Breaking Beautiful (10 page)

“For me, too.” I lean back against his chest, soaking in the smell of saltwater and his earthy cologne.

He slips his hands under my sweatshirt and against the bare skin of my stomach. “You won’t forget me, right? You’ll e-mail me, like, every single day.” He moves my hair away and presses his lips against my neck.

“Every minute of every day. I won’t do anything all day long but e-mail you. I mean it. Nothing is more important than you.”

“I wish you had a cellphone.” He tightens his grip around my waist. “If I had thought of it sooner …” His voice trails off into the sound of the surf. “But I did get you something.” One hand moves from my stomach and he pulls something out of the bag he brought with him. I try to twist around so I can see what it is, but he holds me tight. “Just a second, okay?”

I laugh. “What are you doing?
”

“
Hold still and smile
.”

“
What
?”

“
I said smile.” His hand snakes back under my sweatshirt and he starts tickling me.

In the picture my head is thrown back, laughing. My hair is blowing over my shoulder and almost in his face. Trip took the picture by holding the camera out in front of us. Then he gave me the camera so I could take pictures to send back to him. That was more than two years ago. The guy in the picture I barely recognize—the girl either. Another lifetime.

It wasn’t always bad. Especially in the beginning. I remember long walks on the beach, going off-roading in his truck down narrow forest trails, the night Grandma died and he sat on the couch and held me while I cried. Even now, all I can think about is what I could have done differently. If I wasn’t late all the time. If I wasn’t always messing something up, or doing something to make him mad. If I had been perfect like Mom and Hannah, maybe things could have stayed good between me and Trip.

I wipe the tears away from my face hard, angry at myself for letting them escape. It’s too late. I can’t change any of that now.

I add the picture and the note to the top of the box. With tape from Mom’s packing-supplies drawer in the kitchen, I start to seal it. With it half–taped shut I pull out the picture of Trip and me at the jetty and look at it again. Touch his face, then mine. I tuck it in my top drawer before I seal up the box.

Everyone deserves at least one good memory.

Chapter
12

A knock at my door brings me back to reality. “Allie, are you in there?” It’s Blake.

What is he doing here? I scan my room, realizing how bare everything looks without the pictures of Trip. Is this worse? My getting rid of every picture of us? Does it look like I’m too ready to move on? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling.

Just in case, I pull the picture out of my drawer and set it back on the dresser. Then I dig around for one of the knit hats Mom bought me. I pull it over my hair before I answer the door.

Blake leans against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I answer back, suddenly aware of the pile of laundry in the middle of the room, my black lace bra on top. He looks down at it, then quickly up again. I move closer so I cover more of the doorway.

“I thought you might like to get out of the house.” He rubs his neck. “I’m heading down to Hoquiam—”

“I can’t.” I step forward and pull the door closed behind me. “I can’t go anywhere. I’m grounded.”

“So.” Andrew’s electronic voice comes from behind Blake. He has Mom’s note in his hand. “This says ‘late.’ We could be back before Mom and Dad get home.”

I step out of my room, eyebrows raised toward my brother. Andrew never does anything wrong. “Mom said you have a cold.”

Andrew sighs then moves his hand over his communicator. “A cough and Mom freaks out. I’m a big boy.”

My stomach flutters at the idea of leaving Pacific Cliffs, even just for a few hours. I try to squash the feeling. I can’t go anywhere with Blake. “We can’t go. Mom has the van. Dad took her car to Shelton to save on gas.”

Blake looks over Andrew’s wheelchair. “I bet Andrew’s chair would fit in the bed of my car. We could strap it in.” Blake drives a white El Camino, half truck, half car, and possibly the ugliest vehicle ever built. Somehow it fits him—a little ghetto, a little rough, still cool.

I shake my head. “It’s pretty heavy, and if it rains, it would get ruined.”

“Get a ramp,” Andrew says, “and a tarp.”

It still feels like a bad idea, but Andrew and Blake have a familiar gleam in their eyes. Maybe they need to get away as badly as I do. Maybe I should go with them, to make sure Andrew’s okay. I look from one eager face to the next. “We’re dead if Dad catches us, you know that, right?”

