Текст книги "The Stillburrow Crush"

Автор книги: Linda Kage

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

by Linda Kage

"Hello." His voice was chalky and garbled, like that was the first time he'd used it all day. And if he hadn't spoken today, then he probably hadn't had any customers to speak to. Ergo, business had been slow. He scrubbed his feet on the welcome mat, knowing Mom would scalp him if he left dirt on the floor, all the while his gaze darted between Luke and me. Unable to meet his eyes for some reason, I lowered my face and noticed what I was still holding. I rushed the bowls to the sink and began rinsing them. When I decided they were clean and it was safe enough to face my father without my cheeks going tomato red, I turned slowly and managed a half grin.

"Missed you in the shop today," he said, and his gaze slid to the source of the reason. Luke shifted and shoved his hands into his pockets.

I stepped forward. "Luke was helping me with my trigonometry." It sounded like I was trying to cover something up, which I wasn't because that was the God's honest truth. Luke had been helping me with my trigonometry.

My dad just nodded and stared.

Luke closed his notebook and shoved it into his bag. "Hi, Mr. Paxton," he said in a friendly fashion, but the speed with which he packed his things made us look just as guilty. And there was nothing for us to be guilty about. So I said, "Mr. Underhill said I had to have a tutor. So..." I glanced at Luke.

Dad nodded again and rocked back on his heels, remaining on the safety of the floor mat. Luke glanced from him to me 82

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and, for a moment, we all three just kind of stood there. Only my dad, I thought, would know how to show up at the worst possible time and ruin a great moment I was having. Luke hiked his bag onto his shoulder and said to me, "I better get going."

I nodded. "OK."

He started for the living room and I followed. Finally, my father began to thaw. He waved at Luke and smiled, saying,

"Thanks for giving Carrie a hand with her homework." I wanted to growl at him for being too late with his friendliness, but Luke returned the smile and said, "No problem."

In the living room, it was just the two of us. He turned back before leaving. "Same time tomorrow?" I nodded. I knew if I said yes it would sound way too enthusiastic. So I just swallowed my excitement and smiled at him demurely even though I'm sure my eyes were sparkling and my lips were drawn thin from the grin I was repressing.

He nodded too and turned away. At that moment, he looked like the great football player he was. Even though the season was over, he still had those stiff, jerky movements like he was carrying heavy pads on his shoulders. The book bag bunched the muscles across his back, and since his shirt was stretched tight from the weight straining against it, I could see every detail. I was transfixed. He reached for the door handle and I wanted to grab his hand, come up with some excuse to waylay him a few seconds longer. But my mind was blank.

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Suddenly, the knob turned in his hand and the door flew inward. In swept my mother, her arms full of sacks. Luke, with his quick reflexes, jumped back. When Mom saw him, she skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision.

"Oh," she said, breathless. "I'm sorry. Did I hit you?" Luke shook his head. "No. You're fine. I was just leaving."

"Oh," Mom repeated and slid out of his way. "Goodbye, then."

"Bye." He glanced at me one more time before closing the door.

When it shut, the room seemed to suck in around me. I noticed Dad had come to the living room doorway and was leaning against it. Mom, with her arms filled, blinked at me.

"He was tutoring me for trigonometry class," I said. Mom smiled politely but her eyes said she knew better.

"Well, that was nice of him."

I didn't like her tone of voice at all. So I lied. "Mr. Underhill asked him to," I added. "He said I needed a tutor and he asked Luke."

I could tell she didn't believe me. "Why didn't he ask your friend, Elmer?"

"Because Elmer sucks at tutoring," I shot back, a bit too loudly. "He couldn't teach a bee to buzz. And since Luke gets good grades too, Mr. Underhill asked him." Mom and Dad continued to watch me with that funny Whatever you say, Honey expression.

I had to come to my own defense. "We were doing homework," I said heavily. "That's all." 84

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"I wasn't asking," she answered, unable to hide the mischievous gleam in her eye.

"I'm not kidding," I insisted. "That's all there is to it. Nothing else is going on. So don't think there is, OK?"

