How it Ends (5 page)

I don’t think I even breathed until he leaned back at the end and smiled a slow, spontaneous smile that was
real,
that stopped time and erased place and graced me with happiness so pure it was too big to hide.

“Good song,” he said finally and, breaking the gaze, picked up his fork.

“Yeah,” I said and slipped my trembling hands off the table and into my lap. “I never heard it before but I like it.”

He looked at me again, studying me like he was trying to figure
something out.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing,” he said, glancing down and poking at the last hunk of cold waffle. “Maybe I’ll play it for you sometime. If you want, I mean.”

“That’d be good,” I said and wiggled my feet under the table. They bumped his legs, which were still sort of wrapped around mine and he quickly withdrew them.

“Sorry,” he said without looking at me.

“No, I didn’t mean to kick you,” I said, and I hadn’t. “My foot just fell asleep.”

We hung out awhile longer, finishing our OJ and doing the dumb word games on the place mats, then he looked at his watch, stretched, and said, “You ready?”

“Sure,” I said, because that was an understatement.

He paid and I lingered close enough so that everyone in the place would know we were together. He pushed the door open, and thanks to Wynn holding the door for me, I thought Seth was holding it for me, too, so I started through but I guess he wasn’t because he started through at the same time and it was really embarrassing because I’d already said, “Thanks,” and basically ran right into him. He got kind of snappy and said, “Well, go, then,” like I’d humiliated him on purpose, which I hadn’t.

I felt like kicking Wynn for getting me used to guys holding the door open for me.

And then Seth pissed me off by saying, “So I guess Wynn’s a real gentleman, huh?” But he said it in this mocking voice, so I said, “Yeah, he is.” And Seth snorted and said, “Well, I’m not Wynn,” and I snorted back and said, “No kidding.”

Talk about a strained ten minutes of walking.

I was starting to feel bad and even panicky for blowing it. I mean,
so what if he didn’t open the door for me, and okay, so mocking Wynn wasn’t the greatest thing to do but why did I have to get snotty back? Wasn’t this chance bigger than one quick payback?

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and stopped walking. “Look, do you want me to just go back to school and you can hang out on your own?”

He turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, ambling backward and watching me, moving farther and farther away. “Do you want to go back?” he said finally.

“Do you want me to?” I said, staying planted there by sheer force of will.

He shrugged. “I want you to do what you want to do.”

Okay, now he was pissing me off because I’d ditched school to be with him and he wouldn’t even give me one inch of reason to stay. “Well, good, then stop walking so I can beat you over the head with my shoe, all right?”

His jaw dropped and his face cleared and he laughed.

“Stop walking,” I insisted, and bent to pry off my heels. The sidewalk was chilly under my stockinged feet and I picked up the shoes by the straps and let them dangle from my finger.

“Oh, hell no,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I’m no fool.”

“Matter of opinion,” I said, lifting my chin and walking toward him, blood tingling at the laughter in his eyes. “Now stand still, you big chicken, and take your punishment.”

“Girl, if you’re gonna punish me, then you’re gonna have to catch me and hold me down to do it,” he drawled, still walking backward away from me.

“I’d like to hold you down,” I muttered, swinging my shoes like I hadn’t a care in the world. It threw him off for the one second I needed to lunge, but he recovered fast and, laughing, turned and took off at a jog down the street toward the little park.

“Pretty lame fake out,” he called back.

“It’s what I do best,” I said under my breath.

“Come on, you’ll never catch me walking,” he taunted.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll never catch you, Seth, because really, do I
look
like someone who runs?” I said with attitude.

His gaze dropped pointedly to my chest and his grin widened. “Hey, a guy can dream.”

“Perv,” I said, sauntering closer.

“You wish,” he said, ambling onto the grass.

And, oh God, I
did.
I wished for everything, for him and me together, for the right to touch and kiss him, and for him to want me even one
tenth
as much as I wanted him—

“Damn, you’re slow,” he said and, with a cocky grin, headed for the swings.

Not always,
I thought and, taking careful aim, hurled one of my shoes. It grazed his arm and he turned, astonished, while I aimed and threw the second one. If he hadn’t ducked, it would have nailed him right between the eyes.

