“I’m happy. Every day I’m so glad to be with Luke. But beyond that, there is no one, not one person on this earth, who has ever just been able to look at me and know the way he does. The way I can with him. No matter how pretty Chris is to look at strutting around in those board shorts, nothing in my power is ever splitting me and Luke up.”
Why did I suddenly feel like crying? It was almost frightening how sure she was.
“You’re not just talking right now, are you?”
Her gaze shifted to Luke as if she couldn’t stand to be this far from him, as if she’d always know where he was even blindfolded.
“I don’t know. I learned when my mom died that things don’t always end or end up the way you want them to. But, right now, I can’t imagine a future without him. I know how stupid that sounds at seventeen. But, we’ll see. You know? No stupid decisions, but no stupid mistakes either.”
“Wow.” I mean, what else could I say?
“Yeah. I know. It scares the snot out of me.” She looked back at me and the tension broke. Laughter rushed from both of us like a balloon gashed open.
“Come on.” She leapt up and offered her hand. Tugging me to my feet, she pulled me into a hug, a very un-Amy like hug. Before she let me go, she whispered in my ear, “But don’t think you’re off the hook. When we’re not surrounded by all these jocks and their groupies, you’re telling me what’s up with you.”
Not if I could help it…and even if I couldn’t.
Chapter 7
I’d snuck into the house. Okay, maybe it wasn’t really sneaking. I’d asked where the bathroom was and just walked in, but when you’re not doing what you say you’re going to do, everything feels sneaky-like.
The truth was I needed a few minutes away from the beautiful people and the flirting and the carefreeness—and yes, even from Amy. I was tired—tired of working so hard to not let her or anyone else I cared about down.
The inside of the Harrison house was warm, comfy, filled with baking smells. As I passed through the kitchen, music pumped into the house from the yard, something light and pleasant. Something that did not match my emotional state at all—even with the in-my-head-happy-place-self-talk I was working.
Third door on the right, otherwise know as the bathroom, was closed and muffling the barely restrained giggles of at least three cheer-type people. Not exactly the quiet place I was looking for.
Across the hall, a door stood ajar, the light from the window tinted blue from the curtains half-closed over it.
I know I didn’t have a right to go in there, but the need for escape was too strong. The bathroom door could open any second and swallow me into the gigglers, never to be seen again.
Tragic, right?
There was no other choice. It was self-preservation. It was my only hope.
It was nosiness.
This didn’t smell like a boy’s room. Of course, having only sisters, I wasn’t really sure what a boy’s room should smell like. But this one smelled clean, like laundry soap and fresh cut grass and vanilla candles. I’m not sure I’d ever been in a more comfortable smelling place.
I edged into the room, taking in all the boy-type-room-stuff. One entire wall was full of trophies. Of course, most of them weren’t really displayed. They sat crookedly as if they were just set there to be kept out of the way. The older ones were covered in a dust so thick you could have written an entire novel on them.
Next to the trophy shelf was a photo board that put my shoebox storage to shame. There was no way I was missing the chance for this Ben-insight. Most of the pictures were of Ben and one of his older brothers or Ben and his friend-since-birth Emma. There was a great one of him and Luke obviously after a game, sweaty and laughing as Luke tossed a ball at him. A couple I recognized as an ex-girlfriend. Some group pictures that made me feel like I should take notes on my Quest To Find The Girl.
The whole room was done in shades of blue, the bed carefully made for—I’m guessing—company. Although, Ben could have been the type of guy to make his bed every day. I mean, he had a photo board.
I sat on the edge of the bed and studied the overall collection of guy-stuff. Even the bed was blue. Of course, there were like six different shades of blue in the comforter and then there were the throw pillows.
I was rethinking Ben’s whole not-gay thing. This room was girlier than me.
And, again, there was that smell. That comfortable smell.
I picked up one of his pillows and took a deep breath, wishing this was the guy I could be crazy over. Crazy because of even. Any guy that smelled this good would have to be nice.
“Is there something going on between you and my pillow I should know about?”
Oh my God. “Um, well…” Bluff, Rachel. For crying out loud. Do not die of embarrassment. “We’ve been seeing each other off and on behind your back for a while now.”
Ben leaned against his doorframe, a smirk sculpting those very nice lips.
See? There’s something wrong with me that I honestly didn’t care how nice Ben’s lips were. And typically, he’d totally be my type. Fun, flirty and not forever. There was a level of Ben that just seemed …I don’t want to say shallow, but he seemed to work very hard at keeping things light.
“Would you guys mind if I join you?” he asked, pushing away from the wall and letting the door fall half-shut behind him. “I mean, if you’re low on your quality time…”
I swatted him with the pillow I’d just been inhaling like a crack head. The poor guy had to dodge it to plop down on the bed next to me.
“I don’t know what your mom does, but this room smells awesome.”
Ben reached behind me and grabbed another pillow. “My mom’s huge on aromatherapy and that color-space thing. Plus, the photos and stuff. I keep waiting to come home and find someone taking pictures for a magazine or something.”
That explained a lot.
