Текст книги "The Stillburrow Crush"

Автор книги: Linda Kage

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"High speed what?" I asked, glancing back to give him a puzzled look.

He opened his mouth to explain, when it dawned on him I was joking. "You always have to be a smart-aleck, don't you?"

We shared a smile.

I looked into his face and relished these minutes where I could ogle him selfishly. I knew I should give him the information he wanted from me now, but I could only stare. It took me a moment to notice his expression, though. His gaze had been roaming my face but had paused on my left ear. When he snorted out a surprised laugh, I frowned. He pointed a finger toward my hair. "Uh, I think the wind messed it up some."

I patted my head, my face flaming.

"Here," Luke said, and flipped down his visor, lighting up the mirror underneath. I looked up and groaned. Not only had the wind caught a hold of my hair and ripped it half out of its 124

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ponytail, it had also knotted and twisted it into a healthysized rat's nest. I tried to ignore the fact that Luke was sitting next to me—

and already knew exactly what the disaster looked like—and ripped the holder out of my hair. I combed through the mess with my fingers but there were knots everywhere. When I caught him staring again, I glared.

"What?" I demanded. But he continued to gawk. I patted at my hair and wondered what he could possibly be thinking about the mess.

"I've never seen it all down before," he said. Startled, I glanced back in the mirror. I'd seen it down millions of times. I just didn't leave the house with it loose. There was too much of it to let it run wild. I tried to see it how Luke must see it. It was curly—so curly it bobbed. Tight little curls framed my face like a border full of personality. From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke lift his hand toward one spiraling lock.

But when I turned to him, he lowered his fingers and shifted his attention out the window. I stared at his profile for a second, breathing hard.

"It's pretty," he said, more to the windshield than to me. I wanted him to lift his hand again. I wanted him to touch my hair.

"I think yours is prettier."

He laughed. "Guys do not have pretty hair."

"Well, yours is."

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I reached over and touched his hair. I thought maybe if I touched his, he might get the guts to touch mine. But at contact, I gasped.

"It's so soft."

I ran my fingers through the part that always curled around a cowlick when it got wet. I scooted over, leaning across the console between us.

"Carrie."

His voice sounded strained so I looked down. I hadn't realized I'd moved so close. But when I gazed into his face, we were only a breath apart. I was positioned a little above him so I could reach his hair. He lifted his face up to stare at me. His eyes were a blazing blue.

That's when he touched my hair. He drew his fingers through the curls to cup my head. Then he tilted his chin to the side and pulled me down. I was shocked when our mouths connected. He was kissing me.

Oh my God, Luke Carter was kissing me.

I didn't even think to close my eyes. Of all the times I'd imagined my first kiss, I never thought it would take me by surprise like this.

I stared at his face for a second, unable to move. And then I realized that maybe I should participate a little. I felt my lips soften and my lids slide shut. My hand rested on the side of his neck, and I kissed him back...and felt it all the way to my toes.

At that moment, I discovered where all of my erogenous zones were because they all became inflamed. It was like a tingle but with a hundred times the voltage. Luke's mouth slid 126

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sideways where his lips could be more accommodating. My ears buzzed. I thought I might blow a fuse with all the wattage flowing through my veins. When his tongue entered my mouth, I jerked back.

I don't know why I did. I hadn't wanted to put a stop to the kiss. This was my big moment. I was steaming up the windows with Luke Carter. But the shock of his tongue had knocked me flat. I hadn't been prepared at all. Not that it was bad. It was wet and warm and would have ended as the best kiss I was sure I'd ever have. Yes, it had been great, right until I'd messed up and jerked away.

I scuttled back to the passenger's side, banging my elbow on the gearshift as I fled. I still couldn't believe I'd pulled away from him. Pressing my back against the seat, I stared out the front window at the horizon, feeling like the loser I was.

The day was turning to dusk and the sunset was spread before me in a fierce glowing-orange-and-pink masterpiece. I wanted to soak into its wonder and appreciate the full beauty of that descending sun, but my throat was closing and my heart was sprinting, making my breathing, and in effect all thinking, too difficult to manage at the moment. I wondered what was going on inside Luke. What did he think of me? I'd started this by touching his hair and practically crawling into his lap. What other way could a healthy teenage boy react? It wasn't me—it was just the situation that had prompted his actions. Right?

