by Aimee Ferris
“Hi, Quigley—what’s up.”
His tone certainly didn’t sound sleepy. It wasn’t exactly annoyed, but there was an unfamiliar clipped note that left the impression he wasn’t thrilled with the call. My cheeks flamed. What was I thinking calling him so late out of the blue?
“I’m sorry to call so late—”
“It’s fine. What did you need?”
I stammered as his all-business attitude made my mind go blank.
“Um, nothing. It’s fine. It was just—Look, it’s nothing. Never mind, sorry I called.”
There was an awkward silence. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, the usual warm, caring Zander returned.
“Quigley, it’s after midnight. You’re not a phone person and have only ever called to make arrangements for something. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I mean, well, not really. But it’s fine. You’re busy or something. No worries. I’m just at this police station—”
“What? Which one?”
“I don’t know the name, the one down near the convention center.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I joined Ms. Parisi by the back door as they led Anne down the hall. She rushed forward on seeing her mom and dove into her arms, crying into her shoulder. I took a step back, feeling out of place in the midst of such a personal family moment, but Ms. Parisi’s hand reached out and pulled me back into a group hug.
“You okay?” I asked Anne.
She nodded, looking shell-shocked.
“Let’s get you home,” Ms. Parisi said. “Quigley, did you need a ride?”
“Zander’s on his way. He lives right off campus—should be here any minute.”
“We’ll wait until he arrives. Maybe we’d all like some fresh air?” Ms. Parisi pushed open the door and then jerked back at the series of flashes from outside. She instinctively lurched in front of Anne as a few photographers called out her name, eager to get their shot.
An officer pushed past us to clear away the cameras. “Sorry, ma’am—it’s a restricted area. Should have been empty.”
“Great. I don’t even have makeup on,” Anne attempted to joke with a wan smile.
Through the door we heard the officer’s voice threaten trespassing charges for anyone remaining in the authorized-access only area. A moment later, he stepped back in.
“Used to see a fair amount of this when I worked in New York. Not often we have to deal with this sort of thing around here,” he said. “They should all be cleared out. Looks like your cab is waiting.”
Officer Munroe approached from the front of the station. “I have an Alexander Macintosh at the desk for Ms. Quigley Johnson.”
“Are you going to be okay?” Ms. Parisi asked me.
“I’m fine. Are you going to be at school tomorrow, Anne?” I asked.
She looked to her mom, who answered for her. “It’s late. I think we may take a personal day. I’ll cancel my appointments. Maybe we’ll order in Chinese and watch some reality shows or something?”
Anne nodded with a small smile.
“You’re welcome to join us after school, Quigley.”
“Thanks, that sounds nice.” I couldn’t help grinning at the thought of Ms. Parisi watching reality TV. Her taste ran more to PBS literary specials and the History Channel.
The sight of Zander’s frumpled plaid pajama pants and baggy long-sleeve tee caught me off guard. I had never seen him as anything but meticulously put together. His worried eyes crinkled as they followed my gaze down to his … flip-flops?
He shrugged, chagrined. “I just jumped in the car.”
“Apparently.” I couldn’t help smiling. He was adorable. I couldn’t resist and went in for a hug. “Thank you,” I said into his chest.
Leaning up against the thin material of his tee revealed the unexpected tautness of a closet athlete. My hand slid over his shoulder to pull him closer and rubbed on a thick knobby seam of what must have been a tank underneath. He shifted my hand to rest against his neck. The familiar scent of his barely there cologne soothed my nerves, and I was suddenly exhausted.
“Umm, Quigley? This is a nice, romantic moment and all, but maybe this isn’t the best place?”
I pulled back and caught sight of a sprinkling of strangers, there for who knows what reason, eyeing us.
“You’re probably right.”
“I brought my ID and my checkbook. Who do we need to talk to? And where are your parents?”
“What? Oh no. It’s not me. My parents think I’m staying over at Anne’s—it’s a long story. Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you on the way home.”
I waved good-bye to Officer Munroe and pulled a confused Zander out into the street. Two guys with cameras hung around their necks chatted while leaning against an old Volvo. I hoped their loitering meant that they hadn’t gotten their shot and that Anne and Ms. Parisi had made it home unbothered. Zander studied me as he unlocked and opened my door. I slid in and reached across the seats to unlock his side as he walked around the tiny car.
He smiled as he settled in. “Just passed my first test.”
“First test?”
“Well, shouldn’t say first. But a significant one.”
“You’re testing me now?”
“Test is a strong word. There are just a few little things that people do that tell you a lot about their character. So if one was, say, trying to determine if a girl he admires would click in his life in a slightly more serious way, the tiniest act, or lack thereof, might reveal more about who she really is. Better than playing Twenty Questions every time you go out on a date. Besides, I’m naïve. People fool me because I tend to only see the best in them.”
I grinned, having no idea about what he was talking about, but tickled by the “click in his life” talk. The comment gave me just enough confidence to ask him to prom … when the right moment came up.
“And I passed?”