“So, is there a reason you’re hiding in my room?”
I leaned back on the mound of pillows, studying Ben with a new appreciation. It was weird, but even people who didn’t know about the therapy and the meds and the little meltdowns seemed to never hit me head on like that.
“I’m not really hiding per se. It’s more like, exploring.”
“So, when given the opportunity to own up to hiding, you’d rather admit to invading my privacy?” The smirk was back and now both eyebrows were raised. He really was tough. I’ll bet he becomes a psychiatrist.
“Well, you know. Lots of people outside I don’t really know. A sport I don’t really follow.” I hugged the pillow to me. “The best smelling room in the universe. What’s a girl to do?”
“This may be crossing a line, but you could give up my pillow and just hang out with me.”
I glanced at him, a little overwhelmed at the offer. “I’ve never…you know.”
“No. You never what?” Ben looked really confused. Which was totally fair since that wasn’t my clearest moment.
“You know…me and a guy.”
He sat up. Straight up. Then he stood up.
“Listen, Rachel.” He stepped away from the bed and ran a hand through his hair. “I like you. I think you’re great. You’re fun and you’re cool. I just…I’m not interested in you that way. Not that you’re not hot. I mean, you are. It’s just…wow, I suck at this.”
I’d started laughing around the point he’d told me I was hot.
“You thought I thought you were hitting on me.” I smiled, hugging the pillow to me to keep from throwing it at him.
“You don’t?”
“No. I was trying to say, I’ve never had a guy who was a friend before.” It sounded just as stupid out loud as I’d been afraid it would. I could feel my cheeks getting hot wondering if he thought I was some type of social misfit.
Ben lowered himself back onto the bed. “Oh. Okay. Great.”
I got it. I did. Ben wasn’t the type of guy to flit. And he’d wasn’t going to lead a girl on or use her to make him
self feel better. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He half-sighed the word as if he was resigned to a fate worse than no soccer. “Not that it matters.”
“It matters to you though.” I could tell by the way he didn’t answer me that it really did. “So, you want to just, you know…hang out?”
He gave the pillow a tug, the open smile tipping his face again. “Well, that might be fun. You could accuse me of being in love with the entire soccer team.”
Rolling my eyes wasn’t enough for that comment. Realizing I was armed, I swatted him in the face with the pillow.
“Or, maybe just the forwards. I mean, since I’m already in love with Luke, I could just add the forwards to that.” He laughed as he said it, his hands already coming up to protect the nose I was going to smash with a sack full o’down.
He toppled over as I swatted at him again, going down after him.
I went in for the kill, smothering him and his laughter. “You’re going to let this go soon, right? I’d hate for my mistake to become, you know, an actual rumor.”
I lifted the pillow long enough for him to agree, but instead he said, “All the girls in the school can’t be wrong.”
He was already laughing again as I squashed the pillow over his head again. His hands came out of nowhere. One grabbed at my wrist while the other tickled at my hip making me squirm. But, as in every good war, I was only giving so much in retreat.
Jumping sideways, I tackled him, crushing that tickling-hand under my knee while whapping at him again with the pillow.
I was going to win.
I loved winning.
I’m not really sure if there was a winning.
Yeah, I was going to win.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chris was across the room and looming over the bed before I’d managed to stop trying to fake-suffocate Ben. “Get your hands off her.”
I looked down at Ben, one hand pinned by my knee, the rest of him quasi-trapped under me, with a pillow shoved down his throat. No weapon. Not even his own pillow. His other hand wrapped around my wrist more trying to get air than to free himself.
Chris’s ears were red. Not pink. Red.
Pulling the pillow away, I glanced down at Ben. His eyes were round and shocked and staring at Chris like he’d gone insane—which really, that might be something we wanted to look into after this bit of melodrama.
I bit my lip. Literally. I could feel those hysterical giggles fighting up my throat and I was too embarrassed to let them call more attention to me.
I tried to shift away from Ben, but he was trying to shift away in the same direction and we just ended up toppled the other way on his bed, bumping heads in the process. And man, he was heavy.
And then there was the laughter again. From me. Ben still looked shocked.
“Harrison? What is going on?” Chris did not seem to see the humor.
Ben finally cracked a grin—an absurd one to match the situation.
“Well, I’m trying to decide whether I should give it up to Rachel or not.” Ben kept his face straight for all of three seconds before he was laughing so hard he couldn’t seem to move, which I found really inconvenient since he was sitting on me now.
He turned that gaze on me and killed any chance of me not laughing when he winked.
“So, Rachel, what’s it going to be? Me or my awesome smelling pillow?”
It felt so good to just laugh. To not be doing it because I should or hoping no one noticed anything weird while I had my guard down. To just laugh. And at something funny with someone who totally got it.
The two of us were laughing so hard that Chris kind of faded away for a second, until his voice broke through.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” The amount of confusion and disbelief in that short string of words stopped Ben and me gasping for laughter-breath.
I slid off the bed, slipping the flip-flops I’d somehow lost back on, and headed for the door. Over my shoulder, I saw Ben slouched against the wall still holding his sides and Chris looking at me like I was crazy. And not for the normal reasons people looked at me like that.
