Текст книги "Shut Out"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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“Yeah… just much more subtle. I never would have guessed back then that she was helping me.”

Before I could respond, I felt Cash’s hand wrap around mine. He nudged my index finger out and pointed it to the sky.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “I haven’t challenged you yet.”

“No,” he said. “But I just saw one on my own. Look at this.”

And I watched as Cash traced my finger along a line of stars, following a few more into a curve, and then another, until a long line connected them all at a point.

“A heart,” I murmured.

And my own skipped a beat.

I cleared my throat. “You know, that’s, um, a little cheesy.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I turned toward Cash just as he turned toward me. I closed my hand over his, and then he was leaning and I was leaning and it felt like a gravitational pull. Like moving toward Cash was the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s the way the kiss felt, too. Natural. Like I’d been kissing him forever. Like we were supposed to be kissing each other at that moment. Maybe for every moment after.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket just as Cash’s free hand moved up to cup my cheek.

“Sorry,” I murmured into his mouth as I pulled away. “It might be an emergency… or something.”

He nodded and turned away, running a hand over his head again.

When I flipped open my phone, I found a text from Chloe.

Going back 2 shanes place. Can u get another ride or want me 2 take u back now?

I glanced over at Cash and felt the butterflies beating their wings against my rib cage. Four hours ago, I would have given anything to leave this place. But now, as it approached midnight, I wanted nothing more than to stay here. Or be wherever Cash was, anyway.

“Um, hey,” I said, summoning all of my nerve. “Do… do you think you can give me a ride home when you take your friends?”

He turned to look at me. “Yeah, of course. There’ll be room in my car.”

“Great. Thank you. My ride is leaving and… well, let me text her.”

I replied to Chloe and shoved my phone into my pocket. I turned back to Cash, and he smiled.

And kissed me again.

I gave Cash directions to my place after he drove his drunk friends home about an hour later. It was with some regret that I watched my house draw nearer. I didn’t want the night to end. I didn’t want to be away from Cash.

Everything about Cash made me melt. The smell of his cologne. The way he said my name. The constant spark in his green eyes. And knowing that no girl had gotten this far with him—knowing that I had kissed Mr. Unattainable and that he’d called me amazing—made me feel special and real and giddy.

We’d spent only a few hours together, but I already felt so connected to Cash. Being myself with him, relaxing around him, came so easily. More easily than it did with anyone else.

We made out in his car for a few minutes after we pulled into my driveway. Slow and easy. He didn’t push me further than I wanted, and I was grateful. I was still getting over Randy, after all. I didn’t want to rush anything new.

But then he was pulling away from me. His thumb traced along my lower lip as he said, “You should go inside. You don’t want to worry your parents.”

“Just my dad,” I murmured, wanting to keep kissing him but knowing he was right. If Dad woke up and found the door still unlocked, waiting for me, he’d be angry. I was already an hour past curfew—banking on the fact that he’d go to bed early and never know the difference.

“Give me your phone,” I said.

Cash handed me his cell phone, an old-school Nokia like they’d had when I was in sixth grade. I couldn’t help smiling as I programmed my number in for him. He grinned at me when I handed it back, and he kissed me one last time. Quick. Smooth. Leaving me longing for more.

“I’ll turn on the headlights so you can see to get in,” he said.

“Thank you.”

The lights flicked on, illuminating the driveway and glaring off the back of Dad’s van.

“Football fans, huh?” Cash said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Well, you know. My brother used to play, and they supported Randy, of course.”

I wasn’t thinking about the rivalry then. I wasn’t thinking about sports at all. It was summer. I was free from it all. Or so I thought. But Cash’s face darkened just a little at the mention of football, and I quickly realized my mistake.

“Give me a call,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “I had a great time tonight. Really.”

He turned to face me, and I thought his eyes still looked a little guarded. Or maybe he was just tired. Or maybe I was, and my vision wasn’t what it usually is. Because his voice sounded normal.

“I had a great time, too,” he said. “Good night, Lissa.”

“Good night.”

