“You mean, I could be sitting with my sister and not know it?”
“Eww! Take that back!” She exclaims before nailing me in the chest with a slap. “Forget I said anything.”
“Completely forgotten.” I agree, thankful I was able to flip the topic around. I’m having a hard enough time sitting here pretending I don’t feel anything having her curled into me this way. Imagining our parents dating is just enough to put me over my limit.
Though it is a pretty big coincidence that they’re starting to date at the same time.
“Christian?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For listening and not thinking I was crazy.”
“Wait, you mean you’re not?” I joke and shifting her body again, she brings her head off my shoulder, laughing before raising her fist and pretending to swing toward my face.
Reaching out right before she attempts to make contact a second time, I pull apart the ball of her fingers and slip mine through, a move that causes her to freeze completely in place with her now widened eyes locking directly on mine.
“I could never think you’re crazy.” I whisper, making sure she can see the truth in my eyes. “But I should be the one thanking you.”
“For what?”
“Bringing me here and showing me your place, even if there are no signs saying that’s what it is.”
What’s happening, I can finally see what it is. We’re locked in this pretty intense moment, both of us going back and forth and showing parts of ourselves to each other that no one else has ever been lucky enough to see, making what was already a pretty strong connection even more so. We’re like the trees I noticed before. Locked in a private dance that’s only for us. Or, in terms I actually understand, it’s like the part in your favorite song when you can feel it penetrate your heart.
It’s what all of the signs I’ve been given the last two weeks have been leading to.
This experience with Emery.
Us together.
Leaning in at the precise moment her lips softly whisper ‘you’re welcome’, not giving either of us the chance to overthink it, I touch my lips to hers ever so softly, feeling the catch in her breath and letting it push me forward. My lips moving from a mere touch to pressing down on hers, the taste and smell of her lip gloss intoxicating me the same way her music has been doing for weeks.
The place, time of night and the wind moving around us, along with the feel of her hearts steady beat matching mine and the soft feel of her lips as she brushes them against mine as she applies her own pressure. Everything about this moment is perfect.
At least until she pulls back and I see the look of absolute devastation on her face. Realizing the second she starts to move out of my arms, standing and backing away that I’ve made the wrong move.
The promise I made her earlier, I lied, because I did exactly what I said that I wouldn’t do.
I hurt her.
Chapter Eight
October 2014
Emery
The Halloween dance.
A yearly tradition at Greenville that I want to avoid, but can’t because Jordan, just like last year, has signed me up to take pictures.
So here I am at a random second hand store searching for the perfect costume. One that will allow me to move around the room through the night without anyone giving me a second glance.
Also the one thing I’m hoping will take my mind off the way I made a fool of myself with Christian. A guy who right after it happened, I took home and have been trying my hardest everywhere but in music class—where I can’t seem to hide away— to avoid completely.
Everything felt so right. Resting on his shoulder, spilling things that I don’t think he’s ever told anyone else, and I know for sure I never have. Both of us growing closer with each admission. Finally able to forget about the reservations I had about feeling something for him and just live in the moment. Enjoy myself, even if the subject matter was a bit heavier than you expect for people about to share their first kiss.
It was pretty close to perfect.
At least it was until I had to go and back away. Make up some excuse about it being late and needing to get home, keeping myself locked away in my room faking sick on the Monday and Tuesday that followed so I could deal with the mortification in private.
But damnit, we’re not talking about Christian and what happened, and we’re definitely not thinking about him. We’re thinking about the dance and exactly what I’m going to put on to hide myself away.
Last year, I threw a sheet over my head with some eye holes cut in it and moved around the room as a ghost. Something tells me that this year, I won’t be able to do that, but I’m going for the same idea.
Minimal effort at next to nothing cost.
“What about this one?” Johnny calls out, holding up a mask from across the room and pulling it over his head. “I think a deranged clown would work for you.”
“Gross. No way. Besides, you know how I am about rubber.”
Pulling the mask off and tossing it back on the rack he pulled it from, he makes his way over to the dresses I’m now standing in front of and laughs.
“You really don’t want me to go there, Ems.”
“Are you always perverted?”
“What can I say? You bring it out of me.” Turning his attention from me and down to the dresses, his face contorts and it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what he’s thinking. “You thinking about being a princess this year?”
“No, but I’ve walked around this place twice and found nothing. I was thinking I could take one of these dresses, shred it and be like some kind of warped prom queen.”
“So you want to call attention to yourself?”
“Half the girls are going to be dressed as actual queens and princesses so they’ll get the attention. No one is even going to blink when I walk by.”
“I hate to break this to you, Ems, but people do that already. You just don’t care enough to notice. Your grand plan of going under the radar doesn’t work as well as you think. If anything, it just makes people talk more.”
“Bullshit. When you’ve got girls like Ashley, Marissa and April around every corner, it works perfect.”
