“I take care of the roses, but you’re probably not interested in helping with that in this heat.”
Even standing still, the sweat beads on my forehead and right above my upper lip. What I really want is a tall glass of lemonade and a hammock in the shade, or, even better, air conditioning and a cool shower. Since that’s out of the question until Oliver takes me back to Aunt Perdita’s, there aren’t a whole lot of other options. One thing I know for sure—I can’t stay at the cabin with him any longer with nothing to distract me from, well, him.
“Roses!” I blurt, interrupting the path my thoughts were following. My face heats up and I try again. “What I meant was that I’d be happy to help you with the roses. Fair warning, though—I have a black thumb. I kill everything I touch.” My heavy words fall to the ground. Of course I hadn’t meant it like that, but I can’t argue with their truth.
Oliver offers the faintest trace of a smile at my slip. “I’m not worried, Luce.”
I’m not sure if he’s referring to the roses or something else, but he’s gone back to being cryptic. Cryptic is normal and way less romantic. Yes, cryptic will work. I nod my approval to myself, and Oliver raises an eyebrow at me.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Never mind,” I mumble. His smile deepens, and I look away before my heart accelerates any more.
“Let me get Jasper, then.” He sets off toward his horse.
Jasper. My heart beats faster, and this time it has nothing to do with my tall, dark, and handsome friend. Acid rolls in the pit of my stomach as I watch the big spotted horse search the forest floor for grass. He lifts his long neck and stares at me as he chews, his round jaw flexing.
“Really, Oliver. It’s okay. My ankle’s feeling a lot better, see? I can walk.” I take a few steps forward, showing off how awesome and normal my ankle is. I nearly bite the tip of my tongue off from the pain, but I’d rather drag myself across the forest using only my hands than willingly climb back on that demon-possessed horse again. As if on cue, my ankle rolls, and I stumble to the side. I catch myself and take another step sideways to make it look like I meant to do that, but Oliver isn’t buying it. Once Jasper is saddled, Oliver walks him straight up to me and holds out the reins.
My mouth drops open. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.” To me, Jasper holds an unknown capacity for deadly scenarios—though it seems his specialty is smooshing his passengers. I’m sure a plethora of other dangers lurks unseen beneath his adorable, horsey exterior. He doesn’t fool me for a second.
“Now, hear me out,” Oliver says. “Jasper’s a good horse, but he’s scared of The Conductors, just like any sensible creature should be. He didn’t mean to throw you those times, and he’d like to make it up to you.”
“No.” I cross my arms. Not only am I not interested in the horse, but I’m kind of questioning his delusional owner, too.
Oliver ignores me. “I got to thinkin’, because you’re a strong girl—excuse me, strong lady—that maybe you’re scared because you can’t control Jasper. Today we change that.”
I continue staring him down.
“If you try it and you hate it, I won’t ask again. Swear.”
Sometime during his last sentence or two, I lost track of the conversation. I hadn’t lost track of the movement of his mouth, though.
“Deal?”
“Sure,” I breathe. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve agreed to; all I can think of is his lips, my lips, our lips together. Lips, lips, lips. What’s wrong with me all of a sudden? Did he slip some kind of voodoo love potion into that hot chocolate?
Before I can change my mind, Oliver hoists me into the saddle and adjusts the stirrups so I’ll feel more secure on the big gelding’s back. Patiently, he places his callused hand on mine to show me how moving the reins against Jasper’s neck asks him to turn in a certain direction. My skin tingles under his touch, like there’s an electric current running between us. It takes me longer to learn than it should because I make him repeat everything two or three times. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit; even when I’ve obviously done something well, he repeats the instruction again. It’s like he wants an excuse to touch me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.
Then his fingers run along my calf as he discusses how to ask Jasper to walk, and I about leap off the horse and into his arms. That’s saying a lot about my pull to Oliver, since flying off a horse again isn’t high on my list of favorite activities. I don’t understand what’s going on with my own body and why I’m responding to handsome but infuriating Oliver this way.
