“That’s too bad,” I say for the second time. Inside I’m cheering and clapping my hands. Outside I look as disturbed as these two.
“It might be for the best,” Deidre concedes. “Emery hasn’t been that happy with Harris since last summer.” She glances at Libby. “Remember?”
Libby nods. “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.”
“What happened?” I ask innocently.
“Emery thinks Harris cheated on her,” Deidre says. “Naturally, Harris denied it.”
“And Emery didn’t have any solid evidence,” Libby adds. “So I think she decided to overlook it.”
Suddenly someone scores a touchdown and everyone is yelling and cheering; figuring it’s our school’s team, I cheer too — with abandon. Mostly I’m cheering for the breakup of Harris and Emery. It seems wrong in some ways, but it’s not like they were married. Besides, Harris gave me the heads-up this afternoon. It takes all my self-control not to admit this to these two girls now. Instead, I stand there with them, pretending to be the biggest football fan ever while we wait for the JV game to end. Fortunately our team wins and there’s even more opportunity for celebrating — and I really feel like celebrating.
“Want to get a bite to eat?” Libby says to me as the cheerleaders head down to the turf to join the JV rally in a victory yell. “I never had dinner tonight.”
Thankful to have a person to hang with, I gladly agree, and as we head down to the concession area, she tells me a little more about the breakup between Emery and Harris. “Can you believe it? He didn’t even do it in person. He broke up with her on the phone.”
“Seriously?” I try not to look too happy. “That’s a little harsh.”
“Maybe … but you didn’t see Emery storming off when he tried to talk to her after school. She wouldn’t even listen to him.”
“Why did Emery storm out?” I ask cautiously as I squirt mustard on my hot dog.
“Just a fight, I think.” Libby sticks a straw in her soda. “They have them fairly regularly.”
“Oh …”
We go back to the stands and I’m trying not to obsess over what is a real possibility — was the fight over me? Did Emery see him talking to me? Did he tell her he was coming to my house for guitar lessons tomorrow? Or am I just being paranoid?
We sit in the stands, eating our makeshift meal, and I try not to worry about all this as I watch the cheerleaders down there doing routines and trying to get the pregame crowd excited about the upcoming game. The jazz band is here in full force and Zach is part of it, playing trombone and wearing a goofy hat. So much for his John Lennon image.
Finally, it’s time to announce the team, and I feel slightly breathless as I hear Harris Stephens’s name over the loudspeaker. “A senior this year, starting quarterback …” The statistics echo meaninglessly through my head as I look down at him in his black and gold uniform. Who knew football players looked so hot in their uniforms? I stare directly at him and I could swear he’s looking straight back at me. I even smile and he smiles back. I am in heaven!
Okay, this would not be my mom’s definition of heaven by any means. In fact, if she could read my mind right now, she’d probably have the exact opposite place lined up for me. Because I am imagining myself kissing him. That’s right — K-I-S-S-I-N-G! And the warmth that fills me is almost overwhelming. But I try to act natural.
The opposing team kicks off and I follow Libby’s reactions as each play unfurls, but the whole time my eyes are on Harris — and Harris only. Whether he’s on the field and I’m watching in trepid fear, hoping he doesn’t get injured, or if he’s on the sidelines and I’m staring at his back, at the number on his shirt. My new lucky number is eight! I cannot take my eyes off that boy!
By the time the game ends — and we win — I am a raving lunatic football fan, yelling, “We’re number one! Tigers are number one!”
“Come on!” Libby grabs my arm. “What are you waiting for?”
Just like that, we, along with a bunch of others, are pouring onto the field, which is apparently okay, and congratulating the players. To my surprise, Buck Anderson comes over and gives me a big bear hug, lifting me right off the ground.
“Great game!” I gasp as he sets me back down on the turf.
“Thanks! You coming to the celebration party?”
“I … uh … I don’t know …” I see Harris coming my way now. At least I hope he is, but since Emery is in between us, I’m not sure how this will go down. But he just gives her a stony look, barely tipping his head, then moves past her and — to my utter amazement — comes over to me.
“Glad you could make it, Haley.”
Buck looks surprised, glancing from me to Harris like he’s adding this up.
“Great game,” I tell him, wishing for something wittier to say.
“Thanks.”
Now I give him my flirty smile. “You make watching football fun.”
Harris laughs. “Thanks.”
“Sorry to hear about your breakup,” I say loudly.
“Really?” His voice is lower.
I shrug. “Well, I’m sure it’s difficult, you know, after being together for so long.”
He slips an arm around me, giving me a sideways squeeze, the way my brother used to do when he was okay. “You’re all right, Haley.”
I giggle. “Thanks.”
“Wait for me outside the locker room, okay?”
I feel another dizzying rush going to my head as I nod. “Okay.”
As I walk back to the bleachers with Libby, I want to pinch myself. This has to be a dream — a really great dream. And I do not want to wake up!
...[CHAPTER 6].................
“What’s going on with you and Harris?” Libby asks with a slightly suspicious look.
“Nothing,” I assure her. “I mean, other than being friends.And I’m going to give him guitar lessons.”
Deidre’s brows arch. “Really?” Her voice is laced with skepticism.
