For Always (9 page)

“What do you know about Chris?” Jordan asked looking more serious than I was used to.

More than I’d like. “Not too much.”

“Did Maria tell you she doesn’t like him?”

I rolled my eyes showing my annoyance with her. “She didn’t have to. I could tell. I can’t believe she’d ask you to speak to me about him.”

“She didn’t.” He reached up and gently rubbed my upper arm, making my skin tingle beneath the warmth of his hand. “I don’t like him either.”

I looked away from the bottomless abyss I seemed to fall into when I looked into his eyes. My stomach churned and twisted in knots.

“He’s trouble. Big trouble. You don’t want to get mixed up with him.”

Too late. Why couldn’t he have told me two weeks ago?

“I didn’t realize you knew him.”

Jordan nodded. “We had a few classes together freshman year.”

“I thought he was a junior.”

“He is. He failed a bunch of classes, not enough credits.”

Knowing how often Chris cut class in the last two weeks alone, it was no surprise he failed.

I felt very uncomfortable. “And?”

“You need to open your eyes.” He hesitated, and then pulled away. I wondered if he did that to be certain I’d hear him, rather than focus on how wonderful it felt to have him touch me. “He deals, Steph.”

It took me few moments to let the meaning of his words sink in.

“Drugs?” I barely got the word out.

Jordan pressed his lips together and nodded.

But wouldn’t I know? I mean wouldn’t he smell funny? Or act spacey and zoned out all the time? I crossed my arms over my chest and wrapped them tight around me. I didn’t want to believe Jordan. But why would he lie about something like that?

I felt sick. I wanted to hurl. And to have Jordan sitting at my kitchen table pointing out what a stupid, naïve, gullible fool I’d been, I just didn’t think it got any worse.

With all the laughter and good feelings gone, Jordan left. As I shut the front door behind him, my mother had only one question for me.

“If you’re so crazy about Jordan, what are you doing with that schmendrick Chris?”

A fair question, it deserved an honest answer. I shrugged my shoulders, “I guess he’s just not that into me.”

“Baloney!”

A few hours after Jordan left, my phone rang. Chris. He claimed he wanted to hear my voice because he missed me. I asked my mother if he could come over for a little while. The sooner I ended things with him the better. And it would be easier without an audience.

I didn’t know if Jordan was right or not about the drugs, but I didn’t want to take a chance. Chris just wasn’t worth it. And it’s not like Jordan told me to break up with him, although I’m sure he thought I would.

I felt jittery waiting for Chris and had a hard time keeping still. I got up and watched out the window for him. I pressed my forehead against the frosty glass remembering the excitement I felt a few months ago when I stood in the same spot watching Jordan walk away.

The ringing phone startled me. I jumped up to answer it, thinking Chris changed his mind. Mom was busy in the kitchen cooking. The wonderful smell of garlic sautéing in oil scented the house like incense, and I wasn’t sure she could grab the phone.

We both picked up at the same time. With all the background noise my mother didn’t realize I was on. I heard Grandpa on the other end. I was about to say something when I heard him sniffle. Did he catch a cold? He didn’t sound right. His voice was filled with sadness. My stomach clenched.

“I can’t handle this. I don’t want to live without her.” He said.

I let the tears fall from my eyes. I didn’t even attempt to stop them. I walked, phone still at my ear, to the kitchen. As soon as Mom realized I was there, she hung up with Grandpa and pulled me into her arms. I knew the wonderful sweet grandmother I’d only just begun to know was dying. Or worse, dead already.

Mom pulled me into a quiet embrace. She held me tight and stroked my hair gently.

“She didn’t want you to know. She wanted you to have some good memories with her. She didn’t want them tinged with sadness.” Mom explained.

“What happened?”

“She has pancreatic cancer. She just started chemotherapy.”

Cancer in general was not good. But I knew some were better than others. Pancreatic cancer, I’d heard, was a death sentence.

The doorbell rang. I needed to pull myself together. I wiped my eyes, wondering if I had the strength to deal with Chris. Originally, I planned to stay in the hallway and say what I had to there. Better to get it over with quick and painless. No need to drag it out, for either of us. I opened the front door and let him in.

Chris bent down to give me a quick kiss. I pulled back and saw his body tense.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding cold and detached.

I shook my head. I planned to answer nothing, but the words never made it to my lips. Instead I let the flood gates open.

“My grandmother has cancer.” I said the words aloud in a quick jumble. This seemed to solidify the idea in my head and I could fight the tears no longer.

Chris pulled me into his arms and held me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the top of my head as he tried to console me. “What can I do for you? How can I help you?”

He sounded sincere, like he really wanted to make things better, easier. I knew I should back away from him and tell him I didn’t want to see him anymore. But before he came I felt alone and empty. He held me in his arms and the feeling of loneliness subsided a fraction. I liked how his arms felt around me, and the feeling of warmth his body gave off. Somehow it felt like he caught me and stopped me from falling into a never-ending void.

