Party (19 page)

Ashley peers at Beckett like she’s searchin’ for something. “You picked a hell of a night to try partying.”

Beckett nods, says nothin’.

Ashley frowns. What’s up with these chicks, man? And why won’t Ashley just
go?
Obviously she’s not too pissed at me for not goin’ out with her, so that’s something, but—
leave
, woman!

“You hear what happened?” Ashley goes.

Beckett nods.

“It’s so weird,” Ashley says. “I wouldn’t’ve thought Antho could do something like that.”

“He was drinkin’,” I say. “Polished off a bottle of Jack, I think.”

“Jack …?” Ashley goes, then like grits her teeth or something, glancin’ at Morrigan. “I swear,” Ashley says, real quiet. She looks at Beckett again. “You going to talk to him? To Antho?”

Beckett don’t say anything, just jerks her shoulders real quick. Ashley frowns again, then takes a big breath and tries to pull a smile on.

“So! How’s your mom? You took off so quick back there earlier, and I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever …”

To me it looks like she’s just tryin’ to find somethin’ to say. And what’s this
earlier
shit? Beckett was here the whole time?

But something happens then. Like an electric current passes from Beckett to Ashley and back again.

And the next thing I know, Beckett Montgomery grabs my hand and is squeezin’ it so tight that I almost yell. I manage to keep it under control as my heart, which was already double-timing it since Beckett started talkin’ to me, switches over to a fast punk beat.

Oi oi fuckin’ oi!

“She,” Beckett says, still squeezin’ my hand, but she don’t say nothin’ else.

Ashley looks from her to me, and back again.

Beckett is noddin’ her head, little jerks back and forth, her eyes roamin’ all over the yard and, I’m pretty sure, not seeing anything.

“She, um,” Beckett says at last, and right then, Morrigan interrupts with this huge puke that barely misses her shoes. Nasty. Me and Beckett take a step back at the same time.

“Oh, god,” Ashley says with a sigh. “Third time’s a charm. I think that’s our cue. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Beckett says quietly, and to me, looks relieved. My fingers are startin’ to go numb from her grip. Like I care!

Morrigan Lewis wipes her mouth and grins like an idiot, then offers this little gem: “My mom fuckin’ sucks.”

“Morry,” Ashley barks, and Morrigan laughs, damn near spillin’ them both to the lawn. “Beck, I’m sorry, she’s—”

“It’s okay,” Beckett says. “No big.”

“Look,” Ashley says as Morrigan starts turning as green as the grass, “we’ll hang out, okay? Would you? To see if there’s anything we can do to help Antho out? I’m going to talk to James, but … Antho’s going to need friends. Are you in?”

I see Beckett swallow hard and press her lips together. “Maybe,” she whispers.

“You still have the same apartment and phone number and everything?”

“Yeah, um … yeah.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon or something, okay?”

Beckett nods. “Sure. Okay.” She brushes again at that invisible hair on her face. “Unless, you know … I mean, if you don’t, it’s okay.”

“No, no,” Ashley says. “I will. Look, I gotta get Morrigan home.” Ashley stands there for another second, though. “Beck …”

“You should go,” Beckett says. “Get her home safe.”

“Okay,” Ashley says. “So … see ya.”

Beckett says the same to her, and Ashley half carries Morrigan over to a beige sedan, keepin’ an eye on Anthony the whole time, who’s outta the cop car now. That’s weird. Thought they’d’ve carted him off to lockup by now. Anthony is standin’ up, arms still folded, noddin’ his head at whatever the cops are sayin’ to him. Ashley shoves Morrigan into the passenger seat, gives one last look at Anthony, another back at me and Beckett, then gets in her car.

Beckett turns to me, then looks down at our hands. She lets go, and it hurts. Not my hand, but like … my chest. Like it’s empty.

“Oh,” she says. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Naw, it’s no problem, I—”

“—I wasn’t thinking, I just—”

“—didn’t bother me at all, no—”

We both stop, realizing what a couple of dumbasses we sound like. I do, anyway.

“Thanks,” Beckett says, and kinda taps my arm. I swear to God it tingles when our skin touches. “I guess the party’s over, huh?”

Or maybe it’s just startin
, I think, but I’m not quite dumb enough to say it.

