His arm slipped around her waist. She was still getting used to that.
A day. It was all the time that had passed since he’d pressed her hand to his heart and his lips against hers. All was the same, and yet all was different, as if viewed through a kaleidoscope of colors, ignited.
When the music slowed, he pulled her in for an easy stroll to the up-tempo music. She relaxed in his embrace, molding like seams stitched together, gliding, anticipating, intuitive. Had they always fit so perfectly?
Yeah. They had.
Nineteen
School.
From the front passenger seat of the Mustang, Edy stared down at her palms, palms creased with lines Hassan could trace by heart—had traced by heart. He took one of her hands in his.
“Ready?” he said.
She didn’t answer, instead allowing the warmth of his hand and the familiarity of his fingers to coax her to steadiness.
Not ready. But it wouldn’t matter.
He slapped a kiss on her cheek and bounded from the Mustang before coming around to let her out. When Edy slowed on climbing out, he bent and stuck his head into the car, mouth close to her ear.
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “We are what we are. No regrets, right?”
That much she knew. Her back straightened with the notion.
But her eyes swept the parking lot. Kids clustered on the right and left, some by cars, others on bikes, a few with skateboards. At least one car had its trunk open, hip hop bounding from it. In a moment, all eyes would be on them.
“It feels fake,” she said. “Like putting on a show.”
Hassan pulled a face.
“So, you’re acting when you’re with me?” A smile played across his lips.
“No, but—”
“Then get out and kiss me already.”
He took her hand and pulled her from the car. The moment she stood, he embraced her, and like always, she became instantly aware of him—painfully aware of him. Aware of the space between them, of the shared air they breathed. And like always, she wanted to push straight through it.
“Did I ever tell you that I like theater?” he said.
Edy smiled, tilting her chin up expectantly.
“Me too.”
He leaned in closer, blotting out the school, parking lot, and onlookers from her mind. Briefly, Edy wondered if he could sense the wild pound of her heart, the shallow breaths she had to try for, the sweat that formed on her brow. Then he kissed her and all was forgotten.
With his hand against her cheek, his mouth moved over hers, earning a flush of her face. Every place they connected ignited her at his touch, beckoning her to boldness. She lifted her hands to his waist and ran them to the small of his back, reaching beneath the jacket and sweater for a feel of smooth skin and taut muscle. The kiss ran deeper, and she stood on tiptoe, not caring that her back was pressing into the side mirror of the Mustang. A whimper of want escaped her. Then the school bell rang.
Hassan cursed. He broke off from her, leaving her to the chasm of his absence. “We’ll be late.” He said it with a too-dry throat, pushing it out as if the words cost him pain.
With her surroundings reappearing, Edy remembered their goal, with the success of it painted clear on shocked faces. Both Edy and Hassan had staked a claim in what would become a well-documented kiss, staving off innuendo in the hopes of conveying a clear message. “They were together,” that message said. And while they hadn’t quite figured out how to address their “togetherness” to their parents, they did know one thing. There was no room for ambiguity at school, even if home was a different matter.
She didn’t have long to wait. They were on her before lunch, sullen and salty beauties with gazes that burned and scowls that promised wrath. Wax-smooth skin and wintertime tans were their mark, as lush, full-bodied locks hung around faces so beautiful even their anger seemed a derivative of attractiveness, a model of what the rest should aspire to. They bumped her in halls, sneered in corridors, and muttered insults about her clothes, her appearance, her nothingness.
But they were tragically mistaken.
They thought her as delicate as the daises that bloomed in the spring, dipping with the wind, bending with pressure, petals aflutter. It was what ballerina meant to those who couldn’t know, who had never known the broken bones and the fire of competition.
Twenty-six bones comprised the feet, knitting together with thirty-three joints, delicate bits of bone that shuddered in duress and shattered with abuse. Aches, breaks, gritting teeth, and pained smiles—that was the truth of being a dancer. Joy mistaken for meekness and flames mistaken for smoldering cinders, she had passion fused down to the soul and cells, passion that ruptured on stage. To think Edy Phelps weak was their mistake. It was a mistake with consequences, though.
