Life Unaware (Entangled Teen) (13 page)

If Nolan noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved closer, making my pulse thunder even harder. Despite the smell of dirt and hay, his pine-needle-and-orange scent wrapped around me, warm and earthy, filling my lungs like a balloon until I was ready to fall over from the rush of it.

“Uh…” I licked my lips, desperate to fill the space between us even if just with words. “Weren’t we talking about something?”

“Revenge,” he answered.

“Right. I don’t want revenge.” I tried to focus on the bales of hay, the pigeons perched in the rafters,
anything
but the twin hazel pools of his eyes that I was dangerously close to falling into. And it wasn’t just his eyes that held me captivated. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d made a fool of himself to help Mrs. Wells and to make Tamara laugh. Maybe Mrs. Wells was right. Maybe Nolan
was
one of the good ones.

“Okay. If you don’t want revenge, what do you want?”

“I have no idea,” I answered, and it was the truest thing I’d ever said. “Originally my plan was to lie low until things died down, but that wasn’t solving anything. I did some shitty things. I can’t ignore that anymore.”

He nodded, his face giving no indication as to how he felt about what I’d said. “What are you going to do?”

I had no clue—not about school, not about salvaging my reputation, and especially not about these fucked-up feelings I had for Nolan. I tried to focus on the least confusing parts of the situation. If my mom were me, she’d post the bathroom video with no hesitation. She claimed to advocate family values, but I’d watched her destroy families to get what she wanted. I’d tried doing things her way, but I simply couldn’t be that girl anymore. At the same time, I had no idea how to be anyone else.

“Don’t you think it’s sad some people are only remembered by the graffiti about them on bathroom stalls?” I asked.

Nolan quirked his eyebrow. “You want to get rid of the bathroom graffiti?”

“Not the graffiti, but the legacies they created.”

His brow furrowed. Before he could ask another question, I waved a hand in the air. “Sorry, I’m getting really off topic. Once I get Rookie put away, you and I can work on the picture book.”

“So let’s forget the picture book,” Nolan said. “We can work on this new idea of yours.”

I made a face. “I don’t have an idea; I was just thinking out loud. Besides, we
have
to get the picture book done—it’s due on Monday.”

Nolan smirked. “Just because you blew me off doesn’t mean I didn’t get anything done.”

“What are you talking about?”

Without another word, he grabbed his messenger bag off a post and withdrew a manila folder stuffed with papers. He handed it to me. “I was playing with a new illustration software program and, well, try not to be too intimidated by my genius.”

I rolled my eyes and prepared to make a snarky comeback. But as soon as I opened the folder, all thoughts of insults disappeared from my mind. “Nolan…oh my God.”

He grinned and jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Genius, right?”

I laughed out loud as I flipped through the computer-illustrated drawings of the most adorable bunny I’d ever seen. Nolan had drawn Carrot as a round, fat yellow fluff ball with tall pointy ears and a pink triangle for a nose. I wanted to pull him from the page and squish him against me like the real Carrot in my bedroom. “He’s perfect.”

With his hands still in his pockets, he shrugged. “Perfection’s what I do.”

Smiling, I rolled my eyes. “Cocky much? I’m glad you didn’t wait for me to help. I probably would have ruined it.”

“Doubtful. The only reason I didn’t wait for you was because I wasn’t sure you would want to work with me.” His eyes darted away. “Not after yesterday, anyway.”

I flipped to a page of Carrot handing a ball back to the teary-eyed puppy he’d taken it from. I traced my finger over the words “I’m sorry” written below. On the next page, the puppy and bunny were hugging.

“If only it were that easy,” I muttered.

“Why does it have to be hard?”

I thought about all the awful things I’d said in my messages and the way people had looked at me afterward. “It’s like bathroom graffiti.” I handed the stack back to him. “Some things can’t be wiped clean.”

He tucked the folder inside his bag. “I think you’re underestimating people, Regan. You do that a lot.”

