by Cat Patrick
“The boy’s got issues,” Simone says as we roam the aisle of a strip mall costume shop over the lunch period. It’s Halloween, and as is tradition, we’re picking over the carcasses of unwanted costumes and accessories to piece together something worthy. Normally this and the turkey races just before Thanksgiving are the bright spots on my fall calendar, but thanks to Joel, I’ve lost my spirit.
“Can I put a moratorium on speaking his name?” I ask, fingering a feather boa.
“You got it,” she says. She’s sucking on a Blow Pop, occasionally crunching as she bites a piece off. She crunches for a whole aisle, then says, “He probably has some weird abandonment hangup and you didn’t pay enough attention to him.”
“Did you go deaf?” I ask. “Or do you just have short-term memory loss?”
She turns on her heels to face me; her shoes squeak on the linoleum. “Linus. I’ll kick him in the shins for you—if that would make it better.” She picks up a toy tommy gun. “Hell, I’ll put a hit out on him if you want me to.” I laugh weakly and start walking again. From behind me, she gets to the point. “All I’m saying is that since he happens to be monopolizing your brain space, we might as well talk it out.”
“Maybe he’s just not into me anymore,” I say sadly, giving in. I pick up a torn open package of fake mustaches and put one on, turning to Simone. “I can find someone else, right?” I ask.
“A gentleman like you? Absolutely.” She smiles and grabs a bonnet from an oversize baby costume, putting it over her hair. “You just need to stop being a child about all of it.” She waggles the pacifier at me and then tosses the costume back onto the shelf. “This isn’t the 1800s. A girl doesn’t have to wait around for a guy to text. If you want to talk to Joel about his continued romantic flakiness, take control of your life and ask him.” She looks at me in that reality-check sort of way, and I reach to pull off my mustache and shrug.
“You know they didn’t have cell phones in the 1800s, right?” I say.
“Doesn’t mean you have to be as clueless.”
I laugh for real and finally notice part of a costume that might actually work. As I pull it from the shelf, I think that Simone’s right. Passivity isn’t doing me any favors.
I stuff the costume and accessories into my hand basket and turn to my friend. “I’m going to tell Joel that this hot-and-cold crap doesn’t work for me,” I say, sounding resolved.
“There’s my girl,” she says, grabbing a homecoming sash and a plastic machete. She inspects the fake blade, and I take out my phone and scroll as I walk toward the registers with my items. I find Joel’s number and write:
I’M OVER IT. Maybe not the most eloquent speech I’ve ever given, but when I hit send, I don’t regret it. Even though deep down, I know I’m not nearly as over him as I wish I were.
I plunk my basket on the counter, and then Simone is next to me asking if the fake blood in a package will stain her skin. When Joel’s return text pops up, there’s a leap in my chest, a guarded hope, and I turn to smile at Simone, holding it up for her to see.
I’M NOT.
After school, I hurry home and drop my bag in the entryway, then grab an apple from the kitchen and head upstairs.
“Mom?” I call, but she doesn’t answer. “Mom?”
No one seems to be home, so I go to my room and take off my school clothes. Simone and I split up to check in at our respective houses and change into costumes—we’re going to watch a scary movie at her place, then hit the haunted house at the community center. But fresh off an afternoon of cute text exchanges with Joel—he can’t wait to draw me again, he can’t wait to kiss me—I’m planning on stopping by his place to invite him along. I want to spend time with him, but also, as I look at myself in my gingham dress, red shoes, cape, and mask, I can admit that I want him to see me in my costume. Superhero Dorothy is awesome.
I can’t help but smile as I spritz a little perfume on my wrists, imagining Joel kissing them again. Feeling like it’s something that Dorothy might wear, I take Gram’s necklace from its white box I have stashed in my closet and put it on. When I see the N resting against my skin, I’m filled with comfort, ready to make this Halloween unforgettable. Ready to spend my first Halloween with Joel Ryder.
