Delicate

by Stephanie Campbell

  “Cool, huh?” Dad says. He smoothes the pleats in his pants. “You kids be careful, don’t be home late, Syd.”

  “Sure, Dad,” I say, but my eyes don’t dare leave Trevor’s.

  Dad leaves the room.

  “We can talk about this in the car,” Trevor says.

  It isn’t a long ride to the restaurant; it’s just across town in Marietta Square. But it feels like we should have crossed a state line in the silence. I don’t typically come to the Square. It’s normally pretty crowded and full of tourists, but even I can admit that the turn of the century vibe, thanks to the Gone With the Wind Movie Museum and other touristy hot spots, have made it a cute addition to our otherwise boring city.

  We walk together past the unique shops that sell everything from eclectic and funky gifts to Asian antiques and sporting goods. With the sight of the restaurant, The Greek Tavern, my heart sinks a little. I’d secretly hoped that we’d go somewhere more on the casual side. But Trevor seems excited, and he hasn’t brought up the show again, so, as usual, I put on my best enthusiastic smile as we’re seated at a blue table with brightly lacquered red chairs. I eye the menu nervously. I have no clue what to order so I pick the first thing that I see that has the word chicken in it, figuring that’s always a safe bet.

  Once we’re seated, Trevor reaches across the table and holds my hand and just stares. I let my eyes wander around the room uncomfortably, and then focus back on his, which haven’t moved.

  “What?” I finally ask him.

  “Nothing at all, you just look beautiful.”

  “Right,” I mumble. I’m so happy that the server arrives with our entrees and interrupts the awkwardness.

  “Okay we have the Chicken Souvlaki for you, miss,” he says, placing the plate in front of me. From the looks of the plate, I’ve made a good choice. “And the Paidakia for you, sir.”

  “My family and I are going out to the lake house for a week next month. Do you want to come with us?” Trevor asks in between bites.

  “Oh! I left my pearls there, I have to get them back,” I say unintentionally ignoring his question.

  “Okay. We can go and get them tonight.”

  “No, I can’t. I told my dad I wouldn’t be home late”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t the extra alone time be well worth it?” he asks suggestively.

  I stare down at my skewered chicken to hide my flushed cheeks.

  “Maybe some other time,” I answer, hoping that he’ll leave it at that.

  “Right, when there’s a camera crew following you. What about next month?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to wait and see how the dates match up with Nationals. And if my dad will even let me.”

  Trevor rolls his eyes in irritation, and that, in turn, annoys me. I can’t help that my dad is different from his parents. They never have a problem with me going to Trevor’s room, or closing the door. They’ve even offered to have me stay the night several times. I’m pretty sure that my dad assumes I’ve never even let Trevor see my bedroom. And as far as gymnastics is concerned, things will quiet down after Nationals. I can afford to take a breather after that, but I’ve worked way too hard to slack off now.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to have to go out with cameras from here on out,” he finally says. There it is.

  “It’s not going to be like that, Trevor. It’s not every time. And I don’t have a choice, they need more material. I signed on to do this—”

  “Yeah, Syd, you signed on to do this, not me.”

  The rest of dinner is full of small talk, and I can feel Trevor’s irritation with me silently growing.

  When we walk to the car, I can’t help but feel guilty for killing the mood of our supposed special evening. Once inside the car, Trevor leans over across the stiff leather seats. He cups my face in his hand and his thumb presses firmly into my chin.

  “I love you,” He says.

  His tone sounds like a dare. Like he’s trying to insinuate that I don’t feel the same.

  I nod.

  “I love you too.”

  He holds my hand tightly the entire ride home.

  Almost too tightly.

  Almost.

  ********

  Despite the awkwardness at the restaurant, the evening with Trevor had ended well and I was feeling so secure about us again, I had a little bounce in my step as I walked across the quad to meet up with him.

  “Morning,” I smile.

  “Morning, gorgeous. You’re in a good mood,” Trevor says, draping his arm around my shoulders.