“Flying colors.” He smiled and pulled away from the station up to a red light. “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’d have ditched you as a friend or judged you if you hadn’t. But a little thing like unlocking my door, instead of making me use my key shows that even when your mind must be at its most frazzled, you still managed to think about someone else. Impressive. Of course, I did just pick you up in the middle of the night from a police station … demonstration the system isn’t foolproof.”
He reached over and slid the backs of his fingers down my cheek, before pulling my chin toward his and kissing me lightly, square on the mouth. How did he do that so smoothly that I didn’t even have time for nerves to kick in? Postsmooch butterflies hit, and I tried to regain my composure as we moved through the now-green light into the empty streets of the city.
“Seriously though, Quigley, what on earth was that all about?”
I didn’t anticipate how tough it might be to stay loyal to Anne while explaining the middle-of-the-night ride request. Spilling the goods about her dad was out of the question. But without understanding the devastation caused by his adoption news, whatever crazy mess Anne had gotten herself into would just sound all the more insane. I didn’t want my maybe-boyfriend to start out our relationship thinking terrible things about my best friend. And really, with the day she’d had, she deserved to have somebody protecting her.
“Kind of a long story. I’m not clear on all the details. Just a bit of a scrape Anne fell into, no biggie.” Maybe a change of subject would work. “So, when I called the first time, you didn’t pick up. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
His mouth tightened, and there was a little twitch at one corner of his lips.
“I had a rough day. I was on the other line with someone hashing it out,” he said, and promptly went back. “A scrape? Hmm. ‘No biggie’ doesn’t usually land you or your best friend in trouble with the cops.”
I ignored the comment. “Pretty late, lucky your someone was still around to help.” Though his vagueness in the mention of the mysterious “someo
ne” made me curious, I was more in deflect mode than dig mode.
“They’re on West Coast time. Long day, long story—I don’t really want to go into it all, okay?” He smiled apologetically and took my hand to soften the brush-off. “What I would love to know is what exactly qualifies as a no-big-deal scrape in your book.”
I sighed. The truth was I didn’t even know what she’d done. I suspected her earlier rage led her to jump in on the ultimate collecting expedition, stealing the light bar from the top of the mean cop’s car. On the off chance Zander subscribed to the theory “Birds of a feather, flock together,” I wasn’t ready to admit my closest friend was that nuts. The officer’s comments about serious charges fit, though, since stealing from the actual police probably qualifies as a little bigger deed than simple sign vandalism.
“Vandalism,” I said, downplaying it. “I mean, I assume it was. Ms. Parisi left me in the waiting room when they were discussing the details with the police, so I don’t have the whole story yet. But T-Shirt—the guy she’s been hanging out with lately—and his friends do that kind of thing.”
“What guy? I thought she was with Lance.”
“Who’s Lance?”
“Lance! Lance, from class.” He laughed at my blank look. “Lance, who she’s been seeing since class began?”
“The Spikester’s name is Lance?” Maybe it was my exhaustion, but this struck me as hysterically funny.
“You’re laughing at my friend for being named Lance at the same time you’re telling me your friend’s cheating on him with some guy named after an article of clothing?”
This made me laugh even harder. Zander just shook his head in mock dismay and absently rubbed our intertwined knuckles under his chin with a chuckle. The slight scratch of his stubble gave me goose bumps, and I wished away the sight of my street sign just ahead.
“In all seriousness, I hope you’re reading the situation wrong with Anne. Lance is a good guy. He’s had a lot of crap dealt to him in life, and he really likes her. That class and connecting with Anne has been a rare escape for him. She’s not into him? Fine, but be straight with the guy. He deserves his one night out a week not to end up crushing him.”
“C’mon. One night a week? A guy like that is probably out every night until the wee hours.”
“He is.” Zander put the car in park and kissed my hand. He turned to me and leaned back against the driver’s-side window. “Working. He pulls the night shift, nine to three a.m., seven nights a week down at the Body Shop.”
“The tattoo and piercing place? Must be like a total party in there.”
“Maybe. Does that make it any less admirable? I know he loves his work. He designs original body art, like when people come in and describe what they want without a picture. He creates the piece for the actual tattoo artists to use.”
“Explains his image.”
“Maybe that’s just Lance. But even so, the guy underneath is about as good as it gets as far as I’m concerned. He does it all for his son.”
Seven days a week was pretty intense. “Yeah, Anne said he had a kid when he was super young.”
“I just think it’s amazing he gets by on five hours of sleep while chasing after a four-year-old all day. He never says it, but I think some part of him has to be stoked that kindergarten’s coming up next year. I think that’s why he made the push to finish his degree this semester. He’ll be able to take a job with more regular hours, maybe even move out of his folks’ basement.”
“He is hardly the type I’d expect to still be living with his parents.” I cringed at my tone. I didn’t know much about Zander’s living situation.
“What can you do? Your high school sweetheart takes off and leaves you with a newborn, you have to make a few adjustments to the ol’ life plan. What a transition, though. I don’t know how he did it and kept such a good attitude. He had his own place, but moved back home so his parents could help watch the baby after they got home from work and he could make some cash knowing the baby was safe.”
“My God, he has sole custody?” I gave myself a little mental kick for every ungenerous thought or comment I’d made in The Spikester’s direction.
