by Ginger Scott
He grabs his neck and rubs before raising one eyebrow and looking at me. “I think you might be right about my girl crew, and I’m not so sure they like you—I’m sort of their territory,” he teases.
There’s a long, comfortable silence between us, and my fingers tingle, wanting to touch him. I leave them wrapped in the comfort of his cotton sleeves though, and instead let the flurry of butterflies run around the inside of my body. It’s nice to feel something different—I think this is joy. It’s definitely anticipation.
“Move in with me,” Andrew says, and the butterflies inside me all start running into each other, my heart speeding up and my hands forming tight fists as my nails dig into my own palms. My eyes must have given me away, because Andrew kicks his foot into mine again. “No, no…I just mean…you need somewhere to go, and I know Trent won’t mind. Just until I get things worked out with you and Lindsey. We’re close to campus, and I’d like…” he swallows hard. “I’d like to have you there, to know you’re safe.”
Our eyes hold onto each other, and our breathing falls into sync.
“Okay,” I whisper, my lips tingling, not sure if they should smile or cry a little. “Okay,” I nod again, maybe reassuring myself. “I’ll grab some things this morning, while she’s in class. I have class today, so I won’t be at your house until late this afternoon. Is that…is that okay?”
“That’s fine. Here,” he says, reaching into his pocket and sliding a key from his ring. “I’m heading right to practice from here, and I’ll just get in with Trent later and make a copy for myself.”
“Don’t you have class?” I ask.
Andrew shakes his head, laughing through a shrug. “I’ll go tomorrow. It’s fine. I’ve already done most of my work for the semester,” he says.
“Nerd,” I tease.
“Among many other things,” he says, his smile a little sad.
“Many good things,” I say. I hope my words make him smile, but he only breathes in deeply, shaking off my compliment.
“Maybe someday. I’m working on it,” he says.
I want to tell him he’s already there, and to thank him for taking care of me, but the doors burst open behind me and several boys come running, two of them grabbing onto Andrew’s right arm when they reach him, climbing him like a jungle gym. A few of the parents are standing behind me, waiting to talk to him, so I just hold up his key and suck in my lower lip as I smile.
I take the long route to my apartment—my old apartment—and Lindsey is gone by the time I get there. I pull a few bags from under my bed and fill them with most of my clothes, thankful Andrew seemed to grab many of my necessities last night. When I glance at my desk, I realize my letters and backpack are also gone, and my body jolts with a shot of adrenaline. I panic at first that something happened—that during their talk, Lindsey discovered them, destroyed them, that they’re gone. But my backpack is gone, which means Andrew must have seen them and brought that to his apartment too.
Andrew saw them.
I pause at that thought, not sure if it’s good or bad. He wrote them for me, but now that we’re both aware of the words he wrote—or at least many of the words he wrote—something deeply personal feels like it’s settled in between us.
Lindsey will be gone for several hours—today is one of her longest, and though I used to wait desperately for her to get home so we could have dinner together, I’m grateful for the time now. I sit on my bed and pull my phone out of my purse, dialing on rote and in a trance. When my father answers on the other end, I’m not ready to speak—my mind still caught between being angry over the letters he kept from me and wanting to run to his familiar embrace after what Graham did. He waits me out, though.
“You get my package?” he finally asks. I nod even though he can’t hear me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner,” he says, and I hear him swallow, hear him thinking of ways to explain.
“Why?” I ask, a tear forming in the tender corner of my right eye. I pull the bottom of Andrew’s shirt up to dry it.
“Your mom wanted to give them to you,” he says, and knowing that makes me feel both grateful and terrible at once. “She made me save them. I threw the first one away, and she went out to the trash by the curb and pulled it from the bag.”
