Borrowed Boy Page 10

  “Cool.” He had on a pair of shades, which was a little intimidating until he smiled. There were curly strands of hair on his chin, and he had a thin mustache, his face smooth and good-looking, his expression completely laid-back. He probably owned a motorcycle. He was definitely a motorcycle type of guy. The blue tank top he wore showed off long, lean, muscular brown arms, and his jeans hung loosely on his slim but sturdy-looking legs. This was definitely a guy who worked out. He moved over and sat in the chair next to mine. Too on edge now to maintain my balance, I slowly leaned forward until all four legs of my chair rested fully on the deck.

  I watched him carefully. He squeezed sunscreen from a bottle he carried in his hand and started rubbing it up and down his arms while he stared out over the pool at the kids playing in the shallow end. The oil in the sunscreen seemed to make his skin glow, seemed to make his biceps bigger as they flexed with the back-and-forth motions. My heart started beating harder. Weird, right?

  Out of the blue, he turned, looking straight at me, and even with his eyes blocked out by the black lenses of his shades, his gaze was still intense. Immediately I shifted, looking down at my knees. My legs were skinny and soft-like, not muscly like his.

  “Great day for swimming, huh?” he said, calm as can be.

  My heart wouldn’t stop hammering. The guy had a great voice, smooth and friendly, the kind of voice a teacher or a president should have. I didn’t want him to hear mine, so I just nodded my reply.

  “If your school has a swim team, you should seriously consider trying out. You’re strong in the water.”

  A blush tingled across my face and down my neck. I smiled without looking at him. Wow. He was watching me?

  The guy stuck out his hand. “I’m Brendan Galloway.”

  I reached over and gave his hand a quick shake, still avoiding his eyes.

  He held still for a few seconds, waiting. “And this is the part where you tell me your name, okay?”

  There was no way of avoiding it now. “Yeah. I’m Zay… I mean, Dwayne.” Damn, my voice was so twangy compared to his.

  I expected some comment on my accent. The guy huffed, but in a friendly way. “Well, which is it? Are you Zay or Dwayne?”

  I finally looked at him again. “I’m Dwayne. Dwayne Copeland.”

  He smiled at me, and I shivered. “Nice to meet ya, Dwayne Copeland.”

  I liked his smile.

  BRENDAN.

  Galloway.

  The name fit him. Some people wore their names like tailored suits, and that was the case with this guy. I mean, the name sounded cool and nice, and that was him. The name Zavier Beckham fit me to a T. Dwayne Copeland didn’t, and it never would.

  But Dwayne Copeland was what I had to answer to now.

  We talked, Brendan and I. Actually, it was mostly him asking questions and me answering in the shortest sentences possible.

  He pointed at my head. “What happened to the Mohawk?”

  Feeling awkward, I ran my hand over my smooth scalp. “Cut it off.”

  “Too bad. I liked that look on you. It was distinctive.”

  “Oh.” Now I felt even more awkward. I hunched my shoulders, ducking my head.

  “You’re obviously new to the building.”

  In the middle of my “Yeah, I’m from Memphis” answer, he shot up from his seat, eyes back on the shallow end of the pool. “Candace, cut it out!” he yelled across the water. “If you can’t play nicely, you can come over here and sit with me until it’s time to go in.”

  He remained standing for a bit, giving the stink-eye to the person he just got through yelling at to make sure his words were taken seriously. “That girl,” he muttered. “I hate to say it, but she’s definitely a future candidate for the League of Extraordinary High School Bitches.”

  He had a quirky sense of humor. I liked that about him too. As he stood there staring, I studied him, all stern and steady and strong. He already seemed like somebody’s father, but he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me.

  Obviously satisfied that the trouble brewing at the shallow end of the pool was over for the moment, he sat down again and turned his attention back to me. “Okay, now where were we? Oh yeah, you were telling me that you’re from Memphis.”

  “Uh-huh.” I cleared my throat, which had suddenly gone froggy. Man, I was so tense.

