by Kristin Rae
“I don’t have a car. I’ve taken tap dance since I was nine.” I pause, setting up for the one that will really get them. “The only man I’ve ever loved is dead.”
CHAPTER FOUR
As I reach my locker to retrieve the books I need tonight—have to read the first chapter in nearly all of them—a voice calls out behind me.
“That was so cool, what you did back there. With Rica.”
I turn to find Sarah and the boys who called me their captain.
“Seriously, it was awesome,” the guy with bushy, nut-colored hair says. “No one’s ever had the stones to put her in her place like that.”
“Yeah, not even us, and we actually have stones,” the thicker one says. “Real ones.”
I shrug. “The words just came to my head at the right time instead of ten minutes later, when they’re not useful anymore.”
“Well, I appreciated it.” Sarah moves the book she’s carrying to the other arm and extends her right hand. “We wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Sarah.”
“Maddie.” I take her hand, and each of the boys offers his too. It all feels very adult. I may have just found my people.
“I’m Ryan.”
“Brian.”
An eyebrow raised, I look from one to the other. “Wait. Your name’s Ryan and yours is Brian?” They nod. “Are you related?”
Brian rolls his eyes. “Why does everyone ask that? Do we look alike? No. He’s fat, I’m thin. I’m tall, he’s short. The rhyming thing is just a coincidence.”
Ryan whacks him in the chest. “I am not short and fat. You’re barely an inch taller than me and maybe ten pounds less. Stop trying to impress the new girl.”
“Ignore them. We all do.” Sarah laughs, then leans in a little closer. “So, about your truths . . .”
“Was that for real . . . ?” Brian lets his voice trail off.
The solemn expression on their faces lets on that they have heart. They’re not chomping at the bit for a meaty piece of gossip. I believe they’re actually concerned. Of course, they are actors.
“The tap dancing really was the lie. I only started about six months ago.”
“Then the only guy you’ve ever loved really did die?” Sarah clasps one of my hands in her stubby ones, a gesture I thought only friends would take the liberty to do. “Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry.” She encircles me with her arms and pulls me against her short frame briefly before pulling away. “Do you need to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” And I can’t imagine how cryptic all of this sounds, but I’m not explaining it yet. Let them create their own romanticized versions of my love life.
No one knows what else to say until Ryan finally tugs gently on Sarah’s shoulder. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Maddie. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I watch the trio move away, the boys on either side of her like bodyguards, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. A text message.
Ma: So sorry I’m running late. At store getting paint mixed. Be there in 10.
I consider waiting for her in the nice air-conditioned hallway, but the place clears out quickly and there’s a major creep factor in an empty, massive school I’m not familiar with yet. I shudder.
A door slams near the end of the hallway, possibly by the theatre. I glance at the approaching figure in between piling books into my arms, and as he gets closer, I realize it’s Jesse. He’s heading this way, boots clomping down the hallway, sounding not unlike high heels.
I play it cool like I wasn’t just looking right at him, nose in my locker, book stack getting out of control. I shift my arm to make room for one more, but the hardback on the bottom pinches the skin near my elbow and I nearly cry out. The books lose their balance and I let all of them tumble to the floor, some clanging like thunder against the lockers on the way down.
“Gravity pulling pranks on you today?”
“Huh?” I take a step back and survey the damage.
“First your notebook in class”—he peeks inside my empty locker—“now everything else you own.”
“My backpack is still in a box somewhere,” I mutter, bending to pick up my mess.
“So you really are new, then? Like, just-moved-to-town new?” He adjusts his backpack so it’s strapped to both shoulders, then squats and helps me collect the books.
“Just-moved-to-Texas new. Just-moved-from-the-city-to-the-country new.”
He laughs. “Fernwood is straight-up burbs. The country is a little farther north.”
“Well, a week ago I lived within spitting distance of my neighbors, and now all I see out my bedroom window are millions of squirrels in what looks like a forest, so . . . feels like the country to me.” I don’t mean for it to come out quite so whiny, so I quickly try to make up for it. “But it’s nice.”
Jesse makes a half-laughing, half–throat-clearing sound. “Yeah, sounds like you love it here.”
I’m not about to pretend that I do, but I don’t want to dump all my gripes on him about how my friends dropped me before I left, or how I missed the chance to audition for a play I was really excited about. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”
He stands with nearly all my books, and a few veins rise down the length of his arm. He does have rather nice arms.
“Where are we headed with these?” he asks. “Which side did you park on?”
He’s carrying my books! I die.
“Oh, um . . . just going to the curb out front. My mom’s picking me up.” I grab my notebook and the last book left on the floor. “So this is what a Southern gentleman looks like? You really don’t have to carry them for me. I’m sure you’re busy.”
He frowns. “Are you one of those girls who has to do everything herself?”
“What?” I hug the books I’m holding to my chest. “I just don’t like to make anyone go out of their way for me.”
