The Tension of Opposites (16 page)

She looked into my eyes. “I'm not giving up.”

“Of course not,” I said, shoving the iPod into her hand.

I listened to her click her tongue as she ran her thumb along the face of the slim device. And then she said, “Oh, yeah,” and reached forward, twisting the volume on my radio until the clanging guitar strings of Ani DiFranco's “Outta Me, Onto You” vibrated every cell of my body.

“Lie down.” Max's feet broke through a thick layer of ice that blanketed the snow-covered ground.

I pulled at the sides of my wool hat, adjusting it so my ears were covered. “How'd you ever get so smooth?”

“C'mon,” Max said, pointing his camera at me and clicking a picture. “Just do it so we can get back to the car.”

“This was your idea,” I said. “I mean, I could have thought of at least ten other ways to spend our snow day.”

“Ten?”

“Okay, maybe eight.”

“Do any of those ideas include us snuggled under a blanket on the couch in my basement?”

“If I don't freeze in this ice storm, you might find out.”

A stiff breeze whipped through the treetops above us. TheThree Sisters groaned under the weight of a half inch of ice clinging to their thick bodies.

“The storm passed hours ago, Tessa. It's probably in Pennsylvania by now.” Max pointed at the ground. “I just need to get three or four shots. Lie down.”

“You know, some girls would be offended by all these demands.” I knelt on the cold ground.

“Have you even taken out your camera?”

I fumbled with the zipper on the black case and pulled my camera into the light.

“Okay, okay,” I said, lying on the ground, pointing my lens skyward and adjusting the focus. Covered by the ice, everything sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight, giving the woods this glow that was more fairy tale than reality.

“That's not right.” Max's feet crunched toward me. “Look at the picture again.”

His mittened hand shoved a photograph that he'd taken the previous summer into my face: me lying at the base of the Three Sisters, wearing shorts and a tank top, sweating in the oppressive heat, taking shots from the ground up.

“I still can't believe you took pictures of me,” I said. “It's so stalkeresque.”

“Stop being so dramatic and pose, will you?”

“What am I doing wrong?”

A navy blue finger pointed at my straightened legs, which were half frozen by that point. “In the picture your left leg is bent.”

“You're kidding, right?” I looked at his face, took in the way his eyes were all crinkled, how his mouth didn't even hold a hint of a smile. “Okay, fine.” I pulled my left foot toward my body and stuck my tongue out at Max as he turned to walk away.

“Perfect.” I heard the shutter snap as he took several shots. “Talk about an opposing image.”

“You're actually excited about this art show, aren't you?”

“I think it sounds kind of cool. I'm interested to see whose projects get tagged with ribbons.”

“I know mine won't.” Instinct took over, and I popped off my lens cap. Looking through the little square, I watched the arms of the Three Sisters sway above me. Though I hadn't planned to, I snapped several shots while Max walked around, trying to find the exact spot he'd been standing when we'd met all those months ago.

“You never know.” The shutter of Max's camera snapped three or four more times. “You just might get first place.”

“Not if I don't enter.”

Max walked toward me and helped me up. Pulling me against his body, he wrapped his arms around my waist. “You can say you're not entering all you want. I don't believe you.”

Max kissed me on the lips, stifling my reply. I kissed him back, wishing he could understand. When our lips parted, I noticed snowflakes swirling in the air.

“It's not just that I'm terrified—which I am, by the way,” I said. “It's all this stuff with Elle. Something needs to happen.”

“Like what?”

“Jessie being flattened by a meteor.”

“If she's gone, Chip might stay with Elle. I thought you hated them together.”

“I can't stand it. But I hate the thought of him breaking her heart even more.”

Max shook his head. “Tessa, Tessa, Tessa.”

“What?” I grabbed his hand, pulling him up the slope and toward the trail that led us to the parking lot.

“You're getting too caught up in everything with Elle. It's kind of freaking me out.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I trudged up a small hill, watching my breath crystallize in the air.

