The Promise of Amazing

by Robin Constantine

  And then the chick from Leaning Tower calling me Mike at the ice-skating rink. That was like some sort of evil synchronicity in action. Seriously what were the odds? That had been easy enough to play off. I hated lying to Wren. From now on there would be no careful wording necessary.

  But Wren . . . she was such a . . . surprise.

  Every time we were together, it was like she revealed a little bit more of herself, and I dug it, the not knowing what to expect. The way she made me laugh. The look in her eyes when she’d let go of my hands at the ice-skating rink, proving she had a wicked side. I could spend all day watching her face change expression. And God, I wanted her up in my room so badly, my body was practically buzzing.

  So I sat there, clueless, trying to figure out my next move.

  Mike Pearson would not be nervous. As Mike I’d go downstairs, tell Wren how hot she looked in her skinny jeans, kiss her until her legs were so weak she couldn’t stand, then lead her upstairs without a second thought. But I wouldn’t be that way with Wren. Couldn’t. This was real. And besides, I wanted to give her something, and being Mike was all about taking.

  Luke had given me the necklace to unload in the spring. It was from a hit I hadn’t been involved in. That’s the way we usually ran it with something personal like jewelry. It was easier to let go of the stuff if you didn’t have a direct link to it. I was supposed to bring it to Lenny, our gold guy through Spiro, but I put it off, tucking the necklace away in the top drawer of my desk, where it stayed, forgotten.

  Until that afternoon.

  It was pretty, unique. A gold chain with a flat charm the size of a dime with the word love inscribed in its center. A ruby teardrop-shaped bead and another even smaller circle with a heart etched into it. Simple. Perfect. Even if it had been stolen. I didn’t know from where or who, so I reasoned that having it in my possession was just like . . . say, wandering into a pawnshop and picking it out. Right?

  And I continued with this train of thought, because I really did want to give her something. Even that morning as I’d raced through the mall, back to the Chrysler, back to Bayonne, swearing never to set foot on Staten Island again, I knew I wanted to make up for it, but how? Flowers? Stuffed animal? Balloon? Yeah, right . . . Here’s a balloon, Wren. Sorry you caught me talking to a hot girl I hooked up with last spring when I was casing her house.

  Nah, jewelry was the better choice. This piece in particular. It said exactly what I hoped to say to her one day, the sort of necklace I’d pick out anyway. With everything that had gone down during my expulsion, Luke would surely have forgotten it. I picked it up again, letting it dangle from my fingers, imagining Wren’s face when I gave it to her. Maybe it was a dumb idea.

  “Hey.” Her voice rang out through my room.

  I flipped the necklace into my palm as I saw her in my doorway. The move did not go unnoticed. She brought her latte to her lips, hiding a grin as she leaned against the doorjamb. I shot up from my bed, shoving the necklace into my front pocket. This had been my goal, to get her upstairs, but the reality of it left me speechless.

  “Sorry. I just wanted . . . is it okay if I’m up here?” she asked.

  “Come in,” I said. She put her drink on my desk, sliding her hands into her back pockets as she looked around the room.

  “So neat. Like your car,” she said, moving past me. “My brother’s room is a mess even when he’s not there.”

  “Yeah, got rid of a lot of stuff after, well . . . getting tossed from Saint Gabe’s. Gave the room a new coat of paint. Seemed like a good idea,” I said, almost embarrassed at the complete lack of something interesting for her to look at. I’d tossed trophies, photos, any reminder of St. Gabe’s, into a storage bin over the summer and stowed it in the basement. My walls were blank.

  “I like the color,” she said, picking up the only picture I had in my room—a photo of me, Ryder, and Grier taken at Jenkinsons’ over Labor Day. I walked toward her, looking over her shoulder.

  “That’s my half brother and half sister,” I said, taking in that summery scent of her hair. My body ached to feel her against me. If I didn’t make some move soon, I’d start foaming at the mouth.

  “Omigosh, look at the grin on her face . . . You must be an awesome big brother,” she said, placing it down on my dresser. I laughed. Awesome big brother. It sounded pretty cool coming from her.

