Meant to Be Broken

by Brandy Woods Snow

  Oh shit.

  I’m in love with her.

  Chapter 23

  Rayne

  I

  sleep most of Sunday, telling Mama my throat’s scratchy from the night air of the changing season. She believes it because who doesn’t have seasonal allergies in the South? It’s like a birthright. And an excellent fallback excuse for anytime I just want to be left alone. Like today.

  Preston calls me six times and texts twice. They all go unanswered, especially after I receive his last text saying we need to talk. Hello Dumpsville to the girl who wouldn’t put out after pretending she would. So I sink under the covers, binge-watching Gilmore Girls reruns and drinking loads of sweet tea with lemon, which Mama says will help my throat. I’m hoping it puts me into a deep sugar coma, so I’ll sleep through tomorrow and miss all the fabulous details of Mallory’s weekend affair.

  She’s sitting in front of the lockers Monday morning, her head mashed up against the grey metal, red ringlets fanning out like flames. Yep, a she-devil. Ainsley, Jaycee, and a few of the other girls circle around her like she’s a chief with a war story to share.

  “There we were, sitting in his car, when he leaned in really close. I knew he was going to kiss me. And when he did… oh my gosh, y’all, it was so good. I just couldn’t stop myself,” she gushes on and on while her cronies giggle like morons. No way I’m listening to this. It’s like knives in my heart. I throw my jacket in the locker and grab my books, making excuses about some big research I need to do in the library. As I walk around the corner, her voice finally fades but not before I hear, “He’s already asked me out again!”

  By the time the last bell rings, I’ve managed to hide out most of the day, even volunteering to help Mrs. Cravitch in the guidance office. She sent a note to Madame excusing me from French class. When the halls are nearly clear, I drop by my locker on the way to cheer practice, praying Mallory’s all talked out about the weekend before I see her.

  I check my eyeliner in the locker mirror. Why they even call it a mirror is beyond me. The freaking thing’s so foggy it’s more like Saran-wrap-covered reflective plastic. I grab it from the door, angling it a particular way so I can see a semblance of my reflection. But it’s not just mine. He’s there, standing way too close behind me.

  “Boo,” Gage says in my ear as I slam the mirror back on the door. “Where ya been hiding today?” He already has on his uniform, helmet tucked under his right arm. The black padded shirt clings to his midsection and the pants fit like a second skin. Damn him for looking this hot when I want to hate him and choke him and punch him right in the face.

  I sweep my hair into a ponytail then fling my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m not hiding.” My locker door slams so hard, the flimsy mirror crashes down inside.

  “Damn. What’d that locker do to you?” He sounds so jokey, like it’s any old day. I guess hooking up with a red-headed junior does that for you.

  “Nothing. The locker hasn’t pissed me off.”

  “Have I?”

  “Have you what?”

  “Have I pissed you off?”

  I stare at my shoelaces, avoiding his eyes. “No.”

  “Liar. You looked down.” How can he know me so well, notice all my weird habits, and not see I’m totally in love with him? Maybe he doesn’t want to see it. Or maybe he does and is trying to let me down easy.

  “I did not.”

  He stops walking and grabs my shoulder, turning me toward him. “What is it, Rayne?” He pauses but I don’t answer. “Please? I can’t fix it unless I know.”

  “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

  “Is it because of the laundry room incident Saturday?” Yes. “Are you mad at me because I told you to stop?” Partly. He breathes hard, tapping his class ring on his helmet making a tick, tick, tick sound. “I didn’t want someone thinking the wrong thing. You know how people are. Especially that drunk crazy-ass friend of yours.”

  The wrong thing? Because loving me is wrong on every level, and so he doesn’t. He won’t. He’ll choose Mallory because she’s easy, uncomplicated.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Fine.” He lets go of my shoulder and we start walking again. “You headed to cheer practice?”

  I ignore him and pick at the fuzzies on my black skirt. No, I’m just wearing this polyester spirit suit for the hell of it. He knows where I’m headed. It’s the same every afternoon. He has football practice on the field opposite of where the squad meets. Every practice is the same for him—stretching, water break, running, water break, and then O-line drills. He’s grasping for conversation, which means he’s stalling. And he’s fidgeting. So not a good sign.

