Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (13 page)

Chapter
15

Apparently Chris decided to take it because he showed up at
my house at six-fifteen. In other words, he showed up just in time for dinner.

Mom didn't seem to be surprised, just added another plate to
the settings.

“Doesn't your mom feed you?” Heather asked as he settled
onto what was quickly becoming his seat.

It would be nice to be twelve again and say whatever you
wanted.

“Of course she does.”

All of us had stopped for the answer. It did seem odd how
regularly he showed up for food.

“It's just that I typically eat by myself.” He suddenly
blushed right to his ears. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Wells. You don't have to keep
feeding me.”

I looked down at his plate and realized something I should
have noticed days ago. He wasn't eating that much. I mean, compared to Heather
and Cassie he ate a lot. But for a guy who'd just come from three hours of
soccer practice, this had to have been a snack. I glanced up at my mom. She was
looking at me, waiting for me to realize that it wasn't the food he was coming
for.

“You eat by yourself?” Heather asked. “No one wants to eat
with you?”

Oh, Lord. If I could have stolen the words back for her, I
would have. His mouth tightened into a sharp line and his eyes kind of blinked
really fast, the blush that had tinted his ears was nothing compared to the red
they were now.

“I guess not.” He tried to laugh, but it came out a low,
sick sound. It broke my heart and Amy's words rushed back fast and sharp—
he isn’t just dangerous, but fragile
.

“Heather, you know that's not true.” I couldn't help it. I
had to make that look go away. “He has practice late and his parents probably
work.”

“But—” Before she could ask any other Chris-view-shifting
questions, my mom stepped in.

“Heather, if you're done you can clear the table. There's
pudding in the fridge.”

Heather—like all the Wells women, quick to be diverted by
chocolate—pulled out a tray with five bowls set out on it.
Five.

Mom shrugged when I gave her a look. She scared me sometimes
with the things she knew. After the pudding had been slurped and the dishes
cleared, Chris pulled out his backpack—a quick reminder of why he was really
there. Although I was beginning to think he had mom-napping on his mind as
well. Think of all the chicken and pudding he’d get if he locked her in a
kitchen somewhere.

All right Rachel, focus on something slightly more likely to
happen. Like Chris doing his homework. I
said
slightly.

The chart and History seemed to be working, so we focused on
that. Instead of taking all the time to do it myself, we worked on it together,
transferring notes from class and highlights from the book. It was obvious
Chris just needed the right tool to get things to click. Once everything was
put on the chart (and we established that his horrific handwriting wasn’t
coming anywhere near my final project) I switched gears.

That gave us an hour for math. Yes, a whole hour to do one
page of math. That C wasn’t looking like it was going to move at all. My
frustration level was shooting up as I ran through another problem to check my
solution. I forced myself to slow down, which—let’s be honest—the last thing
you want is for your homework to take longer.

But then I spotted it.
A mistake.
One I’d made originally. I fixed it and handed Chris my paper. I knew when he
quirked his lips I’d been right to fix it. He handed me back the page.
One wrong.
A huge improvement.
I’d
have figured that out percentage-wise, but that would have meant more
math
.

Maybe that C wasn’t sticking around.

“How’s your reading for English going?” I loved History, but
I never understood how people didn’t do well in English. All you had to do was
read some great stories and then answer questions. I mean, half the stories we
read had more drama than the latest movies out.

He rooted around in the bottom of his backpack and pulled
out a dog-eared copy of
Much
Ado
About
Nothing
which—let’s be honest—probably was the catchphrase for most of my life right
now.

“Not bad. It’s kind of interesting. I’ve been reading it,
but the one dude is hard to make sense of. He’s all weird with how he
talks…even for dead British guys.”

“Dogberry.
Yeah. He’s crazy. My
friend Megan said in class that he makes more sense in the movie.”

I could see the thoughts running between those ears of his.

“Don’t do it.”

“Do what?” Chris Kent hadn’t been innocent since birth,
playing innocent wasn’t going to work.

“Do
not
rent that
movie. You have to read the play first. Mrs. Lester always has test questions
that you can get wrong if you skip reading the book for the movie. She’s tricky
like that.”

He stuffed the book back in his bag.

“Fine.
Like I said, it’s kind of
all right anyway. I like how she keeps nagging at him and he picks back at her.
They seem to know each other really well.
Like they were best
friends or something.”

Huh. Chris liked Shakespeare.

“You know what?” He flipped to the class schedule Mrs.
Lester had given us. “We should watch the movie the night before. Make sure we
didn’t miss anything.”

Movies equaled couches and darkness. That was a horrible
idea.

“Makes sense.”
Why do the things
that come out of my mouth
never
match
what’s in my head?

