“What?” I bark. This flusters her again, and Nick glares at me. I gesture for him to take over.
“He’s more bark than bite,” Nick tells her in soothing tones. “But we all care about Charlotte. What’s going on?”
“I know Charlotte would never lie about anything like this, but some girls are jealous of how protective of her you are. How both of you are so careful with her and that maybe now that everyone is older she’s worried she’s losing you, so she made up this story to tighten her hold.” She barely takes a breath through the whole . . . what. Confession? Warning?
“Her hold?” I stare at her incredulously. This conversation is over. Behind me, Nick is thanking Sinclair and telling her that everyone will get their turn with him. That makes me laugh.
“That’s pretty fucking strange,” Nick comments as he catches up with me. “You telling Charlotte, or am I doing it?”
“I’m not telling her jack.” I shake my head. There’s no reason for Charlotte to ever find out about this crap.
Nick frowns. “If we don’t tell her, she’ll hear it from someone else and it’s going to be even more distorted.”
I hit the locks, and we both climb into the Audi that is designated for our use. Dad has told me a hundred times this isn’t my car. He thinks we’re going to end up completely worthless if we are given everything, but since we’re the only ones that drive this car, it seems like an empty lesson. But I get it and I want to do it all myself, have an identity separate from my dad’s.
Ever since I was a sophomore people have been asking me where I’m going to college, but a degree in business has never held any interest for me. There’s a way for me to live up to my dad’s expectations, but it doesn’t involve more school when I graduate.
“No.” I’m emphatic. “She’s got three more weeks here. By the time she gets back from Switzerland, they’ll have moved on to something else. I want her to be able to enjoy her last years at North Prep without this hanging over her head.”
Nick screws up his face but while he might disagree with me, we’re a unit. He’ll back me one hundred percent. “I’ll keep my ears open. If anything changes . . .”
“Agreed. If something changes, then we tell her.”
At home, Nick starts in on his homework and I open my emails.
I’ve made contact with your local recruiter. He’s expecting a call from you. Appreciate it if you’d let your parents know. Don’t like keeping this from your old man.
GP
I send a quick response.
Thanks! I’ll call ASAP. Situation with Charlotte tense. She leaves in three weeks. Will tell them after.
NJ
“Why not tell us now?” I whirl to see Nick standing slightly behind me and obviously reading my emails.
With a defensive shrug, I say, “Because if I tell Mom and Dad, they’ll tell Bo and AnnMarie, who’ll tell Charlotte, and I’m not ready for her to know.”
“Because she’ll go ballistic.”
“Yeah.” I grab the football and throw it to Nick. He catches it, settles back into his chair and tosses it back. This is how we think. “I figured I’d have all this time with her, but with her going away, the most I’ll have is seven weeks. Three now and four when she comes back.”
“If she comes back by then,” he points out.
There’s a little more heat on the return pass I send Nick’s way and he grunts when the ball thuds against his chest. “When she comes back.”
Because if she doesn’t come back by her birthday in May I might not see her until I’m done with Basic. And from there I’ll be shipped out to who knows where.
“I’ll be here,” Nick reminds me.
“But I want to be.” I hold the ball and flip it in the air and catch it myself.
“Then don’t go.”
As if it’s so easy.
“I don’t want to go to B school. I’m not interested in sports like you. Serving like Dad or Bo or Gray did is the right way for me to do something meaningful. Otherwise I’m standing around with my thumb up my ass taking advantage of everything that Dad and Mom worked so hard to achieve.”
“You could do AmeriCorps or volunteer for a year instead of doing something that might end up with you dead. Not easy to protect Charlotte if you’re not around.”
I scoff. “Not gonna happen to me.”
15
At 3:45 pm I get a text from Greta.
u need to talk to ur boy nate. He totes got a rager today over innocent comment.
