Lovely (11 page)

I nod and pull a hand through my hair. “Yeah, well, we’ve been hanging out a bit and … I don’t know … I really like her. We’re becoming … friends. I’m going to have to talk to Shelby, because she’s starting to become annoying.”

Jason chuckles. “Gee, I only wish I had your problems.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “They’re all yours, dude.”

I’m about to get in my car when I spot Shelby with her tongue down the quarterback’s throat and her hand in his pants.
Gee, that didn’t take long
. My BMW is parked right next to her Acura so a confrontation is unavoidable.

She sees me and stops long enough to remove her tongue from Jake McCleary’s mouth, but leaves her hand attached to his cock. “Hey, Ash,” she says nonchalantly, squeezing his bicep with her free hand and grinning.

I don’t have much to say because she really wasn’t my girlfriend anyway. At least she’s off my back now.

“I couldn’t get any of your attention, Ash,” she pouts, “so I had to find someone else.”

She starts making out with McCleary again and think I might hurl right in the school parking lot. “Whatever, Shelby,” I reply, disgusted. Hopping in my car, I tear away, tires squealing. On the drive home, I grasp the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are turning white. How the hell am I going to get Cara to talk to me now? She was just starting to open up a little and Shelby had to go and fuck everything up. I slam my hand down on the wheel. “Fuck!”

“Hey, Ash,” Mom sings as I come in the front door. She’s always extra happy when she has a day off from the salon.

“Hey, Mom.” I walk past her, head straight upstairs to my room, and throw myself on the bed. I grab a pillow and put it directly over my face, expelling a huge groan. Two minutes later, I hear a tap on the door and Mom pokes her head in.

“Is it okay if I come in?” I can hear the hesitancy in her voice.

I bark out a muffled response. “Sure.”

She comes in and sits on the end of the bed. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I mutter from underneath the pillow.

“Let me guess,” she says with her ability to always know what I’m thinking. “Is this about a girl?”

I pull the pillow off of my face and put it behind my head, staring at the familiar spot on the ceiling. “Maybe.”

“Sweetie, I know this is the kind of stuff you used to discuss with your dad … but … I’m here, and I’m willing to listen if you want to talk about it.”

I remain silent for a minute while I continue to let the cracks in the ceiling mesmerize me. “Cara … her name’s Cara, Mom.”

“What a lovely name.”

“Well, she’s a lovely girl.”

She turns to me, her eyes full of surprise. “Did you just call a girl lovely? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.”

I find myself grinning uncontrollably. “Yes, I did, actually.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know. She’s just different. From the moment I laid eyes on her … there was just something
there
… It’s hard to explain …”

Mom smiles, nostalgia mixed with the sun climbing through the window lighting her face. “You know, I remember the first time your dad and I went out on a date. We had only met two days before. He took me to a drive-in movie …” she laughs softly, “and he tried to move closer to me on the pretense of sharing popcorn … He was a smooth one alright.” Tears form in the creases of her eyes. “I came home that night and your grandma was sitting in her favorite winged-back chair reading a book and, of course, waiting up for me. I leaned against the door, feeling giddy, and told her that he was the one. Your grandma looked at me and said ‘oh, dear, there are plenty of fish in the sea, and you’re still young.’ Her words didn’t matter because I knew he was the only fish for me … and he was.” She comes back from the memory and puts her hand on my knee. “So what’s the problem with this lovely girl?”

“I don’t know, Mom, she’s kind of shy and closed off. Every now and then, when she relaxes, I see hints of someone fiery and quick-witted … but other times I look in her eyes and all I see is pain. Even though I don’t know her that well, I just want to take it away.”

She rests her hand on my knee, wistful green eyes staring back at me with empathy and love. “You know what, honey? I’m delighted that someone has caught your attention. I have to admit, I worry about you sometimes because I feel like you’re walking around in a fog,” she pauses, “but … be careful, sweetie, okay? You have this innate desire to always want to save the world. It’s a wonderful quality, but not everyone wants to be saved.”

Maybe I’m looking for someone to save me.

I make a point of getting up extra early today. I’m not going to the library this morning, though. Instead, I’m using my time to go to the bookstore. Since Cara likes romantic poetry so much, I thought I’d find her a book.

The bookstore is deserted at this time of day, the only exception being a couple of employees setting up displays. The scent of new books and coffee infuses the surrounding air and it’s both peaceful and relaxing. I have to admit, I can understand the fascination. I see a friendly-looking woman with wrinkled blue eyes and a bright orange blouse behind the counter and walk over to ask for help. I take a quick peek at her nametag. “Excuse me, Dorothy,” I say, oozing all of my charm, “I’m looking for books on romantic poets, and I haven’t a clue as to where to start.”

“Sure, I can help,” she says with a gravelly voice. “Poetry is on the second floor.”

