Between These Lines (A Young Adult Novel) (5 page)

I
dropped my heavy backpack on the floor and launched myself onto the bed, flopping
down face first to breathe in the clean smell of fabric softener trapped
between the fibers of the comforter. I turned my head after a few minutes and
faced my desk. The brown cork board that hung above was plastered with squares
of newspaper articles, some yellowed, some still gray and white, but mostly
yellow.

I
hopped off the bed, walked over to the cork board, and straightened a clipping
that had curled at the edges long ago.

Boy
Loses Parents in Horrific Crash. Released to Family While Recovering.

Aunt
Claudie said it was a miracle. Said they died instantly. Only in that instant,
I may as well have died too.
 
A
familiar feeling crept over me; of being caught between remembering and
forgetting. Glimpses whispered when I least expected them. The way my mom’s
eyes looked on a rainy day, my dad’s aftershave in the morning when I woke for
school. But as quickly as the memories teased me, they disappeared, replaced by
questions that tangled in and out of my brain.

My
eyes drifted toward the lanky figure in the mirror across my room. Regulation
crisp white Oxford, tails out, and navy trousers hung on my frame. I felt the
thin line of sweat trickle down my back as I unbuttoned my shirt, paring down
to the white tee beneath. My fingers traced the long scar that began in the
crook of my left elbow and rippled its way up to my shoulder, fanning out into
a curving pink mass at my chest. Just like the last moments I spent with my
parents, I couldn’t seem to remember the fire that spared me. My dad’s Toyota
flipped on the wet road, leaving my
mom pinned beneath it,
and he sprawled forty yards from the wreckage.

They
found me in a puddle directly beneath the car. I was wet. I was alive, but the
fire had already made its mark.

When
I woke up in the trauma unit at the hospital, it was Aunt Claudie’s
tear-stained face that met mine, instead of my parents. I asked if I could
still go to the birthday party. The one we were headed to.
Everyone
was
going to be there. Aunt Claudie broke down and cried against the scratchy
blankets on the bed, while I numbly fidgeted with the transparent tube that
dripped a slow liquid into my veins, and stared at the walls.
 
All I knew was I was going to miss

Shane
Whitley’s eleventh birthday party. And then it sank in.

I’d
lost my parents.

Forever.

In
the months after the accident, I contemplated my place in the world and quickly
learned how mean kids could be. They don’t understand sorrow. They certainly
don’t understand
grief
.

Not
the “oh I’ll get over it tomorrow” kind, but the variety that screams
earth-shattering.

I
reached into my pocket, pulled out the notes I had received today, and tossed
them on top of my dresser. Even if Evie had slipped the invite into my locker,
it wouldn’t change how I felt about Shane and the others. It couldn’t make them
my friends.

Not
then. Not now. Not ever.

***

Aunt
Claudie whipped up a masterpiece for dinner, and I lay on my bed afterward,
stuffed to the gills. Over and over I tumbled the two notes between my fingers,
deciding on the inevitable.

I
rolled over and unfolded the one that had Evie’s cell number scribbled across
it. My eyes caught my cell lying on my desk, where I’d tried ignoring it after
coming home this afternoon.

Now,
it urged me to get off my butt, pick it up, and text her.

Trudging
over, I swiped the phone and punched her number into the keypad, storing it to
memory before creating a new message.

“Jake
gave me ur number. Hope that’s ok.”

I
slid the keypad shut and waited.

She’s
not going to text back
, I thought to myself.
She probably didn’t even give Jake
the note. He probably took it from the garbage or wrote it himself.

Studying
the paper, I tried to find the slightest indication that would tell me someone
other than Evie wrote it, but it sure looked like her handwriting.

Whatever.
I threw the phone
across the bed and headed for the door, determined to keep Aunt Claudie company
downstairs instead of wasting time. Then my phone vibrated.

“U
have my # - call me.”

Call
her? My hands trembled but I hit
reply,
and then
call
, knowing if
I thought about it too long I would back out, pretending the text failed. I
closed my eyes and listened to the first ring, followed by the next, and the
next. I contemplated hanging up, but the line clicked, and Evie’s voice chimed
in my ear.

“Hey,”
my heart hammered in my chest. “Jake gave me your number.” Even though I talked
to her at lunch, this felt different. It was off school grounds, away from the
others. It felt secretive. Personal.

“I
know. I’m glad he got it to you.”

I
sat down on my bed and absorbed in the silken quality of her voice, stunned I
had gone through with dialing her number. I was talking to Evie Cunningham. On
my phone. At home.

“I’m
glad you called me,” she breathed into the phone.

I
looked out the window to see if the sky was falling.

“Are
you going?” she asked.

“Going?”
I stared at the door and thanked the universe I hadn’t gone downstairs after
all.

“Jake’s
party. You’re invited.”

I
let myself fall back against my pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t
know.” The idea of being at a party with
them
turned me off. Parties
were supposed to be fun, not nauseating. “I don’t think so.”

There
was silence for a moment, then the rise and fall of her breath, and I hung onto
that rhythmic cadence and waited for her to speak.

Evie
cleared her throat. “I understand if you’re uncomfortable, but I’d really like
it if you did.”

“I
don’t really know anyone.”

“You
know everyone there, Chase. It’s just the kids from school.”

“I’m
not friends with them.”

“You’re
friends with
me
.”

As
soon as she said it, I knew everything had changed. This was it, no turning
back. What she said was simple, and could have meant any number of things, but,
it was how she said it. It was the pause in her voice, the catch in her throat,
that left me dumbstruck by the sincerity of it. I managed to swallow, even
though I had absolutely no saliva in my mouth, and muttered, “I’ll be there.”

