How did I miss this?

I knew they started lifting weights in the fall. There's a room over Rei's garage that can only be accessed through Rei's bedroom, so his parents let him turn it into a weight room. I was invited to the premiere weight lifting session, but every time they benched any significant weight, they both had such strained, constipated looks on their faces, I couldn't help laughing. I think I may have taken a few pictures with my phone, too. Needless to say, I was not invited back. All winter long, I saw them wearing mostly jeans and sweatshirts, and not even the gym shorts and T-shirts they wear in P.E. cla.s.s showed the extent of their progress.

Seth stops to tie his running shoe, but Rei keeps walking across the gra.s.s, laughing when he sees the Barbie dolls and the torture I've been put through. Seth stands up and takes a few running steps, and then jumps up to glomp Rei to the ground. Somehow Rei knows; maybe he feels the vibration of Seth's footsteps, because he stops short and braces himself, catching Seth's weight evenly against his back. He wraps his arm up and around Seth's neck and shoulder, leans forward abruptly and flips him over onto the gra.s.s. As Seth lands flat on his back, a quiet curse escapes with the rest of the air in his lungs.

Rei bends over him, grinning. "I thought I told you not to do that." He reaches his hand down to help him up, but even from here, I see a mischievous look in Seth's eye. Rei laughs. "You don't want to try that, either."

Seth considers this for a second, then allows himself to be pulled to a stand and swears again, earning him a dirty look. Rei's entire swear vocabulary consists of d.a.m.n, h.e.l.l, and a few j.a.panese words he won't translate for me. He gives Seth a light, open-handed smack to the forehead.

"And watch your mouth in front of the girls."

They stroll toward the front walk, familiar faces superimposed onto the smooth, chiseled bodies of Abercrombie models, although Seth's winter white skin pales in comparison to Rei's golden glow.

That foolish grin is back on my face.

"Excuse me," I call out to them. "Who are you people and what have you done with Rei and Seth?"

Rei raises his eyebrows at me, but I can tell he's pleased I've noticed the outcome of all their hard work.

Saya scrambles up the steps and leans heavily on my shoulders. "Eww! You guys smell stinky!" she complains as the essence of Seth wafts past us on his way inside the house in search of a drink of water.

"Come here, Ironman," I wave Rei over but he just stands there.

"You're sure? I thought I was stinky."

"You are!" Saya insists. "You smell like a boiled fish head!"

"No, that's Seth," I tell her. "Barbie hasn't melted yet, so I think Rei is okay." I wink at him and pat the step next to me. "Sure I'm sure. Park it!"

Rei rolls his eyes, but he sits.

"Wow," I say as I poke at his new and improved bicep. "Very impressive! So that's what you guys have been doing all winter up in your secret lair?"

Rei wipes his upper lip with his damp T-shirt to hide a small grin. "That's what we've been doing."

"Oh, what's that?" I hold Barbie up to my ear and pretend to listen. "Medusa Barbie thinks you're hot. She says she's going to dump Ken for you."

This comment goes completely over Saya's head, but Rei laughs. "Oh boy."

Seth lets the screen door slam loudly behind him and produces a loud, wet burp to further announce his presence. "Oh boy what?" he asks.

"Medusa Barbie's dumping Ken for Rei 'cause he's so ripped."

"Hey, I'm ripped, too!" To prove this point, he strikes a muscle man pose and flexes his pecs, one at a time.

Saya is silly with giggles now.

"Don't worry, Seth," Rei stands and pats him on the shoulder. "I'm sure Medusa Barbie has a friend for you, too."

Now Saya abandons me and tugs at Rei's arms. "Do it! Do it!"

"Careful, I'm all sweaty."

"But I want you to make your chichis go up and down too!" she whines.

I crack up laughing. "Yeah, Rei," I manage to get out, "can you make your chichis go up and down too?"

He pauses and grins oh so slowly at me. "The question isn't can I do it, the question is will I do it, and the answer is ... no."

CHAPTER 4.

The distance from Rei's house to mine seems much longer than the distance from my house to Rei's. It's seven o'clock, the sun is still bright in the sky, and I take my time meandering home. I stayed and watched Saya while Rei showered and changed, and Rei's parents came home from the store not too long after. Yumi invited me to stay for dinner, but they were having something starring tofu, which is not my favorite.

Besides, I have a date with a can of soup.

The front door creaks slightly when I open it. I smell him before I can see him: that pungent stench of stale alcohol mixed with sweat that seeps from every pore in his body and pollutes the air in my house. I try not to breathe too much. He's slouched on the cracked black vinyl recliner in his usual stained boxers and T-shirt, and the bottle beside him is already half empty. Even though I can't see his colors right now, I know he sits inside a narrow haze of tarnished gray.