Twenty minutes later, nerves are mingled with excitement as I turn onto Joel’s street. I park a couple houses down from his so I can check for lipstick smudges on my teeth without him seeing me. I climb out of the car, shivering a little: Fall always seems to change to winter on Halloween, even though it’s seemed colder than usual since … I stop, a wave of sadness washing over me. It’s been cold since Gram died.
I’m still thinking about Gram as I make my way down the sidewalk, touching absently at the necklace, and it isn’t until I’m right in front of Joel’s house that I glance up.
I freeze.
Lauren is standing on Joel’s porch while he stands in the doorway, his hand on her arm. Her long, wavy dark hair is unmistakable. The moment is intimate. And when they embrace, the moment is heartbreaking. I want to sink straight into the ground and disappear, but then Joel glances over Lauren’s shoulder to see me standing there. In a superhero mask and sparkly red shoes. His eyes widen, and I expect him to call to me. To walk past his ex-girlfriend and invite me in.
But instead our gazes just lock, and after what feels like forever, but is probably less than fifteen seconds, I force myself to turn around and leave, rushing to the car before Lauren can see me running off with my cape between my legs. I’m humiliated. Hurt.
And the minute I pull away from his house, I take out my phone to send him one last text at the stoplight. LEAVE ME ALONE, I write. And then I turn it off so I won’t have to see his reply.
TWELVE
GO
I’m panicked, rushing toward the college center as my bright green boots clop on the pavement. I hear several snickers, but more whistles, as I pass people walking around campus, but I ignore them. After all, I am dressed as Sexy Robin—which, if I wasn’t so worried, would be completely humiliating. Actually, it’s still really humiliating. I yank open the heavy glass door of the building and nearly kill myself on the slippery tile floor as I get inside.
About twenty minutes before he was supposed to pick me up, Chris called me at my dad’s house from the infirmary. Turns out that my boyfriend had been too impatient to wait for the elevator and decided to take the stairs—at bat speed. He fell down the last flight, injuring his leg. If he’s okay, I’m going to kill him.
“I’m looking for Christopher Drake?” I say to the girl behind the information desk. She looks up and then presses her lips together to hide her smile.
“I’m guessing he’s Batman?”
Seriously going to kill him. “Yep.” My costume consists of knee-high green boots and a green sequin skirt with a red bustier. I’m wearing a denim jacket, but still, it’s over the top. Simone helped me order it online, and when I first put it on, I nearly covered myself with a blanket. Simone swore it didn’t look trashy—just “cutely sexy.” Judging from the looks I got jogging through campus, I’m not sure she was telling me the truth.
I thank the girl at the desk after she gives me directions. Before I walk away, I ask, “So … he’s okay, right?” She takes a while to answer, and I feel my entire body sway with worry.
“I’m not sure,” she says, glancing at her computer, then back at me. She must tell from my expression that I’m not exactly taking this well. She reaches to put a warm hand on my arm. “Hey,” she says soothingly. “I’m sure he’s fine. If not, they would have sent him to the ER.”
That’s true. I nod, thanking her, and then let my heart settle down. I can’t always expect the worst. This isn’t like with Gram. It doesn’t always end in tragedy.
I walk inside the large room with paper-covered exam tables. There are several people in varying degrees of injury. One guy is moaning, clutching his stomach. Another one has an ice pack over his face. Halloween on campus—it’ll probably only get
crazier as the night goes on. It doesn’t take me long to find Chris, laid up with his foot wrapped in Ace bandages. At that moment he looks over, his eyes a little glassy from what I guess are painkillers, and smiles.
“You are certainly a sexy Robin,” he says in a raspy voice.
I bite back my laugh and start toward him, the clicking of my heels drawing the stares of several other patients. “Don’t you dare be funny until you tell me you’re all right,” I say, stopping at this side. He’s still wearing a muscled Batman chest plate, a bright yellow belt.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.” Chris lets his head fall back. “Although I really did have my heart set on sweeping the costume contest circuit.” Even now, looking completely pathetic and sorry, Chris makes light of things. I wonder if he’ll always do that—even when things aren’t so funny. I reach to brush his blond hair to the side, and he closes his eyes. I want to lean down and kiss him better, relieved he’s okay. But instead I just sigh.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, motioning to his leg.