I wanted to glance over and see how he was responding, just peek at his face. My eyes burned as I focused on seeing 127

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him out of my peripheral vision. I couldn't chance the thought that Luke could possibly be interested in me, Carrie Paxton. He'd just met up with a moment of insanity and...and kissed me. That's all.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with a coarse regret. See, he hadn't meant to do it at all. But with my doubts confirmed, tears smeared my vision and the sunset blurred. I nodded.

I wanted to say, "I'm sorry," too. "I'm sorry I pulled away. So come back here and finish what you started." But I couldn't say that. A thick silence stretched across the interior of the car and filled it like a deadly vapor, almost smothering us to death.

Luke sighed. It was a long, solemn sigh I felt all the way to the pit of my stomach. I saw his arms reach out and rest on the top of the steering wheel. Behind us, a car passed on the dirt road leading back to Stillburrow. I looked back just in time to see the blue truck hurry by.

"That was Marty's truck," I said. I pressed my hands deep into my lap.

"I saw."

I glanced over at Luke then. His hair was still mussed from where I'd touched it. My fingers started to tingle, remembering the texture of each silken strand.

"I guess they're finished, huh?"

"I guess." Luke closed his eyes and rested his head on the backrest. I saw him swallow.

"Maybe you should take me home now." 128

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I said it timidly, but by the way it had Luke's head coming off the rest and his blue eyes narrowing at me, you would have thought I'd shouted it.

"What are we doing, Carrie?" he whispered—almost hissed. I shrugged. It seemed useless to point out that of the two of us, I had the least experience in this department. But Luke seemed to realize it soon enough and turned his head away with a bitter laugh. He leaned forward, set his feet on the clutch and the brake and turned the ignition. The car came to life, roaring under us. Luke stayed leaning forward. His head bowed a little as if he was straining to rest his cheek on the steering wheel. "Your parents are probably wondering where you are."

All I could do was shrug. "They won't be worried yet. I'll just tell them I was at the library." He turned toward me with a probing stare. "You don't want them to know you were with me?"

I made a face by squinting my eyes, silently saying, Heck no, I'm not telling them. "It'd just make them think we were dating or something."

"What if—" He stopped talking so abruptly I had to probe further.

"What if what?"

He shook his head and slid the car into first. "Nothing."

"What?" I insisted.

He lifted a hand to stop me. "I said it was nothing." I zipped my mouth shut. I wanted to ask what his problem was but I was sure I already knew. He was mad at himself for kissing me. I stared out the side window and acted like I was 129

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pushing the hair out of my face when I was actually rubbing the moisture out of the corner of my eye with my palm. We took the country roads back to town. When we hit the city limits, I tried to duck down. But after a sharp, "Don't," from Luke I pulled myself back up. The windows were tinted anyway. No one would see me. Probably.

"You can drop me off here," I said, as we approached the corner where he could turn to head home. Luke only shot me a dirty look, at which I slumped down saying, "Or not." If he'd been a cartoon character, steam would've been rolling from his ears. I'd never seen him so ticked. When he pulled to a stop in front of my house, he didn't look at me.

"So," he said. "See you at school." My throat was jammed up so I could only nod. I grabbed the door handle, then remembered the whole purpose of our ride. "Oh! I almost forgot."

I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a lump of folded paper. Luke glanced over. When I tossed it into his lap, he frowned at me and cautiously picked up the bundle.

"That's all the feedback I received from putting your poem in the paper."

Luke had been in the process of unfolding the stack of papers but when he heard what it was, he stopped. "You were carrying it around in your pocket?"

I nodded and tried to smile, but failed miserably.

"Somehow, I had this feeling you'd jump me from out of nowhere and demand to know what everyone thought." 130

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His eyes moved to the sheets still folded in his fingers.

"Did a lot of people reply, then?" He slowly moved his fingers over the still-folded sheets.

I took the papers gently from his hands. "It's the biggest response since I wrote an editorial about getting a fire station built in town." I unfolded the notes and Luke's gaze suddenly strayed. He couldn't look at the results, so I said, "They loved you."

He came back. "Really?"

