Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Oh.” His expression softens and he cups my cheek in his palm, feathering long fingers down my jaw. “I can’t promise we’ll always be together like this, and long-distance relationships suck. But I’ll always want you in my life. So … if it doesn’t work out at university, I’ll be texting you and sending stupid e-mails. I’m sure I’ll have a laptop by then, and we can Skype.”

“That helps.”

“Hey, let’s not talk about breaking up on Valentine’s Day. That’s a long way off. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”

“You make a good point.” Making an effort not to be too dark today, of all days, I say, “So I’ve been wondering … you don’t have much stuff. What happened to it?”

Most people have a few toys, but when we met he didn’t have an iPod or a phone, no laptop, and he only has the iPad because of school. But he has no Wi-Fi out here to check his e-mail on.

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Everything I had before my mom got sick, we pawned to pay off her medical bills. Dying is expensive.”

Damn. This is my second conversational gambit that has turned down a depressing path. Maybe I can change that. “What was your favorite thing about her?”

“Her hugs,” he says right away. “You know how, after a while, some people will pat you a couple of times to let you know they’ve got better things to do? She never did. She’d just stand there hugging, like there was nothing more important in the world.”

“I bet she didn’t think there was.” I wish I’d met Shane’s mom.

“I miss her,” he confesses in a raw voice.

I can’t fix this; only time can. But I wrap my arms around him anyway, trying to live up to world-class hugging. He whispers into my neck, “You know when you held me before, that first trip out here, it was first time anybody did since she died?”

“I had no idea.”

“Everyone was afraid to get near me, afraid of setting me off. And then you just showed up with soup and started hugging me. Is it weird that I thought maybe my mom sent you?”

I smile at him. “I hope that’s true.”

“Sometimes when I’m feeling guilty that I’m happy, I imagine her telling me that it’s okay … I’m allowed to have a life even if she doesn’t anymore.”

“That’s how I feel about my dad. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without thinking about him at all … and then I’m, like, this is the guy who pushed you on the swings for two solid hours.”

“It’s such a relief to talk about her. Most people can’t handle this. They get weird and they don’t know what to say.” He pauses. “I have some pictures, if you want to see them.”

“I’d like that.”

Shane gets out a packet of photos, and then his life is arrayed in front of me. Though the point is for me to see his mother, I also meet little Shane with his missing teeth, on the rocking horse, with no shirt on, and one with him holding what I imagine is his first guitar. He’s smiling as he pages through, telling me about what life was like before.

Before. It’s kind of a magical word. Warmth swells up inside me. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life.

After that, we eat vegetable soup, which is delicious. Then we curl up with my old iPod, his now. He doesn’t have a dock, so we share the earbuds, listening to a playlist Shane has created especially for this occasion. It’s past nine by this point, and I’m wondering if he ever plans to play me the song he claimed to be working on when he pushes to his feet and heads down the hall to his room. Am I supposed to follow?

No. He’s coming back.

Ah, he’s got his guitar, wearing his shy-delightful smile. By the twinkle lights, he looks so beautiful that it hurts me to see him, and I think in wonderment, He’s mine.

Shane settles beside me. “I wrote this for you, Sage. I hope you like it.”

And I’m too breathless to respond as he starts to play.

“Rock bottom, left for dead, / Furies screaming in my head– / I was off the rails, way off track / Somehow you brought me back.”

This song is soft and slow, his voice deepening, lending the lyrics greater intimacy. He gazes at me as he sings, and I melt. My hands are folded in my lap, and I restrain the urge to throw myself at him. My body isn’t big enough to hold this feeling. God, he wrote me a song.

Shane launches into the second verse, cradling the guitar tenderly. “You’re the one who makes me whole / When I’m broken in my soul / The queen of bright and shiny things, / Not designer clothes or diamond rings.”

I push out a shaky breath, listening.

“So you’re the calm and I’m the storm; / I’d sell my soul to keep you warm. / You’re the angel in my bed; / You’re all the words I never said.”

My cheeks heat when he says I’m the angel in his bed. Technically, he was in mine, but I’m thinking that will change tonight. But words, which ones? The big three? I can’t stand this. It’s too beautiful and personal. I ache all over.

“Princess, let me fight for you / I’ll go to war if you want me to / But I’d rather take you home tonight / Hold you close and treat you right.”

I remember the way his fist balled up when Dylan was giving me shit. Shane really would fight for me, I suspect, but it’s enough that he wants to. Because of him, I don’t hate that nickname anymore; I used to hear “princess” and flinch, but now it makes me smile.

