Playing Nice (19 page)

"I can't believe your parents got you a car."

"I think it smells like death." I stare down at my feet and move my weight from one foot to the other, not wanting to make eye contact. I always knew we'd grow apart at some point, like in college when I got a boyfriend or Sarah joined a different sorority. But everything that's happened has made me wonder if I imagined a bond for years because it was easier than walking different paths. Was it easier to be friends than be nothing at all?

"So where's Lil?" Sarah says, emphasizing the
L
with a dash of condescension. Bitchy meets insecure.

"Why do you care?" I bring my eyes off the floor and stare at her hard, so she can see what her actions have caused. Color rises on Sarah's cheeks. She fidgets with the slippers in her hands, pulling off a piece of lint and dropping it on the ground.

"I don't. It's just," she pauses and looks at me. "I miss you."

"You miss me?" I bark a little too loudly. "You liked that page, Sarah! Hell, you could have been the person who started it!"

"I didn't, I swear!"

"But you didn't stop it either." I step closer, a fire so low in my belly I might explode.

"I couldn't believe you were dumping me for
her
."

"You don't get it. No one needed to be dumped. You could've just been nice for once.
Lil
understands me."

"The daughter of a slutty, baby-killing teen mom turned stripper understands you? A person who wears clothes like she's dying and who would scare the devil himself? How can someone like that understand you?" Sarah points to my perfectly ironed gold dress. "Marty, I'm trying to save you before you fall down a hole you can't get out of."

My hands shake as I stand in front of my ex-best friend, words rising in my throat. Words I wanted to say the first time we played Barbies and she told me I had to be Ken. Words I should have said long ago, but couldn't formulate.

"Fuck off." I turn and stomp back to the kitchen, leaving Sarah, jaw slack, holding a pair of green house slippers. My mom's silver punch bowl that I polished for two hours yesterday sits on the corner of the granite island. I dig the ladle in and pour myself a heaping cup of egg nog. And then another. Leaning against the island, I gulp down the drink, trying to clear my head. The lights in my house seem too bright and hurt my eyes. Voices are bouncing around the open space, clogging my ears. At this moment, I hate my house.

"I told Marty I didn't want her spending any more time with that girl," my mom whispers to Mrs. Wellington as she stands by the sink, rinsing a glass. "You and I both know she's trash."

My hands clench so hard the nails dig into my skin, leaving little crescent moon imprints.

"Maggie knows better than to come into town. She's not wanted. And that includes her daughter, Lily." Mrs. Wellington takes the glass from my mom and wipes it with a Santa Claus kitchen towel.

I swig the rest of my drink and slam the cup down on the counter.

"Her name is LIL!" I scream. Both women turn around to look at me.

"Martina Hart, what has gotten into you?" My mom half whispers, half barks.

"It's not about what's gotten into me, it's about what hasn't gotten into you!"

"Don't take that tone with me?"

"Or what?" I cross my arms over my chest.

My mom stomps over to me, her intense brown eyes becoming darker, and grabs my arm tight. "I will not have my daughter cause a scene at our family's Christmas party. Now, you get yourself together."

I yank my arm away. "Jingle Bells" plays over the surround sound speakers and pumps through the house.

"Fine." I grab my keys off the counter. "This party sucks anyway." I slam the door and run to my car. Pressing the gas pedal as far as it will go, I race down the driveway. It's cold and in my rage I forgot my coat, so I turn up the heat to full blast alternating which hand holds the steering wheel and which one sits in front of the vent. At the end of my street I shake my shoulders out and scream a loud, freeing break-from-my-chest scream. When I'm done, I turn toward the only place I can think of to go that my parents won't suspect.

***

Vinyl Tap is the only establishment lit up on Main Street. Everything else is shut down for the week, Merry Christmas signs and Nativity scenes filling the windows. Going to Lil's would be too obvious. Plus, the last thing Maggie and Lil need is my mom banging down the trailer door and making a comment about their messy home.

I open the door, incense hitting my nose so strongly that I cough. It's warm inside, though. Just walking to the door chilled my legs so much I thought they might break off. I look down at my feet and realize I still have my red house slippers on.
Great
.

