How We Fall (19 page)

Marcus and I spent nearly the entire morning picking beans and then washing the produce in the industrial sinks, which turned out to be a very solitary job for having him right beside me.Near lunch time, Aunt Shelly called it quits, and we all went inside. It was partially the heat making me so irritated, so I tried not to talk to anyone and made a beeline for the shower.

Marcus said Sylvia wanted him to come see her place, so he got dibs on the second bathroom and was done showering and gone before I got out. He was being too deliberately casual about going to Sylvia’s, which meant he was excited about it, and I hated knowing she’d put that look on his face.

If he was gone having fun, I wasn’t going to sit around, 136

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either. I texted Kelsey, she came to get me, and for the next two hours, I thanked God for the theater’s air conditioning. Kelsey laughed through the movie, mocking everything from the su-perhero’s clothing to the laws of his abilities.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “
Avengers
was so much better.”

“Never seen it.”

She smacked my arm. “Yes, you have. Say you have.”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to make you watch it. Sleepover, ASAP.”

I grinned and shrugged. “Okay.”

When we were heading home, Travis replied to my email with some interesting links on the principles of adaptations and the success rate of spinoffs. Kelsey wanted to know why I was asking him for that, so after taking a deep breath, I told her about my blog. To her credit, she seemed vaguely interested.

“Can I read it?” she asked.

My face grew warm. “Uh—if you want. You’ll probably think it’s boring.”

“I’ll show you all my horrible photography if you let me read your blog.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

My high was ruined when Marcus came home and told me he met Sylvia’s dad, and then he had the nerve to say he thought Sylvia and I would like each other.

I said nothing and waited for him to notice. We were crouched on the living room floor, helping the twins put their blocks away before bed.

“She’s nice,” he said. “And I have to do something.”

I understood. But oh, how I wanted to be angry at him for it. I sat back on my heels and stared at the carpet.

He snapped the lid on the bucket for the blocks. “We said—”

“I know what we said.” I could do this. I could let him go 137

How we Fall

and be fine with him hanging out with other girls. He was doing it for us, and me getting hurt would only make it worse for both of us.

When I went to bed, I had another email, but not from Travis. Kelsey had followed my blog.

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Dinner Friday night was mostly Aunt Shelly questioning Marcus about Sylvia, Marcus having what amounted to a staring contest with his plate, and me failing spectacularly at pretending nothing was wrong.

My introverted silence and Marcus’s plate-staring were spared the limelight when Mom mentioned she’d seen the white truck at the library.

“It was sitting outside after the library closed, just idling,”

she said.

Dad set his water down. “Was someone in the truck?”

She nodded. “It was getting dark so I couldn’t see who, but someone was in it.”

Conjectures and speculations floated nervously around the table, and I excused myself without anyone noticing and started doing the dishes. My parents would come find me if I hid in my room any more than I already had, and then it would become an “issue.”

Mom got up to help me load the dishwasher. “Shelly and I can get these. Do you and Marcus want to go shut up the henhouse and check on the calves for the night?”

Marcus looked up.

I rinsed a plate. “Oh, that’s okay. I haven’t done dishes in a while. I can help.”

Marcus shoved back his chair and the legs scraped on the floor. I expected him to bang out of the house, but he just put on his shoes and walked outside. Guilt crowded out some of 139

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my determination, but I wasn’t trying to be mean. The parents had gotten used to pairing us up for chores and errands and everything under the sun, and it had to stop. This was exactly why most people didn’t continue to live with their ex after a breakup.

Mom put soap in the dishwasher. “Are you two okay?” she asked quietly. The twins were still goofing around with their food, and Uncle Ward was chatting with Dad about expanding the garden to include a potato field next year.

“Oh, yeah, we’re fine,” I said.

“You’ve been pretty quiet lately, so something has to be wrong.” She dried her hands on a dish towel, frowning. “Is it Sylvia? I know it can be hard when a friend starts dating.

Friends take second place to girlfriends sometimes.”

“He’s not dating her.” She was partly right, though. “But it is kinda weird.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.” She hugged me. “Just remember—if she makes him happy, then you want him to be happy, right?”