“Oh, you are so seriously gonna pay for that,” he said, dropping his jacket and loosening his tie.

“That’s what they all say,” I said as, eyes sparkling, he started toward me.

I let out a shriek and, laughing, headed across the grass toward the slide, yelling, “This is home! I call you can’t touch me!” but maybe I garbled the words because all of a sudden his arms closed around me in a tackle, but instead of driving us forward he somehow swung me around, and when we fell, I landed on top of him with my back on his chest, his arms locked high around my ribs and our legs tangled boy-girl. I immediately started to squirm off and he tightened his arms and said, breathless, into my hair, “Stop. Relax.”

So I did, heart pounding, afraid I was too heavy, afraid he could
feel the heat in my blood, the want in my heart, afraid he’d hate the smell of my sandalwood oil, my shampoo, my skin, just afraid he would find a reason to end it.

He was breathing against my neck, warm, heavy breaths that smelled of maple syrup, and somehow I began to breathe with him, lying there on the verge of everything, eyes closed against the wide-open sky, body tensed and waiting, and little by little the arms locked around me eased open just enough to free his hands, leaving his fingers on my ribs, his thumbs nestled against the bottoms of my breasts, brushing the curves under the ugly blouse and the thin lace bra, and oh God, I didn’t know if he didn’t realize his thumbs were there or if he was doing it on purpose, didn’t know if I should say something or leave it be, because he was breathing deeper now, breaths that lifted his chest and me on it, breaths that somehow slid his arms down across my stomach and his hands to low-rise territory, where they settled on my hips, holding me without effort, sinking me into him without moving, without him rising or me falling, with just the heat from where the back of my skort pressed against the front of his khakis.

And I think he felt it, too, because he shifted beneath me just a little, but it was a reaching shift, an upshift that hollowed his stomach and tightened his thighs and suddenly we weren’t just playing anymore.

I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t heard little kid chatter coming down the sidewalk toward the park.

“Shit,” Seth said, releasing me and sitting up.

Face burning, I quickly slid off him and became very busy smoothing my shirt and hair and skort. I was so dazed that I didn’t know what to say—was there anything?—or how to act or what to even think.

“Come on,” he said, giving me a hand up. He wasn’t looking at me either, releasing me fast and turning away, bending to pick up his
jacket as I retrieved my shoes and purse.

“Where are we going?” I said as we passed the mom with three kids heading for the swing set.

“Hell if I know,” he said with a wry smile and ambled across the grass to the sidewalk.

I took a deep, shaky breath and caught up with him.

It’s the weirdest feeling, walking next to someone you just laid on and yet still being so careful not to let your hand touch his while he’s being just as careful not to touch yours, feeling so huge and aware of how awkward it is, and that awareness makes it even harder to walk normally. Your face feels hot and fake and obvious, and you can’t even decide if your expression is right.

Nothing is in harmony, nothing is in sync.

“Look, don’t worry about it,” he said as we stopped at the corner and got ready to run across to the mall. “I mean technically nothing really happened so you should still be all right with Wynn.”

And then the light changed and he started across the road.

I just stood there with the wind knocked out of me, watching him moving farther and farther away without turning to see if I was following, without waiting to see the effect of his words.

Technically, nothing really happened.

Technically?

Oh, God, my stomach.

All these people stopped at the light, watching me stand there humiliated and stricken.

He made it all the way across and turned to see where I was.

“Hey,” he called, shading his eyes. “You coming?”

My heart was pounding in a hollow place, telling me to leave, to walk fast and faster until he could no longer see me, and then to crawl into a dark hole and curl up and bawl. To pick up the tiny, trampled scrap of pride I had left and get out, and I wish I could say I did, but
all I could think was that if I made a stand now, I would have to leave and my day with him would end, and he would
let
it end and that would be it, forever.

“What happened?” he said when I finally jogged across, still carrying my heels and with my purse banging against my hip.

“Nothing,” I said and, grabbing the light post for support, put my shoes back on. “Okay. Let’s go.”

