Текст книги "My Butterfly"

Автор книги: Laura Miller

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My Butterfly
– A Novel —
by
Laura Miller

To the Keeper of the stars,

For first loves

And for last loves

And for every love in between.

It’s been said that you never forget your first love.

Prologue

I’ve only got one story to tell, and it’s about a girl, and it starts with you. But first I’ve got to do this one thing because I worry if I wait a second longer, I’ll lose even more of what I’ve already lost. I promise, though, there is a method behind my madness. And if everything goes to plan, you’ll see why very soon.

But like I said, I’ve got this story to tell, though I don’t yet know the ending. All I know is that it can end only one of two ways – with or without you. But despite which way fate will have it, the way I see it, I’m left the same – still in love with the one that got away.

You’ve given me hell, Julia Lang, just by being you. But then what’s love if it ain’t worth the fight? And I’ve got some fight still left in me.

* * *

“Are you ready, Will?” a young man with shaggy hair asks from the other side of the glass.

I anxiously readjust the big microphone hovering above me.

“Yeah,” I eventually say.

A restless sigh is attached.

“Okay,” I hear the man say, “I’m going to start the track.”

I look through the glass and slowly nod my head.

My palms are sweaty; my heart is pounding. But it isn’t the young man on the other side of the glass or the taller man sitting next to him who is making me sweat. It isn’t even that I am about to sing in front of them or that I am here at all. In fact, now, right now, I only have one thought cycling over and over in my mind. The only reason I am standing here, gripping an old, metal pin as if it were my lifeline, praying my silent prayers continuously in my head and replaying all the memories that have led me to this place is for a chance that she will hear this song.

I suspect that she doesn’t know it’s coming. But I also pray that she hasn’t forgotten her promise. I pray silently that this song will make her stop, will make her remember – a different time, years ago, lifetimes ago.

A soft melody starts playing in my headset. I press the metal pin tighter against my palm. I am waiting for my cue, my lips almost touching the mesh in front of the mic. Then, suddenly, as if by instinct, my mouth opens, and my first words fill the tiny, soundproof room. And my only thought is: Here goes everything.

Chapter One
Eleven Years Earlier

“Jeff, is that Julia Lang?” I asked, as I leaned up against my locker.

“Who?” Jeff asked.

Jeff was busy digging up remnants of pens from the bottom of his backpack and scribbling faded lines onto the front cover of his notebook. I, on the other hand, knew full well who the girl was, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Her, trying to stuff that bag into her locker,” I said, directing his attention to the girl.

Jeff stopped scribbling and looked up.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “She must be from that little, country school.”

He turned back around, as if not interested, grabbed a book from his locker’s shelf and then slammed the metal door shut.

“But I know who I’m asking to the homecoming dance,” he said, setting out in the girl’s direction.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the collar of his shirt.

“Whoa there, son,” I said, pulling him back. “First of all, homecoming’s months away. Second, you’re not taking her anywhere.”

“Geez, buddy, watch the threads,” Jeff said in a higher than usual pitch as he paused to readjust the shirt’s collar around his neck. “And why can’t I ask her? If I don’t, someone else will.”

I kept my eyes on the girl across the hall. She had just gotten the oversized duffle bag into the tiny locker. Impressive, except now I watched as a book slipped from underneath her arm and fell to her bare toes, causing her nose to scrunch up and her eyes to wince in pain.

“You got a point there, buddy,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

I handed Jeff a working pen and then quickly pushed past him.

“I got it,” I said, bending down to pick up the book from the floor at the girl’s feet. “Are you all right?”

The girl looked up at me, still cringing a little.

“I’m fine,” she said, softly smiling.

She took the heavy text book from my hand and shoved it into a row of books already on the locker’s shelf.

“Thanks,” she said.

“It’s Will,” I said, extending my hand.

She stopped, and her stare found my hand. She looked suspicious.

“I know,” she said, cautiously placing her hand in mine. “Will, it’s Julia.”

“Julia Lang,” I said, smiling and acting as if I had just now put her face with her name.

“Yes,” she replied, slowly nodding her head.

I watched as a coy smile fought its way to her face.

“You remember me?” I asked, hesitantly.

I was really hoping she only remembered the good parts – if there were any of those for her.

I noticed her eyes fall on my hand, still holding hers, but she was smiling, so I kept a tight grip on her hand. It was soft and girl-like.

“Yes,” she said. “How could I forget?”

“The hardware store?” I asked.

She nodded her head.

“We used to play on those toy tractors outside, and all the old people would give us candy as they walked in,” she said.

The corners of my mouth started to lift as I watched the green in her eyes light up.

