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by Patty Blount

  She nodded and glanced at me from beneath her lashes. “Dan, we shouldn’t be together.”

  Awesome. “Yeah, I got that part. So are we?”

  “If he knew about you, he’d hurt you.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head slowly, her eyes still not meeting mine. “He blames everyone. Nobody is allowed to be happy. He can’t stand it when we are.” Her eyes slid shut. “If he…if anything happened to you—” She swallowed. “I couldn’t stand it.”

  Tears escaped from her closed eyes, and I thumbed them away. “You…like me that much?”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she leaned closer. Slowly, her damp eyes pinned to mine, she kissed me, and the world went away. “Told you. I love you. You should go.”

  I swallowed hard, but I didn’t move. “I love you too. And I’m not leaving.”

  She looked like she wanted to pick me and throw me out, but when she grabbed me, it was to kiss me again. When we finally separated, I was panting. “Jesus, Julie.” I gulped air to regulate certain um, systems, but it didn’t do a damn bit of good.

  “I know,” she whispered, a hand pressed to her chest.

  “We—” I began, paused to remember what I was going to say because the look in her eyes was potent enough to scatter my thoughts in all four directions. “We should stop before we get, um, too carried away.”

  She shook her head, and my heart stopped for an instant, then pounded a frenzied beat against my ribs. Was she saying what I think she was saying? Oh. My. God. I can’t.

  Are you nuts?

  I twisted Kenny’s arm behind his back and shoved him into his corner in my mind, slamming the door on my way out, but his words kept echoing in my head. Could I? Could I really do this and not get zapped by a lightning bolt? I stared at Julie, at the full pink lips she kept pressing together like she was afraid they might run away or something, at the flush I could see creeping up her face, begging for my fingers to track, at the dark blue eyes that usually gave me frostbite but now scorched my skin. God, I wanted this, wanted her. But—

  But it was wrong.

  “Julie, we can’t—”

  Her mouth was suddenly fused to mine, swallowing the rest of my sentence. Okay. We can. Her hands tangled in my hair, and her tongue danced over, under, and beside mine. And then her hands were everywhere—my face, my shoulders, my pecs, my hips, my thighs, and then there.

  God in heaven, I tried to say, but all that came out was a groan. The sound was harsh; it distracted me from what had suddenly become my mission in life, and I tore my mouth from Julie’s, trapping her hands in mine.

  “Julie, are you sure?” Be sure. Please, please be sure. Be sure. Be sure. Be sure.

  She nodded, her eyes pinned to my mouth.

  “Here? Now?” I pressed. If not here, then where? Someone was always home at my place.

  She tugged her hands free and stood. “Right here. Right now.” She took my hand and led me upstairs to her room. “My mom and stepdad are out all day today.”

  I followed her, my thoughts churning. There was a condom in my wallet. It had been there probably since I was released from juvie. That had been my counselor’s way of making sure I was safe. I took it out, held out my hand, and waited.

  With my breath burning in my lungs.

  Julie took my hand, tugged me into her room, and shut the door. I looked around, but only certain things penetrated my mind. Kenny was shouting Yes! Pink walls. Purple bedspread. Really clean. I may have tried talking and failed. She stretched out on the purple quilt, moved over to make room for me. I lay down next to her, my eyes glued to hers. She breathed through her mouth, and I could see her pulse pounding in her throat. And then her lips met mine, her hair falling over us like a gold curtain. I pried my mouth from hers so I could bury my face in her hair, breathing deep. Her hands slowly moved under my shirt, lifting it. I raised my arms, let her tug it off in one move. She gasped, and I froze.

  The scars. Jesus, the scars.

