by Julia Day
“No.”
“Ready for a break?”
“Yeah.”
We detoured to the wall. Weirdly, once we stopped, my legs didn’t seem to get the message. They vibrated with the effort to keep me moving, even though I didn’t want to. I would’ve slipped if Ash hadn’t clamped an arm around my waist.
The ice held more skaters now. Some experienced. Most chugging along like I had. A tiny girl in pigtails and a bright green leotard thing went flashing by, doing leaps and twirls.
I had about OD’ed on skating. Facing Ash, I turned my back on the rink and its humiliatingly good, tiny people. “Since your mom went to Harvard, will you apply there?”
“Yeah. It’s where she wants me to go.”
“What about your dad?”
“My father is pushing me at Duke. They’d be happier if I chose one of their alma maters.”
“Why Stanford, then?”
“It’s where I want to go.” He looked down at his hands. “They’ll pay for Stanford if I get in, but they’d rather I stick closer to home.”
What must that feel like? All he had to worry about was getting in. The funding was guaranteed. “Have you picked a major?”
“Political science. That’s why I’m going after four colleges with top-ranked programs.” He shifted until our hips pressed together. “Where will you apply?”
“Carolina.”
He cocked his head, as if waiting for more, but I just smiled tightly.
“Anywhere else?”
“No definite plans yet.” College visits were expensive. Even at schools offering a free ride without FAFSA, I wouldn’t seriously consider accepting until I’d seen the campus in person. For each road trip, I’d have to babysit a night or two to raise the money. That might not be an issue for him, but it was for me. “I’m still researching my options.”
“Have you looked at any private colleges? They’ll throw money at you.”
“Not enough.” This topic was edging toward dangerous ground. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. We had to have the scholarship thing out in the open between us. Dread filled my gut. “If I don’t get a Peyton, I might have to go to Cape Fear for two years.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered my statement. His expression changed clearly and rapidly from curiosity to concern to suspicion. “What are you trying to say?”
The dread in my gut grew stronger. My body knew I was about to get myself in trouble, but I couldn’t stop my mouth. The words gushed out. “If you get the endorsement, my college plans are screwed.”
“Wow.” His gaze dropped to the ice. He picked at it with the toe of his blade. “What’s the point of telling me this? Are you hoping I’ll get out of the way?”
“That would be great, actually.”
My response gave him a jolt. His head snapped up. “Do you really think I’d drop out because of you?”
“I think you might drop out because it’s the right thing to do.”
His expression morphed into the haughty-Darcy look he did so well. “Being named a Peyton Scholar is a huge honor. It would please both me and my parents.”
“It would please me to get a college degree.” I wanted to kick something. It was as if Mr. Center of the Universe was deliberately ignoring the truth. “Why bother with Carolina when you’re going to Stanford?”
“I haven’t been accepted.”
“But you will be. How can you doubt it? And the moment you get your acceptance letter, you’ll blow off the Peyton endorsement after robbing me of my best chance to escape Heron.”
“If you wanted to escape so badly, you’d have more schools on your list than Carolina.”
I clamped my lips together. There was no good comeback without telling him things I didn’t want him to know.
He pushed away from the side, glided to the middle of the rink, and made slow circles on the ice. I watched him, mesmerized by the repetition, debating with myself over what to say next. If I didn’t tell him my situation, he couldn’t understand me. But I didn’t trust him yet, at least not enough. This was our second date. There might not be any more.
He braked, then zoomed back to the side. “Is this why you’re going out with me?”
“Shit, Ash. How could you think that? I’m with you because I like you. No other reason.” Apparently, he didn’t trust me either. The ice rink had stopped being fun, with its looping skaters and the cold and the insanely good Ash. I inched along the wall, determined to reach the gate without falling.
He whooshed past me, skating backwards. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t be around you right now.”
“Mature.”
I flipped him off as I stepped from the ice. This date was officially over. I headed for a bench and flopped down, fuming.
My first skate was unlaced when Ash’s jeans-clad legs appeared in front of me.
“What are you doing, Eden?”
“Taking off my skates.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going home.”
“I drove.”
Major detail I’d forgotten in the midst of my tantrum. I couldn’t call my folks. They were busy today, besides the obvious questions I wouldn’t want to answer. Maybe Mundy would come.
I exhaled loudly. This was silly. Ash brought me. He ought to drive me home. When necessary, I could be an expert at the silent treatment. “I’m hungry. I’m about to look for something to eat.”
“Me too.” He sat next me, his thigh touching mine. “May I join you?”
I met his gaze. Bad decision. Longing rippled through me, dissolving the anger. He was so … perfect. I wanted to be with him, not be mad at him. “Yes, you may.”
He slid an arm around my waist and leaned his forehead against mine. I didn’t know how long we sat that way. It was nice just to be held.
“Is this our first fight?” I asked.
“Not even close. More like our fifty-first.”
“And not likely to be the last.” I wiggled away from him. “Let’s eat.” After removing the second skate, I tramped over to the vendor to trade for my shoes. Ash was right behind me.
I nudged him. “What kind of food do you like?”