  “How about that Coldplay song you wanted me to hear?”

  “Oh, right,” I said, going over to my docking station to pick up my iPod. My hands shook. I scrolled through the songs, completely blind to what I was doing. What was I doing? The Trojans I’d bought from the drugstore as a just in case practically chanted my name from my side-table drawer. I tossed the iPod onto my pillow and turned toward her.

  “I came up here to clean . . . my dirty clothes from the week are shoved under the bed, and I don’t even own the new Coldplay album. I have no idea why I said that,” I confessed, jamming my hands in my pockets.

  Her face reddened; she looked down. Smooth, Grayson.

  “Coldplay was your corkscrew,” she said.

  “Ha, um, yeah, you’re right,” I said. We stood there, looking at each other. She wanted to be here. I wanted to be here. Why was I so freakin’ nervous?

  Wren brushed away some stray hair from her eyes, reminding me of the first night I saw her. She had no clue what that did to me, how sweet she looked. Like when she’d saved me. Had I known all along that this moment was coming? The eyes I’d been running toward with such fierce determination were wide open, taking me in.

  “Wren,” I said, reaching for her. A soft, sharp plink caused us both to look down.

  The necklace sat splayed on the hardwood floor by her foot. She crouched down to pick it up. Dumb idea or not, the necklace was in play. Neither of us could ignore it.

  “Here,” she said, handing it to me.

  I held it up, the charms dangling in front of her face.

  “This is for you.”

  She furrowed her brow and reached for it.

  “For me, really?”

  “No, for Tiff, for Christmas. I thought I’d run it by you,” I answered, smirking. And when a momentary flash of disappointment clouded her face, I had to add, “Yes, for you, Wren.”

  She gave me a look then, so open, honest, and thrilled, it just about brought me to my knees. I placed the necklace in her palm. Her eyes lit up when she saw what the charm said.

  “Grayson, this is beautiful . . . but why?”

  “Why not? I saw it and thought of you,” I answered. The last not-exactly-a-lie lie I swore to tell.

  “I love it,” she said.

  “Let me put it on you,” I said.

  She pulled her hair away from her neck. I fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds before finally getting it to latch. Wherever it came from, the necklace was Wren’s now. Her hair fell from her hands, sweeping past her shoulders again. She turned to me, holding the charms out from her neck. I raked my hand through her hair. She looked up at me, wrapped her fingers around mine, and gently pressed her lips to the inside of my wrist.

  “I love you.” The words sprang out so fast, so naturally, I hardly knew I’d said them. They hung there, between us. “I know it’s too soon to say that,” I said, touching my forehead to hers, closing my eyes, wishing she’d just say something before I blurted it out again. I could feel the L-word, right on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out, because it felt so good to finally say it—to mean it.

  Wren took my hand and brushed past me, pulling me toward the hall. My mood flat-lined. Jackass. Being here was too much, too soon. Why had I opened my big mouth? She stopped short of heading out, closed the door, and leaned against it. The lock made a loud click as she pressed it down. I laughed. She tugged me closer to her.

  “I love you, Grayson Barrett.”

  I let it sink in.

  My name.

  Me.

  Wren loved me.

  A soft, flirty smile lit up her face.
“Kiss me already.”

  I was in love.

  Me. Grayson Barrett. Head-over-heels-bona-fide-singing-power-ballads-in-the-shower-texting-Wren-24/7 in LOVE.

  Four weeks ago I couldn’t have imagined having this kind of relationship. But that’s how love happens, isn’t it? You’re just minding your own business, tossing hot dogs in your mouth, and bam—you cross paths with a beautiful girl you can’t stop thinking about. I felt high. Everything was different.

  School became less hellish; the prospect of connecting with Wren afterward made the day fly by. I even participated in class, surprising my teachers who didn’t know what to make of the guy who usually slouched so far into his desk, he became one with the seat.

