Текст книги "Naked"

Автор книги: Stacey Trombley

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

We walk down the clean streets of our neighborhood, house after house that all look the same. Some have brick on the outside, some have white siding, some have blue. But they all seem to have the same setup. The same windows, a paved path leading up to the small patio, and the same thick door. Even the same doorknobs.

The only difference is in the gardens. One has a big tree in the front yard with a cheesy tire swing. I can only imagine a girl in a white cotton dress swinging from it—although I have no idea where that image comes from.

Another house has an overload of flowers. They’re everywhere. Nearly half the yard is covered.

Another looks like it’s trying really hard to be different. A fake well sits on one part, an angel statue on another, and a big gnome across from it. It looks completely ridiculous.

Then there are a few that were obviously professionally landscaped, with their perfectly mown grass and pretty brick ponds with waterfalls cascading down.

“I hate this neighborhood,” I mutter.

At first Jackson doesn’t respond. We keep walking slow steps down the concrete sidewalk, but when I glance over to him, his eyebrows are pressed down like he’s thinking really hard about something.

“Why?” he asks eventually.

“It’s trying too hard. Too perfect.” I miss my stupid apartment in New York that smelled like a bizarre combination of piss, fried chicken, pot, and cats. I don’t want this pretend-perfect shit.

Then again, what I probably miss most about my apartment was that Luis lived in it. And I can’t pretend he’s perfect anymore, either.

Jackson looks around. “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

I sigh. He would. Just more proof we’re too different for this project. This friendship. Or whatever this is.

He stops walking, a stress line appearing down his forehead. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think about you.”

That’s more like it. He shouldn’t know what to think. “Me either,” I say.

He surprises me with a light chuckle. “Touché,” he says. A smile spreads across his face. “You really don’t like it here?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

He nods. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”

“What about our project?”

“We’ll do that later. I want to show you something.” He must see the hesitation on my face, because then he says, “Besides, we can’t really do that project without knowing anything about each other, right? Maybe we’ll find inspiration.”

I narrow my eyes for a second. I hate that my mind wanders to those dark places even with Jackson. He’s been nothing but good to me so far, and that’s why I don’t trust him. At least when people treat me like trash, I know I’m getting what I deserve.

“Where do you want to take me?”

His smile is sweet enough to make me forget, just for a second, everything bad that’s ever happened to me. And when he takes my hand, my heart races, and I know I’m in trouble.

I like him. Really like him.

The way he looks at me. The way his hand feels on mine.

I glance at his lips, but then I look away. No one’s kissed me in years. Not in a way that didn’t leave my mouth full of the taste of cigarettes. But his lips look so inviting. And I already know what they’ll taste like. I’ve seen the fruit snacks he loves to eat.

There’s no way he wants to kiss me, too. And I guess that’s for the best. One kiss and he’d see right through me. Taste the garbage that I can’t get rid of.

With way too much pep, Jackson spins around and gently grabs my wrist to pull me along. His hand holds on to mine as I follow him, and I can feel the warmth of his fingers seep into my cold skin.

He turns and smiles, a glint in his eyes that’s different from before. So this isn’t just an innocent suburban boy. He has a mischievous side, too.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s be bad.”

My stomach flips and my lips curl into a smile, even though his version of bad can’t possibly match mine. Somehow, I like the sound of that.

We walk down one of the streets, and just when I think we’re about to walk to someone’s house, one I’m sure isn’t Jackson’s, we walk right past it. There’s a big gap between two of the houses that’s nothing but grass. It’s almost like a suburban alleyway.

Behind the houses is a big field, and I mean big. For a neighborhood, anyway.

It’s smaller than a football field, I’d guess, but still big enough to play a game of touch football or something. This is probably the kind of place teenagers play all the time, the kind of place I should have come to play tag and Frisbee or whatever else kids play. Watch the boys tackle each other playing football. Ya know, if my mother had ever let me out of the house without her.

I went straight from reading books and playing puzzles to drinking and getting in cars with boys. One day I’d given up on my mother’s rules and decided to live however I could. I did anything I could have to have a life, experience things.

I wonder how long Jackson has lived here, if I would have played with him as kids. Assuming my parents would have let me out of the house. Mud fights, sledding, and stolen secret kisses in the dark. A whole life I could have had as a kid, a life I’ll never have now.

But maybe tonight’s a chance to taste the impossible.

Jackson walks over to a patch of yellow flowers that grow like weeds at the edge of the field. There’s a small batch of trees there, and as we get closer I can see a little stream flowing behind them.

