My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  We climbed into my car and I pulled out of the parking lot before I changed my mind.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “Let’s go to Beauty Mountain. We can sit and talk there. No one will bother us.”

  We were silent as I drove down Main Street. I clenched the steering wheel, willing my cheeks not to blush or my lips not to shake when I felt his eyes on me. He was watching me. Staring at my profile. I wanted to ask what he was thinking; why he was looking at me. But I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Did Trina tell you she blamed this on you?”

  Out of my peripheral vision, I saw his head turn toward the road. The air in the car changed somehow, suddenly charged with tension, aggravation.

  “No. That girl on the squad did. The one Trina is always hanging out with.”

  “Jennifer?”

  “Yeah. Her. She called me last night, which was strange because I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged two words. She called to tell me that Trina was pregnant and was going to tell people that I was the father.”

  “You’re kidding? Jennifer did that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why would she go behind Trina’s back?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But that’s how I found out. At first I didn’t believe it. Then when I saw the look on your face yesterday, it was obvious that’s the story she told.”

  I eased onto the single lane road that led to Beauty Mountain, winding up a steep incline. What he said made sense. If he was telling the truth.

  Beauty Mountain was an isolated slat of flat land at the top of one of the surrounding mountains. Most kids went there to drink, make out; do all manner of things they preferred to keep quiet from the adults in their lives. It could be the spot where Trina had gotten herself pregnant, though when she’d had the time, I didn’t know.

  I parked on the side of the road. We got out, not speaking, and hiked the several yards to the natural overlook. Mike climbed onto a large rock then extended his hand. I grabbed it. With a swift and easy pull, I was up by his side. His calf, knee, hip and arm rested against my own and sent warmth shooting throughout my entire body.

  The scenery helped clear my tumbling thoughts. The view was surreal. We were surrounded by sharp peaks encased in rich green. The mountains plunged into a deep ravine where a wide river flowed.

  I took a deep breath, closing then opening my eyes. Mike was staring at me.

  I chuckled, more from nerves than humor. “What?” I asked.

  “Have you ever been here?”

  I shook my head and turned to hide my blush. “No.” Jess had mentioned something about coming here with Paul, but I’m not sure if she ever did. By my side, a black beetle scurried from the rock to the ground and disappeared from view.

  “Rowan, do you believe me?”

  I leaned over and tried to find the beetle.

  “About your sister?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal, not finding the beetle but not looking up either.

  He scratched his finger against my shoulder. I rubbed the tickle away. He did it again. Finally I turned.

  “Do you believe what I told you? That I’m not the father? Trina and I have never done anything.”

  Did I believe him? I wanted to believe him. And, actually I did, though the reasons why I believed Mike over my sister were too vague and deep-seeded for me to voice. When I asked myself would she do something like this just to hurt me? The only answer I had was she would.

  “I believe you. I mean, I guess.” I scooted an inch away. Sitting so close to him made it impossible to think. “Should I not?”

  He closed that inch. “You should. And I’m really happy you do.”

  “Then tell me the whole story. Why would Trina say that you are the father?”

  He breathed out his nose and bit his lip. “I don’t know. It was weird. I was at practice yesterday. The cheerleaders were practicing at the end of the football field, like always. After practice was over, I came out of the locker room. No one else was around but Trina, who was leaning against the concession stand crying.

  “I went over and asked her what was wrong.” He laughed. “It was against my better judgment, but I couldn’t just walk away from a crying girl.”

  I nodded. Oh, how I wished he had.

  “She seemed really upset. It looked like she’d been crying for a while. She said that she was in big trouble.” He chuckled through a deep frown. “Something told me to leave right then and there. That I didn’t want involved in anything she was getting ready to say.” He looked at me. “You and your sister are nothing alike.”

  “I know.” I turned my profile to him. It was cooler here under the canopy of the trees and I pulled my hoodie back on. I thought about Trina. Did she end up going to school today? I hadn’t seen her, but I often didn’t. Ours was a large school, pulling in students from miles around. Most of her classes were in a separate wing altogether.

  Was she sick this morning? Had Dad taken her to the abortion clinic on his own? Would I return to a sister no longer pregnant?

  Mike continued, “She told me she was pregnant. I asked who the father was but she wouldn’t tell me. She said your dad was going to kill her.”

  I nodded. Patches of clover and moss grew around the base of the rock. It looked so soft, I resisted the urge to move off the hard rock and nestle into it for a nap. “She never told you who the father was?”

  “Eventually. She said it was Christian Dalton.”

  “Christian Dalton! The sophomore?”

  He nodded.

  “He’s a black kid, right?” I was staring at him now.

  “Yep.”

  I let out a whistle and slid off the rock. “Wow. That’s why she said the baby’s father was you?”

  “I’m sure. She seemed really scared. She didn’t tell me she was going to pin it on me. Jennifer told me later on. But, like I said, she seemed really scared and upset.”

  “As she should be. She’s a knocked-up fifteen-year-old.”

  He nodded.

