Cross My Heart (28 page)

I watch as he breathes
in and out. Thinking. Debating.

“I’m pissed at my mom for kicking me out of the house.”

He
tells
me
about her. How broke they were. H
ow he
never had anything growing up. How she jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, thinking they had the answers—that they held some
secret key to her happiness. How awful coming home was after she remarried.
H
ow h
e hated the guy
who first offered him weed.
T
hat
he quit smoking (everything) cold turkey. How he felt when he was arrested—like he was the b
iggest screw up ever. What it’
s like to be an only child. And how, m
ore than anything else, he ca
n’t wait to leave for good. F
inally leave it all behind.

He stops
there, refusing to go on.
“Your turn,” he says
.

My nose scrunches.
“My turn?”

“Yeah. It’s only fair, right?”

“
Okay.
What do you want to know?”
I sit up, straighter.

“Same idea. Something real. S
omething no one else knows.
”

I have
to think for a moment.
Something no one else knows
. T
hat
implies
I’m hiding something.
I don’t have anything
to
hide.
Except for Parker
, maybe
.
But then. . . .

“I, um, I don’t really know how to relate to my dad,” I say, swallowing hard. “
He’s busy. All the time. He doesn’t pay very much attention to me, or do things I’d like him to do.
Things I
need
him to do.
Like fix my faucet.”

Parker
doesn’t interrupt or finish what I’m trying to say. He
just
watches—
listening—
eyes
trained on me. And so I go on.
I tell
him what it was like growing up the baby sis
ter of two
brothers, t
hat I feel
more connected to Daniel than anyone else in my family, and the thing that scare
s me the most is
failure:
not living up to everyone’s expectations.

“But
that
’
s not even logical
,” he says.
“
I mean, if that’s true, then you’re already setting yourself up to fail because you can’
t please everybody.”

“
I know.
It’s just that, it’s like everyone is anticipating me going on and doing something amazing—saving t
he world
,
or whatever,” I reply
. “They
expect
it.”

“Which is why you need to start focusing more on Jaden and less on what everyone wants Jaden to be.
You need to relax.
W
hen was the last time you went out and did something crazy
,
for you
?”

“Saturday .
. . and now tonight,” I remind
him.
Hopping on the back of a motorcycle with a guy I barely know. Sneaking him up to my third floor attic.
Feeling . . .
something
for h
im, though I can’t quite figure out
what.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time coming
. You can’t let
the opinions
of
other people
get in the way of who
you
want
to be.” 

“I know, but in a lot of ways it’s
my
own
fault
. T
heir expectations are so high
because I
set them
. They’re all sitting back, waiting for me to become
. . . I don’t know . . .
Jaden
McEntyre
, M.D.”

“Who cares? You’re not living for them.”

“I know . . . but
. . .”

“
You have a ‘but’ for everything, do yo
u know that?” He stops, pausing,
brow furrowing as he considers something—something else. “
Wait a minute. What are you saying? You
want
to go
to med school, right?” he asks
.

I o
pen
my mouth to answer, then shut it.
And it hits me:
Do
I
want
to go to med school?
Has anyone even
asked
me if that’s what I really w
ant to do
?
I close
my eyes for a moment,
pressing my thumb and index finger into the bridge of my nose.
Why would he ask unless he had a reason to think that
’
s not what I really want?
Is
that what I want? Am I even ready to make that kind of decision?

He leans
forward
, whispering
:
“Jade.
”

“What?” I mutter
.

Parker
removes my hand
from my face, wrapping his fingers
tightly
around mine. He pull
s
my hand to his lips, and I can feel his warm breath
,
the raspy shadow on his chin
from
not shaving
.
My eyes flutter open,
my stomach flip-flops
. “
Please t
ell me you
want
to be a doctor, and it’s not something somebody told you
you
should do that sounded like a good idea at the time.”

I swallow hard, stuffing my emotions deep inside, heart bumping against my ribs.
“No.
I mean, med school is
the
greatest challenge, right? I want to see if I can make it.”