As I move through the store, I scan row after row of records, not sure what I'm looking for. I pull out the Beatles'
Abbey Road
. Lil's voice rings in my ears.
The Beatles, Pollyanna? Would you like some tampons with that?
I giggle to myself and look for a record Lil would approve. My fingers skim the cardboard covers. I can almost feel the lyrics radiating up my arm and into my heart.

Picking through a stack of bands that all begin with the letter N, I find one. The cover shows a baby underwater, swimming toward a dollar bill. It's clearly a boy. Nirvana. Lil would like this. I flip the record over to read the songs on the back.

That's when I hear it. Smooth, sexy guitar music. My heart jumps into my throat and I look in the direction of the noise. A door is propped open with an empty crate. Putting the record back in its proper alphabetical place, I follow the sound through the door and into the back storage room of Vinyl Tap.

The space has been converted into a music studio. Boxes with records and posters are piled in the corners to make room for chairs and instruments. A few people stand around. Some I recognize from school. Seniors, to be exact. A guy and a girl are whispering against the wall, him with his arm around her too-skinny shoulder. Stacked on top of his watch are brightly-colored string bracelets, the kind you make at camp when you're bored. Arm accessories.

Now, I know where I've seen them. They're friends with Matt. I think his name is Cash or Elvis or Kurt Cobain. He kisses the blonde girl's cheek and then turns his attention to the center of the room. My eyes follow his.

Matt Three-Last-Names looks casual and unaffected, as he sits in a chair playing. His body curves around the guitar like it's an appendage. The sleeves on his black button down are rolled up, arm accessories in their proper places; tight dark jeans cover his legs. My knees get weak just looking at him.

As Matt strums chords on his guitar, I melt against the wall. He closes his eyes and taps his foot, a visible energy rolling through him, like each note surges with an emotion that he can't control. His hips move with the beat and I wonder what he imagines when he plays. Does he see the notes in his head or does a scene of something wonderful accompany the music? Or maybe he's imagining sex, because the way he moves his pelvis looks like humping. He's air humping music and I don't know if I've ever seen anything hotter in my life.

I watch his fingers move, plucking each note and chord. I want to be the guitar; I want his hands to feel me all over and know the curve of my hips and the feel of my hair in his hands. No one says a word while he plays, because it's spiritual and lively and so sexy I can't keep my thoughts under control and I know everyone in the room is thinking about sex. It's an orgy of music.

When it's over, I breathe for maybe the first time since I saw him. Matt looks up from his guitar and smiles at the people watching.

"Fucking brilliant!" Elvis with the colored bracelets yells over the clapping. "I want to bone you!" His girlfriend elbows him and he flinches, laughing. Matt smiles at him and then, like he can sense I'm standing in the room, his green eyes find mine and hold my gaze. I smile while little butterflies attempt to escape my stomach into the sex-filled air.

He puts his instrument down and thanks a few people for coming. I stand against the back wall, trying to hold my body upright. But all Matt does is turn me upside down.

"My Hart, this is quite a surprise," he says as he makes his way over to me.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood."

"I bet you were." He takes a loose strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear, then looks me up and down. Double gulp. "Nice outfit."

I glance at my feet and wiggle my toes. "Trying to get in the Christmas spirit." I laugh as everything in me dies a thousand mortified deaths.

"I like the look." Matt smiles and I forget my name. All I know is he is the hottest thing I've ever seen.

"Dude, we're going to Carissa's for some refreshments." Elvis lumbers over, his arm still wrapped tightly around his girlfriend, almost like she's holding him up. He looks at me and then my shoes. "What's up with the slippers? Gift from your girlfriend?"

I fumble. Of course, he would know about the Facebook page. He might be a stoner but he's not blind. Heat rises in my cheeks and I struggle with what to say.

"Girlfriend, huh?" Matt says and smiles his crooked grin at me. "I didn't think you could get hotter, but apparently I'm wrong."

"I don't have a girlfriend," I blurt out, and cup both my burning cheeks with my hands. Did he just say I was hot?