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder why she chose to pin it on you. I mean, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want to admit that Christian was the father. My dad is not exactly racist, but he’s also not very accepting. I guess that’s the right word. But why you? There are several other guys she could’ve pinned it on. Like the guy I caught her making out with behind the concession stand the other day.”

  “I’m sure because she knew it would hurt you. That me being the father would hurt you the most.”

  My cheeks reddened and I laughed, unable to keep the twinge of hysteria out of it. I wanted to say, that’s ridiculous. Or, why would that bother me? But she’d been right. Trina was very astute. She knew I liked Mike even though I never told her. Maybe she caught me watching him practice soccer. She was perceptive enough to know that it would hurt me and she’d said it anyway. She’d said it on purpose.

  I hated her.

  “Hey.” He slid off the rock and stood before me. With a finger under my chin, he tilted my face up until I looked at him. At first I wouldn’t pull my gaze from the distant mountain top, but then I did. I looked at Mike, into his eyes, his soft expression, and I saw only good things there.

  And then he kissed me.

  His lips were soft, his breath minty. He was the third boy I’d ever kissed but the first one whose touch sent sparks straight from my mouth to my knees. I lifted to my toes and he wound his arms around my back, helping lift me higher.

  His arms were as solid as a bar across my back, but so much warmer. He deepened the kiss, opening his lips. I responded by parting my own.

  My thoughts evaporated. There was nothing left, nothing but a hazy contentment underneath the raging surge of blood pumping through me. I could kiss him forever.

  So when he broke the kiss, I cursed my short stature. If I was taller, he wouldn’t have broken it so easily. At least he didn’t drop his arms.

  “Rowan?” He looked
over my face, stopping for several seconds on my lips.

  “What?” My voice was hoarse.

  Our noses were close; our lips nearly touching again. “I’m sure this will all blow over soon and it’ll come out who the real father is.”

  “I hope so,” I whispered. I couldn’t think. The only thing that was clear was how close he was standing to me and that I wanted to return to that kiss more than anything I’d ever wanted in my entire life.

  “And once the truth comes out, it’ll be time to get ready for the Prom.”

  My stomach flipped.

  “Will you go to the Prom with me?”

  At first I was unable to answer the question. This was what I wanted: Mike Anderson asking me to Prom. Mike Anderson interested in me, not Trina, not anyone else.

  But when I opened my mouth, what I found there wasn’t an answer, but a question. “Why? Why me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged, trying to find the right words, but coming up empty.

  “There’s just something about you, Rowan. You’re different from other girls.” His lips brushed mine. “Say you’ll go to Prom with me.” He kissed me again, leaving me with only one answer to that question.

  I nodded, already tumbling into the sweet oblivion of Mike’s kiss.

  IT WAS nearly time for school to end when we left Beauty Mountain. As I drove, Mike’s hand was on the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair. Twice I swerved off the road when I felt his eyes burning into me. He’d laugh, turn back toward the window, and keep rubbing my neck.

  When I pulled into the school parking lot, he took his hand away, and my skin cooled from the loss of his warmth.

  “Where are you going to go?” he asked after we got out of my car.

  “I have to go to work. Then I guess I’ll go home.” Neither of those options was appealing. “Do you, um, still want to meet tonight? To work on the project?”

  “Actually, I can’t meet tonight. There’s something at church my mom wants my dad and me to go to. Can you meet tomorrow? At seven?”

  I nodded. It was Friday tomorrow. We were meeting on a Friday night.

  Mike put his hands on my hips and brought his face close to mine. “I’ll call you tonight?”

  I nodded. Then I laughed, and even I was surprised by how genuine it sounded. “You can most certainly call me.” Everything else slipped away like a whisper on the wind as he kissed me.

  When he pulled away, his expression was changed. Before it was teasing and content. Now it was serious. “Rowan, you can call me any time, day or night. You know that, right? If things get crazy at home with Trina and your folks, or whatever, you can call me. My parents would understand and you could crash at my house. They’re surprisingly cool. One of my sister’s boyfriends stayed with us a while when he parents were in Europe.”

  He gave me a piece of paper with two phone numbers scrawled across it. His cell and his home. I nodded, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat. It was an odd thought, staying with Mike and his family. I almost laughed. But I didn’t.

  “Thanks,” I said finally. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

  “Okay.” He kissed me again. “Talk to ya later.”

  He jogged off toward the field.

  I stood there longer than I needed then scanned the outside of the school, trying to find Jess. But she wasn’t in the stream of people getting on the bus, so finally I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. I’d just gotten asked to the Prom by Mike Anderson. Someone needed to share this with me.

  I’m sorry I texted.

  I waited a few minutes to hear back from her, but my phone remained silent.

  I have news I texted.

  Still nothing.

  Maybe she was at work. Mr. Sumners hated when she was late so sometimes she skipped last period to get there early, especially if he had a new shipment of books. But she usually responded to her messages. At least when they were from me.

  Finally, I drove to the car lot. I’d try her again in a little while.

  TODAY WAS the beginning of the spring sale Dan always had in April, trying to move out old inventory and make room for new. So when I pulled in, there were streams of people, mostly men, in and out of the lot, looking at the trucks, negotiating price, discussing repairs.