My dad laughs, but it’s a sad sound that comes out—one made of memories and repentances. “She told me it was a federal offense,” he laughs through a cry. I join him, wiping away another tear, this one for that memory of my mom. “She said that any boy who took the time to write a letter, to mail it, with a stamp and everything, was worth rescuing. But I was so afraid of what might happen if Andrew wasn’t worthy of you. I was afraid he would take you away—and not that he’d make you run away, but pull you away from us. His home life was so…”
“His brothers and mother and step-father—they’re all really close and amazing dad. That isn’t fair. That wasn’t fair!” I shout, glad to be alone, free to be angry and feel.
“I know that now. But your mom…she was sick, and I just couldn’t risk it. Oh god, Em…I’m so sorry. I was so scared, and I didn’t want to lose you too…” My dad’s words end with his crying, and I hear him let out heavy sobs, miles away from me, nowhere near me so I could hug him and assure him I was still here, even if I was angry with him. I got it.
I get it.
“I’m glad you didn’t throw them away,” I whisper as he grows quieter. “I’m glad…I’m glad Mom told you to keep them.”
I listen to my father breathe, and I lay back on my bed that isn’t really mine and wait for him to speak again. A few minutes pass before he finally does.
“Did he tell you that he came?” My eyes pop open, and I sit up straight.
“After Lake Crest? Yes…” I say, wondering if there’s more to the story, if there are parts Andrew didn’t tell me.
“Oh, no…not then. I didn’t know…I didn’t know he came then. I meant a couple days ago. He visited me, wanted to know why his letters never made it. He…he could have hit me he was so angry. I could tell,” my father says. “But he didn’t. He took everything in, everything I had to say, and as much as it wrecked him to know the truth, he respected me, and my bad decisions. I was wrong, Emma. And I’m sorry you didn’t know about the letters before.”
“I know now,” I say in a faint voice. “I know now.”
My eyes close at the thought of Andrew, at how much he cared for me then, and how much he must care for me now—even after so many wrong turns.
“Did he tell you why he went to Lake Crest?” I say, my eyes still closed, picturing everything that happened that night—picturing the resolve on Andrew’s face when he told me to trade him places.
“I know, Emma. And even if he wasn’t drunk or high at the time, it still…it still sticks with me that he was driving you around that way—” I cut my father off, before I lose the courage to tell the truth—the first time I’ve done so to anyone but Andrew.
“He wasn’t driving, Dad. Andrew traded me places. I was the one who wrecked the car, and he…” I start to choke as the tears rush my face. “He took the fall for me, Dad. Andrew didn’t want me to face any repercussions—and even though he didn’t know it was my heart I was afraid of losing, he knew I was afraid of something. So he gave up a year of his life for me. A year, Dad.”
“Emma…” my dad’s breathing stutters as he tries to catch up to the truth, to soak in everything I just told him. “Emma?”
“I was driving. And that man stepped out in front of me, in the dark. And all I could think about was how any kind of misdemeanor or indiscretion would make Dr. Wheaton change her mind, would take me off the list. I was selfish, Dad!”
“Stop it!” my father yells on the other end. “Don’t you dare think that, Emma Jane. Don’t you ever call yourself selfish. You were scared, and it’s okay to be afraid when you’re sixteen and looking at the possibility of—”
“He lost so much, Dad…” I cry to my father. “So
much…”
“He did,” my dad agrees. If only my father knew how much Andrew truly lost—how much of himself was gone.
Another long silence passes while we both sit together on the phone, both of our thoughts consumed with Andrew Harper I’m sure—both of us thinking of the good he has to offer, the good he gave, and how very ungrateful we were for it.
“Thank you for giving me the letters,” I say finally, sitting and looking at my stuffed bags at my feet. I look around the room, and I think of my friend that I’m leaving behind, but when I look at the clothes I’m in, I think of the friend I’m running to, and I consider how my life seems to need to be in balance—to always give me something, but lose something else in return.
I will never give Andrew up again, though. But I want Lindsey, too.
I don’t say it to my father aloud, but I think it: I am selfish.
