Torched Page 21

“No problem.”

  Natalie shouldered her pack, then paused. “Sorry I let the squad down.” She bit her lip and hurried toward the door before I could respond. From the glimpse of her eyes I realized that Natalie’s attitude was the only thing shielding her from a teary breakdown.

  Lindsay stopped next to me. “What do you think?” she said, frowning after Natalie.

  “I see chocolate ice cream in her immediate future,” I said solemnly. Lindsay smiled, then shook her head.

  “You should have torn her a new one. She would have, if you’d screwed up.”

  “I didn’t want to end the season still feuding.”

  “She started it,” Lindsay pointed out.

  I shrugged. “It takes two.”

  “See you guys later,” Hayley said on her way out. “You sure you don’t need a ride, Rose?”

  “Going out to lunch with my parents,” I reminded her. “See you in a couple of hours.” I was coming over early--Hayley claimed to be a cooking whiz, and had promised to teach me how to make samosas.

  I sat at a desk and pretended to mess around on my cell phone while everyone else left. Once I’d waved goodbye to the last girl, I put my head down on the smooth, cool laminate surface and allowed my disappointment to surface.

  We’d lost. Nat might have stumbled today, but I’d been stumbling on the captainship job all season. When I’d said earlier that it was my fault we lost, I hadn’t realized how much I meant it. I stayed like that, breathing in and out, until the disappointment started to fade.

  Finally I grabbed my bag. My parents would be waiting. I made my way to the front lobby, then outside, but didn’t see them in the crowd.

  “Rose.”

  I turned, my pulse already speeding up at the familiar voice. Paxton leaned against the brick wall ten feet away, his crutches propped up beside him. In the afternoon sun, his hair was gold, and his eyes picked up the myriad browns of the brick behind him. I walked over and cocked my head.

  “Who are you today: sane Paxton or crazy Paxton?”

  Paxton smiled, and handed me his car keys. “I told my parents I’d find someone to drive me home. Hello, someone.” In response to the question in my eyes, he added, “My parents went with yours, out to a late lunch.”

  I frowned. “They were supposed to take me to lunch.”

  “I told them you were going out with the squad.”

  “Oh.” Paxton seemed serious, and it made me nervous. “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

  Suddenly it was hard to breathe. I knew what he wanted to talk about, and although I’d wanted to confront him all last week, now I wasn’t sure I could handle this conversation. My feelings for Paxton were hopelessly jumbled. I felt like I was one of the colored scraps at the end of a kaleidoscope, my perception distorted with every twist of the barrel. I wasn’t seeing things clearly. Paxton had been a friend, then an enemy, and now he was a friend again, but maybe I wanted him to be more.

  But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he saw me more clearly than I saw him, and wasn’t impressed. Maybe he could tell I daydreamed about his lips, and was about to let me down easy. I wasn’t sure I could handle that right after losing the cheerleading competition.

  I made myself pretend nonchalance anyway.

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  Paxton levered himself off the brick wall and grabbed his crutches. Once our stuff was stowed in Paxton’s dad’s Beemer--slick and silver, the plates reading 2DAISGR8 (vanity plate-speak for “Today Is Great,” which was Mr. Callaway’s slogan for his motivational speaking company)--I pointed us towards home. Maybe focusing on driving would keep me from spazzing at whatever Paxton had to say.

  Or maybe I’d spaz out anyway and get into an accident. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

  “About last weekend,” Paxton began. I cut him off.

  “Oh, I already know what happened.” Did I really sound breezy, or was it in my head?

  “You do?”

  “Sure. You turn into a werewolf at noon every Sunday, and didn’t want me to see.” That startled a laugh from Paxton, and I smiled. “That’s it, isn’t it? I bet it’s hairy and gross. So thanks for sparing me.”

  “Actually, you got it wrong,” Paxton said. “I turn into a kangaroo, not a wolf.”

  “A were-kangaroo? How exotic.”

  “It is. But still hairy.”

  I laughed. “And you have a pouch that’s all slimy inside, right?”

  “I think only girl kangaroos have those. Thank God.”

