Sing Me to Sleep (21 page)

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Authors: Angela Morrison

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex

BOOK: Sing Me to Sleep

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“I’ll try to borrow some wheels.”

“Call me.”

He misses his beat.

“Derek?”

“Are you sure, Beth?” He coughs. His voice takes on the twist of torture it held when he broke down on our bench back in Switzerland. “I can’t guarantee getting tangled up with me won’t be rough on your heart.”

Why, Derek? How will you hurt me? When will you tell me everything?
I cover my questions with a shaky laugh. “You do want to dump me. Crap.”

“Just think about it. That other guy—”

Doesn’t he remember those words he sang to me in Lausanne? That promise?

The way you kiss, the way you sing,
The way you tell me everything.
Will you take my heart?
I’m offering it to you. . . .

I do. I sing my reply,
It’s gotta be, it’s gotta be about you
.

chapter 18

PILLOW TALK

I spend the rest of the day trying to get my cell to ring. I call back twice. Leave a message once. Send two texts.

I even call Sarah. “Hey. They’re back. Have you heard from Blake?”

“Blake’s a jerk. Why would I want to hear from him?”

“Do you have his cell?”

She gives it to me. Memorized. Jerk, huh?

I enter it in my cell’s phone book, dial, but hang up before it rings. Calling Blake is over-the-top desperate. I write Derek an email just in case his cell phone got flushed down the toilet or something tragic like that. I finally put on the Amabile guys’ new CD, fall asleep listening to Derek sing, clutching my cell phone to my heart.

It goes off at 2:00 a.m. I startle awake—not sure what’s going on. I sit up confused. The phone is jumping around in my sheets.

Derek. Yes. Derek.

“Hey.”

“You awake?”

“Sure.”

“I fell asleep on the drive from Toronto. I don’t even remember walking into the house.”

What happened to,
Can’t sleep, can’t dream without you?

“Sorry I didn’t call back.” His voice sounds thick and scratchy. Exhausted.

At least he’s sorry. “That cold of yours is back. You should get some more rest.”

“I’m wide awake now. Don’t you want to talk?”

I’m wide awake, too. “How about we do more than talk? I’ll get in my car, and you guide me to your place. Just don’t hang up.” I get out of bed and search through the pile of clothes on my floor with my foot. Designer jeans, where are you? I get silly and start singing him the chorus of our duet.

And now—our love is so true,
I won’t take a step without you.
Thank God, you came. If you love me, please don’t ever let me go.

He doesn’t come in on his cue. “It’s almost an hour drive. You can’t do that at 2:00 a.m.”

With him as the prize, I could do anything. “Meet me halfway then.” I sing,
I’ ll walk with you until the dawn.

He sings back,
I don’t have my own car
.

“That was so not romantic. Swipe your parents’ car.” I unearth the jeans. They are clean—enough. “You’ll be back before they know it.”

“My dad works the night shift. I’d get busted.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” I hold the phone with my shoulder and squirm into my skinny jeans. “You’re almost eighteen—right? What can they do?”

“Actually,” he pauses, “I’m nineteen.”

“Really?” I sit back down on my bed. “You don’t look that old.”

“Too old for you?”

“No.” I won’t be eighteen until next spring, but that hardly matters. “I didn’t picture you starting college this fall. Are you leaving?” That’s not really a
fairy-tale vision for two
, is it?

“I’m not going.”

“What?” I assumed Derek was an AP student, straight-A guy like . . . Scott.

“University isn’t going to work out for me.”

“But it has to—” I get up and paw through my laundry, looking for something to wear on top that isn’t an ugmo sweatshirt.

“I’m looking forward to working full-time on my music. And I’ve got some other issues to work out.”

I stop hunting. “Like what?”

“Nothing important.” There he goes again. Evading me. He can even do it with jet lag.

“But eventually—if you ever want to support a family—you’ll need to get a degree and a job.”

“So now you’re my guidance counselor?”

“Sure.” I pull a deep-blue clingy V-neck I bought with Meadow out of the pile. Price tags still on. Yes. “Get a music degree. Study composition.”

“Dissect it?” He sounds miffed. “Pick apart the music that flows out of me and try to put it back together? No thank you.”

“Don’t be such a prima donna. I bet even a genius like you could learn a lot.” I find some toenail clippers in the clutter near my bathroom sink and snip the tag off the shirt. “What about a voice major or directing? I can see you doing that.”

“I’m not enjoying this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right.”

“I never said I didn’t
want
to go.” He clears his throat. “I can’t. Not this year.”

I hang the top on a hook so I can slip it on as soon as he hangs up. “Don’t they give scholarships and student loans out in Canada?”

“It’s not the money.”

Is it the drugs? That’s what I want to ask him. Are you not going to college because of your
drug habit
? I don’t want those suspicions in my brain. I sing in my sexiest voice,
Your breath that drifts across my face. A fire ignites when—

He breaks in. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

I was being serious. I stop singing. “Sure.”

“I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.” Shoot. It’s her. She wants him back, and he’s going to dump me over the phone.

“You already did that. Tell me something I’ll like instead—how about, you’re walking out the door, getting in your mom’s car, backing it up, and driving out of town to meet me in the middle of the highway?” I examine myself in the mirror over the sink. Five minutes for makeup. Trap my frizzed out hair in a ponytail and iron the bangs. Ten minutes and I can be on the road. It’ll be dark. I don’t have the time or patience for the work true beauty takes tonight. I sing,
Your lips on mine
—

“Gosh, Beth. You’ve got a one-track mind.”

