Meant to Be Broken

by Brandy Woods Snow

  On Monday afternoon, Ainsley cornered me at my locker and begged me to help her coordinate the senior posters to be displayed in the cafeteria because Jaycee left her high and dry, spending all her time on the half-time slideshow for the jumbo-tron. I’d already done my part on the food committee, securing donations from local restaurants, but when Ainsley was finished with her pleas, there I stood with a bag of glitter glue, Sharpies, poster paper, and a handful of manila envelopes.

  By Wednesday night, the completed posters lean against my dresser. Only Gage’s folder remains. I haven’t opened it yet. Nervous excitement or guilt, possibly both, paralyzes me at the sight of his name on the red tab. I run my finger along the edge, flip it open and hold up the questionnaire into the lamp light. It’s filled out with his distinctive small slanted script. Favorite food—macaroni and cheese. Favorite class—gym. My breath catches hard in my chest at the next entry. Best friend(s)—Preston Howard and Rayne Davidson.

  My gag reflex clenches tight, my heart thumping at the validity of our relationship, there in black and white. I’m his best friend, and he’s mine. It all makes perfect sense. Except for the fact friendship’s no longer enough. I want more. But Gage has avoided discussing anything about homecoming. He’s acting as if nothing happened, but the intimacy we shared that night changed us. It means something. Something we can’t deny. Something we can’t act on.

  The folder weighs a ton in my hands, and I drop it on the floor. For the first time all season, Preston’s coming to a game. Not for me. Not for Gage. For himself. To receive his ring and the praises of his faithful devoted.

  Inside the folder are pictures Gage provided for the poster. They slide out with a shake, and I arrange them across the carpet. Gage in his football uniform; Gage and Preston; Gage driving his Scout; Gage and I dressed up for homecoming.

  I lie on my bedroom floor and stencil Gage’s name across the top of his poster. Homecoming night comes back to me with each pencil stroke. His hands on my hips. Mine in his pockets. The curvature of his butt beneath my palms. Our almost kiss.

  I can’t keep pretending he’s just a friend when all I really want is for him to make a move, reassure me it’s okay to break his brother’s heart. I want him to love me as much as I love every facet of him.

  Decked out in red, white, and black crepe streamers, the school’s ready. The mid-November air is crisp, and my heart keeps time with the drum line as I watch Gage warming up in the end zone, his leg stretching up to the sky.

  “Get with it. Time to cheer.” Ainsley shakes her pompoms in my face and nods to the fifty-yard line and the rest of the cheerleaders.

  From the field, everyone in the stands looks small, difficult to tell one from another. Except Preston. I can’t see him exactly, but I know where he is—in the middle of that overly eager crowd. In the bleachers near the top of the stadium, my parents huddle together under a blanket, Daddy’s arms tight around Mama.

  We perform our set and run back to the sidelines. The crowd roars as the guys take the field.

  At half-time, the principal opens the ceremony with a long-winded speech. Blah blah blah. His voice fades into that Charlie Brown teacher whine as I sip from my water bottle. One-by-one, each player from last year’s team comes forward but when his name—Preston Howard—echoes over the loud speaker, the crowd, in one mass movement, gets to its feet and breaks out in a full chant, stomping so hard the structure groans under the weight. Preston beams from his pedestal and pumps his right fist in the air. After his MVP speech, he’s hoisted on shoulders and paraded around the field as Mr. and Mrs. Howard wave and smile to the crowd from their spot in the bleachers.

  The ring ceremony takes five minutes more than planned, so the senior night recognition is crammed into a ten-minute clip. When the principal finally shuts up, the stadium lights dim for the senior night slideshow.

  “This is it!” Jaycee waves her hands and hops from one foot to the other as a few notes of music introduce the slideshow’s photo montage. Chest puffed up and hands clasped together, she meets my gaze and an instant shiver slides down my spine. She’s too eager.

  When her voice booms over the jumbotron speakers, my stomach lurches. “What did you do, Jaycee?”

  The corner of her lip curls into a sly smile as she points toward the screen.

