by Kai Strand
“You too, Lola.”
There’s something intimate in his tone that makes me stumble and I force myself not to look back at him.
At the end of the hall, I finally give in to the urge to turn and look back at the now empty hallway. Though I can’t see him, I picture Rod at work in the kitchen, long bangs flopping over his expressive eyes and his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Dexterous fingers, wrapped securely around the corners of a cabinet as he prepares to hoist. I smile at the image of him completely focused on the task.
Talia appears in the hall, pulling me from my thoughts. She smiles. “Time to get back to work doing that horrible, difficult job we have.”
Leo saunters right behind her. “It is murder on the back.”
By the time we finish the second and third bedroom, I’m in complete agreement with Leo. My back aches something fierce, and I dream longingly of a soak in the hot tub when I get home.
Jay appears in the doorway. “Can I buy you dinner?”
I tamp down the panic that squirrels around inside me and answer honestly. “I’m too miserable and exhausted to go anywhere tonight. Thanks though. Did you enjoy your day?”
“I did.” He sounds a bit surprised. “Next time I come will be because I want to, not for the article.”
“Good.” I honestly mean it.
“Though, we will have to get together so I can interview you. Maybe another ice cream date?”
“Uh, maybe.” I wipe my forehead with my arm. “I’m too tired to think about it right now. Let’s talk about it Monday.”
“Okay.”
I scoop up some discarded wrapping material that needs to be tossed. “Don’t forget to sign out when you return your tools.”
Jay’s smile falters, but he turns to leave. “Thanks for introducing me to this, Lola.”
“Sure thing.” I hope not walking out with him lets him know I’m not interested. It’s so frustrating to suddenly have to consider all of my actions and reactions around him.
My arms are overflowing with wads of wrapping material when I walk out of the bedroom and directly into Rod. My burden erupts like a volcano before cascading to the floor. Rod grabs my arms to keep me from falling.
“This is a bad habit of ours,” he says.
I’m hyper aware of his long fingers wrapped around my arms. His touch is gentle, yet it pulses with heat. “What habit?”
“Running into each other.” At my confused look he clarifies. “At my school that day. In the hall.”
The mere mention of that day’s brush of a touch resurrects the ghost of it and goosebumps erupt down the back of my arm. “Oh, yeah.”
“You okay?”
“Sure. Fine.” Unless you consider my rapid pulse a problem.
Rod scoops up most of the paper. It doesn’t look nearly as cumbersome wrapped by his long arms.
“Are you all done in there? Tess wants to lock up.”
“Talia’s collecting tools.”
As we pass Tess, Rod tells her, “You’ve got one more back there.”
“Okay. Thanks for your hard work today, you guys.”
Rod and I toss our trash in the dumpster and then walk over to the storage container together.
“So, is Jay the guy?” Rod asks.
“What guy?”
“The one you’ve liked since elementary school. The one you aren’t sure you’ve got something going on with?”
“Oh. No.” I’m embarrassed to hear my words repeated. They make me feel flighty. Indecisive.
“’Cause, he’s definitely into you. He didn’t stop talking about you all day.”
We enter the storage container and I’m glad for the darkness. I groan. “Really? I was afraid of that.”
“You don’t like him?” Rod returns his tools and tool belt while he’s talking.
“No. Well, I’ve always liked him as a friend. I only recently wondered if maybe he likes me…more.” I sigh and hand the clipboard with the sign-out sheet to him. “What do I do? I don’t want to encourage him, but I also don’t want to alienate him.”
He enters the time onto the sheet and then reaches behind me to hang it back up again. Suddenly I realize how close we’re standing and my breath catches. He looks down and I can see it dawn on him too, but instead of stepping back he becomes unnaturally still. His eyes explore mine, his expression equal parts hunger and calm. Some latent animal instinct wants me to reach for him. Pull him to me. Consume him. I’m shocked with myself. I’ve never experienced such a physical need before, but the hunger in his eyes has somehow stoked my own appetite.
