Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

Gosh. I miss him.

  Scott didn’t make the waiting any easier.

  I got my old summer job at the library back. They even let me help with the kids’ program this year. The kids aren’t afraid of me anymore. They like me. I ran a toddler story time, and they crawled all over me. The moms just stood there, happy to have their kids pulling someone else’s hair out for a few minutes. I loved it. Every second.

  I hated those moms. How they took what they had for granted. How they had what I could never have.

  My mom made me see the genetic counselor. He talked about sterilization options, the pill, and gave me a discreet plastic case full of condoms. He mapped out the genetic odds for me.

  I wadded up the paper and threw it in my purse with the condoms. “What if I just took a chance?”

  He was aghast that I’d even consider it. “You’re too young to take any chances.”

  “But, someday.” I looked down at the gleaming tile floor. “I think I want a baby.”

  “Adoption is your best option.”

  But I want a baby with Derek’s hair and Derek’s eyes. Derek’s voice. Can I adopt that?

  On the tail of that pleasant interview, Scott started stopping by the library—every day. Sometimes twice. I thought he’d be weird and hurt. He kind of was at first, but then he was just good old Scott, my friend, but not. I think he grew two more inches before the end of summer. Talk about a late bloomer. He kept asking me out. I almost kissed him again—twice. I came close to giving up and going to the beach with him.

  He never brought up Derek. I did—every time I turned him down.

  “I have a boyfriend. His name is Derek. Why do you keep doing this?”

  He’d move in close, drop his voice all sexy like it was on my front porch and whisper, “I haven’t seen him around. Are you sure he remembers you’re his girlfriend?”

  “How do you know he hasn’t been around?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “You’re stalking me?”

  “You wish.”

  He’s so annoying. He knows he’s hot now. He knows I think he’s hot now, and he won’t let me forget it. I’ve got to get Mom to quit telling him the pathetic details of my lonesome existence every time she goes grocery shopping.

  It’s going to change, Mr.-Scott-nosey-pants-won’t-leave-a-girl-alone. Derek’s coming home. Friday. This week will go fast. School will keep me busy and my mind from wandering to Scott’s muscular, available shoulders and the tender way he stares at me.

  Bliss practice starts again Thursday. Today’s Tuesday. It’s almost Friday already.

  “Hey.” Scott stops at the locker next to mine and opens it.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “The polite reply would be ‘Hello,’ ‘Good morning,’ or even a simple ‘Hey back.’”

  “How’d you manage that?” I close my locker and lean against it. Great. Now he’s got stubbly blond beard all over his face, and it’s way sexy.

  He pushes his overgrown sun-bleached blond bangs off his forehead. “The Prince Charming lessons are paying off.” He opens his new locker. “The office ladies were putty in my hands. I told them all about you and me—how we hung out in grade school, how we always had each other’s back, how our friendship was flowering into something more.” He grins at me with all his straight, white teeth.

  “You little liar.”

  “One lady was almost in tears.” He chucks his backpack into the locker.

  “He’s coming back this week.”

  Scott shrugs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “When this jerk breaks your heart, I’ll be here. Right next door. All year long.”

  I stand up straight. “He’s not like that. He’s so different.”

  “I’m different, Beth. I wasn’t lying in the office. You want me as much as I want you. I can tell.” He moves close—into my space. “You’re the liar.” He touches my hair.

  “Okay.” I draw back. “I admit it. You’re really appealing—I’d be a stone not to notice.”

  “It’s more than that.” He moves in on me again, puts a hand on my waist.

  I close my eyes and whisper, “I know.”

  “You admit that, too?”

  “Of course, but—” I open my eyes.

  He puts his warm fingers on my lips. “Leave the buts out—for once just shut up.” He’s so much taller now—can reach my lips with his if he wants to without me stooping. He smells good. Like he did prom night. I want him to kiss me. I’m dying to kiss him back. Right here in the hall with the 8:35 warning bell about to ring.