Grunting his disagreement, but thankfully keeping his mouth shut, he moves over to the next aisle where the guys clothes are and pauses once he hits what looks like a group of suit jackets all placed together.
“You could always dress up as a man.”
“Yeah, that’s real inconspicuous.”
“Better than a freaking prom queen.” He argues. “Plus you’d be doing something no one has ever done.”
“Ugh! This is stupid. Maybe if I beg my mom, she’ll let me use one of her sheets again. Who says you can’t wear the same costume twice?”
“Everyone, Ems. Can you just make up your mind already? I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving.”
“Good point, but still. It smells like old people in here and since someone won’t share her food anymore, I’m forced to live a life of complete gluttony and gorge myself on fast food.”
“Poor baby.”
It’s only when our bickering back and forth dies down that I notice that Johnny hasn’t moved an inch off the suits, his hands still running over them, his eyes focused, as if he’s bringing to life costume ideas for himself even though in the four years I’ve known him he’s never once shown up at a dance.
“You should get it.” I say and when he turns his attention back to me, he seems confused. “The suit. You should get it. We can match.”
“Now who’s talking crazy? You know I don’t do dances.”
“Well, maybe this year you could make an exception. If I’m stuck going, it would make it a lot more fun if I had someone equally as pissed about being there to enjoy it with.”
“Nope. Sorry, but not even the thought of you dressed as a warped prom queen is gonna get me to chang
e my mind.”
“You suck.”
“Not nearly as good as you blow.” He winks. “Now hurry up. I can hear tacos calling my name.”
Fed up with walking around the store and Johnny’s words eating at me, I grab the light pink dress off the rack and head for the counter. If he wants to leave so badly then that’s what we’re doing.
Lunatic Prom Queen here I come.
“Finally!” he yells, making his way out and meeting me at the counter as the cashier rings up the dress and three packets of fake blood I toss on the counter. Pulling his phone out of his jacket, he starts fiddling around on it, and after a couple of seconds, nudges me and points down.
“Meet me outside. Gotta call Gavin.”
Gavin Davenport, or as I know him, Johnny’s stoner brother. The very reason I’ve had to pick my best friend up at some shady places all over town the last few weeks. Not even bothering to hide my annoyance or disgust with the growl that escapes, he just shrugs and heads out, leaving me at the counter to ponder exactly where it is I’m gonna have to go and rescue him from next.
Despite how I feel about Gavin, I have no issues with the rest of Johnny’s family. They’ve all been nice to me when I’ve been over at their place, going out of their way to make me feel comfortable even though the size of their house alone could make up about half of the street I live on. I have no idea where they went wrong with his older brother, but trouble just seems to find him, which means by association, it always seems to find Johnny too.
Passing over the money once she tells me the total, the girl hands me back the change quickly and murmuring for her to have a good day even though my attention is completely focused on my best friends frame through the store window, I make my way out. Noticing me as I jump down off the last step, he pulls the phone away from his ear quickly and tosses it back in his pocket.
“And how is my favorite stoner today?” I ask with more of a bite than I intended.
“He’s great.” He responds, and with the way he won’t look me in the eye when he says it, gives it away as a complete lie. One that I’m about to call him on, but think better of when he finally looks my way, smiles weakly and points across the street to Taco Bell.
I’ve got all the time in the world to interrogate him. With the way he’s practically salivating just looking across the street though, I can’t say the same for his stomach.
Tacos it is.
Christian
“Pass me the wrench.”
Doing what he asks, I hand it over, accepting his grunted thank you and leaning back to watch him work, replacing parts on what will be, when he’s done, my new wheels.
It had taken a little over a month, but after going to my dad the morning after the movie with Emery and Jonah and explaining everything to him, he seemed to get it and started looking for a vehicle for me to call my own.
Three weeks later, he pulled the truck into our driveway, one that looks a whole lot like the one we left behind when we made the move, and told me that while it needed some work, if I was willing to dedicate a couple of weekends putting in time on it, he’d have it up and running in no time.
What he didn’t bank on was me not knowing a damn thing about cars, always relying on our mechanic back home to fix anything that went wrong with the last one. So the time I’m dedicating is more learning than actually helping.
But considering how often he’s been gone lately, between work and the late nights he’s been having with the new woman he’s been seeing, I’m just glad he’s made the time.
Despite the way it looks from the outside, my dad wasn’t always a workaholic. We used to do everything together. It’s only after my mom died and he seemed to lose all sense of direction that we had this drift happen. He started working more, I started playing more with the band, and instead of putting the effort in to spend actual time together, we just fell apart and neither of us had the strength or want to fix it.
I’m glad we seem to be getting past that now.
“Alright, it’s as good as it’s gonna get. I’ll give it another go over later, but what do you say we take a break and grab some lunch?”
“Sure thing.”
