I can only hope.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With only two days left until the end of the school year, I finish cleaning out my locker Wednesday afternoon, leaving only a notebook and a couple of mechanical pencils. Shoving the remainder into my book bag, I think about the weekend. I don’t know what I’m more excited about – my birthday on Saturday, or getting my driver’s license the following Monday. Without question, the license is big, but for some reason, my birthday seems more important. It just feels like I’m taking a giant step forward. Maybe it’s because I’m younger by several months than most of my classmates. Or maybe it’s because I’m a year closer to eighteen. Or maybe it’s something else. Something I can’t define or put my finger on. But whatever the reason, I’m filled with anticipation.
Hitching my backpack over my shoulder, I head to the cafeteria. Rachel had to talk with her English teacher, but promised to meet me outside by 3:30. Glancing at my watch I see I still have ten minutes so I wander over to the vending machines, intent on upping my sodium intake for the day. As I stare at the meager selections, I idly wonder how I managed to get around before Rachel got her car. It had only been a week and I was already completely dependent on it.
I dig through my shoulder bag looking for change. I was sure I had at least a dollar’s worth lying loose on the bottom, but all I can find are two pennies, and a dime. I unzip the inside pocket but that only produces a miniature bottle of hand sanitizer and a half-full container of Tic-Tacs. Setting it on the floor, I open it wider, moving the contents aside as I run my hand along the bottom. Nothing. Disappointed, I slide my hand into the side pocket for one last search. And pull out the picture of the dark-haired woman on the swing.
I stare at it in shock. What was it doing there? The last time I saw it, it had been lying on the counter at the antiques store. Had I put it in my bag and not even been aware of it? In addition to seeing images that weren’t there, was I now unconsciously shoplifting? No, I tell myself. Despite the strange state my thoughts have been in lately, I would never do anything like that. The only answer is Lovell. He must have slipped it into my bag when I wasn’t looking. But why? And why not tell me?
I shake my head, not wanting to think about him. I’d ask him about it later. I just hope that he paid for it.
Finally finding the change I need in the pocket of my book bag, I slip the coins into the slot, my fingers drumming against the side of the machine. After staring blankly at a packet of M & M’s for several moments, I realize that I’m humming The Swan. Which makes me think about Lovell. Something I’ve been doing entirely too much of lately.
“Not much to choose from, huh?”
Stifling a gasp, I look to my left. Into the brown eyes of Rick Laurent.
“What are you gonna have?” he asks, as if genuinely interested in what I will choose.
At a complete loss for words, I mumble, “Um, just chips,” and blindly push A2, hoping I haven’t just selected the chocolate bar on D2. The coil moves with agonizing slowness while my mind freezes into a barren nothingness. I struggle to think of something, anything, to say. It seems impossible that Rick Laurent is actually standing next to me. Speaking to me. Asking me a question.
“Cool.” He gazes at the vending machine for a moment, appraising the selections, then shrugs. “I’m not really hungry, anyway,” he says, turning his attention to the soda machine.
The chips finally drop to the bottom. Reaching inside I grab the bag, knowing that I’m letting the perfect opportunity slip through my fingers. But my tongue and lips and brain have ceased to function. From the neck up, I could probably be pronounced clinically dead.
Escaping out the side door, I wend my way through the cement tables. Fortunately, the area is deserted. The last thing I want is company. Choosing the table furthest from the door, I sink onto the bench and drop my head into my hands, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
Could that possibly have gone any worse? A chance to actually speak to the guy and the best I can come up with is, “Um, chips?” And I’m sure it came out in that horrible, squeaky voice that happens every time I get nervous and my vocal cords tighten up.
Why is it that in my imagination the conversation always goes so much better? We talk and laugh, surprised by how much we have in common, while I flirt and tease effortlessly. He leans one shoulder against the wall, quietly asking for my number because he’d like to call me sometime, his brown eyes conveying his interest and attraction.
In reality, it never works that way.
Reality sucks.
I shake my head, my stomach twisted into a painful knot of humiliation.
No longer hungry, I toss the chips into the trashcan, wishing I could drop into a sinkhole with them. Forget the entire experience; forget this day; forget this week. The door opens behind me and Rick walks out, drinking from a bottle of orange Gatorade. His gym bag is over one shoulder, a lacrosse stick lying diagonally across the top. He looks in my direction.
Great, I think. Another chance to make a fool of myself.
He walks towards me, and smiles. “Hey, Kat. How’s it goin’?”
Dumbstruck, I somehow manage to find my voice. “Good,” I squeak. I clear my throat. “And you?”
“Great.” He smiles again, and I notice his smile is slightly crooked and that one of his incisors slants inwards. I find it oddly charming. “Glad school’s almost done.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
He steps closer, and my heart starts to pound in my chest.
The door opens again and a boy I don’t recognize comes out carrying a helmet, stick and pads. “Hey, Laurent. You comin’?”
“Yeah,” Rick says. “I’ll be right there.” He looks at me apologetically. “Gotta go to practice.” He nods in the direction of the athletic fields.
The other boy looks curiously between Rick and me, then shrugs one shoulder and walks in the opposite direction.