“That’s right,” I said, starting to laugh.

But just then, her smile faded slightly.

“You would never let me ride the big tractor,” she said, sharply pulling her hand back from mine.

My laughter stopped. And then what was left of her smile turned into a smirk.

Ugh. She remembered.

“If I remember right, you said that it was a boy’s tractor and that girls weren’t supposed to drive tractors anyway,” she said. “And then, when we were nine, you…”

“Okay, okay,” I said, stopping her. “That’s probably enough memories for one day. The good news is that the big tractor is still up at my grandpa’s store, and you can ride it anytime you want. Oh, and best of all, I have finally come to the ultimate conclusion that girls really don’t have cooties.”

“Really?” she asked, giving me a sarcastic look.

“Really,” I said, leaning against the row of lockers. “It was all a myth. Turns out, it was just some scorned second-grader who didn’t get a Valentine from his secret crush one year.”

She glared at me with narrowed eyes.

“And then after that,” I continued, without missing a beat, “the kid decided to ruin love for all kids from then on, declaring every girl was stricken with the cootie disease.”

She laughed once and then went back to fidgeting with something inside her locker.

I smiled, silently hoping that getting her to laugh was enough to erase the memories I had accidentally resurrected.

She turned back toward me a second later and gave me a soft side-smile.

“I have to get to class,” she said, pulling a book from her locker and then slamming the door.

The door didn’t close on the first try, so I watched her put her weight into her next try.

“Can I walk you there?” I asked, once she had successfully shut the locker door. “What’s your first one?”

She shot me a suspicious look again and then pulled out from the back pocket of her tight-fitting jeans a small piece of paper with a set of classes and times printed on it.

“Umm, history,” she said, stuffing the piece of paper back into her jeans. “It’s just down the hall. I think I can make it.”

“I think doesn’t sound very confident,” I said. “I should walk you, just to make sure you’re not late for your first high school class. This isn’t kindergarten-through-ninth-grade anymore.”

I smiled a confident smile. She, on the other hand, stared at me with two impatient eyes, then turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

I shuffled to catch up to her.

“So, I really did recognize you,” I said.

She looked a little irritated, but she smiled anyway.

“You do look a little different from the last time I saw you, though,” I said.

She looked me up and down once.

“So do you,” she said.

“It’s the muscles, isn’t it?” I asked.

I watched her eyes follow a path from my shoes to my eyes again.

“What muscles?” she asked.

I grabbed my heart and pretended to shrink in pain.

“Ouch,” I said.

She smiled a satisfied grin.

“Don’t you have to be getting to your own class?” she asked. “What’s your first one anyway?”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” I said. “The teacher’s my neighbor. Plus, I already know my way around a kitchen.”

She stopped in the history classroom’s doorway and faced me.

“Kitchen?” she repeated.

I cringed on the inside, and my smile faded.

“Did I say kitchen?” I asked. “I meant woodshop.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, accusingly.

“Okay, look, I promise you I can build a coffee table, but home economics is a guaranteed A,” I said. “I couldn’t pass it up.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Quite the scholar,” she said, while shaking her head and stepping into the classroom.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re eating my lasagna for dinner one night,” I said.

She glanced up at me and smiled that sideways smile that I was already starting to crave.

“You know, I just can’t see that happening,” she said.

“Me cooking lasagna?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

I could only see the side of her face now, but I could see that her lips were slowly turning up. I was thinking about how I could trick her into letting me hold her hand again some time.

“I don’t see me eating it,” she continued, taking a seat in a desk near the front of the small room.

“But there’s still hope for the dinner – well, minus the eating part?” I asked, hopeful.

She gave me an impatient look again. And suddenly, a loud ring made me jump, and my eyes darted to a clanging bell right above my head.

Julia giggled, and at the same time, opened a notebook to its first page. I stood there watching her for a second longer. She did look different, as if she had grown up overnight or something, but then she looked exactly the same too. Her hair was down, and it was wavy or curly or whatever girls call it – that about her hadn’t changed. Even at eight years old, she had had that same pretty, long, blond hair, that same perfect nose and those same pretty, green eyes.

A thought suddenly came to me then, and I quickly tore off a piece of my own notebook paper and scribbled a sentence onto its tiny surface.

“Jules,” I said, getting her attention one, last time.

She looked up at me, kind of startled, as if I had called her by a secret alias or something. She looked cute the way she always tried to act impatient with me.

“Hey,” I said, tapping a kid I had known since kindergarten on the shoulder. “Pass this to Julia, that girl in the black shirt, would ya?”

