fifty-one things

By the time we've gotten Riley calmed down, it's nearly six o'clock.

"I've gotta get going," Abbott says. "Told my mom I'd be home for dinner." He glances at Riley and me. "Need rides?"

Riley and I glance at each other. "Sure," she says, and I nod.

I follow her to Abbott's truck and wait while she climbs into the back. Then I get into the passenger seat and throw a shy look Abbott's way. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and grins. As we back out of the driveway, I notice Jared watching us curiously.

Riley babbles on the drive to her house. "I don't even know what they were thinking. They're so old! When the kid graduates, they'll be sixty." I tune out, more conscious of Abbott's musky, woodsy scent than the words coming out of Riley's mouth. I look at his lips and remember how they felt on mine, the way his fingers got tangled in my hair.

Before I know it, we're pulling into Riley's driveway. I lean forward so she can get out. She waves, saying, "Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow!" And then she does something strange. She gives me a little wink before slamming the door.

Abbott clears his throat. "So... do you have to be home right away?"

I remember what I told Grams, that I wouldn't be late. "It depends," I say. "What do you have in mind?"

He rubs a finger over a smudge on the steering wheel. "I thought you might want to come over for dinner."

I swallow, caught off guard. Picture myself sitting across the table from Mr. O'Hara, chewing broccoli and trying not to act like I skipped the last half of the day and made out with his son in an old Girl Scout cabin.

Seeing my expression, Abbott starts the ignition. "Never mind. It was a dumb idea. I'll take you home."

"No," I say, a little too loud. "I mean, yes, let's go to your place. I can call Grams and let her know I'm eating at your place."

He turns those serious brown eyes on me. "You don't have to, you know. It's totally fine if you're not comfortable with it."

I think about lying and saying I'm fine with it or that I'm sure it will be great or some shit, but I feel like lying hasn't gotten me anywhere good lately. So I look him in the eye and say, "Hey, I wanna see where you live."

At least that much is true.

Abbott gives a decisive nod. "Well, then let's go."

Abbott's house turns out to be pretty normal. I figured he'd live in one of those huge McMansions with a three-stall garage and a pool in the backyard, his dad being principal and all, but Abbott's house is regular-sized with Hawkeye paraphernalia decorating the garden in front.

I can't deny the writhing nervousness in my stomach as my feet hit the pavement and I softly shut the truck door. Suddenly the reality of facing conversation with Abbott's parents, who both knew Mrs. Edwards, snatches my breath away. I want to crawl back inside the truck, beg Abbott to take me home, but it's too late now.

Counting backward from ten, I breathe in and out deeply.

Abbott circles the front of the truck. "You coming?"

"Yes," I say, forcing a smile.

He grabs my hand then, and the gesture is enough to make the squirming insects in my stomach settle down, just a bit, not enough. As we follow the sidewalk to the front door, I try to sort my thoughts, plan what to say. And then the front door opens up and we are swallowed into the light.

As I walk into Abbott's house, my senses are assaulted. First of all, it seems like every lamp is blazing. The smell of roast beef fills the air. There's also music coming from somewhere—I'm guessing the kitchen—and someone is singing in a beautiful soprano.

Abbott kind of rolls his eyes, but I can tell he loves it. "My mom," he says by way of explanation, even though I kind of already figured that out.

"Ah," I say.

"Abbott, is that you?" A woman emerges from the kitchen, petite with tousled blonde hair and a twinkle in her eyes. She seems so happy, so alive, that it's hard to picture her marrying sour Mr. O'Hara. Of course, maybe he wasn't always that way. Maybe that's what years of being a high school principal does to you.

"Mom, this is Liliana," Abbott says, his hand on the small of my back.

It seems like a moment in a romantic comedy or something, a regular, nice guy introducing his mother to a girl that can never hope to measure up. I search the woman's face for signs of disapproval, but her smile remains as broad as it was when she walked out of the kitchen.

"Hi, Liliana. You're in the Sea Monkeys, right? Good to meet you. I'm Carol," she says, holding out her hand. I take it gently, and we shake. She turns to Abbott. "Is Lil staying for dinner?"

"Yeah," Abbott says, "if that's okay."

