There’s a click, and my whole heart seriously flutters.
“Hello?” Cat asks slowly, carefully.
“I need you,” is all I can whisper out.
Chapter 14
Cat comes less than five minutes later. I don’t even need to tell her where I am because she already knows. She gets me like that—inside and out—like I’m that crossword puzzle everyone knows the answer to. She pulls up in front of the cemetery in her red truck, jumps out, and runs over to me. The sun has almost fully set now, and the sky is a mixture of gray and orangey-yellow. It has started drizzling a little, and Cat throws on her hood as she rushes, head down, over to me.
I’ve stopped crying now, and I’m left fingering Mom’s name on the inscription, Rose Mary Rider, until my thumb starts bleeding from rubbing it so much. Her mom named her that—Rose Mary. Like a rosemary, Mom said, which was the same flower her father gave to her mom the night he proposed, and the same one Mom gave to Dad on their wedding day.
I don’t meet Cat’s gaze as she stumbles over to me, crouches down at my side, and looks into my eyes. “Hey,” she whispers slowly. Rain trickles down my face, washing away the tears and the screams and the pain. I just stare miserably at the gravestone, my shirt wet and clinging to my stomach and my hands shaking vaguely. “You okay?” Cat asks.
“No,” I whisper. “I… I dunno. I’m just… lost.”
She shifts closer. It’s only a tiny, tiny movement, but I can’t help but notice how her body creeps closer to mine. We’re only an inch apart now, so close I can reach and touch her if I wanted to.
And I do want to.
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
“Is it?”
“Yes, West, of course it’s okay. You have me, remember that. I’m here for you.”
I shake my head. My eyes are still trained on the tombstone. “Even now?”
She places her hand on my shoulder, and her warmth sends a series of jolts throughout my body. I don’t want her to stop, either. “Even now. I’m always here for you, West,” she says quietly. “Always. No matter what.”
My heart seriously skips a beat.
I’m always here for you. No matter what.
I’m not sure why, but her words keep echoing throughout my head. She’s here for me. By my side. Hand on my shoulder. Thigh touching my thigh.
I want her.
I need her.
I… love her?
I can’t find the words to respond, though, and the silence seems to stretch on for an eternity. More rain comes down, a little harder now, streaming down both Cat’s face and my face. “Remember,” she says after a minute, her voice soft, and then she smiles to herself. “Remember when we were kids and we decided we were going to revolt against our teachers. So we planned to round up all of the other kids, supply them with orange juice weapons, and stage an attack?”
The smile grows. “Yeah. I remember.”
She inches closer again, and I can feel her warmth, smell her vanilla scent wrap around me. I feel safe with her, like we’re in our little world again, like nothing can hurt us when we’re with each other. “It was a terrible, terrible plan,” Cat continues, “and it’s no wonder the op failed as soon as the lunch lady yelled at us for taking the orange juice grenades, but you know what I loved about it?” Finally, I turn to her. Rain streams down her face, wetting her red hair and dripping down her cheeks and off of her chin. I feel it on me too, all over now. I watch Cat’s eyes on my shirt, her lips moving with every word. “I loved it,” she whispers, “because I was with you.”
There’s a single moment that follows where neither of us speaks a word, just listen to the sound of the rain and lock eyes with each other. For the longest, most beautiful instant, we just stare. Unmoving. Unsmiling. Rain pouring down us—only with each other.
Then, without thinking, I reach out and push her wet hair to the side like I did so many nights ago, so I can see more of her beautiful face. And I’m right: it is beautiful. Heat creeps into Cat’s features, and she drops her gaze back to her lap, looking so completely shy and vulnerable. “I know it’s going to be okay,” she continues, “because I still have you.”
Then, ever so slowly, she places her left hand on my cheek. I don’t flinch, don’t even tear my gaze from hers. Her hand is warm at the touch, and I shiver a little bit as her skin brushes mine, but I don’t tell her to stop, don’t push her hand away. Weirdly, I don’t want to push her hand away.
