by Ann Aguirre
Forty-five minutes later, it turns out the nerdy guy was the killer, which surprises no one, but I have the shivers as we file out with the rest of the audience. I can stand monster movies better because they aren’t real, but you never know when an actual psycho could be lurking in the bushes.
“What did you think?” Shane asks. “Worth the price of admission?”
“I was confused as to who was doing it until I realized that Reggie knew too much about the crime scenes. Overall it wasn’t bad.”
He grins down at me. “You hid your face through all of the murders.”
Yeah, I did. I regret nothing. I can still feel the warmth of his shoulder against my cheek and the smell of his freshly washed shirt. The night is chilly, and I wish I’d worn a heavier coat. But that just makes me walk faster, putting distance behind us. It’s half past nine by now, and I’m hungry, as I was too nervous to eat dinner before Shane picked me up.
“I’m a wimp,” I admit.
“It’s sweet. Will your aunt mind my coming over so late?”
“No.” That’s probably true, though she would prefer to meet him before leaving us alone together. “But she’s on a date.”
“So no awkward introductions tonight?”
“You dodged that bullet,” I tell him. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”
Belatedly I realize he might think I’m trying to lock him in for a second date and I stutter-step. I don’t want him to think I’m desperate or anything. Luckily Shane doesn’t notice my nerves. The sky has clouded over while we were inside and a light drizzle sprinkles down on us. I hope it doesn’t pour before we get to my house. I walk faster; this is the downside of my vehicular limitations.
“It’s my first night at the P&K. I’m working three shifts a week to start. The manager said I might get more hours if I’m reliable.”
“Will that be enough to help?”
“Hell yeah. It’s close to two hundred bucks a week, before taxes.” In the moonlight, relief shines from his blue eyes.
“Do you get a store discount?”
“I wish,” Shane says. “But no. Though I can have first pick of day-old pastries from the bakery, once they’re marked down.”
“You will live on donuts,” I predict.
He laughs. “Watch. I’ll get real food after I cash my first paycheck.”
Shane teases me about the way I flinch at night noises and jump at shadows. Before I know it, we’re outside my house. The lights are all off; Aunt Gabby’s car is parked out front, but since she went to Rudolfo’s with Joe, that doesn’t mean anything. I let us in and slide the bolt behind us; I lived in scary places too long to feel safe with the doors unlocked, even in a town like this. I go around flipping on lights, not just because of the movie. As I look out, the drizzle turns into a downpour, rain coming down in sheets that I see rippling in the wind.
Shane looks around, admiring pictures of my aunt and me while I go into the kitchen. I don’t ask if he’s hungry. I just start making grilled cheeses. And these aren’t ordinary sandwiches; I use sourdough bread, butter, and three kinds of cheese. While those are in the pan, I also open a can of tomato soup and start stirring, so it’ll be ready around the same time. By the time he realizes I’m making food, it’s pretty much done. I set the table for two, not wanting to deal with the stress of eating on the sofa. There’s a zero percent chance that doesn’t end with my shirt covered in red splotches.
“This is so good,” he says, after the first bite.
No point in false modesty. “I do make a mean grilled cheese.”
“I was talking about being here with you.”
I have no idea what to say, but I feel heat creeping into my cheeks. Fortunately—or unfortunately—depending on your point of view, my phone rings. It’s my aunt checking in, so I have to take it. I hold up a hand at Shane, motioning him to silence.
“How are things?” I ask Gabby.
“Good. But it’s raining pretty hard and Joe’s worried about the drive back.” My aunt’s never indicated she wanted to stay out all night before, so this feels oddly like she’s asking my permission. The weather is an excuse.
“Don’t take any chances,” I tell her. “It’s bad here, too.”
“Are you sure you won’t be scared?”
I glance at Shane. “No, I’m fine. I’m home already. The movie was fun.”
It’s not lying if she doesn’t ask, right?