I grinned, a true grin this time, at his expression of complete disbelief. He snatched the papers out of my hand and read through each comment. His face moved from incredulous to ill to ecstatic in only moments. Then he crushed the comments in his fist and looked at me.

"They really did like it," he whispered. I bit my lip. "I know."

"They liked me, Carrie." I think he had to repeat the words to believe them. And when it soaked in, he suddenly looked like he could grab me and pull me toward him to wrap his arms around me and bury his face in my hair. But then he looked down at the stack of replies without touching me.

"This can't be real." He slapped the critiques gently against his thigh and turned to me. "Thank you," he said quietly.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Ten

It was after that first kiss I decided to start keeping a diary—this very book, in fact. I called it a journal, though, since I thought diaries were for sissy girls who only wrote about what boy they had a crush on that week. I didn't plan on writing just about my crush alone. Yeah, that was probably the biggest reason I wanted one but it seemed that so many things were changing around me. I knew I would look back on this year one day and try to remember the exact smells and the exact color of things I was currently experiencing. And I knew they were things I didn't want to forget. I know, I know. I should've already started a journal by that point. Sixteen, almost seventeen, seemed old for someone like me to begin such a task. But I never thought I had an exciting life...not until Luke Carter deemed me interesting enough to kiss.

So I decided I needed a notebook. Yes, I spent most of my time writing and had plenty of notebooks. But I wanted a new one, something fresh and clean that had never been written in before. I knew there was no way I'd find one in my room. I wrote so much every notebook I owned was already half filled with scribbles.

So I decided to ransack Marty's old room. I don't think I ever saw him do over an hour's worth of homework so I knew he had to have dozens of brand new, spotless notebooks. His room was half empty. His clothes, posters, and even the pillows off his bed were gone. But other things remained. 132

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He'd actually won first place at the science fair one year. He'd invented a new kind of water bomb and his demonstration of it had been outstanding. His trophy for that was still sitting on his dresser along with some loose change from which I pocketed the quarters and dimes. I started searching under his bed. Marty kept old school things there like yearbooks and past report cards. Mom had everything stored in a Rubbermaid container. I shimmied down on my hands and knees and reached for the box. The dust almost choked me when I pulled it out. And I knew then that Mom had kept his room sacred, not stepping foot into his personal domain since he'd left.

Waving away the dust cloud so I could see, I opened the box and sorted through it. It smelled musty and stale. I found a picture he'd drawn when he was in kindergarten. The paper was yellowed and ragged at the corners. The drawing showed Mom and Dad and Marty standing in a row and holding hands. Mom had a fat stomach so she must've been pregnant with me. At the top, in the worst handwriting I'd ever seen, Marty had written, "I love Mommy. I love Daddy. I love baby."

I sighed. Too bad Marty hadn't stayed that sweet over the years.

I shoved the drawing back into the pile and sifted some more. No notebook. Growing more and more restless, I pushed the box back under the bed and stood up, wiping my knees with my hands.

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The closet was the next place to look. I pulled the string for the light and once again a dust cloud enveloped me. It made the confining closet look dim and hazy. I had to stand on tiptoes to peek at the top shelf. As I did, I bumped into some clothes still hanging there. It rustled up a smell I associated with my brother. And for the briefest of moments I missed him. That was something I would never tell a living soul. But the smell of Marty reminded me of when we were younger and he would sometimes let me ride in the front seat when we went with Dad to test drive a car. And it reminded me of when we went grasshopper hunting together. Marty let me hold the jar while he caught the grasshoppers, which was fine with me because I had no desire to touch the creepy-crawly critters. But it had made me feel important to hold that jar for my big brother. Of course, then Marty would torture the poor thing by pulling its legs off one by one, and I'd go running to Mom, bawling. But standing there, in his closet, made me miss those old days.

It also reminded me of how so many things had changed. Marty had moved out, and someday I would too. We weren't foolish little kids anymore, pulling off grasshopper legs. I sighed. It was almost depressing to think about growing up. But then I spotted what looked like a notebook stuck under a shoebox. More determined than ever to preserve my memories of fair youth, I shoved the clothes aside and peered over them to get a look at what was on his closet shelf. Sure enough, there was a plain, three-holed notebook wedged under everything.

