Written across the paper, in neat all caps printing: The iced tea because it’s your favorite, the bread because you’ll need it, and the bucket… just in case.
Bentley’s name is scrawled along the bottom, and he had drawn a winking face under it.
The smile is small at first. Tugging and playing along with the floating, tingling Ben Feeling that trickles down my whole body, but my lips pull deeper into a real smile. I smile with my whole body to the point where I almost feel embarrassed about it. I bury my face into the mat and shake because I can’t possibly smile as wide as I want to.
Over the next hour, I sip on the iced tea and pick tiny bits off the roll and just hold them in my mouth until they dissolve, washing it down with a little more iced tea. All the while feeling like I just might die at any minute. This is why I don’t often drink. I mean it’s the only thing to do in this town, but this hangover feeling is far worse than any fun that might have happened last night. All I remember is Dermott and then Bentley setting me down outside the barn. Thinking about it makes me nauseous and exhausted all over again, and the world goes fuzzy.
***
A smooth and soft pressure runs along the sticky skin of my cheekbone, and I stretch my head to the side and curl up into a ball. Laughter pierces my eardrums.
“Stop yelling at me,” I mumble and cover my ears with my hands. The laughter gets louder, and I feel him lean over me and brush my hair off my face. He does that a lot now. Touches my face. I have no time to analyze because he pulls my hand away, and his breath is heating my skin.
“Time to wake up, Gracie. I’m supposed to be picking you up in town from Lacy’s.”
His voice is a whisper, and his t’s and p’s puff little bursts of air that for some really weird reason make me shudder. Then I understand his words and shoot straight up, almost screaming out with the pain that slices through my head. Hunching over, I press my hands to my eyes, and Bentley rubs my back.
“Won’t be doing that again for awhile, hey?”
“More like ever,” I grumble back.
“So do you want to come with me to town to pick you up?”
I look over at his grinning face as he kneels beside me, his hand still trailing up and down my back. There’s the urgency that was missing last night. A sudden and irrational need for his hands to be everywhere at once.
“I’d love to, but I’m in a bikini top, I feel gross, and my mouth tastes like a manure pile. Not that I would know what that tastes like,” I say, and he laughs.
“I happen to have an old t-shirt of mine that shrunk in the wash, aspirin, and a spare toothbrush. Still in the package.”
He holds out his other hand, and I shake my head at the shirt, bottle, toothbrush, toothpaste, and small bottle of water clutched in his fist.
“You think of everything, don’t you?” I remember the note he left.
“Well of course. I am perfect, after all.”
My eyes snap to his, which are dancing with amusement.
“What did I say to you last night?” My heart starts hammering, and Ben leans forward to kiss the tip of my nose. I almost fall backwards because it catches me totally off guard.
“Let’s just say I know you a little better today than I did yesterday,” he says and presses his finger to the spot that he kissed. A kiss for every time he learns something about me. I’m horrified at what that something was.
I brush my teeth quickly using the bottled water and the bucket and throw the T-shirt over my head. It smells like everything good a guy can smell like. Earth and soap and spice and a faint hint of whatever cologne or deodorant he uses. It’s faded and worn and stretched out so the neck hangs down over my shoulder just like my ratty old sweatshirt. I smile up at him.
“I might keep this shirt,” I say, and he gestures with his hand like it’s all mine.
I run my fingers through my knotted hair and pull an elastic band from my shorts pocket after braiding the strands down my shoulder.
“You ready, princess? You know we won’t be getting out of the truck, right?”
I slap his knee, and he stands, reaching out his hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me up, but I should have known that standing would be a bad idea. My stomach lurches, and my head goes fuzzy. I think I’m going to faint. I grab onto Ben, and he steadies me by sliding his arms around me. I rest my forehead on his chest and take a couple deep breaths, smelling nothing but him.