  “Rayne, there’s something awkward I wanted to talk about.” My stomach somersaults. This is it. He’s going to tell me all about his new girlfriend.

  “Go ahead.” Let’s get this over with.

  “Homecoming’s in two weeks, and I don’t have a date. I was wondering if you could fix me up with somebody.” He’s not looking at me now. Suddenly the design on his football gloves is so freaking interesting. Can he not ask Mallory himself? After making out and arranging another date, it should be easy.

  “Can’t you ask Mallory yourself?”

  “Huh? Mallory?”

  “Well after your fun Saturday night, it should be easy to just ask her to homecoming. Do it yourself. Don’t involve me.”

  “What are you talking about?” His brows furrow together like a big hairy caterpillar on his face. Once again, he grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him.

  “Did you really think you could hook up with her and the whole school wouldn’t find out?” I’m shouting, control slipping, and beating my fists against my thighs with each word. “We all heard it this morning. I hope you enjoyed sucking face!”

  Gage grabs my chin and holds it firm. “Wait a minute. You look at me right now, Rayne. I don’t care what she said this morning, I did not hook up with that girl in any way, shape or form! If she said that, she’s lying!”

  But it couldn’t be a lie. I saw them together. “How can it be a lie? I saw y’all in the Scout.”

  “Wait, what? Where did you see us in the Scout?”

  “On Main Street when I walked home from the party. Y’all passed me.”

  “First of all, Mallory asked me to drop her off at the Pig to meet some dude. Some guy she met last week at the coffeehouse. She rode to the party with Jaycee and Barrett, and you know neither of them could drive. I just made sure she got there safely.” Relief and embarrassment drop like bricks in my stomach. “Second of all, what the hell were you doing walking home? Last I saw, you went upstairs with my brother.” Now he’s the one red in the face with the accusatory tone.

  I step back from Gage, breaking his grip. “You haven’t talked to him?”

  “No, he and Trevor left early Sunday to go hiking and didn’t come back until late last night. He’d already gone to classes this morning when I left. Why?”

  I sink my forehead into my hands. “We kinda had a fight. He got pissed and went back down to the party with those girls from his biology class, so I snuck out the back.”

  Gage swipes my hands from my face. He’s frowning. “He let you walk home all alone at night? Son of a—”

  “It’s not his fault,” I interject. “He didn’t know.”

  “He should’ve. Have y’all talked?”

  “He called yesterday, I guess when he was out with Trevor, but I let it go to voicemail. It might not go well when we do talk.”

  “What happened? Y’all seemed… happy… when you went upstairs.”

  “It’s complicated. Let’s just say I instigated something I couldn’t finish.”

  He sighs. “If he’s mad about that, he doesn’t deserve you.” I smile and snug his arm. He didn’t hook up with Mallory. He didn’t want her. But he’s looking for someone, and the very thought of it makes me sick.

  “Thanks, Gage.” I gl
ance down at my cell phone. “We’re going to be late to practice if we don’t hurry.” We rush down the hall and walk through the double doors to the fields when he takes up his case one more time.

  “So… about the other. Have any friends who might be my date?” He looks at the ground and fingers the mouthpiece on his helmet.

  “I don’t know. Most of the girls I know wouldn’t be a good fit.” Why won’t he just let this go?

  “Geez, thanks. I must be hideous if none of your friends would consider it.”

  “I didn’t say that.” I slap his shoulder, rock hard under the silk-weave fabric. “It’s just you deserve the best. They’re not good enough.”

  He looks over and smiles at me, a rosy hint dotting the apples of his cheeks. “I love the way you look out for me.” Suddenly his smile fades as his eyes fix on something across the field. I turn to stare in the same direction.

  Preston.

  He’s standing on the sidelines, a dozen red roses in hand. When our six eyes lock, Gage takes four steps sideways, leaving a gaping hole between us.