  I’d tried to bury the shame, but it lived in those scars, and I couldn’t let it ooze out, couldn’t let it touch her. They were the first place her eyes landed, and I grabbed for my shirt to hide them. But she snatched it back. Slowly, she lowered her head and touched her lips to the longest line. The warmth, oh God, it almost blistered my skin when she kissed along the scar that crossed from my sternum to hip. My shirt fell from her fingers when she shoved them into my hair and tugged hard. I gasped, loud and long, and she grinned, all fire and temptation and need and distraction. And I forgot the scars, forgot the guilt, forgot the complications, forgot the confusion. I forgot who I was, what I did, who I needed to be, and all the reasons I never could be.

  I forgot it all.

  I Can’t Tell You

  Julie scooted off the bed, golden and perfect. I watched, entranced as she wriggled into her bra and panties, pink wisps of material that looked way too delicate for their intended purpose. She pulled on her jeans and then moved to her dresser. She was a whirl of motion, pulling more brightly colored, soft-looking things from a drawer and tossing them on the bed. I grinned when she slid open the top drawer. She had at least a dozen pairs of eyeglasses organized in there. She deliberated a minute, then slipped on the flowered pair, followed by the floral top that had landed on my foot.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asked me over her shoulder.

  I was light-years beyond okay. I was all loose limbed and warm and fuzzy. I managed a drunken grin and sat up. “What’s with all the glasses?”

  Julie shrugged. “Contact lenses bother me. If I have to wear glasses, may as well have fun.”

  “Must be expensive.” I took the pair she’d left on the table next to the bed, ran my fingers along their curves.

  “No, not really. I order them online.”

  I handed her the pair in my hand, and she slipped them into an empty spot in the drawer. That was when hormones and guilt teamed up to kick me in the gut, nearly taking my breath away. I’d slept with Julie. Oh God. I had sex with Julie. I should be shot. I had no right, no right at all.

  Dude, do not ruin this moment for me.

  Kenny’s voice was like an electric shock, and I jumped.

  “Dan, what’s wrong?”

  I didn’t answer. I found my pants, pulled them on, looked all around the floor for my shirt but didn’t see it. I flipped up the ends of the bright purple bedspread. No shirt.

  “Dan, look at me.”

  “My shirt. I need my shirt.” My voice was a hoarse croak.

  “No, you need to look at me.”

  I shook my head. “I need my shirt.” I checked the pile of clothes she’d pulled from the dresser. Not this one. Not this one either. Not this, this, or this. I ran my hands down my chest, tried to hold the edges of my wounds together, contain the shame I could feel spreading, dripping.

  “Dan, please.”

  She put her hands on me, on my chest, right where the ugliest scar began. In her hand was my T-shirt. I snatched it, tugged it over my head, and only then breathed normally. I was dizzy and sat on the edge of her bed, propped my head in my hands.

  Her quiet murmur penetrated the fog. “If you tell me you’re sorry, I swear I’ll hit you.”

  Yeah, so will I.

  I laughed, but it held no joy. It should have. This was the best day of my life. I should have been giddy with the feeling. Instead, all I felt was an oily knot of shame rising from gut to throat. I lied to her. I was still lying to her. And now we’d slept together. More lies.

  “Dan, I swear to God, if you don’t talk to me—”

  “Don’t call me that!” I screamed, and she stared at me in shock. “Just…just don’t call me that.”

  The line in her forehead deepened. “You don’t like your name?”

  I laughed again, but I k
new the only thing she saw in my eyes was regret. “I like my name. But I can’t tell you my name.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me your name isn’t Daniel Ellison? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Slowly, I nodded. “I’m a liar, Julie. I’ve been lying to you since the first day of school, and I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know.”

  “Why can’t you tell me your real name?”

  I paused, trying to inhale courage along with air, but it didn’t work.

  Go on, jerk, finish what you started.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face and tried to find a place to start. The beginning seemed lame. I found my socks, tugged them on. Then my boots. I felt better when I was dressed. Covered. Hidden.

  “You wanted to know about my scars.”

  She nodded.

