“You heading home?” I asked her, trying to change the subject. Rachel shook her head. “Nope. I've got to be at work in fifteen minutes. I'm going to have to change when I get there. Sorry. You staying for cross country?” She asked me, pulling her keys out of the front of her book bag.
“No, practice was canceled. I was hoping you'd keep me from feeling like an unsociable loser and give me something to do.” I pouted playfully. Rachel laughed. “You want to get together over the weekend? Maybe see a movie or something?” She asked me. Then she looked down at her shoes, suddenly finding them really interesting. “I'm sure Daniel will be with Kylie, so let's not bother asking him to come.” Rachel added, her voice getting all wobbly when she said our friend's name. I didn't address the issue again, and instead smiled brightly at her.
“Sounds good. Call me when you get home tonight and we'll make plans.” Rachel nodded and we parted ways, each going toward our respective cars. It was nice having my wheels back. The two days of being without them had been torture. I was lucky that I only needed a new battery, so I was able to pay for it and the towing without having to bum money off my parents. Though that didn't change my desperate need for a job ASAP.
I was thinking about going home to look online for gainful employment when I saw him. Clayton Reed. By now the school parking lot was pretty much cleared out and it almost seemed as if he had been waiting until he could sneak out without anyone noticing. But, of course, I noticed.
One thing was definitely certain. Clayton seemed to be making a supreme effort to avoid contact with the rest of the human species. So it wasn't surprising that rumors were flying like crazy about him. Aside from the one that Daniel had told me, I had also heard that he was in the Witness Protection Program. I had also heard some girls in my English Lit class, saying in breathy whispers, that they had heard he had a terminal brain tumor and had come to Davidson so he could get treatment at the hospital at the University of Virginia that was twenty minutes away. I had rolled my eyes at that one. Then there was the rumor that he was actually an indie rock star and was laying low to get some down time from the craziness of fame. It really depended on who you talked to as to what story you heard. I was certain that none of these scenarios were remotely accurate but there was something very mysterious about Clayton, that was for sure.
Why did I feel this persistent need to see him? To talk to him, and figure him out? Maybe it was the feeling of kinship at the way he shunned everything high school. Maybe it was the way he was shut down with everyone else but would breathe fire when he spoke to me. Yeah, he was a dick during our two interactions, but he was passionate and furious and so different than the closed off persona he exuded the other ninety-nine percent of the time.
So when I saw him walking across the parking lot, I went on some halfcocked instinct and made my way toward him. His head was down and his hands in the pockets of his signature green army jacket. He must have gotten a new MP3 player, because I could see the wire of the ear buds peeking out from his collar.
He was oblivious to everything around him, so he didn't notice me until I was standing right beside him.
“Whoa. Stalk much?” He asked, yanking the ear buds from his ears in irritation. What was it about me that coaxed this reaction from him? He never ignored me. No, he acted as if my one purpose on this planet was to annoy the shit out of him. He was testy and terse and not displaying any of the social aversion he showed at school. And I loved it. I was such a freakin' weirdo.
But I figured it was time to call him on his attitude. No sense in letting him think he could treat me like that and get away with it, no matter how much I dug his James Dean rebel without a cause shtick. “What is your problem? Have I unknowingly run over your puppy or something?” I bit back, crossing my arms over my chest, doing my best to act unaffected and maybe even mildly intimidating.
Yeah, that didn't work. Clayton snorted and I swear there was a hint of a smile. I held my hands up, palms out. “Hold the presses! Was that a facial expression other than annoyance and disdain?” I asked sarcastically. Clayton smirked at me, his lips turning up slightly. He actually seemed amused for once.
“Are you trying to tell me that my reigning title of Mr. Congeniality is in jeopardy?” He asked, openly smiling at me now. His face seemed to light up when he did that and my throat constricted painfully. If I thought he was hot before it was NOTHING compared to the way he looked when he smiled. I was a goner.
I relaxed a bit, taking a cue from his change in demeanor. Nice to feel like we weren't going to war at any moment, as much as I got into the verbal sparring thing. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes, trying to get a better look at him. He had gotten a haircut, much to my disappointment. His shaggy hair was much more manageable, and I found that I missed the curls around his ears and at the base of his neck. Maybe I was a stalker.
