Damaged

by Melody Carlson

  “Okay.”

  He leans in and kisses me, long and passionately, and I wish he didn’t have to go to practice. But I just smile and tell him, “Later.” As I walk to my locker, I feel like I’m walking on clouds. I’m beginning to understand all the clichés people use to describe love. It’s like I’ve finally been allowed into this secret universe — and I like it here.

  When I open my locker, a folded piece of white paper slides out. I bend to pick it up, thinking it’s an assignment sheet that slipped out of my notebook, but it’s actually a note — to me. It’s not handwritten but printed in just a regular font, and glancing to the bottom, I see it’s unsigned. Apparently whoever wrote it wants to remain anonymous. Sensing someone (maybe even the writer of this note) is watching me, I shove it into my bag, grab what I need, then close my locker. When I turn around, I just see the usual people milling about. I sling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, then holding my head high, like I’ve seen Emery do, I walk down the hallway and exit the school.

  I don’t mind walking home from school, and really it’s much better than the bus. The condo’s not far from school, and as long as the weather is like today, it’s actually quite pleasant. Besides, it helps me clear my head. Maybe someday I’ll even hang out and watch football practice, although I don’t want to look like a groupie. But it could be fun.

  However, at the moment, all I want to do is read the contents of that mysterious letter. I would’ve read it at school except I’m worried it’s a hate letter — maybe written by an Emery fan. I didn’t want to give anyone the pleasure of seeing me get undone by their words. I’m tempted to pull it out right here on the street, but I really want to read it in the privacy of my own home. So I pick up the pace.

  Finally I’m inside the condo, digging through my bag for the letter. I unfold it and begin to read.

  Dear Haley,

  I probably shouldn’t be writing this to you, but I am. I know you’re new here and you don’t know everyone in school — not the way I do. So I want to give you a friendly word of warning. You seem like a nice girl and you probably have no idea that Harris Stephens is dangerous. Very dangerous. I’m warning you to watch out and, if you’re smart, I’m advising you to break up with him. The sooner the better. Believe me, if you don’t you will be sorry. Very sorry. I hope you will take this warning seriously. Those who play with fire will get burned — and you will be no different. Lose him while you can.

  Sincerely,

  X

  I’m not sure what a poison-pen letter is, but this one feels toxic to me. What kind of lowlife would write something like this? It’s so creepy; I don’t even want to touch it. And I’m determined to destroy it. But I decide to read it once more just to see if I can guess who wrote it and why. I read it again, more slowly, and try to imagine someone like Emery or one of her close friends writing something like this, but it just seems weird.

  Still, I do remember the determined look in Emery’s eyes when she told me she’d get Harris back. Perhaps she’d stoop to writing a threatening letter. That’s what this feels like. Oh, the writer can call it a warning, like she cares about me, but it’s really a fear tactic. Someone wants to scare me away from Harris. Probably so Emery can have him back.

  Well, what she doesn’t know is that I don’t scare that easily. She also doesn’t know how much I love Harris. To think a silly letter like this would change that is ridiculous.

  I find some matches, take the letter to my bathroom, and burn it in the sink, washing the ashes down. I need to forget the whole thing. Stupid letters like that should’ve been over and done with in middle school. Someone needs to grow up!

  When Harris calls me later that night, I consider telling him about it but decide not to. Why worry him with some crazed person’s rant? Besides, I just want to wash the whole thing away. No sense in letting a dumb letter spoil what Harris and I have found in each other.

  “I can’t wait to go out with you again,” Harris tells me as we’re trying to say good night and hang up.

  “Me, too,” I murmur.

  “Well, Friday, as you know, is a game night and we can’t go out after that because I have to go with my parents to San Francisco because my brother is getting married on Saturday morning and my mom wants to get there the night before.”

  “You have a brother who’s getting married?” I feel surprised not to know this.

  “Yeah. Leo is almost ten years older than me. His girlfriend, Julie, finally got him to tie the knot. And I’m even supposed to be in the wedding.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Maybe to you. I’m not too thrilled to put on a monkey suit and escort strangers down the aisle.”

  “You’ll look handsome in a tux. Will you send me a photo?”

  “I’ll try. Anyway, I think we’ll get home in time for a date Saturday night, if you’re interested.”

  “Sure, I’d like that.”

  “I want it to be a special date, Haley.”

  I feel a warm rush. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Cool. I just thought I’d get it all set so we can look forward to it this week.”

  “I’m already looking forward to it.”

  “Me, too.” He lets out a loud sigh. “Someday, when football season is over, we’ll have more time to be together. Until then, we’ll just have to squeeze in what we can.” He chuckles. “Wish I could squeeze a little something right now.”

  I laugh. “I should probably get back to my homework.” Which is the truth. Already I feel like I’m falling behind. I think it’s because I’ve been distracted. Or else you lose some brain cells when you’re in love. Or maybe it’s a combination of both.

  ...[CHAPTER 10].................

  It’s true what they say — time really does fly when you’re having fun. I can hardly believe a whole week has passed since Harris and I have been a couple. It seems like a few moments or maybe a day, but not a week.

