Swallowing at the knot in my throat, I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. Phone call would be better. Face time would be amazing.
Another minute slipped away. Instead of texting back, Will called. His ringtone purred at me. It twisted a sharp finger in my heart. The video we’d taken that clip from, Will was so bright and happy and thrilled to be talking to me. Now, apparently, he didn’t have time for video.
“Hey,” I said, answering.
“Hey back, what’s up?”
Though it was the middle of the day, I heard what sounded like yet another party in the background. It wasn’t quite as raucous as the one from Friday night. Still, it was obvious it was warming up. Girls laughed, and guys roared their approval. At what, I had no idea. Rubbing a hand against my chest, I tried to smooth away the ache beneath the bone. “Not much. Missing you, as usual.”
“Yeah, me too,” Will said, somewhat distracted. “I can’t talk too long right now. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
It was all falling apart. Just like Grace had said it would. I rolled back on the lawn. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I blocked out the sun and stopped up my tears. “I was wondering about the fraternity thing.”
A hum came over the line. I couldn’t tell if it was Will or just all the sound around him. “What about it?”
“I didn’t know you were going to join one, for one.”
“That’s not how it works,” Will said patiently. “Right now, I’m rushing. It’s gonna be a couple of weeks. Spending a lot of time at the house with the brothers, doing mixers, fundraisers, that kind of stuff. I only get to pledge—join—if they bid for me.”
The tiniest bit of hope sprung up for me. “So it’s not a guarantee? It’s like an audition.”
Will was walking, because the sound behind him changed. It slipped into the distance, and I heard a door shut. My guess from the echo following his voice was that he’d closed himself in the bathroom.
“Kind of? But I have a good feeling about it. I’m a legacy, and you remember Tyler Stackhouse? Graduated last year? He’s a member. He’s going to sponsor me.”
Swallowing a sigh, I let go of that little hope. “I guess I’m surprised. I didn’t really think about you, you know, doing anything like that.”
“It’s a good organization. They do a lot of charity work. Dad said you can’t beat the connections you make in the OTP.”
Forcing myself to smile, I said, “Good luck, then. I hope you get in.”
“Hey, Sare,” Will said. A new, lower note came into his voice. “What’s the deal? Are you okay?”
“Like I said,” I told him, “just really missing you. I can’t wait until homecoming.”
Will went quiet. He seemed to be shuffling in place. I heard footsteps scraping across tile. The sound bounced around him at odd angles. It gave everything a sort of distorted feel, like he was trapped under glass. Or I was.
“Will?”
“I don’t want you to be mad,” he said.
Now it was my turn to stay silent. My panicked thoughts leapt ahead. This was the breakup. This was the part where he told me that long distance just wasn’t working for him. That Hailey shredded her guitar way better than I did mine, and she put out on the first date. Or something. Sucking up the one shred of courage I had in me, I said, “Just tell me.”
Hemming a bit, Will made a few uncomfortable murmurs. “I don’t know for sure yet, Sare. But if they do bid for me, I don’t think I can do homecoming. OTP hosts a charity drive every year right after rush.”
I couldn’t hide it anymore. I wasn’t going to cry on him, but I didn’t have it in me to pretend that was okay. It wasn’t. Sitting up, I drew in a shaky breath, then said, “I’m not happy, Will. I’ve been holding on to homecoming since you left. Since before you left, actually. When were you going to tell me you’re blowing it off?”
Will sighed. “I’m not blowing it off. We can set another date.”
“When?”
Silence. Then, “I don’t know yet. Sarah, I’m actually in the middle of something right now. Can we please talk about this later?”
“When later?”
Hurt and anger collided inside me. I shook with it. I wanted to beat the ground with my fists and slam doors. I wanted to grab Will by the shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses. How could he throw that out there so casually?
That date we made, the first night we made love, the one that convinced you that it would be right to go all the way . . . I just had that penciled in. Sorry! Rain check?
Tension played across the line. When he spoke, it was slow and deliberate. “There are going to be a lot of events coming up. I’ll want you to be my date. There’s the Fall Social that the alumni host, for one.”
“And that’s when?”
“November.”
I could barely breathe. Waiting until the end of September had seemed insurmountable. Now he didn’t want to see me until November?
“Maybe we should talk later,” I said finally. “I have some band stuff I have to take care of.”
“Sarah,” Will said. “I might have a weekend before that. I just don’t know yet. We’re still going to Skype and text—that’s not going to change.”
I didn’t bother to point out that it already had.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Walking into Dave’s garage again was like going home and going to the moon at the same time.
I recognized my surroundings, but I didn’t belong there anymore. I felt like an intruder. I didn’t know how to breathe the air. The couch took up the middle space again. There was an extra guitar in the workbench rack. It practically vibrated with Dave’s essence. This was no longer our space. It was his, exclusively, and I was intruding.
Dread welled in my chest. We had to get through this rehearsal for East River’s homecoming.
Dave nodded toward a plate on his workbench. “Mom made cookies.”
“Thanks.”
