She glowers at the ground.
“Why don’t you like me?” I ask.
“I never said I don’t like you.”
“You just asked me to stay away from Jesse.”
“Yes, I did. That has nothing to do with like. Anyway, you don’t like me.”
I straighten my shirt. “I never said I don’t like you.”
“I forgot. We’re best friends. You’re the girl who sits in the cafeteria at lunch, and I’m the girl who doesn’t. We have so much in common.”
“You can sit with me at lunch if you want,” I say.
That brings her up short, but then she brushes her hair away from her face and shrugs. “I don’t think your friends would be okay with that.”
My heart sinks because she’s probably right.
“Don’t take any of this personally,” Veronica says. “Life is what it is, right?”
Unfortunately, yes.
“I think you should stay away from Jesse because he’s going through a lot, and he doesn’t need anyone else making him hurt. You’re a wild card, and he doesn’t need surprises.”
I stop at the road and look her in the eye. “Why do you think I’ll hurt Jesse?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“He calls you Tink and that book you’re holding is Peter Pan.”
I have no idea what that has to do with anything.
“Then to put it in those terms, if you’re Tink, and he’s Peter Pan, then Nazareth, Leo and I are the Lost Boys. What do those characters have in common?”
Not a clue. “What?”
“They felt abandoned at home, not wanted, that is until Peter Pan took them in and gave them a place to belong. Jesse is the ultimate Island of Misfit Toys. As in ‘all who enter here have been damaged.’ Even though you live in that big fancy house, I don’t believe you’re immune to broken. If you found your way here, then something or someone along the way has shattered you and that scares me.
“All of us are cracked, but Jesse takes damaged to another level. He doesn’t need whatever is wrong with you destroying whatever parts of him are still intact. You won’t mean to hurt him, but you might and I’m not okay with that. Jesse is my family, and it’s clear you’re more than a friend to him. Those types of feelings are dangerous. Especially when you’re both broken.”
“I’m not broken,” I say, the defiance clear in my voice. I’m empty. I hurt. There’s a difference, and someday, once I leave, I’m going to be okay.
“It’s all right,” she says, and holds out her hands, palms up. “My broken can’t be fixed either so you’re not alone in this. Broken doesn’t mean death. Well … at least for you.”
I’ve been reading the books Glory gave me, and the lines on her palm are hard to ignore. From the faint porch light from Jesse’s trailer, her health line is visible—very visible. Very deep. Healthy people aren’t supposed to have health lines, at least not one like hers. My stomach sinks in sympathy. But the psychic stuff isn’t real, right? “Are you sick?”
The answer is plain on her face—yes. “Haven’t you heard? I have the Black Death.”
Ha. Very funny.
“You made Jesse happy today so thanks for that. And for the record, it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that I like Jesse more. Anyway, I hope you don’t get caught.”
Caught. The word vibrates through my body. She steps back, an indication our conversation is done, and I walk toward my house, toward the light in my father’s office. At the tree, I tuck Peter and Wendy into my jeans, at the small of my back, for safe keeping. The climb up the tree is long; each slight sound I make causes my heart to stutter.
I hold my breath as I slip through the window into my dark room. My pulse beats in my ears as my eyes adjust, and I quickly glance about to make sure Dad’s not in my room. Some shadow of a monster waiting in the dark to jump out at me in anger.
I peel off my clothes that smell of Jesse, put on my PJs and lie in bed. I should feel relief that I’m safe, but instead I’m confused and I’m empty. Does that mean Veronica is right and I’m broken? If I am broken, am I so broken that I can’t be repaired?
There’s footsteps on the stairs, down the hall, and they stop outside my room. Fear paralyzes me as the knob turns, and the hinges squeak. Dad opens my door, and I force myself to look at him. If he’s going to come in screaming then I want to see him coming.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I heard something and wanted to check in on you.”
“I heard something, too, outside, but it went away,” I say. “Why are you awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to get some work done. Squirrels are probably getting into the attic. That tree is close to the house and gives them access. I should probably cut it down.”
“I like the tree.”
“Your mom does, too. Go back to sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say, grateful that I wasn’t busted. “Good night.”
Dad doesn’t leave like I expect. Instead he stands there like a statue. “I know you don’t believe me, but I promise you, I’m trying to change.”
I’m not sure what the proper response to this should be so I go for safe. “Okay.”
“Do you know that’s that longest conversation we’ve had without an argument in weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then, just … have a good sleep.” And he shuts the door, but I don’t hear footsteps. He hasn’t left, and I don’t close my eyes.
JESSE
Lying in bed, I wish the room would stop spinning. The constant rotation makes it tough to pay attention to the sound of the front door. I heard V leave with Scarlett. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, and I want to talk to her before crashing again.
V should be back by now. I become edgy, muscles locking. Maybe there were problems. Maybe V already returned and I didn’t hear. Maybe V left. Maybe V’s standing on the front steps because she can’t come in since no one gave her permission.
