When I find Oliver, he’s standing out in the corridor, a pill bottle in his hand, taking a drink from my plastic cup.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice.
He slips the bottle into his pocket as he turns to me. “Nothing. Why don’t we go back inside?”
I take a deep breath, fortifying my resolve. It’s now or never. “What are those pills?” I demand, folding my arms across my torso, hugging myself.
He stares at me for a moment before answering. “What pills?”
I glare at him, getting angry now. He isn’t going to make this easy, is he?
“I’m not stupid, Ollie. I saw the bottle, and I saw you taking them at your house the other day. I need to know,” I say.
Taking a step back, his entire posture changes. He pulls himself up tall, his expression affronted. “You were spying on me?”
“No. I was walking by and I saw… It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I won’t be with someone who uses drugs. So if that’s what’s going on, just tell me now.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” he practically growls.
I shake my head. “No, you don’t. But I wish you would. Maybe I can help you, or help you find someone who can.” It sounds feeble, even to me.
He laughs and it’s dry, sarcastic.
“What’s funny?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest.
“You can’t fix this, Farris. There’s no magic wand you can wave to fix me like a broken piece of pottery.” He opens his mouth to say something else, then closes it as a noisy group of kids pour out of the ballroom, laughing and talking. They move down the hallway toward the bathrooms, staring back at us.
He takes me by the elbow, opening the metal door marked Exit, and pulls me outside.
The grass is wet under my shoes, making it slippery as he leads me across the lawn to a gazebo on the edge of a small pond. The only light comes from the distant glow of the party raging inside. He drops my arm, leaning over the railing.
“Why do you assume it’s drugs?” he asks thoughtfully, his temper waning in the cool night air.
I consider lying, but what point is there in it now? “Reid said something about it. He said he caught you using and that’s why you aren’t friends anymore,” I say slowly.
Without looking at me, he pounded his fists against the wood. “I just bet he did,” he says bitterly.
“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?” I suggest, smoothing the back of my dress carefully and sitting on the step.
He sighs. “There are some things I wish I could tell you about Reid, but I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I won’t break that promise. But I will say that I don’t do drugs.” He pauses. “Not the illegal kind, anyway.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. The silence hangs between us for a few heartbeats.
“I jump to conclusions; I’m a conclusion jumper. And I ask for honesty, even when I can’t give it myself. I’m a hypocrite, and sometimes, even a liar. I keep people I care about at a distance because I’m so scared to trust anyone that it makes me physically sick.” I hold up my hands. “I wanted to trust you. Something inside kept telling me I should. But part of me knew you were hiding things. I don’t know. We all have our secrets, me as much as anyone. Maybe I have no right to ask you to trust me with yours.”
I stand, dusting off my butt.
“It’s lithium,” he whispers into the darkness, “for my bipolar disorder.”
I turn to him, my eyebrows drawing together over my nose. Okay, not what I was expecting. Bipolar disorder. Everything suddenly clicks into place. The pills, the absences from school, the history of violent behavior that stopped so suddenly. Oliver isn’t psychotic; he’s just doing his best to manage an illness that isn’t his fault. Glancing up, I see fear in his eyes. Fear that I’m going to…what? Reject him? Mock him? Decide it’s all too much and walk away? Surely, he knows me better than that.
I laugh. Not at his fear or his pain, but at the fact that he thought something like that would matter to me at all.
“You think it’s funny?” he snaps.
“Sorry. No. It’s just that I was wondering if you’ll ever stop surprising me.” I walk over to him, covering his heart with one hand. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was something different about you. Something in how you spoke and how you moved and in how you never did quite what I expected you to. I thought I was going nuts. It’s like I have this internal compass that points me where I want to go. Then suddenly, there you were, and everything was spinning. It all makes sense now.”
Oliver lays a hand on the side of my face. “You mean, you aren’t weirded out? You don’t think I’m a freak?” Hesitantly, he reaches up and cups the side of my neck in his other hand. “You don’t hate me?”
I smile, leaning my face into his palm. “Of course not. I’m glad you finally told me the truth,” I say. His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning, like he’s just gotten everything he ever wished for. I feel very unworthy of that look. “But, I meant what I said. There are things about me you don’t know. I will tell you, I swear I will. I just need, maybe a little time.”
I shake my head. “I told you, I’m a terrible hypocrite.”
He leans forward, resting his forehead on mine. “I don’t want to lose you, Farris. No one has ever made me feel the way you do, like I could be a normal guy with a normal life. Like I could be in love.” He freezes as the words escape his mouth, as if he’s as surprised by them as I am. “I can’t lose you.”
I can think of only one way to reassure him of my feelings, and the second our lips meet, I know I feel the same. Any doubts about him are washed away in a rush of emotion. He crushes me against him, making my head swim. By the time we break apart, I’m flushed all over, aching with wanting to be closer, my heart beating frantically in my chest. I lean against him, letting him hold me as long as he’s willing. Somehow, everything looks right from inside his arms.
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” I say. “I should have. Some part of me always did. I’ve had so much on my mind lately, everything feels so unclear.” I lean my head up, kissing his chin. “Everything but this.”