“Okay, Sage. Make sure you lock up and check all the doors and windows. I won’t make a habit of this, I promise.”
It’s okay, I think. You deserve a life.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Have fun. I expect all the hot, sweaty details tomorrow.”
This is a safe joke because I know Aunt Gabby will never open her bedroom door to me. Proving me right, she makes a horrified noise, and I laugh, disconnecting the call. Shane has paused, waiting for me before he continues eating. This strikes me as incredibly polite.
He gives me a questioning look as we go on with our meal. “You’re on your own tonight?”
“Apparently,” I answer. “Do you want another sandwich or more soup?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m glad he’s not complaining anymore about how I feed him like a stray dog. That’s not it at all; I just can’t stand anyone going hungry, mostly because I had my share of it, growing up. Shane’s not a helpless kid like I was, but I can’t change how I respond to his situation. Efficiently, I fry another grilled cheese and pour the rest of the tomato soup into his cup.
“At school, you said you lived in a bad area before.” It’s not a question.
I get that he deserves to know more about me, but I can’t spill everything. Not yet. The whole truth will probably change how he sees me. But … this is the first time I’ve wanted to let anyone else all the way in—and it’s fairly terrifying.
So I nod. “Before I moved here, I lived in a scary part of Chicago with my mother.”
“Where is she now?” he asks.
Sickness roils in my stomach. “Gone.”
All kinds of questions percolate in his gaze, but this isn’t something I can confide over bowls of soup. In fact, nobody here knows about my life before I moved. At first it was because I was struggling so hard to keep my head above water, and then my silence came from shame. I didn’t want anyone to know the girl I was before. In order to survive, I had to reinvent myself. I glimpse the moment he decides my mother abandoned me … and she did, when I was a baby. But the whole truth is so much worse.
“What about your dad?”
That’s simultaneously easier … and harder. “When I was seven, he died in a car wreck.”
“Oh God, Sage.”
This, I can talk about with him, an offering out of respect for what he shared the other day. “I was in second grade … the police came to school.”
In halting words, I tell Shane how I sat outside the principal’s office after the teacher pulled me out of class, wondering what I did, why I was in trouble. Up until that point, my life was pretty normal. Like other people, I had one parent at home. My dad had a mail route; I took the bus to after-school daycare, where he picked me up around four thirty. But that day, I sat for half an hour outside the main office waiting for someone to explain all the whispering and sad looks. Eventually, a policewoman came and said, “I’m sorry, honey.”
I stayed at school for a long time while they tried to figure out what to do with me. My dad didn’t have any near relatives on file, so I ended up with a foster family in the district. The courts thought it was best not to disrupt my routine any more than necessary, but I’d just lost my dad. Everything was messed up, and it got worse when the system located my mother.
I stop talking then. This feels like a fair distribution of facts; he knows one of my secrets and I know one of his. I take a deep breath because it’s hard talking about my dad. He was a good guy, who made pancakes with smiley faces on Sunday mornings
. He took me to the park and he helped me with my homework. But when your whole world hinges on one person, it’s like a house of cards that collapses at the first gust of wind. Yet when things were at their worst with my mom, I clung to those memories. In the end, they weren’t enough to keep me from the flames.
“Wow,” he says softly. “You really do understand.”
I’m glad he didn’t offer sympathy for my loss. That’s bullshit. Most people who spout platitudes have no idea how you feel, the way loss chews at you until you’re a bottomless hole. They just want to fill an awkward silence.
“Maybe not exactly.” I’ve never nursed anyone I cared about, but I know the feeling once they’re gone.
“Closer than anyone else.” Shane’s got this look in his eyes, like he’s about to open some door between us.
“Are you done?” I ask.
He nods, so I take our plates and stack them in the sink. The rain patters on the roof, but it’s warm and cozy inside. I head back into the living room and turn on the TV. There’s never anything on—we don’t have cable since Aunt Gabby thinks it’s a waste of money—but we have a decent DVD collection. I drop onto the sofa and wave toward the shelves.
