The Truth About Forever (29 page)

I felt someone bump my other side and looked over to see Monica, a bottled water in one hand, looking out at the crowd in the living room with a bored expression.

"Did you see who Macy is
with
?" Kristy said to her.

"Mmm-hmm," Monica said.

"I am not
with
him," I said, rubbing my elbow. "He needed to drop something off, I was over there helping Bert get ready for the Armageddon social, and he just—"

"Oh, shit!" Kristy put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. "I forgot about the social. God, please tell me he didn't wear that polka-dot shirt."

"He didn't," I told her, and she visibly relaxed. "Stripes."

"Tie?"

I nodded. "The blue one."

"Good." She took a sip of the beer she was holding, then pointed a finger at me. "Now, let's get back to you and Wes. Do you swear there's nothing going on?"

"God, calm down," I said. She was still looking at me, as if this was not an acceptable answer. I added, "I swear."

"All right then," she said, nodding toward the dining room, where I could see a bunch of guys gathered around the table. "Prove it."

"Prove it?" I said, but she was already dragging me down into the foyer, across the living room, and into the dining room, plopping me down in a chair, and perching herself on the arm. Monica, true to form, arrived about thirty seconds later, looking winded. Not that Kristy seemed to notice. Clearly she was on a mission.

"Macy," she said, gesturing down the table to a heavyset guy in a baseball cap, another in an orange shirt, and, at the end, a hippie-looking type with blue eyes and a ponytail, "this is John, Donald, and Philip."

"Hi," I said, and they all said hello in return.

"Macy's currently sort of between relationships," Kristy explained, "and I am trying,
trying
, to show her that there is a whole world of possibilities out there."

Everyone was looking at me, and I felt my face redden. I wondered when Wes was coming back.

"These guys," Kristy continued, gesturing around the table, "are totally undateable. But they're really nice."

"The fact that we're undateable, however," John, the one in the baseball hat, said to me, "did not stop her from dating all of us."

"That's how I know!" she said, and they all laughed. Donald handed her a quarter and she bounced, missing, and drank. "Look," she said to me, "I'm going to go do a preliminary sweep. When I come back, I'll walk you through and introduce you to some prospects. Okay?"

"Kristy," I said, but she was already walking away, patting John on the head as she passed him.

"Your turn," he said, nodding at me.

I picked up the quarter. While I'd seen this game played before, I'd never tried it myself. I bounced the quarter like Kristy had, and it landed in the cup with a splash, which was good. I thought. "What happens now?" I asked Philip.

He swallowed. "You pick someone to drink."

I looked around the table, then pointed at John, who raised his cup, toasting me.

"Your turn again," Philip said.

"Oh." I bounced the quarter again: again, it went in.

"Watch out!" Donald said. "She's on fire!"

Just barely: with my third bounce, I missed. Philip indicated that I should drink, which I did, and pushed the quarter on to John. "Oh well," I said. "It was fun while it lasted." He made it, of course, and pointed at me.

"Bottoms up," he said, so I drank again.

And again. And again. The next twenty minutes or so passed quickly—or at least it seemed that way—as I missed just about every bounce I took
and
was picked to drink whenever anyone else landed one in. Dateable or not, these guys were ruthless. Which meant that by the time Wes slid into the seat beside me, things were seeming a little fuzzy. To say the least.

"Hey," he said. "Thought you were lost."

"Not lost," I told him. "Kidnapped. And now, a colossal failure at quarters. Did you find your friend?"

He shook his head. "He's not here. You about ready to go?"

"Beyond ready," I said. "In fact, I think I'm a little—" "Macy." I turned around to see Kristy, hands on hips, looking determined. "It's time to do this."

"Do what?" Wes asked, and I was wondering the same thing, having totally forgotten our earlier conversation. Not that it mattered, as she already had me on my feet, stumbling slightly, and was dragging me full force into the kitchen. Oh, right, I thought. Prospects.