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “It’s not out of my way.”
Jesse heads for the main entrance and I follow him out into the midday heat. Moisture beads up along my hairline almost immediately. So attractive.
“Do you see her car in line? I can put them in the backseat.”
I scan the queue. “No.” I check my phone and see I missed another text.
Ma: 10 more minutes. I’m so sorry!
“Ten more minutes, she says. Just set them down. I’ll toss them in when she gets here.”
He squints up at the sky and three deep vertical lines appear between his eyebrows. “How about I just take you home?”
This could be interesting. He still doesn’t know I live across the street from him, or that I know his sister and his mom.
I bite my lip. “How do I know you’re not a psycho?”
Surprise colors his expression. “I promise I’m not a psycho. Plus, I’m the captain of the baseball team. Do you think I could afford to kidnap someone? That wouldn’t be the best career move.”
“So you’re, like, the star?”
“Well—” He cuts himself off with a shrug and directs his gaze just below my left eye. “Speaking of stars, you seem to have a thing for them.”
I’m glad to hear my beauty mark survived the day intact. I was a little worried it would end up smeared across half my face.
“It’s true,” I say. “I like stars. Though typically not of the sports variety.”
“No?” He tilts his head to the side and his eyes dart down the length of my body, slow enough that it’s clear he definitely wants me to notice the action. “Well, you may change your mind one day.”
I roll my eyes. Never.
“You really don’t mind taking me home?”
“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t have to be at work until four thirty.”
I give Ma a call as I walk with Jesse through the parking lot. She apologizes profusely and promises to make something spectacular for dinner. She’ll even pick up a cake to celebrate completing my first day at a new school. I love what a guilty conscience can do.
His truck doesn’t have a backseat, so we dump all the books onto the floorboard and I climb in the passenger side.
“So where do you live?” he asks, starting the engine, which gives a nice long screech before it finally idles right.
“Twin Oaks Circle.” I look out the window and focus on the other kids getting in their cars, even though I desperately want to see his reaction.
This is just like in Sabrina when David brings a newly made-over Sabrina home, having no clue she is the same girl who lives above his family’s garage with her chauffeur father. Except I don’t live above his family’s garage—just across the street.
“Huh. What are the odds? That’s the same road I live on.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” I press my lips together to keep from smiling and continue to stare out the window as we merge into traffic.
Jesse runs through the same questions I’ve grown sick of answering today, about where I’m from and whether I’m a Cubs or a White Sox fan (I tell him the Cubbies, but only because Dad and Rider root for them—I don’t watch televised sports. Or live sports . . .). He asks if I have any siblings, and I tell him about my older brother, Rider, who moved off to Texas State University. Not only does it have a reputation for being a party school, but also it was supposed to be super far from his family. So what do we do? We relocate within a few hours’ drive of him.
I’m sort of glad, though. We were just starting to get close again when he moved. Not that I have a car to visit him with. I really need to look for a job.
His phone dings a few times in a row.
“Want me to see who it is?” I offer.
“No. I’m sure it’s just my dad,” he says. “Which house is yours?”
I study our surroundings. “Um . . . I think it’s on the right after this curve.” My stomach clenches. He’s going to see how small and gross my house is. I should have thought this through.
“You’re kidding.” He turns down my driveway, the rocks crunching together under the tires. “My house is just across from yours.”
“Huh. What are the odds?” It’s probably not a great idea dragging it out this long. I’m going to have to tell him I met his mom and sisters days ago.
I slide out of the truck and we haul my homework load up to the house. I pause at the top of the porch steps when I realize I’m missing a rather important metal object.
“What is it?” Jesse asks.
“I don’t have a key.”
“How do you not have a key to your house?” He sighs and sets the books down by the door.
I stifle my annoyance. It’s a legit question, one I probably would have asked too. “For one, no car equals no key ring. Two, we haven’t even changed the locks yet after the previous owners, so we haven’t made copies. Three . . . well, there is no three. Those are all my excuses.”
“You really should change your locks. Those people were . . . shady.”
“Great,” I laugh. First they’re grubby, now shady. Where the bleep did we move? “I’ll remind my dad when he gets home tonight.”
We don’t have any outdoor furniture on the porch, so Jesse sits on the concrete, his long legs sloping down the steps.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting with you for your mom,” he says without looking back at me.
I sit on the top step and lean my back against the post. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“It would be pretty shiesty of me to just dump you off on the porch and leave.” He taps the toes of his boots together. “I would say we could wait in the truck, but she overheats sometimes. I don’t like to push her. We could go to my house, if you want.”
I pull my phone out of my purse and check the time. “By the time we got over there, you’d probably have to just bring me home again. Really, I don’t mind waiting alone. I’m sure you have to get ready for work.”
He stretches back and rests on his palms as if to say he’s not going anywhere.
“Where do you work, anyway?”
He groans. “Maria Tortilla,” he says with an unexpected accent. I wait for him to elaborate. “A Mexican restaurant off the highway.”
