Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) (5 page)

I was so obsessed with fantasizing about Harris Stephens that the afternoon went by in a hazy blur. This is unfortunate considering how much I’d been looking forward to art class right after lunch. As I walk home from school, all I can remember from art is that a couple of kids — Poppie and Zach I think their names were — seemed fairly nice, like potential friend material. But I was so smitten by Harris that I can’t even remember what Poppie and Zach looked like.

On my second day of school, I’m surprised Buck is still hanging around me, still acting like we’re friends … or is it family? As a result I end up sitting at his friends’ table again. And this time Harris Stephens actually looks my way.

“Are you new?” he asks.

Emery laughs. “Don’t you remember her from yesterday?”

He shrugs, eying me carefully. “Not really.” “

That’s Haley McLean.”

I’m surprised she remembers my name, but then that’s kind of like her job I suppose. “That’s okay,” I tell Harris. “I’m not really very memorable.”

He tilts his head to one side. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Now I laugh.

“Harris is terrible at remembering faces,” Emery tells me in a confidential tone. “I think he has some kind of disorder.”

“I do not,” he shoots back. “It’s just that I’m not obsessed with knowing everyone and their great-aunt Betty in this entire school.” He jerks his thumb at Emery. “Because I, unlike some people, am not
running
for anything.”

“Oh, Harris.” She makes a pout.

“So where are you from, Haley?” Harris asks. I think he’s only giving me attention to irritate Emery, but I don’t mind and I tell him Oregon.

“I’ve been up there before,” he says with enthusiasm. “What a great place. I wouldn’t mind living there.”

Now I start to go on about how great it is, talking like I’m head of the Oregon tourist department (is there such a thing?), but Harris still seems really interested. He even talks about the colleges up there, mentioning how they’ve had some pretty hot football teams.

I’m so nervous that it’s hard to eat my lunch, but I pretend to … and I pretend I’m not nervous either.

“So what are you into, Haley?”

I just stare at him, thinking,
I’d like to be into you,
but there’s no way I would say something so lame. “Oh, art and music.”

“Music?” He looks interested. “What kind?”

“I play guitar, write songs, mostly for myself.”

“I’ll bet you hope to become the next Taylor Swift,” Saundra Ketchum spouts, and everyone laughs like this is a great joke. Saundra is Emery’s best friend, the real one, but she strikes me as an insecure snob, and of all the kids at this table, I probably like her the least. But hearing her take a jab at me is a good reminder that despite Buck’s best efforts, I do not belong here.

“I actually like Taylor Swift,” I tell Saundra.

This just makes her laugh harder.

“You know, I like Taylor Swift too.”

Now everyone looks at Harris like he’s just sprouted a second head.

“I do,” he argues. “She’s talented.”

“You know, I kind of like her too,” Emery admits.

Saundra lets out a groan. “Give me a break.”

“You can laugh at Taylor Swift if you want to,” I say. “She probably laughs all the way to the bank.”

Several of them are arguing now — is Taylor Swift really talented or is she a geek? But Harris turns back to me. “What kind of music do you write and play?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure it’s a real genre, but I suppose it’s a mix of folk and R & B and sometimes a little jazz.” I smile. “I’m kind of eclectic.”

He nods. “Sounds interesting.”

“Are you into music?”

He glances around the table, like he doesn’t want to say anything.

“Or maybe jocks don’t get into things like that,” I tease. “It might mess with your game.”

“Actually, I was just learning guitar, but my playing has kind of plateaued. I should probably take lessons.”

“Oh … ?” Right, he would be into guitar. Now I’ll probably fall completely in love.

“Hey, it sounds like you’re pretty good. Do you ever give lessons?”

This could be my chance and I don’t want to blow it. “Lessons?” I act like I’m pondering this. “I suppose I could give lessons. I mean, I’ve been playing guitar since I was twelve and I’ve had lessons.” I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I would consider it.”

“What?” Emery tunes back in to our conversation. “What are you two hatching here?”

So Harris explains that he’s wanted to take guitar lessons and that I’m willing to teach him.

“Really?” Emery looks dubiously at me. “
You
teach guitar lessons?”

“Not usually, but I’m open to it.”

She turns back to Harris. “Between football practice and games, when do you think you’ll have time to take guitar lessons? Or practice, for that matter?”

He frowns at her. “You’re sounding more and more like my mom, Emery. Seriously, that could get old.”

Emery’s eyes get clouded now and I can tell she’s hurt. I actually feel a little bit sorry for her. “Well, excuse me,” she says in a terse tone. She picks up her purse, nudges Saundra, and the two of them walk off.

“Here we go.” Harris rolls his eyes. “Time for drama club.”

“Good thing Emery didn’t hear you say that,” Buck teases.

“Sorry, but I get tired of being treated like Emery’s little boy,” Harris says to the others at the table.

“What about when she tucks you in and kisses you good night?” Cal Jorgenson laughs. From what I can tell Cal and Harris are pretty good friends.

Harris winks at him. “There’s a time and a place for mothering.”

So more jokes are made about guys and girls and I am feeling extremely uncomfortable. Fortunately the lunch hour is about over, so I stand to leave too.

“What about those guitar lessons?”

I turn to Harris. “You’re still interested?”

He nods. “Yeah, there’s more to life than playing football.”

This provokes more teasing and bawdy jokes from the jock dudes, who act like the sun rises and sets over the goalposts. During their friendly banter, I write my cell phone number on a corner of notebook paper and slip it to Harris. “If you’re serious about lessons, give me a call.”

Our eyes lock and he nods again.

