Chaste (24 page)

“I’m flying to Texas with your mother tomorrow for a Bible conference at Dallas Theological Seminary,” he rambles. I drop my eyes to my red painted nails, hating the fact that he just flat out ignored what I said. “We’ll be gone the rest of the week. And yes, I know the timing is bad, but I made this commitment months ago.”

“Quinn isn’t going to hell,” I say louder.

My father sighs. “I’m paying John to keep you out of trouble.”

“But I’m seventeen!” I blurt, which is way too old for a babysitter, and John? I can’t believe he’d agree to keep tabs on me.

“John’s been told to do three things. First, curtail your time with Quinn. Second, steer you clear of Mike. Third, keep you out of trouble. Now I need you to swear to me that you won’t see either of those two boys out of school.”

I frown and shake my head.

“If you refuse to give your word, I’ll have you transferred to Foxcroft the day I come home.”

Galling, arrogant man!

I make the promise through gritted teeth. Then I go to my room and call John.

“Kat,” he says.

“You’re such a traitor!”

“It’s for the best.”

“Since when is treating me like a toddler for the best?” I ask.

“Before your father called, Mike showed up at my house,” he explains. “Seriously Kat, why the hell didn’t you tell me you and Quinn are together?”

“Maybe because you hate the idea.”

“I. Do. Not.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said! Compared to Mike he’s a big step up, but your father still isn’t happy. And now we have a major problem—namely your ex, who spent an hour and a half trying to manipulate me before punching a hole in my wall.”

“Let me guess, you disagreed with him,” I say, relieved I’m not the only one who’s seen his ugly side.

Silence.

“John?”

“I think Mike’s dangerous.”

“He prefers misunderstood.”

“I’m serious. We need a plan to keep you and Quinn out of trouble. Mike has friends, money, influence … a mean right hook. Of that I’m sure, since I can see the bathroom mirror through the hole in my wall.”

“Your parents must be furious.”

He clears his throat. “They’re making me pay for the damage.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Step one: stay away from Quinn,” John orders.

I put a hand over the receiver. The thought of giving Quinn up puts a lump in my throat.
Cry Kat. Just let it out!
I haven’t shed tears since before Roland died. Predictably, I can’t cry now either. I dry-heave instead, choking on emotions that won’t come out.

“Why?” I ask, when I’m able to speak again.

“To help Mike cool off.”

“But—”

“Think about Quinn. With Mike this jealous, there’s no telling who he’ll hurt.”

“Fine,” I say, admitting defeat. “But Mike had better cool down fast.”

“Step two: I keep Mike away from you. Only thing is, Mike has Tasha to run interference, and I have … uh, no one really.”

And that’s when it hits me, the perfect partner-in-crime for John.

“You have a pen?” I ask. “Cause I know someone who can help.”

37

Quinn

Three days later I’m eating a slice of pepperoni pizza while trying not to glance at Kat across the cafeteria. As I wipe my grease stained fingers with a napkin, I worry how I’ll handle yet another hour of physics where our hands don’t touch and our eyes don’t meet. Maybe if I can forget our make-out session, I won’t feel this constant urge to kiss her.

John has asked me and Kat to keep our distance for the rest of the week, and while I understand it’s a precautionary measure to protect her from Mike, I still don’t like it. So what if Mike is a threat? Does Kat have to change her life based on his random moods, make decisions to avoid his unpredictable reactions, behave like a girl in perpetual fear? I really think that by tiptoeing around him, she gives him more power.

When I mentioned that to Kat in physics yesterday, she told me I was wrong.

“Trust me,” she said. “You don’t want to rile up Mike.”

The sound of Tasha tapping the table brings me back to the present. She slides in next to me, opens up her lunch bag, takes out a spoon and starts peeling an orange.

“So you and Kat—”

“Are nothing more than physics partners,” I finish for her.

I hate the taste of the lie, despite my promise to keep Tasha in the dark. My eyes drift to Kat, who sits at the corner of her table surrounded by Molly, John and Preston. The friends I’m not supposed to eat with until this thing with Mike blows over.

