The Stranger Inside (8 page)

Jeremy beckoning me with a wooden spoon, enticing me to sample his “special secret chocolate sauce.”

Later I learned his “secret ingredient” was peanut butter. That became his secret ingredient for everything, once he learned I loved peanut butter as much as he did. We heaped it into everything.

 But now … I couldn’t even look at peanut butter. I pushed my plate away, the toast untouched.

“Don’t you like it?” Mom asked.

I shook my head. “Sorry,” I mumbled feeling bad, knowing she was trying to be nice, that she made it as a treat. “I hate peanut butter.”

Mom eyed me over her coffee mug, tilting her head as though I was an alien creature she couldn’t figure out.

I rinsed my breakfast dishes and went upstairs, avoiding the den as yesterday it made me burst into tears. Seriously. The den
phone
made me bawl.

Okay, yeah, my emotions were wacked-out because of Dad dying, wacked-out big time, obviously, but that wasn’t totally it, not totally. Because even that phone held a memory. Of Jeremy. Even the phone.

See, we had this thing we used to do with the den phone every Friday. We made a special call on it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about it, refusing to think about it. The memory was too tender. Hurt too much.

 That sucked, having so many memories of Jeremy. At the most unexpected moments they would slash through my soul, rip me to shreds. Not that the memories were bad. They weren’t. They were good. Too good. That’s why they hurt so much. Jeremy and I, we had been happy together. And I’d never exactly been happy since.

Not being able to pick up the phone or a jar of peanut butter without thinking of Jeremy was traumatizing.

Not fun.

At least things were better now—better than when I first got here. Slowly, I was starting to feel like I was going to be okay, not stuck in Jeremy-Mourning-Central. Or Crazy Town. Slowly, I was coming to terms with everything. It helped having Sawyer. He got my mind moving in other directions.

Since meeting him, we’d gotten together every day. Usually we didn’t do anything special, just hung at his house playing ping-pong or video games or shooting pool. It was nice though because his dad was in the Navy and out to sea on a three-month tour. So we had the place to ourselves.

But he still wouldn’t let me come to the practices.

I was still bugged about that even as I came back downstairs and waited for Parker to pick me up and take me to Sawyer’s. So far it worked out perfect having Parker come to get me. Mom stayed off my back pretty much, and she was even kind of nice. A little bit.

“You really like Parker, don’t you?” Mom asked now, as I sat looking out the living room window, waiting for him. “He seems very nice.”

I furrowed my brow. She had barely spoken two words to him, ever. She was just pleased I hung out with Parker because he looked like a dork. Anger sparked deep inside me.

“You don’t know the first thing about Parker,” I said, though I knew I should keep my mouth shut. “For all you know he’s a drug dealer with thick glasses.”

“Well, he has you home early, and he’s very polite,” she said. “Why don’t you have him over for dinner?”

Dumbfounded, I could do nothing more than stare at her. Suddenly she was so pleasant—like one of those moms on TV, one of those nice ones that say stuff like, “I’m proud of you,” and “I trust your judgment”—unfathomable phrases like that.

“Maybe.”

To my relief, Parker pulled into our driveway and I was able to bolt out to his car and away from the baffling being I called Mom before I did something crazy, like barf up the truth. Parker gave her a little wave as she peeked out at us through the living room window.

Seems nice
, I scoffed. How can you tell something like that by the way a person waves?

Still, I thought I might invite Parker to dinner. He and I had become sort of friends. Not that I’d ever seen him outside of his car. I hadn’t, ever. But sometimes we would sit for a while and talk when he gave me a ride home from Sawyer’s. He had a strange, dry sense of humor. He made me laugh.

Also, he played the saxophone, and I played the flute. We were always talking about getting together and playing a duet. So, his coming to dinner seemed alright. I figured it would be nice to have a friend that could actually come in the house.

When I got to Sawyer’s he was on the phone. I heard him say, “I need to go—No, don’t come over.” Then he said it again, “Don’t come over.”

I knew he was talking to one of the guys from his band. I didn’t even bother to ask. Sawyer had issues with girlfriends coming to his band practices. Apparently, The Clutch all steal each other’s girlfriends. Or something. Whatever. I didn’t need the drama.