“We’ll take it slow, for now,” he says as our eyes meet. “Only walking.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach when I realize he’s only talking about horses. I swallow, trying to force down the lump in my throat, and smile back at him. “Slow’s good.”
“Slow it is,” he replies. His grin slips behind an expression I can’t place, and his hand lingers on the outside of my knee longer than necessary. I suck in a sharp breath when his thumb feathers across my bare skin.
We’re still talking about horses, right?
Without a word, Oliver swings onto Jasper’s back and shimmies into place behind the saddle. We’re not as close as when we rode Jasper bareback, but, still, the heat of Oliver’s body prickles along my back. And when he brushes the top of my knee with his fingertips, prompting me to nudge the horse into movement, I can almost feel his amusement. The boy knows just what he’s doing to me.
Once I get the hang of steering Jasper and learn how to steady him down steeper inclines, I find that I’m no longer as scared to ride. Oliver had been right about that—I just needed more control. Jasper still has a mind of his own, but he obeys me when I ask for something, which I respect. He doesn’t listen to me because I possess some kind of natural talent, but because he has a gentle spirit. A gentle spirit that likes to dump me in the dirt every once in a while, but whatever.
Not only do I feel more control when Oliver hands the reins over to me, but I notice something else, too. Sitting tall in Jasper’s saddle as we walk along mimics the sensation of walking, something I haven’t been able to do without a limp in months. On Jasper’s back, my hips rock back and forth, side to side. It’s so strange and so familiar, all at the same time. Best of all, there’s no pain, which is something I haven’t been able to say in forever. I can’t help the tears that well up in the corner of my eyes.
“Is everything okay?” Oliver asks.
“This is amazing. Thank you for not listening to me.”
He laughs softly. “You’re welcome, I think.”
“Riding Jasper reminds me of running,” I explain. “Running was the one thing I was really good at before the accident, but now it’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I say. “But it’s nice to remember how I felt before, so, that’s . . . good.”
We ride quietly for a while before he feels the need to speak again. “Can I ask you something?” He fumbles his words, like he’s wrestling with the courage to speak them.
Even though I’m pretty sure I don’t want to answer him, I shrug. “All right.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re here. What happened to you, Lucy?”
I take a deep breath to steady myself. No one has ever asked me what happened. Sure, they asked about the accident—I figured to file police reports and insurance claims and otherwise place the blame firmly on my shoulders without saying those exact words. No one had ever asked about me.
“It’s a really long story. You sure?”
Oliver squeezes my hip in response. And, one by one, the ghosts appear.
Chapter 15
“You’re not like the others.” He grins, zeroing in on me with his intense emerald eyes.
Those are totally contacts. Between that and his gigantic dimples, I don’t trust his eyes to be that bright. Let’s face it—nobody’s genetics are that generous.
“Excuse me?” I look over my shoulder,
still not sure he’s actually talking to me.
Derek Carver slides across the couch until he’s so close the fabric of his designer jeans rubs against my bare thigh. I shrink away from the sensation, a little bit skeeved out by his hovering. What on earth does Tanya see in him, anyway? Besides the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking and captain of the football team, I mean. For someone who’s supposed to be dating my best friend, Derek sure seems to be getting pretty friendly with me. Call me old-fashioned or whatever, but cheating is kind of a turn-off.
He delivers his line again. “I said that you’re not like the other girls, Lisa.”
“It’s Lucy,” I say. “And am I really that different? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Lucy! That’s right,” he booms, as if I’m rating how sorry he is based on volume alone. “Forgive me for being such a jerk?”
I shrug, leaning away from him to give myself the tiniest bit of personal space.
His meaty paw is on my knee before I can react. “You’re sexy, you know that?”
I squeak out a laugh, scanning the room from one wall to the other. Where’s the hidden camera? No way is this happening for real. Guys like Derek don’t go for girls like me, number one. Number two, even if I wanted his attention, he’s completely off-limits. Tanya wouldn’t hesitate to rip out the hair of any girl stupid enough to exchange words with one of her boyfriends; and, honestly, I love my hair too much to risk it.