  “I’ve seen Mr. and Mrs. Copeland around. They’re nice people. You look like them. How’re you related? Are they your aunt and uncle?”

  “Uhm… yeah….”

  “This is a major change for you, huh, moving to another city. The transition must be hard, trying to get adjusted and all that.” He casually bumped my shoulder with the back of his hand. “Or is it no big deal for you?”

  I shook my head. “Definitely a big deal….”

  Silence fell and stretched between us. Brendan’s eyes widened as he held up his hands, motioning for me to elaborate. And I just sat there, frozen.

  “God, you never shut up, do you?” Brendan said, his mouth twisted with mock frustration. “Blah blah blah, on and on, lips flapping like there’s no tomorrow. Your friends and fam must shove socks in your mouth just so they can get a word in.”

  I smiled, couldn’t help it. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I can shove a sock in my big mouth.”

  I actually did want to talk to him. I was already starting to like the guy. He was friendly, the only Chicagoan so far, other than my birth parents, who’d been semi nice to me, who actually showed an interest. You could maybe trust a guy like that. “Brendan… is my voice weird to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do I sound like a hillbilly?”

  “Hell no. You have a bit of an accent, but that’s not a bad thing. There’s a regional accent for everyone in the world.” He tipped his chin up as if he’d just realized something about me. “Are you catching guff from some of the kids around here because of the way you talk?”

  I was embarrassed that he’d figured it out. “Yeah.”

  “Well, some of the kids around here are real assholes. I think your accent, what little you have, is cute.”

  And there I went, blushing again. Why was I blushing so much with this guy?

  He was unusual, that was for sure. Brendan seemed tough, self-assured, almost cocky, but there was also this sensitivity in him that you wouldn’t expect to be compatible with the other characteristics. Like Mentos and Coke are good individually, but you wouldn’t want to have them in your mouth at the same time.

  Now that I knew my accent was cute, at least to Brendan, I became the one asking questions. “So, you live in the building?”

  “Yeah, I’m on the third floor with my dad.” He paused. Something in the way he answered said I shouldn’t ask about his mom. “Dad’s a software designer, works way out in Naperville. He hates the commute, but he has a girlfriend now who lives there, and he spends the week at her place. He usually only comes home on weekends.”

  I couldn’t imagine spending five days a week all to myself. “You must get lonely.”

  “Not really. I keep pretty busy.” As if to prove the point, he shouted across the pool again. “Chauncey! Stop that running!”

  I followed his anxious gaze, trying to pick out the kids he was watching over. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “None, thank God.” Brendan caught the confused frown on my face. “Oh, you thought…. Candace and Chauncey aren’t my brother and sister. I babysit them sometimes while their parents are working. I also have a part-time job with the condo association doing maintenance in some of the common areas.”

  “You work a lot, huh?”

  He raised his hands again in a shrug. “I like having money in my pocket.”

  A little white boy came flying out of nowhere, arms spread wide, grinning from ear to ear as he hurtled straight toward Brendan. “Chauncey, I told you to stop running—” Brendan broke off when he
realized what the kid was up to. “Don’t do it—”

  Whoomph! The kid landed right in Brendan’s lap, wrapping pale arms around the big guy’s neck as he pressed the side of his head against Brendan’s chest. That wouldn’t have been so bad if the little fella hadn’t been soaking wet. Chauncey was about six years old and so skinny the yellow trunks he wore seemed to float around his waist. His short brown hair was plastered to his scalp, and he landed on Brendan with so much force water sprayed out on me.

  “Argh!” Brendan growled in pretend horror. “Oh my God! You’re all slimy and gross!”

  At that, Chauncey pressed himself tighter against Brendan to transfer more of his gross sliminess and burst out laughing like he would never quit.

  A girl around eight, in a one-piece green swimsuit with a lime-green swim cap on her head, stood about ten feet away from us, hanging back, a puddle forming quickly around her feet from the water dripping down her body. She was the same girl I’d seen painting Brendan’s toenails green—her favorite color, apparently—in the building’s Community Room. This had to be Candace. She was more wary than her little brother, eyeing me as if she didn’t approve of my existence. “Bren,” she said, never shifting her critical gaze from me, “we’re ready for snacks.”