“Um, so I guess I’ll see you around, Kat.”
I nod, watching him as he walks away. Suddenly, he turns around and jogs back.
“I’m having an end-of-year party at my house Saturday. It’d be great if you could come. You know, if you’re not busy or have other plans or anything.”
I swallow and try to maintain a neutral expression while my heart begins fluttering erratically in my chest. “Um, yeah. OK. That’d be great. Thanks.” My brain stumbles, its usual thought-forming pattern stalled, as I try to process the fact that Rick Laurent has just asked me to his party.
“Cool,” he says, and smiles. “It’s not far from here. But I’ll get you a map with the address. I still have some in my locker. Can you meet me in by my locker tomorrow after school? It’s at the end, by World History. Room 420.”
I nod. I know exactly where his locker is. I’ve stolen glances at it between classes all year. “Sure.”
“Awesome. See ya!” He hurries away, disappearing around the side of the building.
_________
I jump in Rachel’s car and grab her arm. “You won’t believe what just happened.”
“What?” she asks, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“Rick asked me to his end-of-year party on Saturday.”
Her eyes grow even wider and she pushes my shoulder. “Get out! Are you kidding me?”
I nod enthusiastically, riding a wave of emotion that hovers somewhere between total disbelief and sheer ecstasy.
“Oh, my God! That is so awesome! I knew this would happen!” A smug look crosses her face.
As I look at her, I’m struck by a sudden thought. Rachel had been suggesting for months that I let her drop a few subtle hints to find out if he was interested, but I had made her absolutely swear she would never do such a thing. The thought horrifies me. “Oh, my God…you didn’t.”
She looks at me in confusion. “Didn’t what?”
“Say anything! To him or anyone else!”
“No! Of course not! I promised you I wouldn’t, and I didn’t.”
I narrow my eyes.
“All I meant was I knew the two of you would get together. It was bound to happen. When you feel that strongly about somebody, there’s a lot of chemistry going on. And the other person feels it, too. It’s the law of attraction in action. You’ve thought about him enough, you’ve drawn him to you. Now you just have to visualize the two of you together. Forever.” She smiles dreamily.
“Yeeaahh,” I say. Rachel’s new-age thinking is beyond me at the moment.
“I’m tellin’ ya. It’s true. Anyway, tell me everything. How. When. What he said.” She puts the car in gear and heads out of the parking lot.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” I protest, but give her a brief rundown of the meeting at the vending machine, followed by the short exchange outside. I glance out my window, watching two crows pick apart the remains of a sandwich and chips that had been carelessly tossed onto the street. “You know,” I say, the practical side of my brain finally kicking in, “I’m probably making too much of this. It’s just a party, after all. They’ll probably be a hundred people there. He won’t even notice.”
“No way. If he made a point of asking you to come, he’ll notice.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I pick at my fingernails. He’d only asked me ten minutes ago, and I’m already beginning to have doubts. Overcome with nerves, I turn sideways on the seat and look at her imploringly. “You have to go with me.”
Rachel glances sideways, taking in my desperate expression. “You’re forgetting something – I wasn’t invited.”
“So? Like anyone would even notice! There’ll probably be tons of people there that weren’t officially invited.”
She is silent, focusing on driving. The car slows as the red Saturn in front of us pulls into the parking lot of the Mini-Mart.
“Please, Rachel,” I plead. “I can’t walk in there by myself. I’ll feel like a total idiot.”
Finally, she looks at me, a reassuring smile spreading across her face. “It’ll be fine, Kat. Really. There’ll be plenty of people there you know, so it’s not like you’ll be completely on your own.”
“Yeah, but nobody I would even think about hanging out with. Come on, Rachel. Please, please, please.” I look at her in desperation.
“All riiight,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll go!”
“Thanks, Rach. I love you.” I tilt my head, presenting her with my most endearing smile.
“Shut up.” She turns her lip up in disgust, but I can see the laughter in her eyes, hear it in her voice, just waiting to bubble to the surface.
I stare at the passing traffic, my mind racing ahead to Saturday. And all its possible complications and outcomes.
“I know what you’re doing,” Rachel says, braking at a red light. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Analyzing!” She shoves my shoulder playfully. “Just go with it! It’ll be great. I’ll come over Saturday and help you get ready. We’ll do something special with your hair. You’ll be gorgeous, dahling.”
I smile, wishing I had her confidence.
“And you know what makes it even better?” she asks.
“What?”
“Saturday’s your birthday. And you have a date with Rick. Happy birthday to you!”
“It’s not a date! It’s just a party!” I protest, but can’t suppress the feeling of glee starting to spread through me. Giving in, I burst into laughter. “Happy birthday to me!”
Rachel joins in, giving me a high five.
“By the way, how was antiques shopping with your sexy neighbor?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
The feeling of elation that had been surging through me immediately starts to subside, replaced by the tension that always accompanies thoughts of Lovell. A part of me resents the question, wishing she hadn’t asked. “It was fine. No big deal.” I don’t look at her when I answer, worried that she’ll see through my lie.
I feel her eyes on me; sense the unspoken question. But whatever she’s thinking, she keeps it to herself and starts talking about what I should wear and how to fix my hair.
