He’d been dancing with girls all night, and his feet hurt. None of them wanted to make out, and when he tried to grind, they pushed him away. He was trying too hard, forcing it. It looked desperate. Now it was late, and the whiskey was nearly gone. Clay tucked the flask into his jacket and burped. “I’m gonna head out. Nothing going on tonight, anyway.”
David nodded.
Clay punched his shoulder. “You gonna be OK, D?”
Another nod. Then a shrug. “Yeah, man. I guess so.”
David sat for a long time on the steps, slowly sobering up. He was blinded when a car turned into the lot, shining its high beams in his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw a familiar houndstooth coat and swath of blond hair crossing the pavement. She was on the arm of a tall guy in a baseball jacket — he looked older, maybe in college. David looked away. If he stood up, she’d see him. He slouched lower, willing himself invisible. Then, just as he glanced to see if they’d gone, he saw her walking over, that prim little stride, heels clicking.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, Willow.”
“Fancy meeting you here.”
“I know, right?”
She looked around. “Where’re Clay and Artie?”
“Not here,” he said. “Who’s that?” He nodded toward the guy in the baseball jacket, who was checking his voice mail.
“That’s Mike,” she said, crossing her arms. “He goes to Clark.”
“Boyfriend?’
“Sort of.”
“Is he gonna mind you talking to me?”
She smiled. “We’re not like that. It’s an open relationship. We’re independent.”
David nodded. “Oh. That’s cool.” It was the coolest thing he’d ever heard. Their age difference had never mattered to him, but now Willow seemed so much older, more mature. Somehow she’d grown up since they’d split, and he’d stayed a kid. It wasn’t fair, but it still gave him a hard-on.
“What are you doing right now?” she asked.
“Who knows. The night is young.” Actually, he was exhausted, but he couldn’t say that. Only high-school kids quit at midnight.
“Do you want to hang out?”
“With him?” David nodded in Mike’s direction.
“No, just the two of us.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Willow clicked back to Mike, her hair bouncing. Mike looked in David’s direction and smirked. David’s cheeks grew hot. What was she saying to him? Oh, babe, don’t worry about him. We used to date, but he’s just a kid. When she came back, she was all smiles.
“You have the Caddy?”
“Sure do.”
“Good.” She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Take me for a ride. Then we can go back to my place.”
Her place. She meant her parents’ house, of course, but when Willow said it, it sounded more adult.
David flew on the freeway. Why not? They were together, Willow and David, the way it was, the way it should have stayed. The two best-looking people in town — it was only natural. How many times had they done this last year? Just zipped all over, taking the curves of 290 at ninety miles an hour, the lights of Worcester flashing by? They drove east toward Marlborough and then turned around and came back. Willow was chatty. She talked about the school play (with a sample of her Cockney accent), her plans for college (she was following Mike to Clark), about how her dad was going to get her a new red Taurus to replace the old white one. It was easy to just listen. This was communicating. This was connection.
“Do you want to come in?” she said when he brought her back home.
“Sure.”
They went in the back door, careful not to make noise — the Wattses were notoriously light sleepers. As they climbed the stairs, David prepared his A-game. They’d probably talk awhile, then get to reminiscing, and he’d say how he’d never found a girl as cool as her, and she’d say she felt the same about him. And then maybe he’d put his arm around her and lean in for a kiss . . .
He was so wrapped up in planning he almost didn’t realize they were already kissing. She pressed him hard against the wall, then dragged him to her room and closed the door.
“Mmm.” She moaned into his mouth.
No talk, no effort. Just bam. Soon they were on the bed. It was hard to get her bra unclasped in the dark, and she had to tell him it was a front clip, not a back. But then he was on top of her, and it seemed like maybe tonight was the night.
“You have to use a condom,” she whispered.
“OK.”
“Do you have one?”
“Uh, no.”
“Hold on.”
The bedsprings whined as she stretched for the little table. In the sliver of light from the bathroom he could see her open the drawer and pull out a plastic square.
“Do you know how to put one on?”
“Yeah, I know. Jesus.”
David tore the plastic (it took three tries — shit, these things were hard to open) and tossed it aside. He rolled the condom down, pinching the tip, like they’d been taught in sex ed.
“Not there. Not there!”
“Jesus, OK. Keep it down. Just . . . show me.”
So this is it, David thought. He felt vague warmth, tightness. Nothing special. Nothing mind-blowing. He started to move his hips. She moved with him, cooing softly. Did they have to keep the light off? It was hard to get off without something to look at. He pictured her face, her naked body. Then he imagined other bodies, doing other, more interesting things. His mind unraveled its own cinematic story line until he was miles away from the bed. It was only then he started to enjoy himself.
When it was over, she slipped away to the bathroom. He had a brief vision of her in the mirror before she closed the door. A moment later he heard the shower running. David pulled the sheets up to his chin. The room smelled like fruit and cigarettes, and like sweat. He was cold.
When the bathroom door opened, his heart leaped. She’d probably want to cuddle, and the thought of her warm body, maybe feeling the thrum of her heart next to his, warmed him.
“All right. You have to go now,” she said. She stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel.
