Salvation (16 page)

He let that realization sink into his brain as the river came into view, not a wide crystal blue of perfection, but a gray-green curve with a mossy tinge. From the edge, an empty crescent of sand rose up, followed by weeds, then sharp rocks guarding the upper rim.

“Y-your father, though,” Beth said, continuing across the grass. “I-I guess he hasn’t forgiven you yet. I thought maybe he would when I told him about the Shakespeare grade, but—”

“When you what?” Salva froze. He had been there, in the
Pen, for the entire four-second conversation between his father and Beth, and she hadn’t said anything about a grade.

She turned back to look at him. “When I told him that we got an A on our Shakespeare project. Didn’t he tell you?”

She’d seen his father again? When,
when
had this happened, and what had his father said to her? Had
Papá
gone looking for her? Or called her home to tell her mother what Beth had done wrong? “When did you talk alone with my father?” Salva crossed the gap between them.

“Fri-Friday.” She backed away. “I-I went to your place after school. He didn’t tell you?”

No, his father hadn’t told him. This was out of line. It was one thing to punish Salva for his own stupid behavior. But it was absolutely
not
okay that Beth had come over and his father had failed to mention it. “What did he say?”

“He just…” A wince of pain crossed her face, and she turned, ducking under the branches of a tree—a giant wide parasol of a tree with white flowers that had just begun to drip petals onto the green beneath them. “He didn’t really say anything.”

She was keeping something back. What had
happened
to her?

“Beth—” Salva followed her under the branches.

“Your father said you weren’t there, and I-I left.”

But I
was
there, in the backyard, working on the garden.
Suddenly
Papá
was not the same person Salva had known all his life. If not letting him talk to her was part of his punishment, that was one thing. But making her feel bad? Lying to her? Not even
saying she had come. His hand gripped the tree trunk. “I can’t believe…”

The expression on Beth’s face changed. Her fingers touched his arm gently, wrenching him out of his anger. “But we did get an A, Salva. And it was the highest mark in the class. The Mercenary told me.”

“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” he said.

The fingers fled. “Why would you say that?”

“You came to my home the day we were suspended. That takes guts. And then you talked to my father after how rude he was to you in the Pen. He’s not usually like that, Beth. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Except Salva was afraid that maybe his father was more prejudiced than Salva had ever realized.
Papá
had been through a lot, put up with a lot from a lot of privileged people in his life.

But that didn’t excuse being unfair to Beth.

Salva sat down under the tree. If he sat, this talk would last longer, and he was in no hurry for it to end. No hurry for her to go anywhere. He reached for her hand and tugged her down beside him.

She started gathering the white blossoms within her reach.

And he found himself telling her his own take on fear. “I always defend against getting hurt, you know. Never put myself in a situation that I think might be uncomfortable.”

“Everyone likes you.” She scooped the blossoms into a pile, then continued to gather.

“I don’t know. I’m so careful not to upset people; I think maybe not everyone knows who I am.”

“Are you telling me Pepe and Tosa don’t know who you are?”

“Oh, not them,” he said, then paused. “Though, well, being careful about what I say—it might be more true with my friends than with anyone else. Sometimes it’s easier to tell strangers what you’re thinking than your friends.”

Her hands paused in their gathering. “And I’m more like a stranger.”

Boy, had he blown that one. Hadn’t even seen that coming.
Brilliant, Salva.

“No,” he told her directly. “You’re different. Like the one person I feel I can tell what I really think. And even if you hate it, you won’t mock or take it the wrong way. You’ll just tell me you hate it and then tell me why.”

She hadn’t told him she’d hated the kiss. In fact, she had been adamant that he
not
apologize for it.

“You’re wrong about me,” she said, looking up and meeting his gaze.

He didn’t think he was wrong. He thought maybe he was finally getting things right.

“I am afraid,” she continued. “I was afraid the first day you asked me to read your paper last fall, the one about Milton. And I’ve been afraid ever since.”

Was she saying she was afraid of him? His every nerve rejected the idea.

