What If (16 page)

Without opening her eyes, Nyelle maneuvers her body so her legs are curled up on the seat, with her head resting on my leg.

“She was grumpy,” she mumbles, tucking her hands under my thigh.

I release a breath, looking down at her dark brown hair hanging in front of her face. I gently brush it back so I can see her. Her eyes are still closed. I like this—having her snuggled up against me—even if she is drunk.

“Nyelle, why did you get so drunk tonight? Did something happen?” I ask, running a finger along her hairline.

She’s quiet. Just when I think she’s not going to answer, she whispers, “I miss her.”

“Who?”

“You,” she says in a soft breath.

“I don’t understand,” I reply. She remains quiet. Afraid she might’ve passed out, I ask, “Nyelle, do you want me to bring you to your dorm?”

“I don’t have a key,” Nyelle grumbles sleepily.

“Is Tess there?”

“Nope. Grandmother’s birthday.”

“Won’t they let you in if you show them your ID? I mean, you can crash at my place. I don’t mind…”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Cal, I don’t go here, you know.”

She says it a jumbled murmur. It sounds like one long mumbling word. I’m questioning if I heard her correctly.

“You don’t go to Crenshaw?”

She shakes her head ever so slightly and shifts to get more comfortable, drawing in a deep breath.

Well, that answers that question. Except I don’t understand why she’s here and how she’s able to stay in the dorms if she’s not enrolled. And… what does she do every day? My head is spinning just thinking about it. Every question I’ve asked her tonight has only left me more confused.

By the time we arrive at my apartment, Nyelle is out cold, so I end up carrying her in.

Kicking the door shut behind me, I take her into my room and lay her down on my bed—which is thankfully unmade. With my hands on my hips, I study her peaceful face. Wondering exactly what happened tonight. And if she’ll ever trust me enough to tell me.

I unlace and pull off her combat boots before rolling her onto each side to remove her to jacket. Then I eye her gloves, hesitating.

Removing them would be like revealing a secret without asking. I can’t do it. When I cover her with the blanket, she rolls over, tucking her hands beneath the pillow.

When I return from the bathroom, she’s breathing heavily with her mouth open in a drunken sleep. I consider sleeping on the couch, but I can’t fit on the stupid couch. So I slide in the bed next to her like I did before, lying with my back to her, listening to her breathe until I eventually fall asleep.

July—Before Seventh Grade

“If you start talking about what it’s like to kiss Cal, I’ll puke,” Rae threatens Richelle.

“What are we supposed to do at a sleepover if we don’t talk about boys?” Richelle demands, sitting on top of her sleeping bag.

“We could go scare the boys,” Rae suggests with a devious smile.

I laugh.

“See? Even Nicole likes that idea,” Rae says.

“Aren’t they sleeping in Cal’s backyard?” I ask, looking from Rae to Richelle.

This is the first time I’ve slept over at Rae’s. Sleeping in the basement in sleeping bags is so much different from sleeping in the bunk beds at Richelle’s. But I like it. We have a TV, and her mom is on the second floor, so we can stay up all night without her hearing us.

Richelle grabs the bag of Doritos and sits back against the orange and brown sofa.

“Okay. So what should we do?” she asks, after taking a sip of her Coke.

Rae rubs her hands together, grinning. “Come with me.”

She leads us through a curtain to the laundry room, where she sifts through the clothes in a basket, pulling out two hooded sweatshirts and handing them to me and Richelle. “They’re my mother’s boyfriend’s. Put them on.” She takes out a flannel shirt, putting it on over her Rancid T-shirt.

I look to Richelle. She shrugs and pulls the sweatshirt over her head. I do the same. The clothes are big on us, but I think that’s the point.

Rae stretches up on her tiptoes, trying to get a hat on a shelf. I reach up to grab it for her.

“Thanks,” she says, putting it on her small head. It looks huge too.

“Rae, you still haven’t told us what we’re doing,” Richelle says. Rae opens a door on the other side of the laundry area, flipping on a light.

It’s creepy in here. A dim bulb hangs from the ceiling. Everything’s covered in dirt and it smells like old things. I don’t follow her in.

“We’re going to sneak up on the tent,” she explains, rifling through the rakes and shovels leaning against the wall. “One person shines a light so we look like big shadows inside their tent. And the other two will…” She holds up a small ax with a grin.

“We’re not going to hurt them, are we?” I ask, staring at the shiny blade.

“Relax, Nicole,” Rae sighs. “We’re only going to wave it around and yell. It’s just to freak them out. It’ll be funny.”

I nod, not convinced. Richelle walks around the shadowy basement with Rae, searching too. She picks up a pitchfork. “Perfect.” She looks to me and asks, “Do you want to hold the flashlight?”

I nod again.