I give up the song. “I need to touch you. I’m not sure you’re real.”

“You’re talking to me on the phone. That isn’t real?”

“Not real enough for me. Don’t you want to be with me again—like in Lausanne?” That sounds whiny. Am I turning him off? I need Boyfriend 101. Where is Sarah when I need her? I’m not dumb enough to ask Meadow for help. She’d sabotage me for sure.

“I went back and took pictures of our bench. I’ll email them to you.”

“I’ll come see them. I guess I can wait until tomorrow.” Then I could wash these jeans, shower, straighten my hair, put on full makeup—dazzle him. “Tell me how to get to your house, and I’ll be there. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?” I wish Meadow had set me up with sexy perfume. It’s not like I can swipe some from my mom—she’s an accountant.

“I can’t.” He starts to cough again. When he stops he says, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

I’m silent. Afraid. It is her. Crap. I knew it.

“My mum rented us a cottage up in lake country. She’s always wanted to do it, but we never had the cash, or Dad couldn’t get off, or I was too . . .” Wasted? I don’t want to hear this. Stop, Derek. Just stop. Sing to me instead. You know the song. You picked it.

He doesn’t. “We couldn’t ever go before. She met this woman who gave us a great deal on her cottage. She can’t use it this year. Doesn’t normally rent it. We’ve got it for the rest of the summer.”

I blurt, “Can I come, too? What happened to,
I won’t take a step without you
? I’ll sleep on the couch.” I leave the bathroom, pace around my room.

“It’s tiny—one bedroom. I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“We could share. We’re both pretty skinny.”

“You really think my mum or yours would go for that?”

I spy the pink rose he gave me when we said our
see you later
s. I pressed it in my music after we left Paris. I had to hide it from the customs guys just in case they decided it was a fruit or vegetable. It’s lying on a bookshelf next to my choir binder. “I’ll buy a cot, bring a sleeping bag. I could even sleep in my car.” Desperate? Of course. “It’s true for me.
I gotta be, gotta be about you.”

“No.” The gruff in his voice turns coaxing. “My dad’s got all this vacation time saved up.” His voice gives out. He clears his throat. “I have to do this with them.”

“Okay.” Fine. I pick up the rose—hold it up to my nose and inhale. It still smells sweet but holds a touch of decay. “How many days do we have until you go?”

“We leave in the morning.”

I wave the dried rose like it’s a magic wand and chant, “
No way
.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rats. I set the rose carefully on my nightstand. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Please, Beth. Don’t. If you show up here at 3:30 in the morning, my mum will go ballistic.”

“That’s stupid. I’ll be quiet.” I grab the shirt. To heck with my face and hair.

“She’s an incredibly light sleeper.”

“Then I’ll get to meet her.” I head out of my room. “Isn’t she curious about me?”

“She doesn’t know about you.”

That freezes me halfway down the stairs. “Why not?”

“I just got home.”

“Stop lying to me, Derek. It’s her, isn’t it? Your old girlfriend. You’re not going anywhere.” It’s not about me. It’s about her. I hate myself. And I hate him.

“Please, Beth. Don’t be like this.”

I sink onto the step and lower my voice to a whisper. “If I could see you again, I wouldn’t be such an idiot.”

“Try to understand. This is major for my mum. This fall isn’t going to be easy.”

“What’s happening to you this fall? Just tell me the truth.”

“The truth?”

“From your heart—spill it. I can take it. I’m used to guys disappointing me.”

“From my heart?”

“Straight.” I close my eyes, clench my teeth tight, hold my breath.

“I fell in love in Switzerland with this beautiful girl whose every move makes me crazy. I want to be with her twenty-four/seven. Right now. Today. Tomorrow and every tomorrow after that. My mum planned this trip all year as a special surprise. You want me to break
her
heart?”

“What about my heart?”

“It’s in good hands—trust me.”

“That’s not what you said this afternoon. When will I see you again?”

“I’ll get to your place as soon as we get back.”

“You’ll call me a lot?”

“There’s no phone or Internet in the cabin—but I’ll use the cell whenever I can get a signal.”

I stand up and hang on to the handrail. “It’s going to be a long five weeks.”

“Even longer for me.”

I turn around and tiptoe back to my bedroom. “Did you really mean that—what you said?”

“I promise—I’ll call.” He starts coughing again. Definitely that cold. I should let him go.

But I don’t. “No. That you fell in
love
in Switzerland?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I thought that was a given.”

“You are so frustrating—delicious—but frustrating.” I’m absolutely dying for him all over again.

“What about you?” He stops, struggles a minute. “Did you fall in love?” His voice catches.

My eyes go to his rose on my nightstand. “I’m not sure I even know what love is, but I’ve got my hands full of something beautiful.” My voice quivers. “I don’t ever want to let it go.” I lie down on my bed, curl around my pillow, wishing it was him.

He slowly says, “Mind if I take that as a
yes
?”

I’m melting again. “Not at all.”

“Hang on, Beth. We’ll get it together this fall. I’m working on a plan for you.”

I roll onto my back. “For me?”

“For
us
.”

“
Us
? I like the way that sounds coming out of your mouth.” I reach out and touch his rose.