“Where are you rushing off to?” Krupa asked as I flew by our locker.
If I stopped to talk to her I would lose my courage so I kept on going. “Tell you later,” I yelled over my shoulder. I went over the plan in my head: Will would be paid extra for helping me, the money tacked on to what he made each week, since I didn’t want Will to feel like I was asking for favors. When I reached the end of the hall I shifted my body into the metal bar across the exit door and soon I was outside in the sun. People rushed by on their way home or hung out in groups, loitering on the lawn, enjoying the nice day. A few gave me a small wave but no one stopped to talk. I cupped a hand over my eyes, searching the grounds, but still no Will.
Maybe I would find him at his truck.
I took the shortcut to the parking lot and skidded my way down a steep grassy bank and onto the pavement, sliding sideways between cars so close together they almost touched. People were sitting on their bumpers in groups, talking and laughing. Kecia Alli was putting a bag into her trunk, already dressed for cheerleading practice—and I made a quick left at an SUV and headed down another row. The noise of football practice reached out to me and I thought of Chris. Would he care that I was going to ask another guy for help instead of him?
Right when I was about to give up, I saw the Doniger Landscaping truck, gray and battered and towering over the little four-doors parked nearby, and I made my way there. I leaned against the driver’s side door to wait, the metal burning hot through my T-shirt. Occasionally I glanced around to see if Will was anywhere in the vicinity, and eventually he was. Through the windows I watched him say goodbye to a few other guys, and when he came around the front of the cab he halted, surprised to see me I think.
“Hi, Will,” I said.
“Hey. What can I do for you?” he asked, straight to the point, as if he already assumed my reason for being there could only be business-related.
The lack of small talk threw me off but I could be all business, too. “Um. Well. I guess I sort of have to figure out how to plant something in our yard that’s supposed to grow in the spring. Peonies. Apparently they are kind of tricky and I don’t really know what I’m doing and it’s important—”
“Are you asking for my help?” he interrupted.
I swallowed, unnerved by those eyes of his. “As a matter of fact, yes. I am. I’d like your help.”
“Sure.” He looked at his watch and a sliver of white flashed along its side where his skin hadn’t tanned. “How about Saturday? Around one or so?”
“This Saturday?”
Will nodded, his expression blank. He hooked a thumb into his jeans pocket, waiting there, looking awkward.
“Okay, that would be great,” I agreed, and then remembered my speech, quickly launching into it. “So about getting paid—”
He shook his head and waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pick you up at your house,” he said, reaching toward me, and his fingertips grazed my arm.
My heart responded by pounding hard.
“Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing at his truck.
I was blocking the door. “Oh. Sorry,” I said, embarrassed, and stepped aside. The door opened and shut with a loud groan as he got in. “See you Saturday then,” I added, though I don’t know that he heard me. Will didn’t look back. Not once.
I watched as he drove away.
8
HOW IT ENDS
The next morning I raced past Will like yesterday’s conversation had never happened. He was walking across the lawn, far enough away that I felt my ignoring him wouldn’t be overly conspicuous. I didn’t know if we were supposed to act differently now that we had plans for Saturday, or just the same as always, barely acknowledging each other’s existence. Luckily I didn’t have long to debate this because Chris’s SUV was already idling in the street, waiting to take me to school.
“Hey, babe, how are you?” he asked as I climbed inside.
I responded with an all too enthusiastic “I’m great!” because I was feeling uneasy about my Will-and-Rose field trip. I knew I should tell Chris that I would be missing his football game again, and that, by the way, it was because I was going somewhere with Will Doniger, but as we raced toward the end of the street, these things went around in my mind and stayed there.
“You’re in a good mood again,” Chris observed. “It’s nice.”
I tried to force myself to tell him, but all I managed was “Sure. I guess I am.” We came to a stop sign and Chris pulled me toward him, laughing softly in my ear. He placed a hand on my cheek and turned my face toward his, leaning in for a kiss, and for the first time in months I made myself kiss him back like I always used to.
“Maybe we should take advantage of your good mood tonight,” he said, a thread of hope running through his voice. When he settled back into his seat and stepped on the gas, the anticipation on his face was reflected in the window.
I wanted to make him happy, and I wanted to make me happy, too. Maybe if I just dived back in, things would return to the way they used to be between Chris and me, so out of my mouth came the only word Chris wanted to hear and that I was capable of getting out at the time. “Okay,” I agreed, and shut my eyes tight.
Chris and I were standing by my locker when Krupa appeared. My back was against the metal and Chris’s hands were pressed against it on either side of my head. “So I’m done at practice around seven,” he said, and smiled at me.
I knew that look. “See you then,” I said.
“Absolutely.” He gave me one last kiss and sauntered away, giving Krupa a nod.
“Now that is something I haven’t seen in a long time,” Krupa said, spinning the combination into the lock and opening the door.
“I know. But I think things are starting to go back to the way they used to be,” I said. “He’s coming over tonight.”
Krupa raised her eyebrows. “Really.” She grabbed her chemistry textbook and slammed the locker shut.