But here I sit, smack dab in the middle of what’s sure to be a fight with my best friend tomorrow. No one will bother to tell her I’d been pinned against the corner of the couch like a scared animal—that’s not how rumors spread. By tomorrow night the story would morph into us ripping each other’s clothes off in the middle of Manny’s party.
I roll my eyes as Derek’s hand slides upward, trying to keep my cool but freaking out inside. Dad had taken one look at me and told me to change when I started toward the door in my pale-yellow sundress, but I had dismissed him with a sweet smile and a peck on the cheek. Now I wish I’d listened.
I push away Derek’s searching hand with as much force as I can. He whimpers in protest, his sloppy mouth breathing heavily in my ear. It smells like a bottle of vodka up and died inside of him. Derek Carver is 110% wasted.
People watch us from all around the room, and I try to connect with any of them for a little help, por favor! But as my pleading eyes meet theirs, they turn away. Suddenly that conversation with their buddy is a lot more interesting. None of Derek’s lackeys want to turn on him—they’ve got their social standing to think about. Thanks, guys. I’m totally fine here under 175 pounds of misguided hormones.
If only Tanya had given in when I’d begged her to come with me to the afterparty, then Derek would be all up in her business instead of manhandling me. None of the rumors at school on Monday morning would be about me, at least. But, nooo . . . She had to go and catch the flu and leave me here with Mr. Grabbyhands. I’m calling her first thing in the morning to tell her to dump this loser—that is, if he doesn’t suffocate me first.
“Lulu,” Derek slurs.
“Lucy.”
“That’s what I said,” he insists, showing every single one of his pearly whites. “Liesl.”
“Now you’re just making it up.”
“You know who you are and you know you want to take this party somewhere more . . . pirate,” he says. His hooded eyes swim way too close to mine. In case I haven’t caught his meaning, he brings his foul mouth back to my ear and proceeds to stick his nasty tongue in there. Ewww. Who does that?
As enticing as his slobber is in my ear-hole, I’ve had enough. “It’s ‘private,’ you moron. And you seriously need to get off of me right now.”
Derek’s onslaught to my ear moves down the side of my neck. Reflexes kick in and I pinch his face between my shoulder and head. Apparently that move activates his aggression button, and he drives my upper body against the arm of the couch with his entire bodyweight.
“Stop fighting it, babe,” he says through gritted teeth. “You know you want to.”
So cliché. So absolutely terrifying.
It’s my turn to get right in his ear. “If you don’t get away from me right now I will personally make sure you never have children.”
He pulls away, only far enough to look me in the eyes to judge my sincerity. Inside, I’m trembling like a frightened child, but my outsides fix him with an icy glare. I cannot afford to be a weak girl right now. Not if I want to escape Derek Carver with my dignity intact.
“Try me. See if I’m kidding.” My tone is full of acid, dead serious. Derek studies me for what feels like an hour before he releases me.
He sneers. “Your loss.” Like that’ll convince me to change my mind. Nonchalantly, he moves one of his giant hands forward to protect his crotch. He took me seriously. Good.
A guy near the kitchen doorway calls for Derek. He says his name twice before Derek turns his attention away from me. “Busy, bro,” he says, pointing to me.
“Doesn’t look like she’s that into you,” the other guy answers. I can’t see him, but whoever it is deserves a pat on the back for being the only chivalrous one in the room.
“Bro. You really need to go do something else,” Derek says. “Or someone else.”
“You too,” mystery guy fires back. “Leave her alone.”
Derek snorts. “Whatever, dude. She’s so not worth it.” To stick it to me one last time, he snakes around and raises his voice. “You hear me? You’re. Not. Worth. It.” With that, he shrinks away from me like a wounded animal going off to lick its oozing injuries. It’s probably the first time he’s ever been rejected, even with his less-than-smooth courting techniques. I wish that made me feel even a little better about what had just happened and what could have happened if the guy from the other side of the room hadn’t stood up to the god of our high school.
