In Control (The City Series) (5 page)

My ears were doing cartwheels and my heart was filled with a million exclamation points. The memory of their breakup gave me the extra push I needed. Now that Porter had talked to me, my tongue was filled with words and questions I was dying to ask him.

“Ah, the great storyteller!” Mrs. Wilkinson looked at me as she dropped Porter’s hand and reached out for mine.

Porter turned, smiled at me, and walked out of the room.

“Kingsley, I’m so proud of all of the wonderful work you’ve done this year. The essays you’ve written have been so moving and detailed. I can see big things happening for you in your future.”

Mrs. Wilkinson was speaking, but I had no idea what she was saying. I was too focused on Porter’s back moving farther and farther out of the classroom. I couldn’t be rude and cut Mrs. Wilkinson off, but I couldn’t let page 32, the same number of Porter’s locker, go unmarked. I quickly thanked her. She was such a wonderful teacher and one of the nicest people I’d ever known. I said thanks so many times that the word started sounding foreign as it left my mouth. Finally, Mrs. Wilkinson bent down and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me into a bear hug. The affection she was giving wasn’t something I was used to. For a moment, I forgot I was in a rush. Mrs. Wilkinson let go, pinching my cheek lightly. With a goodbye wave, I ran out of the room as fast as I could.

“No running!” A voice so angelic I could make a soundtrack out of it shouted in my direction. I stopped my body, almost toppling over my own feet. Turning around, I saw Porter leaning against one of the nearby lockers. A grin crept up on his rosy cheeks as he studied my face. “Late for something?” he asked.

“Oh, umm...” I cleared my throat, hoping it would help push the words out. “I... I was actually looking for you.” I looked down at the ceramic tile, making a point to hide my face. I couldn’t believe I confessed the truth. I meant to say something else. Anything else that wouldn’t make me seem like such a stalker.

“And I was actually waiting for you. I didn’t get a chance to have you sign my yearbook.”

This day had to be a dream. There was no way Porter Henning was waiting for me just so I could sign his yearbook. There was no way it meant that much to him. I looked up, half expecting him to start laughing and telling me he was only kidding, but he didn’t. He closed the distance between us, his face just inches from mine.

“Will you sign my yearbook, Kingsley?”

He held the book out, but I was so busy daydreaming about what it would feel like to kiss him that I didn’t hear his question.

“Guess that’s a no?”

“W-what?” I refocused my attention, this time trying to look him in the eye without feeling faint.

“I asked if you could sign my yearbook.”

He stared at me, and if it wasn’t for my skin protecting my insides, I’d be a puddle on the concrete floor.

“Yes!” I answered, too excitedly.

Porter laughed, handing me his book and a pen. “Oh, wait.” He took his yearbook back and turned to a blank page. “I saved a spot for you.”

He saved a blank page entirely for me. My heart sped up as I stared at the white paper. He could have saved a tiny spot for me, right by my yearbook picture, but he didn’t. He saved a full, blank page just for me. I wasn’t prepared to write in Porter’s yearbook. I had no idea what to say, and what if I spelled a word wrong? I’d have to scribble it out and then it would ruin the entire page. I shoved my yearbook between my knees. This way, I could be more careful and use my right arm as a makeshift desk. My palms were sweaty, and the pen that I was holding slipped from my fingers. I was trying so hard to conceal my emotions, hold in my excitement, and nerves, and butterflies. I bent down to pick up the pen at the same time Porter did, causing our heads to smack together. We both fell back onto our butts, laughing so hard we were left gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Porter sat up on his knees, reaching for my hand.

This had to be the moment I woke up, but it wasn’t a dream. No matter how I many times I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them, Porter was still kneeling in front of me, waiting for me to take his hand.

So I did.

He stood, gripping his fingers around my own, and pulled me up. Just like earlier, he didn’t let go right away. We stood there, alone in the hallway, facing each other in silence. Porter opened his mouth and my ears perked up.

“Let’s try this again. This time, if you drop the pen, I’ll pick it up.” His joke made me laugh, and as the air left my stomach, I felt more relaxed.

I grabbed the pen, holding it tighter in my fingers this time, and picked up our yearbooks from the floor. “I’ll sign yours if you sign mine?”

“Deal,” Porter said, reaching his hand out for my book.

“I saved a page for you too,” I said shyly, turning to the page.

Porter looked at the page and then up at me. His smile split my heart wide open.

If this was what love felt like, I would sacrifice everything.

“Okay, you go over there,” he pointed to the set of lockers across from him. “And I’ll stay here.”

I nodded and walked to the spot. Getting comfortable, I sat down and placed the yearbook on my lap, looking at Porter to see that he had the same idea. The first time I laid eyes on Porter, I knew exactly how I felt about him. I bottled up so many words over the school year that I could have written pages upon pages in his yearbook, but I knew how crazy that would seem to him. In black ink, I addressed the boy whose smile had given me every reason in the world to keep living.

Dear Porter Henning,

I turned on Wren’s iPod, my hands shaking so uncontrollably I was barely able to hold onto the small device. I feared the unknown. Was I going to have to endure lyrics about love gone wrong? Were they going to rip me apart and leave me so broken I’d never be able to piece myself back together? I wasn’t sure, but this was something I had to do.

