"Kira."
"Haylee. You look great. Bradley's going to die."
Haylee grinned at me in the mirror, twirling again. "You really think so?"
Did I really think so? I couldn't even picture the two of them together. "You're gorgeous. How could he not?"
"Okay," she said. "You've convinced me."
We spent our last few minutes looking for a necklace. Haylee chose this funky chain with a big silver medallion on it, which somehow managed to straddle the line between costume jewelry and flashy accessory.
"What do you think?" Haylee asked.
My phone beeped with a text from Mom.
And these were among the last words I said to my best friend in this life: "Just buy it already. We're ten minutes late, and my mother is pissed."
Chapter Eleven
When my cell phone rang on the day after Christmas, I hoped it was Nick. I pulled it off my desk and nearly dropped it again.
Bradley, the ID said.
Bradley. He hadn't called me since the party. But there'd been Christmas, which he probably spent with his family.
Still, if he was into me, shouldn't he have called after we kissed? If I was into him, shouldn't I have cared?
I answered. "Hello?"
"Hey, Kira," Bradley said. "How was Christmas?"
"Fine," I said.
Oh, no. I was using the F word on him. Not a good sign.
And then I said, "I mean—" right as he started talking again, so he stopped mid-word.
"Go ahead," he said.
"No," I said. "You go."
And then we sat there in awkward silence.
And this is what I thought: I cannot believe that I wasted my first kiss on Bradley Johansen.
But then he said, "I was wondering if you wanted to get in some practice today."
And my stomach dropped, thinking he meant practice kissing, because obviously I must need that from how bad I'd been at it. But no. He meant softball practice. Or baseball, in his case.
I didn't want to make things totally weird between us. I was going to have to see him at school. So I said, "Sure."
And that's how I came to be pacing back and forth in my room in my warm-ups and sneakers when Mom yelled up the stairs: "Kira! Bradley's here!"
He was only fourteen minutes late this time, but I'd probably walked a mile across my bedroom floor. At least I got my warm-up in before practice. Aaron would be so proud.
When I got downstairs, Bradley was saying something to my mom about football.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone loves football, but I just can't bring myself to understand or care. Maybe because it's not a girl's sport, and even if it was, I have no desire to be pounced upon by members of the opposing team. We have rules against that in softball, because we're civilized.
"So where are you two going?" Mom asked.
"The park," I said. "He's going to help me with my pitching practice." Mom couldn't argue with that. It was practically homework, and homework was definitely not dating.
"Are you driving?" Mom asked.
"Slowly," Bradley said. "And with seat belts."
I had to smile at that. I grabbed my softball glove from the end table and swept past Mom and out the door. "See you later," I said. I'd probably hear about that later, but she didn't stop me from leaving.
"You look great," Bradley said, leading me to the car.
In my warm ups? "Thanks," I said.
On the way to the park, I went the rounds in my head. He hadn't made a move, which maybe meant he didn't want to kiss me, which was good, because I didn't want to kiss him, but maybe meant that he didn't want to kiss me because I was so bad at it, which was not okay at all.
We reached the park without any of those words tumbling out of my mouth, but I did pick at the stitching on my glove, and had to sit on my hands in order to stop.
After Bradley turned off the engine, he grabbed my glove off my lap and tossed it into his backseat.
Um. "Didn't you want to practice?" I said.
He shook his head. "Nah."
And then he climbed out of the car. I scrambled to follow, rehearsing what I needed to say to him in my head. Bradley, you're nice, but I just realized I never liked you. Bradley, you're cute, but kissing you was gross. Bradley, I thought I was into you, but then I remembered that was Haylee, not me.
Oh, this was so screwed up.
Bradley led me along the narrow path that wound through the arboretum. Trees grew all around, reaching up toward the sky and exploding in an umbrella of leaves. The trees shielded most of the noise from the park, so all I could hear was wind rustling through leaves.
"What are we doing here?" I asked.
Bradley smiled at me.
Ah, I thought. What else? And I tried to remember if he'd actually said the word softball when he'd asked me if I wanted to practice in the park.
Bradley moved closer. Something happens when you realize you're about to be kissed; your brain drains out your ears and you lose all sense of reason. I tried to speak, but my mouth just fumbled around, searching for any words, even the horrible ones I'd rehearsed.
As it turned out, Bradley didn't care if I talked. He stepped even closer to me, putting his hands on my waist and fixing his eyes on my forehead. I felt short of breath for a moment, like I was stepping up to the pitcher's mound in the first inning of an important game, and then he dipped his lips onto mine. And I tried to compose the words in my head, the ones that would make him understand: Bradley, I don't want this.
But before I could say them, he stuck his tongue into my mouth and twisted it around.
I had a sudden urge to bite it, but instead I pulled back. Bradley's face followed after me, moving down to my neck, kissing along my jaw line. And my neck reflexively leaned back, which he took as an invitation to travel down to my collar bone.
I gasped, and Bradley's hand snaked down and cupped my butt.
"Whoa!" I said, and I jumped back.
He laughed, smiling at me. "Sorry!" he said. "Didn't mean to scare you."