Then his expression clears. He drops his arm back to his side and turns to leave the container as if nothing passed between us. I walk alongside him, surprised I can seem so unaffected when my entire being feels altered.
“You tell him,” Rod says. “You say you think you’ve noticed that he seems different around you and that you hope he understands that the two of you are friends.”
I open my mouth to reject the idea, but I spot Dave across the yard, watching us. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
“See ya, Lola.”
I slow my pace, while Rod jogs over to Stretch Armstrong. Seeing the man reminds me of how much I don’t know about Rod. At first, I didn’t want to ask what he was doing his community service for because it seemed rude. But now? If it’s really bad will it change how I see him? How I feel about him?
Chapter 11
As the week progresses, Jay continually checks with me to see when we can go out for ice cream and do the interview. I manage to put him off by claiming that I have too much homework and expanding other commitments to make them sound more time consuming than they are. I suggest we do the interview at school, but he insists he’s willing to wait for my schedule to open up.
Rome and I text each other regularly. The first text I got from him left me a little confused. I received it at 6:15 one morning. It was a picture of a big room with ugly furniture and carpeting, littered with beer cans, bottles of booze, and plastic cups. All the text said was, “My life. Glamorous, huh?”
I didn’t know how to respond, but since my cat, Sniffler, sat on the bathroom counter watching me get ready for school, I snapped a picture of him and replied. “At least you don’t have any stalkers.”
The odd exchange set the tone, and we’ve continued to send random pictures from our lives with quippy little captions. If I’ve interpreted his correctly, he lives in a dorm full of partiers, he drinks a lot of coffee late at night in the library, and students at his school like to make-out whenever and wherever they can.
The last text I received—about four hours ago—was a picture of a freeway sign with the caption, “On my way.” I’ve looked at it at least two dozen times since I got it. I showed it to Cyn, in the hall between classes. I almost showed it to Jay, but decided not to at the last moment, thinking it might be a bit mean of me. Being with Rome at the game tonight and then at the dance tomorrow would be a big enough clue for Jay to back off. I hope.
I dress for the game in jeans and a mock turtleneck under an old-school LP cardigan handed down through the generations. Because of the chilly game-time forecast, I’ll have to hide my sweater under my wool coat, but my school spirit will show with my matching knit cap, scarf, and glove set. Just before Rome is expected to show up, I pull on knee-high leather boots and stuff my student i.d., driver’s license, phone, and some cash in my pockets.
My stomach is alive with nervous anticipation as I peek through the curtains watching for a set of headlights to sweep up the driveway.
“Lola dear, stop that,” Mom says. “You should be upstairs, waiting to make your dramatic entrance.”
“Like Cinderella?” I murmur, my breath fogging the window.
“Cinderella never wore a pair of jeans in her life,” Mom snips. “But you should always keep the boys guessing. If you’re standing at the front door he’ll think he’s already won and he’ll stop trying.”
“Is
that right, Dad?” I ask, stealing a glance over my shoulder.
“I have no idea.” Dad swirls the bourbon in his glass. The ice cubes clink cheerily, but it’s a trigger sound for me that sets my nerves on end. In an hour he’ll be drunk, angry, and domineering. I’m thankful I’ll be out of the house. “The Bennetts are a good family, though. Imports, I think.”
“Yes, imports.” Mom agrees, tapping a finger on the rim of her wineglass. “Lola, please.”
I sigh, about to give in and leave my perch, when a car turns into the driveway. I jump away from the window; the curtain falls back in place. My heart hammers in my ears. Do I wait for him to come to the door? Do I just run out to the car, like I would if it was Cyn? Why is this so hard to figure out? I freeze halfway to the foyer, wondering if Mom is right with the whole dramatic entrance thing. Maybe I should let Dad grill him a little. Is that expected?
The doorbell rings and I’m momentarily lightheaded. When I recover I take a deep breath and stride toward it, waving my mother off, who is half out of her chair. She shakes her head and gives me an “I’ll never marry her off at this rate” look.