Still though, it seemed more than that, like Sawyer was keeping some sort of “secret” about the band. He would act weird whenever I brought them up—get all stiff and cautious. Weird, weird, weird. I
tried
to not let it bug me though. Tried. We all have secrets, right?

Like, well, I didn’t tell him about Dad—what happened to him. I couldn’t. It just sat in my stomach like a rock. So, I let Sawyer have his secret, knowing secrets are painful, but maybe … necessary? Sometimes? A little bit?

We played a little ping-pong down in his basement and I got the socks beat off me, then we went up to his room to play Wii. His house was like an arcade—one with free snacks. It was cool. And void of parents, which was a good thing, except Sawyer was alone so much.

“The Clutch is pretty much my family,” he’d once told me.

I was glad Sawyer had his band. When he was eleven, his mom had abandoned him. She just took off while his dad, who was a captain on a nuclear submarine, was out on patrol. She never came back. Sawyer didn’t talk about it much, but I knew it hurt him. How could it not?

“Oh, hey, don’t eat that,” Sawyer said, tossing the slice of pizza I’d grabbed into the garbage. “That was from last week. Are you hungry? I can make you spaghetti.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just stick with the chips.” I glanced around his room. “Your cleaning lady’s about due, isn’t she?”

“What, the place offends you?” he grinned, glancing around. “I guess it is kind of a mess, huh? Actually ol’ Betty was supposed to come by this morning, but something came up. Car trouble or her daughter had a baby. Something.”

I grinned. Obviously he wasn’t too interested in the personal life of the lady who scrubbed his toilets. But actually, the place was pretty clean considering he was a teenage boy. I think it said a lot that his dad trusted him enough to leave him alone and unsupervised while he was away.

“I don’t get into trouble,” Sawyer had told me when I first learned of his independent situation. “Seriously. For the most part I just hang out with the band. Sure we have parties, but controlled parties, you know? I don’t want my place getting trashed. Besides, we don’t get into that much trouble when we drink. We just do it until we pass out.”

He’d laughed at me when I looked horrified and promised not to drink around me. I personally didn’t drink and I didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of drunks. How depressing. Okay, I had a bias, big time. My grandfather was an alcoholic. He put my dad through hell. Drinking equaled problems. Period.

Sawyer ran his fingers through my hair. He’d put on the stereo earlier, now a slow song came on. “I love this song,” he murmured, drawing his face near mine.

“Yeah. I like it too. Kind of romantic, huh?”

He kissed me then, tender and lingering. I could have definitely gotten used to this, his soft lips, his warm kisses. But that’s not what I wanted.

 I pulled away. “Friends, Sawyer.”

“Yeah. Friends,” he murmured in my mouth, still holding me tight, still kissing me.

One way or another we went through this every day. I liked him. I wouldn’t have really minded getting romantic with him. But I couldn’t risk losing our friendship for the thrill of a few passionate kisses. I needed him too much. And I could tell he went through girls really quick.

“Sawyer, come on. Stop it, okay?”

He pulled away from me, looking frustrated. “Are you always going to be like this? Are you always going to push me away?”

“I don’t know, no, maybe. Sawyer, I need a friend.”

He ran his hands through his hair, watching me take a step away from him. “Why do you act like if we get physical we can’t still be friends?”

“Because,” I stopped, frustrated, wishing I had the right words, that I could make him understand without getting all emotional—without explaining I’d been dumped and it ripped me apart and I could never, ever go through that again, ever.

I bit my lip, then sighed, kind of swerving around the complicated issues, but still spilling facts I knew were true. “Then it’s different. Everything changes.”

 “Look, change is a good thing.” He edged closer, taking my hands in his. He nuzzled my neck. “I’m into change.”

“See, that’s what I’m afraid of.” I swallowed, staring down at his warm hands—hands I wouldn’t mind holding for a long, long time. They were strong and comforting. I wanted—needed—to have them around. Even right now, while I was an emotional disaster. Especially right now. But later too. “Guys change girlfriends all the time. I don’t want to get dumped, I can’t afford it.” I stared up into his eyes. “You’re the only friend I have.”

 Sawyer shook his head, knitted his brow. “Man, Jodi, I promise you, give me what I want and I’ll be the best friend you ever had.”