I climbed out of his car and ran up the sidewalk. I stopped on the porch and watched as Cash’s car disappeared around the corner. When the last glow of his taillights had gone, I walked inside.

But the joy of that night faded pretty fast.

Even after everything I thought we shared, Cash never called me. I waited for three weeks, and not a peep. Not even a text message. It was like that night had never happened—and sometimes I wondered if maybe it hadn’t. If I’d imagined it. Dreamed it up as a way to get over Randy. Like an idiot, I hadn’t gotten Cash’s number for myself.

Not that it would have mattered. He’d rejected me. That much was clear.

In the long run, though, it was for the best. At the start of August, Randy crashed his Cougar. Despite that night with Cash, I was still in love with Randy, and I was just so happy he hadn’t gotten hurt that when he called me to apologize for our fight, I ran back to him.

And I was lucky, too. Because we’d both realized that breaking up was the biggest mistake ever. So we got back together that night, and I decided to put Cash behind me.

Easier said than done.

Isn’t that how it always works?

chapter eight

I was really excited for my date with Randy that Friday night, until I opened the front door and got a good look at his face.

“Oh, God. Randy, what happened?” I asked, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the sink while I opened the medicine cabinet and located my extensively stocked first-aid kit.

“I’m fine, really,” he said, putting a hand to the thin cut running along his left cheekbone. “Kyle threw a rock at me in the parking lot after practice. I think he meant to hit the back of my head, but I turned around and—”

“Kyle, the soccer goalie?”

Randy nodded as I cleaned a little dried blood off his cheek with a washrag. “Asshole,” he hissed. “I planned to come over here right after I showered and changed. I didn’t get blood on my shirt, did I?”

“I don’t think so. It’s not a deep cut. Here, this might sting a bit.” I dabbed peroxide along his cheekbone with a cotton ball.

“Well, at least it makes me look all rugged and sexy,” he said with a grin when I’d finished cleaning up the little cut.

“Yeah,” I said, pressing a Spider-Man Band-Aid onto his cheek. “Real sexy.”

He laughed, but I didn’t. Randy was hurt. Not severely, but he’d spilled blood because of this stupid, ridiculous feud. How many more boys would suffer because of this rivalry?

None, I decided. Because the strike started tonight. Officially.

“Ready to go?” Randy asked, squeezing my hand as he slid off the sink. “The movie starts in half an hour, and we still have to drive out to Oak Hill. I figured we’d eat dinner afterward.”

“Sure. Let’s go,” I said once I’d put away the first-aid kit. I was already impressed. He’d actually taken the time to plan out the date and everything.

He smiled and put an arm around my shoulders, leading me toward the front door. “I’m surprising you, by the way. You’re going to love the restaurant.”

I flinched. “You know I hate surprises.”

“Trust me. You’ll love this one,” he said, opening the car door for me. “I hate to brag, but I did awesome tonight.”

To tell you the truth, he really had done a great job. Instead of taking me to see some gory action movie, like I’d expected, he actually picked a romantic comedy. Granted, the movie as a whole kind of sucked, but the fact that he’d tried that hard really said something.

To top it off, he even took me to Giovanni’s, an expensive little Italian restaurant a few blocks from the theater. Despite his insistence on surprising me (surprises always made me uneasy), it was the nicest date Randy had taken me on since we’d started dating last year.

And not a soccer player in sight to ruin the evening.

After dinner, Randy took me back to his house, just like he’d planned. It was only ten thirty and I didn’t have to be home until midnight, so we had plenty of time to do whatever we wanted.

Of course, I knew what Randy wanted to do.

We walked up to his room and just sat on his bed for a while, talking about how bad the movie had been.

“But the actress—she was pretty hot,” he said. “That shower sex scene was… wow.”

I rolled my eyes. Tonight, after such a great date, I was totally loosened up. “She had a butt double. You know, where someone stands in as the actress’s butt? It wasn’t even edited well.”

Randy grinned at me. “Jealous?”

“Of her butt double? No.”

He leaned forward, putting his hands flat on the bed, one on either side of my waist. “You’re really hot when you’re jealous,” he told me. “But there’s no need to be. Because, to tell you the truth, you know what I was thinking during that scene?”