We sneak through the house, and Rae stops by the back door to hand me a large yellow flashlight with a handle. “Here.”

I take it from her and we slowly open the door.

We can see the tan dome tent from the back steps.

“Are they awake?” Richelle asks. Rae shrugs.

They creep across the grass. I follow a little ways back, carrying the flashlight. As we get closer, we can hear them talking. Rae holds up her hand for us to stop, listening.

“I can’t go,” Cal says.

“What, you need permission from your
girlfriend?
” Brady says, teasing him.

Richelle turns to me. She looks confused, and a little worried.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Cal answers. “Stop being an idiot.”

Rae waves us forward. They creep up to the tent.

“Ready?” Rae whispers, looking to me and Richelle. Richelle nods.

“Did you hear something?” Craig asks really fast. The boys are quiet.

Rae nods to me, and I turn on the flashlight, shining it from the ground at an upward angle like Rae told me to, casting tall shadows of the girls on the side of the tent.

“Aaaahhh!!” Rae and Richelle holler in deep voices, waving the ax and pitchfork above their heads.

The guys scream. Actually, Brady sounds like he’s shrieking. Rae, Richelle and I laugh hysterically.

“It’s the girls!” Craig yells.

I shut off the flashlight at the sound of the zipper. Richelle and Rae screech and drop their weapons by the tent when the boys holler, “Get ’em!”

They burst out, armed with large yellow squirt guns, and start shooting water at us. We scatter. I duck behind the bushes next to Cal’s house, watching them run by.

When I think it’s safe, I slowly step out, just as Cal runs around the corner. He aims the squirt gun at me. I hold up my arms to protect my face, but nothing happens. When I lower them, he’s just standing there.

“I won’t squirt you,” he says with a small smile.

“Nicole! Run!” Richelle’s running around the corner with Craig right behind, squirting her.

Cal whips around and starts squirting her too. She squeals and races toward Rae’s house, as I hide behind the bush again.

“What is going on out here?” I hear Mrs. Logan say from the back porch. We all freeze.

“It was their fault,” everyone says in unison, pointing.

I’m awake. And I really need to use the bathroom. But I don’t want to move. Nyelle is lying behind me, on my pillow, breathing on my neck. Her body is so close, I can feel heat coming off her. Her bare leg brushes against the back of my thigh. There’s nothing on her legs, so that means she took off her pants. Yeah. I don’t want to move because then she probably will. I’d rather lie here and be tortured by the need to go to the bathroom, knowing I can’t turn around and touch her. Because I should probably brush my teeth before I do that.

Shit. I need to go to the bathroom.
And
brush my teeth. Shit.

I gently slide the covers back and try not to disturb her, getting off the bed in one motion. She rolls over to her side of the bed with a groan. I sigh.

I walk over her sweater, pants, bra and gloves on the way out of my room. I’m not sure what’s left under the blanket, but sliding back in bed with her should be interesting… or completely inappropriate.

When I step out of the bathroom, Nyelle is sitting on the arm of the couch, slumped forward with her hair hanging in front of her face. She’s wearing a pair of my boxers and a sweatshirt that hangs over one shoulder, revealing a tank top strap.

Rubbing the cuff of the sleeve over her face, she grumbles, “Do you have an extra toothbrush? I have the worst taste in my mouth.”

“I think so,” I answer, opening the small closet just inside the bathroom. I shift some things around and pull out a blue toothbrush in cellophane. “It’s one of those cheap ones the dentist gives you. That okay?”

“I don’t care,” she mumbles, standing unsteadily, holding out a hand that’s barely poking out of the sleeve. I give it to her and step out of her way as she stumbles into the bathroom with her eyes half closed.

After throwing on a hoodie, I sit on the couch and turn on the TV, not confident enough to return to bed now that she’s awake.

The bathroom door opens. “How are you feeling?” I ask, although the answer to that is evident when she drags her feet to the bedroom. She may have grunted as she passed.

A couple minutes later, she reemerges with a pillow under her arm, dragging a blanket behind her.

Nyelle tosses the pillow on my lap and lies down without a word. Pulling the blanket up to her nose, she falls back to sleep.

*     *     *

I’m watching a college football game when I hear the key in the door. Nyelle still hasn’t woken up. I’m starving, but I refuse to move her from my lap. I’m focused on the game with my hand on her shoulder when Eric enters.

“Hey, man.”

I look over as he walks in, carrying fast food bags. “Please tell me you bought something for me,” I beg as he tosses the bags on the counter.

“I did,” he responds, then gets a better look at me. “Uh… your date go well?”

“Not at all.”

“Then…” Eric nods toward Nyelle. “Who’s that?”

“Hey, Eric,” Nyelle croaks from beneath the blanket.

Eric creeps over to get a closer look, trying to figure out who she is. Nyelle pulls the blanket down.

“Did you bring any hot chocolate?”