He picks one of the little yellow flowers and hands it to me. I put it to my nose and smell. It’s fantastic! It smells so good, like spring. I smile ear to ear. For a moment we’re not just students working on a project, not even just friends. For a moment he’s a boy giving me flowers. A boy looking at me with bright shining eyes.

It’s cheesy, but I’ve never had cheesy before.

For a moment, I feel beautiful.

“We’re lucky they’re still here. It’s getting cold pretty quick. They’ll probably be gone soon.”

“What is it?” I ask, mesmerized by the little flower.

“Honeysuckle. You’ve never had one?”

“Had one?”

His eyes grow wide. “Seriously, who are you?”

I shrug.

He pulls another flower to show me. “Watch,” he says.

At the bottom of the flower is a little white end. He pinches it and pulls slowly. A little white string-looking thing comes out, and at the end is a drop of liquid. He holds it up, like I’m going to let him feed it to me.

First of all, I don’t know if this thing is even edible. Will it make me sick?

Second of all, even if it is edible, no way am I letting him put it in my mouth.

“What is it?” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.

“No offense, I don’t trust anyone.”

“Just try it. It’s mostly water, but it’s good. That’s why they call them honeysuckles. ’Cause of the honey.”

“Honey?”

“Sort of, but it’s not that thick. It’s good, trust me.”

I narrow my eyes, looking at him, then at the little flower. I pull the white nub and watch the string pull through the back of the bud. A little drop of liquid sits on the end.

I hang it over my tongue, and it drops before I get a chance to change my mind. It tastes a lot like it smells—like springtime. Being reborn. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I like it.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

He smirks, so cocky, but he wrings his hands together. “No, that’s not what I want to show you.”

He motions for me to follow him, then he starts running.

He runs along the tree line, then darts inside and disappears. I can’t see where he went.

I should feel afraid. A boy I barely know leading me who knows where. But my own words come back to me. Eventually, you have to trust someone.

In my world, trusting someone can get you killed.

But I don’t feel afraid.

With Jackson, I feel safe.

I jog a little more and see a break in the small tree line. There’s a little path with a bridge over the tiny stream, but I still don’t see Jackson. I walk slowly now, looking around. The little batch of trees is only about ten feet wide. It seems to split two rows of houses; their backyards aren’t visible to each other only because of this little forest.

A dog barks, but I pay no attention. Right now I’m not in the burbs. I’m in my own mini Central Park.

Inside the batch of trees, there’s a tiny clearing with two chairs and a log on its side. Sprinkled around the area are cans of soda and beer, an empty bottle that looks to have once been filled with Jack, and a couple of cigarette butts.

Did Jackson take me to his secret party spot?

Does Jackson really have a party spot?

I walk over the little wooden bridge, and then I see him standing next to a tree, waiting for me, a playful smile on his face.

“What did you want to show me?”

He smiles. “My favorite spot.”

I turn back to the clearing full of beer bottles. Not as glamorous as I’d imagine Jackson would be into, but…

“Oh, not there,” he says, following my gaze. “Some of the kids in the neighborhood meet up here sometimes, but my spot is a bit farther down.”

“Your spot, huh?”

He straightens his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s mine. I claimed it when I was seven.”

He climbs back down into the stream by stepping on some big rocks. It’s almost like he has the path memorized.

“So you did grow up here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was just wondering, you know, if we would have played together as kids if…”

He blinks. “I didn’t know you grew up here.”

I nod. “My parents didn’t let me out much.”

I was only ever allowed in my backyard. They didn’t even trust my friends’ parents to watch me. Sometimes me and Lo, my only friend my age, played back there, climbing the one big tree and swinging from the play set. But as we got older, that just wasn’t enough. We both wanted more, except I wasn’t allowed any more.

So I had to find new ways to live.

Ways they couldn’t keep me from trying.

I follow Jackson down into the little stream, slowly and carefully stepping on the stones. One of them wobbles beneath me, and I almost fall in, but Jackson takes my hand and keeps me steady. He won’t let me fall.

When we come off the stream, Jackson takes me to a big rock on the bank. Above us is a particularly big tree with branches that hang down just a little. It looks almost like a weeping willow, but the leaves don’t hang down that far.

“Is this your tree?” I ask.

He nods. “You can get to it through the trees, but I figured it was better to take the scenic route with you.”

