The Tension of Opposites (4 page)

After I rang the doorbell and stood waiting, I couldn't catch my breath.
No,
I told myself.
You will not lose control again.

The first time it had happened, I had been alone. It was sudden, my breathing coming a little too fast, shallow; I couldn't catch the deep breath my body demanded. My heart pounded to escape my chest, as if I'd just sprinted the entire way to the park, but in reality, I'd been hiding against the rough bark of a thick tree for at least an hour. When my chest exploded, I was certain I'd had a heart attack, knew I was going to die.

I cried out to the long line of people holding hands and taking mini steps away from the crashing fountain, but no one heard. They continued to stare at the ground, shuffling over each thread of grass, searching for any clue. I leaned back against the tree, clutching at my chest, pressing my hands against my eyes, waiting for the bright light that signified the end. But it never came. Gradually, my hearing cleared, my body relaxed, and I shuffled home. I told my mother everything, except where I had been, and she frantically dialed my doctor, who, after giving me a head-to-toe checkup, told me I'd had a panic attack and referred me to a therapist. I guess after all that had happened in the five days since I'd found Noelle's abandoned bike, I knew I needed someone to help me. So I went. And I talked. Eventually, though, I started to lie.

I thumbed the doorbell again, not caring if I was being a nuisance. I'd given Noelle's family enough privacy. It was time for me to do this. Besides, before the kidnapping drove a wedge between us, making our visits too difficult to bear, we had once been so close we were practically family. I heard footsteps after I pressed the doorbell for the third time. Coop answered the door.

“Tess.” I saw a sliver of his face through a small crack in the door. He was pale, and his eyes looked sunken.

“Hey, Coop.” I tried to take in a deep breath.

“She won't see you.” He opened the door a little wider. “She's holed up in her bedroom, hardly seeing us.”

I blinked, trying to keep the words from registering. “It's that bad?”

“Worse.” Coop looked at the purple gift bag in my hand. “What's that?”

“Just a little something for Noelle.”

I had a sudden urge to push Coop away from the door, to run up the stairs that were behind him and rush into Noelle's bedroom. Instead, I held the bag forward, willing him to take it.

“I dunno, Tess. My parents are being really cautious.” Coop glanced over his shoulder.

“Please, Coop.” Tears welled up in my eyes, and his image swam before me.

“It's just hard to tell what's going to upset her.”

“Okay.” I lowered the bag. “I don't want to upset her. I just need her to know that I never stopped thinking about her.”

Coop looked back once more, quickly. “Trust me,” he whispered. “It's not a good idea.”

“Okay,” I said, placing one hand on the door so he couldn't close it. “Maybe I could go up for just a second?”

He drummed his fingers on the door. “Uh-uh, Tess.” He shook his head.

“I just want to see her. In person.” I pushed against the door. He held it firmly in place. “Of all people, you have to understand that.”

“Tess,” he whispered. “The longer you wait, the better, okay? Things are not the same.”

I looked from his eyes to the dark staircase that led to the second floor and removed my hand from the door. I wanted to ask him what he meant. To tell him that Noelle would always be Noelle and to give her a break. But he closed the door before I could say anything, and I was left standing alone, breathing in that thick floral scent, wondering what he'd meant by “not the same.”

I walked slowly toward the driveway. My Jeep was parked next to a thick pine tree that had grown taller since Noelle's disappearance. I stared at the dark needles, wondering how I would ever reconcile with my friend if everyone was going to stand in my way.

Just before opening the driver's-side door of the Jeep, I took a quick look at Noelle's window. I flinched when my eyes found her staring out at me, a ghostly version of my old friend.

Noelle's pale face was framed by straight, midnight black hair. Her eyes matched that border, dark and lifeless. Her hand fluttered against the glass, a pale moth straining for something out of reach. The translucent skin of her palm pressed against the pane, and she leaned forward a bit.

I smiled.

She didn't.

And then there was a breeze, soft against my skin but solid against the bag hanging from my wrist, causing it to sway back and forth. I held the gift in the air and suddenly, after all this time, allowed myself to believe that she was home.

