by Cat Patrick
“Oh.” My mother sounds kind of stunned. “Uh, sure. Is he … a friend of yours?”
I may be blushing when I answer. “I guess. He’s also my sort-of boyfriend.” Chris’s eyes snap up to mine when I say this, but I’m waiting for him with a smile. “Or like my real one,” I correct.
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” my mother responds quietly. “But yes, I’d love to meet him. Just promise me you’ll stay for dessert. I’m making Gram’s favorite—pumpkin cheesecake.”
There’s sorry in her words, sorry that spreads through me and injects me with her grief. Our grief. “I promise,” I say, thinking that even though we’re still so far apart, my mother and I have things in common, have people in common. “Mom,” I say, beginning to fidget with the zipper of my hoodie. “How … are you?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I’m sad, Caroline. I’m just very sad.”
I sniffle back the start of my tears. “Yeah. Me too.” Chris reaches over to take my hand from my lap, and I appreciate that he’s here. I’m glad that I can count on him … but not depend on him. This is my own mess to clean up.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say to my mother.
“Good-bye, Caroline.” And for the first time since my grandmother died, I feel like I’ve made my mom happy. As if maybe I’ve changed a little, and this time for the better.
“You okay?” Chris asks. I look over and push his guitar to the side so I can get closer to him. I lean in to kiss him, pause, and then kiss him again.
“Thanks for bullying me into calling,” I murmur as he pulls me onto his lap. “And we only have about five minutes before Simone gets here.”
“Then you should probably stop talking,” he says, kissing my jaw, my neck. I smile and thread my fingers through his hair. It’s like things are finally in place, and so I let the happiness overwhelm me until Simone is knocking on the dorm room door.
To take her mind off her latest mistake with Alan Fritz—I can’t even imagine how that one happened—Simone is up visiting Clinton for the day. We’re lounging on a few floor pillows, painting our nails, as Chris plays his guitar on the bed. He has yet to let me hear the song he supposedly wrote for me, but I don’t totally hate it when he sings—which is surprisingly often. Especially when he’s lost in his guitar. It’s actually sort of sweet when he does.
His crutches are collecting dust in the corner of his room since he prefers to limp rather than actually use them. And as the minutes tick by, Simone lets out a bored exhale.
“I just don’t know why I can’t meet a good guy,” Simone says. “It’s not like I’m picking them based on looks—I actually tried to date a nice one. Turns out they’re all just closet assholes.”
“Every single one of them,” Chris says, and grins at her. “But hey,” he adds, hitting a chord off-key and then apologizing. “I know someone you might like.” I dart a look to warn him not to get involved, but Simone is already smiling.
“Oh, yeah, College Christopher? What’s he like?”
Chris notices my look, but we both know it’s too late to back out now. Finding Simone a guy is never the problem. Finding Simone a guy who can actually live up to her standards is.
“I think he’s rather handsome,” Chris says. “He’s a good snuggler, too. His name is Ed, and I happen to know that he’s currently single. I can call him if you want to hang out.”
Simone leans over and drags a long stroke of red paint across Chris’s thumbnail. “Okay,” she says with a small smile. “Let’s see if this Ed dude can keep up.”
Ed cannot keep up. After he came to meet us, the four of us headed to the dining hall to eat. Chris and I were cautiously optimistic at first, especially when Simone laughed at all of Ed’s jokes. And he was definitely cute—dark longish hair, big green eyes—but by the time we head back toward the dorms, Simone’s interest level seems to wane.
“You should be using your crutches,” I tell Chris when he reaches to hold my hand as we cross the street. “You’re going to make it worse.”
“I don’t want to use them,” he says, glancing back to where Simone and Ed are trailing behind us. “Crutches make me look weak.”
“Linus,” Simone calls, pointing toward the student center. “Isn’t that your brother?”
I turn and see Teddy and Phil, bundled up in scarves and hats, as they walk in our direction. Chris bumps his shoulder into mine. “Are you finally going to introduce me to your brother?” he asks. “Or am I like your shameful secret?”