"You know," I said. "I don't think I'm really—"

"Five minutes," she said firmly. "That's all I'm asking." Fifteen minutes later, I found myself still in the kitchen, which was now packed with people, talking to a football player who was named either Hank or Frank: it had been too loud to make it out exactly. I'd been trying to extract myself, but between the crowd pressed all around me and Kristy watching like a hawk as she talked to her own prospect, it was kind of hard. Plus I was feeling a bit unsteady. Make that a lot unsteady.

"Don't you date Jason Talbot?" he said to me, shouting to be heard over the music that was blasting from a nearby stereo.

"Well," I began, pushing a piece of hair out of my face.

"What?" he yelled.

I said, "Actually, we're—"

He shook his head, cupping a hand behind his ear. "What?"

"No," I said loudly, leaning in closer to him and almost losing my balance. "No. I don't."

Just then, someone bumped me from behind, pushing me into Hank/Frank. "Sorry," I said, starting to step back, but he put his hands on my waist. I felt dizzy and strange, too hot, entirely too hot.

"Careful there," he said, smiling at me again. I looked down at his hands, spread over my hips: they were big and hammy. Yuck. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, trying to step back again. But he moved with me, sliding his arms farther around my waist. "I think I need some air," I said.

"I'll come with you," he said, and Kristy turned her head, looking at me.

"Macy?" she said.

"She's fine," Hank/Frank said.

"You know," I said to Kristy, but I lost sight of her as a tall girl with a pierced nose stepped between us, "I think we should—"

"Me too," Hank/Frank said. I could feel his fingers brushing under my shirt, touching my bare skin. I felt a chill, and not the good kind. He leaned in closer to me, his lips touching my ear just slightly, and said, "Hey, let's go somewhere."

I looked for Kristy again, but she was gone, nowhere I could see. Now I was feeling totally woozy as Hank/Frank leaned into my ear again, his voice saying something, but the music was loud, the beat pounding in my ears.

"Wait," I said, trying to pull back from him.

"Shhh, calm down," he said, moving his hands up my back. I yanked away from him, too hard, then stumbled backwards, losing my balance. I could feel myself falling fast, into the space behind me, even as I tried to right myself. And then, suddenly, there was someone there.

Someone who put his hands on my elbows, steadying me, pulling me back to my feet. The hands were cool on my hot skin, and I could just feel this presence behind me, solid, like a wall. Something to lean on, strong enough to hold me.

I turned my head. It was Wes.

"There you are," he said, as Hank/Frank looked on, annoyed. "You about ready to go?"

I nodded. I could feel his stomach against my back, and without even thinking about it I felt myself leaning back into him. His hands were still cupping my elbows, and even though I knew this was weird, that I'd never do it any other time, I just stayed where I was, pressed against him.

"Hey," Hank/Frank said to me, but Wes had already started through the crowd. There were so many people, so much to navigate, and as the distance fluctuated between us his hand kept slipping, down my arm to my wrist. And maybe he was going to let go as people pressed in on all sides, but all I could think was how when nothing made sense and hadn't for ages, you just have to grab onto anything you feel sure of. So as I felt his fingers loosening around my wrist, I just wrapped my own around them, tight, and held on.

The instant we walked out the front door, someone yelled Wes's name, loud. It startled me, startled both of us, and I dropped his hand quickly.

"Where you been, Baker?" some guy in a baseball hat, leaning against a Land Rover, was yelling. "You got that carburetor for me?"

"Yeah," Wes yelled back. "One second."

"Sorry," I said to him as he turned and looked at me. "I just, it was so hot in there, and he—"

He put his hands on my shoulders, easing me down so I was sitting on the steps. "Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back. Okay?"

I nodded, and he started across the grass toward the Rover. I took in a deep breath, which just made me feel dizzier, then cupped my head in my hands. A second later, I had the feeling that I was being watched. When I turned my head, I saw Monica.

She was standing just to my right, smoking a cigarette, the bottle of water tucked under her arm. I knew well she was not the type to creep up or move fast, which meant she'd seen us come out. Seen us holding hands. Seen everything.

She put her cigarette to her lips, taking a big drag, and kept her eyes on me, steady. Accusingly.

"It's not what you think," I said. "There was this guy in there… Wes rescued me. I grabbed
his
hand, just to get out."

