Manning was right. Either Tiffany didn’t know or care what I wanted. But he did.
Tiffany glared at Manning. I braced for an explosion. She didn’t respond well to being told no. It didn’t happen often, not since our father had learned she’d fight him tooth and nail to get what she wanted, and if she lost, find a way to do it anyway.
She sulked, but she stayed quiet. I almost couldn’t believe it. Since when did she give in so easily? Wasn’t she going to wear Manning down until he agreed to go back to the party?
Gently, she touched Manning’s bicep. “Are you mad?”
After a few tense seconds, Manning shook his head. “We can have fun without all that,” he said.
She relaxed against the back of the seat. We rode in relative silence the rest of the way, except for the low din of the radio. Manning turned it up slightly for one song. When it ended and the DJ said the name, I committed “Black” by Pearl Jam to memory.
Manning parked, and we walked across the street toward the entrance. The Fun Zone at Balboa Park was one long strip with an arcade, bumper cars, and the biggest draw—for some people—a Ferris wheel.
Tiffany stopped at the first carnival game we walked by and clasped both hands around Manning’s bicep, her fingers barely touching. “Win me a stuffed animal,” she pleaded. “I know you can.”
I responded before Manning could. “I thought you said stuffed toys were childish?”
Tiffany turned to me with a slight sneer. “Not when your boyfriend wins it for you. Come talk to me when you have one of those.”
The insult was so ridiculous, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “He’s not your boyfriend,” I said, glancing at Manning. “Just to warn you, sometimes you have to repeat yourself with Tiffany. She doesn’t always get it.”
Tiffany’s face paled. She’d certainly said worse to me in front of my friends, but as soon as the words were out, I regretted them. She wasn’t dumb, but Dad treated her that way sometimes.
“It’s so typical of you to act like you’re better than everyone,” Tiffany said, looking like she was about to lunge for me.
I didn’t think that about myself. Tiffany was the one who did what she wanted, breaking rules and hurting people but still getting everything handed to her. “I do not.”
“Do to. I did you a favor bringing you along tonight—”
“Hey.” Manning put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her backward. “Take a minute. Both of you.”
Tiffany balked. “She’s implying that I’m an idiot.”
He turned Tiffany around to face him. “So what?” he asked. “Is it true?”
“No.”
“Then who cares?”
I just stood there while they looked at each other, having some kind of moment.
“Yeah,” she said finally, looking over her shoulder at me. “Who cares what you think?”
Manning sighed and ran his hand down his face. “Why don’t you go get us some ice cream, Tiffany? Give each other a second to cool off.”
“Ice cream?” she asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “You went on and on about it when you invited me.”
She took a step back and sniffed. “Oh. Okay. Will you come with me?”
He glanced briefly at me and back. “No. You can take care of yourself.”
Even with Tiffany’s back to me, I could sense her disappointment. If Manning kept telling her no, it could be good for her. Either she’d learn she couldn’t always get her way or she’d get bored and move on.
Tiffany left in pursuit of something sweet.
Once alone, Manning turned his full attention on me, putting us face to face.
“You’re good with her,” I said, looking up at him.
“Why’s that?”
“Normally, she does the opposite of what people tell her.”
Manning ran a hand through his hair, left it sticking up. I could see him better now in the bright, colorful, blinking lights of the fair. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white t-shirt, the cuffs hugging his muscles. He had a cigarette behind his ear again, stark against his soft black hair. He could’ve walked straight out of The Outsiders, which I only knew because it’d been on last summer’s reading list.
“She does it on purpose.” I was beginning to notice how Manning’s voice, always deep, seemed to get even lower when he was about to lecture me or impart wisdom. “Don’t let her goad you on. You’re young, and you’re better than what you just said to her. Aren’t you?”
I suddenly felt half my size. Although my dad was demanding, I didn’t often get scolded. Not like Tiffany. I was the good kid. “What does being young have to do with it?” I asked. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Your sister’s different from you. She’s impulsive. She says what pops into her head, but you think things through. I see you. I see you thinking.”