“Yeah, thanks, I could use a bath.” I lean down and touch the cold water with my fingertips, then flick it at him. He tries to cover his face with his arms. He looks at me like he’s ready to throw a slew of curse words at me, then laughs. “I’ll remember that.”

I smile and join him on the rock. I look around at the trees and the gently flowing water.

I stand and walk back to the tree with saggy branches. I grab on to one of the limbs, like I’m going to climb.

“Want to go up?” he asks me.

I look through the branches and notice a few pieces of wood nailed to the bark leading to a tiny little makeshift tree house.

When I say makeshift, I mean it looks like a death trap. Boards haphazardly joined together, none of them lined up, everything askew. I mean, it looks like I made it. Old, uneven wood and rusted nails.

“Is that thing even safe?”

Jackson smiles. “It’s nicer than it looks. You’ll see.” He hops over the bank of the stream and joins me by the tree. “But you have to get onto that first branch to make it to the ladder. Think you can handle it?”

I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe I’m going to do this, but I can’t say no to a challenge.

I take a jump and hang on to the branch. I swing my feet up to it, impressively ungraceful, and cling to it however I can. I pull my up body up and awkwardly am able to twist so I’m sitting on top of the branch. It shakes beneath me.

“You need practice,” Jackson says.

I look at my scraped-up arms. “I’m not bleeding. I call that a success.”

I stand on the branch and test out the ladder. This isn’t going to be fun, but I don’t let myself second-guess it. I’m already this far.

While I’m climbing the boards, trying to keep myself from shaking, reminding myself not to look down, Jackson easily pulls himself into the tree with just one quick jump and makes it all the way up to the tree house without using the ladder at all.

I pause to watch him. He makes it look so easy it’s crazy.

“Cheater,” I say when I finally reach the bottom of the tree house and pull myself up.

“How am I cheating?”

“You’ve climbed this tree too many times.”

He laughs, and I roll my eyes.

The tree house is like four feet wide. Just enough for a little bookshelf full of junk and a couple of beanbag chairs. Technically, you’d be hard-pressed to call it a house. It doesn’t even have walls. There are wood beams for a floor and a small plastic sheet he can pull out as a canopy, I guess in case it rains.

“See? Not everything is as it seems.”

I smile. “Yeah, this tree house definitely isn’t trying too hard.”

“Hey!” he says. “This is my house. I built it with my own two hands. You think you can do better?”

I shrug. He’s joking, but I can tell he’s also serious. “Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it looks great.”

He rocks his head back and forth, like he’s deciding whether to accept my sort of apology, but the smile on his face tells me he’s just giving me a hard time. “Okay,” he finally says.

He flops down on the beanbag chair and pats the spot next to him.

I pause for a beat, then sit next to him, my arm brushing his as I do.

Thanks to the lack of walls and all, there’s actually a pretty good view. You can see a baseball field not too far out and the big blue sky.

For a while we sit there, watching the clouds roll by, a slight breeze trickling in and blowing my hair back just slightly.

“Anna?” Jackson asks lightly.

I blink, his seriousness taking me by surprise.

I look into his kind hazel eyes, which are a bit closer than I’m used to in this tiny space. I wish I knew more about him and what those eyes have seen.

But that would mean him knowing more about me and what I’ve seen… I don’t even want to know the things I’ve seen. I definitely don’t want him to.

Now he’s looking at me. At my mouth. And suddenly I find it very hard to do anything but feel an excited anticipation.

For a second, I think he might kiss me.

For a second, I want him to.

I lean toward him, hoping he’ll meet me, ready for it to happen, when he instead asks me something I didn’t expect.

“What happened to you?” he says lightly, looking down at his hands like he’s afraid of my reaction.

My stomach drops, and I look away. I was kind of hoping to avoid this conversation…like forever. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we said we needed to get to know each other…for the project, I mean.”

My eyebrows pull up, and I look away, unsure of how I should be feeling about this right now.

“I don’t mean to pry. It’s your business, it’s just… I’m curious about you.”

I nod but won’t look him in the eyes anymore. “What do you want to know?” I force myself to say.

“Everything,” he whispers, and a blush inches across his cheeks. “Like was it really you in the missing posters?”

I nod, knowing there’s no way of getting around that.

“So what happened? You don’t have to tell me,” he says. Contradicting himself.

I take in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“I grew up here, but I had some problems with my parents. Or they had problems with me…” My stomach twists even thinking about my past. Somehow, here in this tree with Jackson, I’m not that girl.

