The Leaving Season

by Cat Jordan

  He sipped from a paper cup that looked insanely small in his hand, as if he were suddenly a giant in the land of the little people. But it was only a Dixie cup, not a full-size one. He caught me looking at the cup. “They ran out of the regular ones,” he explained. “And now I’m Gulliver in Lilliput.”

  I smiled. That was exactly what I was thinking. I was about to comment, but then I saw the blank look on his face and in his eyes, a vacant expressionless stare that told me he could not care one iota less than he did at that very moment. I felt my grin melt away.

  We stood like that for another long minute, awkward and weird. He was swaying a bit, and I wasn’t sure if he’d had a couple beers or if he wanted to dance.

  I hadn’t ever seen Lee dance. I had no idea if he could. Or would.

  Haley and Brett came at us then, giddily hopping and goofing around. They both looked so ridiculous, but they were having such fun that I couldn’t stop laughing. Beside me, Lee couldn’t resist either; a sliver of a grin pierced his cold veneer. Haley and Brett grabbed us, pulling us out onto the dance floor with them, and then, miraculously, I was dancing with Lee.

  Kind of. He didn’t dance so much as step-touch, step-touch, and his arms sort of swung by his sides. We danced about three feet apart, our attention anywhere but on each other: Haley, Brett, the band, the disco ball, the crowd at the buffet.

  My friends cheered and shouted for more just as the song ended.

  “We’ve got a couple more songs coming up before we take a break,” the lead singer of the band said into his mike. He looked a little like the ’80s himself: spiky gelled hair, oversize shiny sports jacket with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, skinny black pants and sneakers. “So why don’t we slow it down a notch, okay, kids?”

  Kids? Ugh. Even I groaned at that.

  “One, two, three, four . . . ,” he said, off mike, and the band began to play a soft ballad.

  Just as Brett and Haley collapsed into each other’s arms, I glanced at Lee, who met my gaze and then quickly looked away. My cue to leave. But the crowd wouldn’t let me: suddenly there was a surge of slow-jamming couples on the dance floor, squeezing me in place. My back was up against Brett, and my front . . .

  “Excuse me,” Lee said. He was talking over my shoulder as he tried to maneuver around me, but it was nearly impossible. The couples were moving us closer and closer together, pressing us hip to hip, thigh to thigh. My face was inches from the lapel of his jacket, the slightly frayed edge brushing my nose and cheeks as I breathed. I could smell sweat mixed with deodorant, shaving cream with beer, and the sickly sweet scent of the pink punch on his lips.

  I felt his hands on my elbows, guiding my arms around his waist, even as his gaze was far beyond me and the dance floor. I was stunned—after all he’d said on the phone? In the blink of an eye, our knees touched, our legs parted, our hips swayed. The heat between us was undeniable.

  “I know this much is true . . .”

  I glanced around at the couples on the floor: each of them was absorbed in the starry glow that surrounded them; they whispered and giggled, some wore goofy smiles, others were moon-faced and swoony. No one kissed—that was a no-no, along with grinding and twerking and any other vulgar displays—but I could feel the wanting to kiss and the longing to be kissed. It was like a virus being passed from couple to couple. I wondered if it would infect Lee and me.

  “I know this much is true . . .”

  My fingers interlaced at the small of his back, under his jacket. I could feel his heart thundering behind his rib cage and down his spine. My own pulse raced in rhythm with his, and I felt my skin tingle and tremble when he pressed his palms on my waist. From the neck down, we could not have been closer or more intimate, but . . .

  “I know this much is . . .”

  Suddenly he wrenched himself out of my arms and took off, his thin frame easily winding among the couples until he reached the edge of the dance floor.

  Wait, Lee! I thought, but I couldn’t call to him, couldn’t shout his name.

  So I ran.

  I tried not to call attention to myself, tried not to make it appear as if I was running after him. I followed him past the buffet, through the gym entrance, and out the front door of the school.

