He Belongs With Me

by Sarah Darlington

  “Thanks. I like New York because I can walk down the street and no one cares what color my hair is. When I go back to hick-town USA, people are going to flip their shit when they see it.”

  Steph giggled at my use of profanity. For some reason, she always found it hilarious when I tried to swear. “Yeah, but isn't that the reaction you want?”

  “No, actually it isn't. I mean it's cool if people like it, but really I just want to do what I want to do and not be judged.”

  Speaking of being judged…I checked my phone for the first time since arriving in New York and saw that there were three missed calls from Dad’s number. By now he'd probably used his fancy surveillance equipment, the kind that had facial recognition or something crazy like that, and figured out it was me who went joyriding all over his precious golf course last night. I'd be mincemeat come Monday. The only way to soften the blow was to come clean beforehand. I dialed the house phone instead of his cell and hoped no one would answer. I'd rather admit my crimes to the soft voice of the answering machine than to Dad's harsh, real-life yelling.

  When the machine picked up, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and said what I needed as fast as humanly possible. “Dad. It's Clara. So last night, after seeing my wonderful ex-stepbrother in the flesh, I decided to blow off some steam and took off with a golf cart. Big mistake, I know. Just ask Leo, since I kind of accidentally ran him over. Don't worry, he's not dead. And your cart is fine too. That's not all. I'm in New York visiting my friend Stephany from school. I'm being safe. I already told Anita I couldn't work. And I'll be back Monday morning to face the music. I love you. Oh, and one more thing. I dyed my hair lavender. Okay. Bye.” I hung up feeling like the worst daughter on the planet. Maggie would never pull this kind of crap with him. But I wasn't Maggie—not even close.

  CHAPTER 7

  MAGGIE

  Dad and I ate dinner out on the back patio like we always did in the summer. Sometimes Clara joined us. Sometimes she didn't. Either way, I always loved this time with Dad and never missed a meal. My old man was the best cook in all of Blue Creek—probably in the whole state.

  Every September at the Harvest Festival in Roanoke, Dad always took home the ‘best pie in southern Virginia’ award for his apple pie. His big secret: grilling the apples before baking them into the pie. But tonight, as the sun sank over our view of Blue Creek and the Appalachian Mountains and my father plated a heaping portion of his famous pie onto my plate, I suddenly lost my appetite.

  “Something bothering you, Maggie May?” Dad asked, noticing the change immediately. “Is something wrong with the pie?”

  I shrugged.

  “Should I go get some vanilla ice cream? Pie isn’t pie without vanilla ice cream.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Dad reached out and rested his hand over mine. “Was it seeing Robby again?”

  Yes. A lump formed in my throat at the mention of his name. It shouldn’t have but it did.

  “Let me go get you a scoop of ice cream to go along with your pie, then we can talk.” Dad’s chair scraped against the wood of the deck as he stood before going inside. The reality of seeing Robby again after so many years hadn't had the opportunity to sink in until this very moment. Our first encounter came rushing back to me as if it had happened yesterday…

  Three days after my fifteenth birthday, two hours after Dad announced his surprise marriage to Monica Harvey, and ten minutes after I managed to stop sobbing hysterically into my pillow, I first laid eyes on my step-brother, Robby Harvey. From my cracked-open bedroom door, I watched him move his one suitcase into the room across the hall from mine, like he'd done this sort of thing a dozen times in the past. Just before he went back downstairs, he stopped in the middle of the hallway to speak to me. Realizing then that he'd caught me peeking, I quickly shut my door.

  Still he spoke. “I'm so sorry,” his deep, smooth voice whispered. “We won't be here long. My mom has a gypsy heart and never sticks around any place longer than a couple months. I understand how you might feel, but trust me...we'll be gone soon. Your life will go back to normal and it will be like you never met us. I promise.”

  When he said they’d be gone soon, that was the understatement of the century. And my life had gone back to normal, almost like I had never met him. Almost...but not quite.

