Take This to Your Grave

"How come I've never met you?" Pete asked as soon as we were a few feet from the yard.

"I don't know." I answered. "I haven't visited in almost 2 years, but I haven't seen you before then."

"I was at boot camp 4 years ago." He answered with a laugh, "3 years ago I was floating around, and less than a year ago I came home to go to Columbia."

I decided to avoid any questions leading to the boot camp tale. "What do you study?"

"Political science."

"Sounds... Interesting." I mumbled.

"It's not." He let out a hollow laugh. "But, the girls love it. They think I'm some fuckin' brainiac, ya'know?"

"No." I answered.

It got quiet after that. Pete stepped, walked, beside me now. Princess led us, her pack of quiet kids.

"Where've you been for 2 years?" He asked suddenly.

"Manhattan. My mom lives there with my step-dad and half-sisters."

He gave a nod, "Ever been in trouble?"

"I went to Catholic school."

"That wasn't the question." He smirked at me when I glanced at him.

"I've never done anything but upset my mom." I said, "And, by upset, I mean, be my own person."

Pete looked at me, fully, tugging my arm. I stopped, all 3 of us, and we faced each other; Princess sniffed a bush. "Ya'know, you look like your dad."

"I know that. Maybe that's why my mom dislikes me so much."

Pete ignored my words; his eyes scanned my face and then landed on my neck. "You religious?"

"Not particularly, why?"

He put his hands up and they disappeared behind my neck, unlatching the gold cross. He took it, hooking it together and dangled it in front of me; "Thou shall honor thy mother and thy father."

"I've been to religious studies." I said with a frown.

"Do you believe in it?"

"In a way."

"What way?"

"I respect them if they respect me. My mom doesn't respect me, I'm her puppet... I was her puppet, I mean."

Pete took the chain and stuffed it into his back pocket, "You don't mind, do you?"

"It was a gift from my step-dad's mom. Set it on fire if you want."

He smiled that infectious grin. "Thanks."

We continued to walk in silence, and then we turned a corner. The corner of my eye, I saw his shirt, "I, uh, like Morrissey by the way. Where'd you get the shirt?"

He looked down, and then up at me, "Oh, I bought it at a thrift shop the other day. You want it?"

I laughed at him, at his simple wording, "You'd give me the shirt off your back?"

"Bona Drag isn't my favorite album of his."

"You like him, too?" I hold back a squeal of delight. He nodded, "What's your favorite, then?" I asked.

"Uh...Vauxhall and I. My favorite song is Used to Be a Sweet Boy."

I wanted to laugh again, but I don't. I smiled, "Viva Hate is my favorite... I love Everyday Is Like Sunday."

Pete looked at me in this way that made my cheeks hot. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Princess pulled me forward, we then turned the corner, and see the park. My face was on fire and I didn't know exactly why. "Uh, no. I never had a boyfriend."

Pete nodded slowly, as if he was thinking what I said over. As if it's some big news that he wasn't expecting. He finally looked up, the sounds of children jolted us; "Don't ever get a boyfriend." He said, "Midwestern boys are nothing but trouble."

I blinked as we crossed the street, unsure of what to say. I didn't say anything; Pete's hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Princess pulled us, and I stopped her a few feet from the ice cream cart.

"What can I get you kids?" The ice cream man leaned forward, pushing back his paper hat.

"I'll have rocky road." I said, and then I looked at Pete.

He shrugged, "I'll take chocolate."

The ice cream man scooped my cone first, and then Pete's. I reached out to give the vender my $5, but Pete stopped me, "It's on me."

I didn't refuse, what would be the use?

We started back towards the entry/exit and cross the street again. The silence was heavy and I hated it; we licked our ice cream while Princess pounded the pavement and panted.

"How old are you?" Pete asked once we're about to turn to the right to make our way back home.

"I'm 16... I'll be 17 in October."

Pete didn't have any emotion to his face, he looked forward. I licked my ice cream, catching the dripping vanilla; "How old are you?" I asked him.

"I'll be 21 on Friday."

