Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1)

by T. Torrest

  That just left Trip and me standing there by ourselves again, recovering from our near miss. Trip took my hand and said softly, “Hey. Come to the party with me tonight, Lay.”

  I looked down at his fingers threaded through mine, not quite believing what I was seeing. “I don’t know, Trip... I don’t want to crash...”

  “You’re not crashing, I’m inviting you. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

  I didn’t know what brought about the change in him, but the last time I’d seen that look on his face, he was standing under my bedroom window after the homecoming dance.

  That was the last good night between us, the unofficial end of our affiliation. I’d spent months after that trying to maintain my distance from him, convince myself that I was better off without him. It seemed impossible, but I had done it. I had purged Trip Wilmington out of my system and gone on with my life. After all that, would I really even consider putting myself in a position to go down that same road all over again?

  You’d fucking better believe it.

  Chapter 23

  THE INNER CIRCLE

  The party was at Heather Ferrante’s house. I think I can count on one hand the number of times she and I had ever been in the same room together, much less held a conversation. I felt like a complete intruder walking through the front door of her home.

  Obviously, everyone else at the party felt so, too.

  I’d been hanging with the “in-crowd” for so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be an outsider. Two steps inside the living room, I was reminded.

  I couldn’t help but notice the unwelcoming looks I was receiving from the Preppy Girls, who didn’t even have the social grace to hide their disbelief at my presence. One of them (they all looked alike to me and I couldn’t remember anyone’s specific name) went so far as to singsong, “Hiii, Trip!” in a misguided, possessive sort of way, while completely bypassing even a polite hello to me. She was obviously the alpha female in her clan- her ballsy attitude instantly reminded me of Lisa- and I figured the rules of hierarchy held true for every clique; nerdy, cool, preppy or otherwise.

  “Hey, Shelly. Hey, girls,” he remarked in their direction. “You know Layla, right?”

  Shelly just gave me the once over and turned back toward her group of lemmings.

  I couldn’t believe it. Was that loser nobody seriously snubbing me? Where did she get off? I didn’t even know her name until a minute ago, and she was acting like I was the social disease?

  It was times like these when I wished I were more like Lisa. She would have instantaneously come up with the perfect zinger to put that little Ally Sheedy right in her place. But because I’m me, I knew I wouldn’t come up with something until thirty seconds after I’d walked away, then have to wait for the chance to use it in retaliation at a more opportune moment. Until then, I could just ignore her.

  Kind of like I’d done for the past seventeen-and-a-half years, I guess.

  I’d been about to write her off as just another jealous nobody with a self-imposed chip on her shoulder...

  ...when I realized that maybe her only problem was that she was just tired of being ignored for so long.

  The rest of her little entourage stifled their giggles after my public snubbing, and I decided coming up with the perfect comeback was unnecessary. I was taken aback by why she would have even cared enough to bother trying to get one over on me- I mean, seriously, who the hell was I?- but it obviously meant a lot to her to have gotten the best of Layla Warren, so I let her have her triumphant moment. If she was going to live such a small life, it wasn’t my problem to deal with.

  Trip seemed oblivious to my Martian status and ushered me toward the back of the house to say hello to our hostess, who was busily setting out some paper plates and napkins along her kitchen counter. Heather practically blushed when Trip kissed her hello, which was pretty funny, considering she’d just wrapped up months of rehearsal as his costar in order to play his love interest onstage.

  Thankfully, she was a bit more gracious than her friends in her greeting toward me. I took the opportunity to let her know that I thought she’d done a great job as Sergeant Sarah Brown. She smiled prettily and asked me if I’d like a drink, her kindness enabling me to loosen up a little and start being myself. I was expecting a dry party, something along the lines of soda and chips, so I was surprised when Heather directed my attentions over to a table set up with bottles of beer, homemade wine and champagne.

  Who says we were the only ones who knew how to party?

