In the Bad Boy's Bed

by Sophia Ryan

  He held up his hand and smiled. "Yes, yes, but before you and I talked, or afterward, before you actually pulled out of the parking lot, did you see anyone else in the lot?"

  My eyes flickered, wanting to turn toward Nick, to maybe get the right answer from him, but I kept them straight ahead, facing Wilson. I paused, not wanting to answer any questions until I knew what he was really asking.

  "Now, this is important, so think about it carefully before you answer."

  "Yeah, Angela. Think hard." Sean's comment made me want to slap him, but instead I shot him a dirty look.

  "Mr. Carrington, I told you to keep quiet." Wilson snapped at Sean, who slunk deeper into his chair. He jiggled his leg, a habit I knew to mean he was barely containing his anger.

  I took a chance. "No, Mr. Wilson."

  Sean came up out of his seat. "Just because she didn't see him doesn't mean he didn't break my window. I saw him do it."

  "Sit down! And if I have to tell you one more time to keep your butt in the chair and your mouth shut, I'll put you in detention. Is that clear?"

  Sean scrunched his mouth up tighter than an asshole, and nodded once.

  Mr. Wilson continued. "Now, Ms. Abbott, what about when you came back? Did you see anyone?"

  "I wasn't really looking. I was worried about being late to class."

  "You didn't see Mr. Donnelly walking toward the History building?"

  "Well, I . . . yeah, I saw the two of you at the door to the building. Why?"

  "Thank you, Ms. Abbott." He stood and walked to his door. "Go on back to class."

  "I saw him do it," Sean insisted. "And if she can't corroborate his lame story that he went to lunch at that time then you're obligated to believe me and file a report with the police so this asshole can pay to fix my car."

  "This is bullshit," Nick mumbled.

  "Mr. Donnelly, is there anyone who saw you at lunch, anyone who could vouch for you?"

  Nick paused, and this time my gaze did go to him, but his eyes wouldn't meet mine. His face was red from anger, from the injustice of the accusation, from the realization that the only one who could speak for him, wouldn't.

  "No."

  Sean stood, grunted. "You take care of this right, Wilson, or I'll have my dad in here." He shot Nick a triumphant look and left, leaving the door wide open.

  Mr. Wilson sighed, and moved to sit at his desk. "Ms. Abbott, you can leave, too."

  My feet felt glued to the carpet. I didn't want to leave Nick in this situation. But what choice did I have? I turned and walked to the door. I thought I heard a little sound come from Nick—I imagined it was the sound of his heart breaking, but I wasn't sure. My own heart was beating so hard, I could only really hear it telling me what I had to do. And I did.

  I shut the door, walked back to Mr. Wilson's desk, sat in the chair next to Nick. Both Nick's head and Wilson's snapped up and two sets of eyes, filled with questions, looked at me.

  "Angela, I said you could leave."

  "Mr. Wilson, Nick couldn't have damaged Sean's car."

  "How do you know that?"

  I looked into Nick's eyes, smiled at him, took his hand in mine.

  "Because he and I were together at the time it was supposed to have happened."

  "He wasn't with you when I saw you."

  "He was with me before that. We were making plans to leave campus for lunch. He went to get his backpack from his locker and I went to my car. I picked him up just after I left you."

  "Are you sure, Angela? This isn't some kind of story he's convinced you to tell to save him from trouble?"

  Rage at the accusation ripped away the sweetness he had admired in me earlier.

  "He didn't have to tell me anything. I saw it all. After you left me, I saw Nick walking toward the parking lot. You stopped him, asked to see his class schedule because you didn't believe him when he told you he had a free period after lunch. He dug his schedule out of his backpack, showed it to you, and you threw it back at him and stormed away, mad—my guess because you didn't catch him in a lie or doing something wrong that you could bust him for. He and I left campus right after that, and we didn't get back until a few minutes ago when you hauled him in here on another attempt to bust him."

  Nick's hand squeezed mine as if saying I was tip-toeing the line of getting us both into big trouble. I saw how close I was when I noticed Mr. Wilson's face pale and his mouth thin to the width of a toothpick.

