Just You (6 page)

“Until I’m out of high school, anyway.”
Eighteen seemed like a good age to start dating again.

“Michael’s not just any boy, Taylor.”

I sat up, folding my legs underneath me.
“Why don’t you go out with him then?”

My question seemed to fluster her.
“Because…because I knew from the moment I met him that he was meant
for you. Besides, he’s really nice. You know I’m partial to bad
boys who use me and treat me like shit.”

“You are insane.”

“And you,” she said, poking me in the
shoulder with one blue-painted nail, “are coming out with me again
tonight. Let’s get you ready.”

****

“Here.” Robin handed me a stick of gum.
“Chew on this instead of your nails. You look like a deranged
gerbil.”

“Thanks,” I said, both for insult and the
gum. As I popped it into my mouth, I looked around the house we’d
entered a few minutes earlier. Another mini-mansion like the one
from the night before, only this one was decorated more
traditionally, with antique-looking furniture and ugly rugs. A
white poodle with little pink bows on its ears lay in a dog bed
near the door, yapping whenever the doorbell rang.

“Let’s go find Devon.” Robin dragged me
across the house toward what turned out to be the dining room.
Several people sat around a long table, flipping quarters into
plastic cups of beer. We spotted Devon at the end, looking
red-faced and well on his way to bombed. Apparently the party had
been going on since this afternoon.

Robin went over to sit on Devon’s lap while
I stood nearby, wishing for invisibility super powers. Already, I
felt irritated for allowing myself to be talked into another one of
these parties. I was irritated at my dad too, for being so
permissive and trusting me enough to let me do whatever I wanted.
Not that I’d wanted this, but Robin wasn’t one to take no for an
answer.

After Devon missed another quarter toss,
which resulted in him downing his third beer in ten minutes, Robin
slid off his lap and helped herself to one of his full cups. “Be
right back,” she told everyone. She caught my eye and mouthed the
words “Don’t move” before vanishing into the mob. I stayed put,
leaning against the wall next to a china cabinet filled with dishes
that could probably fund my entire college education, and Emma’s,
twice over.

Robin stayed gone for a long time. I was
getting bored watching drunk people steadily lose coordination, so
I ventured out to find her. I soon realized the improbability of
this; the house was wall-to-wall packed. Through the noise I could
still hear that poodle, barking its curly little head off in the
foyer.

As I cleared a path into the kitchen, a
familiar face floated into my peripheral vision. Not Robin’s,
unfortunately. On my right, coming toward me but not looking at me,
was none other than Buzz Cut Boy, the short dude who’d hit on me
the night before. Lovely. Another round of blatant ogling was the
last thing I needed at the moment. Like a stealth fox, I turned and
changed direction before he noticed me.

In my haste to escape unseen, I
inadvertently rammed my elbow into the person behind me. Somewhere
above my head I heard a surprised
oof
, and I glanced up to
apologize.
Of course
, I thought, heat creeping up my face.
Out of all the hundreds of people at this party I could have
injured with my wayward elbow,
of course
it had to be
Michael.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, spinning around to
face him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He put his hand over the spot
where I’d jabbed him and grimaced. “I wasn’t using that lung
anyway.”

I managed a weak smile. We were standing
very close together, and tonight he smelled like fresh autumn air
and—curiously—cinnamon. My knees turned to pudding. “Crowded in
here,” I said.

He nodded, smiling, and I was caught off
guard again by his looks. Normally I wasn’t one of those giddy,
swooning type girls who lost their heads (and IQ points) in the
presence of a cute guy, but for some reason Michael had that effect
on me.

“Listen,” he said, glancing around the room
and then back at me, “do you want to—.”

Before I found out what he wanted me to do,
Robin suddenly popped up beside me. “There you are,” she said,
hands on hips. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

It wasn’t clear who she meant, me or
Michael, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“I got tired of waiting,” I said, assuming
she meant me.

She gave me a slow once-over and then looked
at Michael, a satisfied grin creeping over her face. “It seems my
help is not needed here anyway.”

“She hit me,” Michael told her. “You didn’t
tell me she was violent.”