~~~
Wyatt stepped into the boys’ bathroom and a wad of wet paper plopped upside his skull. He looked up to see dozens of similar clumps, all affixed to the ceiling with little more than water and a strong throw. Given the course his luck usually took, it seemed appropriate that all of them should rain down on him at once. That was life for Wyatt Green, one more blow when he was down, ten more when he could take no more.
Edy. Hassan. His Edy with Hassan.
Not for the first time that morning, he bit down on his bottom lip, hoping to supply real pain in the place of heartbreak.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered to the face in the mirror. “Not here. Not now.”
The face looking back at him made a different claim, that he could do nothing but cry. So, He let it happen, the shudders racking his body, the tears flooding and spilling over, one after another until the trickle became a river.
This was the way it had happened with Lottie, the way he’d lost Lottie.
There could be no bearing that again, that rupturing and emptiness, the aching, utter despair. He’d do anything to avoid it.
He had nothing. He’d always been the boy with nothing. Parents that couldn’t care. Bills they couldn’t pay. Loneliness that never left.
As a kid, he made peace with his bitter existence, with nights too cold and blankets too few. He’d never tried for more, never even thought he could have more—more than loneliness and hunger pains and words of impatience.
But then Lottie had come, with a smile for him and hugs for him, and endless hours of walks and talks all just for him.
Then the other guy came and they weren’t for him anymore—Lottie wasn’t for him anymore.
The accident happened soon after that. The terrible thing he couldn’t explain, the need to just be with her, the fog in his brain, the screams. Nothing else.
They’d had to move.
No one accepted Wyatt’s version of events and he and his family had to move.
By the time Boston came, he’d given up on smiles, hugs, walks and talks, given up until the moment he saw Edy. Even a flicker of that smile had told him what he hadn’t been able to believe: that life, love, even loving were all still his to have.
But then Hassan showed up. The boy who had everything wanted even her for himself. Hassan wanted his share, and Wyatt’s share of Edy, even when Wyatt had so little to give.
He couldn’t have it.
He absolutely couldn’t have the one thing Wyatt had left.
~~~
Grateful for the bell that signified escape from trig, Edy filed into the hall and stopped at the sight of Chloe and Lawrence blocking her locker. She braced herself for hysteria. Since there had been none at the skating rink, she expected double the next day. They were warped that way.
“Hey, Cake,” Hassan said and wrapped an arm around her in greeting. Around them, the hallway swelled to capacity.
“Aren’t they gonna fight?” she said.
“Probably not today. They’ve been back together for a week or so, so it’ll be another few days before they fight.”
“But about what?” Edy said, as she followed him in a short shot to his locker.
&nbs
p; Hassan spun through his combination and threw open the door.
“Now I wouldn’t be a good friend if I told you that, would I?”
Lips pursed, Edy eyed the couple. Chloe giggled about something, and Lawrence shifted, leaning in as if wanting to be closer without detection.
A thought occurred to Edy. “Was it about what went on this summer?”
Hassan stiffened. “Tell me. Are we talking about Chloe and Lawrence or me and you?”
“Hassan.”
“Listen.” He switched over to Punjabi. “This wasn’t the easy decision—you and me. I fought it, and you know how stubborn I can be. Everything we know tells us this’ll never work. Centuries of history say that we’ll have to grow up, that we’ll have to accept who we are and what we’re not meant to be.”
“But?” she said in English.
He turned to her.
“But I haven’t thought about anything more than I’ve thought about being with you.” He hesitated, as if considering how to proceed. “Whoever I’m meant to be,” he said, switching over to gentle English. “Whoever I’m meant to grow into—that person is supposed to be with you. I know that.”