“Pick something.”
Shane puts in a slightly campy movie filled with aging action heroes. Then he sits beside me, though I didn’t leave him much choice by picking the middle of the couch. I’m glad when he puts an arm around me, so I can settle against him. We watch for a few minutes in silence, but I’m too conscious of his fingers on my shoulder to pay much attention.
Trying to seem relaxed, I turn my head to say something about the plot and realize he’s really close. In fact, I’ve caught him smelling my hair. He freezes like it’s not okay, and embarrassment raises red flags in his cheeks.
He pulls back with a mumble. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t mind.” I’m trying to tell him so much more than that, but I don’t have the words.
Neither of us is watching the movie. He’s just staring at me through his tousled curls. Shane shakes his hair out of his face, eyes intent on mine.
“So this is definitely a date?” I ask.
“What do you think?”
“I wasn’t sure. You said you needed a friend—”
“And I wasn’t sure what your deal was. Everyone thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend of two years, but you claimed you were never together. So what was I supposed to say when you showed up at my house?”
Put in that context, it was surprising he hadn’t suspected I was crazy. You don’t get over a long relationship and move on that fast, unless there’s something messed up in your head. “I’m glad you gave me the benefit of the doubt. I mean … you did, right? You believe me or you wouldn’t be here.” I remember how he suspected I might be using him to make Ryan jealous.
“Yeah. But I have to ask. Do you go after all guys you like this way?”
“All I did was bring you some soup,” I say, indignant.
“And multiple lunches. You also got me involved in your environmental group, then invited me to Sunday lunch with your other friends and your aunt. Plus, you found me a job indirectly.”
Put that way, it does sound like I’ve made a project of him, but it wasn’t a conscious endeavor. As far as the P&K goes, I only wanted to help, plus it’s not like I ran around town. Big deal, I asked my aunt if she knew of anything, then Shane got the job on his own. The other stuff just kind of happened.
“I had nothing to do with you coming to help clean up the lot,” I mumble.
Which is true. I didn’t invite him; he volunteered.
Shane smiles. “You had everything to do with it. I wouldn’t have been there if you weren’t. And you still didn’t answer my question.”
The heat in my cheeks actually burns, and I can’t meet his gaze. “No. I’ve never liked anyone before. I mean, last year, I had a bit of a crush on Ryan, but he didn’t seem interested, so I left it alone. It seemed better not to ruin our friendship.” I lift my chin to check if he believes me.
His eyes darken at the words crush and Ryan. “You need to explain exactly what happened there. I know he’s not happy with me, but I don’t understand the problem. If you liked him last year and people thought you were already going out…” He’s getting tense, I can tell, and he said he doesn’t want any drama.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” I whisper.
“I’ll keep it off my vast gossip network.” The irony in his tone doesn’t escape me.
So I give him the rundown on everything that’s passed between us: how we were the best of friends and then I bailed, after learning how he used me to keep anyone from suspecting his real secret. When I finish, Shane looks as shocked as my aunt Gabby.
“That tall, skinny kid? Really?”
I nod. “And I’ve met Cassie.”
“So where do I fit in all of this?”
I realize then; he doesn’t understand that I’m just … drawn to him. He’s trying to figure out the reasons. “You don’t. Ryan has nothing to do with why I’m hanging out with you.”
“Then I don’t get it. I’m nothing special.”
“You are to me.”
There’s no way to explain why some people like coffee and others prefer tea. And that’s how I feel, frustrated because Shane thinks I have an agenda. But it also tells me he’s insecure, too, which is reassuring. With all my other issues, trying to date would be worse if he was all smooth and experienced.
“I’m not used to this,” he says softly. “I was pretty invisible at my old school … until I started causing trouble. Then I became That Kid. Everyone saw me after my mom died, but nobody wanted to. I was just another problem to solve.”
“I do want to help, but only because I’m wired that way. I’m not trying to fix you.” I hesitate before adding, “I don’t see you as broken.”