"Fine," she said. But when she looked at Dad, they shared a grin that seemed to say, Our baby girl's growing up. I muttered that my parents were ridiculous. They laughed. Balling my hands into fists, I stomped off to the sanity of my room.

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Chapter Seven

"You know what I don't understand?" E.T. said.

"What's that?" I asked before taking a bite of my salad. It was hot dog day in the lunchroom and I couldn't stand hot dogs. I'd opted to buy a salad, but they'd run out of my favorite dressing by the time I'd made it to the front of the line. Go figure. So there I was, stuck eating a plain-Jane salad with my dorky friend.

Across from me, E.T. took a bite of his hot dog. Ketchup squirted out the end and sprayed in my direction.

"Hey," I yelped. "Watch where you're aiming that thing." I found a napkin and wiped the red blob on the tabletop between us.

"Sorry." E.T. flipped his dog around to mop up the drip from the end of his bun, but sent another glob of ketchup flying. This time it landed on his white button-up shirt. I groaned and cradled my forehead in my hand, shaking my face from side to side. "It's hopeless," I murmured to myself. When I looked up, he'd managed to get some on his thick glasses as well. "Just stop now," I said, holding up my hands for him to halt. He'd started to dab at his shirt but only succeeded in smearing it pathetically. "E.T., stop!" He paused and lifted his head.

I held out my hand, palm up. "Give me your glasses."

"Why?"

"Because you have ketchup all over them. And quit wiping your shirt. You're making it worse." E.T. glanced down like he 86

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was tempted to ignore me. "Trust me," I said. "A napkin's not going to get that stain out."

He sighed. His shoulders sank in defeat and he let his wadded napkin fall on the table. He ripped off his glasses and tossed them at me. "Why does this always happen to me?"

"Quit complaining." I wiped one lens clean and started on the other. "It could be worse."

E.T. used both hands to point at the front of his shirt.

"How could this be any worse?"

I glanced up and grinned. "It could've happened to me."

"Funny," he said dryly.

"I thought so." I handed the clean lenses back and watched him slip them on. "You were saying?"

"I was?" He glanced at his hot dog as if it possessed all the answers. "Oh yeah. I don't understand why Mr. Underhill asked Luke Carter to tutor you and he didn't ask me." My fork slipped out of my hand and clattered to the tabletop. "Say what?"

But E.T. didn't answer. Brenda Newell just had to walk into the cafeteria at that exact moment. She was strolling handin-hand with Rick Getty. But that didn't stop E.T. from pausing everything he was doing to gawk at her. The year before, he and I had been quite the pair. He'd had a crush on Brenda, and I had one on Rick. E.T. had fallen for Brenda in the first grade when she sang "Silent Night" in the Christmas program. Since then, he went to every music concert the school put on and stopped whatever he was doing just to watch her walk by. I hadn't been that crazy about Rick. I just thought he was cute. He used to sit next to me in 87

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English class and make fun of the teacher. He cracked the most hilarious jokes. But then he and Brenda started dating and he quit paying attention to me. That was when I ripped all the pictures of him off my wall. I had to admit, though, he and Brenda looked cute together. They were a good fit. Today however, I was preoccupied with what E.T.'d just said. I made a disgusted sound and snapped my fingers twice in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Elmer."

"Hmm?" He transferred his look to me. His eyes were still glazed over and his goofy smile appeared to be stuck. But then he caught my look and straightened. "What'd you say?"

"I wasn't saying anything. You were."

"Oh...right. I...?" His eyes scanned the room again in search of his fair lady.

I rolled my eyes. "How'd you know Luke was tutoring me?" I said, breaking into his daze.

E.T. gave up on his Brenda search and sighed as he picked up a tater tot. "I heard him talking in the bathroom." He took a bite and must've decided it needed ketchup too, because he picked up a package with a tomato printed on it and started to rip it open.

In the hope of avoiding another ketchup disaster, I snatched the package from him and opened it. Handing it back, I said, "And?"

"And what?"

I made a screeching sound through my gritted teeth. "And what did he say about it?"

"Nothing." E.T. shrugged. "His friend...What's his name?

The sheriff's son."

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"Nathan Bates."

E.T. snapped his fingers. "Yeah, Nathan. Nate asked Luke where he was last night and Luke told him about Mr. Underhill making him tutor you."