  Derek. Friday. Derek. Friday.

  But Scott—

  My cell phone rings.

  I pull back, away from Scott’s lips.

  “Don’t answer it, Bethie.” The way he looks at me—stripped, vulnerable, alone—tells me exactly how much my relationship with Derek hurts him. “Bethie, please.”

  I flip open my phone. “It’s just my mom,” I lie.

  Scott touches my face. “See you in choir.” He leaves me to my phone call.

  I put the cell to my ear. “Are you sure you can’t come home today? I need you.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  “Serious. Mum has an Amabile board meeting she forgot about. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  Now I’m mega-jumpy. I keep feeling my cell vibrate, but when I slip it out, it’s not going off. I check the battery life a hundred times. I barely notice Scott in choir.

  He can tell I’m jazzed. “What’s up?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing.” It’s easier to lie to him. It’s really none of his business.

  I’m packing my backpack at my locker, head down, avoiding Scott, when my cell goes off for real.

  “I’m here.”

  “Cool. I’ll take off as soon as I can. Email me directions, okay?” I’m down the hall, pushing out the front door. Shoot, it’s pouring out.

  “I don’t think you’ll need them. I’m pretty easy to find.”

  “Just do it. Don’t mess with me.”

  “Whatever you say. Hey—how do you get your hair to do that?”

  “My hair?”

  “It’s hot—wavy like that.”

  I look up and squeal like a cheerleader hugging the QB after a touchdown.

  Derek sits in front of the school steps on a sleek black motorcycle with two helmets dangling from the handlebars. Dang. He looks good in leather.

  I fly at him—almost knock him off the bike. I don’t care if it’s raining and I’m getting soaked. My lips are all over him. He doesn’t even have a chance to say hello. I hear a cell phone clatter, don’t know or care if it’s mine or his. Nothing matters—as long as he’s here. Solid. Real. Kissing me.

  Then there’s a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me.” Scott? How can he do this? “You’re making a scene. PDA on school property.” He’s standing under one of the school’s giant blue and yellow umbrellas.

  I bury my face in Derek’s black leather jacket.

  Derek chuckles. “Hello.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Derek.”

  “Scott.” They actually shake hands. “Do you have a minute?”

  Derek looks down at me. I shake my head. “It’s raining.” Scott hands me his umbrella.

  “Come on, Beth. Scott’s a friend.” Derek gets off the bike and walks a few feet away with Scott. They turn their backs to me.

  When they come back, they are both drenched. Derek’s smiling.

  Scott’s not. “Bye, Beth. See you tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry about that. What did he want?”

  “He told me if anything happens to you, he’d kill me.”

  “Scott couldn’t kill anything.”

  “Just me. He doesn’t like my bike. Called it a death trap. If he only knew—”

  I glance down, examine his bike. It bristles with chrome and a major engine. “If an
ything happens to you on this thing, I’ll beat Scott to it. Where did this come from?”

  “I needed a way to get over here—often.”

  “I have a car.” I point out Jeannette, glistening in the rain at the back of the parking lot.

  He pulls a face. “You don’t expect me to ride around in that? Come on—hop on.” He hands me a helmet. “I’ll take you home.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “We’re already wet.”

  “What about my car?”

  “It’ll still be here tomorrow when I drop you off.”

  “You’re staying”—I swallow hard—“the night?”

  “If your mum will let me sleep on the sofa.”

  I punch his shoulder. “Don’t do that to me. Feel my heart.” I put his hand on my sternum, so he can feel how he makes it race.

  He slides his hand up my neck, caresses my cheek with his thumb. “Don’t do that to me.”

  I unzip his jacket and press my ear to his chest. His heart matches mine—beat for beat.

  He takes the helmet from me, slides it slowly onto my head, does up the chinstrap, kisses my nose, then kicks his bike to life.

