Boys Like You

by Juliana Stone

  Or maybe it was me who had changed.

  I pushed all thoughts of Rachel away and snuck a peek at Monroe.

  Her hair was a mess of inky-black waves, and those eyes were as interesting as I remembered—so light they appeared almost clear—and her mouth…

  Bingo.

  This might not be a date, but she sure as hell was dressed for one.

  My gaze rested there, on that perfect, lush, and glossy mouth, for a heartbeat—maybe longer. No girl put on that glossy shit and let her hair down unless she wanted to look good. And smell good.

  I smiled.

  She scowled and arched an eyebrow.

  “A guy like me?” I settled back in my seat, indicating that she turn left. This would be good, I thought. “Should I be insulted?” I continued, thinking that I kinda sorta was.

  “Don’t take it personally, Romeo, but you’re not my type,” she said, a hint of rasp in her voice, as if there was something caught in her throat. Words, maybe?

  “You have a type?”

  “Don’t you?” she shot back.

  I shrugged but didn’t answer.

  “I’ll bet your type is tall, blond, and tanned, but then, what do I know?”

  That annoyed me. Mostly because she was right. But hey, in my defense, Rachel was a good time in addition to being real easy on the eyes, and she rocked a string bikini like no one’s business. At least she used to. Hell, I’m sure she still did, it’s just not something I noticed anymore.

  She still wanted to drink and smoke weed and party, and I didn’t. Not with her and not with anyone else.

  “And you think this because…” I glared at her.

  She made another weird sound, and I noticed that she gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, eyes straight ahead on the road.

  Shit. This was going to make me look bad. I could lie but that really wasn’t my thing.

  “Yeah, at the moment, I do.”

  “At the moment?” She laughed and muttered, “Unreal.”

  “It’s not what it sounds like,” I retorted, pissed off that she’d managed to piss me off minutes into our non-date.

  “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “Look, I don’t know what your story is, and I really don’t care. In case you forgot, it was your grandmother who arranged this little whatever the hell it is, not me. So get over yourself.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered.

  “Besides,” I continued, feeling a wave of heat rush through me, one that was full of anger. “You’re right about one thing.”

  She slowed down as we approached the city limits. “Oh yeah, Romeo, what’s that?”

  “I do have a type, and you’re not it.”

  “Ouch,” she replied sarcastically, eyes on the road ahead.

  “I can’t imagine with that attitude you’d be anyone’s type.”

  She had no comeback for that one, and I exhaled, sinking into my seat as I stared out the window. I thought that maybe it was going to be the longest afternoon of my life.

  We reached the festival grounds about five minutes later. After Monroe refused to take money off me for parking, we headed into the Peach Festival, one that I hadn’t attended since I was, like, twelve.

  As we headed into the main area, I remembered why. It was for kids. I looked around and sighed. Old people and kids. Lots of old people and kids.

  There was a midway near the back. I could see the Ferris wheel from where we stood, and game alley was set up just in front. Between us and the midway was a huge number of arts and craft booths, and beyond that were food stands.

  “You want something to eat?” I grumbled, wanting nothing more than to end this thing as quickly as I could. I figured if I shoved some food into her and toured the grounds quickly, we could call it a night and be done with it.

  “Sure,” she said. “In a bit. I want to look at the craft booths, if that’s all right?”

  I glanced down at her sharply, but she stared straight ahead. It was then that I realized a few things. She was small next to me, probably five-four, while I was a couple of inches over six feet and still growing. With her pale skin, pale eyes, and dark hair, she really was the opposite of Rachel or any other girl I’d ever dated.

  There was something about her though. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I thought that maybe if I wasn’t so screwed up and she wasn’t such a bitch, she could be someone I’d be interested in.

  Maybe.

  “Oh, look,” she pointed toward a booth. “Rag dolls.”

  I groaned and followed her into the craft center.

  Maybe not.

  Chapter Seven

  Monroe

  “You’re right about one thing. I do have a type, and you’re not it.”

  Ouchie.

  Or at least it would be an ouchie if I cared. Which I didn’t. Not really. I was used to people backing away from me. It was usually in response to me opening my mouth and saying something nasty, which was easy enough to do when your parents were just grateful that you spoke at all.

  I knew I’d been a bitch in the past, just as I’d been right now. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.

  And sure, my therapist told me it was my way of keeping my distance—of avoiding contact, but whatever. For the most part, I preferred to be alone, which was why this whole festival thing was stupid.

  I grabbed my peach sundae and chose a seat as far away from anyone as I could. I didn’t do crowds real well, so for the hundredth time, I asked myself why I had let Gram manipulate me into this evening with Nathan.

  Nathan followed and slid into the chair opposite me and smiled at some girl who shouted at him from the cotton candy stand.

  I filled my mouth with way too much sugar and glanced over to the girl who held hands with a boy as they walked by. Her eyes lingered on me for several seconds, and then she whispered something into her boyfriend’s ear. He turned, nodded at Nathan, and then stared at me for so long I raised an eyebrow and stared right back.