A study movie was not a date. There was no reason to stress
about it.

I stacked my homework on the edge of the counter for the
morning and toed my shoes on. We’d fallen into such a pattern the last couple
days that it didn’t surprise me to find Chris already standing by the kitchen
door with his stuff.

He waited until we were in the car to start the tutor-campaign
up again.

“So, when are you going to know if this trial run is
working?”

We’d studied every night since Saturday. Wasn’t he
overdosing on me yet?

“You said a week. And besides, we’re almost caught up. I’m
not sure we need to meet every night anymore. Maybe—this is a
maybe,
if we continue after the trial run—we could just meet
before tests.”

He was shaking his head, a small unconscious movement as if
he didn’t realize he was doing that while he thought.

“Maybe we could just study together.” He continued as if I
hadn’t just said no to that. “You could do your own thing and I could just, you
know, ask you questions as we go.”

I did not like where this was going. “Like on email?”

“I thought we could, you know, still get together.” He
cracked his knuckles, a move I hadn’t seen from him yet and couldn’t interpret.
“I’d do my thing. You’d do your thing…”

I tried not to look at him, to keep my eyes on the road. But
all I could think about was that fifth bowl of chocolate pudding in the fridge
and how mom had known he’d be there.

“Maybe,” I finally said not wanting to agree either way.
Knowing that eventually I’d have to say no.
Tired made me
stressed and stressed made me anxious and anxious was the enemy.

I stopped in front of his house and glanced over the perfectly
manicured lawn to the well-lit front porch.
And the Acura
sitting in the driveway.

What was that all about?

He snagged his pack from beneath his feet and shoved the
door open before I could even throw the emergency brake. “Thanks. See
ya
.”

He was half way out of the car before I spoke up.

“I won't be home tomorrow until late.”

His hand stilled on the handle.

“How late?”

“
Like,
nine-thirty.” I still didn't
have a clue what I was going to tell him if he asked. “I have plans.”

That was true. I did have plans. And they weren't any of his
business.

“Too late to study?” he asked. Again, a good reminder of
what this was.

I should say yes. I’d probably be drained by the time I got
home. But I knew we had three more nights before the trial run was over. Tomorrow
night I’d be deciding if I’d keep tutoring him, if the time/stress/anxious
factor was too much. It was only fair to give him a little warning.

“I guess we could get together for a short time if you want.
If it’s too late, just don’t come over.”

I figured it wasn’t like we’d be having a meal at nine or
anything so there was a good chance he wouldn’t show.

“Yeah.
Okay. See
ya
tomorrow.”

And, with his typical lack of clarity, he was gone.

Chapter
16

For the last three years, I had
not
been a lover of Wednesday. Wednesday was my Monday.

But that was part of life now.
Wednesdays.
Getting up, going through the motions at school, just waiting to get the whole
darn day out of the way. Like one big checkmark on my own cosmic to-do list.

School was the first to-do—not to mention the easiest part
of the day.
Sad life commentary there.
Amy was waiting
to head to English and I was just tucking the books for my afternoon classes
into my bag when my phone
twirledtweetertwirled
. I’d
forgotten to turn it off—obviously—and was really hoping there were no
adult-type-people around to confiscate it for the day.

Which was weird since Amy was standing right there and who
else would be sending me something?

“Who’s it from?” Amy leaned around her locker door to try to
grab a glance at my cell.

See? Even Amy knows she’s the only person who might text me.
Flipping my screen open, I sucked in a bit of air, shocked at the name at the
bottom of the message.

English.
Pop quiz.
Ch 5-7.
Subplot Qs.
—Chris.

I made a mental note to discuss that plays weren’t broken
into chapters as I stared at the surprise gift.

I’m pretty sure Amy had to ask what it was twice since I
couldn’t hear her over my heart Ka-
Powing
in my
chest.

“What is it?” She finally asked—again?—as I tossed my phone
in my tote.

“We have a pop quiz in English. What do you remember about
the subplots?”
Because suddenly, I couldn’t even remember
what we were reading.

“Um.
Yeah. Not much.” She kind of
blushed
a little. Amy’s main reason for going to school was
because they let her play with paint for two periods. She wasn’t stupid, just
focused. Also, if one of us was going to need a homework reminder, it wasn’t
me. “I kind of skimmed last night so I could paint. My portfolio is due to Mrs.
Cleary for scanning by next week. Plus, I have no idea how you find all these
Shakespeare people so interesting.”

Great.
Neither of us
were
ready. I’d been all about History this week trying to
make the chart work and when we had time, math. English, not so much.

