Just You (7 page)

“I guess I’ll go in,” I said, my fingers
finding the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.”

When he didn’t say anything else, I pushed
open the door. An unexpected surge of disappointment coursed
through me as I got out of the car. He didn’t ask for my phone
number, or mention seeing me again. Maybe he
was
only being
nice, offering the non-beautiful, other-side-of-the-tracks girl a
ride home.

Then I asked myself why it mattered. I
didn’t want to date anyone right now, or put my trust in anyone. I
didn’t want to be betrayed, lied to, and left behind when someone
better came along. It was bound to happen again. But I wouldn’t let
it, not this time.

“Bye,” I said, shutting the door behind me.
In the distance I could hear Leo’s barking, loud and insistent, and
then my father’s voice yelling at him to quiet down. But Leo wasn’t
about to relax, I knew, until I was safe inside.

“See you later,” Michael said, his words
floating out the open window and into the night. He waved, backed
out of the driveway, and zoomed off down the street.

See you later
, I thought as I walked
up to the house.
Doubt it.

When Leo saw me coming, he shut up, finally
satisfied. At least one of us was. The unsettled feeling that began
the moment I realized it was Michael I had elbowed would not let
up. In fact, it was escalating by the minute. By the time I had
washed my face and brushed my teeth, I didn’t know what I wanted
anymore. Frustrated, I curled up in bed with my swan, trying to
breathe around the cinnamon scent that still clung to my nose.

Chapter 6

“Forgetting something?” Mom pointed her car
keys in the direction of the kitchen table, where my math book and
several sheets of notebook paper still rested among the leftover
crumbs and spills from breakfast. I’d been working on my homework
while nibbling on the toast Mom always insisted I choke down before
school every morning.

“Dopey,” Emma said, rolling her eyes at me
as she stuffed her arms into her jacket.

“I’m not dopey.”

“Yes, you are. Mom called you that last
night when she saw the garbage bag you were supposed to take out
still sitting by the door. She said you’ve been on another planet
lately.”

I glanced at Mom, who looked completely
unapologetic. I tried to remember if I’d been asked to take the
garbage out, but I couldn’t recall. Still, my own mother was
calling me names now?

“It seems like I constantly have to jog your
memory these days, Taylor,” she said, her shoes tapping against the
linoleum as she crossed the room to retrieve her travel mug of
coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so scatterbrained.”

I shot her an accusing look. “And
dopey?”

She stared back at me with that scrutinizing
gaze of hers, the one that always made me feel exposed, like she
was scanning my innermost thoughts. “Yes,” she said. “And
dopey.”

I shrugged. “I’m my father’s daughter.”

“At times, definitely.”

Considering my mom’s general distaste for my
dad, I felt like I’d been insulted. I gathered up my math homework
and the three of us left the house together. I barely said a word
on the drive to school. Maybe I had been acting a little dopey
lately, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be called on it.

I didn’t dare tell my mother—or anyone
else—the main reason why I’d been even more distracted than usual.
It wasn’t just what happened with Brian; I was pretty much over
that, despite the bile-inducing spectacle he and Kara put on at
school every day. They were still together, and obviously nuts over
each other, so I tried to be happy for them. I’d even stopped
snubbing Brian in the halls. We didn’t talk, but at least I’d
progressed to giving him an acknowledging nod when he said hi to
me.

The truth was that I hadn’t been myself
since the night Michael drove me home. I’d find myself thinking
about him at the weirdest times—while watching a movie, or brushing
my teeth, or in the middle of my math homework. Whenever I pictured
his eyes or his smile or remembered that cinnamon scent, a prickly
warmth would spread through my abdomen, leaving me flustered and
confused. I told myself I was simply reacting to his exterior
qualities and nothing more. Any girl would. At first glance he
seemed perfect. So perfect, in fact, I began to wonder what giant
flaws he was hiding. Everyone had at least one, no matter how
invincible they appeared to be. I knew that much firsthand.

By the time I got home from school that
afternoon, I’d made up my mind to permanently erase those stormy
blue eyes from my memory. I would stick with my plan, I decided, to
not date again until after high school. Or maybe look into
convents. At least Ashley would be pleased.