The text makes me frown because that doesn’t sound like him at all. He’s the patient, steady one. Nick is the hot head. I don’t send her a text back immediately because I’d rather hear from Nate what went down. The phone dings again, but I don’t read it. I just know it isn’t either of the Jackson boys.
It’s hard not to be in classes with them because my whole day consists of eating, sleeping, and working on booklets that are my temporary replacement for classes. I’ve no motivation for doing any of those things. Occasionally, if the weather isn’t too cold, one of my parents will take me out for a walk like I’m the family dog. You faint one time on the elevator, and you’re never allowed out of the house alone.
The one part of leaving that actually appeals to me is the idea that I might have a little more freedom. But for now, I spend most of my time waiting for the boys to get home because that’s when my real life starts.
I don’t rush them, though. They might need to work out, or they might have homework. But every nerve in my body strains toward their side of the building. The walls are too thick and too well-insulated for me to hear the doors slam shut or the thud of their footsteps against the tile or wood floors, but my heart is so attuned to them, particularly Nate, that I know instantly when they arrive home.
I can see them in my mind’s eye jostling each other as they walk down the hall, their backpacks hanging off one shoulder. Nick enters his room first, tosses his backpack on the floor, and flops down into his red and black gaming chair. He’ll play some kind of networked game with kids halfway across the world. He once told his parents that he was learning a second language. It wasn’t a lie either; they just didn’t know the second language was primarily sex words.
Nate follows. He’s slower, the more precise of the two. Or maybe he’s just looking out for Nick like he does for me. Nate is always watchful. He sets his bag on his desk carefully and unpacks everything that he needs to address. In the past, we would have made plans on the way home from school. I’d do my homework and come over. But now I wait.
He must decide I’m more important than gaming or homework because my stomach does cartwheels at about 4:35 pm. He’s coming. I hear him greet Dad and then the sound of a hand slap. That’s probably Dad hitting Nate a bit too hard to remind Nate who’s in charge. But tonight Mom and Dad and Noah and Grace are going to a business function—a party really. They won’t be home until late. We’ll be alone for hours.
I try to suppress my wide grin so that Dad doesn’t have a heart attack when he sees me. There’s a knock.
“Nate’s here, honey,” Dad says through the door. He never opens it anymore, not since that one time when Greta stayed over and changed in the middle of the bedroom instead in my en suite bathroom. It was like she wanted to be seen, which would be utterly gross. I get that girls think Dad is attractive, but please. He’s my dad.
“Okay Daddy!” I throw open the door, and my gaze skips by him and his furrowed brow right to lock on Nate, who is standing slightly behind him at the doorway.
“Mom says you should come over and have dinner tonight. She ordered in Lou Malnati’s for us.”
Lou Malnati’s is famous for its deep dish pizza. The crust is different, almost pastry-like in its flakiness.
“Sounds great.”
“Bring some homework. I’ve got about three chapters of American history to read, along with a biochem quiz to study for.”
The recitation of all Nate’s homework has inverse reactions
from me and Dad. The lines on his forehead disappear, and he turns slightly to clap Nate on the shoulder. “Charlotte has plenty of work to keep her occupied, don’t you, honey?”
“Yes,” I say glumly and go over to my desk and pick up a couple of my booklets. They are mostly full of rudimentary math concepts as well as logic quizzes and memorization drills. The radiation and chemotherapy used to kill the cancer cells in my skull have affected my brain function, so I guess I’m brain damaged. Literally. I hate this, but my doctors say that with time, I should be able to catch up with my peers. With time. Everything is going to take time. I kind of hate that saying.
”Have fun tonight, Daddy.” I give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Your mom will be by in thirty minutes,” he says with a return hug. I trudge behind Nate as we walk down the service hall that connects the two units.
“Think if we move that the new people will want to close this down?” he asks.
“No,” I gasp. “No one’s moving from this place.”
”Charlotte,” he chides. “We aren’t going to live here forever.”
