Page 9
Author: Kristan Higgins
And then…and then he came down the hall, black hair thick and rumpled, flannel shirt open over a T-shirt with mysterious logo, faded blue jeans. Scuffed black leather jacket. He was unshaven (unshaven!), and his motorcycle helmet (motorcycle!) indicated his form of transportation. The principal was with him, lecturing him about behavior and second chances, and from the look in his eye, this guy could care less. The crowd around Jessica and Rick fell silent at the spectacle of this…this god. His eyes cut around the hallway, assessing and unimpressed.
For one second, the clear green gaze landed on Posey, and all other sounds were instantly blanked out except the thudding of her heart. Her cheeks tightened with a blush. Knees tingled, mouth went dry. Who was that?
For the next few weeks, Posey found out all she could about this new deity. Liam Declan Murphy…sigh! He was just out of juvie (juvie!) for stealing cars. Every day, he arrived on a battered Triumph motorcycle, which Posey learned was uber-cool, way more so than a newer, shinier make. According to the rumors that flew thick and fast, he played guitar (guitar!) in a band in some sleazy bar (squee!) across the river in Kittery. He lived with an uncle over by the quarry. Parents were either dead, in jail or witness protection.
Each bit of information was utterly thrilling. Suddenly, the world had more meaning, more layers, more color. He was a junior, she was a frosh, so their paths didn’t exactly cross, but she ogled him from across the parking lot, made a point of going from Latin to Algebra via the second-floor hallway, despite the fact that both her classes were on the first floor. But even the small possibility of glimpsing him—unkempt, beautiful, aloof—was more than enough justification.
And then came that miraculous day when she tore into the kitchen of Guten Tag for her after-school strudel fix, and he was there. Him! Liam Declan Murphy! Was there! In her parents’ kitchen! She could smell him…oil and soap and just the slightest hint of something warm and spicy, like pumpkin pie.
Posey managed to close her mouth, abruptly aware that it was hanging open. Her backpack slipped from her limp fingers, alerting her mother to her arrival.
“Oh, hi, sweetheart! Liam, this is our daughter, Cordelia,” Mom said. “But everyone calls her Posey. ”
“Niih,” Posey breathed. This was amazing! God so loved her!
“Hey,” he said.
“Liam will be working here in the kitchen,” her father said. “Washing dishes, cleaning up. ”
“I… That’s… Hi,” Posey said. Working here? Unbelievable! They’d become friends, she could see it immediately. They’d hang out, Liam would grin and talk about those dumb popular kids. They’d become BFFs…then, yes, she could see it so clearly, they’d fall in love. High school would be a dream of happiness. Prom queen, okay? No more invisibility, no more slinking through the halls. He’d wait for her to graduate, then they’d head off for the same college. Get married, have a house on the water, make out every single night. Oh, Elvis Presley, they’d sleep in the same bed!
Every day from then on, Posey tried to get his attention, to make him see what a great friend she could be. But Liam was always busy, always offering to do something else once a task was done. “Mr. Osterhagen, you want me to break down those boxes in the back?” he’d ask, and her dad would thank him for being so diligent. Other than grunting hello, Liam really didn’t speak to her. He was polite and respectful to her parents, though he was rough around the edges, but whatever affection he may have had for Max and Stacia didn’t transfer over to her. It wasn’t that he was rude; it was more that he didn’t seem to think there was any reason for them to talk. At school, he might acknowledge her with a nod (which she’d relive over and over, admitting that yes, she was pathetic, but he nodded and it was thrilling).
Posey wasn’t the only one obsessed with Liam, that was clear. It was his attitude. And his looks. Liam was gorgeous. He was aloof. He had hidden depths and a tragic and secret past. Everyone wanted to be him or do him. According to the girls’ room gossip, which Posey both lived for and dreaded, Liam was such a good kisser. Yes, Amanda Peters was planning to meet him under the bleachers after school—who wouldn’t? And everyone knew that he’d already done Taylor Bennington, but what guy hadn’t, right?
However many girls Liam did or didn’t do, he didn’t talk about it. He might give a slow smile or a smoky look—the meaning of the term “bedroom eyes” became abundantly clear. But he didn’t brag about his conquests (not that she could tell) or his motorcycle, didn’t talk about his misdeeds. He just didn’t seem to care, and that was the most exciting thing of all.
But Posey knew a little something about being on the outside looking in, and there were times when she swore she saw the same yearning in Liam’s expression, that little flash of vulnerability. He may have been admired, but he didn’t belong.
Previously, Rick Balin had been the alpha dog of Bellsford High. His family had lived in town forever; they’d owned mills, then boatyards, and Rick was the type of kid who got a red Mercedes convertible for his sixteenth birthday, crashed it before the week was up, and got a silver Mercedes as reward. He was blond, he was solid, he played football, he was careless and smug and it worked. Only at Bellsford after he’d flunked out of Choate, Andover, and St. Paul’s, Rick was widely regarded as a catch, and Jessica Blair daily trumpeted her status as his girlfriend.
But from Liam’s first day forth, the order changed. Liam was the lone wolf in the pack’s territory, and rather than challenge Liam, Posey watched as Rick and the lesser dogs began to mimic him. If Liam’s jeans had holes in the knees, the next day Rick’s would, too, though Rick probably ordered the maid to age and rip his own. At first, Liam ate his lunch alone in the courtyard, rather than in the cafeteria; Rick and his followers started eating outside, too. Eventually, the pack eased around Liam, trying to impress, to assimilate him. Liam tolerated their presence, but Posey could tell it was tolerance only (well…that’s how it looked). He let them hang out, but he didn’t become one of them, and in some ways, he seemed more alone than ever.
