There's Someone Inside Your House Read online

  Ollie paused, his hand on the ignition, to look at her square. “Have you?”

  “Yes,” she said. It was the most truth that she could admit.

  “Yeah.” He turned the ignition. “Me too.”

  They inched into the dusty herd of American-made cars and trucks headed for the exit. Bumper stickers and vinyl crosses on rear windows proclaimed their driver’s devotion to Jesus Christ. Trademark Browning deer heads marked others as hunters, and more vehicles than not had something star-spangled or a faded SUPPORT OUR TROOPS magnetized ribbon. The dirt parking lot looked nothing like the parking lots back home, and it always made Makani feel as foreign and unwanted as a Toyota.

  Ollie, lost in his own ruminations, didn’t speak again until they were next in line to exit. “Which way?”

  For a split second, Makani was surprised that he didn’t know where she lived. But why would he? “Take a right. And then in two blocks, you’ll take another.”

  The energy in the car deflated even further. “So, this won’t be a long ride home.”

  His disappointment made her feel better. She gave him a coy smile. “I never told you,” she said, “but I like your hair.”

  Ollie glanced at her as he maneuvered onto the street. “Yeah?”

  “It’s empowering. A big middle finger to gender stereotypes.”

  He glanced at her again, checking to make sure that she wasn’t making fun of him. She wasn’t. Makani hadn’t been positive until this moment, but the pink was angry and defiant. It was sexy.

  Ollie tried to shrug it off. “It’s not like I’m the first straight guy to do it.”

  “But I’ll bet you’re the first guy, straight or gay, to do it in Osborne.” This seemed to please him, so she continued. “Any particular reason?”

  “It was just . . . something to do. Chris gave me hell for it.”

  She scrunched her nose. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He touched the hair at the nape of his neck, and a devilish smile broke through his inscrutable expression. “Now I’m glad I did it.”

  Makani laughed, throwing back her head.

  “There.” Ollie sounded so certain. “That’s how I know.”

  “Know what?” she asked, amused.

  “That you aren’t from around here.”

  Makani’s heart pounded as she waited for him to expand on the thought. She would wait forever, if she had to.

  “No one who grew up in this town has a laugh like yours.”

  Her bated breath exhaled as a disbelieving snort. “There’s a line.”

  But his voice didn’t change, and he didn’t grow defensive. “I’m serious. You stand out.”

  “I stand out because I’m not white.” She pointed at her street. “It’s this one.”

  Ollie slowed, turned onto Walnut, and shrugged. “That, too.”

  He didn’t deny it. Nor did he ask the dreaded follow-up, So, what are you? Only Darby—who also innately understood the concept of otherness—had successfully avoided this pitfall. Just as it was rude and invasive to ask him about his genitalia or sexual preference, it was equally rude and invasive to ask her about her ethnicity. It was the sort of information that should only be volunteered. Never asked for.

  But people always asked. It was less common back in Hawaii, where the majority of the population was multiracial, but it still happened. Makani loathed their furrowed brows as they attempted to place her inside a recognizable box: Light brown skin. Hair somewhere between loose corkscrew curls and the tight coils of a ’fro. Chin, nose, and eyes . . . something vaguely Asian.

  Where are you from?

  No, where are you from originally?

  I mean, where are your parents from?

  Sometimes, she asked why they cared. Sometimes, she lied to confuse or annoy them. Usually, she told the truth. “I’m half African American, half Native Hawaiian. Not like the forty-fourth president,” she’d be forced to add, sensing their eagerness. Obama was only born in Hawaii. His mama was a white girl from Kansas.

  Ollie tapped an index finger against the steering wheel. “Which one is your house?”

  “It’s a few blocks down, just past those trees. On the right-hand side.”

  “All right turns.”

  “Hmm?” Her mind wasn’t fully back to the present.

  “To get to your house from school. That’s satisfying.”

  It was true. This afternoon, at least, the short drive had been satisfying. She wanted it to continue. “Do you have to work today?”

