September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (18 page)

I stared at him, my embarrassment
plain to anyone who took the time to notice. I wasn’t pissed like I
should have been, mostly because it was true and nothing new to me.
People always talked to me that way. At that time, I was just
coming out of my slut phase—slowly growing careful about whom I
allowed to take advantage of me. But that guy looked old enough to
be my dad and I thought, judging by his weaving, that he was about
to pass out. And the whole scenario just seemed too
pathetic.

I turned away from him once again,
wondering why I even bothered to try. Those high school affairs
weren’t invitation only—they went by reputation. By that standard,
I was not invited. But I had heard some other kids talking about it
and was bored. More than that, I wanted free beer.

Smiley was suddenly at my side again,
with his liquor-stink breath in my ear. “Why you do that girl?
Huh?” And then, his red plastic cup tipped, sending a stream of
beer all over the green silk top I’d snaked from my mom’s closet
because it matched my eyes.

Free beer
indeed.

Uncle Ass-Smiley laughed through an
apology, swearing that he’d find me a towel. Then, I noticed Troy
Bleecher was posting at the keg. He walked over as I was wringing
out the front of my shirt.

“So much booze and not a drop to
drink,” he quipped. His hair was buzzed down at the time, for
football. He whipped a red plastic cup from behind his back and
offered it to me.

I examined at the contents. It looked
like beer but I was suspicious and gave a quick sniff. “Are you
trying to roofie me?”

Troy laughed and took a demonstrative
sip before offering it up once more. When I didn’t accept the
proffered cup a second time, he tipped it up and drank until it was
gone.

“Come on, I’ll get you a
towel.”

I followed him through the packed
living room and down the hallway to a closed bedroom door. He took
a key from his pocket and unlocked it, walked through, and flipped
on a light. The first thing I saw was a giant bed and
froze.

“Wait here,” Troy said, without
seeming to notice my discomfort. He walked into an adjoining
restroom and returned with a plush, cream and blue checkered
towel.

I dried myself as best I could and
handed it back. “Is this your house?”

“Yeah,” he tapped his fingers along
the front of his shirt. “You good?”

I nodded and thanked him. I should
have made up an excuse and went back to the party. But at that
moment, all I was thinking about was avoiding Uncle Dickwad. I knew
he was out there looking for me, waiting to ruin something
else.

“Hey, Troy, do you mind if I stay in
here minute?”

“That’s cool. Uncle Smiley
is trashed and it’s not even midnight.” He grinned wide. “He’s my
chaperone.” His hands made air quotes around the word
chaperone
and we both
laughed.

Then, awkward silence.

“I could stay and talk with you. If
you don’t mind.” Troy offered, and there was something sweet about
the way he asked. Something that made me think that if I said no,
he would leave me alone in his parent’s bedroom. But I didn’t want
to be alone.

I nodded. “Okay. But not for
sex.”

Troy laughed into his closed fist.
“Damn, girl, why do you assume? Can’t I just talk to
you?”

“We can talk.” I answered, and a
sudden eagerness rose in her belly. Troy said he didn’t want any
more than my company and I liked it.

He invited me to sit beside him at a
padded bench at the end of his parents’ bed. He examined the
spill-stain down the front of my shirt. “Do you want something to
wear that doesn’t smell like beer?”

“Sure.”

He disappeared once more and came back
with a clean, white tank top and handed it over. It looked like one
of his. I could tell that he was going to turn around to give me
privacy or maybe to point me to the bathroom to change, but I
lifted my shirt before he had the chance.

Troy didn’t say anything and he didn’t
turn away. He just stared.

Suddenly, he was the nervous one and I
liked that. I took his hand from his side and set it over my bra.
He kept it there for a long moment, and then asked for a
kiss.

+ + +

18

—Angel

Avery lived in an actual house. No
wheels. It was in the middle of a giant lot and needed a new coat
of paint in the worst way. The stucco was cracked in more than a
few places, but it had a wrap-around porch and there were no
neighbors. We used to sit on that porch and get stoned when her mom
wasn’t around. If she caught us she’d have a fit. But her mom
worked so much it was almost like she lived there alone. No one
took care of the yard, so it was all sand and weeds and the
occasional wild cactus. No trees. Lots of lizards. I was as
familiar with her place as I was my own. More so, even, because she
had lived there since before I landed with my Foster,
Deanna.

Avery and me walked up the path to the
porch with our arms interlocked.

I took a deep breath and finally asked
the one question that had been on my mind since the previous
Friday. “Will you come with me to my session this week?”

Instead of immediately rejecting me,
Avery shrugged.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“It’s an ‘I’ll consider it.’ And beat
you the front door.’” We pounded up the front steps and burst into
the living room at the same time.

Avery walked over to the
stereo set inside the living room and pushed a button. A second
later, the chorus of one of my favorite Analog Controller songs
flowed through the quiet air. It was one of their only ballads
called,
Untitled
.
Jake said he wrote it about his moms’ depression. And he didn’t
neglect to name it, he just figured, if someone was depressed,
would they care what the title was?

Don’t ask why. Don’t try.
Not you.

Forget my name and I’ll
forget it too.

Forget you saw—this mask,
this lie.

You can do without. Don’t
cry.

I am a moment. A tick. A
flea.

The second I’m gone,
you’ll forget about me.

The kitchen was small and white,
bright with afternoon light as she led me in to dig for snacks. I
was singing way too loud and Avery joined in, granting me a smile.
There was something in the way she looked then. I don’t know if it
was the music or the words, but Avery’s dark green eyes grew
brighter for a moment as she stepped in to give me a rare embrace.
There was a light in Avery that was not evident very often. But
when she drew the shades back and let you see inside, no one shone
like her. Jake was different—he was sunshine and life. But Avery
gave her embraces with a look. Hugs by osmosis. So this physical
act caught me by surprise.