  Her voiceover cameo continues. “By senior year, we think we know it all, but face it—there’ll always be lingering questions we hope to clear up by our ten-year reunion. For instance, what exactly do you have in that bookbag Barrett Sanderson? You always carry it, but all your books are in your arms. You don’t study—obviously—so what’s the deal? You even take it to the bathroom. Creepy.” Pictures of Barrett with his bookbag in the hallway, in the lunchroom, at the farmer’s market in town, and beside the boys’ bathroom flash on the screen. The crowd roars, even Barrett, who holds up his now-infamous bookbag for everyone to see.

  “Number two. Amie Lyndon—what’s with your hair? Really? We’re all cheerleaders, bouncing around, hair all over the place. Yours doesn’t move. Like ever. Not normal. Your real hair or helmet in disguise?” Pictures of Amie and her perfect hair cover the screen. Amie in a tumbling series with her gravity-defying hairdo. Amie standing by me during practice, my frizzy hair attacking her silky-smooth locks. Again the crowd laughs as Amie gives a cheer for her awesome hair.

  “And, last but not least, perhaps the most intriguing mystery of the senior class. Rayne Davidson and Gage Howard—when are y’all gonna come clean about your secret romance? Seriously guys, it’s painful to watch y’all deny it anymore. And it’s not fair to poor Preston. He’s not used to losing.” A barrage of photos, taken while Gage and I were unaware, plaster the big screen: in French class, me wiping crumbs from his lips; taking a selfie in the school parking lot; holding hands in the hallway outside the gym; pressing too close together at the homecoming dance.

  My stomach churns with each tick of the electronic scoreboard timer, the truth parading for all to see. I can’t deny it—the proof’s in the look on my face in every photo. Hiding in plain sight? More like being stripped naked in front of the entire town.

  Stone-cold silence grips the stadium. No laughing, coughing, or discernible breathing.

  In the stands, Mama’s horror-stricken eyes dart nervously between me and the Howards, her hand clasped tightly over her mouth. Preston jumps to his feet and rushes headlong down the steps. I sprint off the sidelines, to the first landing and across the first row of bleachers where we meet face-to-face. I reach for his hand, but it hangs limp in mine, his eyes pleading for a denial.

  I don’t have one, only a burning sensation that singes my throat like a lit roman candle. “Preston, I… Preston… give me a chance to explain—to do something—anything.”

  He wrenches his hand from mine and throws it up like a stop sign. “I’ve been watching this come on for a while. Dammit, I asked Gage, and he swore nothing was going on.”

  “And it wasn’t. I swear it wasn’t…” At least not physically. We’d toed the line but never crossed it. The burning races to my eardrums.

  The fire in his eyes subsides, allowing for something much worse. Hurt. His parents finally arrive at his side, Mrs. Howard’s venom hitting me like a million poisonous darts.

  “You little bitch…” She stabs her inch-long red nails in my face before Preston calls her off and pushes himself between the two of us.

  “I never meant to hurt you Pres,” I say, shooting sideways glances at Mrs. Howard in case she throws a hook. Even I can’t believe I say that. It’s not you, it’s me? But it’s true—I don’t understand why it happened this way either. Loving Gage isn’t what I planned, but it’s something I can’t ignore. Now thanks to Jaycee, no one can look the other way.

  Preston opens his mouth to respond but stops as he focuses on something over my left shoulder. “I can’t do this…” He swallows hard and rubs both hands over his face and down his neck, which has turned feverish re
d, then turns and walks away. Jackson follows, eyes wide and sweat beading on his forehead, but Charlotte shoots me the stink eye, her eyebrows hooked together by deep creases running vertically above her nose before darting into the still-paralyzed crowd.

  It’s then his hand rests on my shoulder, and I hear his voice in my ear. “Rayne.”

  I peek around, too ashamed to face him fully. Gage stands there shell-shocked, as if just crawling in from a gruesome battle. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at the crowd. Their eyes dissect me like a frog in science lab, their whispers and jeers like razor-sharp scalpels. The huge stadium collapses in, sucking air from my lungs, and I can’t get a deep breath. On wobbly knees, I rush past Gage, down the steps into the dark void beneath the bleachers.