  As soon as we were out at the semicircle, I called his name. He stopped but didn’t turn around. His arms hung by his sides and he looked off toward the parking lot. Inches from a clean getaway, his body language seemed to say.

  I caught up to him but kept my distance. Fog swirled around the hem of my dress like wisps of smoke. “Lee, I—”

  His cheeks were flush and his eyes red-rimmed. “Leave me alone, Meredith. Leave me. Alone.”

  “But we were just dancing—”

  “Just stop, okay? Tell yourself whatever the fuck you want, but you were not just dancing with me.” He snorted and shook his head. His hands twitched and trembled.

  “Me? You were the one who—”

  “Do you want me to tell Nate you cheated on him?” His voice was cruel and his words clipped.

  I felt my stomach drop to my feet. “I never cheated. We both thought he . . .”

  “And after he came back, after we knew he was safe,” Lee said, “what about then? What about your calls and texts since then?” He pulled his phone out and held it aloft.

  “I didn’t cheat,” I said softly, casting my gaze away from the phone, away from the evidence. My eyes followed the trails of fog that spun around my legs and feet, tangling the lace edge of my skirt.

  “You did and you still are,” Lee replied.

  “You’re wrong. I love Nate.”

  Lee waved his hand back and forth between us. “Then what is this? Huh? What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I . . .” I didn’t know. I heard the words “I love Nate” and I knew they were true—

  I know this much is . . .

  —but I also knew how I felt when I was with Lee. And I knew he felt it too. I lifted my eyes from the ground and found his. For a split second, I saw fear and vulnerability behind his anger. “Lee—”

  Just as quickly, he closed back up. “You’re not supposed to be with me,” he said coldly. “Don’t you get it? The future is you and Nate. So just go ahead and get back to it. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  I started toward him, my hand raised to his chest, but he hopped back and away as if I were on fire, spinning around and out of my reach. I felt like an idiot following him, but he was wrong in so many ways.

  “Don’t, Middie. Don’t make me tell Nate.” Lee shook his head, backing away from me and out of the circular driveway. “I can’t hurt him like that. He’s the best fucking friend I have in the world.”

  “It wasn’t just me. It couldn’t have been,” I said quietly.

  “I don’t love you,” he said. “I felt sorry for you. Nate is the one who loves you. Him. Not me. Him.”

  “Then what are you doing here, huh? Why did you come to a dance you weren’t invited to? Do you normally crash high school parties?” I put my fists on my hips. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You came to our senior party too. Guess you’re just a loser with nothing better to do.”

  He turned without another word and walked toward his Vespa in the parking lot.

  “Wait, Lee, I didn’t mean that!” I watched, unwilling to believe he wouldn’t have a change of heart, wouldn’t at least glance back at me, but he didn’t. The scooter disappeared, its taillights fading quickly in the foggy night.

  I didn’t know how long I stood there, long enough for the fog to re-form in Lee’s spot, replacing him as if he’d never been there. I hugged my arms around my waist, suddenly feeling the cold, and turned back toward the school’s entrance.

  My breath hiccupped in my chest when I saw Nate standing at the top step, his weight leaning against the open door. We stared at each other in silence.

  With every step I took, my heart pounded harder and harder. When had Nate come outside? What had he heard or seen? Inch b
y inch, my mind raced and my thoughts spun.

  Finally I reached the landing and looked at him. He said nothing but stood aside and held the door open for me. Our arms brushed lightly as I walked past him.

  He knows.

  CHAPTER twenty-four

  He knows.

  We returned to the dance, to our table, and not long afterward, left. While I drove, Haley and Brett giggled and kissed in the backseat. After dropping them at Haley’s house, I took Nate home. I tried not to grip the wheel as I steered, tried to slow the pace of my beating heart, but it was impossible. The tension in the car was as thick as the fog outside it.

  What are you waiting for? I wanted to shout at Nate. Say something!

