Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) (11 page)

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t do anything. Just stands there. Finally I feel his arms encircle me. And it isn’t a courtesy hug. He presses me against him. For a second I think maybe he’s remembered, but he squashes that thought. “You aren’t like regular girls, are you?”

I shake my head
, but don’t release him. Inhale a deep breath and pretend he knows me, and that he’s overjoyed to see me.

I could tell him
, look him in the eyes, and say, “No, I’ll never be normal. Because of your father. He killed my parents, and got away with it.” Suddenly my heart jumps. Does he know what his father did? I’d like to think he has no idea. But I can’t be sure. And then I remember why we can’t be together. I’ll always doubt him. Seeing his face will remind me of his father, of the evil in his family tree, and I can’t live with that.

“I’d better go,” I say, pulling away and opening the door.

He looks confused, but swiftly recovers. “Sure.” 

Kyle leads me to a black Jeep. Somehow I know it fits his personality—rugged, efficient, and intense. He opens the passenger door and helps me in. My uncle always said, “If a man gets your door, he’s a keeper. It’s a sign he’ll treasure you.”

Once he’s inside, Kyle starts the car and we drive in silence. Turns out he lives off campus, though not far.

“Wh
ich building is yours? McKinley or Irvine?”

“Irvine,” I answer, keeping my eyes facing forward.

He stops in front of the building and puts the Jeep in park. “Thanks for hanging out with me last night.”

I open the door, forcing myself not to look at him. I’m so torn. I want to smile, tell him I think he’s wonderful, and ask if he wants to hang out. But my brain won’t shut up. Because even if he doesn’t know what his father did
, even if he’s completely innocent, it doesn’t change the fact that he is his father’s son. I can’t forget that. “Thanks for taking care of me. I can’t believe I was such an idiot.” I step out. “See you in class.” I move to close the door.

“Hey,
you still haven’t told me your name. You owe me.” His eyes twinkle, and for a moment I think he actually knows who I am, but is pretending otherwise. “I could just call you Lover Girl. You’re really, really affectionate.” He snickers.

My face gets hot as a shooting star. I try to remember what I did last night that was so affectionate. He said we didn’t do anything. Didn’t even kiss.

I almost lose my temper; tell him I don’t owe him crap. If he wanted to, he could easily figure out my name. It wouldn’t be that difficult. He’s the TA of my English class. But I decide to tell him the truth. “My name is Maddie. Maddie Martin.” I want to add, “Remember me now? We were next-door neighbors for eleven years. Best friends. Up until your dad shot my parents.” I don’t, though. I slam the door and walk to the building entrance.

I swipe my keycard. The door clicks and I pull it open. His Jeep is still at the curb. I haven’t heard it pull away, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

Is he happy?

Surprised?

Angry?

I’m can’t be sure. Once again I realize a lot has happened in seven years. I really don’t know him. And as I walk to the elevators I mentally kick myself. I still haven’t noticed his shoes. They’ll tell me a lot.

Kyle

Even in rumpled clothes and her face smeared with makeup, she’s totally hot. When I tell her she owes me her name, her eyes light up like twin fires. Smoldering. And I have to shift in my seat. It's crazy she can turn me on so easily.

She
tells me her name and I get the feeling she wants to say more. I almost come clean, tell her that I already knew her name—that I’m sorry for teasing her. It seems to hurt her that I’ve been pretending I didn’t. But now I don’t want to tell her because I’m worried she’ll be mad.

Maddie
slams the door, and I don’t get a chance to say anything.

I watch her walk into the building. If she had a phone I’d call her, text her, tell her the truth.

But she doesn’t.

At least not yet.
And I get a brilliant idea.

13

Maddie

Most Definitely Not Fine

I open the door to my dorm room cautiously. No point waking up Gina. But her bed is an untidy mess of covers and she isn’t
in amongst them. My throat constricts and I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand. It’s four thirty in the morning.

The party can’t still be going, and I’m worried. Gina wrote her cell number on the white board hanging on the door, and I walk to it. Write the number on my hand, and walk out to the commons area. It’s so quiet. Not a sound, except the rattling of the vents.

Sitting, I dial her number. It rings several times and I get her voicemail: “You’ve reached the voicemail of Gina St. James. I can’t talk to you right now because I’m out having fun, which is what you should be doing. So hang up and go party. Oh, and if you’re hard up to leave a message, do it now.”

I smile in spite of the tension in my body. When I hear the beep, I say into the phone, “Hey Gina. I just got back to the room and you aren’t there. I’m
… wondering if you’re okay.” I pause. “Sorry I left. I won’t do it again. Promise.” I hang up and walk back to our room.

I pull off Kyle’s sweatshirt and toss it on my bed. Carefully I remove Gina’s dress and hang it on a hanger. I’m not sure if she’ll want to clean it, so I don’t put it back in her closet but drape it against the door. I set her heels back in their box. The girl is very organized when it comes to clothes and shoes.
Everything else, not so much.

The door clicks, and Gina bursts into the room. Her eyes are wild.