  “Five years ago, I did something…horrible. I served time, Julie. Nine months. But it wasn’t enough. People keep…finding out what I did. They…make threats. They show up at my house, my school. I’m never safe. My parents are never safe. This is the first town it hasn’t happened because this time, we changed our names. Protecting this name, hiding my secret…it’s the most important thing I do every day.”

  She covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, that’s why you were so mad at me for not breaking up that fight.”

  I nodded, kneeling in front of her. “Making enemies isn’t smart. Jeff can make a lot of trouble for us. And you—”

  “Me? I wouldn’t do that to you!”

  I winced. “I told myself to stay away. It was better if we were never friends. But the speech project made that impossible. I can’t help but like you. And the more I liked you, the worse I felt. I just can’t take it anymore, Julie. And I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  She shook her head. “I never said that.”

  I blinked. “Does that mean…you want to keep seeing me?”

  God, man, do you need a map or something?

  I struggled to ignore Kenny. I’d divulged enough secrets for one day. I had no plans to tell Julie I talk to myself…or that myself talks back.

  She slid to the floor in front of me and flung her arms around my neck. “Yes.”

  I wrapped my arms around her, lowered her to the floor, and kissed the breath out of her.

  ————

  The holiday break passed too quickly. Julie dragged me shopping for her family’s presents, and I took her home to meet my parents. December on Long Island was cold, but it hadn’t snowed yet, so Julie and I hit the beach to run or took Hagrid for long walks down leaf-littered streets. Whenever Julie spotted a pile of leaves, she would shuffle through it, sending leaves swirling in her wake. When I asked her why, she said it was something she used to do with her brother. She begged me to try it, to embrace my inner child. I nearly collapsed from laughter when I visualized Kenny and me wrapped in a bro-hug. While Julie stared at me, confused, Kenny flipped me off. That just made me laugh harder.

  On Christmas Eve, I rang Julie’s doorbell with a huge wrapped box under my arm, and my knees quivering like the Jell-O mold Julie’s mom made. I’d spent some restless nights arguing with Kenny about what gift to buy Julie. We’d finally agreed on something. I bought it earlier that day, wrapped it myself. Silver paper and a red bow. Her stepdad opened the door, smelling like peppermint Lifesavers and cigarettes. I sat on the sofa between Julie and her mom, the box dancing on my bouncing knees. Julie covered my hand with hers and squeezed. My knees stilled.

  “Cookies,” Julie’s mother decided and hurried off to get some. Her stepfather followed. I looked at Julie, felt the heat creep up from my collar. She stared back, swallowing a grin and shrugged at their transparent attempt to give us some privacy.

  “Um. So this is for you. Merry Christmas.” I shoved the box into Julie’s arms, and she huffed.

  “Big.”

  “Yeah.” I wiped sweaty palms down my thighs. “If you don’t like it, I kept the receipt.”

  Julie tore off the red bow, shredded the silver paper, and lifted the lid. Under layers of tissue paper, she pulled out what I’d already dubbed “the Bag II” and gasped. “I don’t know much about designer labels, but since you like large bags, I thought this one would work for you.”

  It wasn’t a handbag, though I’d found it in that section of the local Kohl’s department store. It was a weekender, the sales rep told me, and I repeated her script for Julie. It was canvas with the designer’s logo repeated in a patchwork pattern, and it had an adjustable strap. “Look inside. It’s got dozens of compartments and pockets so you can keep your brother’s treasure safe.” I’d already pulled out all the wadded-up paper the store stuffed into its bags. Inside one of the pockets, I’d tucked a Christmas card I hoped she’d find later.

  She glanced up at me, all misty eyed and soft voiced. “Treasure. My brother’s treasure. I like that. I like this. It’s perfect.” She pressed a light kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Thank you.”

  She jumped up, darted across the room to the Christmas tree near the window, and found a small box under it. It was wrapped with recycled paper and tied with twine. “This is yours. Merry Christmas.” Feeling like I was four years old again, I worked through the twine and the paper and found a medallion nestled on a square of cotton. A religious medallion. I peered at it closely but couldn’t tell who the saint was.

