Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) (9 page)

Heath sighed. “Yes, I do. He tries, I guess, but he’s always so busy. He does what he thinks is his duty, you know, paying the bills for food, clothes, and shelter.”

“There are plenty of parents who don’t even do that.”

He nodded. “That’s true.” He reached out and caught a snowflake on his fingertip. “It’s just that I wish there were somebody at home, like your parents are home at your house. I know they annoy you with all that ‘when will you be home?’ and ‘where are you going?’ jazz, but it shows they care. They would worry if you weren’t home on time, and that’s nice. I could stay out three nights running and nobody would notice except Roger, and he’s
paid
to notice.” He broke off, and jammed his hands in his pockets. “I guess I sound like a crybaby, huh? I’m too old to care about that anyway. I don’t need a mommy at home to tuck me in at night and read me a bedtime story.”

“Everybody needs somebody to care about them.”

He searched my face. The overhead illumination cast deep shadows along his cheekbones, making the hollows beneath seem more pronounced.

“You’re sweet, Gaby. You always make me feel better.”

I flushed from the compliment. “Come on,” I said to cover my embarrassment. “Let’s see what’s at the end of the block there.”

There was a fence at the intersection where the road forked right and left. Beyond it was a clearing with a stable and some outbuildings and then a thick stand of trees faded into the enclosing dark. The property was large, rolling away into the distance, its boundaries masked by the falling snow.

Heath leaned on the fence and propped one foot on its lower rung. “Robert Frost,” he said.

“What?”

“That poem. ‘Whose woods these are I think I know…’”

“Oh, sure. I memorized that for the Christmas pageant in sixth grade.” I paused, watching him stare out across the open land. “You read a lot, don’t you?”

He looked back at me. “Yes. But don’t tell anybody. There seems to be a prevailing opinion among your classmates that if you like to read you must be some kind of freak.”

“Don’t pay any attention to them,” I said soothingly. “That’s just an act they put on for each other. Reading is uncool. You have to learn the rules of the game.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t realize I was playing a game.”

“Everyone is. They’re all showing off for each other all the time.” I ran my fingertip lightly over the rough wooden railing, sensation blunted by the woolen mitten. “Has Jeff Lafferty been giving you any more trouble?” I asked casually.

“No. He stays away from me during practices. I think he’s afraid I’ll make him look bad again.”

Heath was right. If he had backed down to Jeff, or lost their fight, Jeff would have made his life miserable at school. But Jeff didn’t want to take any chances on another confrontation, so he was leaving Heath alone.

Heath pulled my collar up around my chin. “You cold?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“Let’s head back,” he said, taking my hand. “Do you remember that poem now?” he added as we walked along.

I racked my brain, desperately trying to bring back the half forgotten lines. I squinted my eyes and muttered the opening verse to myself, picturing the auditorium at Garfield Elementary School, the dusty floorboards of the stage beneath my feet, the huge decorated tree at my left. I stopped and closed my eyes entirely, feeling Heath stop beside me, imagining the footlights and the faceless audience beyond them, and it came to me. I recited the stanzas as I had when I was twelve, concluding with the famous words, “But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.”

I opened my eyes to see Heath watching me. I could hardly see his expression on the dimly lit street. He took my face in his hands and bent to kiss me.

His lips were cold at first, but warm when he opened them. He dropped one arm to my waist and pulled me tight against him, and I could feel the muscular tension in his body even through our winter clothes. He was very strong.

When he drew back he said softly, his breath smoking in the air between us, “That’s some memory, Sherlock.”

I answered, still reeling from the kiss, “Not really. I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning.”

He smiled. “That’s not worth remembering.”

“Tell that to my father,” I responded. “He can’t understand why I can remember all of Ingrid Bergman’s lines in
Notorious
, but can’t remember to take out the garbage.”

Heath started to walk again, and I followed. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you get older. Taking out the garbage becomes very important.”

When we reached his car, Heath pointed in the direction of the highway. “I saw a diner up on Route 23 on the way in,” he said. “We can stop if you’re hungry.”

If I was hungry. If the sun would rise in the morning. I was always hungry. At dinner I had stuffed myself like Scarlett O’Hara before the Twelve Oaks picnic so I wouldn’t overeat with Heath tonight. But it had had little effect. I was ready for a banquet.

“What time is it?” I asked as we got into the car.

“Just about ten,” Heath said. “We’ve got time.”

The hours were flying by at warp speed. Pretty soon Heath would have to take me home. For a second I resented my parents and their curfew, and then I thought of Heath, with no one to care what time he got in. Life in the Dexter domain wasn’t so bad.

The diner was one of those that look like a railroad car, brightly lit with a neon sign advertising twenty-four-hour service. We were seated in a booth by a hostess, and Heath hung our things on hooks by the aisle. We sat across from one another.

Heath’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling from the cold. He looked bright, alive, and happy. I guess I looked about the same.

A waitress dressed in a pink uniform with a beehive hairdo in an improbable tangle approached our table. She had a pencil jammed behind her ear and three check pads protruding from her apron pockets. She handed us menus enclosed in plastic and said, “The special tonight is beef stew, roll and butter and cucumber salad for $3.95. There’s a two dollar minimum and a fifty cent service charge. In addition to the desserts listed on the menu we have our own apple pie and rhubarb pie, baked fresh this morning. Take your time.” This was rattled off in a monotone, while she snapped gum and stared at a point on the wall behind Heath’s head. She then marched off, making squeaking rubber noises on the tiled floor with her nurse’s shoes.

