“No! No, no, Mom, um, Caleb’s um, Caleb’s dad is going to drive us all home, so it’s okay,” I say in a rush.
I hear her sigh, and I can see her face, impatient and irritated.
“I promise, it’s fine, Mom.”
“Hmph. Be home at nine thirty,” she says, and hangs up.
Argh. What now? I put the phone down and groan.
“What?” says Caleb.
“My mom doesn’t trust me.”
“With good reason.”
I glare at Caleb. He sounds just like Reggie. “She’s going to call you and demand an address if I’m not home by nine thirty.”
Caleb shrugs. “I’m sure your dad’ll leave soon. Don’t worry. Then we’ll follow him and go home. By nine thirty. Easy.”
I’m about to say he can’t make predictions like that when I see Dad’s silver Avalon pull out of the driveway.
17
I PRACTICALLY SCREAM AT CALEB, “THAT’S HIM! That’s him! Hurry, start the car!”
Caleb shoves his laptop at me and turns the key. The engine starts to turn over, groaning and coughing for what seems like an eternity. Caleb releases the key.
“What—don’t tell me the car is broken!”
“No, it just does this sometimes. It always starts up eventually, though.”
“We don’t have time for ‘eventually’! Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you just keep the car running if you knew it wasn’t going to start?” Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god. Dad is getting away.
“Jeez, just shut up for a sec! I’m doing you a favor, remember? Lemme try again.” The engine complains for a few more excruciating seconds, during which I stare daggers at the steering wheel as if somehow that will help. Thankfully, the car comes to life this time, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Okay, go, go, go!”
After carefully checking over his shoulder for oncoming traffic (aagh, really?), Caleb pulls into the street and heads in the direction Dad took, toward Stevens Creek Boulevard. The intersection comes into sight two blocks down just as Dad turns right.
“See? You didn’t have to scream at me. We haven’t lost him,” Caleb grumbles, but he speeds up and makes it onto Stevens Creek about four cars behind Dad. Not yet, I think. I keep my eyes on Dad’s car. I’m almost afraid to blink, lest he vanish into some magical cheating husbands’ portal. Luckily, at eight thirty the traffic is pretty light and Caleb is able to maneuver our car to just two cars back from Dad. We follow Dad over Highway 85, then south on I-280, back toward San Jose. My initial panic has subsided, and I relax a little.
“Sorry I freaked out at you,” I say to Caleb.
“Whatever. It’s okay.”
“Thanks for doing this for me. There’s not a lot of people I trust like this.”
“Anything for you, doll.”
“What?” I look at him and he’s laughing. “Whatever, weirdo.”
Then he says with studied casualness, “Hey, we’re doing an anti-homecoming thing next weekend. Just having pizza and watching movies and shit. If you’re not going out with your Asian girl squad, you can come over if you want.”
Wow. Out of nowhere. “Oh. Um, actually I am going out with my Asian girl squad, so, yeah,” I tell him. “Sorry.” And I really am. He’s turned out to be a lot of fun to hang out with.
“’S’okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
Dad exits the freeway and Caleb and I follow him onto Winchester, then Alta Loma, and I wonder why Dad would agree to meet this woman so close to where we live. Caleb must be thinking the same thing, because he says, “Pretty ballsy. He must really think he’s not going to get caught.” But the farther we go, the clearer it becomes that Dad is going . . . home. He pulls into the driveway, and Caleb continues past the house about halfway down the block before doing a U-turn. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “Well?” Caleb looks at me.
“I don’t know. I’m confused. I swear the text said Thursday for dinner.”
“Maybe she canceled on him.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe he’s not having an affair.”
“Maybe.” Suddenly I’m bone-tired. I don’t want to talk to anyone, don’t want to think about anything. I just want to get inside and go to bed. I guess I’ll get up early in the morning to finish my homework.
“Hey, it’s okay. I mean, I had fun, anyway.” I take a good look at Caleb. He’s actually really cute. Strong jaw, nice cheekbones, kind eyes. And he’s a good person. I wonder why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. If I weren’t so crazy about Jamie, I could see being into him. I’m not a huggy person (blame my no-physical-contact parents) but I’m suddenly overcome with gratitude for this guy who, for no reason, just wasted an evening driving me on a wild-goose chase, and is nice enough to say he had fun. So I reach over and give him a hug.
“Thanks. Really.”
His look of surprise melts into a big smile.
“Anytime, doll. See you in trig.”
I roll my eyes, shut the door, and head inside to face my (probably maybe) cheating dad and (impossible but it seems that way) unsuspecting mom.
18
ON FRIDAY, JAMIE COMES OVER. HOMEWORK ON a Friday afternoon is too much, so we’re just in my room, me sprawled on my bed, Jamie pushing herself around the room on my rolling desk chair. “So, what do you think?” I ask her. I’ve told her on the way home from school about last night’s escapade, chasing Dad from work right back home.
“I think Caleb has a crush on you.” She spins herself (it’s a spinny chair, too).
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I meant what do you think about my dad? Do you think he canceled dinner?”
“Everyone keeps saying that because it’s true. I mean, it’s obvious. And you said your dad had a date and then he didn’t go, so yeah—I think he canceled dinner. That’s obvious, too.”
Oh. She stops spinning, chews her lip for a second, and asks, “You sure you’re not into him?”
Caleb? How much clearer can I make this? “Yes. I’m sure.” I look right at her so she knows I’m telling the truth. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Is she jealous? As exciting as this possibility is, I still can’t let go of my worries about Dad. “But why do you think he canceled?”
“I dunno. He’s trying to be a good husband? He’s bored? He wasn’t feeling it last night? Could be anything. It’s no use guessing.”
“Yeah . . .” I roll over on my boring blue-and-white duvet cover and look at the ceiling. “I just don’t want him to be the guy who cheats on his wife. I don’t want to believe that about him. I don’t want him to leave us. I just want him to quit.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Jamie pushes the chair over to the bed, next to me. “You know, though.” She hesitates a moment and then says slowly, “My dad—he never stopped cheating, no matter what happened, no matter what he told my mom.” She looks at me, chewing her lip again.