I folded my arms. “I don’t—”

“You’d be surprised how forgiving people can be when you’re sincere. They care. Julie Sims cared when you apologized to her in the hallway. I saw it on her face. That’s what I don’t understand about you. You’re so smart, and yet you can’t seem to figure it out.”

I frowned. “Figure what out?”

He leaned forward until his face was so close to mine, all I would have to do was lift up on my toes and our lips would touch. My stomach quivered at the thought, and yet, I forced myself to not look away.

“I think you’re onto something really amazing with this graffiti idea,” he whispered.

“I don’t have an idea,” I whispered back.

“You do.” He smiled. “And it’s amazing. But the only way you’re going to convince other people is to prove they can trust you. You’re going to have to show them the
real
Regan, not the girl you pretend to be.”

I still had no clue what idea he was talking about. But my tongue was so thick, I couldn’t form the questions to ask him. He was so close that his breath left a trail of shivers along my skin.

“Do you know what you have to do?”

I shook my head dumbly.

“Apologize.”

I blinked. He still wasn’t making sense. “To the people I talked about in the messages?”

“No.” He straightened, and suddenly I could think again, breathe again. “To everyone. You know the hurt you’ve caused didn’t start or stop with the people you insulted in those messages.”

Shame burned up my neck, into my cheeks, and all the way to the tips of my ears. I glanced over my shoulder, pretending to check on Rookie, but the real reason I turned away was because I could no longer look at him without guilt pinching my insides. “You think I should go up to everyone in the hallways and say I’m sorry?” I gave a little snort. “Not only is that ridiculous, it would take forever.”

“Of course it would, if you did it that way.” Nolan reached into his bag and held out his camera. “Instead, how about this?”

I eyed him skeptically. “I’m really not following anything you’re saying.”

“You record an apology,” he said. “Open yourself up. Think about it.” He turned on the camera.

Reflexively, I took a step back.

“If you willingly expose yourself,” Nolan said, aiming the lens at my face, “if you come clean, nobody—including Amber—can hurt you. Plus, you have the chance to make a real difference here—not just for you, but for everyone.”

I still wasn’t following. How could one little apology change anything? Baring my soul to my classmates was enough to make me want to hurl. Still, wasn’t this the kind of positive press I was looking for? Besides, owning my mistakes and apologizing was something my mother would
never
do. That alone made me want to try.

“So, what.” I walked up to his camera and placed my hand over the lens. “You want me to do this now? At the barn when I’m covered in dirt and sweat?” I gestured to my tangled ponytail and mud-covered boots.

Nolan chuckled and turned off the camera. “Your appearance doesn’t matter, even though I think you look great, by the way.”

Heat washed through my body, and I attempted to tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears.

“I do think we could stage it a little better,” he continued. “Why don’t you come over to my house tonight around seven. I should have everything set up in my room, and we can get to work.”

“Your house?” My voice came out a pitch too high. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been to his house a million times before to visit Payton, but I’d never once been inside Nolan’s room—I’d never been inside
any
boy’s room, especially not alone.

“Well, yeah,” he answered. “Unless you’ve got a green screen at your place.”

I shook my head.

He grinned. “Then I guess it’ll have to be my place. Seven. I’ll see you then.”

Despite the panic flooding my veins, I managed to squeak out, “Okay. Seven.”

His grin widened. He winked at me before opening the gate and leaving the arena. He paused in the barn long enough to pat the nose of a curious horse as he moved past.

After he’d gone, it took me another couple minutes before I could move.
What did I just agree to?

“Regan.” Mary, the barn owner, approached the gate with a horse in tow.

“Yeah?” My voice was breathless.

“I was thinking about a trail ride. You in?”

It had only been a couple of days since I’d fantasized about opening the gates, hopping on Rookie’s back, and riding off to wherever he took me. But now, things were different—Nolan had a plan, and though I didn’t quite understand it, I trusted him.

“Thanks for asking, but I think I’m done for the day,” I told her.

For once, I was pretty sure I knew exactly where I was supposed to be.