“Yeah.” Except it was a whole lot more complex than that, because he’d said he loved me, and he was what made me happy, and we could not have each other.

“We’ve been so glad to see what good friends you two are.

It’ll work out, honey. Don’t worry about it.”

Everyone kept saying that.

• • •

“Hey,” I said. “You look fantastic.”

“No sarcasm before noon.” He shuffled over to the couch and collapsed. “Did Marcus go off on another hot date?”

I followed him into the living room. “No idea.” I knew ex-140

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actly where he was. He was hanging out with Sylvia, and sitting here by myself was not helping.

Chris was shorter than Marcus, but more muscular, even though he was almost three years younger. He’d probably be one of those guys girls giggled over—he sort of was already.

Chris sighed. “Why are you moping?”

“I’m not moping.”

“You’re moping because Marcus has a girlfriend and now you’re bored because he’s not your pet anymore.”

That entire sentence was wrong. “I’m not moping, and he was never my pet. And she’s not his girlfriend.”

He rolled his eyes. “Give it a week. The stars have aligned.”

I didn’t reply.

“Okay, fine, I’ll take pity on you.” Chris rolled off the couch and stood up. “I’m gonna shower then go out. Want to come?”

I raised my eyebrows. An invitation from Chris. “Um—

okay.”

“Wear something different. I have a reputation, you know.”

I couldn’t tell from his smirk if he was serious or not. I was perfectly comfortable in my tank top and jean shorts.

All the same, I didn’t want to screw up the one time Chris deemed me cool enough to hang out with his friends. I went back to my room and changed into dark jeans and a black sleeveless shirt with a drapey neck. I debated whether it was worth putting on makeup, but settled for mascara, light lip gloss, and long silver bars for earrings. Whatever I was doing with Chris, it couldn’t be necessary to go all-out. I brushed my hair up into a ponytail, then because Chris still wasn’t out of the shower, I tried on three pairs of shoes before sticking with my black flip-flops.

Chris pounded down the stairs. “Jackie! They’re here. Come on.”I’d never met his friends because they never came inside.

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Chris nodded his approval in the living room. “That’s better.

Thanks.” I gave him a weird look and we headed out, waving to Aunt Shelly as we went.

A green Neon idled in the driveway. Chris motioned to the passenger door. “You can sit up front, I guess.”

Generous of him. I opened the car door and almost did a double-take as I climbed in. Chris’s friend was hot. Really hot.

I buckled my seatbelt to hide my face while Chris said,

“Guys, this is Jackie. Jackie, Will is driving and Mara and Kyle are back here.” A girl and a guy sat in the back, and Chris was sitting closer to Mara than strictly necessary, but I didn’t waste time thinking about it, because this was Will?

The black wife-beater he wore—whose name I objected to but whose cut I did not—stretched over muscle that bulged in his shoulders and upper arms and stretched down to cord and flex in his forearm when he adjusted the rearview mirror.

He dangled a lit cigarette out his window over the driveway.

No way was he Chris’s age. “Geez, Chris.” He put the car in reverse. “You didn’t say you were bringing your girlfriend.”

“She’s my cousin, moron.”

“Well, now. That’s marvelous news. You’re his older cousin, I take it.” His grin lit up his face. Messy black hair and a fringe of dark eyelashes over pastel blue eyes. Two inches of his boxers rose above the narrow waist of his jeans.

I tried not to look at him, because my face would be a dead giveaway. Talk to the windshield, not him. “I’m seventeen.”

“Perfect. I’m eighteen.”

Leave it to Chris hang out with someone older than me.

“You’re from Harris?”

“Yep. You go to Manson? Right.” He glanced at Chris in the rearview mirror. “You should have told me years ago you had a hot cousin.”

I flushed. So he was an unapologetic flirt, too.

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Chris ignored him, talking instead to Mara and Kyle.

Will grinned. “So. Jackie. You have a boyfriend somewhere, right?”

“It’s irrelevant, but no, I don’t.” He was smoking, and I didn’t like smokers.

“It should be relevant. I’d love to make it relevant.”

I fought back a grin, in spite of myself. “Me being single will never be relevant to anyone who smokes.”