“Lake Girl! Holy shit!” Eric exclaims. “Was
not
expecting you under there.”

“Ow. Not so loud,” Nyelle pleads, squinting up at him. I rub her shoulder in empathy.

“Got a little wasted last night?” he asks with a grin. “Did you go all Hulk and hurt someone?”

“I did,” she replies in a rasp.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, suddenly remembering. “How’s your hand?”

“Wait. You really did hurt someone?” Eric’s mouth drops open. Then he starts laughing. “Did you punch Cal and I missed it?”

I shoot him a look.

“Why would I want to punch Cal?” Nyelle asks. “My hand’s okay. Although my head hurts so bad, I can’t feel anything else.”

“Let me see it,” I request.

She slips her hand out from under the blanket. It looks so delicate, I can’t imagine it forming a fist and punching someone in the face. I slip my hand under it to examine it more carefully, taking in the details of her uncovered hand. Her knuckles are red but not cut. It’s a good thing she was wearing her gloves.

“Doesn’t look bad,” I say. But before I can turn it over, she pulls it back under the blanket. I didn’t find what she didn’t want me to see. But she’s definitely hiding something.

“What did you bring us?” I ask Eric.

“Well, I didn’t know I was feeding three people,” Eric responds.

“I don’t want food,” Nyelle says, and makes a noise like even the thought of eating is making her sick.

“Don’t we have Powerade or some of other sports drink in the fridge?” I ask, still not willing to get up.

Eric eyes Nyelle lying on my lap and replies dramatically, “Well, let
me
go check.”

He returns with a sports drink and a bag of food.

“Thanks.” I take the bottle from him and open it. “Nyelle, you should drink this. It’ll help your head.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eric asks, leaning back in the recliner before unwrapping a burger.

“Nothing,” Nyelle answers, carefully lifting her head to take a sip.

“Well, that sounds exciting,” Eric responds sarcastically. “There’s a party—”

“No,” Nyelle snaps quickly. “No parties. Please.”

I laugh and shrug, “No parties.”

Eric crumples up the wrapper of the burger he just inhaled. “I’m meeting some of the guys at the gym to play ball. I was supposed to ask you…” Then he looks at the Nyelle and stops. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks for getting the food,” I say, watching him disappear into his room.

Nyelle shifts onto her back so she’s looking at me upside down. I brush the hair out of her face. She smiles weakly. Then she closes her eyes and falls asleep. I watch her hidden eyes shift beneath her lids and rub her arm. I know
she’s
miserable right now. But I’m not.

*     *     *

“Henley, get down,” I tell him as he jumps up on the couch next to Nicole.

“It’s okay,” Nicole says, digging her hands into his fur and rubbing behind his ears. “Hey, Henley. So good to see you.”

He jumps back on the floor and she brushes his gold fur off of her skirt.

“How was your baseball game?” she asks, kicking off her shoes and lying down on the small pillow so her head is right next to my leg. She folds her hands over her stomach and lies perfectly still with her legs straight.

I look down at her and she’s staring up at me with her bright blue eyes.

“Bad day?” I ask, setting down the controller for the video game. Nicole usually does this whenever something’s bothering her. I tease her that it makes me feel like she’s lying on the couch of a psychiatrist’s office. Although I know psychiatrists don’t really have couches for patients to lie on—at least my mom doesn’t.

“Lance asked me out today,” she says quietly.

My heart skips a beat.

“And what did you tell him?” I feel like I have sandpaper in my throat.

Nicole sits up on the cushion next to me. “That I don’t want to go out with anyone.”

“Oh,” I say in relief. But then… wait. “You don’t?”

She looks at me and shrugs. But she doesn’t look away. It’s like she’s waiting for something. “Are we supposed to want to now that we’re in middle school?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. I haven’t asked anyone out since we entered the sixth grade a couple months ago. But then again, the only girl I’d want to ask is looking at me right now.

Nicole takes my hand and closes her eyes. “It’s so confusing. I don’t want to have to think about it yet.”

I want to wipe my hand, afraid that it’s sweaty. But she doesn’t seem to care. She does this too sometimes, just sits here with her eyes closed, holding my hand, like I have some magic power to make her feel better. It never used to bother me, and it still doesn’t. But now it feels different, or at least I want it to mean something different.

“Hey!” Richelle hollers from the top of the stairs.

Nicole’s eyes fly open. She releases my hand and practically jumps to the other side of the couch as Richelle comes down the stairs, carrying an empty Mountain Dew bottle.

“What are you guys doing? Come over to Rae’s. The guys are here. I thought we could play a game.” She looks at me and smiles.

*     *     *

“What are you thinking about?” Nyelle asks, her eyes open. I look at her hand wrapped around mine and I grin.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Are you up for watching a movie?”

