“You want to play, Princess?” He plopped his arm on my shoulders again.
“No, thanks.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how.”
“We need to fix that.” He looked at Marshal. “Me and Tori got next game.”
“Carter already called it,” Marshal said.
“Hey, Car.” Jeremiah turned to Carter. “You’re getting bumped. That cool with you? Great.” He didn’t give Carter a chance to respond before he returned his gaze to Marshal and repeated, “Me and Tori got next game.”
I watched the rest of Jake and Marshal’s game play out. My feet throbbed in the heels. I wished I could sit down or take them off.
Note to self: next time wear comfy shoes; you’ll be standing a lot.
“Whoa-ho!” Jake raised his arms above his head as the eight ball he’d just hit rolled into a corner pocket. “That’s how it’s done, folks!” He looped his arm around Maimy’s waist and planted a kiss on her lips.
“You want to break, Princess?” Jeremiah offered me a cue.
I shook my head. “I’m all right.”
“Come on,” Jeremiah said.
Stepping around the end of the table, I took the cue.
“Now, line up the shot,” Jeremiah instructed.
I leaned over the table, held the cue the way I thought the boys had, and tried to strike the white ball. The cue slipped off my finger. Jeremiah chuckled as he leaned over me to show me the proper technique. With his gigantic hands over mine, he moved the cue forward in a quick motion. The blue tip hit the white ball and sent it racing across the table. It struck the colored balls with a crack. They scattered, bouncing off the sides and dropping into holes.
“Looks like we’ve got stripes,” Jeremiah said as we stood straight. “Now, we go over here.” He put his hand on my back, steering me to the side of the table. “The seven should be easy.”
It should have been. The balls lined up with the side pocket. Yet, I missed. Instead of pushing the white ball into the striped seven, I smacked the side, and it rolled to the end of the table.
“Try that again,” Jake said, moving the white ball back to where it had been before my pathetic attempt.
Jeremiah’s hand slid down my arm as he wrapped himself around me to help with the shot. “You ready?”
I nodded. My heartrate increased. It had been a while since a boy touched me the way Jeremiah did. Heat swept through my body.
His hand caressed mine before closing around it to push the stick forward. There was a loud crack when the stick struck the white ball, sending it across the table into the striped one. The number seven rolled into the side pocket while the white ball bounced off the sides until it came to a stop at the other end of the table.
Jeremiah looped his arm around my waist as we stood. “Way to go, Princess.”
“Thanks.” I smiled.
After we missed the next shot, Jeremiah and I stood at the end of the table. He put his arms around me while I leaned back against him. Although I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, I liked the attention. I didn’t think about the consequences of my behavior until later that night.
Six
Jeremiah plopped onto Jake’s couch beside me and draped his arm across my shoulders. Slowly, he drew me closer and turned toward me. When he put his hand on the side of my face, my heart sped up and I struggled to keep my breath steady. I knew he was about to kiss me, and I didn’t stop him.
His lips were softer than I thought they would be. He was also a much better kisser than I expected. I wanted more. Wrapping my arms around him, I pressed myself against his massive chest. His hand slid down my side to my butt and he pulled me onto his lap.
I straddled his waist, running my fingers through his thick locks and grinding against him. He reached up my shirt and fumbled with the closure on my bra. It annoyed me he couldn’t get it undone. Devon could do it with one hand and not miss a beat elsewhere.
Oh, shit. Devon. I pulled away from Jeremiah.
“What’s wrong, Princess?” Jeremiah asked.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” I shook my head and stood. “I have to go.” Picking up my bag, I started for the door.
“Hold up.” Jeremiah followed me. “Did I do something?”
“No. It’s just . . .” I looked at him. “I’m sorry, Jeremiah. You’re a great guy, but I can’t do this right now.”
A mixture of confusion and concern filled his eyes. Staring at me, he swept the hair from my face and encased the side of my head in his massive palm. My heart raced. I wanted him to kiss me again.
No. I backed away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“It’s cool.” He gave me a soft smile. “I get it. Will you at least let me give you a ride home?”
Dang it. Why do you have to be so nice about everything? As if my head wasn’t already screwed up enough.
“Sure.” I nodded. “Thank you.”
It was perhaps the most awkward ride home I’d ever taken. Jeremiah tried to lighten the mood by telling me about Jake’s failure at the drag races, but even his boisterous laugh didn’t raise my spirits. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.
I spent most of Sunday morning going through the books from the library and marking pages with material relevant to my final essay. It was the only thing I could think of to keep my mind off Jeremiah. Nothing made sense. I still loved Devon, but I had strange feelings for Jeremiah, too.
After lunch, I stayed downstairs and asked Mom if I could use her computer. I wanted to print off copies of the artwork mentioned in my paper to include with it. Mom signed me into the computer and helped me start the Internet, then left to answer the phone in the kitchen, returning a few minutes later.
“There’s a boy on the phone for you,” she said.
I rose from the desk. “Really?”
“Yes. Do you have a new boyfriend, Tori?” Arms folded across her chest, she narrowed her eyes and searched my face for clues.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s probably just Carter.”
“It doesn’t sound like Carter.”