His voice drops, so intense and heartfelt, and his eyes blaze blue fire as he plays. “Other men could give you more / But none of them could love you more / They can keep the world if I’ve got you / I’m forever yours, forever true.”

Did he just say he loves me? I’m pretty sure he did. For a few seconds, I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t speak, let alone move.

“Well?” he prompts, looking worried.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly. “That was just a song.”

“That was the best present anyone’s ever given me.” Sliding off the sofa, I take his hand. “Wanna show me your room?”

Shane’s off the couch like a shot. “It’s not decorated like the rest.”

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to be close to you.”

The twinkle lights from the other room cast enough of a glow for his room to seem less stark. His bed’s right there, so there’s no doubt why I wanted to see the room. Otherwise, there’s not much scenery.

Shane comes up behind me and I spin, leaning toward him. He meets me halfway with a kiss so sweet that the top of my head tingles. One-armed, he puts his guitar down and then draws me up against him. His hands drop to my hips, the boldest he’s been in touching me.

Tonight, he can have everything.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and the world disappears. The next thing I know, we’re a tangle of arms and legs, lips touching again and again. He runs his palm over my hip, stealing under my shirt to graze my bare belly. My whole body reacts.

“Do you want—”

“Yes.” I answer before he finishes the question.

And then we’re both in a hurry, though I keep my top on. Shane scrambles for a condom, and I don’t care why he has them. I’m just glad he does. He’s so close. We’re both trembling. He kisses me as it happens, and I know this changes everything. I don’t care. For these moments, he’s part of me. I’m part of him. It’s quick and strange and deep, like diving from a high board. I come up for air, gasping, holding on to him as he shakes.

Afterward, he holds me. I stroke through his hair. “Tell the truth, did you plan this?”

“What do you think?”

“You had protection.”

“Would you believe I was a Boy Scout and my motto is Be Prepared?”

“Unlikely.” I use his word. Our word.

“Then, no, I didn’t plan it, but let’s say I hoped.” His smile is too beautiful for this world, and I am dying of love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I go to school the next day … and everything is different. People are whispering, staring at me. I check my clothes to make sure nothing’s unzipped or tucked in where it shouldn’t be. No, no wardrobe malfunctions. No TP clinging to the back of my shoe. It’s weird, and I don’t spot Shane at our locker. God, I hope he’s okay. Maybe something happened to him last night after I left, and that’s why everyone is talking. They just don’t know how to break the bad news to me.

Shit. I’m about to panic when I get swept into the pre-bell rush. Somehow I end up in my first class, but nobody will make eye contact. Whatever it is, this is bad. I can’t hear the teacher. I can barely keep from screaming. I look for him in the hall between classes, but I don’t see him. My stomach doesn’t settle until Shane sprints into geometry, a few periods later.

He smiles at me and whispers, “I overslept.”

Some of the sour feel eases from my stomach. At least whatever’s going on, Shane is all right. The strange behavior from the rest of the school continues until lunch, however. People aren’t greeting me like they did, no friendly smiles or fist bumps, no “sup, Shage” when I’m walking with Shane. In fact, one guy mutters to him, “Wow, you’re brave, dude.”

This can’t be what I’m afraid it is. It can’t. Then Dylan strolls by, smiling. He makes eye contact and his expression ripens into a grin. He aims a finger gun at me and pulls the trigger.

Worried, when I reach our table, I ask Lila, “What’s going on? Have you heard?”

She shakes her head. “They aren’t talking to me. People know I will cut a bitch if they start something with you.”

Today, our crew is sparse, just me, Ryan, Lila, and Shane. I spot the others scattered among other tables. Whatever it is, I guess they heard … and they’re gone. I try not to mind; I mean, they’re freshmen and sophomores. They can’t afford any social errors.

After lunch, I’m at my locker with Lila. It becomes crystal clear when a guy I don’t know steps up to me, ignoring his friends’ nervous laughter. “So … is it true?”

“What?” I fold my arms, pretending to be bored, when it feels like I might hurl. I have an inkling where this conversation is going, based on Dylan’s clue.

“That you killed your mom.”

My breath goes in a rush, and I literally see sparks, so Lila has to catch me. She helps me lean against the lockers, then she takes a step forward. “You will step off right now, unless you want to eat your nutsack.”

When the kid doesn’t move, she lunges at him and he flinches backward. It’s enough for her to clear a path with an arm around me. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m puking up the lunch I packed. Then I sit down on the toilet, not crying, but shaking. I can’t stop.

