“Huh.” Jack lifts an eyebrow. “Word is you’ve been dating him for a couple of months now.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So you two are getting close, then?”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “He’s really sweet.”
Jack steps closer until there’s only a foot between us. His face holds the trace of a smile. “Sweet? Really? Do you know, Tessa, how you should describe a person you’ve got an intimate relationship with?”
His breath beats against my nose. His woodsy scent lifts from his skin and clothes, stunning me to silence.
“Let me tell you.” His blue eyes hold mine. “You should use words like breathtaking. And achingly beautiful.” His gaze slides down to my lips. “And riveting.” Then his focus drops farther, stopping not-so-subtly on my chest. “And spoonable.”
I swallow hard. “Spoonable isn’t a word.”
“It is with the right person,” he says softly. We’re an inch from touching, and I can feel my need for him biting and clawing. I want him to just grab me, kiss me, push into me, and erase everything bad that’s happened today and every day before.
But Jack steps away, leaving me shaking my head to regain control. He sniffs, then holds his hand out. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive. I know exactly where the cemetery is. I’ll get us there faster.” He says it like nothing just happened between us. Like he wants to get away from me.
I hand him my keys, head to the passenger side, staring at his profile as he moves us out onto the road. And I suddenly wonder, with Hallend being Jack’s old hometown, if he understands what I’m doing here.
“Had you ever been to that house on Cornish before?” I ask.
Jack opens his mouth. Then shakes his head. “I’ve never been inside.”
But just because he’s never gone inside doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what’s inside. Panic prickles. “Jack, please don’t tell anyone where I was today.”
Jack doesn’t look at me. He keeps his face stony and his voice curt. “Tessa, what you do is your business.”
• • •
Just before we pull up to the cemetery, my phone pings with a text from Willow.
I need a ride home from the library. Mom’s grading. Dad said to call you to get me. Where are you?
“Shit!” I mutter, texting that I’m on my way.
Jack glances at my phone. “Your boyfriend demanding your attention again?”
“My sister demanding my attention.” I take a deep breath. “And my stepdad.”
The crease in Jack’s forehead smooths, and he nods.
He pulls my Civic onto a dirt drive filled with potholes that we wobble and rock over until we stop next to a 1970s-looking car painted bright orange. It’s the last car I’d choose to own, but it’s unique. It stands out. A car befitting Jack S. Dalton.
A rusted wrought-iron fence surrounds the graveyard, ending in a pair of giant gated doors standing straight in front of us. In the arch above the entrance is a sign, jagged with corrosion, reading “Porter Cemetery.” We get out of the car, and I make my way to the driver’s side again. Jack pulls keys from his messenger bag and opens his car to toss the bag onto the backseat.
“Do you know someone buried here?” I ask.
“I have a lot of friends buried here.” He locks his car again and heads toward the front gate, beckoning me to come with him. “I’ll show you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to get home.” I’ll get screamed at for eternity for how irresponsible I am if I don’t get Willow ASAP.
Jack walks over and slips his hand in mine. A strange, electric, vibrating warmth spreads through me. “Come on, Tessa,” he says. “Let me show you something. It won’t take long.”
He pushes at the squeaky gate and leads me into the graveyard. What looked like just a basic cemetery from outside the run-down fence looks enchanting up close. The sun is super-low in the sky, fighting for its last bit of life before the evening. It casts this amazing russet glow against all the ancient-looking tombstones. At least a hundred of them. They’re like crumbling gray monoliths covered in white-green lichen and brownish moss and surrounded by fallen leaves.
“I wish I had my camera,” I actually say out loud. I wish I could stand here and take a trillion photographs, capture every amazing inch of this place from every angle possible.
“Use your cell,” he says.
I shake my head, taking it all in. “I need a real camera. Because wow. Like, wow.”
Next to me, Jack smiles. “I know, right?” His mouth is half open in awe. As if this is also his first time here. “This place rocks. But it gets even better.”
