by Ginger Scott
“I’m sorry. Did I…do something?” I say, starting to wonder if I can do this, be here, with him.
We’re pulling onto a side street that heads to the arena so we can park in one of the neighborhoods. In those fleeting seconds that the streetlights shine on his face through the window as they pass, I’m watching Cody intensely, trying to gage what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. There’s a spot in front of one of the historic homes a few blocks away, and Cody pulls over, sliding the gearshift into park. He pulls the keys from his truck and just stares at them in his lap, laughing to himself quietly.
“I don’t get it. What’s funny?” I say, starting to freak out a little and getting nervous.
He looks up at me, pushing his lips into a big smile, the dimples deep, but his mouth closed tightly. He’s acting, just like I was—faking that everything is okay.
“I was supposed to be there, too,” he says, his eyes right on mine, telling me the secret I already know, that I think I knew all along. “I didn’t go…because I didn’t want to be around Trevor.”
He gets out of the truck as soon as he’s done speaking, and I take those few seconds alone to gasp for breath and choke on my emotions. I could have met Cody months ago—before Trevor, before I met the Appletons, before I said yes! My path could have been so different. But it’s not. Cody chose to stay away. And we missed our moment.
It was supposed to be Cody.
I don’t know how we manage to walk to the arena, both of us walking side-by-side, our fingers so close to connecting, but never touching…not once. We get inside and find our seats, taking turns going to the restroom. Cody gets us drinks, and I busy myself twisting the straw on my Diet Coke, secretly glad that Cody’s not drinking anything hard either.
The lights flick twice, and people start to file from their seats down the aisles to crowd the stage, and I want to go. Cody’s questions have me wondering lots of things about myself, about who I really am—and I feel like I’m the girl who gets in the middle of the crowd, who throws her hands in the air, and tries to touch the lead singer’s hand at a concert. I look at Cody and nod to the stage. He shrugs, sets his drink in a cup holder, and puts his hand along my back to push me forward.
His touch is like an ice cube sliding down my back, the sensation a foreign surprise, but I’m desperate for it, to melt it, to make it warm. I keep my gaze forward, committed to the stage and the crowd that’s building before me. I want to be in the middle. I’m determined.
As we slide between the bodies, I feel Cody get closer; both of his hands grip my shoulders to direct me and keep me near him. I’m finally satisfied a few rows in front of the stage, near a walkway that I’m sure the band will walk out on. My heart is pounding, and the rush I’m feeling just standing here among the sea of bodies is addictive.
I know I’m not really taking a risk. I know compared to what Cody does—compared to driving off of a ramp at 80 miles per hour and throwing my body through twists and turns in the air—I’m not really risking anything. But I’m a far cry from the girl who sits in a balcony at a play, the girl who keeps her mouth shut at a football game, not wanting to scream or offend the guy sitting in front of her. And letting go of that inhibition, getting close to a stage, to a band that I love, feels like living.
The crowd is thick within minutes, and I know I’m going to be standing here—in this spot—for the next three hours. And Cody will be here. And that’s a risk, too.
I’m about to turn to him, let go a little more, and hug him, because I want to—when I realize he’s staring at someone near the corner of the stage. He’s visibly upset. I try to follow the direction of his eyes, but there are too many people, too many possibilities. Without looking at me, he gives my shoulders another squeeze.
“Hey, don’t move. Like, at all, okay? I’ll be right back. There’s someone I have to see,” he says, moving from me and sliding through the hundreds of people surrounding us.
I follow him with my eyes, watching him along every step. I’m on my toes by the end, and my calves are cramping, but I hold on, desperate to see. He stops, and I see a woman’s slender shoulders behind the frame of his body, but I can’t see her face. She reaches around him, and I see the tattoo sleeve of butterflies and flowers along one of her arms, and I know.
Cody moves just enough, and her black hair comes into view, slung to the side over one shoulder and falling all the way down to her ass. Her skin is tan, and her eyes are beautiful—even from a hundred feet away.