He did it. That’s the thought looping in my head. Dylan promised he’d dig until he found something to wreck me with … and he did it. I even riled him up two days ago, gave him a reason to keep hate alive. I shouldn’t have let Shadow Sage off her chain.

There’s always a price.

“Sage? You okay?” I hear worry in Lila’s voice. She must be wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

I burst out in near-hysterical laughter. “No. Not even close. I can’t go to class. Please get me out of here.”

To my relief, she doesn’t argue. “Let me check the hall.” A few seconds later I hear her come back. “It’s clear for now. We’ll go out the back and circle around for your bike.”

“Sounds like you’ve cut before.”

“Trust me, I’m a pro. I’ll take you home.”

And she isn’t lying. She knows exactly how to slip out of school and get us off property before anyone notices. Pretty soon she’s pedaling my bike and I’m on the seat, which is good because I’d probably end up in a ditch. I can’t go back to school now. I can’t. I’d rather live in the group home again than face another day of this.

Once we get to my house, Lila makes tea, looking worried. “Should I call your aunt?”

“No, she’ll find out when she gets home. That’s soon enough to ruin her day.”

“So … what’s the deal? Obviously something happened with your mom or you would’ve told him to screw off. But why would some random dude know that about you?”

Since I don’t feel like spilling my guts, I tell her the truth—about Dylan and the private war we’ve been waging, which I escalated yesterday, and he shot back. This is a hot button for Lila, and she’ll forget about my past, at least for now. As expected, when she learns how he threatened to dig into my life and find something shitty to spread around, she starts pacing, ranting with more four-letter words than I’ve heard before in one breath.

“That son of a bitch,” she fumes. “If he thinks he can get away with this, oh, hell no.”

Well, he did warn me. I have no idea how he found out, but he won, fair and square. And he told me this was the way it would go down. I just … got cocky. I hoped that if we shamed him bad enough that he’d slink away, but that’s not how he rolls. He’s been the alpha dog for too long.

Eventually, she settles down long enough to ask, “Does Shane know what’s going on?”

“I should text him.”

For a few seconds, I just stare my phone. Then I type, went home early. Skipping Green World. TTYL.

“Do you have to work tonight?” Lila asks.

“No, that’s only on Monday and Thursday.”

Despite her trying to cheer me up, it’s just not happening. I brush my teeth and get in bed, pulling the covers over my head. In the end, Lila stays until Shane shows up, just past three. She’s eager to go out and implement some revenge scheme against Dylan, and I don’t have the energy to tell her it’s a bad idea. A part of me even admires how much he loves his mother. He ruined me, as promised, to make sure I can’t say anything about her and the principal. Who would listen now?

I’m feeling like crap when I hear Shane’s footsteps coming down the hall. “Sage? What the hell? There’s some crazy shit about your mom going around at school. Why’d you take off?”

I can’t look at him when I say this. I just can’t. “Because it’s true.”

If he had any common sense, this would be the last I hear from him, and what perfect timing for Dylan’s payback; I sleep with Shane, then he breaks up with me.

Right now, given what he’s probably heard, he should be walking. Instead, Shane sits down on the edge of the bed. “I’m supposed to believe that? You don’t even eat meat.” Gently, he draws the covers off and pulls me into his arms. “Talk to me. I’m not leaving until you do.”

Some shrinks say that it’s best to share your trauma. You become less sensitized to it. And I’ve done all kinds of therapy: group, personal, specialized, hourly, artistic, musical. Some of those programs even felt experimental; they were supposed to fix me. But none of the awful shit I had to do in order to be released into Aunt Gabby’s care horrified me half as much as the idea of telling Shane the truth.

But I have to. I owe him that much. He needs to know what I used to be. That way, he’ll understand why he needs to bail.

“I told you part of my story … but not the really bad stuff.”

“Okay.” It’s an encouraging word. I hate it.

Yesterday was perfect; yesterday was before. This is why before is a magical word.

I take a deep breath to offset the ache in my chest. “Things were fine with my dad. He died when I was seven. I spent a year in foster care, and that sucked, but I don’t have any horror stories. Just … I never felt at home, I guess.”

“I get it.”

No, you really don’t, I want to scream, but I’m not allowed to be angry. Anger is flames, showering sparks and death. And besides, I’m not even mad at him. I just want to burn the world down right now. And that’s the impulse I’m hiding from. Because at this moment, I can imagine Dylan Smith’s house on fire—and it makes me feel better.

“When I was eight, they found my bio-mom. She was clean, then. But it didn’t last long.”