“Pretty much exactly what I said.” Max stopped a step ahead of me and shrugged. I looked at the branches behind him. They clicked against one another, all rushed and frenzied in the bitter gusts of air. It was like they were trying to tell us something important.

“Elle is my best friend. If you can't handle—”

“Tessa! All I've been doing is handling it!” Max threw his hands up in the air. His eyes were so wide and held so much frustration that I had to look to the glistening ground. “I've been understanding and patient when I didn't think I could be either of those things for one more second. I've tried to give you space, to let you do what you need to do for her.”

“Max, I know. And I appreciate it. I do. It's just—”

“That's the thing. It's always
just
something.” Max rubbed the top of his head with his mittened hand. He sighed and a stream of white breath flew from his mouth. “You mean a lot to me, Tessa. I want to be supportive. But you're too wrapped up in all her drama. And you're starting to make me feel a little crazy.”

I looked at Max, hot tears springing to my eyes. “I have to be there for her.”

“Of course you do. But you're trying too hard to be her safety net.” Max's lips pinched tight. “It's great to support someone after she falls. But you're gonna break
yourself
if you keep trying to hold her up. Don't you get that?”

“No,” I said, my foot stomping into the snow. “I don't get it. This girl has been my best friend all of my life. I would do anything for her. Least of all, by the way, would be breaking myself to help her. Because she didn't
fall
, Max. She was shoved down and ground into the cement, pulverized by the heel of someone's shoe.”

“Listen,” Max said, his tone as crisp as the air, “I'm not trying to trivialize what happened to Elle. For one freaking conversation, though, I'd like to take the focus off her and put it on us.”

“Don't you mean on
you
?”

Max's shoulders stiffened. “This,” Max said, looking at me with frozen eyes, “is about the part of me that wants to be with you, Tessa. If you can't …” Max bent at the waist, propping his hands on his knees, staring down at the ground like it was just too much to look at me. Seeing him like that made me want to run.

I looked past Max, to the clickety-clackety branches, whose message suddenly became clear. If I kept it up, I was going to lose him. The problem was, I didn't know how to stop myself. Not when it came to Elle.

I balled my numb hands into fists and squeezed as tight as I could. I wanted to scream and scream and scream. I was screwing everything up. And I didn't have the strength to pull myself off the path I had chosen. I had to play it out. To see where everything would fall in the end. I just hoped I wouldn't find myself standing alone.

“Max, I'm sorry.” My words shivered in the air between us. “This whole thing with Elle, I can't explain it. It's just so huge. I know I'm doing things wrong every time I turn around. But I'm doing the best I can.”

“Some days”—Max straightened up and stared at the treetops—“your best makes me feel like you couldn't care less.”

“Do you need me to tell you that you're important to me? That being with you is the only thing that really feels
safe
and
right
in this crazy mess?”

Max's lips parted in the hint of a smile. “It would be nice.” He looked at me, his chocolaty eyes melting.

“Well …” I glanced down at the ground, kicked at the snow with the toe of my boot. “It's true.”

I looked at him just as the shutter opened and captured me.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Your cheeks are all pink, and a few snowflakes just landed on your lashes. Had to take it.” Max shivered and grabbed my hand. “All I'm asking is that you stop making me feel like I'm so … forgettable.”

“You're hardly forgettable,” I said with a smile, rubbing a mittened finger across his lips.

“That's certainly nice to hear.” Max wrapped his arm around my waist, and we resumed walking toward the car.

“I'm thinking hot chocolate,” I said, tucking my hand into the curve of his waist.

“Under the blanket on my couch?”

“Sure.” I laughed, trying to force the leftover tension from the air. “Let's go!”

We raced to his car and flung open the doors, scrambling into the front seat. I'm pretty sure we both had the same idea, because we both tugged off our mittens at the same moment. After Max turned the key in the Mustang's ignition and the car rumbled to life, he looked at me and said, “We'd better let it warm up.”

