Beatless (16 page)

He rubbed his ear for a second and shook his head. “Not yet. You didn’t seem to give a shit about that person you claimed to know. So, I figure it doesn’t matter anymore. You were
embarrassed by him
, remember?”

“So you
want
me to hate you? You got what you wanted. I can’t
believe
how much I
hate
you right now. Are you happy now? Can’t you leave me alone and go be a jerk to your girlfriend or something?” The way the word girlfriend came out of my mouth was revolting.

He lifted his eyebrows and dropped back to his knees, but closer so that his face was only inches away from mine. “My girlfriend? What do you know about that?”

I was embarrassed, but so much more furious at the way this was turning out. “Because I saw
a picture of you two
. On Instagram.”

The chuckle he exhaled blew through my hair and straight into my ear. I shouldn’t have told him that. It made me look weak. Vulnerable. Like an internet stalker.

His body moved closer, and I held my ground, waiting for contact. What I didn’t expect was for him to grab my face and hold it in both of his hands. His lips hovered just above mine and I fought the urge to touch him again, so I kept my fists balled tight at my sides. Self-preservation and all of that nonsense.

“It’s adorable that you’re jealous of my cousin. And it’s so cute that you spend time behind your computer thinking about me. Frankly, I’m flattered. Do you think about me a lot, Mallory?”

“No,” I lied. It was his
freaking cousin
. And all of a sudden I looked crazy.

He inched in farther, and then lightly ran his lips along mine. I breathed out in surprise at how familiar it still felt. How badly I still wanted it. He took the opportunity to part his lips and, pressing in so gently, he slipped his tongue into my mouth, just once, and tugged gently on my lower lip. My face followed his as he backed away. His fingers drifted through my hair and then he placed them on his knees before he stood and stared down the hallway.

“He’s wrong about one thing,” he said quietly.

I struggled to find my voice, and when my words came out, they shook. “He’s wrong about a lot of things.”

“I mean what he said about the kiss.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I know what a really good kiss is . . . you know, the one that changes your life? I know what that feels like.” He still didn’t look at me as he turned to walk away. “That stage kiss doesn’t mean anything.”

Mal,

I wanted to tell you that you’re not the first teenage girl to question her place in this world. To wonder what her worth is. I see it every day on the internet - these girls who need to feel like they are part of something bigger. Like their lives have no meaning if someone doesn’t tell them that they’re pretty or talented.

If you haven’t heard it recently:

You are beautiful.

And so, so talented.

Please believe me when I say it gets better. You’ll shake it all off someday and grow into your skin. It may be at the age of thirty or forty, which sounds like an awful long time, I know.

But trust me when I say that it goes by so fast.

So fast.

You’ll almost be afraid to blink.

Sam

~*~15~*~

Some of the cast had gotten together over the weekend for a party, but I opted out, unsure of how I would handle seeing Landon. Or if Tucker was invited. I was sure he was, since he’d been one of the driving forces behind the entire production.

It was best to lay low. Best for my self-esteem. Best for my head that was finally getting on straight.

Tucker had kissed me. And it wasn’t the angry kiss that he had left me with so many months ago. It meant something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I tried not to dwell on it, but in the silence of my house, it was hard not to drift back to the feel of his lips on mine. His tongue. His hands. The way my heart, so guarded for the period we spent apart, had cracked right open like a dam breaking - destroying everything I’d worked so hard to bottle up.

It lingered on my lips for hours after he left me alone in the hallway. I smelled him on my clothes. The places his hands had touched tingled with phantom pressure from his fingers.

I hated it, and at the same time, I was scared to let it go.

I lay in my bed, and for the first time since we’d fought, I allowed myself to remember the night we spent together in my bedroom. How I’d felt - nervous and unsure. But the more I thought about it, the more I was certain that I hadn’t made a mistake. He was the only one I would have given it all to.

He needed to know. And as soon as he stopped being a complete asshole, I’d tell him.

I anticipated that it would take some time. I’d need to earn his trust back. To prove to him that I had made one mistake and that he needed to get over it.

My plan was to make him talk to me again, but without the hurt and anger that we’d expressed just a few days before. I could make him talk to me if I was level headed and apologetic. But I would not let him run all over me again.

What I didn’t expect was to pull up in the parking lot full of students nervously chattering about something that had happened over the weekend.

“He hit a tree.”

I stood by my car, craning my neck to hear what they were talking about.

“He’s so lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Broken arm and fractured rib.”

“Texting and lost control.”

I rushed through the crowd of bodies, suddenly filled with dread that it was someone I knew. “Please, don’t let it be him,” I chanted, making my way to his first class. I scanned the desks, my heart hammering in my chest at an alarming rate. He wasn’t there.

Turning quickly, I started to rush out of the room when I smashed directly into him, sending me bouncing back before Tucker’s hands caught me.

“You’re here.”

His face was somber, dark cycles under his eyes. “Yeah, I’m here. Were you looking for me?” The question was skeptical - almost disbelieving.

“I heard someone got into an accident. I was afraid it was you.”

He shook his head and led me into the noisy hallway. “It was Landon. He left that party on Sunday night and . . . I don’t know the whole story, but he lost control of his car and hit a tree.”

That was exactly why I had been afraid to drive for so long. Now it was hitting way too close to home.

“Was he drinking? Were you there?”

“I was invited, so I went.” He pressed a hand to his face and breathed out roughly, ignoring my first question. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Why would you think that? He was texting or something, right?”

