“It's freezing out here. Can I come in?”
“Knock yourself out.” I walk away and he follows.
“Hey, what's your problem?”
I head down to our walk-out basement, which my parents let me take over when friends come, before I say a word to him. “You haven't been around very much,” I tell him.
“I'm here now.”
I'd love to lay into him, but I don't want him to leave, either. “What's the occasion?”
“Just thought I'd say hi. When did I ever need a reason?”
“I guess you don't,” I say, backing down from a fight. Just seeing him makes my knees weak. “Joel and Jess are coming over. Joel has a DVD copy of some concert for us to watch. And Jess made brownies. Want to stay?”
He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocks back and forth in his boots. “Am I welcome?”
Before I can answer, my kid brother comes barreling down the stairs. His face lights up when he sees Ryan, and Ryan waves. Cory comes over, impulsively hugs Ryan. No one can ever predict how Cory is going to act, and today he's excited to see Ryan. I envy his escape into Ryan's arms. By the time Joel and Jess arrive, Cory and Ryan are tossing a ball to each other.
“Hey, man.” Joel looks surprised to see Ryan. “Didn't know you were going to be here.”
“He just showed,” I explain.
Jess gives me an “are you keeping secrets from me?” look and I shake my head. No way.
“Can't I hang with old friends without them freaking?” Ryan asks. He's sounding irritated.
“It's just been a while,” Joel says. “Where have you been? What's been going on?”
I'm glad he's asking and not me.
“Well, I'm here now. How about that DVD? Is it worth watching?”
Distraction. Split the offense. Answer a question with another question. I've seen Ryan use the technique before.
Joel reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a shiny disk. “Bootleg copy, so the quality isn't great, but it's still good.”
I send Cory upstairs and he goes without a peep, and we all snuggle into the beat-up sofa and watch the DVD. I'm next to Ryan and his body heat makes it hard to concentrate on the grainy video. He smells good too, like cinnamon and warm sugar and sandalwood. A man-made male scent that smells grown-up and sophisticated.
When the DVD is over, we talk about the group and their music, then about school. It's Joel who says, “So have you heard if Lori Settles has said yes to Coach Mathers yet?”
“Yes to what?” Ryan is twirling a small cushion between his hands. He stops cold.
“Where have you been? It's all over the locker room. Old Mathers has been asking her out. The poor horny guy.”
“She should go,” Jess says.
“Why should she?” Ryan asks. He's sitting straighter and his eyes look wary, but no one has noticed except me, because I notice everything about Ryan.
“To give the old guy a thrill?” Joel says. “He really has the hots for her. Don't you notice the way he looks at her?”
“He gets all red in the face if she just walks past,” I say. Mathers is the girls' basketball coach. I like the man, but he's under Ms. Settles' spell totally. “He all but drools if they're in the cafeteria together.”
Jess sighs and flops backward. “Is she all you guys talk about in the locker room?”
Joel covers Jess's ears and winks. “I can't say what we talk about where she's involved. Too crude for your sweet ears.”
Ryan stands. “Listen, I got some things to do before Dad gets home.”
“I thought he was off the road.”
“He got held over in Chicago. He'll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
I follow Ryan up the stairs, wishing he would stay. “You want to come over for dinner? I know Mom and Dad would like to see you. And Mom never minds when you eat with us. It's been a long time.”
At the front door, Ryan turns. “Rain check.” He blesses me with a melting smile. “See you in school.”
I watch him hurry away, and wish with all my heart that I didn't love him so much. And that for once, just once, he'd look at me the way Coach Mathers looks at Lori Settles.
Ryan
“Are you dating Coach? How many times have you gone out with him?” We're sitting in Lori's car, in the rain, in front of her apartment. As soon as I left Honey's, I called her, said I had to see her, took a bus to her neighborhood and walked the rest of the way, meeting her at her car. We were supposed to go to “our” coffeehouse tonight, but I can't think of anything except Lori and Coach. I see pictures of them inside my mind, of him doing with her what I want to do with her.
