Blind Spot (16 page)

“That’s your proof? That I helped her decorate for a party with roses my mom sent over?” He still had that silly grin on his face.

“Every time I came over to hang with Missy, you were there, and you wouldn’t leave unless we kicked you out.”

“That just proves my lack of social skills.”

I rolled my eyes. “And anytime we went somewhere—the movies or the state fair—you begged to come with us.”

“So I like movies and roller coasters; that doesn’t prove I liked Missy.”

“Okay. How about all of our softball games?”

He shook his head. “I stopped going after you quit.”

“I didn’t quit. Missy told Coach I was legally blind, and he decided I was a liability.”

“That’s why you two don’t talk anymore?”

“Partly, yeah.” I stared at the ice crystals sparkling in the snow. I couldn’t tell him the rest—how she’d done that only in retaliation for what I’d done to her.

“Liability? Did he forget your double play that won the game that time?”

I stared at him. “When I was in fourth grade? You remember that?”

“Hard to forget that grin. You wore it for a week. There’s a fallacy in your reasoning, Roz. You overlooked an important part of the equation.” He looked up at the night sky. “You. It’s always been you.”

His words settled over me. The world hushed around us. The only movement, the telltale puffs of breath that lingered under our noses. Just as there are stars in the day sky that you can’t see until nightfall, I realized there were things right there in front of me that I’d missed.

His gloved hand traveled across my lap and curled around mine. Despite the layers of fleece, his touch sent my pulse racing faster than any skin-to-skin contact with Jonathan ever had. Our legs, jeans to jeans, barely touched, but I could feel the heat from his body. A searing warmth that stole my breath.

As if on cue, the fireworks started. We held hands in silence while the most magnificent displays of greens and blues and reds burst against the velvet-black sky.

The finale disintegrated and the night grew quiet again. “Happy New Year,” Greg whispered and squeezed my hand.

A bubble of guilt caught in my throat. “What about Heather? She’s not going to understand. When Jonathan cheated with Tricia—”

“Do
not
compare me to him,” he said. “It’s not the same. Heather and I aren’t exclusive.”

“How can you say that? She’s the only girl you ever go out with!”

“I’m teaching her to drive! And okay, we go places together, but it’s more hanging out than dating. We’re just friends. I never said ‘Be my girlfriend’ or anything.”

“Jonathan never said that to me either.”

“Yeah, but come on. It was obvious; you were always—” He stopped.

“Together?” I asked. “Whether that’s how it was or not, Greg, you two looked exclusive to everyone, especially to Heather.”

His head fell back against the swing. “God, I am an
ass.
” He rolled his head to the side to look at me. “This is your fault, you know.”

“My fault?” I said. “How?”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, it’s mine. But you got me so mad when you said I fell for the wrong person. I thought you meant you. I decided hanging out with Heather would show you how I’d
moved on.
”

“You’ve been using her? Because of me? Greg, she thinks you like her!”

He gave me a pained look. “I swear that wasn’t my intention.”

“I know.” I pushed a rebel curl from his eyes. I felt sick. This wasn’t my intention either. To ruin things between them. Or was it? I hadn’t told Heather to bring him just so we could be friends again, had I? Deep down, I’d been hoping for something more. Something like this. I
was
a lousy friend.

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll fix this,” Greg said.

“Just”—I chewed on my lip—“don’t make it about me. That would kill her.”

The screen door slammed behind us. We jumped apart. “There you guys are! What are you doing out here?”

“Fireworks.” I motioned at the empty black sky. “You fell asleep, so—” I stopped midsentence. The way she was staring, I didn’t need to see her face to know. She knew we’d rekindled more than just our friendship.

I stayed on the porch swing after they’d gone, letting the cold breeze push me. If Jonathan was a dance song with crappy lyrics, Greg was that unreleased song on a favorite album that defines you. The one you discover sandwiched between two favorites; the one that keeps you listening to the album long after its time. Unfortunately, the album wasn’t mine. It belonged to Heather.

An ache wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed the breath from me.

I knew the right thing to do was to leave Greg alone. Just walk away. But if that was the right thing, why did the very thought of that hurt so bad?