“Right now? No.” He sits up, looking pretty dazed. “Hairline fracture near the ankle. No treatment but to stay off it for a few weeks.”
That doesn’t sound like fun, but at least he’s not in the hospital. At that thought, I swallow hard and force a smile. “So can you go home?” I ask him. I exhale when he says yes and calls for the nurse.
I open Chris’s door for him as he crutches in. Looking away, I drop his prescription on his desk while he changes. When I turn around, he’s shirtless in a pair of basketball shorts. I can’t deny that my pulse quickens: He’s incredible.
I watch as he hops over to ease into bed, wincing a few times as he settles under the sheets. When he’s done, he looks in my direction.
“Come cuddle with me,” he murmurs, although his tone leads me to believe that isn’t exactly what he’s thinking. “Come love me, Caroline.”
“Are you sure you’re even injured?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Stop being cute,” I say, slipping out of my jacket and boots before joining him. Chris puts the blanket over my shoulders, taking me by the waist to turn me toward him. He slides his knee between mine. My costume is uncomfortably tight, but the heat of Chris’s skin is intoxicating. I curl up next to him, comfortable—not pressured or anxious.
“I’m sorry I ruined Halloween,” he whispers. “I’ll make it up to you next year.”
Next year. “Deal,” I say, not acknowledging that would imply we’ll still be together in a year. Chris shifts, his every movement making me a little crazier. His hand grazes my hip, and finally I can’t handle it anymore.
I take his arm and pull him closer—sliding underneath him as he adjusts. Chris pauses, looking me over like he’s surprised that we’re in such a compromising position. But my heart is racing and my body is tingling. I reach to put my hand on his chest and feel his heart pounding, too. He rests on his elbow, coming incredibly close to me as he brushes back my hair.
“Christopher,” I murmur when he doesn’t make a move. “Just kiss me.”
“I don’t want to ruin this,” he says more seriously than I’d ever expect him to be capable of.
Does he not see how nuts I am for him? Before I can rethink it, I lift my head to kiss him. He tastes like candy and boy and something so right I can’t even put it into words. As he deepens the kiss, I make a soft sound and Chris pulls back with a wicked grin. “You’re fun,” he murmurs. When I laugh, he carefully flips us over to take the pressure off his leg. I kiss him again until we both can hardly breathe.
I’m not sure how long we spend kissing, but it’s not until I hear my phone buzzing across the room that I glance at the clock. It’s gotten really late.
I straighten and stare down at Chris as he reaches for my Robin belt buckle to pull me back to him.
“Are you going to try and get me naked now?” I ask with a smirk.
“I’m still playing hard to get,” he says. When I don’t budge, he sits up and kisses low on my neck. Then he leans back to look at me. “Unless, of course, you want to get naked.”
“I was supposed to be home an hour ago.” I give him a quick peck. “Ask me again next time.”
“Uh, I believe you’re the one who asked.”
“True. Well, then, I’ll ask again next time.” I kiss him once more before climbing up, smoothing down my ridiculous costume.
I grab my things and zip up my boots, looking over my shoulder to see Chris blinking slowly like he’s falling asleep.
“You better call me,” he says as if he’s a one-night stand I’m walking out on.
“I would,” I say teasingly, “but I’ll probably be too busy making out with strange boys on park benches.”
He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong about you.”
I walk back over and lean down to give him a slow, sweet kiss good night. I practically have to drag myself from the comfort of his arms, the safety I feel when I’m with him.
I’m so happy—so not myself as I climb into the elevator. I can’t stop smiling, laughing to myself like I’ve gone completely mad. And as I cross the lobby, I realize why: I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with Christopher Drake.
THIRTEEN
STAY
Enraged, hurt, and humiliated by Joel—he just stood there with Lauren!—I drive in the rain without thinking to the place I feel safest. I end up parked in front of Gram’s. You’ll help me figure it out, I think to her. And then I remember that she’s dead.
