Brynn’s crouched next to one of the big plastic tubs we keep our props in, helping the stagehands pack the swords and things away, but I can tell she’s listening. We’ve been tentative with each other, a little halting. I realize with a pang that we’d probably make up by midnight if I went out with them tonight. Nothing like the camaraderie of getting kicked out of a gay club, or eating too much sugar and horsing around Pioneer Square, to bring people together.
But I already have plans.
“I can’t tonight,” I say. “I’ve got work.”
“The night of the performance? That sucks.” Brynn frowns. “It’s already ten.”
“Yeah, Rita’s sick. I said I could cover the last few hours of her shift,” I say, smiling. “But I’ll be at the cast party next week.”
Trajan slides an arm around Brynn’s waist. They look adorably ridiculous; she comes up only as far as his shoulder. “Text when you get off. If we’re still out, I’ll come get you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, truly grateful.
In the dressing room, I change slowly into my street clothes. When I get out, everyone’s gone. I pick up my phone and text my mom.
Going out with the cast to celebrate—is it okay if I stay at Brynn’s tonight?
A few minutes later, her reply comes.
Sure see u tomorrow
I grab my bag and turn out the green room’s light. When I step back out into the theater, Aiden’s waiting.
“Ready?” he asks.
I lean up to kiss his cheek. “Ready.”
*
• • •
He drives toward the Columbia River Gorge. It’s dark, so I can’t see much, but the high canyon wall looms to our right, a slice of darkness that blocks out the sky. The moon’s hidden behind the clouds. Even with the heat on in the car I can feel the crisp chill of the air whipping across the river.
We don’t talk much, but it’s a comfortable, intimate quiet. The radio is on low, and I lean against the window. It feels like a luxury to be driven somewhere—to lie back and trust in the person at the wheel.
After almost two hours he pulls onto a small side road that wends its way up the mountains. He turns on his brights, flooding the narrow road ahead of us with light. I can see needles of rain, lichen-covered trees. I sit up as the gloom closes in around us.
It feels like forever before we pull up in front of a small A-frame cabin. The forest crowds in on all sides, so it feels like a fairy-tale cottage in an enchanted wood.
“It’s gorgeous up here during the day,” he says. “Sorry your first glimpse is at night.”
Inside, he snaps on a lamp to reveal a small, cozy space. There’s a woodstove and a worn rag rug, and the windows are covered with hand-sewn curtains. A single queen-sized bed sits in the middle of the room. The air is cold and smells like the woods.
I suddenly realize Aiden’s studying my face. He hangs back a little, frowning. “You’re freaked out. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” He takes my hands in his. “Listen, I didn’t bring you up here to pressure you into anything you don’t want. I just wanted to be alone with you for a little while, so we could spend some time together without worrying about getting caught.” He nods toward a ladder in the corner. “See, there’s a loft. I’ll sleep up there tonight, and you can have the bed. I just thought we could come out here and talk. Maybe go hiking tomorrow.”
I draw closer to him and slide my arms around his waist. “I’m not freaked out. I trust you, Aiden.”
It’s mostly true. It’s not that I think I’m in any kind of danger. But I’ve never been alone in a room with a bed with a boy—with a man—that I liked before.
He strokes a lock of hair away from my forehead. “You sure? Because I can take you back home.”
“No!” My arms tighten at his waist. “God, no.”
He kisses me softly. Then he pulls away. “Then I’d better get the stove going, or we’ll freeze.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him start the fire. I’ve never had the chance to do anything very outdoorsy before—I never camped or went hiking as a kid—so I wouldn’t know how to get a fire going if my life depended on it. It’s kind of sexy, watching him crouched there with his sleeves rolled up, building a perfect little nest of paper and wood to catch the flame. Usually he doesn’t strike me as particularly rugged, but out here, in the chill mountain air, I can see his survivalist roots.