I spend a lot of time close to people. I have three brothers that basically live on top of me. I have friends I hug, people I bump into, guys I’ve tried to get close to. But with Ben, I’m so aware of it. I know exactly where he is in proximity to me. I can almost feel him move. He touches me a lot. I remember the first day on the porch when he wiped my cheek instead of just saying I had crap on my face.
“You okay?” He rubs my arms until my vision comes back.
“Yeah, totally, just dizzy.”
And not just from the hangover.
***
It’s not hard to sneak out, but I still lie flat on the seat until we pass the barns and stables just in case. Once I feel safe, I return to a sitting position with my feet on the dash, letting the wind cool me down and the dust fill my lungs.
“So what do you do around here for fun?” Bentley asks before smirking to himself. “Besides getting trashed.”
“Ha. Ha. But there really isn’t much else to do. Swim at Lacy’s. Hang out in the Dustbowl. Or Maggie’s Diner. Ride bikes, skateboard, wander the streets or sit and quietly hate our lives.”
He laughs out loud this time, and I feel proud of it. That I made him laugh. A real laugh. What is happening to me?
“Learn how to drive?” He raises an eyebrow, and my whole body floods with excitement.
“Seriously? Like right now?”
“Why not?”
“Um, because my dad would kill you. Because I’m not sixteen yet. Because I am the motor destroyer.”
“No, actually you are the clutch burner, but good point. You’re sixteen tomorrow. How about if you wreck the truck I just tell your dad you stole it?”
I probably look like Mason when you tell him he can watch his favorite TV show one more time. Wide grin and straight back with bright eyes.
“I can handle that,” I say.
We pull off onto an old deserted side road that leads to the Shelton Shack. A haunted farm that was abandoned when my dad was my age. My excitement quickly turns to a shaky fear when Ben stops the truck and gets out. He makes his way around and opens my door. I just sort of look back and forth like a complete idiot between him and the driver seat.
“You have to be in that seat for this to work.” Ben points and laughs. I pull my legs up and crawl across to the driver’s side. I reach out to grip the steering wheel, but my hands are shaking so I let them drop into my lap. This is exactly what happened last time when my brother tried to teach me. I got so nervous I forgot everything. This never happens to me. Ever.
Ben slides in and moves into the middle of the bench seat, crossing one leg underneath him and keeping the other on the other side of the gear shift thing. He stretches his arm across the back of my seat and leans in so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.
This is not going to help my nerves.
“So that’s the gas, brake, and clutch from right to left—”
“I know that.” It comes out really defensive, and both of our heads snap up to look at each other. I open my mouth to apologize, but he just chuckles.
“You’d be surprised at how many people don’t. I’m not saying this because I think you don’t know, but I’ve been here, Gracie. It’s overwhelming to learn to drive standard. I’m not sure why your dad won’t let you take the test with an automatic, anyway.”
“All our vehicles are standard. He says it’s important and what if I had to drive in an emergency situation or he needed me to drive the grain truck or blah blah blah. Daddy has weird things he finds important. I have to pass on a standard.”
/> “Your dad is a smart man. Anyway. Steering wheel. You can adjust it under here by pulling this knob.”
He reaches his arm around my shoulders to grip the steering wheel and leans forward to pull the knob with his other hand. I have no choice but to move with him, but all it accomplishes is pulling our faces ridiculously close together.
His eyes move to mine, and I notice they aren’t like ice anymore. They’re liquid. Melting. He’s cracking to me.
I think he might actually kiss me for real this time, but after a few moments, he just clears his throat and leans back.
“That should do it. Are you familiar with all the gears?” he asks.
I nod. I can count to five.
He takes a deep breath and cracks his knuckles, which is something I’ve never seen him do before.
“You ready?” He breathes out, and I laugh. Not confidently, I might add.
“Are you?”
“Just go slow. Slow and even. Be gentle and patient.”
I can’t stop myself from looking at him when he speaks. I think of the way he touches me. Every time he’s close, of how he moves around me, strokes my cheek, kisses my nose. Gentle and patient.