* * *
Andrew
Somehow, I was on point today at practice. I have no idea how with the mess swimming in my head right now. I’m too distracted by everything to attend class, which was the first thing Coach brought up as I passed his office in the locker room. My mouth almost made it worse when my argument for him was that I didn’t really need my advanced calculus classes, because I could build a working rocket out of the parts from his car right now—and ensure it had enough power to reach the stratosphere. He told me I was a smart ass and better show my face to my professors tomorrow. He’s right, on both counts.
I’ve been waiting for Trent to ask about Emma, to want the details. He’s doing that thing where he talks about everything but the elephant in the room, though. He even asked me about laundry, and if I’d done my load for the week or not. He’s pushing me to let all of my baggage out, without prying—directly—and it’s working. His goddamned method is working.
“Emma’s moving in,” I sigh as we pull into the only open space along the street by our apartment.
“Aha!” he exclaims, as if that…that is the thing he honestly expected me to say. He remains still, his hands on his knees; he sits proudly, like a fucking peacock in the passenger seat, then the meaning of what I said sinks in. He jerks to the side to look at me again. “Wait, what?”
I lean back in the seat and pull my hat from my head, tossing it on the dash, then run my hand through my hair, holding it between my fingers. I nod as I speak.
“Emma’s moving in. Just…just for a few days. Lindsey’s pissed,” I say.
“Yeah, saw that coming,” Trent says with a short laugh.
“Okay, no need to be a righteous asshole about it. You were right, bad idea, I’m a dick, got it,” I say, glancing sideways at him before opening the car and slamming the door behind me. Trent follows suit and walks behind me up to our apartment door.
“Good, glad we’re on the same page with all of that,” he says. “So where, might I ask, will Emma be staying in our apartment?”
I sigh and let my head fall on our door as I wait for Trent to push his key in the lock. I shrug because I really hadn’t thought about that yet. I was assuming she’d just stay with me, in my room, but maybe that’s a little too presumptuous.
“Your ass can have the couch. No way am I giving up my room,” Trent says.
“I know,” I sigh and push through the door the second he unlocks it. I head straight to the kitchen and grab a beer, twisting the cap and gulping half of it down like water.
Trent sits on one of the stools at the counter and studies me for a few seconds. “What else?” he finally asks.
“What do you mean what else? Emma’s moving in because I fucked up her living situation. What else is there?” I say, pulling the bottle up to my mouth. Trent lowers his brow at me when I do. “What?” I ask.
“Nothin’ man. Just…slow it down. You got sloppy last night, and that’s how you fucked things up in the first place,” he says. I nod and slide the beer to the middle of the counter, then pull myself up to sit on the seat opposite of my friend.
“I fucked things up a long time ago. Last night was nothing—trust me,” I say. I let my eyes focus on the beer, on the label and the gray color of the paper, the way it matches Emma’s eyes. I can literally see her everywhere. I retrain my gaze to Trent, and he’s studying me. “I love her. And it’s so fucking bad. And it’s messed me up…damn. Trent, I’m so messed up over it, I don’t even know what to do.”
“You tell her,” he answers quickly.
I laugh in response, but he shakes his head and simply repeats his answer.
“Tell her what? Hey, I’m sorry I’m a loser who doesn’t know how to have a real relationship; so instead, I steal chick’s wallets—and love them and leave them? But really I’m not that broken, so maybe try me out?”
“Uh…no. You don’t say that,” he says, getting to his feet and grabbing my beer in his hand, finishing it. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he points a finger at me. “Hey, I don’t do dumb shit after a beer or two. That’s your thing.”
“That Graham dude wants to fight me,” I say, catching Trent off guard as he’s about to toss the empty bottle in our recycle box. He pauses, pursing his lips before finally throwing the bottle away and moving back to his seat.
“So he, what…like challenged you to a duel at dawn or something?” he jokes.
I shake my head and let my gaze fall to my lap.
“No, or maybe, yeah. I…I don’t know. It was before this whole thing happened, before last night. He knows Harley, and he’s got some major bank.”