  “Just happy I guess,” I reach up and hold his hand that’s resting on my shoulder.

  “Do I make you happy?”

  “You make me so much more than happy,” I say. A couple of people scowl as they pass us in the hall.

  “Hey, I meant to tell you, I have your necklace and stuff at my house.”

  “At your regular house?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I drove out last night to get it.”

  “Trevor! You didn’t have to drive all the way out there to get my jewelry,” I say, feeling guilty.

  “I wanted to. I knew how important it is to you. I would’ve brought it to school, but I didn’t want to risk anything happening to them.”

  “No, that’s great. I’ll stop by on my way home from gym tonight if that’s okay?”

  “Absolutely,” he says. When he leans in and kisses me goodbye, I let my lips linger on his. I’ve kissed him hundreds of times before, but now, with everything out in the open, everything with the show and us being together, somehow, I’d never felt closer to him than I do right now.

  Mrs. Drez is collecting permission slips for the aquarium trip when I walk in. Grant is already in his chair, head down, and his nose in another book. His slip is already on the edge of the desk waiting to be collected. I take out my permission slip and hand it to Mrs. Drez as she passes. When she picks up Grant’s, he doesn’t look up. For a moment, I debate whether or not to say something to break the ice with him, but I’m not sure what to say even if I had the nerve.

  Mrs. Drez makes another cycle around the class, passing out our grades for the bathymetric charts. She slides one down the smooth, black table toward Grant and me. We both reach for it simultaneously. I quickly withdraw my hand. Touching is off limits.

  “Go ahead,” I say quietly. He picks up the piece of paper and examines it, then hands it to me. I’m surprised to see that he’s actually looking at me.

  “Good job, partner,” he says with a faint smile. I glance down at the sheet of paper. We got an A, naturally.

  “You should be congratulating yourself, since you’re the one who did all the work,” I say, remembering how I lay comfortably on his sofa while he painstakingly assembled the complex chart. My thoughts drift to him carrying me down the long staircase and I shiver at the memory of his strong arms wrapped protectively around me. He narrows his eyes at me. Did he notice the small chill?

  “I had a good time working with you Sydney,” he says carefully.

  “You know, I enjoyed it, too,” I say. It’s honest. Albeit awkward.

  We stare at each other silently for a moment, neither of us quite sure where the conversation should go from here. Mrs. Drez finally makes her way back to the front of the classroom to announce that we need to pick up our charts after school if we want them, otherwise, they’ll all be recycled. I really don’t have any great desire to hang on to this project, but maybe it’ll be helpful to Quinn next year, or even Maisy down the line. Grant offers to meet me after school to help me get the large map to my car.

  When I arrive at the classroom after school, Grant’s already beaten me there and is leaning against the door frame, holding the large map easily under one arm.

  “Lead the way,” he says with a cheerful smile.

  We walk to my car without talking much. But it isn’t the same complicated silence of intentionally avoiding each other that has haunted us the last couple of weeks. Somehow, things
have changed. Like both of us are just struggling to find the right words to break the ice. I, for one, am too nervous about saying the wrong thing to take a chance. Grant is the braver one, and speaks first.

  “So, how’s gymnastics going? I saw your name in the paper. You’re going to a big competition?” he asks.

  “That’s right. Nationals are coming up,” I say.

  “That’s really great Sydney,” he says. He flashes a genuine smile for the first time in a long time and his eyes light up like they did the night of prom.

  “How about you?” I ask, hoping to continue the small-talk while turning the conversation away from me. “What’s new in your world?”

  “Same old stuff. I’m going out of town for a couple of days.”

  “Oh? Where to?” I ask. “Sorry, not my business.” I bite my lip. Way to overstep, Syd.

  “I’m headed to New York for a few days to see my brother and my dad.”

  “Wow. That sounds nice.”

  “You wanna come?” He asks with a smile. I can’t tell whether or not he’s joking, so I just smile and shrug. But something about his smile says, “I dare you to say yes.”

