Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (15 page)

Chapter
19

There was a rap-rap-rapping at my window that sounded
suspiciously like pebbles being tossed at it.

I rolled
over,
ignoring them
because I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Even Dream Me knew that I should be
avoiding boys at all costs right now. I was obviously even
more
raw
after therapy and accidentally becoming brain-dead…oh, and baring my
soul to soulless boy.

The pebbles came again and then my name.

I wondered if Dream Boy would serenade me.

Twirledtweetertwirled
—
I’m downstairs

Twirledtweetertwirled
—
Come down

Ok, so not Dream Boy.

I thought about it. I read the texts over and over, the
light from my cell feeling absurdly bright to my sleep-fogged eyes.

I watched it another moment, considering what could perhaps
be the stupidest decision I could make.

Twirledtweetertwirled
—
Please?

I’ll admit it. It was the “please” that got me.

I pulled on sweats—stopped to add a bra—and a baseball hat,
then avoided anything
reflective,
and snuck downstairs
to the sliding glass door in the kitchen.

Chris stood in the backyard tossing a pebble in the air and
catching it while watching my bedroom window.

We will
not
discuss how Chris Kent knew which room is mine. It must be teen-girl-bedroom-radar.

Scary thought.

I watched him, embarrassed to see him. Embarrassed he could
see me in more ways than I wanted him to. And it was my own fault for laying it
all out earlier that night.

Knowing it was best to get it over with, I pushed the door
open just enough to squeeze through and pulled it shut behind me. My mom used
to sleep like she'd been
tranqued
. I was
reaaaalllllllly
hoping she’d re-developed that habit since
I got back from camp.

“Hey.” I wasn’t sure what to say after that since I had no
idea what he was doing there.

“Hey.”

We stood there, just looking at one another. I had no idea
what he was thinking, but I was wondering how
this guy—
this
mind-numbingly gorgeous guy—had somehow become a friend. Not just because we
agreed to it, but because we’d fallen into it.
Into something
just slightly more than co-tutors, more than acquaintances.

But something far less than sure of one
another.

I was glad for the darkness because I was pretty sure my
skin was burning a streak of red across my cheeks.

My heart stopped the moment I finally guessed why he was
here. That friendship—the one I suddenly realized was important—he was going to
end it. He was going to say dealing with me wasn’t worth getting his grades up.
That it was time for plan b…or in his case Plan B.

When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I asked, “What’s up?”

He lifted his head to study me before climbing the three
steps to the deck. When he spoke, his voice was a church-whisper, quiet and
reverent.

“Could we go to the bridge?” He sounded worried.
“Again?”

I froze. I mean, I didn't know what to do. I thought about
the bridge and the peace it brought me. How it seemed to bring him something
too. How the darkness there had let me ask a question I wish I hadn’t. How it
had let him answer it…probably when he wished he hadn’t.

My heart dropped into my gut and my chest shrunk, squeezing
my lungs tighter than a hug.

He was going to take back the nice things and add in some
hard ones. Of course he’d tell me I couldn’t compare to Amy. That what he saw
when he looked at me was a freak.

Then I’d have to drive him home.

Crap.

“
Rach
?”

He’d never said that.
My name like that.
Like we really were friends.

What was I supposed to do? “Sure.”

I have no idea what I was thinking, but I reached out and
took his hand, pulling him off the porch and around the side of the house. As
soon as we were clear of the windows, I dropped it—yeah, horrified is a good
word for situations like this.

At my car, I reached under the back passenger wheel well and
pulled out the magnetic box with the spare key. Chris was already opening his
door and climbing in.

I let the car roll down the short driveway and a bit down
the street before starting it…the joys of driving a stick.

The ride was silent, just like before. Chris held the gate
open for me to crawl through again and then walked us both out to the center of
the bridge.

There was a chill to the air. For the first time I could see
my
breath,
and a fine mist was drifting up off the
water. I zipped my pink North Face fleece up and stuck my hands in my pockets.

This time, I lowered myself to the ground, settled against
the railing, and watched him pace.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Occasionally, I’d see his silhouette stop and
run its hand through his hair. But, with the waning moon and the overcast
night, the darkness cloaked us again. It was like the movie theater before the
previews.
Dark and quiet.
You had a vague idea of who
was going to do what, but really, anything could happen.

He finally stopped a few feet from me. I could tell by the
tilt of his head that he’d moved to look down toward me. With the dim light of
the moon showing through scrapes in the clouds, I knew he saw far more than I
did.

“My mom kicked my dad out.”