Maybe it’s Jeremiah. I sighed. That’s just what I need.
Walking through the front room and into the kitchen, I picked up the receiver and put it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby doll,” a soft, familiar voice said.
The phone slid out of my palm. I caught the cord and put the receiver back against the side of my head. My voice shook as I replied, “Hi.”
“Are you all right?” Devon asked.
“I’m . . . I’m fine.” I stammered. Only about to have a panic attack. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“Are you still . . .” I didn’t finish, realizing Mom stood in the kitchen doorway. I would have gone somewhere else, but the cordless phone didn’t work so the phone cord tethered me to the counter.
“No,” Devon replied. “I got released last week. I tried to call, but—”
“That was you?” My voice raised an octave. “Why didn’t you tell Chris?”
“I did.” Devon’s voice hardened. I pictured him scowling as he tried to keep his temper in check. “He advised me to stay the hell away from you.”
“I’m sorry. But you know Chris. He’s a jerk like that.”
I heard the click of Devon’s lighter. He took a deep breath before he spoke—probably a long drag from a fresh cigarette. “It’s so great to hear your voice.” His tone was softer, almost sad. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.” I glanced at the doorway. Mom had stepped into the front room, but I wasn’t sure if she could still hear me, so I kept my voice low. “Where are you?” On one hand, I wanted him to be close, so I could see him; on the other, I worried he was with his friends and already knew what I’d done.
“I’m in Ashton. Lia said I couldn’t stay there, so I stayed with A.J. for a couple days, but um . . . that didn’t work out.” He mumbled the last bit.
My eyebrow arched. “Where are you staying then?”
“I haven�
��t worked that out yet. I’ve just been wandering around since last night.” A rustling sound accompanied his words, and I pictured him fidgeting with the skin on the side of his thumbnail. He’d given himself a sore there more than once since I met him.
“You’ve just been wandering around?”
“Yeah,” he answered so quietly I barely heard him.
“Devon,” I scolded without considering Mom might overhear. If she’d realized it was Devon on the phone, she wouldn't have let me talk to him.
My parents had forbidden me from being anywhere near Devon. Mom thought he was a bad influence that would never amount to anything. I knew she was wrong but explaining anything to my mother was about as worthwhile as talking to a wall. She considered her opinion fact, regardless of the actual truth. The only way she’d ever change her mind about Devon was if he proved her wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. That, however, would take time, especially when he did things like violating probation and winding up in juvenile detention.
“I’m fine, baby doll,” Devon said with a carefree nonchalance. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I can’t help it.” I slumped onto a stool, resting my elbow against the countertop.
He chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you, too.” I sighed.
“You okay, baby doll?” Concern softened his voice.
“Yeah.” I couldn’t bring myself to sound upbeat. Hearing his voice wasn’t enough. “It’s just . . . I want to see you.”
He took a slow breath and exhaled, not hiding the sadness when he replied, “I want to see you, too.”
“Have you called Carter?” I perked up. “He’d probably come get you.”
“I called Chase’s last night, but nobody answered.” His lighter clicked again, telling me he’d lit another cigarette.
“Him and Chase were in Beaumont last night.”
“They were?”
“Yeah. We all went to Ruckus.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted saying them. Not only did I have to worry that Mom heard, but I had also opened myself up to questions I didn’t want to answer.
“You’ve been hanging out with Carter?” There was suspicion his voice.
“Sometimes.” I shrugged. “Me and Joy. They’re going out now.”
“Carter’s got a girlfriend?” Suspicion turned to skepticism.
“Uh-huh.” I twirled the phone cord around my finger.
“That’s . . . Isn’t Joy your nerdy, bible-thumper cousin?”
“Yep.” I giggled. “It’s weird, huh?”
“A bit.” He chuckled. “So, what else has been going on?”
“Nothing really.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Same stuff as always.”
“You sure everything’s okay, baby doll?” He sounded more concerned than suspicious.
I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I lied. “Yeah. It’s just that I’ve been working on my final paper for English all day and my brain is a little fried.”
“I can let you go if you need to get back to it.” The disappointment in his voice told me the last thing he wanted to do was hang up the phone.
“I’d rather talk to you.”
“It’s all right.” His turn to lie. “I should call Carter before it gets too late.”
“Okay.” I sighed.
“I love you, baby doll.” Hope mixed with sadness in his voice.
I glanced at the kitchen door. Mom was back, watching me, so instead of telling him I loved him, I said, “Me, too,” before we both said goodbye. After I set the phone back in its cradle, I started toward the kitchen door. “I guess I’ll get back to my homework.”
“Who was on the phone?” Mom asked, her tone soft, but demanding.
“My friend, Jake,” I answered. It wasn’t the first name to pop in my head, but if she asked Chris, Carter, or Joy, it was the one least likely to get me in trouble.
“Your friend, Jake?” she echoed with disbelief in her tone.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “My friend, Jake.”
“It didn’t sound like you were talking to a friend. Are you sure you don’t have a new boyfriend?” A grin pulled at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes held the same scrutiny they had when she told me I had a phone call.
“Yes, Mom.”
