Torched Page 19

Would we? “I registered for my community service last week,” I said. I’d been trying not to think about it. Not that community service was the end of the world, but ... “Everyone at the nursing home looked at me like I was a criminal.”

  “We’ll clear your name,” Paxton said. “I promise.” We looked at each other until it felt awkward and I glanced away. My ankle tingled, and I couldn’t help but wonder how Paxton’s hands would feel on other areas of my skin.

  Oh, no--I was thinking about Paxton in ways I really shouldn’t. Damn Hayley and her power of suggestion. Horrified Paxton might guess my thoughts from my face, which felt sunburned even with SPF30, I slid away and grabbed another float noodle, then leaned my crossed arms on both of them and paddled about for a bit.

  When I came back, Paxton’s eyes were closed, and he swayed gently back and forth in the water. I bobbed closer, gazing at his short blonde eyelashes and the stubble on his chin.

  Paxton opened his eyes.

  “I have the unbearable urge to dunk you,” I blurted, to cover that I’d been staring.

  He smiled lazily. “But you can’t, because I’m a cripple.” A shadow crossed his face, and I frowned.

  “You’re not a cripple. You’ll heal. Good as new in a few months.”

  Paxton closed his eyes against the sun. “We won’t make state playoffs, and it’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He snorted softly, and I poked his shoulder so he’d look at me again. He didn’t. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Coach Trent’s, for letting you play on an injured ankle.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Seriously. Paxton--”

  “Fine. It’s not my fault.”

  I poked him again. “Say it like you mean it.”

  Paxton still didn’t open his eyes. “Remember in eighth grade when you started sitting with Alina at lunch?”

  Thrown by the change in topic, I blinked. “Yeah?”

  “Remember when I came up and asked if I could sit with you guys too?”

  “Um.” I didn’t, not specifically, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.

  “Remember when Alina said there wasn’t any space, even though there was, and you looked at me and said, ‘Sorry, Pax. See you later?’ and I had to turn around and leave?”

  “That ... sounds like a lame thing for me to do.” Unfortunately, I could picture it, me rejecting his friendship for Alina’s in front of the whole cafeteria, and him having no choice but to slink away to the table reserved like a leper’s colony for people with no friends. I’d been so thrilled at sitting at the popular table that it would’ve taken a team of rabid dogs to drag me away. Shame washed over me. “Is that why you threw the cranberry juice?” Paxton shrugged. “But that was like a month later.”

  “Guess it just built up.”

  His eyes were still closed, so I could study him freely. I felt awful. “You never said. That I hurt your feelings.” At that, Paxton opened one laconic eye, and I flushed. “Not that I shouldn’t have figured it out, but you never said.” I could have apologized, or cleared the air, or something. I would have. Wouldn’t I?

  Paxton’s eye closed, as if to shut me out. “Would it have mattered? You were popular, and I was still a science geek.” He sounded almost bored, but I heard a world of hurt in his quiet words. “You didn’t want to be seen with me anymore.”

  I’d asked him why he’d started our war, and here it was. The Reason. And the worst thing was, I couldn’t even deny it. I’d been happy to hang out while just at our houses, but at school ...

  “It was nice to be popular.” I was quiet for a moment. “I guess it went to my head. But you never tried to talk to me about it.”

  Paxton opened his eyes. “Yes, I did.”

  “Not really. Every time I saw you, you just called Alina names, and said I was stupid for hanging out with her. You told me you felt sorry for me for being, ‘such a ditzy bimbo airhead’.” I hadn’t realized I remembered the specific words he’d used, but now that we’d dredged it up I recalled how much they’d hurt. And the more he’d said them, the less I’d wanted to hang out.

  Paxton looked surprised. “I said that?”

  “Yeah. And then at the dance you just ... attacked.”

  Paxton’s gaze slid away. He stared at the sky. “I guess having you hate me was better than being ignored.”