I feel slightly faint as I stand back up, but I simply smile and tell him, “Later.” Then with trembling knees, I walk away, managing to get all the way out the cafeteria door without collapsing. I cannot believe what just happened. Or maybe nothing happened. By the time I’m nearly to the art room, I’m starting to giggle.

I gave Harris Stephens my phone number — how crazy is that?

“What’s so funny?” a girl with magenta hair asks me as I enter the room.

“Huh?” I look at her, trying to remember who she is.

“Why are you laughing?” she repeats.

“Laughing?”

“Oh, never mind.” She gives me an exasperated look.

“You’re Poppie, right?”

Now she smiles. “Yep. That’s me.”

“I didn’t realize I was laughing. I guess I was amused.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, fine, the reason I’m laughing is because I just gave Harris Stephens my phone number.”

She looks shocked. “You gave Harris Stephens your number?”

My hand goes over my mouth. I can’t believe I just told her that. What is wrong with me?

“Oh, it’s okay; it’s not like I’ll tell anyone,” she says as we sit at the same worktable. “But why on earth did you give that boy your phone number?”

“He wants to take guitar lessons.”

She looks even more surprised now.

“Never mind,” I tell her. “I’m sure he’ll never call. His girlfriend says he’s too busy to play guitar anyway.”

“So you teach guitar lessons?”

“I haven’t, but I suppose I could.”

Now a tall, thin guy comes over and sits at our table too. He’s got shoulder-length wavy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Hey,” he says as he opens his portfolio. “What’s up?”

“Haley is giving Harris Stephens guitar lessons,” Poppie blurts out.

“You said you wouldn’t say any — ”

“Sorry.” She holds up her hands. “But don’t get your knickers in a wad. Zach won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re giving Harris Stephens guitar lessons?” Zach peers at me like I’m from another planet.

“No,” I say loudly. “I never even said that.” I turn to Poppie. “I told you he asked me about lessons and I gave him my phone number. That is all.”

“Oh, you gave him your phone number?” Zach says this like it’s something sleazy.

I glare at him. “Is there a law against giving out phone numbers at this school?”

“No, no,” he says smoothly. “Just as long as you know who you’re giving them to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I whisper since Ms. Flores is going to the head of the class.

“Nothing … but if you’re handing out your phone number to every Tom, Jerk, and Harry, how about giving it to me, too?”

I turn away from him now, pretending to focus on Ms. Flores as she talks about an upcoming art fair, asking for volunteers. Both Poppie and Zach raise their hands, but I keep mine on the table.

“There will be extra credit given,” she adds, “and for those preparing their portfolios for college, I should point out that this will look good in your bios.”

I hesitantly lift my hand, along with several reluctant others. I’m not even sure why I feel this is such an imposition. Last year I would’ve jumped at an opportunity like this. But suddenly I feel torn and distracted — I’m thinking about Harris and his friends and wondering if he’s really going to call me about guitar lessons and whether or not I could possibly fit into that crowd and if I could fit, would I really want to? If it meant belonging to Harris, I know I would.

As I get back into a sketch I started yesterday, something I plan to paint with watercolors, I realize that I’m changing and I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do about it.

“So are you pretty good on guitar?” Zach asks me.

“Huh?” I look up, trying to process this question. Is he teasing me again, or is he serious?

“If you’re offering to give lessons, I assume you must be good.” He’s studying me closely through those wire rims.

I shrug. “I’m okay.”

“I play guitar too.”

I give him an even look. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Now he seems surprised. “I don’t know, why?”

“Maybe it’s this John Lennon image you’re sporting,” I say glibly.

Poppie lets out a laugh so loud it sounds like a snort. “Good one, Haley.”

“I happen to admire John Lennon,” Zach says. “As a musician anyway.”

“So do I, but I don’t go around trying to imitate him.”

Poppie giggles.

“And neither do I.” Zach adjusts his glasses. “Contacts irritate my eyes and I was getting sick of those dark plastic frames. I figured I’d try something new.”

I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings and that makes me sad. “Actually, I think it’s a good look, Zach. Very cool.”

“Really?” He sounds hopeful.

“Uh-huh. I was just getting back at you for tweaking me about Harris.”

He leans toward me. “You’re not really into Harris Stephens, are you?”

“No, of course not.” I shake my head. “But what difference would it make if I was?”

He gets a grim look. “If you were, I would warn you.”

“Warn me?”

He nods as he licks the tip of his pencil.

“Zach would warn you to stay away from Harris because Zach is crushing on you. He wants to keep you to himself, Haley.” Poppie says this loud enough for a few others to hear, and now half the class erupts into giggles and my cheeks grow warm.

“Poor Poppie,” Zach says in a pseudo soothing tone, “feeling a bit jealous, are we?”

“Get over yourself!” Poppie gets up and goes across the room, presumably to get paintbrushes but I think she’s just embarrassed.

“What was that all about?” I ask quietly.

“Poppie and I used to be a couple,” he explains while he continues drawing. “The breakup was perfectly congenial, but I sometimes think she’s still into me.”

“And you’re not into her?”

“Not so much.” He looks up and smiles, and I realize he actually has an attractive smile. And, really, he’s much better looking than John Lennon. I suppose if someone like Harris Stephens wasn’t out there walking the earth, a guy like Zach might be interesting to me. Except that I have this sneaking suspicion he’s a Christian.

Not that he acts like one exactly. But I noticed he had some images of crosses as well as a Jesus fish sketched in his notebook — and I’m just not going there. No way. Besides, I just can’t seem to shake Harris out of my head.

...[CHAPTER 5].................