“You are definitely shameful,” I say, and then wave to my brother to get his attention. He offers a nod, and then he and Phil exchange a look.
“Hey, Coco,” he says when he reaches us. His nose is red from the cold, and he darts an uncertain look at Chris. I say hi and then turn to Phil.
“Dork,” I say.
“Loser,” he returns. Simone steps away from Ed like she doesn’t want anyone to think they’re here together and says hi to my brother and Phil before coming to stand on the other side of me.
“Teddy,” I say, touching Chris’s arm. “This is Chris Drake.”
Again Teddy and Phil make some telepathic comment before Teddy smiles tightly. “I know who you are,” he says to Chris.
To his credit, my boyfriend only looks surprised and offers his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “Your sister’s told me a lot of good things about you.” But there’s a nervousness creeping over my neck as I watch my brother glance at Chris’s hand and then turn to me.
“You’re not dating him, are you?” he asks.
Simone tenses next to me, and I think Chris is too stunned to react at all. The only person doing anything is Phil, who is shaking his head like some disappointed parent.
“Teddy,” I say very seriously. “Stop.” I can’t think of one time in my life when my brother acted like an overprotective jerk. Until now.
Teddy coughs out a disbelieving laugh. He marches over and takes my arm to lead me a few feet away before laying into me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh, I’m sorry,” I say, not bothering to lower my voice. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”
“Clearly you have. This guy”—he motions toward Chris, who’s turned toward us and is ghostly pale—“is a womanizer. Coco, he’s probably screwed every girl on campus.”
“That’s not true,” Chris snaps. My brother ignores him and goes on, and Phil takes a step closer in case he has to intervene. I lock eyes with Simone for a moment as she stands there, mouth gaping open. I’m not even sure where Ed is before my brother is talking again.
“You’re not allowed to date him,” Teddy says, shaking his head. “I know you don’t like being told what to do, but I’m your brother. And I’d be a shitty one if I—”
“Teddy,” Simone says soothingly, stepping in front of him and putting her hands on his chest. “Let’s ease off. I think you’re going to pop a vein.” She shoots a panicked look in my direction, but I’m still just standing here, staring at my brother like he’s gone crazy. Only now … I feel a little sick.
“Let’s go,” I say to Simone, turning away quickly, but she doesn’t follow—she’s trying to calm Teddy. My head is swirling with thoughts and suspicion. Everything had started to work out; it was just like fate—that’s what Chris said.
I’m speed walking back to the dorm when suddenly Chris is next to me, jogging to keep up although he has to take an occasional hop to lessen the pressure on his injured leg.
“We should talk about this, Caroline,” he says flatly. “Don’t run away from me.”
I stop short and turn to him. His eyes are wild, and I’m not sure what exactly we’re doing. I don’t know what to think anymore. So I just nod, my brow furrowed, and walk with him back to his room. Simone texts to tell me she’s taking off and that she’ll call me later to do a play-by-play on the drama.
I’m cautious, trying to keep all of the feelings out until I can sort through them. I don’t want them t
o hurt me. I don’t want to feel them.
When we get back to Chris’s room, he tears off his coat and tosses it at his closet, pacing the floor like he’s about to lose it. “I’ve never lied to you,” he says suddenly, as if I’ve accused him. “I would never lie to you, Caroline. You know that, right?”
Do I?
“And your brother …” He runs his hand roughly through his hair as he considers his words. “I don’t know. I don’t even know him. Maybe one of the girls I dated is friends with him or something.”
“Have you slept around?” I ask quietly. I’m not sure it matters, as long as he’s not doing it now. But when he hesitates before answering, there’s a sinking in my gut. Chris must see the change because he walks over and gathers me into a hug, resting his cheek on the top of my head.
“I know it sounds bad,” he says, his breath warm in my hair. “But I’m not some player. I didn’t lead them on—I’d never do that. I wasn’t serious with any of those girls. I’ve never been serious about anyone but you. Caroline,” he whispers, his fingers tickling absently up my spine as he pulls me tighter to him. There it is again, that certain way he can say my name. “My sweet Caroline.”
