by Nall, Gail
“Wait, you guys don’t already have this stuff?” Harrison asks. He’s digging his fists into the couch, letting Steve-o’s insult go.
“We thought maybe Eric could hook us up with a deal at Notes,” Trevor says. He’s looking right at me.
That’s not going to happen, since Eric apparently hates him. “You could ask him,” I say. “Just, um, don’t tell him I’m in the band.”
Trevor gives me a funny look, but I smile back at him.
He shrugs. “No big deal. We don’t need it till after Christmas anyway.”
“After Christmas?” I ask. “That’s like, over two months away.”
“Yeah, I mean, there’s the show and then finals. And I have to go to Minnesota for the break and they go home to New Jersey.” Trevor gestures at Steve-o and Johnny.
“Oh.” I try not to let on that I thought this band was happening now. I need an answer to my life crisis right this second, not next year. I glance at Harrison, who’s frowning.
Then I remember that if Harrison and I don’t get a move on, Eric’s probably going to show up here. And that wouldn’t end well.
“We need to go,” I say to Harrison.
“Already?” Trevor asks. “You just got here.”
He looks so sad that I lean forward and brush my lips against his. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I start to head to the door when Trevor grabs my hand and pulls me back to him. “I’ve missed having you around,” he whispers in my ear, as Steve-o presses the garage door opener without looking away from his game.
“I’ve missed being here.” I make myself inch away from Trevor or I’ll never leave. The door shuts behind us, and I follow Harrison to his car.
“Well, that was joke,” he says as the engine roars to life. “I think Steve-o hates you and now he hates me and I kind of feel like I’m going to have to look over my shoulder every time I leave school now. Plus, they don’t have instruments, and call me crazy, but I doubt either Steve-o or Johnny can play anything.”
“They got into Holland for some reason,” I say as I zip up Eric’s jacket. Holland isn’t a school you just go to. You have to audition and show promise in some kind of performing or visual art.
“I’d love to know what that is,” Harrison says. “Last I checked, getting stoned and being a cretin wasn’t part of the curriculum. And I think I have a contact high. Look at my eyes. Should I even be driving?” He pulls up to a stop sign and turns toward me, pulling off his glasses and widening his perfectly normal eyes.
“I don’t know, Harrison. It looks like you’re approaching Cheech and Chong territory. You might want to pull over before we die in a fiery crash.”
He yanks down the visor and studies himself in the mirror. “Thanks, Casey. Really helpful.” He flips the visor up and hits the gas. “You know, I’m glad this didn’t work out. There’s not enough money in the world to make me spend one more second with those guys.”
“You and Trevor seemed to rock the songwriting thing,” I say. There might be a slight edge of jealousy in my voice since, obviously, it turns out I’m not so great at it.
“Just because we can work together creatively doesn’t mean I want to be friends with him,” Harrison says.
“Okay, I more than get the thing with the Grimaldis, but what’s wrong with Trevor?” I twist in my seat to face Harrison, because I’d really like to know the answer to this one. Between him and Eric, I’m getting a little sick of people ganging up on Trevor.
He keeps his eyes on the road. “You already know.”
“I know that you named every single girl he dated since I called it off in June. But, in case you didn’t catch it, we weren’t together then.”
“That’s only the half of it.”
“Then please enlighten me on the other half.”
“Christ, Casey, it’s what you’re choosing to ignore. Again. The whole reason you end it every single time,” Harrison says. “And what about Oliver?”
“What about Oliver?” Just because he read one flirty note doesn’t mean he actually knows anything.
“Can we talk about something else now?”
But I’m not about to let him off that easily. “We can discuss the secret you keep from your best friend,” I tell him. I cross my arms and face forward.
“What are you getting at?”
“You already know,” I parrot back to him.
“No, really, I don’t.”
He pulls up to a red light and turns in his seat, waiting for my answer. And a wave of guilt washes through me. It’s not fair, trying to force him to come out. I know that. So I just smile and say, “Never mind. Forget it.”
When he pulls into my driveway, Eric’s just opening the door to the Rust Mobile.
“Oh, crap,” I say under my breath.
Eric slams his door shut and leans against the car, glowering at me.
“Yeah . . . I think I need to get going.” Harrison gives Eric a tentative wave and then practically pushes me out the door. He flies out of the driveway as if Eric were the devil himself, sent down to collect the souls of people who drive his sister to places he doesn’t approve of. I’ve barely shut the door before Harrison’s gone.
Great friend, that Harrison.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’m home. Are you happy now?” I say as I peel Eric’s jacket off and stand in the chilly air.
He grabs it and holds it up to inspect both the inside and outside. Satisfied, he shrugs it on and resumes his glower.
“First, don’t ever take my stuff again. Got it?”
I raise a shoulder. I can’t make promises I don’t know that I’ll keep, after all. That jacket was awfully comfortable, even though I’m crossing rock star off The List. I head for the door, knowing he’s not done.
“Second,” he says from behind me, “Blakeman’s bad news. I thought you would’ve figured that out by now. I don’t want you getting back together with him.”
