by Julie Cross
Chapter 9
–Claire–
“Claire O’Connor! No way.”
I drop a box of cornstarch on my toe, my heart racing.
“Oh, come on, don’t look so disgusted. Luke Pratt is hot. I’d do him in a second and let him bring two friends if he wanted.”
“God, Pratt is old news. Why is anyone bringing that up again? But do you really think she had an abortion when she got to school? I mean, she’d have to do it there, because someone around here would find out and…”
I did what? And who the hell told these girls that I hooked up with Luke?
“Who knows? Let’s just hope she’s learned her lesson and uses protection from now on. Like with Tate. Or was it Tate and Jamie? Or Tate and Leo? I can’t remember. Could it have been all three? That doesn’t seem possible.”
“Leo says they were helping carry boxes of toilet paper, but seriously, they can’t come up with a better excuse than that?”
“Because it’s probably true.”
“What did Haley say when you told her?”
“She said it was bullshit. She would know, so it’s probably bullshit.”
I press my back against the aisle, my gaze darting side to side. Kayla Donald and Leslie Rhine. Juniors. Friends of Haley Stevenson. Obviously not her most intelligent friends, considering the fact that Maple Tree Market is two blocks from my house and they’re not even attempting to whisper.
I scoot down the aisle, testing the distance, seeing if I can get farther away from them.
God, I did not miss small-town life one bit. In a big city, on a big campus, gossip just isn’t possible most of the time. But seriously? Who told them about Luke? Besides Jody and Pratt, no one else knew where I took him when we walked away from that party last year.
Except that’s not true. That night in the car with Tate, after the ER trip, I didn’t want to think about it, but I could tell he knew. He must have seen us heading upstairs from inside the bar.
But why would he tell anyone? Especially knowing the secret I’ve kept for him. I lied for him. Against my better judgment. No way would Tate say anything.
Unless he thought that I wouldn’t be back. That it wouldn’t matter.
If so, that makes two of us.
After fifteen minutes of skirting Kayla and Leslie, I finally grab my needed items, check out, and head home. My mom has sent me two frantic texts asking me to hurry up. She needs to get to the bar and she needs me to babysit Dad. I don’t even get a chance to explain what happened before she’s out the door.
This morning, I’m supposed to be doing speech therapy exercises with my dad. I glance over at Dad, now seated at the kitchen table amid way too much neighborly food, and sigh. This is who I need to focus on. Everything else is petty. I grab the materials from the speech therapist and spend the next hour pushing Dad even harder than I had in the last session.
“Try moving your tongue to the roof of your mouth.” I lean closer and watch my dad attempt to form the word “stove” for the hundredth time. His tongue drifts to the left instead of up and only a sputter of nonsense sounds emerges.
With his left hand, he scratches furiously at the side of his head where a patch of hair is now growing over the incision. His lips press together, forming “buuuttt…” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He picks up the marker beside him and sloppily writes: Done.
“Come on, Dad. You can do this. Stove.”
His left biceps bulges, proving that he hasn’t lost all his muscle. He drops his gaze and attempts to trace his right index finger over the Celtic-themed tattoos lining his forearm. The finger swerves and fails to follow the path of the gold and green ink.
Frustrated, he smacks his right hand hard against the table, and I jump.
“Stove,” I repeat, not wanting to back down.
The look of anguish taking over his features turns my stomach. He’s tired. I’m tired. And we’re both failing at this. I wait, holding my breath, as he tries one more time.
“Buuuutt…” Dad’s fingers wrap around the coffee mug, and before I can even anticipate his move, the mug is flying from his hand, smashing against the kitchen wall, shattering to pieces.
He pushes away from the table and makes his way out of the kitchen, his much weaker right side slumped and barely keeping up with the left.
I blow out a breath, close my eyes, and wish for my dad to wake up tomorrow morning and be his confident, capable self again. If anyone could use another medical miracle, it’s my family.