I hug him, closing my eyes against the doubt.
“You’re the only girl I want,” he says. “I love you.” He pulls away to laugh softly, looking surprised at this own words. His eyes are wide and vulnerable, as if a word from me can crush him. “I’m totally in love with you,” he murmurs.
And although I feel it too … I can’t bring myself to say it back. I can’t trust him not to hurt me. So instead of talking anymore, I get on my tiptoes and kiss him.
FIFTEEN
STAY
“I might have to call the PDA police.” Simone glides up to my locker just as Joel’s leaving. “Later, Ryder,” she says. He waves and disappears. I touch my mouth, still warm from his lips. Simone looks at me and rolls her eyes.
“Come on,” I say, switching books. “Be happy for me.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m happy for you,” she says. “I’m just making an observation.”
“Which is?”
“That you two are zero to sixty—there’s no slow lane. No on-ramp. I just don’t want you to crash and burn.”
“Nice car analogy,” I scoff.
“I thought so,” she says with a hair toss.
“Maybe you should place a bet,” I joke, but it comes out a little biting. At first, people gossiped about the kiss at the party. Then they whispered about me being the wrecking ball that brought down the house of Joel and Lauren. And finally, they started placing wagers on how long we’d last.
“Never,” Simone says quietly. “Hey.” She waits until I look at her. “You have everything you wanted,” she says. “I mean, if Joel’s constant hallway kisses are any indication, he doesn’t care who knows how he feels about you.” She pauses. “All I want is for you to be happy. I just wonder about the speed of this thing. Like, maybe, take it a little slower?”
I shut my locker and start toward class. “We’re fine,” I tell her. “It’s going to be fine.”
Probably sensing my annoyance at her admittedly legitimate concern, Simone complains—again—about being grounded for Friday’s missed curfew, then changes the subject to Felicity’s newest fashion accessory: a Slinky. As a bracelet. As she rambles on, I get lost in my head, thinking about Joel. About his kisses. About the satisfaction of knowing that I’m his girlfriend, even if it comes packaged with a seemingly permanent position in the gossip-filtered spotlight. But mostly, about how I did get everything I wanted.
As I turn into our math classroom, I have to shove off that thought’s footnote:
If I got everything I wanted, then why am I left wanting more?
The week before the Electric Freakshow concert, I start to wonder if Joel’s been switched with an alien doppelgänger because he’s so … happy. Happy like I’ve never seen him. Happy like maybe he’s never been in his life. Across the room in English, he gives me actual, full-fledged smiles, as opposed to the half smiles that looked almost painful for him to bring to the surface before. There’s more fire in him—more bounce in his step. At one point, I consider asking him if he started taking uppers.
“Groupie looks good on you,” I say with a laugh as we stroll through the parking lot at lunch on Thursday. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pumped.”
“Really?” he asks, raising his eyebrows like he’s shocked by the observation. I can’t help but wonder who Joel sees in the mirror every day.
“Seriously,” I say. “You’re normally more … sedate.”
He laughs out loud, and it makes me feel like the sun is shining on my insides. We’re next to his car, and he walks with me to the passenger side, then leans against me so I’m resting on the door. The metal is cold, but his body is like a blanket. He looks at me seriously.
“I’m excited to go to the show for sure,” he says, his dark eyes burrowing into me. “They’re amazing live. But mostly? I’m excited to go with you.”
My breath catches a little—this is Joel we’re talking about.
“I’m excited to go with you, too,” I say earnestly. He bends down and grazes my lips with his own, then steps away and moves around the car to the driver’s side.
“Come over after school?” he asks, unlocking the car. We both get in and I shiver in my seat. “I’ve got some old live shows to play for you.” I nod automatically; hanging out after school has become our thing.
“Sounds great,” I say, glancing down at my phone. A text from Simone just came through—a text with a lot of sad face emoticons in it.
