by Mary Strand
I walked to Michael’s house, and not only because Cat had the Jeep. If I didn’t have wheels, I could maybe catch a ride home from Kirk. He even gave Cat a ride the other day, and they didn’t like each other.
If I worked it right, maybe I could shove Amber out of the car as we went around a corner.
No one answered the door, which was ajar, so I walked inside and down the stairs to the basement. Once there, I blinked at the darkness. The band was already here—including Heather, who looked nervous—but no one else. No Amber, not even Chelsea and Drew. This would be easier than I thought.
“Hey, Lydia.” Kirk shaded his eyes with one hand to look out at me and wave from the brightly-lit far end of the room. “Glad you made it.”
Heather waved, too, and Michael nodded. Jeremy didn’t look up from his drums. Zach glanced back and forth from me to his bass guitar as he tuned it, but I couldn’t read his reaction. Not that I cared. He wasn’t Kirk.
I leaned back on the wraparound couch, on the end closest to the band, and watched Kirk and Heather on their guitars. Heather looked terrified, but her fingers worked the chords in a way I definitely couldn’t. She had a scratched guitar and wore preppy clothes—a pink polo shirt and khaki bermudas with Birkenstock sandals—and didn’t look at all like a musician. I pictured my own gleaming turquoise guitar and rock-star outfit and wished I could combine Heather’s skills with my fashion sense.
Okay, I was a little jealous. Every guy in this room would choose the skills over the clothes. It didn’t mean they’d want to date a girl like Heather. They just liked her playing in their band. Same thing with my sister Mary.
Not that I was annoyed or anything.
The band started their first song, no one singing. Oh, yeah. Maybe Cat had been right that no one in the band could sing. After a minute, though, Kirk nodded at Heather, who started singing, her voice tentative as she looked down to play her chords.
By the end of the chorus, her voice wasn’t so tentative. In fact, she sounded good. Soft but sure. Not surprisingly, sweet.
“Hey.”
Hunched forward on the edge of the couch, my eyes glued to Heather and almost forgetting Kirk and everyone else, I jerked at the sound of a voice at my ear. Practically in my ear. My head slammed into Drew’s mouth. Crunch.
Flustered, I reached out for him to make sure he was all right. Not my smartest move, since he tugged on my right hand, drawing it around his waist as he sat down next to me.
“Drew? What are you doing?”
Nibbling on my earlobe, apparently.
His breath tickled my ear, making me squirm, as a husky whisper floated into my ear. “I said I wanted to get together, and Kirk said you’d be here.”
As his octopus tentacles went around me, I tried pulling away. Glancing wildly at the band, even though I didn’t want to catch their attention—especially not Kirk’s—I saw Jeremy’s half-closed eyelids, which didn’t mean he wasn’t looking, and Zach’s full-on stare. No one else seemed to notice what Drew was trying to do to me. With me.
Thank God.
Drew’s lips traced a path around my ear and down my neck. I’d wanted to feel this again—this heat, this passion—but from Drew? Especially when it meant I’d probably feel something far more painful from Chelsea in a matter of seconds?
“Drew.” I turned my head slightly, even though a tiny part of me actually liked the kisses, despite the fact that they were from Drew. “We can’t—”
His lips landed on mine, tasting sweet, I guess, as he eased me back against the couch. The more I struggled to stop him, the more tangled I got in his arms. And now his legs, which intertwined with mine.
I finally pulled away. Slightly. As much as I could without slugging him. “Uh, Drew? Chelsea?”
He drew a ragged breath as his dark-as-coal eyes sucked me in. God, he was good at this. I had no idea. “I want you, Lydia. Always have.”
“Always?” Even when he and Cat had been an item? Or at least Cat’s dream of an item? Ew.
Wait. I was pissed at Cat, wasn’t I? Willing to do anything to make her feel as lousy as possible?
“Always.” He started nibbling again just as someone said something into the mic.