  Trip grabbed a bottle of Bud, while I opted for some red wine. He clinked his bottle against my glass (I was dumbfounded to be at a high school party where I could use actual glassware) and we headed out onto the deck.

  Nathan Detroit was on his way back into the house, but stopped to shake Trip’s hand and offer his congratulations. He proceeded to prattle on about the performance, hardly acknowledging my presence. Since I hadn’t taken part in the play, I didn’t have much to offer by way of conversation, and spent my time sipping from my glass. After a few minutes, I was surprised to find that it was empty and excused myself to go refill it.

  I bumped into Roger Vreeland from the AV Club and I was grateful to see a somewhat familiar face. “Hey, Rog,” I said.

  He gave a quick glance over his shoulder before answering, “Oh. Hey, Layla.”

  I took a swig of my drink and asked, “What are you doing here? You weren’t in the play, were you? I’m pretty sure I didn’t see you up there.”

  He kept shifting from one foot to the other, and it appeared that he was embarrassed to be seen speaking to me. “No. I, uh, I helped with the set.”

  I started to get the impression that the whole theatre club had enjoyed having Trip all to themselves the past months, and the general attitude seemed to be that they didn’t appreciate having to share him with someone from his old crowd again. I was being nice enough to everyone, but apparently, only Trip was being treated like an actual human, probably because he had temporarily become one of them.

  Even though I thought Roger was being uncharacteristically rude, I decided to let him off the hook. “Oh, that’s cool. Everything looked really great. Okay, see you later!”

  I went back out onto the deck, giving Trip the excuse to wrap up his conversation with Nathan, who departed without incident. He headed back inside, leaving Trip and me truly alone for the first time in five months.

  I leaned against the railing, took another swig of wine and tipped my head back to take in the night air. It was a gorgeously balmy night and I was with a gorgeously elated companion. Trip was practically floating all evening, high on his performance. I hoped that maybe at least some of that euphoria could also be attributed to the fact that he was there with me.

  He leaned into me, gave me a nudge, smirked, and asked, “So... how are you liking your first theatre party?”

  I laughed, knowing he was teasing me with one of the first things I’d ever said to him, back in September, waiting in line for the bathroom at Rymer’s party.

  I put my glass on a nearby table and mugged his same pose from that night; hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heels, and saying in a deep, midwesterner’s accent, “It’s cool. Ever-one’s bein’ reeeally cooool.”

  “Jesus, do I really sound like that?”

  “Yes. That’s what you sound like exactly.”

  That made him laugh, and in spite of my better judgment, it felt great to know that I still had the power to crack him up.

  I was starting to feel the effects of the wine, but I probably would have been just as drunk off of my present company. After months of avoiding him, I’d almost forgotten what a drug Trip Wilmington could be. I’d almost forgotten how his grin made this great dimple appear in his left cheek, how his smile reached all the way up to his beautiful, blue eyes. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have him all to myself, the comfort of having him there to talk to, the way we didn’t need to talk at all.

  I was curio
us to ask him about a million things: I didn’t know why he’d suddenly started talking to me again, I was interested to know when he’d decided to be in the play. I wanted to hear about the rehearsals, and what he possibly did in order to play his part so incredibly. But I didn’t want to rock an already unsteady boat. We were hanging out for the first time in months. I didn’t think hitting him with the Spanish Inquisition would go over too well.

  So, I asked, “Hey! How’d hockey season go?”

  He grinned that lazy, half-lidded-eyes smile at me, making my stomach do a little flip. “Pretty well, actually. We kicked ass all over the state and almost clinched a spot in the nationals, but blew it at the last minute.”

  “Aww, man.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. It sucked.” He tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage pail and added, “But the coach was awesome. He actually asked me to be a part of his MVP team in the fall. If I join, I’ll get to travel all over, meet pro players and stuff.”

  “Wow. Are you going to do it?”

  Trip gave a shrug and shot a sham dirty look at me from the corner of his eye, which always managed to turn my insides to mush. “Still thinking about it.”