She exhaled slowly, the smoke curling up and rising between us.

"It was just one of those things," I said. "You know, that just happen. You don't think or plan. You just do it."

I waited for her to dispute this with a "Donneven," or maybe an "Mmm-hmm," meant sarcastically, of course. But she didn't say a word. She just stared at me, indecipherable as ever.

"Okay," Wes said, walking up, "let's get out of here." Then he saw Monica and nodded at her. "Hey. What's going on?"

Monica took another drag in reply, then turned her attention back to me.

I stood up, tilting slightly, and then righted myself, not without effort. "You okay?" Wes asked.

"I'm fine," I said. He headed down the walk toward the truck, and I followed. At the bottom of the steps, I turned back to Monica. "Bye," I told her. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," she answered. I could feel her still watching me, as I walked away.

"If you could change one thing about yourself," Wes asked me, "what would it be?"

"How about everything I did between leaving your house and right now?" I said.

He shook his head. "I told you, it wasn't that bad," he said.

"You didn't have some football player pawing you," I pointed out.

"No," he said, "you're right about that."

I sat back against the side of the truck, stretching my legs out in front of me. Once we left the party, Wes had stopped at the Quik Zip, where I'd bought a big bottled water and some aspirin. Then he drove me back to my house, rebuffing my halfhearted protests by promising to get me back to my car the next morning. Once there, I'd expected him to just drop me off, but instead ever since, we'd been sitting in my driveway, watching fireflies flit around the streetlights and telling Truths.

But not the one about why I'd grabbed his hand. Everything had been such a blur, so hot and crazy, that there were moments I wondered if I'd imagined the whole thing. But then I'd remember Monica, her flat skeptical look, and know it had happened. I kept thinking about Jason, how weird he'd always been about physical contact, how reaching out for him was always like taking a chance, making a wish. With Wes, it had come naturally, no thinking.

"I wouldn't be so afraid," I said now. Wes, watching a firefly bob past, turned to look at me. "If I could change anything about myself. That's what it would be."

"Afraid," he repeated. Once again, I was reminded how much I liked that he never judged, in face or in tone, always giving me a chance to say more, if I wanted to. "Of…"

"Of doing things that aren't planned or laid out in advance for me," I said. "I'd be more impulsive, not always thinking about consequences."

He thought about this for a second. "Give me an example."

I took a sip of my water, then set it down beside me. "Like with my mother. There's so much I want to say to her, but I don't know how she'll react. So I just don't."

"Like what?" he asked. "What do you want to say?"

I ran my finger down the tailgate, tracing the edge. "It's not as much what I'd say, but what I'd do." I stopped, shaking my head. "Forget it. Let's move on."

"Are you passing?" he asked.

"I answered the question!" I said.

He shook his head. "Only the first part."

"That was not a two-part question," I said.

"It is now."

"You know you're not allowed to do that," I said. When we'd started, the only rule was you had to tell the truth, period. Still, ever since, we'd been bickering over various addendums. There had been a couple of arguments about the content of questions, one or two concerning the completeness of answers, and too many to count about whose turn it was. This, too, was part of the game. It was considerably harder to play by the rules, though, when you were making them up as you went along.

He looked at me, shaking his head. "Come on, just answer," he said, nudging my arm with his.

I exhaled loudly, leaning back on my palms. "Okay," I said, "I'd just… if I could, I'd just walk up to my mother and say whatever I felt like saying, right at that moment. Maybe I'd tell her how much I miss my dad. Or how I worry about her. I don't know what. Maybe it sounds stupid, but for once, I'd just let her know exactly how I feel, without thinking first. Okay?"

It wasn't the first time I'd felt a wave of embarrassment pass over me in giving an answer, but this was more raw and real, and I was grateful for the near-dark for whatever it could hide of my expression. For a minute, neither of us said anything, and I wondered again how it was possible that I could confess so much to a boy I'd only known for half a summer.

"That's not stupid," he said finally. I picked at the tailgate, keeping my head down. "It's not."

I felt that weird tickle in my throat and swallowed over it. "I know. But just talking about anything emotional is hard for her. For us. It's like she prefers we just not do that anymore."