There's no indication he heard me or saw me come in; his attention remains fixed on the soft glow of the television. I slip past him unnoticed into the kitchen and root around the cabinet for a can of soup. I would prefer the chicken noodle, but that's a little too chunky for him. I go with the cream of chicken, open the soup can, and dump the contents into a microwavable bowl.

He never once looks at me during the two minutes the microwave hums, but the ding gets his attention. The face that turns to me is blotchy and bloated and tries to focus on me with red-rimmed eyes. "'s 'at for me?" His voice is rusty, and I realize these are probably the first words he's spoken all day.

"Yes."

He turns back to the television and reaches for his gla.s.s. "I'm not 'ungry."

No surprise there.

"I'll leave it here in case you change your mind."

No response.

After I pour half the soup into a bowl for me, I grab a can of soda, some saltines, and a spoon, then disappear into my room, locking the door behind me. Fresh air! If I'm lucky, I'll only have to make one trip to the bathroom before I go to bed.

My mom tells me my father wasn't always like this. In my bookcase, between the box where I hide my life savings and a stack of travel brochures I've downloaded, there's an alb.u.m of all my favorite photos. Tucked in among the many snapshots of me with Rei and his family, there's a picture of a handsome guy with smiling blue eyes, wavy blond hair, and a construction worker's tan, lean body holding a toddler-sized me on his shoulders. This was my father.

According to my mom, he was sweet and funny and a great kisser, which is way too much information. She met him when she started selling real estate. He worked on the subdivision she was hired to sell, and it wasn't long before they got married, moved into this little fixer-upper house, and had me.

Four years later, some scaffolding at work broke, and my father fell more than twenty feet, landing flat on his back. I was too young to remember much, only that my mom shushed me a lot after that, and he would yell, "Shut that kid up!" whenever I cried. The doctors weren't sure if he would ever walk again, but he surprised them all. He can make it from his bed to the toilet to the liquor cabinet to his recliner just fine before the booze kicks in.

As long as I don't provoke him, he's fairly calm. Sometimes he may grab my arm and not realize how tight he squeezes, but he's. .h.i.t me only once. When I was thirteen, I took a pre-algebra cla.s.s that was way over my head. I was in my room studying for a test, and he was out in the living room hollering for me to go get him a bottle from the garage. I was stupid. I ignored him, but he just yelled louder until finally, I came storming out of my room. I should have known better than to mouth off to him, especially when my mom wasn't home. I never even saw it coming: he backhanded me across the face so fast, I fell and whacked my forehead against the edge of the kitchen counter.

I knew that crying would only make him madder, so I ran as fast as I could through the front door and down the path to ... where else? I didn't even have shoes with me. I had no idea how much I was bleeding until I got to Rei's house and saw the look on his face. We had to take an entire roll of paper towels and a plastic trash bag in the car with us on the way to the hospital. It was only because I lied to the doctor and the bruise on my cheek hadn't fully bloomed that n.o.body called DSS and reported it as child abuse.

Yumi had a very long talk with my mom after that, and my mom told me she made my father promise he would never hit me again. But grabbing isn't hitting, and this is what I keep trying to explain to Rei. If I showed the bruises on my arm to our school counselor, at best, I would end up with the weekly appointment right after Seth's and at worst, I'd end up in foster care. Either way, it's not worth it. I can handle being grabbed. I can hide the bruises with long sleeves, and in a year, I'm out of school anyway.

Once Rei leaves for college, I'm not sure what I'll do. I'd like to go to college, but it's expensive and I don't even know what I want to major in. I'll probably take a year off, find a full-time job and a couple of roommates to split an apartment so I can save some tuition money. If there's one thing I admire about my mother, it's that she doesn't depend on a man to support her.

I blow on my soup while I wait for my computer to start up. In fairness to my mom, she does make sure I have what I need to survive ... a computer with high-speed internet, a cell phone, and my iPod. As soon as I log on, my computer chirps at me.

StringRei: ohai Auracle: ohai StringRei: did you make his soup?

Auracle: cream of chicken StringRei: did he eat it?

Auracle: what do you think?

StringRei: i think saya wants you to sleep in her top bunk tonight Auracle: tell saya i love her, but i'll be fine StringRei: did you hit yourself on the dishwasher again tonight?

Auracle: no, but the night's still young StringRei: how's the homework going?

Auracle: i just set my chem book on fire. got any marshmallows?

StringRei: haha-you need help?