God, I’m selfish. I mean, he’s alive. I have to remember that.
When I open my eyes again, preparing to clean the broken mug, Haley is walking up my front path, wearing a long skirt and wool tights, probably right from Sunday mass. And she’s got another dish of food in her arms. Great. I quickly swipe the loose tears from my face and stand just as she rings the doorbell.
I plaster on a fake smile before flinging open the door. Innocent until proven guilty, right?
“Hey, Haley.”
“Hey,” she says. “I just talked to your aunt after mass. She said you’d be here watching football with your dad. Did I come at a good time?”
Well, my therapy session with Dad is definitely over. Maybe that constitutes a good time?
“Oh, um, yeah. Totally.”
The cold air causes me to shiver, and I open the door wider, inviting Haley into the kitchen. Her gaze drifts in the direction of the broken mug. I shake my head and wave it off. “I totally wiped out walking across the kitchen floor. I was just about to get a broom before you came by…” I hesitate and then add, not wanting to allow her room to ask more questions, “So what’s up?”
“Wow.” She’s fixated on the table and counters now. They’re covered with…well, I don’t even know what all of it is. “This is out of control, Claire.”
My face heats up. “I’m sorry. It’s just, we’re at the bar all the time, and my dad isn’t eating much—”
“Because of the chemo, right?” She clears a space on the counter to set her dish down and then removes her coat, tossing it over a chair. “My grandmother had to have chemo a couple of years ago. She’s doing okay now, but during treatments she wasn’t eating a thing and couldn’t stand the smell of food cooking in the house. That sucks that he had to have chemo even though his tumor was removed.”
I let out a breath, relieved to not have to make up more excuses. “Chemo and radiation. Just in case any cancer cells were left. Only a few more weeks to go, thank God.”
“Well, he’ll be good as new in no time. You’ll see.” Haley moves around the kitchen, lifting lids, sniffing some of the dishes, sorting things into piles. She reads a note on top of a container of frozen soup and then immediately drops the whole thing into the garbage.
I stand in the kitchen, shifting from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with Haley in my house, seeing the mess everywhere. I know my dad had a nearly inoperable brain tumor and it’s a miracle he even survived the surgery, but I still can’t help being embarrassed by the lack of order in my life.
“You take care of the broken glass and I’ll take inventory.” She tugs a notepad and pen out from under a plate of cookies.
“Haley, this is really nice, but—”
She waves a hand to stop me, her head already ducked, making a list. “Don’t worry, I’m putting you to work, too. I was hoping you would go over the band auditions and set lists for the ball with me. The Women’s League ladies are great and all, but they’re…”
“Old?” I supply. Last night, after Tate and his teammates left, Haley asked me to be on the music committee with her for the New Year’s Eve ball, promising some advertising for O’Connor’s in exchange for my input. I couldn’t say no.
“You said it, not me.” Haley lifts her head and grins, but the smile fades seconds later. “So glad you’re giving me something to do. I had a huge fight with Tate yesterday. He’s being so…” She bites down on her lower lip, searching for the right wo
rd. “I don’t know what. But I think I went about it all wrong. He’s not the same guy. Maybe I took that for granted, you know?”
I don’t know exactly, but I nod anyway.
Haley continues sniffing dishes and containers while I sweep up broken porcelain. When she’s made a list long enough to fill a page, she claps her hands. “Ready to get rid of some of this food?”
“You mean like throw it away? My mom would never get over the guilt.” But man, wouldn’t that make my life easier. Poof, it’s gone. Counter space returned.
“No wasting, I promise.” She reaches for an empty cardboard box near the recycle bin. “My grandpa’s in a poker tournament over at the senior center; we can start there. They’ve got a microwave, too. And I bet Mike and Jessie would take some of this off your hands. Pretty sure they’ve been living on pizza rolls and ramen.”
“Mike and Jessie?” I ask, and then realize she’s talking about Mike Steller and his girlfriend, Jessie. I don’t know her well, but we had gym together one year. She was always nice to me.
