by Ron C. Nieto
By the time we made it outside, the parking lot was deserted and it was cold enough to make our breath puff out in white clouds.
“You were pretty nice to Keith back there,” I said as we approached Anna’s car.
“Are you saying that I’m not nice as a general rule?” She smirked and I rolled my eyes.
“To the likes of him? Please! I wouldn’t be particularly civil in normal circumstances either.”
“But that’s just the thing. You look comfortable talking about him. Look at you. Two days out of your stalkerish tendencies and you’re already acting as if you two are friends.” I went to protest, but my mouth clamped shut when I realized that I had no decent argument against her. She looked too smug and she was right. “I thought I should give the guy a chance,” she went on with a devilish glint to her eye, “because I have a feeling that now that he’s here, he’s going to stay.”
“He can’t stay, Anna. I mean, theater and rehearsal is one thing, but what would we even talk about afterward? What would happen if we were seen around together?”
“Lena would have a field day.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so you’re just going to go back to ignoring him once Lady Windermere’s Fan is out of the way?”
The “of course” got tangled up in my throat, and I stared at her. My look must have been as pitiful as a lost, kicked kitten, because she pulled open the door to her car with a grin.
“That’s what I thought,” she said.
CHAPTER 12
Anna dropped me off at my place just a couple minutes later. I lived within walking distance, but it was on her way and riding in her warm car was better than prowling the streets in the rapidly approaching winter.
“See you later?”
I nodded. “I promise I won’t be late this time,” I said, hopping out and running toward the house.
After I dropped my school stuff, took a shower and changed into something decent, I’d be out the door again and headed toward the movies to watch some nonsensical zombie apocalypse flick that Ray was just crazy about. Dave and I would tail along, as usual, playing third and fourth wheel to the couple.
It was our standard weekend plan, unless there was some party to attend, and while I stepped under the hot water of the shower, I tried to imagine how it’d be if Keith were there instead of Dave.
The image short-circuited my brains. Everyone would look at us, yes, but I could learn to live with that. I thought so, at least. However, social ostracism was too much to even consider, and I knew no one else would get used to his company. Ray, for example, wouldn’t put up with the situation.
He was a lot like Lena, I guessed, but in a masculine way—more direct. Being direct, in his book, didn’t translate into being honest. It became a direct punch to ruin your face instead of convoluted rumors to ruin your reputation. And he was a football player, still in high school, but with the build of a future linebacker, so Keith’s face would not survive the encounter.
Nope, if Anna was right, if I did let myself get carried away and kept seeing Keith, nights such as this would be over. I added a final touch of mascara and stared at my reflection in the mirror, all glitter and style after a long day of classes.
I wouldn’t give that life up.
It was who I was, wasn’t it?
***
I hardly slept after the movie. It hadn’t been that bad—nothing too original, but decent special effects—and the pancake eating afterward had been as cool as always, but my heart hadn’t been in it.
I refused to think about why and instead, stared a hole through the ceiling. The strange knot seizing my stomach would go nameless.
In spite of my good intentions, though, I declined when Anna called me the next day to ask whether I wanted to hang out with her and Ray. I told her that I had plans, and she said it was okay, and it sounded like she understood. She probably did.
I knew in my gut that if I went with them, I’d spend another night unable to sleep, wondering at that other possible life that might be waiting for me. It seemed to be worse than my current one in all-important matters, but I still couldn’t forget it so I dragged myself out of bed and got ready to face my metaphorical demons.
An hour later, I rang the bell.
Keith’s father opened the door, his face drawn and tight, but he brightened up when he saw me.
“Hi, Mr. Brannagh,” I chirped. Chirped! Go ahead and kill me now… “I’m sorry I didn’t call beforehand. Is it a bad time?” I pressed on, trying very hard not to second guess myself.
“Alice! No, not at all, I’m very glad you are visiting. Come in,” he said, smiling and stepping aside, completely oblivious to my inner drama.
“I brought a cake,” I said, lifting the shopping bag I carried while telling myself, quite sternly, to relax already. “Chocolate.”
“You shouldn’t have! But thank you very much. I’m sure Keith will appreciate it. He’s playing in his room; perhaps you can get him to stop and come out to celebrate with us.”
I smiled. “He’s taking it seriously, then?”
“You could say that.” Mr. Brannagh’s smile wavered a little, and I thought there was a smidgen of worry in the creases of his eyes, but I shook it off and went down the short corridor to Keith’s door.
I knocked twice and twisted the doorknob when I got no response. There he was, wearing headphones and playing like there was no tomorrow. He even looked cute, gazing off into nothingness. I stepped into his room and checked for Sparrow, in case the wild beast was thinking of sneaking up on me, but the cat was nowhere to be seen, so I approached Keith.
“Hi,” I said, but he didn’t give any signal of having heard me. Probably he hadn’t. Music blaring in his ears and all.
Moving to stand in front of him, I watched, incredulously, him looking right past me. I reached out to tap his shoulder, but then had a moment of doubt as his fingers picked up speed playing the silent song.