I gaped at my ketchup-stained friend. "He said that?" E.T. nodded. "Why'd Mr. Underhill ask him and not me?" E.T. looked hurt. But that wasn't my main concern. I reached across the table and grabbed him by the collar.

"Is that exactly what he said? That Under-the-hill asked him to tutor me?"

Again E.T. just nodded. He seemed unconcerned that I was dragging him half across the table. "You don't think he's making a higher grade than me, do you?" I let go of E.T., and he dropped back onto his bench. "Of course not," I said, suddenly feeling sorry for him. E.T. would be crushed if a super jock was pulling a better average than he was. All E.T. had to fall back on were his brains. And if that failed, he probably thought he had nothing. I quickly concocted an explanation to soothe him.

"I bet he asked Carter because he's a senior and you're just a junior," I said. E.T.'s shoulders eased so I guessed that did the trick.

"Yeah," he said. "That's probably it. Besides, if Luke's tutoring you for extra bonus points then he can't be making that awesome a grade."

I surged to my feet, causing E.T. to jump. He gaped up at me.

"He said that too?" I demanded.

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E.T. shrank back, knowing the enraged look in my eyes only too well. He nodded meekly as if I might whip him for giving the wrong answer.

"He said...he said Mr. Underhill offered to give him bonus points to tutor you."

"Bonus points?" My jaw clamped down and my teeth hurt from the force of them grinding against each other. "That jerk," I hissed. Before I really knew what I was doing, I scanned the cafeteria. I knew Luke had the same lunch period. We always sat at different tables and even on different sides of the lunchroom but I knew we ate at the same time.

When I spotted him in a corner with his buddies, I untangled myself from the bench seat and started his way.

"Carrie?" E.T. called after me weakly. His voice sounded curious, yet scared. He didn't dare follow me, probably because he knew I was about to do something rash. I must've looked like some kind of Amazon woman forging into battle, my eyes blazing with fury and my mouth set in one thin line. I marched as if I were carrying armor. It felt like I was going into war too.

I didn't care if I'd told my parents the same lie about Under-the-hill asking Luke to tutor me. That had been for protection: my protection and Luke's. It'd be disastrous if Mom thought Luke and I were dating. She'd have gossip spreading through town like wildfire. But why would Luke lie about it? If he didn't want his friends knowing he'd volunteered to tutor me then he shouldn't have volunteered, dang it.

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He was sitting next to Pastor Curry's daughter, Liz, who was also the head cheerleader. Nathan Bates sat across from him, next to Jill Anderson, and on the other side of Jill, sat Abby. A few other football players and cheerleaders crowded in around them.

Nathan was talking when I neared the table. It sounded like he was telling some story about something that had happened to him in gym class. But I didn't hear much because when Nathan saw me looming at the end of the table glaring at Luke, his words died off. And that caused everyone to glance up, including their precious, lying quarterback. He'd been in the middle of leaning forward to take a drink from the straw poking out of his milk carton. But when he saw me, he froze. His eyes sprang wide.

I smiled at him, a smile that probably looked anything but friendly. "I'm going to have to cancel our little meeting after school," I said.

His jaw dropped. All his friends turned to ogle him.

"But I was thinking." I tapped on my chin with one hand and set the other on my hip. "Why don't we just tell Underhill we did meet? That way I can do my thing and—" I leaned over the table, pinning him with an accusing stare. "You can still get your extra bonus points." Lifting my eyebrows, I finished, "Sound good to you?"

He opened his mouth to speak but then glanced around at the people surrounding him. When he looked back at me, he shut his mouth, apparently deciding he shouldn't say anything, and nodded.

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I clasped my hands together and smiled. "Good. I'm glad we settled that, then." And I spun on my heel, leaving Luke Carter and his table of friends in my wake. The phone rang five minutes after I arrived home from school. I'd just finished the apple I picked up as soon as I walked in, and was getting ready to change so I could head out to the shop.

Mom barely let the first ring settle before she swiped it off its cradle. I swore she was going to say, "Marty, is that you?" But she controlled herself enough to answer in a breathless,

"Hello. Paxton residence."

