by Ann Aguirre
16
I get my books and head to class.
Already I’ve failed to complete an assignment on time, but I don’t let it rattle me. Morgan often turned in work late, but she had a knack for getting around the teachers. After class, I pause at the instructor’s desk. “I’m sorry. It’s been … rough. I’ll turn in the assignment tomorrow.”
Mrs. Flanagan gives me a soft smile. “I understand. To be honest, I’m a little surprised to find you back in school already, Morgan.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I murmur.
“Let me know if I can do anything. Any of us, really. I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t say “about Liv” but I can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
“Thanks.”
I have barely enough time to make it to my next class, where the art kids surround me. There’s Oscar, and walking beside him, I spot Goth white girl Sarah Miller. Quickly I identify the other four. Tish Jones is a pretty, black artist who creates exquisite pen and ink sketches. Emma Lin is an aspiring musical actress of Filipina descent; she also threw the last party I attended as Liv. White farm boy Eric Mitchell, and Ben Patel, whose grandparents are from India, round out the group. Eric is in choir, and Ben kills it on the debate team, so it’s unfair to dub them strictly art kids.
Whatever their classification, they’re determined to annex me, it seems, so when lunch rolls around, I follow them into the cafeteria and eat at their table. Halfway through the period, I feel eyes on me and glance around. Nathan’s staring at me from the double doors, practically daring me to confront the situation. I’m sure he expects a haughty chin lift and a silent pretense that it never happened.
But I’m Liv, not Morgan. That’s the main reason I need to stay away from him, but we can’t settle this through avoidance. I can control myself, right?
I nod and pack up what’s left of my lunch. “Bathroom,” I mutter, pushing to my feet.
The others are talking about some Lithuanian artist and Morgan would probably know why his work is so exciting whereas I’d only get so enthusiastic over the potential for advancement in stem cell research. Nathan has disappeared but I know he’s waiting for me in the courtyard. That’s where we sat before the kiss.
Sure enough, he’s on a bench, leaning forward, hands between his knees. From the other side of the patio doors, I touch the glass between us, tracing the line of his slumped shoulders. What happened yesterday, that has to be the last time. Maybe I knew that on some level, and that’s why I got so carried away. Dead girls don’t usually get the chance to kiss their boyfriends good-bye.
I push through the door and join him in the warm, balmy air, perfumed with kitchen herbs and sweet-smelling flowers. He glances up as I sit down and smooth the white-and-red patterned cotton across my knees. Morgan’s legs are long and graceful; I can’t even fault him for staring when I cross them.
“I owe you an apology,” he says.
Of all directions I thought this conversation would go, I never predicted that one. I expected blame or possibly a demand that I break up with Clay immediately. Maybe that’s my own guilt talking. But Nathan’s a good guy at the core. Maybe I should’ve seen this coming.
“Me too.”
“No, it was my fault. You were just trying to be a decent human being. I wish I could blame the booze, but…” A long sigh shudders out of him. “Honest to God, I don’t know what came over me. I must be losing my mind.”
Why? I want to ask so bad, but I’m afraid he’ll tell me that it’s because I reminded him of Liv. Which is awful because that’s exactly what I was trying to do. But now that I can see the damage, the confusion and pain … I have to accept that this is a closed door. I have to.
Even if it feels like I’m dying.
“You were drunk,” I say. “And sometimes that’s enough to make you do stupid things.”
For the first time, Nathan meets my gaze, a half-smile curving his mouth. “Are you calling yourself a stupid thing?”
“Sometimes I am.” It’s impossible not to be honest.
“Me too,” he mutters. “So … are you planning to tell Clay?”
“Do you want me to? I can. I don’t want him to get hurt later.”
“You think I’ll get wasted again and brag about it?” Nathan stares at me, hard, like he isn’t sure what to make of me.
“More like you’ll be overcome with drunken remorse and want to make amends. But it’ll be worse if he finds out that way, not from me.”