My hand searched the bottom of my tote and wrapped around my
phone. At least I knew there
was
a
quiz. Why’d he send me that? This whole good guy thing was feeling weirder and
weirder. Chris was becoming too nice.
Too real.

Amy closed her locker and we fell in step toward the
caf
.

“Who was it from?”

I’m a strong believer in playing dumb. “What?”

Amy thinks having bangs hides her eye-rolling from the rest
of the world. This is not true. I humor her. It’s what friends do.

“The text.”

“Oh.
The text.”
I dropped the phone
and pulled my hand out of the bag.
“Just a friend in an
earlier class.”

I smiled at the word again, afraid of the happy shiver it
gave me.
Friend.

This was either going really well or was on a crash course
to disaster.

~*~

As always, besides not being my friend, Wednesdays were
always a little scattered, especially if there was an after-school game.
Which, of course because we’re talking about my luck, there was.

And, of course, there were rules to stick to.

I go home and do my homework instead of going to the game. I
finish my homework. I do not go sit with Amy unless my homework is done.

This was definitely more a Mom rule than a Dr. Meadows rule.

Just after five, as I was putting the finishing touches on
my not so wonderful math pages for Chris to look over, the phone played Amy’s
ringtone. I already knew I was going to agree to whatever she invited me to.

I hit talk.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, I haven’t said anything yet.”

I could hear the guys shouting behind her. It was always a
plus when they win. Amy could definitely suffer from the Stats Girl Grumps.

“You were going to say, ‘We won. Want to blah
blah
blah
?’
Which
I would have replied to with, ‘Sure.’”
I was already stacking my books
on the corner of the kitchen table.

“Great! Just so you know, blah
blah
blah
was actually going to be pizza at
Jovi’s
. Hold on.” Amy’s voice faded away like she had
covered the phone. “No. No. Stop that. I was—”

“Rachel, sweetheart.
I just wanted
to make sure you know that I’m going to be at this outing in case you want to
cute yourself up a little special.”

World’s
.
Biggest.
Flirt. All of Ben Harrison’s T-shirts should have
that written in ultra-bold font on the front. Again I wondered if there was any
substance behind the carelessness. Maybe that’s what I liked about him—fluff
can’t hurt you.

“Ben, I’m wondering now if I should bother showering and
putting on something other than sweats. If you can’t love me for the woman I
am, this is never going to work between us.”

He was laughing as soon as I threatened to show up smelling
less than daisy fresh.

“We’ll take you any way we can get you. Amy’s scowling. Or
at least I think that’s what she’s doing. She still kind of looks sweet, so
it’s hard to tell. See
ya
.”

More shuffling and then a deep sigh.

“Are you coming?” Amy’s patience level was definitely maxing
out. Flirting, even in a joking manner, was beyond her comprehension. “Ben and
Luke invited themselves along, so you better
be
coming.”

“I already said yes. You had me at your ringtone. I’ll meet
you guys there.”

Luckily, I didn’t really need to shower and I was already
dressed for success. So the only thing I need to do was pass Mom Inspection and
head out the door.

By the time I got to
Jovi’s
there
was pizza on the table. It was mostly gone, but with two guys post-soccer game
I was lucky
mostly
was the defining
word.

Lily, a girl from our school who worked there, was clearing
our table when a group paused outside the window next to our booth. I don’t
know if he had super-intense staring powers or what, but all of us turned to
see Chris Kent glaring through the glass like he was going to melt a hole in it
with his amazing laser vision.

With a few words to the guys he was with, Chris split off
and stormed into the pizzeria.

We all kind of watched it, our heads twisting around to
following him down the sidewalk, through the door, and back across the
restaurant.

He stalled out right at the edge of our booth, glaring down
at the table in general.

“Hey.” Note that
hey
sounded a lot more like,
What
the hell?
Only, I had no idea what the hell he was
what the
hell’
ing
.

Ben’s arm stretched out behind me and dropped across the
back of the booth, brushing my shoulder.

More glaring.
This was weirder than
the pillow fight moment. I seriously had to check my calendar to figure out
when I entered Alternate Universe World.

“Chris, what’s up?” Luke asked. Usually the standard
greeting, but even Luke sounded curious about the hovering-glaring thing going
on.

Chris’s gaze snapped to Luke and then spun around to fall on
me.

“Rachel, can I talk to you for a second?” His attention
slipped to Ben like he might say no or demand to see a
Permission-To-Talk-To-Rachel slip or something.

“Sure.” It took me a second to realize he meant privately.
As opposed to airing whatever was bugging him in front of his friends.
My friends.
Our friends…whatever.

I followed him to the far corner and leaned against the
pinball machine that was actually working for once.