  Preston walks out to meet us halfway. His eyes, rimmed with dark shadows, dart back and forth between the two of us. His khaki pants and gray polo look like the cows have chewed them. “I’ve been trying to call you, Rayne.”

  “I know. I figured it’d be better to talk in person.”

  Preston nods, and Gage, uneasily shifting from foot to foot, points his finger at us. “I’m gonna let y’all talk in private.” He steps backward, but Preston grabs his arm and stops him.

  “No, Gage. Stay. Everyone needs to hear this.” He’s still holding the roses but drops them to his side. What are they for? Breakup roses? Forgive me roses? “Rayne, I’m an ass.” Not what I expect to come from his mouth. His face is calm, almost sheepish.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You were honest with me, but I left you alone because of hurt pride. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” He offers a weak smile and extends the roses to me. “These are yours.”

  Gage looks on, his expressions flat-lined. I accept the roses and his apology, but they’re heavy in my hands. Like an anchor. “Thanks,” I mumble. It’s much easier to be mad when he’s pouting, but when he’s genuine, Preston can make anyone forgive. It’s too bad I can’t forget that my feelings for his brother are all too real.

  Preston brushes his hand down the side of my face, the same way my nana does when she’s commenting on how much I’ve grown. His fingers linger at my chin a moment, and then he pulls his hand back, shoving them both in his pockets. “So, you two looked like you were having an intense convo. What’s up?”

  Gage and I glance at each other before he first breaks the silence. “My love life, bro. Begging Rayne to hook me up for homecoming. Only two weeks left to find a date.”

  “Two weeks?” Preston shifts his gaze to me uneasily, the sudden onslaught of dilated pupils and “oh shit” bottom lip tuck all too familiar. “Uh-oh.”

  “What uh-oh?” I clench the rose stems in my fingers, the thorns stabbing my skin.

  “I’m going with Dad to Charlotte. Company seminar.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and look at the turf. Different day, same story. “I’m sorry, but you know I have to focus on this. I can’t worry about high school stuff anymore.”

  His matter-of-fact excuse pisses me off.

  “Fine. I’ll go to homecoming alone.” If I throw these roses at just the right speed, will one of them thorn him right in the eye? I might try…

  Suddenly, Preston snaps his fingers in the air then rubs his hands together. “I’ve got it! It’s perfect!”

  “What? You’ll stay here?”

  “I can’t, but…” he pauses and flicks his finger between me and Gage, “you can still go with a Howard brother. Why don’t you and Gage go together?”

  Bad idea. Good idea. My feelings are all over the board in an instant. Maybe bad in a really good way? Gage’s wide eyes soften around the corners, his lips twisting up ever-so-slightly.

  “No. We can’t. People won’t understand. Besides, Gage’s looking for a date and…” I keep talking without taking a breath, trying to drown out the inner voice that’s elated with the possibility.

  “I’m game,” Gage interrupts, nodding at me. “If Rayne is.” My insides become a compass, and Gage is north. Staring at him, the pull intensifies.

  Preston steps forward and pulls one long-stemmed rose from the bunch in my hand and holds it out. “Here Gage, ask her properly.”

  Gage grabs the rose and walks in front of me, positioning himself between me and Preston so I only see him. Our eyes lock, his blue ones reflecting back glints of the afternoon sun. “You’ve become my best friend. You listen to me. You get me. Go with me to homecoming?”

  Every molecule in my body breaks into a happy-dance but I’m careful to keep all traces of it off my face. Except for my eyes, which pinch together, tugging at the hairline above my ears. It’s involuntary. “Gimme that rose,” I say, yanking it from his grip.

  He steps forward and wraps his arms around me, squeezing tight as he leans in to whisper, “You’re stuck with me now.”

  “Gladly,” I whisper back. Over Gage’s shoulder, Preston stands to the side, grinning and completely unaware of our private conversation or the domino stack he’s just flicked over.

  Gage’s football coach yells at him to join the team run, and he loosens his grip, grabs his helmet from the grass and runs toward his team, his toothy grin big as ever. Preston beams, basking in the brilliance of his plan, as he walks over to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Two birds, one stone. Y’all have fun, and don’t worry about what people say. I trust you.”