I knew I was leading him on. I wasn’t being fair. But the need for self-preservation kicked in and I didn’t care. I wanted to get rid of the void, spreading like weeds, inside me.

Twelve

Chris and I continued seeing each other. I sort of liked being with him when he wasn’t around his friends. If that wasn’t a clear indication of a serious problem, I didn’t know what was. Not only did I mind how he acted around his friends, I detested George and company. Something about George made my skin crawl. Bottom line, if I minded being with Chris, friends or no friends, I should’ve broken up with him.

But I didn’t.

We didn’t spend much time together outside of school, which suited me fine. It helped prevent uncomfortable situations. Mom wouldn’t let me go to his house without first speaking to his mother. She wanted to be sure we were chaperoned. And he couldn’t come over after school until Mom returned from work.

These rules didn’t appeal to Chris. Another thing I learned pretty quickly, rules in general didn’t appeal to him.

Chris tried to make the most of the time we did have together. At school, he’d show up when I least expected. I’d sit in class, and my eyes would wander. I’d catch a glimpse of something outside. There he’d be, looking in through the glass panes of the door.

Usually he’d motion for me to come out. I did in the beginning. I found him distracting and feared I’d get in trouble if my teachers saw him. But it made me more nervous to talk to him out in the hall. Eventually I managed to ignore him until the period ended.

I felt like he was spying on me. I accused him and he laughed it off. Still I wasn’t convinced. At the end of most classes, he’d be waiting to walk me to the next one. This bugged me and I told him often. Still, I’d walk out and there he’d be.

“Hey, I’m ditching next period,” he’d say more often than not. “Why don’t you come?”

Me? The goody two shoes? What was he thinking? I wouldn’t cut class. I could tell by his irate looks and exacerbated breaths, not to mention the combination of sucking his teeth and rolling his eyes at the same time, that he had little patience for me. I knew I had to be honest and break it off.

It just never seemed to be the right time. Every Friday I swore I’d gather my courage and do it when we returned to school on Monday. Every Monday, he seemed so ecstatic when we were together I’d decide to wait until Friday.

I needed to just do it.

For some reason I didn’t understand, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him, so I let the situation drag out, even though I knew in the long run he’d be hurt worse. Part of me hoped he’d get bored and break up with me instead.

No such luck.

Anytime we were in public he kept in close physical contact with me, either through holding hands, or having his arm around me. I didn’t get the feeling he did this because he wanted to be warm and affectionate. It felt more like a show of possession, as if he wanted the world to know we were together. This made me nervous, because I knew eventually it would escalate.

With him keeping constant tabs on me, I avoided Jordan like the plague. I knew if I so much as glanced at Jordan in Chris’ line of sight, he wouldn’t need to look close to see sparks fly. Nothing good could come from that, especially since Chris got angry and accused me of being interested in other guys all the time. Instead I put my mind to keeping my distance from Jordan.

This made my heart ache.

The theater department put on a production of Aladdin in February. Chris and I went to see it together. I thought they did an amazing job with things like the magic carpet ride, especially since they had limited resources for special effects. Amazing what can be done with a projector and a fan. All in all, I enjoyed it.

After the play Chris told me we were going to the cast party. I knew his friend Diana worked on the scenery, but wasn’t the idea of a cast party limited to the people involved in or working on the play? Chris promised it would be fine for us to show up.

I felt a jolt of excitement at the prospect of going to this party. I considered getting involved in set design and thought it couldn’t hurt to at least meet a few of them. Find out what I would be getting myself into.

Plus, I knew it would be a real party, not an impromptu get together in someone’s basement. Besides, George always had weird, spacey looking people at his gatherings, which made me wonder if Jordan was right about Chris being involved in drugs. When I asked, he denied it.

“Drugs?” He asked wide-eyed. “No way. Those things will scramble your brain,” he explained. “But if you’re making me an offer, I might be convinced to experiment with you. Anything you’re interested in?” He gave me a sly look and pulled me close, which made my pulse race in a frightened, scared to death sort of way.

The party was at the home of the girl who played Jasmine. Her parents were out for the evening, and let her have free reign of the house until midnight. There were easily sixty people packed into the house. Loud music I could feel in my throat, pumped out through large speakers in the living room. Stragglers hung out on the porch smoking cigarettes and who knew what else.

My mouth dropped when I learned she had a keg in the kitchen. I’d bet money, and lots of it, not one person there was twenty one years old. I couldn’t help but wonder who got it and if her parents knew about it. Chris filled up a large plastic cup with beer. He extended it toward me as an offering but I shook my head and declined.

Holding me close, with his arm around my waist, Chris introduced me to some people I recognized from the show. And then without any warning, he leaned in and told me he needed to go speak with someone, a way too familiar story. Chris assured me he’d be back shortly. After a few minutes the girls he left me with walked away and I felt stupid standing in the middle of a crowded room by myself.