“I’m glad you came,” I say quietly. “I… was an idiot, through all of this. I shouldn’t have done that to you. You’ve always been there for me and the one time I should’ve been there for you, I wasn’t.” I move my face toward hers ever so slightly, close enough to feel her minty breath, to catch the rain streaming down between us. I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
The sky is all gray now, and the rain is coming down hard. My white shirt is so wet I know she can see my stomach, the outline of my chest, and for some reason, I don’t even care. I want her to see. I want her to move closer. I want...
What do I want? Her? Her touch? Her lips? She’s my best friend. I’m not supposed to feel like this, but I do. Is this what Cat was talking about? Am I really falling in love with her, like she is falling in love with me?
A flicker of a smile crosses Cat’s lips, but it’s gone before I can figure out what it means. “You were an idiot,” she says, and laughs a little. “But that’s what I expect from teenage boys, I guess. You’re all idiots on the outside.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“It’s the truth! Meanwhile, girls are fantastic.”
“Indeed. Anything with breasts is fantastic.”
Cat laughs. “Oh my god, West. Did you really just say that?! Jesus, you are so freaking weird…”
“And adorable?”
She shoots me a look. “Possibly.”
I toss my hair, feigning confidence even though I feel so empty inside. “Red Velvet, I’m like a puppy. Lovable, fun, and entirely adorable.”
She shakes her head, suppressing another laugh. “Anyway. You may be an idiot teenaged boy. But,” she says, and drops her voice to a whisper, “on the inside, you are the most amazing, most resilient and carefree spirit I have ever met.”
My heart races all over again. She says it so simply, so bluntly yet honestly, that I know she means it.
“And you,” I whisper back, “are the strongest, coolest girl I’ve ever met, and the fact that you can deal with me, asshole-dom and all, and still see the goodness in me, means you are more clever, more intelligent, more beautiful of a spirit than anyone I have ever met.”
Even more rain comes down, and another instant follows where we both look at each other, really look at each other, and wait. And wonder. I am consciously aware of her hand still on my face, of the rain running down my chin to her fingers, then off to the ground. The pattering sounds seem to fade, though, like background noise or something. My ears starting ringing and it’s just the two of us, in our own little world, in our own little connection.
Then Cat tilts her mouth just a fraction of an inch to the side, a movement so subtle I almost miss it. But I don’t. I focus on her lips now, on the rainwater slipping, so slowly, off of them, and before I know it, my lips are tilted too.
I lean in without thinking, slowly at first, hesitantly. She follows my lead, and in that instant our mouths are so close and still so far away, jerking forward a little and then back all over again. I hesitate there, not sure what to do, not sure whether to go through with this no matter how badly my heart and head and the rest of my body want it. I take a small breath, but it’s enough to send a shiver of anticipation racing up my spine. In a rush, I move even closer until our lips hover only millimeters away from each other’s. I close my eyes, my heart pounding, my skin all hot and cold and soaked from the rain, and I realize it would be so easy to press my lips to hers.
But I don’t.
Before I know what’s happening, I pull back just s
lightly, my hands shaking all over. For the longest time our lips hover there, begging to connect for real this time with the force of seventeen years of waiting, but I won’t let them.
I pull away altogether.
When I do, Cat looks at me oddly, sad and understanding at the same time. I lock eyes with her and whisper, “Not now.”
Then I stand up, and leave her alone in the pouring rain.
Chapter 15
The next few days rush by in a blur of pent-up emotion and total confusion. Exam prep hits me full force, and I spend most of my time studying and watching TV and doing everything I can not to think about Cat, or my dad, or any of this. Cat and I stay mostly normal, although we each conveniently refrain from mentioning the awkward-as-hell almost-kiss between us, but when I get free time, it’s all I can think about: her lips. My lips.
At the time, our lips were like magnets. I wanted that kiss. I needed that kiss. But I pulled away.