  It was a Wednesday, and the object of my affection had a yearbook meeting. We were getting together at the library after dinner, so I could go over arbitrary angles with her. At least that’s what we were calling it. It was hard to concentrate when her perfect mouth, ripe for a kiss was only inches from mine.

  Naturally good old Sir Isaac and his pesky gravitational law F = mg would have to go and screw it up, since what goes up must come down. I was pretty damn high as I pulled the Chrysler into the parking spot in front of my house, only to come crashing to earth with a thud when I saw Luke sitting on my top step, waiting.

  Reality was such a harsh drag force.

  I took my time grabbing my backpack, closing the door, and wrestling my house key out of my pocket. I’d called him after the Allegra thing, but it had gone straight to his voice mail. I knew that sooner or later he’d want to talk to me about it. I’d only hoped it was later . . . or never.

  “Ah, amor vincit omnia,” he said, standing as I got to the top of the stairs. He was holding some sort of flowered dish and smirking, black Ray-Bans covering his eyes.

  Love conquers all. “Really, why do you say that?”

  “My sources tell me you’ve been picking up a Sacred Heart chick after school, name rhymes with hen. Must be serious. You seem . . . happy.”

  “‘Name rhymes with hen’? Why can’t you just act normal about this?”

  He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “Normal? Really? Grayson, I’m standing here freezing my nuts off with my stepmom’s vegan lasagna for your father, and you’re as whipped as a housebroken puppy over some girl who saved you from choking. I feel like I’m living in a parallel universe. It’s gonna take some getting used to this new you.”

  I decided to cut him some slack.

  “Whipped by choice, my friend,” I said, putting my key in the door. “Not so bad; you should try it.”

  “Ha, I’d rather try this vegan lasagna with a soy-milk chaser,” he said, holding up the dish. I stood between the front and storm doors, poised to go in, wondering when he was going to bring up Allegra and what happened on Saturday.

  “Are you gonna ask me in?”

  “You look like you have somewhere to go,” I answered.

  “Nope, thought I’d swing by, drop this off before heading to Andy’s. I can hang for bit. Remember, like we used to do?”

  “Fine, sure, come in.”

  He followed me. I set my backpack down in the foyer and wandered into the kitchen. Luke opened the fridge, placed the lasagna on the top shelf, and grabbed two Cokes. He tossed one to me and popped his open, taking a long gulp. I leaned against the counter.

  “So what’s up?” I asked.

  “Not much. Coach is still scouting for a new middie, but no one’s got your speed or reflexes, so we’re pretty much screwed without the Raptor,” he said, throwing in Coach’s nickname for me. It stung to hear, something I hadn’t thought about in a while. “It’s a shame Bergen Point doesn’t have a team. That must suck for you.”

  “Yeah, it sucks,” I answered, cracking open my soda.

  “What are you going to do with your gear?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I’d pile it in the yard and host a bonfire,” I said, wanting to wipe the smirk off his face. “Just ask me what you want to ask me already, Luke.”

  He swallowed another sip of soda before answering. “Seeing as how you’re not into our little arrangement anymore, I thought you could use some cash. Maybe sell your gear. But since you seem to think I’m here for another reason, well, okay . . . What happened on Saturday?”

  “Allegra blew me off. I went in, talked to her a little bit, but she wasn’t interested, so I left, called you,” I said. He fiddled with the flip-top tab on his can.

  “Christ, Grayson, you’ve really lost your edge. You can’t lie for shit.”

  I stiffened.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Really? Allegra said it was the other way around.”

  “When . . . how—”

  “What? Just protecting our investment. Had to go in and see for myself. Asked her a few questions, that’s all. Made it totally casual. I think you’re out of your mind to give up tapping that again, but whatever. That house was out of our scope anyway. What I don’t get is why you had to lie. It’s just me.”

  Keys jangled, echoing through the hallway as Tiffany and Pop came in.

  “Luke! It’s so good to see you,” Tiffany said, dropping her gym bag near my backpack and kicking off her sneakers. She padded over to us. Pop followed behind.