Even though I don’t recognize the guy who saved me from Derek, there’s something so familiar about him. His dark hair, eyes the color of the earth. It triggers a memory—déjà vu, maybe—but I push it away. I’ve never met him before.
When I brush past him on my way toward the door, he doesn’t say anything. Our eyes meet, the only thing I can manage in way of a thank-you. I hope he knows I’m grateful. He blinks back, then bows his head to take a sip from a bottle of water.
After searching the entire house, I find my friend Lisette snoring near a puddle of vomit in Manny’s bathroom. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s probably a party foul to pass out in a bathtub when you’re someone else’s ride. Even though I’m not drinking, unlike most everyone else at Manny’s, I don’t have a car or a license. I’m stranded, unless I want to call my parents for a ride, and I don’t.
Mystery Man In the Living Room was drinking water. That water bottle, not a red plastic cup, pegged him as a designated driver, the one who drew the short straw for the evening’s festivities. With a sigh, I drag myself back into the living room to beg my nameless hero another favor—my safe delivery home.
The next morning my phone buzzes into life hours before I plan on waking up. It’s Tanya. She must have heard about Derek’s bad behavior and wants to let me know she’s finally dropped him. I’m not ready for what’s sure to be a conversation full of waterworks, so I turn my phone off and go back to sleep. Tanya, on the other hand, feels it’s so important we talk that she comes over to do it in person.
She looks like crap, I notice as I peek at her through the peephole. Worse than that—more like crap that’s been run over a few times. Her short, dark braids stand up all over her head like she’d tossed and turned all night, and her face backs that up. Shadows outline her usually bright hazel eyes, which are bloodshot. That flu must be pretty awful, because she’s definitely had better days. Why in the world would she come around here if she felt half as bad as she looks? I, for sure, don’t want it. There’s literally nothing worse than yakking.
Sucking in a breath so I can avoid her cloud of germs, I unlo
ck the door. “Hey, what’s up?”
Tanya answers me with a slap across the face.
“Wh-what was that for?” I cry, my hand flying to my cheek. It stings like fire where she made contact, and I’m pretty sure there will be a hand-shaped welt there later. Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink to clear them just in case I have to dodge another blow. Her assault on me is delayed by her sudden need to throw up all over Mom’s azalea bush.
“How could you?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, which is totally gross. Her shoulders hunch and she looks wild.
My mouth hangs open, not sure what she’s accusing me of.
“You slept with him!” She doesn’t wait for me to confirm or deny anything. “I was sick as a dog and you saw that as your big chance to steal my boyfriend.”
This is about loser-head? I want to leave Tanya seething on my stoop, drive over to Derek’s mansion, and make good on last night’s threat to neuter him unless he clears this up. Excessive, maybe, but Tanya is surprisingly strong for a girl who probably weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. Had Coach been training her for shot put or something when I wasn’t watching?
Tanya takes my silence as admission and lurches toward me, almost connecting to my jaw with one of her flailing fists. Tears stream down her cheeks, and I know she’s hurting. Not slap-to-the-face hurting, but hurting all the same.
“Wait,” I cry, throwing my hands up to protect my face from her blind attack. “Tanya, quit!”
She doesn’t listen, advancing on me until my back presses against the door. “You knew I really liked him, and that we were going to get married and—”
I laugh. Like, literally, out loud. None of this is funny, but I can’t help it. Derek seemed very concerned with his white-picket-fence dream last night while feeling me up in the middle of Manny’s party.
“—have kids! But that didn’t stop you from spreading your legs, you bi—”
Before she can finish telling me exactly what she thinks of me and where she believes I should go, the door flies inward and I fall on my butt on the rug just inside the door. My mom stares down at me with her forehead furrowed in concern. She glances over at Tanya, who’s ready to self-combust in her state of rage, and then back to me as I scramble to my feet.
In the Middle Page 10