Perhaps he’s ignoring me on purpose. Perhaps he doesn’t want me here. This is not my normal spying time. It’s Saturday afternoon. What if I’m just an intrusion?
I started to step back, but then saw his brow furrow in concentration, in effort. I saw him blink and slowly focus on me. A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips, tense but real, and he stopped playing.
“Hey,” he said, taking off the headphones and lifting the guitar from his lap so that he could stand. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
I shrugged. “I owed your father a celebration.”
“You aren’t serious.”
“Am too. I even brought cake.”
He chuckled and shook his head, and he didn’t look entirely displeased or grossed out by the idea of me spending time with him—with his family.
“Cake. Can’t argue with cake, I guess,” he said, placing the guitar on its stand in the corner. I thought his fingers lingered a bit before letting go of the neck, but his eyes shone brightly when he turned back to me. “Shall we?”
Meanwhile, his father had prepared a pot of coffee, and we sat to share it around the kitchen table. While small, it was neat and comfortable, with a definite feeling of home all around it. I noticed, with a start, that I didn’t feel entirely alien in it.
“How did you talk Keith into playing and composing for the theatre group?” his father asked.
“Oh, it wasn’t me. Professor Hedford approached him, and I guess the man can be quite hard to turn down at times. Why’s it so strange?”
“Because he hasn’t picked up a musical instrument in public since he left his classes.”
“Not true!” I didn’t have to feign my surprise.
“Yes, it is. That’s why I’m so happy now. Music is such an important part of him that seeing how he shares it again is like… well, like he’s taking back his life.”
“Could you two please stop talking like I’m not even here?” Keith looked up from his cake, mortified. I gave him an appraising look and then smirked.
“Nope.”
He gaped, just as I had expected, and I didn’t bother holding back my giggles.
“Dad!” Keith turned to his father for support, but the man was totally on my team. He had a gentle smile, but he shook his head all the same.
“Be sure to speak up if you don’t want to be left out,” he said, prompting Keith to roll his eyes and stuff his mouth with chocolate cake.
“Don’t speak up now,” I warned. “The shower of crumbs, eww…”
Even Mr. Brannagh chuckled at that, but Keith nearly choked. “You did that on purpose,” he said, when he managed to drag enough air into his lungs.
“Of course I did.”
“You could look a bit remorseful after trying to kill me.”
“I’ll have you know I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was just laughing at you.”
Banter came easy to us, almost as comfortably as it did with Anna, much more natural than with anyone else. Sitting there, at that kitchen table, trading barbs with a boy I had made a point of ignoring for so long, under the amused gaze and occasional comments from his father, I noticed with a sinking feeling that I could get used to it.
It was worrying, the ease with which I dumped my former glam and shine for one ordinary afternoon. It must have shown, a moment’s hesitation, because Mr. Brannagh stood up and moved with all the dishes to the sink.
“I’ll take care of this, kids,” he said. “Why don’t you go make the most of the rest of the afternoon while you can?”
“You sure?” Keith was out of his chair in a second, but he looked equally eager to help cleaning up or to escape the room. Weird. I’d never volunteer to do the dishes of my own volition.
Mr. Brannagh nodded, though, so we thanked him and exited the kitchen. I fully expected to go back to guitar practice, which actually didn’t sound half bad as long as he took off the headphones and played for me to hear, but he hesitated in the corridor. The look he cast to his bedroom’s door wasn’t the most eager thing I’d ever seen.
“So, would you like to go outside?”
“Outside?” A small bout of panic swelled in my chest. “As in, to the mall or the movies or something?”
He met my eyes, then shook his head with a small, dry laugh. “No, of course not. Just outside, to the park or something. If you want. I know a nice view I’d like to show you.”
“Oh.” Okay, no civilized places where we’d run into my school friends. “Well, let’s go then. Is it some kind of Keith-lair or something?”
He snorted, grabbing our jackets.
“You could say that.”
It happened to be close by. Or at least within walking distance. He guided me through winding back streets, away from my own home, from the school, from the commercial area of town, and into a park where children used to play on Sunday mornings. It was Saturday, the afternoon dying and bleeding into the evening, so the place was deserted as we crossed the open space with its picnic tables and multicolored swings.
“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.
“No, it’s fine. I hadn’t thought we’d be outside at this time, but it’s okay.”
He nodded and climbed a wooden fence that separated the family area from a copse of trees. “Most people never think of spending Saturday night here,” he said, reaching out a hand to help me up.
“Yeah, you’re original. That was clear even before this escapade.” His hand was slender, his long fingers wrapping around my own with a strength I’d not have suspected. His pale skin looked like porcelain under the falling twilight, I realized, but his fingers were calloused from the guitar strings.