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I tugged on it, trying to shimmy it out from under the shoebox. But when I pulled it free the shoebox came as well. My fingers clamped desperately around the notebook as the contents of the box that had been on top of it spilled out and onto me. I ducked, wrapping my hands over my head to cushion the blow. Objects fell around me, bumping and scraping against my arms and fingers before crashing in a heap at my feet. The notebook had acted as an umbrella throughout the ordeal, protecting my noggin from harm. I stood there, half paralyzed for a second, until everything settled on the carpet. Then I checked myself for damages. I fared the collision OK. There were a few stinging scrapes on my arms, but the skin wasn't bleeding or broken. I looked at the floor. The shoebox, empty now, lay propped against my shoe, and old fireworks littered the floor around my feet. I bent down and picked up a bundle of sparklers and a string of cracker jacks fell from my hair, landing on a stick of roman candles.

For a moment, I could only stare. There were fireworks everywhere.

I wondered how old they were and if they were still good. Marty loved the Fourth of July. It was the only time of year he didn't get into trouble for blowing something up. And he always went crazy buying every kind of firework he could find. I swear he used to save his money all year just for the Fourth of July. I had to admit I loved the season too. I don't think I had one bad memory of Independence Day. Maybe it was the hot summer sun, the smell of freshly cut grass, the taste of homemade ice cream, or the fact that I didn't have to 135

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worry about school. It was just one of those holidays where nothing went wrong.

I started to pick everything up, thinking of one year when just Mom, Dad, Marty and I drove out into the country and celebrated the Fourth. Mom packed a picnic and Dad spread out an old blanket for us all to sit on. I'd never seen Marty have so much fun entertaining us with his fireworks display. I settled on Mom's lap and tried hard to stay awake and see every explosion. I wanted to keep the night alive because I never remembered my mom smiling so much. She never let me sit on her lap during church when I got tired. She used to say it made the family look like bunch of monkeys crawling on each other. So I would just inch past her and settle myself on Dad's lap. But that night, where no one else could see us, I was allowed to curl myself into her lap. She ran her hands through my hair, and her laughter vibrated through me like a soothing rocking chair. And it cradled me right to sleep. When I woke up the morning after, I thought it had all been a dream: a sweet, lovely dream.

I set the last bottle rocket in the shoebox and stood up. I was sliding the box back onto the shelf when the idea hit me. That Fourth of July had been the exact kind of memory I wanted to put in my journal. I paused in my task, thinking about it, already planning. The memory was so fresh in my mind I swore I could still taste the watermelon we'd eaten that night.

It had to be written about. It had to be immortalized and kept precious forever in words—beautiful, flowing words. And with that thought, I made up my mind.

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When I left Marty's room, I had the notebook plus a shoebox full of fireworks tucked under my arm. And I had a plan in my head. It seemed like such a good idea, I acted before I even thought it completely through. I tossed the box on my bed as soon as I hit my room and I instantly looked up Luke's phone number. It wasn't until after I dialed that I panicked. I started to think about the flaws in my plan. What was I doing, involving Luke Carter in my idea?

I'd never even called him before. And we hadn't exactly been on the best of terms lately.

Since the kiss in his car, we'd ignored each other in school and he hadn't come over to tutor me. Not that I felt I needed tutoring anymore. I actually understood what Under-the-hill was teaching in class these days and I knew I was doing better. But the situation between Luke and me was ridiculous. We acted as if we were complete strangers, as if we'd never talked to each other, as if he'd never come to my home and showed me how to make a true after-school snack, as if he'd never kissed me.

There was one time at lunch when I'd glanced up and caught him staring at me from across the cafeteria. I paused and stared back because his look puzzled me. He was scowling, yet he didn't look mad. He looked...I don't know, like he was disappointed or something. And then his friend, Nathan, caught him and turned to see whom Luke was watching. When Nathan saw me, he said something to Luke I couldn't hear. Luke looked away then and shook his head. His lips barely moved as he gave Nathan some kind of reply. I had no idea what Luke's response was, but it had Nathan 137

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turning back to gape at me. He pointed a finger in my direction and it looked like he said, "Her? Are you sure?" And Luke only nodded with his head bent low.