  He smiled.

  She yanked on her boyfriend’s arm and pulled him toward the midway, but not before she got her bitch on, raised her eyebrows in return, and flipped me a mental bird.

  I smirked and shoved another spoonful of sundae into my mouth. I wanted her to know that her attitude didn’t bother me.

  But it did. And that was something new too. What the hell?

  “Why are you here?” Nathan asked as he scooped a good amount of peaches and whipped cream into his mouth.

  “Um, because Gram made me?”

  His blue eyes settled on me, and there was nowhere to hide. He sat back in his chair and studied me intently, his eyes so clear they reminded me of the summer sky. For a moment, I forgot that I didn’t like him.

  He grinned, and I glanced down at my dessert, exhaling hard as a rush of heat rolled through me.

  “That’s not what I meant. Why are you here in Louisiana with your grandmother?”

  Panic hit me—it froze everything inside me—but then I did what I always did. I deflected.

  “Why was your driver’s license suspended?”

  His smile disappeared, and his eyes narrowed in a way that told me everything. His shoulders hunched forward and he frowned.

  “Is this what we’re going to do? Play a stupid game?” He paused and then pushed his sundae away.

  I watched him in silence, and though the last thing I wanted to do was eat, I shoved another spoonful of the melting crap into my mouth. At least this way, I couldn’t open it and make things worse.

  Another shout of “Hey Nate,” slid between us, but he didn’t bother to look up—he just stared down at the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I forced myself to swallow the ice cream—it was either
that or puke—and then I pushed my bowl away as well.

  I was about to apologize, something I didn’t do much of these days, but when I opened my mouth to speak, he glanced up, and the words I was about to say, two simple little words, I’m sorry, died in my throat.

  Nathan Everets looked exactly the way I felt most of the time. He looked haunted. Sort of…broken.

  He pushed a long strand of hair off his face, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can’t drive because I was involved in an accident three months ago. A bad one.”

  “Oh,” I managed to get out. “Look, you don’t have to…” Shit, I didn’t want to do this with him. I didn’t want him to share with me, because then he’d expect me to share back, and there was no way in hell I wanted anyone to know anything about me. Period.

  I couldn’t talk about Malcolm. I couldn’t.

  “I left a party with my best friend, Trevor, and our girlfriends.”

  And yet I was helpless to stop him. Helpless to look anywhere other than into his eyes, because for some reason, the pain that I saw there let me know I wasn’t the only one…

  I wasn’t the only one who hated herself.

  Nathan shook his head, and that piece of hair fell back across his cheek. I found myself focusing on it, watching as it lifted in the slight breeze and tickled the edge of his nose.

  “I don’t remember driving. I don’t remember getting into the car.” He leaned forward now, his voice louder. Angrier. “That’s how incredibly stupid I was. Me. The guy who was supposed to stay sober. Clean.”

  “I drove Trevor’s car down State Route 9, and somewhere between the party and the old Dixon farm, I wrapped it around a hydro pole.”

  He kept clenching and unclenching his fist.

  “I only broke my left pinky finger, if you can believe it, and other than a few bruises and cuts from flying glass, I was good to go. The girls were okay too, a few minor scratches but nothing serious. We were all knocked out, but Trevor…” His voice trailed off and he finally glanced away.

  It was then that I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  “You don’t, you don’t have to…I don’t want to know,” I whispered. And suddenly I didn’t. I didn’t want to know anything about Nathan Everets and this Trevor guy.

  He shoved away from the table suddenly. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I followed Nathan through the crowd, half running to keep up with him, but then maybe he was trying to get away from me. He finally stopped near the edge of the midway, and the sounds, the laughter was so loud that I turned away and faced craft alley.

  We were surrounded by families, by teenagers and kids who were having a blast. They were laughing and shouting, and why shouldn’t they? What was not to like? If you were into peaches, that is. There was every kind of dessert imaginable, rides and games, and over on the other side, I saw a stage with instruments, drums and guitars. So there was entertainment too.

  There was everything that most normal people needed to have a good time. Except I wasn’t normal, and the more smiling faces I saw, the angrier I got.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “I wish they would shut up.”

  “Huh?” Nathan glanced down at me, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression blank.

  “Everyone.” I gestured toward the Ferris wheel. “Everything. It’s too loud.”

  His cell dinged, for the twentieth time, and I snapped. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  Nathan grabbed his phone and glanced down at it.

  I assumed it was his girlfriend, his “at the moment girlfriend,” and I looked away in disgust, my eyes falling upon a cotton candy stand. A little boy who looked to be six or seven was in line for a stick, smiling up at his dad as the two of them waited. When the lady handed him his prize, the vibrant pink color caught my attention.

  For a few moments, it was all I saw. Pink. Fluffy. The little boy.