Chapter Fourteen

Nolan’s room wasn’t anything like I’d expected. True, I’d never been inside a boy’s room before, but the ones I saw on television were piled with dirty laundry and decorated with posters of half-naked women.

If it weren’t for the full-size bed tucked into a corner, I wouldn’t have guessed it to be a bedroom at all. A large desk sat against another wall. On top of it, two computer monitors showed various video clips. A third monitor displayed video-editing software. The camera Nolan had brought to the barn sat on top of a tripod in the middle of the room, its lens facing a green sheet draped from the ceiling. A single stool had been placed in front of it.

I hesitated in the doorway. I knew exactly who that stool was for. I could almost hear it whispering my name, daring me to rip open my chest and reveal the soul beneath. I rubbed my suddenly sweating palms on my jeans. Suddenly, I wished Payton were here. When her dad answered the door and said she was out, I was disappointed. I still didn’t know exactly where we stood. It bothered me.

“You look nervous.”

I spun around to find Nolan at the door behind me, blocking my path. Even though he wore the same outfit he’d had on earlier at the barn, it was still so strange to see him in clothes other than our school uniform. I couldn’t help but stare at how his gray T-shirt showed off the muscles of his chest. His hair looked different—instead of loose across his forehead it was brushed and tucked behind his ears. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he tried to style it for me.

I wanted to mess it up with my fingers. The thought was enough to tighten my insides.

“I’ve changed my mind. I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can do this.” He gripped my arms and squeezed. As I’d come to expect, his touch eased the tendrils of anxiety winding through my body. “I have faith in you.”

At least one of us did. With him blocking my escape, I had no choice but to back into his room.

After shutting the door behind him, he moved past me to the computer. He leaned over the desk, grabbed the mouse, and began opening several windows on one of the monitors. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?” he asked without looking up.

“That’s okay.” I doubted anything could loosen the knot of fear forming in my gut, not even Nolan himself. And with my stomach already queasy, I didn’t want to risk upsetting it further.

He continued clicking windows and opening and closing screens. With Nolan distracted, I decided to check out his room. His walls were painted silvery gray, and his bed was made with a plain black comforter. While there were no posters of athletes, above his headboard were framed posters of documentaries I’d never heard of—each decorated with award banners for winning one film festival or another.

“You sure like documentaries.” I turned away from a film poster about a man who’d lived with wild horses for a year. Other than the videos shown in school, I couldn’t think of a single documentary I’d watched.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, still clicking away. “Did you know that before they were called documentaries, they were called ‘life caught unaware’? I love that. So much so I was going to call my own documentary
Life Unaware.
There’s nothing like a well-made, compelling film about life. They’re so much better than movies, because they’re
real.
That’s what makes them so great. Feature films try, and they come really close, but you can’t fabricate
real.
”

I’d never thought about it like that. I set my backpack on his bed, careful to keep plenty of distance between the stool and myself. Anxiety buzzed inside me, like a jar of angry hornets, at the thought of baring my soul to the entire student body.
Relax, Regan,
I told myself.
This is the plan you’ve been looking for—the one that’s finally going to repair the damage you’ve done. And really, it’s no different from the apologies countless PR firms organized for celebrities and politicians who slipped up. Right?

I swallowed hard. It wasn’t that I doubted the plan—or even Nolan—but every second that had passed since he left me alone at the stables, I lost more faith in
myself
. Could I hold it together long enough to pull this off, or would I walk away leaving Nolan the most incriminating thing of all—me having a massive mental breakdown on camera? The thought had sent me scrambling for my pill bottle more times than I cared to admit.

The bottom line was, for all my fear, I
needed
to do this. I was sick of hiding from my problems—sick of hiding from life. After spending time alone in the graffiti-covered bathroom stall, I realized some scars never healed with time. This was no longer about hiding or regaining popularity—this was about fixing the damage I’d done. Even if I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from reaching for my pills, I’d do the video. Maybe that’s where the real me had been all along—buried at the bottom of a pill bottle.

