by Cole Gibsen
“One could argue I’m very childlike,” he replied.
“Kids who have problems,” she added.
“I have problems,” he said.
She made a face. “Like what?”
“Girls are really mean to me.”
Tamara cracked a grin. “Where’s your helmet?”
“Uh.” Nolan looked around the barn and pointed to a pink helmet hanging on the wall. “Right there!” He strode over to it and fastened it to his head. “I’m all set. How do I look?”
Tamara giggled.
“That boy really does have problems,” Mrs. Wells said, laughing.
I’d known Mrs. Wells for several years, and in all that time, I’d never seen her crack a smile, let alone laugh.
“Okay, so we’re all agreed I look fabulous,” Nolan said. “What next?”
Tamara let go of Rookie’s mane and pointed to the saddle. “You have to get on the horse.”
“Right, the horse.” Nolan rubbed his hands together and started toward Rookie, the pink helmet bobbing on his head.
I brought my hand to my mouth to muffle a giggle. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He paused. “It’s my first lesson and you’re already giving up on me? What kind of teacher are you?”
The kind that’s about to laugh her ass off in five seconds, I thought. I waved him forward. “You’re right. Please mount the horse.”
Mrs. Wells, who’d been so eager to leave only moments ago, leaned against the gate. “That boy’s going to hurt himself.”
“We could only get so lucky,” I said.
She laughed in response.
“Okay.” Nolan grabbed the front of the saddle while Rookie continued to search the ground for hay. “Here goes nothing.” He grabbed the front and back of the saddle and pushed himself up only to slide off the leather and land on his butt in the sand on the other side.
Rookie jerked his head up and snorted while Tamara, Mrs. Wells, and I burst out laughing.
“It looks a lot easier in the movies,” Nolan muttered, picking himself up and dusting off the back of his jeans. “Should I try it again?”
“No,” I answered when I could finally breathe. “I think that’s enough of a lesson for one day. We’ll work on actually getting on the horse next time.”
As if in response, Rookie flicked his ears back and wandered to the far end of the arena, dragging the lead rope beside him.
“Hey.” Nolan pointed after Rookie. “The horse is leaving. That’s a bad sign, right?”
“It’s not a good one.”
Tamara shook her head. “You’re really, really bad at this.”
Mrs. Wells chuckled. “Lord, I haven’t laughed like this in years. C’mon, Tamara. I’m going to be late, but boy was it worth it.” Meeting my eyes, she lowered her voice and added, “He’s a good one.” Her eyes flickered to Nolan. “There aren’t many of them left. Remember that.”
Stunned, my cheeks flushed fire-hot.
Tamara paused just outside the gate. “Will you be here next week?” she asked Nolan.
“I’m not sure.” Nolan turned to me with his eyebrows raised. I pretended not to notice as I quickly looked away.
“I hope so,” the little girl said.
“Me, too,” he replied.
Smiling, Tamara took her mother’s hand, and they left through the sliding barn door.
Once Nolan and I were alone, my heart sped up.
He closed the distance between us, stopping so close that I had to look way, way up to meet his eyes. He still wore the helmet, and I had to admit, pink was a good look for him. The color made his hazel eyes practically glow gold. The effect was dizzying, and it wasn’t until he chuckled that I realized I’d been staring.
“You look ridiculous,” I said in an attempt to save myself.
He grinned as he unfastened the helmet. “Yeah, well, I’ll do almost anything to make a girl smile.” Once he removed it from his head, he shook his hair until it fell across his face in a mass of waves that he had to shove back.
He handed me the helmet, and our fingers touched. A spark of electricity jumped from where his skin met mine and I jerked, startled.
If Nolan noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved closer, making my pulse thunder even harder. Despite the smell of dirt and hay, his pine-needle-and-orange scent wrapped around me, warm and earthy, filling my lungs like a balloon until I was ready to fall over from the rush of it.
“Uh…” I licked my lips, desperate to fill the space between us even if just with words. “Weren’t we talking about something?”
“Revenge,” he answered.
“Right. I don’t want revenge.” I tried to focus on the bales of hay, the pigeons perched in the rafters, anything but the twin hazel pools of his eyes that I was dangerously close to falling into. And it wasn’t just his eyes that held me captivated. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d made a fool of himself to help Mrs. Wells and to make Tamara laugh. Maybe Mrs. Wells was right. Maybe Nolan was one of the good ones.
“Okay. If you don’t want revenge, what do you want?”
“I have no idea,” I answered, and it was the truest thing I’d ever said. “Originally my plan was to lie low until things died down, but that wasn’t solving anything. I did some shitty things. I can’t ignore that anymore.”
He nodded, his face giving no indication as to how he felt about what I’d said. “What are you going to do?”
I had no clue—not about school, not about salvaging my reputation, and especially not about these fucked-up feelings I had for Nolan. I tried to focus on the least confusing parts of the situation. If my mom were me, she’d post the bathroom video with no hesitation. She claimed to advocate family values, but I’d watched her destroy families to get what she wanted. I’d tried doing things her way, but I simply couldn’t be that girl anymore. At the same time, I had no idea how to be anyone else.