Someone on the stage makes a sound on one of the mikes, a test, and the crowd starts to scream. But I don’t move—I stay there, on the tips of my toes, watching. She holds his shoulder and stretches her fingers along his neck, into his hair, as she presses her lips to his ear so he can hear her. She’s giggling. Smiling. And I feel like I want to vomit. My only hope is that Cody doesn’t find any of this—anything about her—attractive.
I watch him pull out his phone, still unable to see his face, and he’s typing. I know he’s getting her number. The lights flash one more time, and Cody turns in my direction for just a second, indicating he has to go. She reaches up and hugs him tightly, kissing him on the lips lightly. It’s familiar—really fucking familiar.
Cody’s walking back toward me, and I relax my legs and turn my attention back to the stage, no longer wanting to see the look on his face. I think seeing him smile—seeing him wear my smile for someone else—will physically kill me. I can feel the warmth of his body when he slides back in behind me, long before he talks. I’m holding my breath, willing him silently to not tell me anything. I promise I won’t ask.
“Sorry, old friend. I just wanted to say hello,” he says, everything he left out just weighing on my heart and killing me slowly.
I’m learning so much about myself tonight. And it turns out—I’m also the girl that gets jealous.
“Kyla, right?” I ask, not even needing to hear his response.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
And like a gift, the lights go out, and the roar of the crowd silences everything else. I spend the next three hours singing at the top of my lungs until my voice has nothing left to give.
Because I’m pretty sure my heart doesn’t.
Chapter 13: What’s Good for You
I pretended to fall asleep within minutes after we left the concert. I know Cody bought it, because he kept the radio turned down low and was careful not to turn too quickly during the drive home. When we pulled into the house, I “woke up” and rubbed my eyes, quickly excusing myself to retreat inside.
I didn’t want to talk about Kyla—even though she was the only thing I was thinking about. And I didn’t want to talk about the fact that Cody could so easily have been in Trevor’s place if only he hadn’t let his ridiculous pride keep him away the night of the Dean’s party.
It’s that second thing that’s been keeping me awake at night. I know it isn’t fair to blame Cody, but I do. Every night, I sit in my window, watching Cody move around his garage, watching him come and go, and wondering about the possibilities. What would have happened if he had been there that night? I know I would have noticed him…but would I have noticed Trevor, too? And whose pull would have been stronger?
I can’t help but laugh at myself as I replay this same conversation in my head again tonight, the sad music playing through my small iPod speaker. It’s funny, because in my fantasy both Trevor and Cody are fighting over me, when in reality they both could so easily have not noticed me at all.
I get up from the windowsill the second Cody’s truck pulls out of the driveway. He’s going to the shop. He’s been working on a special project, and it’s been keeping him up late at night. I haven’t been riding with him in the mornings, but we talk before my calculus class starts. I purposely keep it short, and I always go to the drafting room for an hour or two after class, or right to my internship so there isn’t time to linger.
For some reason, though, I can’t seem to rest my thoughts tonight. Usually wh
en he leaves, I turn off my music and pull up my covers for bed and wait for Trevor to call. My conversations with Trevor are getting harder to have, too. I find myself drifting off, not fully listening. And it makes me feel like a terrible person. I’m not being fair to him, and with everything he’s doing for Cody, it’s making me feel more and more like a hypocrite—a liar or a cheat.
Trevor’s not calling tonight. He’s working late on prepping research for someone in Sumner’s office, and he wants to get it done before he flies in tomorrow. He’s coming a day early for Thanksgiving—he wants time to go over his plan with Cody. I think that’s why I’m so restless now, though.
Standing in the center of my bedroom in my warm sweats, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to talk myself out of doing something stupid. I seem to be losing the battle with each motion I make. First, I’m stuffing my feet into my sneakers, and soon my coat is on and my keys are in hand.
I’ll just drive by, maybe keep on going to the diner and have a late night breakfast, I think to myself, deep down knowing the real reason I’m jumping on the highway at midnight to spy on Cody at his shop. I want to know if he’s there alone. And if he’s not, I need to know who’s with him—if she’s with him.
