Hard to Get (18 page)

“There is
nothing
going on with Adam and me,” I barked. But as I spoke, a little bell rang somewhere in the back of my mind. I ignored it. “Don't you know me? Do you
actually think I'd sabotage the GNBP—my own plan—just for some random guy?” I paused. “The whole point of the GNBP was to get away from romance, remember?”

Becca shrugged. “Whatever. I only know what I see, that's all.” She stepped out from behind the bush. “Do you really need your calc text? Because I'm dying to pee before the bell rings.”

I shook my head. “No, go ahead.” I sank onto a boulder behind me as her footsteps faded down the walkway. The stone was hard under my rear, but I ignored it. I leaned my head on my hands and took a deep breath. Becca was really full of herself. Thinking that she could always figure me out. For a moment, the image of Adam's face close to mine flashed through my head and I shivered. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on shoving it firmly away.

The sun was already setting when we pulled up to the abandoned water tank that evening. The big round structure sat alone, directly on the ground, starkly outlined against the soft violet sky. It was surrounded by a field of long dry grass, tinted pink and orange from the fading sun. Far off to
either side, I could see the boxy, nondescript outlines of nameless warehouses. There was no one else around. Adam parked on a little patch of gravel and killed the engine. I got out of the car and slammed my door. The sound echoed like a shot in the silence. My feet scrunched on the gravel as I walked to the edge of the field. I followed the small dark shape of a killdeer as she swooped across the grass, calling shrilly.

The wind blew sharply and I shivered as Adam came up.

“Are you cold?” he asked, looking down at me.

“A little,” I admitted. “It seems colder out here.”

“Hold on.” I heard his footsteps scrunch away, then the bang of the car door, then footsteps returning. Something soft draped around my shoulders. I looked down to see a gray zip-up hoodie. I poked my arms through the sleeves and looked up at Adam. “Thanks. This is perfect.” It was warm from the car and smelled faintly of wood smoke.

He smiled at me. “It's the veteran of many campfires. Come on, let's go check out the water tank.”

Together we tramped across the brown, rustling grass, the wind tousling our hair. The air smelled fresh, as if we were miles from the city. “I thought I might get some inspiration on colors from some of this graffiti art that's out here,” Adam explained as we walked. “I've always heard the stuff is amazing.”

We neared the water tank. Now I could see it was made of a kind of rough brown stucco. On this side, the surface was blank, with no sign of drawings. We circled around to the back. “All right . . . ,” Adam breathed. Huge swathes of color spread from the round top of the tank to the bottom edge partially obscured by grass. Blue, red, orange, yellow, all laid on with spray paint so thick it looked like oil. Big, poufy swirls of white outlined with black were scattered across the colors. They may have been words, but they were so stylized I couldn't tell.

We walked around for a long time, with Adam carefully examining the colors and occasionally taking a picture with his phone. The sun was now a red half orb burning up the horizon. Finally I sat down cross-legged
on the grass a few feet way from the tank and gazed out across the field, idly pulling up blades of stiff grass with my fingers. Adam came to sit next to me. He looped his
arms around his updrawn knees. This close to the ground, I could smell the rich scent of the earth mixed with the hay aroma of
the dry grass. Neither of us said anything,
but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. I plucked at a purple meadow flower near my fingers. “Look,” I said to Adam. “What's this called?”

He looked down. “I don't know—some kind of a thistle?” Then suddenly he laid his hand on top of mine, which was resting on my knee. I stared at his hand like it was an archeological specimen. It was very warm and all I could think about was how cold my own hand was.

“Val,” he said, his voice low and husky. I didn't dare look up. “Val,” he said again, more insistently. He put his finger under my chin and gently turned my face toward his. I could hear my pulse pounding in my head and a curious roaring noise, as if I were holding a conch shell to my ear. The thought that this situation was one iota away from
violating the GNBP flitted through my mind, and then was gone.

Adam leaned over. I could feel the warmth of his body and the muscles of his shoulder pressing into mine. His eyes were huge, filling up my field of vision. He slid his warm, rough hand across my back and up to the nape of my neck. I shivered. He bent his dark head toward mine. I felt my eyes close and my lips part. For an instant, his lips hovered above mine.

Then, with a supreme force of will, I opened my eyes and pulled away. His eyes flew open also. “Adam, I can't do this,” I panted, scrambling to my feet. My heart was galloping in my chest. “I—I want
to … but I can't.”

“Val, wait.” Adam rose to his feet and reached out his hand. “I'm sorry. I was just …” He looked at me a moment, then took a deep breath. He shook his head as if clearing out cobwebs. “I don't know. I'm sorry. Let's go back.”

The sun was gone and a soft, deep purple was settling over the grasses as we tramped back. Ahead, I could see Adam's car crouching alone at the edge of the field, like a dog waiting for us to return. Adam's
arm swung next to mine. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just reach out and clasp it in mine, but I didn't. I couldn't, I reminded myself. No matter how much I wanted to.

On Monday of the next week, I arrived at Sternwell's, rounded the familiar corner, and stopped short. There in front of me spread the mural in swathes of rich orange, red, and blue. The fire-flower burst from the center, its black feathers almost floating on the wall.

“Wow,” I breathed, stepping back almost to the curb to take in the whole effect.

“Looks pretty good, doesn't it?” Adam's voice came from behind me.

I jumped back and bumped into his warm, broad chest. I swung around. “I didn't know you were already here.”

“Yeah.” He looked at me a moment, then stepped away and picked up a brush. “My last class was canceled.”

“It's so weird, I just came around the corner and realized we're, like, almost
done
.” I gestured at the wall. “I just felt like we'd be painting forever, you know?”