“Don’t you think it’s sad some people are only remembered by the graffiti about them on bathroom stalls?” I asked.
Nolan quirked his eyebrow. “You want to get rid of the bathroom graffiti?”
“Not the graffiti, but the legacies they created.”
His brow furrowed. Before he could ask another question, I waved a hand in the air. “Sorry, I’m getting really off topic. Once I get Rookie put away, you and I can work on the picture book.”
“So let’s forget the picture book,” Nolan said. “We can work on this new idea of yours.”
I made a face. “I don’t have an idea; I was just thinking out loud. Besides, we have to get the picture book done—it’s due on Monday.”
Nolan smirked. “Just because you blew me off doesn’t mean I didn’t get anything done.”
“What are you talking about?”
Without another word, he grabbed his messenger bag off a post and withdrew a manila folder stuffed with papers. He handed it to me. “I was playing with a new illustration software program and, well, try not to be too intimidated by my genius.”
I rolled my eyes and prepared to make a snarky comeback. But as soon as I opened the folder, all thoughts of insults disappeared from my mind. “Nolan…oh my God.”
He grinned and jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Genius, right?”
I laughed out loud as I flipped through the computer-illustrated drawings of the most adorable bunny I’d ever seen. Nolan had drawn Carrot as a round, fat yellow fluff ball with tall pointy ears and a pink triangle for a nose. I wanted to pull him from the page and squish him against me like the real Carrot in my bedroom. “He’s perfect.”
With his hands still in his pockets, he shrugged. “Perfection’s what I do.”
Smiling, I rolled my eyes. “Cocky much? I’m glad you didn’t wait for me to help. I probably would have ruined it.”
“Doubtful. The only reason I didn’t wait for you was because I wasn’t sure you would want to work with me.” His eyes darted away. “Not afte
r yesterday, anyway.”
I flipped to a page of Carrot handing a ball back to the teary-eyed puppy he’d taken it from. I traced my finger over the words “I’m sorry” written below. On the next page, the puppy and bunny were hugging.
“If only it were that easy,” I muttered.
“Why does it have to be hard?”
I thought about all the awful things I’d said in my messages and the way people had looked at me afterward. “It’s like bathroom graffiti.” I handed the stack back to him. “Some things can’t be wiped clean.”
He tucked the folder inside his bag. “I think you’re underestimating people, Regan. You do that a lot.”
I folded my arms. “I don’t—”
“You’d be surprised how forgiving people can be when you’re sincere. They care. Julie Sims cared when you apologized to her in the hallway. I saw it on her face. That’s what I don’t understand about you. You’re so smart, and yet you can’t seem to figure it out.”
I frowned. “Figure what out?”
He leaned forward until his face was so close to mine, all I would have to do was lift up on my toes and our lips would touch. My stomach quivered at the thought, and yet, I forced myself to not look away.
“I think you’re onto something really amazing with this graffiti idea,” he whispered.
“I don’t have an idea,” I whispered back.
“You do.” He smiled. “And it’s amazing. But the only way you’re going to convince other people is to prove they can trust you. You’re going to have to show them the real Regan, not the girl you pretend to be.”
I still had no clue what idea he was talking about. But my tongue was so thick, I couldn’t form the questions to ask him. He was so close that his breath left a trail of shivers along my skin.
“Do you know what you have to do?”
I shook my head dumbly.
“Apologize.”
I blinked. He still wasn’t making sense. “To the people I talked about in the messages?”
“No.” He straightened, and suddenly I could think again, breathe again. “To everyone. You know the hurt you’ve caused didn’t start or stop with the people you insulted in those messages.”
Shame burned up my neck, into my cheeks, and all the way to the tips of my ears. I glanced over my shoulder, pretending to check on Rookie, but the real reason I turned away was because I could no longer look at him without guilt pinching my insides. “You think I should go up to everyone in the hallways and say I’m sorry?” I gave a little snort. “Not only is that ridiculous, it would take forever.”
“Of course it would, if you did it that way.” Nolan reached into his bag and held out his camera. “Instead, how about this?”
I eyed him skeptically. “I’m really not following anything you’re saying.”
“You record an apology,” he said. “Open yourself up. Think about it.” He turned on the camera.
Reflexively, I took a step back.
“If you willingly expose yourself,” Nolan said, aiming the lens at my face, “if you come clean, nobody—including Amber—can hurt you. Plus, you have the chance to make a real difference here—not just for you, but for everyone.”
I still wasn’t following. How could one little apology change anything? Baring my soul to my classmates was enough to make me want to hurl. Still, wasn’t this the kind of positive press I was looking for? Besides, owning my mistakes and apologizing was something my mother would never do. That alone made me want to try.
“So, what.” I walked up to his camera and placed my hand over the lens. “You want me to do this now? At the barn when I’m covered in dirt and sweat?” I gestured to my tangled ponytail and mud-covered boots.
Nolan chuckled and turned off the camera. “Your appearance doesn’t matter, even though I think you look great, by the way.”
Heat washed through my body, and I attempted to tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears.
“I do think we could stage it a little better,” he continued. “Why don’t you come over to my house tonight around seven. I should have everything set up in my room, and we can get to work.”