  We bantered the rest of the way home, and I nearly got into an accident anyway from laughing so hard. When I pulled onto our street, I was grinning, but a little silence dropped and I could almost feel Paxton turning his mental wheels back to serious topics.

  “You okay?” he asked as I turned into his driveway. “About the competition?”

  “Yeah.” Obviously, I would much rather have won, and it rankled that we hadn’t. But all in all, I was vaguely proud of myself, and after a moment I realized why: I’d built my team up, instead of tearing Natalie down. I wondered what the old Rose would have done, the Rose who couldn’t let things go, who didn’t think twice about attacking if the situation warranted. “Win some, lose some, right?”

  “Yeah,” Paxton said. Another silence fell, and I went for the door handle. Once out of the car I busied myself with getting Paxton’s crutches out and dragging my bag from the backseat. I didn’t make eye contact. I expected Paxton to bring up last weekend again, but when I handed him his car keys he slipped them into his pocket silently. It was like he knew I didn’t want to talk about it, and was ready to just let it slide, let it pass into the folder of history we didn’t look at too closely. But I suddenly felt like a coward, and wondered whether, if we just kept going as if nothing happened, whatever had happened would fester like before.

  I handed Paxton his crutches and shut the car door, but didn’t grab my bag from the driveway. Instead, I crossed my arms and looked at Paxton.

  “So why did you yell at me?”

  Paxton was leaning on his crutches, about to head towards the front stoop, but at my question he paused, then settled back against the car’s side. He propped his crutches up in front of him and leaned his wrists on the cushioned tops. For a moment he studied his hands, tilting the crutches back and forth. I resisted the urge to fidget too, but felt cold under the November sun. No crying when he says it’s obvious you like him but that he doesn’t like you back, I told myself fiercely. No crying whatsoever.

  Paxton took a breath and met my gaze.

  “Are you getting back together with Ryan?”

  I blinked. A sliver of hope dug into me. Paxton wouldn’t ask that if he was just letting me down easy, right? I remembered when he kicked me out of his room--he’d told me to make like a tree. An oak tree. Oak as in Ryan.

  Suddenly I knew why Paxton yelled at me.

  But I wanted to be sure. “Why does that matter?”

  “Why do you think it matters?” Paxton looked annoyed. “You can’t be that oblivious, Rose. You guys talked on Wednesday, but you’re not back together yet. Are you just working things out slowly, or what?”

  I didn’t ask what this had to do with last weekend; I got it now. At least, I thought I did. Waking up next to your best friend’s ex-girlfriend, no matter how innocently, was against the Guy Code. And if Ryan and I planned to get back together, Paxton wouldn’t mess that up by declaring feelings for me.

  Assuming he even had any. I could be totally wrong. Paxton had never said he liked me, and his current glare wasn’t exactly filled with adoration.

  But as the silence stretched, that glare faltered. For half a second Paxton looked like I felt, like one harsh word could crush him like garlic.

  I stepped forward, push
ed aside Paxton’s crutches and kissed him.

  Paxton froze. I did too, my lips just touching his. Oh no, I thought, dismay opening like a void in the ground to swallow me up. I was wrong, he didn’t like me, I could never show my face again--

  And then Paxton kissed me back, his lips taking mine. I dimly heard the crutches clatter to the driveway as Paxton’s hands slid over my back, pressing me to him. My fingers threaded greedily through his hair as if they’d been waiting years for this. We kissed like it was the last day on Earth, like kissing might expire any second, like we’d suffocate if we stopped.

  Paxton made a sound deep in his throat, and my hands flattened on his shoulders. My whole body felt on fire. I wanted more. I wanted his hands under my shirt, not on top. I wanted to be skin to skin.

  It wasn’t the thought that shocked me, but the strength of it, like it was shoving apart the plates of the earth beneath me. I pushed away. Paxton was breathing hard, his eyes wide and bright and more golden in the light than brown. He looked like he had no idea what to say.

  My throat felt like I’d swallowed a glob of peanut butter. I’d just had my heart broken a month ago, and I didn’t know if I could survive that again. I wanted to throw myself back into Paxton’s arms, and I wanted to run far away.

