Heart on a Chain (11 page)

“
I thought I’d tell you now so you can have the week to think about it again. I seem to have better luck getting you to come that way.”

I laugh.

“
Okay, I’ll think about it,” I promise, already disappointed that there’s no way my luck will hold for another weekend, allowing me to say yes.

I probably would have told him no, except for an incident that happens on Friday.

After lunch I’m walking to my math class, not paying attention to my surroundings. Since Henry and I have become sort-of friends, the other students seem to have lost most of their passion for bullying me. I’m not sure of the reason for it, but I’m not going to call attention to it either by questioning it. I’m by no means full of confidence as I walk down the hallways, still keeping my eyes on the floor, but maybe not as watchful as before.

That’s why I don’t see Jessica. As I pass the girls bathroom, I’m suddenly shoved inside, falling as my books go skidding across the floor. I look up to see what happened and see Jessica with two of her cohorts standing, blocking the exit. One of them faces toward the hallway, keeping anyone out who might try to come in.

It’s been so long since anyone has done anything to me, that instead of cowering as I usually do, I scramble to my feet, intending to confront her. Something in her face stops me.

Her eyes are narrowed, mouth pinched. She looks more than angry. She looks like my mom looks just before she inflicts some kind of violence on me. She sees my hesitation and begins moving toward me slowly, like a predator cornering its prey.

I take an involuntary step backwards, see her eyes widen with pleasure at that.

“
I have a question for you,” she says casually, but I can hear the menace in her voice.

I swallow over the lump in my throat, all of those feelings of fear and humiliation that I had almost forgotten about recently coming back full force.

She’s still slowly walking, examining her nails. “I was just wondering…” her eyes shoot to mine, and I’m stunned by the power of the hatred I read there. “Just who do you think you are?”

I’m not expecting that. My face must reflect my confusion because she suddenly strides up to me, her face right up in mine.

“
Do you think you’re so great that you deserve someone like Henry Jamison?” When I don’t answer her, her anger flares. With a half-scream, half-growl she punches me across the face, knocking me back to the floor.

“
You are a loser!” she screams at me. “He is too good for you. Leave him alone!” She turns away, supposing that I’ll obey her. I know better, know to leave well enough alone.

But something has shifted in me, ever so slightly, and before I can stop to consider the consequences, I open my mouth. “He’s my friend,” my voice is soft, but she hears it clearly.

She swings back toward me.

“
What?
” she screeches.

I sit up, wiping the blood that seeps from my cut lip with my thumb.

“
I said he’s my friend,” my voice is surer now.

With another frustrated scream she jumps on me, straddling me, slamming my head against the cold tiles. Then she slams it twice more for good measure before I can recover enough to try and stop her.

She leans over me and speaks with gritted teeth, spittle showering my face.

“
In what world do you begin to think he could be your friend, let alone love you? I’ve seen the way you look at each other. It’s disgusting. I’m telling you right now that I won’t let it be.
I
am the only one good enough for him, and I
will
have him when you quit…
tricking
him, or whatever it is you do to make him want you. If I have to tell you again, you’ll be sorry!”

She slams my head again, then rises off of me. After a kick in my stomach, to make sure the message is clear, she strides out of the bathroom. I lift my head to watch her go. Both the other girls who are with her look back at me, and I swear they look almost apologetic.

I groan and lay my head back down for a minute. I hear the bell ring and groan again. Slowly, I roll onto my side and push myself into a sitting position. The room sways and I close my eyes against the sensation. When it stops, I grab the edge of the sink and pull myself up.

I look in the mirror, see the drying blood on my face at the corner of my mouth, which is already swelling. I turn on the water and carefully clean the blood off, rinsing my mouth out with a handful of water. I touch the back of my head, which is throbbing, wincing when my fingers brush the knot that’s already forming there.

I might have cried then, that my tenuous sense of security has been shattered, except for something she said to me. Something that sings through my blood and causes my nerve endings to tingle.

I’ve seen the way you look at each other,
she said, and the possibilities that accompany those words bring a smile to my face.

By the time photography rolls around, my lip is swollen, but it can’t keep the wide smile from my face. Henry looks at me in alarm.

“
What happened?” he demands angrily. I’m beginning to understand that his anger isn’t directed toward me, but rather toward whoever hurt me, so I’m not quite as alarmed by it.

“
Doesn’t matter,” I say happily.

I can see the anger faltering, warring with something else.

“
Are you
happy
that someone hurt you?” he is incredulous.

I shake my head.

“
Then what’s with the big smile?”

“
I’m
happy
because I get to say yes.”

“
Yes?” he looks lost.