I leaned down and pulled the heavy bottom branches of the pine tree from the ground, then placed the bag into the cool, damp shadow underneath.

Turning back to Noelle, I saw only the flutter of a white curtain.

In the Jeep, I sat wondering what had broken our brief connection. A sound, perhaps, that reminded her of her captor. Or maybe Coop had knocked on her door to tell her I had stopped by.

Seeing her stare out of that window without a smile on her face made me wonder again if all the news reports could be true. If she'd really had the freedom to roam around the neighborhood she'd shared with Charlie Croft. If she'd actually been friends with the girl and the guy whom people had seen her hanging out with. But most important, I wondered what, exactly, Charlie Croft had done to keep her quiet. And why she hadn't made that phone call to Coop much sooner. At that thought, my hands started shaking so much it took three attempts to insert the key into the ignition.

As I drove away, I told myself that none of that mattered. Noelle was alive. Everything else would fall into place. It had to.

I was never one of those girls with a body-image issue. You know, the type who, after reading somewhere that celery sticks have negative calories, eat nothing but the little green stalks. (Think Jessie Richards, the skinny-minny captain of the varsity cheerleading squad.)

I didn't think I was perfect or anything. Though I secretly loved the way my sandy-blonde hair dried in soft waves that spilled down my back, and the way my eyes matched my favorite aqua tank top, I had a little pooch in my middle that needed some attention. And when I looked down, I had this disturbing hint of a double chin. But unlike some girls, when I was hungry, I ate. Unless I was at school.

On the first day of eighth grade, I decided I wouldn't go to the cafeteria without Noelle at my side. Since then, I had discovered several methods of gobbling a quick snack in hiding, my favorite being the duck-behind-a-book-in-the-library technique. I was proud that I had remained true to my friend; since her disappearance, I had not once eaten in the lunchroom. The root of this issue was superstition; I somehow felt that if I gave in and giggled over some stupid piece of gossip, the slight chance of Noelle's return would disappear.

My second reason for avoiding the cafeteria was that I didn't have anyone to sit with. I had only one person I could call a friend, Darcy, but she was two years ahead of me, and our friendship was mostly about photography. I didn't want any other friends. I'd pushed all my old friends away after Noelle went missing, ignoring them so blatantly, they had eventually stopped calling. All the stuff friends do with one another … that was sacred. It belonged to Noelle. Besides, I couldn't sit around laughing with a bunch of people whose only concern was what to wear to Friday night's football game when I was pretty sure Noelle would never laugh again.

I had isolated myself as much as possible. Except in photography class, where Darcy wouldn't leave me alone, even if I tried to set her on fire.

I liked things the way they were. Comfortable. Predictable. Safe.

Until the second week of my sophomore year. Noelle was home by then, which caused the structure of my avoid-the-cafeteria argument to crumble. It was a Tuesday, the day the carefully constructed bubble that surrounded me popped.

Max, who knew nothing of my years as a loner, caught me in the hall on the sixth day of school, hooking his arm into mine and swinging me around in the bustling crowd.

“I'm sick of eating alone,” he'd said. “Care to join?”

“I don't really do the caf,” I answered, trying to slip my arm out of his, my cheeks burning at the soft heat of his skin brushing against mine.

“I noticed,” he said, tucking my arm tight against his body. (Dear Lord, his side was incredibly hard. Was it possible to actually feel the muscles rippling under his thin T-shirt?)

As we weaved our way through the blur of people clutching textbooks to their chests, my brain whirred with questions I could never voice. Why, with his good looks and easy personality, didn't Max have ten friends already? And why, of all people, had he chosen to eat with
me
?

“Seriously,” I said as we approached the gaping entrance to the cafeteria, “this isn't my scene. All the gossiping and plan making, it goes against my nature.”

“That,”
he said with a grin, “is exactly why I like you.” And then he pulled me through the double doors and into the chest-vibrating, high-impact noise of four hundred shouting students.

