Secret Heart

by Dreger,Danielle

  “Bonus if you make Prom Queen,” I joke.

  “Something like that.” She falls silent as we merge onto the interstate and head north back to Oak Bluffs. I rest my hand on her right thigh where her skin meets the hem of her dress. Her thigh is warm under my palm.

  “How did you wreck your car?” I ask, tracing circles on her skin. The higher my hand gets, the higher the speedometer goes. It currently hovers at 75 mph.

  “Last August before Olivia moved to Atlanta, we were coming home from a party out by the Bluffs. I’d been drinking so I gave her the keys to my car. I thought she was sober, but she’d been doing Jaeger shots with Dylan and Jackson when I was hanging out on a lifeguard stand with Miles. This was before we were dating so we were just talking. I didn’t see Olivia matching the guys drink for drink and I didn’t realize just how drunk she was until she crashed into my neighborhood sign.”

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Not really. Olivia had a minor concussion from hitting her head on the steering wheel. We were wearing seatbelts, so we were mostly fine. Just a lot of bruising. I guess our being drunk helped keep us from tensing up and getting hurt worse.”

  “So your parents freaked out and grounded you or something?”

  “My dad did. My mom kind of just waved it off, like it was no big deal. The car wasn’t totaled or anything but my dad had it hauled off to a junkyard to teach me a lesson. So as long as I don’t screw up again, I’ll get a car come graduation.”

  “That’s some crazy shit. How come I never heard about it?”

  Madison takes the next exit without signaling and we head toward the beaches. “Because no one knows about it,” she says. “There wasn’t a police report and Olivia moved, and I never told anyone about it. How bad do you think it would have looked if the student council president got in trouble for drunk driving?”

  I knew she was complex, but I didn’t know she had a secret like this. It makes her even sexier. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  For the first time since we started home she smiles at me. “No worries,” she says. “I trust you.”

  “Do you?” I ask, as I slide my hand under the hem of her dress. Her skin is even warmer under the fabric. I slowly inch my palm farther north up her inner thigh. “Even when I do this?” My left pinky is inches from the edge of her underwear.

  “Yes,” she says, her breathing labored. Her chest rises and falls in the flickering lights of the boulevard. Madison’s eyes narrow and it’s impossible to tell if she’s focusing on driving or the location of my hand. I’m tempted to move it higher, to touch her, to see if I can unravel her as she drives, and then I picture the car crashing into the Oak Bluff Estate sign and stop myself.

  When we turn down her street she says, “Do you mind ducking down?”

  “It’s dark,” I tell her. “No one will see me.”

  “Please,” she says. I slouch down and slide my hand right back up her thigh and under her dress. “Please.”

  “DO YOU WANT something to drink?” Madison offers once we are inside her house. She peers into her stainless steel fridge. “There’s some Mexican Coke, or vanilla almond milk, or white wine.” She gestures to a row of sparkling wine in the door.

  “I’m good,” I say as she takes a Coke out for herself and pops the cap off with a church key bottle opener. She drains half the bottle before asking, “Do you want a tour?” Her nervousness makes me want her even more.

  “Sure,” I say and follow her out of the kitchen.

  We walk down the hall and Madison points out the rooms. “You’ve already seen the living and dining rooms.” We climb the stairs, past all of her and her brother’s school photos, to the second floor and walk along the white shag carpet. “This is my parent’s room. This is Brad’s,” she says as we peer into an open doorway. Discarded clothes and video games cover the floor. It smells faintly like sweat and a spicy body spray. “He comes home tomorrow.”

  We move on and she points to a couple of other bedrooms. “This is the guest bedroom, and of course, this is mine,” Madison says opening the door. The lamp on the nightstand is casting a warm glow on her clean room. Her walls are covered in posters of the US Women’s soccer team.

  “Your house looks like it belongs in a magazine,” I say and study the case that holds all of her soccer trophies and spelling bee ribbons. “It’s so clean.”

  “Well, except for Brad’s room.” She tries to hide her fidgety fingers by clasping her hands tightly together.

