by Seven Steps
At first, I hated Cole. Now, I didn’t hate him so much. What did it all mean? I was so confused and oddly enough, lonely. I couldn’t talk about my problems to Jasmine or Ariel, lest I give away the fact that Jake and I were not real. So, the only person that I had to talk to was myself and I had no answers.
Cole sat on a scratched, wooden chair in study hall, waiting for me. I remembered yesterday at my house. How close we were. How his lips had nearly touched mine. Little shivers of anticipation ran through me.
Whoa. Where did that come from?
I cleared my throat and walked forward. I couldn’t think about Cole like that. He’d said it himself. I was his brother’s girlfriend. Cole and I were off limits. Wrong. Dangerous. A fuse that, if ignited, could change everything forever.
I had to keep my heart far, far away from Cole Winsted or else.
He looked at me as I sat down, his eyes hooded, his mouth in a tight line. Had he gotten into another fight with his brother?
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Jake’s just being a douche.”
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah. No one misses being hit by the Jake train. That’s what we say at home, anyway.”
“Appropriate.”
I let out a breath. I could do this. I could be friends with Cole. Friends and nothing else.
We began reviewing parts of the house in French.
Living Room. Salon.
Door. Porte.
Kitchen. Cuisine.
Window. Fenêtre.
All this talk about French houses had me thinking about what Cole’s house was like. His father was some sort of drug lord, right? Did they live in a mansion somewhere? A penthouse? A normal-sized house?
What was his father like? I imagined him to be some big, muscly, bald guy with a scar running down his cheek. At least, that’s how Russian drug lords were portrayed in movies. Was he like that? Was he a mean dad? Was he around at all? What about his mom? She was the reason why Cole spoke French. Were they close?
“French!”
I looked up in horror, realizing that I had spaced out again.
“Sorry,” I said, refocusing on my book.
“What?” he asked.
I looked up at him again.
“What?”
“Why are you zoning out on me?” He dropped his pencil on the scarred table and bridged his fingers. One teasing eyebrow raised high on his forehead. “Am I that boring?”
“Truthfully?”
“Yes.”
I let out a breath.
“I might have fallen into a slight coma,” I replied. “I can’t help it. Your voice is like Benadryl.”
“It cures allergies?”
“No. It puts me to sleep.”
He snorted.
“I guess you like me better when I’m not speaking.”
His eyes tipped up at the ends.
Was he teasing me about our almost kiss yesterday? My cheeks turned hot.
“Right now, I’d prefer you non-existent.”
He laughed out loud then. I bit the inside of the cheek to keep my laughter inside.
How could he be so cavalier about our almost kiss? It’d been fluttering around in the back of my brain ever since. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him. Maybe he went around almost kissing girls all the time.
I tried to remember if Cole was a player. Had I seen him with other girls?
“Stop thinking, French. You’re killing me.”
“What? I’m not thinking.”
“You are. I get it. Lots of girls dream about me.”
I threw my pencil at him. It bounced off his shoulder. The same shoulder that now shook up and down with laughter.
This time, I laughed out loud, too.
“You’re an odd duck, French, I gotta tell you. You get all red in the face when somebody even mentions kissing.” He leaned forward. “Are you a kissing virgin?”
My cheeks were hot before. Now they were on fire.
“No. I’m not a,” I lowered my voice, “kissing virgin. I’ve kissed lots of boys.”
“Oh yeah? Name one. Besides my brother, I mean, which, by the way, I still think was not consensual.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I have my reasons. Now spill. One guy.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Okay. Fine. Ralph Mooch.”
His gaze fuzzed as he tried to place the name.
“No one here,” I said.
His shoulders visibly relaxed.
“He was back in North Carolina, and his retainer fell out when he tried to stick his tongue down my throat.”
He grimaced.
“That is, quite possibly, the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Everyone knows that you’re supposed to take your retainer out before you kiss a girl.”
I made a face. “So, you’re an expert then?”
I wanted to take the question back as soon as I said it. I didn’t want to know the girls that Cole had kissed. The very thought of it sent my stomach into knots.
“Well, I’m not a novice, if that’s what you want to know.”
“And how many girls has Mr. Not a Novice kissed?”
“Two.”
Two? Somehow, I thought the number would be higher. Not that I knew Cole so well. Still, he seemed like the kind of boy that girls would want to kiss.
“Okay. I gave you a name. You give me one.”
“Trudy McClentoch.”
My eyes bulged “The Calculator?”
Cole nodded. We called Trudy ‘The Calculator’ because she was a math genius. I was sure that she did square roots in her sleep. This year alone, she’d gotten her picture on the MATH WHIZ board every month. That board was reserved for kids who got a 100% on every math test. If Trudy did half as well in her other classes as she did in math, she would be valedictorian for sure.
“Does that surprise you?” he asked.
I shrugged. A little.