Evie
sighed, as if she had been holding her breath. “They’re not that bad, Chase,
you just have to get to know them, I guess.”

Only
she didn’t know Shane like
I
knew him. Evie was still new to Whitley.
She moved here less than a year ago. I supposed there had to be a tender side
to the creep to make her want to stay with him, but if she had been around to
see how vindictive he and his friends were; how manipulative and plotting they
could be. Or maybe she was in too deep with them and
did
know them after
all.

“Chase?
You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“You
really don’t like them, do you?”

“How
honest do you want me to be?” I was serious, though it earned a chuckle from
her end, and, for a moment, it melted away the negative thoughts of the boy she
was tied to—the very boy who hated me.

“I
guess we should start on this project of ours,” I blurted out with an intense
urge to change the subject. “I have some Sylvia Plath books lying around. I
don’t mind bringing them over to your house, or . . . we could study here if
you want.”

Her
voice sprang to life with my offer, “Um, no . . . not here. I mean . . .”

“Shane?”

She
hesitated, “No, it’s just that maybe the library would be better.”

There
was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then, “Are you free
tomorrow night instead of Friday?”

Lingering
on that thought, I pretended to check the empty calendar hanging on my wall.

“Tomorrow’s
fine. I’m free.”

“Great.”
Another pause filled in quickly after her words. “And, Chase, I’m glad you’ll
be at the party.”

I
pressed the end call button and tossed my phone to the foot of the bed,
allowing the big smile to spread across my flushed face. How this ever came to
be was beyond my reasoning, but despite the thrill, there was a feeling I
couldn’t shake—something to do with how quickly

I’d
been accepted today. Maybe I was wrong about resenting Shane and his friends
all these years. Maybe they grew up, became nicer? Still, I wasn’t going to let
my guard down, even if

Evie
was the only one who meant any of it. Even so, I could be absolutely wrong
about everything.

Chapter Eight

Evie

I stared
at the clock and willed the bell to ring. It was last period, and all I could
think about was the study date I planned with Chase tonight at the library. I
kept the secret to myself all day, which wasn’t too hard to do. Tara had
brushed me off for half of the day, and I put the usual cheery smile on my face
whenever Shane was around. It seemed to make him happy.

I
couldn’t believe I had the nerve to do what I did yesterday; lunch with Chase,
then giving Jake my number to pass along to him after school. That made me
really
nervous. I knew I could trust Jake. I
wanted
to trust Jake. But Shane
had ways of making people do things against their will. He had ways of making
people talk no matter how much they promised they wouldn’t.

My
foot twitched uncontrollably as I counted down the seconds.

“Stop
that, would you?” My lab partner, Ericka, whispered just as the bell chimed. I
muttered a quick sorry and bolted out the door.

An
unfamiliar, gleaming black Audi made itself comfortable in my driveway.
Confused, I stepped up onto the porch, carefully opened the back door, and let
myself in while looking over my shoulder at the strange car.

Immediately,
my mother’s voice rang out. Being home two days in a row wasn’t like her, but
even more puzzling was that she sounded as if she were entertaining.

 
No one ever came to our house. Ever.
   

She
didn’t hear me come in and I strained to listen to the conversation that
floated to me in pieces from the front room. Her voice echoed slightly, but
dipped in tone just when I thought I could make out half a sentence. She was
answered by a low resonance that was unmistakably male then a stream of her own
pitchy laughter followed. I hadn’t heard my mother laugh in months and whoever
seemed to be pulling it out of her now was most definitely not my father.

As
silently as I could will my feet to be, I crept around the dining room doorway
and peered past the credenza. My mother was curled up on the loveseat, her legs
tucked beneath her comfortably. Sharing the seat next to her was a handsome
stranger, who tilted his head as he laughed and showed no qualms about placing
his hand on her leg. They were so obliviously lost in conversation that they
didn’t notice I had let myself in, and was now watching them with both
confusion and curiosity.

I
leaned over a bit more to get a better look when, suddenly, I lost my balance,
and a booklet of paint samples went tumbling to the floor. A shuffle quickly
sounded, and in a blink, I looked up to find my mother’s ashen face hovering
above me.

“I
didn’t hear you come in, Evie.” My mother, visibly rattled, helped me to my
feet as she tried to keep her cheery smile fixed to her face. “Wow, is it two
forty-five already? Where does the time go?”

“Why
are you home today?” I asked, straightening up. I tried to peek past my mom’s
shoulder, but she seemed intent on standing directly in front of me. “Do you
have company?”

“Company?
Oh, no, that’s Mr. Gracen. He’s a client.”

“Client?”
my head bobbed back and forth, straining to catch a better glimpse.

Sighing
deeply, she could no longer hide the situation she found herself in, so my
mother took me by the hand and led me out into the room, reluctantly planting
me in front of her guest.

“Mr.
Gracen is the client I told you about yesterday.” She was suddenly all smiles
again. “I’m redecorating his entire house.”

“Please,
call me Marc. Mr. Gracen sounds awfully stuffy.” He extended his hand toward
mine, and I shook it, noticing the sheen on his well-rounded finger nails.

I
cast a glance at my mother. Though statuesque, she looked very stiff, and I
could see how quickly the mood must have changed since my arrival home from
school. She wore a smile, but it was evident it was fabricated, and didn’t
match the determined look in her eyes, which avoided my own. I turned my
attention to Mr. Gracen.