Time for some show-and-tell. I sit up, pull off my hoodie, and show him my bare arms. There’s a reason I always have on a sweater or a jacket. Years later, I’m still marked with cigarette burns, the scars lined up in neat rows. They were punishments for when I didn’t do what my mom expected or sometimes even when I did. There was no pleasing her. She hated me, I think. I don’t understand why she took me in when the social worker contacted her. Guilt maybe, or possibly the welfare money. I’ll never know, now.

Shane takes my hands in his and runs his long fingers over the marks. I shiver; it’s been such a long time since anyone touched me here. Even last night, I didn’t strip down with him. I let him think it was because I’m shy, but that wasn’t the reason. I’ve always had darkness to hide.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

The question’s like a blade between my ribs. “It’s not exactly cafeteria chat.”

“We’ve had plenty of time alone, Sage.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin it how?”

“With this.” I bend my head, staring at my scars. “This happened when she was sober. Once she got back on junk, she stopped caring where I was … or who was in the house with us.” I’m relating this in a monotone because it’s just so ugly that I can’t think of an emotional tone that seems right.

This is me. This is where I’m from.

“Oh my God,” he whispers.

“I was eleven when I broke. Three years of this shit. We were renting this hellhole … and she couldn’t come up with the money. So she gets this idea—” I break off. Wow, this is harder than I expected. And I knew it would suck. “To use me. To pay. So she invites the landlord over.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“They drank a lot that night. And passed out before he could … you know. Then I set fire to the place. And I went outside.”

The memory surges to the front of my brain, how calm I felt, sitting on the curb across the street. It was summertime, and I was in my pajamas, too small since my mother hadn’t bought me any clothes in a couple of years. They had SpongeBob on them—funny I remember that. I watched the house burn for twenty minutes before a crackhead neighbor called the fire department.

The police found me, an hour later. At first they dubbed me a survivor, until I admitted to setting the fire. Stupid kid; I should’ve lied. After that, the nightmare didn’t end for years. They catalogued abuse: scars and malnutrition and had a doctor examine me down below. No sign of sexual assault. Then they put me where you stick broken people, ones who can’t be trusted around normal ones. I tell Shane all of that; there’s no point in hiding it now.

“I was in the group home for two years, where I went to a special school. They found Aunt Gabby when I was twelve, but I wasn’t released until I was thirteen. Then I had more counseling and medication … she took me home with her and I started junior high here.”

Why isn’t he talking? I risk a look at Shane’s face and he’s blank, like he can’t process it all. Welcome to my world. I try to pull back then, but he doesn’t let go. His hands move over mine in gentle motions, as if I’m a song he can’t remember how to play.

“Look, you were a kid,” he finally says. “Is burning down your house the best defensive strategy? No, but what options did you have? That asshole was going to…” Yeah, he can’t even say it. That’s how ugly the truth is.

But I get to live with knowing that’s how much my mom valued me. First, she left me, then she hurt me, then she was going to use me as currency. To her, I was nothing, and she got me to the point where I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as she was gone, too. The rage washes over me all over again. And now everyone at school knows. Somehow.

Dylan Smith.

Everything I’ve built over the last three years is gone. Now I’m back to being a freak show. I can expect more whispers, more people rushing to avoid me, refusing to make eye contact. All the projects I’ve planned, including the town garden, will probably fail. Who wants to help a crazy girl?

“Sage, look at me.” I do, mostly because his fingers are on my chin.

I feel numb. I should cry. I can’t. My whole body’s iced over.

“It’s gonna be okay. People talk shit, then they get bored. Something stupid will happen and they’ll forget.”

The numbness gives way to pain and shame, oceans of it. I might cry after all. Determined to avoid that, I bite my lip. I close my eyes.

“You really think so? I guess you’ve never lived in a town this small before.” To shock him, make him realize how insurmountable this is, I add, “They told me she died of smoke inhalation. It’s supposed to be fast.”

“What about the asshole?”

“He stumbled out the back. Some burns, but he lived.”

“But he didn’t try to help your mom?”

“He was drunk. I doubt it even occurred to him.” I pull away from him, then. “You should go. Don’t you have to work?” He’s already late.

“I’ll call in,” Shane offers.

“No, don’t. You still need the money. My shitty past doesn’t change your shitty present.”

“But it’s not,” he tells me. “And you’re the reason why. Promise me you’ll be at school tomorrow. The longer you hide, the worse it’ll be. Remember, you’re the one who says life doesn’t get better if you look away.”