As the sound registered, I jerked away from him. My gaze shot to the band, and everyone was looking at Drew and me. It didn’t help when I yanked up the neckline of my shirt, where Drew’s hands had tried a not-so-subtle grope. I crossed my legs, knocking Drew’s left leg away from my shin.
When Kirk grinned, I realized he’d been the one talking into the mic. “Hey, you guys. Are we missing something?”
As I felt every inch of my body flush, Drew laughed. Like he wanted everyone to know. Like he’d take out an ad in the school newspaper tomorrow.
I scooted a few inches away but didn’t say anything, and the band started playing another song. With Heather singing again, this time in a duet with Kirk.
Great. Heather got Kirk—at least in a duet—and I got Drew. Not my plan. Not my choice. Sure, I hadn’t exactly fought him off, but I also didn’t want him.
A few minutes later, when Heather started singing “You don’t always get what you want,” I almost threw up.
Drew left fifteen minutes after our mini makeout session, finally, when he realized I wasn’t going to resume it.
No one else showed up, which surprised me, because Cat had said last year that a lot of kids used to come to listen to the band play in Michael’s basement.
So I sat alone, looking like the definition of pathetic.
Perfect.
When Kirk strummed the last chord of the last song, I stood up, trying not to look hopeful. Or eager. Or, heaven help me, like sloppy seconds.
Kirk packed up his guitar and amp in a hurry, then walked right past me toward the stairs. Looking annoyed.
“Kirk?” I scrambled but didn’t catch him until he was halfway up the stairs. Which was probably better, come to think of it. No witnesses. “I was wondering if—”
He turned his back on me, which stung. “Sorry. I’ve gotta go.”
As he took off again, I followed, even though I’d never felt so stupid in my life. Not even in that strip bar in Milwaukee, which said something.
“Was it something—” I cut myself off on the brink of sounding weaker than I ever had in my life. I wanted Kirk, but not enough to beg. “I mean, any chance I can catch a ride home with you? Cat had to take the Jeep to work.”
He whirled on me at the front door, but he still wore his silly sunglasses, and I had no idea what was going on in his eyes. From the grim slash of his mouth, I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good.
“What are you doing with Drew? Playing? He has a girlfriend, you know.”
I glared at Kirk, even though it wasn’t my most attractive look. “I didn’t come here with Drew, and I’m not hooking up with him, and he left when he figured it out. But he said you told him I’d be here today.”
Kirk gave me a look I couldn’t decipher, then started toward his car, but more slowly, as if he didn’t mind me tagging along. So I tagged along.
“I didn’t tell him to make out with you.”
“Maybe not, but I bet you knew he wanted to.”
“You knew it, too. He told me you guys were planning to hook up.”
“One of us was.” I shrugged, but my nerves jangled. I had one shot at fixing things with Kirk, and the odds weren’t good. “I told you I wasn’t interested in him.”
“You don’t seem to mind kissing him, though. Or totally making out with him.”
Was he jealous? “It was an accident.”
Kirk lifted his sunglasses long enough to give me an incredulous stare with his gorgeous blue eyes. Eyes like that really shouldn’t ever be covered by sunglasses.
I touched his arm, even though I knew I was risking the strong possibility of him brushing me off.
“Honestly. I don’t know where Drew was coming from.” Okay, I did the moment his tongue landed in my ear. “He too
k me by surprise, and I didn’t want to make a big scene or slug him or whatever. But he left. You saw him leave.”
We’d reached Kirk’s midnight-blue Mustang and both stopped at the passenger door. A speck of hope fluttered inside me when he didn’t open the trunk to shove me inside head first. Let’s just say my expectations were pretty minimal.
Kirk dropped his sunglasses back down. “Have you ever slugged a guy who tried to kiss you?”
Quite a few. Ever since I lost my virginity the hard way in ninth grade to Blake, the senior football player who laughed as tears rolled down my face, I’d slugged a lot of jerks. Most of them had told the world that I hadn’t slugged them, that I’d done everything they’d wanted in every position imaginable.
And everyone in school believed it. Including Kirk, obviously. Why wouldn’t he? I was pretty sure my own sisters believed it. Even Cat, who knew better.