I turned away and headed toward my room, tossing the apple core into the trashcan, but Mom stopped me. "Carrie. It's for you."

I was pretty sure I knew who it was before I even turned around and saw the knowing gleam in her eyes. But her wink confirmed it.

I took the phone from her and said, "Thank you." Then I pushed the disconnect button.

Mom gasped. "Carrie! How could you be so rude? What in God's name has gotten into you?"

I didn't have a chance to answer because the phone, which was still in my hand, rang again. I sighed. "I'll get it." But I wouldn't answer in front of her. I carried it to my room and shut the door on Mom's shocked face.

I pressed Talk. "Let me guess. You're sorry for lying to your friends about me and telling them Under-the-hill forced you into tutoring me? Am I right?"

"Carrie." His voice was a regretful sigh. 92

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He couldn't be lying down and spread across his bed like I'd pictured him the first time he called. No, this time he was either pacing the floor, or he was seated in a straight-back wooden chair with his face buried in his hand. Out of curiosity, I almost asked him which it was. Sitting or pacing?

"You're not going to let me apologize, are you?"

"And why should I?" I said, louder than I needed to. But who could be quiet when they were spitting mad? "Who made me feel like a complete jerk yesterday for caring what other people think about money? Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Carter. Caring about financial status and caring about social status is the same dang thing."

"Carrie—"

"No!"

He had that voice—the voice that sounded humble and sorry but also like he was trying to soothe the hysterical female. It only made me madder.

"How dare you? How dare you lecture me about giving status importance and then turn around yourself and hide the fact that you volunteered to spend time with me? Let me repeat, you volunteered. If you didn't want your popular friends knowing you were tutoring a nobody then you shouldn't have volunteered."

I was breathing heavily like I'd just run a marathon. "Why did you volunteer, anyway?" I waited for an answer and when none came, I waited some more. I started to think he wasn't on the line anymore. "Are you still there?" I demanded.

"I'm not going to say anything until you're ready to listen to me."

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I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'm listening." I didn't plan on listening to one excuse, though.

But then he said, "You're absolutely right." My eyebrows shot up. Of course I was right. But it was a shock to hear him admit it.

"I lied to my friends about why I was spending time with you," he said. "But it wasn't because I was ashamed of letting them know I'd volunteered to."

"Then why?"

"I thought you were going to shut up and listen for once."

"I'll listen when you have something to say." He made a growling sound and muttered something I didn't catch, probably ran his hand through his hair too, in that harried way he had. "I lied because I didn't want anyone to know why I wanted to meet with you." I snorted. "Well, I don't think you have to worry about that much. Because I know you volunteered and I don't have a clue as to why."

"OK, fine." I heard him sigh and I swear I could feel him struggle with himself over the phone line. "I'll tell you." Something knocked against my chest, hard. It took me a moment to realize it was my heart. I was touched by the tone of his voice. He sounded tortured—like he had some huge mystery and I was the only human on earth able to solve it. I wasn't going to let him know he was tugging at my heartstrings, though. No, I was rather proud of the bitter sound my voice had when I said, "Oh, so now you're going to grace me with the knowledge of your precious secret?"

"Yes," he said in a strained pitch. 94

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"What makes you think I care what your little mystery is anymore?"

He groaned. "Carrie, let me come over. I'll explain everything."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

He sounded incredulous. "I'm not talking about it over the phone."

I hissed at him. I wanted to scream. Dang. He must have realized I'd have to know his secret—that I wouldn't rest easy until I did. I sighed. Curiosity was going to be the death of me. "OK. OK. Come over. And bring your trigonometry book. I might as well get something good out of this too."

"I'll be right over." He said it quick and didn't bother to say goodbye, merely slamming the phone down.

I wondered then if we'd ever have a phone conversation with proper farewells.

Luke didn't come right over like I'd expected him to. I let Mom know he was on his way and she asked if we'd worked out our problem. I told her there'd never been a problem. She only smiled to herself and rolled out dough for a pie. I leaned against the kitchen counter, resting on my elbows and snipped off a piece of the unbaked crust when she turned to fetch the pie pan. I waited there for a minute almost expecting a pounding at the door right away, even though I knew it would take him longer than that to get to my place. But when time passed and he still hadn't shown, my smugness started to dissipate. He was going to stand me up. OK, it wasn't like a date or anything. But this was as close to a date as I'd ever come. I began to pace the living room. 95

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Mom popped her head in and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I wanted to snarl and tell her to cut the perfection act, but I only shook my head no.

