Suffer Love

by Ashley Herring Blake

  Ajay smiles and nods, sliding his gaze to hers in the mirror again.

  While Kat and Ajay exchange thoughts on the ethical treatment of animals and the health benefits of Tofurky for Thanksgiving, I watch Sam watch the night fade into a deeper dark. The city outside passes by in a blur of black and muted color. Streetlights from the highway flicker over his face, illuminating his pensive expression every fifty feet or so, then throwing him back into shadow. His body is smashed against the door while one hand flicks a button on his shirt repeatedly.

  I’m not exactly sure what happened back in his driveway. When I called him on his lie, I expected a laugh, a shrug, a whatever. Actually, that’s not true. That’s what I hoped he’d do, thus proving he’s a dick who couldn’t care less about messing with a girl’s head. Instead, he looked confused and genuinely regretful.

  Flying down the highway now, it hits me.

  I’m not the one calling up a pretty blonde . . .

  All his weird behavior, all his hedging. There’s another girl. He’s got a girlfriend back in Atlanta or wherever and here I am, batting my stupid lashes at him and inviting myself to his house and practically begging him to be friends with me.

  Good God.

  I feel ill.

  By the time we get to the Shamblin Theater, I already want to go home, but I follow everyone inside. We file into our seats while Kat, now sporting her own pink streak, chatters up a storm with Ajay and Livy, which is totally freaking me out. When we sit down, my arm collides into Sam’s on the armrest we’ll share. He gives me a smile and gestures for me to take the armrest. I try not to smile back, but I fail. His simple, considerate gesture stirs up a hive of bees in my stomach.

  My mind flashes to a memory of my parents. I was maybe eight or nine and Dad had placed light blue sticky notes containing clues leading to Mom’s Valentine’s Day present all over the house. In the coffeepot, the refrigerator, the microwave, even in the DVD drive. He always did something extravagant a few days or weeks before February 14.

  “Real romance can’t be scheduled by a calendar,” he had said as I watched him slide two tickets to Wicked in New York City for the following weekend into a copy of The Wizard of Oz. Mom actually cried a little when she found them. God, even my prepubescent heart fluttered.

  The lights in the Shamblin blink on and off. I settle into my seat, picturing my parents at home right now. Dad, pouting over my absence, will soon shut himself in his study to edit his articles or grade papers while Mom, if she’s even home, watches Scandal and fantasizes about replacing her husband’s toothpaste with hemorrhoid cream.

  That’s a real, honest-to-God love story.

  Throughout the play, I feel Sam’s eyes drift over to my face more than once, but he never says a word. We never nudge each other and mock Benedick’s and Beatrice’s cynicism-turned-puddly-love or point out that the actor playing Claudio seems to have no scruples about upstaging his fellow thespians during their lines. In fact, Sam barely speaks to anyone until the five of us are squashed into a booth at Fido, a hipster coffee shop in Hillsboro Village, sharing massive slices of cheesecake with thick, foamy cappuccinos.

  “I like this,” Sam says close to my ear so I can hear him above the cacophony of the busy café. He twirls my pink strand of hair between his fingers. “Very Katy Perry.”

  “Damn, I was going for Gwen Stefani.”

  He keeps his eyes on my hair, his thumb smoothing over the texture again and again. I want to knock his hand away, but my arms feel locked in my lap.

  “Nah. Livy’s Gwen. Or maybe Kat. Blond hair and all.” He drops my hair so that it falls onto his arm, the pink like a neon light against his smooth skin. “It was cool of you to let Livy color it.”

  My phone buzzes against my leg in my bag. I dig through a tube of lip balm, my graphing calculator, wallet, and a copy of Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet I’d forgotten was even in there before my hand closes around the phone. Dad flashes across the screen. I tap Ignore.

  “I wasn’t trying to be nice.” I look across the booth to where Livy’s snapping pictures of Kat and Ajay fighting—and by fighting, I mean flirting—over the last bite of key lime cheesecake. I tilt my head and watch my best friend for a few seconds before turning back to Sam. “I just really, really like hot pink hair.”