  Grant loads the map into the trunk of my car and slams it shut. He runs his hand absently across the silver paint.

  “Well, have a safe trip,” I say.

  “Thanks Sydney. See you in a few days.” He turns away from me.

  I’m not sure what possesses me to do what I do next. And even as I do it, I subconsciously know that I’ll regret it. Grant has only made it a step or two away from me when I reach for his hand and pull him back toward me. His eyes smile with surprise.

  “Thank you,” I say. He stares back at me. Surely he knows that’s not all I want to say. “I mean, thanks, for helping me get this to my car,” I add. I drop his hand, and shove mine into the pockets of my jeans. I can’t explain it. I just didn’t want him to walk away yet.

  “Not a problem Sydney,” he says. He tilts his head slightly to one side curiously.

  “It was nice to talk to you again. I’ve…..” I let my voice trail off, knowing that I’m only digging a bigger hole for myself.

  “I’ve missed talking to you too, Sydney,” Grant finishes for me. I feel the heat on my cheeks and that’s my cue to leave. As if there weren’t a million before this.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” he says. He turns away from me again, and this time I keep my hands to myself and let him go. What the hell was I thinking?

  I push myself too hard at gym, hoping to prolong the workout as long as possible. I want to stay in the protective, brightly colored walls, where the outside world doesn’t matter. All that matters in gym is how high I flip and how firmly I stick a landing. These are easy things in comparison to what’s weighing on my heart and mind. I methodically analyze every movement in my floor routine, repeating each step over and over again in an attempt to perfect any possible flaw. Perfection. That’s what I’ve always striven for. Finally, Sam forces me out, saying I’ll be too sore to come back in the morning if I don’t give it a rest for the night. I begrudgingly gather my things and drive to Trevor’s house. I spend the drive trying to convince myself that I did nothing that I should feel guilty about. I was simply thanking Grant for staying after to help me to my car. I shouldn’t be beating myself up over something so trivial.

  Still, when I pull up to the modern two story home, I sit in my car for several minutes before getting up the nerve to walk up to the front door. Trevor answers wearing a pair of loose gym shorts and no shirt. Crappity. His parents are involved in a lot of social events in the community, and I don’t have to ask to know that the dark house behind him means that they’re at some function. He holds my hand and leads me down to his bedroom, which is actually the converted basement. It’s a far different feel from the sleek, Swedish style furnishings of Grant’s bedroom, but really, why am I even comparing the two? Trevor’s room is more what I think a typical teenage guy’s room would look like. There’s a pool table near one side and a large, dark brown leather sofa. The other side of the room houses a flat screen TV with an array of chords connecting countless video game consoles, and his floor is littered with clothes, books, and video game controllers.

  “Sorry about the mess,” he says.

  “It’s fine,” I say. I stare at the floor, not to inspect the clutter, but because I’m avoiding eye contact with him.

  “You’re in a weird mood, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking my slight wrist into his large hand. When he kisses my knuckles, I feel relief course through me. Things are okay. I’m where I’m supposed to be.

  “Nothing, just a long workout,” I sigh. I hope I sound convincing. It was a long workout, that isn’t a lie.

  He sits down on the enormous bed and pulls me onto his lap. His hand presses into the back of my neck as he draws me in for a kiss. The force behind the movement is unusual. Heated. And almost angry. His lips don’t move with the same tenderness they had earlier today. He’s kissing me like he has something to prove.

  I finally pull away from his firm grasp, breathless and confused, and glance around the room awkwardly. What the hell? I spot my pearls on the edge of the nightstand and brush past Trevor to pick them up. I pause for a moment, letting myself admire them and feel a pang in my heart for my mom.

  “Well, I’m beat. I’d better get going,” I say, fumbling with the smooth pearls in my hands.

  “Already?” He asks, stepping closer.

  “Yeah, sorry, babe. I’m just worn out and I still have homework,” I say.

  I close the space between us and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him lightly, hoping that he’ll let me go without a fight. I desperately want to shower and get to bed and have this day be over with.