I follow her lead up the stairs until we reach the massive poetry section, which spans several aisles. I can’t believe how many freaking poetry books exist in the world. I shuffle my feet from left to right and back again, completely at a loss about what book would be best for Cara.

She looks at me, a spark in her weathered blue eyes. “I can recommend something, if you’d like.”

I jump right in, eager to find the right book for Cara. “Yes, please.”

“Well, John Keats is quite the poet. Is this for a girl?”

“Yes,” I reply, my cheeks flaming, my heart beating rapidly as I realize I’ve never bought anything like this for a girl before. I smile, though, because it feels really good.

“Ah, young love,” she mutters to herself with a melancholy smile as she pulls out a thick book from the shelf that contains a collection of poems. “I have just the one. It’s a series of poems by Robert Frost. Have a look.”

I thumb through the pages and read a couple of the poems. This is perfect for Cara. The prose is simple, honest, and heartfelt, just like her. “Thank you.”

Dorothy’s lips form a satisfied smile. “You’re quite welcome. You’ll need to pay for that back downstairs.”

I buy the book and immediately remove the price tag, feeling pretty darn pleased with myself, and beyond excited to give it to her. Driving back over to the library in hopes of finding Cara there, I start picturing the glow in her eyes when she sees my gift. When I walk through the doors, she’s there, but barely gives me the time of day. Her mask is back on and set firmly in place. Uncertain as to what to do, I go with my gut and walk over there.

She greets me from the counter, expressionless, her eyes completely lacking their usual luster. “Hey, Ash.”

“Hi. How are you?” I ask, biting the inside of my lip to the point where I taste blood.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, arranging piles of paperwork on the desk.

I know I need to get the words out fast before she tunes me out. “Listen. About the other day, I need to explain.”

She cuts me off with her hand, a stack of papers falling to the ground. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re just friends, Ash.”

I brace both my hands on the counter, my mouth set in a firm line. “We are? Okay, then if we’re friends, how come you’re acting like you’re pissed at me? Because you know what, Cara, it’s not like we’re … well … I just don’t get it.”

She shrugs my comment off, or ignores it, I’m not sure which one. “I’m just doing my thing.” Her tone is cold and unfeeling and her eyes spin downward, refusing to connect with mine. Right now, I really need that connection. I need to know I haven’t completely fucked things up.

“Exactly,” I respond with a bit more sarcasm than I’d intended. My voice rises to a desperate shriek but I just don’t give a shit. “Okay, so I’m just going to say this and get it out there, whether you want to hear it or not. That girl that was in here the other day means nothing to me; in fact, we’re not together or anything.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, accusation lining the rims. “It’s none of my business, Ash, but just out of curiosity, do you always kiss girls who mean nothing to you?”

“Well, first off, she kissed me, and secondly …” I trail off. I have no other defense. “Okay, so we spent time together every now and then, but that’s it, and anyway, it’s done.”

She blinks several times, drawing in a slow, steady breath. “Okay, well I’m happy for you. I need to get back to my work now.”

“Wait, Cara.” I stare at the Robert Frost book in my backpack and hesitate a moment too long.

“Ash. I just want to be left alone.” The sound of her raised voice causes the air to grow cold. Her eyes are narrowed, her lips are severe. “Just leave me alone!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of students scrutinizing us. Two appear to be eavesdropping and one puts her fingers to her lips attempting to quiet us. A rush of aggravation leaves my chest. I scrape a hand through my hair in frustration and decide I better leave before I make even more of an ass of myself. Why the fuck am I so upset, anyway? She’s just a girl. But that’s the thing, she’s not just any girl.
Fuck
. “So … I guess I’ll see you around.”

Cara doesn’t even bother to turn around causing anger to seep out from every pore. But it also does something else, something that surprises me. It causes my heart to constrict so tightly that my chest physically hurts. She’s acting like I no longer exist and that our friendship isn’t important to her. The vein in my neck bulges and my shoulders are tight, waves of tension radiating off of them. She wants me to leave her alone. Unfortunately, all that does is make me want to dig my heels in and fight.

Professor Travinski wants everyone to read their poem aloud today.
Great
. This will be a wonderful way to end the day—full-on, Travinski-style embarrassment. Not only that, but Cara’s sitting in the back of the class, allegedly observing, which only gives me more anxiety about my poem. One by one, each student goes up, takes a seat in the chair at the center of the room, and reads their poem. The hope that there were other students who needed the
Poetry for Dummies
book the only thought that temporarily eases my worry … slightly. My stomach is in knots and my legs are shaking nervously under the desk. If you want me to play guitar in a concert hall full of thousands of people, I’m there. Hit a baseball in the middle of a crowded stadium, I’m all in. Do an oral report on capital assets, without a doubt. But stand in front of a group to read a poem I’ve written … hell, no.

Right after Stephanie Bilmer reads her poem about heartbreak that nearly has the class on the verge of tears, Professor Travinski’s eyes wander around the room, looking for his next victim. “Ash,” he calls out, “you’re up.”