“Wanna talk about it?” Tasha asks.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I crumple up a napkin in my fist. When your friends act like enemies and your enemies act like friends, it messes with your head. And when Tasha of the long limbs and soft hair squeezes your bicep and presses her leg up against yours, it’s impossible to keep your body from reacting. Heat spreads down my arm and up my leg at the same time
.

“Maybe you and I could hang out later,” she says in a breathy voice, sliding her hand down my arm in a slow and sensual caress.

“Could you not, uh … touch me,” I say, turning sideways to give her a warning look.

She does something totally rude then. Flips her hair and laughs in my face. Except it looks more like flirting to Kat. I know because when I glance up, her pizza has stopped midway to her mouth. She blinks, drops the food and rises to her feet. Clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white, she stomps toward our table.

John and Molly get up a second after she does, guards bent on taking back their prisoner. But they aren’t fast enough. Mike appears as if from nowhere, grabs Kat’s arm and walks her straight through the giant double doors.

38

Katarina

This is not how I pictured my next confrontation with Mike, stuck inside an abandoned classroom while two of his basketball buddies guard the door from the outside. The teacher’s desk is clean, if you don’t count the one-inch layer of dust on the surface. The student’s chairs are empty, except for the one Mike has planted his butt in. He cracks his knuckles, pops his neck and then puts his feet on the desk in front of him.

I pace the floor to keep from lashing out. Haven’t I given Mike enough?

“Relax,” he says. “I just want to talk.”

“There’s nothing left to say,” I snap.

“Would you stop walking and sit for God’s sake?” His voice is so calm the request sounds reasonable.

I plop myself down in the teacher’s chair.

“You’re here so I can set things straight,” he starts. “First, I did not punch a hole in John’s wall.”

“Oh really, then who did?”

“John,” he says with a straight face. “Right after he said he dumped Debbie for you.”

“What?”

Mike must think I’m an idiot. If John found me attractive, wouldn’t I know? What could he possibly gain from punching a hole in his own wall?

“He’s too scared to say how he feels about you because it might strain your friendship,” he says. “John is smart and knows you won’t take him seriously. So he came up with a plan where he could protect you in the hopes it’d change the way you see him.”

A chill runs down my spine. Why do his words make a strange kind of sense?

“John wouldn’t punch a hole in his own wall. That’s absurd.”

“Except I saw him do it.”

I shake my head. “Why would I trust you over John? You lied to Tasha, started false rumors about me and dropped off that twisted note at my house.”

He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m not saying I don’t want you back, Alley Kat. Maybe I shouldn’t have written that note, but I didn’t start the rumors saying we were back together. In fact I’d never, ever call your father and ask permission to protect you from every guy in existence.”

Ah, the babysitting thing. “How did you hear about that?”

“I was standing in John’s kitchen during the phone call.”

“But John said you’d already left.”

The muted brown desks with their metal legs and round feet blend into a blur. I feel disoriented, unfocused, confused. John’s arrangement with my father isn’t common knowledge. So how do I know who’s lying?

My eyes dart from Mike to the goons at the door. “Aren’t these measures a little extreme?”

“When you won’t answer your phone, open your door or call off your posse what else can I do?” He surprises me when he walks over to my chair and lifts up his shirt, revealing bruises on his back and stomach.

I inhale sharply. “Who?”

“My father’s been drinking again.”

I stand and gently touch the damage with my fingers: round purple splotches, light pink scratches, a deep blue mark shaped like four knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Despite his meanness, it hurts to see he’s been abused.

“That’s my girl,” he says, letting his shirt drop back over his stomach before sliding his arm around my waist. “You know me better than anyone.”

When he kisses my hair, I jerk back. “Look, I can still be your friend, but nothing more. We can’t sleep together.”

“Sure, Kat,” he agrees too fast. “Whatever you want I’ll do, okay? Just … I need you to make a peace offering, do something for me.”

I let out a breath, relieved to be back on his good side, despite my growing sense of unease. “A favor?”

“I have a proposition for the girl who knows me best.” He strokes my cheek with his fingers. The gesture is affectionate, soft and warm. Mike can be sweet when he wants.
“Just nod and smile while you hear me out. Don’t answer until you consider it.”