“Then yeah. Tell him.” He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands. I don’t make the mistake of touching him. Neither of us can handle it.
Nathan acts like a sandcastle while I’m the flamethrower threatening to melt him into a sheet of glass. But I don’t react to that either.
“I’ll make sure he understands the circumstances. You weren’t thinking of me.” It hurts to add this part. “You were missing her.”
“That’s the weird part,” he whispers. “When I’m with you, I don’t. And that’s why I need to stay away. If I start thinking of you as the only painkiller that works, it’ll hurt the one person left who gives a shit about me.”
He’s not the only one.
But there’s a limit to how much comfort I can or should offer as Morgan. If I keep hanging out with Nathan, it’ll only confuse him more. Me too, for that matter. The girl he loves is dead, even if I remember being her.
“I have a question.”
His brows go up. “Is this on topic?”
“Kind of. I’d like to check on Liv’s family but I don’t know…”
“If you’ll make it better or worse.” Nathan sighs. “I so know how you feel. It’s like my life’s been cut in two, you know? I used to spend half my time over there, eating dinner with her folks, and now I wonder if they’d even want to see me.”
“So you don’t know the answer either.”
“We should check in,” he decides eventually. “Have your fancy housekeeper bake something. If the vibe is weird, we can make a quick escape.”
The atmosphere is better between us now, more normal. And though it wasn’t my intention, I’ve gotten his mind off everything. It’s impossible to obsess over your own issues when you’re worried about someone else, and we both care about Mom, Dad, and Jason. I used to tease Nathan that half my appeal was my awesome family.
So much for my brief resolve to keep my distance. But this is different, right?
“Then … I get my stitches out next week. After that I’ll be clear to drive, so I can pick you up. Should we call first?”
“Probably.” He’s looking more cheerful.
My chest eases a bit.
“Okay. I’ll call Liv’s mom next Tuesday. By Wednesday I’ll be good to go.”
“Wednesday won’t work. I have swim practice and after that, I have a meeting.” He doesn’t tell me what kind, and Morgan probably wouldn’t be curious.
“Thursday?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Nathan stands and heads out of the courtyard first.
When I get up, I find a cluster of girls watching us. One of them is frowning, like I’m not allowed to talk to my dead best friend’s boyfriend. They glare as a unit.
“… so wrong.”
I’m supposed to hear that, but I pretend I don’t and keep walking. Is this what it was like for Morgan? On the surface she has everything, but each step in her shoes is painful. A while back, I read this horror story about a demon that doesn’t die. Instead it leaps from body to body, an ethereal parasite. The host is slowly strangled to silence while this thing takes over their life. It was fiction, but I wonder …
Do monsters always know what they are?
17
Saturday is the soonest I can go see Clay. He works late enough that it would be dickish to ambush him afterward. Not that it’s any better before work on Saturday morning. But I ask Mrs. Rhodes to pack up some breakfast anyway. She makes the fanciest basket I’ve ever seen, full of rolled eggs, cut fru
it, and fried potatoes. Then I pull Morgan’s car keys off the peg and dare her to tell me I can’t.
There’s little traffic passing from the country to the small city limits, ten cars or so. I obey all the rules of the road, coming to a full stop before making the left once I drive through downtown. Clay’s neighborhood is quiet as I park. His borrowed car is here, one hurdle overcome. That was a minimal risk, however, as it’s only nine now.
Taking the basket from the passenger seat, I hop out and go up the stairs. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m knocking that I didn’t do Morgan makeup. Actually I’m not wearing any, no jewelry either, and I think these yoga pants are probably what she wore to work out in. Morgan wouldn’t have gone out looking like this, but there’s nothing I can do but roll with it now.
I knock a second time before I hear footsteps inside. Clay comes to the door wearing only a pair of faded jeans. The top button is unfastened, so the denim hangs low, revealing a strong chest, sculpted abs, the smooth indent of muscle on his hip, and astonishingly beautiful ink. A complex geometric pattern done in red and black frames his broad shoulders. For a moment I just stand in stunned silence because I honest to God had no idea he was this … breathtaking.