“Do I want to know?” I asked.

“I was thinking about how much I wanted to reenact that part in the shower with my hot”—he kissed my cheek—“sexy”—he kissed my neck—“gorgeous girlfriend.” He kissed my lips gently at first, then pulled away just a little. “And how she wouldn’t need a butt double because she’s perfect already.”

“You smooth talker, you.”

“I was also thinking how much sexier I am than that guy she was screwing in the shower.”

I laughed.

“I am, aren’t I?”

Instead of answering—because, to be honest, the actor in the movie was pretty fine—I closed the gap between us and kissed Randy again. We sat there on his bed making out for a while, but after a few minutes I felt Randy’s hand on the small of my back as he tried to ease me backward.

I pulled away, putting a hand on his chest. “No—I mean, not tonight.”

For a second I felt guilty, as Randy’s hands dropped away from me and he turned to stare in the other direction. We’d really had a wonderful night, and I hated to ruin it by upsetting him.

But I’d taken an oath, and it would be worth it in the end. The rivalry would be over soon, and Randy and I could have many more perfect dates just like this one.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” I asked, standing up and straightening my skirt over my thighs.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “The night has been so great—you had a good time, right?”

“Yes. Of course I did.”

“Then why not end it on a good note? Make it special?”

“I just… don’t feel like it tonight. But we can watch a movie or something, and that will end it on a good note, too.”

“We just watched a movie.”

“We can watch another one.”

“Lissa,” he whined, giving me puppy-dog eyes, “please? If you don’t want to, we can, like, do other stuff.” His suggestive smirk made it clear that “other stuff” didn’t mean watching a movie.

I stared down at the carpet, fiddling with the hem of my skirt. “I told you. I just don’t feel like it tonight.”

He tilted his head to one side and stuck out his lip like a pouting toddler. “Come on. I’ll do anything. I’ll beg.” He flopped onto his back, sticking his hands in the air like a dog waiting for his belly to be rubbed. He even made whimpering pup noises.

“Stop it,” I said. “You’re silly.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

He sat up and looked at me seriously. “Then why not?”

I could have told him about the strike then, about our demands that the rivalry end, but I couldn’t force the words out. After the good date, I didn’t want to upset Randy more than I had to—and I knew that finding out about the strike wouldn’t exactly lighten his mood.

“I’m kind of tired,” I told him. “I got up early this morning to finish some homework and I’m just exhausted. I’m sorry. But you don’t have to take me home yet. We can just curl up on the couch…. What do you say?”

Randy sighed and stood up. “Yeah, I guess that sounds okay. This night is supposed to be all about you, after all.” He kissed me on the cheek. “But this means we have to have a night all about me soon, where everything goes my way.” He grinned and squeezed my shoulder before heading out of the room and walking downstairs.

That won’t be happening anytime soon, I thought guiltily, before following him down to the living room, where we ended our date with a little couch cuddling and a Leonardo DiCaprio movie.

chapter nine

“Hey, Lissa!”

I was on my way to AP US History the next Tuesday afternoon when Susan Port, girlfriend of Luther, a linebacker, caught my arm. Before I could jerk away, she dragged me into the closest girls’ bathroom.

“You,” she began, letting go of my arm and spinning to face me. I flinched, thinking I was in trouble. Like maybe she was mad at me for some reason—and that wouldn’t have boded well for me. Susan was on the girls’ basketball team. She was, like, five-eleven and built. If she wanted to, she could have really hurt me.

But when our eyes met, a huge grin spread across her face.

“You, Lissa Daniels, are a fucking genius.”

I sighed with relief, and Susan laughed.

“For real,” she said. “Luther and I went out on Saturday night. We went to The Nest, and I looked good. I mean, Beyoncé good. He wanted to take me up to Lyndway Hill for a little fun afterward, but I totally made him drive me home instead. He was so confused. He would have done anything.”

“I’m glad it’s working,” I said, tugging on the bottom of my shirt. I was also glad that her reservations about the ethicality of using sex seemed to have faded. “I knew it would work, of course, but it’s nice to hear other people are, uh, having success.”