“Do you know why I told you no that first day?” she asked. “Why I didn’t want to help you?”

“Because I am a complete jerk and you knew sooner or later I’d land you in the principal’s office?”

“I was afraid of you.”

She
couldn’t
be afraid of him.

Her hands dug into the grass. “Afraid I would fall in love with you and never mean anything more to you than a stupid mark on a stupid essay.”

His heart pounded beneath his lungs. And he couldn’t move.

The grass shredded. “I was afraid you would walk off,” she added, “and never see me again, and I would never be able to forget you.”

He didn’t want her to forget him.

“So we’re both afraid,” she continued, those brown eyes very close. “We both hedge our bets, you with your friends and me with you.”

Her chin was trembling.

His hand came up and touched it. Her chin. Her cheek. Her ear. Her neck. He pulled her head to him. And his lips met hers. Soft.

So soft, at first, like melted ice cream. And then deeper.

And her lips were answering his. Her touch was answering his. And she was coming with him. He fell onto his back in the grass. His hands were in her hair, down her neck, her shoulders, in her hair again.

Her hands were on his shoulders, in the grass, then his hair. Her chest was over his. She was propped above him on her elbows.

Then she wasn’t. Her tongue was meeting his and her heart was beating the same wild, rapid rhythm right above his own.

A stranger’s voice ripped apart the moment. “Ugh! You kids today. Can’t even leave each other alone in public.” An old woman, her hand attached to the leash of a little yapping dog, shuffled across Salva’s line of vision.

Vision still obscured by the falling veil of Beth’s hair.

Beth looked at him. They both looked in the direction of the departing duo.

Then looked at each other again. Beth’s eyes were shining. A brilliant warm brown. It was ridiculous really. Seven months he’d been meeting with her in private, and the first two times they’d kissed, they’d been scolded for kissing in public.

She collapsed on top of him, and they both laughed.

Slam! Clang!
Someone was battling with the screen door. Beth rolled over under the bedcovers. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted to return to the dream in which the colors had all been muted, save the deep orange-gold glow of the sun dropping over the horizon of manufactured homes and vacant lots. And
he
had been walking her home.

“Beth!” A familiar voice shattered the sunset. “School!” Nalani was shaking her.

Cripes!
It was Monday—the Monday after break.

“You didn’t set your alarm,” Ni accused.

Beth rolled out of bed, literally. She was trapped in the tangle of bedcovers.

“Where is it?” Ni asked, now digging through the bureau. Items began to fly in her friend’s direction: a bra, a pair of socks, underwear.

“I-I don’t know,” said Beth. She managed to untangle herself
from everything except the sheet, which was coiled around her waist.

“Got it.” Ni plucked a blue alarm clock from the top drawer, then started pushing buttons.

The sheet finally fell away. Beth tugged off her nightshirt and began scrambling into her underclothes.

“Jeans?” Ni was now staring into an open drawer.

“Um…laundry basket.”

A pair of semi-clean jeans hit Beth in the chest, followed by a turquoise blouse she hadn’t seen since last year’s academic awards ceremony. Her friend must have braved the closet.

“Get dressed. I’ll get breakfast,” said Nalani, dashing from the room.

Beth complied, detoured to the bathroom, doused her face with water from the sink, swished her mouth with toothpaste, and emerged to begin the daunting search for her backpack.
Thank goodness for best friends!
Ni had been picking her up—and rescuing her on the way to school—since they were twelve.

“It’s by the couch,” Nalani shouted from the kitchen counter.

Sure enough, the bane of Beth’s existence lay in front of the sofa. Along with her shoes.

“Go ahead and tie them,” Ni said.

Beth tied the laces, then glanced at the kitchen clock. The hour hand was aimed at the three. The power must have blinked at some point in the last nine days.

“We’ve got ten minutes,” her best friend said, handing over a
raspberry jam sandwich. “Let’s go.” The screen door was propped open, no doubt as a time-saver.

Beth slammed both doors on her way out.