“Why not?” I know I sound grumpy, but the idea that I have to do homework better suited to fifth graders instead of spending time exploring Nate’s fine body has already set my mood to sullen. Now he’s trying to tell me that we aren’t going to be neighbors forever? It’s like he wants me to be grumpy all night long.
“Because we should be somewhere that has a lot of space.”
“We?” I ask, perking up.
“Yes, we.” He smiles down at me, and suddenly I’m happy again.
Nate’s parents say hi to us as we walk down the hallway toward the bedrooms, but we don’t stop. Instead Nate opens the door to his room. After I slip inside, he enters and closes the door behind him.
Taking the booklets from my hands, he tosses them on the desk and then picks me up and tosses me right onto the bed.
“Nate!” I squeal when he launches himself and lands right beside me.
With a laugh, he buries his head into my neck, which causes my entire body to melt and tingle. “Did you really think we were going to do homework all night?”
I bat uselessly at his shoulder. “Um, yes?”
He rolls onto his back but pulls me with him so that I’m tucked next to his body, my head pillowed on his shoulder and his arm is wrapped around my back. His fingers are curved around my waist, and I feel fully surrounded by his warmth.
“Nah, we had the biochem test today. Pop quiz. And I read my history homework during study hall.” He tilts his head awkwardly down at me. “Do you need to study?”
“No,” I state emphatically.
He smiles and then rests his head back against the pillows. “Good. We’ll eat, watch a movie with Nick, and then . . .”
His voice trails off, but I know. I know exactly what that silence stands for.
Finally.
* * *
We do exactly as he says. Nick throws open the door to tell us the pizza is being delivered. Thankfully we are merely lying next to each other as I force Nate to recount any and all North Prep gossip. He says he can’t remember any and looks relieved at the interruption. The pizza, sodas, milk, and water are all set up in the media room. Outside the room, Mom appears to give me a hug and a bland admonishment to be good.
Grace Jackson comes in on a cloud of perfume and gives me a warm kiss on the forehead. Her eyes are glowing with affection as she looks at the three of us sitting on the floor, ready for the movie to start. We’re watching The Outsiders, a movie that was old even when Aunt Grace and Mom went to college. Uncle Noah gestures for Nate to step into the hallway.
“You’ll need these.” She hands me a box of tissues.
“Thanks, Mom,” Nick mocks, ripping the box away from my hands. He pulls out a tissue and dabs away pretend tears from his hazel eyes, a replica of his mother’s. I punch him at the same time that Grace ruffles his hair. He ducks both of us but tips over, causing us all to laugh.
“Love you both.”
“Love you too,” we chorus in unison. He’s still lying on his back, so it looks like he’s saying it to the ceiling.
His mom rolls her eyes and leans down to pat me on the cheek. “Follow your heart,” she says and turns to walk out the door.
“As long as it leads into Nate’s pants.” Nick waggles his eyebrows, but unfortunately for him Nate has returned from the hallway and he delivers a punch to Nick’s arm that sends him tipping backward again. This time when Nick is rolling on the floor it’s because of pain and not laughter.
“Ratdick,” Nate calls him.
“Assface,” Nick returns.
“Pigbreath.”
“Dicknugget.”
“Rumpleforeskin.”
“Fuck knuckle.”
Before Nate can return yet another insult, I shove a piece of pizza in his face. Unrepentantly, he simply takes a giant bite of the pizza and winks at me over the slice in my hand.
“This movie is supposed to be about brotherly love.” I shove another slice toward Nick, and the insults die down as the movie starts.
“This looks like it should be in black and white,” Nick comments.
“With no sound,” Nate adds.
All is well in the world again. I settle back against Nate’s hard chest as we watch the three Curtis brothers fight, fall in love, and die. By the end of the movie I’m making good use of the tissues and even the Jackson boys are looking suspiciously tense.
“I’m calling you Ponyboy from now on,” Nate finally says after clearing his throat a couple of times.
“Better than Sodapop,” Nick retorts.