Taking one, I bit into it. Savoring salt and sweet, I did my best to make myself at home. The old couch was broken down as ever. I sank into the cushions, in a shape fitted to me exactly. Unpacking my guitar, I stole looks at Dave as he tuned his.
He really had changed his look. Not drastically. It was still him; he wasn’t wearing a costume. But now he wore his clothes with a dark sort of swagger. A little more skin, a more careless roll in his steps. The few good-boy touches, the button-down shirts, the dress shoes, had disappeared entirely. Gleaming with a new sharpness, he was New Dave, sinfully improved.
Because quiet had too much potential, I broke it with a question. “Have you talked to Dany? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.”
Coming to sit beside me, Dave shook his head. It was a slow, sinuous motion that carried through as he pulled his guitar strap on. His blue-gray eyes met mine, sharp with intent. “I didn’t talk to her, no.”
I swallowed my bite of cookie and wished for milk. A giant glass of water. An escape hatch to open under me. Dave and I had known each other for so long, but I couldn’t remember him ever looking at me like this. Like he wanted me and might actually do something about it. It had always been sweet looks, sugar kisses.
He’d always backed off, even though he’d obviously wanted more. What if he’d let himself get swept up—if he’d stopped thinking and let me see this wanton, open desire—would I have wanted him, too?
Before, there had been a puppyishness about it. Like he was keening at the back door, begging to be let in. It was hard to see that and think it was sexy. But now those puppy-dog looks were gone. Now, his gaze was raw and ravenous. It was open and unafraid—he practically dared me not to notice.
Jane’s mouthy warning not to run back to Dave played in my head. Sternly, I told myself I wasn’t running back to him. We were rehearsing. We were a band.
That was it. That didn’t explain why my palms were suddenly sweaty. Rubbing them dry on my jeans, I tore my gaze away from his.
“All right, Dean Whittier said they’re going to have a deejay for two hours. We’re gonna play the hour in the middle so everybody can slow dance.”
It wasn’t like Dave didn’t know that already. We’d signed the contract for homecoming together. The school had given us a list to follow, detailing song content we could and couldn’t use and a bunch of constraints for a band that was seriously unlikely to encourage moshing, slam dancing, crunking, twerking, or other dance or motions deemed dangerous or inappropriate by the administration. Even as I signed the contract, I wondered if they had any idea what any of those things were.
Settling his guitar in his lap, Dave strummed a chord and let the notes hang between us. “Are we going to sing anything new?”
“I figured we’d stick mostly to covers and maybe throw one or two songs from the EP in, in the middle.”
Shrugging, I tried not to notice the way he watched my every move. The way he leaned toward me subtly. Waves of heat radiated from him. Though he sat no closer than he ever had, I was wildly aware of him.
Dave strummed a few chords. Those notes didn’t go to anything in particular, but then he segued into an acoustic version of “Teenage Dream.” It only took me a bar or two to catch up, and soon I was playing lead and singing.
There was a good chance that the line about getting their hands on me and my skin-tight jeans was going to break the contract. But the melody was lush and pretty, especially when it was slowed down and arranged for acoustic guitar. The administration probably wouldn’t notice.
Just as I trailed off the last line, Dave leaned over his guitar.
“About the other night.”
Every part of me tensed. I didn’t want to talk about the other night. I didn’t want to talk about this at all. I wanted to rehearse, and go home, and sit in my music room while trying not to text Will. That’s what I wanted. In my chest, my heart twisted painfully. It was like a hand had gripped it suddenly and rolled it in its fist.
“We have a lot of work to do,” I started.
“I was out of line.”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear. Leaning back to consider him, I tried to read his expression. His face was smooth as ever, his brow furrowed artfully. He looked apologetic, and he radiated sincerity.
It was hard to remember that was Dave’s default expression. It was the reason we’d played in so many over-twenty-one clubs. He had a face that people wanted to trust. That’s why girls weren’t afraid to throw themselves in his path; it was like they instinctively knew he’d never hurt them.
I met his gaze. “Yes, you were.”
“I won’t lie,” he said. “I still have feelings for you. But I’m not going to push it.”
That felt more like Dave. And because I needed music now more than anything, I nodded. I didn’t want to overthink every single thing. Taking his hand, I squeezed it. His fingers turned in mine—rough, where Will’s were smooth. Hard-worked, where Will’s were refined.
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
Slowly, he let his grasp slip from mine. “We should get back to work.”
Singing was easy after that. We found each other in the melodies and the harmonies. After a while, we were even laughing again. Every so often, though, I’d catch Dave unguarded. Watching me, my lips, my fingers. The heat he generated, that was new.
In fact, I caught myself thinking, that was really the only thing we’d been missing before. I’d always enjoyed making out with Dave. But I’d never wanted it to go further than that. With him, just the tips of his fingers slipping against my waist had been more than enough.
Suddenly, there was heat. A spark. I didn’t have to act on it. It didn’t sound like he wanted to. But it swirled in my thoughts nonetheless. What if I just hadn’t been ready yet? What if Dave really had been the perfect boyfriend?
It could have been a terrible mistake to let him go.