“That bad, huh? Are you a busboy or something? Dishwasher?”
“Food runner. It’s not too awful. Just a little embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“Well, my dad sort of pushed the job on me. Thought it would help my Spanish.”
I eye him curiously. “You need help with your Spanish?”
“Don’t you?” he shoots back.
“Uh, yeah, but—”
“But?”
I hesitate before telling him what I’m thinking. “You look like you’d be fluent already.”
He laughs from his gut. “The language doesn’t come from the look. My mom doesn’t speak Spanish so my dad doesn’t speak it much at home. I understand most of what I hear, but my pronunciation is off a bit. He wanted me to work somewhere I’d be around fluent speakers.”
“Well, that’s smart, I guess,” I say.
“I don’t really see the point. Everyone speaks English here. It’s not like I’m gonna move to Mexico.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t mind learning French, and I highly doubt I’ll be moving to France at any point in my life.”
Jesse closes his eyes and inhales deeply, only a slight smile left. And I feel the strong pull of a subject change mixed with self-consciousness about my living situation.
“I’m sorry there’s no porch swing or anything.” Or money for said porch swing. “It’s sort of a transitional home as we get used to the area. Dad wants to flip it.” I hope he can’t tell how much I’m stretching the truth. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be here.” Translation: I hope Dad’s new job works out so we can get out of this dump.
Ma’s car pulls up the drive. She veers around Jesse’s truck and parks in front of it.
“I’m so sorry, hon,” she says as she climbs out. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. I knew she should have gone back to bed instead of running errands all day for this stupid house.
She pops the trunk and pulls out a few bags. Jesse rushes over to her, taking the rest of the sacks and a couple gallons of paint. I’m watching it happen, and I don’t even understand how he’s carrying it all.
“Ma, this is Jesse. He lives across the street.” I take the keys from her.
“Ma’am,” he says.
Her smile spreads, and we file into the house. I cringe at the sight of boxes stacked high along the walls. What’s left of our life back home. Everything that could fetch a price was sold before the move. Nothing like seeing your inheritance spread among your friends whose families still get to be rich.
I pray Jesse doesn’t look too closely. I don’t think the carpets have been cleaned. Ever.
“Jesse,” Ma says, “thank you so much for bringing her home. I was running so late. My whole day just got off schedule.”
“Where’s the cake?” I ask, investigating the bags when we set everything on the kitchen counter.
She claps a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I forgot. I even walked right through the bakery section to get to the produce. I’m so sorry.”
“Is today your birthday or something?” Jesse asks.
He directed the question to me, but Ma starts rambling in a voice that’s much higher pitched than normal. “She loves cake. Yellow cake with chocolate icing. I usually make it for special occasions. Like today. The first day of a new school year.” She drops down on a bar stool, looking so upset with herself I’m pretty sure she’s about to cry.
Jesse takes a few steps back, eyes widened. “I’m gonna get your books from the porch,” he says before disappearing to the front room.
I turn to Ma and flip my acting switch so she doesn’t know I’m disappointed.
“It’s fine, really. I have so much reading to do, I’m just going to eat a bowl of cereal in my room and blaze through it all. Why don’t
you go rest? Take a nap or something.”
“I think I need to. Just for a little while.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight before setting the bag with the cold items in the fridge and heading to her room.
Jesse comes back then. “I put them on the dining table.”
My shoulders relax as I exhale. I’m so tired, I don’t even filter my words. “You’re sort of wonderful.”
He laughs, and I walk him outside.
“Thanks for the ride.” And for carrying my books like we’re going steady.
“Need a lift to school in the morning?” he asks, scratching his chin, which I don’t understand because he has zero facial hair. There should be no itching.
“Thanks, but I already have a carpool set up.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Who with?”
“Angela.” I back into the door opening and reach for the knob. “Your sister.” I start to close the door to avoid questions. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “See you tomorrow, Maddie Brooks.”
Brooks? How do you know my . . . ?
He winks and lets that sink in before I watch him saunter to his truck. Jesse Morales knew who I was all along.
CHAPTER FIVE
After Economics, I head straight to English without stopping at my locker. Only a few people make it before me, so I slip into the same desk by the window that I had yesterday and skim over last night’s reading in case I end up having to answer questions about it.
A handful of kids filter in, and I spot Jesse among them, backpack slung over one shoulder, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to the elbows. He takes the seat next to me again.
As I debate whether to say hello or let him say it first, he beats me to it. “Maddie Brooks.”
“Jesse Morales.”
“Guess what I ate last night.”
Eyebrow raised, I slap my literature book closed and twist my body toward him. I search the outer reaches of my brain for anything that might have attained significance in our twenty-four-hour relationship.
No.
“If you say cake I’m going to kick you.”
“Cake.” He laughs. “But you can’t injure me. I’m important. I accept verbal assault only.”