“Uh-huh.” Haley piles dishes into a box, and I work on another one. By the time we’re done, the kitchen table is visible and so are two countertops.
We load the items into Haley’s car and then come back for her coat. I look over the almost-clean kitchen, amazed. “Are you available tomorrow?”
She smiles, looking pleased. “Only if you promise to be at the band auditions.”
“Yeah, sure, anything.”
“I’ll need the moral support, since Tate and I are both going to be nominated for Juniper Falls Court tomorrow.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
So despite his many efforts to get out of it, Tate is gonna be nominated. Another bit of our conversation in the car last year comes back to me, when Tate and I sat eating greasy burgers from Benny’s, his broken arm already splinted.
“Haley’s going to freak.”
“About your arm? Why?” I unwrap my own burger and examine it. “God, this is so not an O’Connor’s burger. How is it they get all the high school crowd?”
“We aren’t picky about our grade of beef,” Tate says. “And yeah. Haley. Freaking out. She’s probably gonna have a panic attack tomorrow.” He looks at me and then sighs before explaining. “She’s got us on a plan.”
I lift an eyebrow. “A plan? Like Paleo? Low carbs?”
“A prince and princess plan.” Tate’s cheeks flush and he diverts his gaze out the windshield. “For junior year. Photos in town hall and all that. But that plan is contingent on me making varsity next year.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask him, careful not to insert my own opinions.
He shrugs. “Steller’s a senior next season. If I make varsity, I won’t get to play much. Might get rusty or…you know, fat, sitting on the bench.”
“Especially if you eat this much Benny’s all the time,” I joke even though Tate has always been really skinny. “But what about the rest? The photos in town hall and all that?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs again. “I don’t know.”
“So basically you’re doing it for Haley,” I summarize.
Tate releases a short laugh. “Pretty much.”
“You really like her.” I take a drink of his soda without even thinking about asking. “That’s kinda sweet.”
“She’s fun, you know? Easy to talk to.” He chances a glance at me. “You think it’s sweet? I figured you’d be completely against town rituals like that.”
“Yeah, I am.” I laugh. “And I know you well enough to know you are, too. At least a little. That’s why it’s sweet. You don’t want to do it but you’re going to anyway.”
Tate turns serious, his gaze now locked on mine. “I don’t really know what I want to do. You know?” He shakes his head. “Maybe you don’t know. You’ve always had it figured out.”
Tate had been so wrong last year. I haven’t always had it figured out. I sure as hell don’t have anything figured out right now. But this planning committee Haley’s talked me into means more time around Tate. I’ve definitely figured out that that might mean trouble.
...
“Last stop.” Haley sighs. We’ve managed to unload food on three different organizations thus far. “I’m so not ready for Monday. Stupid me had to vent about my fight with Tate to Kayla and Leslie. I just really thought he’d be done with this breakup stuff by now. I think Kayla and Leslie are gonna use it against me. In the race.”
The Princess race. Sounds like I dodged a bullet not being around for my junior year.
Haley pulls the car up beside a small trailer and reaches in the back for one of the pans. Mike Steller comes bounding out of the trailer, a big grin on his face. “Claire O’Connor! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Here in town or here at your place?”
“Both. Duh.” He’s barefoot and not wearing a coat, but still he runs up and lifts me off the ground. I’m straightening myself out again when Jessie peeks outside, not braving bare feet on the cold ground like Mike. Her face is rounder than the last time I saw her, but when Haley and I get to the door with all the food we brought, I can’t look at her face anymore. All I can do is stare at her giant stomach.
I glance at Haley. What? No warning?
About two miles from here, Mike Steller’s house is probably lit up, three nice cars in the driveway. And yet he’s here in some poorly insulated trailer—with his pregnant girlfriend.
I can’t help but think our town’s obsession with high school hockey is to blame for this somehow.
...