  “I ... I have to go.” I touched my hand to my lips. “I have to get ready for the sleepover at Hayley’s.” Oh, no. What was Hayley going to think? I grabbed my bag. “I have to go.” I took a step back. “Okay?”

  Paxton raked his blonde hair with one hand, then crouched awkwardly to fumble for his crutches. “Yeah. See you.” He didn’t look at me.

  I turned and fled across the grass.

  Chapter 20

  Walking into Hayley’s house an hour later, I vowed to say nothing about Paxton.

  As we made samosas, however, the distraction fairy bombarded me with memories. My skin tingled. I could almost feel Paxton’s hands on my lower back, my sides, his fingertips brushing up my spine over my T-shirt. I could almost taste his lips, and tongue, and ...

  Hayley was looking at me expectantly. I pinched the dough of my misshapen samosa together. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  Hayley’s brows rose. “Rose, you’re blushing. What’s going on?”

  “That’s not what you said,” I flicked flour at her. She dodged it, grinning.

  “I asked if I’d mentioned that Nathan asked me out.”

  “Nathan Pierce?” He was a basketball player, and pretty cute. “Nice! What did you say?”

  “We’re going to the movies tomorrow.” Her eyes sparkled. She didn’t seem to be moping over Paxton, but still I bit my tongue. Hayley eyed me as she folded a square of dough into a triangle and pinched the edges shut over a spoonful of curried peas and chicken.

  “Seriously, Rose. What is it?”

  “Nothing,” I mumbled, but I could feel myself about to crack. I had to talk to someone about The Kiss, and if Hayley was going out with other guys, she was over Paxton, right? Under her continued scrutiny, I finally broke down. “Paxton drove me home from the competition andwekissed,” I said in a rush, then held my breath.

  “What?” Hayley put down her samosa. “You’re joking, right?” She didn’t look amused.

  “Um.” Oh, no. I could tell by the look on Hayley’s face I shouldn’t have said anything after all. She started to shake her head.

  “You swore to me, last weekend, that--”

  “There was nothing going on then, I promise! This just sort of--”

  “Happened?” Hayley’s floury hands went to her pink-apron-clad hips. “Right.”

  “I swear. I’m sorry; I didn’t think ...”

  Hayley attacked the samosas again. Her spoon jabbed the filling, and she pinched the dough hard. Not sure what to do or say, I worked on mine too. By the time we put the baking sheets in the oven, her motions had slowed to a normal pace.

  “Look,” Hayley said as she set the microwave timer. She turned to me. “We can be civilized about this, right? I mean, it’s not like it’s my business who Paxton dates anymore.”

  “We’re not dating,” I hastily clarified. “It was just a kiss.” Paxton and I hadn’t exactly talked afterward, so I had no idea where this afternoon left us.

  “Whatever.”

  I hesitated. “Can I buy you waffles to make up for it?”

  “I’m busy,” Hayley said, though I hadn’t yet suggested a day. “Let’s clean up before the others get here, okay?” She started swiping flour off the counter and, not knowing what else to do, I followed suit.

  “Hayley, I’m sorry,” I said after we took the samosas out of the oven. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Hayley sighed. “I know that, Rose. Oh, look,” she added as the doorbell rang. “Someone’s here!” She was polite during the rest of the night, but there was a wall there that hadn’t existed before. Apologies, it seemed, wouldn’t fix everything.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning I came home around noon, took a shower, and descended to the kitchen to find my mom and dad at the table staring at my dad’s laptop. My mom was scowling; my dad looked determined.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  They both jumped. My mom’s frown dissolved into a smile. “Just scheduling our next trip,” she said brightly.

  My dad closed the laptop. “We’re thinking Boston. Want to come? It would be over winter break.”

  “Boston in December? What, Bali was booked up?” I joked. My dad smiled.

  “We thought it would give you a chance to see Harvard, and explore the city a little.”