I don’t really know why I did what I did, but it just felt… wrong. I mean, I can’t kiss Cat. Not like that, at least—not at Mom’s grave and certainly not when I’m too busy suppressing tears to think clearly. If we kiss—and I’m not saying we will—I want it to be real. Honest. I want us both to be ready, and I want it to be the best damn kiss this world has ever seen.
But even so, a part of me regrets not going through with it. A part of me wants to see how a kiss with her feels, because maybe kissing Cat will tell me whether I really do love her. But I can’t risk it. What if I feel nothing? We’ll have kissed and then that will be that, and we can go ahead and forget about ever being ordinary friends again.
I haven’t talked to Dad since our fight, but strangely, he wasn’t angry when I got back. Instead he looked… sad. Regretful, even. But I know my dad and I know how good he is at pretending, and he is sure as hell not the type of person to be regretful. Mom’s death is proof of that. Then again, he’s also not the person to fight with me that hard. It almost feels like a relief to get something out of him, something beyond the zombie insults.
Cat and I don’t have our first real conversation until a few days after that night. I mean, we talk a little here and there about the probability that our ancient History teacher lived when dinosaurs existed, but we’ve conveniently avoided the topic that is on both of our minds: the near kiss.
After school on Thursday, I throw my books into my locker, ready to go home to another uneventful night of avoiding my dad and Cat and filming another vlog, when I get her text.
It’s me, Cat says.
Shocker.
Shut up. Also, meet me outside. I brought ice cream!
For real? Jeez, Cat, you sure know the way to a man’s heart.
I know. I’m wonderful. You don’t deserve me. But because I’m nice, you get to meet me outside.
I roll my eyes as I type, Whatever.
Don’t “whatever” me, Ryder.
Oh, but I already did! Muahaha!
Do you want your ice cream or not?
I do.
Then come meet me outside.
FINE. No need to be so bossy.
Me? Bossy? No! I am sorry for whatever terrible thing happened to you as a child.
Yeah. I met you.
*gasp* Oh you did not just say that!
Oh yes I did!
I smile to myself, pocketing my phone. Talking to Cat never fails to make me feel so much better. When I’ve finished emptying my backpack, I slam my locker shut and walk down the hallway and out the door. I find Cat seated on a bench a few feet to the right of the school entrance. It’s sunny out, way too sunny to be winter, and the air is cool and somewhat icy.
“Hey,” Cat says. I turn to her. Her blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight, like hidden jewels only I know about. She holds her palm over her eyes and angles her head slightly to block the sun, so she can watch me approach. Her red hair spills over one half of her head, and her cheekbones stand out as she gives me a huge grin. Then I notice the ice creams sitting on the bench next to her.
I gasp, stick out one hand and hold the other to my chest, feigning a dramatic, soap-opera-esque moment. “Could that be… ice cream?”
“Why yes, yes it is.”
“Vanilla?”
“With rainbow sprinkles.”
I grin. “You really do know how to please a guy, Cat Davenport.”
“Like hell I do.”
I sit down next to her, taking one ice cream and handing the other to her. She gives me a spoon, says, “Enjoy! I’m a badass, I know,” and for a little while, we just eat and stare out at the other students leaving school, at the sports teams getting together for practice, anything than to meet each other’s gaze. Anything but to face the truth.
If there was a prize for most awkward maybe-couple, we would come in first.
“So,” Cat says when we’re both done with our (delicious) ice creams. “You ready for exams?”
“No. You?”
“Nah. I’m too busy buying ice cream for this friend of mine.”
“You mean you’re buying ice cream for other guys?” I say in my fake-dramatic voice.
“PLOT TWIST!!!!”
“You are such a dork.”
“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. “West Ryder, I am wonderful.”
“Well, that may be true,” I say, turning to her, “but you are still a dork. Correction: you are my dork.”
“And you love me for it, right? For being a dork?” she says jokingly, but as soon as the words leave her mouth we both realize what she’s just asked. She stops, holds her breath, and I feel like I’ve been slapped.
