“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.
“It’s grafitti.” He’s trying to blow it off like it doesn’t mean something. But his eyes tell a different story.
“No, it’s more than that.”
“It’s just─”
“CHAR-LIE!” Someone calls for me from outside and I look to find Darin and Mr. Bartlett hollering through the street, peeking in windows of not yet open businesses.
“Oh jeez.”
“Who’s that?”
“My friend. He─”
“Looks worried.” Heath watches as the two grow closer to the record store.
I’m not ready to go yet. I want to ask him what made him come outside and help a girl he’s never met before. And why he’s got that scar on the side of his neck. I want a closer look at his tattoo and I want to know how many girls he’s kissed before.
Would he have tried to kiss me if we’d had more time together?
Would I have minded?
I don’t think I would have.
“You better get out there before they call 911.” He seems amused but cautious. And before I can say anything else, he opens the door. He puts his thumb and middle finger between his lips and lets out a loud whistle that most of the tri-state area probably hears.
Disappointment engulfs me, but I force myself up and I walk through the door. Darin and Mr. Bartlett are practically here. Ten feet away, actually. And when Darin sees me, he’s visibly relieved, but then he sets his attention to Heath.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, dude?” He steps up and pushes Heath, who barely moves, then takes his spot next to me again. Protective as always.
There’s not a single sign of aggression in Heath. He clearly doesn’t find Darin threatening.
If I’m being honest, I don’t find Darin threatening, either. It’s who he is. It’s what I love about him.
“I’m getting Charlotte back to her group. That’s what I’m doing. Dude,” Heath announces.
I whisper up to him, “Only my mother calls me Charlotte.”
And he peeks down at me with a scowl. “Well, now your mother and I both do.”
“How do you know her name?” Darin asks, then looks at me like a disappointed father figure. “How does this guy know your name, Char?”
In an effort to diffuse things, I smile at Darin. “Long story. Look, no harm, no foul. I was just asking Heath about some of the records in his store. That’s all.”
No sense in rehashing what happened with Z. It’s over. That’s the important thing.
“Well,” Mr. Bartlett chimes in. “No harm done. But Charlie, you really shouldn’t have wandered off like that.”
Really? Where was he a half hour ago when I was cornered in the alleyway?
I put aside my annoyance with Mr. Bartlett. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought it would be a quick sweep of the street and then I was going to catch up. It won’t happen again.”
He gives Heath a judgemental look, but in the end, he’s simply glad it all worked out okay. “All right, well, we need to head back to school and get our hours logged.”
“Oh, um, okay.” I tuck some stray hairs behind my ears and turn to Heath. “Thanks again. I─”
He shakes my hand and grins this time. He really has the nicest smile.
“Not a problem. Come by anytime.” He’s only being nice, but I blush at his invitation.
It’ll never happen anyway. Even if he did want me to come back. There’s no way mom and dad would let me come down here on my own and even with Darin with me, well...that’s not happening either.
“Okay.” I smile back at him, then join Darin and Mr. Bartlett and head back for the van.
Halfway down the street, I hear Heath, calling after me.
“Hey, Charlotte!”
I turn and walk backwards. Why does he insist on calling me by my full name?
“You really a black belt?”
I laugh, and I’m sure I’m turning red. “No.”
He nods and smiles wide. “I didn’t think so.” Then he disappears into the store and lets the door close behind him.
“Black belt?” Darin wonders.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him as we get into the van. It’s healthy to keep some things secret. I don’t have many with Darin. We’ve known each other since we were four years old, playing soccer at the local YMCA. He knows how traumatic pimples were for me, when I got my first period, and how completely awkward my first kiss was. He knows my reaction to Brad Keeling asking me out for the first time ever back in tenth grade.
But Heath… I want to keep him for me and me alone.
SATURDAY AFTERNOON
A half hour van ride back to school, and I’m still thinking about the boy back at the record store─with the angry eyes and artistic hands that saved me from a fate worse than death in some minds. My own for one. How he smiled down at me, and took my hand, and how he briefly showed me a small part of who he is before we were so rudely interrupted.
I’m plotting out reasons I would need to return to the Rapids but can’t think of a single one that would be approved of by my parents.
“Hey, girls!” My ex, Brad Keeting, appears at the door to the van in full lacrosse garb, as we park. He’s sweaty and muddy and all the cheerleaders visibly swoon over him as he pulls the door open, extending a hand to help me out.
He sees Darin, clearly, but still has always referred to him as a girl because he’s always been part of my posse. He even attends most of our girls’ night out functions. Brad says it because he’s secretly insinuating that Darin is gay.
Brad thinks it’s funny.
Darin’s not a big fan of Brad.
So what if he is gay, anyway?
“I’ll meet you inside, Char,” Darin tells me, and I feel horrible that he’s letting Brad get to him once again.
For a split second, I want to slap Brad’s hand away. I’m still angry about the way he acted last weekend around all his buddies.
