Collateral Damage

by Katie Klein

  "And I don't think Mr. Perfect would appreciate the rumors about your late-night escapades on the third floor," I tease.

  She glares at me, fully awake and frowning. "Which is why it doesn't leave this room."

  "He's not going to find out from me, so don't worry," I promise. I trace an X on my chest.

  Cross my heart. Hope to die.

  She smiles, stands, pulling the comforter with her. "It's been fun."

  "We should do it again sometime," I suggest.

  She eases closer, so close I'm almost standing on top of her. She tips her head, finds my eyes, and stares straight into them. Straight into me. The light from the window falls across her face, highlighting every perfect feature. Her cheeks, the slope of her nose, and God—those eyes. She chews on her bottom lip, and something jams my throat. I feel this pull, this urge, this inexplicable desire, everything inside demanding I move closer. That I lower my head. That I kiss this girl—that I live this fantasy—just once.

  "I'll see you tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess," I clarify, voice barely above a whisper.

  Inside I'm screaming—my body on fire. Because I would give anything to touch those lips. I don't even believe in signs, but I'm desperate for one. Something. Anything to let me know what she's thinking—what she's feeling. Because if she's feeling half of what I'm feeling at this moment....

  "Okay," she murmurs.

  I work to hide my disappointment, backing away, moving toward the window. I raise the sash, and an arctic draft rushes the room. I grab my boots and climb outside. But I turn to face her one last time before I go. And, when she smiles at me, I know I'll see that smile the whole ride home. It'll be the last thing I think about when I fall onto the couch and close my eyes.

  It'll be the first thing I remember when I wake up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I miss my morning workout. I hit the snooze button on the alarm clock repeatedly, every ten minutes, until I'm out of time. I roll off the couch and stand. My body aches. My eyes ache. My head aches. I stretch my arms to the ceiling, yawn.

  Everything about the night before comes flooding back, and at first it's like a dream. Like it happened both a million hours and five seconds ago, and, if I don't remember everything, right then, it will all disappear.

  Part of me can't believe what I did—what we did—Jaden and I. I can't believe I suggested it. That she agreed. That we got away with it. But I don't regret it. I don't regret it the same way I didn't regret asking her to climb on my bike with me.

  I don't regret her.

  I do regret not taking that final moment we had together.

  I should've kissed her.

  I check the time on the microwave. I'm already running late.

  I hurry through a shower, pull on my jeans from the day before and grab a clean t-shirt from the stack on the chair.

  The drive to Bedford takes longer than I want—every stop sign, every stoplight conspiring to keep me away from her.

  There's no time for breakfast.

  The parking lot is nearly full by the time I arrive. My usual spot is taken, so I park at the far end of the very last row. I pass Jade's car on my way in. When I see it I think of that night, sitting with her, alone in the dark. My chest burns at the memory, and the need to find her—to see her, to hear her voice—consumes me. I need to know that what happened last night was real. That she was there.

  I need to know if she would've kissed me back.

  I find her standing by her locker, my eyes drawn to her despite the horde of bodies weaving up and down the hallway. I make my way toward her, pushing through the crowd, squeezing past the masses congregating before the bell.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  She's studying her phone, typing a text message. I ease next to her just as she yawns.

  "Good morning, Sunshine." I bend my head low, whispering the words directly to her ear. She shifts, and I catch flowers. Like her pillow. Like last night. It leaves me reeling, my head spinning from a natural high—the best kind of high.

  She closes her phone and faces me. Traces of insomnia linger. Her eyes are glassy, tired, the skin beneath her lashes a faint purple.

  "No thanks to you," she replies. And for a second I can't quite read her expression. The tone of her voice. I begin to imagine she's sorry for everything that happened—that she wishes she never let me climb through that third floor window. "When I finally got to bed," she continues, removing a book from her locker, "it was like, three-thirty in the morning. My alarm goes off at six-thirty. That means if I fell asleep right away, I'm running on three hours of sleep. And I'm gonna be honest with you. I didn't fall asleep right away."