~
Will and I cooled off for a couple of days. We still sent those duty texts, but they were clipped and impersonal and we didn’t call once. There were no Skype visits, and we didn’t even flirt on Twitter. It felt like Antarctica between us. I ached in the cold; I only hoped that he did, too.
Then, four days after the disaster call, two dozen Gerbera daisies (my favorites) arrived at my doorstep, with a hand-drawn card.
Will wasn’t much of an artist, rendering us as stick figures under a rainbow. His dark, slanting handwriting spilled a poetic apology down the page. He wasn’t much of a poet either, but that didn’t matter. The PS on the card was perfect. It read, “Because you once told me these were some happy @#(*! flowers. I love you.”
They came just in time for our next date on Skype. But there wasn’t a switch inside me. I couldn’t flip from icy cold and frustrated to ready for my first cam sex like that. Not with just a bouquet of flowers and a cute note. They made me feel better, but I didn’t know if they made me feel better enough. My nerves jangled until dark. I didn’t know if I could do it. If I could go through with it.
Reservations aside, I planned to do it anyway. That’s how things had always worked with Will—I jumped, and he didn’t let me fall. With his roommate out of town for a robotics convention, Will locked himself up with his laptop and with me. I barred my bedroom door and turned the music up so no one would hear.
As soon as his video call came through, I pounded the trackpad a little too hard. I nearly knocked the laptop right off my desk, and I did send a cup full of markers and guitar picks flying. I scrambled after them, so when Will appeared on the screen, I was nowhere to be seen.
“Sarah?” he asked curiously.
Snatching the cup off the floor, I popped back up, blushing. “Sorry, I’m clumsy. And nervous.”
Resting his angular chin on the heel of his hand, he studied me. “Why’s that?”
“Because,” I said. It didn’t explain it, but a vague gesture at him, at me, at the whole situation, filled in the rest. Instead of fading, my blush grew. It had been fun and playful to flash him. This was something else. And things hadn’t been right for a week. I wasn’t ready for this. We weren’t in the same place we had been last time. I wanted to back out, more and more.
Will said, “Well. Funny you should say that.”
“Why?” I asked, wary.
His tone had taken me by surprise. Picking up his computer, the video blurred a little. When it focused again, I saw his room at a new angle. On his desk, candles burned, and on the floor was a blanket. A picnic basket. With a teasing smile, he sat down on the blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Come. Sit with me.”
With a dubious laugh, I shook my head. “What’s all that?”
“I thought about it,” Will said, opening up the basket. He reached inside and produced grapes. Apples. And it was when he pulled out the random wedge of cartoonish cheese that I realized all the food in that thing was fake. Waving the cheese around, he looked up at me. “And I realized, as hungry as I am, I’d never eat this shit.”
Knitting my brows, I still smiled as I allowed, “Okay?”
Will tossed the wedge over his shoulder. It bounced and disappeared beneath Antwon’s desk. Wildly proud of himself, Will leaned in. “Which means, as much as I miss getting with you, I’d rather wait for the real thing.”
I exhaled. All my anxiety burned away in an instant. It was replaced with relief, and infatuation and adoration. Still more proof that Will wasn’t the guy everyone thought he was. In fact, it seemed to me like any other guy in the world would have gone for it. And screen-capped it. And probably shared it with all his friends.
Not Will. And it was proof that he could surprise me—by doing things like rushing a frat, but also by cooking up incredibly romantic schemes. But that I also absol
utely knew him, and trusted him. It made it so much easier to love him. Carrying my laptop back to my bed, I stretched out with it. “I love you, you lunatic. I wish I could just lay here with you all night.”
Will smiled at me in the dark. “We can do that.”
“Can we?”
Holding up a finger to stay me, he disappeared from view. Shifting the computer around, he propped it—on his desk, I think. I heard two quick breaths, no doubt Will blowing out the candles. Then the angle changed, and he moved the screen around until he was centered in the picture, in his bed.
With a lazy arm splayed over his chest, he turned his head to look at me. “There. Let’s sleep together.”
I rolled onto my side. Curling a pillow against my chest, I gazed at Will, so far away. He was mostly shadows with a few streaks of light outlining him. I probably looked the same to him. All blue and black and hazy. But he was there. With me, the two of us together again.
“Let’s not fight anymore,” I said.
Reaching toward the screen, his fingers briefly blotted out the picture. It was like he was trying to stroke my face from a distance. “We probably will. Why don’t we promise to always make up, instead?”
A sweet sentiment. I reached out for him, too, and nodded. “Okay. If we have to fight, we’ll always make up.”
Gentle, Will seemed to search my face. All of the tension peeled away, like we’d found each other again. He looked at me and knew me. I knew him again, and I loved him so much when he said, “We’re meant to be, Athena.”
I kissed my fingertips, then pressed them to the camera. He did the same, and then I settled down in my sheets. “Shhh,” I told Will. “Close your eyes.”
He did as he was told. At least partially. Lips moving slightly in the dark, he murmured to me anyway. “Sing me a lullaby?”
“You’re too old for a lullaby,” I replied with a smile.
“Then just sing?”
That simple request moved so much inside me. Tears sprung to my eyes, but I blinked them back. It was from happiness, from my world shifting back into place.
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