I felt proud of myself for being so
determined. My focus was back. I was strong again, in control. Or
at least I was until two days later, when one little phone call
shot it all to hell.

I was on my bed, reading
The Merchant of
Venice
for English class and trying my best to stay conscious
until the end of the first scene. As Bassario was telling Antonio
that he had fallen in love with Portia, my phone rang.
Ashley
, I thought as I snatched up my cordless. She usually
called around this time of night so we could gossip and/or check
homework together.

“Was crack around in the 16
^th
century because I’m pretty sure Shakespeare was smoking it when he
called this a comedy,” I said, skipping the standard hello.

“Uh…hi.”

My hand jerked, sending
The Merchant of
Venice
tumbling to the floor. This voice definitely did not
belong to Ashley, or any of my other friends. I moved the phone
away from my ear, cleared my throat a couple of times, and then
slowly brought it back. “Hello?”

“Taylor?” The voice sounded unsure, maybe
even a little amused. Oh, and familiar. In fact, it was the same
voice that had been bouncing around in my head for the past two
weeks.

“Yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut and proceeded
to smack my forehead with the heel of my palm, over and over.

“This is Michael...from a couple of weekends
ago.”

“Uh huh.”

“I got your number from Robin. She said you
wouldn’t mind if I called you.”

I stopped battering myself. “Sure. I don’t
care. I mean, no, I don’t mind.”

“Good,” he said, and then paused for a
moment before adding, “So you think Shakespeare smoked crack, huh?
His apothecary must’ve been really ahead of the times.”

I had no clue what an apothecary was, but I
laughed anyway. God, I felt like such an idiot. “I thought you were
my friend Ashley. I don’t usually answer the phone and start
randomly talking about crack.”

Now he laughed. “Good to know.”

I clammed up then. How do you segue into a
different topic after a beginning like that?

“Well…” Michael said. He was lost for words
himself, it seemed.

“Well…”

“Do you like horror movies?”

This question was so unexpected that I sat
there stunned for a moment, unsure how to answer. “Yes,” I finally
said.

“Majestic Theater is having a movie marathon
on Saturday, for Halloween. A few of us are planning on going. Do
you want to go?”

My mind started whirling. “I…um…”

“Not for the whole day,” he said when I
failed to produce an actual answer. “We’re going around eight for a
couple of movies. It ends at midnight.”

Robin
, I thought with pure loathing
in my heart. This was all her. Still, I could feel my resolve
weakening, bit by bit. And then, finally, it shattered
completely.

“Okay,” I said, accepting defeat. “I’ll
go.”

****

I called Robin the second I hung up with
Michael, but she didn’t answer.
Coward
. After three more
attempts, I gave up and went to bed. The next day I tried her
again, when I knew she’d be home, and she must have realized she
couldn’t hide from me forever because she finally picked up.

“What’s new?” she asked, brimming with
innocence.

“Scary movie marathon?”

“Oh!” she said, all excited, like she
couldn’t have cared less that I was onto her little scheme. “Are
you going? Did Michael ask you?”

“Yes and yes. Are you going?”

“Of course.”

“Did you really give him my number?”

“Of course!”

“And you suggested he call and ask me to
go?”

She gave an impatient sigh. “Um, no, you big
dork. All I did was supply him with your number. Inviting you to
the movie marathon was
his
idea, thank you very much. And he
asked
me for your number, dumbass. I didn’t force him into
anything. I’m just the liaison here, you know, not freakin’
Cupid.”

“But…”

“But nothing. He likes you. He thinks you’re
cute. God, you’re such an old lady sometimes, Tay. Let yourself
have some fun. Be happy. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“If all you’re going to do is insult me and
call me names, I’m hanging up now.”

She snorted. “You know I’m right.”

“Ha.”

“Listen, I know you don’t want to date
anyone after what happened with Brian, and you think all guys are
shits, but it’s not like anyone’s asking you to marry Michael and
have ten of his babies. Jesus.”