  The words send a shiver skittering up my spine.

  She didn't fall asleep right away.

  She was there.

  I lean against the locker beside hers, adjust my backpack, run fingers through my hair. I glance around us to make sure no one is eavesdropping, but everyone is distracted, fully absorbed in their own little worlds. We might as well be the only two people in the hallway. The only two people on this planet. "Yeah, well, you didn't have a ten-minute walk or a twenty-minute drive home. I'm running on two hours. If I fell asleep right away."

  "We should've just stayed up," she says.

  I smile at the idea. "Scandalous."

  She throws her bag over her shoulder and skims the crowd, and for the first time I wonder where Hanson is. Why he's not here. If we're safe. But Jaden doesn't seem concerned. "I feel sorry for everyone around me, because by lunchtime...it's over. I'm going to be a total beyotch."

  I laugh. Jaden? A bitch? "I doubt that."

  "Don't," she replies, voice serious.

  No. The words Jaden and bitch don't even belong in the same sentence. "There's no way Jaden McEntyre gets bitchy in public," I say, shaking my head. "That's just not happening."

  "Believe it, because it happens."

  "Not in public. You might go home and yell into your pillow or freak out in the mirror, but you don't lose your cool in front of people, even if you have come dangerously close."

  Her eyes roll dramatically. "I hate how you think you know me," she mutters, swiping her fingers across the Harvard crest before shutting her locker door.

  "Yeah, well, give me fair warning if you really plan to go postal on someone today, because I'd pay to see it."

  "If you're lucky you'll be on the receiving end. Oh, that reminds me. Here, take this."

  She holds out her purse. A tiny black thing. With fringe. And this moment—me standing next to her in this hallway, us talking to each other—becomes a little more surreal. Jaden, holding out her purse, confident, asking me to take it like we've done this very thing a million times before, on a hundred mornings exactly like this one.

  "It's just for a second," she assures me.

  I take it from her, hesitant. She slides her backpack off her shoulder and unzips it, then removes a brown paper bag. She trades the bag for the purse. Just a second—just like she promised.

  "What's this?" I ask, opening it, peering inside.

  "Lunch."

  "So we're beyond the soda and potato chips?" I ask.

  "Sun Chips—there's a difference—and yeah, I packed you everything I packed for me."

  "I can't believe you're bringing my lunch now."

  "Would you rather eat pork rinds and beanie weenies? God, Parker, it's no wonder you don't bring any food to school. And I'm sorry, but I'm officially foregoing the sodas. First, because they're bad for you, and second, Phillip was pissed the other night because they keep disappearing. But, more importantly, they're bad for you."

  "First, I didn't tell you about the pork rinds so you'd feel sorry for me. And second...you were right. You really are kind of bitchy."

  She rubs her eyes, exhales an exhausted sigh. "I told you if you weren't careful.... I swear...sleep deprivation brings out the worst in me."

  "You know," I say, examining the contents of the bag, "It's okay. Be
cause ham and cheese is my absolute favorite...and an apple? It's like, the lunch of champions."

  "It doesn't get much better than that, right?"

  "Only if you were eating with me." The words escape my mouth, pass my lips, before I even realize what I'm saying.

  Did I just ask her to eat lunch with me?

  She giggles, but it's nervous, unsure. "I'd love to, except I got so much flack last time. If I do it again I'll be forced into some kind of intervention. Why don't you eat with me?" Her fingertips brush the sleeve of my jacket, sending a chill rippling up my arm. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Savannah and Ashley. They're so great."

  The warning bell rings. She jumps, startled, jerks her hand away. We head down the hall, walking in step.

  "I doubt that would go over very well," I say.

  "You mean Blake."

  "I don't think he'd appreciate my being there very much."

  She considers this. "Probably not."

  "But if you change your mind you know where to find me."