The boy dutifully followed my request and reached across a row to hand Julia the piece of scrap paper. I watched her open the folded note, and then, I watched her eyes follow over the words. But before she had a chance to look up again, I disappeared back into the hallway.

I figured I would give her some time to think about her answer. The last thing I wanted was a rash decision based on a somewhat rocky childhood. God, if I knew then what I know now, I probably still would have thrown rocks at her. It was fun hearing her scream. But I also would have kissed her – knowing that I probably could have gotten away with it then. I could have easily blamed it on being a stupid kid.

And come to think of it, there is actually a quote by George Bernard Shaw that has hung in my grandpa’s store for God only knows how long. I never really paid attention to it. It hung on a plaque in the corner, probably had a couple of layers of dust on it. I thought about it now, as I made my short journey to the home economics room. And I thought of all of the years I had wasted not chasing after Julia Lang – well, at least not chasing after her in a more productive manner. Youth is wasted on the young, the old quote said. I didn’t know much of anything about this Shaw guy, but he did get at least one thing right – I should have kissed her when I had the chance. God only knows how long I’ve got to chase this girl.

Chapter Two
The Volleyball

“Are you looking for something, Jules?” I asked as I watched her push aside the heavy stage curtain.

Her face turned back toward me and then quickly went back to the stage. She didn’t look startled this time, and I wondered for a second if she had already gotten used to me calling her Jules.

“My volleyball,” she said, annoyed. “I left it here after P.E., and now it’s gone, and I promised Jeff I’d meet him after class and help him with algebra…”

“Jeff?” I blurted out, as I twisted the features of my face into a puzzled expression.

She stopped and glanced back at me again before returning her attention to a box of rubber balls.

“Yeah, he’s having a hard time, and we’ve got a test coming up,” she casually said. “He asked me to help him figure it out, and I’m supposed to meet him in ten minutes, and I can’t find…”

“Figure out algebra?” I interrupted again.

She caught my stare, furrowed her eyebrows and then went back to doing whatever it was she was doing.

“Yeah,” she said.

I shook my head.

“Jeff doesn’t need help with algebra,” I exclaimed. “He was the smar…”

I stopped myself, having just added up the math mid-sentence, and allowed my eyes to rest on her.

She was searching on the stage now, probably not even paying attention to me. I smiled as I watched her turn over sweaty, hockey jerseys just before scrunching up her nose and flinging them back down.

“I’m not leaving here until I find that ball,” she said.

I took a second to think, and after a quick moment, I had a plan.

“I’ll help you find it,” I blurted out.

I anxiously looked around the gym. I knew I had to find that ball before she did or my plan would be foiled, and she would be out the door to help Jeff, who, by the way, has had an A in math since the first grade. In fact, he was the reason I had passed algebra in junior high. That little weasel.

Suddenly, my eye caught a white, round object out of its corner. I looked closer and spotted a ball tucked away behind a set of bleachers on the other side of the gym. I glanced back at Julia. She was rooting through the ball closet near the stage. I slowly started to mosey my way over toward the ball, trying not to bring any attention to my find.

“We’ll find it,” I reassured her.

I eventually planted my feet in front of the ball and acted as if I hadn’t seen it.

“Hey, why don’t you go look out in the hallway, in case it bounced out there or something,” I said. “I’ll look for it under these bleachers.”

She looked my way with a disheveled face, almost as if she had just noticed that I was still there. But then, without a word, she sauntered off into the hallway. I watched her disappear behind the glass-paned doors, and then I quickly reached for the volleyball and scooped it up. I turned it over. It was her ball all right. Her name was etched in its stretched material in black, permanent marker, right above her volleyball number. I spun it around in my hands as my eyes darted toward the glass-paned doors again. Then, my mind in auto pilot, I scanned the room, thinking. I saw bleachers, some exercise machines and a couple of wooden blocks – none of which would work. I let my head fall back in desperation. And then I saw it – the rafters high above me. There was already a ball stuck up there, and this one would give it some company. I took the volleyball in one hand and arched it behind my head. Then, I lobbed it up into the air. It hit a beam in the rafters and came colliding back to the hardwood floor. The ball bounced only once before I scurried over to it, scooped it up and glanced again toward the doors. There was still no sign of her. I retook my place and tried it once more. This time, the ball hit the inside of one of the beams, slightly knocked the other ball and then wedged itself in between the ball already there and the beam. Success.

“Will,” a voice suddenly called out from behind me, causing my body to stiffen.

I turned quickly on my heels to Rachel standing there, staring at me. She had a questioning look plastered across her face, and I couldn’t tell what she was questioning exactly – why I was throwing a ball into the rafters or why I was standing there alone staring at the rafters. What had she seen?