  I remembered taking on Alina’s ultimatum, refusing to apologize because I was afraid it would make her forget me completely, and understood. We floated in silence for a while, and I thought we’d leave it like that. But then I remembered how I never apologized, and neither did Paxton, and we’d spent every year since eighth grade hating each other because of slights left to fester. And we could let this be the end of it, because the death of our friendship wasn’t entirely my fault, but did it matter who started it? Did it matter who was hurt first, or worst?

  I took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry I abandoned you in the cafeteria.”

  Paxton turned his head toward me. His arms were spread wide in the water, leaving him open to a dunking attack, but I was the one who felt vulnerable. What if the words weren’t enough, after all this time?

  “It sounds like a silly thing to be mad about, now,” Paxton admitted after a moment.

  “It mattered then.” Our eyes met, and for a moment I thought Paxton was about to say something ... but then he subsided, and I could see whatever it was sink down and away inside of him. I could almost feel a wall coming up between us, but then he smiled at me.

  I smiled back automatically, but inside I was confused. Did this mean we were okay? I couldn’t help but remember the look on his face when he’d thrown the cranberry juice at me in the darkened middle school gym. The act hadn’t seemed premeditated. But I didn’t know what to ask, so I looked down in the water and watched my feet kick slowly back and forth.

  “I would have let it go, you know,” Paxton said. “I was hurt, but I got over it. But then you retaliated for the cranberry juice, so I had to retaliate too, and suddenly it was like a competition. It was stupid, but I couldn’t let you win.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said wryly. Then my smile faded as I considered how many years of friendship our stubbornness had squandered.

  Paxton laughed, and I glanced up to find him grinning. “That line in Ryan’s poem, about planting acorns together and waiting for them to sprout? Totally mine.”

  One side of my mouth curved up, and I let him pull the conversation from ancient to recent past. “What did that even mean?”

  “No idea!” He laughed again, and I splashed him. Paxton splashed back, and the rest of the afternoon slid away in an easy haze. It was almost unreal, how simple it felt to relax in Paxton’s presence after we’d spent so many years on the offensive.

  Around dinnertime I helped Paxton clamber from the water, put away the pool toys, and made us more sandwiches. As dark fell a chill crept over the lawn, so we went inside to eat.

  Juliette came home before we finished. She stopped dead at the sight of the two of us together at the kitchen table. “Whoa. Am I in a parallel universe? Since when is Rose invited to dinner when our parents aren’t home?”

  I sighed. Clearly Juliette hadn’t forgiven me yet.

  “Hey, Jules. Want a sandwich?”

  “And since when are you two friends?” Juliette eyed us suspiciously. “Is this a ruse, and World War Three is about to break out?”

  “Relax, will you?” Paxton took a bite of salami-and-cheddar. “It’s not a big deal,” he said through it.

  “Not a big deal? I think I need to sit down.” Juliette put action to word, collapsing into a chair. She fidgeted for a moment, then glanced at me. “So ... how’s the whole clearing your name thing going?”

  “Making progress, I think.” Maybe.
Sort of.

  “You still want my help?”

  I blinked. “Really? You’re not still mad?”

  “I ate the cookies, so I guess I can’t be.” She glanced at the cooler. “And since I’m obviously way too motivated by food, I’ll help you in exchange for a sandwich. If you want.”

  “Ohmygod thank you!” I grabbed the bread and fixings for her. “If you could talk to Georgette Richmond at track practice, that would be awesome,” I said as Juliette assembled her meal. “Find out where she was that night, and if she knows anything about planting fingerprints.” I thought for a sec. “Of course, a straight-up confession would work too. On tape, preferably.”

  “So you think it was Georgette?”

  “She’s the prime suspect at the moment.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.” Juliette picked up her finished sandwich and her bag. She glanced between Paxton and me again, shook her head as if not quite sure whether she bought our patched-up friendship, and went upstairs.

  “Thanks!” I called after her, relieved that she wasn’t mad anymore. The cookies had worked after all--well, they hadn’t hurt, anyway. I popped the last bit of my sandwich into my mouth. “Now what?” I said around it, then swallowed. “Guess I should get home?” I didn’t really want the day to end yet. Even with the weirdness, it had been fun.