The sky was gray, and puddles of the same shade lined the street’s edge. “So…” Her best friend untwisted the pink strap of her book bag, then swerved around the puddles to higher pavement. “How was your break?” She launched into rapid strides.

Beth struggled to keep the pace. How was she to explain
everything
at a near sprint? About the kiss. And the second kiss. And how she hadn’t heard anything from Salva since. Why hadn’t Ni called while on her trip? She knew Ms. Courant wouldn’t let her daughter use the cell phone or long distance.

Though to be fair, Beth hadn’t exactly tried.
How am I going to explain what’s going on with Salva when I don’t really know myself?
“Um…how was Colorado?” Beth stalled.
An unwise choice.

“Great,” Ni said, and started reeling off places she’d been, things she’d seen, the names of twenty-five cousins she’d met—

This is stupid. You need to tell her, and you need to tell her now.

Everything Beth hadn’t said over the past seven months swam in her head, along with guilt, chaos, and confusion.

The afternoon in the park with Salva had been incredible. For both of them. That kiss hadn’t been platonic. Or tentative. Or at all questionable. At least it hadn’t felt that way.

But then he hadn’t called.

Maybe he couldn’t while his father was so upset.

Or was she just searching for excuses?

The high school emerged in the distance—a dull gray prism. Beth felt her stomach tighten. Salva would be there, on the social podium that was his place at Liberty High.

“But we can talk about all that later,” Ni was saying. “I know I’ve been a little distracted this winter.”

Distracted?
Beth’s head was beginning to ache, and panic was climbing from the lining of her stomach to infect the rest of her body.
How am I going to endure this?
The mocking catcalls that were sure to arise from the students who could manage to remember ten days into the past, the disdain Salva would have to show for her in order to maintain his standing among his friends, the rejection she would have to endure…

Ni was still talking. “I thought maybe you had wanted to tell me something and that I was too—”

Beth was trying to listen, but terror had muffled her ears. The parking lot stretched before her now, an enormous pond of sunken asphalt.

“So are you going to tell me or not?” Ni suddenly blocked her path.

“What?” Beth had lost track of the conversation.

“Fine!” Ni snapped. “
Don’t
tell me.
Don’t
explain how you and Salva Resendez—whom you’ve had a crush on
forever
—wound up kissing in front of the entire school!” She whirled and marched across the parking lot.

Ouch.
Beth knew she should chase after her best friend. But
it was too difficult to move. To breathe. Because he was there on the front steps.

And at his side was Char Mendoza. And Pepe Real, Ricardo Tosa, Linette Kasing. They merged in a tight pack, energy passing from one to the next in the form of high fives, slaps on the back, and arms wrapped around the girls’ waists.
You knew these were his friends. That they meant the world to him. That you could never mean as much to him as they do. You knew. You knew. You knew.

The first bell rang, and the elite crowd rose up the stairs to claim their domain, the ominous gray building before Beth.

Who still couldn’t move. She
had
known. But she had shunned the knowledge, cramming it into the narrow pragmatic part of her brain and refusing to let the truth ride through her blood to her chest. Until now.

This was going to be hell.

She sneaked in late for cit/gov, which meant the only desk available was clear across the room from Salva. They were watching a film, so it was not too hard to hurry out at the end without feeling ignored. In English there were some whistles and sexual comments about the scene from
Romeo and Juliet,
but between the Mercenary’s glare and Salva’s cool, the ribbing quickly died. He even backed up a comment Beth made during class discussion. But then AP English was their world—a world apart from all the friends he had told her he was afraid of upsetting.

The cafeteria, though, was ground zero. She hovered outside the lunchroom door, the noise and shouts from the interior blasting her in the face. Inside belonged to Pepe and Tosa and the girls who had made Beth’s entire middle-school experience a misery. Because who could compete with Linette, of the blond hair and the snappy comebacks? And Char Mendoza, who made Beth feel like a crushed swallowtail under a spiked high heel?

Salva had always been with Char, long before the two of them had dated. He had walked her to school, picked her up, escorted her to events. No matter how long Beth had known him, Char had known him longer. And she would be sitting at his table.