  Funny he trusts me when I can’t trust myself. “Thanks Preston.” There’s nothing else I can say without it being a lie. We’ll miss you? I wish I were going with you? It won’t be fun without you? None of that’s exactly true so I shut my mouth rather than add to my mounting list of sinful thoughts.

  I loop my arms around his neck. He smells good, like soap and expensive cologne, and I wonder how I’ll ever be able to break his heart. His sweet, trusting heart I love only second to his brother’s.

  When I get home, I carry the bouquet of roses upstairs to my room. But the single red rose—that one I press between the pages of my journal.

  The desk behind mine sits empty in French class the next day. I slip into my seat and pull out a book, flipping it open, pretending to read.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” Jaycee asks, leaning forward.

  “Statistical math? I think that’s what his first class is today,” I reply, not looking up from the page.

  “No, not Preston.” She glowers at me, hovering over my desk. “Gage. Where is he?”

  “How should I know? And what about dropping that whole snarky crap about me and Gage?” I shut my book, holding the place with my finger and glance over at her.

  “I did when I thought he was into Mallory. He’s not. He’s always hanging around you. Speaking of which, what was all that about on the field yesterday?” She taps her pencil on her bottom lip, waiting on me to dish.

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Preston won’t be here for homecoming, so Gage’s taking me.”

  “And I’m sure he didn’t mind doing that favor, right?”

  “Quit making a big deal of nothing. Preston solved a problem, that’s it,” I insist.

  “Yeah, good ol’ Preston. Good ol’ clueless Preston.”

  Chapter 24

  Gage

  I

  hate being late to class and walking in with everyone staring at me. Especially when it’s French class.

  That’s my time—with Rayne.

  Sure, we steal moments to chat every day—in the hallway at class change, by the lockers before school, and at lunch—but French is where we can sit, her desk in front and mine behind, for a full, uninterrupted, fifty-five minutes.

  I glance at my watch. Down to forty-f
ive today.

  The brown, wooden door is already closed. As always. Madame believes in starting class promptly with the bell. Through the skinny sidelight window, I scan the room. Madame’s at the Promethean board, arms flapping in and out like a scalded chicken, talking so loudly her words blast through the door and spill out into the hallway. English words.

  Madame only speaks English in two instances: she’s either giving assignment directions or she’s ticked. The way conjugate, re-test and disappointed pepper the rant, and considering she promised test grades back today, I’m fairly sure most of the class tanked.

  Madame readjusts, leaning on her other hip. It’s enough of a shift to unblock my line of sight to Rayne, sitting alone in our row at the back of the class. She stares at the open notebook on her desk, chewing her thumbnail, pausing every so often to glance over her shoulder at my empty desk.

  Is she looking for me? The thought is enough to shoot a charge through me, like paddles to the heart.

  I ease the door open, but it squeaks, and 20 pairs of eyes turn on me. WD-40, anyone? Geez.

  “Monsieur Howard!” Madame screeches. “Class started 10 minutes ago!”

  “Oui, Madame. I have a parent note.” I produce a half-sheet of yellow legal paper and toss it on her desk. A note from Dad, for all intents and purposes. Preston actually wrote it, but Dad approved it, so I guess that counts. Our parents had already left this morning when Preston and I walked out to discover the Mustang’s battery completely shot. Neither Mom nor Dad could find it in their schedule to come home immediately and give Preston a ride to school, so it was executively decided that between the two of us, I should be the one who drove him to class, even if that meant being late for my own. Mom insisted Preston deserved priority. He’s a college man now, after all, and I’m just the peon high school kid with nothing significant to do.

  Funny how high school seemed so much more important last year.

  I wind my way through the desks and slide into my seat. Rayne’s spicy vanilla perfume hovers like its own weather system around my desk, and I lean forward on my elbows to take in a bigger sniff. She turns around in her desk at the same time, nearly knocking her shoulder into my nose, and holds up her hand. A piece of notebook paper, neatly folded into a square, is between her fingers. I grab it and unfold it on my desk as she faces forward.