"So," Rodney said slowly. "Was that an ultimatum?"
"What?"
He gave me a sideways look. "Are you going to find someone else to . . ."
"No," I said. "Don't be stupid. There's no one but you."
He elbowed me. "I suppose there're always sperm donors."
I smacked him on the arm again. "Be serious."
"Hey," he said, waving a hand at me. "You're the one who wants to get pregnant. If you want to talk crazy, we can talk crazy."
"No," I said. "You're right. It's a bad idea."
"Terrible," Rodney said. "Sweet, but terrible."
"So we're still together," I said. "Even though I'm crazy?"
Now he leaned over, bumping me with his shoulder. "What's this still? I thought you said we weren't together." I opened my mouth to answer, but Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's fine," he said. "I'm used to the crazy."
He took my hand and led me toward the car. "Not that I'm complaining," he said, "but how long had you been planning . . . you know."
Heavens. He still couldn't say the word.
I spoke too quickly. "Not that long," I said. Crap. Birth control took a while to work, didn't it? "I mean, a while, but not, you know?"
He looked at me sideways. Of course he didn't know. That made no freaking sense.
"Um," he said.
I had to put an end to this, before he started thinking about the exact moment that things changed. The day after Lily decided to keep the baby. "I guess I'd been thinking about it for a while."
Rodney looked surprised. "You could have fooled me," he said. "I thought you didn't think about me like that."
My chest throbbed. I'd backed myself into a corner. If I told him the truth—that I'd tricked him, that I'd as good as lied—I'd lose him. "I came to my senses, I guess."
Rodney opened the car door for me, but now his face had turned serious. He had to have noticed that I'd dodged his question. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He was going to put it together.
When he sat down in the driver's seat, I rubbed the back of his arm. "Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.
Rodney's jaw set. "I'm fine," he said.
But his formerly easy grip on the steering wheel tightened to a grasp. As we drove, he was the one who was quiet. And I tried to silence the voice that said he was putting together the pieces of my lies in his head. They made a warped puzzle, and I wasn't sure how to diffuse his doubts without assembling the whole ugly picture for him to see.
Chapter Eight
Week Two
When we pulled up to my house, Rodney left the engine running. "Don't you want to come in?" I asked.
Rodney shook his head, avoiding my eyes. "I should get home."
My hand shook on the door handle. "Maybe we could do something tomorrow?"
Rodney adjusted his sun visor. "I've got family stuff."
I hesitated. Rodney never had family stuff. His dad was a big time realtor and his mom ran an insurance agency—they were always working weekends, and when they weren't, they were too tired to actually do anything. "Are you sure?"
Rodney sighed. "I'll call if I have time, okay?"
"Okay," I said. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. I expected him to pull away, but instead he leaned in, catching me by the shoulder and kissing me on the mouth.
I lingered, drawing the kiss out as long as I could. I'd never meant to hurt him. Maybe he'd get that message, even though I didn't know how to say it out loud without making it worse.
A minute later I saw the blinds rustle in our front room window. I pulled away. "Later," I said.
He nodded, still refusing to look at me, and put the car into reverse. I shut the door and waved to him from the driveway. Wave back, I thought. Please wave back. And he did, but he still wasn't smiling.
But when I walked into the living room, Mom was.
I closed the door carefully behind me. "Watching us?" I asked.
Mom looked embarrassed. "Not intentionally. I heard the car and wanted to see if it was you or your father. I didn't expect there to be anything else to see."
I shifted from one foot to the other. "Yeah," I said. "Um, Rodney and I are kind of together now." Still. Hopefully.
Mom nodded like she was expecting that, which, since she'd watched us make out through the window, she probably was. "So is this new? Or were you afraid to tell me?"
I sure hadn't been meaning to break the news today. "No, it's new. Today, actually."
Mom looked surprised. "He could have stayed for dinner."
Right. Because that wouldn't have been awkward. Even so, I wished he'd stayed, if only so I'd know how badly I'd messed things up. "I asked him in, but he needed to get home."
Mom nodded slowly, watching me. That's when I realized I'd been backing up toward the door, literally into the corner. She had to have noticed that I didn't seem happy. "You really don't mind about this? I mean, you always said getting serious in high school was a mistake."
Mom opened her mouth and closed it again, like she wasn't sure how to answer. It was then that I realized Mom might not have known it was serious. I hadn't even considered that it might not be. This was Rodney. Any commitment put our whole friendship on the line.
That was why I'd avoided it for so long.
"I like Rodney," Mom said finally.
My stomach squeezed. "Yeah," I said. "Me, too."
Mom gave me a funny look. "I would hope so."
Oh. Right. I tried to think of something natural to say, but just ended up flailing my arms a little.
Mom stood up, heading for the kitchen. "I suppose it'll be fine," Mom said. "Athena dated Taren all through high school, and she survived."
Survived? Sure she did. But they broke up.
My cheeks went red. At least Rodney wouldn't be dumping me for refusing to sleep with him.
I spent Saturday morning holed up in Dad's office, working on photos. Rodney might have been busy with family stuff, but he wasn't too busy to dump his pictures of the abandoned building into our shared folder so I could see them. I added mine, then combed through them, pulling my favorites into my editing software.
