I plodded to the kitchen, shaking my head and smiling—Mom and Aisha, such toddlers—and poured myself some juice. Snatches of laughter and murmurs of what sounded like approval came from the door. A few minutes later, Aisha called out my name.
“Are you satisfied?” I said to them. I walked back to the door, my insides burning. I couldn’t quite meet Logan’s eye.
“Very,” Aisha said.
“It’s very impressive,” Mom added. “And Logan, remember, I have an electric drill. Okay, you kids go have fun!”
“See you Monday!” Aisha said. “Call me tonight!”
We all said a never-ending round of awkward, smiley goodbyes, and then finally Logan and I headed off.
“I am so, so sorry about my mom and Aisha,” I said as we walked toward his car.
“What are you talking about? Your mom’s awesome. And Aisha’s funny. After you,” he said, opening the passenger door for me.
I slid into the car with my cheeks tingling. No one had ever opened the car door for me. The engine turned on and music flooded the inside of the car. I turned to face Logan, my eyes wide.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No, it’s just—you like Planet Green too?”
“Yeah, they’re my favorite band. Don’t tell me you’re a fan, too?”
I nodded. “I’ve been to like, five of their concerts. I even have their T-shirts.”
Logan laughed. “You like the same band I do, you read the same books I do… Have you been stalking me?”
My cheeks burned. “I swear I haven’t.”
“I’m kidding. Ready to go?”
I met his eyes and I felt it then, the sensation you get right before you fall, the stomach-turning loss of gravity. Everything felt amplified—the leather scent of his car, the emotastic music, the olive green of his eyes. The moment seared itself into my memory; it felt so pivotal, the time I met someone who was truly my equal, someone whose heart mine could open up to. Was this what it was like to finally fall for someone? Could it happen so fast? The sky was clear and the breeze was just right and everything had worked out fine, and I might’ve been falling, falling, falling for this boy who looked like he’d walked off the cover of some fashion mag. We smiled at the same time, and I wondered if this was what it was like to feel truly happy.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
Chapter Eight
Logan
The days leading up to our date, I put together an itinerary based on everything I had learned about Delilah in the previous weeks. And I’d learned a lot.
We stopped by Lucy’s Deli, where we got subs bigger than my forearms and two bottles of locally made sodas, then I drove up to the national park. I parked at the foothill, stuffed our food into a prepared backpack, and held my hand out to her.
It seemed like a small, casual act, but anxiety prowled in the periphery, grinning with fangs, ready to pounce—please take my hand, take it, TAKE IT—shit, I was going to end up with sweaty palms.
Delilah only hesitated for a split second, smiling while biting her lip—god, she was flirting with me, she wanted me, too—and then she placed her hand in mine. The world exploded into a rainbow of bright colors and music. She was mine. I swallowed, tried to regulate my breathing. Gave her a relaxed smile and reminded myself not to squeeze her hand, to hold it casually, like any normal guy would. A normal guy, on a first date, with his dream girl.
* * *
We hiked up to Strawberry Point, and the greenery swallowed us into its irresistible magic. The air was as refreshing as river water and filled with showers of birds’ whistling. Gone was the city, the people, gone was Detective Jackson. In this moment, there was only me and Delilah in our own little fairy tale, and she’d dressed up just for me—a slightly off-the-shoulder green top that showed her collarbones, and her hair, usually straight, was in loose curls. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips were glossed up and begging to be kissed, and it was all for me. I could tell the magic had captured her too, because for a while, we walked without talking. We didn’t need to speak; it was enough to know we were together, our fingers laced through each other’s.
“This place is amazing,” she said. “You gotta tell me where we’re headed. The suspense is killing me.”
“Don’t spoil the surprise. Anyway, you wouldn’t be familiar with it, because the spot I’m taking you to only sprang up like a year ago.”
“Mkay. But I’m warning you, in case you’re up to no good, I know jujitsu.” She mimed a chop with her arms.
“Terrifying. It’s right up ahead, you dope.”
She grinned at me calling her a dope. She loved pet names; all of the pictures of her and her friends had been captioned with affectionate ones—dweeb, dork, dumbass. I knew calling her a dope would establish some sort of familiarity between us.
Her hand was rough and callused inside mine. As we walked, I memorized every line, every wrinkle of her palm. I was holding Delilah’s hand! And more than that, it wasn’t a pity handhold. Sophie used to do that, when she was in between boyfriends, when she was bored or lonely or felt my attention was wavering. She’d text me, ask me to meet at “our spot”—it was always “our” spot when she wanted me, “her” spot once she’d hooked up with the boyfriend du jour. And she’d let me hold her hand like she was the Pope and I was one of the unwashed masses who had traveled halfway around the world to touch the hem of his robes. And I didn’t mind. We never dated; even after my transformation, she still didn’t think I was good enough for her. But it was fine with me. Touching her, any part of her, lying next to her in our little copse, listening to her go on about her asshole exes, I knew every curve of her mind, the parts no one else did. “They’re table scraps, Logan!” Mom used to say to me. “That girl’s only leading you on.” And I used to rage and tell Mom she didn’t know anything, that Sophie secretly loved me, that it was only a matter of time before she realized it. Now, of course, I realized Mom was right all along. But that no longer mattered.