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and I lifted a heavy chunk of hair and pulled it forward over my shoulder. I couldn’t take my eyes off the treat, and when the little boy dug in, his mouth grabbing for the biggest piece he could get, I wanted to yell at him.

  Be careful. You’ll get that crap in your hair, and then your mother will be mad, and then I’ll have to…

  “Monroe, are you all right?”

  “What?” I shook my head and exhaled a long, shaky breath. I thought of my bed. Of the pills I no longer had. And I glanced down at my wrist, at the single, solitary scar that was there. It wasn’t big and it wasn’t flashy. Kind of like me.

  It was a testament to the real me. The weak part. The part that couldn’t do anything right.

  “Monroe?”

  “I hate it here,” I said quietly.

  Nathan glanced at his cell one more time, his long fingers running over the screen. “If I ask you to take me somewhere, will you?”

  “You’re not some kind of criminal, are you?” I thought of his suspension and realized I didn’t know much of anything about him.

  “Nope,” he answered. “Not the kind you need to be afraid of, anyway.”

  My gaze returned to the little boy whose face was all but swallowed by the large stick of cotton candy, and I knew if I stayed, I would be sick.

  “Sure,” I said and took a step forward, “as long as you promise there aren’t any rides, games, or peaches.”

  Or kids.

  “I promise,” he said as he fell in step beside me.

  For the first time today, I relaxed a bit. “So, where are we going?”

  We were almost to the parking lot when he answered, his voice not only subdued and maybe distracted but definitely sad.

  “The hospital.”

  Wait. What?

  That wasn’t what I had expected to hear. A party maybe. Or an underage club—if they had them out here in the boonies—but the hospital?

  And yet, the sea of happy that existed here at the Peach Festival was so thick I felt like I was drowning. Even though I hated hospitals, I couldn’t deny that, at the moment, they were more my speed.

  Anyplace other than here was where I wanted to be. “Okay,” I answered. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nathan

  I stared at the text again, my heart pounding so hard I was sure Monroe heard it. They’re gone for now. Can you make it?

  Did I want to? Did I want to make it?

  “Turn left at the lights.”

  We passed Sheriff Bellafonte’s car parked next to the bus stop and I looked away, glad that Monroe’s lead foot was relaxing a bit. Up ahead, I saw the hospital, and I told Monroe where to park for free, on Fraser Street just to the right. She pulled in along the sidewalk, and I pretended not to notice when she bumped the curb.

  Foo Fighters were playing on the radio, and the air that blew from the vents was colder than I liked. Guess the northern girl wasn’t used to our steamy summers, but I liked the heat.

  I blew out a long, hot breath, my foot tapping an insane beat on the floor. I was nervous, and I felt like my head was going to explode, but I kept it cool. I had to.

  “Are you going to be long?” Monroe asked.

  She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel, and when she turned to look at me, for one second—for one perfect second—I thought she had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.

  “Nathan?” she asked.

  “Call me Nate,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

  “What?”

  “Nate,” I said again and opened the door. “It’s what my friends call me. Nathan is saved for the parents and everyone else.”

  I rounded the car and stared down at her.

  “So we’re friends now?” she said, her fingers still tapping the steering wheel, tap, tap, tap, in rapid succession.

  “Are you comin
g?” I asked instead, moving back so she could open the door. She hadn’t even asked why I was here or what I was going to do, which I found interesting. I wondered if it was because she was afraid to ask, but then I decided it was more that she didn’t give a crap. She wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type, and I guess that was another thing that I kinda sorta liked about her.

  She wasn’t clingy or needy or begging me for something that I couldn’t give her. It was nice to be with someone who had no expectations.

  Just last week, Rachel had gotten all heavy on me, afraid that I was mad at her about something and that I was going to break up with her. She begged me to tell her that everything was going to be all right, and I gave in.

  But the lie still stuck in my throat, and when I thought about it, I felt sick.

  Monroe glanced behind me, toward the hospital. I’m sure she thought I was a freak. Hell, I probably was. What kind of guy brings a girl to the hospital? A girl he hardly knows? And yet, I needed her. I needed someone, and I guess it sucked for Monroe that she was the only person around.

  “Come on,” I repeated, my hand held out.

  I could pour on the charm. Smile a certain way and lean against the car. Stare into her eyes like she was the most important girl in the world. I knew what girls liked, and I also knew what I could get away with. But I didn’t think any of that would work with this particular girl. Her bullshit meter seemed to be sharp.

  So I waited. And I hoped she couldn’t tell that I was basically shitting my pants at the thought of going in there by myself.

  “You’re weird,” she said softly.

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” I smirked.

  She shook her head, but there was a slight smile around the corner of her mouth, and for some reason, it felt good to know I’d put it there.

  I stepped back, and she opened her door.

  We headed up Fraser to the corner and waited for the light to change. When it did, I grabbed her hand—an automatic thing—and was surprised that she let me.