And this time, for the first time, I cry.
In her driveway, my tears soak the superhero mask until I rip it off and toss it onto the seat next to me. I cry for every second that I haven’t since Gram died nearly three weeks ago. I cry for her. I cry for Joel. I cry for everything.
When the car windows fog up from my outburst, I get out and go inside. I’m shocked by the emptiness of the place, how barren it looks with all of Gram’s stuff gone—not in boxes, but actually gone. I guess I hadn’t thought about what it’d look like without her possessions. But what it looks like is nothing. Bare floors. Naked walls. Discolored spots where things sat or hung for years.
In the isolating quiet, I turn on my phone, intending to call Simone, but see that I have four texts and two missed calls from Joel. I read the texts:
CAROLINE, SERIOUSLY, THAT WAS NOT WHAT YOU THINK.
I’M AT YOUR HOUSE; WHERE ARE YOU?
I’M WAITING FOR YOU HERE. I HOPE YOUR MOM DOESN’T CALL THE COPS ON ME.
TEXT ME. PLEASE.
In my hand, the phone rings again. “Aren’t we persistent today?” I ask bitterly.
“Finally,” Joel says, sounding relieved. “Why’d you take off like that? I texted you right away—and I tried to follow you, but you were NASCAR driving out of my neighborhood.”
I’m not in the mood for jokes. “I wasn’t about to stick around and see you and Lauren defaulting on your breakup.”
“Defaulting?” He laughs. It’s such a rarity from him that for a moment, my insides soften. But then I remember feeling humiliated. I don’t respond.
“Listen, Caroline. I’m sorry, but it’s not what you think. And if you give me five minutes to explain, you’ll see that I’m not the bad guy here.”
Then why does it feel like you are?
When I’m quiet, he keeps talking. “Where are you right now? I want to see you. You know I don’t like talking on the phone.”
“At my grandmother’s,” I admit. I walk over and open the front door, then step outside. “Where are you parked?” I ask, looking in the direction of my mom’s house.
“Right across from … Oh, I see you. Okay, I’m coming over.”
I don’t say good-bye: I just end the call. Then, instead of waiting on the porch like an advertisement for neediness, I turn and walk inside, leaving the door wide open behind me. When I hear the floorboards creak, I turn and see Joel. He doesn’t look sorry. He just looks sort of amused.
“Nice outfit,” he says
, his dark eyes sparkling. I cross my arms over my chest in response. He nods, getting that I’m not backing down.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says. “It’s not what you think. Lauren was having a thing with a friend.” He pauses; I stare. “Okay, yeah, she’s not thrilled about the breakup. She wants to get back together.”
I grip my arms tighter.
“But we’re not,” Joel says quickly. I like how much he talks when I don’t—I’ll have to stay quiet more often. “I told her that. I told her that we’re done for good. I like someone else.”
“Joel,” I say harshly. “After Friday night at your house, you basically ignored me at school. Maybe you’re not getting back together with Lauren, but you aren’t exactly with me, either. At least not in public.”
“You know why I don’t want to put things out there just yet,” he says, raising his voice. “It’s too new, and I just ended things with Lauren. People would—”
“What?” I snap. “What would people do? God, Joel, why do you care anyway? Unless you’re lying about what I saw today—unless things aren’t over with her.”
“I told you Lauren and I are done and we’re done,” he says defensively. Then he takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt her. She’s still into me and this,” he says, waving his hand between us, “would hurt her. I may not want to be with her, but I don’t want to wreck her either. Surely you can understand that.”
I can, but I don’t say it. I’m so confused, and being here at Gram’s makes me think about her, her words.
Be careful who you love, Caroline. Never let them take too much. Is this what she meant? Because right now, raw and hurt, I think that maybe I am in love with Joel—but it’s nothing like I thought it would be. It’s insecurity and heartache, disappointment tempered with the occasional high. If I don’t stop it … I wonder if he’ll somehow wreck me, just the way he says he doesn’t want to wreck Lauren.