You see, he thought it was appropriate to call me a catty bitch because silly me, I expected him to call me if he needed to cancel a date, as opposed to simply not showing up because he’d rather go out and party with his boys. Essentially, he left me sitting at the corner cafe for hours waiting to hear something from him.
Head cheerleader and long time nemesis, Jane Stanton got a big kick out of it all. Me sitting alone on our anniversary dinner night, and the name calling.
Instead of getting physical, though, I simply ignore him and his stupid hand. I can get out of the van all by myself, for crying out loud.
“Aw, come on, babe. You still mad?” He says it with the most annoying arrogance. And the cheerleaders all make a grand gesture of it. Being that their leader hates me for whatever reason, they, in turn, hate me as well.
“You can take me by the hand, Brad!” One of them yells over. Meanwhile, Jane stands there. Her smugness oozing, even from twenty yards away. It’s enough to make me want to make up with him right here and now. But I, unlike other immature people in this school, am not petty.
“It’s not just the standing me up, Brad. You know that right?” I search his eyes for the boy I met three years ago. The one who walked me to my locker between every class and insisted on carrying my books and called me every night. The one who existed before making the varsity lacrosse team, or scoring more goals than anyone else in the school’s history.
The one who wasn’t an asshole.
“You’ve gotten awfully high maintenance in your old age, Char-Char.” he jokes as we walk toward the main building but he knows I really hate it when he calls me that. It’s stupid.
Maybe he’s right, though. Maybe expecting to be treated respectfully by the person who claims to love me is a bit much. Maybe I shouldn’t let it get to me when he slaps me on the butt as his friends walk by, or tell me I’m too uptight when they witness me asking him not to do it.
Maybe I should give in and have sex with him─I mean it has been three years. And ever
yone else seems to be doing it.
The problem is, when I look at him, I don’t swoon like the cheerleaders do. I don’t wish he’d kiss me by the lockers anymore. I don’t really even care that we didn't do anything special on our anniversary this year. I’m bothered more by the fact that he doesn’t care if I am upset or not.
Which is why I broke up with him the next day.
Only he doesn’t seem to understand that we’re broken up.
“Brad,” I stop and turn to him. I take him by the shoulders. I look him straight in the eyes. “Do you remember our conversation last week?”
“Uh.” He looks confused. He most likely thinks I asked him to do something and he can’t remember, which is basically typical.
“We broke up. Remember now?”
He stops searching his brain records and relaxes. Then laughs it off.
“You’re forgiven, babe. I know it was just a temporary lapse of good judgement.” He leans in to kiss me and I back away.
Really?
“Listen very carefully, Brad. Okay?” He slowly pulls back into an upward position. “It wasn’t a lapse of judgement. I don’t want to go steady anymore.”
He thinks some more and tilts his head. “You um… you on your period, babe?”
Oh my god.
I roll my eyes and start walking again. Only to be stopped short for the second time today.
His tall frame and familiar glare brings an unexpected smile to my face, as he leans against the post with yet another toothpick between his teeth. I’m drawn to him immediately. Only, “What in the world are you doing here?”
I force my mouth to stop smiling, as Heath pushes off of the pole and picks up something off of the ground. He extends it toward me. “You left this at the store.”
My backpack. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d left it.
God help me if I’d gone home without my books or phone.
“How did you know where to find me?”
I’m totally smiling again.
Stop it.
He points to the van. “Not a huge secret where Cresthill is located.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Brad asks, all of the sudden at my side like a protective cougar. It’s not as sweet as when Darin does it. He looks utterly ridiculous in his lacrosse outfit, trying to be possessive with the boy from the Rapids.
“I’m Heath,” Heath tells him, then turns his attention back to me.
“Everything okay here, black belt?”
“Black belt? Seriously, dude?” Brad grabs my backpack like a vicious psychopath and shoves at Heath. He barely moves more than when Darin shoved him earlier. It’s literally like people are shoving a wall.
A very tall, dark, and broody wall.
I’m so embarrassed right now. He’s probably thinking what a pain in the ass I am for having all these boys in my life that like to shove him, but he doesn’t show it any more than he showed the tension between him and Z earlier.
“Brad, you’re being rude.” I find my voice and interject, taking a stance in front of Heath. “This is my friend. And he’s driven all the way here to return my backpack so…”
“What’s up, B?” Great. Some of Brad’s lacrosse buddies have noticed the conversation and are now butting in where they don’t belong.
“Just some hick dumb ass getting all up in my girl’s face,” he advises them. They start taking off their pads and helmets, dramatically, dropping them along the way.
He doesn’t even know Heath. How can he be such a jerk? And how could I have not noticed what a jerk he is until just recently? It infuriates me that he’s acting like he owns me or something. Like I’m property and Heath is less than a person simply because of where he’s from.
“First of all, Bradley Graham Keeting, I am no longer your girl. As of 11:34pm last Saturday evening.” That was when I called and got his voicemail and told him I was done. “Secondly,” I point over at Thing One and Thing Two behind him. “You all need to mind your own business.”
