I’m sure the tampons would have thrilled them,” I tease.

      “That’s the truth, Emma.” He is teasing me back now. “After seeing what you did on Saturday night, those fuckers probably would have jacked off in there if they could have.”

      “Someday I will have to meet these gentlemen,” I mock. “It’s a rare breed that is willing to jack off to a box of tampons. They sound like people I might like.”

      “Maybe you could introduce them to your grandma,” David says in complete deadpan.

      “Now there’s an idea!” I carry the full plates out of the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m completely famished now. And my grandma died a long time ago, so your friends are out of luck. Unless they are into that, too....” I cannot believe I just said that.

      “Wouldn’t surprise me,” David says, in jest—I hope, anyway.

      When he gets to the table, he adds, “This looks great, Emma. Thanks.”

      I open the bottle of red and pour us each a glass. We sit down opposite each other and start to eat.

      “So, if you weren’t here eating with me, where would you be?” I ask him out of pure curiosity.

      “Probably upstairs eating a sandwich or something. I’m not much of a cook. My mom died when I was eight, and my dad pretty much raised me—if you wanna call it that. He didn’t even know how to turn on the oven, let alone cook something in it. We ate a lot of fast food.” I can’t tell if he looks sad or if it’s merely resignation on his face.

      “Oh. I’m sorry about your mom. Mine’s gone, too. She died when I was eighteen, a few months after I went to college. Car accident,” I say quietly. “Is your dad still around?”

      “Yeah, but he lives in Illinois, where I grew up. I haven’t seen him in years. We didn’t get along so well. Actually, he might remind you of your stepdad.”

      “Oh, I doubt that,” I say, pouring on the inflection. “Michael is one hell of a fucked-up asshole. I don’t think anyone is rotten enough to deserve that comparison.” I sigh softly, then I quietly add, “I don’t know what kind of man your dad is, but he can’t possibly be like Michael.” I am hanging my head now. For some reason I can’t put my finger on, I feel ashamed of myself. Ashamed that Michael is—was—part of my life.

      “What did he do, Emma?” I can hear the apprehension in David’s voice, but I can’t bring myself to look up at him. “What happened?”

      There is no way in this fucking world