  I’m not in love with Preston, but he doesn’t deserve to be humiliated. Jaycee’s supposed to be my friend—bitchy, yes, but evil, no. I’m so stupid. I defended her when I should’ve listened to Gage.

  Gage. I left him standing alone in the stands when he’s never run away from me. I trust our connection, but what if it’s not enough? He can’t defend both me and his brother. He’ll have to choose, and I’ll be the loser.

  He enters my hiding place, cutting through the slivers of darkness underneath the bleachers. I can’t see him clearly, but an electrical current surges through me, blue-hot and stronger than ever. I push my back against the support beam, willing it to open up and absorb me into the concrete pillar, as his footsteps draw closer. Suddenly he’s in front of me, close enough to reach out and touch. Through the darkness, my eyes trace the curvature of his jaw and the angle of his nose. A single beam of light bleeding through the bleachers falls across his eyes and sets them ablaze. I can’t tear mine away from his.

  “Is it true—any part of it?”

  “It’s stupid mean girl stuff, Gage. She’s an overindulged princess determined to cause misery.”

  Gage scuffs his football cleats in the dirt. “It’s more than that, Rayne.” He grasps my chin, holding firm. “Tell me the truth! I don’t give a damn about her. I want the truth. From you. Is this my fault?”

  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” I fidget with my bracelet. He didn’t. I did. I trusted the wrong people, felt the wrong things. Only somehow in this moment, amidst all the drama, it doesn’t feel wrong. Gage’s breath falling hot across my face, his arm grazing my left shoulder, feels right. He pulls me closer, the smell of sweat on his jersey musky and dense. A single salty bead trickles down his jawline and over the throbbing vein in his neck then disappears into the t-shirt under his shoulder pads.

  “Preston’s a friend but—nothing more.”

  “Why’d you pretend?”

  “I don’t know, Gage, okay?” I interrupt. “Preston’s wonderful, handsome, sweet, everything any girl would dream of, but…”

  He reaches out and grabs my elbow. “But what?”

  “But not me. He’s not meant for me, and I’m not meant for him.”

  “Then who, Rayne? Who do you want?” His eyes slice me like blue daggers, filleting my insides, exposing the truths I’ve hidden away. He knows—it’s silently hanging in the air between us. The connection is chemical, the reaction, palpable.

  I turn to hide the teary free-fall, but Gage moves closer and spins me back into his arms, my face pressed into his chest, his aroma intense and masculine. The truth intimidates and excites me simultaneously, but I’m scared he’ll have to reject me in defense of his brother. I can’t reasonably believe he’d pick me over Preston, so I try inserting physical space between us. He refuses and tugs me closer, the pads from his pants hard against my thighs.

  “The truth,” he pleads. “No Rayne ‘duck and cover’ maneuvers. That doesn’t work with me. I know you too well.”

  “The truth is…” I stammer.

  “You love me?”

  Silence. Why can’t I just say it?

  “I know you do. Good God, Rayne—look at me.” He grabs my shoulders and pulls me face-to-face. “You act like I’m worth a damn. No one else cares about me like you do.”

  An icy warmth circulates through my body. “I don’t know.”

  “Fine. Let me tell you what I know. Jaycee made you the butt of her joke, offering you up like a sacrificial lamb.” He pauses, clasps his hands then rubs them across the top of his head before reaching out to cup my chin. “Preston loves you, Rayne, and to hear that you don’t love him is bad enough. To hear it in front of hundreds of people we know—that’s worse. To hear you might love his brother—that’s torture.”

  “We can’t undo this.” I push his hand away and turn my back.

  “I lied, Rayne.”

  “Lied? About what?” I turn around, confused by his words.

  “I lied to my brother and told him I didn’t love you, but… I do.”

  The sound in my ears hums loudly like an idling engine. The scene plays in a slo-mo movie montage with Gage standing in front of me confessing his soul’s secrets and me wishing—no, praying—the next words I hear are life-changing.

  He throws his hands in the air. “I love you, Rayne! Everything else be damned!”