  I downed the last sip in my glass, and Trip offered to go get us another round.

  I stood and looked out over the back yard, smelling the sweet, night air and feeling the tingly, numbing warmth of the wine taking effect in my legs. It was surreal, being there with Trip, picking up right where we had left off, wherever that was. I decided that whatever was happening, I wasn’t going to rack my slightly alcohol-impaired brain trying to figure it out right at that minute.

  It was hard to concentrate on anything other than watching Trip walk out of the house anyway- dressed sharply in a tan Henley and black slacks and grinning in my direction- because the sight was even more intoxicating than the drinks he was holding in his hands.

  He placed them on the table, and gave a check over his shoulder before offering, “I just saw Vreeland trying to hit on Shelly Markham.”

  “No way!”

  He came over to me, leaning his face close to mine. I shuddered at his nearness, feeling the delicious sensation of his breath at my ear as he added, “She turned him down flat.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  We both cracked up, then Trip grabbed my glass and handed it over to me. I took it, saying out the side of my mouth, “Whatrya trying to get me drunk tonight, Chester?”

  I took a sip through a giggle and then realized he wasn’t laughing, just standing there staring at me, holding his beer frozen in midair halfway to his lips. My brain did an automatic rewind, and when I hit play, I realized what I’d just said.

  I looked at him wide-eyed, until the most obnoxious “PPPPHHHFFFFFTT!” escaped from my mouth and I doubled over laughing, Trip still looking at me thunderstruck.

  He finally lowered the beer bottle and laughed out, “Are you kidding me? How the- How did you... Wha- Are you freaking kidding me?”

  I didn’t think I was going to be able to take my next breath; I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “Oh my God! Trip! I can’t believe I just called you that. I-“

  “How in the hell did you know that?”

  I managed to get my breathing under control, fanned myself with my hand and then steadied myself against the table. “Okay, lemme just... Whoo! Okay. I’m okay now.” I took a sip from my drink (as if I really needed one at that point) and confessed how I’d seen it on his driver’s license way back on the day he filled out his application to work at Totally Videos.

  “Are you serious?” He asked, looking at me like I’d just found the cure for cancer. “Do you know that I’ve managed to keep that under wraps in every school in every city I’ve ever lived in?”

  “Yeah. I figured as much. Am I the only one who knows?”

  He shook his head, still in disbelief that I had managed to sleuth him out. “Ho. Ly. God. Layla Effing Warren! Unbelievable. You know I have to kill you now to keep you silent, right? I mean, seriously. I have to end you now. So what will it be? Death by Manilow?”

  I put the glass back on the table and found it took a little more concentration than necessary to stand back upright. I hoped Trip didn’t notice, but I was definitely getting a tad tipsy off of the wine. “Firthst of all,” Shit. Was I slurring? “my middle name is not ‘Effing’.”

  Trip totally sniffed me out, realizing that I was definitely feeling the sauce. “Ya okay there, Lay-Lay?”

  I dismissed his question with a wave of my hand. “And B...” I continued, “I kep that little tidbit of information to myself for...” I started counting on my fingers, Trip smirking at my impaired math skills. “...eight whole months! I didn’t tell anyone. Not even you.” At that, I poked a finger into his chest, adding, “So there, pal.”

  Jesus. I was definitely drunk. How the hell did that happen? I guessed my immunity was only built up against cheap beer. Either that, or homemade wine packs more of a punch than storebought. I was only on my third glass!

  But there was no stopping me now. “Thirdly... Oh, hey! Doritos!” I spotted the bowl of chips on the very table I’d been using to prop myself up and popped like three or four into my mouth before continuing. “I happen to wike Bawwy Maniwow-” (tortilla chips spraying from my mouth) “-and Mandy is the best song in the history of music! So there!”