Well, that was not what I expected. I pulled my legs up and
wrapped my arms around them, letting my chin drop to my knees.
Waiting.
Listening.

“He’s never been around a lot.”

I rummaged through my mind for what I could remember of
Chris’s dad. The only thing I could think of was how pissed Amy used to get at
him. She’d point him out with the anger only a girl who’s had a crush on you
for years could.

Mr. Kent would be stalking the edge of the field, shouting
at Chris.
Shouting at Coach.
Shouting
at the refs.
Chris couldn’t come off the field without his dad grabbing
the scruff of his neck like a puppy who’d peed on the rug and forcing him to
listen before Coach got to him.

His dad was obviously around for games. And I’m guessing any
other competitive moments Chris was involved in.

“The Acura is my mom’s car, but she’s let me drive it the
last couple years. She does freelance ad stuff from home and can walk to
downtown.” His head tilted back and
sighed
a sad sound
I hadn’t heard from him before. “But then, when we had that flooding a few
weeks ago?”

I nodded before I realized he wasn’t really looking at me.

“Yeah.”
I mean, who could forget
having to sleep in the school gymnasium with half the town for two nights.

“Yeah,” he echoed back and started pacing again. “I was
hanging out with the guys. I just expected my dad to get her on the way there.
But the longer I waited, the more worried I got. All the circuits were crazy
and I couldn’t get through. Eventually my mom showed up with the fire
department. And my dad showed up with his mistress.”

The pacing stopped for a moment. Yeah, if that was real
life, no wonder all the soap operas were getting canceled. It was nuts. Whose
dad does that?

Chris gave a half-laugh.
“Ironic that
neither of the women in his life had a car.
That’s why I leave the Acura
at the house now. She feels better with it there.”

Oh my God.

I guess part of me remembers the whispers and argument going
on in the Kent corner. But how was a girl supposed to notice that when so much
drama was going on around her—and in her?

“It only got worse. That woman wasn’t the only one,” he
continued. “Apparently, she wasn’t even the only one right then. My mom always
drank. But after that it became pretty much non-stop instead of just the
bingeing.”

Chris turned and crossed the narrow bridge to the far
railing. He braced his hands and leaned out over the water. His voice came back
muffled and low.

“I’m just like my dad, Rachel.”

The water below us lapped softly against the bridge’s pylons
and a bird chirped off to the side, silencing the peeper frogs for a short
moment.

And I sat wondering what the hell I was supposed to say to
that?

He turned toward me, his back against the rail. “That’s why
I’m the last guy you should be asking for help. The last guy who should be out
here trying to tell you you’re pretty and everything. The last guy you should
be out here with, period.”

“You’re not like your dad.” He couldn’t be. I refused to
believe he was.

He rolled his head back, bracing it against the side of a
low wooden beam. “What if I can’t tell you everyone I’ve had sex with?”

My stomach rolled. Two weeks ago this wouldn’t have bothered
me—it wouldn’t have even surprised me.
Now?
Now it was
making me sick.

“What if there’ve been so many girls that I couldn’t name
them all?”

I wanted to cover my ears, block out his words. Make him the
guy he’d been last night again.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” I forced a laugh, trying to
lighten up this horrible night. “I mean, how many girls could you have slept
with in, like, a year?”

He straightened, and even in the dark I could tell he was
looking me straight in the eye.

“Three.”

I sighed inside. I might have even sighed aloud. Granted, a
place inside me I was just beginning to admit was there hated hearing he’d been
with anyone, but three wasn’t anywhere near where I thought it would be.

“See? Three isn’t
that
bad.”

“No,
Rach
.” He was still looking
straight on.
Forcing me to look back when I would have
dropped my gaze.
“How many girls could I have slept with in the last
three
years?”

I was going to be sick. My stomach couldn’t share a spot
with my heart and not want to throw everything up. I struggled to my feet, my
hands fighting not to fist at my side.

“What the hell were you doing sleeping around at fourteen?
God, fourteen, right?”

His gaze finally dropped.
“Yeah, fourteen.
Barely.”

“Well?” I demanded as if this were something I had a right
to know. As if he owed me an explanation.

He slid down the railing and braced his back against it.

“I made varsity freshman year. No one had done that before.
And I was starting in home games. My dad was pushing.
All the
time.
I felt like nothing was good enough. I mean, how much better could
I get? But he wanted to know why I wasn’t starting in all the games. And high
school was harder, you know?”

I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me. High school
had been harder.
Just being there.

