“Dad, Monica’s the treasurer of S.A.D.D., for Pete’s sakes. She’s like the poster girl for prevention,” Joy said. “Besides, no alcohol at Under 18 Nights.” She rubbed her eye patch.
“Stop that,” he chided.
Joy dropped her hand. She and Monica had agreed not to say anything about what had really happened. Monica hadn’t actually seen the guy and if Dad found out, he’d never let Joy out of the house again. Their story was that something had dropped from the ceiling, but it didn’t explain the shaky feeling that had stayed with her hours later.
Like looking into those all-black eyes.
She picked at the tape with her fingernail. “It’ll take me forever to do my homework,” she complained.
“Fortunately, you have the whole weekend to do it,” he said. “It’s still Friday night—” he glanced at the clock “—well, Saturday morning, and there’s plenty of time. Just do a little bit every few hours.” He glanced left and right quickly as he ran a yellow light. “If you have a test, I could quiz you.”
“No tests,” Joy said. “But this totally blows my weekend.”
He frowned. “You had plans this weekend?”
She didn’t, but he didn’t have to sound so surprised. She might have had plans if she’d had a life.
Dad seemed to sense that he’d stepped in it. “How about after the first pass at your homework, I take you to the mall for ice cream?”
Joy grimaced. “Looking like this?” She pointed at her face. “No, thanks.”
Her dad sighed and kneaded the steering wheel. “O-kay,” he said. “How about this—you invite Monica over since she’s seen you already, and I’ll pick up a pizza and then vacate the house? Girls’ night in and Dad’s gone out?” Joy tried not to brood over her father’s idea that the greatest gift to her was being absent. She twiddled the eyedrops in her lap.
“That is my final offer,” he added.
“All right, fine,” Joy said.
“All right,” her father agreed. “Fine.”
Joy turned her head fully to study his balding profile in the window. The streetlights etched the worry around his eyes and the pinch of his lower lip. She sighed against the headrest. He was trying so hard. Neither of them were good at the reaching-out thing; they’d left that stuff up to Mom. But Mom was gone, and Stefan was at college, and everything had changed. Dad was the only original piece of her family she had left. Joy needed him to be the one thing that stayed.
She smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiled back.
* * *
Not only was there pizza, but her father had left a carton of ice cream in the freezer with a Post-it note that said Study Break. Picking out the chocolate chips while dancing to satellite radio, Joy had to admit that Dad wasn’t half-bad at spoiling her. She’d heard that she could expect it now that her folks were officially divorced, but this was the first time it had tasted like victory instead of leftover Chinese takeout. To Dad, dessert was love, or the next best thing. Every time he bought her a treat, Joy felt obliged to have some right away. It was Dad’s way of saying “I love you” and her way of saying that she knew.
Fortunately, she liked ice cream—unfortunately, not mint chocolate chip. Mom would’ve known that. Stefan was the one who liked chips. Joy sighed as she made a little wet stack of brown rectangles for her brother, who wasn’t there. Mom was gone, Stef was gone, but she still had ice cream and pizza and Monica. Hooray!
Joy vaulted over the couch and landed smoothly on the cushions, repositioning herself for maximum pillow access. There were a lot worse things than hanging with Monica at home watching classic chick flicks. Having Dad stick around while they watched When Harry Met Sally came to mind. She was actually glad that he was going out. He’d been haunting the house ever since the divorce papers were signed.
“I’m off,” Dad called from the hallway with a jingle of keys.
“Night, Dad,” Joy said, bouncing her feet in time to the music. She waved her mismatched blue polka-dot and pink-and-purple socks. “Have fun.”
“You, too,” he said. “Emergency numbers are on the door.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“And don’t be afraid to call the cell.”
Joy leaned back and enunciated pointedly: “Good. Night. Dad!”
“Okay, okay, I’m going.” His hand rested on the doorknob. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Dad!” she warned.
“Bye!”
The door clicked closed. Gone.
Joy spent a few minutes clicking around the TV. Channel surfing was hard on her eye, so she shut it off, figuring she’d save it for the movies.
Hauling herself out of the couch, she went to double-cut the pizza into long triangle strips. Monica only liked to eat pizza that didn’t smudge her lip pencil and Joy had adopted the habit. Now she didn’t eat pizza any other way. She put her playlist on shuffle and grabbed a couple of plates.
She was singing and sawing the pizza slicer deep into grease-soaked cardboard when the phone rang. It was Monica on caller ID.
“Hey, there,” Joy chirped, shouldering the cordless phone.
“Hey...” Monica hesitated.
Joy stopped slicing. “What’s up?”
“Please don’t kill me or make me out to be the worst friend in the world.”
Joy laughed and lowered the volume. “Well, with an introduction like that, how could you go wrong?” she said, switching ears. “Spill.”
“Gordon asked if I could meet him at Roxbury downtown.” Monica paused, sounding unsure. It was weird. Monica was cocky and confident when it came to boys asking her out. She’d be the first to say that she’d had lots of practice. “And since we got interrupted last night by, well, you know...” Several things clicked together.
“Gordon’s the guy?” Joy asked. “Mr. Wide from the Carousel?” She put down the pizza slicer.
“Yeah.” Monica sounded guilty, maybe even shy. “But I told him I had plans tonight.”
Joy filled in the blanks. “Plans that maybe you could get out of?”
“Only because you’re my very best friend.”
Joy smothered the pathetic feeling that she’d be home alone with a patch over one eye and too much food for one person. Monica sounded so hopeful. “This must be some guy.”
Monica’s voice warmed with relief. “I’ll let you know!”
“Spare me the details,” Joy said as she placed one of the plates back on the shelf. “Go have fun, and remember—don’t be stupid.”
“I know. No Stupid. Sorry it’s last minute.” Monica’s voice slowed, clearly wanting to sound torn. She wasn’t fooling anyone, though. Gordon won, Joy lost. Score one for Team Penis.
“Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Joy. “Rock the Rox for me.”
“And you go enjoy some Joy time.”
“I’ll try,” Joy said, but Monica had already cut her off with “Bye!”
Joy hung up the phone and sighed. The last time she’d watched this movie, it’d been with her mom. There was a tight, hollow feeling in her stomach and a dry twinge in her eye. She brought her plate of pizza to the couch, tucked herself under