He looks up at the sky and grins. “Sun’s shining. I can’t complain.”
“This is my friend Chase Matthews,” she says.
He holds his hand out to shake mine.
“Nice to meet you, Chase.”
Gin shoulders her backpack and starts walking toward the back of the house.
“Dinner will be on soon, I think,” she calls to Michael over her shoulder. “Lasagna.”
“I smelled it cooking when I was polishing the banister earlier.” He pats his stomach and chuckles, heading back for the shears.
“Nice guy,” I say to Gin. “Is he a relative?”
“He works here, taking care of the place. It’s a lot to keep up with, so he does it full time.”
I nod. “Cool. Looks like he does a great job. The yard looks like it belongs in some magazine.”
She pauses outside of a simple door with planters on either side. “My mom makes a lot of money, but she’s not an asshole about it. She gives a lot to charity. People in Roper—”
I stop her, putting my hand over hers, which is hovering over the doorknob. “Hey. I don’t think she’s an asshole at all. She raised you, and you’re about the nicest person I’ve ever met. Just because my family doesn’t have money doesn’t mean I judge people who do.”
Gin’s smile is wide. “You think I’m nice? Even though every other word out of my mouth is profane? Even though I tried to cram a towel down your teammate’s throat today?”
“Yeah. You’re not nice in a generic sense. You’re nice in the ways that are hard but matter the most. You stand up for people.” I pause, thinking of Michelle. “You care about people in a way…I admire, I guess is the best way to say it. That’s why I don’t deserve you, and no other guy in this town does either.”
I said more than I meant to. There’re a couple feet of space between us, but as I look into her blue eyes, she feels too close. Close enough to reach out and touch.
I don’t care about her goth-looking black hair or her boring, sensible clothes. For the first time in my life, I’m attracted to a girl because of everything she is that has nothing to do with her looks.
Gin’s attractive, sure—I picture her body, dripping wet in that swimsuit—many times a day, but that’s not what keeps me up at night thinking about her. It’s the things she says. The things she does. Her witty texts. The way she feeds Madison lines when she forgets them at play practice. Her infectious laugh, which sounds like music because it’s hard to earn. Her fearless defense of anyone being picked on.
Gin puts up with no bullshit, and I find that unbelievably sexy.
She’s perfectly still, looking like she’s not even breathing as we stand there with our eyes locked on each other. I take a step closer to her, wanting to feel her warmth. She inhales sharply but doesn’t move.
I’d love to be more than friends with Gin, but after what I’ve done, I can’t. She’ll just have to be a friend I can’t get enough of.
I move a little closer, and her blue eyes widen. She still doesn’t seem to be inhaling or exhaling. No matter how close I get, I feel an urge to go just a little further.
The doorknob turns from the other side, and Gin jumps, the spell broken. Her mom opens the door and smiles at us.
“Oh, hi. Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just coming out to tell Michael dinner’s almost ready.”
“I told him,” Gin says. She turns to me and says, “Mom, you remember Chase?”
“Of course. I’m so glad you’re here, Chase. Call me Julia. I hope you’re hungry. Come on in, guys.”
She leads the way, and Gin lags behind her, leaning in to say something in a low tone when her mom’s out of earshot.
“Don’t worry, she’s not gonna judge you over the Sweet Sixteen thing.”
My heart starts beating triple time. “What? She knows about that?”
“She’s not like other moms. It’s cool.”
I stop, glaring down at her. “It’s not cool. Dammit, Gin. She knows I…oh, man.”
I cover my face with both hands. Gin puts a palm on my back, pushing me forward.
“It’s not a big deal, honest,” she says.
Easy for her to say.
I exhale deeply and shoot her a dirty look as we walk through a big room with lots of windows, potted plants, and books lining shelves. We continue through the massive, wood-floored house, and I can’t help admiring it as we go. The house is old, but it’s so well-cared for and warm that it doesn’t feel old at all. There are comfortable-looking couches and chairs and thick throw rugs on the floors.
“So how was school?” Julia asks as we walk into the massive, open kitchen.
“Um…” Gin’s gaze falls on a vase of bright pink roses on the island. She gasps and presses a palm to her chest. “Oh shit! It’s your birthday!”
Julia smiles and waves a hand. “When you get to be my age, it’s not a big deal.”
“Who sent the flowers?” Gin leans closer to smell one. “Are they from your editor?”
“Uh…no, those are from Michael, actually.”
Gin arches her brows and grins. “Oh really?”
“Hush,” Julia says, her face flushing. “He just remembered how much I love it when the rose bush with pink flowers is in bloom in the yard, so he ordered these.”
“Uh-huh.” Gin turns to me and waggles her brows. “Mom’s got a boyfriend.”
“I do not!” Julia rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Ginger.”
“Oh, no.” Gin gives her a mock cringe. “Don’t break out my full name. I’ll stop teasing you right now.”
“Ginger?” I give her a playful smile. “I didn’t know that was your full name. I guess I figured it was Virginia.”
“I took one look at that hair, and I knew,” Julia says.
“I would have preferred Ruby or Scarlet,” Gin says.
