Steal the North: A Novel Read Free Page B

summer.”
    “You can study for the SATs,” I suggested. His scores were mediocre, unlike his art. My scores were good, but Mom wanted me to take them again to try for even better. I sat on his bed. It was made up for him every morning by a maid. Other than his art and art supplies all over, and the words PARTY LIKE YOU’RE THE CLASS OF 1999 spray painted on his ceiling, his room looked like one from a Pottery Barn catalog, with solid matching furniture. “Unless you
actually
think you can get into college with your scores.”
    “Wow. Kitty’s got claws today.”
    I stood up. “I’ve had a lot to think about,” I reminded him. So much I hadn’t been sleeping well.
    He pulled me to him. “Sorry about your dad not being dead. That’s heavy.”
    “I don’t want to go to Washington.” It seemed so unreal, all of it. Connor kissed my neck. His tongue was pierced, which he’d done to shock his parents and their country club friends. Occasionally Connor dressed preppy in khaki pants or in vests over white T-shirts, but only when trying to get something from his parents or to get off restriction. Most days he dressed like the members of Green Day, in skinny ties and lots of black. He spiked his hair and dyed the tips bright colors. I incorporated a little punk, a little Goth, a little grunge, a little preppy, and even a little hippie—depending on my mood—into my otherwise basic and clearance rack wardrobe. I feared looking too plain in a student body of expressive dressers, but I just couldn’t pick a single style. I liked elements from each.
    “I don’t want to leave you, Connor.”
    “Take off your shirt.” He liked me to undress myself.
    I unbuttoned the first few buttons on my blouse. “Why didn’t you call?” I’d never missed three days of school in a row before.
    “I’m not allowed to call your apartment, remember?” He sat down on his bed, then scooted back on his elbows.
    Actually Mom had never said boys weren’t allowed to call me, but I preferred her knowing nothing about Connor. That way she couldn’t question me about him or forbid me from seeing him.
    “And besides,” Connor said, “I
did
call. Ask your master. I mean your mom.”
    “What?” I stopped unbuttoning my blouse. “You talked to her?”
    “Sure. She and I, we had a little chat. I told her she was heartless for never having taken you to Disneyland.” He liked the fact that I’d never been there. He also liked that I lived in a small apartment and didn’t wear expensive brand names (though he did). “She didn’t tell you? Shit, that hurts.”
    “You’re lying. I asked her if anyone called for me.”
    “She’s the liar, Emmy,” he said smugly.
    “Don’t call her that.” Not that I really cared. She
was
a liar. She’d been lying to me my whole life. I suspected she was
still
lying to me, that she’d left something out. There was more to deserting her beloved sister and never being in touch than my dad, her dad, and that oppressive church, even combined. I planned to find out the whole story this summer. I also planned, without her help or approval, to locate my dad. He’d probably been searching for me for years.
    In the meantime, I was barely talking to Mom. After only allowing me to a few slumber parties in my life (not that I’d had a lot of invitations), she was now forcing me to fly far away and live for three months with religious fanatics. On top of that she was trying to make it seem as if I’d
agreed
to go—as if I’d been given a
choice
and weren’t being coerced.
    “Just tell your mom you’re not a virgin,” Connor said. “It’s simple. Then you won’t have to spend your summer with Bible-thumpers.” I finished unbuttoning my blouse. Connor sat up at the sight of my bra.
    “It’s not that simple.”
    First, I couldn’t tell Mom I wasn’t a virgin. According to her, intelligent girls waited until college. Second, Mom already said, in regard to the faith healing, that it didn’t