Falling for Romeo (2 page)

It was enviable, amazing and disgusting.

“If that was a preview of what to expect from John Michaels,” Jennifer began loud enough so he could hear,

“it wouldn’t be worth it.” Hoisting her backpack over her shoulder, she headed for the door. When the room fell to a hush, she didn’t look back.

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Two

Jennifer pulled up in her driveway five minutes later, still tingling with the sweetness of revenge. Whether or not John or any of his pals had heard the comment didn’t matter, though she felt pretty sure they had. She’d told Lacey, and that was tantamount to announcing it over the school’s PA system.

Her mom had left the front room light burning, knowing how much Jennifer hated darkness.

Jennifer slipped the key into the lock just as she heard a car coming up the street. John. The old grey truck he drove made a steady choking sound as if on its last mile of life. He drove faster than usual, and that made her nervous. She wouldn’t put it past him to storm over and chew her out.

When his headlights caught her in a piercing gleam as he parked, she looked over with a look meant to tell him she was not going to be intimidated. Rather than dart to safety inside, she paused in the door frame and watched him.

He got out of his car and slammed the door, his fiery gaze pinning her. But he didn’t cross his yard. He strode quickly to his front door, eyes never leaving hers, before he disappeared inside.

She heard the thud of the door shutting and sighed.

Guilt festered, mixing with a strange longing inside k 0

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of her. Years ago, she and John had spent hours talking out their bedroom windows—two windows which happened to parallel each other on the second floors of their homes. They’d strung string and spoken through empty cans and traded messages on a pulley system John had devised.

They were best friends.

Before turning on her bedroom light, Jennifer stood in the darkness and a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine. She peered at his window. It was black.

Having a panoramic view of each other’s rooms had only been embarrassing once. After that, she always made sure her shades were closed
before
she undressed.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she wondered where he was. The other windows of the house were dark; she guessed the rest of the family was probably asleep, like hers. Where was John?

She stepped closer to the window and the moonlight barely caught her in its silvery blue light, reminding her of a night she’d been afraid for him. He’d been sick with the mumps. As his face swelled, her young heart had thought her best friend might choke and die.

He’d assured her he’d just swallowed baseballs.

Jennifer smiled. His light sense of humor was part of what drew people to him. He made you feel okay even if things weren’t. That night he’d run a string from her window to his and told her to sleep with the window open, to tug on the string which he’d wrapped around his wrist. He’d do the same if he thought he was going to die.

Jennifer didn’t dredged up these memories for a reason—they hurt.

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Staring blankly into the darkness of his bedroom, she thought she saw movement. Striving to see more clearly, she stood even closer to the window, forgetting that she was in full view with the moonlight overhead. Her eyes blinked hard at what she thought she saw. She had to be absolutely sure.

John stood just inside the darkened window. Then he moved himself so the blue-ice glaze of moonlight hollowed out his cheeks and hardened his gaze to cold marble. No glee lingered in her blood from earlier that night now.

She needed to apologize.

But apologies were another thing that had come between them.

Pride made her reach out to close her shutters on his face, but even as the idea flickered in her mind he pulled his closed first

• • •

John turned, and found his father standing in his doorway. A flash of panic squeezed in his chest. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty. “Practice went over.” Displeasure was evident in the hard lines on his dad’s face. He still wore his work clothes: white shirt and dress pants. The tie wasn’t even loose, so John knew his father hadn’t taken the time to do anything but eat and go right back to work in his office when he’d gotten home from his job.

“I thought Chip was going to be better about letting you kids out on time. He knows you all have other k

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responsibilities. Your jobs aren’t getting done around here and it’s hard on your mother.”

John worked a knot out of his throat with a hard swallow and nodded. “I know.”

“What about school work?”

“I’m all caught up, if that’s what you mean.”

“Your grades better not suffer because of this play, John.”

“They won’t, they aren’t.”

“I wonder how much time you’re giving to your future when you spend so much time in these extra-curricular activities.” His father stood in heated silence.

John’s armpits began to sweat. He hated when his dad did this; stared at him like he was deciding whether he should scream at him or slug him. It had been years since his dad had hit him, so he really wasn’t worried about being struck. And even if his dad did choose to hit him, this moment wasn’t all about the fact that he was late again. For a second he forgot his nerves and his own frustrations bubbled.

He hated money problems—they infected everything.

His father’s stare never wavered. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

What else could he say? He hadn’t been late on purpose. He’d raced home and come right inside even though he wanted to go next door and demand some answers from Jennifer.

But John knew why his father waited. And saying the words his dad wanted him to say right then were a lot harder than any lines of dialogue he’d had to memorize. He couldn’t look at him; didn’t want to see

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the satisfaction in his dad’s eyes. Words wouldn’t change what was troubling his father inside. Only money could do that.

“I’m sorry.” John let a few seconds go by before looking at his dad, sure the glimmer of victory would be gone, but it was still there and he bristled. Their fights were always like this, silent battles for control. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, only that lately every time he and his father were in the same room they might as well have been entering a boxing ring. Their taut relationship was one of the reasons John spent every ounce of energy he had doing everything right—so he wouldn’t get in trouble or upset his dad somehow and then have to apologize. Early on he’d figured out that if he made everybody happy things were smooth. That was the way he liked things. But even that was never enough for his dad.

“Don’t let it happen again or I’ll put you on restriction.” His dad turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Anger and frustration pulsed through John’s veins.

Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So I’d be stuck here
and you can unload all your grief on me.

He pulled off his shirt, balled it in two tight fists and threw it at the door.