“Well, you aren't earning a reputation for your witty banter, Mr. Chatterbox.” I volleyed back. I hadn't realized we had stopped walking until I heard the chirp of a car lock being opened. We had stopped at a black BMW. My eyes widened some. “Your car?” I asked, looking inside the window at the sleek, leather interior. Clayton nodded, opening the door and tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. “Nice wheels.” I commented, not wanting to draw any attention to my crap mobile two rows over.
We fell into uncomfortable silence. Obviously, he wasn't interested in discussing his car. So I had no idea what to say next. I kicked a piece of gravel and drug my toe through the dust of the parking lot, making patterns with my shoe. “So did I kill your dog or what?” I asked, trying to continue our struggling conversation. I didn't want him to go. I wanted to keep him here, looking like that, you know without the cold anger in his eyes.
“No pet-icide that I know of.” He answered shortly, leaning against the BMW. I was relieved to see he wasn't making any moves to leave. So maybe he didn't hate my guts after all. “So why the attitude when I talk to you? I mean I get that I stole your guy card the other day but I honestly didn't mean to. But Paul is such a dick face and I hate how he mouths off like that. I was seriously only trying to help...” My words tapered off and I realized I was majorly rambling.
I looked at Clayton, who was staring straight ahead of him. That tightness had returned to his shoulders and I inexplicably wanted to rub them for him. After a few seconds, he finally spoke up. “I know you were just trying to be nice. I get what you were doing. I was just pissed, I guess. Or maybe embarrassed is more like it. You were there, I was mad, so I shot my mouth off at you. You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry.” He finally looked at me. And I was taken under by the intensity of his brown eyes. He looked at me like I was the only person in the world. It was a heady feeling.
I had to break the moment. I was scared my mouth was hanging open. And it felt like it was building to a point that I wasn't ready for. “Well, what about the first morning? You sorry for that too?” I asked jokingly. Clayton cocked his eyebrow at me. Damn he was sexy. “Um, no. You were the one who resembled a one woman wrecking ball. I didn't have a chance.” I chuckled. It was nice to know that Mr. Grumpy actually had a sense of humor.
I stuck out my hand and he looked at me as if I had grown three heads. “Let's start over. Hello, my name is Maggie Young. Seventeen year old self- confessed choc-o-holic and over all fabulous human being. Pleased to meet you.”
Clayton slowly reached out and clasped my hand in his. His handshake was firm and made those obnoxious butterflies in my stomach take flight at the feel of his warm skin against mine. His smile was wide and genuine, making his brown eyes sparkle. “Clayton Reed, though you can call me Clay. Seventeen year old senior and unabashed misanthrope.” He dropped my hand and stood there awkwardly.
“Misanthrope, huh? So you're a people hater? Well aren't you a barrel of fun.” I leaned against his car beside him. We were standing so close that our shoulders brushed against one another. I couldn't help but notice the tantalizing smell of his cologne; something citrusy and musky a
ll at once. Clay moved away marginally so that no part of our bodies touched. I tried to squelch the disappointment. I secretly, and I hoped imperceptibly, sniffed myself. All clear, deodorant was still working.
“Can't say that fun is a word I would use to describe myself lately. Maybe at one time.” Clayton's words trailed off and he peaked at me through his lashes as if he were embarrassed for revealing anything remotely personal about himself. “It must have be hard to have to transfer your senior year of high school. I mean leaving your friends, girlfriend, whatever.” Wow, I wasn't subtle at all. I cringed at my obvious dig for information. I didn't want to be so blatantly eager, but I just couldn't help myself.
Clayton's small smile appeared again, letting me know he wasn't fooled by my conspicuous line of questioning. “It wasn't that big of a deal. No real friends to speak of. No girlfriend.” He smirked and then looked away. His answer made me sad though. How depressing to not have any friends, nothing to really tie you to a particular place.