Matt winks and then turns to Elvis and Carissa. "I'll pass, but thanks for the invite."

"You could do it with a girl," Elvis says to his girlfriend under his arm. "I'd totally be into that." Carissa shakes her head and drags Elvis-Cash-Kurt-Cobain out of the storage room.

Matt turns to me. "So what did you think of my playing?"

I stammer. "Magical." It's the only word, other than SEX, that comes to mind. A magical tour of all things Matt. I swear I could feel his soul in every note.

"If you're not taking those awesome slippers anywhere else tonight, want to grab a coffee?" he asks.

I nod. I'm speechless, an overwhelming happy feeling flooding my veins. Thank God I left my parents' lame party.

"Let's get out of here," he smiles.

We walk out the back door of Vinyl Tap and into the alley. Cold wind shoots between the buildings, sending my shoulders into instant convulsions.

"Where's your coat?" Matt asks.

"I kind of forgot it."

He smiles and wraps his navy blue fleece around the two of us. His arm hugs my shoulder as he pulls me close into his side. He smells like autumn, fresh leaves and clean air. I take a breath and drink it in. Holy hell. I might faint.

"So did you really like it or are you just being nice?" Matt asks into my ear.

My face turns up toward his, his breath warming my nose. "I really liked it," I say. I want to say so much more. That I'm done being nice just because I'm supposed to. That I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff with wind whipping my hair all over the place and I'm ready to jump into the abyss no matter what's down there. "You looked amazing. I mean, sounded amazing."

Damn it. Freudian word flub. I'm losing it.

"You look amazing, too." Matt smiles and I melt clear to the cold, snowy pavement. Every time I wear this gold dress, I'll remember tonight. Not the bad Christmas party and Sarah's mean words, but Matt and the way he played the guitar and how I wanted to know his hands inside and out and have them know me.

We walk for a few more seconds in silence, the crunch of our footsteps the only noise, before he turns to me. "Are you sure you don't have a girlfriend? Because I don't want to piss anybody off."

"No girlfriend." I make an X over my heart and smile at him.

A weird expression crosses his face, like two things in his head are battling each other and he can't decide which one wins.

"Can I be honest with you?" Matt asks. I stare into his eyes, mine getting wide at the thought of what he wants to confess. "You make me feel good, but I'm not good at being careful."

"You make me feel good, too." I lean into his side more. My mind somersaults in euphoria just saying the words.

"But maybe this is a bad idea."

"What's a bad idea?" I ask.

"Remember last year when you told me that sometimes it isn't about solving the math problem, it's about the process? That even if the answer is wrong, at least I attempted to work it out and it just went all screwy at some point."

"Sure," I say, totally thrown.

"I'm confused," he says.

"Okay." I shrug my shoulders.
Me too.
I'm lost in the land of math and I want to be lost in the land of Matt.

"I like you, Marty," he says, wiping a few strands of hair from my forehead. Shivers climb up and down my spine in crazy, sexy waves. He reaches for my wrist, his fingers thumbing the black bracelet. "You still have it."

I nod, unable to speak.

"Maybe if I..." He takes hold of my hand and presses it to his lips. My breath catches in my throat.
Oh God. Oh God!
My insides scream. "Maybe we could ..."

His face leans down toward mine and I close my eyes. This is it. This. Is. It. It's like waiting for the first firework to go off. I'm scared of the noise, but I can't wait to see the colors. And then his lips fall on mine. YYYEEEELLLLLPPPPP!!!!! A thousand times over and over and over. They're soft and sweet as they move with mine. I try to keep my hands from shaking, but when he wraps his arms around my back like he did when we danced, and his coat falls to the ground, my knees rattle together. It's like the sun that lives in my soul is exploding into a million pieces of light and I'm on fire. And it's better than any thought I've ever had, better than any movie scene I've ever watched, better than any moment of my living and breathing seventeen years on this planet.

His hands travel up my back to my neck and tangle in my hair. But the second I think he might go a step further, he pulls back, his lips inches from mine. "Shit," he whispers. Pause. I want his lips back on mine. Pause. I want to do it again. Pause. I can't wait to tell Lil. "This is trouble."