My heart overclocked. Don't be stupid, Kira, I thought. He doesn't have a clue what you're thinking.
So I put up my hands in surrender and said, "I'm kind of wound up. Can we talk for a while?"
He looked around behind us. "What? There's nobody here to see us."
"Still," I said. "I'm not comfortable . . ."
"Ah," Bradley said. "Let's go farther in."
And he took my hand and pulled me over a little low wall on the side of the path.
I didn't want to go anywhere with him, but I also didn't want him telling everyone at school that I was a total spaz who made a scene over nothing. So I sat down with one leg on each side of the wall, like I thought that was his intention all along.
Bradley gave me an annoyed look, but he sat down next to me. My hands pressed against the cold, grainy concrete, and the wind carried the cough-syrup smell of the eucalyptus trees. He'd been so upfront with me before, about Haylee, about everything. Why not just ask if I wanted to get together and make out? If given a direct opportunity, I would have told him no.
But I'd let him kiss me at the party. I'd acted like I enjoyed it. And I hadn't said anything here to make him think that I felt differently.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I said. And I meant for that to just be the beginning, but Bradley was already in motion.
"Nothing," Bradley said. "You're perfect." He flipped one of his legs over the wall to match mine, scooting forward so our knees touched. For a second I thought he actually wanted to talk, but then he reached out and slid his hands under my thighs, lifting up my legs. He scooted forward on the wall and slid his legs under mine so I ended up sitting on his lap with a leg on either side of him.
That was too much. I didn't care if he thought I was a loser or not—I just didn't want him mauling me anymore. I shoved him by the shoulders and scooted back off his lap. My butt hit the wall, hard.
"Hey," Bradley said. "I thought you
liked me."
I shook my head. "You said you wanted to practice."
"If you wanted me to stop, you could have said so."
Hadn't I said so? I couldn't remember now. I squeezed the wall between my thighs, concrete cold against my pants.
Bradley got this sad look on his face and said, "Hey, it's okay," but then he grabbed me by the wrists to hold me in place.
I hadn't thought about self-defense since seventh grade, but as Bradley clamped onto my wrists, I remembered what to do. Twist toward the fingers, my gym teacher had said. That's the best way to break someone's grip, even if they're stronger than you.
I twisted both arms inward and broke free of Bradley's hands, then threw my weight toward the sidewalk. Since my legs were still on either side of the wall, I fell down palms-first, tearing my pants along the thigh. Dirt and gravel embedded themselves in my hands and my arms ached from the impact, but I got my legs under me again.
"What the hell, Kira?" Bradley climbed off the wall and stood there on the path, looking down at me. I expected him to apologize, and to ask if I was okay, but instead he lifted me by the shoulders, dragging me to my feet.
I shook him off and did the other thing I'd learned in self-defense: I walked away.
Bradley walked after me, right on my heels. "Kira," he said. "Talk to me."
I spun around to face him. "Right. Now you want to talk."
He waved his hands in the air. "What's wrong with you? You're the one who won't tell me what's going on. I thought we were just having fun. I'm sorry if I did something you didn't want."
He said he was sorry, but his posture was defensive.
I took deep breaths. Maybe I was overreacting. I'd been so off-kilter that I didn't know if I was justified in being freaked out or not. If I could play it cool now, I might not have ruined things completely.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm just messed up lately."
Bradley put his hand on my shoulder, rubbing it. "I get that," he said. "I'm messed up about it, too."
Only this time, that didn't sound sincere.
"I want to go home," I said, stepping back.
His face hardened. "You were fine before. What's wrong with you now?"
"I don't want to be here," I said. "Maybe I never wanted to be here."
Bradley's face tightened in anger. I recognized the look. Haylee had worn it sometimes, when rage welled up, and all she wanted to do was hurt someone.
"Come on," he said. "You think you're better than Haylee?"
I took another step away from him, and a smile flicked across his face.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh come on," Bradley said. "She was a total slut. The whole school knew it."
I balled my fists. Haylee was a lot of things, but she wasn't that. "Haylee could barely even talk to guys."
"Sure, when she was sober. Ever see her at a party?" He feigned surprise. "No, that's right. You were never there. What kind of friend were you?"
My vision swam. "That's not true," I said, but I sounded less sure, even to me. Haylee drank when I wasn't there, sure. But that didn't mean she was throwing herself at every guy who came along.
But she only went to parties when I was doing softball, or away at cross-country meets. I thought she did it because she was bored.
Had she kept me out of that part of her life on purpose?
Please. Of all people, I wasn't going to believe the word of Bradley Johansen. He'd pretended he'd been nice to her, to convince me he wasn't responsible for what happened to her. But now I could see through him. Now I could see what he was. "What did you do to her?"
"Are you kidding? She'd worshiped me for years. I didn't do anything she didn't want me to."
I lost control of myself then, because I stepped right up into his face. "Haylee is dead because of you." My voice was edging on hysterical now.
"Whoa," Bradley said, holding up both palms. "It's not my fault she was so screwed up."
"No," I said. "You just went after her because you knew that she was." I didn't know how true those words were until I tasted them. I saw the truth mirrored on Bradley's face as well. His mouth opened for a comeback, but he must not have had one.
