Truest (14 page)

“Mmm
-hmmm
,” she said.

The weather cooled down a little later that evening. Over at the old Griggs place, Trudy was like a visiting dignitary, first hugging Whit and Elliot, then saying, “What the hell?” and hugging Silas and Laurel too. Laurel looked supremely pleased, and since Whit was enthused by the massive telescope, she escorted both Whit and Trudy over to see it. Elliot was intrigued but pretending not to be, as he, Silas, and I sat around the fire pit. I had asked him to
please
be friendly with Silas, and I could tell he was trying his hardest when he said, “So, Hart, we should run together sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Silas, in which I heard
Oh, hell no.

Elliot sipped from the patriotic drink Laurel had concocted by layering cranberry juice, blue Gatorade, and Sprite. “I think you could actually keep up with me,” he said, setting
down his drink by his feet—and in doing so, seeing our little orange radio resting there beside the fire pit. I saw something flit across Elliot's face and he stared hard at the radio.

Silas toyed with him. “Narcissism is good fuel, am I right?”

“Uh, sure,” said Elliot, dumbly agreeing.

Trudy rejoined us, and when Elliot glanced at her, I whispered, “Mocky McMockerton,” in Silas's ear. “
Play nice!
”

He whispered back, “Actually it used to be Ole Mockeroli, but it got changed at Ellis Island.” I loved the feel of his warm breath on my ear and neck, loved the way he had to bend low just to be at my level, loved the strange intimacy of the simple act of sharing secrets in this tiny crowd.

I burst out laughing at his Ellis Island comment. Then—as the others looked our way—I redirected their focus, asking, “Trudy, when do you have to leave tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“You're leaving again?” Elliot asked.

“I'm working at a camp this summer, Elliot. Hello!” she said.

“But first she has to make a pit stop in Eau Claire to woo a pair of brothers,” I added.

She elbowed me. I laughed, but Elliot said, “Why is everyone so obsessed with people from out of town?”

“Who's ‘everyone'?” Trudy pressed. I loved having my pushy best friend back in Green Lake, but I wanted her to just can it for once.

Elliot mumbled something incomprehensible, then stood up, saying, “I'm going to go see what Whit's doing with that girl.” He walked to the other side of the roof to examine the telescope.

“‘That girl' is my sister,” said Silas quietly through gritted teeth in Elliot's wake.

“Oh, don't mind Elliot,” Trudy told him. “He's just used to being Green Lake's hotshot.”

“Well,” said Silas, “he needs to relax. I'm not out to steal any stupid title from him.”

“I think he's more worried you'll steal West's attention,” she said bluntly. “Which you seem to have done.”

“
Trudy!
” I admonished, completely mortified, even as Silas laughed. I felt a blaze of heat bloom across my face, and I hoped it was too dark to notice. In the near distance, the first firework exploded over Green Lake.

Elliot, Whit, and Laurel rejoined our group around the fire, and we all oohed and ahhed over the show of colorful chandeliers, raining like glitter, and bright pops of white that stamped smoke on the sky. I felt the explosions inside me, deep in my back through my chair.

Beside me, Silas took my hand—low between our chairs so no one else saw—and laced his fingers in mine. I looked at him, but he was staring at the sky, his face impervious. My mind began to race—what did this mean exactly? Were we going to discuss this? Could anybody else tell that his fingers were intertwined with mine right now? I looked around at each
person, but they were all entranced by the wonder of the sky, while I was marveling at the wonder of Silas's thumb, moving an achingly slow path back and forth over mine. My heart pounded as if I'd just run a sprint.

What game was he playing?

I needed to pull my hand away. Now.

Do it now
, I ordered myself.
Now
.

Now
.

. . .
Now
.

Laurel's quavering voice suddenly spoke: “I don't feel well. I'm sorry.” Silas dropped my hand as Laurel stood up. “I'm gonna go to bed a little early.”

“The finale will be happening in just a minute,” Whit said. “You don't want to see it?”