Out of habit, I smiled, "Happy Birthday."

He let out a laugh, "Thanks." Pete got quiet for a moment, licking and sucking his cone and then, he touched my arm and we paused, yards from our houses. "I want you to come to a party with me on Friday." He says this with this sneaky smile.

"I don't think I can." I tell him, "My dad won't let me."

"Sneak out." He smiled widely, and it makes my heart flutter.

"I can't." I said this regrettably, "My dad would know."

Pete, still smiling, pressed, "C'mon, it'll be fun, I promise. It is my birthday."

I chewed at my lip, inhaling, "Maybe I'll just ask my dad..."

"What's the fun in that, Naomi? Don't you want to live for once? You are 16."

That smiled at those words. I was putty, immediately and I knew it. I was entrapped, and I didn't care.

"Okay." I said this all too happily, "But, ya'know, I don't ever do things like this."

He started to walk, his hand dropping from my arm, "Neither do I."

Pete and I head down the block in silence, finishing our cones, and it isn't heavy. It isn't awkward or anything. It's nice; the birds chirp and kids scream and laugh. I feel good and happy. Pete opened the gate to my yard, and then took Princess's leash from around my wrist.

"Hey," he began, "I know your dad probably doesn't like me... He knows how much of a troublemaker I am... But, ya'know, I think you're cool. I like you..."

I smiled at him, "You're a nice guy. I like you too."

We both mean this in a simple, platonic way. I may have had a crush, but I would not admit it to him. He's older and more experienced and probably wouldn't think twice about me after the party.

"Thanks," he said after, "For letting me come along... For inviting me."

I shrugged, "It wasn't a big deal, Pete. I figured you needed some ice cream."

That grin pops out, his cherub face made my heart thump; "Don't tell your dad." He said quietly, "I really do think you're awesome... I want to be friends, I swear."

"We can be friends." I replied automatically, "I don't exactly have any at the moment."

Pete patted my arm, "I'll see you later, Naomi."

I wave as he looked back and headed to his yard. I got inside the house before he did, thinking about him.


My dad returned home around 6, and I had spent the evening watching TV and eating. I also tossed around the idea of sneaking out. I wish I had an idea of how to ask my dad about going out.

When he came in, he plopped on the couch beside me; "Hey, kiddo. How was your day?"

"It was boring," I say, "I walked Princess and then I came home. How was yours?"

My dad sighed, "This idiot, punk kid vandalized one of our houses; we were almost finished with the plumbing. I hate these punk kids," he looks at me, "Speaking of which; I want to talk to you about Pete."

My heart starts to race and my mind runs the earlier morning events. "Y-yeah?" I stammer like some idiot. A big, guilty idiot.

My dad doesn't seem to notice. "He's the kind of guy who puts on the charm. He's reckless and stupid," my dad stops and then stands, "Guys like him only want one thing, you know."

He heads to the kitchen, while I'm silent; he returns with a pop for me and a beer for himself. I didn't even ask for a soda, but I wanted one right then. My dad leans back, kicking his work boots off; I see his worn jeans are stained with caulk and blue paint.

"I'm not going to be like your mom and forbade you to see any boy," he gulps down some beer and then burps, while I sit and listen, wondering if I was screwed or not. "I just don't want you to mess around with Pete Wentz. He's a bad influence... I know about him; Dale and Peter would tell me about it when they'd see me."

I was quiet and then I spoke up, "Why did you agree to let me walk Princess?"

"I thought it'd be good," he explains, looking at me, and I know he's telling the truth. "I wasn't expecting Pete to be forward and talk to you. You're a beautiful..." He trails and I smirk, "You're a girl. My daughter. My beautiful, teenage daughter. I don't want Pete to use his charm and do something to you."

I smile now, because it's funny. It's funny how differently I believe Pete is. He's sweet and nice and quiet. He wasn't this deviant that my dad painted. Maybe he was, but I didn't see it yet.

Even so, we were just friends. The start of being friends.

"I'm not going to do anything with Pete Wentz, dad."

He smiled, nodding, "Good."