Jack tugs at my hand, pulls me past stones, close enough for me to read the faded engravings.
Ella Sue Swanson, Good Wife and Mother of Eleven. You can finally rest.
Craven P. Harwald, Golden Until the End
Margaret Anne Leighton, 1858 to 19 Died: 1899. She was an optimist.
“This cemetery is one of my favorite places,” Jack says. “And this time of day is the perfect time to come.”
At the edge of the graveyard, a hill dips down toward a tiny pond.
“I mean, look at that.” He points at the water. It glows orange from the setting sun, like a fire is raging under the surface. It’s stunning. A rare glimpse of nature. And I think again how this color is growing on me.
“Crazy gorgeous,” I whisper.
“Yeah. It is. It’s kind of a weird place to hang out, but believe me, these folks”—he waves at the gravestones—“are the best listeners ever. They never judge. Just listen.”
I laugh. “It’s always nice to have a good listener.”
“Right.” Jack steps closer to me. The sunset flushes his face with a coral glow. I think for a moment he might be the most beautiful thing here. “It is,” he says. “And I heard you, Tessa. You feel you have to please everyone else. You’ve lost your colors and feel gray.”
I wince at hearing what I’ve said recited back to me. And I blush because he actually remembers.
“But honestly, it sounds like you’re denying yourself the things you really want.”
I give a sigh. “I feel like I have no choice. It’s like I have to do what’s best for other people.”
“Have to?”
I shrug. “Yeah. I think so.”
He doesn’t argue. Only nods. The sound of crickets rises around us. I think about how crazy my life feels. In my house. At school. With every conversation and demand. Crying doesn’t help. Screaming doesn’t help. But somehow, kissing a boy makes it better for just a brief moment.
I feel the shame but also the truth of it. “I wish I were stronger,” I tell Jack.
“I think you’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s like everything is set in motion by everyone else and swirling. And I try to grab things to stop myself from moving for just a little bit. But usually, the things I grab are not—” I take in a deep breath, think of the best way to say it. “They’re not the best for me.”
The corners of Jack’s lips rise. “I think we all do things that aren’t great for us.”
I give a slight shrug. “I guess.”
His eyes catch mine, and then, as if he’s done it a million times, he reaches up, pushes a strand of my hair back behind my ear. Chills skitter up my back, through my belly. His gaze finds my lips. An ache rises through my center. The heat from his body sets every nerve wild.
All the things weighing me down, all of it pushes me into Jack as though hands were shoving at my back. He leans into me. And I know, for sure, he likes me. His lip ring almost grazes my top lip. And I want to ignore that I have a boyfriend, that Jack goes against my rule of not hooking up with anyone in Pineville. Because Jack is different from the other random guys I’ve been with.
He’s more, somehow. He’s fascinating. And, well, breathtaking. Riveting. Achingly beautiful. And absolutely, totally spoonable.
I push up on my toes, close my eyes, can already taste him, feel his lips on mine even before I get there.
But when my lips hit skin, it’s not his mouth on mine.
I whip open my eyes. Jack is still close, looking at me, his eyes intense, stormy and darker with whatever he is feeling, but his fingers have pressed against my lips. Coming between us. Stopping me.
I take a huge step back. Mortified.
His halting hand drops to his side. “I can’t do that, Tessa.”
Embarrassment rolls over me, coats me like torrential rain. I feel the heavy black pressure of possibly passing out. This isn’t some guy I can walk away from and never see. He goes to my school. He could tell everyone what I just tried to do. I’m pathetic. I’m just like my stepdad says—stupid.
I twist my face away. I can’t look at him. “You seem—you said you wanted to kiss me. I mean, back in the car, you were interested.”
“I said I’d kiss you if the world were ending tomorrow. But it’s not. And you have a boyfriend. I’m not the kind of guy who takes another guy’s girl.”
But I clearly look like the kind of girl who cheats on her boyfriend.