I giggle nervously. “Is there a problem with that?”
Deidre just shakes her head, then hurries over to where Emery is huddled with friends, probably giving her their condolences.
But Libby stays with me, studying me with a dubious expression. “Hopefully you’re not getting into some kind of a rebound romance with Harris.”
I act startled. “A rebound romance?”
She just nods.
I force a laugh. “I seriously don’t think so.”
As we walk down the steps from the stadium, I make more small talk with Libby. Emery, encircled by a cluster of her closest friends, is making a dramatic exit. I almost expect the clog of girls to hoist her to their shoulders and carry her out — like she’s the hero or some kind of victim.
I do not react to this little scene, not one way or another. Let them enjoy their drama. I have other things to be thinking about.
Since I came to the game alone, it’s easy to slip out alone. I tell Libby good-bye, then hurry toward the gym. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I go over and wait near the exit of the men’s locker room. First I pretend to get a long drink from the water fountain. Then I carefully read the bulletin board, including (ugh!) a flyer about who to call if you think you have an STD. Keeping one eye on the door and jolting inwardly every time it opens and a guy steps out, I pretend to be texting on my phone. Until finally Harris emerges.
“Hey, you waited for me.” He says this like he didn’t expect me to be here.
“Sure. I figured you might need someone to talk to after your big breakup today.”
He frowns. “I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind.”
I grin. “I don’t mind at all. By the way, did I tell you that was a great game?”
He nods. “You and everyone else.” Now he slips his arm around my waist, not in a brotherly way this time, and guides me out the door and over to the parking lot. “I’ve been thinking about you all week, Haley.” He opens the passenger door of his car — a s
leek-looking black Nissan.
“Really?” I slip into the seat, feeling my heart pounding with excitement.
“Uh-huh.” He closes the door, then hurries over to the driver’s side.
I glance across the parking lot and notice there are still some kids milling around, but none of his or Emery’s closest friends seem to be here. Still, I’m sure the word will get out that I’m with him. For all I know someone is texting Emery right this second. But as Harris drives out to the street (a bit too fast), I realize I do not care — not one bit. Let them talk all they want; I’m going to enjoy this. I almost feel like I’m on a roller coaster, like I plan to just hold on for the ride of my life.
“Ever since I first saw you,” Harris tells me as he drives through town, “I wanted to get to know you better. At first I thought I was imagining it, but then I realized I was thinking about you constantly.”
“Me, too,” I quietly confess.
He turns to look at me. “Really?”
Now I wish I hadn’t given that up so easily — what about my intentions to be coy and hard to get? “Well, sort of. I liked that you’re into guitar … or at least you want to be.”
He nods eagerly. “And I like that you’re interested in more than just rah-rah-cheerleading or the state of your hair or how much you paid for your shoes. That gets so old.”
I laugh. “I agree.”
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.” Okay, that is a big fat lie, but there’s no way I’m going to say no when I’m certain he’s probably starved after all that exercise.
“Well, everyone will be at Wet Willie’s.”
“What’s that?”
“Just this old-fashioned hamburger joint. They’ve got the best burgers and shakes in town, but if you and I walk in there together, the jaws will drop and the tongues will flap and we’ll be the hot topic for the evening.”
“Oh …”
“If you want, we could go someplace — ”
“No,” I say quickly. “Wet Willie’s is fine.”
So he parks at the edge of a nearly full parking lot, and the next thing I know I’m trying to act perfectly natural as I walk into the crowded restaurant with Harris Stephens. To my relief, after the kids in there recover from the surprise, they seem to think nothing of us. This is high school. People break up and start over all the time. It’s perfectly normal.
Harris looks disappointed when I only order a dinner salad. “Please, tell me you’re not one of those anorexic girls who tries to live on greens and water,” he says.
I laugh. “Not at all. It’s just that I pigged out on a hot dog after the JV game, and I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”
He nods like this is acceptable. Then our orders come, and as he eats, I try to keep the conversation going down a light and breezy track. It’s actually a lot of fun talking to him. But then the restaurant gets even more crowded and several others come over to squeeze in with us, and I get lost in the banter and jokes bouncing around the booth.
“Come on.” Harris grabs my hand. “Let’s get out of this place. It’s making my head hurt.”
Relieved, I nod and go with him. “It was getting to me too.”
The air outside feels cool and fresh, and we’re halfway across the parking lot when Harris pulls me closer to him, ducks into a shadowy spot, then wraps his arms around me and gives me a very passionate and long kiss. It’s like a scene from a romantic movie, and I could swear I am floating as I kiss him back.
“Sorry,” he says a little breathlessly. “But I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I whisper, hoping my breath doesn’t smell. I brushed my teeth three times before going to the game tonight, but after that hot dog, who knows?
Harris tugs me over to an even more private spot of the parking lot, pulling me close again. We kiss some more — and it’s so amazing I wonder if I might actually faint.
“Oh, Haley, it’s even better than I expected.” He’s running his fingers through my hair now, sending delightful tingles down my spine. “Do you know how soft your hair is?”
I giggle quietly. “No.”