This—what Delilah and I had—was the opposite of scraps. This was the entrée and the dessert and everything else. I could feel her pulse next to mine, we were so in sync. She was pleased I’d kept the itinerary a secret, because no one had ever gone the extra mile to plan a surprise date for her.
A shrill peal I didn’t recognize sliced through the air, obliterating the magic. Delilah took out her phone. Her smile slipped, her expression becoming worried. She glanced up at me and widened her smile.
“Sorry, I gotta reply to this text. Hang on.” She pulled away and turned her back on me, rounding her shoulders like she didn’t want me to even catch a glimpse of the screen.
I gazed up at the trees, my hands in my pockets, trying not to appear as panicked as I felt. What is it? my mind screamed. I knew everything there was to know about Delilah, didn’t I? So why did I not have even the smallest clue about what was so obviously upsetting her? Any moment now, she was going to tell me she had to rush back, and our perfect date would be ruined, and I would—
“Okay, let’s go!” Delilah said in a voice that was determined to be cheerful.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just work. Anyway, shall we?”
I frowned. Delilah worked at the Draycott library. Why would work need her on a Saturday? I was dying to know all about it; her work was the only thing I hadn’t been able to look into, but Delilah was already walking.
It didn’t take long for the allure of the great outdoors to soothe Delilah back into a good mood. The farther we went, the smoother her forehead became.
“Hey, so what sort of work do you do at the library?” I said after some time. “Is it mostly shelving books, or…”
Delilah laughed. “No! God, people always think working at the library is all about moving books around on shelves, but there’s so much more than that. I do a lot of cataloging, actually. And Lisa likes to
teach me to ‘hustle,’” she laughed again when she said the word hustle. “So she gets me to call all these suppliers and pit them against one another to get the lowest possible price for the goods.”
“Do you often have to work on weekends?”
I’d thought I was being really subtle, asking her about the call, but Delilah glanced at me and her eyebrows scrunched up a little.
“Not really,” she said, after a moment. “Lisa was texting because she couldn’t find one of our old order forms. It’s really not a thing—we’ll figure it out on Monday.” Then we reached the clearing, and Delilah gasped. She hurried ahead of me. “Oh my god!”
I jogged to catch up with her. Her joy was so contagious. We were at Monkey See Monkey Do, an obstacle course built high in the treetops. In other words, Delilah’s version of Disneyland. Even from outside the boundaries, we could see various zip lines and wood bridges crisscrossing the tall pines. Shouts and hoots filled the air, infecting us with energy. Delilah’s face was that of a kid given an all-access pass to a real-life gingerbread house. I’d known she would love it ever since I saw those pictures of her with her dad, climbing trees and going on massive hikes. She reached for her wallet.
“Don’t bother, I’ve bought us discount tickets online,” I said.
“Discount tickets!” she said. “My two favorite words.”
“In that case, they were fifty percent off,” I whispered, taking a step toward her.
Delilah fanned her face. “God, there is nothing sexier than hearing the words fifty percent off.” She laughed then, as though realizing how close we were standing to each other—close enough that I could see each individual eyelash—and her cheeks bloomed with red, her gaze skittering awkwardly from mine. She turned around and walked ahead without looking back.
I’d miscalculated there, gotten too close too soon. I’d known better, I’d promised myself to let her take the lead, and yet…fucking hormones, I swear. God, how could I have been this thoughtless? It had taken months to get to this point, to create the perfect date, and here I was letting my teenage-boy hormones get the better of me.
The awkwardness lingered as we strapped on our helmets and other safety gear, and I fought the increasingly violent tangle of snakes in my belly. Had I ruined the day completely? I’d been so taken in by Delilah’s old pictures, swallowed by the flashes of the old Delilah, that I forgot the past two years of her life. She’d just survived an extremely abusive situation with a man twice her size. The last thing she needed was some guy coming on too strong. God, I might as well call the whole thing off. I might as well crawl into a hole and die. I—
“Hey, why so serious?”
I looked up to see Delilah waggling her eyebrows at me.
“You scared of heights? You chicken?” She put the backs of her hands on her hips and clucked at me.
The snakes in my belly evaporated and were replaced once more by feathers. I could cry, I was so relieved. I hadn’t ruined everything after all. A grin melted across my face. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”
“Okay… Ten bucks says I beat you to the end of the course.”
“Ten? Make it twenty,” I said.
“Done.”
“Shake on it?” I asked, and as she came close to shake my hand, I tugged on her hand and swung her behind me before running toward the first obstacle, hooting as I went.
Behind me came a laugh and a cry of “hey, no fair!”
The next hour or so was a tangle of laughter and gasps for breath as we raced each other through dizzying heights, our feet scampering across narrow rope bridges, the ground exhilaratingly far away beneath us. We screamed like toddlers high on Halloween candy as we grabbed hold of ropes and took stomach-turning jumps, the sense of free fall taking our breath away, Delilah’s hair streaming behind her as she flew past me. My senses whirled; I caught Delilah’s scent here and there, bewitching among the dense redwood smell that hung heavy in the air. I was finally getting to experience the real Delilah. Not Scared, Beaten-Down Delilah, not Angry Delilah, but the true Delilah, the beautiful, fearless core of her.