As he led me through a maze of round tables, my attention snagged, the same question looping through my head over and over again.
Helikesmehelikesmehelikesme?

It must have been the way that question echoed through my mind, making me feel light-headed and slightly disoriented. Or it could have been the pressure of all that noise and energy. But when Max yanked out a chair and pushed my shoulders until I sat down, I didn't even attempt to stand up and walk away. The way I would have if he had been anyone else in that building.

Two weeks later, I had a new routine. Every day after fourth period, Max stood next to my locker, waiting for me to spin the dial and exchange my books, all the while talking me into eating with him. Each time, I found myself protesting less and less. Today, I had barely even complained as we'd made our way through the crowd, toward the table that had somehow become ours.

“Create and destroy,” Max said from his seat next to me.

“Oh, that's a good one,” I said, comfortable now with our game of listing opposites. It had started as a brainstorming session for our photography project, but it quickly became a way for us to talk without really talking. “But how would you photograph it?”

“I dunno.” He took a bite of his shiny green apple. “But I like it enough to think about it.” Max squinted. I could tell he was trying to figure a way to make his idea work, like he always did when I challenged him.

The bell rang, and a mass of people stood from the tables around us. Chairs scraped the floor, books were clutched tightly, and bodies funneled toward the exit.

Max and I stood and sidestepped into the slow-moving crowd. He threw his apple core into a nearby trash can, and when his shoulder bumped mine, I was tempted to turn my face toward him and take a deep breath. I was close enough to catch his scent without being too obvious.

During the last month, since I no longer had to wonder about the location of Noelle, two new obsessions had taken over my life. Number one, which I spent most of my time on, was figuring out how to get to see Noelle. I was anxious to know if she had found my gift and I was trying hard not to be offended that she hadn't called me yet. Number two, a secret that I would certainly die before sharing with anyone, ever, was how to get good whiffs of Max's clean scent without his noticing. The effect had started to make me a little crazy.

I gave in to temptation and was turning, ready for one sweet inhalation, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Check me,” a familiar voice said.

Max chuckled, his brown eyes moving past me and settling on something just beyond my shoulder. “There's something wrong with you, Darcy.”

“I know,” she said, flipping her straight brown hair over her shoulder. “Check me.” When I looked at her, her lips were pulled back, revealing a mouthful of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, with nothing stuck in the crevices.

“You're fine,” I said. “I'm going to get you a little mirror for your purse.”

“Have one,” she said. “It's not as trustworthy as a friend.”

“So … you have a thing?” Max asked, pointing a long finger at his mouth, his parted lips, making me wonder what it would be like to kiss him. “With your teeth? A…preoccupation.”

“Yeah.” Darcy crinkled her nose at him. “And my breath. If I'm not chewing gum, I don't get too close to anyone.”

“Yup.” Max nodded. “That's a thing.”

Darcy shrugged. “We all have
things
.”

“I don't,” I said, shaking my head.

“Puh-lease,” Darcy said, choking a little.

Max just laughed, his head tipping back in an easy way, those soft curls spilling and dipping into new places. I wanted to reach out and touch them. Instead, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

We made our way into the main hall and started passing a bank of senior lockers. Darcy, with one hand in her purse, was searching for an open pack of Strawberry Splash, definitely not watching where she was going.

I'm not sure what happened, if there was something on the floor that tripped her up, or if she stubbed the pointy toe of her black boot, but Darcy stumbled into me. Hard. Which was okay, because I was pitched sideways into Max, who instinctively wrapped an arm around my waist, catching me.

This, I realized, was the most beautiful opportunity to catch his scent, and I kind of collapsed into him, taking a deep breath. I felt a little dizzy with the thrill of being so near him. Until that thrill was knocked out of existence as we were jolted from behind. Harder than hard.

“Watch it, loser,” a deep voice said.

Max's grip on my waist tightened, and we almost went down. For a split second, I kind of wished we had, so I could know what it might feel like to get all tangled up on the floor with him.