  Nick stood, and so did I. He slipped his arm around me.

  "Mr. Wilson, I take it I'm in the clear now?"

  Mr. Wilson stood, too. "Yes," he said, the word gritted through his teeth. He pointed at us. "But the next time you two miss class to "have lunch" together, I'll put you in detention and call your parents to discuss whether this is the right school for you."

  He stormed to the door, opened it, and stood by like a sentinel, making sure we went through. As we crossed the doorway, Mr. Wilson stuck out his arm to halt Nick.

  "I'm watching you." He whispered the words through his teeth, but I heard it clearly. The threat behind it. The warning.

  Nick smiled and continued out the door. I followed, but Wilson stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  "Ms. Abbott, I'd like a word with you before you return to class."

  I took a last look at Nick before the closing door severed our gaze.

  "Ms. Abbott—Angela—in the four years you've been in this school, you've never caused a bit of trouble. You earn good grades and get along with everyone, students and faculty alike. You're from an upstanding family, with high standards and aspirations.

  What are you doing with a guy like Donnelly?"

  The truth that sprang to mind—having great sex—brought a smile to my face. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

  Mr. Wilson's face reddened. "I know your parents; they wouldn't be pleased with your choice."

  "It's my choice."

  "He's the wrong kind of boy for you."

  "Who's the right kind for me? Sean? An arrogant, mean jerk who drinks too much and hits me? Is that what I deserve?"

  "Well, no, I—"

  "Nick is decent, and kind, and thoughtful of my feelings. He makes me feel safe and warm and good. He'd never hurt me. I do have standards; that's how I know I deserve someone like Nick."

  Mr. Wilson looked away.

  I softened my tone. "I don't know what happened to form your low opinion of Nick—I hate to think it's just the size of his family's bank account—but he's not that person at all. Let me warn you, Mr. Wilson: if there's anyone you should be keeping an eye on, it's not Nick Donnelly."

  I opened the door. "It's his accuser."

  He grabbed my arm to stop me, and leaned in. "And let me warn you, Ms. Abbott: you don't know your boyfriend as well as you think you do."

  He shut the door on the questions that tumbled out of my brain.

  The bell rang as I left Wilson's office, so I raced to the commons to see if I could catch Nick before he left for work. He wasn't there, and when I reached the parking lot, his motorcycle was gone. It was Friday, which meant I wouldn't see him until Monday.

  Unless I went to his house.

  But of course, I didn't go see him. My parents invited Sean and his parents to our house for dinner on Saturday. As much as I begged to be let out of it, my parents held firm: I would attend.

  "I swear, Betsi, one of these days I'm going to lure Carmen away from you. She's the best cook in town." Rhonda Carrington, Sean's mother, patted her flat stomach and settled with a sigh onto one of the white Spanish leather couches in our formal living room.

  "Glad you enjoyed the meal." My mother shot a little smile at my dad as she sat next to him. He gave her an answering smile with his eyes and laid his arm along her shoulders.

  "I swear we'd pay that woman whatever she asked," Rhonda continued. "Wouldn't we Rey?"

  Reynold Carrington, Sean's father, stood at the bar mixing himself his usual Chivas over ice. He snorted. "We would have until s
omeone vandalized Sean's car. Now we're in no position to pay a top-notch chef to make mac n cheese for us."

  "Oh, no," mom said, turning to Sean. "Not your new Jaguar?"

  Sean nodded.

  "Happened at school," Rey said.

  "Do you have an idea who's responsible?" my dad asked.

  Sean's eyes darted to me. "I know who did it."

  "Good," mom added. "At least you won't have to pay the damages yourself."

  Rey sipped his drink and went to sit by his wife. "Sean saw the boy do it, but Wilson said he didn't have the evidence to pursue it."

  The conversation and the lies were turning my stomach. I got up from the love seat and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water and a couple of Tums. Mom grabbed my hand as I went by and pulled me next to her on the couch. I glowered at her, but she glowered right back and held my hand captive as if she knew I would bolt if not tied down. She was right.