“How are you, really?” Her forearm dug
into my back a little. “Good?” Avery questioned and pulled back to
look me in the eye. As I thought over her question, she nibbled at
a few grapes in the fruit bowl set out on the kitchen
sidebar.

Suddenly, she spun to face me. “Hey,
can I borrow your portable CD player? I found some discs I want to
listen to.”

I saw the hope in her eyes and didn’t
have the heart to refuse her.

Avery waited a moment, then guessed.
“You lost it, didn’t you?” Her mouth was plump with grapes she’d
pressed into her cheeks.

I nodded.

“Where did you have it
last?”

Avery had this quality, an ability
that made me feel comfortable telling her almost anything. She
wasn’t much older, but was definitely more mature than me, and
easily the most beautiful girl at our school. And she was the one
who bought me the portable CD player. A surprise present, for no
reason other than she was thinking of me when she found it at the
second hand store.

I wanted to loan it to her. Knowing I
couldn’t because of my own stupidity brought sudden tears to my
eyes and a ball to my stomach.

“I don’t know. I’ve been really bad
this week. My headaches . . . I’m stressing out.” I bit my lip,
determined to keep Jakes haunting words, but let everything else
go. “School’s suckier than ever. I feel like I can’t do anything
right. I barely got my Literature essay in on time. Report cards
are going out soon and the Foster will talk to my counselor if my
grades slip. She doesn’t miss anything.”

Avery raised a pointed finger at me.
“No tears.” Her words were commanding as she cupped my chin,
pressing warmth into me with her soft gaze. It spread quickly,
calming me. “You know what happens when you freak out. Do you want
another trip to the hospital?”

“No.” I have passionately hated
hospitals my entire life. Nothing good ever comes out of
them.

“Those troubles are mine now, okay?
You give them to me. Let me do your worrying.”

A surprising grin burst through my
tears. “Okay.” She was so bossy. I loved it.

“I mean it. You give them all to me.”
She held up one finger. “I know—I’ll make a list. Then, I can go
right on down, taking my time, carefully worrying over each
item.”

Smirking, Avery produced a pen and
sheet of paper, led us to the small kitchen table, barely big
enough for the three elegantly mismatched chairs, and sat down.
“Now, you said your essay.” She leaned over the paper and began
writing. “And your CD player . . .” She kept up her scribbling.
“The migraines. Now, tell me—what else?”

My head was fogged with a
dull ache. I grasped it and let out those two terrible
words,
“Not yet,”
and what they represented. I told her about Jake. How I felt
him withdrawing from me. And my insecurities over that stupid girl
who he didn’t even want in his band and what that meant. Did he not
trust himself around her? Or was it only my reaction he worried
about? Saying it all out loud made me feel even more pathetic. And
I changed the subject, telling how I’d been tired, so tired, since
my last migraine, and how I felt like maybe I was getting the flu.
And the way I seemed to be forgetting more of the small
things.

“It’s hard to pay attention in class.
More than usual.”

Avery’s pencil moved with righteous
speed.

“I got lost at school the other day.
After the thing with Rosa; I forgot where I was going and missed
the whole period. I walk those halls five days a week. I should be
able to get from one place to the next on autopilot just like
everybody else.”

“Could be a side effect of you
migraine medication?” Avery guessed.

“And my shrink won’t let up about
talking to you. She’s driving me crazy.” Avery nodded her head,
repeating quietly, “autopilot is malfunctioning.” She was trying to
make me laugh. And I wanted to, but the troubles were pouring from
me like a burst dam. She sighed and tilted her head. “Over-active
tear ducts, too. Now, that’s a tough one, but my mom might have a
few clothes pins.”

She was the only person who could turn
my tides so quickly. I went from wails to giggles in a matter of
seconds.

19

—
Angel

Back inside my cell, lying in my bed,
I’m trying to find the sleep that so often evades me.

Of course, my mind drifts back to
Jake, my very own Romeo. And the anxious feeling, the need to find
him again is so strong that I cross my arms and pinch at the
insides of my elbows to distract me. It’s not time yet. My
confession must be completed before I can think of taking the next
step to get back to him.

I spent so many nights with him;
mostly in my bed, but sometimes in his. A memory, nearly forgotten,
surfaces like a dream and pulls me in: my feet were tangled in his
sheets as I ran my fingers down his bare back, lingering on his
sculpted shoulders, his pecks, and then the finely tuned notes of
his taut stomach. Jakes lips pressed against mine as we moved
together. Loving me, he whispered my name in a way that turned the
word into music. I can feel his fingers gathering the hair at my
nape, the little scratches of his nails as he pulled me
closer.

Turning to my side, I sink into my
thin mattress and thinner pillow, burrowing down, hoping to cry
myself to sleep.

But all the talking, cultivating all
those memories has my mind going. There are so many moments I left
out. Moments worth reliving scattered among times I long to go back
and change.

Memories I’ve long cherish are
sprinkled among the signs I thought I saw, but never took them for
what they were: a warning.

+++

We’d been together for a several
months and Jake was anxious for me to meet his mom. He’d planned to
introduce me several times, but I was always too nervous. I made up
excuses the first couple times. He didn’t like my cancelling, but
had been letting me get away with it. By the fourth invitation, his
patience was wearing thin. Seeing this, I agreed to go over one
Sunday afternoon.

“She’s going to love you.” He assured
me, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the
radio. “Just relax.” His gaze drifted from the road to the rearview
mirror.