Sweet Nothing (19 page)

“Like if you have your choice of a bunch of colleges. Ivy Leagues or whatever.” Hayden says to his desk. He fumbles with his tie as he speaks. “And you want to go somewhere different, ‘cause maybe you just think you’d be happier there. But your—I mean, like, some people want you to go to the best college you can get into.”

“Absolutely,” I say softly. “Go on.”

“So the opportunity cost is the stuff you’re giving up by going to an Ivy. Even though you’re getting lots of good stuff too. I guess.”

“Awesome. You’re absolutely right.” The shrill clang of the bell drowns me out, and my view of Hayden is immediately obscured by several rows of students stuffing their laptops and notebooks into their backpacks. “Finish reading the chapter for tomorrow!”

They ignore me as they shuffle into the hall. But I can still feel the warmth of a smile coming. I’d resigned myself to a year full of apathy and silence from Hayden. And now this, out of the blue. Or maybe it wasn’t. All I know is that for the first time, I feel really good about what I’m doing here at Allford. And it has nothing to do with my roommates; nothing to do with Luke. This is mine.

“Thinking about that irresistible photography instructor, I’m guessing.”

My head snaps to see Luke in the doorway of my empty classroom. His hair is still wet, like it usually is in the morning. He’s wearing a bottle-green shirt that makes his eyes burn electric blue. I feel a familiar churning at the sight of him. I can tell myself to be careful around him, but I can’t stop my body from responding. I don’t want to.

“Definitely,” I tease back. “What’s his name? Dr. Ward?”

“Dr. Ward’s like sixty-five, Elle. I can’t say that didn’t hurt a little.” He closes the door behind him. “How was your dinner last night?”

“It was fun. Did you get your work done?”

“Almost.”

My eyes flick past him, where the students in my second period class are peering through the tall, rectangular window in the door. “If you don’t get out of here, the kids are going to start talking, you know.”

“The kids are already talking,” he grins. “Probably about how they can’t believe that a gorgeous woman like you would be caught dead with a dude like me."

My breath catches in my throat.
They wouldn’t think that if they knew me. Neither would you.

“Um, so do you want to get dinner tonight or something?” I blurt out. “I don’t know if you have plans or anything, and if you do that’s obviously fine, but—”

“Can’t." He shakes his head. "I wish I could, really, but this extra work for Goodwin is really bogging me down, you know? I just want to get it done.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. God, I must sound desperate. “Yeah. Of course. I mean, I have prep to do, too. So we should do that. Work.”

“Elle—”

“It’s fine!” I chirp. “Really.” I force a smile. “I should start class, okay? And I’ll just see you whenever. No big deal.”

“Okay. I’ll… call you?”

“Whatever you want.” I glance pointedly at the door. After a beat, he turns to open it, letting my students inside. “See you later, Mr. Poulos.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Sloane.” Luke fist-bumps a couple of the students coming through the door, then disappears into the hall.

I sink deeper into my chair, grateful for the deafening chatter building up in my room. Grateful that in these few minutes before the bell, I’m invisible.

That night after dinner, I shower and change into yoga pants and an Allford t-shirt, then curl up in bed with my econ text and a legal pad. I should prep for class tomorrow. I page slowly through the assigned chapter, my eyes traveling over the words without registering them.
Something’s not right
. I’ve had the feeling ever since Luke left my classroom this morning, and I can’t put my finger on what it is that’s bothering me. It’s not that he has work to do. I’ve never been clingy with guys before. But something just seemed… off.
Maybe it’s something with his ex. He’s seeing her tonight and he
doesn’t want me to know.
I shake the thought from my head. No. I’m not going to let my ridiculous insecurities get in the way. He was honest when I confronted him, and he’s being honest now.

I’m scribbling the first few questions to a pop quiz when it dawns on me. It’s the reason Luke gave for having to work late. He’d told me that Dr. Goodwin needed art for his office. Told me that the space was bare. But I’d been in Dr. Goodwin’s office at the start of school. It was perfectly decorated. Why would Luke lie about something like that? What was he hiding?