I pulled away from him. “Give you what you want?” That was a scary statement. It had me sweating. “What do you want?”

“Look, just don’t push me away.”

“Sawyer, come on.” Ugh! I rubbed my forehead with the heels of my hands. “I just want to be friends. Right now I can’t handle anything more than that. I don’t want complications. Just a friend.”

Sawyer shook his head. “I told you from the beginning—I want more.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep down the lump in my throat from growing more. I’d had all these plans—Sawyer and me being friends, hanging out, going to school together. I liked him. And I couldn’t go to Roosevelt alone. I just couldn’t. I needed someone with me. Someone to be my friend. And it couldn’t be Parker. Parker could be my friend, but when I faced Jeremy—when I saw him again—I needed someone to hold on to. I needed Sawyer.

But I could tell Sawyer was ready to dump me. Probably, in his next breath. Date him, don’t date him—it seemed I lost either way. And his arms were nice and warm. His kisses too.

I exhaled. “Okay, what exactly do you want?” Kissing him wouldn’t exactly be torture—kind of the complete opposite. “Maybe … I could just give it to you.”

“Thanks.” He gave a tight smile. “But believe it or not, I don’t usually have to force girls to let me kiss them.” He rubbed his neck, gazing up at the ceiling, then back at me. He let out a breath. “Look, I told you from the beginning what I wanted. I was honest with you, but you weren’t with me. Not really.”

I stopped him before he could fully get the sentence out. His kisses were beyond nice. They weren’t magic and beautiful like Jeremy’s, but they were tingly and I
had
to get over Jeremy. I had to. This was a step I probably needed to take. Okay, I didn’t feel ready to take it, but it had been three years. I
should
be ready. A normal person would be ready. “You wouldn’t be forcing me to kiss you. Look, I like you. If the only way I can stay friends with you—friends like we have been—is to let you kiss me, then you can.”

“This is an incredibly stupid conversation,” he muttered. “You’ll let me kiss you. Really? Great. And what if I want to have sex with you? Can I do that too? We can be best friends if you let me do that.”

His sarcasm stung.

“That came out wrong,” I said in a small voice.

Sawyer’s voice softened a little. “It’s like you want me to act like your boyfriend, except I can’t touch you. Do you really think that’s fair?”

No, I figured it wasn’t. Because, really, he was right. I expected him to be boyfriend-like, to give me all his attention—adoring attention—and really, I knew I’d miss it now if I didn’t get it. Besides, yeah, it was time to move on. Time to get over Jeremy.

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to me, kissing him on the mouth. He kissed me back, but with a lot more passion than I’d expected, his tongue instantly entwining mine. Startled, I pulled away.

“Nice try though,” he said, watching me closely.

I touched my lips with my fingers, frustrated. Why’d I do that? Why’d I pull away? I think it had to do with that first day I met him—when I had thought I was kissing Jeremy.

I let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I’ve only had one boyfriend in my whole life.”

“Really?” Sawyer didn’t sound as though he believed me. “I figured you must’ve had a bunch of guys chasing you in New York.”

I looked into Sawyer’s eyes not wanting to talk about my past—that I’m broken and can’t move on, that I’m trapped in a hopeless, agonizing memory of unrelenting love. “Can you just tell me what you want?”

He shrugged. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

Hearing that—it was so sweet my heart did a flip. “Um, I think that might be okay. But,” I bit my lip, not able to spill out the whole truth. “Sawyer, I’ve been hurt really bad. And I just really haven’t had that much experience dating.”

“You make dating sound like a big deal. It’s not a big deal,” he said. “It’s almost exactly what we’ve been doing, except you won’t push me away.”

“But … Look, Sawyer, I’m kind of afraid of you.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re really intense. You scare me.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”

“It seems like you get what you want all the time.”

“Oh.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I guess I do. I mean, not all the time, but pretty often.”

He was so …
intense
. He was. The last time I had intense, I’d felt it too. And I’d gotten my heart broken. It was three years ago, but my heart was
still
broken. And it didn’t seem like it would ever mend.

I couldn’t explain all of this to Sawyer— that intense was scary. Still though, I needed to get over Jeremy. I did. So, I swallowed. “Okay,” I shrugged. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”