I give them all my best bad-ass volleyball stance to let them know I’m not budging on this. When Brad’s buddies give up, he has no choice but to follow suit. That doesn’t stop him from tossing my backpack to the ground as a message of some sort.
Once I’m convinced they aren’t going to turn around and try again, I face Heath.
“I’m so sorry, that was─”
“It’s all good, Charlotte.” Heath tells me in a low voice as he puts a hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to calm down. “I was leaving anyway. I’m glad I found you and got your stuff back to you.”
I try to come up with a smooth way to ask him to stay this time when Heath’s eyes narrow down at me. “You wanna come with?”
He holds his hand out and my mouth falls open.
He wants me to leave campus.
He wants me to leave campus… with him.
I silently tick off all the things I still need to do.
Get inside and fill out all my volunteer hours.
Check in with mom.
Get a paper started that’s due this week in U.S. History.
Study for multiple tests.
Not to mention I need to practice my spikes this afternoon.
“I’d love to.” I grab my backpack, take Heath’s hand, and I don’t look back. I’m too afraid that if I do I’ll second guess my decision.
I don’t even let myself worry over the fact that he’s led me to a motorcycle.
Motorcycles are dangerous.
So is Heath Gooding.
In fact, this is the exact scenario my parents have always told me to avoid. Stranger danger and all that jazz. For some reason though, right now, I don’t feel like I’m in danger.
SATURDAY NIGHT
“Where exactly are we going?” I yell to Heath, saddled behind him on the motorcycle, twenty minutes later. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to ask that before I hopped on the back of the bike of a boy I barely know, but hindsight's twenty-twenty, I guess.
He points ahead of us, only I have no idea what that means. I’m unfamiliar with this part of town. So I try to simply enjoy the ride while it lasts.
I’ve already been enjoying it. A little too much if I’m being one hundred percent honest.
I mean, I can’t sit on the back of this bike without holding on tightly around Heath’s waist now can I? And I’m kind of forced to lean into him, so where else am I supposed to put my head but against his shoulder?
It’s kind of peaceful, actually. Nothing to think about; no one to talk to. No one to answer to. There’s just the trees and leaves that are beginning to grow back, the road, and us.
Another ten minutes of driving and we’re in a familiar setting.
The Rapids.
They call the area that Heath lives this because of the river that runs along the edge of town. It’s sort of an unofficial border between the “right” side of the tracks, or river in this case, and the “wrong” side. At least that’s how most people view it.
We come to a stop just before the bridge that crosses over and I’m confused.
Heath takes his helmet off and hangs it from his handle bar. As he slides off of the bike, so do I. He helps me remove my helmet and sets it on the seat. His calloused hands smooth my hair and he peers down at me.
He smirks. “Follow me.”
Heath takes my hand and guides me to a spot down the river, in between a few huge oak trees that look as though they used to have a swing attached to them, based on the worn ground between them.
“Aren’t we going into town?”
“Nope.”
A slight worry begins to seep through my veins.
Why aren’t we going into town? And why is he taking me so far away from the road?
My breathing shortens.
This is it. I’ve made mistake number two for the day. And this one’s worse than the first.
Going on a motorcycle ride with a boy I don’t even know! What was I thinking? And now he’s going to murder me in
the middle of the woods and throw my body into that river. No one will ever find me.
I’m done for.
When Heath stops and turns on me, I’m frozen. It’s like earlier today in the alley all over again. I’m trapped.
He points at me. “That’s your problem, right there, black belt,” he says with that knitted brow and tense look again.
Huh?.
“What?”
“You panic. You can’t panic.”
“What do you─”
“When someone comes at you. You need to assert your dominance. Be fucking fierce. If I reach for you, stop me.”
“I─”
“Like this.” He grabs my arm with one hand and takes my hand in the other. “You wanna hit me where it’s gonna hurt the most; so be sure to swing as hard as you can.”
He pulls my hand up and comes down right at the bend in his arm where his forearm meets the elbow.
When he lets go. I understand.
“You’re giving me… a lesson?”
“I think you need one, don’t you? I mean damn, you handled the jocks back at your school well enough. But you know them pretty well, right?”
I nod.
“Right. But you need to be like that with the people you don’t know, too.”
I breathe easier. This all makes sense now. He’s not going to kill me. He’s trying to help me. The scared little rich girl from Cresthill needs life lessons in handling roughians that she crosses paths with.
He’s also not interested in you, stupid.
I let out a nervous laugh. Embarrassed I thought this was anything but charity.
“Um, thanks.”
“Okay, I’m gonna grab for you again, and you’re gonna do it yourself, okay? Then we’ll move on to the next step.”
Next step? This isn’t going to be enough?
Great.
“Okay.”
He grabs for me and I swing my hand like I’m swinging for a kill on the court. It’s slams down onto his arm. And it does nothing. Which pisses me off. So we try again. And again and again.
I’ve been through this before, learning a new skill. I’ve spent hours practicing serves so I can put it where I want to, and weeks upon weeks understanding the best way to block a ball. I can do this.
What the Heart Wants: An Opposites Attract Anthology Page 29