  Dad came back outside with an enormous amount of ice cream. There was something about ice cream and secrets. I guess I couldn’t be trusted to hold in anything with a spoon in my hand because, as we ate, the story of how Robby pretended to be a stranger at last night’s gala came pouring out. It felt good talking things over with Dad and getting it off my chest, but as the plates were cleared and dishes were brought inside, I realized that my stomach still felt strange. And oddly enough, it had nothing to do with Robby.

  I hadn't heard from Leo all day. He hadn't been at his house and Clara had mysteriously gone missing too. But one thing had been located—the golf cart.

  I saw it parked at Leo's when I went by earlier.

  What was going on with Leo and Clara? And why was it making me feel like I had a ton of rocks in my stomach instead of ice cream?

  CHAPTER 8

  CLARA

  After the salon, Steph and I rode the subway to her little apartment in Brooklyn. The place was messy, cramped, and had one bathroom for six girls. And even though the apartment sucked, I couldn't have been more proud of her. Three years ago she never would have been brave enough to spend a summer in the big city, live with tons of roommates, land a big-time internship, and work a second job at a bar. She was an inspiration to me.

  While she got ready for work, I changed into one of my new outfits—jeans, a loose-fitted white tank top, and a studded leather jacket I'd found at a second-hand store. I didn't wear a bra because I didn't have one with me. My boobs were pretty non-existent and I liked to wear cami-style tops and loose-fitted stuff anyway.

  Once we were all set to go, Steph and I walked the two short blocks to the Alligator Lounge. The place sat intertwined among the buildings. Approaching the entrance, I thought we were about to enter the biggest dive bar on the planet. The inside wasn’t much better. The red-wood paneling clashed tragically with the tropical and Romanesque decorations but somehow I found myself digging the corny but casual vibe.

  I wished Steph didn't have to work, but in a place like this I'd be fine on my own. A long bar stretched the length of the room and I claimed a stool toward the back, picking a spot that I thought Steph would pass by frequently while she worked. The place gave away free pizzas when you purchased a beer so I ordered a beer, tried the pizza, and decided I'd need to pace myself if I wanted to make it through Steph's eight-hour shift.

  The first hour passed super-fast and Steph hung with me every free chance she got. I had just moved on to beer numero dos when my cell phone rang. Leo's name lit up the screen, completely surprising me since we’d always had each other’s numbers but never used them before. My heart rate quickened for some strange reason and I stared at my phone as it rang, wondering if I should answer or not. At the last second I decided to pick up. “Hello?”

  “Hey Clara, it's Leo. What's up?” His voice sounded funny on the other side—tired, maybe.

  “Not much.”

  “I just wanted to call to make sure you were okay. You're okay, right?”

  “I'm fine.” I don't know why I was being so short with him, but I was.

  “Well, if you need anything, call or text me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We both hung up after that. And then I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I called him right back. “Leo,” I said, getting right to the point before I could change my mind. “I'm in Brooklyn at this place called the Alligator Lounge. Steph works here and I'm just hanging out while she works. I know you said you were going to be busy and I'm sure Brooklyn is hardly your style, but if you're bored and want to...”

  “Are you trying to invite me to come hang out?” he asked, his voice
going crazy-low.

  “Yes,” I whispered back, “I guess I am.”

  Several long heartbeats thumped by while I waited for him to answer. Leo and I sure as hell had never 'hung out' before. “Okay then,” he said, though he sounded incredibly undecided. “I'll be there in an hour or so.” After those words, the line went dead.

  “Bartender,” I yelled with my next breath of air. “I'd like a double shot of tequila. Straight up.”

  The stereotypical bartender—a decent-looking guy with tattoo sleeves and a cute smile—stopped wiping out a glass and came right over to pour me a double shot. He then watched intently as I swallowed down the burning liquid. A shiver ran down my back as I felt the alcohol warm my chest. As I set down my empty glass, licking my lips, I noticed him still staring. Ordering two beers hadn't gotten a reaction out of him but tequila had.

  “Want another?”

