Just Like Fate (10 page)

I find the most date-worthy outfit I have—a denim skirt with
tights and black boots paired with a soft black sweater. It’s
actually dressier than I thought, especially when I twist my
hair up into a knot. I take the time to apply makeup, something I haven’t done since my grandmother—

I stop the thought, shaking my hands at my side to wave away
the pain. When it clears, when I can breathe again, I avoid my
reflection and head downstairs, determined to have a good night.

The moment is odd, me standing in the entry of the living
room as my father and his new wife snuggle next to each other
on the couch. I swallow down the lump in my throat, remembering that my parents actually used to love each other—but
now they love other people. It’s tragic and sad and I look away
as I call to him.

I hear the blanket rustle and when I look back, he’s standing there. “Which friend?” The
dad
in his voice throws me.
“He’s . . . he’s a friend from back home. He goes to school
here and he wanted to hang out for a couple hours. If I can’t
or whatever, it’s fine. I just need to—”
“You’re seventeen years old, Caroline,” he says, bewildered. “You’re allowed to have friends.” Debbie gets up to
stand behind him, wrapping her arms playfully over his shoulders as she grins at me.
“Is this a date?” she asks.
I want to flat-out lie—save myself the embarrassment—
but I don’t this time. I roll my eyes. “Sort of. But it’s nothing
serious. I barely know him.” My dad’s eyebrow quirks up. “I
mean I know him,” I correct quickly. “But we’re not like—”
I stop, aware that I’m losing this word battle. “It’s our first
date.”
“You like him,” Debbie teases. “Is he coming now? Can I
peek out the window when he pulls up?”
“Please don’t,” I mumble, but she and my father are
already at the curtain, pulling it aside as they whisper to each
other. It gets me how cutesy they are, as if the idea of having
a kid around makes them giddy. Then I remember that my
brother told me they’ve been trying to have a baby. Maybe
that’s why they’re directing all this parental involvement on
me—practice.
“What kind of car does he drive?” my father asks.
I shrug. “No idea. But I hope the windows are tinted
dark.”
“I bet he drives a Toyota,” Debbie says, brushing her hair
away from her face. “A silver one.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“Because he’s parked out front.” She widens her eyes at
me. “Very cute, Caroline.”
I’m washed in the kind of humiliation that I thought only
my grandmother could bring out in me. The sadness hits
again with sudden ferocity; I wish Gram were here to tease me
instead. The joy of the moment fades away, and I tell Dad and
Debbie that I’ll be home by eleven before grabbing my jacket.
I walk out, rethinking this entire adventure, when Chris
gets out of the car, watching me over the hood. “I forgot the
corsage,” he says smiling. “But we can still take photos if you
like.”
“Not that kind of date, Christopher,” I say, glancing back
to catch my stepmother in the window. She waves politely and
then lets the curtain fall shut.
Chris’s goofy grin transforms into something more serious. I pause at the door. “What?” I ask.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.
I stare at him, my stomach fluttering as I fight back the
urge to giggle. “You say it like you’re surprised.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “I know you’re beautiful. I’m just
not sure why you’d agree to go out with me.”
“I’m the one who asked, remember?” I smile. “And what’s
with this false modesty? You seem to be fully aware of your
charisma.”
Chris comes around the car to open my door, making my
breath catch with his sudden proximity, the heat that radiates
from his body to mine. Under his jacket he’s wearing a button-down plaid shirt, his hair is combed smooth, and he smells
amazing
. It strikes me that I’m on a grown-up date, not the
sort of party hookup that Simone finds herself involved in. My
nerves start to twist as I duck inside Chris’s car, then lift my gaze
to his. I vow to leave my guilt behind—if only for tonight.
“So where are we going?” I ask as Chris drives us through
the darkened streets. “It’s not some sketchy underground
karaoke club, is it?”
“Not on a first date,” he says like I’m crazy. “I save that
sort of thing for anniversaries.” Chris turns into the parking
lot of a small coffee shop and cuts the engine. “I thought we’d
go to the park.”
“To the park? Uh, you know it’s cold enough to snow,
right?”
“We’ll have hot chocolate,
obviously
.” He motions to
the building in front of us. “Besides, it’s beautiful at night. I
think you’ll like it.” He says it quietly, as if he’s really thought
about it. I want to reach over and take his hand—something I
wouldn’t normally do. This all seems different, though, easier.
Or maybe I’m just desperate for a distraction.
Chris and I go inside and get a couple of large cocoas,
along with a slice of pumpkin pie, extra whipped cream. Once
it’s packaged up, we drive to Cedar Hills Park a few blocks
away. He takes the drink carrier and pie, and I steal glances at
him as we walk across the grounds; he has an amused smile on
his lips the entire time.
“What’s with the corny grin?” I ask as he leads us down
the paved walkway.
“Corny?” he says. “This is my victory grin.” Chris stops
at a park bench overlooking the huge pond with a fountain in
the middle. Lights turn the mist from blue to red to green, and
I think that he’s right. It is beautiful.
“Is this where you take all of your dates?” I ask playfully
when I sit down next to him. He looks over, surprised.
“No.” He hands me a hot chocolate, and the cup is warm,
taking the chill away even as I breathe out puffs of white air.
“Just you.”
There’s a flutter in my stomach, and I look down into my lap
to hide the blush on my cheeks. “Are you always this charming?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m sure you’re very popular on campus,” I say, taking a
sip from my hot drink. “And at parties from what you tell me.”
He laughs.
“Are you asking if I’ve had a lot of girlfriends?”
“Uh, no.”
Chris leans back against the green-painted bench. “Yes you
were. And the answer is yes, I’ve had a lot, but nothing serious.”
“Maybe you
should
have taken them here, then,” I mutter,
earning another laugh. To be honest, I’m glad he doesn’t have
an ex to be hung up on.
“You’re such a smart-ass.” Only he says it like it’s his favorite thing in the world. Chris looks away and I watch as the
lights dance across his face. He’s so comfortable—even confident. I wish he’d put his arm around me, snuggle into me,
anything. And then I think that I’ve never been so attracted to
anyone in my life. He turns to meet my stare.
“See, it’s not so cold,” he murmurs.
“Not now.” We both grin before he unwraps the pie and
hands me a fork. I immediately dip it into the whipped cream
and then lick the edge. I hope it looks flirtatious, but Chris
only side-eyes me before knocking his knee against mine.
“Let’s talk about you,” he says. “What’s a secret wish that
you’ve never told anybody?”
“Shouldn’t we build up to secrets?”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s where we start. Now spill
one or I’m taking the pie.” He grabs the container and holds
it away from us.
“Bully,” I say. I consider clutching my fork like a butcher
knife, pretending to stab him, but I’m not sure if we’ve reached
the joking-murder point in our relationship. I decide instead
to cross my arms over my chest—up for a willpower challenge.
When he sees I’m not going to budge, he reluctantly lowers
the plate to set it back on his leg.
“You win,” he concedes. “But you still have to tell me your
wish.”
“How will you even know if it’s really a secret?” I ask.
“I’ll just have to trust you.”
I like his answer. There isn’t anyone else in my life who
would say that to me right now. I exhale, thinking of any wish
worth mentioning. “Hm . . . I guess I wish I was fluent in
French, like my sister Natalie,” I say.
“Aw, what?” Chris calls out. “That’s like . . . such an overachiever thing to say. No fair. You have to be embarrassed to
make it count.”
I push him. “Whatever. What’s yours?”
He catches my hand and runs his gaze over me, his smile
fading when he meets my eyes. “I wish I had the guts to kiss
you right now.”
It knocks me out: The way he says it sends my body into
an absolute free fall. “Then why don’t you?” I ask, surprised
at my own boldness.
He takes his hand reluctantly from mine. “I’m shy.”
I laugh loudly. “Christopher, you are not shy. Not even a
little.”
“Not normally,” he says. “Just with you. It’s completely
unsettling.” He smiles. “But thrilling as hell.” He looks embarrassed, and I decide he’s right—it does count more.
I poke at the pie with my fork to do something other than
stare and smile at him. At this moment everything is right—
the stars have aligned or some other romantic crap. I’m totally
lost in him.
Chris moves closer, his thigh against mine. “Although I
appreciate the encouragement,” he says, “you don’t exactly
strike me as the kissing-random-guys-on-park-benches type.”
“You don’t really know me all that well. . . .”
“Not yet,” he says seriously, before turning back to the
pond. “But I will. Until then I want to play hard to get a little
longer.”
“Tease.” I shove him sideways. Chris doesn’t bring up
kissing me again, but just the mention was enough to make
my body downright warm, even in the frigid weather. We stay
a while longer, talking and not talking, comfortable either way.
And as we get up to leave, he takes my hand.