“Live a little. You need to get out of the house. I need to get out of the house.” Andrew’s face is full of pleading concern. I wonder if he put Blake up to this. Called him to come to my rescue.

“Okay,” I say slowly, testing the way that answer feels on my tongue. Andrew’s face splits into a grin. The flutter comes back, beating against the numbness in my chest. It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to excitement in months.

“Great. Let’s get going.” Blake rubs his hands across his neck and smiles at me. I look away, pull my hat down farther, and follow them outside.

Blake helps Andrew out of his chair and into the seat of the El Camino. Then he finds a metal ramp in Dad’s work truck and drives Andrew’s chair into the back of the El Camino himself. On the way up he yells to Andrew, “Nice ride, A.”

Andrew answers back, “Yours, too, B.”

Blake is cool like that. He’s always been comfortable around Andrew. When we were kids, Dad made Andrew a chair with big wheels so he could go out onto the beach. Unless he was sick, Blake and I never left him behind.

I retrieve a tarp and a bunch of bungee cords from the garage. Blake slides the ramp into the back of his car and works on strapping the chair in. I go back inside to put together a bag for Andrew. Then I grab my purse with the money I have left from pawning the earrings.

When I get back, Blake is inspecting his work.

“Do you think it’ll hold?” I look at the lumpy mass of chords and blue tarp that fills the back of his car.

Blake plunks at one of the bungee chords. “It’s strapped in pretty tight.”

“You know this is crazy.” I can’t stop the smile creeping across my face.

Blake shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re the crazy one.”

I roll my eyes, but the flutter in my stomach is back. This feels a lot like one of the adventures we had as kids. Not very well thought out, involving a lot of equipment, and something we’re probably going to get in trouble for.

Chapter
13

I fight waves of panic as we drive through town. I’m pretty sure what people will say if they see me with Blake; something about me getting over Trip and moving on too fast—suspicious. I don’t relax until we’re almost an hour out of town. The sun comes out of the clouds and Blake rolls down his window. I lean back and breathe in ocean air and freedom. “So, where are we going?”

He sideways glances at Andrew; more and more I think the two of them came up with this plan to get me out of the house. “How do you guys feel about roller-skating?”

“Roller-skating?” I almost gasp. With my lack of coordination, roller-skating is definitely a sport that could get me killed.

“Yeah,” Blake says. “There’s a little skating rink I like to go to in Hoquiam. It’s a lot of fun.”

“But Andrew can’t skate.” I glance at my brother, hoping for an excuse to avoid strapping wheels to my two left feet.

Blake kills my excuse. “They’ll let him take his chair on the floor. I’ve seen other people do it.”

“Cool.” Andrew nods.

“C’mon, Allie.” Blake nudges me with his arm. “You aren’t afraid, are you?” I used to say that to him to get him to do something crazy when we were kids. Back before I was the one who was afraid.

When we get to the skating rink, Blake untangles the mess of bungee chords and unloads Andrew’s wheelchair. I watch a string of little kids carrying birthday presents into the building, but no one who looks close to our age. The skating rink must not be a big place for teenagers to hang out on a Saturday afternoon. I’m glad. Less chance that anyone from school will see us here.

After Andrew is settled, Blake pulls a bag from behind the seat of his car and slings it over his shoulder. He pats it and grins. “My blades.”

The man at the counter of the rink has a shaved head, a goatee, and a bar through his eyebrow. He says, “Hey, Blake,” when we reach the front of the line. “How many?”

I wonder how often Blake comes clear to Hoquiam to skate. Obviously enough that the manager knows his name. I glance at him sideways. I wonder who he skates with.

“Hey, Nick,” Blake says, and tosses a twenty on the counter. “Three.”

“I’ll pay for me and Andrew.” I reach into my purse and pull out a twenty of my own.

The manager shakes his head as he takes both bills. Blake looks hurt, or maybe embarrassed. I wonder if my paying for
myself is some kind of affront to his manhood. I probably should have let him pay.

“Skates or blades?” The guy hands back my change and looks me up and down—sizing me up for looks, or skating ability, I’m not sure which, but it creeps me out. I step behind Blake.