  “Okay, Candy.” Brendan lifted Chauncey off him and set him aside like a stand-up doll. Chauncey wiggled and giggled, making goofy eyes at both Brendan and me. I got the impression the kid couldn’t keep still if somebody paid him. “Chauncey, you and your sister go grab your towels and dry off so you don’t track water inside. I’ll be with you in a second. And no running.”

  Candace reached out, took Chauncey by the wrist, and led him away. She shot a warning glance back over her shoulder at me: I’ll always be watching. It was like she thought I was a menace to Brendan or something. Which was crazy. What could a shrimp like me do to a muscly mean dude like Brendan?

  Brendan stood up, and I stood up too. He towered over me by four or five inches. I’d give anything to have shoulders and arms as broad and strong as his. He took off his shades, which were speckled with water from Chauncey’s romp, and turned to me. His bright tan eyes were a wonder and a mystery. “Are you busy later this afternoon, Dwayne?”

  “No, not at all.” I sounded way too desperate—and maybe hopelessly lame.

  “Chauncey and Candace’s mother gets home at three. You want to hang out?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t shout that, even though my chest was bursting with pleasure.

  “Cool. I’ll come up to your unit around three thirty.”

  “Uh… can I come to your place instead?”

  “That’s fine with me. I’m in unit 319. See you then.”

  He held up a fist, and I bumped him. Then he walked along the edge of the pool and joined Candace and Chauncey at the other end. Chauncey danced around him, chattering away, probably rattling off all the different kinds of junk he wanted to stuff in his face for snack time. Candace gave me another long dose of hate-eye. I hoped Brendan would turn and send me a parting look, but he didn’t. He said something to his little charges, gathered up their swim fins and pool toys, and herded them across the roof to the structure that housed the elevator.

  I watched until they disappeared into the structure.

  With Brendan gone, I felt myself deflating. I’d planned on swimming some more, but I no longer had any desire for that.

  I wanted it to be three thirty now.

  An empty stretch of hours lay between me and that appointed time. I wasn’t eager to go back to the condo just yet. There was a chance BJ was still hanging around. Chicago Dad was most likely back from the gym, and Chicago Mom may have even returned from her visit to her office, or wherever she went. BJ wouldn’t do much terrorizing with them around.

  But they would do something that, in a way, was even worse. They’d hover and watch me. They’d ask if I needed this or wanted that. They’d let me see the worry crinkle around their eyes. They’d let me see the pain in their hearts—pain I put there.

  I wouldn’t be able to breathe in that condo, so I didn’t go there. I walked over and slid into the deep end of the pool. Treading water, I took several deep breaths. I held the final breath and swam straight down.

  The human body is naturally buoyant. Mine kept wanting to float to the surface. I fought with strong strokes of my arms and legs until I was sitting on the bottom of the pool. I looked around, watching other people jut through water shimmering with fractured sunlight. They seemed to be alien forms of marine life moving without purpose, without anywhere to go, caught in a giant bowl.

  Just like me.

  Slowly I let the air in my lungs bubble out through my mouth, a frothy curtain separating me from the rest of the captives.

  AROUND THREE o’clock, I let myself in through the front door. My trunks were nearly dry from me lying in the warm summer breezes for the past couple of hours, and I carried my damp towel, T-shirt, and sandals in my hand. My mood was much improved.

  Chicago Mom and Dad were there in the living room. They sat cuddled against each other on the sofa, watching a movie they were streaming, casual as anything. But I knew they were waiting for me. Even with me back in their lives, they were always waiting.

  They both sat up, smiling, trying to keep the worry out of their eyes and failing spectacularly. They started talking at the same time, sentences crashing together, words tripping over words.

  Chicago Mom: “Well hello, Dwayne. You’re back.”

  Chicago Dad: “Thanks for texting us about going to the pool.”

  CM: “Did you have fun?”

  CD: “You must be hungry.”