He sighs, holding me a little tighter. “It’s okay. I understand. I should have told you before.”
I shake my head. “It’s not okay. But I’ll make it up to you.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Really? Because I have some ideas…”
I can’t help but grin at his suggestive tone. “Me, too.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, and before I can say another word, he’s kissing me again.
The sun peeking through my crappy blinds wakes me the next morning. My beautiful dress lays in a crumpled heap on my floor. I’d been so exhausted when I got home, I barely had the energy to pull it off before climbing into bed. Thinking back on the night, and on the intense make-out session at the pavilion, I smile, chewing the corner of my blanket as I squeal a little.
Getting up, I carefully hang the dress in my closet, running my hand over the fabric just once before slipping it into the plastic garment bag and moving it to its place on the black side. My therapist once suggested that my need to organize my clothing by color helped me bring order to chaos. I told him living with a Marine could make anyone neurotic.
My face is flushed when I make my way to the kitchen for coffee; I can feel it just like I can feel the wide, happy grin on my face. I feel lighter, one less thing on my shit to stress about list.
Dad makes pancakes in a clever attempt to avoid conversation. Not that I mind. I have no intention of having a heart-to-heart with my father about my new boyfriend. Besides, there isn’t much to tell. Always a gentleman, Oliver had given me a short, chaste kiss when he dropped me off, right before curfew. Though I was sure Dad was awake, he at least had the decency to not be waiting for me at the door, so I’d just slipped in and went to my room. Even now, just thinki
ng about last night is enough to get my heart racing.
He loves me. He’d as good as said so. I stuff another forkful of pancakes into my mouth. We are still eating when the sirens go off.
Our heads snap up simultaneously. Dad grabs his phone the instant it rings. I can’t make out the other end of the conversation, but from the look on his face, I know it’s serious. Moments later my cell, still set to vibrate from the dance, goes off, buzzing across the table like an angry wasp. I pick it up, sliding it to answer. It’s Reid’s voice on the other end.
“Looks like you called it,” he says, sounding tired. “Someone has stepped up their game.”
“I’ll call you back,” I say quickly and disconnect.
“Dad?” I begin as he hangs up his phone.
He holds up his hand to stop me before I can say anything else. “There’s been an explosion. It doesn’t look like anyone was hurt. It was confined to the paint room, and there wasn’t anyone up there this weekend. I have to go down and talk to the MPs.”
He heads for his room to change, and I follow. “Do you think it’s the same person who sent the email?” I ask through his closed door.
“Kid, these things can happen in a place with so many hazardous materials. It’s probably just an accident.”
I lean my back against the door, rolling my eyes. “I doubt it,” I mumble and head for my bedroom.
We finish dressing at almost the same time, him in his khaki and green dress alphas, and me in my vintage Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and black jeans.
“I’m going with you,” I say flatly.
“Not this time, kid.”
“Dad—”
“No. No discussion. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
He gives me a peck on the forehead and leaves. I grab my flash drive off my desk and stuff it and my wallet in my messenger bag. Snatching my keys off the dining room table, I head for the door, making a call on my way out.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Reid, I’m on my way over.”
***
Reid’s parents are home when I get there. His dad opens the door, and my saliva glands go into overdrive. He politely lets me in and leads me to the bedroom where Reid sits at his computer, his glasses reflecting the picture on the screen. His hair is tousled and his eyes bloodshot.
“Reid, you okay?” I ask, sitting down on the floor at the foot of his bed and pulling my knees up to my chest.
“Yeah. Long night. How was homecoming?”
I bite my lip. “It was kind of great, actually,” I admit.
He shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you want to date that macho asswipe.” His tone is acidic as he swivels in his chair and stares at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. “You read the file I gave you, right? Farris, that guy’s dangerous. He may seem harmless right now, but he’s a total Jekyll and Hyde.”
I shake my head. “I know he had his issues, but he’s past all that now.”
He lowers his chin, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”
“Look, I wish I could explain, but I can’t. Needless to say, I believe him. I trust him.”
Reid’s expression morphs to one of absolute exhaustion as he takes off his glasses and rubs his face. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he says.
I want to reach out and touch him, but something tells me it’s not a good idea. Even knowing that Oliver is the guy I want to be with, I still feel a pull to Reid that I can’t quite explain—a kinship. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we can’t be friends.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He nods and turns back to the computer, killing the power.
“What have you heard?” he asks, swiveling back to me.
“About the explosion? Not much. My dad thinks it might just be an accident,” I say, tossing him the flash drive.
“Seriously?” His voice is tight. “That’s a helluva coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Delusional,” I agree.
“Completely. You still looking at Bianca for this?” he asks, tapping the drive on his knee.
I sigh heavily. “She’s my only suspect, but there’s one problem.”
“What’s the issue?”
“I drove by her house on the way here. Her dad said she stayed the night with Cassy last night. I called Cassy and she confirmed. They stayed in all night, ordered pizza, and watched movies. She’s still there right now. Whatever happened, she couldn’t have done it. Besides, she may have the computer skills to pull off the email thing, but she’s pulling a solid D in chemistry. If it was a chemical accident, do you really think she could have pulled that off?”
