All The Glory (19 page)

“Get off, I’m serious.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

My body bucked up, trying to dislodge him. “Get off!” My voice had gone suddenly into a higher register.

Jason rolled off to the left, freeing me. “Okay, okay, no need to panic.”

I sat up and tried to pretend I wasn’t shaking all over. To keep my hands busy, I balled up all the tinfoil and put lids on plastic containers.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, you know.”

My hands stilled. The pain and regret in his voice was impossible to miss.

When I looked up at him, I hated myself. He was devastated.

I reached out and touched his arm. “I know that. I know you’d never hurt me. That’s not what … that’s not what freaked me out.” My ears started burning as soon as the words were out.

“What was it? Are you claustrophobic?”

I gave him one of my awkward crooked grins. “Something like that.” More like I’m afraid of being confined in small spaces with Jason’s lips, but I’d never tell him that.

“Have you had this problem for a while?”

I shrugged. “No, not really.” Like about a couple days, I’d say.

It was in that moment I finally admitted to myself that my feelings toward Jason weren’t entire platonic. It didn’t mean I was going to act on those not-so-friend-like feelings or anything, but there was no denying they were there.

Ugh.
My parents would kill me if they ever found out. Bobby would kill me.
I
would kill me. And those reporters … man … they would roast me alive.

“Can you get help for it? Like therapy or whatever?”

“No, there’s no help for me. Maybe time will fix it.” Or not. Maybe time will make it worse.

This situation was hopeless, but I still felt like hanging on. I guess it was no mystery now why I felt that way. I liked Jason. He was my friend and would only ever be my friend, but it was useless denying the cold, hard facts; he lit a spark inside me that refused to be put out with common sense.

I was just going to have to smother that thing or at least ignore it. This wasn’t like a regular I-like-a-guy situation where I could pretend it could work, even though we came from different worlds. I had a crush on a murderer who was probably going to be in jail for the better part of his life. Two strikes. Murderer … unavailable. Man, I sure could pick ‘em.

“Thanks for the picnic,” he said. It sounded like an apology.

“You’re welcome.” I smiled big, to show him there were no hard feelings. “I have to take off.” I started stuffing things into my backpack as fast as I could.

“Want to work-out tomorrow?” he asked, helping me put things into my bags.

“Sure,” I said without thinking. “What time?”

“Before lunch? We could do another picnic if you want. Or not.”

I stood and put one of the backpacks over my shoulder, handing him a Rice Crispie treat.

He took it from me as he held the other backpack out in front of him. “Thanks. I wish I could walk you home with this stuff. I’d carry it for you.”

I took it from him. “Someday, you will.” I prayed that it wouldn’t be when he was forty-five years old.

Chapter Thirty-One

“SO, WHAT WAS IT LIKE?” Bobby asked. He’d called me on the phone when I refused to text him all the details of my day with Jason.

“It was … good.”

“Hello, pregnant pause. Tell me what was so
not
good about it.”

I sighed heavily. “It’s seriously annoying when you read into my comments like that.”

“Am I wrong? Something happened that made you mad or whatever, don’t try to deny it.”

I debated internally whether to say anything to him about it, but then decided I might as well, mostly because I hated being left alone with my own thoughts and no good input to help dissect them with.

“Fine. It was fine. But it was also not fine.”

“Okay, that makes complete sense.”

“He was just … he’s so not aware of how much his looks play into the equation.”

“What equation?”

“I don’t know …” I was getting annoyed with myself, not quite knowing where my brain was going with all of this stuff. “…It’s like he’s gotten everything in life just because he’s so good looking.”

“So? That’s the way the world works.”

“Yeah, but he’s completely oblivious to it and I find that extremely annoying.”

“So? Let him live in his dream-world. How does that affect you?”

“It doesn’t.” I was pouting now. It shouldn’t affect me. The fact that I wanted it to be my business was just sad.

“Ohhhh … I seeeee.” Bobby was using his omniscient tone with me.

“You see nothing. Go away.”