  “Do I look like I should have another? I barely weigh a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Another would send me to the hospital.”

  He laughed. “Okay, let me know if I can get you anything else.”

  Even with a decent buzz, the next hour was the longest of my life. The bar grew busy and Steph couldn't keep me company anymore. The bartender and I exchanged a few more polite words, but mostly I sat alone, lost in my thoughts and battling the nervousness that had started breeding like bunnies in my stomach. What the hell was I going to say to Leo when he walked through that door? And why the hell had I even invited him here in the first place?

  The hour and a half mark came and went, and still no Leo. I got up to use the bathroom and when I came back, some jackass had taken my seat. The bartender and I had a little connection going, so it surprised me that he'd let some random person take it. I tapped the seat-snatcher on the shoulder, ready to give him a piece of my mind. Except the person sitting in my seat was Leo.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said as he turned to face me.

  With him sitting and me standing, we were exactly eye level. He looked nothing like his usual preppy self, which was why I hadn't realized it was him initially. His black hair had no product in it, giving it an unkempt, wild look, and his clothes were uncharacteristically casual—jeans and a black t-shirt. No stranger would ever guess that his bank account had nine zeros attached to the end of it. The black shirt gave his pale eyes a noticeably dramatic effect and I couldn't stop staring at him. A magnetic moment passed between us. I’d never been one to believe in love at first sight, or electric sparks, or any kind of destiny bullshit, but I couldn't deny that when my eyes connected with Leo's…it felt like I was looking at him for the very first time.

  My bartender friend came up, rapping his knuckles against the top of the bar, stealing Leo's attention away from me. “What did I tell you, dude? That seat's taken.”

  Leo’s demeanor changed in an instant and he glared at the guy. “It looks unoccupied to me. Why don't you do your job, stop bugging me about my seat, and get me the drink I ordered….do I have to ask you twice?” And just like that, Leo was back to being his oh-so-charming self. The guy should come with a warning label, saying, ‘Caution, will bite.’

  The bartender leaned over the counter, matching Leo's animosity with equal intensity. “If you don't lose the attitude and stop harassing the other customers, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “I'm not harassing anyone.”

  “The pretty girl standing right next to you? That's her seat you're sitting in. Move now or I'm going to come over there and move your ass for you.”

  Leo left the seat in an instant, but I knew it wasn’t because the guy threatened him. “I didn't mean to steal your seat,” he said in one breath, his words hot against my hair as he moved past me.

  Rolling my eyes, I sat down. Not because I wanted to, but because everyone was making such a big-damn deal over a stupid seat. “Do you have to pick a fight every night of the week?”

  Looking down at me now, his face softened almost into a smile. “No, Sunday's are my day off.”

  The bartender lingered. “Oh, you're here with her? Sorry, man. I just never would have put the two of you together.”

  “What that hell is that supposed to mean?” Leo asked, immediately back to being defensive.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I said. My words were meant for the bartender, but I didn't take my eyes off Leo as I said them. I'm not sure if I meant him or me or both of us, but I held onto his gaze until he stopped acting like a dick and calmed down. The bartender left us alone after that, but I didn't want to chance Leo getting into it with him again. “I saw some empty tables in the back. Come with me.”

  Without protest, Leo followed me. The deeper into the bar we went, the dimmer the lights were and the louder the music played. We entered into a semi-empty room with a pool table and a decidedly more intimate feel. The air conditioning was on full blast and I was happy I'd worn my new leather jacket. I sat in the first open seat I saw and Leo sat across from me, the table keeping us a safe distance apart.

  “So.” He reached out, fingering a strand of my hair for a moment before letting it fall back into place. “Purple…interesting.”

  “Fine, let's hear it,” I said. Crossing my arms over my chest, I prepared for his worst. “Whatever carefully constructed cut-down you have for me, just say it now and get it over with.”

  “I don't have anything to say. Not this time.”

  I let my arms unfold. “Well, that's a first.”

