Cryer's Cross (12 page)

Jacián touches her arm. “I don’t think it’s dumb for you to want Nico’s desk to be there, next to you. Waiting for when he comes back,” he says.

Kendall stops. Swallows hard. Trying to decide if she still believes he’ll come back.

Jacián drops his hand from her arm and steps out of the way so she can pull the desk back into its proper place. He lifts up the other one and moves it fluidly to the empty spot.

She’s still looking at him. He doesn’t meet her gaze. “Thank you,” she says. Stupid hot tears spring to her eyes. “That’s probably the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in all these weeks.”

“Well, that sucks.”

Kendall pulls it together and then narrows her eyes. “Why are you being nice to me?” She slides into her seat and sits sideways to face him. “Hmm?”

He looks into her eyes for a long moment, and she sees something there. Loneliness, or compassion . . . something incredibly human that she hadn’t noticed before. “I
just want to play some soccer,” he says lightly. “Figure it’s time to bribe you with my charismatic personality.”

“Oh,” she says. Her voice is hollow, and she puzzles over how disappointed she feels that he told the truth. She should have known he wanted something.

Students arrive in exploding bursts because of the rain. Kendall turns away, rests her head on her desk, looking at Nico’s. She doesn’t see Jacián slump in his seat. Doesn’t see him close his eyes and shake his head, doesn’t hear the curse under his breath.

It rains off and on throughout the day. Kendall is tempted to sit at Nico’s desk, but she doesn’t want to do it when anybody is around. When it rains, everybody stays inside all day, eating lunch at their desks, so there’s no chance.

After school the rain has stopped, and Jacián and Kendall step gingerly to the truck, taking care not to soak the interior with mud, but it’s pointless. The air is crisp.

Jacián starts the engine and throws an arm across the backseat, looking over his shoulder preparing to back up. His fingers brush the tips of Kendall’s hair. She moves closer to her door. “Where to?” he asks.

She looks at him. “You too chickenshit to play in this?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Let’s go play.”

The car doesn’t move. His mouth twitches. “I didn’t
mean what I said, you know. About being nice just so you’ll play. It was just a joke.”

Kendall bites her lip. She can feel his eyes on her, and she’s not altogether sure what the churning feeling is inside her gut. Maybe it’s just that some of her numbness is finally wearing off.

When it’s clear Kendall has no response, Jacián backs out of the parking area and picks his way slowly down the muddy road toward Hector’s, looking for new potholes to avoid.

They change inside the empty house and meet on the soaked, spongy grass. Kendall is glad she brought a thick sweatshirt, though one good fall and it’ll soak through. A little thrill goes through her at the thought of the fresh air and exercise, and it’s always fun to play in the rain, no matter what Coach says.

It’s been too long since she’s played, she knows that. She starts stretching.

They warm up, jogging in place. Kendall’s hair flops all around, and she’s mad she forgot a ponytail holder to keep her hair out of her face. They do a few exercises, dribbling, setting each other up. Each of them taking it slow, cautious of the sodden turf. Nobody needs a groin pull, that’s for sure.

As Kendall gets used to the conditions, she takes more chances. Her intensity multiplies, and soon she is in the
zone—the brain-quieting zone where all of the whirring thoughts slow and stop for a while. It’s such a relief. Flooded with mind-dizzying endorphins, Kendall takes the ball, and Jacián, to task. She doesn’t even notice when it starts sprinkling and then full-out raining again. All she knows is that she feels relief for the first time in weeks.

Her depression dissipates and her mind goes somewhere else, somewhere quiet and peaceful, where nothing is there to trouble her. It’s like she’s floating as she darts around Jacián and takes the ball to the goal, leaving him breathless and staring at her.

Again and again she gets the better of him on this slick surface. It’s like the more difficult things are, the more Kendall can concentrate and focus. Her brain knows only one thing now. To take the ball around the opposition, past the enemy, and put it in the net. So simple, yet so complex.

When the enemy gets the better of her, messes with her mojo, she doesn’t think. She charges.

At top speed Kendall chases after Jacián. She pulls alongside him and grabs him around the waist, tackling him as the ball goes off, out of bounds. He slips and falls to a knee with a grunt and splashes in the soaking, muddy yard, grabbing Kendall’s arm as he goes down. He’s not going down alone.