“You gunna drive? Or just stare at me?” He laughs, and I feel my cheeks heat up. I momentarily hate him for it and scowl straight ahead. I grip the steering wheel in one hand and the gear shift in the other, wiggling it like my dad does to make sure it’s in neutral. I press in the clutch and start the truck.
“Good.” Bentley’s voice is full of encouragement, and I laugh again.
“It’s all down from here. I promise you.”
“Just go slow. Clutch, shift, gas, let off the clutch. That’s it. Slowly.”
I press the clutch in again and shift it into first. This is the worst gear.
I press the gas, and as soon as I hear the engine rev, I lift my foot off the clutch. The truck lurches forward and stalls, throwing Ben into the dash.
I feel my muscles tighten.
“It’s okay. Try again.”
The truck moves forward a few inches this time but sputters to a stop, and I slam the steering wheel with the heels of my hands.
Ben sits quiet for a moment, and then he starts rubbing his hand along my shoulders before gripping the back of my neck and massaging it lightly. It feels amazing, and I calm down a little.
“The more stressed you get, the worse it is. You have to relax.”
“I just suck at this.” I lean my head back on his palm, and Ben uses his hand to tilt my face toward him.
“No, that’s not true.” He has his thinking face on. “You like to dance, right?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, what does that have to do with it?”
Ben sits up straight and puts his hands out in front of him, palms down.
“Think of it as a dance. The transition from one move to another, from one step to the next. You don’t just stop one and start the other, right?”
I nod as I focus on his hands. One pushes down abruptly then the other pulls up. It’s an awkward movement.
“You transition,” he continues and redoes the movement with his hands, this time moving one up and one down slowly and in time with the other.
I look at him, then at my feet still hovering over the pedals. It makes complete sense. Why had I never thought of that? Oh, right, because my jackass brothers would rather laugh at me then explain it to me.
“That makes sense.” I state, and he smiles.
“Try again?”
I take a deep breath and replace my feet and hands where they need to be.
Slow. Smooth. Transition.
Patience.
When the engine revs, I ignore my impulse to pull my foot off the clutch. The truck inches. It stutters and jerks forward, and Ben is yelling at me to go slow, to keep going slow. I press in the gas and pull off the clutch at the same speed. The jerking stops, and the truck is moving.
My eyes get wide, and my first instinct it to scream. Which I do, then I look at Ben as the truck continues to move.
“I’m driving.”
“You’re driving. But you have to switch gears.” He points to the rpm needle, which is climbing into the redzone. My eyes get wider. Switch gears?
“Press in the clutch and shift to second.” Ben is hovering over me, his hand over my hand, watching the dash meters.
“Shift, Gracie.” He repeats, and I slam in the clutch, the engine reving loudly.
“Take your foot off the gas!” Ben yells over the grinding of the gears as I try to pull the stick down to second.
“Gracie, gas.” I press the gas harder. The gears screech. I can’t concentrate. I don’t know what he’s asking. I pull both my feet up and the truck shakes to a stop and stalls.
My hands are shaking. Bentley is laughing but not a happy laugh, a manic laugh like he’s releasing tension.
“That was good. That was okay.” He pushes his hair from his face and tears sting at the back of my eyes. If getting my license wasn’t my ticket to freedom, I’d quit. Right now. I glare at the steering wheel.
After a few moments, Ben looks up at me again.
“I have an idea. I’ll shift for you. Shifting is the easy part, it slides naturally from gear to gear and you’ll get a feel for that quick. It’s the clutch and gas you need to worry about.”
I don’t want to and have no clue how that’s even going to work.
Ben shifts to get closer to me, and he places his hand on top of mine on the gearshift. He wiggles it, but I’m tense. He keeps wiggling until I give up and let my arm loose under his grip.
“Okay, so don’t even think about the gears. All I want you to focus on is transition. Make it as smooth as you can. I’ll say shift, and you push the clutch and let off the gas. When I say drive you push the gas and let off the clutch. Sound good?”