Loving that every other space in the parking lot was empty, I leaned toward him, my lips parted, ready to commence with my newfound favorite pastime.

“But I'm so cold,” I said, pouting my lips. I'd read in
Glamour
that guys like pouty lips, and yes, I'd even practiced the look in the mirror.

Max tugged at the zipper of my coat and grinned. “I think I can help you with that,” he whispered as his lips brushed against mine.

“Tess, don't you think it's time we get to know him?” My mother was standing at the kitchen counter, a few dozen naked cupcakes spread out in front of her. A glass mixing bowl filled with homemade strawberry icing was shoved to her left.

“I thought you were going to frost some with chocolate,” I said, plucking a cupcake from the end of one row. I plunged a knife into the icing and plopped some on top before peeling off the paper wrapper.

“I didn't have all the ingredients. And with the storm coming, I had no desire to deal with the crowd that's bound to be at the store.” My mother swept her wrist along her forehead, pushing from her face bangs that had fallen from the clip holding back her hair. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

I nodded, pinching off a bit of cupcake and putting it into my mouth. “I was ignoring you.”

My mother looked at me and tilted her head. “You've been spending a lot of time with this boy, Tessa.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom, if you think I'm gonna have him over for some family dinner, you're crazy.”

“Why?” My mother dipped a plastic spatula in the bowl and started her well-perfected process of applying icing. When she finished, it would look like tiny waves were rolling across the top of each cupcake. “Your father and I aren't so bad, are we?”

“It has nothing to do with you.” I licked some pink goo off my fingers. “It's just too formal. I'm not even sure what to call us right now.”

My mother turned to face me. The apron she was wearing had a Hershey's Kiss on the front and read chocolate makes everything better. I'd picked it out for her about a million Mother's Days ago. “It might be formal, but this quick meet-and-greet when he picks you up will not suffice much longer. I'm not comfortable—”

I put a sticky hand in the air and munched the last of my cupcake. “Ma, let it happen naturally, okay?”

“That's gross, Tessa,” she said, pointing the spatula at my full mouth. “And though you would like for it to be, this discussion is far from over.”

“Fine,” I said. “Just no more tonight.
Please
.” I grabbed the spatula from her and turned toward the cupcakes, reaching for another.

“No way!” My mother yanked the spatula from my hand and shoved it deep into the bowl of goopy icing. “I need the rest of these for the meeting tomorrow.”

“I was going to help you decorate them.” I took a step back and shrugged. “But if you don't need my help—”

“I would love your help,” she said, pulling several containers of sugar sprinkles from the cabinet above the counter. “You can sprinkle like you used to when you were little. But first”— she turned to face me—“will you check the weather? I need to be in Cincinnati by ten tomorrow, and if it's going to be as bad as they're saying, I need to get up super early.”

“You should just stay home.” I turned and walked toward the living room, my thick socks sliding along the wood floor. I watched the wavy shadow of my reflection cross the black depth of three large windows that looked over our backyard. The bitter winter night had set in early.

“I can't afford to, and you know it,” my mother called over her shoulder. “The doctors have to learn about this new asthma drug if I expect them to start prescribing it.”

I sank down onto the couch and propped my feet on the coffee table, clicking on the television. The Local on the 8s wouldn't hit the Weather Channel for three more minutes, so I flipped up toward MTV. Commercial. I kept flipping. Up toward the news channels. Flip. Flip. Flip. Stop.

I flipped back, wondering if I'd really seen what I thought I had.

From my spot in the middle of the couch, I leaned forward, my elbows digging into my knees, and tried not to blink at the television. The sour-looking face of Charlie Croft occupied the entire screen. His dark eyes stared out at me. I wanted to scream, claw them out of his face.

I read the Breaking News banner once. Twice.

My teeth ground together.

The third time the words scrawled across the screen, I listened to the reporters' voices, and it started to come together in my mind, forming an entire picture.

