by Tricia Mills
“She has to be perfect, for some crazy reason. They want her to get all A’s, be popular, be the best at cheering, date who they think is the best potential boyfriend. She’s so busy trying to live the life her parents want that she doesn’t even know what she wants herself.”
“Oh, I can tell you what that is. She wants you.”
Jesse took a few steps closer. “You know I don’t want to get back with her. I want someone else.”
The memory of our near kiss warmed my chilled, exposed cheeks. I shook my head. “I . . . I can’t.” Nerves caused me to stammer and take a step back before I pulled myself together. “Plus, it doesn’t make sense. Guys like you end up with girls like Patrice.”
“Patrice and I are over, Winter. She’ll get the message. By the time we broke up, we were staying together out of habit more than anything. And that’s the ugly truth.” He sounded embarrassed by his admission.
Somehow I managed to keep up my ambivalent facade. I stood there, stiff, unable to force my feet to retreat as I watched Jesse climb the porch stairs, bringing his face level with mine.
“I really liked the jersey,” he said.
My breath formed a little cloud as it met the cold air. “I didn’t know it was a gag-gift party.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get me a gag gift.” He lifted his hand and placed his palm against my cheek. Despite the fact that he was standing outside without a coat and gloves, his skin felt warm against mine. “It was the best present I got.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. No appropriate response formed in my head.
He looked at me another moment before sighing and giving me a sad smile. Even faced with his disappointment, I couldn’t think clearly enough to speak. I resisted the intoxicating, confusing urge to lean forward and see what might happen. While I was busy resisting temptation, he retreated down the steps and jogged back to his house and his guests. Something twisted in the pit of my stomach as I worried that he might be changing his mind about Patrice.
“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”
—Henry David Thoreau, Quote-a-Day calendar
CHAPTER 24
“How was the party?” Mom asked when I stepped in.
“Fine.” I even managed not to sound as shaken as I felt.
Dad lowered the medical journal he was reading. “You’re home early.”
“All partied out, I guess.” I gestured toward the stairs. “Gotta do some homework.”
When I reached my room, I stood in the dark, my back against the door, eyes closed. What was wrong with me? Why was I upset about the scene between Patrice and Jesse? Why had I felt the need to give in to kissing him? Was it pure loneliness, or was I developing real feelings for him? Feelings that were independent of Spencer or my loss of him. If so, how was it possible, so soon after Spencer’s death?
I opened my eyes and listened. The faint beat of the music next door filtered through my window, preventing me from forgetting that I’d even stepped foot into the party.
As I pushed away from the door, I tried to imagine what Spencer would say if he could see me now and feel my struggle. I stopped and gasped when I couldn’t recall the sound of his voice. Bits of him were slipping away. How was that possible, to know someone for years and then have the sound of his voice fade from memory in less than two months? When I could still feel him with me at times?
“Spencer? ” I whispered. I scanned the room, wishing he’d somehow appear and speak to me, but nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself.
I sank onto my bed and scooted back to the headboard. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to pick my way through my confusion. My feelings for Jesse were jumbled, and my constant sense that Spencer wasn’t totally gone didn’t make it less confusing.
God, I wanted to be about thirty now, with all of this pain and confusion far behind me.
From my vantage point, I could see the light spilling from Jesse’s house. Trying to focus on something else, I pulled the new costume book from the Tundra Books bag. I’d been so excited when I’d ordered it, as I’d waited for it to arrive. But when it’d finally shown up in Tundra, costume design had seemed like a frivolous dream. I hadn’t even cracked the spine.
I ran my hand over the white cover, then flicked on the lamp attached to my headboard. I took a deep breath before I opened the cover. My eyes filled when I looked at the empty page where normally Spencer would have scrawled a note: some insight, something sweet, sometimes a snarky comment. I ran my fingertips over that blank page, as if they might make his words appear.
As I flipped through the pages, I remembered how Spencer used to tease me that someday I’d make the tabloids for my wild Hollywood lifestyle. I concentrated, trying to remember exactly how his voice had sounded, but only a vague echo surfaced.
I covered my face with my hands. “Oh, Spencer. I’m so sorry. Why can’t I hear you anymore?”
Only the dulled sound of music from next door answered me.
I took the costume book and moved to my overstuffed chair in the corner. I lost myself in the book, in the Academy Award-winning designs of Deborah Nadoolman Landis and the history of Hollywood costume design. With each page I turned, the spark of interest in returning to my own designs grew. I’d thought the desire to draw had disappeared forever in the weeks after Spencer’s crash.
A lump formed in my throat when I crossed the room to my desk and touched the cover of my sketchbook. A strange warmth surrounded me, and I imagined it was Spencer nudging me. It felt wonderful to be inspired again.
I took the sketch pad and my drawing pencils back to the chair, placing them on the ottoman. Five minutes of staring had passed before I grabbed the pad and flipped it open quickly, as though I was ripping off a Band-Aid.