“Right. Well.” I walk away, back among the jutting headstones of the dead. “Thanks for leading me on, then, and making me feel like shit.”
“I’m only being honest with you, Tessa.” Jack throws his palms in front of him, then goes to sit on the closest gravestone, a new one. Between his dangling feet, I glimpse the name carved there.
Ryan Francis Dalton, Born: June 4, 2003, Flew to Heaven: August 12, 2012
It must be a relative, but I’m too pissed to give Jack any sympathy.
“Seriously, Tessa, your boyfriend and I will never be best friends or anything, but I wouldn’t get off on screwing him over.”
Like I do. I’m filled with guilt and shame. And Jack set me up for this, talking all sweet to me. He knew I was vulnerable.
“You know what, Jack? You’re an asshole. Just like I thought when I first met you. Everything you do is like a prank, a setup. So thanks for punking me.” I barrel toward the cemetery gate. “Enjoy your dead.”
“Tessa! Wait!” he calls.
But I keep moving. I’m feeling close to some pretty ugly tears, so I hurtle through the gate to my car.
As I peel out, I look back at the graveyard. The sun has disappeared, the gray of early evening covering everything. Including Jack, still sitting on the tombstone, watching me.
• • •
Twelve hours later, by the time I get to school on Friday, I’ve thought a lot about how Jack now knows some nasty things about me. But weirdly, I’m not worried like I am with Ty, whose money I dropped in his locker and who, I’m sure, isn’t through with me yet. In fact, just this morning after first hour, Ty brushed by me and winked, making my skin crawl and my anxiety climb.
But Jack said he wouldn’t tell anyone I was on Cornish, and I believe him. As far as our almost-kiss, my lips didn’t actually touch his. If it ever comes up, I can truthfully say nothing happened.
I decide that the best course of action is to stay away from him. Don’t talk to him. Don’t get near him. Done and done.
At my locker after first hour, Juliette comes up behind me. “How did the new-student tour go?”
I grab my next-hour’s books. “Fine. No problems.”
“And both students showed up?”
I scrounge in my cloth pencil bag for an extra pencil to avoid making eye contact. “Yep.”
“Great,” she says. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.” I take two Jolly Ranchers from the small wire basket magnetically attached to the locker door. I keep my usual lemon. Give Juliette her favorite, grape.
“Thanks.” She pops the candy into her mouth. “So what did you do last night? I was going to call you, but then I remembered you said you had an errand.”
I freeze, my mind flipping to a good excuse. “Office supplies,” I say. “My mom asked me to pick up a bunch of supplies for her classroom.”
“Everyone needs a good office supply,” a familiar voice says next to me.
I jerk to my left and find Jack opening the locker that should be Maggie Lackstein’s. Traitorously, my skin tingles at the sight of him. “What are you doing?”
A faint smile plays on his lips. “This is my locker now.” He pulls open the door, slips his book inside.
“What about Maggie?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair. It falls in a perfectly messy fringe around his face. I hate that he looks so hot right now. “Well, I decided I needed a locker closer to my first hour, so I asked Maggie if she’d trade with me for a bunch of free tutoring in calc outside the couple hours a week she gets at the student center.”
“Huh,” Juliette says, her gaze flitting between me and Jack.
I watch Jack slam the locker door, and his woodsy scent is the only thing I can smell. I’m flustered and angry, and everything I was feeling last night when he rejected me floods through me until my hands are practically in fists.
I wait for Jack to walk away, but he saunters around me to the locker on my right. Martin Blenosky’s. He dials the locker combination and opens the door. My brain can’t wrap around what’s happening. “What the hell are you doing now?” I ask.
Jack’s tall, lithe body leans back. He peers at me past the open door. “So Marty needed a little help with his car. I told him if he’d share a locker with Maggie, I’d give him a tune-up and free oil changes for the rest of the year.”
I shake my head. “So you have two lockers.”