  Dan barely said two words to me. Which was fine. That meant we didn’t have to talk about yesterday. When it was time for me to leave, Dan was with a customer. I didn’t bother to wave goodbye as I got into my car and drove home.

  THE HOUSE was dark as usual. The curtains were pulled tight on every window but mine, which stuck out like a naked, little hole. The front door was shut, a solid barrier between what was inside and what was outside.

  Dad’s truck wasn’t there. It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping. I rubbed my right arm for warmth but left my other arm alone.

  I let Levi off his leash to run around and then went into my room to see Scout. She was curled up on the floor by my bed. I scooped her up and held her close while I refilled her water bowl and poured food in her bowl.

  I went back into the hall. Mom’s door was shut, of course. And so was Trina’s. The house looked exactly like it did when I’d left this morning, other than the antiseptic smell of cleaning supplies. Gran must’ve been here again.

  The refrigerator was also full. Gran’s only income was her social security check, but sometimes she went grocery shopping for me, since I was the only one in the house who kept the food stocked. I’d thank her next time I saw her, and offer to repay her, though I knew she wouldn’t take the money. Maybe Dad would reimburse her.

  Leaving the food untouched, I grabbed a glass of water and went back to my room, flopping onto the bed. Scout climbed onto my chest and licked my chin. I pulled a thread from my bedspread and jiggled it in her face. Her little paws tried to grab it but she couldn’t. I laughed and didn’t hear Trina open the door.

  She stood in the open space, with tear-streaked cheeks and disheveled hair. Her T-shirt, the face of a cartoon cat imprinted on the front, was stained and too small. As were the tiny shorts she had on.

  Rolling my eyes, I kept the thread dancing.

  “You’re not mad at me?” Her voice sounded young, with a little girl-like whine finishing each word.

  “What did you say?”

  “You’re not mad at me?” She wrung the hem of her shirt between her hands.

  “Why would I be? I know the truth.” I forced light and air into my voice.

  “What do you mean?” The little girl voice withered away.

  I looked at her. “I know Mike’s not the father. And I also know who is.”

  “Did you talk to Mike? Of course he would deny it.” She blinked several times and then looked away. With clenched teeth, I went back to making the thread dance; something in me hardened to her words. I could almost feel the solid walls being built up around me.

  “Rowan! Mike is the father. I’ve never had sex with anyone else.”

  “Um, okay,” I said sarcastically.

  She huffed. Tears started fresh down her cheeks. Her skin was blotchy and red. Her fists were clenched. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she threw herself down on the floor, arms and legs kicking. But she did no such thing.

  “Mike is the father. I should’ve known you wouldn’t believe me. You’re a terrible sister. I hate you. You ruin everything. And guess what, Ro. You. Always. Have.”

  I steeled myself. “Trina, it’s not my fault you got pregnant. I didn’t force you to have sex with Christian Dalton.” It took great effort not to see the expression on her face. But I didn’t look up. I didn’t want her to see that I cared.

  “Mike Anderson is the father.” She slammed the door.

  I blinked away the moisture behind my eyes and took a determined breath. I wouldn’t let her mistake take Mike down.

  Scout’s string forgotten, I walked to my window and stared out into the night. We had neighbors, though you couldn�
��t see their houses from my window. From this view, our home was as isolated and remote as if it was on a deserted island, or in an uninhabited forest.

  How had our lives come to this? Trina pregnant at fifteen? Mom unable to get out of bed? Dad holding onto the resentment that his little boy was dead and I was the cause?

  I tried to think about Mike, my good grade on the chem test, the fact that I only had one more year in this hell-hole of a house–about something positive. But I couldn’t. My head hurt. Being in this house, surrounded by memories, guilt, and resentment–all those devastating things made it impossible to see the bright side of anything.

  So I slid my hand between the mattresses and pulled out my razor. My arm looked like angry railroad tracks and I was adding more to it all the time.

  I MUST’VE fallen asleep because I didn’t hear a car pull up to the house, even though my window was open. But when the doorbell rang, I jolted upright, suddenly afraid of a repeat scene from the night before. I accidentally knocked Scout to the floor. She meowed in protest.

  I looked out to the front yard. There was a police car parked there. Two uniformed officers, one male, one female, stood on our concrete porch. The doorbell rang again.

  “Mom?” I walked out of my room.

  There was no sign of Dad. They wouldn’t be here about him, would they?

  Please let everything be okay.

  “Come here, Rowan.” Mom stood at the opened door, waving the officers in. Trina sat huddled on the sofa, a blanket wrapped over her shoulders. She glanced up as I came down the hall but quickly looked away as I passed in front of her.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” I asked.

  My mother’s face was almost as red and blotchy as Trina’s. Mom was dressed, at least, in black pants and a worn sweater. Her hair was combed and it looked like she’d taken a shower.

  “Is it Dad?” I glanced from Mom to the officers. My stomach clutched into a knot.

  “Rowan, sit down. This has nothing to do with your dad. These officers are here to ask Trina some questions.” Her voice cracked.