by Tracey Ward
“Where are you gonna go?”
“The West Coast,” I answer without thinking. “I want to live by the ocean.”
She smiles slightly. A little sloppily. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“Me either. I want to.”
“Greedy, greedy, Grace,” Marcy sings, scolding me. “Maybe you should be happy with landing hot pants out there and call it a day.”
I look at her sideways, watching her sway slightly. “Would you be happy with that?”
“Happy, yes. Satisfied,” she shrugs, “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“I want out,” I insist quietly.
She nods like she understands, and I actually think she does. I think the need to be more than this town is engrained as deeply in her as it is in me. “Me too. More than anything.”
“Good luck.”
“You too.” She nods to the cliff’s edge where the group is running toward us. “Your man won. Here they come. Like a bunch of pasty white popsicles.”
They’re running for warmth and clothing. They’re rosy cheeked and smiling, oblivious to the conversation going on between me and what I thought was my nemesis. But people are rarely what you think they are. You expect them to be one thing because you don’t know their insides. No one does. That’s why they can surprise you. Shock you. One second you think they’re the worst person in the world and the next they understand you in a way you didn’t imagine anyone could.
“Grace.”
I turn, surprised by the softness of the voice behind me. It’s Mark. His back is to the light in the cabin, his face in shadow, but I feel the intensity in his voice when he says my name. I feel it in the gaze of his eyes locked on mine, even though I can’t see them.
“What do you want, Mark?” I ask nervously.
He takes a step closer. It’s wobbly. He’s drunk. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I miss you.”
Marcy snorts from across the porch. I’m surprisingly grateful she’s here with me. I don’t want to be alone with Mark. Not even for a second.
I shake my head at him. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why won’t you answer my texts? Or my calls?” He takes another step toward me. “Did you block my number?”
“I told you to stop calling. You didn’t listen.”
He rushes toward me. His hand touches my shoulder; hot and sweaty. “No, you won’t listen.”
“Mark, stop.”
“Easy,” Marcy warns him.
He ignores us both. “I just want to talk to you. I need you to listen to me.”
“About what?” I demand.
“About us. I never wanted to lose you.”
“It’s not your call. It’s mine. I left.”
“You’re wrong.”
I go to take a step away from him, out of his reach. He doesn’t let me. He feels me pulling away. His hand clamps down harder on my shoulder.
“Stop,” I tell him vehemently.
“Just listen. Please.”
“Let me go!”
“Hey!” Kyle shouts. He runs toward the porch, his face contorted by anger. “Hands off! Now.”
Mark releases me immediately. He shakes his head loosely at Kyle. “I’m just talking to her, bro.”
“You’re manhandling her, ‘bro’,” he replies hotly. “Get away from her.”
“Kyle, it’s fine,” I assure him weakly.
“It didn’t look fine. This guy doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Kyle positions himself between Mark and me. He glares down at the shorter, smaller boy. “I don’t like him.”
“Let’s just go.”
“Don’t leave,” Mark pleads with me around Kyle. “I just want to talk.”
Kyle shifts to block his view. All around us, kids are clamoring onto the porch to get dressed. They push us closer together, forcing Kyle within inches of Mark. They pause to watch when they read the tense air around them. “Grace doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want to hear anything from you.”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“But I’m talking to you. I’m the only one who’s talking to you because you’re never speaking to Grace again, you got me? You corner her like that again and I’ll kill you. I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands, man, I swear to God.” He leans in closer, towering over Mark. “You read me?”
Mark sways on his feet. He stares at Kyle with a fire he can’t back up. “Yeah. I read you.”
“Good. Go lay down. Sleep it off.” He points a finger in Mark’s face. “Stay away from my girl.”
“Whatever, man.” Mark turns clumsily. He stumbles into the doorframe as he tries to go inside. He mutters under his breath, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds.”
Kyle snaps. He shoves Mark from behind, slamming him into the doorframe hard. Mark bangs his head against the wood. “What’d you say?”
I grab his arm, pulling him back. “Kyle, no! Don’t. He’s drunk. He’s being stupid.”
“He’s talking trash about you.”
“And I don’t care.” I push his clothes against his chest, looking up at him pleadingly. “I just want to go home, okay? Just take me home.”
Kyle frowns down at me. He nods slowly. “Whatever you want, Grace.”
“I want to go.”
“Then we’ll go. We’re gone.”
The crowd around us disperses slowly. Someone helps Mark back inside. Kyle gets dressed quickly, yanking on his clothes with jerky, wild movements. He’s angry. Not at me, but at Mark and maybe himself. I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m ready to go home.
chapter twelve
On the drive home from the party, Kyle’s phone beeps aggressively every time it can find a signal. He groans, sparing it a quick, angry glance before focusing on the road. He hasn’t come down from his confrontation with Mark. It’s bugging him, what happened. He’s really protective. I’m sure he wishes he’d done more, said more, but that discussion was quickly turning into a fight, and I wasn’t about to watch that happen.
