Breakaway (12 page)

“Thanks for taking Chick home,” I said once we were alone in the car.

“It's no problem,” Raine said as she backed the car out into the road.

“You remember where I live?” I asked, figuring our date had probably been one of the more forgettable things that had ever happened to her.

She didn't answer me right away but after a minute blurted suddenly, “You want to go get a coffee or something?”

I hesitated because I didn't think I had more than a dollar or two in my pocket. Maybe I could agree to go and then just say I didn't really want anything to drink once we were there.

“If you don't—,” she started to say.

“No,” I said, cutting her off. “I mean, I do. I want to. I'd rather go just about anywhere than home right now.”

“I feel ya,” she said.

“My mom's been kind of hard to live with lately,” I said. Massive understatement. “What are you up to tonight?” I asked to change the subject so things didn't slide into awkward territory again.

“I'm grounded this weekend,” she said and bit her lower lip as her expression turned worried. “I got out of the house today by saying I was going to the library to study. My mom flipped out after she saw my progress report from school. I haven't been doing so well in some of my classes. I'm getting tutored in math, which is super lame and embarrassing.”

“What math are you in?” I asked.

“Algebra Two. Also lame. What about you?” she asked.

“I'm in Calculus.”

“You're in Calc?” she asked, like it was the most amazing news she had ever heard.

“Yeah, I'm not as stupid as you think I am,” I said, wishing as soon as the words had left my mouth that I could take them back.

“I didn't mean it like that and you know it,” she said, glancing away from the road to study my expression. “Anyway, I'm practically flunking half my classes at this point, so I get help with my homework a couple of days a week.”

“I've always been good at math. Only one right answer, you know? Simple.”

“That's what makes it hard,” she said. “You can't fake your way through math. I've always had to fake my way through school, be the bullshit artist. I have a hard time staying on top of my classes.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “Why's that?”

She cut her eyes toward me but didn't answer right away, seemed to be thinking about what to say. “I don't know.”

“You don't know, or you don't want to say?”

She blew out a small laugh and said, “I don't want to say.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“Being an underachiever is
un
acceptable in the Blair household,” Raine said, making a joke out of it now. “The Blairs are winners, and winners never quit.” Jordie talked the same way a lot of the time, like life was so hard because he always had his parents placing expectations on him. Though I kept my mouth shut about it, sometimes I thought maybe that wasn't such a terrible thing, to have parents who actually gave a shit when or if you came home, wanted you to do well in school, to be good at something. But then, no one had ever expected much from me, so maybe it was more of a burden than I realized.

A minute later Raine pulled the car into the parking lot at the Starbucks closest to school and put the car in park.

“You want to go here?” I asked, surprised that she had chosen a place so close to campus where other people from school might be hanging out.

“Yeah. Why not?” she asked.

“Aren't you afraid of being seen with me in public?” I asked. “I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“Did you think we were going to make out in a booth or something?” she asked. “We're just going for coffee.”

I felt a twinge of longing when she mentioned making out and I'll admit, my mind wandered down that path for a fleeting, fantastical mental visual. “So,
is
Brian your boyfriend?” I asked, wanting to hear her say one way or the other.

“No,” she said. “He just sometimes thinks he is. If you're so worried about it—”

“I'm not,” I said, cutting her off.

“Good, then drop it.” She got out of the car and shut the door, not waiting to see if I was following her.

I didn't want to check my pockets to see how much money I had and then have to figure out what I could afford by looking at the menu. Not in front of Raine. I just avoided the whole thing and when we got in line I said I didn't really want a coffee, would just sit and hang out while she drank hers.

“I'll take a latte with whole milk,” she said to the cashier, “and just a plain coffee for him.” Before I could argue she handed money over to the cashier and paid for both of us.

“You didn't have to buy me a coffee,” I said as we moved to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks.

“I know I didn't
have
to. Is that your way of saying thank you?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I'll thank you later. In private.”

She laughed and said, “Cut it out. I know you think you're charming since you have girls throwing themselves at your feet every day, but I am totally immune. Got that?” She arched one eyebrow as she waited for my answer.

“Got it,” I said.

We crossed the room to grab a small table near the window. As we slid into our seats Raine checked the display on her phone and said, “I have to get the car home by six because my stupid brother needs it.”

“Your stupid brother?” I asked with a chuckle. “You sound like you're four.”

“Eff you, okay? My brother is a total jerk.”

“I know your brother,” I said as I removed the lid from my coffee to drink. “He seems like an okay guy.”

“Maybe to you he is,” she said. “He wrecked his car so now we have to share mine. He's a pain in my ass.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then said, “But I guess most people feel that way about their siblings.”

I nodded but didn't say anything, just kept my gaze fixed on the window, watching a guy in a Jetta struggle to parallel-park in a space big enough to fit two cars.

When I looked at her again her eyes were wide, her coffee cup poised halfway between the table and her lips. “I—I'm sorry,” she said with a stammer.

“About what?” I asked.

“I didn't mean … I shouldn't have said that.”

“Said what?” I asked.

“About my brother,” she said, her eyes searching for something to look at, anything other than my face.

“You mean because of Sylvia?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said as she took a deep breath and sat back in her seat, her hands balled in her lap. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. It doesn't bother me.”

“What do you mean it doesn't bother you?” she asked. “It doesn't bother you that your sister died? You're full of shit.”

“You just said you hated your brother.”

“I know, but I didn't mean it. He can make me crazy, sure, but I would be devastated if … if something happened to him.”

