Dangerous Boys

by Abigail Haas

  ‘No plan.’ I hugged my knees up to my chest, toying with the chipped blue polish on my toenails. ‘I like history, maybe psychology. I’ll see once I get there. But enough about school and Haverford.’ I looked over. ‘You’re supposed to be distracting me from all of that.’

  Ethan laughed. ‘I didn’t realize, is that the deal?’

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘It’s why I agreed to go out with you tonight.’

  ‘Well then.’ Ethan gave me a sideways look. ‘I’d better not let you down.’

  We saw an action movie in the end, filled with enough brutal fight scenes and bright explosions to send all thoughts from my mind for a couple of hours. I relaxed, adjusting to Ethan’s presence beside me, solid in the dark, and when he reached over to take my hand, just as the trailers ended, I didn’t pull away. Instead, I curled my fingers through his, feeling the warmth and slight dampness of his palm. My heartbeat sped, faster, as if my body were detached from my brain, feeling each shift of motion in his body and the light press of his thigh against mine with an unfamiliar rush.

  He was watching me. I could tell out of the corner of my eye, glancing over under the guise of reaching for the soda. The lights from the screen danced across his face, blue and white; his jawline smudged with stubble, hair now drying with a faint curl. His eyes met mine, and I quickly turned back to the movie, tilting my head so my hair fell, a curtain of privacy between us.

  In the dark, I felt his breath quicken, half a beat.

  I was still. I knew what was coming, felt the intention from his body even before his arm slid over the back of my seat and he slowly leaned in.

  I turned my face up to meet him as his lips found mine. He tasted of salted popcorn and sweet bubblegum, was almost tentative as he parted my lips and slid his tongue deeper into my mouth. I listened to the roar of gunfire on-screen, and kissed him back.

  Ethan drove me home and put the truck in park. We kissed for half an hour there, Ethan’s hands, clutching at my sweater; my body, pressed against him, until finally he detached himself, catching his breath.

  ‘I should go.’ He pulled away, running one hand through his mussed-up hair. He looked disoriented, breathing fast, and I felt a curl of satisfaction to see his usual easy calm so flustered. I leaned over the gear shift to kiss an experimental line along his jaw.

  ‘So go,’ I murmured, reaching his ear and biting down gently on his lobe. He flinched under my touch and I felt a flash of power.

  ‘I have an early start tomorrow,’ Ethan protested weakly.

  ‘You can go anytime you like,’ I smiled. I hooked a finger over his top button and tugged him down to meet my mouth. ‘I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘You’re dangerous.’ Ethan let out a chuckle, and then he was kissing me again, cradling my face in his hands, slow and deliberate.

  They were goodbye kisses, I could feel it, and with them, my panic began to rise. I hung on to his shirt, feeling the house loom behind me, dark and too still. I wanted to stay, exactly where we were: locked in the front cab of his truck with the music playing low and the engine humming behind every kiss. I was safe here, warm in his arms with the cocktail of adrenalin shivering in my veins, but when I got out of the truck, the night would be over. The temporary, carefree bubble I’d been living in would burst and I’d be left standing on my front step again, back in the cold, sharp darkness of my real world.

  ‘I really have to go.’ Ethan pulled away again, his voice apologetic. He cupped my cheek, a regretful smile. ‘Believe me, I’d stay here all night if I could, but I’ve got to be on the site before the rest of the crew. I can’t cut any corners just because I’m the boss’s son.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ I mustered a smile. I pulled my sneakers back on and tugged my sweater down. ‘I . . . I had fun tonight. Thanks.’

  I reached for the door handle.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Ethan said, catching my hand and pressing a kiss into my palm. ‘I have a meeting tomorrow, but we could go out Friday night. And I’ll come by the diner, try and catch you on your lunch break.’

  I paused. I hadn’t been thinking about the future, only tonight. ‘Ethan . . .’ I started. ‘Just because we hung out this one time—’

  ‘I know, I know, you’re leaving.’ Ethan cut me off. He flashed me a grin. ‘But you said, you had fun, right? So let’s have fun again.’