I felt a stupid, traitorous tear in the corner of my eye, and I turned away to brush it off before Kirk saw it. I wanted him, but not his pity. I also didn’t want someone who believed everything he’d ever heard about me.
I turned back to him, my smile shaky. “Not that it matters, but yeah. I’ve had to slug a lot of guys in my life. Being a guy, though, you probably wouldn’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t have to slug me.”
“Why? Because I’d be so thrilled to have Kirk Easton in my arms?”
He gave me a crooked smile that told me everything but promised zip. “Something like that.”
“Funny.” Even though it wasn’t. At all. “I could’ve sworn you were the one lecturing me a few minutes ago about making out with a guy who had a girlfriend. What’s Amber?”
He hesitated a moment too long. “Amber is—”
I held up a hand. “Your girlfriend. Thanks, but I don’t need to steal guys from their girlfriends.” At least, not right this moment. “And I don’t hook up with guys who have no intention of breaking up with their girlfriends.”
I wasn’t sure what Kirk wanted, but I wasn’t waiting around to find out. He knew where to find me. I decided to let him. Turning, I started to walk away. Headed home. Alone. Without the guy I wanted more than anything.
“Don’t you want a ride?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Kirk, the bittersweet smile on my face not even fake. “Yeah, but I’m willing to wait.”
Just not forever.
Chapter 10
“I will answer for it, he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Sixteen
I trudged along the sidewalk, heading home, scuffing the toes of my black Converse as I kicked every stone I found in my path. A car drove by and honked, but I didn’t look up.
Another car slowed and then stopped.
“Hey. Lydia?”
I glanced sideways at the orange VW Beetle, not recognizing it, not caring. And kept walking.
The Beetle inched along next to me, then zoomed ahead a few houses before stopping. The driver—tall and skinny with light-brown hair—got out and stood by his door, watching me.
Zach Lashinski. The bass player with the Cat in the Hat tattoo. Also known as a possible ride home.
I kept shuffling along the sidewalk, but headed slightly in his direction, and finally stopped when I drew parallel with his glow-in-the-dark orange car.
We’d never spoken, so I wasn’t sure how he knew my name, but maybe he made a point of finding out the names of all the girls who made out with random guys at his band practices.
I stepped onto the boulevard and looked at Zach over the top of the sea of bright orange.
“Hey. You’re Zach, huh? Nice job on bass.”
Not that I’d really noticed. When I hadn’t been fending off Drew, I’d been focused on Kirk and Heather. Yeah, part of me wanted to burn my guitar in a raging bonfire, but the rest of me wanted to know how they played so well.
“Thanks.” His mouth quirked, as if he somehow knew I hadn’t been paying a bit of attention to him, but it only meant he had a brain. “You need a ride?”
I didn’t know him, but he played in Kirk’s band and seemed safe. Not that anyone I knew would think Lydia Bennet would worry about pesky little things like safety.
Shrugging, I reached for the door handle. “If you don’t mind? I live—”
“I know.” He grinned, making me wonder if he’d been checking me out. Until he spoke again. “I’ve given your sister Mary a ride home a few times. How’s she doing?”
I rolled my eyes. “Probably studying. That’s all she does, last time I checked.”
He got into his Beetle, reached across the front seat, and unlocked my door, then waited for me to climb in, too. “Guess you haven’t checked in a while, huh? She spends a lot of time with her guitar. Probably why she’s so good.”
As he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, I sighed, calculating in my head the number of blocks until home, the number of minutes I had to listen to another person drone on about Mary. Had everything changed while I’d been gone? Even Mary?
I didn’t know Zach, so I decided not to share my opinion on Mary. It didn’t leave me with much to say. I almost asked if he used to have blond hair and why he changed it, but the light brown looked good. Soft, shiny, and just barely in his eyes. “So you like bright orange, huh?”
His car looked like something an eight-year-old kid would want. It might explain his Cat in the Hat tattoo.