“Only with boys she likes,” Robin said,
wiggling her eyebrows. I stuck my tongue out at her, trying to
cover up my mortification. “I’m going back to Devon,” she said. She
leaned over to give me a one-armed hug, whispering in my ear, “Have
fun.” Then she winked at me, nudged Michael’s shoulder with hers,
and slipped back into the crowd. We both stared after her for a
moment.

“As I was saying,” Michael said, turning to
me again, “or trying to say, before…do you want to go somewhere a
little quieter?”

I swallowed, forgetting I had still had gum
in my mouth, and almost choked. “Quieter?” I said, coughing a
little. Was he asking me to go in a bedroom with him? Alone? So he
wasn’t really nice, after all. It made sense. Someone who looked
like him had to be a conceited jerk.

“Outside. It’s a little cold, but—.”

“Oh, outside.” Relieved, I started laughing.
“Okay. Fresh air would be good.”

He looked slightly confused by my laughter,
as if it never occurred to him that I might take his invitation to
mean something else. This made me feel better. I was just being
superficial again, judging him based on appearance alone.

We made our way outside to the deck and
stood near a stainless-steel grill that could have roasted an
entire cow. Numerous chairs and benches lined the deck railings,
all occupied by smokers. And going by the pungent, skunky smell
that kept drifting over, I knew it wasn’t just cigarettes that were
being passed around.

“I’m sorry again for the elbow thing,” I
said. I’d only met the guy yesterday, and already I’d embarrassed
myself enough to last a lifetime. It amazed me that he hadn’t run
in the opposite direction when he saw me, like I’d done with Buzz
Cut Boy.

“My fault,” he said, waving away my apology.
“It was a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ kind of thing.”

Out here, with the tiny lights strung along
the deck railing and the low, full moon above us, I was able to see
him more clearly. His eyes, I noticed for the first time, were not
an ordinary blue. They were grayish blue, steely and dark, like a
summer sky right before a thunder storm.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

Dropping my gaze, I pretended to brush
something off my jacket. I’d quickly discovered that if I looked at
him for longer than a few seconds, I’d start blushing like a moron.
“Sure, um…water, I guess.”

“Be right back.”

He went inside, and I let out a shaky
breath. My forehead felt sweaty again, like it had last night, so I
leaned over the railing in an attempt to get a cool breeze on my
face. Below me, I could make out a patch of bushes and a
perfectly-landscaped garden. I leaned over further, trying to make
out what kind of flowers were growing.

“Here you go.”

I whirled around, almost knocking into
Michael once again. This time, he dodged out of the way before we
collided. He laughed and handed me an unopened bottle of water.
“Thanks,” I said, and I figured it was best to laugh with him at my
lack of grace.

He slid in next to me at the railing, his
arm resting right against mine. I sneaked a quick peek at his
profile. He had a nice one, all clean angles and straight lines.
His jaw was strong, angular, with a faint shadow of stubble. I
thought of my slightly-too-big nose and definite lack of high
cheekbones and suppressed a frown. At least my eyes were an
interesting shade of green. My hair got a pass too…long and thick
and chestnut brown. One of my best features, or so I’d been told.
Brian always said it smelled like coconut.

Brian. Just thinking his name was like a
bucket of ice-cold water over my head. What the hell was I doing
out here talking to this guy who was not only hot and nice, but
also seemed interested in me, for whatever reason? I did not want
this. I did not want him. I was done with boys. Period.

“I should…” I started to say, but then
stopped when Michael turned to look at me, putting us only inches
apart. I backed away, cleared my throat, and tried again. “I should
go. I promised my dad I’d be home by ten tonight.” I’d promised no
such thing, but it sounded better than “I have to go before I
decide to let you break my heart.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed, maybe a little
baffled, like he wasn’t used to girls not falling all over him.
Like I was an enigma. Or a freak. “Well,” he said, moving aside as
several people squeezed by us, “do you want a drive home?”

Feeling self-conscious now, I stuffed my
hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t feel tempted to bite my nails. “I
can call my stepmom.”

“I have my car. I’m the DD tonight.”