“Well maybe that will change here.” I said. Clayton looked at me questioningly and I realized how that statement sounded more like a coy invitation. I coughed uncomfortably and cleared my throat. “I mean, making friends and all.” I covered lamely. Clay nodded. “Maybe.” He didn't sound at all convinced.
“Did your parents get new jobs or something? Is that why you moved?” I asked. Clayton's discomfort seemed to magnify with my question. I thought it was innocent enough, nothing to incite the reaction I got. Clayton moved a good foot away from me and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. He turned his head away. “Uh, no. There were just...um, circumstances that required me to move.” The tone of his voice let me know that particular subject was closed.
“You're not in the Witness Protection Program are you?” I kidded, not wanting to drop the conversation. I wanted to know everything about Clayton Reed. He was going to be my friend, whether he wanted to or not.
Clay laughed. “Nope. Can't say that I am.” “Rock star then.” He shook his head. “Please tell me you don't have a brain tumor.” By this point Clayton's laugh was deep. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he seemed genuinely tickled by my questions. “Brain tumor? Really? Where the hell did you get that one?” He asked, wiping the tears from his eyes after he had finally stopped laughing.
I shrugged. “You should hear the rumors going around about you.” Clay groaned. I playfully nudged his arm. He seemed startled by the physical contact but for the first time, didn't pull away.
“That's what you get for your International Man of Mystery persona, buddy.” I told him. “Well, I just don't want people all up in my business, is all. I'm not exactly outgoing if you couldn't tell.” Clay conceded, looking at me for a moment as if I were one of those people he didn't want up in his business.
Well too bad Clayton Reed, I was going to be all up in your business. This guy was way too closed off and more than a little sad. I didn't think anyone could survive on such a lack of personal interaction. Maybe I was being pushy, but something told me that there was a part of Clay that needed this. Someone taking the time to know him, and to give a shit.
After a few more minutes of less awkward silence, Clay turned toward his Beamer. “Well, I'd better head home. Nice meeting you, Maggie.” He pulled open his door and stood there for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he really wanted to leave or not.
I moved away from his car, pulling my book bag onto my shoulder. I gave him a small wave. “Sure. It was nice meeting you too. Maybe I'll see you around.” I said noncommittally, though I knew I'd be hunting him down in the hallways first thing on Monday morning. Clay smirked at me again, as if he could read my thoughts. “I'm sure you will.” He started the engine and pulled out of his parking space. He gave a small salute and headed out of the parking lot. I stood there dumbly mute watching him go. I really hoped he didn't look in his rear view mirror and see me staring after him like that, but I just couldn't make myself move. Not until he was long gone.
“Wait! You actually spoke to him? Why did it take you this long to tell me? You should have said something immediately! This is major! What's he like?” Rachel shot off her questions at a rapid fire pace as we sat in my kitchen Saturday afternoon. We had just gotten back from seeing a really horrible romantic comedy, and we were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our day. I had casually mentioned my conversation with Clay and she had jumped all over it.
I went to the refrigerator and got out a soda, tossing Rachel a bottle of water. Which, she missed and it hit the tile floor with a loud thud. “Nice catch DiMaggio.” I said sarcastically. Rachel flipped me her middle finger and leaned down to pick up the bottle. Once upright, she pushed it onto the counter and gave me the look that let me know I had a lot of explaining to do. “Do not evade, Maggie May Young! Answer my questions! I need to know everything about your exchange with Mr. Clayton Reed.”
I perched up on the stool beside my friend and slowly popped open my soda can. Then I took my time taking a long drink before setting it down on the counter. Rachel was ready to pop. “C'mon! Stop stalling! Tell me about him!”
It was at that moment that my mother decided to make an appearance. “Tell you about who?” She asked breezily as she took a glass from the cabinet. My face flamed red. I absolutely DID NOT want to discuss Clayton Reed in front of my mom. As much as I loved my parents, there were limits to what I wanted them to know. I stopped talking to my parents about my crushes around the time I started shaving my legs. It's not as though they would be weird or overly protective or anything, it was just too embarrassing.