  CM: “I bought fresh fruit. Would you like a snack?”

  CD: “Let me make a sandwich for you.”

  I smiled eagerly at them. “I’m gonna take a shower and change clothes. I made a friend at the pool. We’re gonna hang out.”

  They were so happy to hear that they forgot they were worried that I was so crazy in the head I was starving myself to death.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “HEY, YOU made it. Come on in.”

  Brendan let me walk past him and closed the door behind me. The second thing I noticed was that his condo was smaller than the Copelands’. The sofa and chair were the traditional overstuffed variety, not like the sleek, mod futuristic stuff my birth family had. That made Brendan’s place cozy and more inviting. Also, BJ was nowhere around, which made it perfect.

  The first thing I noticed was that Brendan had changed clothes. He wore an unbuttoned short-sleeved red shirt over a tight white T-shirt with a picture of the middle finger salute on the front, blue jeans that were frayed at the knees, and shining white high-tops. The shirts somehow highlighted his strong chest and arms. In my black basketball shorts and tank top, I felt like even more of a shrimp next to him than when we were at the pool. When he stood face-to-face with me, I got scared out of nowhere. The fear reminded me of the time my Memphis parents took me to St. Louis and we visited the Arch. I stood looking up at the towering, curved structure as powerful winds drove white clouds at a fast pace across the pale blue sky above it, making it appear that the Arch was slowly toppling toward me. Like the Arch, Brendan’s awesomeness made me want to cringe.

  Instead, I pointed, trying to distract myself. “Like the T-shirt.”

  “Thanks.” His eyes flashed with humor. “And all that black looks good on you. So tell me, what does Dwayne Copeland do for fun?”

  “I like skateboarding, but there’s nowhere to do that around here. That’s what my daaa… uncle, that’s what my uncle told me.”

  “Yeah, cops will tag you for doing just about anything on the sidewalks here that’s not walking.” In what appeared to be a sudden strike of inspiration, he snapped his fingers, a sound as loud and sharp as a walnut cracking open. He grinned at me. “I think I know a place you might like. Hang on.” He hurried from the living room, disappearing down a hall.

  I stared after him for a bit, taking in t
he swirl of ocean-breeze cologne left in his wake. Then, curious about Brendan’s life, I took myself on an uninvited tour of his living room. The area was homey, neat but with just enough disarray to let you know it wasn’t some tastefully decorated showcase but a space where someone actually did some living. The throw pillows were all stacked and smushed up at one end of the brown-and-gray striped sofa. Brendan had probably been lying there when I arrived and rang the bell, texting or web surfing. A giant blue plastic tumbler sat on a plastic coaster at the edge of the coffee table, condensation beaded on its lower half, empty except for a little pile of melting ice cubes.

  A book lay open on the end table, a pencil tucked in the middle to mark the reader’s place. I picked it up and flipped over the cover to see the title: The Exorcist. I’d seen the movie, which was made way back in the ’70s. Old, old book, one that didn’t seem to be anything Brendan would be into. His dad was probably reading it, had maybe left it behind when he took off to Naperville for the week. I carefully put the book back the way I’d found it.

  An array of pictures lined the mantel over the gas logs in the fireplace. I leaned in, inspecting them one after the other. The pictures all featured the same man, posed alone or with people I assumed were either friends or relatives. He was an older, taller, more muscular version of Brendan. Brendan’s smile was more laid-back and toned down than the megawatts the man flashed in the photos. The man’s eyes were kind of different too. They were the same crafty, delighted light brown as Brendan’s, but raw and a whole lot wilder. Except for the gray scattered through his trim black hair, he didn’t look much older than Brendan. He could have been a cousin, an uncle, but somehow I knew he was Brendan’s dad.

  There were three different women pictured in various shots with the dad. Maybe one of them was Brendan’s mom. There was no way to know for sure without asking him. It wouldn’t have been at all strange to learn that none of them was his mom. My instincts told me she was literally out of the picture. What did come off as strange was the fact that Brendan wasn’t in any of the photos.