He’d said it as if it were some bare minimum, as if his being with her weren’t the thing she craved like oxygen. Words tangled like brambles in her mouth. She gave up on speaking and threw her arms around him instead.
“Mmm,” Hassan said. “I should have said that back when I was naked and looking for towels.”
A burst of laughter tore from Edy, and she shoved him, though his body didn’t budge.
“If you two are done . . .” Lawrence said, appearing at their side. “I’d like to go. I’m starving.”
Hassan slammed his locker shut. “We’re done. Just waiting for you two to finish rubbing noses and building your nest or whatever it is you do.”
Lawrence scalded him with a look. Beneath it, though, embarrassment reigned.
“Relax,” Hassan said and threw an arm around his best friend. The words that followed were masked in a low baritone. When Lawrence shoved him away, both were grinning.
“You never shut up, do you?” he said.
“Not when I can help it,” Hassan said.
Lawrence, Hassan, Edy and Chloe started down the hall, only to have their path staved off by Wyatt.
“Oh. Hey,” he said, as if his meeting them was accidental, despite the obvious intention in his cutting them off.
“Hey,” Edy said when it became apparent that no one else would answer. “How are you?”
What was with the thick feel of awkwardness? The sudden weight of needing to apologize, though for what, she couldn’t be sure?
“Well, I heard the news about you two. I just wanted to . . . come over and say congrats, I guess,” Wyatt said.
Hassan raised a brow.
Edy frowned. “But I thought—”
“I was being overprotective.” He shot a smile at Hassan. “Turns out you guys don’t have a monopoly on that after all.”
Hassan and Lawrence exchanged a look, faces like granite. Wyatt’s smile melted.
“We got off to a rough start,” he continued. “And I’d like to try again. You’ll find I’m not half as bad as I look.”
He extended a hand to Hassan. A covert glance left and right told Edy they had more attention than they needed.
With a sigh, Hassan accepted Wyatt’s handshake.
“Alright,” he said. “Second test drive. Sit with us at lunch. We’re heading over now.”
The five of them took off again, picking up the twins along the way. Seamlessly, the Dyson brothers and Hassan fell toward the back, where remnants of whispers wafted forward. She heard her name and Wyatt’s more than once.
It turned out he’d have to do a lot more than shake hands to be one of the boys.
~~~
Edy hated lunch. She’d hated it ever since the first day of junior high, when she’d sat down with Hassan, the Dysons, and Kyle, and Sandra Jacobs had asked if five boys were at the table, or six. It was a stupid thing, the equivalent of calling her a tomboy, Hassan supposed, but Edy’d cried just the same. He’d always meant to ask her why. Now, as Sandra Jacobs approached with Eva Meadows and the redhead in tow, Hassan knew one thing: there was no way in hell they were sitting with them. Not when he was just getting somewhere with Edy.
Lawrence and Hassan exchanged a wide-eyed and desperate look, but the twins were already on it. They stood and slipped into the girls’ paths, mouths splitting with the width of phony smiles. The group took another table a few rows down, made up of the twins and those three girls. Kyle brought the twins’ lunch trays over and returned without a word. It seemed Hassan wasn’t the only one who remembered that day.
Hassan looked up, mouth grim with the promise of what might have happened, only to find Wyatt watching him. He made a note of it, filing it away for later contemplation as the group ate in silence.
One of the earliest lessons Hassan’s father had taught him was that man wrought consequences for all his actions, whether they came in the moment or delayed until later.
As it was, the consequences of lunch barreled straight toward them, or rather, straight for the twins. Mason’s gaze cut left long enough to recognize the danger before he took a step toward the boy’s bathroom.
“Don’t you dare try to get away, Mason Humphrey Dyson! I will come in that bathroom after you!” Alyssa Curtis yelled.
Kyle mouthed “Humphrey” in amusement as she sliced the distance between them, looming despite her slender stature, jet-black locks like windshield wipers with each furious step she took. All around them, people stopped for the show.