“Mathers? I don't know. Who keeps count?”
“So you are dating him?”
She turns in the driver's seat to face me. “Is this an interrogation? I don't have to account for the things I do with my time.”
My stomach feels as if I've swallowed a hard cold stone. “I—I thought…I was special. That we were special.”
Her expression softens. “We are. Very special.”
Rain is pelting the windows, sluicing in long noisy rivers along the glass, like a knife cutting through my heart. The windows are fogged, moist from our breath and the heat of my anger. Hot wetness swells behind my eyes. I'm acting like a jerk, but I can't help myself. I have to know the truth about her and Coach.
“Ryan.” Lori reaches over, places her palm on my cheek, rubs her thumb across my skin. “Are you jealous?”
I can hardly breathe. Every cell in my body is screaming and on fire. “Of course I am,” I say. The confession hurts like crazy on its way out of my mouth.
“Oh, my dear, precious Ryan.” She leans forward, lifts my face and kisses me lightly on the mouth.
I take her shoulders and kiss her back. Hard, I kiss her, and long. Her tongue slides between my teeth, igniting a fever I can't control. Outside, the rain drums on the glass, giving a rhythm to some primitive force in me that I don't want to control.
Her hand slips onto my crotch, cups the bulge pushing against my jeans and makes me groan. She rubs me and I think I'm going to burst. “Do you like that?” she asks.
“Yes.” I kiss her again, driving my tongue into her wet, hot mouth.
We're both breathing heavily and all I want is her body against mine. I struggle to get closer, but the gearshift pokes me in the stomach. I break our kiss long enough to gasp from the pain.
Her eyes are wide, her pupils large, staring holes in my face. “What do you want?” she asks, her voice low and whispery. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I say.
She opens the door and the car fills with cold wet air. The rain plasters her sweater to her body, showing me every curve in detail. I see the shape of her bra and her breasts. I want to touch her so much it hurts. “Come upstairs,” she says.
I go, not feeling the rain, only the heat from inside my body. She opens the door and for a minute we stand on the rug inside it, dripping wet, shivering. And then her mouth is on mine and her hands are tugging at my jeans. Somehow, I don't remember how, we're in her bedroom and our clothes have come off. We're in her soft bed, and just before I think I'm going to explode, she hands me a foil packet from her bedside table and says, “Put this on.”
My hands are shaking so hard I can't open the wrapper, so she helps. And then the world goes away and there's Lori, only Lori, filling my universe.
Lori
I watch Ryan sleep. The rise and fall of his chest is mesmerizing. The light from the lamp makes his skin glisten. His body is beautiful. I knew it would be. The long muscles of his arms and legs look loose and limber, no longer coiled with energy. His face is serene, no longer brimming with passion and need. I like that look that says hunger on his face. The one that says, “I want you.”
We've been on this collision course for months. From the first time I saw him in my classroom, I knew that, with planning, we'd be at this place where we are tonight. Ryan with me, in my bed.
Tonight, he wanted me, needed me. And I need him, too. He won't believe that if I tell him. He could never know how satisfying it is to have him touch me, his young hands stroking my skin. I rise inside like a surfer cresting on a wave, hovering in the curl, hiding in the blue-green water until the last moment before it breaks and sends me to shore.
Now Ryan sleeps. When he wakes, we'll have to talk about what has happened. I'll console him if he's sorry, which I don't think he will be. Males rarely are.
Ryan
I wake up and I'm confused, disoriented. I see a room bathed in lamplight, but it's not my room. I sit up and see Lori sitting in a chair by the window. She's staring at me. I'm naked and feel embarrassed. “You okay?” I ask.
“Are you?”
I hear a catch in her voice, so I grab the comforter and wrap it around myself, cross the room and kneel beside the chair. I can see she's been crying. “What's wrong?” Instantly I think I've disappointed her, that I didn't do something right.
“Are you sorry?” she asks.
“Are you?”
She smooths my hair. “I will never be sorry.”