“No, I get it. You like him, but you also don’t like him because he’s so shallow.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I have no idea!” I yelled.

“Okaaaay, so … shall I assume it’s that time of the month now or …?”

“No, you should assume that I’m just frustrated and confused and worried and that I’m therefore acting like any person would in that situation, thank-you-very-much.”

There was a three-second pause and then Bobby started on another tack.

“You like him.”

“Maybe.” I knew I had to be honest to get to the bottom of my issues, whatever they were, so even though I was feeling seriously uncomfortable over my admission, I went ahead with it anyway.

“And does he like you?”

“Sure, as a dorky neighbor friend.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Don’t sound so hopeful. It doesn’t matter that he murdered the coach; we’re still from different social worlds.”

“Have we not watched
Pretty In Pink
, like, eighty-five times together? Social crossover can work.”

“No, it can’t work. We love that movie so much because it’s
completely
unreal. You know the original version had Andie with Ducky, right? They re-shot the ending after the test-audience got pissed.”

“I know. Pissed at reality. How lame is that?”

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter how I feel or how he feels. He’s about to go on trial for murder, and he’ll lose if he keeps telling everyone he did it, and then he’ll be in jail forever or until I’m seriously old and wrinkled. And that’s a best-case scenario.” I didn’t even bother bringing up the death penalty. Or the fact that he really did murder a human being and I should be totally repulsed by that and not attracted to him.

“I’m not even going to mention that little annoying fact that he actually murdered a full-grown man.” Bobby’s ability to read my mind was seriously annoying on my best days. Today I wanted to give him the biggest wedgie of all time.

“Bobby …” I was mad and sad at the same time and having a hard time putting it all into words. “…I know that, okay? I know he could be dangerous given the right … or the wrong … circumstance. But I also really truly believe deep down inside me that he’s only capable of doing something like that under very certain situations. Like, drastic ones.”

“Okay, so what were the drastic situations that made him kill Coach Fielding, then?”

I chewed my lip as I considered his question. “I wish I knew. I’d give my left nut to know.”

“Which means absolutely nothing since you have no nuts.”

“Okay fine. I’d give
your
left nut to know.”

“I don’t remember giving you the power to gift my nuts.”

“Whatever. I know there was a reason and it wasn’t because he got benched.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No. He hasn’t told me anything.”

Again, a long pause came over the line, but I didn’t know what else to say. It felt like Bobby and I were pulling apart a little, but to try and bring him back close to me by talking about something stupid like school drama would have been dumb. We both would have seen right through it; none of that mattered to me anymore.

“Are you going to go over there again?” Bobby’s voice was soft, like he’d read my mind again.

“Yes. We’re going to start working out together.”

“Oh.” Bobby’s voice perked up. “Well, that’s exciting.”

“Is it? Why?”

“No reason. Just … you’ve always talked about getting fit and stuff and now you can.”

“You want to come?”

“Are you kidding? Me? Sweat? No thank you. But I’d be happy to come watch Jason sweat, though. I’d bring popcorn for that.”

“No pervy-watching. If you come, you have to lift weights just like us.”

“Ahhhh, no thanks. Maybe in another century. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” And I meant it. Bobby was my anchor to reality.

“Tomorrow, take a selfie of you guys together and send it to me. Make sure to get his abs in the shot.”

“Bye, Bobby.”

“Bye, Katy. Sweet dreams.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

I SHOWED UP WITH JUST two sandwiches this time, wearing my yoga pants that had never been on me for anything but sleeping in. I left my running shoes at home, worried that I’d look too excited about working out when I was still pretty reticent about the whole sweating thing. There are many reasons why Bobby and I are best friends, our hatred of perspiration being one of them.

The door opened within seconds of me knocking on it, and Jason was standing there in full view of the cameras.

I stepped inside and pushed him back, shutting the door behind me. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“What?” Jason looked down at me, confusion reigning.

My hands flew to my hips, and I knew I was probably doing a pretty good imitation of my mother, but I didn’t let that stop me. “You want them to take more pictures?”