“Okay if I call Simone?” I ask Joel. “She’s really bummed about this whole being grounded thing. I think she needs me to talk her off the ledge. I mean she’s talking about joining a club just so she won’t have to go straight home from school—it’s a serious situation. But I’ll try not to be too long.”
Joel puts the car in reverse and gives me one of those unpredictable smiles; my arms get goose bumps. “I get it; no worries,” he says. “Take your time, Linus.”
As he turns to look behind us while he backs the car out of the space, I can’t deny that I cringe a little. My nickname’s not right coming from him. Then again, I think as he shifts to drive and navigates us out of the lot, at least he feels comfortable enough with me to call me by a nickname in the first place. So there’s that.
After school, I step from the biting cold into the enveloping warmth of Joel’s house, and he immediately wraps his arms around me in the entryway.
“I made you hot chocolate,” he says into my hair.
“You did not,” I say, pulling back, surprised. He nods, then kisses me—a lingering peck. I’m not afraid that anyone will see us: I know his mom is working.
“That’s really sweet,” I say, thinking that it really is. And also wondering if he made hot chocolate for Lauren.
“I took the mugs up to my room,” he says, “and I’ve got the first DVD cued up. I can’t wait to play it for you. I figured we could watch one each day so we’re primed for next week.”
I laugh as he takes my hand. We walk upstairs and both settle onto floor pillows. Joel presses play on the DVD and I take a sip from the mug in front of me—I have to say that he did a pretty decent job. We listen to the first song in silence: It’s one of EF’s early radio hits, “Shooting Stars,” and seeing them play it onstage is a whole different experience. I can’t wait to see them for real.
I shift on my pillow, thinking that it’s lumpy. Then I remember thinking the same thing yesterday and the day before—I realize that I’ve sat in the same spot every time I’ve been here. Is this my pillow? Do we have his and her pillows already? I wonder whether we’re on relationship autopilot—until the song switches and Joel switches things up too. He pulls me to my feet.
“Dance with me,” he says. The song is one of the slowest, most sentimental songs in the Freakshow arsenal. It’s called “Flanne
l.” “Did you know he wrote this for his childhood sweetheart?” Joel asks as he pulls me close. We sway to the music, draped around each other like fabric ourselves.
“Really?” I murmur into his broad shoulder. “That’s so sweet.”
“She broke his heart eventually,” he says. Then, after a beat, “I feel like I might suffer the same fate with you.”
I pull back, eyes wide. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know; I just feel like … maybe I’m the heavy.”
“The heavy?” I ask, glancing at him again but then resting my cheek on his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you ever heard that?” he asks. “In a relationship, there’s always someone who likes the other person more. They are heavier … because they’re carrying stronger feelings around all the time. I’m the heavy.”
“I think a heavy is actually someone who’s protection for someone else—like a bouncer or something.”
“Whatever, it’s what I call it,” he says. “It’s what Lauren and I used to call it.”
The mention of Lauren makes me take a step back; my arms fall to my sides. I’m still not completely comfortable with Joel’s explanation of why she was at his house on Halloween, and I don’t want even the idea of her here now. I’m jealous; I’m jealous of her ghost in our relationship.
“I didn’t mean to bring her up,” Joel says, sensing my hostility.
“It’s okay,” I say, stepping toward him again. I can be better than Lauren, I think. Joel hates jealousy, so I won’t show him my feelings.
“What I was trying to say was that I feel like I like you more than you like me,” Joel says, looking into my eyes, strong and steady. “And that worries me a little, because I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I’ve never heard those words from a boyfriend before, and the jolt of them is like lighting. I want to say it back, but I kiss him instead. Hard. So hard that he hesitates for the tiniest moment—maybe for being caught off guard—before he matches my intensity. I don’t realize how close we are to the open door to Joel’s room until he reaches out with his leg and kicks it shut. Slam! The song changes to a faster, pounding beat—“Magnets for Fate”—and it fuels my fire.