  Even the Friday night football game goes by too quickly. It’s an away game and I manage to snag a ride with Libby, and throughout the game I keep my eyes on Harris and a couple of times I actually pray that he doesn’t get hurt. I can’t believe I’m praying since I thought I gave that up, but I suppose love makes us do strange things.

  Then, even though our team wins, I feel sad when the final buzzer goes off and the game is over. Oh, I don’t show it. But knowing that Harris will be swept away by his parents as soon as he showers and changes from his uniform makes me blue. I want to be selfish with him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Libby asks as her mom drives us to Wet Willie’s.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re moping over Harris, aren’t you?” she teases.

  “No, I’m not. I understand that he needs to go to his brother’s wedding. No big deal.”

  “Harris’s brother is getting married?” Libby’s mom asks.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “Tomorrow. In San Francisco.”

  She makes some parental comments about how just yesterday Leo was in diapers, and Libby and I exchange glances. I try to act cheerful at Wet Willie’s and I remind myself I have a really great boyfriend who is taking me out tomorrow night, but it’s not easy. I’ve never been a real social person, and without Harris to keep things going, I feel a little lost.

  “What, no boyfriend to make out with in the parking lot?” Buck teases me as I’m going to the ladies’ room.

  I make a face at him. “Not tonight, Uncle Buck.”

  He laughs. “Well, I’m happy to step in for your missing man, Haley.”

  “Thanks anyway, but the idea of kissing Uncle Buck is more than a little disturbing.” I can hear others laughing at this as I go into the restroom, and I think maybe I can learn to pull this off on my own. Still, I wish Harris were here.

  When I come out of the stall, Emery is standing in front of the tiny mirror applying lip gloss. “Oh, hello,” she says coolly. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “Uh-huh.”
I keep my eyes down as I wash my hands.

  “Harris is at Leo’s wedding?”

  I nod, then dry my hands.

  “Yes, I was invited too.”

  I look up. “You were?”

  She nods, slipping the tube of gloss into her bag. “Julie and I were good friends. In fact, she’ll probably be disappointed I didn’t go.”

  “Oh …”

  “But under the circumstances, well, it didn’t seem right.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “But I’m surprised Harris didn’t take you.” She’s looking intently at me now, like she’s trying to figure me out. “Or maybe you didn’t want to go with him.”

  I toss the paper towel into the trash and just shrug. “Harris and I have only been together a week. It seems a little premature to be going to a wedding together, don’t you think?”

  She nods and smiles. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Then she turns and leaves the restroom.

  I don’t know why this irritates me so much, but it does. It’s like Emery is the prickly pin, always on hand to burst my happy bubble. But I won’t let her. What Harris and I have, she cannot take away. I know it.

  Still, after I’m home I wonder, did Emery write that mean letter? Is she trying to scare me away from Harris? It’s obvious she wants him back. Why wouldn’t she? But it just doesn’t seem like her style to write an anonymous letter. I suspect if Emery had something to say, she’d say it (sweetly) right to my face. She’d be smiling and acting concerned for me when in reality she’d just be concerned for her image. Emery wouldn’t want to risk her reputation as the nicest girl in school, not just one week before homecoming queen elections.

  ……….

  On Saturday, I don’t feel much like doing anything. Dad even invites me to play racquetball with him, but I decline.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asks.

  “Sure, I’m fine. But I do have some homework to catch up on.”

  “They sure pile it on these days — lots more than back when I was in school.”

  “Back in the dark ages,” I tease.

  He nods. “But a little fresh air and exercise is good for the brain, Haley. You sure I can’t talk you into it?”

  “Tempting, but I’ll take a rain check.” I’m fully aware that my lack of interest is due to only one thing. I feel like I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear from Harris, hoping he’ll text me something about the wedding or send a photo — anything.

  But the day slowly passes and I hear nothing. It’s after five and I’m not sure if I should even get ready for our date or not. I’m sitting in the living room, flipping through the channels on TV, when Dad comes out neatly dressed.

  “I’m taking Estelle to a play tonight.” He adjusts his tie. “She’s had tickets for weeks.”

  “Sounds nice.” I force a smile.

  “I’d invite you to join us except the thing is sold out.” He chuckles. “I’d gladly let you go in my place, but Estelle would throw a fit.”

  “No, Dad. I don’t want to go in your place. Besides, I think I have a date tonight.”

  “Really?” He looks relieved. “With Harris?”

  I nod and smile.

  “He seems like a very nice young man, Haley.”

  “He had to go to his brother’s wedding this morning, over in San Francisco. Hopefully he’ll get home in time to make our date.”

  Dad glances at his watch. “Well, the night’s still young. But our play’s in Fresno and I promised Estelle we’d have drinks first, so I better get moving.”

  “Have fun, Dad.”

  “You, too. And I expect it’ll be another late night for me. We have reservations for a late dinner after the play.”

  “Well, then I won’t wait up for you.” I wink like this is a joke.

  He laughs. “Good, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Shortly after Dad leaves and to my huge relief, Harris calls. “We just got home, but I made a reservation for seven. Does that work for you?”

  “Sounds great!” I am dancing around the living room as I say this. I can’t believe he made a reservation. Not only is this a real date, it’s a real date with a reservation.