  I climb on the back, slide close so my legs are hugging him, wrap my arms tight around his waist, bury my face in the wet sweatshirt hood sticking out the top of his jacket. “So far, so good,” I holler over the engine.

  He laughs. “Hang on.”

  We tear out of the parking lot.

  “Slow down. There’s kids.”

  He obeys—senses something by the way my voice catches, even manages to touch my hand without losing control of the bike.

  I lay my cheek against his shoulder blade and think about him and me and kids all the way home. “Left here. Now right. Okay. You can let it out. This is an open stretch.”

  He gives it gas, and we’re flying. I see the appeal. Huge rush. Loads of adrenaline. He thinks he’s going to ride this thing all winter? Maybe I need to get a better car. Poor Jeanette. I wonder what I can trade her for.

  When we get to my house, I don’t want to get off the bike, can’t let him go. He twists around and kisses me—our helmets clashing together.

  He is real. I didn’t make him up. No ghost. No phantom. Just this endangered boy I’m learning to love. He unlatches my helmet’s strap, slowly pulls it off my head. Dumps his, too. Puts the kickstand down on the bike—I think. I don’t know. I’m too lost in his hands smoothing back my wet hair, his breath on my temple. His mouth closing in on mine again.

  I pull away for a second. “I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything if you’ll kiss me again.”

  “You aren’t riding this in the snow.”

  His grin says everything. “Shoot, Beth. That’s what makes it fun.”

  chapter 20

  MY GUY

  We make out on the back of Derek’s bike in the pouring rain until my mom pulls up in the driveway.

  Derek is so cute with her. “Hi, Mrs. Evans, I’m Derek.” He shakes her hand and unloads all the groceries out of the trunk, helps her put them away while I change and dry my hair. I throw down an old pair of Levi’s and a dry hoodie for Derek.

  “Beth, honey,” Mom calls up to me. “Bring that pillow from your closet and some sheets and a blanket when you come down. I’ll make up the pullout in the den for Derek. I don’t want him riding all that way tonight in this weather.”

  I am so tempted to call down and tell her not to bother, that he’s going to sleep in my room, but she knows me. Knows my room is trashed—knows how squeaky that old den sofa bed is. Gosh, do I know her? How did she get so devious?

  If Derek wasn’t determined to keep me a nice girl, I’d rise to her sneaky challenge. Maybe even clean up my room. Next time he comes over, I will. Just to flip her out. Just in—I don’t know. Better not go there. I’m still at—Your lips on mine promise what I don’t dare.

  He cooks dinner with Mom while I do my homework.

  I can never get her to cook.

  Mom’s got work to do. She leaves Derek and me alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes. I clear the table while he loads the dishwasher.

  “You made a good impression.” I put our three dirty plates on the counter so he can scrape them down the disposal. I turn to slide a platter of oven-roasted potato wedges into a Ziploc.

  Derek moves up behind me. His arms go around my waist. “I always do.”

  I drop the bag of potatoes on the counter and twist to face him. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I close my eyes—can’t breathe. He kisses my eyelids. Each one, lightly. I will my lips to be patient. His mouth moves to my left temple, my cheek, now it’s on my neck. I bruise easy. I should warn him, but I want to wake up in the morning to find his lip prints on me. I wrap my arms around his head, don’t let him off my neck. He sucks harder and harder, moves his mouth, and does it again.

  Then I can’t stand it. I bend my knees and get his lips. I’m so hungry. Starving. No matter how much I ply his mouth with mine, I want more and more. I get my mouth on his neck like in Lausanne. “You been working out?” He looks leaner than he did in Switzerland. “You taste sweaty.” I find a fresh place on his neck to chew.

  “Do you like the way I taste?” There’s a deadly serious note in his voice that wasn’t there before.

  I stop biting him, caress the spot on his neck that’s already turning pink. “Yeah.”

  “My sweat’s kind of salty.”

  “What causes that?”