  Paxton glanced over. “We could watch Star Trek. Like old times.” I could tell he thought I’d refuse, so I raised a brow.

  “Race you upstairs!”

  Of course I won, but I came back downstairs to help make popcorn. Fifteen minutes later we’d settled on Paxton’s bed--it was a queen size, so it wasn’t like we had to scrunch together awkwardly, but I still felt sort of nervous--and I’d recalled my habit of making fun of the show while Paxton threw popcorn at me. Back in the day, his mom yelled at him all the time for the popcorn kernels littering the carpet after Star Trek sessions.

  “This should be a drinking game,” I said, laughing. “You could take a shot every time a Red Shirt dies, and I’d take one whenever Kirk gets with an alien chick.” I ducked the popcorn flying at me, and Paxton laughed. It occurred to me that his laugh might have been too loud for an eighth-grader, but now it fit him perfectly.

  A few hours passed pleasantly, and my eyelids started to droop. At some point I glanced over, smirking at the ridiculously-costumed alien that had just appeared on the screen, and found Paxton asleep. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and I had the urge to brush his hair off his face. I bit my lip and watched him until my attention was caught by a fight scene.

  I’d go after this episode ended, I decided. I lay back on the pillow and tried to keep my eyes open. The dark walls and ceiling made me feel like I was in a cocoon. I closed my eyes for a second. The episode was nearly over. Five more minutes, and I’d go ...

  ~ ~ ~

  The room was dark, a bare tinge of dawn edging the window blinds in light. I blinked, disoriented. Pinpoints of white surrounded me, and my warm, firm pillow ... was breathing.

  I froze, remembering where I was and realizing my head rested on Paxton’s shoulder. So much for leaving after that last episode. I lay quietly, feeling Paxton warm and solid next to me. Tilting my head up to look at Paxton’s face, I took in the stubble on his jaw, the delicate skin of his eyelids ... his lips. He smelled like chlorine and sun, and faintly of cedar.

  Paxton shifted, then opened his eyes. Embarrassed, I sat up.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. Feeling awkward, I tried to smile. Oh, lord, I had it bad. For Paxton. Was I blushing? I raked my hand through my hair, which was probably tangled beyond belief since I hadn’t brushed it after getting out of the pool, and tried to act casual. Was my sundress skewed? The bare skin of my collarbones and arms felt ... bare.

  Paxton blinked at me, and then his eyes widened.

  In horror.

  “What the hell are you still doing here?!” He sat up, trying to slide off the bed, but stopped, wincing at his leg. “Shit.” He refocused on me. “I didn’t say you could stay overnight!”

  I pulled away. “I guess I fell--”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have!” Paxton’s face was red. Was he really that mad I’d stayed? I stared at him, frozen, and he made a frustrated sound. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Get out. Scram. Make like a tree. A freaking oak tree. And LEAVE.”

  Scrambling up, I fled.

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday, lunchtime. Francesca and Georgette had carried around balloons all morning. Their birthday party was this Friday, but I wasn’t invited. Ryan had glanced at me several times in English, making my stomach tighten in anticipation. Would he talk to me today? If he did I didn’t want an audience, so I took my bagged lunch outside even though it was cold and windy. I found a bench by the flagpole and huddled in my windbreaker.

  I shivered, both from nerves and cold. What if Ryan didn’t talk to me today? What if my grand theory was wrong? I kept going over it in my head, wondering if I’d missed something.

  But after ten minutes, during which I’d consumed my peanut butter and banana sandwich and was trying to keep my can of soda from toppling in the breeze, Ryan poked his head out the school doors like he was looking for someone. He spotted me, then came outside. He didn’t have any food with him, and my nervousness level leapt. He was here for me.

  Ryan walked over. “Hi, Rose.”

  “Hey. What’s up?” As if I didn’t know.

  Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at my messenger bag, which covered the rest of the bench.

  “So I said, a while ago, that we’d talk soon.”