“Most girls get so much done to their hair that it can feel like straw, but yours is so silky and smooth … so natural.” Then he’s kissing me again.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” demands a male voice, like someone’s trying to play tough guy.
I look up to see Buck coming our way and cringe. What if he tells my dad?
“Hey, Buckie Boy.” Harris grins at him. “You caught us.” Buck looks confused when he sees me with Harris, like he can’t quite figure out how this happened.
“How’s it going, Buck?” I try to sound casual. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
He just nods. “Yeah. I guess.” Then he continues on into the restaurant, and Harris and I laugh nervously.
“Buck’s sister is my dad’s girlfriend,” I confess to Harris. “So you and Buck are almost related.” He laughs even harder now. “What does that make him? Like your stepbrother?”
I consider this. “Not exactly. But if Dad and Estelle got married, that would make him my uncle.”
“Uncle Buck!” Harris hoots.
“Uncle Buck,” I repeat, bursting into laughter.
“That’s hilarious, Haley.” He pulls me close to him again. “Have I told you how much fun you are to be with?”
“I don’t think so.” I’m looking up into his shadowy face. How is it possible to know a guy for just a few days and yet know you are in love — absolutely in love?
We eventually wind up back in his car and he drives us to a lookout point, which I suspect was created for couples to make out at. We sit up there, dividing our time between talking and laughing and kissing. But as time passes, we do more kissing than anything.
Harris’s hands are moving around on me a lot too, and I try not to show it but it’s making me nervous. This is further than I’ve ever gone with a guy, and I’m not even sure how to put the brakes on. Sometimes I try to use my hands to stop him and sometimes I just let him wander.
Suddenly a bright light shines into the car, and we both jump apart like we’ve been jolted by electricity.
Harris says a bad word as he reaches for the window switch. “It’s the cops.”
I straighten myself up, sitting upright in the seat as he puts the window down. “Hey there,” Harris says in a friendly tone.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up is you kids need to get home,” the officer tells him. “But first I want to see your license and registration.”
Harris obliges him, and I sit there holding my breath and imagining that the cop is going to call my mom.
The policeman hands Harris back his documents, then shines his light on me. “Does your mother know what you’re doing, young lady?”
I force an innocent smile. “Not exactly.”
He frowns. “Well, you both look like nice kids, so why don’t you get on home before I change my mind and write you up.”
“No problem.” Harris nods and starts his engine.
“Whew,” I say as he drives (slowly) away. “That was seriously freaky.”
Harris just laughs. “Why?”
Now I consider my response. “I guess I was startled. Like I thought it was some crazed killer trying to break into the car, you know, like he wanted your car and money.”
Harris nods with a more serious expression. “Yeah, that would be scary.”
“I should probably get home anyway. My dad didn’t expect me to be out this late.”
“I’m getting tired too,” he admits. “But are we still on for guitar lessons tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“And maybe we could go out afterward.” He grins at me. “Like a real date.”
I feign disappointment. “You mean this wasn’t a real date?”
He laughs. “Oh yeah, I think it was a real date. A real good date.”
At the condominium, Har
ris walks me up to the door and I suspect that, because the porch light is off, Dad isn’t even home yet. However, I’m not comfortable asking Harris in, so I just pretend my dad’s inside waiting for me as we share a final good-night kiss … and then a few more.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he whispers back. “Tomorrow.”
I wait for him to start down the stairs before I unlock the door. Then, like I’m walking on air, I float into the house. This whole evening has been so unreal — I feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.
As I get ready for bed, I wonder what Dad means by “late.” It’s nearly midnight and he’s still not home. But I’m not too concerned. Mostly I’m still floating and I plan to have some really delicious dreams tonight.
It’s after four when something wakes me up. It sounds like someone is breaking into the condo, and I quietly slip out of my bed and try to find my bag and my phone, getting ready to dial 911, when I realize it might be Dad. So I creep over to my door, which I’ve left cracked open, and peek through the slit to see Dad tiptoeing down the hallway to his room. I consider saying something, then remember our grown-up pact and just go back to bed. If he wants to stay out until four in the morning, it’s none of my business.
Later that morning, I’m not surprised that Dad is sleeping in. I get myself a bowl of cold cereal and check my phone to see if Harris has texted me. I’m still getting comfortable with the whole texting thing, but it’s kind of fun. To my dismay there is nothing. I consider taking a swim, but the weather seems to be cooling down. So I just sit, looking out the window and daydreaming about Harris. I can’t wait to see him again. This reminds me of our guitar lesson, so I get out my guitar, tune it, and spend some time playing. It’s amazing how music soothes me. It always has.
“Hey, that sounds good,” Dad says when he finally emerges in a black and red bathrobe, his hair sticking straight up.
“Thanks.” I set my guitar aside. “Rough night?”
He rubs his stubbly chin and chuckles. “Not particularly.”
I want to mention that he got home kind of late but control myself. He asks about the game and I tell him a little. I consider mentioning Harris to him, but my mom has trained me well. Best to keep my mouth shut about boys. Pretend I don’t even know they exist. And while Dad is way more laid-back than Mom, I’m still not willing to risk this. However, I do decide to mention the guitar lessons.
Damaged Page 5