  It felt like a year from the time we left Haley’s until I pulled up Nate’s driveway. With every twist and turn in the road, I thought something would stir within him, jostle him to life, but he remained stoically silent.

  The car rolled to a stop and Nate slowly eased himself out of the passenger side, one long leg at a time. I could tell he was in physical pain, tired from the long night, and he exhaled with a sigh as he stood up. I started to get out of the car, but he stopped me.

  “I’m good,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  But, but, but—

  The words I’m so sorry were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t speak them aloud. I felt like something was stuck in my throat and I couldn’t breathe. As Nate started up the steps of his house, I saw an image of him standing at the school, his eyes on me as I turned away from Lee. It burned itself into my brain, refusing to let go.

  Even after I’d been home for hours, after I’d said good night to my parents, carefully hung up Allison’s dress, and washed my makeup off, I still could not get that picture of Nate out of my head.

  I lay in bed, curled up on my side and face buried in my pillow, cursing myself for what I’d done.

  Tears soaked my pillowcase; I’d screwed everything up. Everything. I had the best guy in the world and I was throwing him away for what? For whom?

  And what was worse, Nate had seen what an awful person I was, how deceitful I could be. I’d hurt him and I’d hurt us. I wouldn’t blame him if he hated me forever.

  For the rest of the weekend, I must have checked my phone about a hundred times every hour, but Nate never called or texted me. I ran the scenario in my mind over and over again, trying to imagine the timing of when Lee left, how close Nate was to us, how quickly he could have gotten outside, and how much of the conversation he might have heard. Each time I did, I came to a different conclusion. It was like living in purgatory.

  So it was a tremendous shock when I got a call from him on Monday morning at our usual time. “Ready to go?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.

  I hustled outside and met him on the road before he could get to my house.

  I did the same thing on Tuesday and on Wednesday, and each time, Nate didn’t speak a word about the dance. He talked about the speech he was going to give in a few weeks, about my grades, about my essay. We made jokes about Emma and her Brownie troop. We wondered how much longer she would idolize him.

  Had I been in some alternate universe on Saturday night?

  Each morning I felt like I was running on weak ice, as if I might slip at any moment and crack through to freezing water. Would today be the day Nate asked me about Lee?

  How about today?

  Or today?

  And when would I have the guts to tell him?

  Never.

  I had to. But I couldn’t. And it ate at me every single day. My stomach cinched up when my phone rang and didn’t relax until long after I was in the shower, until I was on my way to school.

  “Earth to Middie?” Haley called to me on Friday morning, knocking loudly on my locker door. “You awake yet?”

  “Yeah, I’m awake,” I said. I dove into my locker and searched for a clean pad of notebook paper and pens that didn’t leak. I was a little tired, true, and certainly distracted. And so was she: a minute after she’d arrived at my locker, Brett appeared behind her.

  She giggled as he put his hand over her eyes. “Um, is it Ryan Gosling?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Justin Bieber?”

  “Ugh, gross, no!” Brett said and released her. She tumbled backward into his arms and he landed a kiss on her lips.

  I busied myself in my locker, humming to myself and tuning them out. I knew it was hypocritical of me, but their PDA irritated me. I just didn’t want to watch another couple together.

  A moment later, Haley knocked again on the metal door—alone. Brett was gone. “I had to deal with your smoochy-smoochy with Nate for years.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m sorry. He’s a nice guy.”

  “And he’s a good kisser too. Just the right amount of tongue.”

  “Good. I’m glad. I think.”

  Haley laughed. “I don’t know if he’s, like, the one. Not like Nate is for you. But I like hanging with him.”

  I avoided my best friend’s gaze. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I mean, no one’s like Nate.”

  My heart and brain tugged as she said his name again, I wished I could tell her about Nate, but then I’d have to confess about Lee, and there was no way I would do that. I shut my locker and we headed down the hallway, arms locked at the elbow.

  “The formal’s over, Middie! It’s just a few months until graduation.”

  I nodded, but my thoughts were still absorbed by Nate and Lee.