  I wavered, still feeling the breathless shiver of attraction in my bloodstream. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll see.’

  ‘I’ll call you.’ Ethan released my hand. ‘Tomorrow. It’s a date.’

  ‘It’s a maybe,’ I warned him, climbing down.

  ‘You can play hard to get all you like,’ Ethan joked through the open window. ‘But I know your secret.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I smiled, amused by his confidence. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You want me.’ Ethan winked, gunning the engine and driving away, leaving me alone on the dark sidewalk. I watched him go, headlights disappearing into the black night, until there was nothing but the sound of crickets and the glow from the security light at the Mayhews’, one house down, and my own heart, beating just a little faster in my chest.

  I turned and slowly walked up the path to my front porch, letting the laughter and fun of the evening dissolve into the crisp night air. I paused, listening through the door. Every time I turned the key in the lock now, it was a question. What would I find on the other side?

  Tonight, it was silence again. I exhaled the small breath of hope and closed the door behind me, heading straight upstairs to my room. There was a pale strip of light shining from under Mom’s door, but I didn’t stop. I knew it would just be the lamp I’d left on for her. She hadn’t even got out of bed to turn it off before she went to sleep.

  I went to my room, closing the door tight behind me, but I couldn’t stop the chill creeping around my shoulders. What would happen when I wasn’t there to switch her lights on and off, fix her dinner, and coax her into the shower?

  My phone buzzed. I checked the message. Ethan.

  Sweet dreams xo

  I hugged my phone to my chest. One more date. Where was the harm in that?

  ‘Honey, I need to take a look at you now, is that OK?’

  The brassy, middle-aged nurse looks familiar, but they all do; faces from around town and the hospital, all those days I waited here for a ride after school, and then, later, the appointments with Mom slumped, glassy-eyed beside me.

  Now I’m the unresponsive one, wordless, looking down the corridor they took him last. I can still see his body, terrifyingly still in the midst of all the chaos. Splayed, unmoving on the gurney, his eyes shut and his limbs draped like a broken doll; his chest burned red from the electric shocks, gauze wadded bloody against his wound.

  They hustled him away, through the swing of the double doors, and suddenly, I was left in the hallway surrounded by the litter of bandages and medical wrappers, and the pools of blood, smeared red on the yellow linoleum floor.

  Blood in the hospital, blood at the house. Blood soaked through my T-shirt, sticky on my hands. I don’t know how he’s still alive when it’s all over me, everything inside him draining out.

  Gone.

  ‘Can you hear me, Chloe?’

  ‘She’s in shock.’ The other, younger, nurse speaks up, cinching a strap tight around my upper arm and pressing to inflate it. ‘Poor girl, hasn’t said a word since they came in.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Surgery,’ she replies, clucking through her teeth. ‘Stab wound tore clear through his gut, it’s a wonder he didn’t bleed out.’

  ‘Jasmine! Not in front of her!’ There’s a disapproving hiss and then the older nurse pats my shoulder gently. ‘There, there, honey, they’re doing their best to help him. He’s going to be just fine.’

  They’re silent after that, busy checking me over: fussing over the long cut on my arm, the bruises like a dark necklace at my throat. I sit quietly, barely flinching, even when the sting of alcoh
ol hits my open wounds. They patch on bandages and dab the blood from my face. Then, at last, they take their hands from my body and I can breathe deep again.

  Air rasps in my throat and I double over, choking.

  ‘You got a lot of smoke back there. Take this a moment.’ Jasmine straps another oxygen mask over my face. I accept, relief as sharp as the crisp, clean air that circles through my lungs. I focus on my breathing, in and out, the bright lights stinging my swollen eyes as the women move a couple of steps over and scribble on my chart.

  ‘We’ll be needing photos of the bruises,’ the older nurse murmurs, but not too quiet for me to hear. ‘All her injuries, for the police.’

  ‘What do you think happened?’ Jasmine’s voice is hushed with speculation. ‘It was that Reznick boy, I saw them wheel him in.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘That’s right, they’re brothers. I don’t know his name.’