  “It’s cleaner than mine, that’s for sure.” I wander around the room and study the pictures on her dresser. “Olivia, right?” I ask holding up a photo.

  “Yeah.”

  “She played volleyball.” I set the photo back on her dresser and pick up another.

  “That was from our family vacation to Bruges when I was fifteen.”

  “Are you posing with french fries?” I ask.

  “Yep.” Madison hovers near her door as I scan her bookshelf. “You can borrow that if you want,” she offers as I pull off a title from the shelf. “You’d like it, it’s a romantic comedy.”

  “I don’t really read,” I say putting the book back, “I prefer the movie versions to books.”

  “Books are always better than the movies.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Right,” Madison laughs. “If I have time to read, then you totally do, too.” She walks over and pulls out a couple of books. “You might like these too. This author will make you cry like you’ve just watched one of your Nicholas Sparks movies.”

  “Thanks.” I take the paperbacks from her when what I really want is to take off all of her clothes. “You’re like my own personal librarian. I guess I’ll have something to do while you’re away on Spring Break next week.”

  “You mean, besides pine for me, right?” Madison jokes and plays with her stereo until she finds a song she likes.

  I don’t laugh. “I’m gonna miss you,” I say. “I don’t want to go a week without seeing you.”

  “Me neither,” she confesses. “But I promised Brad I’d go to Miami with him months ago. I can’t back out.”

  “It still sucks.”

  “I don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon,” Madison says dimming the light. “We’ve got the rest of tonight to hang out.”

  “And I don’t have a curfew.” I toss the books to the floor before sitting on her bed. I reach for Madison’s arm and tug her onto the bed next to me.

  “Hi,” she says, looking at her through a curtain of her hair.

  “Hi.” I brush the strands from her face. She leans into my palm and I pull her closer to me. Madison finds the curve of my hip. I kiss her softly at first, then harder. She doesn’t resist when I push her onto her back. My hand slides up her inner thigh again.

  “Don’t stop,” she begs.

  I don’t. She melts into me as my hand moves higher and higher. Madison pulls my shirt up, pausing long enough from our kiss to get it over my head. I take this opportunity to unbutton the buttons near her collar and slide the dress off. The air from her bedroom fan is cool on the bare skin of my back, but the blood running through my veins as Madison runs her fingers down my ribs is hot. Madison pulls my sports bra off. Her breath is hot against my skin and goose bumps rise along my bare arms.

  My tongue trails along the ridge of her collarbone before moving down her breastbone to her stomach. The lace on her underwear is scratchy against my hands as I slide them down her legs.

  Her hands thread through my hair and she tries to pull me back up, but my lips have other ideas.

  “Please,” she whispers as I grab her hips. “Oh my God, oh my—”

  “Ahhh! Jesus Christ! What the fuck, Madison?”

  My eyes fly open. Madison and I both freeze at the sound of a male voice.

  “Go away, Brad,” she whispers hoarsely.

  “What the fuck?” he repeats.

&n
bsp; We scramble for our wrinkled clothes. Madison slides her dress overhead and I pull my bra and T-shirt on. Brad is in the doorway, shaking his head. I quickly avert my eyes—I can’t stand the horror I see there—and grab my things and the books. Madison is covering her face with her hands and my heart cracks a tiny bit at her shame. “Hey,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t look up as she shrugs it off. My face grows hot, not out of embarrassment, but disappointment. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I brush past Brad in the doorway. “Later,” I mumble.

  I’m halfway down the hall when Brad says, “Oh my God, Maddie. I didn’t know you were a carpet muncher now. What else have you been hiding?”

  The only thing that keeps me from going back and punching him in the face, is my fear of hearing Madison’s response.

  SPRING BREAK SUCKS ass. Serious ass.

  It’s been four days since Madison’s brother walked in on us. I shouldn’t have left like that. A good girlfriend would have stayed and told her girlfriend’s douchebag brother to leave them the fuck alone. A good girlfriend would have remembered to lock the door.