When the doorbell rang, I didn't move. I couldn't. It wouldn't have mattered if it had been John Mayer standing out there singing my favorite song, that one about melody being his destiny. I was wholly incapable of doing anything but sitting and staring.

My mother said something sarcastic about not bothering me and swept through the walkway behind the couch. When the front door opened, the door knocker swung against its bed in a reverberating
thunk
, and I let the air I'd captured escape my chest.

“Mom!” I called, lowering the television's volume until the remote control slipped from my hand and bounced under the couch. “You gotta see—”

“Tessa, you have company.” My mother's voice was higher than usual. A familiar cheer that meant only that she was trying too hard. Was the whole Max thing going to happen right now? Because it was
so
not the right time. “You must be freezing! Come in here and warm up.”

The muffled sound of a soft voice flowed my way, but I couldn't discern whether it was male or female with the rustling of a winter coat and the clomping of heavy boots.

“I love your hair,” my mother said, her voice moving closer now. I stood quickly and stepped around the couch.

“Really?” a familiar voice asked.

“Really. You look wonderful, Elle.”

“Eh,” Elle answered as they stepped into the room. “My mom made me do it. Said it would make me feel better.”

“Moms sometimes do know what's best.”

My chest tightened. My body wouldn't move. It was like time had stopped, and I couldn't figure out what to do.
Block the TV
, my mind screamed.
Block her view!

“You didn't walk here in all this snow, did you?” my mother asked with a concerned tone.

“No,” Elle said. “A friend dropped me off.”

“We'll make sure you get home before the storm gets too strong.” My mother ran her hands down the front of her apron. A few dried slivers of icing fell to the floor. “I've got to get back to work. If you girls want to help, you can each have a cupcake.”

“Mmm.” Elle licked her lips. “I'm stuffed from dinner, but I haven't had one of those in forever.”

Get her out of here,
I told myself. But then I wondered. Did she already know? Was that why she was here? To tell me?

I sucked in a deep breath, hoping my voice would come out normal instead of shaky, because if anyone knew what I sounded like when I was freaking out, it was the two people standing in the room with me.

“Elle,” I said, “your hair!” Elle swiveled her head, her now-shoulder-length hair swooshing across the back of her neck. She reached up and ran her fingers through her newly layered bangs that hung down the left side of her face. Rays streaming from the recessed light above accented the soft shade of auburn, and the new streaks of highlights and lowlights.

“You like it?” Elle's nose crinkled up, and I could tell she was uncomfortable with the change.

“I love it,” I said. “I mean, that interesting shade of blue-black was okay. But this … is so much more you.” I took a step forward, wondering if she could see any of the screen, or if I was still successfully blocking it.

“Tessa,” Elle said, her voice soft. “Is everything okay? You look really pale and—”

When she stopped talking, I knew it was over. And I could tell she hadn't had any idea what had happened. She tilted her whole body to the side and looked around me. Her face froze. She wrapped her arms around her front, holding herself tight, like she was expecting to be hit from behind.

“So you haven't heard?” I asked, gripping her upper arms and steering her to the couch.

Elle shook her head.

“I wasn't sure.”

“The phone's been ringing a lot today.” Elle pressed her fingers into her eyes. “And my parents, they were whispering about something in the basement when I left with Chip, but I didn't know it was … about Charlie.”

“What's going on?” my mother asked, her eyes wide.

I shook my head. Looked at my mom and mouthed,
Call her parents.

But she didn't. She sat down on the couch, her apron fanning around her like an old-fashioned dress, and wrapped her arm around Elle's shoulders.

Elle finally opened her eyes and watched silently, clenching and unclenching her hands until her fingers were white. The sound was way down, and I could hear only the whisper of the reporters' voices, could catch only a few random and unconnected words.

Tony Stoker.

Assailed.

No. Vital. Signs.

“Oh, dear,” my mother said.