“Then I guess you shouldn't say things you don't mean,” I said.

“Don't do that,” she said.

“Do what?” I asked with a scowl.

“Get mad. You know, you don't have to act like you're too cool to be sad about it. That's your reaction to everything. You either treat it like a total joke or you get mad about it.”

“You don't even know me,” I said, my voice rising, but I was fighting back the emotions that lay coiled in my belly like a snake.

“You're right,” she said. “Let's just forget it. I wasn't trying to make you mad.”

“I'm not mad about it,” I said and ducked my head, forcing her to meet my eye. “I like talking to you. Okay? I just … don't want to talk about Sylvia.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, and then she surprised me by putting her hand on my wrist and gently pinching the fleshy part of my hand at the base of my thumb. It was as if she was silently apologizing and my heart fluttered against my ribs like a bird with an injured wing. I wanted to grab her hand before she could pull away. It surprised me, this attraction I felt for her. I never would have pictured myself liking a girl like Raine, but there it was.

“Aren't you going to put anything in your coffee?” she asked to change the subject. She put her chin in her hand and rested her elbow on the table. “You're like a cowboy or a construction worker or something, drinking it without any cream or sugar. How can you drink it like that?”

“I like the taste of coffee,” I said as I took another scalding sip. “If you don't like the taste, why do you drink it?”

 

 

We talked for almost an hour—about music, our friends, school—our conversation just flowing naturally from one topic to another. She had a way of making a joke that was so quick and smart that sometimes even she seemed surprised by her own sense of humor. Our knees accidentally touched a few times under the table, and sometimes she would interrupt me to ask a question or to make a comment, and when she did she would lean forward and put a hand on the side of my knee, as if to say, hold that thought while I tell you this. I would keep my eyes on her face while she was talking, but all I could think about was her hand on my knee, though she didn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable about it.

Her brother texted her twice to ask where the hell she was and when she would be home. After she interrupted our conversation both times to look at the messages on her phone I took the phone from her.

Finally, when the sun had set and she was thirty minutes late leaving to get the car home, we left and she drove me home.

The more I got to know Raine, the more I realized that being just friends with her would not be easy. The problem was, as soon as I had started thinking of her as beautiful, I couldn't really unthink it. And the more I got to know her, the more I thought that maybe I didn't just like her. Maybe I was on my way to making playlists about her.

As she pulled off Four Mile Run to drop me off I was suddenly conscious of how run-down and dirty the neighborhood was. The upper apartments had balconies, but most only had laundry hanging on a line or were used to store bikes or other outdoor equipment. These weren't balconies where people sat to enjoy a sunset or a cup of tea.

The XM radio was on the alternative station and she reached over to turn up the volume when a song I didn't recognize started to play. “Sorry, I love this song,” she said.

“What is this band?” I asked.

“Why?” she asked. “You don't like it?”

“I didn't say I didn't like it. I've just never heard it before,” I said.

“They're called Neutral Milk Hotel.”

“Weird. They still around? It sounds really old but I've never heard it.”

“It's just the way they record it, makes it sound like it was recorded in the '60s,” she said as she turned down the volume a little so we could talk over the music. “They've been around for a while, maybe since 2000 or 2001. Do you like it?”

“I dig it okay. Reminds me of Bob Dylan a little bit.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“My dad's really into Bob Dylan,” I said absently as I stared out the window. “You know that song, ‘Girl from the North Country'? Bob Dylan did a duet of it with Johnny Cash. My dad loves that song.”

“I thought your dad wasn't around,” she said, and I remembered I had told her that when we were out for pizza with Cheryl and Jordie.

“I see him sometimes,” I said. “I've never lived with him, didn't see him much when I was growing up, that's all.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” I said as I gathered my jacket from my lap and opened the door. “I guess I'll see you around.”

“Sure,” she said.

I was out of the car and she started to put the gearshift in reverse when I reached into my pocket and said, “Don't forget your phone.”

“Are you coming to Madison's party next weekend?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Okay. I guess I'll see you,” she said, and she seemed to be waiting for something though I wasn't sure what, so I just gave her a wave and shut the car door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Friday we had our away game against W & L. The team rode across town on the activities bus, all of us silent, like we were getting ready to go in front of a firing squad. Everyone on that bus knew we were probably about to get clobbered. W & L was a good team. At least a few of their players would be headed to college on soccer scholarships the next fall. And we were playing on their turf. We could barely beat W & L at home, much less on their territory.

The home team was already milling around the sideline when we filed off the bus and onto the field. There were a few shouts at us from the bleachers, the W & L crowd a much bigger turnout than what we would get at Wakefield. The shouts weren't welcoming so we ignored them, but there were at least two friendly faces there as we took the field.

Cheryl and Raine stood by the fence that separated the field from the bleachers, waiting to say hi before they went to get seats. Jordie stopped to talk to Cheryl.

Raine smiled as I approached and I felt my face relaxing into a smile in return. She was standing with her hands resting on the top of the fence, one foot tipped casually on toe point.

“You here to root for the other team?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on how much of a jerk you are to me.”

“Your loyalties should be to your home team,” I said, “regardless of whether you like who's playing.”

“I didn't come here to cheer for a team,” she said with a meaningful tilt of her head as she looked up at me through hooded eyes, “just one person in particular.”

“Lucky guy,” I said, my voice close to breaking. The tables were turned and she had finally managed to say something to make me blush.