Sure, he might (he did) sleep with a few (more than a few) girls here and there—hard to avoid, as they practically hurled themselves at his groin, but he hadn’t truly connected with anyone. Yet. Maybe once she finally blossomed, as her mother put it, he’d notice Posey. It was what she prayed for nightly, heaven knew.
Then one day after school, as Posey was walking to the restaurant, she spied Liam out by the trash cans in the alley. He was kneeling down, holding something in his hand. Posey froze, drinking in the sight of him—the torn jeans, the faded black T-shirt, the way the wind ruffled his hair. Then a tiny, striped cat came out from behind the trash can, warily, slowly. It sniffed the air, then leaned forward, closer. Liam said something too quietly for Posey to hear. The cat sniffed again, took another step closer…then took the offering in his mouth and scampered back to safety. Liam smiled, stood up, and saw Posey.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi. ” Her face heated in a rush.
“Don’t tell your parents, okay? I probably shouldn’t be feeding him, but…” Liam shrugged.
“I won’t tell anybody. ”
“Thanks. ” He started back into the restaurant.
“Is he tame? Do you think he’s lost?” she blurted, terrified this would be their last conversation.
He turned around. “I think he’s a stray. It took two weeks to get him to come to me. ” The sound of his voice—the fact that he was speaking to her—was breathtakingly amazing.
“Does he have a name? The cat? Did you name him?” Posey babbled, unwilling to let him go. The intimacy of the moment, the hidden depths of this mysterious alpha male, oh, it was so romantic! He was feeding a starving cat! Him! The motorcycle guy who had girls crawling over him!
Liam paused. “I’ve been calling him Joe,” he admitted with a crooked grin, and Posey almost died.
“That’s a good name,
” she managed.
Liam’s smile grew. “See you, Cordelia. ” With that, he went inside.
The simmering lust, the raging interest exploded into love. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man who took the time to feed a homeless kitty? She held that image against her heart like a secret jewel. Only she knew about it, she was sure. Those girls Liam might’ve slept with, girls who left their panties in his locker or wrote things about him on the bathroom walls…they didn’t know what Posey knew—Liam Declan Murphy was not just the hottest thing ever to grace Bellsford High…he was a softy, too.
It took a week or two of screwing up her courage, but Posey finally spoke to Liam in school. After World History, she ran up the stairs, then galloped to room 224, where Liam would be going from Physics to English. She slowed down, not wanting him to see that she was out of breath, and glanced at her chest to make sure the tissues she’d stuffed in her bra hadn’t shifted.
Liam was smiling that half grin at some girl who was telling him he really should hang out with her sometime. Tramp. Posey pretended not to notice them, then, when she was just a couple of feet away, looked up. “Oh, hey, Liam. ”
“Hi,” he said, a little cautiously. They didn’t speak in school (or ever, really, except for that one time in the alley).
“How’s Joe?” she asked.
He paused. “Joe’s fine. ” Then he grinned, and Posey’s knees weakened so fast that she wobbled.
“So, anyway, you could definitely come over,” the slutty girl said. “You won’t be sorry. ”
“Is that right,” Liam murmured, turning his attention back to her. Posey didn’t mind. She and Liam had a secret. Later that day, when she came to the restaurant, she slipped into the closet where Liam’s coat was and tucked a can of tuna into his pocket. No note. Let him wonder. Let him think about her the way she thought and thought and thought about him. Later that week, this time after Liam’s Spanish class, he spoke to her. “Hey. Joe says thanks. ” And he smiled at her as he walked past and for a second, Posey was literally blinded with love.
“Do you, like…know him?” asked Melissa Shields, one of Posey’s classmates.
“Sure,” Posey said casually.
Timing it carefully so she didn’t seem too eager (though if she’d put as much time into her algebra class as she did into tuna cans, she would’ve had an A+), Posey once again left a gift for Joe in the pocket of Liam’s worn black leather jacket. For one blissful moment, she held the coat to her face, breathing in the smell—leather and soap and cloves—before sneaking back into the restaurant. Then, just before lunch on Thursday, Liam acknowledged her once more as he was going into the courtyard. “Joe’s getting spoiled. ” He raised an eyebrow as if saying You. You’re so dang cute.
“Where is all our tuna going?” Stacia wondered aloud, but Posey just smiled. Counted the days until she could plant another can. Despite the fact that there was fish involved, it all seemed incredibly clandestine and romantic. She could almost imagine them rehashing it someday in front of a roaring fire in a cabin on a mountain somewhere. Liam would gaze into her eyes and say, “Remember when you used to sneak me food to give to Joe? That’s when I first fell in love with you. ” Then Joe, whom they would’ve adopted, would climb into her lap, purring noisily, and they’d laugh. And then kiss. Maybe even French kiss. Just the thought of it made her flushed and squishy.
But one day, as she was sitting at the table in the restaurant kitchen, Liam came over, holding the latest can of tuna she’d slipped into his coat pocket an hour ago. “Looks like Joe’s moved on,” he said. He set the can down.
“Moved on? Where?”
“Someone adopted him,” Liam said.
Until There Was You Page 9