I whirl around. “Are you kidding me right now? You do not get to dictate who I go out with. You’re barely old enough to be my older brother.”
He reaches around me to push the door open.
“Are you going in or not?” he asks.
I stomp inside.
Eric closes the door and throws his keys on the table. “I’ve been in the same classes as the guy for years. I know him better than you.”
“News flash—I’ve known him for years too. And I think I know him pretty well, thank you very much.” I cross my arms and wish again for that imaginary sister.
My very real brother rubs his face with both hands and closes his eyes for a second, like he’s searching for the right words. He can search all night if he wants. I have better things to do than stand around here, getting lectured by someone who has no right to lecture me. He never used to be like this, and I wonder if it has something to do with Dad leaving.
“He doesn’t actually give a shit about you. It’s pretty obvious to everyone else, Case. When he gets bored, he starts looking around.”
“Yes, I know. I’m the one who dumped him. All four times.” I ball my hands into fists and wish everyone would just quit questioning my decision.
“Then why are you with him again?”
“It’s complicated.” Like I’m going to explain it to my brother.
“Either he’ll get what he wants from you and move on, or he won’t and he’ll move on. It doesn’t matter, because it’s the same old thing. Aren’t you sick of it?” he says.
“I’ll tell you what I’m sick of—everyone presuming they know my relationship with Trevor better than I do. Like I’m some kind of ditz who has no idea what she’s doing.” Okay, that came out a little harsher than I meant it to. But it’s true. Everything Harrison and I have tried has left me feeling useless and completely unsure of myself. The one thing I am positive about right now is Trevor.
Eric moves to the stairs. He sits on the fourth one up and sighs, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world or
some such nonsense. He clasps his hands between his knees, and I wonder how long it’ll take before he starts spinning the loose spindle attached to the bannister, the way he’s done for years.
I stay put. I read somewhere once that if you remain standing during an argument, it gives you more leverage. I also remember reading that crossing your arms is a defensive stance. So I uncross them and put my hands on my hips instead. This stance totally says, Casey means business.
Eric reaches out and flicks the loose spindle. That didn’t take long. “If Dad were here,” he says, “he’d say the same thing.”
The annoyance at my brother ratchets up into something entirely different. “Well, guess what? Dad isn’t here. Even if he came strolling through that door right now, I wouldn’t care what he thinks about anything. He left—he gets no say. And just because he’s gone doesn’t mean you get to take his place. Got it?”
Eric’s stopped messing with the spindle. “Right. You’re trying to make this about Dad now. Nice one, Case, but I’m not falling for it. I said what I needed to, and if you don’t listen, it’s your own fault.”
My phone chimes, and I pat my pockets, trying to find it.
Eric pulls it from his jacket pocket. I reach for it, but he stands and holds it up where I can’t reach it.
“Are you seriously reading my texts? What is wrong with you?” I’m so pissed at him right now, I could explode. No way am I giving him the satisfaction of jumping up on my toes to try to get my phone back.
Eric hands me the phone after he reads the message. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, is all.” He stops halfway up the stairs. “And take a shower before Mom gets home. You smell like pot.” With that incredibly helpful advice, he disappears up the rest of the stairs toward his room.
I sniff my hair. I hate to concede anything to Eric after all the crap he just said to me, but a shower probably is a good idea. But first, I click my phone on.
Miss u already. It’s Trevor. The message makes me feel warm all over, like drinking hot chocolate on a snowy day. I’m not entirely naive, the way Eric seems to think I am. I can tell when a guy is being a jerk. And I can definitely tell when that guy is Trevor.
Miss u back. I press SEND. This is the kind of thing I wish I could talk to Amanda about. But I feel like the subject’s just a little touchy right now. I miss how we were before. Since I’ve gotten back together with Trevor, I’ve been walking on eggshells with her. Meanwhile, Harrison won’t want to hear it. Kelly just wants the juicy details. And Oliver . . . still hasn’t said a word to me. That one hurts the most.
Miss u more, Trevor texts back.
I smile. That’s it. I’m going to think only about things that make me happy for the rest of the night: Trevor and the next item on The List.
On Tuesday morning, I arrive at homeroom to find Trevor talking to Amanda. Which is a little weird, because I’ve gone out of my way to make sure I’m not rubbing my relationship with Trevor in her face.
“Hey,” I say when I squeeze in between Trevor and the lockers.
Amanda rubs her face. “I need to go in and finish physics.” And with that, she disappears into the classroom.
“What was that all about?” I ask Trevor.
He laces his fingers between mine. “Who knows. She’s all uptight about the show, so I was trying to give her some pointers. Not sure if she really wanted them, though.”
“She’s nervous,” I say. “That’s all.”
“Are you going to rehearsal today?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. “It’s like a capital crime if we don’t show up, right?”
Trevor laughs. “We can sneak out at some point. Find someplace quiet.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I lay my hands on the worn navy sweater that covers his chest and close my eyes. I don’t care who’s in the hallway right now, whether it’s Amanda or Eric or Oliver or the school principal or God himself; all I want is for Trevor to press his lips against mine. To bring back that feeling that everything is right in the world.