  ‘I’ve seen them over at the bar over in Portsdale.’

  ‘Drinking?’

  ‘Mmmhmm.’

  ‘Well . . . ’

  ‘Poor girl. She’s just a tiny thing, too.’

  ‘You heard what happened with her mama?’

  I strain to listen, but another orderly comes past, asking about the chart for another patient, and my life is quickly forgotten.

  ‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ The older nurse returns, lifting the oxygen mask away and offering me a paper cup of water.

  I take it with shaking hands, but I don’t make a sound.

  ‘It’s OK, honey, it’s over now,’ she adds warmly. She doesn’t know the half of it. She can’t imagine the truth. ‘You’re safe now. Everything will be alright.’

  I ignore her, watching the bustle of chaos around me: firefighters and the sheriff’s department, patients and staff. I look for clues in their expression, a hint of what’s to come.

  What are they thinking? What have they found?

  I watch them, and wonder if I’ll ever be safe again.

  I woke with a new determined energy. Today would be different; it had to be. I would be gone soon and Mom would be left here alone. I had to know she could function without me, that she could get up and go to work, and live her life the way she used to. She’d been using sick leave and personal days at work, but they wouldn’t last much longer. Time was running out, for both of us.

  I quickly dressed, and strode down the hall to Mom’s room.

  ‘Good morning!’ My voice sounded bright and metallically cheerful. I yanked back the curtains and pulled the covers from her sleeping body. ‘Time to get up!’

  Mom squinted against the light, cringing back. ‘I’m just going to sleep a little more . . . ’ she murmured, but I gritted my teeth.

  ‘No, Mom, you have to go to work today.’

  I turned away from her limp body and focused on easier tasks: finding clean underwear in the dresser, pulling down a skirt and blouse from the closet. I laid them out on the chair, then went into the bathroom to get the shower started: a bright mist of steam and hot water.

  ‘Come on,’ I said loudly, returning to the bedroom. ‘You’re going to be late.’

  Mom slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there a moment. ‘I really don’t feel . . . ’ she whispered softly, hunched over like a reluctant child.

  I remembered when I was small, the war Mom would wage trying to get me to kindergarten. I didn’t like having to leave home, the bright foreign classroom, or the crowds of noisy, bawling kids. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay playing with my train-set on the living-room floor, and helping Mom with lunch, smearing peanut butter and jelly thickly on to slices of bread. ‘I’ll make you a special breakfast,’ Mom would coo, steering me out of bed in the morning. ‘And you can wear your favourite red socks.’

  Now, I tried to fix that same beseeching smile on my face. ‘A shower will feel good, won’t it?’ I took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom. ‘Use some of that rose body wash, it smells great. And I’ll make eggs for us, with cheese, the way you like.’

  Mom wavered in the doorway.

  ‘And some coffee,’ I added, desperate. ‘By the time you come downstairs, I’ll have everything ready.’

  Mom turned to me and, for a terrible moment, I thought I’d lost. That there was nothing to drag her out of the listless slump, no matter what I promised. Then Mom’s face creased with the ghost of a smile. ‘A shower would be nice,’ she said slowly, as if every word was an effort. ‘And maybe some toast.’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ I told her, eager. ‘Just ask.’

  When Mom finally came downstairs, I could have wept with relief. She was back. She wore the simple blouse and skirt, her wet hair pulled back in a braid, panty-hose and pumps on her feet. With makeup, she looked normal: colour in her cheeks, mascara and lipstick. Her eyes still flickered around the room, uncertain, but, looking at her, I would never have guessed the truth.

  Hope rose in my chest, a flutter, winged and ready to take flight. Mom would be OK now. She just needed to snap out of it, to get back to her normal routine.

  ‘Eggs!’ I declared, shovelling half the pan on to a plate. I pushed it in front of her with a fork and some buttered toast. ‘They’re not as good as yours, but I did my best.’

  ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Mom blinked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. She went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. ‘I don’t know if I have time though, I need to be in by nine.’