I’m not the lost and lonely but pretending to be okay thirteen-year-old, and I’m not Exquisite the hooker. I’m…just Anna. And talking about my past, any of it, would be like marring this moment.

“…so I moved in with my cousin in New York City.” I wince, calling Luis my cousin, but how else can I explain this? Not like I haven’t lied to the police about who Luis is before, anyway. I once had to pretend he was my brother so he could bail me out of jail. Talk about embarrassing.

“What about the posters? Your parents were looking for you.”

I nod, hating how easily the lies come. “I didn’t tell them where I went. Took them a long time to figure it out.”

“That’s not so bad. The way people talk about you, and sometimes the way you react to things, I thought…” He looks down at his hands, his feet no longer swinging.

“I know. I get it. Just because it’s easy to explain like that doesn’t mean it’s simple. Life in New York…wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.”

My eyes sting, tears threatening to expose me, but I keep it under control. He can’t see what’s really underneath.

What would he think if he saw the real me? The disgusting bits that I won’t let see the light of day?

Would he still like me? Still be my friend?

If I never stop hiding, can my wounds ever really heal?

Because as much as I like to think about my nightmares as scars…I know that’s not true. Scars are healed wounds. Mine are still festering.

Jackson’s hand brushes against my cheek, right there in that stupid little tree house in our own mini Central Park, and my stomach flutters. I take a deep breath, holding on to that feeling, and then it spreads from my head to my toes.

I want him to pull me closer. I lick my lips, wondering what he’ll do.

He leans in and kisses my cheek, then pulls away and points to the way we came. “We should head back.”

I take a long look out of the tree house, at the world around me, and let myself cool down. I don’t want him to see how much I enjoyed his lips on my cheek. How much I wanted him to kiss me on my mouth.

Finally, I let him lead the way out of the tree house.

My cheek’s still on fire from where he touched me.

Would he still look at me like this if he knew who I really was?

I can’t tell him the truth. It’s not worth the risk. I can’t do it. I won’t.

But maybe he doesn’t need to know the truth.

That part of my life is gone.

I have a chance for something new now.

I have a chance for something good.

Chapter Nineteen

He walks me all the way home, and things are real quiet between us. Now that we’re so far from the tree house, I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t kiss me. I mean really kiss me. On the lips. Did he see something in me he doesn’t want?

“Hey, I was wondering,” he says. “Homecoming is next weekend. Would you, I mean, do you want to go?”

Oh.

“Homecoming?”

Seriously? That’s another high school thing I thought was long behind me.

And absolutely something I never thought he’d ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I was just going to go with some friends, but if you wanted to go with me…”

“Oh… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” His face falls for an instant so I quickly say, “Not you, I mean. The dance. I get enough looks at school.”

“Yeah, I know. I get enough looks at school, too.” He smirks. “But I still want to go with you.”

“Maybe.”

“Just think about it.”

“Okay,” I say. Smooth. “Thanks, you know, for showing me around the neighborhood and stuff.” Wow, that sounds stupid.

“Sure,” he says, then waves good-bye and walks back toward his house.

I wait for a moment, unsure what to do, what to say. What to think.

Homecoming. Pretty sure that’s something Luis and I used to laugh about, how stupid those things were. How we were so far beyond that.

But maybe I’m not as far beyond it as I thought.

I walk inside to see the dog chained in the entryway again. She’s sitting up, her ears perked, when I walk in. She takes a step forward and nudges my hand with her nose. I give her a quick rub behind the ears.

I look up and my gaze crashes into my surprised mom standing in the hallway, holding a towel and a coffee mug. Her eyes narrow as she looks from the dog to me, but then she smiles and says, “Hey, honey.”

I wait for her to say something about Zara. She told me once already to keep my distance.

But I guess she’s going to take a chance, because instead she goes back to drying the dishes and says, “I almost didn’t hear you come in. We got a huge vicious dog, and he doesn’t even bark when people walk in the house.”

Did my mom seriously just make a joke?

Maybe I should laugh, but it’s so weird.

“It’s not a he,” I finally say.

“What?”

I raise my eyebrow. “Mom. It’s a girl dog.”

She looks at the dog, at me, back at the dog. “How do you know?”

“How do you not know? She doesn’t have boy parts, pretty simple.”

“Are you sure?” She puts her towel down. “Well,” she says and clears her throat. “They told us he was neutered when we got him. We just assumed.”

I stand at the edge of the kitchen, able to see both my mother and the dog. “You know a dog is supposed to be more than just protection. They have feelings.”

“I know they do.” She pauses. “Is there something else you think we should be doing?”

