by Seven Steps
“Me? No.”
“How is that possible? You’re with him all day every day and you didn’t know he was going to pull something like this?”
“Sophia, I swear.”
Suddenly I was so tired. Tired of everyone else controlling my life and tired because Quincey had upended so much stuff that I already had under control. I didn’t care how many scriptures he read. What he did was a betrayal.
“Whatever.”
I plodded back to my room.
“Sophia. Sophia, come on,” Joe called from behind me. “Sophia.”
I slammed my door and rummaged through the stacks of papers, books, and clothes until I found my headphones. Then, I put on some music and drifted far, far away.
25
Joe was being quiet. Too quiet.
He barely spoke to me at play rehearsal. Then, I drove him home and he barely said two words. And there was the little matter of the unexplained black eye.
During play rehearsal, I’d asked where he’d gotten it, but he just said, “don’t worry about it.”
What happened? Had he and Quincey gotten into a fight yesterday? Did someone try to mug him? Did he fall on something?
Now we were sitting on the floor of Quincy’s room playing video games and eating Chinese food and he still barely spoke in more than grunts. My brain screamed with questions until, at long last, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So,” I said, trying to sound nonplussed. “You guys all good?”
“What are you talking about?” Quincey asked.
“Well, you guys obviously got into a fight yesterday.”
“Fight? What fight?”
“The fight where you gave Joe a black eye.”
“I didn’t give Joe a black eye,” Quincey said. “That was your friends at school.”
Friends at school? What did that mean?
“You got into a fight at school?” I asked.
Joe shrugged. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Too late. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Joe!”
“I said it was nothing!” He threw down the controller and stormed out of the room, avoiding my eye completely. A second later, the front door slammed shut.
What just happened? What did I say?
“That sucks,” Quincy said. “This is a three-player level.”
“Q, what happened to him?”
Quincey shook his head. “He wouldn’t want me to tell you.”
“He may not, but I do.”
“I don’t know, Soph. It’s kind of personal.”
“So, you’re telling me that the Bible tells you not to snitch on Joe, but you can snitch on me with no problem.”
“That’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“Because Joe didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If he didn’t do anything wrong, then why can’t you tell me how he got that black eye?”
Quincey sighed and put down the controller. “Joe went to meet the football team today after school.”
“So?”
“So, the guys were joking around, and your name came up.”
“And?”
“And apparently Joe had something to say about it.”
“So, he fought the entire football team?”
“Not the entire football team. Just the defensive line, I think.”
My anger went into orbit. I didn’t need Joe to fight people for me. I could stand up for myself. I’d already navigated an entire year at school by myself. I didn’t need Joe to suddenly step in and be my knight in shining armor.
I put down the controller.
“Wait,” Quincey called after me. “Where are you going?”
But I didn’t stop. I marched down the stairs and to Joe’s door on the third floor. I banged on it four times before Joe answered.
When he saw me, he frowned.
“He told you, didn’t he?” he said. “Even though I asked him not to.”
I marched into the apartment and turned to him. “Yeah, that’s right he told me. And you know what? I don’t need you to play the hero.”
“You didn’t hear what those guys said about you.”
“I’ve already heard it. They probably called me a slut or some other creative synonym.”
The way his frown tightened told me I was on the right track.
“They shouldn’t have said it,” Joe said.
“But they did. And you know what? I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle it,” he cried. “Those guys are meatheads and I will not let them talk about you like that. Especially not while I’m quarterback.”
“It can’t be helped, Joe.”
“Oh, it can. I can beat some sense into their dumb heads. That will help it.”
“And what about everyone else? The guys who aren’t on the football team? The guys who don’t even play sports? What about them? You gonna fight the world?”
“If I have to.”
“Joe.” I walked closer to him and put my hand on his arm. “I’m fine. I don’t listen to that stuff anyway.”
“Is it true?”
His eyes were trained on me. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“I don’t care,” he said. “And I won’t think about you any different. I just want to know if it’s true.”
I shook my head. “Yes, I’ve kissed some of them. But I’ve never gone further than that. Ever.”
He let out a breath and put his hands on his hips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
I grinned. “For the record, no guy has ever stood up for me like that.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to stand up for you.”
I took a step closer, enraptured by his hazel eyes. His handsome face. His kindness.
“That’s true. But still, it’s nice to know somebody cares.”
I took another step forward, placing my hand on his waist.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I shouldn’t be stepping closer to Joe.
I shouldn’t be staring up at him like this.
I shouldn’t be touching him.
And, most of all, I shouldn’t want to kiss him.
But, right now, in this moment, it was impossible to want anything else.
Forget the boy ban. I wanted Josiah Walker.