“Really,” I said, even though unease settled over me like a dark cloud.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Rose,” Krupa murmured, and took off to class.
By eight o’clock Chris and I were in the basement watching a movie on the old, scratchy orange couch that had a spring poking up just under the fabric, the only light in the room coming from the television. We lay there, talking occasionally, or getting up to grab more soda from the fridge upstairs, and everything was fine. At first. But when the credits began to roll across the screen, I waited for the inevitable, becoming numb, like someone had shot Novocain through my limbs and little by little they were losing feeling. By the time Chris leaned over to kiss me it felt as though a stone statue had replaced the living girl, or that I’d suddenly left my body and become a ghost, hovering above.
Chris’s lips met my mouth, but my mouth didn’t respond, and when he pushed me back onto the couch, the metal spring stabbed right into the most vulnerable spot of my back, where my lungs ached for breath. Chris fumbled with the button on my jeans and I gasped, but not in a good way, and his hand froze. He moved off of me and I slipped from the couch onto the floor, curling up tight on the rug by the coffee table and watching as Chris sat there, raking his fingers through his blond hair.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t you like me anymore?” Chris asked, his voice vulnerable, showing me a side that he kept hidden from everyone else. “You used to be so into things.”
“I know,” I said, and hung my head. Kissing, sex, and everything in between used to be so easy with us. Whenever we ran out of things to say it always filled in whatever was missing, smoothed over our disagreements when we fought. But now, when we needed it to help us leap over a difficult place, we ended up staring out over this wide gap with no way to cross. I didn’t know how to be in my body anymore—not after seeing my mother’s wither and die and take her life with it. Those final images of her taught me that bodies were places for hurt and pain, not pleasure. “I’m sorry. I really,
truly am,” I told him.
Chris stood up, his body outlined by the light of the television flickering behind him. “Is there a time frame you can give me or something? How long do you need, Rose?”
I stared at him, thinking about how my entire world was broken in pieces and I didn’t know how to put them back together again. “I don’t know, I really don’t. I wish I did. I wish I could fix this. I wish I could fix everything.”
“Is there something I did?” Chris asked. “What is making you like this?”
“My mother died,” I whispered, and each time I uttered this it felt impossible.
Chris’s hands, both of them, went up to his head and ran down his face. “I know. But that was like, five months ago.”
“Almost four,” I corrected him. “And it still feels like yesterday.”
“What can I do to help? What do you need from me, Rose? Do you want space? Do you want to break up and you’re just too afraid to tell me? Is that it?”
My head jerked up and my eyes fixed on his. Inside, part of me screamed no, but another part wanted this drama over, for the raw feelings that kept tearing at the seam of a deep, far from healed wound to stop, and to be left alone once and for all. “Do you?”
Chris stood there, not moving, not answering—not at first. I could feel his eyes on me while mine shifted away, studying the individual tufts of the rug, like short blades of grass. Then I heard him say, “I don’t know anymore. Maybe we should end this before it gets any worse because it doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he repeated. “Really? That’s all you have to say? You’re fine with breaking up?”
I shrugged—I didn’t know what else to do. “But you said—”
“I didn’t think you would agree,” he yelled.
I shrank away. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I thought you’d tell me, No, Chris, I love you, Chris, we can work things out, Chris, I’m so grateful you’re here for me, Chris, and soon I’ll feel better and things will go back to normal!” His tone was mocking and his breath came in angry heaves.
“But I don’t know if they ever will,” I said in a small voice.
There was a long pause. “Fine. I guess that’s it.” Chris’s voice was even again, a mixture of hurt and fury. “We’re done. Goodbye.”
His footsteps were heavy on the wooden stairs that led up to the kitchen from the basement, and when he slammed the front door, the force of it reverberated through the house. I crawled back onto the couch and stared at the television for what seemed like hours, too in shock to fall asleep. Eventually I dragged myself to a standing position and headed to my room. Once I was in bed, tucked under my comforter and sheets, the words “Chris and I broke up” tumbled through me, sickening my stomach. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t. We’d get back together again because that was what we always did. When I finally drifted off to sleep I tossed and turned and woke again, staring into the darkness, feeling lonelier than ever.
At one p.m. sharp the next day the bell rang and then it rang again. I dragged myself from bed, rubbing my eyes as I headed to the front door to see who was there. For a minute I thought it might be Chris, come to say that last night was a mistake, that he didn’t want to be broken up, but then I remembered he had a football game so it couldn’t be him.
Which made me remember who it actually was.
I looked through the window and saw Will Doniger standing on the porch, waiting for me. Oh my god. I couldn’t believe I forgot and even worse, I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not after Chris. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything this weekend other than stay in bed and mope and talk to Krupa about what happened. I felt horrible for a million reasons at once, but I took a deep breath and opened the door anyway. “Hi,” I said.