  Sam smiles and flips his fork over his knuckles, studying me with softly narrowed eyes. “You know, you never told me something unexpected about yourself.”

  “I thought you said everything about me was unexpected,” I say without thinking. Warmth crawls up my neck and I take a bite of turtle cheesecake. I’m flirting with him. He has a girlfriend stashed away somewhere and I’m freaking flirting with him.

  Sam makes a whoo shape with his mouth. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a narcissistic need to feel special and unique?”

  “I can verify that statement’s truth,” Ajay says, grinning wryly. Sam startles and sits up straight, like he forgot we weren’t alone.

  “I don’t think that statement is true at all,” Livy says. Sam grins at her.

  “Regardless.” Ajay looks at me pointedly. “I’d be interested in this rare bit of information as well.”

  “Me too,” Kat says.

  “You already know everything about me,” I say.

  “I doubt that. We all have secrets.”

  “Is that right, Kitty Kat? And what, pray tell, are your hidden demons?”

  “Kitty Kat?” Ajay’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “I like that. Meow.”

  “Oh, God,” she says, dropping her head into her hands. “Not you too.”

  He laughs and nudges her shoulder playfully. “We’ll all do it. Each of us shares something we’ve never told anyone before.”

  “Kat and Hadley just met you, Age,” Sam says. “I mean, I know you think you can charm your way into an old lady’s will, but I’m not sure even you can extract that kind of information.”

  “You expected Hadley to pour out her soul to you, Don Juan.” Ajay smirks at his friend and Sam smirks right back, a silent war that can only be waged between two people who’ve known each other longer than they haven’t.

  “I’ll do it,” Kat says, and my mouth drops open. What parasitic life form has taken over my best friend?

  “Excellent.” Ajay turns so his entire body is facing Kat. “Go.”

  She fiddles with her napkin, twisting it into a cottony wreath. “All right . . . well . . . um.” Ah. There she is. “I keep a journal about . . .” She flicks her eye to me and I smile. “My dad. Actually, it’s to my dad.”

  “Your dad?” Ajay asks, eyebrows up.

  She nods. “He left when I was ten and he’s a complete jerk, but . . . he’s still my dad, you know, and he knows nothing about me. So once a week I write to him in this journal. Just stupid stuff really. What I’m doing at school, what music I like, my best time at a swim meet.”

  I tap her foot under the table. I didn’t know this about Kat, but somehow it doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been more forgiving toward her father than I would be in her situation. When she was nine, the guy said she looked like a whore when she dressed as Catwoman for Halloween. But Kat, though damaged by him, rarely wanders beyond her usual “He’s a jerk” assessments. I’m glad to know she can express herself in writing, but I can’t keep my heart from shuddering. I think of my own dad’s journal to me and whether or not he still writes in it.

  “I like it. Subtly revealing.” Ajay holds Kat’s gaze as he says, “Sam. Go.”

  Sam hesitates, eyebrows cinched in thought. Finally, he chuckles. “I sucked my thumb until I was ten.”

  Ajay’s eyes pop and I spit a mouthful of lukewarm coffee back into my mug.

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  He shrugs, totally unfazed.

  “It’s true,” Livy says, giggling. “When he watched TV, he used to lie on the floor so that the coffee table block
ed him from Mom’s view on the couch and go to town. It’s amazing he’s not bucktoothed.”

  “Wow,” Ajay says, eyes glittering. “I’m nonplussed. I’m flabbergasted. I’m humming with anticipation of future manipulation.”

  “All right, pot-stirrer,” Sam says to Ajay. “Your turn.”

  “Me? A magician never reveals his secrets.”

  “Oh, no.” Kat pokes his arm gently with her fork. “Spill it.”

  He slides the fork from her fingers and rubs his arm. “Okay, okay. No need for violence.” He grins at her. She grins back.

  Ajay pushes his fingertips together and takes a deep breath. “Okay. I cried—”

  “Oh, this is gonna be good,” Sam says, his leg pressing against mine under the table.

  Ajay narrows his eyes at him. “I cried when I read the last scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. You know, when Harry kneels down in front of his kid and calls him Albus Severus? Gah. Totally bawled.”