Slamming the hood down and patting me on the back before heading toward the building, I turn to follow, stopping to grab my phone off the picnic table beside the toolbox, pausing when after a few steps, it starts ringing.
“I’ll be right in!” I call out and catching the okay signal of his hands in the air, he disappears inside the building and I finally answer.
“Hello?”
“If you say one word about this call, I will find you and end you.”
“JD?”
“She’s going to the dance as a lunatic prom queen. The place where she got her dress, they’ve got some suits going on. If you wanna match her, get your ass down to Morgan’s on Adelaide and pick one up.”
“Who is? What are you talking about?”
“Emery, you idiot. Look, I know the two of you are doing this thing where you want the world to believe you’re really just friends, but anyone with a brain can see that it’s more than that. So here’s your shot. She doesn’t wanna go to the stupid dance, but since she has to because of that prick Jordan, I figured you might wanna go and keep her company.”
I’ve seen Johnny D in a lot of different situations since I got here a little over a month ago, but he’s never done much more than talk to me about random stuff before. We definitely don’t talk about Emery when she’s not around. For him to call me and let me in on what she’s doing, maybe everything Jonah warned me about weeks ago really was just gossip.
If Johnny had a thing for Emery, I know for a fact this conversation wouldn’t be happening.
What he doesn’t know is that because of Jonah and his insistence that we double to the dance, I already agreed to go with someone else.
Some girl I haven’t said so much as a hello to since I moved here, but because of her relationship to Jonah’s girl, I’ve been roped into going with.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” he hisses. “I’m giving you the perfect in and you’re telling me you don’t wanna take it?”
“No, I mean yes. Shit. I mean, I can’t because I already said I’d go with someone else.”
“I’m sorry, that doesn’t compute. I could have sworn you just said that you were going to the dance with someone else.”
“That’s because I did. Jonah wanted me to double with him and April, so I’m going with Marissa. But me and Emery, it’s not what you think. I mean, for a little while I thought it could be, but it’s pretty obvious she’s not into it.”
“Okay, this conversation is a little too female for me right now, and if you ever repeat what I’m about to say to anyone, I’ll deny it, but there’s some shit you gotta know. The girl likes you. Trust me on this. She just doesn’t want to blow shit up by doing something about it. And if you’re not as dumb as you appear right now, and you like her too, you’ll ditch your date to the dance and do something about it.”
“Johnny, why are you doing this?”
“Because she’s my best friend, and I’m getting sick of the merry-go-round that is the two of you. I’m also pretty damn sure the rest of the school is too. Look, I gotta go, but remember what I said. Morgan’s on Adelaide.”
Pulling the phone away from my ear as I’m met with the loud click of him hanging up, I put my phone away and head for the building, all the while going over everything he told me.
Is it possible that I wasn’t alone in the way I feel about her and she’s just better at keeping it hidden? Is she really afraid of ruining the friendship we have so she’s choosing to stay quiet? But the most important one repeats on a loop as I take the elevator up and walk down the hall into the apartment.
Is it too late to go back and change things?
Chapter Nine
Emery
Johnny was right.
I haven’t even left the house yet and sta
nding in front of my mom’s full length mirror, I can see that the second I walk into the gym all eyes are going to be on me.
What the hell was I thinking, believing even for a second that this wasn’t going to stand out in a crowd? I mean, I’m wearing pink for crying out loud. It doesn’t get more noticeable than that.
I might as well go ahead and tack a sign on my back asking for people to look at the super freak.
Okay, that’s it. Jordan’s gonna have to get someone else to do this. I’m not going.
Reaching for my phone and pulling up his number, about to press the call button in order to tell him exactly what I’ve decided, my mom steps out from her walk in closet and comes to a stop behind me.
“I know you’re supposed to be the anti prom queen and all, but Emery, you look beautiful.”
“Speaking of beautiful,” I redirect her. “Another date with Saint Nick?”
“What did I say about calling him that?”
“Not to do it, but I mean it. If he makes you happy then he is a Saint.”
“Very funny.”
Moving around her and throwing myself down on her bed, exhaling deeply, she turns from her position checking her hair and comes over to sit beside me.
“What’s with the theatrics?”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do what?”
“Go to the dance and pretend like I’m having a good time, or worse, take pictures of other people having a good time.”
“Didn’t you have to do this very thing last year?”
“Yeah, and the year before that, and the year before that. What’s your point?”
“Well, if you made it through those without any lasting scars, I have a feeling you can make it through this one too.”
“Last year I had a sheet over my head and unless people physically bumped into me, they had no idea I was even there. This,” I say, motioning to the dress. “Is a lot different than last year.”
“Yeah, I see that. This year people are going to be able to see you for the beautiful girl you are and not the ghost that you seem to think you should be. But surely your friends are going to be there, so you won’t have to face it alone?”
The Space In Between Page 8