After a moment, I say, “We should call her Zara.”

My mom takes a deep breath. “Okay, honey. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

I pause to look at Zara, who’s watching me with those big brown eyes, her tail twitching. I’d like to take her with me now, but I think I’d still rather keep our relationship secret if I can. I don’t need one more thing to fight about with the parents who clearly still don’t know what to think about me.

I play a little music and lie on my bed and try to pretend I am someone else.

I listen down the hall as my mother huffs and puffs, trying to coax Zara outside. By the sounds of it, she’s not having an easy time.

About a half hour later I know my father is home because Zara is barking like crazy. I hear the door open, my father yell at her to shut up, then footsteps to the back door. He must be putting her outside.

I sigh. I wish he’d treat her better. I pick up my math book and decide to make an attempt at homework, honestly just for something to do. I should have stayed in the woods, if you can call that little batch of trees that. It was much better than sitting here doing nothing.

Finally I hear a knock on my door. “Dinner’s ready.”

I head to the dining room to a nice big dinner. Grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, and fresh dinner rolls. My stomach growls just looking at it.

This time I’ll try to finish the full meal before starting a fight. Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

“How was your day, sweetheart?”

I look up, unsure if my father was talking to me or my mom. They’re both looking at me. I grab a big scoop of mashed potatoes.

“Fine,” I say.

“Anything interesting going on?”

“A boy asked me to homecoming.” The words are out before I realize what I said. That’s what I get for letting my guard down.

I have absolutely no idea how they’ll react to me saying someone invited me to a dance, and I’m honestly a little scared.

My father sits up straighter. “What guy?”

Oh God, here we go.

“Jackson. He lives nearby. It’s not a big deal.”

My mother and father stare at me, but I continue to eat. My mom knows about the Jackson thing, but I know she’ll hop onto whatever my father says about the matter. It all comes down to if he’s okay with it, and I’m getting the feeling he’s not.

I shove a piece of grilled chicken smothered in garlicky mashed potatoes into my mouth. My God, this stuff is good. I can feel a meltdown coming, and I want as much of this food as I can get.

“I won’t have it,” my father eventually says.

And now I’m starting to get angry. I want to yell at him, tell him that I’m sixteen, he can’t stop me from talking to boys. But I don’t. What did fighting back ever get me?

I take a big bite of my dinner roll and try to enjoy it.

“Well, we did say we wanted her to be normal,” my mother says.

That’s new. I’m not sure my mother has ever been on my side for anything. Or maybe it’s just because she doesn’t know what side I’m on since I refuse to stop shoving food into my mouth.

“Nora,” my father says in a low tone. “This will not turn out well.”

Now I can’t help myself. “It’s just a dance. It’s not like—”

“The boy is the cop’s son,” my father says. “He’s probably watching you.”

“He’s what?”

He’s the son of a cop? And he might just be watching me? For what?

Whatever. Who cares? I take a big deep breath and continue to eat. I’m not a fan of cops, like at all, but I don’t do anything wrong, not anymore. So I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. He’s making a big deal over nothing.

“Sweetie,” my mom says. After a moment, I realize she’s waiting for me to look at her. When I do, she says, “Do you want to go to homecoming with this boy?”

That’s a question even I hadn’t really thought of an answer for.

What do I want?

My father grips his knife and fork. “It’s not a question of what she wants. I forbid her from—”

“But Sarah said we should give her a little freedom.” She’s holding it together, but when I look at her lap, I can see her folded hands shaking.

Sarah. My father’s narrowed eyes say it all. To him, her very name is a threat.

“Sarah said?” He shakes his head. “I won’t let anyone—not her, not you—tell me how to fix this. At least in New York, it was just Anna’s reputation on the line. But now it’s us. Our family. You know what’ll happen if we let her do this, don’t you?”

My mom takes a deep breath and looks at me. “We have to start trusting her sooner or later, don’t we?”

My words coming from her mouth.

My father says nothing, just stares at both of us, dumbfounded, his rage festering.

I can’t believe what Mom said.

I could be wrong, but…I think she just stood up for me.

I rise to my feet. “Jackson asked me to go,” I say, wiping my hands on my pants. “You want me to be normal, right? Homecoming is normal, and I’m going.”

I drop my plate in the sink and walk out of the kitchen. Now they’re looking at each other, but my father hasn’t said anything else. I think that means I win.

Or at least that my father lost.

Just before I reach my room, I call out, “And I’ll need money for a dress.”