  “Who didn’t?” Livy asks.

  Sam lifts a hand. “But only because I had already wept a river when Voldemort dropped dead. Loved that guy.”

  Under the table, I bat his knee with mine and he laughs. Our eyes lock and his laughter fades into something softer. His eyes sweep over my face, exploring like fingers.

  Click.

  “Livy, what the hell?” Sam asks, blinking. I inch away from him, painfully aware of the myriad of emotions that just bled out of my face. I meet Kat’s raised eyebrows and look away.

  Livy lowers her camera lens from our faces and inspects the digital view, an odd look on her face I can’t place.

  “Sorry,” she mutters without glancing up. “Good lighting in here.”

  “Yawn.” Ajay reaches over Kat to snap the lens cap onto Livy’s camera. “Little elf. Deepest, darkest secret. Go.”

  Livy’s face drains of all color and she looks down at her lap. Sam’s leg jerks next to me and Ajay yells, “Ow!” Then his whole face opens up. “Oh. Um. I’m getting more coffee. Anyone else?”

  He stands and Kat hands him her cup while we exchange bewildered looks. Next to Kat, Livy fiddles with her camera, her body smashed against the wall.

  Ajay returns with two steaming mugs, sliding one in front of Kat. They lean toward each other, talking quietly, and I wonder if she’s asking him what the hell that was all about. I could ask Sam, but looking at Livy’s face, still pale, I swallow my questions.

  My phone buzzes again.

  “Do you need to get that?” Sam asks as I check the screen.

  I shake my head. “It’s just my dad again.”

  He inhales deeply. “Shouldn’t you talk to him?”

  “Nah. He’s just mad that I skipped out on dinner. I don’t want to talk to him right now.” I power down my phone. Dad will just have to get over it.

  “Hey! Sam!” A female voice filters through the din and finds us. Something flickers in Sam’s expressions as he pulls his gaze from mine to look up. I do the same.

  “Ajay’s here too,” the voice says.

  “Oh, fan-freaking-tastic,” Ajay mumbles, pinching his lower lip with his fingers as he turns around. Kat frowns at him while two girls approach our table. One is tall and leggy and busty and blond, and the other is shorter with more sharp angles underneath her brown hair. Livy’s eyes are wide. She flicks the lens off her camera.

  “Hey, guys,” the blonde says casually, her eyes on Sam.

  “Hey, Nic.” Sam sits back in the booth, his leg still pressed against mine. “What’s up, Sara?” This to the brunette, who is currently glaring at Ajay.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, a hip cocked and arms folded.

  “I’m hanging out with my friends. What does it look like?”

  “And who’s this?” She jerks her chin toward Kat, who is clearly sitting a little closer than necessary to Ajay. She flushes and scoots toward Livy.

  “One of the aforementioned friends,” Ajay says calmly.

  “Right.” Sara’s gray eyes roam over Kat like they would an annoying insect. “A little whore for the hole I left when you dumped me, is that it?”

  “Excuse me?” The words are out of my mouth without thinking. I can already feel angry red dots blotching my neck, and I start to stand, but Ajay beats me to it.

  Wordlessly, but with a scowl that could cut glass, he takes her arm and walks with her outside. Her mouth is already moving, and an irate line zigzags between her eyes. Livy snaps a picture of their retreat.

  “Livy, come on,” Sam says, and she spreads a hand innocently.

  “Sorry about her,” the blond girl says. “Sara doesn’t take rejection very well.”

  I ignore her and get out of the booth, rounding the table to slide into Ajay’s vacated seat next to Kat. Her face is still bright red, her fingers white on the edge of the table.

  The girl clears her throat and I shoot her an annoyed look.

  “Oh. Um. This is Nicole,” Sam says. “Nic, this is Kat and Hadley. Friends from Woodmont.”

  “Hi,” Nicole says brightly, collapsing into my empty seat next to Sam. Kat gives her a wan smile because she’s too nice to do anything less, but I look away. This girl hasn’t done anything to me, but I can feel my face settling into a tight, bitchy expression. I can’t help it, because I know this is her. The “pretty blonde.” She’s pressed so close against Sam, she might as well be straddling him.