“The DD?” Was this some rich-kid code
speak?

“Designated driver.”

Now I felt like a complete bimbo. “You
probably shouldn’t leave then.”

“It’s no trouble. You live right in Weldon,
right? It’ll take ten minutes.”

So, despite several flashing warning signs,
I agreed.

Michael’s car was a black Volkswagen Golf.
This surprised me. I’d been expecting something less…average. “It
used to belong to my mother,” he said when I complimented it. “It
got passed down to me when I turned sixteen.”

I nodded, thinking it must be nice to have
almost-new cars handed down to you like used clothing. For my first
car, I was inheriting my aunt Gina’s rusty old Chevy Cavalier,
which would likely leave me stranded on the highway at least once.
“I like it,” I said as we climbed in. The inside was like brand
new. Spotless.

“It’s functional,” Michael said, shooting me
a grin as he started the engine. The cinnamon scent I’d detected
earlier was twice as strong now inside the small, closed space of
the car, and a pleasant tingly feeling cascaded down my spine. I
wiggled in my seat, trying to shake it.

“What street?” he asked as we came to the
edge of Redwood Hills.

“One-twenty-two Harris. It’s a couple of
blocks down from Crawford Park.”

“Right.” He turned onto Centennial Drive,
the main street that ran the length of the city. We zoomed past
fast-food places and medical buildings, stopping every few minutes
for a red light. He seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

“Have you always lived here?” I asked, my
voice trembling slightly.

“Since I was seven. You?”

“My dad got remarried and moved here a few
years ago.” That was kind of backwards, but I figured the real
sequence of events would raise more questions than I was ready to
answer. “I’ve lived in Oakfield my whole life.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Where did you live
before here?”

“Clayton.” He checked behind us before
switching lanes. “I barely remember it.”

Clayton was a small town about an hour’s
drive from here. Dad used to drag us there in the summers during
the town’s annual regatta. To this day, simply thinking about boats
puts me to sleep. “Why did you move?” I asked.

“My father’s job. Not much money to be made
in a small town.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a lawyer.”

I knew it had to be something like that, if
he lived in Redwood Hills. “What kind?”

We were only moments away from my street
now, and all of a sudden I didn’t want to go home anymore. After
all, what was the harm in
talking
? I could be done with
boys, period, and still talk to them. It would be downright
rude
not to.

“Criminal defense,” Michael said as we
turned onto Harris.

“No crime in Clayton.”

“Exactly. I’m glad we ended up moving here.
There’s not much of anything in Clayton.”

“Unless you count the boats.”

He sent me another smile and I couldn’t help
but respond with one of my own. “That one,” I said, pointing to the
house as we came upon it. The Volkswagen pulled into the driveway
behind my father’s Camry.

“Nice house,” Michael said.

I was surprised he thought so. Redwood Hills
was a much nicer neighborhood, the houses bigger and more modern.
Not that Dad and Lynn’s house was a dump or anything. Before they’d
even gotten engaged, they’d already started renovations on it—new
windows, new floors, and a new main floor addition with a study for
Dad, plus a huge master bedroom. Adding the fifth bedroom meant
Emma and I each got our own room on the top floor. I kept mine
sparse—I didn’t see the point in dressing up a room I only slept in
a few nights a month.

“It’s really old,” I said, as if I were
trying to talk him out of liking it. “My stepmom grew up in
it.”

He peered out at the front door, where Leo
sat behind the side window, staring straight at us and barking.
“What’s your dog’s name?”

“That’s Leo. He’s a big baby.”

“We had a collie when I was little, but when
my sisters were born we had to give him away. They’re both
allergic.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt, but made no move to
open the door. “Sisters?”

“Twins. They’re twelve.”

“My little sister is ten. I can’t imagine
two of her.”

“Sometimes I still wish we’d kept the dog
and gotten rid of my sisters, like I suggested to my parents when I
was five.”

We laughed, and I realized my anxiety had
faded a little. I’d even forgotten about his hotness for a minute,
until we stopped laughing and his face caught the glow of the
streetlight and it hit me like bag of wet sand once again. Common
sense returned, along with the fear.