Stop it, Elle. You’re being paranoid.
But I can’t shake the feeling weighing heavy in my chest.
If you’re capable of lying, so is he. Maybe he’s not who you think he is.
I slam my book closed and stare up at the ceiling.

—
And Ms. Halloran, if could you please tell the court what your father told you

—that afternoon.
The prosecutor had asked me not to look at my father, but I couldn’t help it. My eyes found his, and the sight of him was almost enough to break me. Dressed in his most expensive suit, in the tie my mother had bought him for his birthday the year before. He looked frail. Weak. Nothing like the father I used to know. I remember thinking that maybe I never knew him.

—Objection. Hearsay.
My father’s attorney is listless. Knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

—
Your Honor, Mr. Halloran confessed his crimes to his daughter on the afternoon in question. We all know hearsay doesn’t apply here.

—
Go ahead.
The judge turned to me and nodded. Giving me permission to end my father’s life as he knew it.

The knock at my bedroom door brings me to the surface. I suck in a deep breath.

“Hey. You okay?” Luke ducks into my bedroom and closes the door. The space between his brows gathers with worry.

“Yeah. Sure.” I rub my face in my hands. Try to slow my breathing. I’m shaking; hoping he won’t notice. “I was just drifting off. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Come here.” He sits on the edge of my bed and pulls me into him. I want to let myself relax, want to let him hold me. But my body is wound tight, curled into itself in worry and fear and guilt. I can’t let myself go. I don’t know how.

He pulls back and catches my eye. Slips my glasses off and brushes my hair away from my face so gently that it makes me want to cry. “What’s going on, Elle? What’s wrong?”

I try to stop the tears, but they stumble down my cheeks. “I just… it’s nothing. It’s been a really stressful week, that’s all.”
And I’m not sure I can trust you. And I’m mourning my whole family in a way even you could never understand. And there’s no way out of this hell for me. I’m responsible for everything that’s happened. And I’m going to have to live with it forever.
There’s so much I need to tell him. But I can’t. I can’t lose him, too. I screw my eyes shut, forbidding any more tears.

“Okay, okay.” He holds me close, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head. “I know. This is a really stressful job, and everything’s new, and I’m sure dealing with me and all my stuff hasn’t helped any.”

“Yeah. Your stuff. Let’s blame it on that.” I mumble into his chest. “My breakdown is your fault, definitely.” When I pull away there are tearstains and snot on his shirt. Perfect. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Elle.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me lightly on the mouth. “First of all, if this is your version of a breakdown, well, you suck at breakdowns.”

I half-laugh, half-sob.

“And second of all, you know that I’ve been through some pretty tough shit in my life. So trust me enough to know that whatever you have going on right now, you can tell me. I can take it. Can you trust that?”

I don’t know.
I lean into him again, and he squeezes me tight. I can hear his heartbeat, steady in his chest.

“I—I’m just feeling really…” God, I want to let it all go. Give him everything, all of it, and then at least I’d know. I’d know for sure he couldn’t handle the real me. It would hurt like hell. But I wouldn’t wonder anymore. Sometimes I think that possibility hurts more than truth.

“What?” Gently, he traces my cheekbone with his thumb. It’s a simple gesture, but tender. So caring, I know it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from feeling completely alone. I can’t lose this. Not now.

“… just tired, is all. I guess this whole teaching thing is turning out to be tougher than I thought.” I’m such a coward.

He’s quiet. There’s no way he believes me. But he doesn’t push.

After a few minutes, I realize that my breath and body have synced with Luke’s. Our chests rise and fall together. With each breath, I melt deeper into him until I’m so relaxed, I start to drift off. He brings me back with a shower of light kisses.

“Hey.” He nuzzles my neck. “Sleeping beauty.”

“Sorry,” I yawn.

“No big deal,” he says lightly. Teasingly. “It’s good to know that just being in my presence makes you… you know. Pass out.”

“That’s not it!” I protest. “You just relax me, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t get too relaxed. I came over because I have something I want to show you.”

“What? Where?”

“At school.”

“Now?” I pull away and fumble for the clock on my bedside table. “But it’s almost nine.”

“You know what I like about you? You’re
wild
.”