  Instead I left Madison to fend for herself.

  I ran all the way to the boulevard that runs to the Bluff before I texted Scott to come pick me up. While I waited for him I texted Madison. Radio silence.

  Eventually Scott showed up like my knight in snakeskin jeans. “What?” he asked as I climbed in the passenger side of my Civic. “Did her dad walk in on you or something?”

  “Or something,” I said.

  “Ouch. Where were you at?” I raised my eyebrows and he let out a low whistle. “Damn. I don’t think she’ll recover from that.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you gonna tell me who you were with?” he asked.

  “Nope.” We drove in silence for a minute before I asked, “How was your date?”

  “Let’s just say there won’t be a fourth date,” he said before pulling into his driveway.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as he cut the engine.

  “I’m not.” He met me in the front of the car and hugged me before handing over my keys.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I owe you.”

  “Nope,” he said waving me off. “We’re even. Thanks for loaning me your car.”

  I texted Madison again on Sunday. Still no response. According to her Facebook status update, she was soaking up the sun on Miami Beach with Brad. On Monday morning she posted a picture of them rollerblading on a boardwalk. Even in wrist guards and knee pads and a helmet she still looked goddamn gorgeous. Tuesday’s photo was of the two of them fishing on a boat with the caption, “The only thing I’ve caught is a sunburn.” She’s not lying. Her shoulders have turned lobster.

  I try to distract myself while my girlfriend is all noncom. I’m consumed by the Facebook feeds of my friends. Everyone is having a better Spring Break than I am. Janet and Monica have posted a million photos of Austin and I linger on each one looking for clues about what my future might hold or if it is even worth it. They are having far too much fun without me. I appreciate the effort they have gone to try out my ideas and new songs, but what if that isn’t enough? Maybe evolution isn’t our problem. Maybe we’ve been broken since the beginning but I was too blind to see it. They fit in with all the Austin hipsters. I don’t. Eventually I get overwhelmed by all the pictures of breakfast tacos and graffiti and shut the computer down.

  By Wednesday night I finish all the books Madison loaned me. She was right. They made me cry. On Thursday I hit the library. Maura’s mom is working the reference desk when I arrive and is all too happy to give me more suggestions of books to read. On Saturday afternoon I drive over to the used bookstore in the town center and buy all of the books that I can find by those authors and then bring them over to Scott’s.

  “Merry Christmas,” I say handing him the grocery sack full of books.

  “Since when do you read?” Scott asks taking the bag from me.

  I follow him through his house and wave at his mom folding laundry on the dining room table. She waves back. “Since it was Spring Break and I was bored out of my fucking gourd.”

  “You should have gone to Austin,” he sings.

  “You should shut the fuck up,” I sing back.

  He dumps the sack on his bed. “And here I thought you were illiterate.”

  “Nope. You’re confusing me with your mom.”

  Scott picks up a book with two boys kissing on the cover. “Nope. You’re confusing me with your mom.” Scott stacks the books on his nightstand. “Remember that time we stole some of my mom’s romance novels and took turns reading the sexy parts out loud?”

  “Yeah. And you couldn’t pronounce clitoris without laughing.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I bet you a Stacia’s pizza you still can’t pronounce it.”

  “You’re wrong,” he says shaking my hand. “Clitoris. Clitoris. CLITORIS.”

  Watching him hold back his laughter only makes me laugh harder and soon tears are spilling down my cheeks. By the time I’m gasping for air, Scott is losing it and we’re both rolling on his floor and laugh-crying.

  “Is everything okay?” His mom asks. “I thought I heard someone calling me.”

  “No, Liz,” I say struggling to compose myself. “We’re fine.” I can’t help but start giggling again.

  “Hey, mom,” Scott says sitting up. He wipes his eyes before he continues, “Can you order us a pizza from Stacia’s? Avery promised she’d treat us.”

  “Oh hell, no” I say. “You were laughing. You gotta pay.”