While the cabin’s warming he shows me everything he’s brought. Plates of fruit and cheese; pecans and strawberries and figs; a tray of chocolates. Delicate tartlets filled with mascarpone and apricot. I rest against the pillows on the bed and he sits a few inches away, a platter of food between us.
“This is amazing.” I look around the little space, marveling at how cozy and warm it feels now that the woodstove is going. “Let’s run away and live up here. No one will ever bother us again. We’ll live off the land.”
He grins. “As easy as that, huh?”
“Yup.” I pop a truffle in my mouth. “We’ll forage for food and chop wood for the stove.”
“Hm. There’s not a lot of chocolate or brie that grows in this region,” he says. “We’ll have to make do with tree bark and moss.”
“Delicious,” I proclaim. “And we’ll tame the squirrels to come be our pets.”
“They’ll eat all our tree bark and moss!” he says.
“And we’ll go without shoes or clothes. Just … wander naked through the woods.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” he says. We both laugh. My nerves are starting to evaporate.
“Sometimes I wish we could,” I say softly. “Just … pack up and leave. Start a new life somewhere. I mean … things are getting better with my mom. But I feel like I’ve been trapped here for so long. It’d almost be a relief to get a fresh start, without all the baggage.”
He nods. “I know. I think about it, too.”
I picture it. Maybe we couldn’t go off the grid and hide in the woods, but we could go someplace and blend into the crowd—New York or Chicago or L.A. Get our own little apartment, with a record player and a coffeepot and a cat. Sprawl on the floor reading novels; get under-the-table jobs washing dishes or fixing leaky faucets. Go on a few auditions, maybe.
And we’d finally be alone. We’d finally be together, without anyone judging us.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asks. He’s watching me, his eyes almost blazingly bright.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just daydreaming.” I look down, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I can’t leave. Not really. Not while my mom needs me.”
“I know.” His voice is wistful.
“But … but this is amazing,” I say quickly. “Being here, with you.”
He shifts the plate out of the way, leans toward me. The kiss is soft and slow. A kiss that has all the time in the world.
“Elyse,” he murmurs. “I love you.”
My heart thumps against my sternum. “Aiden …”
“You’re the only future I can picture. The only thing I can think about.” He touches my chin.
I close my eyes. “I love you too.”
We kiss again. Less soft, less slow. A kiss that’s breathless with longing. His hands stroke my hair, my shoulders. I toy with the buttons on his shirt; I start to undo them, one at a time, until I can see the flat plane of his stomach, hard and muscular. His skin is so warm, so soft. His lips brush my earlobe and I moan, tilting my head back.
“I should go upstairs. It’s getting late,” he says.
I lean back against the pillows and pull him toward me.
“Stay,” I whisper.
He searches my face. I put my hand on his chest, feel his heartbeat warm and strong.
“Stay,” I repeat.
And then we’re kissing again, our bodies melting against each other, our clothes coming away piece by piece. My thoughts and fears dissolve. I’m nothing but sensation, shivering and arching.
Outside, the ra
in picks up again.
TWENTY-NINE
Gabe
Monday morning I break my own rule. I make my way to Catherine’s locker, hoping to see her before the first bell, even though we’re still trying to keep this on the down-low.
But every second she’s out of my sight, I’m thinking of ways to get to her. I’m wondering where she is, and what she’s doing, and where we could go to be alone.
She’s there, hanging her jacket in her locker. It’s almost bare—no pictures, no magazine clippings, no magnetic mirror stuck inside the door. Just a neat stack of books. I sidle up beside her, smiling. “Hey! What’s …”
I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence. She slams the locker door and turns on her heel, walking quickly away.
For a second I’m stunned. I just stare at her retreating form. Then I hurry after her.
“Cat? What’s going on?”
She walks faster, trying to ignore me. I reach out and grab her elbow, spinning her around to face me.
Her eyes flash wildly. For a moment I think she looks scared. But then I realize she’s furious.