  “Livy, you look so grown up,” Nicole says. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” A little smile tugs at one corner of Livy’s mouth. “You?”

  Nicole bumps her shoulder into Sam’s. “Oh, I’m always good.” She shifts her green eyes over us. “Did you guys just come from a costume party or something?”

  “What?” Sam asks.

  “The pink hair.”

  “Oh.” Livy shrugs. “No, we just did it for fun.”

  “Right. Fun. I know all about that.” She laughs and bumps into Sam. Again. She’s practically purring. He smiles slightly and clears his throat. His gaze passes over mine and he looks away quickly, but not before the tips of his ears turn as pink as my hair.

  Ajay strolls languidly back to the table, but his expression is pinched in frustration. “Nicole, Sara said she’d meet you outside.”

  “Already?” Nicole rolls her eyes as she stands. “I wanted cake. God, Ajay. Can’t you just skip all this drama and make her happy?” She swats him playfully on the chest. “You know, like you could tell her . . . Oh, I know! Just talk about her boobs a lot when you two are—”

  “Nicole!” A red-faced Sam scrambles out of the booth.

  “What?” she asks, all wide-eyed confusion. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

  “No. Jesus.” They move away from the table and into a corner next to a plastic bin filled with used dishes. His expression is maddeningly unreadable, but they keep touching. He lays a hand on her shoulder. She leans into him, her ample chest colliding with his. He shakes his head and steps back, but touches her elbow. She rolls herself onto her toes and kisses his cheek.

  Touch, touch, touch.

  My breathing feels shallow. I watch Sam watch Nicole walk away before he turns and talks quietly with Ajay, who seems on the verge of laughing. I force myself to focus on Kat.

  “Are you all right?” I ask her.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” She taps the tines on her fork.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you cry when your dentist lectures you about flossing and that girl was a total bitch.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, she was. But she’s got nothing to do with me, right? Clearly, she’s Ajay’s ex. And I just met him three hours ago.”

  “Right, but—”

  “Let’s just go, okay? I think the guys are ready.” She wiggles against my hip until I let her out of the booth. Livy raises her eyebrows at me, but I shake my head, just as confused.

  The ride home is quiet. Before we left, Ajay apologized to Kat for Sara’s behavior. Kat waved him off casually,
but her fists were clenched into the strap of her bag and her mouth was smashed into a colorless line.

  Sam sits in the front, Livy having insisted on sitting in between Kat and me, risking a queasy stomach. Some invisible line has been drawn, girls against boys. What we are battling over, I’m not even sure, but images of Sam and Nicole swim sloppy laps in my head.

  By the time we pull into Sam’s driveway, I’m feeling both completely stupid and vindicated. Kat was so sure something was pulling me toward Sam Bennett—something deeper than his chiseled arms and cerulean eyes—but all that’s between us is an English project and a cantaloupe-chested blonde.

  We pile out of the car and mutter goodbyes. I refuse to look at Sam, but he hovers around me in the driveway. I can’t imagine what he might have to say, and neither do I care. Livy finally pushes him inside and I turn to find Kat talking with Ajay, leaning against his car.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  She looks up, a rare flash of irritation in her eyes. “I guess.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Her whole body locks up. She mutters something to Ajay and then walks over to me. “I’m. Fine. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I know that, but you’re usually pretty sensitive about that kind of stuff.”

  “Right. Poor, inexperienced Kat. Hadley, just because I’m not accustomed to being called a slut on a daily basis doesn’t mean I’m going to fall to pieces at the first sign of conflict.”

  I take a step back, her sharps words ringing in my ears. I swallow hard, waiting for an apology, but it doesn’t come. She just stares at me, shock and something that looks a lot like relief mingling in her expression.

  “Everything all right, ladies?” Ajay asks, approaching warily.

  “Fine,” Kat says.

  “Ajay, would you mind giving Kat a ride home?”

  Her eyes taper into slits, but she says nothing.

  “Sure. It’s on the way.”

  Kat opens her mouth, but I mutter a thanks and turn my back on her, too tired and irritated to care what else she has to say.

  Chapter Sixteen