Monday morning before school, Mom, Natalie, and I scramble to finish boxing up Gram’s stuff and separating it before
the Salvation Army truck comes. We’ve been here since five
in the morning; I haven’t gotten up that early since . . . forever. Yawning, I reach from the ladder I’m standing on to grab
another bin from the high shelf in Gram’s closet.

“I can’t find her necklace,” Natalie says from over near the
dresser. “Have you seen it? I hope we didn’t accidentally pack
it.”

“Which?” I ask, my arms elbow deep in tiny paper.
“The one she always wore—the one with her initials on
it?” she says. “It’s not in here. You don’t think Aunt Claudia
took it, do you?”
My stomach sinks. The necklace is in my dresser drawer
at home. It was Gram’s favorite—the one that I used to twist
and twirl while she read me bedtime stories when I was little.
It’s gold and classic looking and not my style . . . but it’s her.
It’s mine.
“Why do you want it?” I ask, stalling. Nat looks away from
me when she answers.
“She told me to keep it,” she says quietly. “The night she
died. Because we have the same initials and everything.”
I want to cry in that way when you do when something is
so unfair, but you know you have to do it anyway. Overtired
and distracted by how conflicted I am, I teeter on the ladder.
I reach out and grab for the high shelf to steady myself, but
it’s not bolted into the wall and it teeters, too. I fall from three
steps up and land with a loud thud on Gram’s carpeted closet
floor.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Natalie says, rushing over.
She holds out a hand and pulls me up, her concern shaming
me even more. “What happened?”
“Freaking ladder is wobbly,” I say, brushing my backside
even though I didn’t fall into anything dirty. “But I’m fine.” I
touch my right hip—it’s tender. “Ouch, that’s going to leave a
wicked bruise.”
“You have to be careful,” Nat says, shaking her head and
returning to the dresser. “Jeez, I thought I had the gold medal
in klutziness.”
“Well, you did fly over the handlebars of your bike and
skid across pavement on your face that time,” I say, righting
the ladder and climbing back up, holding onto the door frame
to ensure I don’t fall again.
She laughs and shakes her head at herself. Then we fall into
a silent moment; I know it’s almost time to leave for school.
“I’ll keep my eye out for the necklace,” I lie quietly, not
ready to give up my piece of Gram just yet.
“Thanks, Coco,” Natalie says, a far-off sadness in her
eyes. I can see how much she wants the necklace, how much it
would mean to her—but I decide to keep it anyway.