  We continue walking in silence, hallway chatter filling the space between us, and as we make our way through the crowd I realize: we have successfully managed to draw these people out of their little circles. They're watching us now. Whispering.

  Jaden McEntyre and Parker Whalen?

  It's like, Beauty and the Beast.

  Christine and the Phantom.

  Esmerelda and Quasimodo.

  Catherine and Heathcliff.

  Mattie Silver and Ethan Frome.

  If Jaden notices, she doesn't let on, doesn't let it bother her. "So," she says, stopping outside Ms. Tugwell's classroom, "how long do you think it'll take for us to fall asleep in this class?"

  "Depends on how warm the room is," I reply, reaching for the doorknob. "Let's at least try to stay awake long enough for her to take attendance." I pull the door open and let Jaden walk through. "She wants us to be present. She never said anything about being coherent."

  * * *

  As much as I want her to, Jaden doesn't join me for lunch. As hard as I watch that cafeteria door, she never pushes her way outside. Not that I expected it. So I sit at my usual picnic table, eating the lunch she made for me, making zero progress on my Biology reading.

  Because I can't stop thinking about her—her smile, her eyes, how she sometimes chews on the ends of her hair when she thinks no one is watching—this girl who is supposed to be my English partner who somehow, in the last few weeks, has become something more.

  Something important.

  Something too important to ignore.

  Too important to let go.

  And then I think of Callie, and guilt rots my stomach. Callie, who's loved me for the past four years. Callie, who's stuck by me. Callie, who's planning to marry me so we can spend the rest of our lives together.

  Everything happened so fast.

  What if she didn't find that ring? What if I would've spoken up? What if I would've told her it was a mistake?

  What if Jaden wasn't in high school? What if everything we were doing wasn't wrong at all?

  I shut my science book, unable to concentrate—to focus on the words.

  This isn't normal. It's not me.

  I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm lying to every single person in my life. I'm engaged to one girl and sneaking around with another. I don't know this person—this me I've become. I don't know who I am anymore—only that I like who I am when I'm with her, and I like who she is when she's with me.

  * * *

  I'm not looking for her.

  I head down the hall, shouldering my way through the crowd, not looking for her.

  She isn't at her locker, anyway. She's probably in the lobby, sitting at her table, already on to the next cause. A penny drive for cancer research? Coupon books to help build a church in the Congo? Confirming this, however, is out of the question. I can't turn back now. I can't go searching for her. So I press on, heading toward the exit.

  "Parker!"

  At first I think I imagined hearing my name shouted above the conversations, the sound of locker doors banging shut. Aside from Jaden, there isn't a soul at this school who'd try to flag me down mid-hallway.

  But when I hear it again, I stop, and I turn, and I wait for Brandon Garrels to catch up to me. "Hey, man," he says, breathless. "I was wondering if you had a chance to talk to Vince about me, yet." He keeps his voice low, glancing furtively around us for potential eavesdroppers.

  "I haven't," I confess. "It hasn't come up. You know Vince. Timing has to be right."

  He nods, understanding, and it dawns on me: Brandon knows. He can name names. Point fingers. He knows who's "in" with Vince De Luca. I need Brandon.

  "You partying this weekend?" I ask.

  "Planning on it."

  "Cool. Maybe I'll see you around."

  I hold my hand out, he slaps it, and we bump fists. "Absolutely."

  I push through the double doors and into the afternoon. And as soon as I step onto that sidewalk, I know something's changed. Something's different. The entire world is bright. Glowing. I glance at the sky, squinting back the sun.

  The sun.

  It's out. It's burning off clouds, warming the air.

  And my first thought, when I see this, is of Jaden. I search for her. Every face, every brown ponytail with a bag slung over its shoulder. I want to find her. I want to grab her by the wrist and pull her out here so she can see this, too. I want to see the smile on her face when she looks up at the sky and realizes winter's over. That the sun—it still exists.

  My next thought?

  I have to talk to Callie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "I'm not sure how I feel about playing paintball with first responders with hours of gun instruction," Erik says.