The weapon was heavier than it looked. John held it carefully. For weeks they’d used wooden imitations for practice. After Chip’s detailed instructions and warning about the use and cost of the rented rapiers, not to k

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mention the insurance release forms they’d all had to sign, none of the guys dared take the first swing.

As the muscles in his arm carried the weight, John realized he could never show fatigue.
It’ll get easier
. The more you did something, the natural result was that it became easier.

He counted on that.

Standing on stage with Connor, playing Tybalt, and Andrew, cast as Paris, he wondered if any of them thought the weapons would present a challenge. He was the first to lift his. Holding his left arm in position he pointed the sword at Connor.
“A right fair mark, fair coz,
is soonest hit.”

Immediately Connor and the other boys took up their weapons, tapping each other’s tips in a playful fight.

“This is nothing,” Andrew stabbed at John’s stomach.

Dancing back, John grinned. “Ten bucks says I’m the last one standing.”

With wild hoots, the boys took the challenge. Each waved their weapons in John’s direction. He darted out of the way, barely conscious of the crew and cast slowly gathering in the auditorium to watch. Sweat pearled on his brow. Minutes clicked by. One by one, the boys sloughed off in exhausted, embarrassed heaps to the side of the stage. Only Andrew remained. John’s grin faded to a jaw set with determination. He locked eyes on Andrew.

He jabbed and lunged without any sign of slowing.

His right arm ached, but he thrust anyway. A shot of adrenalin kicked in. He focused on Andrew’s tiring form, on winning. In a last burst of energy John growled, giving the next few spears all he had and knocking the sword

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from Andrew’s hand, leaving Andrew cursing.

The auditorium cheered, applauded and John heard the chant of his name—John, John, John— an odd ritual that accompanied anything public he did lately.

Facing the seats he took a good-natured bow.

Quickly, he strode over and extended his hand to Andrew. Andrew worked to his feet and the boys slugged fists.

John scanned the audience. Jennifer was looking at him, he felt her gaze even from the stage. She stood inside the auditorium doors. Had she caught the fight?

She sat in the audience with some of the girls. He hoped they weren’t talking about him. It still burned to think of what she said about the kiss. The worst part was he couldn’t understand why she said it. Did she think it was cake kissing her? He sweat just thinking about it. Pressing the tip of the sword to the stage floor, he spun the weapon to distract himself. He’d only kissed two other girls, but neither had been as scary as kissing Jennifer. She was…Jennifer.

He glanced at her again. She chatted animatedly with Lacey and Trish. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a floppy pony tail at the top of her head. He remembered her wearing it that way when they were kids. He’d pulled on the silken lock more than once to keep her in her place.

He grinned.

But the grin faded. Even if they hadn’t hung out for a while, what she’d said was rude. He’d never say anything like that.

Last night he debated going over and chewing her out. If it was any other girl he would have. He expected k

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her to know better. She’d been his best friend. Once.

Chip had the boys run through the fight scenes with the real rapiers again. John was grateful for the distraction. The play was a dream for John and his friends; boys balancing on the razor’s edge between being boys and being men. To fight with swords, dance with girls and romance Juliet, well, it was all pretty cool.

His friends thought he tried out for the play because they all dared each other. In the deepest corner of John’s mind the real reason was completely his own.

Jennifer.

What would an extra two hours a night cost him if it meant he could hang nearer to her? When Chip cast him as Romeo, he was stoked, hoping for an opportunity to be her friend again.

He was so involved in school the last few years he didn’t analyzed their drift. Then one day he saw her doing the most ordinary thing—opening her locker—and he glanced over. His heart beat hard in his chest at the sight of her smile. At the way her blonde hair shimmered.

After that, he tried to figure out what was going on with her, catching what he could from covert sources: her little brother and sister, his mom, her mom. Occasionally her name came up in casual conversation with his friends, but Jennifer Vienvu carried a status at PVHS that was renowned. Exclusive. John smiled. She was only Jenn Vienn. He’d nicknamed her that years ago. Somehow she turned into this beautiful goddess no guy felt worthy to talk to, let alone reach out and touch.

John finished his fight scene with Andrew, aka Paris, and glanced out over the seats to see where she was.

She was alone now. He took his sword and hopped off

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stage.

“Next time I’ll nail you, Michaels,” Andrew called from the stage. He angled his rapier at John who gave him a mock salute before continuing down the aisle.

John went to the row of seats in front of Jennifer and sat. She’d been Jenn Vienn once and he didn’t see anything wrong with reminding her of that. After what she said about him, he figured it was time.

Jennifer’s stomach jumbled watching the fight scenes. It was cool seeing the boys practice with the wooden rapiers, but the slick sheen, the sharp clanging of real rapiers swinging added an unexpected zeal to rehearsal.

The sight of John deep in concentration was awesome. His face pulled tight, leaving his jaw hard, his lips set. She was captivated by the liquid way his body moved.

He looked hot.

He glanced out into the audience once or twice and that flash of fire in his eyes stoked her heart. Every time he looked at her she thought of the kiss. Once, he looked over and she was sure that his gaze lingered, that there was a message there. Don’t lose it, she told herself.

He can have any girl he wants and he most definitely has
no interest in you.

“Is it true?”

Startled, Jennifer turned around and stared into the faces of four girls she recognized as other students at Pleasant View High. They weren’t in the play; no doubt a k

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handful of John’s fans who had wandered in for a peek.

“Is what true?” Rather than look at the girls, Jennifer watched the boys spar.