Laurel shook her head—just the tiniest bit. “I need to go to bed. Headache.”

Whit stood up. “Do you need anything? Sit down; I'll get you water or . . . or something. West, do you have an Advil? Trudy?”

“I just need to go to bed,” she said, a little more urgently. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Nice to meet you, Trudy. Good night, Whit.” And then she disappeared through the door, Silas right behind her, following her down the stairs.

My heart galloped like a thousand racehorses. I had held Silas's hand
while my boyfriend sat on the other side of me.

And I had not pulled away.

My high school friends looked at me. “Is she okay?” Whit asked.

I had not pulled my hand away.

Focus!
I snapped at myself.
Quit thinking about yourself for one freaking minute.

“She'll be fine,” I said, heart still trilling. “She's just not feeling well.” I didn't believe it was a headache for one second, especially with the way Silas had gotten up and followed her back into the house. “Look,” I said, nodding in the direction of the lake, “the finale.”

What did it mean that I had not pulled my hand away?

No one acknowledged the finale, even though it was impressive. A discomfort had settled over those of us on the roof like a wet fog. Dilemma à la Laurel.

“We should go,” Elliot said to the rest of us. Whit looked concerned over whether he should leave without checking on Laurel first.

“She'll be fine,” I reassured him. “She gets sick kinda suddenly sometimes. She just needs a little time to rest and recover.” I hoped what I was saying was true. It didn't sound particularly true. My voice was shaky.

Silas's hand, holding mine.

I needed to think, needed to process.

Needed to talk to Silas.

We all went indoors, past Laurel's closed bedroom door, and down the stairs.

Out in the driveway, my mind was still flying and finding nowhere to land. I blushed as I thought of Silas's thumb making its slow, confident circles. I reached up and touched my face. My cheeks were so warm.

Elliot had held my hand a thousand times before today, a thousand times before he was even my boyfriend, and yet it had never elicited such a dizzying response.

I had ridden over with Trudy, and Elliot had with Whit, who climbed into the driver's seat of his Civic, still looking concerned and bewildered over what had happened on the roof—over what was happening inside right now. “You guys want to come over to my place?” Elliot asked from where he stood sandwiched between Whit's car and the open passenger door.

“I'm probably going to go home,” said Trudy. “I have to leave so early.”

“Okay,” Elliot said, “then West can ride with us.”

They both looked at me.

I paused for one horrible moment, and the look on Elliot's face changed before I even said, “I think I'm going to stay and make sure Laurel's okay.”

Elliot stepped away from the car and leaned his head toward me. “You're choosing him,” he hissed. “You're staying for
him.
”

“No, I'm not,” I argued. “I'm staying for Laurel.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” he muttered.

“
Excuse
me?” I said. “Did you really just say that?”

Trudy opened her car door and climbed in, abandoning me. I didn't blame her.

“What's your radio doing over here?” Elliot asked. “The orange one?”

“It's—it's Silas's.”

“You listen with him?” he accused. “Every night?”

“Not . . . not
every
night.”

It was quiet for a few long seconds that felt like hours, then Elliot said in his calm, level voice, “I don't want to say something I'll regret. I'd like for you to come over tonight, seeing as we never get time together anymore and I have the night off for once. Would you please come with us?”

I couldn't look at him.

“I'm staying for Laurel,” I said again, kicking at the driveway.

The car door shut—not an angry slam, just a crisp click. I didn't look up until Whit's car was nearly to the bridge.

“
Are
you staying for Laurel?” Trudy asked from behind me. I hadn't heard her get out of her car.

“Trudy!”

She didn't press me.

My heart begged her,
Please say you'll stay an extra day. I'll stay at your house tonight; we'll tell stories in the dark. Sort me out. Ink in my blurry lines.
But I didn't ask—couldn't. I was terrified she'd say no, and that would hurt even worse.

Trudy said, “Look, can I show you something? It's a secret.”

I frowned, a little wounded. “Of course you can. Why would you need to ask that, Tru?”