“Guess so,” I say, and my triple-time heartbeat somehow manages to speed up even more.

“Listen,” I say. “Um, I was, uh …”

And I got nothin’.

Not a word, not a clue. I draw the biggest blank ever known to mankind. It’s like that moment on a half-pipe when you’ve gone way too high and even though your neck is probably gonna break in the next second, that moment catching air is both the most, like, exhilarating and most terrifying, and it lasts for-fucking-ever.

Beckett looks up at me, all like curious. “What?”

She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

“D’you … have a … minute?”

“Um …” She glances at Anthony, still surrounded by cops, but not in cuffs anymore. “Sure. I guess.”

I look around. The party is definitely breakin’ up. Cars are being started and driven away. Ashley’s tryin’ to pull out, but people keep cuttin’ her off. Cops are still watchin’ bottles get emptied and instructing sober kids to drive, but the crowd is only about half what it was a few minutes ago.

I point up the street, where it’s a little more secluded. “You mind if we go sit over there for a minute?”

Beckett looks to where I’m pointing. “I guess.”

We walk past the house, up the street, and sit down on the curb about ten yards from the nearest car.

This is it. That moment after you launch, hanging in midair, wonderin’ if this time you pushed it too far and the pipe is gonna break your spine, but part of you don’t care because you can fly.

The moment I’ve been plotting and planning and rehearsing for three years.

I’m sittin’ next to Beckett Montgomery.

And I still got nothing to say
. Nothin’ that tastes right. Not after the fight, not after Ashley pokin’ her nose in.

Beckett folds her arms on top of her knees and rests her cheek on her arms, lookin’ at me. How cute is that?

“So what’s up?” she goes.

I take a deep breath.

“So, um,” I start, “I think I had biology with you sophomore year.”

Beckett stares at me, like she’s really studyin’ what I just said. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. And, um …”

“You
remember
me from sophomore year?”

“Um. Well. Yeah. Your freshman, my sophomore, I mean.”

“Well,” she says with this little laugh. Then she goes, “I don’t remember ever talking to you before.”

“Yeah, well. Um. You always looked like you needed to be someplace, so.”

Beckett turns away, so her chin’s on her arms, givin’ me her profile. “I did,” she mutters.

“I signed your yearbook once.” Dude, really? Is that all I can come up with?

I see her blink real quick, like she’s surprised. “Yeah?”

“Once, yeah.”

“What did you say? ‘Have a cool summer’?”

I rub the back of my head, stallin’ for time. Is there a right answer to this? I don’t fucking know! What I know is what I wrote:
Your awesome see u next year
. I didn’t sign my name.

“Um … somethin’ like that. Stupid, huh?”

“No. If it was from the heart, I’ll take it.”

It was. God, it was.

Beckett laughs suddenly, burying her face in the basket of her arms. I try hard to see through her skull and find the joke. Is she laughin’ at me? Of course she is.
Duh, I signed your yearbook, duh!
God, I suck.

But her laugh … the first time I’ve ever heard it, and it makes me feel … so …
happy
.

“What?”

Beckett lifts her head. “I ran away from home once. I went all the way down to the corner of the street, you know? Which is like Africa when you’re five.”

I sort of chuckle, but it sounds all wrong and I choke on it. “Yeah,” I say, and wish like hell for a glass of water. And for her to laugh again. To hold my hand again.

“You want to know something?” She don’t look at me.

“Sure.”

“No one came to get me.”

Not sure where to take that, so I come up with the brilliant response of “Huh?”

“When I like ‘ran away,’” she says. “No one ever came out to get me. I think that’s why I did it. Just to see.”

You are a weird, weird chick
, I think.
And I’d give anything, anything in this world to make you feel better. Or kiss you
.

Beckett sighs, and for one second, I’m sure she’s heard my thoughts. She’s gonna get right the hell up and call me a prick and take off. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Sometimes you run away from home not because you’re going any further than the corner, but because you want to see who will come running after you,” Beckett says.

I relax a little. She ain’t psychic, thank god, and I try to listen close as she goes on.