Does he think I’m a heartless bitch, incapable of any compassion? I clamp my mouth shut and open my ears, determined to listen and prove the boy wrong.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only one I can trust. John’s being weird. Tasha’s parents don’t like me and you live so close.”

Spit it out, Mike. Just name what you want.
I smile and nod to hide my impatience.

“I need a place to stay for the weekend.” His words hit me like a lightning bolt.
No!
No! No!
My father would send me to school in Siberia. Never mind that it’s reckless and stupid. It’d ruin the trust I’ve built up with Quinn
.
Not that my ex would mind. That’s probably what he wants. I can see Mike’s perfect scenario now.

Girl lets in boy.

Boy cries to girl.

Girl cuddles boy.

Boy kisses girl.

Girl and boy go at it like bunnies.

I shake my head no.

“Please, Kat, I need your help.” He takes off his shirt to show off his bruises again, purple splotches changing to pink, and my heart turns to mush in my chest. What if Mike’s father beats him to death, or takes out his gun and actually uses it?

Yes, I know the odds are low, but what were the chances Roland would die. I mean, how many teenagers get drunk at parties, drive home when they shouldn’t and end up dead? If I had put his safety above my own, my family would be normal. If I had cared more about Roland’s fate, he’d still be alive.

I purse my lips and look at the floor.

Mike’s fingers go to my chin, lifting it so our eyes lock. His irises are moist and watery. He blinks and tears spill onto his cheeks, making me feel like the devil incarnate. How could I have hurt him this bad? What makes it worse is that he’s tough. Tasha and John haven’t seen him cry. I wipe away his tears with the back of my hand.

“I promise not to cross any lines,” he says. “We’re still friends. I don’t want to mess with that.” Mike knows me too well. His lips touch my cheek and linger there, warm and soft for half a second. “I trust you with my life,” he whispers.

“But I haven’t said yes.”

“You will,” he says. “No one believes in your goodness like I do.”

The bell rings and he puts on his shirt, takes my hand and leads me past the goons. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. My emotions have twisted like newly washed pantyhose. When I see Quinn by the lunch room door, my stomach sinks.

The creases around his blue eyes tell me he’s worried. He looks at my hand joined with my ex’s and flinches like I’ve hit him. Ironic, since all I want are Quinn’s arms around me, his lips near my ear as they whisper crazy words about how wonderful I am. I’m not wonderful. My heart aches, but I can’t say why. It isn’t as though Mike threatened me. If anything he was gentler than normal.

Any sane boy would get the hint and head for the hills right now, but Quinn takes one look at my face and mouths, “What’s wrong?”

I swallow the mass of pebbles in my throat. How can anyone be so giving?

To hell with John’s rules, with Mike and my dad.

I pull free of my ex and run straight into Quinn’s arms.

39

Quinn

The moment I fold Kat into my arms, I glance up at a furious Mike. He’s grinding his teeth, his nostrils are flaring, and a vein in his neck jumps.

“What did you do to her,” I ask, unnerved by the way Kat shakes against me.

“Quinn, stop,” she says, putting a cool hand over my mouth. “He didn’t do anything, trust me.”

I don’t believe her. Strong, confident women like Kat don’t change into scared little girls over nothing.

“Get out of here, Mike!” I yell.

“Whatever,” he says with a flippant tone. “I’m not the one who’s messed with her head. You’ve had her wrapped around your finger for weeks. Did you see the way she ran to you? Like a desperate, needy, guilt-ridden child? With me she’s not like that. I’m good for her. I don’t play with her mind.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I spit out.

For a moment the jerk looks stunned. Then he heads to class.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Kat asks, staring into my eyes like she thinks I’ve gone nuts.

“There’s no point in arguing with someone like that,” I say.

When a person like Mike has his mind made up, discussion is pointless. Truth is, I’ve already dealt with too many Mikes—people who fight to have the last word, who need to be right despite being wrong, who blame their problems on everyone else. Yep, I’ve had my fill, which is why I turn to Kat and whisper something I’ve never said before.