“I’d had this huge fight with my dad that day after a game.
Then I’d gone with the guys to this party. I was the only freshman. And there
was this girl. She was a senior and I was at this party…”

I think I did raise my hands to my ears then, but he kept
going.

“I may have
drank
something. I
don’t remember. Or maybe she put something in my drink. I don’t know. The next
day my head…And then I was in this room. Jesus, I’m not even sure whose house
it was, and she was tugging at my clothes and she had taken off everything but
her bra and panties and I don’t know…I forgot.”

What the
hell
did
that mean? He sat there, staring at nothing, and I was tempted to ask him those
very words. Instead I said, “Forgot what?”

His head came up, so slowly it was as if he were afraid to
finish the thought. Afraid it would get worse.

“Everything.
I forgot everything.”
His gaze drifted away but his voice kept coming. “And every time I wanted to
forget, there was a new girl right there.”

Chapter
20

I’d hardly slept that night. That’s what happened when you
got real with a guy. When you let things
be
more than
a surface three-week relationship—even when you weren’t dating and it hadn’t
been three weeks.

Oh, the irony.

I had crazy dreams that woke me up every hour or so. I
dreamt ropes snared each of my wrists, biting into them, pulling me in two
directions. But every time I looked, Chris held both the ropes.

I woke knowing one thing. When I’d needed a friend, Chris
Kent had listened. If anyone needed a friend right now, it was him. No matter
how it made me ache to think of all those girls, the ones he couldn’t even name
now, I’d be there.

The drive home had been silent as darkness. He’d sat in the
bucket of my passenger’s seat, each hand fisted on a knee, eyes straight ahead.
When we’d gotten to his house, he got out, said “thanks” as he closed the door,
and didn’t look back as he walked away.

That’s it. Well, except for my bad dreams all night.

The warning
bell for homeroom had already
rung, and still
no Chris.

“You
coming?”
Amy leaned against
the locker next to me.

As soon as she’d seen me that morning she’d asked if I was
okay. What was I going to say? That the guy who I’d always claimed was evil—the
one I’d worked so hard to keep her away from—broke my heart last night with his
horrible parents and his even worse decisions?

When I didn’t answer, she bumped my shoulder to get my
attention and said, “I’ll see you in class.”

The hall was nearly empty when he strolled in, coming around
the end of the corridor and freezing in place when he saw me waiting for him.
But what was he going to do?

I met him at his locker. He hadn’t looked at me the entire
time. I hovered there next to him, just trying to let him see that I was there
as he spun the dial and yanked the door nearly off its hinges.

He stuffed everything in, and then dropped his head against
the strip of metal between his locker and the wall. It all rolled off him—the
anger and frustration and humiliation.

Everything I’d felt after making him tell me what he saw
when he looked at me.

I laid a hand on his arm, feeling the muscle tighten under
my fingers, and said, “We’re good?”

“How can we be?” He stood there, his face hidden behind his
locker door. “Rachel, I don’t even like myself. How could you?”

I thought about everything he didn’t know about me. I
thought about each of us bringing out the worst—the most stressed—in each
other.
Dragging stuff to the surface.

But I remembered the best too. How, when I’d put him on the
spot he’d been honest and held a different kind of mirror up to me. One I
wanted desperately to believe.

“We can be.” I let my hand grip his arm, a half-pat,
half-rub thing. “Honest.”

He pulled away from the locker and looked down on me with
that beautiful angel’s face. No wonder girls had been ripping his clothes off
since he was fourteen.

I wasn’t letting him off the hook. I didn’t have a claim on
him, but I doubt any of those girls had cared as much about the things he
wanted to forget as I did at that moment. I doubt most of them would even get
it.

“You’re the one who said we were friends.”

“Rachel—”

“Hey, our trial run isn’t over, right?”

For a moment he held a glimmer of a smile on those lips, the
ones that had begun to draw my attention for more than just the way he formed
words. He gave a tight nod.

“Fine.
I’ll see you in History.”

I hurried away before I could say anything that would make
us both more uncomfortable and even later for homeroom.

~*~

The day slid by. I had no idea how studying was going to go
that night, but I needed to see him. I needed to know that we—that
he
—was okay.

Dinner was laid out and everyone stalled waiting for the
doorbell until my phone
twirledtweetertwirled
.

I glanced at my mom, very aware of the
no-cell-phones-or-games-at-the-dinner-table rule.

“Fine.”
She may have been
saying
fine, but her tone definitely
said, “
check
and see where he is.”

Something came up.
Sorry.

So.
Yeah. That was that.