  "That hardly seems fair considering Sean was an eye witness to the crime," dad said. "Who was it? Anyone we know?"

  "Nick Donnelly." Sean practically spat out the name.

  I felt Mom's eyes burning into me, and her hand had a death grip on mine, but I couldn't sit still, keep quiet, another minute.

  "He didn't do it." My outburst drew the stares of everyone in the room.

  "How do you know?" Sean accused. "You told Wilson you didn't even see him that day."

  "I heard he had an alibi that proved he wasn't even at school when it happened."

  Sean and I stood toe to toe now.

  "You heard? Ha! Well, I saw!" he said.

  "No you didn't. Why do you hate him so much? Why do you want to mess up his life?"

  "Why do you care so much?"

  "Because I—"

  In the silence that followed my halted response, I realized I was inches from outing my relationship with Nick . . . something I wasn't ready to do. I lowered my temper and fought to keep my voice less emotional.

  "Because I think it's wrong to blame him for something he didn't do. Why do you care so little about that?"

  "Have you considered that maybe his witness lied to protect him?" Sean asked, his words wrapped up in a pout meant to elicit sympathy.

  "Are you friends with this boy, Angela?" Rey asked.

  "Not really."

  "Good."

  "Do you know something about him, Rey?" my mom asked.

  "When Sean told me about this Nick, I did some checking. It's not a pretty picture.

  He was expelled from three different schools for fighting and vandalism, and when he was 14 he had a brush with the law for breaking and entering, but he was a minor and it was his first real offense so the judge gave him probation."

  I swallowed the bitterness in my throat as Mom asked the question I wanted to ask:

  "Any recent problems?"

  Rey shook his head. "No. But he lives in a seedy neighborhood—drugs, high crime rate, some gang activity. Once a boy gets a taste of trouble, it's always there trying to pull him back in."

  Would these people think any differently if they knew the trouble started right after Nick's dad deserted him and his mom and brother? The truth gnawed at me, clawed to get out. I wanted to slap them with that truth.

  "Living in a bad neighborhood doesn't make a person bad any more than living in a good neighborhood makes a person good. A lot of people turn their lives around after a false step."

  "Damn, Angela, it's pretty sad that you're so quick to defend a guy like him but not me, your boyfriend."

  "We broke up, Sean, remember?"

  "What?" Rhonda jumped up from the couch. "When did this happen?"

  Rey put his hands on his wife's shoulders to prevent her from getting too excited.

  Rhonda was always off and on some kind of mood altering substance, either to calm her down or rev her up.

  "Sean, you and Angela should work out this little squabble of yours on your own, without help from us." He tossed him the keys to his car. "Get out of here. Go for a drive.

  Kiss and make up."

  Everyone laughed at the Kiss and Make Up part. Everyone but me.

  "And don't come back until you do," Rhonda added and grabbed her husband's drink from his hand and downed the two fingers of amber liquor cooling at the bottom of the highball.

  "I'd rather have my toenails pulled out. Excuse me." I turned away, with the intent to dash up the stairs to my room, but my dad caught my arm at the elbow, the frown on his face so hard it could cut cement.

  "Excuse me, young lady, but you will not be rude to these people who are like family to you. You will apologize, and you will go with Sean to work things out between you."

  They still didn't believe Sean had hit me. The only way out of this one was to tell the truth about Nick and me. I looked at my parents, anger and embarrassment weighing on their faces and bodies.

  I turned toward Rhonda and Rey. Rhonda's eyes were soft and kind, her mouth curved in to a small smile as she met my eyes. She had bought me my first bra when my mother couldn't face the reality that those really were breasts filling out my Power Puff Girl T-shirts.

  When my dad was out of town on business, it had been Rey who had taught me to waltz in preparation for my first cotillion. He looked at me now with patience and humor in his eyes.

  The Carringtons had been a part of our every family holiday celebration, large and small, since the day I was born. They loved me like their own. That knowledge softened my heart and tempered my anger.

  "I apologize for my rudeness."

  My bare feet didn't make a sound on the thick carpet as I walked to them, hugged them. They hugged me back like all was immediately forgotten and forgiven.