When Luke finally rang the doorbell, I about tore the hinges off opening it for him. I was on the verge of asking what happened to, "I'll be right over," when I caught the look on his face. He was nervous. He looked sick-to-his-stomach pale. And his eyes darted. He held his bag down at his side today not over his shoulder and his fingers were gripped around the strap tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. I decided against cracking a smart-aleck remark.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He nodded but didn't speak. He was acting as if speaking would unsettle his stomach and he might vomit his afterschool snack all over the floor. I shut the door behind him quietly and led him to the kitchen. Luke pulled up short when he saw my mom at the counter, pouring cherry filling into her piecrust. His gaze zipped toward me in a panic. I wanted to demand right then what the matter was.

"Hello again, Luke." Mom set her work down and smiled at him.

He nodded back but didn't return the smile. "Hi."

"Back again to tutor Carrie?" He nodded but still said nothing, and Mother smoothed her hands down the side of her apron. "Well, isn't that nice of you? Would you like something to drink?"

He raised a shoulder like he didn't care one way or the other.

"Is milk all right, then?" Mom said. 96

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From the horror on Luke's face, I thought he might go into the whole never-consume-health-food-right-after-school spiel. But he refrained and accepted the milk with a nod. Mom was quick to serve him, but while her back was turned Luke glanced at my pile of schoolbooks on the kitchen table. "Not here," he whispered, darting a look from my mother back to me. I wasn't about to suggest that we go to my room to study but Mom took the decision right out of my hands. She handed the milk to Luke and as he chugged it like he had cottonmouth, she glanced at the table and then to us.

"Why don't you two go to Carrie's room to study? I'm afraid I'll disturb you if you stay in here." My jaw fell open, but Luke thanked her as he handed the empty glass back. He turned to me and almost pulled me into leading him to my room. When I glanced back, I could see my mother over his shoulder. She winked at me. Again. I seethed the whole way. "If you say one word about my—

"

"I don't care if it's decorated in pink ruffles and is stuffed with teddy bears," he said, pushing me inside. He shut the door behind us and turned. His hands were in the air as if he were ready to deliver a speech. But when he saw my room, he stopped.

"Wow. It's like stepping from day into night." He had a point. My bed wasn't made. My clothes were strewn across the floor. I had papers and notebooks stacked in every corner. Posters I'd taped to the wall hung crookedly. I guess it was a typical teenager's bedroom but that didn't mean I was proud of it.

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I glared at Luke's startled expression. "I thought you didn't care."

He shook his head. "You're right, I don't. I like your room. It's...homey."

I snorted, then jumped when he grabbed my shoulders. I looked into his eyes and my mouth fell open. I'd never seen him look so serious before.

"Swear to me," he said. "Swear that what I'm about to tell you does not leave this room."

I nodded. My heart started that odd thumping again.

"You can't tell anyone," he said.

"I won't."

He shook his head, as if not yet trusting me. "I've never said anything about any of this to anyone in my entire life." I gasped. "You're gay, aren't you?" His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. "I'm serious, Carrie."

"What?" I said. "That's exactly how you're making it sound. It's like you're coming out of the closet or something."

"I'm not gay. But that's exactly what everyone would think if they knew."

"Knew what?"

He bit his lip and stared at me. Then slowly, he turned away and bent down to his bag. He unzipped it and reached inside. I held my breath but when he pulled out a plain notebook, I exhaled like a deflated balloon. He turned back slowly.

"This," he said, and held it out. I glanced at him, asking with my eyes what it was. He didn't answer. So I reached for 98

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it. I started to tug it away from him but he had a tight grip on it.

"You swear to me, right?"

"Yes! Geez," I said, and jerked harder. He let go then and I went sprawling backward. I glared at him when I regained my balance. "What is it?"