I nod, and he tells me to start the truck again.
“Shift.”
I push the clutch and he slides the gearshift and my hand into first gear.
“Drive.”
I focus on my feet, ignoring my heart hammering and my hand shaking on the steering wheel. I let off the clutch slowly and press the gas. The truck only stumbles a few times. I pick up speed, and my heart beats even faster.
“Shift.”
I want to slam my foot down, but I stop myself. I push the clutch and let off the gas. Ben pulls down on my hand, and the gear shift just sort of clicks into place. He’s right. It’s a smooth and natural movement.
“Drive.”
I transition. It’s smoother this time. No grinding.
We shift to third, and he tells me to hold the speed. He lets go of my hand, and I put it on the steering wheel. We make our way slowly down the road, and I have a huge smile on my face. Leaning forward, I watch the road get sucked under the truck.
“Normally, I’d tell you to throw it in neutral and just break, but on your test they’ll make you downshift. It’s the same basically, but backwards, and you can press the brake and clutch at the same time.”
Ben takes my hand from the wheel and puts it back on the gear shift. We slow down until we stop. I get excited and pop my foot off the clutch while it’s still in first and stall it.
Ben and I both lean back and rest our heads against the seat, breathing heavy, our chests heaving in sync. I let my head fall to the side so I’m looking at him, and he does the same.
“Well, that was fun,” he says.
CHAPTER 18
Graceland
Lacy’s arms are crossed in front of her chest as she leans against the door frame.
“I’ll only forgive you if you tell me what’s gotten into you. And don’t tell me there ain’t nothing wrong. And especially don’t tell me it has nothing to do with him.” She nods toward her driveway where Bentley sits in the truck and waits for me.
The look on her face is proof that she means what she says. Everyone thinks Lacy is a push over, that’s she the quiet one that takes all my shit, but no one sees he
r stubbornness like I do. She’s not always as sweet as people say she is.
I sigh and figure the best way to say it is to just say it.
“I want to lose it to Ben.”
Lacy jumps like I poked her in the ribs with a cattle prod and slams the door to close us off from her family inside. She grabs my arm and hauls me around the side of the house.
“Jesus Christ, Graceland. That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard you say.”
My jaw loosens and hangs open.
“You’re serious?” she asks and runs both her hands through her hair and clasps her fingers behind her neck, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Of course I’m serious. I’m not losing it to some guy from school.”
She should know this.
“How ‘bout not losin’ it at all? Ya think of that ever? Plus, Dermott isn’t just a guy, Gracie, and he cares about you. All you do is hurt him. You don’t even know Ben, and yeah, he’s hot and nice and stuff, but this is sex. It’s not something to just throw away.”
“You threw it at Jay.” I regret it immediately but not before she slaps me. All I can do is watch the tears swell in Lacy’s eyes as my cheek stings from her hand. I reach for her just as she’s turning, and she yanks her arm away.
“Bear, I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, even though part of me did mean it like that.
“No, Gracie. Ben was right. You get your way a little too much, and I don’t want to be a part of it. What you’re doing is foolish. I want no part of it. Ben’s a nice guy, and you’re just going to hurt him like you did D. People aren’t toys, pawns in your selfish game. I’ve had it. I’ve had it with you.”
She is outright crying now, and I’m shaking as some weird mix of anger, embarrassment, and pain cuts through me, deeper with every word. She leaves me, and I hear the door slam. The sound makes my knees give out, and I sit hard in the grass. There’s a stinging behind my eyes, and I press my hands to them, trying to hold the tears in. My breath is coming in short rasps. My arms and legs vibrate as I push myself up. Thoughts swirl through my mind mixing with her words, but I can’t make sense of them. Dermott and I have a deal. Had a deal. We talked about it. I never let him think that I’d be his girlfriend. I didn’t hurt him.
Under the Dusty Sky Page 10