  "Sean, take Angela for some ice cream, on me." My dad pulled a twenty from his wallet and handed to Sean. "And bring something chocolate back for the rest of us."

  I didn't want to go, but I also didn't want to create another scene. The adults stared at Sean and me, pushing us with their eyes out the door. Right before I climbed into Rey's car, I saw the four of them head outside to the patio. Dad wanted to show off his new grill.

  Sean tried to hold my hand, but I pulled it away. A cold sweat popped out on my forehead at the memory of the last time I was in the car with him. If I tried to eat ice cream now, it wouldn't stay down.

  "I meant it when I said we're through. We might be able to find a way to be civil to each other because of our parents, but we will never be together again. Got it?"

  "You used to be a lot more fun." Sean gripped the wheel tighter as he took a corner going 60. "Now you're just a bitch."

  The name stung, but I was actually glad he felt that way. Maybe he wouldn't want to bother with me . . . or Nick. I stared out the window, seeing Nick's face in the passing landscape.

  Ah, Nick. I can smell you, taste you, feel your rough hands on my soft parts. All I want to do right now is get lost in you while you whisper all your painful secrets onto my skin. I need to see you. Now. I'm crawling out of my skin from wanting to get to you. Can you hear my voice in your head? Come to me. Tonight. Please. Please.

  "Please?"

  Hearing my silent word said aloud pulled me from my vaporous thoughts. I turned dazed eyes toward Sean. His hands were at his sides. His eyes were on me, not on the road ahead of him. The car wasn't moving anymore. I looked out the window again.

  The ice cream shop stood in front of us, a colorful neon sign announcing the number of flavors they offered.

  "Did you say something?" I asked.

  "I said, please, let's try to get along."

  "Sure. Let's try." My enthusiasm as dry as dirt, I climbed out of the car before he could respond and sprinted ahead of him into the ice cream shop. I paid for my own—one scoop of a chocolate concoction—with a five I had in my pocket. I walked out of the shop while he was still ordering his cone and the tub to go.

  The sound of a motorcycle engine rumbling across the street caught my attention.

  The noisy bike was inside one of
the bays at a repair shop. The broad shoulders of the mechanic working on the bike looked familiar. He stood, and his long legs and tight backside stirred even more familiarity. Could it be I wanted to see Nick so badly I was making him materialize before me?

  I walked to the edge of the street and stared into that bay, willing the man to turn toward me. His head lifted, turned left and right. Then he turned my way. It was Nick.

  He stared. I stared. Even the cars honking on the road couldn't break our link. He started forward, as if he were going to cross the street. He stopped at the same time I felt Sean's arm slide around my shoulder. I broke the embrace immediately, but when I looked back across the street, Nick was no longer there.

  I wanted to run to him, explain what he saw. Make him understand that I wasn't with Sean. But instead, I stood there, staring at the empty spot where he'd been, my heart melting in my chest like the chocolate ice cream running down my hand.

  "What the hell are you doing?"Sean asked, looking at me like he thought I'd lost my mind. I shook my head and threw the semi-frozen mess into the trash and climbed into the car.

  I caught a break—Sean didn't say another word on the drive home. When we arrived at my house, I ran up to my room and locked the door behind me. Let him deal with the parents and the ice cream and the questions. I had bigger problems.

  Chapter Six

  He was mad. I knew by the way he was avoiding looking my way, which was hard to do since we stood eight lockers apart. A red flag waved on the one cheek I could see, the books he threw into his locker suffering for my sins. His jaw worked, as if grinding me between his teeth.

  Everything inside me wanted to slide up to him, press my body against his back, throw my arms around his neck, assure him what he saw meant nothing. Then kiss him until he believed me.

  Instead, I let him walk away without saying a word. I felt the pain of a billion wasp stings in my stomach as I watched him shove through the door like he couldn't wait to be away from me.

  "Keep staring at him like that, and everybody's going to know you're crushing on him."

  I turned to see Gena standing behind me, a grin on her face.

  I felt my eyes blink rapidly a couple of time. "What are you talking about?" I slammed my locker door and walked away.