  “Hi, Mr. Barrett, Mrs. Barrett,” Luke said, giving Pop a brisk handshake and Tiff a quick peck on the cheek.

  Luke seemed unruffled by our whole exchange. If he had gone to see Allegra himself—why did I have to be involved in the first place? I stewed while Luke, Pop, and Tiff bantered back and forth about the vegan lasagna, Luke not being here in a while, and if his stepmom, Isabelle, was ready for Christmas or not.

  “Luke, stay for dinner; have some lasagna,” Pop said, widening his eyes at me. I knew vegan anything sounded as appetizing to him as chewing on the bottom of his boot.

  “Thanks, but I’m a carnivore, Mr. B,” Luke said, patting his stomach. “Have to get going anyway. I’m trying to get Grayson to come to Andy’s with me.”

  “Go, Gray. Don’t worry about us,” Tiff said.

  “I’ve got something to do later, want to get some homework done first,” I answered, glaring at Luke. “Let me walk you out.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, Luke,” Pop said, grabbing Tiff’s coat and carrying it to the closet while I walked Luke back outside.

  “Something to do later or someone?” he asked, once we were outside. I closed the door behind me.

  “Why are you hassling me if you don’t care about the Allegra thing anymore?”

  “’Cause I think you should come hang out. It’s not the same without you, Grayson. But you’re not really the same, are you? I think you’re too punch-drunk from steady poontang. How is she, by the way? Quiet in the sack too?”

  My fists clenched. Being physical with Wren was so new and . . . private. It took all my self-control not to deck him.

  “Hmm, not sharing. You are in love. You’ll get bored with her, you know,” he warned. “And then you’ll come looking for us, and we’ll be in Amsterdam.”

  “I won’t get bored.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He flipped his shades back on. “Gotta run. Maybe I’ll see you ’round. Tell Wren I said hey.”

  He trotted down the stairs and strode toward his car, a nondescript, black hatchback that Luke’s father told him would build his character. Tell Wren I said hey. He honked the horn as the car rode down the street. Maybe he was just being friendly. Maybe he would come around to the new me. I went back inside, trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling that this was only the beginning of some sort of trouble.

  Something was up.

  He’d dropped the subject of Allegra too easily.

  Luke was a raptor too.

  NINETEEN

  WREN

  SIX DAYS, EIGHT HOURS, TWENTY-THREE MINUTES, give or take a couple of seconds from the moment Grayson Barrett said those three little words. Common sense told me things were progressing way, way too fast, but my heart was e
njoying the ride too much. In over my head? More like drowning and loving it.

  Which was probably why heading to St. Lucy’s to spread holiday cheer felt like a fun, festive thing to participate in, even if I’d been backed into doing it. Afterward I was supposed to go with Grayson to his mother’s in Connecticut. I need you there, he’d said. There was no question in my mind that I would go. Thankfully the parental units approved, but it didn’t stop Mom from grilling me on the car ride to Sacred Heart.

  “Where in Connecticut does Grayson’s mother live again?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know, something with a D . . . Darien, maybe?”

  “Something with a D, Darien maybe,” she repeated. “I’m letting you go out of state with a strange boy, and you don’t even know where you’re going?”

  “He’s not a strange boy,” I said, texting him my mother’s question. “He’s your employee, my friend, and I saved his life. We have a history.”

  “A history? Wren, it’s barely been a month. Aren’t things progressing a little fast? You’re meeting his mother?”

  “She’s having a tree-trimming party, Mom. It’s not like a special dinner just to meet me. And yes, it’s Darien,” I answered, reading Grayson’s text but quickly shutting down the window. The rest of the message was not something I wanted to share, but it made me grin so wide, my mother raised her eyebrows in response. How could he make me blush with a text? Seeing him couldn’t come fast enough.

  “Remember to call me when you get to his mother’s house!”

  “Yes, Mom. Thanks for the ride,” I said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. I slid out, closed the door, and headed for the parking lot, where I could already see a group huddled around Ava. She was wearing a sparkly Santa-hat headband, which looked totally adorable on her flat-ironed style, and she knew it.