Among my shots, I found the one Rodney had taken of the two of us kissing. From a photography standpoint, it was painfully bad. My head was closer to the camera than Rodney's, casting a shadow over part of his face. But I pulled the photo into the software anyway, and applied some filters to give it a stylized grain. I blurred the edges, so only our faces remained crisp. We looked dramatic like that, like the world spun around us, with only the two of us standing still.
We looked like we were in love.
I saved the edited photo to the folder, and added a note next to it. What do you think?
By Saturday night, Rodney had responded. Don't fish. (You're gorgeous.)
I bounced up and down in my chair. I was just being paranoid. He was just tired, or legitimately busy. If he was really putting things together, he wouldn't still be calling me gorgeous.
I spun around once in my chair, and almost whacked my knee against Dad's filing cabinet.
"You're happy," Dad said.
I turned around to find him standing in the hall.
"Yeah," I said. "A little."
Dad looked over my shoulder at the picture of Rodney and me on the computer screen.
"Nice work," he said.
My face flushed, and I closed the window. "Thanks."
Dad scuffed his toe on the carpet. "Your mom told me you two are dating."
Yes! Still! I smiled at Dad, and toned the answer down for him. "I guess so."
He gave me a questioning look. "How exactly is that different from what you've been doing?"
I squirmed, eying the screen where the photo had been. "Kissing."
He folded his arms. "Right."
My blush deepened. Dad didn't know we'd been doing that before, did he? It wasn't like we'd been big on the PDA, but we hadn't exactly been hiding, either.
Dad got t
his concerned look on his face. "I can't help but worry about you," he said.
Now my cheeks burned. "Dad," I said. "It's fine."
But Dad wasn't giving it up. "I just want you to be careful. You guys have been friends for years. When you already know the person you're dating, things can move fast."
His warning hit me like a punch to the gut. No kidding, Dad. Thanks for the heads up. "I'll watch it," I said.
Dad put a hand on the back of my chair. "I was a sixteen-year-old boy once, too, and you know what your mom's experience was like."
I did. And I knew Dad was just trying to protect me, but the idea that Rodney was someone I might need protecting from made me even more nervous about the leap we'd taken. He'd never hurt me intentionally. But people in relationships hurt each other unintentionally all the time, didn't they?
Like I'd done to him. I sank back into my chair. "I get it."
Dad nodded. "You're a good kid. I know you'll be smart."
As he headed back toward the kitchen, I rested my forehead on the desk. Dad trusted me. Rodney had, too.
I was totally going to hell.
I spent Sunday with my phone ringer turned all the way up, trying not to check it obsessively. I should have gone to Athena's, because homework and photo editing were not enough to distract me from staring at it, willing it to ring. But Rodney didn't text, and he didn't call.
I made it to the afternoon before I broke down and texted him.
Busy?
He responded immediately. Ish. What's up?
I was thinking about dragging my boyfriend to a movie. Could I call him that? I deleted and retyped the word "boyfriend" twice before hitting send.
When the phone vibrated, I squinted at it through one eye.
Hope you two have fun.
I couldn't help but smile. I set my phone down and counted as the seconds ticked by. Slowly.
A minute passed. Two. Three.
My knee bounced up and down. Was he really going to blow me off like that? I picked my phone back up, and began to type my comeback when he finally texted again.
Pick you up at six?
I breathed a sigh of relief and answered: You'll make my boyfriend jealous.
I'll try.
My pulse picked up, and I flopped back onto my bed. It's okay, I told myself. The awkwardness was probably all in my head.
Be cool.
I spent the hour before Rodney showed up flattening my hair, so it hung long and sleek down my back. I put on makeup I didn't usually wear—mascara and eyeliner and lip liner, too. I wore a pair of skinny jeans with no-nonsense boots and a loose, flowing shirt with chiffon sleeves floating down to my wrists.
When I came down the stairs to wait for Rodney, Mom and Dad were both sitting at the kitchen table, bills and budget sheets spread out before them.
"Careful," I said. "Don't overdo the fun."
Dad looked up at me over his reading glasses. "Going out?"
"Yeah," I said. "Rodney's picking me up. And we're going to a movie. In a public place, see?"
Both Mom and Dad smiled, and I tried to return it. I was a good daughter. I was.
When I caught sight of myself in the entryway mirror, I wondered if they'd both been laughing at me. I'd overdone it, big time. I'd never dressed up to see Rodney before. But some things should be different now, shouldn't they? Why couldn't this be one of them?
I jumped when Rodney knocked on the door. He opened it right away, like he always did when he was expected. He stepped inside wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans. The only thing different about him was the way he looked at me, staggering slightly as he took in my face, then letting his eyes travel the length of my body.
I'd been checked out before, of course, and it usually made me want to hug my chest and hide. But today my pulse quickened, my body soaking up heat, not from embarrassment, but from the sheer thrill of being wanted.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said back. And we both shifted, like we'd suddenly forgotten what to do with our hands.
I turned to the coat closet to get my jacket—mostly for something to hold—and I caught Dad leaning around the corner and watching us. "Goodbye," I shouted.