His skin holds a late summer bronze, and dark stubble shadows his cheeks and jaw. The guys at school look like little boys in comparison. His eyes glint with gold in the morning light. Lazily he stretches and I watch the interesting things that motion does to his tight, rolling muscles. It’s obvious that he’s just slid out of bed because his shaggy black hair stands on end, worsening when he tries to tame it.
“This is a surprise,” he says, smiling.
The dimple pops in his left cheek, telling me he’s happy to see me. That expression may not last when he finds out I kissed his brother. Suddenly my palms are wet around the handles of the basket because I truly don’t want to hurt him. Though I don’t know him too well, the fact that he’s working full-time for Nathan says everything about what kind of person he is.
“I brought breakfast.” Offering the food is a great distraction.
Clay cocks his head. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know.”
“Well, come in. Nathan’s still asleep.”
Good. It’ll be better if I can get this done without seeing him. But the problem with their house is that you have to walk through the bedrooms to get to the kitchen unless you come in the back door. Clay decides that’s the best option, so we close the front door and slip in that way. There’s plenty of sunshine in the kitchen, and I get some plates while he quietly closes the bedroom door so his brother can sleep longer.
“How did you know where they were?” he asks.
Shit. As Liv, I spent a lot more time here than Morgan did. I also know they don’t have a washer and dryer, and that Nathan walks six blocks to the Laundromat when he runs out of clean clothes. But nobody else would. I have to watch myself.
Smiling, I shrug. “Common sense? Most people put plates near the fridge or the stove.”
“Should I make some tea?”
Since Morgan loves it, I should say yes, but I’m tired of pretending. “It’s too warm. Water is fine.”
“Don’t tell me you’re already working out.” Clay touches my shoulder. It sounds like he’s gearing up to lecture me, which is oddly heartwarming.
“No, I’m not. Why, am I not formal enough?”
“You know you’re beautiful,” he says. “You don’t need me to tell you.”
Heat suffuses my cheeks, early warning that I’m blushing. No, this cannot happen. Clay, put on a damn shirt. Now I can’t even look at him because he’s propped against the counter and the sunlight’s burnishing his skin, and he’s like somebody out of a magazine. Rugged guy in kitchen, take one. I busy myself setting the food out, and he goes out onto the back porch. Through the screen door I can see some T-shirts drying on the railing. Great, now I’m imagining him washing them by hand, muscles flexing. He pulls a white one down and shrugs into it. By the time he comes back inside we’re ready to eat.
“Did you make this?” he asks.
I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Didn’t think so.” He grins back. “But why are you being so nice to me?”
The question makes me go, WTF? Even if they’re just bang buddies, why would Morgan need a reason to see her man? “Isn’t that kind of our deal?”
“Nobody told me there was an amendment.” He’s smiling, so I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. The real Morgan would know.
“You’ve been great since the accident.” Which is true. “So I figured…”
“The food is top-notch. Thank your housekeeper for me.” Clay is wolfing it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“I will.” As I eat, I keep an eye on the door to the bedroom because I didn’t bring enough for Nathan and I’ll feel like an asshole if he wakes up before we finish.
“You seem to have something on your mind.”
Okay, here we go.
“I do have something to tell you, yeah.”
“Go for it.” He leans back in his chair, folding his arms.
“So basically, Nathan was pretty drunk the other night. He forgot who I was for a few seconds … and kissed me. When he realized I wasn’t Liv, he threw up next to the porch.”
Once it’s out, it doesn’t sound as bad, though I’ve omitted how I responded. Clay doesn’t need to know that. If I’m lucky, Nathan was hammered enough that he can’t be sure what happened exactly, and he’ll wonder if his memory is playing tricks on him.