“Hi, Rach,” I stuttered.

She squinted her eyes, as if she were shaking off a thought.

“Have you seen Julia?” she eventually asked.

I thought about her question for a second. If Rachel were to find Julia, she might tell Jules what I had just done – if she had, in fact, seen what I had just done – and then I’d be busted. Or she could end up chauffeuring Jules off somewhere to look at shoes or a furry caterpillar or something until Julia forgot about her ball and had to go see Jeff. And then I would have thrown that dumb ball up in the rafters for nothing.

“Uh-uh, nope, haven’t seen her,” I said, being careful not to look her in the eyes until after I was done lying.

She stared at me with a suspicious glare.

“O-kay,” she said, her eyes burning a hole straight through my forehead. “Well, if you do, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“Will do,” I said.

Then, I smiled at her and casually strolled back toward the stage.

When I reached the base of the stage, I turned and glanced back at the doorway that Rachel had just been standing in, staring at me with her cat eyes. She was gone. I let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s not out there either,” I heard Julia say.

I quickly turned my attention to the other side of the gym.

“Here,” I said, holding out my phone. “Call Jeff. Tell him that you can’t help him tonight, and we’ll search the whole school for your ball. The first forty-eight hours are the most critical.”

She gave me a wary look. Then, she glanced at the phone and then back up at me. She was clearly agitated. But I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or because of the fact that she couldn’t find her ball. She had better not be upset that she couldn’t help Jeff. That little…

She snatched the phone out of my hand.

“Number four,” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“He’s number four on speed dial,” I said.

She pressed a key and then brought the phone to her ear. After a couple of rings, I heard Jeff pick up. He loudly called her a toolbag, and I cringed.

Julia glanced up at me and rolled her eyes.

“Jeff,” she said. “This is Julia.”

I heard Jeff verbally recoil and apologetically take back his greeting.

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Jeff, I’m calling because I can’t make it tonight. The test isn’t for a couple of weeks. Can we maybe get together sometime later this week?”

I heard his voice through the phone’s speakers when she finished talking, but I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

“No, I’m up at school,” she said. “I borrowed Will’s phone.”

Her explanation made me smile. I quickly cleared my throat and wiped the smirk off my face.

She ended the call a moment later and handed the phone back to me.

“Thanks,” she said. “You’ll help me look for it?”

Ugh, her eyes were doing this soft pleading thing, and it was taking everything in me not to pull her close.

“Of course,” I managed to say without sounding too eager. “It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

“It’s not back here,” I heard her say.

I could hear the frustration in her voice.

“No one would take it, right?” she asked.

“No, no one would take it,” I said. “It’s here somewhere. Let’s go look down the hall. Maybe it rolled down there or something.”

I watched her take a deep breath and then sigh.

“Okay,” she eventually agreed.

I smiled and waited until she was by my side to start toward the hallway and to ask her my question.

She eventually caught up, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to ask.

“So, what’s your answer?” I blurted out.

My words had come out kind of sheepish. I cleared my throat and concentrated on producing something in a lower octave and a little less Bo Peep.

“What answer?” she quipped back.

“The note I gave you before history class,” I said, hoping it would jog her memory.

“Aah,” she said, smiling. “That answer.”

I watched her peek under a table near the office and then keep walking.

“Well?” I asked again.

She stopped and squared up to me. She looked as if she were really thinking hard about it.

“No,” she finally said and then started walking again.

I hesitated for a second but then caught back up to her.

“Now, have you really thought this through?” I asked her. “You can take some time if you need it. Tell me tomorrow or the next day or the next day or any day when the answer is yes.”

“I don’t need time,” she said.

I stopped and smiled.

“You do realize it’s only a date?” I asked. “If you said yes, you wouldn’t be locked into anything.”

She turned her face up at me and smiled.

“It’s not so easy hearing no, is it?” she asked.

I paused and tried to hold back my grin.

“Julia, Jules,” I said, as if I were a used-car salesman. “Jules, look, no rocks this time,” I said, showing her my open palms and then the inside of my jeans pockets. “No big, rubber balls. I’ll even let you drive my truck.”

I held out my keys.

She looked at me sideways and sympathetically smiled, as if I were the weird kid who was completely oblivious to his social status.

My own smile grew, and I took her silent cue, as I watched her sympathetic grin fade into her new smile – the one that I already loved. I remembered it being that cute, girly kind of smile – that smile that made you wonder why you despised girls so much just the year before. But now, it was sexy too. It was girly and sexy, all at the same time. Damn it, she was too darn cute not to smile back at her, even when she was saying no. And maybe it wouldn’t be now, but I would eventually wear her down. Everyone has a breaking point. Retreat. Replenish. Conquer. I smiled wider.