“So you want to fight him for the money,” Trent says, and I can hear his disapproval loud and clear. I fill my lungs and hold my breath, letting the air seep out slowly before looking my friend in the eyes.
“At first, yeah. It’s a lot of money,” I say.
“At first,” he repeats me.
I nod.
“Now, I just want to beat the shit out of him for free,” I say, my mouth hard, my breathing stopping, my eyes angry as I imagine the feel of my fist landing on him. I want to destroy him.
Trent doesn’t respond, and eventually he slides from his seat and moves into our living room, picking up the remote and putting on ESPN, going right to his routine. I watch him for a few seconds, and I try to find the courage to ask him what he thinks I should do. But I already know—he doesn’t think I belong in the ring with that guy, and he knows I won’t be able to control myself when I face him. And I don’t want Trent to tell me not to do it.
After a few minutes, I leave the kitchen and kick my shoes off by the front door, then grab my backpack from the table and start to carry it to my room.
“You should take her out on a real date. That’s what you do. Buy her flowers, give her chocolate, or a teddy bear. Hell…do all three. You need all the help you can get,” he says, stopping me before I reach my room. I turn my head back to look at him, and at first he keeps his attention on the TV, but eventually he faces me, giving me a slight shrug. “You asked me what you should do, and if you really love her, you should make that absolutely clear to her.”
I chew at the inside of my mouth for a few seconds, considering what Trent said. Eventually, I nod in agreement, then make my way to my room so I can come up with something perfect for Emma—something I can do tonight, because I cannot let one more day go by where I’m anything but in love with this girl.
Chapter 19
Emma
I skipped Miranda’s lecture today. I’m sure she’ll text me. I’ve only missed once before, and it was because of a financial-aid meeting. She questioned my absence then, and it was easy to explain. Today’s is a little more challenging. “Oh, well, you see…your son got all grabby with me, then hit me when I fought back, and I want to hide this from you because I’m afraid you’ll pick his side.”
Yeah—skipping was a good call.
I left my things at Andrew’s this morning, and somehow, despite months of walking home in one direction, my legs managed to remember that today they lived somewhere else. The tickle in my tummy i
s constant the closer I get to his apartment, and I can’t decide if it’s because I’m excited, or because I’m anxious over Lindsey. I think maybe it’s both.
I still feel selfish.
I’m about to push his key in the lock when the door suddenly opens in front of me, Andrew stepping through it and closing it behind his back. He’s wearing a thin white T-shirt with skulls on the front over a black long-sleeved shirt, tight black jeans, and gray lace-up boots. His hair is combed back, and he smells almost edible. I swear his cologne is circling me for the kill. He pushes his hands into his pockets nervously, and shuffles his feet as he looks down at them while he talks.
“So I have plans. I mean, for me and you. I mean…shit. I’m already messing this up,” he stammers. I suck in my bottom lip, trying not to smile or embarrass him. He looks me in the eyes and takes a deep breath, holding up a finger, stepping into his apartment and exiting it again just as he did before. “Let’s try this again. Emma, I’d like to take you out tonight. On a date—a real date. And if this turns out to be corny or lame or if I gross you out or…whatever…then it’s all Trent’s fault. He told me I should show you how I feel. So, tonight, if you’re willing to give me a shot, I’d like to start over. I’d like us to start over. And I’d like to treat you like you deserve to be treated…like I should have treated you all along. Whadaya say?”
My lip slides loose from my hold, and I can’t stop the quick spread of my smile. Andrew smiles in return, nodding once and letting out a heavy breath. “Phew. Good. Okay then, before you go inside, I want you to know that I realize I might have gone a little overboard. But like I said—I didn’t want there to be any question in your mind about my intentions here. I’m asking you on a date, and that date ends when you say goodnight. And then I will take my place on our very comfortable couch, giving you your privacy in my room for as long as you need it.”