She walks over to her mom and gives her a hug. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t make you a cake, but I will this weekend. I got your gift a couple months ago. I’ll run upstairs and get it.”
She looks over at me on her way out of the kitchen and says, “Be right back.”
I try not to think about how awkward things could get between her mom and me when we’re in here alone. I don’t know how I’ll respond if she brings up the Sweet Sixteen.
“Dinner smells great,” I say. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks. Can you grab that loaf of bread and slice it for me? Across the length of it, so I can make garlic bread?”
She puts down the knife she’s using to chop tomatoes and gets a knife off a magnetic holder on the wall, handing it to me. I set it down and wash my hands, drying them on the towel she passes me.
“So, how’s senior year going?” she asks.
“Not bad. Busy with it being football season.”
“I bet. Where are you going for college?”
I shrug. “Still not sure.”
“Well, that’s okay. Plenty of time left.”
“You think?”
“I do. It’s a big decision. Take your time.”
“Where did you go?”
Her face lights up with a smile. “Mizzou. I loved it.”
Gin comes back into the kitchen holding a small package wrapped up in tissue paper. She sets it on the island, and Julia dries off her hands on a dish towel beside the cutting board before picking it up.
“Thanks, honey. You really didn’t have to get me anything.”
Gin rolls her eyes. “I always get you something, Mom. Open it.”
Julia peels away the layers of white paper, laughing when she sees what’s inside. She takes it out and shows it to me.
“My seashell man.” She turns to Gin and grins. “We were road-tripping through Maine last summer, and I saw this guy and almost bought him. I was so sorry I didn’t.”
“I went back for it when you were in another shop,” Gin says.
Her mom hugs her again, and I check out the shell man. He’s got skinny legs made of broken shells, a rou
nd body, and googly eyes glued onto the shell that serves as his head.
“I know it’s ugly,” Julia says, returning to the tomatoes on the cutting board. “But my mind started spinning with a book idea when I saw him. A story about a man who lives near the ocean and starts to develop the characteristics of fish.”
I take the garlic spread she passes to me and put it on the bread with the knife.
“My mom loves your books,” I say. “She’s read all of them.”
Julia smiles and looks genuinely touched. “Oh, how nice. I’ll send you with a hardback of my new one that’s not out yet.”
“She’ll go crazy over it. Thanks.”
Michael comes in from outside, and Julia shows him her shell man. He admires it, then washes his hands. We all sit down around a round wood table that overlooks a landscaped side yard.
It’s not like dinner at my house. No one’s eating in a hurry so they can get to the bar and get wasted. No one’s quiet because they’re afraid of saying anything that might set someone off. We all talk and laugh, and I see what Gin meant about her mom being cool. She’s warm and happy. She listens. She keeps adding food to my plate, and to Michael’s and Gin’s, when they start to get empty.
When Gin talks about what happened at lunch, Julia’s eyes fill with tears. She tells Gin she’s proud of her for pushing back and defending Raj. As dinner goes on, I start to see where Gin gets her principles from.
Gin insists on clearing the table, and I help her. Since she doesn’t have a cake for her mom, she gets a pail of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and puts a scoop in a bowl, then adds a candle to it and lights it. We all sing “Happy Birthday” to Julia, and she blows out the candle. All of us are too full to eat ice cream, but we stay at the table and talk.
The subject of football doesn’t come up once. I talk to Gin, Julia, and Michael about everything from politics to my sisters, but no one asks me anything about football.
For the first time in a very long time, I’m just Chase, not Chase the quarterback. It feels good.
After dinner, Gin and I play chess in a sitting room that doesn’t look like it gets much use but is still immaculately clean. It’s been a while since I’ve played, but I still beat her in both games we play.
It’s after nine when I reluctantly tell Gin I should probably get home. We both have homework to do. Michael said goodbye when he left earlier, and Julia hugs me as we’re leaving.
“Come back anytime,” she says, passing me a thick book. “And tell your mom she’s the first one outside of my publishing house to get this.”
“Thanks, she’ll be so excited.”
“Be back in a bit,” Gin says, waving to her mom as we leave.
“Your mom’s pretty great,” I say as we walk to the car.
“Thanks. I think so, too.”
We get in the car, and I realize this was the best evening I’ve had in a while. I want to ask Gin out, but I don’t. After what I’ve done, I’m lucky she’s willing to even be friends.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I say.
“Yeah.”
“You know Michelle Zimmerman?”
“Uh-huh. Is she back from rehab?”
“Yeah, she just got back. Will you ask her to sit with you at lunch?”
Gin gives me a skeptical glance. “Me? She doesn’t even know me.”
“Will you just ask, though?”
She shrugs. “Sure. You want me to ask her if she likes you, too?”
“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “Not at all. It’s not like that.”
“You’d better not be asking her to join your sex club, Chase. After what she’s been through—”
“I’m not. I’m done with that.”
“Done with it? As in, not even giving out the roses?” She turns to me, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Long story. But, yeah.”
“Wow.”
She slows as she approaches my house, then pulls into the driveway.
“You might’ve mentioned that sooner, you know,” she says.
I give her a wry smile. “So you could drill me with questions about it?”