“So, Ben’s having a bonfire next weekend,” I said.

“So I’ve heard,” she said.

She smiled politely this time.

“You going?” I asked.

“If Rachel has anything to do with it, we’ll be there early,” she replied.

“Good,” I said, nodding my head.

Suddenly, she stopped and peeked her head into a classroom.

“Coach Hill, you didn’t see any volleyballs lying around after P.E., did you?” she asked him.

My eyes instinctively fell to the floor at my feet.

“Okay, thanks,” she said and then continued her hike down the narrow hallway.

“No luck?” I asked her.

“He didn’t see any,” she replied.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” I said.

We made our way down the rest of the hall and then outside toward the school’s only other hallway. I held the door for her as she walked in.

“So, you and Rachel are friends?” I asked her.

I watched her as she peered into the band room, littered with instrument cases, chairs and stands.

“Yeah,” she said, without looking up. “She’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, she’s all right,” I said. “She talks a lot, but she’s all right.”

“You’ve known her for awhile?” she asked.

Her thin frame was still preoccupied with the search, and every once in a while I would act as if I were looking under or around something.

“Yeah,” I said. “All of us townies pretty much grew up together. Rachel was my neighbor when we were kids, until she moved to a house right outside of town. I’m sure it was kind of the same for you guys, right?”

I picked up a chair and looked under it.

“Us country folk, you mean?” she asked, pausing to look up at me.

She sounded as if she were trying to act offended, but I could tell it really didn’t bother her.

“Julia, my dear, I know that toy tractor in front of my grandpa’s store wasn’t the last tractor you’ve driven,” I said, with a boyish smirk smeared across my face.

She stopped what she was doing and looked me square in the eyes. She was wearing a half-smile, but I didn’t so much see the smile, and the other half scared me.

“Don’t call me dear,” she said. “And you’re right, turns out I found some much bigger tractors to play with. I didn’t need yours after all.”

She smiled, and then her dagger eyes fell from mine. I let out a happy sigh and followed her back into the gym again.

“I just don’t understand where it could have gone,” she said, dramatically throwing her hands into the air.

I silently prayed that she wouldn’t look up.

“Hey,” I said, stopping in front of her.

I took a chance that she wouldn’t punch me, and I grabbed her small hips and hoisted her up onto the stage.

“Look, it’s late,” I said, looking at the imaginary watch on my wrist and positioning my body so that it was square with hers and touching her legs.

She looked a little thrown off, but she didn’t protest.

“We’ll look for it again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, if we have to,” I said. “And we’ll keep looking for it, until it turns up.”

Her eyes fell to her lap. She looked defeated. And I wasn’t sure if she even noticed that I was touching her.

I dramatically sucked in a big breath of air. Then, I brought the back of my hand to her chin and gently lifted it until her eyes were in mine.

“We’ll find it,” I said.

She smiled a pouty smile.

Damn it. I loved that smile too.

“It’s just my favorite,” she said. “I bought it with my babysitting money. I’ve had it for a long time.”

Ugh. For the first time, I started to feel bad about hiding it from her. I paused, while the words, Let’s look for it in the rafters, fumbled around on my tongue.

But quickly, there was a second thought. That precious ball of hers could buy me some precious time with her. Time, I quickly and easily decided; I wanted time.

“I’m sure it’s in a safe place,” I reassured her.

She half-heartedly smiled.

“Thanks for helping me look for it,” she said, meeting my gaze.

My eyes immediately turned guilty, and I quickly tossed them to the floor before she could read them.

She sighed, and then I looked up again.

“In the meantime, are you hungry?” I asked.

Her green, suspicious eyes were on me fast.

“I was thinking maybe we should grab some dinner at Donna’s,” I continued.

“Will Stephens,” she scolded and pushed past me, jumping off of the stage and landing with both feet onto the wooden gym floor.

“Nice try, but I’ve got to get home,” she said, grabbing her duffle bag.

“Maybe tomorrow then?” I called out after her as she made her way toward the glowing exit sign.

“Bye, Will,” she said, glancing back one, last time and sending a confident smile my way.

I smiled, then shoved my hands into my pockets and watched her walk away until her thin frame disappeared into the hallway. When she was gone, I sighed, shut my eyelids over my eyes and allowed my head to fall back. A second later, I forced my eyes open, and then gradually, I felt a grin returning to my face because high up in the ceiling was her little, white volleyball.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s in a safe place,” I mumbled, chuckling to myself.

Then, I lowered my head and started my own journey toward the glowing, red exit sign.