I pictured Trudy. Tall and skinny. She wore the school uniform every day, though it wasn’t required once you became a Junior. Navy skirt, white shirt, school jacket, high socks and black shoes. Every. Single. Day. She was okay looking. Not beautiful. Not ugly. Just okay.
“I guess I imagined you with someone more like-”
“Like Dana?” he asked. “Blonde, busty and brick headed? No thanks. Jake looks at what’s on the outside. I prefer to sink a little bit deeper.”
His eyes held mine and I shivered. Although we were in a library full of kids, somehow, us, at this scratched up table with gum beneath it, felt intimate. Like it was just me and him.
I leaned back and crossed my arms, trying to shake Cole from my head.
“And did Trudy get to see the great Winsted mansion?”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“No girl gets to see Winsted mansion. Not now, anyway. My mom is, kind of-”
“Particular? Judgy?”
“Dying,” he blurted out. “My mom is dying.”
My spirts dropped, empathy for Cole pulsing within me. Sadness radiated from Cole’s eyes, infusing into mine. I placed a hand over his and squeezed.
“I’m so sorry.”
He gave me a small smile.
“Thanks.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is she-”
“Cancer.”
My mouth formed an O and I shuffled in my seat.
“I know how hard it is.”
“I know.”
“If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.” I squeezed his hand again. “Remember. Text. Call. Smoke signals. Whatever.”
He smiled. A genuine, bright smile.
“Yeah. I remember.”
We sat at the table, our hands clasped, our eyes glowing with emotions that neither one of us understood.
Something changed between us. There was some spark there. A sense of our lives racing, out of
control, down an uncertain course. I hoped that the course ended someplace good but I feared that it didn’t.
He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. His hand slid back from mine, leaving me cold. Lonely.
“We should probably finish up.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I placed my hands in my lap. They hummed, remembering the feel of his skin against mine. Tiny butterflies burst to life within my belly, eating me from the inside out. I moved my hand to my stomach, trying to quiet them.
It didn’t work.
I glanced at Cole and saw him staring at me, an odd look on his face. It was less sad than before. Less angry. More … I don’t know.
He gave me a smile.
I gave him one, too.
“All right, French. Conjugate the following verbs...”
33
Mojo was freshly walked and I was freshly showered, moisturized and perfumed when Cole showed up at my doorstep after school. The day had been a nightmare but somehow, with Cole here, there was a little bright spot in it, too.
“How long have you guys lived here?” he asked, plopping down on the couch. He looked more comfortable today than he did the last time he was here. For some reason, that made me happy. I wanted Cole to be comfortable here.
“Going on three years,” I replied. “We moved my Freshman year.”
“So, in the three years that you’ve been here, you’ve yet to unpack a single box?”
I spied the stacks of boxes around the room. Some of them were half unpacked, some of them weren’t even opened yet. To our credit, we did have five boxes flattened and stuffed behind the sofa. Five out of a bazillion was something, right?
“We’re kinda not settled in yet,” I said. “But I guess it worked out because we’re moving on Sunday.”
“Moving? Where?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my answer. I pulled it out and examined the number while Play That Funky Music White Boy, my father’s favorite song, played.
“Hey, Daddy. What’s up?”
I heard the whinny of horses in the background. If I closed my eyes, I could smell the manure.
“Hey, honey. Forget something?”
I frowned, mine and Daddy’s agreement rushing back to mind.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I forgot to call you when I got home.”
“So I noticed.” There was a slight edge of irritation in Daddy’s voice. I’d be hearing about my misstep later. “What are you up to?”
“Just studying. Cole and I have an English project due next week.”
“Cole? You have a boy in the house?”
Oops. I guess I forgot to mention that, too.
“It’s okay, Daddy. He’s vile. And Mojo’s here, too.”
I stuck out my tongue at Cole and smiled, letting him know that it was just something I said to soothe my father’s worried nerves. He stuck out his, too.
“Let me speak to him.”
Uh oh. I handed him the phone with an apologetic expression.
“He wants to talk to you,” I said.
Cole took the phone as if I just told him that Beyonce was at the other end.
“Hello, Mr. French.”
My stomach tied in knots. What would Daddy say to him? Would he tell him to leave and never come back or would he be normal? I glanced at my bedroom doorway. Mojo was sitting in it, with only his upper body visible. He stared at the conversation, as if supremely interested in what was going on.
Nosey pup.
Cole continued to speak a little too loudly into the phone.
“We met at the science fair last year … Yes, that’s me … Yes, I did win. Bella’s project was okay, too … Yes, I understand how worrying it can be but I’d like to assure you that I am only here to study … I understand. Believe me, if it was up to me, I would have let you know that I was coming by … I think that would be a great idea. Let me give you my phone number. That way, we’ll both be on the same page…” Cole rattled off his phone number to my father, while I sat wide-eyed with my stomach doing full-on somersaults. “Yes, I am scheduled to come by every day after school for an hour or so. Maybe one day I can stay for dinner and we can get to know each other a little better … That would be fantastic … Yes, definitely … I’ll see you soon … Okay. Bye.”