“Something like that,” she admits.
“Another night. Guess you’ll have to hang out with me again.”
“Guess I will.”
I open the car door, resisting my urge to lean over and kiss her. “’Night, Gin.”
“Goodnight, Chase.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gin
At lunch the next day, Lauren takes the sandwich I pass her and bites into it, eating in silence. She has dark circles under her eyes, and her clothes are wrinkled. I wonder sometimes what motivates her to get up and come to school every morning. It’s not her mom, that’s for sure. Lauren does more to take care of the household than she does.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Long night. My little sister threw up at one in the morning. Then again at three, and again at six. I just gave up on sleep at that point.”
“That’s the worst. Anything I can do to help?”
“No, I’ll be okay. I’m gonna crash so hard after work tonight.”
I hear my phone buzzing in my bag with a text, and I get it out, assuming it’s my mom. But when I look down at the screen, I see a message from Chase.
Chase: Hey Ginger, got a smile for me?
I roll my eyes, unable to keep myself from grinning like an idiot, and look around the cafeteria until I see him standing in the lunch line, his phone in hand. He holds my gaze and smiles back.
“What’s going on between you two?” Lauren asks.
I put my phone back in my bag. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Raj sits down next to Lauren, looking back and forth between us and apparently deciding not to say hi just yet.
“Don’t be paranoid,” I say, twisting open my bottle of water. “Just because I look across the cafeteria, that doesn’t mean I’m looking at anyone special.”
“You’re a fucking liar.” Lauren shakes her head. “I’m not an idiot. You got a text from him, you looked over, and then you smiled like a twelve-year-old at a boy band concert.”
“Oh, geez. Don’t be so melodramatic.”
Lauren turns to Raj. “She’s got a thing with Chase. The guy who wanted to gangbang her.”
Raj stares straight ahead, staying out of it. My aggravation with Lauren rises.
“I do not have a thing with him. Stop it,” I say in a low tone. “This is how rumors get started.”
Lauren curls her lip at me in disgust. “It’s one thing to have a crush on his golden-boy looks, but this? What the hell, Gin? Are you gonna be sitting at his lunch table next? Wearing his fucking football jersey with a ribbon in your hair and going to his games?”
“Enough.” I silence her with my tone. “Don’t take your bad mood and lack of sleep out on me, Lauren.”
There’s movement next to me, and I look over to see Michelle Zimmerman standing there, biting her lip nervously.
“Hey…is this still okay?” she asks me.
I told her this morning that she’s welcome to sit with us, but from the way she silently nodded at me, I didn’t think she actually would.
“Of course,” I say, gesturing at the open spot next to me. “Guys, you know Michelle, right?”
“Hey, I’m Raj.”
Lauren glares at me for a few more seconds before saying, “Yeah, we’ve partied together before.”
“Well…thanks for letting me sit here,” Michelle says, busying herself with opening her carton of milk and eating her mashed potatoes.
“I actually missed cafeteria food in rehab,” she says, laughing lightly. “They only serve super healthy, raw foods there. I lost weight from not eating much.”
“Do you feel like rehab helped you?” I ask. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“No, you can ask me anything you want. I don’t mind talking about it at all. The hardest thing for me is when people just st
are at me and say nothing, like I’m some kind of freak.” She takes a deep breath. “It helped me a lot. The change of scenery was what I needed. Getting away from the bad habits and situations that had me feeling so…hopeless. And my parents came to do therapy with me, and it really set in what my death would’ve done to them.”
“Did you come close to dying?” Lauren asks.
“I don’t know…my mom found me right away and got me to the hospital.”
I just look at her for a few seconds. She looks almost frail, her frame waifish and her eye sockets hollowed. But there’s a light in her eyes that doesn’t match the rest of her. It’s like her eyes are promising there’s strength inside her that can’t be seen.
“I admire you,” I say. “For coming back here and facing this group of judgmental hicks. That had to be hard.”
“I think the hardest part was finding out who my real friends were.” She shrugs sadly. “Turns out I had none. Once I stopped drinking and getting high, no one I used to hang out with wanted anything to do with me anymore.”
“You don’t need to be around people like that anyway,” I say. “If you’re putting all that behind you, I mean.”
She nods. “You’re right. I just thought they’d…care, you know?”
“People are basically self-centered assholes,” Lauren says, looking at me. “Using you until something better comes along.”
I don’t fall into her trap. Lauren’s insecurities make her think no one values her, but she comes by it honestly. Neither of her parents has ever valued her as they should.
“Some are,” I say, looking at Michelle. “But I’m not. If you ever want to hang out, I’m usually around. When I’m not at play practice or teaching swim lessons.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m so buried in homework right now, but I’m hoping for a social life someday if I ever catch up. They didn’t let me keep up with my work in rehab. I just had to focus on therapy and meditation.”
“Well, shit.” I arch my brows in surprise. “You have a month of makeup work?”
She nods. “Some of my teachers are being really cool and only making me do the big stuff. But Mrs. Luft, not so much.”
“Ugh. Calc?”
“No way.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s advanced algebra. I’m not a math person.”
Sweet Sixteen Page 11