  “I’ll be by a little before seven then, okay?”

  “Perfect.” As soon as I hang up, I start scrambling. I want to look absolutely perfect tonight, and I think I know exactly what I’ll wear. Estelle talked me into getting a dress at the Gap and it really looks great on me. At first I balked because I’m just not a dress sort of girl. But she urged me to try on what she called “a little black dress,” saying it was something every girl needed in her wardrobe.

  I still didn’t get why it was such a big deal — besides, the black dress looked kind of boring on the hanger. However, when I tried it on, I had to admit it looked pretty hot. Then when Estelle mentioned how guys like seeing a girl in a dress sometimes, I was sold.

  I take a shower and do my hair and makeup, then slip into the little black dress, which fits me perfectly, and look in the mirror. It’s very sophisticated and sexy looking (in an understated and classic way), but the coolest part is that it makes me look older. Harris is almost eighteen, which sounds very grownup, and I’m only sixteen, which sounds much younger. But to look like this — I do a spin to see the back of the dress — well, I could probably pass for twenty.

  “Wow,” Harris says when I open the door, letting him into the condo. “You look awesome, Haley.”

  “Thanks.” I make what I think is a coquettish smile. It’s something I’ve read about and means something like flirty. “You look nice too.”

  “It felt good to get out of that monkey suit,” he says as we go down to the parking lot. “If I ever get married, it’ll be on a beach somewhere and we won’t even wear shoes.”

  My heart skips a beat over how he just said “we won’t wear shoes,” as if he’s planning in the same direction as me. “A shoeless wedding sounds like fun. I think if I ever get married, I’d like to do it in Hawaii.”

  He nods. “Yeah, like Maui. I went there once with my family; it was great.” As he drives, Harris tells me more about Maui. He talks about snorkeling and surfing and sailboats, and the whole while I am imagining a wonderful honeymoon with him on that romantic island.

  He pulls into a steakhouse parking lot and I feel a little disappointed. This definitely would not be my first choice for a special date. But once we’re inside, I realize it’s a much more romantic place than I expected. White cloths on the tables, flickering candlelight, a fireplace, soft music. It’s like something right out of an old movie and I love it.

  “Great place,” I tell him after we’re seated.

  “My parents used to love this place.” He unfolds his linen napkin, setting it on his lap like someone trained him well. At first I suspect his mom … then I wonder about Emery. She has fairly impeccable manners. However, I’m not going there.

  “What do you mean used to?” I follow his lead with my own napkin.

  “They don’t go out much anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs. “I think they’re going through some marriage stuff.”

  I nod. “Oh … I know how that goes.”

  “I don’t think they’ll divorce or anything. But they don’t seem to like each other as much as they used to. I guess that’s what it’s like to get old.” He laughs.

  I consider telling him that my dad and Estelle don’t seem to have that problem, but talking about a parent’s love life just feels like a downer, so I change the subject. “So how was the wedding and ushering little old ladies down the aisle?”

  “It was okay.” He takes a sip of water. “I never tripped or anything.”

  I chuckle. “I’m sure your brother was relieved.”

  “I think he was relieved just to get the whole thing over with.” Now he goes on again about how silly formal weddings are. And although I don’t agree with him on all of this (I’ve always dreamed of wearing a white lace dress and carry
ing delicate white rosebuds), I pretend that I understand his sentiments. Also, I imagine we’re discussing our own wedding, which sends shivers of joy up and down my spine. I can’t believe this is my life — sitting here with Harris, being in love … it’s magical.

  There’s a lull in the conversation and I’m surprised no one has taken our order yet, but the place is pretty busy. Besides, why would I want to rush this evening when everything is absolutely perfect? “So how is your guitar playing coming along?” I ask. “Or have you been too busy to practice?”

  “I’ve been practicing. Having that lesson with you makes me feel like I got over the hump, you know, the learning curve. Like I can sit down and work on stuff by myself now.”

  I frown. “Meaning you don’t need any more lessons?”

  He shakes his head. “No, not at all. I still have a lot to learn.” He makes a mischievous grin. “And maybe you do too.”

  “About what?”

  He just shrugs, and finally the waiter arrives and takes our drink orders. I go with my usual Coke and Harris orders the same. “I wish we were old enough to order something stronger,” he tells me after the waiter leaves.

  “Oh … ?” I try not to look too surprised.

  He nods. “But I have something for later.”

  I divert my gaze to the menu. I’m trying not to react to this news, but I feel uncomfortable about it. I didn’t realize Harris drank alcohol. I thought athletes got in trouble for that sort of thing. Don’t they do some kind of testing? However, I try not to look flustered as I skim over the menu, trying to decide what to order.

  Suddenly it occurs to me that the meals are not cheap here. Not like fish and chips. And I have no idea what kind of budget Harris might be on tonight. Most of his friends act like they’re not too concerned with money, and I suspect their parents are fairly generous. But I’m not really sure about Harris’s financial situation. He does have his own car — at least I think it’s his — but, seriously, how does a girl know what to order?

  “Is there anything you recommend?” I hope this isn’t too obvious.