  But he doesn’t kiss me back.

  “Where were you this afternoon?” he asks. His entire presence has changed like someone’s flipped a switch. Anger blazes across his normally calm face. He grabs at my wrists, not in the normal caress with which he usually touches me with.

  “I told you. I was at gym,” I say. I try to pull back, attempting to ease his crushing grip, but it only hurts worse.

  “Really? Because I saw you with him after school,” he spits.

  “What?”

  It takes me a minute to process what he’s actually accusing me of.

  “Oh!” I say. “Grant? He was just helping me get our project to my car. Because I’m saving it. For Maisy.” I’m rambling, and his grip hasn’t relaxed on my now throbbing wrists. I turn them each way trying to pry myself free, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Trevor, you’re hurting me,” I finally squeak out.

  He still doesn’t release me. It’s not like the too-tight-hand-hold. It hurts. Plain and simple.

  “I thought I made it clear that you were to stay away from him.” The words seethe through his teeth.

  “Trevor!” My anger and fear are both flaring. “We were just talking. Now seriously, let go of me.”

  I pull my hands back with all of my strength, sending the pearls flying in slow motion across the room before crashing to the ground, the necklace breaks instantly. I glare at him with hot tears quickly forming in my eyes. There’s nothing there. No apology. No look of remorse.

  I scramble to the floor to pick up the still intact bracelet and a small handful of pearls that haven’t rolled under the bed before turning back to him. He’s finally stepped toward me with his arms extended. As if his holding me would somehow make things better.

  “You! Stay away from me,” I yell. I rub my sore wrists.

  “Syd, I’m so damn sorry,” he says. He’s still reaching for me. The sight of his outstretched arms makes me queasy. Nothing about tonight makes any sense.

  I grab my keys off of the bed and rush back up the stairs without saying a word. Trevor follows behind me, easily keeping pace as I hurry out the front door. I let it slam behind me, but he’s back at my side as I fumble with my car keys at the driver’s side door.

 
“Please talk to me. I’m so sorry,” he says.

  I open my car door the smallest possible crack and slip in, then lock the doors behind me. I don’t glance up before backing out of the driveway and racing home.

  -Fourteen—

  I don’t sleep well and am already up and dressed before my alarm goes off for gym. I’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to make sense of Trevor’s reaction. He’d obviously seen me touch Grant’s hand. Was what he did to me my payback? Surely he didn’t mean to hurt me like that, though. I’d never seen him so upset.

  My wrists are achy, but I haven’t turned a light on to inspect them yet. Mostly, I’m just devastated about the demise of Mom’s pearls. How in the world could I let that happen to something so irreplaceable? Even if I could find some like them, I would never be able to forgive myself for ruining something so sentimental.

  I beat Sam to the gym for once, so I’m able to have a few more minutes to myself. Once inside under the bright fluorescent lights, I’m horrified at the deep red bruises that decorate my wrists. I quickly fetch my wrist guards and grips from my gym bag and hurry to put them on before Sam comes in. I can’t believe that I’m having to use guards that are meant to reduce the friction with the bar and minimize rips to my hands, to conceal bruises. Bruises from Trevor. Thankfully, they camouflage them well without me having to add any extra athletic tape. If I did that, Sam would freak, worrying that I had some sort of injury. I can’t afford that. I wince as I tighten the Velcro straps of the guards on my swollen wrists.

  Sam comes in just as I‘m prepping the bars with chalk.

  “Good, we need to work on the Arabian double front today,” he says.

  I nod and do a kip to mount the low bar, cringing from the pain. And from his choice of skill.

  I drive slowly to school. I’ve already been up for hours and am exhausted. I’m hoping to miss the first bell and make it to class with just enough time to not have to socialize at all. I’m glad it’s raining lightly; everyone has taken refuge in their classes by the time I drive up. I grab a hooded sweatshirt out of my backseat and pull it over my head, making sure it covers my hands and walk furtively to class like I’m a criminal.