I’m in my undies, and can’t help the screech that escapes my throat. She barely glances at me before falling on the bed.

“Gina.” I grab a shirt from a drawer, and rush to her bed. “Gina,” I say again. “Are you alright?”

She sits up and I see the rage on her face, feel it radiating off her body, through her pores—like tiny daggers, all aimed at me. “I’m fine,” she shouts. “Can’t you see I’m fine?”

I flinch. Her breath smells of cigarettes. And she’s most definitely not fine. The top of her dress is ripped. So are her leggings. Her makeup is streaked like she’s been crying. I don’t know what to do, what to say. Her breathing is ragged, and she sniffles. Tears fall from her eyes and drip on to her tutu.

Like an idiot I sit there, my hands in my lap, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. But I want her to know I care, that I’m here if she needs me.

Finally I decide to do what I did last time. I grab her a tissue. She rips it from my hand and wipes her face, blows her nose.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asks through gritted teeth.

I tell her about the four shots, about Kyle, and him taking me back to his place. As I talk her eyes get bigger, and bigger. And I know what she’s thinking. Exactly what Kyle said everyone
would.

“Nothing happened though,” I finish.

“Right,” she says, standing, tearing her clothes from her body and changing into PJ pants and a tee. “Just like nothing happened with me last night either.”

I want to tell her I’m serious. That he was a gentleman in every way, but I’m more concerned about her.

“What didn’t happen with you last night?” I ask gently. Her anger seems to have abated.

“Well,” she begins, sitting gingerly. Her eyes are unblinking. “I
didn’t
end up going back to Stuart’s room with him and another guy. We
didn’t
have sex. I didn’t…” she trails off and blinks back tears.

I’m in shock. She did i
t with two guys. One of which was Stuart. The guy gave me the creeps—the way he looked at her, put his hand on me.

“I didn’t. I—” she stops, breaking down, putting her head in my lap. Sobs rack her body. I’m frozen.
Unsure about what to do. How can I comfort her? Clearly whatever happened, she didn’t want it to. My blood boils. If I ever see Stuart again, I’m going to scratch his eyes out. She snuggles her head against my knee, and I stroke her crazy hair.

“I’m so sorry, Gina. So sorry.”

She sniffles.

“What can I do? Tell me. If you want me to go over to Stuart’s and kick his ass, I’ll do it. Right this second,” I say, furious. Evil thoughts cross my mind. Like drenching him in gasoline and tossing a match. Running over him with a car. Beating him with a baseball bat. And I stop. Abigail would say I’m channeling my anger at Chief Hadley on the wrong person. Stuart may be a complete and total asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to die. 

Gina wipes her nose on her comforter. “Thanks, Maddie.” With effort, as though she’s in pain, she sits back up. “I drink too much. I like to party. Sometimes I forget guys will take advantage of that. It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.” She shrugs. “Nothing that won’t happen again.” She’s picking at a string on her comforter, pulling and pulling and pulling until finally it breaks off.

I’m baffled. She’s brushing off what was probably rape. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but she isn’t crying tears of joy, that’s for sure.

“If they hurt you, shouldn’t you report it?”

She laughs, a harsh dismal laugh. “And tell them what? That I came on to those guys
? I asked for it. I wanted it. And then it hurt, so I asked them to stop. They didn’t.” She shrugs again, closes her eyes, and more tears fall.

I grab her another tissue feeling like a total idiot, a complete moron, an awful friend.

Gina grabs the tissue from my outstretched hand. “They’ll tell me to stop drinking, stop hanging around assholes. But they won’t be able to do more than that.”

I shudder to realize that could’ve been me
. If Kyle hadn’t shown up, if someone else found me. “I’m sorry, Gina. I won’t let this happen again. I’ll be a better friend. I won’t leave you alone at a party again.”

She falls back, her head smacking the pillow. “Don’t go getting all Mother Theresa on me. What happened isn’t your fault.” She throws her arm over her eyes and sniffles.

I press my head against her pillow, so our heads are touching. “Still, if I’d been there, maybe I could’ve stopped them, or—” I smack my hand against the bed. “The next time I see Stuart I’m going to kill him, I swear.”

“Thanks, Maddie. Really. You’re a good friend.” Her voice is quiet, and I look over
at her. “I’m going to sleep. Talk to you later.”

I climb off the bed, pull on a pair of jeans, ballet flats, and Kyle’s sweatshirt. Then think better of it and throw it on the floor. Pick up one of my sweatshirts and claw it on.

It isn’t as soft as Kyle’s. It doesn’t smell like him. Frustrated, I grab some gum and my music. The piano rooms open at five. I should get there just in time.

And I need to play. Play until my fingers
are raw. Until I can’t see Gina’s devastated face, or Stuart, and the way he looked at her. I need to play until I can’t see the blood, so much blood, and the way my parents were laying still, so still on the carpet. I have to play until I can’t see the smug smile on Chief Hadley’s face when he walked into the interrogation room. I need to play until the pain stops, until all I feel is the music and the keys. The
staccato
and
legato
. Until it all disappears, and there’s only the melody.

14

Maddie

Texting Shame