“How could you do this to me?” Her whole body is trembling. “How could you … with her?”
“What?” I glance around, realizing we’re dead center in the hallway. People are staring. “Can we … go somewhere more private?”
She gives a nasty laugh. “So you can tell me more lies? So you can talk me into trusting you? I don’t think so.”
“Cat—” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.
“That’s not my name!” She pounds on her thighs in frustration. I take a half step back. I’ve never seen her so upset.
“Catherine,” I try again. “I’m sorry, I want … I want to make this right, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She caught you. On tape. It must have been before we found the camera.” She laughs again, a strangled bark. “Maybe the same day, for all I know.”
“Who caught me?” But dread mounts in my gut, a twisting, writhing thing. I know, before she even says it.
“Who do you think?” She pulls out her phone and types something in. Then she turns it around to show it to me.
The picture quality is grainy, but right away I can see that it’s my bedroom. There’s the mural Irene painted on my wall—an Aztec warrior popping an ollie on his skateboard. There’s my faded blue bedspread. My pillow, my stack of comics by the lamp.
And there, on the bed, is a girl. Or the back of a girl. The naked back of a girl. Long dark hair swings around delicate-looking shoulder blades. Her spine arches with pleasure. A guy sits on the other side of her—you can’t see his face, but you can make out his dark curly hair as he kisses her neck, as he runs his hands down her sides.
Then my voice comes from the speaker. “Catherine …”
Everything in my body goes still. My muscles, my bones turn to stone. My lungs freeze mid-breath. I’m lost in a nightmare. I know whose shoulders those are. I’ve seen them dozens of times.
“It’s Sasha,” I say.
She snaps the phone away. “Yeah, Gabe, I know who it is. What I don’t get is what kind of fucked-up game you’re playing with her. With me.”
“But I don’t understand.” I stare down at her. “I never … did that. In my room, with her. The only time anything close to that happened was the time she broke in, and we didn’t … I didn’t touch her.” I frown. “Plus her hair was blond then. This has to be recent, because she dyed it.”
Catherine gives an almost hysterical laugh. “You’re thinking about her hair?”
“No, but the point is, I didn’t do this. This isn’t me.” My mind can’t seem to process the image. I know it’s not me. But it’s my voice, my room, my hair. For a single wheeling moment I wonder if I actually did do this and I’ve somehow forgotten—or if Sasha drugged me. Or even hypnotized me. But that’s nuts.
Right?
“Really? Because it looks a lot like you,” she says.
“I know. But she must have, I don’t know, gone looking for someone who looks like me, and then broken into the house. She has a set of keys.”
I see her hesitate at that. She bites the corner of her lip, and for just a moment I can tell she’s not sure what to believe. But then she shakes her head.
“Whatever, Gabe. I don’t know what kind of crazy shit you dragged me into. This is all over Facebook. Everyone’s seen it. Everyone thinks this is me.” She jabs her finger at the girl on the screen. I feel an absurd desire to cover up the screen, to shield us from view, even though I know it’s not her, it’s not me. “People I don’t even know were asking me about it in the hall on the way to my locker.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but she doesn’t let me get any further than that.
“Do you have any idea what my dad will do if he sees it?” She runs her hand manically through her hair, her eyes wide. “He’ll pull me out of school. He’ll pack everything up and we’ll be on to the next town. And I can’t go through this again. I can’t … start all over.”
The idea makes me hot with anger. “He can’t. That’s not fair. It’s not your fault.”
The laugh that tears loose from her throat is frightening. It’s a savage, hysterical sound. “You still don’t get it. He can do whatever he wants.” She shakes her head, lips trembling. “Just … God, Gabe, just leave me alone.”
She backs away a few slow, faltering steps. Then she spins on her heel and breaks into a run.
“No running in the halls!” Mr. Perlman calls after her. But she doesn’t stop.