Heath and I looked at one another and then dissolved in helpless laughter. “Didn’t I just see her on television?” Heath asked.

“I think I’ll stick with a tuna sandwich,” I said to Heath. “She probably made the beef stew.”

Heath dropped his menu on the table. “I hate to think what might be in the cucumber salad,” he responded. “I’m going to get a burger and some coffee.” He looked around doubtfully. “This place is quite a comedown from the country club. I’ve never been here before, I should have checked.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” I said. “What can they do to a hamburger?”

“You’d be surprised,” Heath said darkly.

When the waitress came back she took our order without comment, and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the leatherette cushion and said, “It’s nice of you to be so understanding. Gee, you’re a swell girl.”

I frowned. “Don’t be a chump.”

He sneered at me. “Think you’re a tough guy, huh?” He dropped the act and raised his brows. “I wonder how many times Edward G. Robinson said that during his career?”

“Who knows? The public didn’t get tired of it, I guess. His movies were all hits, so they probably thought, why not stick with a winner?”

He reached across the table for my hand. “That’s what I say,” he whispered. “Why not stick with a winner?”

His eyes were warm, full of feeling. I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say.

He released my fingers and the moment passed. I felt I had botched it, but I was powerless to change my lack of response. It seemed that he had been looking for me to say something that I hadn’t said. Why couldn’t I handle things better, why did I always become paralyzed at the wrong moment? I stared down at the table unhappily.

“Hey,” Heath said, “I’ve got one for you. What’s the worst horror movie title you ever heard?”

“What?” I said, a little slow on the uptake.

“You know,
Dracula Has Risen from the Grave
or
The Blood Spattered Bride.
I’ll bet you I can best anything you can come up with.”

Never let it be said that I failed to rise to such a challenge.

“
Island of the Burning Doomed
,” I said. “How’s that?”

“Pretty good.
Shriek of the Mutilated
.”

We went back and forth for a while, and I was losing ground rapidly when he finished me with
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.

“
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
!” I protested, knowing that I could never top that. “You’re making that up. There’s no such movie.”

Heath was all outraged innocence. “I beg your pardon. I saw it in
TV Guide
.”

“But you didn’t see the movie.”

“Oh, I never watch the movies, they’re too dumb,” he answered. “But I love the titles, and I’m telling you, there is an actual movie called
Attack of the Killer Tomatoes
.”

We became aware that the waitress was standing next to the table with our plates in her hands, staring at us with a very strange expression on her face. She set the food down gingerly and disappeared without a word.

Heath’s lips twitched. “I think she heard that about the killer tomatoes,” he said.

“Who cares? Anybody who works in this joint hasn’t got a thing to say.”

“I agree,” Heath announced, saluting me with his hamburger. He took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. “I think Mr. Doucette injected this with some potassium nitrate,” he said. “I recognize the smell.”

Mr. Doucette was his chemistry teacher, and it gave me the opening I’d been looking for all night. “How do you like his chemistry class?”

“I wouldn’t like anybody’s chemistry class,” Heath answered gloomily.

“I noticed that your lab partner is Stacey Trumbull,” I said neutrally.

He nodded, making a face. “Yes, indeed. Spacey Stacey. She’s not a lab partner, she’s a lab liability.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s a mobile disaster area. She should be surrounded by flashing red lights. Last week she superheated water in a beaker and exploded it, yesterday she put the wrong reagent in the experiment and smoked out the whole lab. I never saw such a screwup in my life. I don’t know how she manages to dress herself in the morning.”

I giggled with guilty enjoyment. She must really be annoying him, he usually wasn’t so critical.

“She’s a wonderful diver,” I said, to make up for my delight in his remarks.

“I’m glad to hear she can do something right,” Heath responded. “Maybe we should start holding class under water, she might improve. She’s always wearing these blouses with big, hanging sleeves that get in the way of everything, and bracelets that dangle in the mixtures and crash into the glassware. Well, one of these days she’s going to set herself on fire or blow herself up, and I hope I’m not around to take the blame for it.”

I put Stacey at the bottom of my list of potential rivals. He thought she was an airhead.
 

“She’s very pretty,” I said grudgingly.

He shook his head. “She’s very
dumb
,” he said. “
You’re
very pretty.”

I stared at him. His directness still startled me. He said things that other guys only thought. He didn’t talk that much, but what he did say certainly counted.

“I’m too tall,” I said softly, before I thought about it.

He smiled. “Nope. Everybody else is too short. Hippolyta has to be tall.”

I had to smile back at him. “You really think so?”

“Sure. You’re just the right size for me. With other girls I feel like Gulliver, towering over them, like I should be walking on my knees.”

“I know the feeling,” I said fervently.

We finished eating and Heath paid the check. He helped me into my coat, and I noticed two girls in another booth watching us enviously as he handed me my scarf and mittens. I sympathized with them; I had often been in their position, on the outside looking in. It was nice to be the one with the guy for a change.

It had stopped snowing, and the temperature was dropping again. The thin layer of slush would freeze shortly; I would probably make it home just in time.

On the way back Heath played the radio and we listened in companionable silence. I had reached the stage with him where I didn’t feel that I had to talk all the time. Once I looked over at him to find him watching me, and he winked. I smiled and looked away, my heart plunging in my chest. I had fallen for him, all right. There was no doubt about it.

We pulled up in front of my house too soon. Heath turned off the motor and got out on his side, coming around to open the door for me. He took both my hands in his and helped me out of the car, pulling me up on the curb to stand facing him.