He glanced at me over his shoulder as I approached and smiled.

Something pulsed inside me, but I did my best to ignore it. “How’s
your
documentary going?” I asked.

“Yeah…” His smile disappeared, and he turned his attention back to the monitors. “I thought I had this great idea to film a documentary about life in an American high school, but…” He shrugged. “It didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

He licked his lips. “Sometimes things can get
too
real.”

“Is that why you were filming me in the halls?”

“Yeah…my attempt to capture unfiltered high school footage didn’t go as planned.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My friend Blake was helping me. I don’t know if you knew this or not, but she gets bullied a lot.”

Actually, I knew that firsthand, because Amber did most of the bullying. She’d constantly teased Blake and Nolan’s ex-girlfriend, Jordan, calling them both dykes. Now that I knew Amber’s secret, it didn’t make a lot of sense—unless she was bullying them to draw attention away from herself.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Blake and I came up with the idea together. The focus of the film was popularity in high school. I was trying to capture both sides of the hierarchy and, like I said, it didn’t work. I’m much more excited about our project.”

“
Our
project?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He looked at me. “That is, of course, if you’re okay with me filming it. It would make an amazing documentary. We could call it
The Graffiti Project
,
The Bathroom Stall Experiment
, or whatever you want. But if the project is going to work, we have to make you credible again. That’s why we’re doing this.” He pointed to the monitor.

I snorted. “But I still don’t understand what bathroom stalls have to do with apologizing.”

He grinned. “You’ll see. You’re going to love it.” He returned to the computer and opened another program with various graphs and dials.

It didn’t take long before my eyes glazed over and I was forced to look away. That’s when I noticed the picture frames on either side of the monitors. In one, Nolan looked barely thirteen. His hair hung to his ears and his limbs were all joints and angles. He stood in the middle of a row of boys, each of them with a skateboard underfoot. In another photo, he had Payton in a headlock. His fist was pressed to her head while she shrieked in obvious delight. “Where’s Payton tonight?” I asked

“Shopping with Mom. I think they’re picking out her dress for the dance.” He rolled his eyes. “As if she doesn’t already have a closet full of dresses.”

The Snowflake Ball. I’d completely forgotten the dance was only a couple of weeks away. Fat chance of me going now. I turned my attention to the last picture frame, a photo of Nolan and his ex-girlfriend, Jordan. They were dressed in all black, her hair dyed a pretty shade of blue. Nolan had his arms wrapped around her shoulders and his lips pressed to her cheek. Her mouth was open, frozen forever in the middle of a laugh.

I couldn’t think of a single time I’d seen her laughing or even smiling at school. I’d always assumed she was just another moody emo chick. But now that I’d suffered Amber’s abuse firsthand, I understood her so much better.

I turned from the photo to find Nolan watching me with a strange expression.

“What happened between the two of you?” I pointed to Jordan. “You look so happy there.”

“That’s the funny thing about pictures.” He reached past me and set the frame facedown on the desk. “They only show what’s on the surface.”

I understood. The walls of my own home were decorated with dozens of photos of my parents and me smiling and looking like the perfect family. But in real life, I couldn’t remember the last time we’d smiled at each other when there wasn’t a camera around to capture it. “So you weren’t happy.”

He returned his attention back to the computer. A muscle in his jaw flexed, like he was pressing his teeth together. “
She
wasn’t happy. I tried so hard to hold everything together—to keep
her
from falling apart.” He swallowed hard. “I might as well have tried to bottle the entire ocean inside a jar.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, he pointed to the monitor. “With the green screen, you can choose from a bunch of different backgrounds.” He clicked the mouse, punctuating the end of our previous conversation.

Several images appeared on the center monitor. One looked like the inside of my grandpa’s study. A large mahogany bookshelf stacked with leather-bound books sat next to a brick fireplace. Another image looked like a school hallway. Two rows of silver lockers lined either side of a glossy tiled floor. A third was a picture of football stadium bleachers. Nolan pointed to the lockers. “I’m leaning toward this one, but if you have something else in mind—”

“How about a guillotine?” I offered. “Or a firing-squad block? Because I kinda feel like I’m going to be executed.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Like I said, I like the lockers.” He clicked the mouse, and an image of the lockers enlarged, taking up the entire screen. He clicked again, and the stool behind me appeared in front of them as if by magic.