When I find my voice again, I say, “I wish. Maybe Ms. Sharp will cut you a break today.” She kept Trevor onstage nonstop Monday afternoon.
“Really.” When the warning bell rings, he tugs the streak that still hasn’t washed out of my hair. “See you later.”
I watch him saunter down the hallway. Then I go inside and sit next to Amanda, who’s wearing the same worried face she’s had on for the past couple of weeks.
“Everything okay?” I ask, even though I know it’s not. It’s just a question of what’s bothering her the most right now. I only hope it’s not Trevor.
“We’re supposed to be off-book today,” she says.
“You’ve got this,” I tell her. “Total professional, remember?”
“Thanks, Case.” She squeezes my hand. “Sometimes I don’t really believe that, though.”
“You know what’ll make you feel better? Poker.”
Her brows knit together. “What?”
“So Harrison’s uncle Bart offered to teach us Saturday night, and I think it’ll be fun. You want to become poker sharks with us. You know you do. Come on, say yes.”
Amanda laughs, just a little, but it’s more than I’ve heard at all lately. “Sure,” she says. “Why not. Let’s gamble.”
“Good. Here, I’ll write down the address.” I dig through my bag, turning up a pen and a piece of scrap paper. I open the paper, only to find that it says Naked assassin?
A flush creeps up my face, and I toss the paper back into my bag. No use dwelling on something that’s not going to happen now.
At lunch the next day, I have to ask Trevor to sit somewhere else. Amanda’s already at our table, ignoring her lunch and poring over the script again. I feel like having Trevor at the same table isn’t going to help her at all.
To say he’s not happy about it is an understatement.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing, like you always do. Who the hell am I going to sit with now?” he asks.
“Johnny and Steve-o?” I suggest. I brush off that remark as best as I can. I’m not in the mood to argue with him right now.
“They skipped out. Don’t worry, I’ll find someone.” He leans forward and gives me a quick kiss before he turns and walks away. He stops for a moment, looking like he exited stage left instead of stage right and now he can’t find the right prop. Then he weaves through the crowd and drops his tray at another nearby table of drama kids. Danielle practically bounces off her seat when he says hi to her. It makes my stomach turn. Three tables behind that, Eric’s sitting with his bandmates and attempting to murder Trevor with his glare.
“Are you going to sit down or eat standing up?” Harrison’s peering up at me through his glasses.
“Uggghhhh,” I say as I slump into my chair.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Trevor’s mad that I told him he couldn’t sit here. And I can’t tell him that I think it’s because Amanda still likes him.”
“Break up with the guy for good. There. Problem solved.”
I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can put his unasked-for advice, but he holds up his fork with a piece of pork chop stabbed in the tines. “No more. I’m sick of hearing about it.”
“Right.” I need to get out of here. Just for a minute, so I can breathe and stop thinking about everything. I rifle through my purse for some change and go to the Alcove of Sin. After pushing my way through a horde of people, I snag a Diet Mountain Dew and head back to the cafeteria.
But after stepping through the doors and seeing Trevor laughing at something Danielle said, and Amanda just staring off into space and still not eating, and Oliver’s . . . not even there, I turn around and go right back out. I wander through the lobby to the nearest stairwell, which is also the least used because the only place it leads to is the gym. I slide through the doors and perch on the third stair up.
I pop open my drink and close my eyes in the silence. I though
t getting back together with Trevor would make my life go back to normal—at least, as close as it could get. Instead, it just seems to have made everything more complicated. Maybe it’s because I’m missing the last piece to the puzzle—something to do with my life. If I had that, and Trevor, then everything would be right.
I ignore the voice in my head that says a new purpose won’t deal with Amanda’s problems or get my brother and Harrison off my back or keep Trevor from falling back into his usual pattern or make things right with Oliver.
I take a sip of fizzy neon-yellow soda and do a search on my phone for “tips for poker sharks.” This is the last item on The List—my last chance to find something to work toward. Sure, I could try more things, but I’m getting the feeling that Harrison won’t. And I’m not sure I want to keep searching on my own. I’m deep into reading an article called “Are You a Poker Shark or One of the Fishes?” and ignoring my rumbling stomach when the stairway door opens. I scoot to the side so the person can pass but don’t take my eyes off my phone.
Except the person doesn’t move by me, and doesn’t go back out the door.
I look up to see what the deal is and spot Oliver, in a faded Violent Femmes T-shirt, phone in hand.
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me for a second longer and then turns to leave.
“Wait.” I spring up before he can go.
He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Can we talk? I just . . . want to explain. Please?”
He pauses, like he’s thinking about it. Then he turns and lets the door shut. “Look,” he says. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it. You guys have a history. You told me all about it, remember?”
“Right . . .” I’m about to explain the why when I remember that I told him all that, too. Indirectly, anyway. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”
He doesn’t say anything, which means that yes, he absolutely has. But he’s not leaving now, so that’s something.
I pocket my phone and grip the handrail. “I miss talking to you.”