Relief floods through me. “Me neither.”
“I—I've wanted to kiss you for a long time.”
“Me too. I mean, I've wanted to kiss you, too.” My head's spinning because we've done a lot more than kiss. Our first time together at the coffeehouse comes back to me, how insecure and inadequate I felt. I don't want to feel inadequate now. I want to feel the power I felt when we were in bed, Lori moving and moaning. I don't know what to say.
“Did I make you happy?” she asks.
“Happy?” I don't exactly know what she means.
“Like other girls you've been with.”
“T-there haven't been others,” I say, but I turn away from her.
“It isn't necessary to lie, Ryan. I can handle the truth.”
“All right.” I tell my story, getting out as much as I can as fast as I can, hoping I don't turn Lori off. “The truth is that I've been close to doing this with a few girls, but that was mostly in middle school when we were playing kissing games and drinking. Once I was shut in a closet with some girl and we heard all our friends telling us to get it on and I wanted to, but she started crying and saying she didn't want to do it for the first time in a closet with a guy who was basically a stranger. So we lied to the others when we came out. I never did anything like that again. I decided to save the sex until I cared about a girl.”
She stares at me for a long time before saying, “Then I'm glad I can be your first.”
“Me too. I'm glad about you wanting to be with me.”
She lowers her head, and her hair falls like a veil around her face. “You don't think badly of me, do you?”
“No way! You're beautiful and I wanted this to happen more than anything.”
She looks up. “Are you sure?”
“And… and I want it to happen again.”
She's been holding her hands in her lap, but now she reaches out and cups my face. “We'll have to be very careful. If anyone finds out—”
“Do I look stupid? Do you think I'll blab this all over school?”
“I hope not.”
My heart is thudding. How can I convince her? “I won't.”
She lets out her breath as if she's been holding it for a long time. “Then we'll have to set up a system so that no one will ever suspect.”
“You're carnivaldaze,” I say, because that's how we've gotten messages to each other about meeting at the coffeehouse. “She can e-mail me anytime. No one will ever know.”
Lori smiles, leans forward and kisses me lightly. “Well, right now I'd better drive you home before you miss your curfew.”
I sway forward on my knees, catch her hands in mine. “Dad's stuck in Chicago. He won't be in until really late.”
She studies me. “Truth?”
“I wouldn't lie.”
She stands and so do I. She hugs me and I feel my heart race. “Then no use rushing off, is there? Come back to bed with me.”
She doesn't have to ask me twice.
Honey
Something's up with Ryan. I don't know what, but something is making him different these days. When I say this to Jess, she rolls her eyes and says, “Why do you think that? He's been doing his own thing since school started. How can he be even more different?”
“I'm a dedicated Ryan watcher. I know when changes are made.”
Jess is so into Joel she wouldn't notice if the sun set in the east. We're on our way to go Christmas shopping in one of Atlanta's trendy boutique areas. Taylor's driving, and now she chimes in with “You need to get over him, girlfriend.”
“I am over him.”
“Sure you are,” my friends say in unison.
“In a romantic way,” I clarify. “I still care about him as a friend.”
“So what changes have you noticed?” Taylor asks.
I know she's humoring me, but still I speak up. “He hardly ever returns my IMs or e-mails. It's like he's never home. No more text messages, either. I have to practically trip him in the halls to get him to speak. It's like his head's in another universe.”
“Joel says they don't hang much anymore either,” Jess offers.
“How can they?” Taylor says. “You two are joined at the hip.”
“We haven't joined anything yet,” Jess says. “You know I'd spill my guts to my best friends if our body parts ‘joined.’ ”
Taylor and I laugh. Jess points, saying, “Parking space alert! That SUV is pulling out. Grab the spot.”
We wait patiently for the Mom-mobile to back out of its diagonal space. Just as we're leaving the car, Taylor says, “Oh, oh! I have dirt.” We wait for her to divulge. “The admin crowd is asking Settles to back down on the sexy clothing.”