Instead, he shoved me by the shoulders, and I stumbled back.
I looked around at the trees. No one could see us in here; that was the point. So unless someone happened along in the next few seconds, I was alone with a guy who could overpower me in a fight.
"Leave me alone," I said.
"Oh, I'll do more than that," Bradley said, balling his fists. "I'll make you wish you'd never met me."
That's when I turned and ran.
One Year Before
For Christmas last year, Hazel got Haylee tickets to see a production of A Christmas Carol in downtown San Jose.
"It's stupid," Haylee told me over the phone.
"You like theater," I said. "Your mom knows that."
"I like tragedies."
I flopped back on my bed with the phone resting against my pillow. "Scrooge is all mean and stuff. That's tragic."
"And then he learns important lessons about life. And changes. What's that about?"
"I think it's supposed to give us all hope in the spirit of Christmas. You know. That if he can change, so can we." That sounded like the sort of BS that got me passing grades in English.
"Exactly," Haylee said. "But in the real world, people don't change."
"Okay," I said. "But you're still going to the play with your parents, right?"
"Yeah," Haylee said. "You want to come, too?"
"You just told me it's stupid, and now you want me to join you?"
"Come share in my misery."
"Sure," I said. I didn't tell her this, but I actually like A Christmas Carol. Not because of the schmaltzy ending, but because of the ghosts. Everyone else seems to think the show is happy, but I think those ghosts are terrifying.
But when I showed up at Haylee's front door on the night of the play, I could hear Hazel shouting in the kitchen.
"I gave you those tickets so we could do something nice as a family," she said.
Haylee shouted back at her. "Dad doesn't even like theater. Why can't you take us?"
"Because," Hazel said. "You're going to do something with your father for once. End of discussion."
I wavered on the doorstep, wondering if I should just go home. Haylee hadn't said that they only had three tickets, and I didn't mean for Hazel not to be able to go.
But Haylee saw me through the kitchen window and stormed over to the door.
"My dad's taking us," she said. "Hang on while I get my coat."
"I don't have to go," I called after her.
"No, you do," Haylee said. "Because if I have to sit between the two of them all night, I'm going to be the one who is dead to begin with."
On the way to the theater, Haylee sat in the backseat with me, fuming. Aaron was silent. I was convinced Haylee was going to ignore the both of us for the entire night. When we got to the theater and found our seats, I took the middle one, just to get her farther away from him.
Haylee tapped me on the arm. "Move over," she said. "I want to sit next to my dad."
So I moved, and Haylee sat between us with her hands in her lap, glaring down at the stage.
That was the thing about being Haylee's best friend; I let go of lots of things I didn't understand.
Chapter Twelve
At first I just ran like hell along the path through the arboretum. I didn't hear anything behind me—just the sound of my own sneakers on the pavement, and the shrieks of some children playing on the other side of the trees. I cut through some planter beds and several yards of grass to get to the sidewalk, and ran away from the park in the general direction of home.
I kept listening for the sound of an engine or the crunch of tires behind me, but no cars came. I cut down some side streets and looked over my shoulder. If he'd followed, I was pretty sure I'd lost him.
I picked gravel
out of my palms as I walked. They weren't bleeding heavily—just oozing a little. My leg was killing me, and when I looked down I realized that I'd not only ripped up my pants when I'd fallen off the wall, but I'd scraped my leg up, too. My favorite warm-ups were totally ruined.
I should have worn something older, like my bulky sweatpants with the hole in the knee. Bradley wasn't worth this. Bradley wasn't worth anything.
Is that what Haylee thought, after the dance? She'd wanted him for so long—but if he only asked her out because he thought she'd sleep with him, he'd probably done the exact same thing to her as he'd done to me.
What would Haylee have done? Frozen? Cried? Gone along with it to make him happy?
How would she have reacted if he asked her what was wrong with her?
I could picture it a hundred ways, but I didn't know which was the right one. And then the knowledge settled over me, like a heavy weight: he'd gone after Haylee because he thought she'd be easy. He must have chased me for the same reason. He thought I'd be easy, because I'd just lost her.
He'd already made good on his threat: I did wish I'd never met him.
I slowed, getting my bearings, and beginning to shiver now that the adrenaline was wearing off. I was in a residential neighborhood a few blocks from a grocery store where my mom sometimes shopped. I could walk home from here, but my legs ached already. I pulled out my phone. Mom would have hers on, in case I needed to call. But if I called her so soon after leaving, with my clothes torn and my hands bleeding, she'd have a complete cow right there in the car, horns and udders and all.
There was only one other person I knew who had access to a car.
I opened a text message to Nick. What are you doing right now? He probably wouldn't respond. He was probably busy. He probably—
Talking to you? he texted back.
And though I was still picking grit from my palms, I smiled, and called him.
"Hey," Nick said.
"Hey," I said back. "Um, I feel bad asking this, but do you think you can give me a ride? I'm stranded."
"Sure," Nick said. I thought I detected sadness in his voice, like he'd hoped I was calling for some other reason, but it was probably just wishful thinking. "Where are you?"
Everything's Fine Page 11