“It’s amazing you’re getting any service out here,” I tell him, trying to strike up a conversation. Anything to pull him out of the funk he’s fallen into.
“It’s my mom. She probably launched satellites so she could keep tabs on me at this party. Did I tell you she tracks my phone?” he asks bitterly. “She knows where I am at all times, as long as I have it.”
“And God help you if you don’t.”
“Right? Remember how bad she freaked out when I left it in my locker?”
I shake my head in amazement at the memory. “She broke into our house looking for you.”
“Okay, she opened the front door without knocking, but yeah. She was psychotic.”
“Was?” I mutter under my breath.
Kyle’s mom is always crazy. Always. Especially when it comes to Kyle. In their house, they call Kyle’s future The Mission. No joke. That’s what both her and Mr. Rixton say when they’re talking about his goal of getting to the NBA.
We have to focus on The Mission.
Protect The Mission.
It’s for the good of The Mission.
I get that his dad was military, but good God. Take it down a notch. He’s still in high school.
Mrs. Rixton is very openly concerned about my effect on The Mission. She looks at me like I’m a problem. Mr. Rixton is cooler about it, but he follows orders without question when Mrs. Rixton insists limits be set on how often me and Kyle see each other. We’re not allowed to be alone together at their house and she came over to explain to my parents that that rule needs to stand in their house too. No exceptions.
My parents agreed, but not because they’re worried about Kyle at all. He’s won over my whole family. He makes my mom giggle like she’s eight years old every time he comes over, standing in our entryway so tall and polite. He’s always composed. The only time he’s in a bad mood is when his mom is driving him nuts.
&nb
sp; He sees me being surly all the time. School is frustrating me. I’m having a hard time with French and math, but Kyle is always supportive. He convinced one of his buddies on the team to spend a free period once a week going over my math homework with me. It’s a huge help but Kyle doesn’t act like he did anything. He acted surprised when I thanked him.
“Of course, Grace,” he told me affectionately. “I’d do anything for you.”
“What’d Mark do to you?” Kyle asks me now, his voice as tight as his hands on the steering wheel. He glances at me briefly. His eyes are apologetic. “I’ve never asked and you obviously don’t want to tell, but it’s killing me not knowing.”
I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “It’s nothing huge. It was . . . It’s not what you think.”
“You know what I’m thinking?”
“You’re thinking the worst.”
He releases a sharp breath. “Yeah. I am.”
“Well, you can stop because that’s not what happened. He didn’t force me to do anything. He was just super aggressive and pushy and—” I pause, taking a deep breath. “We were in his parents’ basement. We were making out and it was okay but then he started grabbing at me. Everywhere. Like, seriously, everywhere.”
“I get it, Grace,” Kyle says tensely. He licks his lips, adding softly. “I get what you’re saying.”
“I would push one hand away and the other would show up. We went back and forth like for what felt like forever until he went too far. He reached for my pants and tried to shove his hand down them and I freaked. I pushed him so hard he fell off the couch and I ran out of there. I broke up with him that night.”
“How long ago was that?”
“September.”
“And he’s still not over it?”
“He should be. We only dated for two months.”
He glances at me again. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
I smile brightly, shaking off the old feeling. The guilt and the shame. “It’s alright. You didn’t do it.”
“I never would. I never want you to feel pressured, okay?”
“I don’t, Kyle.”
“Good.” He nods to himself, his eyes hard on the road. “That’s good.”
We drive in a comfortable silence for a few miles. It feels surprisingly good to have told Kyle what happened. I thought I would be too embarrassed to do it. I don’t want him to think I should have known that was going to happen when I went into that basement with Mark. He’s had sex before. He’s more experienced than I am and I don’t want him to think I’m naïve.
“Can I ask you something?” say quietly, my voice muted by my reluctance. But I have to know. I have to ask. I’ve been wondering about it for months and since we’re sharing . . .
“Sure. Anything.”
I take a quick breath, diving right in. “Did one of your girlfriends back in Florida die?”
“Karina,” he answers immediately, like he was expecting this. His voice is low and serious. More tired than I’ve ever heard it. “And, no, she didn’t die. At least, I don’t think she did.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“I think she ran away from home. She was emotional. She loved drama. We were off and on a lot, and then all of a sudden she just disappeared. One day she said she needed to talk to me about something serious and the next she was gone.”
“What did she want to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “Probably getting back together, but I wouldn’t have. I was really over it by then. I couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore.” He runs his hand over his mouth, clearing his throat. “I felt guilty about that. I hated hating her after she went missing. Everyone acted like she was a saint when she was gone but she was crazy. She was trouble her whole life.”
I nod slowly, solemnly. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It was over a year ago. I’m sure she’s in Cuba or something living it up. She was wild. She was never going to finish high school or get married. She was always going to run away. She just did it sooner than anyone expected.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I let the conversation die there between us, my curiosity quenched. I’m grateful when Kyle is the one to break the silence.