“You know it’s like immature, but this is the only way to be sure,” Beckett says. “But sometimes, the sun really does set, and you’re still there by the stop sign, waiting. That peanut butter sandwich you packed for the trip is long gone, and you’re hungry. But no one has come to see if you’re coming home or not. It’s like they figure you’ll either really take off, or you’ll come crawling back. Either way it’s not their problem.”

Beckett pauses, and flings a pebble across the street. Then she looks into my face, and she is somehow becoming more beautiful by the second. How is that even possible?

“You’re still the jackass for sitting at the corner in the dark,” she says, and laughs again, but not like it’s funny. “You know why I came here tonight?”

“To party?” I say, but it don’t sound right.

“To see if anyone would talk to me,” Beckett says. “I thought I was invisible. I wanted to see if anyone ever … noticed me. I kinda keep to myself.”

“You’re not invisible,” I say. Are you kidding me?
Invisible?

Beckett looks into my eyes. “Did you know who I was when you signed my yearbook?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Were you stalking me?” She bumps her knee against mine and
fuck
I wish I was wearin’ shorts, to have that much less clothing between her skin and mine, I don’t care if it’s her knee or her foot or anything, just so long as it’s her.

“Maybe a little,” I say, tryin’ to sound casual and
not
like a stalker. “I mean, not like, in a creepy way. He said hopefully.”

Beckett grins, just a little. “No worries.”

Tell her now
. Tell her.

I take a breath, ready to spill my guts. Ready to hand her my heart and let her kick it right over a cliff.

She meets my eyes again and gives me a slight smile. A fireworks factory goes off in my stomach, fucking KA-BLAM!

“Thanks for talking to me,” she says.

“Um. Sure.”

And then.

Beckett Montgomery.

Leans over.

And hugs me.

My body goes numb and I can’t hug her back. Did
not
expect this. My nerve endings are like short-circuited, electrifying my scalp and the hairs on my arms. Her cheek is pressed
into mine, and it’s like … like raw silk, which I felt once when my mom was sewing some kind of pillowcase or something, the softest, smoothest texture you can ever imagine.

I just landed that air on the half-pipe
.

Beckett gets to her feet. I just sit there like a jackass before I can shake myself awake and get up.

“I’m Max,” I say, ’cause I dunno what the hell
else to
say.

“Beckett,” she says. “Nice to meet you, finally.” One corner of her mouth turns up in this adorable smile.

I know your name
, I hear myself thinking.
I know, I know
. Then:
She’s getting away, man. Ask her, ask her, ASK HER OUT!
I scream inside my skull.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, why did you come here tonight and talk to her if you weren’t gonna even ask her out? Get her
number
at least
.

I want to hold her hand again, gently this time, but I’m too scared, so I shove my hands into my pockets so I won’t try.

I feel something in my right pocket. A card.

My Lucky 13! card.

I pull the card out of my pocket, flipping it over in my fingers like I’m gonna do a magic trick with it.

Hey. Maybe I am.

I swing my arm out toward Beckett, offering it. “Here.”

Beckett takes the card and studies it. “Coffee Cat? That place rocks. I’m thinking of getting a job there this summer. Um … you know all the numbers are punched?”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She’s sorta smiling when she says it.

“It’s … a good-luck charm,” I say.

“Really?”

“I hope so,” I say.

Beckett gives me a bigger smile, lighting her face up in the darkness. I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her smile that big.

“Cool. Thanks. You know thirteen’s not a lucky number, right?”

I look into her eyes, which are shining under the moonlight.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve heard that.”

I feel myself grin like an idiot just as Brent’s voice sounds from up the street.

“Max!”

I turn automatically. Brent’s standin’ on the sidewalk in front of the house where the party has officially broken up, holdin’ our boards, one in each hand. He lifts his arms in a giant shrug, like,
What the hell you doin’?

I don’t know! I
want to yell at him. I truly don’t. I wave at him to hang on for a sec and turn back to Beckett just as a car rolls to a stop nearby.

“So, um … maybe I’ll see you around then?” I ask, tryin’ not to sound too hopeful.

Beckett folds her arms and lifts her shoulders up, like she’s cold or something.

She doesn’t say a word.

I
GOT
M
ORRIGAN INTO THE CAR WITHOUT ANY MORE VOMIT, THANK GOD
. By the time I pulled the seatbelt across her, she actually looked better. My guess was she got the worst of it out of her system.