  "Relax," I reply, adjusting my facemask. "You're playing on my team, and I don't lose."

  Rusch, my partner before I was assigned Bedford, smiles. "Mighty big words, Whalen."

  "Right? We haven't exactly seen you on this field lately," adds Amy, another member of our unit. She's sporting camouflage pants and a Columbia jacket, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Very bad-ass. "Don't forget that while you've been undercover, we've been training."

  "You're implying I've gone soft."

  "We're about to find out, aren't we?"

  We finish putting on our safety gear and split off into teams. "Hey, she's pretty feisty," Erik says, trailing me onto the paintball field, eyes fixed on Amy. "Think she'd say yes if I asked her out?"

  "Not a chance."

  "I could try," he says.

  "You can do whatever you want. You asked me if I thought she'd say yes."

  "You underestimate me."

  "You underestimate her."

  We gather in the middle of the field, our two teams of six differentiated by colored armbands.

  "All right, players!" the referee calls. "This is a simple game of Capture the Flag. Know your teammates. Know your colors. You will guard the flag at your home base while trying to steal the other team's flag. When you're hit, you're out. Lift your hands, raise your gun, and make your way off the field. If you're hit while carrying the flag, you must drop it where you stand. First team to steal the opponent's flag and carry it safely to their home base wins. Safety first! Never remove your masks while in play. If you're in close range and a member of the opposing team surrenders, do not shoot him. Do not shoot people leaving the field. Do not shoot the referees. Do not blind fire. Do not overshoot. Are we clear?"

  We agree and head to our designated sides to strategize. Erik and I will guard the flag; everyone else will play the field.

  When the whistle blows, Erik and I run past inflatables and barricades to where our flag hangs on a pole. We position ourselves behind a low wooden wall in front of it.

  "Man, I forgot how intense this game was," Erik says, breaths heavy. "When was the last time we played this together?"

  "I don't know. High school?"

  "That's
right. Remember when we brought Callie and Jess out here?"

  I watch the field, listening for action at the other end. "I remember Jess."

  "The one that got away," he says, voice collapsing.

  "I thought you broke up with her."

  He thinks about this for a second. "Oh, yeah. You're right."

  I force my eyes not to roll.

  "Speaking of Callie, how's the wedding planning? You told her I'm in charge of the bachelor party, right? What did she say?"

  "No. But I told her you're Best Man. I didn't want to spring too much good news on her at once."

  A series of shouts and commands erupts mid-arena, and the whistle blows. Someone's out. I grip my paintball gun tighter, keeping my eyes peeled. If we lose our teammates on field, it's up to Erik or me to go after that flag.

  "Speaking of weddings...." I continue, convinced we're still secure. "What are your thoughts in general?"

  "I have no thoughts about weddings, dude. Seriously."

  Of course he doesn't. "Okay, well, do you think I'm too young to get married?"

  "Yes," he replies, not hesitating.

  I blink back my surprise. "Wow. Thanks for the honesty. My parents got married when they were my age, you know."

  "That was also a billion years ago."

  "Okay. Hypothetically speaking.... What would you say if I told you I was thinking about calling it off?"

  "I'd say 'good. I'm finally rubbing off on you.'"

  This is not the direction I expected this conversation to take. "What if...." I trail off, running my hand across my jaw line. "What if I'm not hypothetically speaking?"

  His forehead crinkles, brows pulling together. "Wait. What? As in—you're really thinking about calling it off?"

  "I don't know. Maybe," I confess.

  "Why?"

  "Because...I don't know. I don't think I'm ready."

  "Of course you're not ready. What warm-blooded, fully functioning male is ever ready to settle down with one woman?"

  "That's not what I'm saying. I think...I don't know. I don't know if I want to get married."

  "Ever?"

  "To Callie."

  He glares at me from behind his mask, mouth gaping. "Shit, Chris. Are you fucking kidding me? You guys have been together forever!"