Kendall lands on top of him.

“No way!” he yells, laughing in her ear. He rolls her
over so she gets covered in the dirty rainwater too. She pulls out of concentration mode, realizes what’s happening. He lies on her, mud on his face and dripping from his hair. His clothes are drenched. He holds her down until he realizes she’s not struggling to move, just to breathe, and then he eases off. She just looks at him, panting, like she doesn’t know what happened. Her breath comes in rasps. “Did I score?”

“Uh . . .” He laughs. “No. Not even close. Are you okay?” he asks. He pushes her filthy hair out of her face, and his face grows concerned. “Hey.” His fingers are cold on her cheek.

She heaves and tries to catch her breath. “I think I’m going to puke.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How would you know?”

“I just know. You’re fine.” He rolls away from her just in case.

“I might drown first.”

“Distinct possibility.”

They lie gasping, rain pouring over them. Once Kendall can move, she struggles to an upright position. She looks at Jacián in his T-shirt and shorts, totally mud covered. “You must be freezing,” she says.

“Yeah.” He sits up too, and she can see goose bumps on his arms and legs. “You?”

“I think my sweatshirt weighs fifty pounds. It’s keeping me warm just by being so heavy.”

“I think I still have Arizona blood.” He pulls his knees up. “Not used to this cold.”

“Just wait. It’ll snow soon. Just like that it’ll go from the decent fall weather, pretty colors, to snow. It’s probably snowing up in the mountains right now if we’re getting rain here.”

Jacián gets to his feet. His clothes drip. “Do you ever ride?”

“Sure. We don’t have any horses right now.”

“I bet I know where you can borrow one.”

Kendall smiles and gets up too. They walk to the porch together. “You should get inside. You want me to drip-dry out here? I can call my mom for a ride. I doubt they’re out in the fields when it’s like this.”

“Either way, you won’t be welcome in any vehicle like that. You can just take a shower here. We have enough bathrooms. Is that weird?”

“A little. I didn’t even think to bring a towel to sit on like I usually do when we play games in the rain.”

“It’s okay. Seriously.”

Kendall feels the chill working into her system too, now. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” Gingerly she pulls her sodden sweatshirt up over her head and drops it like a rock to the porch. “I’ll need a plastic bag for my clothes.”

“No problem.” He takes off his shoes, peels off his socks, and squeezes out the hems of his shirt and shorts, trying to get as much water out of them as possible so he doesn’t drip all over the house. “You remember where Marlena’s bathroom is upstairs? ‘Cause you’re going to have to make a mad dash.”

“Yep.” She does the same with her clothes and footgear. Thanks to the sweatshirt, her shirt is only wet, not soaked, but it’s still sticking to her. When Jacián glances at it, she blushes. “Okay, I’m going to make a run for it.”

“Don’t forget to bring your clean clothes with you, or you could have another problem,” he teases.

Kendall’s face turns hot. “Good point.” She opens the door and runs nimbly through the house, grabbing her backpack as she goes, and then dashing up the stairs.

A shower never felt so good. Even being alone in the house with Jacián, knowing he’s naked in another shower somewhere nearby, doesn’t mess with her brain. “Thank you, soccer,” she says reverently. She feels terrific. It’s been too long. She lathers up and thinks about how much better she feels now than she has since . . . well, since the last time she played soccer with Jacián.

“I wonder if I could get him to dance,” she muses out loud as she runs her fingers through her wet hair, trying to comb it.

* * *

She emerges, hair still wet, back in her school clothes, and it feels awkward now. She wonders what she’ll find when she gets back downstairs. She creeps down and hears something in the kitchen. She slips into the room and sees Jacián standing at the counter in jeans and with a towel around his neck.

There’s no denying the guy works out. He’s listening to a message on the answering machine from Mrs. Obregon, saying they’re staying in Bozeman for dinner and not to wait to eat. He deletes it.

“Hey,” Kendall says.

He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out two Granny Smith apples and a hunk of cheese. “You hungry? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He pulls a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer and starts slicing apples.