He dropped his cigarette out the window.

Will parked the car in front of a creaky old house in Harris.

Beer bottles littered the yard and the grass hadn’t been cut in weeks. The garbage can looked like someone had missed trash day. Several times.

“It’s a bachelor pad.” He grinned, but his smile was a little less natural than before. “I rent with two other guys. They do construction work, so I hardly see them. Pretty sweet deal, right?”

We got out of the car and Chris and the others followed us up to the house. “Yeah,” I said. “You rent your own place?” I wasn’t sure how to ask why he didn’t live with his family.

“Well, there’re the other two guys. But hey, it’s awesome.

Girls love it.” He unjammed the door by ramming it with his shoulder and I stepped into a mud room off the kitchen. The interior of the house was about what I expected, given the outside. A mineral-stained cast-iron sink, peeling linoleum, and shaggy rust-colored carpet in the living room. The house smelled like stale smoke, but it was clean. Surprisingly.

Chris opened the fridge and grabbed a six-pack like it was his—which it probably was. Will glanced at me while the others tramped into the living room. In spite of his confidence that girls loved the place, he seemed like he might not be convinced himself.

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Will hung back with me in the kitchen. “I can see the charm,” I said. No reason to crush the guy. “This place is a real chick magnet.”

He grinned. “Can I get you a drink?”

I hesitated. “What do you have?” Beer wasn’t my thing.

He opened the fridge. “I can offer one of Chris’s beers, a screwdriver . . . hmm. Coke and whiskey?”

Coke and whiskey on Sunday morning. Why not. “The last one sounds great.”

He pulled a frosted glass from the freezer and poured in about two fingers of whiskey. He kept the Coke from fizzing too much, and bubbles snapped to the surface and burst when he handed me the glass.

“So you’ll be a senior this year?” He leaned on the counter, his arms braced on the edge, which raised his shirt enough I could see a strip of skin between his shirt hem and the band of his boxers.

The rim of the glass was incredibly cold on my lips. I didn’t know what to do with this much attention from a guy who wasn’t Marcus. “Yeah.” I sipped the drink, avoiding looking at his arms. And that strip of skin. “You?”

“Nah. I would have graduated this year, but I quit last fall.”

Chris stuck his head into the kitchen. “Stop flirting and get out here.”

“Cocky little shit, isn’t he?” Will poured himself a drink and followed me into the living room.

Everyone was sitting on the floor. Chris sat close to Mara, a cute brunette with a pixie cut, and Kyle sprawled on his stomach by the armchair. Will waited until I picked a spot on the floor with my back against the couch and then sat next to me.

The six-pack rested on the carpet.

“Okay, Never Have I Ever. Everybody show your hand.”

Will pointed to Chris. “You start.”

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“What? I want to play Xbox,” Chris said.

“We can’t play Halo with this many people. Never have I ever. You start.”

“Umm—” Chris leaned back on his arm. “Never have I ever gotten a speeding ticket.”

“Really? I’ve had three.” Will put down a finger and so did Kyle. I’d never gotten a ticket, but I’d talked my way out of two.Games like these with people I didn’t know made my brain stall. I tried to think of something as the game progressed around the circle, and then it was my turn. “Um—never have I ever . . . ” Thinking of something I’d never done was a lot harder than it sounded.

“Went out with a guy who had his own place? Dated a guy just for his body?” Will suggested.

I gave him an almost-serious glare. “Never have I ever played

‘Never Have I Ever.’”

“Cheater. And seriously?” Kyle asked. “It’s a good drinking game, but we’re all broke. So you only get to see the mostly sober version.”

The mostly sober version sounded fine. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I got really drunk, but I was certain I didn’t want to do whatever it was around Will. He stretched out his arm—tanned skin, defined muscle—to reach his drink on the coffee table and I vaguely wondered if that muscle was as hard as it looked.

Just briefly.

His other arm brushed mine, and I had my answer. Goose bumps trickled down my skin.

The game went for half an hour, during which time I managed to blurt out something lame on four or five turns, while Will casually suggested everything from romantic to dirty things I might not have done, and all of it only reminded me of Marcus.