  “No. Do you?” But he quickly corrected the mistake. “I mean, do you have to take care of your grandma today?”

  “Nope.” She drew out the word. Hinting.

  Ollie stared ahead, index finger still tapping. “Should we . . . do something?”

  A thrill spiked through Makani. Only one final and unpleasant hurdle remained. She tried to keep her voice relaxed. “Well, I’d love to . . .”

  “But?”

  She braced herself. “But first, you’ll have to meet my grandmother.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Makani was flabbergasted. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” He took in her expression as they passed beneath the oak-lined, shadow-dappled portion of the street. “Wait. Weren’t you serious?”

  “Of course. But I didn’t think you’d be this okay with it.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You’re forgetting you’re in the Midwest. This is how we do things here.” When she raised a skeptical eyebrow, he actually laughed. “It’ll be fine.”

  She had a hard time believing that, but his confidence was reassuring. Somewhat.

  “It figures that you live here,” he said.

  Once again, she was taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He craned his neck to look at the branches overhead. “Beautiful girl. Beautiful neighborhood.”

  She frowned. “For real, Ollie. I’m not into lines.”

  “I’m just saying, you live on the best street in town. When I was a kid, I always wished I lived under these trees.”

  “Until you discovered the rest of the world has way better streets and way better trees?” She pointed out a white two-story with a large porch. “That’s mine.”

  Ollie pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Makani waited for him to expand upon her remark—to agree about preferring anywhere else to Osborne. When he didn’t, she worried that she’d pushed him too far. He’d complimented her twice, and she’d dismissed him both times. And even though she had the impression that he was desperate to move away, it still sucked to hear someone talk shit about your hometown.

  “You’re right, though,” she said. “It is the best street. I guess I’m lucky.”

  It wasn’t a lie, and it felt strange to admit. It had been a while since Makani had felt lucky, or even grateful. Most of the towns around here had brick-paved streets in their oldest districts, which seemed both anachronistic and genuinely charming. Main Street and her grandmother’s neighborhood contained the only brick pavers in Osborne. The houses here were more attractive, and they also had better landscaping. This time of year, the leaves turned comforting shades of yellow and gold, cornhusk scarecrows dotted the yards, and sacrificial pumpkins sat on porch steps, waiting to be carved.

  In September, Grandma Young had filled her planters with sunny round mums, and last weekend Makani had raked the fallen leaves into those orange trash bags printed with jack-o’-lantern faces. They were tacky, but Makani liked them anyway.

  She cocked her head. “I’ve never asked, I’ve only assumed. Do you still live on your parents’ farm?”

  Ollie nodded. “We’re not selling the house until I’m done with school, but we’ve already sold most of the land to our neighbors. They’ve incorporated it into their giant-ass corn maze. Perhaps you’ve seen the billboards?”

  This last sentence was sarcastic. The fluorescent advertisements for the Martin Family Fun Cor
n Maze were everywhere. The Martins were a sizable clan of longtime residents. Every single family member had a different shade of red hair, and three of them—two siblings and a cousin—went to Osborne High.

  “Yikes,” Makani said. “That must be weird for you.”

  Ollie shrugged. She’d noticed that he was a frequent shrugger. “It’s not bad.”

  “MAKANI YOUNG.”

  They jump-flattened into the upholstery. Wincing, Makani looked out the window and found Grandma Young. She was standing on the steps that led to the back door, and her hands were positioned on her hips.

  “Christ,” Ollie said in a low voice. “How long has she been staring at us?”

  “Probably for all eternity.” Makani steeled herself as she exited the car. “Hey, Grandma—”

  “I thought you’d been brought home by the police!” Grandma Young hustled down the rest of the stairs to meet her. “Nearly frightened me to death when I looked out the kitchen window and saw you sitting there.”