He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

I sighed, letting my bag slide down my shoulders and dropping it on the floor by the stairs. “It just gives them more ammo to make up stories about you.”

“What could they possibly say about me standing in my own doorway?”

I gestured to his workout shirt. “I don’t know … that you’re getting bigger in preparation for your life in prison … that you’re hanging out having a good old time not feeling sorry about what you did…”

Jason took a step back away from me, and that shut me up instantly.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice cold, “I didn’t realize you were so angry about everything.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes for a second. “That’s not it.” I looked up at him and tried to appear contrite. “You’re allowed to have a life, okay? Innocent until proven guilty. But that’s not how they see it, especially since you confessed.”

Jason glared at me for a couple seconds, but then his shoulders slumped and his voice came out sounding tired. “I know. Come on.” He turned and mounted the stairs, only this time he took them one at a time and very slowly. It was completely un-Jason-like.

I’d totally ruined the mood and we hadn’t even started sweating yet. “I’m sorry. I’m a dick.” I followed him up the stairs.

“No, you’re not a dick.” He went down the hall towards his workout room. “You’re just being honest. I appreciate it. Everyone else around here is blowing so much sunshine up my ass I’m surprised I’m not glowing.”

“You should get everyone to commit to the no-sunshine-up-the-ass pledge.”

“I wish I could, but my father is barely hanging on. He needs to pretend everything’s going to be okay, so I just let him talk. I let the lawyers talk. Everyone’s talking a bunch of shit all the time and I just nod my head.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. I could only imagine what my parents would go through if I were arrested for murder. It would destroy our entire family.

As I passed by Jason’s room, the top of his dresser caught my eye. There on the top of it was the picture of the sun I’d taken the day before. I hadn’t even realized that he’d kept it, but the fact that he’d put it in such a prominent place in his bedroom made me feel twice as bad for him as I already did. I vowed then to pump iron like nobody’s business. I was going to sweat like a pig on steroids and not complain one bit.

That vow lasted all of five minutes.

“Jesus Christ, what’d you put on there, a thousand pounds?” I was straining against the bar hovering above my face.

“There are no weights on there. Zero. It’s just the bar, Hercules. Forty-five pounds. Too much for ya?” He smirked. Or maybe he just smiled. I was feeling pretty negative on life right about then, so it was hard for me to judge.

“Errrgh…” I strained with all my might and barely got the bar off the supports.

“Errrgh. That’s it. Let it out.” Jason put his hand under the bar and helped me out, taking some of the pressure off. “Lower it down gently. Feel the burn in your arms and chest.”

“Feel the burn,” I grunted out. “Fuck the burn.” My arms were shaking like crazy as I slowly lowered the bar to my chest. I didn’t do it slowly because he told me to, but because I didn’t want to crush my boobs and break all my ribs. That bar was freaking heavy.

Jason kept one of his hands in between mine the entire time I did that one repetition of what I later learned was called a bench press. Thank God he did, too, or I would have been stuck with that thing pinning me down until they found my dead body stinking up the place days later.

“You’re not going for two?” he asked as I clanged the bar back into place and sat up.

“I kind of like my ribs the way they are, actually. Each of them in one piece.” I was out of breath, believe it or not. I didn’t even know it was possible to get out of breath lifting a weight one time, but I’m here to tell you it’s true. A person
can
be that magnificently out of shape.

He laughed.

I slouched over, cringing as beads of sweat trickled down my back under my shirt. I was going to look like the very worst version of myself in about five minutes once all of the liquid from my body was on the exterior and plastering my shirt to my not-cut, stay pufft marshmallow body.

“Let’s see where you are with your legs.”

“How about we have a popsicle and skip the rest of my body instead?” I stood up and faced him as he moved over to a machine with a seat and some black weight-bars in a contraption behind it.

He busied himself with moving a thick metal pin out of the bottom of the rack and putting it on the ground. “Sorry. No pain, no gain.”