“No, I’m Darrel,” Nate says. “I’m the oldest.”
“You’d both be Socs,” I interject, throwing my tissues into one pizza box that the boys emptied by the middle of the movie. “Not Greasers.”
“We’d never be Socs, Charlotte,” Nick explains. “No one wants to be Socs, even the Socs.”
With a pointed look around the room, I pick up the box and head for the kitchen. The media room has theater seats and a projection screen that is the size of an entire wall. Ponyboy would just about die if he saw this place.
“Do you think we have too much?” I ask Nate, who has followed me out with the empty bottles and remaining pizza.
“All the time,” he answers. Taking the box from me, he throws it into the incinerator and places the rest of the food into the refrigerator. His words sound so fervent, as if our privilege is something he needs to apologize for.
“I can’t see you being mean to someone who wasn’t as fortunate as you,” I say.
“No, but I want to see if I can make it without the Jackson name or the Jackson money.” His eyes bore into mine with some deep meaning I can’t decipher.
“I believe in you.” I lean into him, and his arms curl around me. He buries his face into my hair, and we stand there, holding one another while the appliances hum quietly in the background. I don’t understand what he needs, so I give what I can—my heart, my faith.
“I won’t let you down,” he whispers, but while his volume is low his words are firm and commanding.
“I know. I trust you.”
He trembles almost imperceptibly in my arms, and I squeeze tight as if I can deliver all that emotion right into his veins and into his heart. Without another word, he lifts me in his arms like I’m a feather and carries me out of the kitchen, down the corridor, and into his bedroom.
“Goodnight, Nick,” he yells out.
“Glove up. I’m too young to be an uncle,” Nick yells back.
I bury my face into Nate’s chest, embarrassed that Nick will know exactly what we’re doing in Nate’s bedroom.
He sets me gently on the bed and crouches down in front of me. Rubbing the inseam of my jeans along my calf, he assures me, “Nothing happens tonight that you don’t want.”
But I’ve wanted for so long, it seems. I’ve always looked up to Nate, always viewed him as the ideal mal
e. I believe we were born for each other.
“I want it all,” I declare. This time I have no embarrassment because it is Nate and this is right. He gives me a slow smile that makes me hot and excited. It’s not exactly the look his mother gets from his dad or my mom gets from my dad, but it’s close enough.
“All right,” he says, and those are his last words for a long time. He rises up and places both arms on either side of my body and fixes his warm mouth on mine. We fall back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. When his tongue slides over the seam of my lips, I part them and am rewarded with a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
Everything about Nathan feels different right now. His skin is warmer and firmer under my fingers. I glide over the curve of his shoulders and then down his back, where his muscles bunch under my touch. The weight of his legs against mine is even better when I part my thighs. He settles between them as naturally as if we’ve been in this position a hundred times instead of only one.
And he is thick and hard against my most sensitive region. My heart trips a couple of times in excitement and even a little fear. But the fear fades with each passing kiss and each caress. His entire body seems propped up by one strong arm bent at the elbow, while the other hand finds the delicate skin at my waist. I shake in response to that small touch.
His mouth breaks away from mine so he can murmur softly against my temple, “We aren’t doing anything that you aren’t ready for.”
“It feels wonderful,” I tell him and seek out his mouth again. When he returns to kissing me, I pull my shirt up higher so that there is more skin for him to touch, and this time it is his body that responds with a tremor.
I never want to stop kissing him, but as his fingers trace along my ribs and move higher until his palm is resting just below my right breast, I think it’s possible that I may never breathe again. When he breaks away a second time, it is so he can kiss my neck and then lower. As his head moves down my body, his hand pushes my shirt higher, until my breast is exposed to the air, to the dusky light, to his hot gaze. And to his mouth. The sensation is so foreign, so delicious, so amazing, my back bows and I clutch at his head. “Nathan,” I say in shock and delight.
The Charlotte Chronicles Page 8