  I sipped my soda. “Let me guess: today’s the day.” Anger nibbled at me. Did Ryan really think it fair to make me wait practically a month to find out the truth? I’d wanted so badly for him to start this conversation, but now that he had I didn’t feel like making it easy for him.

  Ryan seemed confused, probably because I wasn’t drooling for answers the way I’d been at Halloween. “Can I sit down?”

  “No law against it.” I moved my bag. Ryan hesitated, scanning my face, then dropped onto the bench beside me. He put his backpack down and took a breath.

  “You were right, Rose. I didn’t cheat on you.”

  He’d finally confirmed it. I should be ecstatic. But all I could think was that this would have made a difference, say, three or four weeks ago when I was going crazy and my life was falling apart. Now ... well. Boys sucked. Ryan sucked, and so did Paxton. What the hell was that, by the way, yelling at me the morning after I’d spent the whole day cheering him up? I frowned, irritated, then realized Ryan was still waiting for a response.

  “Interesting,” I said. Ryan blinked, and I felt gratified. It was nice not to be the confused one for once. Maybe I was being mean, pretending not to care, but the moment of pettiness somehow drained some of my frustration. “Go on.”

  Ryan’s explanation was more or less what I’d expected. That Friday, Ryan had been annoyed at Dane, because Ryan had canceled our date to hang out with his brother, only to find out that Dane instead wanted Ryan’s help in seeing Francesca. “I let her in, then spent the whole night playing third wheel. When they started making out, I went upstairs and did homework.”

  We’d both been innocently doing homework that night. I shook my head ruefully, but Ryan took it as doubt. “No, really. There’s nothing between me and Francesca, I swear. She’s seeing Dane. If her dad found out they were hooking up, he’d charge Dane with statutory rape. That’s why they had to keep it secret.” Ryan glanced at me. “I can see why you’d think ... but I don’t get why you were photographing my house in the first place. Did you think I was running around on you?” He looked offended.

  “I didn’t take the photographs,” I said. “And I already put together the pieces about Dane and Francesca. When I found
that out, I knew you hadn’t cheated.”

  “You already knew?” Ryan smiled. “My smart and beautiful Rose,” he said softly. My heart melted a little at that smile, but I looked away, trying to keep my feelings straight. He’d hurt me, in not standing by me. Part of me wanted to throw myself at him and fix us, but part of me didn’t. “See, this is all just a massive misunderstanding,” Ryan continued. “Compounded by complications. It’s ... it’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

  My brow rose. “I must have missed the part where Romeo pretends to cheat on Juliet.”

  “No, I mean they were torn apart by circumstances, but they never stopped loving each other.” Ryan unclasped his hands and reached for mine. In the chill of the afternoon, his skin was warm. “But now we can be together again.”

  I blinked as his words sunk in. “What?” I pulled my hand away. “Just like that? No way.” The words were out of my mouth, harsh and cold, before I could soften them. Ryan looked like I’d jabbed his soccer cleats in his face. “Ryan, I’ve spent the last month so confused, and ...” I broke off, then swallowed. “Things aren’t the same anymore.”

  “I know,” Ryan said. “But we can work on it, right?” He touched my arm. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I admitted, but when Ryan reached for my hand again I moved it away. “Ryan, don’t.” He wanted to just rewind and tape over the last month, but I couldn’t. He’d broken my heart, and I wasn’t about to glue it together haphazardly and toss it back to him. But we’re soulmates, a part of me whispered. We could work things out. Right?

  I’d thought I had everything figured out, but now I was just confused.

  Ryan sat up straighter. “Rose, you believe me, right? There’s nothing between me and Francesca. Please, you have to believe me.”

  “I believe you,” I said, then sighed. “The problem is that you never believed me.” One thing was clear: if we were going to even try to fix us, we couldn’t just gloss over everything. “Why didn’t you tell me what really happened?” I asked. “And don’t say because Dane would be in danger if you blabbed. If you trusted me, you’d have told me. Before today.”