“This isn’t about a
challenge
,” he says, a flash of anger in his eyes. “This is about finding what you love to do:
doing
something that makes you happy.”

“Helping people makes me happy,” I reply, defiant
, wrenching my hand away from his grasp
.

“If
it doesn’t work out. . . .
”
he trails off.

If it doesn’t work out?
I shrug
. “I don’t know
. But isn’t that the point? To go to school and figure out what you want to do?”

“Yeah, keeping in mind it’s
your
decision and no one else’s.”

“I mak
e all of my
own
decisions
,
thank you,
” I say
.

“Okay, then. Let me rephrase that: keeping in mind that your decisions shouldn’t be influenced by other people.”

Listen to
him taking the moral high road,
like he has all the answers. He isn’t even
going
to college.
“You shou
ld take your own advice,” I snap
,
fury
simmering
,
bubbling inside.

A smile hovers at the edge of his lips.
“You’re really going there again.
”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, well, friends don’t let friends screw themselves by stressing about what other people think.”

I raise
an eyebrow
,
surprised by this admission,
tiny s
prouts of
hope blossoming, dissolving my
anger entirely
. “So . . . you’re saying we’re friends?”
I ask, cautious
.

He pauses a beat. Then another.
“I think so. Don’t you?”

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, lips tingling. Parker Whalen is my friend.
“I’m just makin
g sure we’re on the same page, t
hat’s all. You’re not the easiest person to read.”

He shrugs
.

“In that case
,” I go
on, “friends don’t let friends screw themselves by not thinking about the future at all. So don’t expect me to let up on the whole college thing. As your friend I have a license to annoy you about it. Bring it up. Beat you into submission.”

“So this is an ab
usive relationship,” he con
firms
.

I laugh
softly
,
unable to meet his eyes
. “This is a friend . . . caring about her friend.”

*
  
*
  
*

Without my phone or a watch, t
here’
s no
possible
way
for either of us
t
o know how much time
has elapsed
, b
ut in the distant corners of my subconscious I know the
early
hours
of the morning
have
accelerated past, leaving us suspended
. Even
when
the conversation
b
egins to wane and I’m stifling yawns, I’m
disappointed to hear Parker say he has to leave.
Because part of me does
n’t w
ant him to go. A
s exhausted
as I am
, I’d
relinquish
sleep altogether for the chance to stay up the rest of t
he night talking—
just being
with him—
something
I’ve never felt about anyone. Ever.

“I guess
it
would be k
ind of obvious if we both show
up to
school half-asleep,” I reason
.

“And I don’t think
Mr. Perfect
would
appreciate the
rumors
about your late-night escapades
on
the third floor,” Parker teases
.

I
furrow
my brow, scowling
. “Which is why it doesn’t leave this room.”

“He’s not going to find out from
me, so don’t worry,” he assures
me.
He takes his index finger and traces
an X on his chest.

I smile
at this
,
stan
d
ing
carefully,
my joints stiff and full of fatigue
. “It’s been fun,” I admit
.
And as soon as I say it, I know it’s the truth. It
has
been fun. Fun and scary and stran
ge and surreal and amazing
all at once.

“We should do it again sometime.”

For a moment we stand
there,
motionless
.
It hurts to look at him
,
but I
can
’
t
tear my eyes away.
I can
’
t seem to get enough of him.
I swallow hard.
I don’t know how to end this
.
. . .
I
don
’
t even know if I
want
it to end.
I bit
e
my lower lip, chewing on
it,
self-conscious
.
He’s so close. The
light from the window
fa
ll
s
across his face, highlighting his features. His stron
g
jaw
line. His dark eyes
. I feel
this
dangerously
inexplicable urge to mo
ve
closer to him,
and
I wonder what he’s thinking
behind those hypnotic eyes
. If he’
s feeling the way I
’m
feeling—that, if he lea
ned in, just a little bit more
, I might actually kiss him.