The streets are empty as the first layers of snow are starting to dust the blacktop. I take it slow—I don’t really feel comfortable driving at night, let alone when the roads are slick. It takes me twice as long to get to the shop because of it. When I pull in, I see the lights on behind the bay window, and I see shadows moving around—I can tell someone is in there working.
I’m holding my breath as I idle up to the front of the building and turn off my engine. It takes me another ten minutes to work up the courage to get out of my car and knock on the door, and by this time, it’s almost one in the morning. I look around the corner for Cody’s truck, but I don’t see it. I’m sure he’s pulled it in to keep it warm. I fold my hands together and blow into them to thaw them out before I knock, and with a deep breath, I pound on the hard metal three times.
Then I wait.
The door rolls up a few seconds later, and I can see the oil-stained work boots underneath. I think briefly about fleeing, charging for my car, and diving in through the passenger seat. My face is burning with the embarrassment I feel over what I’ve done. But just when I’m worried I can’t take it any longer, I’m staring right into Gabe’s eyes, and he’s smiling at me, reaching out to pull me into a hug.
“Well hey, girl. What are you doing up so late at night?” he asks. My eyes are darting everywhere, looking for Cody, but I don’t see him. I see the Mustang up on the blocks, and the pieces of the car’s insides labeled and placed on towels around the garage. But there’s no Cody. He’s not here.
“I know what brought her out,” I hear Jessie’s familiar voice, and I choke back my tears hearing her, knowing she’s the one person—probably the only person I have on this earth—who understands. I turn to her, and she’s already reaching out her hand to pull me in.
“He’s not here?” I say, letting the tears fill up my eyes now.
“Oh shit! I’m not good at cryin’. No offense, Charlie, but I’m better off over here, with this engine block. You let me know if someone needs their ass kicked though, okay?” Gabe says, backing away and leaving me in Jessie’s capable arms.
“Yeah, I got this, babe. Just get back to work,” Jessie says, pulling me into the small office and setting me down on the couch. I see books strewn around the office table with various notecards, and I look at her with my eyes scrunched.
“Oh, these are mine. Sorry, I’m taking a class, trying to finish an English credit. It’s just for some paper. I take one class at a time, kinda all I can afford,” she says, picking up her notecards in order, tucking them in the book, and sliding it to the corner of the room.
As she packs her books, I’m distracted by her hands, just staring at them; my mind whirls through all of the possibilities, fighting the one that I desperately don’t want to be true. When she stops moving, I slowly lift my chin and find all the confirmation I need in the look on her face.
“Charlie, believe me, I’ve told him what a bad idea this is. I make no secret about how I feel about Kyla, but he’s not listening to me,” she says. I let the sobs fall now, and I fall forward on her lap, all air knocked from my lungs at her words.
“He…he…he’s been seeing her?” I ask, just needing to hear her say it out loud.
Jessie nods yes, and a feeling hits my stomach that forces me to run outside. Thankfully, Gabe’s left the door to the garage open, and I run to the small grass area to be sick. I throw up everything inside of me, and I fall to my knees. I’ve never felt pain like this, and I know right now that I’d give anything to make it go away.
“How could he, Jessie? After everything she did to him? How could he?” I say through my tears. I’m crying even harder now, and I don’t know how it’s possible. Gabe can’t help but hear me, and he steps out onto the driveway with a wet towel. Jessie pulls me by the hand back to my feet, and we walk to him. I take the towel and bury my face in it, thankful for its warmth.
I feel Gabe’s hand rub my back, and then I feel his lips kiss my forehead as he pulls me into his embrace. I just stand there with him all around me, shivering.
“Goddammit. I’m really shit at this, I’m so sorry, Charlie. I told him. But he’s so fucking stubborn,” Gabe says, his hands rubbing my back with force, trying to will me to stop my tears. I manage to get them to subside for a moment so I can talk.
“What did you tell him?” I say, my lip quivering from emotion and the freezing weather outside.