My cheeks burn. “Forget I said that. I just don’t know what could be at school right now that’s better than being here.”
In bed. With you.
I feel a sudden shiver of anticipation. Wonder what it would be like to turn off the lights and the voice in my head.

“Well, if you don’t come with me, you’ll never find out.” Apparently, being in bed next to me does nothing for Luke. He slides off the bed and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s go. I want you to see this.”

Not five minutes later, Luke has parked Betty (illegally) at the student drop-off, and we’re cutting across the lawn. Hazy streetlights cast a watery gold glow over the rumpled blanket of green. I slip off my flip-flops and follow a few steps behind Luke, the grass thick and coarse against my soles. This is something I didn’t experience much in New York as a kid: the warm, wet earth beneath my feet. The air is heavy and sweet, and smells like summer.

“Where are we going? You can at least tell me that, right?” The fatigue that weighed me down earlier has lifted. I feel lighter. And just the slightest bit curious.

“The studio.” He interlaces his fingers with mine. “And that’s the last question I’m answering.”

I mime zipping my lips and throwing away the key. But there are so many more questions I want to ask. Like why he moves closer when I start to cry, instead of freaking out or pulling away. Or why he goes out of his way to surprise me like this, when no one has ever put that much thought into making me happy. And the real question: what he’s doing here, with me. What he sees that keeps him here.

When we get to the door, Luke fumbles around his pockets and pulls out his electronic key.

“Wait here for a sec, okay?”

I’d search his face, but it’s too dark. “Yeah. Sure.”

Luke unlocks the door and ducks inside. Now I’m more than just slightly curious. He has a habit of doing this to me, a way of making me feel completely comfortable and then absolutely disoriented at the exact same time.

I lean against the building’s exterior, breathing in the dewy air. I wonder what Aria’s doing right now: listening to music that’s turned up loud enough to drown out our mother, or maybe writing our father or planning the visit I just can’t seem to understand. I feel a quick flash of liquid anger. She shouldn’t be doing any of those things at 17. She should be sneaking her boyfriend through the back door, or staying out too late, or freaking out about her SATs. And I should be closer than I am, in case she needs me.

Or maybe it’s better that I’m far away. I’m not exactly a shining example at the moment. What would Aria think if she knew I was hiding my true identity, my past? It’s not a question I need to ask. I know she’d be furious. She’d accuse me of running from my family, of trying to run from myself. She’d be right.

The door opens wide. “Okay. Ready.” Luke takes my hand and guides me inside, locking the door behind us.

The light is dim, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. My body registers the room with a rush of adrenaline before my mind can make sense of what’s in front of me: candles. On the concrete floor, on the long work tables, casting shadows over the student art pinned to the white walls. At the back of the studio there’s a small sitting area, with an inviting leather couch and a paint-splattered loveseat. I imagine Luke curled up on the couch during late nights in the studio.

“So, I’m pretty sure this is a fire hazard,” I joke. I regret it the instant the words leave my mouth. It’s beautiful, the way he has the space set up. And he’s obviously excited to share his studio with me. I have no right to cheapen the surprise with a joke.

If Luke is upset, he doesn’t show it. “Wait. You haven’t even noticed the best part yet.” His excitement is palpable. He leads me to the back of the studio, where a large canvas rests on an easel.

“Oh, my God. What…” I take a few steps toward the canvas. It’s a collaged portrait of me, an image made of scraps of paper, paint, and even bits of glass. “It’s beautiful.” It sounds strange, calling my own image beautiful. But there’s no other word.

“Oh, good. You’re not freaked out.” Luke’s laugh is nervous. “It’s, um… it’s made out of things from New York, and then there are some pieces of Miami, too. Pieces of home, mixed with some stuff from Allford.”

I reach for the glimmer in my eye, made of bits of torn, glossy metro cards. “But… you’ve never been to New York, right?” I trace the warmth in my cheeks, bits of torn red cloth. “What’s this?”

“T-shirt. The heart part of those stupid
I heart NY
shirts. My grandparents went one year for vacation. Loved it. Dumped all their souvenirs on me, and I never knew what to do with them.” Luke stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “And then, I did.”