But Clay … Clay is thunderstruck. I mean, he’s staring at me like I’m the devil. Or no, that’s not exactly right. He’s just dead shocked. By what, I have no idea. Can’t even guess.
The silence lengthens until I can’t stand it. My gaze drops to my plate.
“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.
“To make sure you heard the story in context. Nathan would probably make it sound worse than it was. You know how he is.”
“I do, yeah.” The emphasis is delicate; something has changed in the way he regards me. His focus sharpens.
“And I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt,” I add. That’s common courtesy, right? Even if you’re not super serious, it’s an asshole move to treat someone’s feelings like nothing.
His reaction is still incomprehensible, but there’s a subtle softening to his smile. “Okay. Let me know if he gets out of line again. The kid’s struggling, I get it. But he can’t chuck his future when he’s so close to getting out of this town, you know?”
I nod. “Liv wouldn’t want that.”
“I’ll take your word for it. She never liked me.”
That makes me start guiltily. I had no idea Clay noticed, but I did judge him based on what other people said about him. Whenever he was home, I’d make an excuse and take off, dragging Nathan over to my place instead. Back then it was like I thought his bad reputation was contagious or something.
“She just didn’t know you,” I say.
“True.” His gaze lingers on mine, then it drops slightly, and I feel a tingle in my lips, bare arms, shoulders.
This is … crazy.
To interrupt whatever’s happening here, I stand and pick up our dishes. I’m at the sink washing them before it occurs to me that Morgan probably has never washed a plate in her life. But it’s too late to back out of this, so I just finish up and stack everything in the dish drainer. Then I get a dish cloth and turn around because the table still needs wiping. Though I didn’t hear Clay move, when I turn, he’s right behind me. I back up against the counter, but he doesn’t take the hint to give me more space.
Instead he steps forward, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “What are you playing at, Morgan?”
“Excuse me?” There’s nowhere for me to go.
“Are you trying to make me fall for you?”
Hasn’t that happened already? But it’s not the kind of question
I can ask. I mean, you don’t interrogate a guy about loving you. I manage a nervous smile and say nothing.
He cups my face in one hand, long fingers curving over my jaw, and his thumb skims down slowly until he’s almost touching my lower lip. My lashes tremble before I even realize I’m halfway to closing my eyes. Clay moves in until our bodies are flush, heat prompting more. He’s so close that I can feel his heart against mine. With his other hand, he brushes the hair from my face in a move so gentle that I can’t pull away.
This kiss isn’t like the other one. He slides his right arm around my back, pulling me up against him, and his other hand tangles in my hair. Clay’s mouth is firm, but it’s like he’s asking a question with every brush of his lips. With each flicker and turn of his head, the spark builds a little more, until I wrap my arms around him and dive deeper. His shoulders are incredibly strong, and I can’t resist moving my hands, digging my fingers into his back. In response he lifts me onto the countertop and steps between my legs. I wrap them around him, not thinking about anything but his mouth on mine, the delicate way he breathes me in. He pulls back for a few seconds to stare at me with glazed, incredulous eyes and then comes back in for another round.
This time his mouth feels both softer and hotter, plus a thousand times hungrier, and I respond the same way. I’ve never felt like my bones were melting before. Clay trails his lips away to nuzzle my jaw, my throat, the curve of my shoulder. His hands rove over my back, just like I’m touching him, and I’m not thinking of anything else. I just want him.
But he backs off first, leaning his forehead against mine. His breath comes in quick, heaving gulps, but I sound about the same. I’m shivering a little, too. Jesus. My head drops onto his shoulder and he follows as if he doesn’t want to lose that contact point.
“What the hell?” he breathes. “That was … it was…” But he can’t find the words either.
I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck, holding on. The way I feel, I might topple sideways if I don’t. “Too much for post-breakfast action?”
Clay laughs softly and strokes the side of my cheek. “Probably. Now my morning shower has to be a cold one.”