“That's going to break some male hearts,” Jess remarks.
I ask, “Who says?”
“My mom.” Taylor's mother is a PTO heavyweight and has her fingers in all things McAllister High.
“I like Ms. Settles,” Jess says. “She's nice and cracks jokes in class. Cuts us some slack on assignments, too.”
“Well, the principal told her to tone down the outfits.”
“They're all jealous because she's pretty and wears heels,” Jess says. “That's a totally athletic-shoe crowd in the front office.”
I don't say anything because I don't like Lori Settles. There's something too nice about her. That, and Ryan thinks she's hot.
“It's the stilettos,” Taylor says. “Who can walk in them?”
We've been walking and talking, but suddenly Jess stops. “Let's try some on.”
We're in front of a high-end shoe boutique. “We can't afford anything in there.”
“We're not buying,” Taylor says. “Just shopping.”
We giggle our way inside, where a saleswoman looks us over, then asks, “May I help you?”
“I want to try on those,” Taylor says, pointing to a pair of black sky-high Pradas. “Size seven.”
The woman's gaze flicks over Taylor's sweater and jeans. It's obvious we're not Atlanta belles, but still she disappears into a back room, emerging minutes later with a box.
“I want to try these,” Jess says, holding up an equally high-heeled shoe. “Size six and a half.”
The woman looks at me. “And you?”
My face gets hot, but I grab a strappy evening shoe and hold it toward her. “Size ten.” She stares at me. “Basketball,” I say boldly. “It makes a girl's feet bigger.”
We laugh together the minute she's gone. When she returns, we try on our selections and Taylor takes a few wobbly steps. “It takes practice,” the saleswoman says, watching us from the ankles down, and for a second I think she's going to throw her body over the shoes to protect them from us.
I feel very unsteady, but brave a brief walk to a floor mirror to admire the sparkly crystal-studded shoes and how elegant they make my feet look. I totally get why Lori Settles wears the
m. They do a lot for a girl's morale.
Once we leave the store, we can't stop laughing. “I have new respect for models,” Taylor says.
“And for Ms. Settles,” Jess adds. “How does she do it?”
We're still laughing when we pass a street vendor with a table full of handmade silver jewelry. “Earring alert,” Taylor says.
“All handmade by me,” a hippie-looking girl tells us.
“Nice,” I say, my eye drawn to a necklace. A loop of silver twisted into a knot dangles from the chain.
“It's a Celtic lovers' knot,” the girl tells me. “Very meaningful for lovers. No one else sells them in Atlanta.”
“Then I'll have to buy these,” I say, picking up a pair of silver dangle earrings with a chip of turquoise. “For my mom. I love her, but…”
The girl laughs and wraps my purchase.
My friends and I shop for a few more hours, then head home. I hide my purchases in a hatbox on my closet shelf, go to my computer and punch up my e-mail program. My heart's beating faster, high on hope that Ryan's sent me an e-card for Thanksgiving because I sent him one—a funny one, naturally. But except for junk mail and a reminder from Coach Mathers about basketball practice starting up on Monday, I have no other messages. I feel let down. Stupid, I tell myself. He doesn't even remember I'm alive.
Ryan
I walk on air for weeks. What happened—what is happening—between me and Lori is like something in a movie, or a dream. My biggest problem is controlling myself. I want to be with her all the time. I want to touch and taste her, have more sex with her. It's all I think about. In the classroom, she treats me the way she does every other student. She never looks me in the eye, though. Too dangerous. As if our feelings will burst out like water from a dam. So I slouch in my chair, put in my time, cut out as soon as I can, go home and stay in my room, sending her explicit e-mails and arranging times to get together.
I never appreciated my dad's work schedule so much. He's gone, and the housekeeper hardly notices me, so I come and go as I please. I usually catch a city bus to Lori's neighborhood and walk to her apartment complex. I forward the home phone to my cell so I'm always available if Dad calls from the road. Lori often serves takeout when I come over, but we don't waste much time eating.
Prey Page 5