“I know what you mean.”

She moved to face the mirror, searching for nonexistent blemishes on her perfect complexion. I was sure she was right about how she’d looked Saturday night. Even in her sweatpants and oversized T-shirt, Susan looked like a queen, her black hair pulled up into a simple ponytail at the top of her head, accenting her high cheekbones. Poor Luther.

“Actually,” Susan said after a moment, “I was thinking: Maybe the other girls would feel the same way. Like, it might make them more confident if they heard everyone else’s stories.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Oh, we could e-mail our stories to one another through the e-mail chain I set up. That would be—”

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of slumber parties,” she cut in, turning back to me. “With all twelve of us, plus whatever soccer girlfriends joined. It’ll be crowded as hell, but it might still be fun. I can host the first one. This weekend? Like, after the game Friday?”

I hesitated. Images of pillows being tossed and furniture being overturned coursed through my mind. I wasn’t exactly a slumber-party expert, but I could just picture the chaos of twelve-plus girls piled into one room. I mean, I could barely sleep sharing a room with just Chloe. Twelve girls? It wasn’t something I thought I’d particularly enjoy.

But the other girls would. Susan was looking at me with such excitement, such certainty that this would help the others. I had to put the cause before my own control issues. I had to think of Randy and Pete and the other boys who had been hurt in this feud.

Knowing I would likely regret it later, I said, “That sounds like a great idea, Susan.”

So that afternoon I sent out an e-mail to all the girls who had taken the oath in the library last Tuesday, instructing them to be at Susan’s house on Cherry Drive no later than nine on Friday night, once the football game ended. After double– and triple-checking the e-mail for spelling and punctuation, I wrote a postscript to Ellen that she should forward the message to the soccer players’ girlfriends she’d convinced to join us. Then I clicked send.

“You okay?” Cash asked when I’d shut off the library computer from which I’d sent the e-mail. Our shift was about to start, and this time, he’d arrived early.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked a little too harshly.

Cash shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “You just look really stressed.”

“I always look stressed,” I told him.

“Well, we should do something about that,” he said, giving me a smile as he brushed past me, carrying a stack of autobiographies.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “And how do we plan on doing that?”

He looked over his shoulder at me. “I could think of a few ways.”

I gaped, shocked that he was being so suggestive.

Cash’s face shifted into an expression of horror and he spun around to face me. “Oh—I didn’t mean it like that.” He shook his head and adjusted the books in his arms. “I was going to say, like, yoga or journaling or whatever it is people do to relieve… Yeah. Sorry.”

But I was laughing now. I couldn’t help it—he just looked so abashed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be gentle.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I remembered that I was referencing our night over the summer—the night I was pretending never happened.

Cash chuckled and winked at me. “How do you know I don’t want it rough?”

Okay, that time it definitely wasn’t an accident.

But Cash walked away toward the bookshelves, leaving me with my eyes clenched shut in embarrassment. It wasn’t like I could tell him off for flirting with me when, admittedly, I’d kind of started it.

I grabbed a few children’s books and ran upstairs to shelve them, putting an entire floor between Cash and me. Unfortunately, less than ten minutes later, Jenna found me hiding out.

“What are you doing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Nothing,” I said, pretending to re-alphabetize the shelf in front of me. “My job. Why?”

“That shelf is fine,” she said. “But Cash needs your help downstairs. I just checked in a bunch of books and I need you two to put them away.”

I sighed. I’d hoped to avoid him for the rest of the afternoon. I should have known it wouldn’t work.

I started to walk toward the stairs, but Jenna called after me. “Hey, Lissa?”

“Yes?” I was hoping she would change her mind, assign me to do something away from Cash.

“Is, um… Is your brother picking you up tonight?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason… Okay, what are you waiting for? Chop, chop. Cash is waiting for you.”

I rolled my eyes and kept walking. Oh, God, Jenna had a thing for Logan. I so didn’t need to know that.