I’m relieved because the last thing I want to talk about is Lovell.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After the final bell rings on Thursday afternoon, I hang out in the library for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before heading upstairs to junior hallway. I want the mass exodus that signals the end of the school day to subside, the crowded stairwells and hallways to dwindle to just a few lone stragglers. The mere fact that I’m doing this feels awkward enough. I don’t need an audience, as well. As I slowly climb the stairs, the thought crosses my mind that Rick may have forgotten all about it, or grown impatient and left after the first ten minutes.
Ascending the last step, I turn the corner and gaze down the length of corridor. A handful of people linger by their lockers; two girls sit crossed-legged on the floor, pecking away at their laptops; a group of boys huddle in conversation at the far end. The afternoon sun shines brightly through the floor to ceiling windows to my left, casting long shadows across the dull gray carpet. Two girls whose faces I know, but names I can’t remember, walk briskly past, too absorbed in their own conversation to notice me. I bite my bottom lip, and take several steps forward. Near the end of the hallway, I can see a tousled blonde head bending towards the floor. Rick. My stomach clenches in an odd combination of relief and excitement. He is pulling notebooks and papers out of his locker, stuffing them into a backpack at his feet. I glance around nervously, half expecting PJ to suddenly materialize and adhere herself to his side.
Taking a deep breath, I advance down the hallway, my fingers clutched so tightly around my notebook its sharp edge digs into my palm.
“Hi, Rick,” I say softly, stopping a few feet from him. He looks amazing, in low-slug faded jeans and a layered gray and white t-shirt.
He turns, his lips curving into a smile. “Hey, Kat! Cool. You came by. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”
Not likely, I think. “I was just waiting for everybody to clear out. You know what it’s like at the end of the day.”
“Yeah. It gets pretty crazy.”
I glance at his bulging backpack. “Cleaning out your locker?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I can’t believe how much I actually managed to stuff in here. I think I’ve still got papers from back in September.” He pulls out a mangled and creased sheet of lined notebook paper filled with mathematical equations. “Oops. I think I was supposed to turn that in.” He turns to me and grimaces. “Calculus.”
“A little late now.”
“We’ll just forget that was in there,” he gives me a conspiratorial wink and stuffs the paper in his bag. “So anyway, here’s the map.” He pulls another sheet of paper from his locker, pale green with dark blue lettering, and hands it to me. “It’s pretty easy to find. But if you have any questions, my number’s there on the bottom.”
Summer Kick-off, I read. Saturday May 30th. 7-11 pm. There is a small map in the left corner and a phone number on the right. A faint image of balloons and fireworks cover the middle.
“It starts at seven,” he says, “but usually everybody shows up between seven-thirty and eight. But you’re welcome to come anytime you want.”
“Thanks,” I say, still hardly believing this is happening. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, me too.” He smiles and nods, gazing at me for a moment, like he wants to say more. But he turns back to his locker.
“Can I bring anything…you know, like soda or dessert or something?” I ask.
“No. Just yourself. There’ll be tons of food and drinks and all that stuff. So just come and have a good time. But you’re welcome to bring a friend, if you want.”
“OK. Thanks” I pause, unsure what else to say. “So I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Awesome.” He pauses, then starts to say, “You don’t….” when his cell phone rings, a dull, muted sound emanating from his backpack. He glance
s at the bag then back at me as if unsure whether or not to answer it.
“Go ahead,” I say quickly, suddenly feeling awkward. “I have to go, anyway.” I can’t be sure, but I think he looks disappointed.
“OK. I’ll see you later then.” He smiles and extracts his phone, placing it to his ear. “Hey, dude. What’s up?”
I head back down the corridor, the sound of Rick’s voice fading as I carefully fold the flyer into a neat square. I don’t notice at first, but it slowly starts to dawn on me that all the other students I had seen just moments ago have left. The place feels empty, deserted. I know I can’t have talked to Rick for more than two minutes, yet there’s not a soul in sight. It makes me feel slightly off, as though there’s a chunk of time I can’t account for.
Turning to the stairs, I shrug off my uneasiness, and think about Rick. I feel light and bouncy, like I want to skip and twirl and tell everyone I’m going to his party. I can’t remember the last time I felt this elated. Maybe when I was six and saw the ocean for the first time. Or when I was fourteen and got my braces off. But even that doesn’t compare. This is different. I feel giddy and powerful, my blood coursing, racing through my veins, filled with an unexpected energy. I feel like I could run for miles; go out to the track and leap hurdles; head to the mountains and hike the tallest peak.
And suddenly, I crash. My bubble of happiness bursts, exploding into a thousand pieces that float away and disappear like sparks from a flame. An eerie silence descends, the familiar prickling moving up the back of my neck. The air grows colder and goose bumps race across my body. My stomach clenches. I take two steps up and look down the hallway. Rick is still in front of his locker, tossing notebooks and papers into his backpack with one hand, keeping his cell phone pressed to his ear with the other. The silence presses down, thick and heavy. My heart begins hammering in my chest, and I fight an onrush of panic. I don’t know what is happening, but something is very wrong.
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