Winter Longing (19 page)

Authors: Tricia Mills

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Love & Romance

BOOK: Winter Longing

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But it was too late. The gift was already in the pile, wedged between others. There was no way I could surreptitiously snatch it and run.

As the gifts dwindled, I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t watch the reactions of my classmates, but I was on the wrong side of the room to escape. Roughly a quarter of Tundra’s high school students stood between the door and me. Left with little option, I eased my way up the stairs and hid in the bathroom. I’d go back downstairs when I was sure all the presents had been opened and everyone was back to partying. Then I could slip out the door with little notice and continue hiding at my house.

I must have been a pathetic image, sitting there on the closed toilet, trying to estimate how long it would take Jesse to open the remaining presents. Timing was crucial. Why had I allowed myself to think coming to this party was a good idea? It clearly wasn’t. This had to be my punishment. I was already dreading Patrice’s reaction when she found out what I’d given Jesse.

The minutes stretched like an unbreakable rubber band, but eventually the music level went up. I stood, taking a deep breath and preparing my escape.

I eased out of the bathroom and started down the hallway. That’s when I heard the voices. Curious, I inched closer to a bedroom door, which was partially cracked.

Patrice stood in Jesse’s room with her shirt unbuttoned and running her hands up his chest. Jesse noticed me, but I quickly averted my eyes. That’s when I saw the blue, green, and white of the Canucks jersey thrown on his bed.

“Excuse me,” I said as calmly as possibly, confused by how upset I was. I walked at a normal pace down the rest of the short hallway, ignoring the “Wait!” Jesse had called out. I was afraid he’d seen the disappointment in my eyes and taken it the wrong way. It was his business whom he dated, though I thought he could do better than Patrice. That was the root of my disappointment. It wasn’t that I liked him. Because I didn’t!

The twisting of my heart and the pounding in my head threatened to convince me I was lying to myself.

I quickened my stride, but it still took centuries to reach the stairs. When I did reach them, I hurried toward the door. My brain was functioning enough for me to grab my coat before I headed out into the cold. I had to get away. I didn’t belong here.

Patrice had won. She’d snapped her fingers and gotten Jesse back, just like she’d predicted. And I had to convince myself I didn’t care. After all, why should I care?

Enough of my common sense remained that I didn’t run. That would just instigate even more gossip. I wondered if Mom and Dad would consider sending me away to boarding school for the rest of my senior year.

The decision not to run came back to bite me in the butt when Jesse caught up with me. I had just stepped onto my front porch and was beating the snow off the bottom of my shoes.

“Hey!”

I let any emotion fall from my face before I turned toward him. “You’re not wearing a coat.”

“I was in a hurry,” he said. Then, after a beat: “That wasn’t what you thought.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Don’t play dumb, Winter.”

“You and Patrice making out? Jesse, seriously, that’s none of my business.”

He frowned. “We weren’t making out.”

I couldn’t help it; I raised my eyebrows.

“We weren’t,” he insisted. “She showed up—uninvited I might add—wanting to get back together. But I don’t want to. And she doesn’t, either—not for me anyway. It’s a control thing with her. She likes to get whatever she wants.”

I shoved my ungloved hands into my pockets. “She has a pretty good track record of getting exactly that.”

“Not this time.” The intensity in his dark eyes made me want to believe him. I just didn’t know if I could, or whether I should care one way or the other.

“Why did you date her?”

He sighed and looked up at the sky. “Will you think I’m a creep if I say because she’s pretty? At least at first. That, and the fact that our parents are good friends; they kind of pressured us together.” He lowered his gaze back to mine and shrugged. “She’s not all bad. She’s capable of showing genuine caring sometimes, but . . .” He hesitated, shifted as he looked back toward his house. “I’m not saying this excuses her behavior, because it doesn’t, but her parents put a crazy amount of pressure on her.”

“Please don’t tell me the poor-little-rich-girl story.”

He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Even if it’s partially true?”

I stared, then finally shrugged.

“She has to be perfect, for some crazy reason. They want her to get all A’s, be popular, be the best at cheering, date who they think is the best potential boyfriend. She’s so busy trying to live the life her parents want that she doesn’t even know what she wants herself.”

“Oh, I can tell you what that is. She wants you.”

Jesse took a few steps closer. “You know I don’t want to get back with her. I want someone else.”

The memory of our near kiss warmed my chilled, exposed cheeks. I shook my head. “I . . . I can’t.” Nerves caused me to stammer and take a step back before I pulled myself together. “Plus, it doesn’t make sense. Guys like you end up with girls like Patrice.”

“Patrice and I are over, Winter. She’ll get the message. By the time we broke up, we were staying together out of habit more than anything. And that’s the ugly truth.” He sounded embarrassed by his admission.

Somehow I managed to keep up my ambivalent facade. I stood there, stiff, unable to force my feet to retreat as I watched Jesse climb the porch stairs, bringing his face level with mine.

“I really liked the jersey,” he said.

My breath formed a little cloud as it met the cold air. “I didn’t know it was a gag-gift party.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get me a gag gift.” He lifted his hand and placed his palm against my cheek. Despite the fact that he was standing outside without a coat and gloves, his skin felt warm against mine. “It was the best present I got.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. No appropriate response formed in my head.

He looked at me another moment before sighing and giving me a sad smile. Even faced with his disappointment, I couldn’t think clearly enough to speak. I resisted the intoxicating, confusing urge to lean forward and see what might happen. While I was busy resisting temptation, he retreated down the steps and jogged back to his house and his guests. Something twisted in the pit of my stomach as I worried that he might be changing his mind about Patrice.