But you didn't tell her about Silas.
About
what
with Silas?
Nothing
was going on with Silas.

Then why are you still here?

“Because it's really intensely, monstrously, terrifyingly, intimately top secret and your dad's a pastor.”

“That's never stopped you before.”

“I know,” she said. “It's just . . . okay.” She nodded toward her backseat, then opened the door. I peered in next to her as she unzipped a duffel bag, dug into its depths, and—without even pulling the item out of the bag—propped it so I could see. “Just in case,” she said.

“Condoms?” I asked, then hissed, “
Trudy!
You don't even know which brother you like!”

“I like them both,” she said, giggling, then opened the box, fished out a couple, and said, “You never know. You might need them too.” I was flabbergasted as she stuffed them into the pocket of my jeans. “Don't let your dad see!” Then she zipped up the duffel and turned back to me. “West, don't look so shocked!”

I tried to erase the emotion from my face. “I just wasn't expecting it. Have you—before?” I braced myself to hear Trudy say she wasn't a virgin, my mind already swimming with how many other secrets she'd kept from me. I didn't think she'd gone further than second base with Tony Caprizi, this guy we
knew from Enger Mills who ran track with Elliot.

“No,” she said, and an avalanche of relief crashed into me. “But I've never liked someone before like I like the Germaines. I just want to be ready, you know?”

I nodded yes, but really I was just thinking,
She told me her secret. She has no secrets from me.

My turn.

“I'm not—” I began, but suddenly Trudy was serious.

“Listen, is Laurel going to be okay?” she asked.

“Oh, sure,” I said automatically. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I doubted them. “I don't know, Tru,” I revised. “I hope so.”

Trudy hugged me, and she did this thing where she tickled her fingers along my shoulder blades—something she'd done for years—and it felt so normal, so deeply Tru-and-West, that my fears relaxed, and I squeezed her tight until she let out a perfect Trudy laugh, and my heart hurt to say good-bye again so soon.

“Hey,” I said, “you have to let me know
everything
that happens with these brothers.
Promise me
you'll find time to call—or write, even.”

“I will,” she said. “Everything. You too.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you.”

She got in her car, and I waved at her as she backed out of the driveway, feeling a strange sort of sorrow. The fireworks
had left a slight gunpowder smell on the air, which I noticed as I turned around and reentered the Hart home, going up the stairs and knocking on Laurel's closed door, the first one in the hallway, just as I'd guessed.

“Who is it?” came Silas's voice, irritated. Such a different mood than when he'd held my hand earlier tonight.

“It's me,” I said softly and waited. A moment later, the door opened, revealing Laurel lying facedown on her bed, her arms flayed out and clutching the sides, looking for all the world as if she were gripping an erratic magic carpet. It was the first I'd seen of her bedroom—dusty-lavender walls and white curtains, a bureau topped with trophies. She had a bookcase too—but neat, tidy, not the monstrosity that overtook Silas's room.

“You okay?” I asked, stepping past Silas and into the room. Silas looked out in the hallway, as if expecting to see the rest of the gang. “They left,” I explained.

Laurel spoke, but into her pillow, so I couldn't make out any words.

“Come again?” I said.

This time she turned her head so that she was looking at me, although still lying down. “Gravity wasn't working right,” she said. “I felt like I was going to fly off into space.”

I knelt in front of her bed so that we were at eye level. “Do you feel better now?”

“I don't know,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “A little, now that I'm in my bed. On the roof . . . and watching
the sky . . . I felt so light, so . . .”

“Buoyant? Weightless?” Silas plugged in. Habit.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I had to get inside and lie down. Before I was hurled into the galaxy.”

Silas sat down on a silver-colored chenille blanket at the foot of her bed.

“I kept thinking of my bed,” she said, still clutching her mattress, still looking at me. “The stability of the frame, the way it was immovable. I felt like I was on one of those ejector seat amusement park rides, where your legs dangle and you wait for the launch?”