I was still thinking about that when the first ring echoed in my ear. My hand started to shake. What was I doing? I'd gotten some stupid idea after seeing those fireworks and now I was acting before thinking. I had no idea what I was going to say to him when he answered. And what if his mom or dad picked up? I knew I wasn't ready to talk to a Carter parent yet, so I decided to disconnect.

But then Luke's voice said, "Hello?" I couldn't speak at first. My heart was thumping too madly and I had to calm myself. Luke said hello again. And I bit my lip after taking a huge lungful of air.

"Hey, Lucas," I said.

He paused and I swore it was to check his caller ID. Then he said, "Carrie?" He sucked in a breath. "What're you doing?" If the bewilderment I heard in his voice was genuine, the boy was clueless. I could almost see him glancing out his window to check if the sky had turned orange and the ground was purple.

"Hello?" he said again. "Carrie?" My heart leapt. A battle inside me began. I was tempted to hang up and forget about my crazy scheme. But I wanted to see him again. I didn't want to make a fool of myself over him, but I hadn't shaken off my impulsive frame of mind yet.

"I'm still here," I said, and sat down on the corner of my unmade bed.

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He waited for me to go on but when I said nothing, he hesitantly asked, "Do you need some help with trig?" I shook my head, though he couldn't see it. "No," I said.

"OK." I could picture him shaking his own head, trying to clear it. "Then...what's going on?" I gulped in a lungful of air. "Could you meet me tonight on the corner of Oak and Adams with your car?" He lived near there and Oak Street trailed off into the country toward the lake. We could drive out somewhere and set off the fireworks.

"Why?" I heard him say.

"I'll let you know when we get there." My stomach was churning. What was I doing? He was going to say no. Of course, he was going to say no. "How about seven," I said.

"It'll be dark by then, right?"

"Uh..." Luke let out an uncertain laugh. "What's this all about?"

I fell back onto the mattress and stared up at my ceiling. I suddenly wanted to say, "Never mind. I didn't mean to call." But instead I said, "It's about our little secret."

"Our—" His voice cut out, then he said so quietly I could barely hear him. "More people wrote in to the paper?"

"No."

"Then what?"

I grinned. If I wasn't good at anything else, I was great at frustrating the poor guy. "Meet me and you'll find out." Luke took forever to decide, but finally he relented. My chest began to swell. We were going to meet again. I was going to see Luke alone one more time.

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For the first time, we said goodbye to each other before hanging up.

"Since I'm the one driving, don't you think you better tell me where we're going now?"

I shut the passenger door of Luke's Mustang and glanced over at him. He darted a suspicious peek at my book bag. It was stuffed full, and lumpy. But he didn't ask what was inside, probably because he knew I wouldn't tell him. I shrugged. I was nervous. I hadn't yet fully decided if this was a good idea or not, therefore I hadn't settled on all the details of my plan, like where this event would take place.

"It doesn't matter where we go," I answered. "As long as it's outside of town where we're alone." Luke glanced at the bag again as I slid it to the floorboard between my knees. He put the car into gear. "You're not one of those serial killers that gets her victims alone and then slices them open and drinks their blood, are you?" I wiggled my eyebrows. "What's your blood type?" He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. Then he mumbled something under his breath. It sounded like he said,

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"We can always go back," I said, watching him, almost hoping he'd stop and turn around but wanting him to keep going at the same time.

"Heck no," he said. "There's no calling it quits now. I've got to see what this is all about."

He pulled the car off onto another country road and came to a halt. He killed the engine but kept the headlights on. 140

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When I realized where we were, I gasped softly. It was our spot. I turned to him, ready for an explanation. He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I didn't know where else to go."

My insides grew warm and snuggly. Instantly, I thought of our last visit to this exact spot. I felt like we were repeating history, returning to our first kiss. It was like Luke and I were destined to repeat the scene until we got it right.

"All right," he said, turning to me. "What's in the bag?" I rolled my eyes. "I'm glad to see you too," I said, and reached forward to lug the bag onto my lap. I unzipped it and moved it back when Luke leaned over to peek inside. He glanced up and I shook my finger at him.

"To start with," I said, trying to sound dramatic, "we have this." I pulled the first item free. It was a thick red-and-whitecheckered tablecloth. In the dark, I caught a glimpse of Luke arching one eyebrow. He lifted the tablecloth out of my hand. "A blanket?" He sounded baffled.