“What? Why?”
“It’s a school night.”
“Don’t you want to cuddle?”
“Why, do you?”
“No. That’s fine with me.”
He put his feet on the floor and started searching for his pants. He realized he still had the condom on.
“What should I do with this?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. I don’t care. Just don’t get it near me.”
David wrapped the condom in tissue and stuffed it in his pocket. In the car he blasted the stereo. Let him wake up the neighbors. Who cared? At home, he flushed the wad of tissue down the toilet. As the water swirled, he remembered you weren’t supposed to flush condoms. What if it floated back and the maid found it? Or his mother? Was that possible? Funny, they’d never said anything about that in sex ed.
He climbed into bed. It felt good to be under his own covers, in his own familiar darkness. He’d had sex. At long last. And months before his seventeenth birthday. Not bad. And it had been great! He reimagined it all: Willow’s writhing body, her moans of pleasure, basking in the afterglow while she showered. It was better to be back in his own bed. The returning champion, the conquering hero. He felt like a man. Solitary. Kick-ass.
David turned onto his side and waited for sleep. When it finally came, he dreamed of a warm body, two hearts beating in sync. Then the alarm buzzed, and it was time for school.
They’d curled up by the cold fire pit. Rose’s internal furnace burned off yesterday’s excess adrenaline, and when Charlie woke the next morning, everything was covered in frost but them. A damp strand of hair clung to her neck.
Charlie got to his feet slowly. Sleeping on the ground had done a number on his back. Dirt and pine needles clung to his hair, face, and clothes. Judging by the sun, it was early, bu
t he would have to run like hell to make it to school on time.
“Rose,” he whispered. Her eyes opened. There was no drowsy blink. Just bam and she was awake, like flipping a switch.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got to go to school.”
“OK.”
“Stay here, and I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“OK.”
A smile passed over her lips, and her eyes flicked shut.
Charlie ran home. He felt light, agile. He leaped over rocks, bounded off roots. If only he’d ever felt this way on the basketball court. He hit the main road and followed it south to his driveway. He edged down to the shore and made his way to the back of the house.
Thaddeus was asleep on the couch. Charlie mentally thanked his father. No questions asked, he’d bought them time and an escape route. He deserved to know everything. But not yet.
He fetched some clean clothes and his backpack and scribbled a quick note on the whiteboard, promising to explain where he’d been. His bike still lay where he’d left it in the driveway. Thaddeus would probably harp at him for leaving it out overnight.
A thought struck Charlie as he pedaled to Saint Sebastian’s. Would Sakora send its goons to school? Would they know to look for him there? The sun was shining, the clouds finally parted. Sakora or no Sakora — whatever happened, he could handle it.
Errant data in Rose’s mind, loosed by the broken satellite connection, was sifting, refiling, searching for a home. In human terms, she was having a nightmare.
She lay in an enormous room. She couldn’t move, her legs and arms felt stiff and dead. In her peripherals she saw bodies. Hundreds of them. Rows and rows filled the huge space. Men in long white coats paced up and down, taking notes. One stopped near Rose, the wispy-haired man, who now had antennae like a hungry moth. There was no warmth in his eyes, only detached observation. He reached down. When his hand reappeared it held something — her heart. It was a hub of intersecting spokes, slowly spinning.
Rose looked down. Her chest lay open. Inside, flashing red lights, gnarled hairs, and a hole where her heart used to be. She couldn’t scream.
Breach detected.
Reinitializing imprint . . .
Please wait.
30% . . . 50% . . . 85%
Imprint established.
David.
Rose sat up, clutching her chest. She was in the woods. The sun was out. Charlie . . . he’d left for school. But something was wrong.
David. The ache cinched her heart. Every synapse, every node in her body rang with it. Being apart from him — it wasn’t just pain; it was malfunction, a sin, a tragedy. Her million what ifs were wiped away.
“No,” Rose said, her voice choked and small. “No, I don’t want to want him anymore. Please!”
She listened, half expecting to hear the voice again. But there was nothing. Nothing but her own feelings. Explosions. Light. Rose wanted to pull her hair out and smash herself against the rocks. Even alone, she was divided. How many times could a mind split before it disappeared completely? Rose closed her eyes and breathed. Please, she thought. Please make it go away.
Something moved in the woods.
Rose’s senses kicked into high alert. The sound came again. Leaves crunched in rhythm — footsteps. A large branch lay in the corner. She grabbed it, feeling its steady weight in her hands. “Don’t come any closer!”
Someone appeared on the top step. A pair of white sneakers with dangling laces. Strands of dark hair waving in the breeze.
“Oh,” the girl said. “What are you doing here?”
Charlie pedaled alongside a trundling bus, dust scattering around his legs. Boys in flapping gray jackets flocked like pigeons toward the statue of Saint Sebastian, the red-tipped necktie still snared on the top rod.
There was no sign of Sakora’s goons inside. The head hall monitor gave Charlie a long dark look as he passed, and made a note on his clipboard. Charlie lowered his eyes and hurried to his locker. He removed the spare jacket and tie he kept there. A trip to the boys’ room to check his reflection (pine needles in his hair) and then to homeroom.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, freak.”