“All kinds. My mother doesn’t like to cook. We usually eat takeout.” His mouth hovered close to my ear. “Tell me what you want.”
Eating out for us was so rare that anything classier than a diner was an impossible dream. So I wanted somewhere that I would never go on my own, and he had asked. “Italian. With a waiter, a tablecloth, and real silverware.” I wouldn’t feel guilty if this was more expensive than he’d planned. Our first-date breakfast had set me back a higher percentage of my income than this would likely cost him.
He caught my hand. “Come with me.”
The restaurant looked like something out of a romantic movie. Dimmed lights. Tables lit by wine bottles with candles stuck in them. Waitstaff wearing black vests and bow ties.
“This is wonderful.” I opened the menu, read the prices, and snapped the menu shut. He would spend more on our meal today than I earned each night. “Have you eaten here before?”
“Often. The pasta primavera is awesome.”
Often meant he got the prices. Whoa. I took his suggestion, waited until our order was placed, then stared at him with determination. “We have to finish our discussion.”
“No, we don’t.”
“How can you doubt that Stanford will accept you?”
My question upset him. He toyed with his fork, tapped his fingers on the table, looked at me, and frowned. “My SATs might not be good enough.”
Interesting. Even after the high-school guidance counselor had told me I had the highest score in the senior class, I’d never wondered about Ash. “What did you make?”
“Twenty-one hundred.”
Whoa. No wonder Stanford wasn’t a slam dunk. “Take it again.”
“I have.” He held up three fingers. “I freeze. Every time.”
Mr. Amazing Grades w
asn’t always amazing on exams. Last month, this story would’ve made me ecstatic. Now, I wanted to hug him and make it all better. “You’ll still impress them. You have lots of AP classes. You’ll get in.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Ash?” I couldn’t get over how persistent he was. “Your parents want you to stay on the East Coast, and you’re not confident you’ll be admitted. Why are you pushing so hard for Stanford?”
“It’s a great school—” he began, as if reciting a familiar speech.
“Stop.” I shook my head at him. “Don’t tell me the story you’re telling everybody else. Duke and Harvard are great schools too, and you’re not drooling over them. What’s the real reason?”
He pursed his lips and looked out across the restaurant. “No one in my family has gone there.”
I laid my hand on the table, reaching out to him. “And you’d be far enough away that people from here can’t get to you easily.”
His gaze flicked back to me. “Yes.” He curled his fingers around mine, a big smile lighting his face. “You should see the campus. I love everything about it. The buildings. The energy. The weather. It feels like my school.”
I watched him speak, thrilled that he was excited, subdued that he’d be on the opposite side of the country from me, upset that I cared so much after two dates.
Our salads arrived. I released his hand, glad of the excuse to be busy, and dived right in.
He sat back in his chair. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I mumbled around a mouth full of lettuce. “You’ll love it there.”
“Eden, you have to apply somewhere besides Carolina.”
Well, that was a topic I could address with absolute confidence. “I’m not sure what I can afford.”
“You’d qualify for financial aid, wouldn’t you?”
Confession time. He’d given me something personal. It was my turn. “I might qualify, but I’ll never get any. I can’t use FAFSA.”
“Why?”
“My dad doesn’t want the government to know his business.”
“The government already knows his business.”
I speared a slice of plum tomato and watched the salad dressing slide off. “Doesn’t matter. Dad won’t cooperate.”
“Wow. You’re screwed.”
“I believe I mentioned that earlier.” I smiled at Ash over the drippy, waxy, candle-in-a-bottle—incredibly happy to be with him.
“Carolina has a top-rated poli-sci program, and their grad school in public policy is also one of the best. I want the Peyton endorsement, Eden, and I won’t cut you any slack.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m going to win. Just a warning.”
“Don’t think so.” His eyes held a determined gleam.
I held out my fist, and he bumped it.
Game on.
20
A Predictable Affair
I arrived in the media center after school on Monday with a specific mission. Find Heather.
It was a desperate choice. I didn’t really want to contact her, but I needed a parent’s signature on my scholarship forms. She might do it to spite my dad. And at this point, I didn’t care as long as I got my chance at leaving this hellhole of a town.
Heather would understand that.
Her last known location had been California. Four years had passed since we’d spoken, so she could be long gone, but maybe. I tried her third husband’s name. It was distinctive. Howard Stebbins.
I found him in Sacramento. A couple of searches later, I pinpointed his address. The other name on the deed was Taylor Mabry. Guy or girl?
Howard and Heather weren’t married anymore. That meant divorce decree. I went looking and found what I needed quickly.
Heather Anne Moore? She still used Dad’s name. Or was it the name of her kids?
We were not her kids. We belonged to Marnie.
I pushed away from the computer, my hands dropping into my lap. That tiny bit of information upset me more than I could’ve imagined. Her maiden name was Young. Simple to remember. But she kept Moore.
Her choice didn’t make sense, yet I didn’t want it explained. Not now. Not ever. I changed my mind. There would be no contact with Heather. I’d rather forge my dad’s signature a million times over than ask her for anything. After logging off, I fumbled with my backpack, preparing to leave.