"Have fun!" Dad yelled back.
"And be safe!" Mom called.
But I couldn't help but think that if Rodney and I got in a car wreck, I wouldn't have to explain any of this to them. Ever.
We walked to the car, and Rodney unlocked my door and held it open. And then he stood there long enough for me to climb all the way in, so he could close it for me as well. I settled into my seat, like I had a hundred times in Rodney's car. But this time felt surreal. This was really happening. Rodney and I were really together. And, just like I'd always thought it would, that fact gave me so much more to lose.
Rodney climbed into the car beside me and started the engine. And in addition to not knowing how to dress, I also didn't know what to say. "What movie do you want to see?" I asked.
Rodney shrugged and looked over his shoulder, backing the car out of the driveway. "I thought you were the one with the plan."
I hadn't even checked the showings. "Sorry. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."
"Eh," he said. "Nothing big."
Nothing big? He couldn't see me at all this weekend for nothing big? "You didn't have plans with your family?"
He shrugged again. "My dad's showing a big old house in San Jose. He let me go with him yesterday to take pictures."
"Really?" Rodney's dad never did that—he thought photography was a waste of time. It was no secret that he didn't think Rodney was ambitious enough.
"Yeah," Rodney said. "I think his normal photographer was out of town, and he needed some shots in a hurry."
That was the irony with his dad; he'd employ photographers, but still thought going into photography would make Rodney unemployable. The part that really ticked me off was that Rodney believed him. "That's great," I said. I stared at the dash, trying not to add the obvious: You didn't invite me? Finally, I settled for, "Get anything good?"
Rodney wobbled a hand. "I'll upload them. You can tell me."
An uneasy silence settled between us, and for once, Rodney didn't call me on it. I was grateful I'd suggested a movie and not dinner. The less talking required, the better.
When we got to the theater, though, Rodney grabbed my hand, and we walked up to the box office with our forearms touching from elbow to wrist. My skin hummed against his, but it wasn't enough. As we looked up at the marquee, I stepped in front of Rodney and pulled his arms around me, so he held me from behind. I could feel his heart beating against my back, pounding out a steady rhythm, and I wished I could align my nerves to that beat.
We found a six-thirty showing of a disaster movie. The theater was all but empty, and I pulled Rodney up the stairs to the very back row. At that moment, I didn't care about the movie, only about the heat of Rodney's arm against mine.
When we reached our seats, Rodney pulled up the armrest so I could squeeze up against him, but even the thin layers of his shirt and mine felt like too much between us. So I shifted up into his lap with my feet resting on my own seat, took his face in my hands, and kissed him.
He kissed me back fiercely, like he hadn't seen me in months. By the time the previews started, Rodney already had his mouth on my neck, and the last thing in the world I wanted to do was pull away.
We barely watched the movie. We flipped up the armrests and lay down across the empty row, hands up under each other's shirts, heat burning so intensely I was honestly surprised when the seats didn't go up in flames around us.
After the movie, Rodney parked in my driveway and kissed me long and deep, like he didn't want to let go any more than I did. In all the times we'd made out before, I'd never been so aware of him, of the slight dampness behind his ears, of the subtle way his back arched when I kissed his neck.
My parents could have been watching us from the window. The living room was dark, so there was no
way for me to know. I put my hand on the car door handle, but the idea of retreating alone into my dark room was unbearable. I ran my fingertips over Rodney's forearm, raising goose bumps. "Come in," I said. "Go park the car around the corner, and meet me at my window."
Rodney bit his lip, meeting my eyes. His body swayed toward me even as his fingers tightened on the gear shift. "Are you sure?" he asked.
I didn't want to think twice. I slipped my nails under the collar of his shirt, and Rodney groaned.
There was no way I was letting him go. "See you inside," I said. And I climbed out of the car and shut the door.
I stood on the doorstep while Rodney drove away, and then ducked inside. Mom and Dad had already gone up to their room; they had the door open and the TV on. I breathed slow and steady for a while, to make sure I could be calm before I passed by.
"Goodnight," I called.
"How was the movie?" Mom asked.
"Lame," I said. "I'm exhausted, so I'm going to bed."
"Night," Dad called. And they both turned back to the television.
I was glad for it, because the noise would cover the sound of me locking my door and opening the window. I stood in my room with the pane pushed aside, breath steaming into the night air, waiting in the dark.
Rodney appeared on the roof a few minutes later, and eased himself over the windowsill. He had his hands on me before he was even all the way in the room. When his feet hit the floor, he whispered in my ear: "Are you sure I should be here?"
I slid my tongue up the outside of his ear. "Yes," I said.
He pulled off his jacket, and we sank onto my bed. Rodney barely took his mouth off mine, except to pull both our shirts off over our heads. The rushing of my ears drowned out the sound of my parents' TV down the hall.
The weight of him on top of me sent shivers over my body. As I ran my fingers around the waistband of his jeans, reaching for his zipper, Rodney fished something out of his pocket—a square, shiny wrapper.
The room spun. I'd lied to him about the birth control.
And he knew.
Giftchild Page 8