  “Oh, it’s not—”

  “But it’s not a cop car, is it? It doesn’t have any decals. Unless it’s undercover!” Her panic bubbled back to a boil. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, Grandma. Everything is fine. A friend drove me home, that’s all.”

  “That’s not Darby’s car.”

  “A new friend.”

  Grandma Young wrapped Makani into a constricting hug. She seemed enraged but on the verge of tears. “I thought something had happened to you. Something like what happened to that poor Haley Whitehall.”

  An unexpected lump rose in Makani’s throat. Her grandmother’s first thought was that she had been attacked—not that she’d done something wrong. Makani fought to keep her voice steady. “Well. Clearly nothing happened, because I’m standing right here.”

  Ollie’s door opened, and his feet crunched into the gravel driveway.

  Grandma Young’s death grip loosened. And then her arms fell away completely. As Makani turned around, she realized with a flush of horror what her grandmother was seeing: a skeleton-like boy dressed in all black.

  With hot-pink hair.

  And a lip ring.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Young,” the skeleton boy said. “We didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Makani’s friend, Oliver Larsson. Ollie.” He stepped forward to shake her hand.

  Grandma Young gingerly accepted the outstretched hand as she examined every square inch of his appearance. Makani was glad when Ollie didn’t flinch or look away, which her grandmother might have deemed weak. He only smiled, which helped to soften his sharper features. “You’re the young man who works in the produce department at Greeley’s,” she said, finally letting go of him.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been working there for almost four years.”

  “How old are you?”

  Makani’s stomach warped, but Ollie replied with ease. “I just turned eighteen.”

  Grandma Young nodded toward his car. “That’s some ride you’ve got there.”

  Ride, Makani thought. Ohmygod no stop stop stop.

  Ollie held the smile. “It gets me where I need to go.”

  Grandma Young considered him for another excruciating moment. And then she scolded her granddaughter. “Don’t just stand there. Show him inside.”

  Mortification followed Makani into her grandmother’s original, unironic, midcentury-modern kitchen. At least it was clean.

  “Would you like anything to drink?” Grandma Young asked Ollie.

  “No, thank you,” he said.

  “We have water, skim milk, iced tea, Sprite—well, it’s not Sprite, it’s the off-brand Sprite—orange juice, cranberry juice, tomato juice—well, it’s the low-sodium kind, so it doesn’t taste as good, but it’s healthier—”

  “Water would be great, thanks,” Ollie said.

  “Tap water? Or we have a jug in the fridge. It keeps it cooler.”

  Makani dug her nails into her palms. “We all know how refrigerators work.”

  “Tap is fine,” Ollie said.

  “Ice?” Grandma Young asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “The square kind from a tray or the round kind from a bag?”

  “Oh my God, Grandma. You are literally killing me.”

  “Either is fine,” Ollie said. “Whichever’s easier.”

  Grandma Young opened the freezer and reached into a clear bag of ice. “Oliver, I apologize for my granddaughter. For her rudeness, but also for her misuse of the word literally. I’ve corrected her at least a dozen times.”

  Makani made a choking motion with her hands. Ollie shared a secret smile with her as Grandma Young turned back around. Without breaking a beat, she placed the ice-filled glass between Makani’s clenched fingers. Ollie and her grandmother laughed.

  But the atmosphere remained unnaturally formal in the living room as Grandma Young inquired about Ollie, and he inquired about her. Makani sat with her grandmother on the sofa. Ollie sat in the easy chair. The grandfather clock beside the staircase ticked and ticked the agonizing seconds. After a conversation about Grandma Young’s church dwindled to an end, Ollie pointed at the coffee table. The edge of the jigsaw puzzle had been completed along with sections of the pumpkin patch.

  “My mom liked those, too. Sometimes during the holidays, she’d pull one out from the back of the linen closet, and we’d work on it together. My dad and my brother couldn’t stand it. They thought puzzles were boring. But I’ve always thought they were satisfying, you know? Each piece having its exact place.”