We went so fast that there was no room for fear, no time for doubts or second-guessing. The adventure park workers reminded us time and again to slow down, to take our time enjoying each course, to “take it all in, man,” but Delilah was like a gazelle that had finally been uncaged, and all I could do was follow her lead. She beat me by a good ten seconds and punched the air with a whoop.
“I let you win,” I gasped.
Delilah laughed. “Okay, old man.”
We both collapsed under a tree and stayed there for a while, watching people as they went past the finish line, our breath slowly coming down from its breakneck speed. I wanted to sit closer, to feel her heartbeat slowing down to match mine, but I stopped myself just in time. Slow and safe, I reminded myself.
“That was amazing,” she said.
I shook myself from the tendrils of anxiety and grinned at her. “I know, I’m pretty impressive like that.”
She snorted. “You mean the part where you almost fell off the bridge or the part where you nearly missed the net and almost crashed into the tree?”
“Oh, okay, Miss Forgot-to-lock-the-safety-catch-and-almost-fell-to-your-death.”
We mock-glared at each other for a few moments before Delilah laughed. “I think this just goes to show we’re both dumbasses who would put our lives in danger to win twenty bucks.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I stood up and offered her my hand. “Ready for lunch?”
“Oh, man, yes please.”
We grabbed our things and found a clearing right next to the river that was dotted with wooden tables and benches. I sat across from Delilah and took our sandwiches out of my backpack.
“One turkey and ham for me, and a mortadella, prosciutto, and turkey for the lady.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to eat one of these things and still be considered a lady,” said Delilah. She took a big bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes. “Oh, mm. Ee eeh oh ood.”
“Lucky for you, I speak Sandwich. ‘Oh, man. This is so good’?” I guessed.
Delilah’s cheeks rose in a smile, and she nodded. It took an effort for her to swallow the giant mouthful, and she was left with hiccups.
“I guess you’re hungry,” I said.
Delilah took her time sipping her soda before replying. “I am, yeah. But it’s not just that. When Brandon was around… Well, he had this thing about how women should behave. He’d tell me and my mom off if he felt we laughed too loud or ate too fast or took too big a mouthful of food or whatever other bullshit he thought women shouldn’t do. Ever since he died, I can’t seem to stop myself from taking the biggest possible bites when I eat.”
“Sounds like he didn’t want to be reminded that you all are people too.”
Delilah’s eyes met mine, her eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. “Yeah. That’s exactly it. He only wanted to acknowledge one facet of us. Mom was his girlfriend, I was his girlfriend’s daughter, and that was it. He didn’t like all the other parts of us. The fact that Mom had a job that paid more than his did, that she was her own person… He hated that.” Delilah took another sip of soda, her expression unreadable. She was off in a small, dark world for now. “He tried to make her quit her job.” Her hands tightened around the bottle.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And I meant it, although mostly I was sorry that I didn’t get a chance to wrap my hands around Detective Jackson’s thick neck and feel those tendons snap under my fingers.
“Well, he’s gone now,” Delilah said, and her voice came out in a half growl that made the back of my neck prickle. She chewed her lip. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, I know what you mean.” And I really did know. If only I could tell her how much I knew, how much I und
erstood, how much I admired her for—
“What about you? I know like, next to nothing.”
“My name is Logan, I’m five foot eleven, I’m a Sagittarius, my hobbies include watching movies—”
“And long walks on the beach?” Delilah laughed. “Okay, let’s try this again. What do you usually do after school?”
I shrugged. “Mostly lacrosse, to be honest. I’m predictable like that.”
“How long have you been playing?”
Ever since Sophie said she had a thing for lacrosse guys. “Ever since I was a freshman.”
I’d never allowed myself to talk to anyone about Sophie—well, aside from Mom, but that was more of a one-way conversation. But this was Delilah. If we were going to truly connect, I had to be honest with her. To a certain extent, anyway. “I was really into one this girl, and she mentioned having a thing for guys who play lacrosse, so…”
“Aww! You started playing to impress a girl? That is so adorable.” She grinned at me from behind her ridiculously huge sandwich.
“Shut up,” I groused, but I couldn’t help returning her smile. “Anyway, nothing ever came out of my crush”—a flash of Sophie, dead—“but I discovered I actually did like lacrosse, so that was that.”
“What else do you do when you have free time?”
“Hang out with the guys. We do all sorts of stuff.”
“Really? It’s not all about competing with each other to see who can sleep with the most girls?” Her voice was still casual, but her eyes never left my face. Look who’s doing a little research of her own. She was curious about me, about my personal life. She was so into me. I knew it. I wanted to take her hand and tell her that none of it—not the guys, nor lacrosse, none of that shit—compared to her.
I gave her a solemn look. “You’ve been watching way too many movies about high school boys. We’re really not like that. Well, not all of us are. Actually, my friend Matt has been with his girlfriend since freshman year.”
“Oh, yeah—Moni. I like her.”
“She’s cool. We’ll have to hang out.”
The Obsession Page 8