He handed the phone back to me, a big grin on his face.
“Your father’s a cool dude,” he said. “He invited me to dinner next week.”
My mouth dropped open.
“He didn’t.”
“He did.” Cole leaned back on the couch and put his hands behind his head. “Parents do love me. Of course, who wouldn’t love me?”
I made a barfing expression and stuffed my phone back in my pocket.
“So, your ringtone is a bit on the old side for you, isn’t it?”
“What’s wrong with my ringtone?”
“Wild Cherry, 1976. I wouldn’t peg you for a funk sort of girl.”
“Oh yeah. What would you peg me as?”
He shrugged. “At first, more angry chick music. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“I’ll have you know that I am a music connoisseur. I have music that goes back to the nineteen twenties.”
He sat up straight, his eyes locked on mine. “Oh really. Name one song from the twenties.”
“Brown Eyes, Why Are You Blue, by Nick Lucas.” One of my favorites. My grandfather sang it to me sometimes when I was sad as a kid.
One of Cole’s eyebrows raised.
“Not many people know this but I, too, enjoy a musical tune every now and again.”
“You like music?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Well, you are a nerd jock. I guess nothing should surprise me about you.”
“Now you’re learning, French.”
He pulled out his phone, typed in something and placed it on the table.
“What are you doing?”
The teasing, challenging glint in his eyes made me want to smile. I bit my cheek instead.
“You should know better than anyone what this is.”
“Some sort of test?”
He grinned wide. “Everything is a test. Now, in a minute, you’ll hear some music come on. You will have thirty seconds to answer the questions. Because of my superior math skills, I will be keeping score. The person who wins gets bragging rights.”
Bragging rights over Cole? I was in!
He walked to the other side of the table and knelt so that we were face to face with the table between us.
“I should warn you. I’m very, very good at this.”
The music began and, for the next hour, we shouted out names of artists, song titles and music trivia.
“Madonna!”
“Prince!”
“The Monkees!”
“Al Jolson!”
“The Hudson Brothers!”
“Michael Jackson!”
By the time the battery on his phone had whittled down to a measly one percent, he was leading me seventy-two to seventy. But I didn’t care. I was breathless, my throat hurt, my heart was racing and my adrenaline was pumping. I was surprised to discover that I had actually had fun with Cole.
Go figure.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you knew music,” he said. “Not as well as I do, of course, but you’re not half bad.”
“You only got those two points because you know the name of all the Hanson brothers. I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Whatever.”
I smoothed my hair back from my face as Cole stood and came back to sit on the couch.
“So, do you have a favorite band?” I asked.
He smiled. He did that a lot, it seemed. More than I remembered. Was Cole having as good a time as I was?
“I am tempted to make you guess,” he said. “More than tempted.” His eyes swept over my face, stopping on my lips for a moment before raising back up to my eyes. My cheeks flushed hot. “I’ll tell you what. I will give you three c
lues. We’ll see if you can guess the band from there. And no Googling.”
I shrugged. I didn’t need to Google music facts. They were all in my head.
“Fine,” I said, trying to pretend like I didn’t care. But I did care. Games with Cole were fun, even if he was super competitive.
“Their logo is inspired by a Hindu Goddess, Martin Scorsese directed a live concert film for them, and the lead singer is a ballet dancer.”
I frowned, trying to think of who the band would be.
“No thinking now, French. We will discuss it after school tomorrow. Then maybe, if you’re nice, I’ll let you quiz me.”
I rolled my eyes, even though I was having a great time.
“Whatever.” I sat back on the couch and picked up my copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but I wasn’t ready to go back to our project just yet. “76 Central Park West.”
“What?”
“You asked where we were moving to. It’s 76 Central Park West.”
“Ooh. That’s ritzy for a mechanic.”
“How did you know that my dad was a mechanic?”
He shrugged. “You mentioned it when you first came to sit at our table, remember?”
I half smiled. “Well. That’s different.”
He half smiled, too. “What’s different?”
“I’m not used to guys actually listening to what I say.”
“Listen, just because my brother’s a jerk, doesn’t mean you have to paint the rest of mankind with the same brush. We are not all Jake Winsted. Some of us are good guys.”
“Good guys, huh? Is that what you think you are? A good guy?”
“I don’t think, French. I know. Multitudes of women approach me every day. They fall to my feet, their faces streaked with tears, all to say how good of a guy I am.”
Cole had a flair for the dramatic. It was amusing but I wouldn’t tell him that.
“And of these hordes of girls, have you picked one? Is there someone special for Cole Winsted?”
I waited for his answer like a drowning man waited for a lifeline, though I wasn’t sure why. Why would I care if Cole had a girlfriend or not? We were sorta friends, but nothing more. His dating history should have meant nothing to me. And yet, I salivated for his answer.
When did I become so pathetic?
“I’m going to let you figure that one out.”
I laughed and threw a pillow at him.