“
Yes, I get to say yes—to you. For Saturday. If you still want me to come.”

A grin fights to wipe the frown from his face, his eyes showing his confusion.

“
You had to get beat up to say yes?”

I shrug, my smile never wavering.

“
That’s messed up,” he mutters.

Mr. Hurley stands to begin class, as Henry leans over to me.

“
So, what does the other guy look like?” he teases, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s going to let it go.

Chapter Nine

On Saturday, Henry
picks me up in our spot at six o’clock. I made sure that I’d done all of my chores very well and very quickly. I was still trying to figure out how to sneak out when my parents started fighting, giving me my chance to escape. I’d gone up the stairs as if going to my room, as I knew they would expect, then pulled Henry’s jacket on (which he’s kept insisting I keep for another day each time I try to return it to him) and climbed out my window. I run all the way to our meeting spot, keeping to the shadows in case they see me in the dusk.

I arrive just as he’s pulling to the curb. I don’t wait for him to get out and open my door, just pull it open myself and jump in.

“
Hey!” he complains.

“
Go!” I command, sliding down in the seat as I slam the door behind me.

“
Is someone chasing you?” His body is taut with alarm.

“
Not yet. Just go.”

He doesn’t question me again, just hits the gas and peels away from the curb. When I feel the car complete the u-turn, I peek up over the back of my seat. I don’t see my parents or their car. With a sigh of relief, I sit all the way up and smile at him.

He’s looking at me oddly.

“
That has to be the strangest way I’ve ever picked anyone up.”

“
Sorry.” I know I don’t sound sorry; I’m exultant. I’ve gotten away!

We drive about three blocks, then turn left and go another two blocks. He turns left again onto a side street and pulls into the driveway of the third house up. He puts the car in park, and shuts it off.

“
Don’t even think about touching that door handle,” he warns.

He didn’t need to bother, I don’t think I could move if my life depended on it.

I’m staring out the car window with dismay at the large, red brick house that rises in front of me. It’s
huge
. I know people who live in houses like these—people like Jessica. People who wear jeans that cost more for one pair than my entire wardrobe cost. People who drive expensive cars and drink expensive wine and who spit on poor families like mine.

Henry opens my door. After a minute, he leans down and peers in at me.

“
Did you want to come in, or should I bring your dinner out here?” he teases.

I’m glad it’s getting dark enough that he can’t read the alarm on my face or see the tears that shine in my eyes. I climb out of the car, keeping my eyes down.

“
You live
here
?” I ask and hope he can’t hear the quaver in my voice.

“
Yeahhh,” comes his drawn out answer, hesitant, ending on an upswing like a question.

I look at the manicured lawn with its groomed flowerbeds and bright landscape lighting and feel my stomach sink. There is stamped, colored cement covering the wide driveway beneath my feet, a four-car garage up ahead with obviously expensive custom doors. A rather large building stands behind the house.

Probably a stable,
I think cynically.

I should have known. He’d told me his dad was a veterinarian, I should have known he had money but he’s so
nice
that I never pictured it. I look at him now and it seems so obvious. His clothes are clearly nicer than average, his shoes the overpriced kind, even the way he holds himself with an unassuming confidence screams money. His jacket that I now wear is thick, good quality. I feel sick at my stupidity. Jessica was right—I don’t belong with him, not even as a friend.

“
I should go home,” I tell him, my words saturated with dejection.

He pulls my hands into his.

“
Kate, have I done something wrong? What’s the matter?”

“
You’re rich,” I accuse.

“
Actually no, I’m not. My
father
is rich; I myself am poor and am living on his good graces,” he teases, an unsure grin on his face. That’s something only someone raised with a lot of money can say, I grumble to myself.

I look down and see my shabby shoes next to his neat, clean ones. “I don’t belong here.”

He laughs and gives me a hug.

“
Of course you do. Listen, my family is going to love you, just like—” He stops mid-sentence, noticing the look on my face. “Please, my mom is really looking forward to this.
I’m
looking forward to this.”

My resolve crumbles in the face of his pleading tone. I let him pull me forward, feeling like Daniel going into the lion’s den.
Well,
I think,
I’ll just stay through dinner and then make my escape. I can survive the snobbery and disdain they will surely have for me for that long—for Henry.

He keeps hold of my hand as we go through the luxurious front door, into a foyer that’s like pictures I’ve seen of grand hotels; marble floor, curving staircase with stairs of hardwood, dark wood table next to the perfectly painted wall with a large vase of arranged flowers. To the left stands a living room with formal, uncomfortable looking furniture. To the right is a dining room with a long table surrounded by heavy chairs.