He stared straight ahead at the road. “My mom bought it for my sixteenth birthday. She thought it looked perky. What can I say?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t say anything. Just save up for a new paint job.”
Frowning, he kept driving.
After a minute of silence, I started to get annoyed.
“Hey, no biggie. You like bright orange, and you’ve got wheels, which is more than I can say.”
He flicked a glance at me. “I hate bright orange.”
“So you’ve got wheels but can’t afford a paint job. Dude, I know the feeling.”
He sucked in a breath, almost as if something annoyed him, even though I was the only other person in the car.
“I can afford the paint. I just don’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings.”
Wasn’t that what teenagers did on a daily basis? Bug the crap out of their parents?
“That’s nice.” Not to mention lame and mildly pathetic. If his mom wasn’t driving the car, why would she care what color it was? Wouldn’t she want her kid to be happy? “Did you get the Cat in the Hat tattoo for her, too?”
The glance he shot me this time wasn’t nice. He just drove in silence, not bothering to speak or even turn on the radio. I turned it on for him, flinching when classical music started playing. When I reached out to change the station, he touched my wrist, stopping me.
“Don’t.” He didn’t look at me. “Please.”
A minute later, he pulled up in front of my house. When I thanked him for the ride, he just nodded and stared out through the windshield.
Without another word, I climbed out and walked up to my house, hearing the gravel crunch under his wheels as he slowly pulled out from the curb.
Weird guy. My life was filled with them.
When I walked into Speech class on Friday morning, I wasn’t surprised to see Drew and Chelsea sitting in the back of the room but at opposite corners. Even though the only people at the band practice yesterday were the guys in the band, Drew, and me, word tended to get around.
Was Drew the type to cheat—or at least make a valiant effort to cheat—and then confess? Or had Heather spilled the beans to Chelsea? She seemed too quiet, too sweet, to gossip. But Chelsea was sitting on Heather’s side of the room, two desks back, and I’d seen them talking together at lunch.
I glanced around, wondering where to sit. Not by Chelsea. I was allergic to jellyfish.
I headed to the back of the room and grabbe
d the empty desk next to Drew. I wasn’t hitting on him, and I didn’t want him to hit on me, but there was no reason to kill a friendship with a guy just because of a mistaken and aborted makeout session.
“Hey.” I set my books on my desk, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Chelsea had quit trying to pretend she wasn’t watching me. Turning my back on her, I smiled at Drew, who had a pained expression on his face. “How’s it going?”
He looked as if he were being tortured to death. “It’s been better.”
“At least you got your extemp speech done yesterday. You can sit back and relax.”
Following my own advice, I lined up my pens next to my books and notebook, then leaned back in my chair. Ms. Ciccarelli had made extemporaneous speeches sound so easy, but she made up for it in her tough comments afterward. I’d done mine, though, and life was too short to worry about Ms. Ciccarelli or whether Drew and I should’ve sucked face in Michael’s basement yesterday.
I had much bigger regrets in my life, and I didn’t even spend my time worrying about those.
I felt Drew leaning over toward me a moment before I heard his soft voice. “Are you okay? I mean, are you pissed? Or, I don’t know, interested?”
“Pissed? Interested?” I dropped my voice as I glanced at Drew, who for once in his life didn’t try to sneak a peek down my shirt. “Are there any choices in between?”
He glanced over my shoulder, probably at Chelsea, but I didn’t turn to confirm it. Too many girls, including Chelsea, had tried to yank out my hair, and it was short enough already.
Finally, Drew looked back at me. Okay, this time he glanced down my shirt. “Sorry. I thought you— Well, I thought it’d be cool.”
I waved a hand. “Everything’s cool between us, right? We’ve always been pals.”
It probably wasn’t the right moment to tell him I liked his best friend, not him. Never was probably the right moment for that.
Drew shrugged, and I thought I heard a little sigh. He was actually a decent guy, just too easily led—or maybe too easily distracted. Chelsea was right up his alley, but he’d been a fool to pick Chelsea over Cat.