The key word here is need, and yes, I do need help. Rei talks me through a few chemistry problems that require calculating something about a solution prepared by dissolving this in that, until I excuse myself to go stick a fork in my eye. After chemistry, we chat off and on while I browse the internet for cool places to visit later tonight-Great Barrier Reef, Madagascar, or hmmm ... I wonder if that enormous ice castle in Sweden has melted yet. Rei knows I still go astral exploring, but I don't share my plans with him because I wouldn't want him to think I'm showing off.

At about ten thirty, I hear my father stagger into the bathroom and throw up, gagging and choking on whatever is coming out of him. I plug in my earbuds and turn up my iPod as loud as I can stand it.

StringRei: i'm working on a new song.

Auracle: cool. acoustic or electric?

StringRei: acoustic Auracle: nice! what song?

StringRei: it's a surprise.

Auracle: and you know how much i love surprises.

StringRei: :) Auracle: will you call my cell and wake me up tomorrow ^o^ StringRei: sure. go brush your teeth before you sign off.

Auracle: k, hold on My father's in pretty much the same position I left him, and the soup is still on the counter untouched. I'll deal with that tomorrow. In the bathroom, I can't pee until I wipe the blood-tinged bile off the toilet seat. I use a new paper towel to clean up the mess that's splattered on the floor and against the wall. After I scrub my hands in the hottest water I can stand and brush my teeth, I tiptoe back into my room, lock the door, and quietly push my desk chair up under the doork.n.o.b.

Auracle: thanks. my chair is against the door.

StringRei: what took you so long?

Auracle: had to clean paternal puke off toilet seat, wall, floor.

StringRei: >o< auracle:="" haha="" stringrei:="" my="" phone="" is="" on="" all="" night,="" call="" if="" you="" need="">

Auracle: thanks. i'll be fine.

StringRei: see you tomorrow.

Auracle: kbye StringRei signed off at 11:14 p.m.

I sign off and shut down my computer. Outside my bedroom door, the television drones on. It will stay on most of the night, until maybe four in the morning when my father will probably vomit again, stumble into bed, and pa.s.s out until about noon tomorrow, then get up and open a new bottle for breakfast.

In sixth grade, a police officer came to our cla.s.s to teach us about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, and that's when I realized my father is an alcoholic. When I shared this epiphany with my mom, she immediately defended him. "It's not his fault," she said. "He's sick."

When I think of sick people, I think of the flu, strep throat, cancer. I don't think of alcoholism.

"That's a lot of c.r.a.p!" I told my mom one day when I was hiding a particularly big bruise on my upper arm. "He's not sick. He has a choice. He chooses drinking over us."

"Alcoholism is a disease, honey; he can't help it. His father was an alcoholic, too."

"So, what, you're telling me it's genetic? That this is what I have to look forward to?"

"I'm sure this won't happen to you."

"But you can't be certain."

"He was fine before the accident, but he was in a lot of pain after, and the doctors wouldn't give him any more medication. If they had just helped him manage his pain, he wouldn't have had to self-medicate."

I know she still loves him; I get that. And I know she loves me, too. I just hate that she makes all these excuses and never even tries to fix the problem.

"Then just stop buying it for him!" I told her. "Then he'll have to stop drinking or he'll have to go out and get it himself!" This seemed like a simple and logical plan. She stops buying it, he stops drinking, and we all wake up the next morning as a functional family.

"Anna, honey, it's not that simple. There are withdrawal symptoms. They can be very uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable. Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we.

I lie in bed wondering what new song Rei is learning on his guitar and whether he's wearing a shirt now or ...

h.e.l.lo, Anna, interrupts my conscience, this is Rei you're thinking about: your neighbor and best friend since the beginning of time. Why do you care if he's wearing a shirt? You're not checking him out, are you? Seriously! How would you feel if you thought he was checking YOU out?

Well, actually, I'd feel kind of flattered.

And of course I'm not checking him out, because that would just be ... awkward. Although how easy would it be to slip out of my body and float over and up through his bedroom window, unseen, unheard ... uninvited.

I haven't shown up in Rei's bedroom unexpectedly since we were little and privacy wasn't a big deal for us. But after seeing him in all his new, ooo-la-la musculature this afternoon, it's clear to me that he's all grown up now, and the thought of just popping in on him is inexcusable.

But what if I didn't peek in? What if I just stayed outside the window by the weeping willow tree and listened to his song? What would Miss Manners say about that?

Gentle reader, she would tell me, you are a creeper.

I feel it starting-the physical sensation that precedes all my trips. The tingle starts down at my toes and climbs up my legs and into my hips. By the time it curls up my spine and I feel myself beginning to detach from my body, I realize I have choices to make, too.