Charlie looked up, but nobody was addressing him. Instead, George Thomas stood over a crouching boy. The boy struggled to collect his minidrives, which were scattered across the floor. One had landed under Charlie’s desk. He handed it back and met the victim’s eye. It was David Sun.
“Thanks,” David mumbled.
Charlie stared, slack-jawed. The pale, washed-out kid crawling around on the floor couldn’t be David. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.
The first bell rang and the designated monitor shuffled in, looking bored and ornery as usual.
“All right. Eyes down, boys.”
Charlie plugged Physics 101 into the port. His gaze drifted toward David, who was holding his head in his hands, looking miserable.
“Sun. You awake?” The monitors had no mercy.
“Yes, sir.”
David typed his password and continued to stare at the floor.
“Nuvola, eyes on your assignment.”
“Sorry.”
But before Charlie turned away, David looked up. It wasn’t just exhaustion in his eyes, but something else. A deeper hurt.
No, Charlie decided. You couldn’t do what David did and still care. You couldn’t throw someone away like an old toy, rip their heart out, leave them completely alone in the world, and then act like you missed them. It didn’t work that way.
“What are you staring at?” David said.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Nuvola!” the monitor snapped.
Charlie had no trouble looking away now. He never wanted to look at David Sun again.
At lunch he overheard some boys talking about Companions. One of them, tallish with a hawk nose, drummed on the table as he spoke, bobbing his head to music only he could hear.
“You know, they shock you if you try to grab ’em.”
“Yeah,” said one with close-cropped red hair. “That’s what I heard.”
“What good is a sex doll you can’t have sex with?” said a third, Luther Drake, who Charlie knew from the basketball team.
“Not even like blow jobs and stuff?” said Hawk-Nose.
Luther shook his head. “Naw, man. Think about it. If they shock you for slapping their ass, just imagine. I heard there was this kid over in Auburn who had his pecker fried.”
“Bull.”
“I shit you not.”
Charlie sipped his Coke. The conversation turned to local politics.
“You at Clay’s party on Friday?”
“For a while. You?”
“Yeah.” Hawk-Nose snorted. “Hey, did you see that piece David Sun was with?”
“The redhead? From Canada?”
“I thought she was from Maine.”
“Whatever, man. I’d fly to the North Pole to tap that ass.”
There was general laughter. Charlie began to pack up his things. “Man, she’s too good for him, though.”
“Yeah, that girl’s even out of Sun’s league.”
“Not surprised she cheated on him.”
Charlie dropped his change. It rattled across the floor, quarters teetering under the table.
“She cheated on him?” said Hawk-Nose. “How you know?”
Luther shrugged. “David told Clay and Clay told Butkus and Butkus told me.”
“Crazy.”
“Went down on some guy at the party, I guess — speaking of beejes. David walked in and was like, ‘Bitch, we’re through.’ He left with some lacrosse chick.”
“Daaamn.”
“Hey, Charlie,” Luther said. “You all right, man? You eat something funny?”
“Guy looks like he’s about to boot.”
Charlie gathered himself and made for the exit. The cold air was like a smack in the face. The wind chilled the moisture gathering in his eyes.
Rose was bette
r at imitating humans than she knew.
“You’re David’s girl.”
Rose lowered the branch. “Becca?”
“Only John calls me that. He knows I hate it. It’s Rebecca, actually.” She smiled, pleased to be remembered. “Are you going to hunt for dinner with that?”
Rose stared at the branch and let it drop. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Are you OK? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No. I’m fine,” Rose said, straightening. “I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling very well.”
“Tell me about it.” Rebecca brushed off an iron beam and sat. “Seriously. What’s up?”
“I think there’s something wrong with my brain,” Rose said honestly. “I’m feeling several things at once, but they don’t make sense together. In fact, they’re opposites.”
The other girl nodded. “Sounds like you just got dumped.”
“Dumped?”
“Yeah, dumped. Like, someone broke up with you. Your relationship ended.”
“Oh. Yes. That’s what happened.”
“David, right? I told you that guy was a player.”
Rose said nothing. Rebecca flicked a leaf off the edge of her seat and watched it float to the ground. “I guess I’m going a little crazy, too.” She smiled weakly. “That’s why I’ve been taking some personal days.”
A breeze rolled through the clearing. Rose thought back to the night she met Rebecca. She’d thought the other girl had lost her boy. Maybe she’d been right.
“How do you do it?” Rose asked.
“Do what?”
“How do you . . . switch boys?”
Rebecca didn’t reply. The two girls sat listening to the wind in the trees. Then Rebecca took Rose’s hand.
“Come on,” she said.
“Where are we going?”
“Let’s go for a ride. You look like you need a girlfriend.”
Rose knew this term and pulled back. “I don’t want to kiss you.”
Rebecca stopped short, then smirked. “Not that kind of girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
“Let’s go.” She pulled Rose toward the stairs.
“But I’ve got to wait . . .” Rose started. “I’ve got to meet someone here after school.”
Girl Parts Page 11