But when my pencil tip touched the clean white page, instinct took over. And the first thing I created was a dress for Lindsay for the Snow Ball, because I was sure Caleb would ask her. They’d be the most stunning couple there. I made note of the fabric and supplies I’d need to create this thing of beauty—the shimmery red dress I’d originally planned for myself—and glanced at my untouched sewing machine in the corner.
After that, my pencil sprouted wings. I continued to draw and draw and draw. I drew until the cramping in my hand forced me to stop. Only then did I realize that many hours had passed, that it was the middle of the night. Next door, all was quiet and dark.
The sketching had freed something inside me, something that had been wound tight. With its release, a calm had begun taking up residence inside me. I stared at the dark house next door and decided not to stress so much about what I might feel for Jesse. I’d just take it slow and see what happened. After all, I might be stressing for no reason. Nothing might come of it.
I supposed I’d have to hang my life on a cliché and take things one day at a time.
“Where there is love there is life.”
—Mohandas K. Gandhi, Quote-a-Day calendar
CHAPTER 25
Snow covered more and more of the mountains each day. Today, I could tell a new blanket was falling when I looked out the window of Mom’s car as she drove me from school to Oregano’s. I’d stuck around helping her clean up her classroom after school, aiming to ask her advice about Jesse. But something had kept me from voicing my questions.
“Will you be home for dinner?” Mom asked as she pulled into a spot in front of Oregano’s. “You’ve got to be getting tired of the menu here.”
“I don’t know. I’ll give you a call.”
Mom didn’t look at me as if I might break anymore, but I could still tell she often thought of Spencer when she watched my expressions. She reached across and patted my hand before I slipped out into the mid-October cold.
As soon as I stepped inside, Lindsay pulled me into the kitchen, past where Casey was making a Mega Cheese pizza.
“Guess what!” Lindsay looked like she might go all pogo stick any moment.
“Caleb asked you to the Snow Ball.”
&
nbsp; Her face fell. “How’d you know?”
I smiled wide. “I had a feeling he’d ask.”
“Well, moose poop. Here I was anticipating springing the news on you.”
I hugged her. “I’m still excited for you, Linds.”
“What about you?” she asked as she pulled away. “You going to go with Jesse?”
I glanced out toward the booth where Caleb and Jesse were sitting. It had become a second home to the four of us in the past few weeks. “He hasn’t asked.”
“But he might have, if you’d let him.”
I fiddled with a Parmesan container on one of the metal prep counters. “I know. But at the time, the very thought scared me. I didn’t want to have any thought for someone other than Spencer.”
“And now?”
I leaned back against the wall. “Part of me would like to go, but part of me keeps focusing on how the dance is still so tied up with Spencer.”
I might daydream about Jesse, but Spencer still lived in my heart. I still ached for what might have been.
“Well, if the opportunity to go with Jesse arises again, take it,” Lindsay said.
I watched Jesse talk to Caleb, their words inaudible. Would I say yes if he asked? Or was it a moot point, since I’d dodged the opportunity? Should I just ask him?
I tried to think of things other than Jesse and the Snow Ball as I headed to our usual booth. Jesse made it difficult when he smiled at me, the way he always did. He stood and allowed me to slide into the booth next to him.
We immersed ourselves in homework and bread sticks.
“What do you think is going to be on the history midterm?” Caleb asked.
“Lots of dates,” Jesse answered.
“There’s always a lot of emphasis on tribal cultures,” I added.
We tossed out other possibilities until we had a list of topics we thought we should focus on.
After a few minutes, I had the misfortune of looking out the window just as Patrice, Skyler, and a couple other girls walked into view. I’d given up worrying about Patrice and the angry looks she still gave me, ones that had grown darker after the night of Jesse’s birthday party. It simply wasn’t worth the effort. That didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of her sharp stares. She clearly still thought Jesse was her personal property.
Despite her obvious dislike for me, what Jesse had shared about her parents had stuck with me. Each time I caught her staring, I looked for some hint of a girl who was hurting instead of a mean girl looking for the perfect way to get back at me. I didn’t know if she was hiding it deeper than before, or if the situation with Jesse had her leaning more toward the nasty end of the spectrum, but I rarely saw evidence of her gentler side. I sure didn’t see it now as her eyes met mine through the glass.
“Great. She looks happy,” I mumbled.
The others glanced outside, but Patrice and her friends were already coming in the front door. Instead of a viperish look, she’d pasted on a big smile. Trying a new tactic. Obvious much?
Jesse cursed under his breath as they approached our table. He’d shared the details of how Patrice kept calling him, leaving notes in his locker, and how she’d even started rumors that they were getting back together. Because he was a good guy and believed there was some good in her, he’d tried to discourage her without being mean. But his patience was wearing thin.
“Do you all need to order something? ” Lindsay asked Patrice and her friends without getting up.
“No. You all just looked so cozy in here, we decided to come see what was up.” She looked directly at me, even smiled.
I lifted my history book. “An exciting night of homework.” Which should be obvious by the textbooks and notes spread all over the table.
“So what do you think will be on the history midterm?” Patrice asked as she slid into the booth next to Jesse.