Adam grinned and nodded. “I know. I thought the same thing. Sarah was just looking at it before you came. She's really pleased. There's just this last bit at the bottom and the border to do. Like maybe two more days of work.”

“Really,” I said slowly.

He nodded. Then we looked at each other and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was—only two more days of working together. Then it was all over.

Adam abruptly turned away and picked up a fine, pointy brush. “This bottom piece shouldn't take too long.” He indicated a long strip of brown at the bottom.

“Yeah, it's almost done.” I knelt next to him in the grass. We painted together in silence for a long time. I was concentrating on following the tricky outline on one edge when I noticed that Adam had stopped painting. He was sitting back on his heels, rapidly tapping his paintbrush on the wall, staring blankly in front of him.

“Adam?” I nudged him. “Are you okay?”

He faced me. “Val,” he said hoarsely. “I have to ask you something.”

I stopped painting, which was a good idea since my hands had suddenly started shaking. I couldn't look at him. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the ground where a fuzzy gray caterpillar was moving through the grass blades like a mobile piece of dryer lint.

Adam inhaled. “Listen, I have to say this fast or I won't get it out.” He stared straight ahead of him. The words came out in a rush as he exhaled. “This has been, like, an amazing month working with you, and I think we have a lot of fun together, but lately, I've been feeling like maybe there's something more between us.”

I looked up and opened my mouth, but he gently laid his fingers across my lips. “Wait, I have to get through this.”

I subsided.

He went on. “The other night at the water tank was really special. I know it ended kind of weird, but I don't think we should just let this go when it seems like we really have something together. And—” He took a huge breath and the rest of the words spilled out all smushed together. “I know this is totally the wrong time, but maybe
do you think you want to go to prom with me? You know, as my, like, date?” His voice squeaked on the last word. He lapsed into silence, gripping his paintbrush so hard his knuckles were white.

I froze, my mind spinning. Just to get away from his gaze, I rose to my feet and dunked my paintbrush in our bucket of water. Every fiber of me wanted to tell Adam yes. But how could I? The end of the GNBP was still a week away. I looked at him silently.

“I'll take that as a no, then.” He got up and walked away a few steps, turning his back. I watched the stiff, hurt set of his shoulders and felt like I might throw up.

He turned back and folded his arms. “Who are you going with, then?” he asked. I could tell he was trying to control his voice.

“Um, no one,” I mumbled. I stared at my painty hands.

“But you are going.” It wasn't a question. His eyes bore into me like they were going to drill right into my soul. I nodded helplessly.

“Well, maybe,” I said, talking quickly now, as if I could cover up all the hurt with
words. “I mean, I don't know for sure, but I might go stag, even though Becca and Kelly have dates, or you know, just, um, stay home because prom's kind of lame when you really think about it—”

“Whatever.” The one word stopped my babbling like a cork in a bottle. “If you don't want to go with me, you should just say so.” His voice was calmer now, but also colder.

“No, Adam, wait,” I pleaded. Even though I knew I shouldn't, I took his hand as we stood in the sunshine. I couldn't help it. “It's not that. I
do
want to go with you. I just, um, can't. That's it. I don't know what else to say.”

He jerked his hand out of mine. “What you really mean is that you're embarrassed to go with me.” His voice rose. “Why don't you just be honest and say it?”

“No! That's not true at all.”

“Then what?”

I sighed. “I can't tell you. Okay? Stop asking me!” My voice was louder than I intended and I saw Adam's face shut down as if a door had been slammed closed.

“Fine. I won't ask. Not now—not ever.” He tossed his paintbrush into the water
bucket and, spinning around, stalked across the grass and around to the front of the coffeehouse. A moment later, I heard the slam of the Volvo door, and then the scraping screech of the tailpipe as he drove away, leaving only the faint twittering of the sparrows on the sidewalk and the distant rumble of traffic. I stood frozen in the sunlight, still clutching my wet paintbrush.

Somehow, I managed to get myself into the car and home. Thank God both Mom and Dad were still at work. I even made it up the stairs and into the shower before I started crying, which I think is a pretty good achievement.

In the steamy bathroom, I leaned against the tile wall and let the hot water pound the back of my neck. Adam's wounded eyes kept swimming up in front of me.

I cried in the shower until the hot water ran out, then wrapped my hair in a towel with every intention of drying it, putting on some pajamas, and forgetting all about Adam, prom, the mural, Sternwell's, and No-Boyfriend Plans that were supposed to fix my life, not mess it up even more. Maybe a first-class ticket to Paris would be a better option.

But then the thought of never seeing Adam again (because I'd be living in Paris) made me sob even louder. I rolled over in bed and reached for my phone. Still sniffling, I speed-dialed Becca.

“Dude, Logan is here,” she stage-whispered as soon as she picked up the phone. “Not a good time.”

I couldn't help myself. “It's all a big meeesss!” I blubbered, snotting all over the receiver.

“Oh my God, what is it?” she asked, sounding alarmed. “Did something happen with Dave, or—”

I rolled back over and mashed my face into the pillow. “It's not Dave,” I choked out. “Hold on.” I heaved myself off the bed, noting the huge wet place on the pillow, and stumbled into the bathroom, where I grabbed the Kleenex box, and then retreated to my bed again. I pulled back the comforter and, holding my Kleenex, climbed under the covers with the phone. I pulled the comforter up over my head and tucked the phone between my ear and the pillow.

“Val? Val?” Becca was saying.

“I'm here,” I snuffled.

“What's wrong?”

“Is Logan still there?”

“No, I told him it was my mom on the phone saying she was coming home early. He got out of here really fast. So what's the matter?”