Later, when we’re back in Haley’s car and I’m sorta over the Mike Steller is a father to be shock, I decide that Haley can probably figure out how the teenage population of Juniper Falls seems to be suddenly interested in a hookup that happened a year ago.
I explain the conversation I overheard in Maple Tree Market. Haley proves herself to be a bad Catholic girl—we have that in common—by stringing together half a dozen swearwords in a very creative combination.
“God, what idiots. And bitches,” Haley mutters. Then she looks at me and guilt is all over her face. “I swear on the Bible, Claire, that I only told Leslie with good intentions.”
My throat goes dry, my heart picking up speed. This doesn’t sound good.
“So last Christmas, Luke came home to visit,” Haley continues. “And we were at Stewart’s party and Leslie was totally about to hook up with Pratt. So I had to tell her.”
“Tell her what exactly?” I say through gritted teeth.
“About you…” She looks at me, and when I don’t give any indication that I know what she’s talking about, she explains further. “How you and Luke went upstairs and then later he stormed out.”
Technically she saw Luke talking to me at the party, but I’m sure she hadn’t seen us leave together. I’d been careful. Clearly my subconscious predicted a possible return to this town and prepared well. Now I need to know who screwed things up for me.
“Okay, but where did you hear this from?” I press, my patience wearing thin.
She focuses on the road and hesitates before saying, “I can’t even remember. I’m sorry…”
It’s hard to tell if she’s lying. I mean, who would she be protecting? Jody? Tate…? She’s pissed at Tate, so why would she protect him?
Haley peels her eyes from the road and looks at me. “Are you okay? I know it sucks to hear those bitches saying your name in the middle of the store.” Her face grows weary. “It’s possible Luke did some talking. I haven’t heard anything, but maybe the guys on the team have…or Kayla told Stewart—they’re dating, so yeah…”
“Basically what you’re saying is,” I conclude, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice, “that most likely everyone in town knows I hooked up with Luke Pratt the night before I left for school.”
“I doubt it’s really a big deal,” she says.
But it’s a big deal to me. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it
is.
Chapter 10
–Tate–
ME: Heard O’Connor’s is catering the winter clinic. Glad it worked out!
I hit send just before Mrs. Powel, our very elderly, but also gifted at seeing, English teacher catches me with my phone out. I tuck it under my thigh and pretend to pay attention to her lecture.
The PA system screeches and all of us stop talking, knowing an announcement of some kind is coming. Hopefully it’s not another tornado drill. My legs are killing me from practice this morning, and I’m not in the mood to squat in the hallway for twenty minutes.
The principal’s voice booms over the speaker in our classroom. “I have the news you’ve all been waiting for…the nominations for Juniper Prince and Princess.”
Good. Maybe when Haley’s name is announced, the girl clan will stop feeling sorry for her—and stop glaring at me. She must have cried to all her friends about our fight two days ago. At least a dozen girls have given me the evil eye today. And it’s only fourth period.
Three junior girls are named first followed by Haley. And there it is. Her lifelong dream came true. Maybe now she’ll stop blaming me for ruining everything.
“And the nominees for Prince,” the principal continues, “Kennedy Locust.”
“Academic slot filled,” Jamie says from the seat in front of me.
Kennedy is number one in our class and also junior class president and pretty much the biggest douche in our entire school.
“Jake Hammond.”
More cheers in our classroom. Jake is sitting beside me. He leans back in his chair, giving a half grin—neither arrogant nor surprised. Neither am I. His mom is vice president of the Juniper Falls Women’s League and they choose the court every year.
“Paul Redmond.”
Red.
Beneath my thigh, my phone vibrates. Claire. It has to be her. I glance at Mrs. Powel and she narrows her eyes, watching me like a hawk.
“And Tate Tanley,” the principal says.
Wait…what?
I sit there, numb with shock. Jamie turns around and punches me in the shoulder. “You go, T-Man. I figured they had to get one football player on the list, but look out, three hockey boys in the court. That never fuu—freakin’ happens.”