Beyond that, though, what left me hesitating and staring into his eyes was the way it fit. It was like my hand had been made to be held in his, completely enveloped, but not swallowed, and I was assaulted by the same sense of rightness I’d had when I heard him speaking my name. The moment stretched for…. I don’t remember how long, because he didn’t pull back and I didn’t let go even when we were on the other side of the fence—I just held on to his hand and his gaze, never letting go until the air grew so thick that I felt that if I didn’t blink I’d suffocate.
In his favor, he didn’t call me out on my odd behavior.
“It’s this way, just a bit longer,” he said, after taking a deep breath.
I nodded and followed him, and then we reached the pond. I was familiar with it; it was a local landmark, and still I didn’t recognize it. I’d always approached, as any sane person would, from the other side, from the pathway and the buildings, and the image had been picturesque enough. But from this angle, under the trees, with low branches breaking our line of sight and dipping into the still water to curtain us from the prying gaze of the town and the greenery smell blotting out the asphalt… It was like I’d come to a different place.
Keith observed my expression for a moment and then smiled.
“I like to come here when I want to be alone and think.”
“I can see why. It’s beautiful and so quiet.”
“Yeah. ‘Specially at this time, when you don’t have swinging, crying babies breaking the moment.”
I looked around a bit and found a spot to sit down, internally bemoaning the abuse of my pants, but not willing to stay up—or worse, to return. Keith sat down beside me, close enough to be able to talk in half whispers, but far enough not to be intimate. The entourage was so textbook romantic that I almost snorted in disappointment.
And that scared me.
“I don’t know much about you once you take the music out of the picture,” I said, eager to talk in order to cover my traitorous thoughts.
“No, you don’t. I guess I don’t know much about you, either.”
“I thought you did. You know, me being the Bitch Princess and all that,” I said, trying to joke a bit.
“I’m sorry about that, I guess,” he said with a smile, not looking very apologetic.
“You guess? That’s a half-assed apology if I ever heard one.”
“I’m still not sure whether I should be apologizing.”
I turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, you’re the perfect girl who has everything. Your friends, your project boyfriend, your admirers. Everyone at school would like to be like you, and they’d all settle for being close to you. But they can never get there.” He gestured, as if trying to encompass everything I was, and shrugged. “And then, there’s me. It’s difficult to imagine why you might want to be here.”
“You don’t trust me.” I didn’t phrase it like a question. It wasn’t one.
“I don’t understand you,” he corrected, shaking his head. “You’d lose everything you crave if anyone saw us, and I don’t get why you’re risking it. It’s not as if you’re the rebellious type, seeing the wrong guy for the thrill of making a point, Alice.”
“Okay,” I said, fighting the urge to stand up and stomp all the way back to my house. This had gone sour all too fast… and the worst part was that he was right, so my self-righteous ire felt fake and cheap. “Why are you hanging out with me if you think I have some hidden agenda, then?”
“Because I’m pathetic. I don’t really care what you’re going to do with me if I can have this in the meantime.”
My retort died in my throat. The sun was already sinking beyond the horizon and, where we were under the trees, it was almost night. His silhouette, sitting by my side in the mud, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head, looked frail and defeated… and lonely.
“You must be really lonely to say that,” I blurted out without thinking.
“No pity fest, please. It’s not about loneliness, in any case.”
“What is it, then?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable. “I’m fine being alone. I just missed you,” he said.
It didn’t sound too believable.
“You’ve not seen me since we were kids. We’ve both changed a lot. How can you miss me?”
He darted a quick glance at me. It
stole my breath away because in that one second, I felt that he truly had.
“Don’t you…?” he started to say, then shook his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t “nothing.” It was important to him, and I wanted his revelation. I wanted his secrets. But he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and in spite of what he thought, I wasn’t out to make his life difficult, so I forced myself to do the right thing and dropped the subject.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, nor a project boyfriend,” I said instead. It was important to clear that up.
“Dave?”
“Just a friend.”
He nodded, smiling. I could catch a glimpse of white teeth in the dark. “I shouldn’t be feeling good about that, right?”
“It’s okay if you do.” I didn’t know what possessed me to say such a thing, but I didn’t regret the words when they left my lips.
He turned sharply to look at me, his eyes searching, trying to figure out my game. I held his gaze, even when he inched forward and was so close that I could smell the shampoo he had used that morning. I only closed my eyes when he tilted his head to the side, his own gaze dropping to my lips.
I can’t believe what I’m doing. It’s so not a good idea.
Every instinct I had kept me from backing away, though. I wanted his kiss, I realized before leaning in to meet him. I had been waiting for him for such a long time, even if I hadn’t known it sooner.
The contact was soft, like a butterfly caress, and it lingered for a couple of never-ending seconds. My heart hammered in my chest and my breath hitched, and it felt like the first right thing I’d done in my life.
Even if it had been only a kiss on the cheek.
When he pulled back, I forced myself to smile, hoping that it wouldn’t look as nervous as it felt. His own expression was serious, but soft around the edges. A tiny voice in the back of my head dared to wonder whether that was how love might look in Keith’s face, but I smothered it without remorse—it was stupid to think about love so soon.
There was caring in there, though. Gentleness and caring.