For a moment I brace to go after her. Then I look around. People are staring, talking, laughing. A few big football player types cross their arms over their chests, and I realize it’s not going to look good if I pursue her.
I turn around, ready to go back the other way, and then I do a double take. Catherine’s there, by her locker again.
But no. It’s not Catherine. It’s Sasha. Sasha with Catherine’s brown hair, Catherine’s low-key tomboy look. I see with nausea that she’s even bought a pair of purple Keds. She looks up at me, her face makeup free, her pale blue eyes strangely bright.
“You,” I snarl. The world around her goes muted and red. I realize almost distantly that I want to hit her. I’ve never really wanted to hurt someone before.
“You need to be careful with that one. She’s got issues,” Sasha says.
A giddy hysteria swirls through me. I charge toward her, pressing her back against the lockers. “Tell her the truth. Tell her that wasn’t me.”
She purrs. “I always liked it when you got a little angry.”
Before I can stop it, my fist slams the locker next to her head. She just laughs.
“Keep it up,” she whispers. “The cameras love you.”
That’s when I feel them—dozens of eyes on me. Everyone’s holding a cell phone. Everyone’s got it angled right at me. This little snippet will be all over the Internet in seconds.
I push myself away from the lockers, hold up both hands in disgust. “Fine, Sasha. You win. Congratulations. At least now it’s fucking over.”
Her eyes go wide, innocent—for the benefit of the cameras, I’m sure. She steps close to me and leans up to whisper in my ear.
“Is it?”
Before I can say anything else, she slips through the crowd, dark hair swaying down her back.
THIRTY
Elyse
It’s late afternoon when Aiden drops me off a few blocks from my apartment. The day is cold and gray but I hardly notice. I’m a million miles away.
Every moment of last night and this morning keeps replaying across my mind. The way he looked at me. The way his lips felt on mine; the way his hands felt on my body.
Waking up next to him. Opening my eyes and seeing his looking back at me across the crisp white pillow.
We can’t kiss goodbye—it’s too public—but I reach across the console and squeeze his hand. His eyes lock on mine, warm gold, warm green, alm
ost hypnotizingly beautiful.
It takes all my self-control not to look back at him as I walk away from his car.
It’s almost four. Mom should be at work, which is good—I have to get some homework done, though I can’t begin to imagine how I’ll focus on algebra right now. First a shower. I can still smell the woodsmoke on my clothes. I unlock the door and step inside. Then I drop my keys with a clatter, startled.
Mom’s sitting on the couch, her leg bouncing nervously up and down. And sitting right next to her is Brynn.
There are a thousand things I could say in that moment, but my mind lurches clumsily, trying to catch up. Trying to make sense of the two of them, side by side. “What’s going on?” I ask.
Mom stares at me, hollow-eyed. Her mouth stays tightly closed, so I glance at Brynn. Her face is makeup free, clean. It makes her look tired.
“I came by to talk to you,” she says. “But you weren’t here. And Sammie thought you were with me.”
Fuck.
But that doesn’t mean they know anything. I try to reassure myself. I can say I was out with a boy I met at the movie theater. I can keep Aiden out of this.
But before I can get a word out, Mom stands up off the couch. I’m so used to how she slouches that I always forget how tall she is—almost six feet. Now she uses every inch to tower.
“You’re fucking your teacher?” Her voice cuts shrill through the Sunday quiet. I shrink away from her.
“What? I …” I stammer. But she just shakes her head.
“Brynn saw you,” she hisses. “Messing around in the theater.”
The rustling noise in the curtains. I turn to glare at Brynn. She looks down at her lap.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” she says miserably. “But when you weren’t here I … I thought I should tell your mom.”
“That’s great, Brynn, thanks so much,” I snap. I turn back to Mom. “It’s not what you think. We’re not just ‘messing around.’”
“Oh no?” she sneers. “Let me guess. You’re in love. He’s different. He’s not like other guys.”
Lies You Never Told Me Page 16