Blake taps Andrew on the head. “Chair for this one, I have my own blades, and …” He looks at me. “Skates or blades, Allie?”

“What’s the difference?” I immediately feel stupid. Of course I know what Rollerblades are. The guy at the counter laughs. I glance at Blake to see if I embarrassed him.

He doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls one of his Rollerblades out of his bag. “Blades have all the wheels in a line, like this.” He rolls his finger across the wheels.

“And roller skates are old school,” the man behind the counter says. He picks up an ugly brown boot with four wheels attached. “Haven’t you ever skated before?”

“No. I ice skated once, but that was a disaster.” I duck my head and turn beet red. I wish I hadn’t come.

“Go for skates, then.” The man taps the skates. “And don’t worry, even if you’ve never skated, Blake will take good care of you.” He winks at Blake and then asks me for my shoe size.

I wonder how many other girls Blake has brought to this skating rink. On the way to the benches I ask, “So, you come here often?” I don’t mean it to, but it comes out like a bad pickup line from a campy movie.

Blake shrugs. “I did some street skating in Reno, mostly boarding, but some blading, too. In Pacific Cliffs it rains too much and the sidewalks suck, so I like to come here. It’s a good place to get out of town for a while.”

I know what he means. It feels good to look around and not have to wonder what everyone is thinking or wonder if I’m acting the right way or doing what people expect me to do.

Instead of going out to the skate floor, Andrew heads for the snack bar. He circles the room like he’s looking for something and parks himself where he can watch everyone skating. Blake sits down on the bench, takes off his shoes, and starts buckling up his Rollerblades. I sit down and stare at the skates I got from the counter. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe I could just watch with Andrew. I don’t want to slow you down.”

He touches my knee. “Hey, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. Now let me see your foot.”

Blake picks up my foot and sets it on his leg, like I was a little kid. He takes off my shoes and laces me into the skates. Then he stands up and reaches for my hands. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

I take his hand and my stomach clenches. I start looking around for someone to stare at us, or give me a look that says I shouldn’t be with Blake. But here we’re anonymous.

I relax for about two seconds until he pulls me to my feet. As soon as I stand, the skates want to head out on their own—in different directions. I fall forward and he catches me with his hands under my elbows and holds on until I can keep my feet under me.

I grip his arms and feel his newly earned muscles bulge under my fingers. “This is such a bad idea.”

“No, it’s not.” Blake looks down at me. His hands are on my arms—not the death grip I have on him but light, supporting. “Just push, glide, push, glide. We’ll start on the carpet first.”

I feel like a complete idiot, especially when a little kid zooms past me. I fall forward and catch myself against Blake’s chest—muscles again—flexing and hard under his soft T-shirt. I’m embarrassed and pull away when I catch him grinning at me.

Before I’m ready, he drags me, slipping and sliding, to the ultraslick wood floor. Andrew comes up beside me. I let go of Blake to grab the back of Andrew’s chair so he can pull me around. Blake shakes his head and then takes off by himself. He’s crazy good, crossing his feet when he goes around corners, skating backward, even jumping the barrier between the floor and the carpeted area. That earns him a dirty look from a mother at the snack bar and a “whoa-o!” from the little boys she’s serving cake to.

After my third or fourth lap, Blake comes back and pries my fingers off Andrew’s chair. He skates backward, pulling me along. “I can’t do this.” I’m sure I’m cutting off the circulation in his hands. “The lights throw off my balance.”

“Then don’t look at the lights.” Blake’s voice is gentle. “Look here.” He brushes his cheek with my hand. I look up into his eyes, a blue green that always reminds me of the ocean. He laughs. “And smile. You’re not being tortured.”

I mumble my disagreement under my breath. Andrew heads back to the snack bar while Blake keeps pulling me along the floor, giving me advice the whole way. “Stand up straight, don’t watch your feet,” and always, “push and glide.”

Left foot, right foot, stumble, glide—I’m starting to get this. Blake lets go of one hand so we’re skating side by side. “Keep your eyes up. Good job. The next round you’re going to do by yourself.” I grip his hand to show I’m not letting him
leave. “Relax. If you make it around twice without falling I’ll buy you a slushy.”