“Do you mind if I take a shower? It might help me feel better.”

“Sure,” I say. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” she requests.

“I have that,” I tell her. “Grape or strawberry?”

Nyelle pushes off the couch. “Strawberry.”

I have a paper plate with a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich and a handful of Doritos waiting for her when she gets out.

“So much better,” she says, tossing the empty sports drink in the trash. She searches the cabinets for a cup and fills it with water, then sits on the couch next to me. “This is perfect! Thanks.” She begins to eat like she hasn’t in weeks. She doesn’t make a mess, but she barely swallows between bites.

“Just don’t breathe on me after,” I tease.

“What? You don’t think peanut butter–Dorito breath is sexy?” she says, crunching on a chip.

“Not really.” I chuckle. The next thing I know, she’s straddling me, breathing in my face. I try not to laugh as I hold my breath, turning my head away. She leans in closer, so I grab her wrists to keep her back. She’s laughing as she struggles against my grip.

“Smell my peanut butter–Dorito breath, Cal! I know you want to.”

I flip her onto the couch and I’m between her legs, pinning her arms above her head.

She smiles up at me. I don’t move. Suddenly, I don’t give a shit what her breath smells like and drift toward the mouth I was trying to avoid just seconds ago. She frees a hand and runs it through my hair.

Just as I’m about to kiss her, she says, “You need a haircut.” Then she pops up, her head nearly colliding with my mouth. “Oooh. Can I cut it?”

“You want to cut my hair?” I ask, sitting back on the cushion, defeated. Trying to kiss this girl is dangerous.

Nyelle leans over and finishes the last bite of the sandwich. “Yes. And I promise to brush my teeth first. Do you have clippers? Or scissors? Or a razor?”

She’s off the couch and in the bathroom before I can react.

“No razors,” I say adamantly, images of bloodshed flashing in my head. I can hear her digging through the contents of the closet in the bathroom.

She returns carrying the black bag with Eric’s electric clippers in it.

“Scissors?” she asks after setting the bag on the coffee table. I don’t remember saying okay to this.

“In my room, in the desk drawer,” I tell her, figuring if it sucks, I’ll just buzz it short like I did in high school.

She returns with the scissors, pulling my desk chair behind her.

“Sit here,” she instructs me, placing the chair in the middle of the open space.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask, sitting on the chair.

“Not exactly, but kinda.” That wasn’t an answer.

“So, basically, you have no idea what you’re doing,”

“Basically,” she agrees, plugging in the clippers. She puts a towel around my shoulders, then stands in front of me and studies my head, running her fingers through my hair. My eyes shut with her touch.

Then I hear the clippers buzz into action and my eyes pop back open.

“Keep them shut,” she says. “I don’t want to get hair in your eyes.”

I should be concerned. But I’m not. What my hair looks like is not that important to me. But I could sit here all day, letting Nyelle run her fingers through it.

The clippers hum as I absorb the tingle of her fingers as they slide through the hair around my neck, over my ears, and eventually the sides of my head. When she shuts them off, I ease my eyes open, sedated.

“I like the way it kinda curls up,” she says, tousling the hair on top of my head that she has yet to cut.

I force myself to focus on her face with her standing this close. If I look forward, I’ll be staring right at…
Crenshaw.
And not looking is taking all of my effort. She’s torturing me right now, and she doesn’t even know it.

Nyelle picks up the scissors. I release a tense breath when she stands behind me. I need a moment to get my shit together, breathe deep, and think about football.

She trims the top of my head. When she’s done, she removes the towel from my shoulders and stands back to admire her work.

“I like it,” she declares with her hands on her hips, still looking at my hair and not really at me. She sets the scissors down and steps forward until the sweatshirt is practically brushing my nose, flipping my hair with her fingers. I can’t resist. I slide my hands onto her hips.

She stills within my grasp, her fingers easing through my hair. I reel her in gently so she’s straddling one of my legs. She still won’t look at me, but I’m watching her eyes, waiting for a sign that I should let go. She inhales deeply, expanding the letters of
Crenshaw
across her chest. Then she brushes a hand down my cheek.

I take it in mine, and that’s when I notice the scars. It’s like she slammed her fist down on miniature razor blades. Tiny crisscrosses run along the side of her hand. It’s shaking.

The rest of her is motionless. I don’t think she’s even breathing. I press the side of her hand to my mouth, kissing the marks she’s been so determined to hide. She slowly eases herself onto my lap. Her eyes are dark and have yet to blink, watching me apprehensively. I run my hand along the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes shut with my touch, like I’ve hit a switch.

Her mouth opens ever so slightly, in anticipation. I keep my eyes focused on her lips until I’m too close to see them anymore. And all I can do is feel them. Her arms slide around my neck as I pull her into me, pressing against the soft give of her mouth that tastes of mint.