When the door to the media center swished open, I glanced up to see Ash enter with Upala. He claimed a nearby table, never once looking my way.
We hadn’t been alone together since Saturday. Had the argument about the Peyton put a strain on our relationship? Two days seemed like forever.
I released my backpack, watching him intently, as if the force of my will would cause him to turn around and look my way. Upala frowned at me. I lowered my gaze to the computer screen. Maybe I should do some research for chemistry.
No, my brain was too fragmented to think. I needed to feel. I needed to be wanted.
Too distracted to stay focused, I glanced up again. He wasn’t there. I scanned the room in time to see him disappearing into the Biographies section.
Oh, yeah. Never could tell when information on Teddy Roosevelt might come in handy.
Ash was waiting for me in the A’s section. Poor John Adams would be sick of us before long.
I hesitated at the far end of the aisle. His expression was solemn. Why? Had I screwed things up?
“Come here,” he said.
I was going to melt. Really. If a bookshelf hadn’t been there to prop me up, I would be pooling on the floor. After shuffling along until I was few inches away from him, I gripped a metal shelf and hung on. “What do you want?”
“To touch you.”
I exhaled a happy breath. I hadn’t ruined anything. Life went back into balance. “I’m okay with that.”
He reached out, caught a stray lock of my hair between his fingers, and tugged me closer. “We don’t have another date planned.”
“True.” I shivered, hoping he was about to correct that oversight.
“How about this weekend?”
There was a Barber cousin getting married Saturday afternoon. “My folks are attending a wedding at Hammocks Beach. Marnie wants me to go, but I could skip it.”
“You’d be free the whole afternoon?” At my nod, he said, “Invite me over.”
“I don’t know…” Ash in our dinky trailer? His garage had to be bigger than my home.
“I need to be alone with you.”
His request made me nervous. “There are other places to be alone.”
“I don’t want to risk getting caught.” Ash closed the gap between our bodies. “I’d like to see where you live.”
I flattened myself against the bookshelf and watched him, mesmerized. Waiting. He braced his hands on either side of my shoulders, effectively trapping me in this spot. I felt feverish. “This is hot in ways I don’t want to examine.”
“Yeah?”
Nodding would have to do, because I seemed to have lost the ability to speak. His mouth hovered …
I shut my eyes, leaning into his kiss, focusing on nothing but the taste and touch of our lips and tongues.
“Invite me over,” he whispered.
This was a major step for me. “I’m not sure.”
“Please.” Another kiss.
I wanted to be alone with him, too. Somewhere that didn’t involve imminent discovery or our American forefathers peeping from the shelves.
But my home? Could I do it? Could I let him in?
It was hard to think that anything could go wrong when we were together and happy like this. “Okay.”
He smiled against my lips. “Saturday then.” The next kiss was hard and brief.
Even after he drew away, I stayed where I was, clinging to the shelves. My eyes opened as he reached the end of the aisle. He turned the corner without looking back.
I slid to the floor, a puddle of joy in Biographies, and wondered how I would make it through the rest
of the week.
* * *
Mundy didn’t show up for school on Tuesday. Neither did Dr. Holt. I was worried, but either the other teachers didn’t know or they weren’t allowed to say. Ash called her on his phone, but she didn’t answer.
Dad’s cell was buzzing on the kitchen table as I entered the trailer after school. I answered. “Hello?”
“Eden,” Mundy said, her voice thick with sobs. “I need your help.”
My whole body went on alert. “What happened?”
“Grampa Holt died last night. Around midnight.”
“Oh, Mundy. I’m so sorry.”
“Cam and Mom are at the funeral home. I have to join them.” She coughed.
“What can I do?”
“Could you come over? Destin is taking a nap. If he wakes up and you’re here, he’ll be too excited to get upset.”
“I’ll be over as soon as I find a car.”
* * *
When a yawning Destin thumped down the stairs, I was able to keep him happy with a bowl of peach ice cream and the promise of a playdate at the park. A couple of quick phone calls expanded the group of boys to three. Ash had a babysitting gig with his nephew, and Mrs. Fremont was glad to turn her little guy over to me a couple of hours early.
I pulled into the parking lot right behind Ash. Introductions weren’t necessary. Raj and Kurt remembered each other. Destin, having descended from the same extroverted gene pool as Mundy, joined in without hesitation. Hardly a minute passed before the boys were running around on the grass, playing some incomprehensible game with rules made up on the fly.
Ash and I sat side by side on a picnic table. While he maintained a vigilant watch over three boys, I admired his profile. An appropriate division of labor.
His lips twitched. “What are you doing?”
“I enjoy looking at you.”
“You’re giving me an ego.”
“Like you didn’t already have one?” Really, though, he deserved to. Ash was a nearly perfect guy. He held doors for me and listened to what I said. He was fun to talk to, since he’d been a lot of places and seen a lot of things. Even his arrogance made sense. If he hadn’t had a clue about how awesome he was, he would’ve been totally lacking in self-awareness, and that would’ve been annoying.