“Make sure you pack a pillowcase for me before I leave. I plan on sleeping well tonight.”
It was nice to get to be the one making an exit for once.
Chapter 8
“What happened to you today?”
Not even a hello. At least this time I knew who was calling since I’d programmed him into the phone.
“I had a lot of fun, thanks. Did you enjoy the party?” More sarcasm. I was becoming the sarcasm queen. Polish my crown, peon.
I could hear him sighing through the phone. Who would have thought Chris Kent was a sigher?
“You just took off.”
Actually, I hung out with Amy, ate too much, and played some volleyball as Ben’s partner—translation: Ben played volleyball around me—then I went home.
“I really don’t think Ben’s parents wanted me moving in. I had to leave eventually.”
“Yeah. And I had to get a ride home.”
Talk about entitlement issues. I was putting a No-Chris-As-Copilot-In-The-Honda clause in our agreement too. By the time I was done with this tutoring agreement, we’d need two teams of lawyers to sort it out.
“And that’s my problem how?” Even as I asked, I knew he’d have a reason. Boy logic is a funny, funny thing.
“Mimi and Cheryl drove me home.”
Still not sure how that was my problem, but I could tell he was really ticked about it.
At the party Amy had said something about Cheryl being a bigger user than Chris and how she’d been surprised to see “That Cheer-ho” hovering around him.
It was a little off-putting how protective Amy was of her former non-boyfriend. As if he was the fragile one who needed looking out for. Thinking about Cheryl, that vixen-in-the-making—who was I kidding—that vixen period, maybe he did need a little protector care.
At this point though, my patience was thinner than the new Mac. “And, again, how is that my problem?”
“Rachel, you were going to tutor me today after the party.”
Seriously. Chris creating these agreements I never agreed to was getting old. But the sooner the one week trial run started, the sooner I could delete him from my cell.
“Fine. Come on over.”
“Fine. I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Click.
Yup, more stimulating conversation with the jock god.
~*~
“So, Mom, remember that whole ‘just say no to evil’ thing today?” I leaned against the counter, watching her put away groceries.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she just rolled her eyes at me. Since that was not even possible, I let her get away with that laughing, “Yes?”
“Well, lock up the little ones. Evil cometh.”
“Rachel Ann, the melodrama? Seriously?”
I came around the counter and hopped up on it next to the nearly empty bags. “Seriously, Mom. He’s too much. You can’t let Heather and Cassie around him. He’ll be charming them and warping their perception of males before they even make it through junior high.”
Mom looked at me as if I were nuts. I know I was playing the drama queen, but I honestly didn’t want the girls around Chris. If I couldn’t handle him and his mood swings, his mysterious brooding and flashes of empathetic caring, how could I expect them to have shields up to protect themselves?
She must have realized I was actually worried about them getting the wrong idea of boys and flirting and…well, boys, because she stopped unpacking groceries and looked at me to answer.
“Honey, no boy, even your Mr. Evil, is stupid enough to mess with a twelve and thirteen-year-old. Especially with their mom right here.”
“But—”
She cut me off before I could really get going again. “Plus, your sisters are at a sleepover, so you can stop your watch-dog
ging and go finish putting all those clothes away from this morning.”
“But—”
“Not a democracy. Go. Clothes. Now.”
Just what I needed. Argument ended by chores.
~*~
The doorbell sounded and this time I was ready for it. Early evening was typically easiest. No idea why. I was still recovering from the morning, but hadn’t worn myself out emotionally yet, I guess. Or maybe it was more that I was typically home and safe for the rest of the day. So if I had to deal with Mr. Your-Time-Is-My-Time, it might as well be now.
He was really pushing his luck showing up in the evening. Sighing not withstanding.
Downstairs, mom was already feeding Chris. With three girls, she was always happy to have a boy in the house. My dad left when I was nine and we’d been a uni-gender house since. I think that’s one of the reasons she let me get away with my “serial accessory dating”. She was one of those women who probably missed having a son.
But even I was suspicious when I glanced at the counter. Were those fresh baked cookies? On a weekend free from all three of us?
Mom was the first one to notice me in the doorway. She gave me that scan, the one she always did to make sure I wasn’t doing any of my living-on-the-edge actions. I’m thinking the only thing she might have noticed was my annoyance at her spoiling the already rotten jock sitting at the kitchen island.
“These are great, Mrs. Wells.” He actually sounded sincere. None of that Eddie What’s-His-Name from Nick at Night. “My mom was a big baker too, but she’s been …”
It was the fadeout that caught my attention. It obviously caught my mom’s too, because before he could try to rework the sentence, she was in the fridge grabbing milk.
“Can’t have cookies without milk. Rachel likes them with Vanilla Coke, but she’s always had a sweet tooth.”
Before she could turn around, I glared at Chris with what I hoped was superhero-worth laser eyes. He was making himself way too cozy in my kitchen. With my mom. And with what should have been my cookies.
At the moment I’m not sure which ticked me off more.
Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) Page 7