  My heart pounds in my ears as it sinks in. I love him and he loves me back. My legs turn to jelly.

  He quits talking and edges closer, his face millimeters from mine, his fingertips on my arm. Chill bumps blanket my body when he grabs hold of my hand. “Can’t you feel it… this thing between us?”

  “Gage, I—” Before I can finish, he crushes his lips to mine and moves them softly, yet feverishly. It’s better than I dreamed, and I refuse to imagine ever living another day when I don’t kiss him. The touch of his lips burns like hot coals that shoot smoldering embers into my fingers and toes.

  I pull back just long enough to tell him the truth. “I love you, Gage.”

  I grab his hair and wrench him back to me then cover his lips, cheeks, and neck with all the pent-up emotions building for so many weeks. My reputation might be shot to hell, but I’m not going to let that ruin the most perfect moment with him.

  Chapter 28

  Gage

  S

  omething’s off. Not that I expected everyone would come home from the game and quietly tuck themselves into bed, but the fact every light downstairs and upstairs is on, blaring through the windows like some suburban lighthouse, is something Mom would never allow.

  It calls too much attention. Makes it look as if something’s wrong. Attracts the neighbors’ interest in all the unsuitable ways.

  Too late.

  But considering that shit-storm we just came through, I’m assuming propriety’s out the window tonight.

  I stop in the driveway. Opening the garage door will only clue them in that I’m home, and I’d rather take my chances sneaking in the back door and wait until tomorrow to deal with the fallout. I slide out of the Scout and press the door softly in place, using a hip nudge to secure it. But as I turn around, putting the keys in my pocket… wham!

  In an instant, my body slaps the pavement, the little rocks tearing at my skin. Fire explodes across my eye and a stabbing sensation grinds in my ear. I blink my eyes. Everything wavers between focus and blur as I push myself to standing, using the side of the Scout as a crutch.

  Before I can even turn around, Preston’s screams rip through my still ringing ear. “Why’d y’all do it? Behind my back! Y’all made me look like a fool in front of everybody!”

  The feeling once again registers in the side of my face and down to my jawbone as the tingling eases a bit. Of course Preston’s pissed. I’m sure he’d love to rip my arms off and beat me with them.

  And I can’t blame him.

  “Pres, we didn’t mean for this to happen. We never intended—”

  “All you can give me is cliché bullshit?” He jabs my shoulder, spinning me backwards just enough that I’m facing him. “I asked you! You said it was nothing. Come on, Gage. Cheating doesn’t just happen.”

  He�
��s right. Cheating doesn’t just happen. That’s the only reason Rayne and I had successfully been able to keep our hands off one another when the tension’s been full-throttle for weeks. The desire to slide my hands over her, put my lips on hers, was there every second. But we’d resisted. “We didn’t cheat. Ever. We never crossed that line because we cared too much about you!”

  “Oh, y’all cared so much, right?”

  I slide my hands up the sides of my face and grasp the top of my head. There’ll be no reasoning with him tonight. No explaining. “Rayne and I… we fell in love.” Preston grimaces as if he’ll hurl at any second. “I know you’re mad. I know you want to kill me. It’s been a long night, and you really don’t want to do this right now.”

  He laughs, something guttural that emanates from deep in his chest. “No, you’re wrong. I so want to do this. Now.”

  “You got your shot in. A damn good one. I deserve it, but can we please cool down and talk about this tomorrow?” Preston doesn’t respond, only narrows his eyes like a predator sizing up his prey. “I’m not going to fight you,” I continue, throwing my hands up in surrender, and head toward the house. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Like hell you are,” Preston yells and charges me again from the side.

  Except this time, I anticipate it, and I grab his shirt and throw him belly-first onto the Scout’s hood, holding him in place. He wiggles under my tight grasp but can’t free himself. “Dammit, Preston. I told you I’m not gonna fight with you. We didn’t mean for this to happen, but we fell in love. I’m sorry. Rayne’s sorry. But… you and I are still brothers. I love you, and we’re not doing this.”

  I push off the car, leaving Preston laying there. His voice echoes against the metal hood. “Y’all betrayed me!”