"Sure," she says. A buzzing noise escapes from a bulge in her pocket. She pulls out a cell phone, looks at it, and frowns. "Looks like your father is going to be late. Again. Hope you guys don't waiting a half hour."

Abbott looks at me.

"That's fine. I'll text Grams and let her know." I pull out my phone and type a short text for Grams, including lots of smiley faces and X's for hugs so she won't be too mad about me being late.

"We'll be in my room, Mom," Abbott says.

Seeming distracted, Carol nods and returns to the kitchen.

I follow Abbott down a hallway to the rear of the house. I can tell which room is his before he even stops because the door is covered with punk band stickers. "Nice," I say approvingly when I notice an L7 sticker.

He pushes open the door. "I thought you might like that one."

Walking into Abbott's room is like walking into a cool indie record store. It's covered wall to wall in old band and concert posters. On top of his desk is a metal cylinder with about twenty drumsticks poking out of it.

I move in for a closer look. "Ohmygod, are these signed?" Picking one up, I squint at the little black scribble. "This is from Violet Crumble!" I look up at him, shocked. "I didn't know you had this."

He shrugged. "You never asked."

"Wow," I breathe, poking through the drumsticks, exclaiming over each one. He sits on the bed and watches me, looking amused. "Seriously, this is the coolest thing I've ever seen," I tell him. When I'm finished going through his drumstick collection, I wander over and sit next to him on the bed.

Suddenly it gets quiet.

I realize that we are sitting together, alone, on his bed. I mean, yeah, his mom is right down the hall, so it's not all that romantic, but still. He is watching me steadily, and I start to feel self-conscious. I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to think of a conversation topic. "So... uh... what's your opinion on global warming?"

He laughs a little. Leans toward me. Tilts his head, nuzzles his cheek against mine. He is so close. My lips part, and then he is kissing me and there is nothing else on my mind except the parts of our bodies that are touching. He wraps his arms around me, pulls me closer. We fall onto the bed together.

It is precisely at this moment that the door swings open. I look up and see Principal O'Hara standing in the doorway, and I think I might die of mortification. The expression on his face is one of surprise and disgust. I sit up as quickly as possible, running my fingers through my hair and trying to catch my breath.

"Dad!" Abbott exclaims, jumping to his feet. "What happened to knocking?"

"Who said you could have a girl in here with the door closed?" Principal O'Hara demands. "We've got rules around here." He shifts his burning gaze from Abbott to me. "Especially under these circumstances."

I'm not entirely sure what 'these circumstances' mean, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with me being a homicidal, suicidal freakshow. The way he's looking at me makes me feel like the lowest form of scum, like something you'd find growing behind a toilet.

"I should go," I mutter.

"No," Abbott says. "Stay." He turns to his father, looks at him pleadingly. "Tell her you want her to stay."

The man's eyes don't leave mine. "I think she's right. It's best if she goes."

I bite my lip and launch toward the door, cradling my bad arm as I go. Speedwalking toward the front door, I hear Abbott behind me, calling my name. But the tears have started, and I don't want his father to see them, to get the satisfaction.

Abbott's mother walks out of the kitchen just as I am opening the door. "Liliana? Are you leaving? I just set the table."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Hara," I mumble, face turned away from her. "I really have to go." I slip outside then and pull the door shut behind me, sucking in the cool night air. The streetlights have come on, and it feels such a relief to be outside, away from a family so perfect and straight-laced that I never, ever had a shot at fitting in.

A moment later, the door opens, and Abbott comes outside. "Lil," he says, walking toward me. "I am so sorry. I had no idea that he'd react that way."

I shrug. "I did."

Abbott takes my hand. "He's just being an asshole."

Through my tears, I smile a little.

"He doesn't know you," says Abbott. "If he did, he would be on his hands and knees, begging for forgiveness."

I take a deep breath. "I seriously doubt that."

"Well, then, let me," Abbott says, and he drops to his knees. He looks so ridiculous that I immediately start laughing. "Please accept my most sincere apologies. My idiot father knows nothing." When my giggles have subsided, Abbott gets to his feet and pulls his car keys out of his pocket. "Come on. I'll drive you home."