I nodded. "Very good. Now be a doll, will you, and spread that out on the ground."

His head swiveled up to me. "On the ground? Outside?" I nodded. And he shook his head.

"You've got to be kidding me. It's freezing out there."

"Well then, you're in luck because I've got something to warm us up." I pulled out a full bottle of wine. He snatched that away from me too, peering at the label. When he saw it was the same bottle he'd pulled from my mom's kitchen drawer, I added, "Be glad I decided against the ice cream." 141

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He looked up, shaking his head. "You never cease to surprise me."

I took the blanket back and handed him a silver utensil. "I also thought to bring a corkscrew. There's no cups, though."

"So where's the food?" He smiled as he worked the corkscrew into the cork. When I pulled out the Tupperware container, his smile dropped and his jaw fell open.

"Right here," I said, grinning. "But it's not much." The plastic was fogged from the temperature difference inside the container. Luke bent down to peek inside.

"What is it?"

I popped the lid. "Cheese, apples, rolls, and...watermelon," I said proudly, showing off the ruby-red, bite-sized chunks inside. "They don't sell whole watermelons at Getty's General this time of year. But I found this much being sold with a whole fruit platter of grapes, pineapple chunks and melon balls."

"Why watermelon?" he said.

"I'm trying to re-create something," I said. I rested the bag in my lap, the last surprise still inside. "Tell me what redand-white-checkered tablecloths, wine, and watermelon remind you of."

"Um..." He frowned as he tugged harder on the corkscrew. Then he said, "Summer, I guess," just as the cork popped out. The bottle teetered and some juices dribbled down the side of his finger. He licked the droplets off. My stomach dropped as I watched his tongue lap up the excess. He glanced over at me, seeming unaware of how much I'd been gawking. "It reminds me of summertime and picnics." 142

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I reached inside the bag, wanting more than anything to impress him. "You're getting close," I said, and came up with a fistful of the fireworks I'd nabbed. I waved them back and forth like a flag. "Now what does it remind you of?" Luke took a wad of sparklers out of my hand and stared at them as if he'd never seen them before. "The Fourth of July," he said, his voice full of awe.

"Ever celebrated the Fourth in November?" He shook his head. "I think I'm about to, though." I grinned, opened my door and got out of the car. I could hear him still inside, groaning and muttering about the temperature before I shut him in. Finally he got out too, carrying the opened bottle.

It was freezing. There was a bit of a wind too, which made matters worse. I pulled the collar of my coat up over my neck and huddled deep inside. I watched Luke's silhouette as he passed the headlights. The lights caught him perfectly. He shivered and rubbed his arms.

"How'd you talk me into doing this again?" I set the tablecloth, fireworks and watermelon on the hood of his Mustang. When I looked up at him, I knew my cheeks and nose were red with cold.

"I want you to write a poem about this," I said. Luke glanced around him at the night. He rubbed his arms and a cloud of white fog exited his mouth. "About what?" I nodded toward the hood where my supplies lay strewn like an Independence Day hood ornament. "About all that."

"The Fourth of July?"

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I grinned at his bewildered tone. "That's why I planned this. I love the Fourth of July...the lights, the food, the festivities. And I want words to describe how it always makes me feel. Only...I can't write like that. Not like you can." I looked up and caught a side view of his face as he studied the tablecloth. I saw that overbite of his and my stomach dropped.

For moment, he said nothing. Then he whispered, "OK." The air rushed out of my lungs. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath, waiting for his response. I hadn't realized his answer would be so important either, until he'd given it and I felt the relief. Suddenly, I wanted to hug him and thank him profusely. But then I caught myself.

I twisted my body away so he couldn't see my face and I reached for the cloth. I was about to lay it out on the ground in front of the headlights, but he stopped me by quietly taking the blanket from my hands. Without a word, he went out in front of the car a few feet and flipped the tablecloth up in the air. For a moment, the cloth fluttered in the cool night and wavered above him. As it began to float down, Luke stepped back and held the blanket wide. It landed perfectly, settling over gravel and dirt with such grace and style my breath caught in my chest. Luke's back was to me as he bent down to straighten a slightly wrinkled corner. His shoulders were wide and well formed. And I saw his midnight hair glistening in the headlights.