“Alyssa. Let me explain.” Mason glanced at Hassan.
“You shut up!”
She rushed Mason, only to blast him upside the head with her backpack, books hitting the floor as she struck him again. Mason threw up his arms, fumbling and tangling in backpack straps in the worst attempt to protect himself, as the boys around him gave her the widest berth. Only Hassan, who knew that he was inadvertently responsible for this attack, stayed planted, as if his presence might somehow lessen the embarrassment in the end.
“Would you stop playing already!” Mason hollered. “That hurts!”
“You think I’m playing?” Alyssa cried. She tanked him with another blow. “Didn’t I tell you that if you ever hurt me again—”
“It was lunch! And you don’t own me.” Mason straightened his posture in an attempt at decency and fare, laughter wavering at the edges of his mouth. “Anyway, I’m a free agent. I can do what I want.”
“Oh, you little tramp.” She hurled the bag in face, but he swiped it away before she took to beating at his chest like a wild woman.
“Lawrence,” Mason cried. “Matt? Hassan? A little help here!”
“We are done,” Alyssa hissed. She grabbed her bag and began hurling stuff into it. Edy, who had stood a safe distance away across the hall, came over to help.
“Fine,” Mason said. “We’re done. You see I don’t care.”
Alyssa stood, her mess of books forgotten, with a face like the Maine lobsters they boiled in the summer.
“Don’t try and call me when no one’s listening. Telling me you love me. That you’ve always been in love with me. To hell with you, Mason Dyson.”
Grinning, Matt bent to hand her a book only to have it snatched out of his hand.
“And you,” she said. “Don’t think I’m not telling Jessica about how the two of you got all chummy with the skanks at lunch. Every week you’re begging her to come to Georgia with you, you trash. And to think we almost went. Both of you can get lost.”
She filled her backpack, slung it on, and shot a glare at Hassan that made him step back. Alyssa cleared a path for herself by shoving Lawrence into a locker.
“Mason—” Hassan said in grinning apology.
“Shut up, you coward,” Mason said and turned away from the stares of a too-swollen crowd.
Four periods sat
between lunch and practice at the end of the day. Hassan spent them contemplating the handshake he’d shared with Wyatt. How many ways was it possible to turn over a single gesture, examining it for the truth beneath? There were an endless assortment of possibilities, it turned out, and reflection was what he did best. The cultivation of anticipation was what separated him on the field from others, what made him able to read tea leaves on each play, anticipating every possibility like some master of divination.
People didn’t speak truth so much as wear it, cloaked in veiled gazes, draped in deception. Wyatt Green had extended a hand of friendship with a smile that started too late and a palm damp to the touch.
Hassan’s initial reaction had been to slap the hand from his face and call Wyatt for what he was, a sneak on the aim to get closer to his girl. But it would have left him looking like the jerk in what appeared to others to be a genuine gesture of friendship.
He decided to take another approach.
After the final bell, Hassan stepped out into the hall where he waited for his new friend. Fingers drumming the straps of his backpack as he wore it, he considered the sort of fool Wyatt Green took him to be. Slow enough to miss deception when he saw it. Dumb enough to not know when a man wanted his girl. Naïve enough to let him try something.
It occurred to Hassan to break him, to lift the boy whose body resembled driftwood, snap him over his knee, and toss him in the Charles River. His jaw tightened the moment Edy and Wyatt emerged from class. The two weaved over.
“Long day, right?” Wyatt said. “A.P. classes plus football must be a killer.”
The verdict was in. He definitely took Hassan for a fool. No matter, they’d straighten that out in a second.
A steady backwards count in Hassan’s mind reeled in the last vestiges of nastiness. He replaced it with a grin.
He was ready.
“Let’s take a walk,” Hassan said and clapped him on the back. “Just me and you for a second.”
The sunshine façade Wyatt wore fell away like papier-mâché in the rain.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “You’ll be late for practice.”
Love Edy Page 21