Will looked at me. I was dressed only in a tank top and shorts, barefoot, and though I hadn’t looked in the mirror I was sure my hair was a knotted mess. “Did you forget—”
“No,” I interrupted. “Well, yes. Sort of. It’s complicated. I’m sorry. I had a bad—” I stopped. I didn’t need to tell Will why, I only needed to apologize and hope he was forgiving enough to come back another day. “Listen, I know you are busy, really busy,” I began, searching for the right words, “and I hate to ask this, I’m really sorry to, but is there any way we could do this next Saturday instead? Something important came up and today I just can’t.” Will’s eyes were on the ground so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Please?”
After a long silence, he said, “Sure. Next Saturday then. Same time.”
“Wow, thank you so much—” I started to gush.
“Feel better,” he said, and turned and left.
He walked all the way to his truck before I shut the door.
9
OVER YOU
The smell of coffee was strong through the house. Monday morning arrived and with it a feeling of deep dread. Chris and me in a fight was one thing—people at school were accustomed to our spats, and all couples fought, especially when they’d gone out for so long like Chris and I. Our stalemates had always ended with us making up and usually making out in the hallway by Chris’s locker. These public kissing sessions were like an official school bulletin that Rose Madison and Chris Williams were back together again. But this time was different. We hadn’t spoken since Friday, and today would mark the first occasion I’d walk through the Lewis High School hallways as just Rose and not Chris Williams’s girlfriend. Who I was without him, I didn’t really know and I didn’t feel ready to find out either.
As if this were a day like any other, I got Dad’s travel mug ready and made sure he ate his breakfast before sending him off to work. But afterward, as I stood under the scalding water of the shower, I wished that I could erase Friday night and replace it with a different outcome or that I’d just imagined my breakup with Chris and today everything would go back to normal. As I was getting dressed, my phone vibrated and Chris’s face filled the screen. I stared until it stilled. Was it good or bad that he was calling me? It vibrated again and I closed my eyes, thinking I should pick up, that maybe if I did, we would make up and everything would be okay again, and finally on the fifth ring, I reached for it. “Hey,” I said as if nothing was wrong.
“Rose,” Chris said, his tone quiet and even.
Nerves rattled my stomach. “I’m glad you called. I thought about calling all weekend because I’m worried that maybe we were too hasty, breaking up like that on Friday.” I was rambling but I didn’t care. “I don’t know what happened the other night, I just—”
“I’ve done some thinking, too,” he interrupted. “I’ve been patient and I’ve tiptoed around your needs and stuck by you through all your craziness—no music because it makes you sad, no sex or even kissing for god’s sake because you don’t want to be touched, no football games because you don’t want to go back to the stadium, no talking to the cheerleaders because you quit and feel awkward, no drinking because of your dad’s drinking. No this, no that.”
My body grew cold as I listened to Chris’s list of my hangups and the various other things I’d been avoiding since spring. “You’re right. It isn’t fair.”
“No, actually, Rose, I get it, to a point. Your mother dying is a huge deal and who am I to understand what you’re going through and how you need to get through it? What I was right about, though, was telling you that we needed space, because obviously we do. Obviously that’s what you’ve wanted all along or you would have disagreed when I first brought it up.”
“But I was confused and I was having a hard night,” I said, my hand balling up into a fist.
“When aren’t you lately?”
Like a fish searching for air, I opened my mouth then shut it again and there was a long silence.
Then Chris said, “The reason why I called is because I want my jacket back.”
I felt slapped. “What?”
“Don’t make this more
difficult than it already is,” he said.
“But—” I started, but didn’t know how to finish.
Chris’s football jacket was so symbolic of our relationship and of who I was that returning it felt almost impossible. I’ll never forget the first time I wore it. We were on our second date, at the diner where all the football players went after their games.
“Turn around,” Chris said to me, holding his jacket in front of him by the bright-blue-and-white-striped collar.
“Really?” I asked, excited by the gesture. My face flushed from happiness and I tilted my head a little to watch as Chris slipped one bulky sleeve up my arm to my shoulder and then the other so I could shrug myself into the rest. My fingertips were just barely visible at the ends. It felt like Christmas, putting on that jacket, and wearing it said to everyone that I, Rose Madison, was Chris Williams’s girlfriend.
“Keep it,” Chris told me. “I like it better on you.” He smiled and I got up on my tiptoes, placed both hands against his chest, and gave him a long, slow kiss. We barely noticed the whistling and catcalls from his teammates sitting in a nearby booth.
But now this memory hurt because I knew exactly what not wearing it would mean to everyone at school, and this made my heart ache. Returning his jacket made our breakup more real somehow. “Chris, I—”
“Bring it,” Chris said, his voice sharp. “Today.”
A deep breath pushed my chest out involuntarily. “Okay,” I said even as tears stung my eyes and streamed down my face. “If that’s what you want.”
There was another long pause and he sighed into the phone. “It is.”
I heard a click and Chris’s picture disappeared from the screen. The jacket I’d proudly worn for two years stared at me from the back of my desk chair, where I always put it at the end of the day, and I grabbed it. Before I left the house I took out a big canvas shopping bag from under the kitchen sink. The letters Chris Williams stitched into the wool caught my gaze and I gave his name one long last look and then shoved the jacket inside.
SURVIVAL KIT Page 4