But instead, we caught our balance as the hulking figure of Chip Knowles barreled past us. With each step, his thick shoulders swayed, and his Abercrombie jeans hugged his tight butt. As I stared beyond the
72
on the back of his football jersey, the reason he'd barged into us became clear.

Twenty feet down the hall, Chip's girlfriend,
the
Jessie Richards, stood with a guy. Her shimmery blonde hair was styled in this perfect, made-to-look-messy bun. Wisps fell around her face, highlighting her high cheekbones and sharp nose. The cheerleading uniform she wore bared her muscular arms, sculpted shoulders, and toned legs. I wondered if she went to a tanning bed every day of the week.

I wasn't up on all the latest gossip at Centerville High School, but everyone who had spent a few weeks in the building knew that the scene about to unfold would be gossip worthy. Even if the guy standing with Jessie was totally not her type. And trust me, this kid—with his tall, awkward body stooping forward, and the over-applied product in his perfectly combed hair—was lucky to be within speaking distance of the most popular senior in the building.

“Who's this?” Chip asked, using a deep, don't-mess-with-me voice. He ran his fingers through his short golden-blond hair, tufting the front up in one swift movement.

Jessie looked at Chip and raised her eyebrows. Her thin lips curled up slightly. The kid standing next to her said something I couldn't hear and held a spiral notebook up in the air. I was impressed that he didn't cower into the locker behind him but instead straightened himself, proving to be nearly Chip's height. Chip yanked the notebook out of his hand and flipped through a few pages.

“You got yourself a math geek?” Chip asked Jessie. “How sweet.”

Jessie took the notebook from her boyfriend's hand and gave it back to the kid standing next to her. She smiled and tossed her head to the side. The kid said something and then turned and hurried away.

Max started walking. I did, too, because his arm was still wrapped around my waist.

“Hey!” Max said.

“Don't.” I looked up at the curls that shadowed Max's face.

“But he can't just—”

“It's not worth it,” I warned him. Max's brown thermal shirt was soft against my forearm as he pulled away from me. I hated myself for wanting to melt into him. I seriously could not deal with these feelings. Not now.

He looked at me, then turned to watch the most popular couple in school walk away. The crowd parted slightly as Chip slung an arm over Jessie's shoulders and she tucked herself against his body. Her obscenely short cheerleading skirt swayed from one side of her firm little butt to the other, flouncing up enough to expose her matching bloomers with every few steps.

“Hey,
Darcy
,” Max said a few minutes later as we dropped our things on our desks in photography class, “wanna see some pictures I took yesterday?”

Darcy propped herself against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don't like being used, Max.”

Max's lips parted in a mischievous smile. “Tess knows she's welcome to join us.”

Darcy sighed. Waved a hand in the air. “Go pull them up. I'll be right there.”

Max poked me in the shoulder as he passed. “I'd love to show them to you, too.”

I sat down, shuffling through my folders like I had something important to do. “No strings?”

“We've been doing this for weeks, Tess.” Max shook his head. “When you're ready to show me your stuff, I'll be glad to share mine.”

He turned and walked away, leaving me there to stare after him.

“Are you crazy?” Darcy stabbed me in the arm with her bony elbow. “He's
interested
.”

“No way.” I glanced over my shoulder and watched Max's lean body fall into the computer chair, his sinewy arm reach for the mouse, his long fingers grip its frame. “But even if you're right, I can't get all twisted up over a guy right now.”

“With Max, it wouldn't be like that. You can just tell.” Darcy grabbed hold of my shoulder and turned me so I was facing her. “Stop. Pushing. Him. Away.”

And then she left me sitting there, so very alone, positioning herself behind Max's chair.

“Ooh, that one is great,” Darcy said. I turned quickly and saw her prop one hand on her hip as she leaned over Max's shoulder. She was wearing a dark pair of skinny jeans and had one foot slung out to her side, accentuating her long legs.

“Nuh-uh,” she said. “How did you get that shot?” She laughed loudly and turned, looking right at me.
These are good,
she mouthed, pointing to Max's back.