Emma came into the kitchen then to get a
granola bar and/or spy on me, so I gathered my phone and chocolate
milk and retreated to my room. “Is this even, like, a date?” I
asked, sinking down on my unmade bed. “I mean, he said ‘Do you want
to go’ not ‘Do you want to go with
me
’.”

“Hmm, let’s see,” she said, like a parent
explaining something obvious to a dimwitted child. “He calls you up
and asks you to the movies but it’s not a date? Please.”

My gaze fell on the crumpled sheet of paper
on my night stand, the one I’d used last night to copy down
Michael’s phone number from the call display. Already, without even
looking, I could recite those seven numbers off by heart. Even my
memory had it in for me.

“What the hell am I doing?” I said, more to
myself than to her.

“Um, having a life? Moving on from the
asshole who cheated on you? Giving someone else a chance? Going for
it? Take your pick.”

I exhaled. “All of the above?”

“Right on. There’s hope for you yet,
Granny.”

Chapter 7

My first mistake was letting Robin help me
get ready.

“I have two words for you,” she said.
“Ample. Cleavage.”

“I have two words for
you
,” I said.
“
No
and
way
.”

She shook her head at me and continued to
dig through her closet. It was Saturday evening, after dinner.
Robin had spent the day with me at my dad’s house, where we babysat
both kids while Lynn worked, Dad corrected papers in his office,
and Leanne did whatever it was that kept her scarce on weekends. It
was just like old times. We loafed around the whole day, playing
video games with Em and Jamie, filling treat bags for tonight’s
trick-or-treaters, and pigging out on stolen candy. The instant
Lynn walked through the door at six o’clock, Robin and I had bolted
for her house. Which was empty. Again. He mother had taken to
spending entire weekends at her new boyfriend’s downtown condo.

“I don’t get you, Tay,” Robin said as shirts
and jeans and shoes flew everywhere. “You have this amazing figure
and you never want to show it off. You’ll be sixteen soon…don’t you
think that’s a little old to still be a tomboy?”

“You act like I wear greasy coveralls and
work on old cars.”

She backed out of the closet, several shirts
draped over her arm. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it. Don’t cover it
up under baggy sweatshirts.”

God, she was annoying. Sometimes she
seriously made me question why we were friends. “Is there anything
I do
right
?” I picked up a bottle of sparkly pink nail
polish. “All you do lately is get on my case.”

She dumped the tops in my lap. “It’s because
I see so much wasted potential in you. Now try these.”

Wasted potential
, I thought as I took
off my (baggy) sweatshirt.
Whatever.

Robin left to raid her mom’s makeup drawer,
and while she was gone I tried one of the tops she’d given me, a
black v-neck sweater that strained so much across my chest that my
bra showed right through it. Nope. Next I tried on a soft red
empire top, but I didn’t like the way it fell at my waist. Strike
two. I held up the next shirt—white, long-sleeved, with a low,
scooped neck. I knew even before trying it on that it wasn’t me.
And it wasn’t. It felt tight, itchy. Robin came back as I was
adjusting the hem along my hips.

“Oh my God.” She froze in the doorway,
clutching a fistful of tubes and bottles. “That’s the one. Do not
take it off.”

I yanked at the neckline, trying to cover up
what I’d been so careful to hide for the past two years. Ample
cleavage, indeed. “It’s cut too low,” I said. “And it’s tight. I
wear medium and this is a small.”

“All my shirts are size small,” she said
with a pout. “But that one stretches. It’s fine.”

I frowned at my reflection in the mirror.
“Are you sure?”

“Yes. And don’t you dare put that sweatshirt
on over it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I lied.

Dad was still out with the kids, supervising
their trick-or-treating, so my stepmom drove us to the movie
theater. Michael and I had agreed to meet there, which I thought
was smart. If things went south, being stuck in a small car
together would no doubt be uncomfortable. Having my own
transportation allowed me a sense of freedom.

The smell of popcorn and soft pretzels
greeted our nostrils as Robin and I entered the theater. “There’s
no one here,” I said, glancing around the empty lobby.