I arrived at school the first day after break in a mixture of excitement and dread. I was excited to see Greg, but dreaded seeing Heather. Greg swore he didn’t say anything about me when he told Heather they should see other people. The way Heather had been ignoring my calls and e-mails, though, I knew she had figured it out.

“Boy, is Heather pissed at you,” Fritz said as he rolled up outside of Life Skills. “What the heck happened between you and Greg after I left your house?”

“Nothing!” I said. “I swear!” I glanced into the classroom while Fritz high-fived JJ in the doorway. Someone was sitting in Tricia’s desk.
Oh, my gosh! She’s back?
I thought, as I squeezed around the chairs to get to her.

But it wasn’t Tricia.

It was Ruth. She looked up from Tricia’s desk, her usual happy smile gone.

“Ruth?” I noticed a plate of brightly frosted Christmas cookies in front of her as I sat down. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought she’d come back over break. For Christmas. She loves Christmas.” Ruth stared down at the cookies. “Why didn’t she come back?”

“Maybe she did. The bell hasn’t rung yet, maybe—”

But Ruth was shaking her head. “Mr. Dellian said she’s never coming back.”

“Why would you tell her Tricia’s never coming back?” I snapped.

“No, no, no, Ruth. I said probably never coming back in
here,
this class.” He turned to me. “And what I tell my pupils is none of your business, Miss Hart.”

“I thought Tricia
was
my business,” I said. “My
partner.
”

“Yes, Miss Hart,” he said in a cold, harsh tone, “I thought so too.”

“Zeus got you diamond earrings? Let me see!” Rona screeched at Missy.

I ignored them and focused on the black blob sitting in Heather’s spot at our lunch table. As I got within a few feet of it, I realized it was Heather, clad head to toe in black.

“As if Rona hasn’t seen them eighty times already.” I took in the hot-pink streaks in Heather’s raven-blue hair as I slid in next to her. “That was totally for our benefit.”

“More yours than mine,” Heather said without looking up from the book in her hands. “How about you? Any diamonds for Christmas? From Greg maybe?”

“Heather, you know he didn’t give me anything for Christmas.”

“Do I?” She twirled a pink strand of hair between two fingers. “There seem to be a lot of things I don’t know about you.”

“I’m not going out with him. I won’t even talk to him if that’s what you want.”

Heather shrugged, pretending to be engrossed in her novel.

I snatched it from her. “
Great Expectations
? I thought you read only the QuickNotes.”

“And I thought you said you didn’t like Greg.” She swiped the book back from me. “I’m auditioning to be Miss Havisham. I have a lot in common with the old bat now that I’m destined to be a crazy spinster.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You may look batty in that all-black getup, but you two have nothing in common. Miss Havisham never had pink hair.”

Heather smacked me. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m mad at you.” Her voice dropped. “What happened at your party?”

“Nothing. I promise. Greg and I are just friends. Peace offering? Fries with all the ketchup you want?”

“Throw in double fudge brownies and I’ll consider it.”

Greg and I thought avoiding each other until Heather cooled off would be easy. As weeks turned to months, however, and Heather continued to wear black and mope, the whole situation became impossible. Every day when I entered sixth hour, my nose zeroed in on watermelon gum and dryer sheets, sending my heart ricocheting out of control. I couldn’t focus on Dellian’s lectures, only on Greg. His tousled hair, his shirt, the way he bent over his desk . . . Note exchanges after class and virtual dates (watching shows together while on the phone) just weren’t enough anymore. We wanted to be together.

“I’m going to the public library tomorrow to start on my AP paper,” Greg said on the phone one Saturday night after we’d finished watching an
Alien Abductions
episode. “Come with me?”

“Greg—”

“She won’t be there, Roz. She doesn’t ‘do’ academics,” he said. “Even if she were, it would look legitimate. Just two classmates finding research.”

I bit my lip. I wanted desperately to go. Valentine’s weekend had sucked. We’d spent all night on the phone instead of together. I wanted to sit next to him on my swing again. Our legs touching. His hand in mine. Just the thought of that night sent electric waves through me. I wanted to feel that way again.

But I’d promised Heather nothing was going on between us. “We can’t.”