The heels of my boots click on the slate of the foyer, echoing into the high vaulted ceiling. It’s as loud as my heart. Taking a deep breath, I force my expression to look normal, even though I’m nervous beyond belief, and pull the door open.
“Hey,” I say as Rome comes into view. Oh, heart palpitations, he’s good looking in a peacoat.
His smile is shy, and I wonder if—no hope—he’s as nervous as me. “Hi, Lola.”
“Come on in while I get my coat.” I step back like a good little hostess and gesture grandly for him to enter.
He steps through the door, takes his hands out of his jacket pockets, and rubs them together. His head and hands are bare, but he has a scarf in LP cardinal and gold wrapped around his neck and tucked down the front of his coat. His gaze sweeps over me. “You look amazing. As usual.”
“Thanks.” I tie my own scarf around my neck before pulling on my coat.
“Are they selling cardigans this year?” Rome cocks his head while he watches mine disappear under my coat.
“That was my mother’s school sweater.” Mom sweeps into the room, the ever-gracious host. “Lola is fifth generation Lindsey Prep on my side and eighth generation on her father’s side.”
“Um. Wow,” Rome says.
“Pleasure to meet you, Jerome.” Mom shakes his hand gently and pats it with her other hand. “I know your parents from the country club, of course.”
Rome squints. “Really? They don’t really go too often.”
Dad strolls into the foyer, glass still in hand. “Every Fourth of July, at least.”
Rome laughs and shakes Dad’s hand. “Fourth of July at the club is a requirement, isn’t it?”
I pull my hat and gloves on. “Ready?”
Rome just looks at me. He studies my hat and the hair tumbling over my coat. Neither the deep red nor the gold of our school colors look very good on me. Tonight, I chose to wear the red hat and scarf, and I wonder if he’s embarrassed to be seen with me. I raise my hand to remove my hat when his expression softens, and he whispers, “Yeah.”
His look is so intimate I shiver. I can almost feel him cupping my cheek even though he hasn’t moved. I stop myself from leaning into his imaginary hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he says to my parents.
“Not too late,” Mom says.
I nod and walk onto the porch. My mind’s eye is focused on that stomach-fluttering look he gave me. Why can’t we send text telepathically yet? Cyn would love to hear that I wanted to kiss Rome Bennett in front of my society-rules-following parents.
My mind freak fades, and I fall into step beside him. He opens the car door for me, waits for me to be seated before closing it, and jogs around to his side. I know how to open and close my own doors, but I’m glad he feels I’m important enough to do it for. It’s a small gesture that makes me feel special.
“It’s cold tonight.” He starts the car, hunkering into his jacket.
“Do you at least have gloves?” If his hands are shoved into his pockets all night, there won’t be any hand holding going on.
“I asked my mom to bring them to the game.”
I squint at him and he laughs at my expression before he directs his attention to navigating the circular driveway around the big fountain and toward the road.
“There was an accident on the freeway, I’m just getting into town, so I haven’t been home.”
“You goofball, you could’ve gone home and picked me up later.”
“I don’t mind.” He speaks while checking for oncoming traffic at the end of the driveway. “My family is going to be at the game anyway, and I’ll see them over the weekend.”
“Aren’t you tired, though?”
“No.” He chuckles. “Knowing I’ll get more than two hours of sleep tonight is all I need.”
When we get to school, we have to park pretty far away. We walk side by side toward the ticket stand and my stomach starts to squirm with nerves again. We haven’t seen anyone we know well yet, but the students we passed all looked at us with surprise or curiosity. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate the gossip chain. Oh well, there’s no way to avoid it.
In line, we talk about a television show we both like that Rome hasn’t had a chance to watch since he started college. I’m catching him up on the current season when Cyn attacks me from behind, jumping on my back like she wants a piggyback ride. Though she and I are the same height, she’s got some kick ass curves, whereas I am practically a stick, so I almost buckle under the unexpected burden. She slides to the ground. “Lola. Lo, lo, lo, lo, Lola,” she sings.