  Without thinking, I picked up my wine with a flourish, intending to punctuate my rebuttal with a dramatic final sip, when Trip intercepted my glass on the way to my lips with a, “Whoa there, pardner. I think it’s time to cash in our chips.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Layla. You’re defending Barry Manilow with a vengeance. I wouldn’t exactly say you’re ‘fine’.”

  I resisted the urge to belt into “I Write the Songs” and instead let Trip lead me out of the party.

  On the way through the living room, I saw Shelly, still sitting on the sofa surrounded by her entourage. I broke from Trip’s grasp and walked right over to her, pointedly interrupting whatever lame conversation she was in the middle of.

  “Hey, Shelly,” I said, loudly enough to cause her to flinch. She looked surprised to see me there and I could practically see her feathers ruffle. I put a genuine smile on my face and said, “It was good to see you again. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

  Shelly looked genuinely flummoxed by my friendliness, and was only able to stammer out, “Oh. Okay. Goodnight.”

  Then I addressed the rest of the group. “Bye, girls! Have a good night.”

  I could see the shock on their faces and realized my niceties had sent them into a tailspin even moreso than had I knocked their leader down a peg. Trip didn’t seem to notice as he put a hand under my arm and ushered me out the door.

  Once in his truck, I started to get the spins. Jeez, what the heck did the Ferrantes put in that wine?

  Trip barreled down the road and I thought I was going to toss my cookies. But we managed to make it back to my house without incident.

  He escorted me out of the truck, but I broke free from his grasp in order to make my ritualistic lunge for a leaf off my tree. I guessed drunkenness wasn’t even going to help cure my OCD. On the third try, I still hadn’t managed to nab one and almost lost my footing upon my landing. Trip laughed as he balanced me back on my feet, then jumped up and grabbed one for me, handing it over and saying, “You have problems.”

  Tell me about it.

  He walked me to the house, then asked, “You gonna be okay?”

  I laughed and answered, “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” I leaned against my front door, looking up at his cobalt eyes, watching him watch me with amusement, and just launched in. “Hey- so, I gotta ask you... What was this tonight? Why the sudden urge to play nice?”

  He dropped his head and answered, “Oh, I don’t know, Lay.”

  He plucked the leaf from my hand, turning it over in his own, inspecting it with rapt attention. He massaged the back of his neck with his free hand,
saying, “You know what? That’s not true. I know exactly why.”

  He let out a deep breath, raised his head and said, “I was lying when I said my being on stage tonight was no big deal.” His eyes got this faraway look in them, like he was talking to someone floating over my left shoulder. “Lay, I never felt anything like that before. I can’t explain it. It was... amazing.” He ran a hand through his golden hair, then placed the leaf back in my hand, sandwiching it between his palms. “When I saw you backstage and realized you’d seen it, I was so... grateful. Grateful that you’d come there to share that with me. I knew I missed you, but I’d been so stubborn about it for so long... I don’t know. It... I guess it felt more real having you be a part of it. You know?”

  Actually, I did know. But Jesus, it felt awesome to hear him say something like that to me.

  “I have a confession to make,” I said, warily meeting his eyes, watching as he waited with baited breath for me to say something, anything that would validate him spilling his guts. “I didn’t know you were in the play until the curtains opened.”

  Trip looked crestfallen, so I quickly added, “No, no. I’m so glad I was there, too! It was... It was just such a... such an unexpected surprise.”

  I met his eyes just then, the months of anguish and separation just falling away. He put a hand at my neck, leaned in and whispered, “Surprises are good,” before giving me a sweet, soft kiss on the corner of my mouth.

  Needless to say, my insides turned to mush and my heart threatened to escape from my ribcage, even just from that small contact of his lips against my skin. But even still, I headed inside disappointed. I’d thought there was the slightest chance he was going to actually kiss me, but I guessed my drunken state and Dorito breath weren’t really the biggest aphrodisiacs.

  I leaned against the closed door and took a huge breath, trying to get some air back into my lungs. I grabbed a glass of water on my way up to my room, where there were five messages from Lisa on my machine.