  Julie lifted the silver chain from the box and let the medallion dangle between us. “I wasn’t sure if you were really devout or anything, but I liked Saint Maria Goretti’s story. Have you ever heard of her?”

  I shook my head. My family and I weren’t particularly faithful these days. It felt like God was already out to get me. Going to an actual church would be just giving him the home-field advantage.

  “According to the story, Maria was a young girl when a neighbor stabbed her after she said no to his advances. The neighbor was arrested, and Maria was rushed to a hospital. While sitting in his cell across town, the man who stabbed Maria claimed she visited him in jail and forgave him for what he’d done to her. But she couldn’t have been at the jail because she died in the hospital. That’s her miracle. The church calls her the patron saint for both sexual assault victims and forgiveness.”

  My eyes darted from the medallion to Julie. I smelled the peppermint Lifesavers and Christmas cookies and her tropical scent and thought, I’ll never forget this.

  “You just…look like you needed forgiving, you know?”

  It was several minutes before I was able to talk. “Julie.” I opened my arms, invited her in. She wrapped her arms around my back. “Thank you. It’s…perfect,” I whispered in her ear.

  When the Time Is Right

  Every day during Christmas break, I tried to reach Brandon. My phone calls were sent to voice mail. My emails were ignored. When I knocked on his door, nobody answered.

  I drummed my fingers on the computer desk in the family room and tried posting on his profile.

  Come on, man. Are you crazy?

  Kenny, I have to get in touch with him.

  Okay, but not online. You post, “Brandon, I’m sorry. Please call me,” and the Internet’ll crash under all the LMAO comments.

  I winced. Good point. I thought for a few moments and stood. I was fixing this today.

  Now.

  I grabbed a few DVDs and some snacks and drove to Brandon’s. I’d camp out in his driveway until spring thaw if that was what it took.

  It took about an hour. I’d parked in front of Brandon’s house, waved to Julie at her window, and settled in. It was around one o’clock when a car pulled into the drive.

  “Hi, Mrs. Dellerman.” I waved when I got out of my car.

  “Hi, Dan! Happy New Year.”

&nbs
p; “Um, yeah. Thanks. You too.”

  A door slammed behind me. I turned. Brandon carried shopping bags and glared at me on his way to the front door.

  “What brings you here?”

  “I brought some DVDs. Thought Brandon and I could watch a few movies.”

  Mrs. Dellerman smiled wide. “That sounds great, doesn’t it, Brandon? You weren’t doing anything. I’ll make you boys some popcorn.” She unlocked the door to the house, waved me inside. “Come on in. You can leave your jacket here.” She indicated a chair.

  Brandon said nothing. He shoved past me with the shopping bags, slammed them on a kitchen counter.

  “Brandon! Careful. I’ve got this. Go hang out.”

  Brandon turned with a sigh and stomped up the stairs.

  In my mind, Kenny whined, This is gonna suck.

  I squared my shoulders and followed.

  “What are you doing here, man?” Brandon asked without looking at me.

  “You won’t answer my calls or emails, so—”

  “Sorry, mom.”

  “Dude, I’m serious.”

  “So am I. You made it clear you had better things to do.”

  “No, Brandon. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m sorry about that. The words…well, they came out wrong. I didn’t mean it.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.”

  I opened my mouth, but Kenny shut me up. Leave it alone.

  “Um. So, you feel like watching Iron Man or Transformers?” I dug in the bag, pulled out the DVDs.

  He tried to glare, but his lips twitched into a halfhearted smile. “Iron Man. Definitely.”

  I handed him the disc, and he set it up.

  “So, we cool?”

  Another shrug. “I guess.” He aimed the remote control at the flat-screen. “So, you still with Julie?”

  I nodded. Grinned because I couldn’t help it. “Yeah.”

  “She’s not home?”

  “Um. No, she’s home. I talked to her this morning.”

  “Why aren’t you next door?”