“I should probably get home soon . . . ,” Kendall says. “I’m sure you have stuff to do.” She can’t stop looking at his chest.

He pauses in his cutting. “You need to go now? I’ll drive you.”

“No! I mean, no hurry. And not unless you want to. I can call my mom.”

“It’s okay. I want to.” He continues slicing and moves on to the second apple, and then opens the block of
cheese and slices that. Hands her a plate. “Here. Apple. Peanut butter. Manchego. Take your pick.”

She takes some of each. “So, ah, I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re not wearing a shirt.”

“Distracting, isn’t it?”

“You’re pretty sure you’re hot, aren’t you.” It feels more comfortable when they are at odds, somehow.

“You said it.”

“And I’m sure I’ll regret it. Do you always walk around like that?”

“Yeah, always. You mean this is the first time you noticed?” He drags an apple slice through a glob of peanut butter and takes a bite. “No. Just on laundry day. I’m out of shirts.”

“Oh! Crap. Laundry. I need a plastic bag.” Kendall jumps off her bar stool. “I left my wet stuff hanging in the shower.”

Jacián reaches for a drawer and pulls out a trash bag. “Here.”

“Be right back.”

She returns moments later to find all the food gone. “Wow.”

“I was really hungry.”

“Apparently.”

He grins. “I’m a growing boy. What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, maybe the rest of the food that was on
my plate
?”

“Dude, you left.”

“Next time I’ll take my plate with me.”

“Next time.” He raises an eyebrow. “Tomorrow?”

She looks at him. So conflicted. She knows her parents could use her help, but harvest is almost done. And if she begs off, she knows her mother will say yes. After the relief her brain is experiencing right now, she wants to get back out there and continue playing until she collapses.

And then there’s just one more nagging feeling. One that she pushes back every time she has a pleasant conversation with Jacián. She knows it’s stupid. But when she thinks about how much Nico might have suffered, or might be suffering. . . . How can she do anything fun—especially with another guy—and feel good about it?

It just feels wrong.

“I didn’t know it was such a loaded question.” Jacián is leaning on the counter now, looking at Kendall intently during her silence.

She swallows hard. “It’s not. It’s . . . I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

Jacián nods. “Okay.” He goes into the adjacent laundry room and comes out wearing a Phoenix Suns sweatshirt.

“My dad’s a big fan,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “You ready?” he asks. He pulls his truck keys from his pocket.

Kendall nods.

He drives her home in silence. When he gets to her driveway, he says, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I . . . I could listen. Or, you know. Whatever.”

“Thanks. I don’t know if . . .” She grabs her backpack, which weighs a ton because of the wet clothes. “Thanks,” she says again. And because of his sincerity, she reaches over and squeezes his hand. And then she slips out of the truck and doesn’t look back.

That night Kendall sleeps hard and soundly for the first time since Nico disappeared.

ANGER. Again We are stalled, turned back from Our plan. Our souls pound and rock the metal, the wood, the room, and the building. Revenge is near. Thirty-five. One hundred. Thirty-five. One hundred! In agony, We scrape a new message.

Touch me.
Tell no one.
It’s me
.

The sun shines again. It’s Friday, and Nico’s desk is still in its place.

She almost doesn’t notice it—the words.

But she does. How could she not?

There’s nothing else she can do. She brushes it with her fingertips when she passes the desk to sharpen her pencil. And again when she throws something in the trash. And she hears it, barely. The whisper. Nico’s voice.
Touch me. Tell no one. It’s me.

At lunch she waits until everyone is outside, and then she moves to it. Cautiously she slips her fingers over the new graffiti, back and forth, as Nico’s voice fills her ears.

Her heart pounds. How can this be happening?

She rests her cheek against it, closes her eyes, and absorbs his words. It’s not as strong, not as overpowering this time. It starts out gentle and builds, hovers, the euphoria that comes over her.

By the time lunch is over, Kendall doesn’t want to pull away. She stays where she is, unmoving, not listening to Ms. Hinkler, not caring what anybody else in the class might think about her unauthorized move. Not noticing the puzzled looks from Jacián and Eli and the others. Nothing matters but the words and the solace they bring.