“I…” I say, not entirely sure how to respond. She raises her eyebrow. “Um, well, this is awkward,” I finally say.
“I agree,” Cat says, forcing a nervous laugh.
I listen to the hum of cars driving past, the distant chirping of birds in the trees high above. The sky is clear aside from a few clouds, and it feels nice to be outside with Cat again. “So, Cat,” I finally say. “I don’t really know what is going on… with… us… but I do know that whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you. So for now, maybe we could try just staying best friends again?”
I am acutely aware of her eyes on me, studying me. There’s a long silence before she answers. “Friends,” she murmurs as if to test out the word. Then she starts nodding, and says “Friends” again, louder this time, and I know she’s agreed. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“You always were a terrible liar.”
She narrows her eyes, looking at me with both suspicion and curiosity. “Why do you think I’m lying?”
I smile vaguely. “Your lip,” I say. “It always twitches when you lie. Just a little, but it’s always there. It’s been like that for years.”
She moves closer to me, her side only inches from mine. “You were watching my lips?”
My stomach drops. Oh shit. I was, wasn’t I? I was staring at her lips. It was so natural I didn’t even notice it, but I still was staring at her. Whoa. “Yeah, I mean… no… I mean...” I trail off.
“You’re also a terrible liar,” she says quietly.
“And how do you know that?”
She nods at my cheek. “Your dimples. You always bring out the dimples—or as I like to call them, the Big Guns—when you lie, because you’re so focused on looking normal and smiley and not like you’re lying that you look exactly like you’re lying.”
I whistle to myself. My eyes are on hers. “So we can even tell when the other is lying,” I say quietly. “We’re like an old married couple and we aren’t even a couple.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I guess.” There’s a pause, and we both look at each other, searching for words to say but coming up with nothing. “This is weird, you know. We’re both skirting the whole romance thing, intentionally or not. We can’t keep doing this, can we?” I don’t respond.
“Either we try…” Cat takes a deep brea
th, hesitates. “…to be more than friends, or we stay best friends.”
“It has to be so black and white?”
“I think so.”
I close my eyes. “I guess… I guess we should stay best friends,” I say. “If we have to choose.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She nods reluctantly. “You’re right. We’ll be badass, ice-cream-eating best friends and forget everything else. Deal?” she asks.
“Deal,” I say, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m not sure I mean it.
Chapter 16
I spend the rest of my afternoon in my room, not studying, not working, just staring up at the ceiling and thinking.
Dad approached me on my way up the stairs nearly an hour ago. This time, though, he didn’t glare at me, didn’t scream about what a waste of space I am. He just said, “Hey,” and his eyes were trained on mine, but he looked so suddenly tired, like the stress of the last year had finally hit him. I mumbled “Hey” back and slipped past, because I knew a conversation with Dad would only result in me feeling worse and worse, and I can’t have that again. “Good luck with exams,” Dad mumbled as I raced up the stairs. Then I heard him sigh to himself like he regretted something. He moved back to the kitchen. For more beer, I assumed.
As I lie there, I keep thinking about Cat, about Mom and Dad and our broken family. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. I mean, it’s been a year with Dad how he is, half a year without Mom, and I still have Cat, so why does it matter anymore? I should be over it. I shouldn’t be visiting Mom’s grave every week hoping she’ll return, I shouldn’t be acting as if Dad is just a little tired and having 365 consecutive bad days, I shouldn’t worry about whether I love my best friend or not. We’re still friends. We fought, but she’s still here. I don’t need love to be happy. I don’t need to worry.
Sometimes, like now, I wonder why Dad stopped caring. It feels like it’s been a millennium since he was happy, but really it’s only been a year. I guess I’ll never know why he gave up, though. It’s just one of those things that I don’t really need an answer to. Maybe he got depressed. Maybe he let it get to him. Maybe work was too stressful. Maybe he just decided to call it quits.
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