Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [24]
But Jason’s a mind reader. “Pretty mainstream,” he replies. “I don’t go for rap or hip hop.”
“Good. That sounds like fun, then.”
“I hope so. The tickets are a fortune. Luckily, Dad managed to get us comps through a client of his.”
Is Mom impressed? No way. “That’s nice,” she says, like it’s no big deal. What’s up her butt now?
Jason looks at me, still smiling. “Is that all you’re wearing?”
I’m not dressed slutty or anything, but I’ve only put on enough to pass inspection. I wonder what he’s up to, and then it clicks: he’s out to impress Mom. I laugh and come back in these designer jeans and a fancy-knit sweater. “We gotta go, Mom, or we’ll be late.”
Jason opens the door for me. “There’s no need to wait up, Mrs. Phillips. Your daughter’s in good hands.”
“Actually, Jason,” Mom says tightly, “Leslie’s well-being is in my hands.”
“Absolutely,” Jason agrees without missing a beat. Can he keep his cool or what. He shakes her hand again, and we’re out the door.
Jason’s got his mom’s Camry. We get to the stadium’s underground garage and back into a parking space against the far wall between two empty cars. I get out and head for the elevator, but Jason’s fiddling with something.
“Hurry up, we’ll be late.”
“Relax. The opening act’ll take an hour.”
And now I see what he’s doing. He’s folded out one of those cardboard sunscreens and put it across the front windshield. He opens the door to the backseat.
“Jason! Not here!”
“No, something else, dummy,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Can’t you give it to me out here?”
But I get in the backseat anyway and Jason pulls out a joint. “Grade A. No kidding. I got it off a special friend.”
“What if we get busted?”
“Nobody checks third-basement parking. Besides, we’re at the end, cars on either side, a screen up. Come on, you’re acting like that Katie geek.”
We have the joint, but I don’t get the giggles. I’m too paranoid. Especially when he puts his hand up my sweater. I knew this was going to happen.
“Jason, you said we wouldn’t. I mean, we’re in public!”
“It’ll be exciting. Trust me.”
As if.
Jason has me back home at five minutes before twelve. He doesn’t come in.
As usual Mom’s waiting up, only instead of sitting at the kitchen table, she’s in the living room with her back to me, watching some old movie.
It’s creepy. She doesn’t say a word. There’s just this low sound of voices coming from the TV and her sitting absolutely still.
For a minute, I think maybe she’s fallen asleep. That’d be perfect. Because I don’t want to get close to her before having a shower.
But just as I reach the door of the bathroom, she says in a loud voice, “How was the concert?”
“Fine,” I say. I’m trying to sound cheerful, but my throat is tight. Before she has a chance to say anything else, I scoot inside and close the door.
Mom’s still waiting for me when I come out wrapped in a towel. She’s turned the TV off and is sitting at the table. “Leslie, could I speak to you for a minute?” She’s not mad. She sounds strange, like I better say yes or there’s really going to be trouble.
“Okay,” I say. “Just let me put something on.”
I come back in track pants and a top.
Mom sits quietly for a minute and then says: “Leslie, how old is Jason?”
“Eighteen.”
“Don’t you think it would be better if you dated someone more your own age?”
“What, I’m a baby or something? Or he’s this old-man-pervert child molester?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Mom looks at me very seriously. “Honey, I don’t know how to put this ...”
“Don’t bother. I knew you wouldn’t like him. I mean, if God asked me for a date you’d find something to complain about. Jason’s here on time, he’s dressed up, he opens the door for me, he has a nice family and I’m back before twelve. What more do you want?”
“It’s only that—”
“Never mind. You don’t want me to be happy!”
“No. No. Of course I want you to be happy. It’s just ... I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I want to say something smart. But I don’t. Instead, before I can stop myself, I give her a big hug. She holds