  ‘I’ll make it a sandwich,’ I said quickly, pulling the plate back. ‘So you can take it with you. Remember, you used to do that for me?’

  Mom smiled. ‘Of course I remember. You would insist on taking every last bite with you, you didn’t want to waste a thing. I blame that fourth-grade teacher of yours, what was her name? She made you watch that documentary on famines in Africa, and you came home crying. What was she thinking?’

  It was the longest sentence she’d spoken in weeks.

  I watched her move around the kitchen, finding her purse and keys, and pouring another dash of coffee into a travel thermos. Her movements were slow, but deliberate, as if her body was remembering what it meant to stretch and move.

  But she was moving. That was something, it had to be.

  Mom turned back to me. ‘Are you going to wrap that? I have to run.’

  I blinked back to life. ‘Yes, here.’ I quickly assembled the breakfast sandwich and wrapped it in foil. ‘Have a good day!’

  ‘You too, sweetheart.’ Mom darted back and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Ride safe.’

  It was a perfect fall day, blue-skied and crisp. I didn’t have time for my usual morning run, so I dressed in my favourite striped knitted sweater and rode the long way into work, pumping hard on the pedals, swooping through the outskirts of the neighbourhoods, feeling the stretch in my limbs and the burst of chilled air in my lungs.

  I felt free again, the dark weight of the past few months lifting as the blocks melted behind me in a fast blur of red and gold and olive green. Relief beat through me with every heartbeat, a mantra I could cling to.

  Mom was OK. We were going to be OK.

  My flight was already booked. I had an email from my roommate, a science major from New Jersey, and a catalogue full of freshman classes I’d marked down to take. We were closer now, I was closer.

  We were going to be OK.

  At the diner, I hummed along with the jukebox, helping Loretta to open up. I lifted the chairs down from the tops of the tables and set them right with a clatter, and the two of us fell into our regular rhythm, setting out pastries fresh-delivered, filling pitchers with iced water and restocking the napkin dispensers.

  ‘You look happy,’ Loretta noted, giving me a knowing smile. ‘I’ll bet it has something to do with that boy.’

  ‘No,’ I protested, straightening up. ‘I’m just in a good mood, that’s all.’

  ‘Mmmhmm,’ Loretta smirked. Her dark eyes were full of laughter as she pointed her inde
x finger at me and wagged. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen him in here, every day like clockwork. You know he asked me for your shifts.’

  I stopped. ‘He did?’

  ‘Wanted to know when you worked, so he’d be sure he didn’t miss you.’ Loretta paused to select a cherry Danish and take a bite. ‘He’s sweet on you, that’s for sure.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I shrugged off her comments, but even as I was wiping down the counter, my phone buzzed with a new text.

  Had a great time last night. C u at lunch. xo

  Ethan.

  He’d been tracking my movements. He’d asked about my schedule.

  I wondered what to reply, but soon the diner was buzzing with the steady stream of morning regulars and the text was forgotten. I served and wiped and poured all morning, until the crowd thinned and I could take up my usual spot behind the counter, slipping into daydreams of the life waiting for me, just a few more days away.

  ‘My roommate is crazy.’

  I looked up as Alisha clattered through the diner, collapsing on a stool by the counter. She dropped an armful of bags, spilling three-ring files and pads of college-ruled paper astray. ‘They sent me a copy of her application profile,’ she continued, rolling her dark eyes. ‘She checked “nocturnal” under sleeping habits. And she’s a vegan too.’

  ‘Ouch.’ I poured her a soda. ‘Maybe she’s faking and thought she’d get a single.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Alisha sighed, slumping lower on the counter. ‘I want so badly for everything to go right, and the wrong roommate could set me back all year.’

  Alisha had been planning her escape from Haverford too, for as long as we’d been friends. But while my plans took me as far as college – the rest, a hazy world of possibilities – Alisha had mapped her life with exacting strategy. She’d picked her freshman courses at UCLA before she’d even applied, researched the clubs and activities she wanted to try, and already assembled a list of grad schools for four, five years down the line.