  “Oh.” I was surprised. This trip was for me? Normally I just tagged along on their jaunts if school or cheerleading didn’t interfere, which they usually did. “That sounds ... really cool.” The trip, anyway. For some reason, Harvard wasn’t the golden prize it had been a couple months ago. I wondered if I’d ever really wanted to go to Harvard, or if it was just a piece of the Perfect Rose Identity I’d depended on. I sat down across from my parents, wondering how to bring this up when they were being so nice in planning a trip for the three of us.

  My mom cocked her head at my expression. “What is it, Rosy Posy?”

  “What if I’m not sure I want to go to Harvard anymore?” I blurted, then held my breath and stared at the table.

  “Not go to--” My dad cut himself off. I glanced up. He looked like he was choking, but then he got himself under control. “Perhaps we should tour all the colleges you applied to,” he said at last.

  I was about to jump up and hug him when the doorbell rang. My mom twitched the bay window’s sheer curtains out of the way. Her brows rose, and she glanced at me with a little smile.

  “I think that’s for you, Rose.”

  My face suddenly felt on fire. I dashed for the foyer. “We’ll talk about this later!” my dad called after me. I threw open the front door, then paused.

  Instead of Paxton, Ryan stood on the stoop.

  “Oh,” I said. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Ryan’s mouth quirked up at one side. “Can we talk?”

  I came out and closed the door. We sat down on the front steps.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Ryan began. “About not setting the fire.”

  “And?”

  “And I believe you.”

  I hesitated. “Okay.” How was I supposed to respond: great? Finally? I’m glad you pulled your head from your ass? And oh by the way I kissed your best friend yesterday?

  “I don’t know why I didn’t at the beginning.” Ryan shook his head. “I guess I was just hurt because I thought you’d assumed I was cheating, even though I’d never do that to you, and I didn’t consider ... I mean, being framed for arson is kind of far-fetched, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. �
��I know.”

  “But I believe you now. I’m sorry I didn’t from the start.” Ryan took my hand and squeezed. “I swear I’ll never doubt you again.”

  I bit my lip, sort of moved despite myself. Even after all the time that had passed, all the frustration and heartbreak, hearing Ryan say he believed me still meant something.

  “I’m so sorry, Rose.” Ryan hugged me. I let him hold me, and wondered what all this meant. Last Wednesday he’d said we could fix things, with time.

  But did I want that? And what about Paxton? Paxton, who’d believed in my innocence since Homecoming. Paxton, who bought gorilla costumes for mysterious schemes, and fell backwards into the pool because, for no good reason, he trusted me to catch him. Paxton, who’d kissed me yesterday like he’d been wanting to do that since eighth grade.

  I straightened up out of Ryan’s arms. Eighth grade. The dance, the cranberry juice. What if Paxton had liked me then? Was the dance itself the mysterious straw that broke our friendship’s back?

  “We’ll have to sneak around,” Ryan said. He smiled ruefully. “At least for a while. My dad isn’t your biggest fan right now.”

  I blinked. “Wait. What do you mean, sneak around?”

  “You know, to see each other.” He squeezed my fingers again. “To be together.”

  “Whoa.” I pulled my hand away. “We’re not back together, Ryan. I can’t just go back to the way things were.”

  Ryan’s smile faltered. “We’ll take it slow.”

  “Ryan, I--” I kissed Paxton. But the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. I knew if I said them, Ryan’s green eyes would fill with pain. I had to tell him--I would tell him--but did it have to be now? I still hadn’t talked to Paxton to figure out where we stood, and I knew if I mentioned the kiss to Ryan, he’d want all sorts of answers I didn’t have yet. “I’m not even thinking of dating until after I clear my name,” I said instead. I stared at my shoes. “And honestly, Ryan, maybe not even then.”

  From our left, a car rumbled into view. It was the Callaways’ black BMW. Mrs. Callaway waved at me from the front passenger seat. Paxton rode in back, and I stiffened. His gaze on me and Ryan talking was like sandpaper, even from the road. His expression was frozen. The car eased down the road and out of sight. Ryan stared after it, then glanced at me as if he somehow knew what happened yesterday. My face felt on fire.