His heat approached me. His spicy aftershave surrounded me. I tipped my chin up and closed my eyes, holding on to his shirt for dear life. His lips brushed mine. I felt the fuzz of his five o’clock shadow. I forced myself up like a ballet dancer in pointe shoes. He moved his head from side to side, teasing me. Making me want to jump up and close the distance between us.
He wasn’t breathing.
Neither was I.
My entire body focused on his lips. I wanted to get closer, but I couldn’t. I was practically hanging onto him and he wouldn’t move. Why wasn’t he moving?
After a torturous eternity of our lips grazing each other, he tipped his head forward, offering me his forehead instead.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he stepped away, and my body went cold. “I didn’t do it for that.”
My heart didn’t know whether to speed up or slow down, and my lungs felt like they’d inhaled too much air, or not enough. My head was spinning, and he was standing there with his hands on his head, watching me like I was an escaped lion about to pounce on him.
Shame filled my cheeks.
My belly.
My legs turned to jelly and, no matter how much I don’t want them to, tears pooled behind my eyes.
“Why?” It was halfway between a groan and a croak.
He answered by shaking his head. “I just can’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. We just… can’t.”
My world shattered. I hadn’t felt heartbreak in over a year. Now, it came into crystal clear focus. The painful shards sliced through my soft flesh.
I was so stupid.
“Sophia.
Please.”
But I was already running out the door and back into my apartment. I threw my door open and ran into my room. Back to the only space I felt safe.
Then, I threw myself on my bed and fell apart.
26
“You look like frightened children.”
Mrs. Simpson slammed her script onto her lap in contempt.
“Lysander and Hermia are supposed to be these great lovers, and you two are playing it like there’s a rabid dog standing between you.”
No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, she was right. My feelings for Joe, misplaced as they were, had taken a firmer hold within me these last few days. And, to keep myself from either jumping on him or blushing myself to death, I’d decided to keep some distance between us.
Unfortunately for me, Mrs. Simpson didn’t really care that I was trying to protect my heart. She just wanted a good performance.
“Let’s run the scene again and, this time, act like you actually like each other.”
I raised my hand.
“Yes, Ms. Johnson.”
“Shouldn’t we save something for the stage?”
“Ms. Johnson, with that performance you’re never going to make it to the stage. Now, let’s run the scene again.”
I glanced at Joe, then looked away.
How was I supposed to do this?
I had feelings for Joe. Real feelings. Pretending that I loved him on stage would be like taking out my heart and exposing it for the world to see. What if I went too far? What if he found out how I really felt about him? He’d probably go running all the way back to Texas!
“Places, people!” Mrs. Simpson called.
My heart was beating so hard that I was sure the entire cast heard it.
We retreated to stage right, where we hid in the black curtains.
“You all right?” Joe whispered.
All right? I felt like I was about to pee myself!
“Yes,” I said. But my voice was small as a mouse. “I’m okay.”
“Just remember that it’s only pretend.”
I felt my heart shiver and crack, but I steeled myself. When he interlaced his hand with mine, I almost lost it. “And keep your eyes on me, okay? I won’t go too far.”
My gut clenched. Too far? What did that mean?
“And action!” Mrs. Simpson called.
I only had a millisecond to ponder his words before we walked out, hand in hand, to the middle of the stage. I forced myself into character. Lysander and Hermia were supposed to be lost in the woods, and right now, I was trying not to get lost in my thoughts.
“Fair love,” Lysander said. “You faint with wandering in the wood; And to speak troth, I have forgot our way: We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good. And tarry for the comfort of the day.”
I nodded and walked stage left. Joe followed behind me and when I bent to lie down, he did the same.
“Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed, for I upon this bank will rest my head.”
He took my hand again.
“One turf shall serve as pillow for us both. One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.”
I shifted away, and Lysander followed me.
“Nay, good Lysander, for my sake, my dear, lie further off yet. Do not lie so near.”
“O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence! Love takes the meaning in love's conference. I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit so that but one heart we can make of it.” His hand slid up my cheek and his voice softened.
“Two bosoms interchained with an oath. So then two bosoms and a single troth. Then by your side no bedroom me deny. For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.”
He tilted his head, coming in for a kiss, and my body froze.
My character should have wanted to move closer, but the woman behind the character, me, was so enraptured by his eyes and his skin and his pretty foreign words that I could barely think.
Ignoring the goose bumps that lit me from top to bottom, I moved closer and gave him an innocent yet coy smile.
“Lysander riddles very prettily. Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied.”
I took his hand in both of mine. “But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy, lie further off in human modesty. Such separation as may well be said becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid. So far be distant. And good night, sweet friend. Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!”
Then, as if watching myself in slow motion, I kissed his cheek. It pinkened beneath my lips.
“Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I. And then end life when I end loyalty!”
He kissed me back on my cheek and my entire body went white hot.
Then he pointed to a spot on the grass.
“Here is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest!”
“With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd!”
He grazed his lips over my knuckles before he moved away, and we pretended to fall asleep. My hand was shaking. My body was shaking.
I wasn’t sure how I would look Joe in the face after this. He must’ve seen my eyes. How my body shook. He had to know.
Mrs. Simpson stood and applauded.
“Excellent, excellent job.” She banged once on the stage. “That’s how you do it. Now if you can do that every time, we’ll be all set. Okay, where’s my Puck.”
We lay there until the scene was over, then Mrs. Simpson dismissed us for the day.
My plan was to run out of the theater, race home, and lock myself in my room until I could get myself together. But Joe grabbed my hand before I could.
“That was great!” he said, pulling me into a hug. “We have to do that every time.”
“Yeah.”
“So, was it as bad as you thought?”
It was worse. “No. It was pretty okay.”
“Good. See? Pretending can be fun.”
He placed another kiss on my cheek, and it took all I had inside me not to pull him to me and kiss him for real.
“Okay. Um, I’ll see you at home then.”
“Yeah.” His brows creased. His look confused. “See you at home.”
And then I nearly sprinted out of the auditorium and to the parking lot.
I needed some air.
And maybe an ambulance on standby.
Because if Josiah Walker was going to start hugging and kissing me, I was sure I was going to die.
27
I’d never seen Charlotte’s eyes open so wide.
She probably looked as shocked as me when Joe said he’d be riding home with me a few days later.
This was going to be torture. My body was still reeling and hot after rehearsal. It seemed like every day, Joe took his pretending a little further. He kissed my forehead, my cheek, the tip of my nose, my hands. Today, he’d kissed the corner of my mouth, and it took all I had not to turn my head and steal a real kiss from him.
Why was he doing this?
Why was he taking his role so overboard?
And now we had to sit next to each other in a moving car for the entire twenty-minute ride home? How was I supposed to concentrate on the road when I still felt his lips on my skin?
What happened to me? I’d made out with a ton of guys. Way too many to count and definitely way more than Joe knew about. With those other guys, I felt tinges of desire, but they were like blips on my radar. A cookie you may eat once or twice but is just okay. But, with Joe, when he looked at me or touched me, my entire body stood at attention. What did he have that those other boys didn’t? And why did he have to have it now?
I slowly walked to my car, while he moseyed next to me as if he wasn’t making my heart jump with every step.
“I’m starved,” he said. “Wanna grab a bite at Duke’s?”
“Um…”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat with him. It was that I was feeling super awkward about it and I needed time to wrap my mind around what was happening to me. To us.
“Come on,” he said.
“I’ll buy you a cheeseburger.”
“I really should get home and study.”
“What if I add bacon?”
“I have to study.”
“And a big slice of cheesecake with strawberries.” As if on cue, my stomach growled.
And therein lay my weakness. I was a sucker for cheesecake. Especially the type they served at Duke’s. I sighed, cursing my stomach for betraying me.
“Well, maybe just for a minute.”
He cheered and wrapped his arms around me.
“Cheer up, Jelly Roll. Your life is not that bad.”
“I am cheered.”
“Not with that puss on your face.”
“I don’t have a puss.”
“No? What are we calling miserable faces these days?”
I pushed him, and he stumbled a bit, lifting my mood.
“Shut up.”
“Ah, is that your problem? You want to get physical?”
There was a wicked gleam in his eye that made me take a step back.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Dare what?”
He lunged at me, and I took off like a shot. My car was on the other side of the parking lot and, even though I was fast, Joe was faster. I’d only made it a quarter of the way before he picked me up from behind, making my feet dangle in midair.
“Joe, put me down!”
“I don’t know. Are you going to be all miserable and weird all day? Because if you are, I’m going to be forced to carry you all the way to Duke’s.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, really?”
He turned and headed toward the street.
“Fine, fine,” I said, my voice high and squeaky. “I’ll stop being miserable.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Just put me down.”
My feet touched the floor, and the ground had never felt so good in my life.
“You’re a jerk, do you know that?”
“Maybe I am, but at least you’re smiling.”
I growled, because he was right. I was smiling, and my insides had stopped their worried panic about being alone with him. Now it was just me and Joe.
Friends.
That’s what we’d always be.
Friends.
I stuffed all the sadness that thought conjured up into a box and shoved it into the back of my mind as we finally reached the car and climbed inside. It was after five, and traffic sucked, but we made it to Duke’s with our sanity in check thanks to my traffic playlist, which consisted exclusively of Beyoncé songs.