Gabe just lets his hands fall to the side, and I see him lock gazes with Jessie behind me.
“He told him how you feel,” Jessie says, and I flip around with shock at her words.
“He…what?!” I say, suddenly feeling betrayed by the only girlfriend I’ve ever had.
“Hey, I didn’t tell him. Jesus, Charlie…I didn’t have to. It’s obvious from a mile away, and anyone who’s ever seen you two as much as look at one another knows how badly you want one another,” Jessie says.
I slap my hands over my face and try to rewind through everything that’s happened. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” I say, sliding my feet back into the garage and to the office couch. “Jessie…it was supposed to be him.”
She’s looking at me like I’m deranged, probably wondering if I’m drunk or if I hit my head outside. I need Jessie to understand. I don’t know why, but for some reason having her on my team feels like the only chance I have to survive whatever this is that I’m going through. I tell her everything, about the first time we kissed, about Cody and Trevor, and about how Cody skipped the Dean’s party, and how I’m convinced—more than ever—that I would have fallen for him that night instead of Trevor…if he just would have gone.
By the time I’m done, it’s two in the morning, and Gabe’s wrapping up his work for the night. I feel guilty that I’ve taken up so much of Jessie’s time, but I’m clinging to her, like she’s the only thing holding me together. And as we’re getting ready to leave, locking up the garage, I feel the tears start up again.
“Charlie…are you going to be okay tonight?” she says, stopping just as she’s about to get in the car with Gabe.
“Yeah, yeah…I’ll…I’ll be fine,” I say, doing my best to mask how afraid I am to go home—how afraid I am to face whatever is next.
Jessie leans in the car and says something to Gabe, then he reaches over to give her a kiss. She grabs her bag and walks toward me while Gabe pulls away, and I feel a little air lift my lungs, allowing me to breathe.
“Come on, let’s go home. I’m staying with you tonight,” she says, reaching for my keys and taking over everything. And I let her.
We don’t talk during the ride home, and Jessie leaves the radio off after the first song that plays is one about a girl getting her heart broken. I almost laugh at the irony, but what’s mortifying is how much that s
imple song affects me, making my eyes tear up for the fifth time tonight.
Jessie turns the headlights off as she pulls up the driveway and parks my car close to the front door. I wait in the passenger seat while she walks around the car to open my door. I’m utterly dependent on her for everything, and I’m eternally grateful that she’s in my life.
I wrap my fingers around her forearm while I stand, and I reach my other hand into my hair to brush the strands out of my face from the chilling wind that’s settled into the night.
Then I see his headlights, and I’m frozen.
“Don’t move. Don’t even move from this spot. I’m begging you Charlie. Let me do this, okay?” Jessie says close to my ear. I trust her—she’s all I have right now.
Cody steps from the truck and starts to walk in our direction, the look on his face full of concern. Jessie doesn’t let him get closer than a few steps, though, as she strides at him with fierce determination. I even think I see a small amount of fear in his eyes.
I can’t hear them—and I’m torn between wanting to and wishing I could melt into the ground beneath me. Jessie’s hands are waving around her, and more than once she grabs Cody’s arm and stops him from passing her, from heading toward me. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, and he keeps pushing his hand through his hair.
My feet are planted firmly where she left me; I do as she said, despite the overwhelming urge to let my emotions run my body. I fight against the desire to run to him, not knowing if I would pound on his chest, or throw myself around him and kiss his mouth until I felt the scratch of his chin hard against my skin.
He’s pacing now, walking away from her, but coming back to her and pointing. I hear bits and pieces. He keeps saying, “You don’t understand.” But I don’t know what Jessie’s saying in return.
And then suddenly everything stops. Cody’s posture wanes, his shoulders slump, and his chin falls to his chest. Jessie turns to look at me. Slowly Cody’s face rises until he’s staring right at me; his eyes say just how sorry he is, and his half-smile is nothing happy at all. And I can’t help the flow of tears that come from looking at him. I gasp a little and bring my fist up to my mouth, biting on it in an attempt to stop myself from letting go of too much.