There was only one playlist, and looking at the name, I knew it was meant for me.

September 6th.

I sank to the floor, staring at the title. Wren remembered the exact day we met. I studied the date longer, my focus glazing over. If I pressed play, it would be possible that I’d drown in my own tears. Wren had a knack for displaying his emotions through songs. When his words fell short, he’d always have a song that could sum it all up. I remember a few months ago, I wanted to go out drinking, but Wren wanted to stay in. We stayed up arguing until the sun began to peak through the windows. Wren walked out of the room and when he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying his iPod. Without saying anything else, he put the earbuds in my ears, kissed my cheek, and left the room. I didn’t understand how song lyrics could wash away all traces of anger. I couldn’t even remember why I was mad in the first place. The words that were sung in my ears had somehow repaired everything.

I only put in one earphone, thinking that if I only committed fifty percent, like I had in my relationship, it couldn’t hurt me as much. Readying myself, I pushed on the playlist, and the screen displayed four artists. Four songs that were going to split my heart in two.

I pushed play.

Twenty-five seconds in and I could already feel the seams of my heart ripping apart. In those seconds I was clutching at my chest, hoping that I could keep it from breaking. My eyes were filled with tears and my throat was forming a million words I wanted to scream so that wherever Wren was, he could hear what I was experiencing. I put in the other earphone just as the second song began playing. I turned up the volume as loud as it could go, drowning out the sobs that were now escaping my mouth.

The hardwood floor beneath me was cold, bringing a comfort to my blazing skin. I lay on my back, placing the device on my stomach. Closing my eyes, I took in each instrument, each note, every single lyric that was pouring into my ears. I couldn’t have been lying on the floor for very long, but as the last song began playing, the sunlight disappeared from the bay window. I didn’t want the mix to end. As it played, I felt like I was still holding on to the remains of what I had with Wren.

The night I met him, I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. The only thing I was searching for was the high-priced whiskey on the top shelf. When the two of us ended up in the bathroom together, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. My thoughts were jumbled.
I hope he doesn’t rip my skirt. I feel a little self-conscious in front of this guy. I want to devour him for every meal.

I didn’t expect to casually have sex with Wren every day, in the bathroom at The Commodore, that first week. When Wren asked me if I wanted a change of scenery, I said yes, surprised by my answer. Over the next few months, we didn’t go out on dates. He didn’t buy me ice cream as we strolled along the streets of New York. We had sex. A lot of it. Neither of us discussed our feelings or our pasts, and I thought we both liked it that way.

Two months ago, something happened, though. I was walking down the street and passed an elderly couple. They were holding hands as the woman nuzzled the man’s neck and the sincerity of the touch stung my eyes with tears. When they passed, I looked back at them, studying their affection for one another. The man grasped her fragile hand, almost holding her up with all of his own strength. I’d never had any doubts about the way I had lived my life until that moment.

That night, I was set to tell Wren about the couple, and how they made me realize that the choices I’d made up to that point were all wrong. I’d given my body away to countless men, and I never expected anything in return. I never wanted anything in return. Until now. The words were all set to take flight. Then, like a damaged airplane, they crashed and burned. I couldn’t possibly be the first one to say my feelings out loud. So I waited.

It didn’t take me long to realize how Wren felt. His feelings were admitted through his touch. How he squeezed my hand after we had sex. The way he would look at me over his mug of coffee each morning. I didn’t have to hear his words to know, but still, his admission made me feel like I had won a prize. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t left empty handed. I was holding his heart.

I replayed the moment in my mind just as the last song ended. Seventeen minutes and forty-nine seconds of forcing myself to see the truth within the songs. It was time to finally let go of my restraint. Let go of my fear.

Barefoot and exposed, I was out the door before my brain could comprehend what was happening. My heart was on display, revealing the feelings I tried so hard to conceal. Wren hadn’t walked very far. He stood at the corner of the street, his hands pushed into his pockets as he stared at the cars passing by. He had a chance to cross several times, but he didn’t move. It was like crossing that street meant he was done with me, but staying showed that he couldn’t give up. I looked at him in the distance, praying to God that he wouldn’t walk away. In those seconds, I made so many promises:

I won’t ever treat another person like shit.

I’ll stop hating myself so much and learn to love.

I’m trying. I’m trying so hard, God.

I’m sorry I stopped believing in you.

I’m sorry I blamed you for everything that happened to me.

Please, allow me to feel what real affection could be like.

“Wren!” I yelled as I ran down the sidewalk, dodging the scattered rocks and broken tree branches. “Wren!”

When he turned around, his smile stopped me in my tracks. He shook his head, looking as if he couldn’t believe that
I
was chasing after
him
. When I reached him, my lips parted, allowing the words to finally escape.

“I wanna try.”

Three words. Different from the ones he said, but the underlying meaning was the same.

When I woke up this morning in Wren’s arms, I didn’t imagine being confronted with feelings that I kept locked inside. If I wanted to keep Wren in my life, I would have to show him the deeper parts of me. The parts I’d only shown one other person. Now that they were out in the open, I might finally know what happiness is.

Dear Kingsley,