“That’s amazing,” I said.

“Movie magic.” He winked before leaving the computer and walking over to the camera on the tripod. He adjusted the angle until the stool was centered between the rows of lockers. When he finished, he patted the seat. “It’s all yours.”

My stomach churned. Biting my lip, I hugged my arms around my chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Wasn’t I just opening myself up to more humiliation and ridicule?

Nolan’s eyes softened. “Are you okay, Flay? I know I kind of rushed you into this. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Of course I
wanted
to, but wanting and doing felt like planets in different solar systems with an abyss of black space between them. I bit my lip. What was it Dad was always saying? Something about a thousand-mile journey having to begin with a single step? I was ready for that step. Even if Amber left me alone and Payton and I patched our friendship, even if the school gradually forgot what I’d done, I never would. I swallowed hard, and then sat. “I have to do this.”

Nolan hit a wall switch off and his room went dark, except for the soft glow of light from the computer monitors. With his foot, he flipped a switch on a power strip. Instantly, I was nearly blinded as two bright lights on either side of the camera turned on. I squinted for several seconds until my eyes adjusted to the light and the spots left my vision.

“Sorry.” Nolan adjusted the light stands, lowering them so they no longer shone in my face. “You’re shorter than I am.”

Feeling awkward and unsure what to do with my hands, I laced them together on my lap. “You filmed yourself?”

Even though I couldn’t make out his features in the dark, I could see the black outline of his body behind the camera. He shrugged a shoulder and returned to the camera, adjusting the angle for the hundredth time. “For the old documentary—the one I scrapped.”

“Because it wasn’t working.”

“Exactly.”

Again, I wanted to ask why it wasn’t working, especially now that I knew it was about popularity, but I didn’t get the chance. He hit a button and a red light above the camera lens blinked on. I inhaled sharply.

Nolan chuckled. “Relax, Flay. Pretend the camera isn’t here.”

Easier said than done.
The red light felt like a laser burning into my flesh, and I fidgeted. “What do I do now?”

He grabbed another stool from the corner of the room and perched on the edge with one foot on the boot rung and his knees splayed wide. “Pretend it’s just you and me.”

That wasn’t any better, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Nervous energy pulsed through my body. I pulled my hands inside my sleeves and twisted the fabric around them. “I don’t know how to start.”

Nolan leaned forward just enough to illuminate the edge of his face. “How about this—I’ll ask you some questions and you answer them. You just have to repeat the question in your answer so I can edit myself out later, okay?”

I nodded. My pulse beat heavily against my chest. “Okay.”

He clasped his hands together. “Tell me about the day you walked into school and found your private messages posted on the lockers.”

I gave a small laugh, not because I found the subject funny, but because if I didn’t laugh I might cry instead—something I definitely didn’t want to do on camera. My throat tightened, and I reflexively touched the pill case in my pocket. I liked knowing they were there, even if I was trying my damnedest not to take any. It would probably make Nolan’s video a lot more interesting if I dropped dead on camera anyway. The thought made me giggle.

“You’re nervous,” Nolan said.

“That obvious?” I tapped my fingers against the pill case. If I popped a pill now, I might be able to prevent a panic attack before it could start.

“What do you have in your pocket?” he asked.

My fingers froze, my throat tight. For a moment, I considered lying. I could tell him there was nothing but a tube of lip gloss. When I went over my apology earlier in the afternoon in front of a mirror, never once did I consider mentioning my anxiety disorder or my pills. And yet I found myself withdrawing the small silver case from my pocket and opening it for the camera. “This is my Xanax.” The trembling of my hands caused the pink pills to rattle together. “They help pull me back from the edge when I start to fall.”