“Roz, I really need to talk to you alone,” he whispered. “Please?”

His plea made my heart ache. Heather had play practice and wouldn’t be near the library. How could it hurt? “Okay, pick me up at noon?”

“I said noon!” I told Greg as he stepped out of his car at eleven thirty the next morning. “What if Heather drives by on her way to play practice?”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Greg said.

“Sorry.” I looked at him then—jeans, the same green fleece he’d worn on New Year’s Eve, the same watermelon bubblegum/dryer sheet smell that drove me mad—it
was
nice to see him. Nice and . . . awkward. I suddenly felt shy. “Hi,” I said with a nervous glance at his ear.

His smile lit up his whole face. “Hi.” He took my hands in his. “Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t wait to see you. Heather won’t be on this side of town, though. She’s at her mom’s this weekend.”

“You . . . talked to her?” I hated how jealous I sounded, how jealous I felt.

“No!” He gave my hands a reassuring squeeze. “Every other week I picked her up at her mom’s. You know, to teach her to drive?”

It was meant to reassure me. But the idea of Greg teaching Heather to drive—something he’d never teach me—made me only more jealous. I tugged my hands free and stepped away. “You ready to go?”

I saw his puzzled expression out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored it and walked around to the passenger door. A bunch of food wrappers fell out as I opened it.

“Sorry.” He grabbed a handful of trash off the seat and threw it in the back. “Haven’t had much time lately. My mom—”

“Driving lessons keeping you busy?” I interrupted. A messy car was out of character for him, and somehow I figured it must be Heather’s fault.

“What? No!” He stared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Let’s just go before we run out of time.”

“Right, I forgot. Our entire life is dictated by Heather Torres now.” He slammed the gear into reverse and backed out.

I folded my arms across my chest and glared out the window. After all this time wanting to be alone with Greg, here we were and I was being jealous and stupid. An idiot. “What were you going to say about your mom?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.” He was mad.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I got jealous because . . .” And then I thought,
Why can’t he teach me to drive? I can navigate through hallways and streets okay. As long as I’m somewhere clear of cars, why shouldn’t I be able to drive?
“Teach me to drive?” I asked.

“What?” He frowned. “Are you serious?”

“The fairgrounds parking lot is huge and totally deserted at this time of year. There won’t be anything for me to hit, and if there is, you could tell me. Be my eyes. Please?”

“I don’t know—”

“Do you trust me, Greg?” When he nodded, I smiled. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

I should’ve asked if
I
trusted me.

After an hour in first gear, driving around light posts and parking between lines, I’d finally mastered the clutch enough to try speeding up to fourth.

“Do you hear how it sounds as if it’s working too hard?” Greg said as I accelerated. “That means you need to put it into third.”

Keeping my right foot on the gas pedal, I pushed the clutch in with my left foot and put my hand on the gearshift. Greg helped me ease it into third.

“Perfect,” Greg said. “Now speed up some more so you can get it into fourth.”

We were approaching the longer end of the L-shaped lot. I would have to turn right, travel the shorter length of the lot, then make a U-turn and come back up. “Shouldn’t I stay in third until after I turn?” I knew I wasn’t going that fast, but I felt a bit out of control.

“No, you’re fine. Bring it up to at least forty so you can shift into fourth.”

I squinted at the odometer. Too small. I leaned forward to get a closer look and the wheel swerved right. “Whoa,” I said, frantically recorrecting to the left.

“You’re okay; just realign. You see that post, right?”

We’d been using the lampposts as lane dividers. I looked up. There was a post now centered with the car, rather than on my left. “Yeah, I see it,” I said. The post was still a ways ahead. I had time. I began gradually turning the wheel right.

“Roz! The post!” Greg grabbed the steering wheel.

Too late.

The car slammed into the post. We were flung forward and then ripped backwards as the car stopped on impact.

“Oh, my God!” The lamppost I hadn’t seen was clearly visible now. I looked over at Greg. He was staring at the lamppost too, his mouth wide open. “Greg, are you okay?”

He nodded, still stunned. “Are you?”

“Oh God, Greg!” I said, the realization that I’d wrecked his car settling over me. “I am
so
sorry. I didn’t see it.”