  “We never discussed a time frame for seriousness,” he said. “I didn’t laugh for at least twenty seconds.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m confused,” Liz says. “Am I ordering you guys a pizza for dinner?”

  “Yup.” I confirm.

  “The usual?”

  “Yup.” I’m afraid that if I say anything else I’ll dissolve into even more giggles.

  “Okay.” A soon as she closes the door behind her, Scott and I start laughing all over again. If I’d gone to Austin with the band, I wouldn’t have this right now. God knows Janet never makes me laugh. There’s that twinge in my heart again, the one that reminds me of how much I would miss Scott and my mom if I move to Austin.

  “Clitoris,” he whispers.

  “Clitoris,” I reply a little louder.

  “Clitoris,” he says in British accent and for the first time in days my face hurts from smiling.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, after we’ve stuffed ourselves with mushroom and garlic pizza, Scott and I are lying head to head on his couch watching Dawson’s Creek.

  “I can’t believe this is the first time two guys kissed on prime time TV,” he says.

  “I can’t believe that we’ve watched this episode three times already.”

  “That sounds like something Jen would say. You’re totally Jen.”

  “If I’m Jen then you’re Jack.”

  He hits play on the remote and we start the episode over. I’m half-asleep when he says, “I want to bring a boy to Prom.” His words are so soft I can barely make them out.

  “Who would you bring?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to bring a girl to Prom.”

  “Who would you bring?” he asks. Before I have a chance to respond he adds, “Would she even go with you?” I hate and love that he knows me so well.

  “I doubt it. We haven’t talked since her brother walked in on us. It’s been a week. You do the math. It’s over.”

  “Maybe she’s busy?” he offers. “I doubt that it’s actually over-over.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She was already afraid of being labeled a lesbian, and Saturday sure didn’t help. God. Why is this so hard?” I moan.

  “I dunno. It just is.” Scott waits a beat before saying, “Not everyone has the privilege of knowing themselves when they were younger like we did. Stop getting your pantie
s in a twist and be patient, girl. We got time.”

  “Gross. You said panties.”

  Scott doesn’t laugh. “Do you want out of it?”

  “No, of course not. I like her a lot. I might even love her.”

  “Really? You’ve never loved anyone before,” Scott says. “What makes she who shall not be named so different?”

  “I don’t know.” How do I put the million things I like about Madison into a sentence? “We have this connection. It’s hard to describe.”

  “What else,” he prods.

  “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met. She makes me not want to be an asshole to everyone, to give people a chance. She’s so fucking gorgeous. All I want to do is drink her up. And Jesus fucking Christ can she kiss.”

  “Maybe you’ll bring her to Prom and I’ll finally figure out who the hell she is.”

  “Maybe,” I say. But my heart isn’t in it. Madison and I at Prom together is just a fantasy.

  A long silence stretches between us. The episode ends and returns to the main menu. As hot as Joey Potter is, I can’t take another episode tonight.

  I reach for the remote to find something else when Scott cracks, “Clitoris.”

  ASIDE FROM HER voicemail, I haven’t heard Madison’s voice in 204 hours. If this was a movie montage, pages of a day-by-day calendar with kittens on it would flip over while a Death Cab for Cutie song played. This is not a movie. This is my girlfriend freezing me out.

  Madison is not waiting for me at my locker before first period on Monday after Spring Break. She is not in Spanish class. My heart now registers what my brain has been warning me all week. I could have had a say in the apartment Monica and Janet picked out over a taco bar. And as Janet predicted, my “bedroom” is the size of a closet. It might very well be a closet. I know they mean well, but the looming lease and my micro-bedroom make Austin seem even more like a distant dream.

  That distant dream is a million times better than this nightmare called Monday. There is no way I can sit through the entire lunch period and not think about Madison’s empty seat across from me so I head to the courtyard, where Scott and I used to eat lunch before Lion Pride became a thing. The halls are empty as I pass the B-wing bathroom and the stale stench of contraband cigarette smoke. The door swings open from behind me and a hand grabs my arm and yanks me inside.