Cash smiled at me when I reached the first floor. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve already piled the returned books here.” He gestured to the cart. “Now we just need to put them away.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. It seemed like every time I opened my mouth around Cash, I said things I shouldn’t. I had a boyfriend, after all. One I really loved. I didn’t know what it was about Cash, either. I wasn’t normally the flirting type—far from it. And I didn’t even like him. Not anymore.

I also didn’t understand why he was working at the library with me right now. Didn’t he have soccer practice? Friends to hang out with? Other girls to reject?

“Why are you here?”

Crap. The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. We’d just pushed the cart against the wall of the Fiction section, and I was crouched on the floor, staring up at Cash as he handed me a copy of It by Stephen King that needed to go on the bottom shelf.

“Huh?”

I bit my lip, taking the book and putting it on the shelf, making sure the spine was even with those around it. “I-I mean… Why are you working today? Don’t you have soccer practice or something?”

“Oh.” Cash laughed. It was a deep, mature laugh. Not like Randy’s loud, goofy cackle.

I shouldn’t have been comparing the two. God, I was a terrible girlfriend.

“Well,” Cash said, handing me another Stephen King book, “I do technically have practice, but I’ve talked to Coach Lukavics and he’s agreed to let me miss for work on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Why?” I asked. “Don’t you need the practice? I’m not saying you’re bad and need practice—you’re good at soccer—I mean, when I’ve seen you play before, which was, like, once when I was passing by the field to get to the concession stand during a football game, so I didn’t see much, but…” I took a deep breath. I was a babbling idiot. I hated it. “I just meant, don’t you need to go to practice with the other guys?”

Cash grinned at me—a smug, teasing grin, like the one he’d given me when he knew he was winning that cheesy Star Game of his over the summer. I looked away, wishing I could stop thinking about that night.

“I’m actually working here to help out my parents,” he said as I checked to make sure all of the books on the shelf before me were in the correct order. “My dad just got laid off, so we need a little more money around the house. My mom didn’t want me to, but I decided to get a job to help pay the bills and stuff until Dad can get work again.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “So the money you make here is going to your parents? Wait, sorry, that isn’t my business, I guess.”

“You’re fine,” he said, reaching down a hand. I took it reluctantly, and he pulled me to my feet. “But yeah, it will go to them. They’ll hate taking it from me, but it’s the least I can do to help. I don’t make much here—well, I guess you know that—but I plan to cash the checks and sneak the money into Mom’s purse every two weeks. She’ll find out I’m doing it, but money’s tight, so she can’t really afford to fight me.”

“God, Cash, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” he assured me. “We all have tough times once in a while, right?”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

I couldn’t help but think of Logan. He’d given up going to grad school to come home and help take care of Dad and me after Mom died. And Cash was doing the same thing—giving up his time, his practice, to help out his family when they hadn’t even asked him to.

Suddenly I realized that my hand was still in his from when he’d pulled me to my feet a few seconds before. I jerked my arm away and stumbled backward, accidentally ramming my hip bone against the nearly empty cart of books. “Ouch! Damn it.” I rubbed my hip, hoping it wouldn’t bruise.

“You okay there?” Cash was staring at me, looking a little amused, with one eyebrow raised like he was about to laugh at me.

“I’m fine.”

“Careful,” he teased. “Those carts… They can be dangerous.”

“Ha, ha,” I mumbled. “All right. We should get back to work; we’re moving too slowly, and there will be other things to shelve soon.”

“Okay, Jenna Junior.”

I buried my face in my hands. God, he was so right. I sounded just like her. “Ugh, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, reaching around me to grab a John Grisham book off the cart. “To be honest, Lissa, there is no one I’d rather shelve with.”

Right, I thought. That’s some consolation there. He liked me enough to work with me but not enough to give me a real chance. Not enough to call me back.

We worked in silence as we put away the remaining sixteen—yes, I counted—books. No matter what I told myself, I knew I couldn’t hate Cash, especially now that I knew his reason for working here. The fact was, he was a good guy.

A good guy who just… didn’t want me the way I’d wanted him.

Even though I loved Randy and didn’t want to be with Cash anymore, I knew it would be a while before I completely got over his rejection. It was out of my control.