Cross My Heart (23 page)

He snorts
. “I got my motorcycle with drug money, Jade. How
the hell would I
pay for college?”

I si
t up
, spouting off every good solution I can think of
. “Well, for one you could go to a state school. Two, you could apply for scholarships. Three, you could do work study, or get a part-time job off campus. . . .”

“You don’t happen to volunteer as some sort of life coac
h on the side
,
do you?” he teases
.

“Like I have time for
that,” I reply
, rolling my eyes. “And don’t try to change the subject. I’m
serious
, Parker. You’re smart. You owe it to yourself to go to college and make a better life for yourself.”

“Easy for you to say. Your parents can afford to send you to an Ivy League school.”

“I applied for scholarships to help out. And the only reason my parents can pay for Harvard is because I have two older brothers who bailed
on higher education,” I inform
him.

B
oth of my brothers went to w
ork for my dad as soon as they
graduated high school. While my mom wanted them to at least try for a two-year degree, both claimed college wasn’t for them; they could do better learning from Dad and continuing his company when he retired. “There’ll always be a need f
or new construction,” Daniel
said. By default, I ge
t everything
hoarded away
in my parent
s’
college savings a
ccount for us kids. This mak
e
s
getting into Harvard
vital
.
I
n terms of education, I
’m all my parents have
left.

“You know,” I continue
after a few, quiet moments.
“The grass isn’t always greener
. . .”

“You don’t know
anything
about my life,”
Parker
says
, his tone sharp. “Maybe sometimes the grass
is
greener.”

“So you’re just
gonna
run away? You’ll have to get a job. You’ll have to find a place to live.” M
y ton
e ri
se
s
instinctively, angry
, even
though I’m not
trying to start a fight. I
just
ca
n’t understand why Parker i
s goi
ng to throw away everything he’s
worked for when i
t’s
so
obvious he
cares
.

“And you think I haven’t figured all of that out? I might not be a control freak, but I do have a
plan
.”

The words smart,
stinging.
“That’s a low
blow,” I accuse
.

He looks
away for a
moment,
staring out the window,
and a heavy silence falls
between us. Then
. . .
he turns back . . .
our eyes meet
. . .
and
he smiles at me.
It’s both sweet and mysterious
—a very beautiful smi
le, actually. My
lips part and
heart flutters
,
slowly beginning
to thaw
. My mind rebels and my anger
simmers,
dissipating.
I turn
my face
away, hating him for
doing this to me
,
for
having this
kind of c
ontrol
over me
. And the thing is, he probably doesn’t even realize what he’
s doing
to me
every time he
stares
at me like that.

“
Hey
.” He
reaches over and tucks
my hair b
ehind my ear for me,
tracing my jaw
line with
the back of
his
hand
. I shiver, a series of tingles working through my spin
e
. He
pulls
my
chin toward him
. His fingers a
re
warm now
,
gentle,
and
for a moment
my heart stops beating. I
suck
in a breath
and hold it
, surges of electricity pulsing
where our skin meets.

“
I l
ove
that you’re concerned
about me
,
Jade,
but
I am
not
a project.
”

I swallow
hard
as he releases me
. “I didn’
t say you were.” I nearly choke
on the words, willing myself to breathe.

“Really? Because it’s starti
ng to look like it.” His tone is light as he says
this,
almost teasing—as if mockin
g me
for caring about
him.
“
And I was
n’t calling you a control freak,
”
he continues.
“
I
just
think you have enough to worry about without adding me to the list.”

“I don’t make lists,
”
I say, frowning.

He smiles
again
, and I find myself sinking under its weight.
“You know, that actually surprises me.”

I reach
forward to turn the heat back up.
T
he green digits on my clock drift
closer to midnight. I check
my
cell phone to be sure.

“When’s curfew?”
he asks.

“Fifteen mi
nutes
.
”
I si
t back, staring into the darkness outs
ide my window. “Did you see the moon
?”

“I did,” he says
, nodding.

“Do you think we’ll actually see
the sun
tomorrow
?”