Tucker leaned wearily against the wall. “I told him to leave you alone. He got pissed and left. It’s my fault, right? I mean, I didn’t hit him, even though I wanted to. Because, trust me, I
wanted
to.”

“I’m so confused.” I faced the wall and rested my forehead against the cool bricks. “Why would you do that?”

His hand on my shoulder caused my head to swim and he turned me to face him, his eyes bloodshot and questioning. “You know
exactly
why, Mal.”

“Is this one of those things where if we can’t be together, you try and stop other people from dating me?”

“
Jesus
. You said it yourself,” he lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. “In the hallway you said you wanted him to leave you alone. Or something similar. And I knew you wouldn’t do it on your own.”

“Maybe I would have,” I countered.

“Are we done here?” His tone was biting.

“I don’t know.
Are
we done?”

He pressed his lips together and disappeared into the room.

***

Rehearsal could not come fast enough. I had no idea how we were going to go on with the show after what had happened. I carried my own guilt for being part of the reason Landon left that party so abruptly. I felt bad for telling Tucker anything about how I felt that day. I should have just left well enough alone.

The theater was quiet, and Mr. Hanks addressed us all with a somber expression. He adjusted his glasses and then removed them to wipe the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that Mr. Pope was involved in a car accident over the weekend. There will be a no-texting contract that all the schools in the county are asking students to sign tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Mr. Pope was very lucky that he walked away from that accident with just those minor injuries.”

A hand went up in the back of the room and Mr. Hanks nodded his head to acknowledge them.

“What are we going to do about his part? Will he be back in time?”

“No. We’re going to be forced to replace him with someone else.”

That’s when a movement from across the stage caught my eye. Tucker stepped forward, hands in his pockets and his head tilted down as he stood next to Mr. Hanks.

“I’ll be stepping in for Landon.”

I got lightheaded, and had to cover my mouth with my hands to stop from making a sound.

“Who knows the part better than me, right?” He raised his focus to a spot somewhere at the back of the room. There was tittering from behind me, the other people either nodding in agreement or shrugging like it really didn’t matter.

But it did matter. It mattered to me.

***

I signed the texting contract in the commons. They showed all of these really disturbing pictures of car wrecks and statistics that proved exactly why I hadn’t wanted to get behind the wheel of that stupid metal death trap my aunt had insisted on. I made a mental note to have a long talk with my mom when she got home. She was going to have to get me another car. Even if I had to pay her back for it until I was thirty.

The crowd behind me shifted and I finished signing my cards, shoving the wallet sized one into my pocket before following the stream of bodies exiting into the hallways. A warm hand on my shoulder stopped me and I turned to see who it could be.

“Hey.” Tucker was looking around at the other students filing by.

“What’s up?” I had practiced playing it cool in front of my mirror for an hour the night before. I knew at some point he was going to have to talk to me. We were co-stars now.

He started to reach toward his hair and then stopped. “I needed to ask if you have time after school to run lines together. I know them by heart but we . . . you know. We need to . . .” The tone of his voice was flat and hollow, like all the fight had gone out of him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I can’t tell you enough that it’s not your fault. Don’t feel obligated.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms. “I’m not. Who would be more qualified than me to be the replacement?”

I’d considered that overnight - he was right. The part was essentially written for him. By him. About him.

“I have time. I pretty much have all the time in the world now.” It felt embarrassing to admit that out loud. That all of my social interactions had gone out the window when things went bad between us.

He frowned and motioned for me to follow him outside. I did, if only to hear what he had to say.

“Look, I don’t want this to be weird.”

“It’s going to be weird no matter what.” There were so many things left unspoken between us, it seemed impossible that it
wouldn’t
be uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding at my eye level. I forced myself to make eye contact while the seconds crept by, the silence between us unnerving. Finally, finally, Tucker gathered his composure and said something I never thought I’d hear.

“I’m sorry.”

It hit me harder than I thought it would, hearing those words from his mouth. I’d wanted them, but not under these circumstances. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” I dropped my chin and stared at the top of my shoes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t stick up for you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

***

He was back in my room. Just his presence there made everything seem right, like something had been missing and it was his body - all six foot two of him - sitting at my desk.

“There’s not a lot of space, but we can practice blocking and the lines. Maybe not the songs and stuff,” I suggested. Sam was sleeping a lot more and I tried my best to be quiet for her.

“Tomorrow we could practice at my house, if you want.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t think your sister would be okay with that.”

The pained expression that flashed over his features caused me to shut my mouth and open the script. We weren’t going to address any of that stuff. We were going to practice and then he would go home and I would do my homework and try to get the image of him in my room out of my head.

That was the plan.

He stood and went to the far corner of my room, by the bathroom door. I remained stone still while he started reciting his lines.

“I knew this would happen.”

“You did?”

“Every day for the past five years, I knew this would happen. I didn’t know what day. What time. But there was no doubt that someday, somewhere, you’d walk back into my life. So I’ve kept my eyes open. Waiting. Always.”

He stepped toward me slowly, and I mirrored him, meeting at the foot of my bed. He dropped the script on the comforter and reached up with both hands, cupping my cheeks, sliding down my neck, and tilting my lips up toward his. I waited, my knees beginning to shake as the seconds ticked by. He blinked once, twice and then cleared his throat and reached for the script again. “And that would be where we kiss or whatever. So we should probably move on to the next scene.”

“I think we should practice.”

“I disagree.”

“Why? It’s for the play, right? How awkward will it be if we’re on the stage and the kiss looks like we can’t stand to even be near one another, much less pretend to be two people in love?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they had deeper meaning. I just needed him to read between the lines.