  “Hey,” Haley said, concern in her voice. “You okay? Something you want to talk about?”

  I hoped she couldn’t read everything on my face. I shook my head and tried to smile. “Crazy, you know? Just . . . crazy. Nate and graduation and—”

  “Whoo-hoo!” Haley’s eyes lit up. “Senior year!”

  We arrived at homeroom and Haley and I jostled each other goofily as we tried to enter side by side. “I’m gonna miss you when you’re off at school with Nate,” she said in a voice that was quiet by Haley’s standards. “I kind of feel like I was starting to see a new side of you.”

  I leaned into her. “Yeah, me too.”

  By Saturday night, I’d apologized to Nate in about a million ways, but only in my imagination. He picked me up in his truck without telling me where we were headed, except to say it was a nice restaurant. I chose one of Allison’s pretty dresses; it had a floral skirt that swirled around my knees. I paired it with short black booties and wore my hair loose and in waves.

  Tonight had to be the night to talk about Lee. I wasn’t even sure I could eat if we didn’t get this out in the open.

  The restaurant was a seafood place that was known for serving huge amounts of fish and pasta that people took home in Styrofoam containers. Nate and I sat near one of the many fish tanks; the bubbling water was like a musical accompaniment to our meal.

  Throughout dinner, I sensed something was coming, something horrible. The question was, should I wait for Nate to bring it up or should I suck it up, be a big girl, and do it myself?

  “Middie, I want to talk to you.”

  Too late. This is it. He had a week to think about it; maybe he even talked to Lee. The knot in my stomach tightened.

  He reached under his chair and pulled out a plastic bag. He handed it to me. “Go ahead, take it.”

  I unwrapped the bag and saw the beautiful wooden box I’d given him. The light in the restaurant hit the delicate curlicues and hand-cut metal hinges.

  “I can’t believe you had it all this time,” I said with a gasp. The wood was chipped in a few places and the bottom was slightly bowed, but otherwise it was in near-perfect condition.

  “It was tough to hold on to. I almost left my backpack behind,” he said, as if he too were amazed he still had it. “But I grabbed it when I ran out, and I guess that’s how I was found . . . with it.” He shook his head. “Crazy, huh?”

  I ran my fingers over the design, feeling the swirls and ridg
es as if I were reading Braille.

  “Open it.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Open it.” Nate’s eyes shone.

  I carefully flipped the clasp and used my fingernails to peel apart the top lid. The velvet lining was ripped, sadly, and the box itself was empty. I smiled, remembering all the items I’d placed inside. “Is everything gone?”

  “Yeah, mostly.”

  I felt the loss of the items in the box as if they were my own. And then I recalled the secret hiding spot at the bottom of the box. “Did you find it?” I asked. If he had, he’d know exactly what I meant.

  With a sly grin, he took his wallet out and opened it to show me. Nestled beside a couple of twenties and tens was a triangular-shaped paper, what everyone called “footballs”: blue-lined notebook paper folded into a stiff triangle, ends tucked into one side. It was a “football” because one kid would hold his fingers up on the edge of a desk as if they were a goal post and another would try to flick the paper over with his finger.

  But we also used them to pass notes. One person would write on the paper, fold it, flick it across a desk to someone else who would then write on it, fold it back up, and flick it to the next person. This was a note between me and Nate from when he was a sophomore and I was a freshman. There was something more exciting about an actual physical note than a text. It was more personal, more intimate to feel the paper in my hand, paper we had both touched. I’d tucked one into the bottom of the shade box for Nate to find.

  I took it from his wallet and unfolded it. Almost instantly I began to tear up. The words, in black and blue ink and pencil, began to blur in front of my eyes.

  You look supergood in that sweater.

  I was late to class because of you!

  What time’s the movie tonight?

  I miss you!!!!

  “How long did we keep that one going?” he asked me. “Can you figure it out?”

  I shook my head. “A week? Our handwriting got smaller and smaller to fit on the paper.”