  Makani was stunned. Excluding their phone call last night and the badgering from Alex this morning, she’d never heard Ollie speak so many sentences in a row. He tended to use the minimal amount of words possible to express himself.

  Grandma Young gestured at her with an ice-free glass of off-brand Sprite. “This one thinks they’re boring, too.”

  Ollie shook his head at Makani. “You’re missing out.”

  “Isaac, my husband, he didn’t care much for them, either,” Grandma Young said. “But they calm me down. Keep my mind occupied.”

  There was a pause as something like an acknowledgment of sorrow passed between Ollie and her grandmother. Unable to bear it any longer, Makani glanced at her phone and jumped up from the sofa. “Sorry! We need to get going.”

  Grandma Young set down her drink on an L.L. Bean catalog. “Oh?”

  “Ollie has a late shift tonight, so we wanted to hang out a little before then.”

  “I was gonna take her to Sonic for slushes.” As Ollie stood up from the easy chair, its springs gave a muffled squeak. “Last ones of the season, before it gets too cold.”

  “I like their limeade.” Grandma Young’s ankles cracked as she rose to her feet. “It was nice meeting you. And feel free to join me anytime.” She nodded at the puzzle.

  Ollie tucked his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks.”

  Makani marched him to the back door in the kitchen, leading them toward freedom and calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be home before dinner!”

  When they were tucked safely inside his car, they exchanged the same sly grin. “You’re good at that,” Makani said. “At lying.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She laughed in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. “I promise I won’t make you come back and do a jigsaw puzzle with my grandmother.”

  His grin held. “Who says I don’t want to?”

  Makani laughed again. “Okay, weirdo.” She was relieved that he’d gotten along with her grandmother and spoken to her like a normal human being. But the companion emotion was that same inescapable shame. No matter how many times she’d stuck up for him with her friends, she couldn’t stop underestimating him herself.

  “Just promise me Sonic was a lie,” she said.

  “God, yes,” Ollie said. The Sonic Drive-In was the only name-brand restaurant in town. It was where the football crowd hung out. “I’m taking you to the ocean
.”

  They drove through Osborne—past Greeley’s Foods and the Red Spot, past the bustling Sonic and the deserted shell of an old Sinclair gas station, past the gigantic Do it Best hardware store and the shed-size Dollar General—and out of town.

  They didn’t talk much, but their silence was companionable.

  They crossed the railroad tracks and went over the river. The countryside was flat. Stiff vegetation, muddy fields, round bales of hay. Modest farmhouses and monstrous tractors. The view was uniform in every direction, broken only by the long, dinosaurian contraptions that Makani had learned were center-pivot irrigation systems.

  The grass and dying corn plants were the same shade of drab golden brown. The occasional trees, dressed for autumn, added pointillistic yellow dots to the landscape. Everything was yellow and gold, except for the sky. It was gray.

  It didn’t seem like they were traveling anywhere specific, yet Makani felt a change, a tremulous sort of anticipation, as they approached their destination. Ollie turned off the highway and onto a nondescript dirt road surrounded by cornfields. It looked like any other nondescript dirt road surrounded by cornfields, but as they drove farther, Makani realized how secluded it actually was. There were no other people or houses in sight. Darby and Alex would be livid if they knew she was here.

  Makani composed a text, apologizing for earlier, but the connection was too slow for the message to send. A pellet of discomfort lodged in her stomach as the car dead-ended in the middle of another field. Or maybe it was all one field.

  “What’s this road even for?” she asked.

  Ollie turned off the engine. “I have no idea. Literally.”

  Makani laughed with tension-releasing surprise. “Ollie Larsson. Was that a joke?”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Never.”

  Her heart somersaulted. They weren’t parked in the same location where they’d had sex, though it looked similar. That particular memory was tinted with loneliness and desperation. Now she only felt the nervous thrum of excitement.

  “Careful stepping out,” Ollie said, unlocking the car. “It’s always muddier than you think.”