Rome’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Bet you’ve never heard that one before.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes good-naturedly.
“Hey, Cyn,” I spin slowly out of the arms she still has draped over my shoulders and face her. “Oh, and Rick. Shouldn’t you be playing?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Cyn asks. She’s speaking too loud and I smell beer on her breath. “He’s not playing this year.”
“Why not?” Rome and Rick are shaking hands in that way that guys do and slapping each other on the back. They played football together last year. Suddenly it becomes clear to me that we’re going to run into a lot of people tonight who know Rome better than they know me. Even though I’m technically in the popular crowd, I’m on the fringe. They’ll probably wonder why he’s here with me. Dating one of the elites is a new thing for me, and I’m not actually sure I’m prepared for it. I scan the people in line as if paparazzi are going to leap from behind the portable restrooms.
“His class schedule is too heavy.” Cyn holds her phone up in front of us and I automatically tilt my head toward her and smile. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that hat and scarf. The red looks gross on you.”
“Well, you know, Homecoming. School spirit.”
“Screw the school spirit. It’s a date with Jerome Bennett.” Her thumbs must have finally cooperated, because my phone is buzzing and vibrating like a hive. “Great boots, though. Sexy as hell.”
“Thanks, Cyn.” We’re almost to the front of the ticket line. Rome and Rick are deep in conversation, so I drop my voice to a whisper. “Gah. I was so nervous.”
“When? Tonight?” Cyn is not whispering. I don’t know why I expected her to.
I nod, glancing at Rome who doesn’t appear to have heard.
“He’s totally into you.” Cyn says, again too loud. “Don’t even worry.”
I lean forward and speak quietly into her ear. “I guess I just don’t understand why.”
Cyn frowns at me right when Rome puts his arm around my waist and guides me to the ticket booth. I glance over my shoulder and Cyn’s face splits in a grin as she throws her head back and yells—yes, yells, “Because you’re hot!”
Oh splat. Rome slides his money to the attendant but raises an eyebrow when he lo
oks between Cyn and me. Everyone within shouting distance is looking too, and Cyn is laughing hysterically.
“You’re fricking hot, Lola Renaldi.” She throws her arms out like she’s going to hug the world, and she yells again. “Lola Renaldi’s a babe.”
Rome’s laughing. He nods at the ticket lady as he accepts his ticket and then guides me through the clutch gathered around the small building. “I completely agree with her, but why exactly is she yelling that?”
Not knowing what else to do, I laugh. And it feels really good to be filled up with joy from my best friend’s obnoxious behavior. “She’s crazy. And a little tipsy. Watch out, or she’ll be yelling about you next.”
Chapter 12
Instead of following Rick and Cyn to the section where our friends always sit, Rome tells them we’ll be there in a bit and he grabs my hand to pull me through the crush of people wandering in front of the stands. We go all the way to the end where the families sit, and I remember he needs to get his gloves from his parents. I look over my shoulder wishing I could have gone with Cyn so I didn’t have to meet his mom and dad.
I follow him up the stands, surprised by how many parents greet him as we pass. Man, he really is popular. He finally stops when we’re only three bleachers from the top.
“You made it!” A woman sitting about seven people in from the steps yells to him. Her grin is wide and easy, her eyes are warm. Rome looks like his mother. She digs in the big pocket on the front of her LP hoodie and pulls out a pair of black leather gloves.
“Hey son. Glad to see you made it to town safe and sound.” Rome’s dad is slightly overweight, but you can tell he was once fit and athletic. His hair is cut short like Rome’s, but it’s almost black and peppered with gray. He has light blue eyes. Rome looks nothing like him, but I’m completely enamored by their friendly, open attitudes. They seem so Leave It To Beaver. I picture his mom baking cookies or driving Alice to lessons and keeping up with Rome’s laundry.
His mom passes the gloves to the person on her left and nods in our direction. As the gloves make their way toward us, she shouts, “You must be Lola.”