I take a deep breath, preparing to force myself to my feet, and the front door shuts. Footsteps down the hallway and I open my eyes to catch V entering my room. She plops at the end of my bed, pushing my feet out of the way so she can lean her back against the wall.
“How’d you get in?” I ask.
“Nazareth gave me permission to enter.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Why do you have maps on your walls?”
I’m silent because I’m not going to answer.
“I refuse to walk into a house without permission. You have a hundred maps on your wall. You have your weird and I have mine. Though I’ll give you that I have a lot more weird than you.”
Touché. “Scarlett okay?”
“She’s home, and the light in her bedroom never came on. I’m assuming that’s good.”
Only way to know for sure is when I see her again. “Thanks, V.”
“How’s the start of that hangover?”
“Fantastic.” My head is already starting to pound like a bass drum.
“It’s not like you can actually hold your alcohol.” She fingers one of her bouncy, blond curls. “What happened today? And please don’t say nothing. You don’t drink to get drunk and that was your goal tonight.”
I wish she’d back off. “I thought we were going to ignore my problems.”
“I only said that because other people’s grief makes me uncomfortable. Anyhow, maybe I’m evolving as a person and I’m trying to be more attuned to my feelings. That’s what adults do, right?”
“That’s the theory.”
“Does Scarlett know what’s going on with your land?” V asks.
“Yes.”
“Does she know what your maps mean?”
Because V is one of my best friends, I give her the truth. “Yes.”
“Does she know what caused the scar on your back?”
“Yes.”
“No.” And because I’m not the only one who had drama going on tonight, I throw the ball back in her court. “Does Leo know you have feelings for him?”
She stares at her hands in her lap. “I don’t have feelings for him.”
“I saw the look on your face when you placed your head on his shoulder.”
“I don’t have feelings for him.”
“V—”
“It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t see me.”
My forehead furrows. “He sees you all the time.”
“Me.” She slams her hands against the bed. “He sees V, not me—Veronica, and on bad days, he sees my illness, but he never sees me. I’m more than V, and I’m more than my illness. Leo only sees Leo, and he only sees what’s fun and what’s blocking his path to fun.”
I stare at her, not blinking, wondering if that’s how she feels about all of us. “I think you should give Leo more credit than that.”
“I’ve decided I don’t like you drunk. You talk too much. I’ve also decided that becoming attuned to feelings is overrated.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter what you say because it’s not going to change my mind. I’m dying, Jesse, so none of it matters.”
I hate it when she talks that way. Hate it because she has more life in front of her than she thinks. I hate it more because she could be right. The thought causes sadness, and I have to rub my eyes to fight off the way they burn.
“Are you in love with her?” V asks in a quiet voice.
“I think I was born in love with her, but that doesn’t mean she wants me to do anything about it. Doesn’t mean that I should do anything either.”
V falls silent and the two of us stare at the other. It’s not uncomfortable. Just two old friends in the same spot we always are—no idea what tomorrow will bring.
“She’s lucky to have someone like you in love with her,” V says.
I close my eyes and settle into the pillow. “No, she’s not. Anything I love is cursed.”
SCARLETT
“You look tired.” It’s a Friday, and Jesse Lachlin lazily leans against the locker next to mine. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Doesn’t he know it’s too early to be social? The first bell hasn’t even rung.
“Is that a nice way of saying I look like crap?” I ask.
He chuckles. “You always look good, Scarlett.”
The compliment is nice but untrue. I should be wearing a paper bag over my head with cut-outs for my eyes. I haven’t slept well this week. One, after three weeks of Mom and Dad getting along, this week has brought on very serious, unknown-to-me discussions between them at night. A few times their voices raised and that was enough to make me sick to my stomach. It’s baffling because I’ve been on my best behavior, yet they still find a way to fight.
The second reason is because I’m freaking myself out at night. I’ve been reading Glory’s books, and that is a tragic mistake. I see forms in the shadows now—my mind tricking me that there are ghosts from another realm in my room.
When I visited Glory a few days ago, I told her that her books were scaring me. She told me that it wasn’t a trick, but me opening myself to the awareness of the spiritual world, that I was awakening my psychic senses.
I need my head examined.
“You haven’t signaled for me yet,” Jesse says, as if he’s asking if I did my math homework. “I still need to show you that special place on my land.”
I continue moving the dial on my lock one way then another and with a click, it opens. It’s been three weeks since I snuck out to see Jesse and laid with him in his bed. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to take Jesse up on his offer, it’s just … “Things are busy.”
Between schoolwork, my mom staring at me twenty-four/seven because she’s so disappointed that I lied about the job, trying to sneak in working for Glory at night so my parents don’t find out I’m lying to them again and sleep, there’s not a lot of time.
“Is that the only reason?” he asks.