So we cut across the parking lot to the mall, where, in a show of faith that we could still have a decent day, I bought a pair of pants and a shirt on sale for like 70 percent off and put them on so I wouldn’t have to walk around in my uniform anymore.

“You got quiet,” he said while we were sitting side by side on the ledge of a giant planter in the food court, drinking Orange Juliuses. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I said, skimming my straw along the top of the drink and sucking up the foam.

He snorted. “Right. Every girl I know says exactly the same thing when she’s pissed and you ask what’s wrong. ‘Nothing.’”

“I’m not every girl,” I said, swirling the straw around.

“Why do you guys do that, anyway?” he continued. “Why don’t you just come right out and say what’s bugging you, like, ‘Look, asshole, you’re really pissing me off.’”

“All right: Look, asshole, you’re really pissing me off,” I said sharply.

“Yeah, like that,” he said, nodding as if satisfied, and gazed out over the food court.

I waited. And waited. “Well?” I said finally.

He glanced at me. “Well what?”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Well, aren’t you even gonna ask me why?”

“I
knew
it.” He heaved a sigh. “Okay, Hanna. Why are you pissed
off?”

“No, forget it now,” I said, insulted. “You don’t really want to know, anyway.”

“Oh my God,” he said weakly. “Look, I’m asking, so just tell me already. I swear I really want to know.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said.

He stared at me, mouth agape, and kind of shook himself. “Well…okay, then.”

I looked at him. “Okay’? That’s it? Are you kidding?”

“Holy
shit,”
he breathed, and started to laugh. Caught my high-eyebrow haughty-bitch look and tried to stop, but the more he tried, the harder he laughed until he was bent over and spilling the last of his Orange Julius all over the polished floor.

“You know you’re very weird,” I said, trying to sound cold, but the snicker burst out, and oh, God, it felt so good to just stuff the hurt away and go back to this.

“Yeah, well, look who’s talking.” Grinning, he slid an arm around me in a quick hug.

That was the last time he touched me, and we didn’t get personal again either. We went outside and hung out on the wall of the cement planter against the building, but he was back to flirty Seth, cute but separate, like he was holding himself at a distance even though he seemed in a decent mood. I caught him checking out other girls but I couldn’t say anything so I just started watching other guys. There were more girls willing to look back at Seth and disrespect
me
than there were guys willing to disrespect Seth, so that only made me sink even more.

I hit rock bottom when a girl with a hatchet jaw and better highlights than mine paused and looking straight into Seth’s gleaming eyes, stopped to bum a cigarette. She glanced at me—I guess she could tell
we weren’t going out or maybe she didn’t even care—and then I swear she actually eased in between us, perched a skinny hip on the cement wall, and turned her back on me to face him!

Did he say, “Hey, you’re blocking Hanna,” or anything like that? No. He just kept flirting with her like I wasn’t even there, and oh my God, I can take a lot of punishment and still keep my eye on the prize, but this was just so out of line that I don’t know what I would have done—cried? Screamed? Threw a fit and strode off in a huff?—if a big, gleaming black Harley hadn’t rumbled up to the curb with karate guy straddling the seat.

“Hanna,” he said, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his beautiful, poisonous dreads. He had on a black T-shirt and his rude ink was right out there for all to see. “What’s up?”

“Hey!” I cried, beaming and launching myself off the cement wall, totally ignoring the surprised silence next to me and, at that moment, crazy in love with karate guy. “Oh my God, where have you been?” I pranced over and stood so close he practically
had
to put his arm around my waist. “What a gorgeous bike! Is it new?” Turning my back on Seth, I gave karate guy an intense, pleading look like
Please play along. Please?

His gaze shifted past me to Seth and the girl, and then back to me. He quirked an amused eyebrow, stroked his goat, and nodded like he got it, like he wanted nothing more in the world than to play stupid baby games with high schoolers. “I bought it because I knew you’d look hotter than hell riding on the back,” he said with a lazy grin, twinkling at me and loud enough for Seth and the girl to hear. “Whoops,” he said, ducking as I blushed and slapped at him. “Did I say that in front of your old man?”