When he refused to answer, I opened the first page. It was filled with poems. I skimmed a few and then turned the page. There were more. I flipped through another couple of pages. All poems. I glanced at Luke. He'd fallen onto my bed and was sitting on the edge with his feet firmly placed on the carpet. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. His head was lowered and he was staring at the floor between his feet.

I went back to the beginning and read the first poem more carefully.

It was good. I reread it and it was even better the second time. It wasn't just good, it was really good. It wasn't that sappy junk, either, that teenagers sometimes write and then imagine they're tortured poets. This was real poetry. Being a writer, I considered myself somewhat of an expert. I wasn't good at poetry myself, but at least I could recognize a good poem when I read one.

"Who wrote these?" I said, turning the page. Luke glanced up. "I did."

I stopped reading. "You wrote this?" He nodded.

I shook my head. "I don't get it. Your secret is poems?" 99

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He jerked to his feet then. "Never mind," he said, reaching for his notebook. But I held it away from him. He gave me a warning look. I, of course, ignored it.

"No, I guess you don't get it," he said, letting me win the notebook war. He took a huge step back, as if he needed space before he exploded. "I'm a football player. A tough guy. I'm not supposed to write sissy poetry. Everyone would think I'm gay."

"Not every male poet is gay," I said. "What about Shakespeare? Robert Frost? E. E. Cummings? Lord Byron?

Now he was a real ladies' man."

"He didn't grow up in Stillburrow, either," Luke said. I shrugged, because he was right. That would be the first assumption folks around these parts would make if they knew he leaned toward artistic pursuits.

"But it's not just that," he said. "My father expects me to go into business. To be a banker, like him."

"So be a banker," I said. "You can still write poetry on the side. That way if your work never sells, at least you have banking to fall back on."

Luke ran a hand through his hair, turned in a circle and came back to face me. "And I'm scared," he said. My eyebrows shot up when I heard this quiet admission.

"This is important to me. I mean I really, really like doing it. And I didn't want to show it to someone and find out I'm bad. That's why I've been bugging you so much." He sat down on the bed again. When he looked up at me, his eyes were pleading and my heart fell directly at his feet. 100

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"I didn't dare take it to a teacher. It had to be someone my age. And you're the best writer in the whole school, Carrie. You'd know if it was any good or not. Plus I've learned you're extremely honest. You wouldn't lie to me." He looked at the notebook in my hands. "So what do you think?" Suddenly, it felt like I was holding the Holy Grail in my grasp. This was Luke Carter's heart and soul. If I told him it was bad, it would break his spirit. But could I be completely honest? I mean, I had a crush on the guy. I'd tell him I loved any piece of rubbish he wrote to make him feel better. All right, all right, I wouldn't. I can't deny the truth. To be honest, I was suddenly jealous.

It wasn't fair. Luke Carter had the money. He had the popularity. He was already the football star. And what did I have? Writing was my only claim to fame and now he wanted that too? If anyone read these poems, they'd stop calling me

"The Stillburrow Writer" and suddenly Luke would be Mr. Shakespeare himself. I couldn't tell him how good he was. But I couldn't tell him he was bad, either. Talk about being stuck in a bad situation, huh?

And then an idea hit me. "Why don't we let the students of Stillburrow decide?"

His eyebrows crinkled in distrust. "What do you mean?" I flipped open the notebook and scanned more poems.

"Why don't we put a few sample pieces in the paper?" When his mouth opened in an instant refusal, I quickly added,

"Anonymously, of course. I'll make it a survey on the editor's page. I can say that an unnamed poet would like the public's 101

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opinion on his or her work. 'Please reply with your thoughts on these poems.'"

Luke seemed to deliberate. I decided to put on a little more pressure. "I could tell you what I think about them. But that's just one person's point of view. What you really need, Luke, is a lot of opinions."

Luke had his hands clasped together and was holding them close to his mouth. His blue gaze was riveted toward me.

"And you won't tell anyone who wrote them?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." He stood up, licked his lips, and then held out his hand.

"We've got a deal, then."

For the second time in my life, I shook hands with Luke Carter. "I don't think you'll be disappointed," I said. "And just in case you're a big hit, we shouldn't put in your best poem first. Remember, an audience always expects a better performance the next time."

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