“That is so unfair, using my own words against me.”

“Promise, Sage.”

“I’ll talk to my aunt,” I mumble. “If she agrees with you, then I’ll go.”

“Okay.” He pushes off the bed, then leans down to kiss me good-bye.

I can’t believe he still wants to. He knows everything about me now, that I’ve done the worst possible thing a human can do, and he’s still my boyfriend? Is he nuts? But maybe I’ve tapped into the gallant part of him that couldn’t leave his mother alone, no matter what it cost. “I don’t understand why you’re not already walking.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” he says quietly. “You think you’re the only one who glossed over stuff you didn’t want to think about? But I’ll tell you more tomorrow. If you’re brave enough to show up.”

Somehow, he’s done the impossible. I’m actually smiling. Maybe I’ll live through this after all, as long as Ryan, Lila, and Shane stand by me. That’s how true friends respond to trouble, I guess. They rally around you and keep the vultures away.

“We’ll see,” I mutter.

“I’ll call you on my break, okay?”

“If you want.”

It’s because of Shane that I’m not a total basket case when my aunt gets home. I don’t try to sugarcoat it; I tell her that I cut school … and why. She pales, reaching out to hold the wall for a few seconds, and then she hugs me.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. People can be such shitheads.” Since my aunt almost never cusses, this makes me laugh. “You seem to be handling it, though?” It’s a question. I’m sure she has my former therapist standing by on speed dial, ready with prescriptions and to resume our weekly sessions.

“I’m upset that they know. But … I can deal, I think. It can’t be worse than what I’ve already gone through, right?”

Aunt Gabby hugs me tighter. “I’m sorry, baby. Do you have any clue how the story got out?”

There’s no way I’m telling her; I’d have to confess my part in escalating the drama, and I can’t stand her disappointed face. Plus, what does it matter? It’s not like the school will do anything to Dylan for telling the truth about me. Football players get away with much worse on a regular basis. So I just shake my head. “It’s just one of those things.”

“You’ll be okay,” she promises me. “And if school is really bad, we can look into online classes.”

I love how she doesn’t promise the impossible. She doesn’t claim she’ll sell the house and move or transfer me to a different school. The options she offers are the ones we can manage. It’s depressing to think of taking all my classes online, but I know people with emotional problems do that sometimes. I’m sure my friends would still come see me. Right? Anyway, we’re not there yet.

“Shane says I should go tomorrow, show them I don’t care. What do you think?”

My aunt nods. “Absolutely. If you can manage it, that would be best. If anyone gives you a hard time, contact one of your teachers … or the counselor. I’m sure if you explain your circumstances—”

“I can tough it out.”

The surprise was awful, earlier today. I got comfortable. If I’m watching for the punches, then they can’t knock me out. I tell myself I’m past the worst. I’ll hang out with the friends I have left and ignore the people who give me shit. Maybe I can acquire a reputation as a badass, and then they’ll be scared to mess with me.

My aunt throws healthy cooking out the window and we have giant ice cream sundaes with homemade hot fudge for dinner. “I’m not advocating this as a replacement for better coping mechanisms,” she tells me, gesturing with a spoon. “But tonight calls for special measures.”

“No argument from me.”

A few minutes later, I hear my aunt on the phone with Joe. “No, this isn’t the right time. I’ll tell her later. And I have to cancel tonight. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Sage needs me.”

I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t true. I’m coping, but it’s a thin veneer. I waver between fury and sadness, then I get distracted and it settles down for a while. Half an hour into my favorite movie—Pitch Perfect—Ryan messages me. U ok?

I’m glad he’s checking it. Lila probably told him some of what I said this afternoon since I didn’t say it was top secret. Likely, she’s also still working on the best and most evil way to get revenge on Dylan. It won’t change anything, though.

Me: Watching Pitch Perfect.

Ryan: Again?

Me: Shut up.

Ryan: Can I do anything? Beat someone up for u?

This is especially hilarious because Ryan is the last person in the world who could pull that off. He would probably hit himself in the face and pass out. I smile as he intended.

Me: Nah. Just be there tomorrow?

It’s a short version of what I’m actually asking.

Ryan: Try and stop me.

Me: Thanks. You’re awesome.

Ryan: so im told by legions of screaming fans.

Me: Whatever. Movie. TTYL.

By the time Shane calls, I’m ready to face the assholes at school. I’ve done my time, so to speak, and the court decided, in conjunction with my therapist, that it was safe for me to leave the group home. Therefore, I can handle anything. Even this.

Right?

Right.