I stop rummaging through my locker and study him. He’s not watching me, but instead observing the people coming and going along the narrow hallway. Most girls turn their heads in his direction, and I understand why. He’s in faded blue jeans that fit him perfectly, his solid-blue T-shirt is stretched taut across the muscles of his chest and the red stubble on his face makes him look more like a rugged man on a magazine cover than a high school boy.
Jesse Lachlin has this sexy presence that’s impossible to ignore, and the more time I spend with him, I find myself thinking way too much of our unspoken night in his bed. Of how our bodies were twined tight, the tickle of his hot breath on my neck and how I’d like him to touch me again.
“Are you testing me?” Jesse looks over at me, and while he keeps the lazy, relaxed posture, there’s a flash of hurt in his green eyes that causes me to ache. Because I have never liked seeing Jesse in pain and because I am testing him.
Testing him sucks, but I’m scared. I don’t know why I’m scared and that makes me angry … and then that ticks me off more. Aggravated with myself, I shove two of my books into my backpack harder than needed, causing three of my folders to fall to the ground. I sigh heavily, and Jesse crouches and picks up my scattered papers before I have a chance to dip for them myself.
His eyes flicker along the page. “You’re right. You’ve been busy.”
On the sheet is math—not Calculus or Trig or even Algebra Two. It’s real-life math. It’s estimates of how much I’ll make working for Glory if I continue at my current rate, and comparing that to estimates for renting an apartment versus living in a dorm at the University of Kentucky. It’s me trying to figure out my path to freedom.
“Where are these apartments that you’re looking at?” he asks.
“Somewhere close to UK.” Close, but not super-near. More important, they’re cheaper than the dorms.
“Are you familiar with the areas these apartments are at?” he asks.
“No, but you should see the pictures. The places look great.”
Jesse hands the papers to me. When I take them from him, his finger slips against mine. My heart pounds against my chest, and I lose the ability to make eye contact. I pathetically mumble some sort of thank-you and then my heart stutters again when he offers me a half-devilish grin in response.
I wish I weren’t such an awkward mess. I wish his touch would have lasted longer. I really wish the blush on my cheeks would disappear.
I shove the folders back in, shut my locker and head to class before anything else embarrassing has a chance to happen. Jesse is there beside me, loping along as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Since the night in his bed, he does this now—finds me at my locker in the morning then walks me to class. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t. I find his presence strangely exhilarating, as if I were willingly holding on to a live wire.
Besides the morning routine, he hangs with his friends, I hang with my friends and the world returns to its normal social axis of him on one side and me on the other. Except I catch him watching me, openly, and he doesn’t turn away when caught. I notice this because I’m watching him, too.
“What if I told you those apartments probably aren’t what you think they are?”
I roll my eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“Living on your own is tough. It can get financially hairy quick.”
“Do you know everything?” I ask. “Or are there some elements on the periodic table you haven’t memorized yet?”
“Barium is BA and its atomic number is fifty-six. All I’m saying is that you might need to lower your expectations of what you’re getting into by living on your own. Have you thought about applying for financial aid?”
“Have you thought about applying for financial aid?”
“Nope, and you never answered before,” he says. “About if you’re testing me.”
Because I don’t want to answer. “What does that question have to do with barium or apartments? And why do you think I’m testing you?”
“When will you answer a direct question?”
“I answer plenty of questions.”
“You evade or you answer a question with a question. Neither are real answers.”
I scowl, and he smirks. Why must smug look so adorable on him?
With a deep breath, I force out a better and truer response. “I’m sorry.” For the test. “I don’t mean to be so messed up.” And I think of what Veronica said about being broken.
“I don’t think any of us mean to be messed up, but messed up happens regardless.”
Neither of us speaks for a span of a section of lockers because that is so real and raw.
“Will the test be much longer?” he asks.
I give him my most honest answer. “I hope not.”
“Me, too.”
At the water fountain, Jesse’s friends watch as we go by. Leo waggles his eyebrows at us while grinning, Nazareth watches with impassive interest and Veronica barely looks up from behind a piece of paper she’s cutting into a snowflake.
It’s fall, the leaves are a beautiful array of colors and there are dozens of snowflakes on her locker. She’s dressed in a red plaid, pleated skirt, an off-the-shoulder low-cut blue shirt, and a scarf and matching toboggan hat when today will be a high of eighty. Last week, she celebrated Thanksgiving and it’s only September. Veronica is definitely different.
“I can’t tell if your friends like me,” I say.
“You’re an unknown to them,” he replies. “Give them time and V will be putting snowflakes on your locker, too. If you aren’t careful, you’ll be her friend in time to celebrate Easter, which will probably be next week. As a warning, she doesn’t hard-boil her eggs and she likes us to throw them.”
“Awesome.” I think.
“On the other hand, your friends hate me.”
This is a very true story. The Jesse Lachlin bashing has reached near-epidemic status at our lunch table, and Camila is the one leading the charge.
Only a Breath Apart Page 19