Not like me. And I’m so afraid that if I tell you everything, you won’t see me as more than the pieces they swept up after.
Shane lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “At this point, I should probably say, stay away from me. I don’t have anything good to give you right now, but then I think about not talking to you anymore and my chest hurts.”
“I can’t,” I point out. “You moved into my locker. Look, we’ll take it one day at a time. It’s pretty clear I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. So … relax.”
“I don’t know how to be a boyfriend,” he warns me.
I cock a brow at him, smiling. “That’s too bad … since I have a PhD in girlfriendology from the University of So Many Feelings.”
He laughs, as I intend. Then he’s leaning toward me. I have a panicked moment when I worry that I won’t know what to do, but when he tilts his head, I go the other way automatically, and it’s pretty natural when our lips meet. He kisses me tenderly, and it’s everything a first kiss should be. I sink my hands into his curls as his arms go around me. Shane’s so warm, his lips moving on mine in slow, gentle glides. It’s a sunbeam of a kiss, all delicious heat and lazy pleasure. When Shane pulls away, I can’t restrain a ridiculous smile. He seems pleased with himself, cuddling me close so we can pretend to watch the rest of the movie. By the time it ends, it’s after midnight and the storm has worsened.
“You’re not walking home in this,” I tell him.
“I wasn’t looking forward to it. Are you asking me to stay over?”
“Not for sex.” It seems best to make that clear.
“Damn.” Obviously teasing, he makes a mock-disappointed face, as if he really thought that was on the table. “I can take the couch—”
“I’d rather have you with me.” This is a unique opportunity to be close to Shane, so I can’t look a gift horse—or storm—in the mouth. We can probably make do in my bed. It’s a daybed, but if we curl up close, it should work. Aunt Gabby has a bigger one, but it would be too weird to sleep in there with Shane. It’s odd as I go about the nightl
y check, which my aunt usually performs. She looks at all the windows and doors, making sure everything is fastened and bolted. Two women living alone can’t be too careful, she says, and I appreciate that she doesn’t call me a kid.
“Do you do this every night?” he asks.
“My aunt does.”
After I’m sure the house is as safe as we can make it, I turn out most of the lights and lead the way back to my bedroom. Then I find Shane a large University of Michigan shirt that my aunt stole from some past boyfriend and never gave back. I’m wondering, Do we have spare toothbrushes in the bathroom? I think so. Aunt Gabby buys stuff when it’s on sale. So I pull a new blue one from an open package and hand it to him.
“You can wash up and change in the bathroom.”
This isn’t a normal date; I know that much. They usually end because somebody has a curfew, or people waiting at home, but the way things have worked out, nothing is ordinary between us. And maybe that’s how it should be.
While he’s occupied, I put on my pajamas quickly. I’m grateful they’re long-sleeved because I don’t want to have that conversation with him tonight. Most people don’t notice, but I’ve always got on a sweater, shrug, or hoodie, covering my arms. For some girls, it might be the fact that their biceps aren’t toned enough, but I’m hiding something else entirely.
Shane grins when he sees me in the green thermal jammies. Clearly I’ve dressed for seduction. But he’s still wearing his jeans, though he’s barefoot now and I can see he’s washed his face. I still need a turn in the bathroom.
“You can take them off,” I say, embarrassed. “You have on boxers, right?”
He nods. As I head off to brush my teeth, I tell myself it’s no different from shorts and a T-shirt and I’m wearing enough clothes for both of us. I putter, taking more time than usual. When I get back, he’s already in bed. He’s left the cushions behind him, pressed up against the back of the daybed to leave me more room. It’s a good idea and if I sleep on my side, too, we should manage. I flick off the light, then walk toward him, wondering if he’s as nervous as I am. What if I snore or drool? We don’t know each other well enough to get past that. Do we? In some ways, it feels like I’ve known him forever, as if I’ve waited for him twice that long.