“You can tell me if you do, Tori.” Her tone softened, but I didn’t believe it for a second. “I want to know what’s going on in your life.”
“There’s nothing going on in my life,” I said. At least nothing I’d tell you. “I go to school, come home, hang out with Carter and Joy sometimes. That’s basically it. Can I finish my homework now?”
“Okay, sweetie.”
She touched my shoulder as I walked past, and I rolled my eyes. Her newfound interest in my social life bothered me. She hadn’t cared for the previous four years. Not since the twins were born. Any time I told her anything, all she did was lecture me about my poor life choices, and I wasn’t in the mood to have someone else tell me I screwed up. I’d already told myself a million times.
Seven
Sliding in front of my mirror, I lifted my rounded hairbrush to my mouth and shouted the lyrics to “Master of Puppets” as it blasted from my stereo speakers. My friendship with Carter had done more than raise my GPA; I had discovered a love for rock, especially fast-paced, adrenalin-infused metal. My mind cleared of the things that kept me near catatonic as I pretended I was on an arena stage beside James Hetfield.
It had been four days since Devon called. I’d expected him to call again, but he didn’t. Carter claimed ignorance, and the rest of the out-crowd didn’t seem to care. I considered calling Devon’s sister, Lia, to ask her, but I doubted she knew or would tell me. The last time I’d seen Lia, she hadn’t been too keen on Devon and me together.
“Do yourself a favor,” Lia said with a stern expression; “walk away before he screws up your life as much as he’s screwed up his own. He’s a fuckup. He’ll always be a fuckup.”
“He made a mistake,” I replied.
“A mistake?” She snorted. “All he does is make mistakes. One right after the other. Look, Tawny or Tammy or whatever your name is, I love my brother. I do. But I also know him. He’s an addict and addicts don’t change.”
Dread filled my gut. I wanted to yell she was wrong. Devon wasn’t an addict or a screw up and he wouldn’t mess up my life. I screwed up my life enough without his help.
As I belted Metallica into my hairbrush, I didn’t think about my crappy life. I cranked up the stereo, sang into my hairbrush, and head banged like a maniac. At midnight, I collapsed onto my bed too exhausted to let anxiety keep me up all night.
When I woke in the morning, the only sound was birds chirping outside. I rolled out of bed, stretched my arms as high as I could reach, and yawned. “Good morning,” I greeted the birds as I opened the window. The crisp scent of rain drifted into my room. I inhaled and smiled. “It’s a great day.”
I wasn’t sure why I was so optimistic. Nothing had changed since the day before. My life still sucked. For the first time, however, I didn’t care. It was the last Friday before summer break. Four more days and I’d be free of that terrible place for three months.
“Hi.” Sammy Hawkins plopped into the desk next to mine and stared at me.
“Hello.” I glanced sideways at him, wondering what he could want.
“Are you going to the end of the year dance tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. Why?”
“Do you want to go with me?”
I faced him. “You realize I’m a piranha, don’t you? Even talking to me is social suicide.”
“Why do you say that?” Sammy asked.
“Because Camber and Miranda hate me.”
“Who cares what they think?”
“Um. Everybody.”
“I don’t.” He shook his head. “I like you, I think you’re pretty, and I want to go to the dance with you.”
My cheeks blushed. It was ha
rd not to let his flattery go to my head.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” I said.
“Why can’t you?” he asked.
“Because I . . .” I wanted to say I already had two boys screwing with my head and I didn’t need another but lied instead. “I’ve got plans.”
“Oh.” Sammy’s face fell before he perked up again. “Tell me if you change your mind, okay? Here’s my number.” He wrote seven digits on the back of my notebook.
“Sure.” I forced a smile.
He moved to the other side of the room and sat next to Chad and Kennedy’s boyfriend, Jason Rusamano. His choice in friends did not bode well for him. I had a hard time believing someone who hung out with my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend’s boyfriend had good intentions. I stared at him for a second before shifting my attention to the front of the room. Mr. Chambers, our substitute algebra teacher, had written sample problems on the board. We weren’t covering any new material, but it still looked foreign. I copied what he’d written into my notebook before switching to my sketch pad. The student art show was a little over a week away and I needed to finish my last piece.
After putting it off for most of the semester, I’d decided to do four panels with my interpretation of the stories Devon had told me from Plato’s Republic. The first was the myth of Gyges. It had the outline of a man wearing a ring with his surroundings muted. On the second panel, the man stood in a cave, staring at shadows on the wall. The man removed the ring in the third, and everything was in full color. In the fourth, I wanted to show the man leaving the cave and seeing the real world. I hadn’t decided how to portray that, however, which was the reason I hadn’t finished.
“What are you drawing?” Lisa Bryant leaned across the aisle.
“Nothing,” I answered, keeping my voice flat as if it wasn’t important. “I’m trying to think of what to do for my last painting in the art show.”
Confusion gave Lisa’s brow a slight wrinkle. “What art show?”
“The one next week.” I glanced at her, surprised at her interest. Athletic and popular, Lisa Bryant didn’t strike me as someone who cared about art. “Everybody’s pieces will hang in the gym and there’ll be a reception and stuff next Saturday.”
Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2) Page 4