I felt his body tense as he pressed up against me. What I tried to ignore was the spark of awareness that went through me when our bodies touched.
“We have no idea,” Lindsay said.
“Not a clue,” I added, feeling a little guilty as I said it.
When Patrice’s cell rang, she glanced at the caller ID and her face fell. “Why does she have to call me a million times a day?” she muttered. She stood and walked away to answer. “Hey, Mom,” she said, in a chipper voice.
Just when I’d thought Jesse had been wrong about Patrice, I saw a hint of frustration that didn’t look like it had anything to do with getting her own way. Were her parents really controlling every aspect of her life?
Were they the ones urging her to get Jesse back? I tried to read more of her expression and body language to see if she really wanted Jesse back. But she didn’t reveal much if anything was there to be revealed.
Jesse shut his book and notebook and leaned toward me. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
I needed no more prompting. I might not be worrying about Patrice anymore, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hang out with her, either. I didn’t feel sorry for abandoning Lindsay and Caleb, because I knew as soon as Jesse left, Patrice wouldn’t stick around.
When we reached the beginning of our street, I looked back just to make sure we weren’t being pursued. “Not the most graceful of getaways,” I said.
“No, but it worked.” Jesse swung his arm around my shoulders.
Not so long ago, I would have immediately stepped away. Now, I didn’t. I didn’t even try to convince myself that I just wanted his warmth to shield me from the cold. He didn’t release me until we were almost to my house.
“Did you see the look on her face when her mom called?” I asked.
“No.”
“It reminded me of what you told me before, about her parents pressuring her.” I didn’t want to be spiteful, even if I didn’t like Patrice much.
Jesse stepped in front of me, and though there was no sign that things were about to change between us, my nerves sparked to life anyway.
“You’re a good person, Winter Craig.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “Why do you say that?”
“Because in your position, most people wouldn’t care why Patrice lashes out at people she sees as threats.”
So he knew all about her actions toward me. Not surprising.
“I’m not saying we’re going to become best pals or anything. I just wondered about it, that’s all.”
Jesse paced a couple of steps to the right. “Thing is, Patrice needs to stand up to her parents, and she doesn’t. She likes being the center of attention. In some ways, she’s like a two-year-old. She sees, she wants, she throws a tantrum if she doesn’t get.”
“And you’re what she wants.”
“Apparently. At least until she had me. Then she started wanting something else.”
I watched the play of emotions on Jesse’s face and braved a question everyone had been asking since his and Patrice’s breakup. “Do you think she slept with someone else?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I can see it being a little rebellion against her parents. Doesn’t really matter now.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jesse’s gaze met mine, and the way he looked at me—with a yearning for something real—tugged at my heart. My mouth opened to ask him what I’d not allowed him to ask me that night at his house. But again, something stopped me. Fear, uncertainty, Spencer’s continued presence in my heart—I wasn’t sure. Part of me was angry at myself for not having the strength to leave Spencer’s memory behind, while another part was still desperate to hold on to my loyalty.
How long would this battle continue?
I wondered if Jesse sensed my struggle, because he gave me a half smile and glanced toward the center of town.
“See you tomorrow. I’m going in, just in case Patrice’s posse decides to pick up their game,” he said with a wink.
I climbed my porch steps but hesitated at the door. Instead of going inside, I stood in the shadows and watched Jesse walk to his house. This semida
rkness seemed the only place I could admit, even to myself, that beneath the layer of friendship, I was feeling something else for him. A yearning that matched what I’d seen in his eyes.
Should I tell him before it was too late, as had happened with Spencer? Would I ever be fully ready?
I sighed and went inside, wishing I knew the way to answer my own questions.
“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.”
—Ingrid Bergman, Quote-a-Day calendar
CHAPTER 26
Saturday dawned bright but colder than normal for October. Still, there was no missing the annual fall craft fair at Town Park. It always provided one of the better chances to buy Christmas gifts without having to order them from Anchorage. As usual, the Snow Ball committee was having a bake sale, and Mom had made her famous three-tiered red-velvet cake as a contribution. And even though I still didn’t know if I’d attend the dance, I’d whipped up some pumpkin bars and lemon squares to donate.
Mom and I carried our sugary offerings to the square. The crowd was already visible as soon as we reached the front of our lot. The craft fair was the one time of the year when you could guarantee seeing people who didn’t poke their heads out any other time. Many of them were crafts-men in addition to being hermits, and this was when they made the bulk of their money. The timing worked out well. They could sell their creations and stock up on provisions for the winter in one trip.
With winter just around the corner, the fair also provided people with the chance to enjoy each other’s company before the weather became too dangerous to travel.
Luck was not with me, however, as we approached the Snow Ball booth. Patrice sat right in the middle of the table, smiling as if she’d already been crowned Snow Ball Queen. Despite what I now knew about her relationship with her parents, she still grated on my last nerve.
“Winter, hey!” she said, startling me so much I nearly dropped my containers of sweets. “Good to see you. Hi, Mrs. Craig.”
“Patrice. We’ve got a few things for you.”