  Steph came up to us with a tray full of drinks. I was wondering how long it would take her to notice that Leo was here with me. The two had never been officially introduced so I said, “Leo, this is Stephany. Steph, Leonardo Mad—”

  “Leonardo is my grandfather's name. Nobody calls me Leonardo,” he said, cutting me off. “Besides, I've already met Stephany….twice. Once, freshman year. And she came with you to the Masters Tournament, April before last. Your memory worries me, Clara.”

  “No, you didn't even go with us to the Masters that year.” Thinking back on it, I vaguely remembered seeing Leo there. Had I introduced them? Was he keeping track of the number of times he met Steph or was he keeping tabs on me? “Okay, maybe you were at the Masters. But when did you meet freshman year?”

  “We ran into each other at an apartment party in The Village. You must remember. I certainly couldn’t forget the time I nearly fell to my death.”

  I remembered now.

  I was out with Steph and a few other girls from my dorm at some random party in an apartment complex in Blacksburg. The party was pretty average—dancing, drinking, jam packed, seconds away from getting a noise violation from the cops. Exhausted and sweaty from too much grinding with random dudes, Steph and I stepped outside to cool off, only to run into Leo.

  The first-level apartment had a small balcony and there he was sitting on the railing. Alone. The muffled sound of music still beat in my ears as I watched him suck a long, slow drag out of a cigarette. Then he held the smoke in his lungs for several heartbeats before blowing it out into the cold air.

  Gross. I couldn't hold back from sharing my hatred for his habit. “That's crazy-disgusting even for you, Leo. I'm sure you can think of more creative ways to kill yourself!”

  “Clara?” he asked, his glassy eyes moving from the night sky to me. Probably never expecting me of all people to sneak up on him, Leo’s cigarette fumbled in his hand and then fell into his lap. “Shit,” he cursed. His balance faltered and he fell backward off the railing onto the cement below. It must have hurt like a bitch. Luckily for Leo, he had a very hard head and it wasn't that far from the balcony to the ground. Still, I had to make sure he didn't have a concussion from the fall, so Steph and I waited with him for thirty minutes after that. I'd been insistent despite Leo telling me we didn't have to wait.

  Eerily enough, that night reminded me of last night and I had a feeling the similarities probably weren't lost on Leo either. “I have no clue what you're talking about,” I said, playing ignorant. “I
went to lots of parties in The Village freshman year—they’re all a blur.”

  Leo's eyes widened and an unexpected smile spread across his lips. “Don't lie, I know you remember. But this does make for an odd coincidence. I've now had two near-death experiences because of you. Do I need to watch my back around you, killer, or am I just that accident prone?”

  I couldn't help myself from smiling back at him. Leo’s smiles were too rare and contagious to resist. “You're probably just an alcoholic.”

  “Or maybe I'm going to have look into hiring a bodyguard.” Then his attention shifted to Steph for a moment. “Anyway, nice to officially meet you, Stephany.”

  She smiled. “You too. I've got to go deliver these drinks. Want me to bring you guys back anything?”

  We both ordered a drink and then as Steph started to walk away—when Leo could no longer see because his back was to her—her jaw dropped open and she mouthed hot. I pretended like I hadn't seen her do that.

  “I haven't had a cigarette since that night,” Leo said, growing more serious now. “I have a little scar from where I burned myself in the process of falling on my face.” He turned his right hand over, exposing the underside of his wrist. Sure enough, there was a tiny white scar on his skin and the tendons in his arm flexed as he traced the spot with his thumb. Without thinking, I reached over and gently swept my fingers over the same area. I realized what I was doing a moment too late and quickly pulled away. Leo's eyes left his wrist and leapt to mine. “Every time I get the urge to smoke—which is all the time—I look down at that scar and think of that night. And of you. I wish all my vices could be helped so easily.”

  “And until the bruise on your leg heals, maybe you can look down at it and be reminded that you shouldn't walk through a golf course at night while you’re drunk. You never know when a crazy girl on a golf cart might hit you.”