“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”

—Henry David Thoreau, Quote-a-Day calendar

CHAPTER 24

“How
was the party?” Mom asked when I stepped in.

“Fine.” I even managed not to sound as shaken as I felt.

Dad lowered the medical journal he was reading. “You’re home early.”

“All partied out, I guess.” I gestured toward the stairs. “Gotta do some homework.”

When I reached my room, I stood in the dark, my back against the door, eyes closed. What was wrong with me? Why was I upset about the scene between Patrice and Jesse? Why had I felt the need to give in to kissing him? Was it pure loneliness, or was I developing real feelings for him? Feelings that were independent of Spencer or my loss of him. If so, how was it possible, so soon after Spencer’s death?

I opened my eyes and listened. The faint beat of the music next door filtered through my window, preventing me from forgetting that I’d even stepped foot into the party.

As I pushed away from the door, I tried to imagine what Spencer would say if he could see me now and feel my struggle. I stopped and gasped when I couldn’t recall the sound of his voice. Bits of him were slipping away. How was that possible, to know someone for years and then have the sound of his voice fade from memory in less than two months? When I could still feel him with me at times?

“Spencer? ” I whispered. I scanned the room, wishing he’d somehow appear and speak to me, but nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself.

I sank onto my bed and scooted back to the headboard. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to pick my way through my confusion. My feelings for Jesse were jumbled, and my constant sense that Spencer wasn’t totally gone didn’t make it less confusing.

God, I wanted to be about thirty now, with all of this pain and confusion far behind me.

From my vantage point, I could see the light spilling from Jesse’s house. Trying to focus on something else, I pulled the new costume book from the Tundra Books bag. I’d been so excited when I’d ordered it, as I’d waited for it to arrive. But when it’d finally shown up in Tundra, costume design had seemed like a frivolous dream. I hadn’t even cracked the spine.

I ran my hand over the white cover, then flicked on the lamp attached to my headboard. I took a deep breath before I opened the cover. My eyes filled when I looked at the empty page where normally Spencer would have scrawled a note: some insight, something sweet, sometimes a snarky comment. I ran my fingertips over that blank page, as if they might make his words appear.

As I flipped through the pages, I remembered how Spencer used to tease me that someday I’d make the tabloids for my wild Hollywood lifestyle. I concentrated, trying to remember exactly how his voice had sounded, but only a vague echo surfaced.

I covered my face with my hands. “Oh, Spencer. I’m so sorry. Why can’t I hear you anymore?”

Only the dulled sound of music from next door answered me.

I took the costume book and moved to my overstuffed chair in the corner. I lost myself in the book, in the Academy Award-winning designs of Deborah Nadoolman Landis and the history of Hollywood costume design. With each page I turned, the spark of interest in returning to my own designs grew. I’d thought the desire to draw had disappeared forever in the weeks after Spencer’s crash.

A lump formed in my throat when I crossed the room to my desk and touched the cover of my sketchbook. A strange warmth surrounded me, and I imagined it was Spencer nudging me. It felt wonderful to be inspired again.

I took the sketch pad and my drawing pencils back to the chair, placing them on the ottoman. Five minutes of staring had passed before I grabbed the pad and flipped it open quickly, as though I was ripping off a Band-Aid.

But when my pencil tip touched the clean white page, instinct took over. And the first thing I created was a dress for Lindsay for the Snow Ball, because I was sure Caleb would ask her. They’d be the most stunning couple there. I made note of the fabric and supplies I’d need to create this thing of beauty—the shimmery red dress I’d originally planned for myself—and glanced at my untouched sewing machine in the corner.

After that, my pencil sprouted wings. I continued to draw and draw and draw. I drew until the cramping in my hand forced me to stop. Only then did I realize that many hours had passed, that it was the middle of the night. Next door, all was quiet and dark.

The sketching had freed something inside me, something that had been wound tight. With its release, a calm had begun taking up residence inside me. I stared at the dark house next door and decided not to stress so much about what I might feel for Jesse. I’d just take it slow and see what happened. After all, I might be stressing for no reason. Nothing might come of it.

I supposed I’d have to hang my life on a cliché and take things one day at a time.

“Where there is love there is life.”

—Mohandas K. Gandhi, Quote-a-Day calendar

CHAPTER 25

Snow
covered more and more of the mountains each day. Today, I could tell a new blanket was falling when I looked out the window of Mom’s car as she drove me from school to Oregano’s. I’d stuck around helping her clean up her classroom after school, aiming to ask her advice about Jesse. But something had kept me from voicing my questions.

“Will you be home for dinner?” Mom asked as she pulled into a spot in front of Oregano’s. “You’ve got to be getting tired of the menu here.”

“I don’t know. I’ll give you a call.”

Mom didn’t look at me as if I might break anymore, but I could still tell she often thought of Spencer when she watched my expressions. She reached across and patted my hand before I slipped out into the mid-October cold.

As soon as I stepped inside, Lindsay pulled me into the kitchen, past where Casey was making a Mega Cheese pizza.

“Guess what!” Lindsay looked like she might go all pogo stick any moment.

“Caleb asked you to the Snow Ball.”

Her face fell. “How’d you know?”

I smiled wide. “I had a feeling he’d ask.”

“Well, moose poop. Here I was anticipating springing the news on you.”

I hugged her. “I’m still excited for you, Linds.”

“What about you?” she asked as she pulled away. “You going to go with Jesse?”