  He pulls me close. “Don’t stop, Beth. I didn’t want you to stop.”

  I hold his eyes for a moment. We’re both trembling by the time I slowly bend my head and place my lips lightly on his neck. I run my tongue along his skin. I love the way he tastes. Salty-sweet mystery boy. I lick his jaw, suck on his chin, chew on his ear.

  I want to be the first to say it face-to-face. “I love you.”

  He picks me up and sets me on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist.

  “You’re crazy, Beth. You shouldn’t love me.”

  “That’s not what I expected to hear.”

  “I love you. A thousand times I love you, but you shouldn’t love me. Love Scott.”

  I feel like he slapped me. I let go of him, slide off the counter, turn around, and hide behind my hair. “Is that what you came to tell me?” My eyes are burning. “That you want to call it quits? You’re dumping me?”

  “No—don’t be dense—no. I want you to dump me. You could be happy with him. I’m—”

  “Who I want. You did this to me. Made me feel this. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I thought you had a plan. I was hoping for something more substantial than a motorcycle.”

  “How about we run away together on the back of it.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Plan A.”

  “Okay. Let’s go. As soon as my mom hits the hay. I’ve got about $5K saved for college. How far will that get us?”

  “We could go to Nova Scotia and learn to fish. Have a bunch of kids and raise them up to the trade.”

  I crumble inside when he says that about the kids, hunch over with my hands pressing hard against my gut.

  “Oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean it.”

  “I’m such a beast.”

  He guides me to the table and into a chair. I lay my face on the table. He squats down and strokes my head. “No you’re not. I’m the beast. I really do have a plan. I’m working out the details. It’s coming together. I should know by Friday.”

  “Maybe we should discuss it. How come you’re doing all the planning?”

  “We’ll talk about it when I come back on Friday. You’re going to love it.”

  I sit up. He takes a cup out of the cupboard and nukes me up some chamomile tea. I watch him clean up the rest of the kitchen, polish the sink and counters, sweep the floor. He hands me the tea. I take a sip and add more honey. “
I have a plan.”

  He dumps the dustpan in the garbage and turns around.

  “Why don’t you move into the den, permanently? You can visit your parents on holidays and every other weekend.”

  He sits across from me and weaves his fingers through mine to stop how I’m drumming the table. He gives me a cautious grin. “You wouldn’t stay a nice girl very long if I did that.”

  I snort. “Oh, I’m prepared now. I had to go to the doctor because of that test. They wanted to laser me, but I settled for a box of condoms.”

  “Beth, don’t—”

  “I need to talk to somebody. Please. I’m going to go nuts. I can’t talk to Mom. It reminds her of my father—and that’s so painful. She feels guilty, like she should have known better. Chosen a guy with better genes for my sake.”

  He strokes my cheek with his free hand. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way.” I look up at him. “I’m supposed to see a counselor in a couple weeks. It’ll take me months to get over that doctor’s appointment.”

  He frowns and stares down at the table. “Doctors can be idiots. They aren’t all like that. It sounds like you need a new one. Find someone you’re comfortable with.” He looks back up at me. “Someone you trust. You don’t want a lot of bull and false hopes, but you don’t need a bully, either.”

  “You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’m never going near that man again.”

  “But find a counselor.” He squeezes my hand. “A good one.”

  “How do you know so much?” I sip my tea.

  “I’ve been around doctors a lot, used to want to be one until—”

  “You started to compose.”

  He stares past me at the two of us mirrored in the dark kitchen window. “I’d really love to be a researcher. The guy who finds cures.”

  “Do it, Derek. Cure me.”

  His eyes return to mine. “Don’t give up, Beth. They are working on unbelievable stuff. Especially with genetics. You’ll have as many babies as you want.”

  His voice sweeps hope all through me. Then I remember that doctor. “He told me I have to disclose my condition to any—what did he call them? Oh, yeah, potential partners.”

  Derek plays with my hand, lets me rant.