“Claay-ton Reee-eed.” Rachel told her in a sing song voice. I shot her a dark look and she stuck her tongue out at me, whispering, “That's what you get.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. My mom came over with a glass of some gross mixture of herbs that she swore kept her healthy. “Clayton Reed? Who is that?” My mom asked, sitting on the stool on the other side of me. Great, she was preparing for a full on gossip fest. This would take awhile. I wanted to throttle Rachel.
“Nobody.” I evaded, drinking the last of my soda and getting up to throw it in the recycling bin. “Nobody my butt! He's the new hot guy at school is who.” Rachel eagerly volunteered, giving my mom a dramatic raise of her eyebrows. “Oh! Do tell Maggie May! I want to hear all about him!” My mom was enthused and really getting into the girl talk.
“Yes, do tell, Mags.” Rachel agreed, grinning at me. I turned my back on them as I rummaged through the pantry trying to find something to snack on. I wasn't really hungry, I just didn't want to look at them. No sense in getting ragged about the bright pink blush I could feel on my face. “Nothing really to tell. I spoke with him yesterday before leaving school. He's pretty funny, though he didn't have a whole lot to say.” I said, pulling out a package of Oreos and cramming one in my mouth. Yeah, it was my age old defense mechanism. Eating, so I didn't have to talk. Amazing that I wasn't 200 pounds by now.
“That's it? Come on, Maggie, what did you talk about? What does he look like?” My mom asked. “Oh he is really good looking, Mrs. Young. He has dark hair and dark eyes. He's pretty tall and has these awesome broad shoulders and cute as hell freckles on his nose and cheeks.” I was a little surprised at how much Rachel had noticed about Clayton. Considering he wasn't Daniel Lowe, I didn't think she'd pay him any attention.
“He sounds dreamy.” My mom said. I choked on my cookie. I cleared my throat. “Dreamy? Really, Mom? Did we enter a time warp and end up in 1950?” I asked her sarcastically. My mom rolled her eyes. Hmm, wonder where I got that particular facial expression from?
“Well, did he ask you out? Is he going to be your boyfriend?” My mom joked, getting up and throwing her arm around my shoulders, squeezing. I squirmed. “Uh, no. I'm not even sure I'm going to be his friend. He's pretty stand- offish.” “Maggie has a boyfriend.” Rachel teased. I threw my balled up napkin at her. “You are not helping here, Rach.” I muttered.
My mom laughed. “I'm ju
st teasing, Maggie. But if this boy ever becomes something, you know we'd want to meet him.” My mom told me seriously. I clenched my teeth. Yeah, I knew that. As much as I would love for Clayton to be something more, I didn't want to go through that mortally humiliating rite of passage, otherwise known as meeting the parents.
“Sure.” I said dismissively. Rachel was trying really hard not to laugh at my discomfort. She would be getting an ear full as soon as my mom decided to leave the kitchen. “Well, you girls enjoy your afternoon. Dad and I are going to the Farmer's Market in Charlottesville. If you go out, don't forget your house key.” I nodded and was relieved when she left.
I whipped around to face Rachel who had already put her hands up in surrender. “Don't say it. You deserved it, stringing me along with the details like that.” She said. I frowned at her. “Using my mother as your weapon was a low blow and you know it.” I retorted. Rachel only grinned, not concerned by my irritation.
At that moment Rachel's phone went off. It vibrated across the counter top and she had to grab it before it fell off the edge. “What's up, Mom?” She asked after answering it. I resumed my seat on the stool and picked at my bright blue nail polish as I waited for Rachel to get off the phone.
“Seriously? Do I have to?” I looked up and Rachel did not look happy. Rachel sighed heavily. “Fine, I'll be there in ten.” Rachel hung up her phone and looked at me apologetically. “You're bailing on me?” I whined. Rachel got up and grabbed her purse. “Sorry, Mags, but my mom needs me to take Caitlyn to some stupid birthday party. She was called into work. Duty calls.” Caitlyn was Rachel's eight year old half-sister and permanent pain in the butt. Rachel lived with her mom and sister. Her dad had been out of the picture since Rachel was five and Caitlyn's dad bailed a few years back. Her mom worked as a nurse over at County General and often got called in, leaving Rachel to play mommy.
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