“Don’t know.”

“I hope so.”

“I know you do.” He reaches
for the door handle
, pulling on it
. “Thanks for letting
me borrow your heater,” he says
,
grinning
at me.

I crack a small smile.
“Thanks fo
r stalking me,” I return
.

Parker pushes the door open and climbs out. Cold air rushes inside. I shiver. He bends
down, leaning his arm against my roof, peering in. “Maybe I can stalk you again sometime.”

“
Absolutely
.”

“I was thinking of stalking you Monday afternoon around three. I figured we should divvy up assignments for our project.”

“Okay,” I reply
. He shut
s
my
car door carefully, then circles
around to his motorcycle.

I watch as
he
runs his fingers through his hair,
straps his helmet on
, and ratchets
the engine. Before he backs out of the space, I offer a tiny wave. He nods
in reply.

I pull
out of the parking lot first, taking a left in the direction toward my house.
I watch
in
my rearview mirror as Parker ta
k
es
a r
ight, heading wherever he wants
to go: out of town
. . . home . . . whatever suits
his whim
s of the moment. For this, I fi
nd myself feeling both sad for him and envious at the same time, wondering how i
t’
s even possible two such emotions could mu
tually exist. And yet here I am
—torn: wanting to pull him closer, saving him, and at the same time wishing I could hop on the back of his motorcycle and, for once, allow someone to save
me
.

*
  
*
  
*

Earlier
,
I
thought Parker and I were the only ones in the entire
world
still awake.
As s
oon as I let myself inside
and shut the
front
door, however, I realize
I was wrong. Dead. Wrong.

“Jaden?”

I
jump
at the sound of my
own
name, startled.

“Mom
?
Jesus!
”
I hiss, working to even my breathing.

My mom appears
at
the door leading to the den,
arms folde
d across her chest. Though I haven’
t seen it often (and as a result of Daniel and Phillip’s transgr
essions more than mine), she has
that “look” on her face. It scr
eams
disapproval. Her mouth
is
pressed in a thin, fir
m line,
features sharpened by the shadows from
the
lamp on the buffet beside the stairs.
I want
to melt,
to
disappear between the
cracks of the
floorboards.

“Where were you?” she asks
.

“I didn’t miss curfew,” I say
,
automatically moving to defend
myse
lf.
I realize
a moment too late
:
that’s not exactly what she
asked.

“I didn’t say you did. I asked you wher
e you were,” she calmly repeats
.

I clear
my throat. “I went out with Blake and
Savannah after the game,” I say
,
guarded,
struggling to steady my voice
. It’s not
a
total
lie.

“Really?”

“Yes,” I reply
guiltily, shifting my weight from one leg
to the other. I almost hesitate
to ask, but: “Why?”

Mom doesn’t move, just continues
to stare at me in accusation. “Because Blake called. He wanted to make sure you got home ok
ay. Imagine his surprise when I
told him you weren’t here
,
yet. He was sure you left when he did.”

“What did he say?” I ask. My
palms
are beginning to sweat, and t
he foyer air has
never felt so stifling in winter.
I shiver.

“He said to call him when you go
t in,” she inform
s
me. “I doubt he thought it would be this late, though.”

“I’ll call.” I move
toward the stairs. “He’s probably not even asleep.”

“That was
m
ore than an hour ago,” Mom says
before I can
climb them. “I’m going to ask again: where were you?”

I should’ve checked my tone before answering, because
even I can
hear the i
rritation in my voice as I spit out the words:
“I was just hanging o
ut with some friends.
”

“Friends?”

I roll
my eyes. “Friend.”

“Which friend?”

Of course she
want
s
specifics. I wonde
r
why she’s no
t
asleep
like a normal parent. I wonder
why Blake called me when
I was just
with him like, fif
teen minutes earlier. I wonder why it’
s
such a big deal Parker Whalen is my friend, and that I like
spending time with him
. I hesitate
b
efore answering, knowing this i
s about to get ugly. Real. Ugly. “Parker.”