“Yep. She relinquished her parental rights and left town straight from the hospital and never looked back. Wanted no part of that life. Most guys would have dumped the kid on their parents and kept up the partying life. He doesn’t even use day care.”
“I cannot imagine taking on that kind of responsibility—dealing with your whole life imploding when you’re that young!”
“Well, sometimes you expect Lemon Yellow and life gives you Burnt Sienna. You still have to make the best picture you can with what you’ve got,” said Zander.
We sat in silence and watched the neighbor’s streetlamp flicker. I hoped the sudden sadness in Zander’s eyes would fade away, and he’d kiss me again. Then I could ask him about the dance. I looked up at the darkened windows of my house and felt a twinge of guilt, knowing my parents thought I was safely tucked in bed at Anne’s.
“Or maybe just let your four-year-old eat the offending ‘crayon of life’?”
He snorted and shook off whatever dark thoughts had floated into his head. Without thinking I leaned in for a peck of my own, earning a full return of his smile.
“So, look. If Anne is all stuck on spray-paint-toting Tank Top, maybe she can let Lance down easy? Or better yet, reconsider what a great guy she’ll be missing out on over some juvenile delinquent with a taste for tagging.”
“Oh, he’s not into graffiti. They just go on collecting expeditions.”
He leaned toward me and tugged on one lock of hair with a smile. His breath was warm in my ear.
“Mmm. Even better—stealing from unlocked cars in parking lots? What a winner.” The sarcasm shone through his whisper.
His lips grazing my neck made it difficult to speak. This was pretty new territory for me. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying.
“No, nothing like that. They just swipe street signs.”
The almost-kisses suddenly stopped.
“What?”
Not sure how to fix the broken mood, I tried to stay light. “Not a big deal, just a few street signs. Anne’s got one up in her bedroom.” Zander pulled back. I got a sudden chill from more than the absence of his lips on my skin.
Zander slid back upright, facing the wheel. It’s tough to gauge someone’s expression from his profile in the dark.
“How did you know about her sign?” His words came slowly.
“I saw it a few weeks ago.” I reached out and squeezed his hand. He didn’t pull away, but it stayed limply balanced on the gear shift. “What’s wrong?”
“What, like ‘Main Street,’ ‘Anne Street,’ something like that?”
“Umm, not really that kind. This one said, DANGEROUS CURVES.”
I flinched at his sharp intake of breath.
“What did Ms. Parisi say about the sign?”
“Well, nothing. I don’t think Anne lets her mom into her room.”
“And you didn’t tell her?” Zander’s voice trembled.
“No,” I stammered. “She’s my friend. You don’t go tattling on your friends to their parents.”
His head dropped forward until his brow rested on the steering wheel, hands white-knuckled on either side. I had a flashback of our trip to the make-out spot when he turned from that same position to smile at me. He turned now, but he wasn’t smiling.
“You stupid, stupid kids.” He spoke in a whisper. The second stupid was painfully drawn out.
“Zander!” I gasped.
“I need you to get out of my car now, Quigley.” He said my name like he didn’t know me.
“Zander?” Tears started. I didn’t even know what I’d done.
“Get out, Quigley.”
“But—”
“And don’t bother telling Anne anything about Lance. He dodged a bullet. She’s not good enough for him.”
I opened the door slowly. Zander glared strai
ght ahead.
“Please, Zander. Can we just—”
My words were cut off as the ignition sprang to life. My feet felt wobbly as I stepped onto my lawn.
“Zander?” I swiped at my running nose and swallowed a sob. “What about us?”
“I’m sorry, Quigley.” He turned and gazed at me through his own wet eyes and slowly shook his head. “You’re not good enough for me, either.”
I stood watching his taillights disappear down my road. I waited long after he made the turn, sure he’d be back apologizing and begging to talk things through, shocked he’d left me standing in the street without even knowing if I even made it in safe. But he didn’t turn around, and he didn’t come back.
Chapter Thirteen
Sleeping in should feel more luxurious. Somehow, waking up to the harsh reality that the guy you thought might be your first real boyfriend hated you and your best friend’s life tanked overnight took the pleasure out of waking sans alarm. Having claimed a stomach bug to explain my tearful return home in the middle of the night, I inadvertently excused my way right out of being able to hang with Anne and her mom after school.
I could handle one night home, but with so many questions about where I’d gone wrong with Zander swirling through my aching brain, a full day and night home alone felt claustrophobic. Way too much time to obsess about “what if”s.
I threw my books into my bag a little rougher than necessary. Whoever thought that school would turn out to be somewhere I’d escape to? It wasn’t until I opened the door to the art room, late pass in hand, that I remembered that even here I had my share of problems.
Ten sets of eyes focused on me. I sighed in relief that David’s weren’t among them … until I heard the click. And another. I turned to the front of the class where David sat on my stool, smiling smugly at me and shifting his weight to make the uneven legs click. No one else was smiling.
I checked my watch, confused. Did I miss the class? This looked like everybody from Photography 101.
“Nice of you to join us, Quigley,” Mrs. Albertt said.