“Your house?” My voice came out a pitch too high. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been to his house a million times before to visit Payton, but I’d never once been inside Nolan’s room—I’d never been inside any boy’s room, especially not alone.
“Well, yeah,” he answered. “Unless you’ve got a green screen at your place.”
I shook my head.
He grinned. “Then I guess it’ll have to be my place. Seven. I’ll see you then.”
Despite the panic flooding my veins, I managed to squeak out, “Okay. Seven.”
His grin widened. He winked at me before opening the gate and leaving the arena. He paused in the barn long enough to pat the nose of a curious horse as he moved past.
After he’d gone, it took me another couple minutes before I could move. What did I just agree to?
“Regan.” Mary, the barn owner, approached the gate with a horse in tow.
“Yeah?” My voice was breathless.
“I was thinking about a trail ride. You in?”
It had only been a couple of days since I’d fantasized about opening the gates, hopping on Rookie’s back, and riding off to wherever he took me. But now, things were different—Nolan had a plan, and though I didn’t quite understand it, I trusted him.
“Thanks for asking, but I think I’m done for the day,” I told her.
For once, I was pretty sure I knew exactly where I was supposed to be.
Chapter Fourteen
Nolan’s room wasn’t anything like I’d expected. True, I’d never been inside a boy’s room before, but the ones I saw on television were piled with dirty laundry and decorated with posters of half-naked women.
If it weren’t for the full-size bed tucked into a corner, I wouldn’t have guessed it to be a bedroom at all. A large desk sat against another wall. On top of it, two computer monitors showed various video clips. A third monitor displayed video-editing software. The camera Nolan had brought to the barn sat on top of a tripod in the middle of the room, its lens facing a green sheet draped from the ceiling. A single stool had been placed in front of it.
I hesitated in the doorway. I knew exactly who that stool was for. I could almost hear it whispering my name, daring me to rip open my chest and reveal the soul beneath. I rubbed my suddenly sweating palms on my jeans. Suddenly, I wished Payton were here. When her dad answered the door and said she was out, I was disappointed. I still didn’t know exactly where we stood. It bothered me.
“You look nervous.”
I spun around to find Nolan at the door behind me, blocking my path. Even though he wore the same outfit he’d had on earlier at the barn, it was still so strange to see him in clothes other than our school uniform. I couldn’t help but stare at how his gray T-shirt showed off the muscles of his chest. His hair looked different—instead of loose across his forehead it was brushed and tucked behind his ears. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he tried to style it for me.
I wanted to mess it up with my fingers. The thought was enough to tighten my insides.
“I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can do this.” He gripped my arms and squeezed. As I’d come to expect, his touch eased the tendrils of anxiety winding through my body. “I have faith in you.”
At least one of us did. With him blocking my escape, I had no choice but to back into his room.
After shutting the door behind him, he moved past me to the computer. He leaned over the desk, grabbed the mouse, and began opening several windows on one of the monitors. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?” he asked without looking up.
“That’s okay.” I doubted anything could loosen the knot of fear forming in my gut, not even Nolan himself. And with my stomach already queasy, I didn’t want to risk upsetting it further.
He continued clicking windows and
opening and closing screens. With Nolan distracted, I decided to check out his room. His walls were painted silvery gray, and his bed was made with a plain black comforter. While there were no posters of athletes, above his headboard were framed posters of documentaries I’d never heard of—each decorated with award banners for winning one film festival or another.
“You sure like documentaries.” I turned away from a film poster about a man who’d lived with wild horses for a year. Other than the videos shown in school, I couldn’t think of a single documentary I’d watched.
“Oh, yeah,” he answered, still clicking away. “Did you know that before they were called documentaries, they were called ‘life caught unaware’? I love that. So much so I was going to call my own documentary Life Unaware. There’s nothing like a well-made, compelling film about life. They’re so much better than movies, because they’re real. That’s what makes them so great. Feature films try, and they come really close, but you can’t fabricate real.”
I’d never thought about it like that. I set my backpack on his bed, careful to keep plenty of distance between the stool and myself. Anxiety buzzed inside me, like a jar of angry hornets, at the thought of baring my soul to the entire student body. Relax, Regan, I told myself. This is the plan you’ve been looking for—the one that’s finally going to repair the damage you’ve done. And really, it’s no different from the apologies countless PR firms organized for celebrities and politicians who slipped up. Right?
I swallowed hard. It wasn’t that I doubted the plan—or even Nolan—but every second that had passed since he left me alone at the stables, I lost more faith in myself. Could I hold it together long enough to pull this off, or would I walk away leaving Nolan the most incriminating thing of all—me having a massive mental breakdown on camera? The thought had sent me scrambling for my pill bottle more times than I cared to admit.
The bottom line was, for all my fear, I needed to do this. I was sick of hiding from my problems—sick of hiding from life. After spending time alone in the graffiti-covered bathroom stall, I realized some scars never healed with time. This was no longer about hiding or regaining popularity—this was about fixing the damage I’d done. Even if I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for my pills, I’d do the video. Maybe that’s where the real me had been all along—buried at the bottom of a pill bottle.