“Can you turn it up?” Elle stared at the screen. An aerial view of the prison offered us a rooftop scene where a high razor-sharp fence surrounded a frozen-over basketball court. I assumed that beneath it the entire prison was on lockdown.

I knelt in front of the couch and swept my hand along the plush carpet until I found the remote. When I sat up and raised the volume, a cherry-cheeked reporter named Chase Nettles broke the silence between us. I reached for Elle's hands.

“Prison officials have yet to make a statement.” Chase had a deep voice that didn't fit his baby face. “But one officer reported that Croft was attacked by another inmate as he arrived for cleanup duty in the kitchen. The assailant, Tony Stoker, used a shiv, or a knifelike weapon, stabbing Croft numerous times.”

Elle's hands shook under mine.

“Okay, I'm hearing that it is confirmed,” a female voice announced as the screen flipped to a shot of a blonde reporter with helmet hair. She pressed her earpiece farther into her ear as she looked just left of the camera. “Croft was pronounced dead at five fifty-three this afternoon. There will be an autopsy to confirm the exact cause of death, but it is suspected that the knife punctured his trachea, in effect drowning him in his own blood.”

“Oh, God,” I said.

Elle turned. Looked into my eyes. “He's dead?”

I nodded. Hugged her tight.

My mother stared at us with watery eyes.

“He's dead,” Elle whispered into my ear.

My mother stood and stepped backward around the couch, bumping into the corner. She steadied herself with one hand. “I'm going to call your parents, Elle.”

“He can't hurt anyone ever again,” I said.

“He's-dead-he's-dead-he's-dead.”

“Yes,” I said, smoothing Elle's soft auburn hair. “He's dead.”

“He's-dead-he's-dead-he's-dead,”
Elle chanted, pulling away from me and looking back to the television. She pressed a hand to her mouth and lurched forward, standing quickly. “I think I need to be sick,” she whispered, rushing around the couch and into the half bath in the hallway.

I followed closely behind, unsure if she'd want me there. And then I remembered her tenth birthday. That day, I'd been so excited for her party I'd ignored the unnatural grumbling in my stomach. When the sight of hot dogs sent me rushing for the bathroom, I was mortified by the sound of laughter that followed me. But then Elle was there, right by my side, where she stayed, missing most of her party to hold my hand and tell me that it didn't matter what those jerks thought anyway.

I knew as I reached for the handle and closed the door behind me that it wouldn't be as easy to make her feel better tonight. But I had to try. So I knelt down and held back her hair as she heaved everything from her stomach into the toilet.

When she finished, she crumpled to the floor. “Ick,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I ate too much of my mom's chicken tetrazzini.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and when I opened it, my mom handed me a glass of ice water.

“They're coming right over,” she said, her worried eyes almost sending me over the edge. I was barely holding on, and her quivery chin nearly pulled me apart.

I closed the door and leaned against the wall, spreading out my legs as I passed the water to Elle. She took a large sip and swished, then spit it into the toilet. I closed the lid and flushed, surprised when Elle lay next to me and placed her head in my lap. I ran my fingers through her soft hair, watching the silky strands tumble across my jeans.

“Will you braid it?” she asked. “Like you used to?”

I smiled and grasped a small section, separating it into three equal parts. I was just finishing the fifth small braid when she turned her face to me. She was pale and looked so young. And afraid.

“I wish we could stay in here forever,” she said.

I shook my head. “You're too strong for that.”

“I don't feel like it.”

My fingers twisted and twisted and twisted her hair. “But you will.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she took several deep breaths. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked.

I ran my thumb along the braid I'd just finished, feeling its dips and curves. “I never really thought about it.”

“It's just that”—Elle pinched her lips together—“I did all this stuff to get away. What if he can find me now? Punish me for escaping and turning him in?”

“Oh, Elle.” I brushed my fingertips across her forehead. “He's gone. For keeps. You're safe now.”