“Will you check my messages?” he asks suddenly. “I want to know what my mom is freaking out about.”
“You want to know what you’re walking into, you mean?”
“That too.”
Just as I push the button to light up his phone, it dies in my hand. “Crap,” I mumble.
“What’s up? What’s she saying?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. It died.”
“Great. And I don’t have my charger.”
“Me either.”
“Whatever,” he says like he doesn’t care, but it’s not entirely true. He cares. She makes sure he cares or we get punished. Break the line of communication with her for one night and we don’t see each other for three days. It’s a steep punishment but it keeps Kyle honest. He never misses a call from her.
“Tell her it was my fault,” I offer. “Say I was playing games and killed your battery. She’ll be happy to blame me. She hates me.”
“It’s not that she hates you,” he insists tiredly.
“It’s not that she likes me either,” I tease, fiddling with the radio. Reception is non-existent. Too many hills and trees and miles of field between us and the nearest tower. I haven’t had reception on my phone since we left the cliffside where Scott’s cabin is perched.
“She’s picky. She’s never liked any of my girlfriends.”
“That’s fine. I can wait her out. I’m very patient.”
He smiles at what a lie that is. “You are? Since when?”
“Since always,” I insist, giving up on the radio. I look at him with a saccharine smile. “I’m perfect. Didn’t you know that?”
“I had a feeling.”
“I can’t believe you doubted me.”
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was thrown off by the fact that you literally put your phone into the wall when it wouldn’t load fast enough.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. That’s an exaggeration. I didn’t put it into the wall.”
“Did I hallucinate you knocking out part of the drywall?”
“No, I did, but I didn’t throw my phone at the wall. I threw it on my bed and it bounced off and hit the wall, chipping a tiny piece of drywall.”
He smiles at me. “I’m just saying I’ve never thrown a phone.”
“Well, you’re cooler than me, I guess.”
“I guess so.”
I eye him impatiently. “You could have fought me a little on that. Not a lot, just like one ‘No, Grace, that’s not true’.”
“No, Grace,” he offers weakly. “That’s not true.”
“Well it’s meaningless now!”
Kyle laughs. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. I promise.”
“If you get a next time.”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“How can I? We’re not officially dating.”
He frowns at the road. “What are you talking about?”
“Am I your girlfriend, Kyle?”
“I hope so.”
“When did you ask me?”
“Was I supposed to?” he chuckles.
“It would have been nice!”
Kyle sighs. He’s trying to sound put out, but he just sounds tired. Happy, but tired. His hands are loose on the wheel, his shoulders slumped. It’s been a long night. The clock on the dash says it’s after two in the morning. Both of us managed to get our curfews lifted for the party, but even we didn’t expect to stay for as long as we did. The night is bitterly cold but absolutely beautiful. Trees laden heavy with fresh snow droop like a canopy over us as we drive the winding road toward town. It’s not that far. Maybe thirty minutes with Kyle driving cautiously like he is, but I wish it was closer. I wish I was in bed already, even if that means I have t
o say goodnight to Kyle and another year gone by.
“Grace, will—”
“Stop.” I put my hand close to the side of his face. “Do Not Pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“Why not? What’d I do wrong now?”
“Nothing,” I admit, dropping my hand and the act. “You never do anything wrong. It’s almost boring.”
He grins, glancing at me briefly. “Grace Murray, will you be my girlfriend even though I’m boring?”
“Yes, Kyle Rixton,” I reply, blushing for no good reason. “I will be your girlfriend. Thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for saying yes.”
“Thanks for being awesome.”
“Thanks for being sweet.”
“Thanks for—"
“Oh shit!”
A deer bounds across the road ahead of us. It’s so close to the truck, I can see the steam pouring from its nostrils as it runs. Its hooves are silenced by the carpet of snow on the road, its body lean and muscled in the glare of the headlights. It looks unnatural against the backdrop of black night and white snow. It’s so brown and warm, it can’t possibly be real.
Kyle hits the brakes hard to avoid it.
It’s the exactly wrong thing to do.
The truck starts to slide. Traction is gone and so is the deer. She disappears from the headlights almost as quickly as she ran into them. The truck is drifting to the right, toward the shoulder. Toward the edge of the hill and the lake waiting flat as a mirror below.
Kyle swears again. His hands grip the steering wheel hard. He’s trying to straighten us out, but it’s useless. The ice has us. The truck drops violently and I know the wheels on my side have gone over. My hands shoot out to brace myself against the dash. My head slams against the window. I shout out in pain but I don’t close my eyes. I’m too terrified to not see what’s happening, but soon my eyesight is useless. As we careen off the trunk of a tree, it smashes a headlight.
It sends us straight toward the cliff.
“Grace.”
Kyle says my name so softly, I wonder if I heard it right. It’s too calm for the situation. He should be shouting. I should be screaming. We should be praying and clinging to each other because the second we’re totally off the road, bouncing roughly over rocks and logs and whatever else lurks in the darkness under the snow, I know the truth. I know we’re going to die.