He grabs his books, slams the door. “This locker is closer to my second hour.” He gives me a wink.
“Huh,” Juliette says again.
“I . . . But.” My mouth won’t shut. After everything that went down between us last night, he decides to stick himself everywhere around me? For whatever reason, it’s a Jack S. Dalton prank designed especially to make me squirm.
Jack breaks out into a huge smile, licking his lower lip like this whole situation is delicious. Then he walks off, leaving me stunned.
“Oh my God.” Juliette stares after Jack.
“What?” I ask Juliette. I take a deep breath to try to clear my head.
“You like him.” She throws her shoulders back, points at me.
“Like him? I want to kill him right now.”
“And he totally likes you.”
I think about last night. “I can say for a fact that he does not like me.”
Juliette pulls her hair behind one ear. “Well, chica, he just made a locker sandwich. With you in the middle. And he paid a tune-up, tons of calculus, and a whole lot of oil to get it.”
I relax my fists, stare down the hall Jack took. “Why can’t he just leave me alone? I feel like I’m being stalked.”
She grabs my arm and leads me toward my second hour. “Maybe, but don’t you think he’s one of the hottest stalkers you’ve ever seen?”
“Not as hot as the boyfriend I have now.” I raise both my eyebrows for emphasis.
She raises only one, her green eyes squinting. “Huh,” she says.
Jack
The whole dual locker thing with Tessa yesterday morning was classic. I bust out a laugh thinking about it as I drive toward Worton County Hospital for my first night on the job. I had a slew of reasons for surrounding her.
1. I don’t like being called an asshole. I mean, I didn’t want to push her away Thursday night. It took everything I had to stop myself from kissing the hell out of her. But I’d be pissed if someone kissed my girlfriend. And I get that Tessa’s ego was bruised, but name-calling is not nice.
2. Despite Tessa being claimed, I still dig her. I
don’t plan to hit on her, but I like being around her. She’s a little glass half empty, and she’s got some stuff to work through, but when she’s not pissed at me, she’s cool and talented. And really, I sort of feel protective of her after seeing her at Cornish. I think Tessa’s gotten herself into something she may not be ready to handle. Best if I stick close by. Just in case.
3. She smells good. Like vanilla and berries.
And, finally,
4. I thought it would be hilarious. Just to see the look on her face. And it was.
The locker deals didn’t cost me much extra time. I can fit Maggie into my math tutoring schedule required by VP Barnes and then video chat with her for the rest. And I can fix a car in my sleep, so tuning up Martin’s car and changing his oil are mini-jobs. What will be a total time suck, however, is this hospital gig, I think as I pull past the giant Worton County Hospital sign.
Sam and Carver simply got calls home from Principal Levy for being caught near the altered deer signs. Mayor Kearns and Carver’s dad did freak out on them, but it blew over quickly. Yet I’m stuck with hours of work for my involvement.
I give an annoyed sigh as I park in the lot and head inside. It smells like bleach, sweat, and coffee. At the Starbucks kiosk in the lobby, I grab two venti regulars before getting on the elevator to the third floor to meet my new boss. I’m on time for this first Saturday-night shift, as promised. But I almost wasn’t. Mom missed some of her meds, and when she saw Tessa’s stepdad outside, she swore he was blowing hot ash at our house and it was somehow coming in to burn her. She kept rubbing and scratching her forearms until they were red and raw. I had to medicate her, close the blinds, and make sure she was asleep.
Now, as the elevator heads up, all I can think about is how, with all the extra hours Ms. Barnes is forcing on me, I don’t have a lot of time to monitor Mom. It’s a risk. So much so that I called Dr. Surrey, explained how many hours I needed to work, and without telling her how bad Mom was getting, got the doc to promise to call Mom several times a day, talk her through taking her pills, and let me know ASAP if she senses any red flags.
On the plus side, I found a check on the counter from Mom’s client. That should pay for some of our bills, easing the pressure just a little.
Ripple Page 14