“What’s up?” I got a little nervous when I noticed the ears
were slightly more than pink, but not yet red.

“This is why you couldn’t meet with me until later?” He
sounded really mad. Like,
the sign in the
window said 50% off sale but it was only on things no one would buy
mad.

To be honest, I was feeling a little annoyed
myself
.

“No. This is not why. This is none of your business. It may
surprise you, but I do have a life outside of catering to your academic needs.”

“Are you dating Ben?”

Okay, segue much?

“Am I dating Ben? What does that have to do with anything?”

“It just seems like every time I turn around you’re tied to
another person I wouldn’t want to know you’re tutoring me.”

Seriously?
Mrs. Lester would so be
proud of me thinking
total hyperbole
right now.

“You must not turn around much, because Ben is my first new
friend in years.
Friend
.
Got it?
Friend?”

“Whatever.” He ran his hands through his curls and glanced
at the table. In the mirror over the games, I saw the whole group whip around
like they hadn’t been watching us. We’d probably get better ratings than any
reality show MTV was putting out. “So, are you blowing me off or something?”

I would not feel guilty. I would not cave and explain myself
to him. He was not the boss of me.

“No. I still have something tonight. This is not me blowing
you off. You can show up after nine-thirty or not.
Just like
I said.”
I pushed off the pinball machine. “It’s totally up to you.”

Halfway across the restaurant I realized he was following
close behind. As I slid into the booth, he kind of hovered at the edge of the
table again. When he spoke, it was directed at Ben. He obviously was not buying
the “
we’re just friends”
speech. Not
that it mattered.

Whatever.

“Sorry. Rachel and I are working on a school project and I
just needed to check some stuff.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his
track pants. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Chris.” I glanced at the table and no one was wildly
shaking their head before he could turn back around. “Why don’t you join us?
We’re getting root beer floats.”

How could the whole darn school not have any idea how lost
this boy was? He looked at me like I’d just asked if we could meet on the moon
instead of asking him if he wanted to hang out.

“Yeah.”
Ben to
the rescue.
“The girls seem to think my life is incomplete because I’ve
never had one. Stay for the big moment.”

Chris glanced past us, out the window. Probably to make sure
his actual cool friends weren’t anywhere near to see this, and then pulled a
chair to the end of the table.

I scooted out, brushing past him as I went. How weird was
this? Chris was actually hanging out with us. It was probably a guilt-hang. As
in, I’m forcing her to tutor me so I should probably pretend I like her.

At the counter, I shouted out back for
Jovi
to add another float to the order and headed back to the table. Trying not to
graze Chris as I slid back into the booth, I watched as everyone tried to put
him at ease. I guess, even though the guys were his teammates, he was on my
turf now.

Just as I was beginning to really worry about things never
getting comfortable, the floats arrived.

“Go ahead, Ben.” Amy pushed one toward him. “Give it a try.”

As per Ben, he made a big production out of examining the
glass.
Sipping the edge.
Considering
spoon versus straw.
All of us were already happily slurping away by the
time he dropped his spoon right into the float. It did what any float would
do—it fizzed over half-exploding onto the table and slopping onto Ben’s lap.

That wasn’t even the best part. The best part, the part that
almost had me doubled over, was Chris snorting root beer out his nose.

Amy and I looked at each other and laughed like God put
these boys on the planet just for our amusement.

“Stop laughing. That stuff stings.” Chris wiped at his nose.

Ben wiped at his pants.

Luke looked insufferably proud not to be wearing root beer.

“Don’t worry.” I patted Ben’s shoulder. “That was totally an
amateur move.
Happens to the best of us.”

As the laughing died, there was that moment of
Oh no. What do we say now?

This time Chris filled the silence. Maybe I needed to teach
him when
not
to talk.

“Has Rachel told you about her new boyfriend?” Everyone’s
gaze shifted toward Chris quicker than…well, something really quick. Amy’s a little
more pointed. “They’re really close. She sees him every day.”

For a weird—surprising—one-one millionth of a second, my
heart kind of skitter stepped.

What’s that all about?

Chris leaned forward, and it seemed like everyone eased in
to hear him.

“Mr. Reed is totally in love with her. He even
smiles
when she comes in.” He tossed a
wink my way…as if I wasn’t going to kill him later.

Amy cocked an eyebrow at me. “Since when do you flirt with
teachers?”

“Actually,” I patted Chris on the shoulder in as
condescending
a move as I could make. “Chris here is being
modest. I think Mr. Reed is just smiling at me to get to him.”

“I’m not the one he invited for quality time after school.”

“Please! He just didn’t want to spend time stroking your
enormous ego over your A on that pop quiz.”