Page 48 of Such Sharp Teeth

I don’t like him.

I remember the sugar smell of the frosting, the burning wax.

I don’t like him.

“I don’t like him,” I told Mom the next morning over oatmeal after he’d left for work.

“You don’t know him,” she said. “Scarlett?”

“He seems nice.”

The night before, as we fell asleep, I told Scarlett. I warned her.

“He’s the worst one so far.”

“You say that about all of them,” she said. “At least he’s not Jesse.”

Jesse would get drunk and call Mom a bitch, a slut. He hit her once. After, he cried on our front porch, apologizing and begging Mom to take him back. She did, of course. I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to beg. She would have taken him back no matter what.

“Jesse acted nice at first,” I said to Scarlett.

She ignored me, pretended to be asleep. She didn’t mind Mom’s boyfriends as much as I did. Scarlett was the sweet one, easygoing, liked to get along with everyone. Didn’t care for confrontation. I was the problem child.

“Can you please try to give him a chance?” Mom asked, pouring some chocolate chips into my oatmeal.

“He’s weird,” I said. “Skeeves me out.”

“Rory. For me? Please? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

It’s dark. I’m waiting for something to happen. I look up through the hole in the roof.

No moon yet.

What’s taking it so long?

I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I want to run, but I can’t. I’m stuck. Trapped.

“I hear you’re not my biggest fan,” he said, sitting next to me at the kitchen table as I did my homework.

“No,” I said without looking up.

He laughed. “I like you, kid. You speak your mind. I like that. And I like a challenge.”

He opened his palm to reveal a small hot pink pencil sharpener. He set it on the table. “Stay sharp, kid.”

I was using a pencil, and it needed to be sharpened. I don’t know how he knew what I needed, but he knew. He was good at knowing things. He was always paying attention to me. I thought maybe I was wrong about him.

Because there were more little gifts like the pencil sharpener. Like a new rainbow notebook and purple highlighters. Like raspberry-flavored dark chocolate bars.

“Don’t tell your sister,” he’d say, and I thought it was nice to be treated like my own person. Scarlett and I, we’d always been a unit. Until Dave.

Dave saw me as a separate entity. I appreciated that.

He started taking me to the library. Or to the video store to pick out a rental. Trips with just us. Mom was grateful for the extra effort he was putting in with me.

“Your opinion is important to him. He knows how much you and your sister mean to me.”

I didn’t mind these trips. I liked the experience of getting to go places, of getting to select books and videos. It felt very adult. It felt special.