Joel passes me a note after first period. He walks away without
words, leaving me stupefied. I haven’t heard anything since
his one-word text on Friday night—YOU—and now he’s back
and passing me notes like a seventh grader?

For some reason I don’t want to read what he wrote in
front of Simone, so I linger in the English classroom after
everyone else is gone and peek at the note when I’m alone.

I can’t help it; my heart races. I shove the paper in my
jeans pocket and walk into the hall, looking in the direction
that he went, but he’s gone. I head to my locker, figuring that
I’ll find out what’s going on soon enough.

The next few periods aren’t exactly prime learning hours
for me. With distractions of Joel, I go through the motions, just
hoping no one calls on me. Thankfully, we watch a movie in
history and it’s a work period in art, and Mrs. Marks is out sick
and our science sub blabs on without interacting with any of us.
When the bell rings, instead of hitting my locker, I text Simone.

MEETING JOEL. TEXT YOU LATER.
She texts back,
WWGS?
??
WHAT WOULD GRAM SAY?
I pause, thinking it over. Then I write,
SHE’D TELL ME TO
BE CAREFUL.
ONCE AGAIN, SHE’S A SMART LADY.
I smile and put away my phone. Simone’s right. Gram’s
right. I need to be strong and, most of all, careful. I make my
way to the place that’s apparently become mine and Joel’s:
the auditorium. When I arrive, I don’t see him. I walk down
the center aisle toward the stage; when I’m visible from the
balcony above, I hear his voice.
“Hi, Caroline,” he says, startling me. I turn and find him
peering over the edge of the balcony. “Come up?” he asks.
“Okay.” I walk over to the stairs near the right side of the
room and climb slowly so I won’t be out of breath when I get
there. He’s waiting at the top, and the second my foot hits the
landing, he grabs my hand and pulls me close.
“I’m happy to see you,” he says, which strikes me as odd
since we spent first period together this morning. But still, I hug
back. He burrows his face into my hair and takes a deep breath.
“You smell good,” he says in a low tone that stirs something inside me. I consider kissing him—his kisses are like
salted caramel hot chocolate—before remembering the drama
from last week. I put my hands on his shoulders and push
back a foot.
“Hey, Joel?” I say. “What are we doing here?”
He looks at me for a few seconds, then steps back and
takes my hand. “Come here.” We walk to seats in the front row,
overlooking the section where we sat the first time we came
here. When we’re settled, he wastes no time. “I broke it off
with Lauren this weekend.”
Relief floods through me; Natalie was right that cheating
makes you feel awful about yourself. I’m so glad that it’s over.
“Does that make you happy?” he asks, looking into my
eyes.
“I think so,” I say honestly. Just because they broke up
doesn’t mean we’re—
“I did it for you,” he says. “I like you, Caroline. I can’t stop
thinking about you . . . your hair, your lips. The way you taste.
I want to draw you.”
I consider that all of Joel’s compliments are surface—
they’re about the way I look. But, trusting that there has to
be more in his heart, I allow myself to feel flattered. To crush
hard on him.
“Anytime.”
“You mean it?”
“Hey, it looked cool when Kate and Leo did it.”
“Huh?” he asks, not getting my
Titanic
reference.
“Never mind,” I say, wondering if any two people are ever
really perfectly connected with each other. Maybe understanding someone to the point that you can practically hear his or
her soul is just stuff of books and super-expensive movies.
“Friday night?” he asks, moving on. “My parents will be
out. My stepdad has some charity thing and they’re sleeping
over. I’m sure they’re planning to get hammered—at least
they’re smart enough not to drive.”
“Sure, sounds amazing,” I say, wondering if going to Joel’s
house so he can draw me qualifies as a first date. Or maybe we
already had our first date? At the fairgrounds? And does this
mean we’re dating now? I spin on mechanics and milestones
until Joel takes my face in his hands and kisses me. There’s so
much I want to ask about—his weekend, his family, his
life
—
but my words are corked by kisses.
When the warning bell rings and the lunch period is over,
we pull apart and move downstairs to the nearby bathrooms
to make ourselves presentable. In the mirror, I examine my red
chin and lips, my flushed cheeks and mussed hair.