“Maybe Cassy is helping her? I’ve been tutoring her in chemistry; she’s capable of coming up with something crude,” he offers. “Of course, there’s still one more possibility…”
I stand up. “It wasn’t Oliver, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“He has straight As in chemistry, he has been missing school right and left—yet somehow hasn’t gotten kicked off the football team—and he’s taking drugs.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I told you, that’s not what you think. Now, will you please drop it?”
“What if he was lying to you to cover up the truth?”
I frown, feeling my muscles coil in my back and arms. “Lay off about it, Reid.”
Then he stands up, his eyes level with mine, his hands balled into fists.
“What’s it going to take for you to see he’s a bad guy? He may come across all sweet and sensitive, but he’s not. He’s crazy. Is it going to take someone getting hurt before you’ll admit he could be responsible?” he fumes.
I snatch the drive off the floor where it’d fallen and storm out of the room. By the time I make it to my car, I’m crying. Not sad tears, just tears of frustration. Trust me, I know the difference. Then I think about what he’d said.
He’s crazy….
Does Reid know about the bipolar disorder? If he does, wouldn’t he know what the pills are for? None of it makes sense, and I can’t exactly ask him about it without telling him about it. If Reid doesn’t already know, I’m not going to be the one to let him in on it. If Oliver wants him to know, he’ll say something. I wipe my eyes on my sleeves.
Not sure where else to go, I head for the squadron, figuring maybe I’ll have lunch with Dad. When I pull into the parking lot, the hazmat crew is just leaving.
I rap on his door. “Dad, you here?” Gently, I push it open to find the room empty. His desk is tidy today, only a still-steaming cup of coffee occupying the space.
I kick back on the chair opposite his desk and put my feet up on the corner of it. An unfamiliar voice surprises me.
“Miss Barnett?” the S1 says, sticking her head into the room.
I jump, my feet falling noisily to the floor. “Um, yeah,” I say.
“Your father’s in a meeting. He should be back in a half an hour or so.”
“Oh. Thanks. I’ll just wait for him here.” It isn’t a question. I’m in a crappy mood, and I’m taking it out on her.
She shrugs and leaves, closing the door behind her, only to return a few minutes later with another cup of coffee.
“Here, I thought you might like this,” she offers, holding it out to me.
I do like it, and I feel like a heel, which is a sensation I’m quickly getting accustomed to. “Thanks.” I take the cup from her carefully.
The mug is old, a souvenir from the Marine Corps Birthday Ball three years earlier, judging by the lettering on the side. It’s red with a chip on the handle, and it contains the strongest coffee I’ve ever tasted.
Not bad, though. Only a few weeks in and she’s already making my dad’s favorite kind of dear-God-what-is-this-sludge coffee. Either she’s very efficient or she has a crush on my father. It wouldn’t surprise me, really. Dad’s pretty good looking, for an old guy. He hasn’t dated anyone since Mom died, or at least not that I know of. I
probably wouldn’t hold it against him if he decided to start, but looking at the woman in front of me, I squirm at the mental image. Then I remember something that makes me relax. He couldn’t date her even if he wanted to. He’s an officer. There are rules against it. It’s the first time I’d ever been thankful for Marine Corps regulations.
She smiles and leaves again. Bored, I pull my laptop out of my bag. I scan the headlines, check my email, and finished my trig homework before my dad finally gets back.
“Hey, kid,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of my head as he passes and takes a seat in his high-backed chair. “What brings you here?”
I tuck my computer away. “I was thinking maybe we’d have lunch,” I say, trying not to sound as depressed as I feel.
He raises one eyebrow suspiciously. “Can’t today. I have an NJP in twenty minutes and I still have some TFOA reports to look over before the deployment,” he apologizes.
A simple no would have sufficed. I knew what NJP was. Non-Judicial Punishment. Someone had been a bad monkey. But the other thing—
“TFOA report?” I ask.
“Things Falling Off Aircraft,” he replies with a straight face.
“Seriously? Is that a frequent thing?” I laugh.
“You’d be surprised.”
“So the deployment is still on schedule?” I ask.
“Yep, as of tomorrow, we will have the green light. We need to relieve VMAQ 135. They’ve been out over six months.”
I knew when we got here that Dad would be deploying soon. If I don’t find a friend to stay with while he’s gone, I’ll get shipped out to Kansas for six months to stay with Aunt P. The idea of spending the remainder of junior year in the K-12 school where she lives makes my brain hurt. No, I’ll find somewhere else to go if it kills me.
“Dad, what did the hazmat guys say about the explosion in the paint room?” I press.
He looks at me, eyebrow raised. “I don’t suppose you know anything about an email missing from my desk?”
I shrug, picking up the paperweight from his desk—an oversized gold Marine Corps ring—and play with it as I answer. “I might. I mean, I was just curious. Thought maybe I could get you some info about the sender.”
Playing with Fire Page 15
