Until There Was You (6 page)

She flinched, her arm hitting his, and suddenly Rick was screaming. “What the hell! What the hell!” and blood was pooling on the cutting board, totally ruining Jon’s beautiful basil, because Rick had just sliced into the tip of his little finger.

Which, though she probably shouldn’t, Posey found deeply satisfying.

Jon leaped over with a towel, yanked Rick’s arm up.

“She cut me! She did that on purpose!”

“Oh, grow a pair, Rick,” she said. “You cut yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t drink when using sharp instruments.”

“Did you hear that? She’s so mean!” Rick said.

“It’s a just a cut,” Jon said.

“Dude! I’m gushing blood! I need an ambulance!”

Jon sighed. “Fine. Good thing you all signed that waiver, huh?”

Someone called 911, and Rick was led out of the room. As he left, he turned back to glare at her. “Whoops,” she mouthed.

Granted, it hadn’t been planned. But it was wonderful nonetheless.

“S
O THAT WAS FUN
,” Kate declared as they drove home. “Did you have fun? Find anyone to marry?”

“The porn star was kind of cute, but then I remembered my mother’s angina, so no.”

“You okay about seeing Rick?” Kate asked, glancing over. She reached out and patted Posey’s knee. “Awesome that you sliced off his finger.” The boo-boo had already taken on legendary proportions.

“I actually didn’t. It was the divine hand of fate, that’s all. He was half-drunk.”

“He stood you up at the prom,” Kate said.

“Yeah, I remember.”

It was true. But though Rick had indeed dumped her at the prom, it was Liam Murphy who’d done the real damage.

T
HE FIRST TIME
Posey laid eyes on Liam Murphy, her life changed.

Until high school, Posey’s childhood had been great—a big brother, Guten Tag as a second home, parents who constantly assured her of her specialness, her beauty (“Cuter than a bug’s ear!” her dad liked to exclaim), her talents (bricklaying…she’d done the entire patio, just for fun). Sure, her parents laid it on a bit thick—after all, Henry had already delivered the goods one pictures when thinking adoption: Asian, IQ of 164, gifted at violin. Posey’s greatest public moment had come when she was cast in her fourth grade’s production of
Farmer Smith’s Bunny
, in which she played a nonspeaking turnip. But she knew she was loved.

So, yes, despite Stacia’s conviction that Posey was teetering on the edge of death, disaster or kidnapping at all times, life was good, and Posey felt like a pretty normal, happy person, despite her friends’ fascination with her adoption. It was only when Ruth, Ralphie and Gretchen came to visit that the little wounds of insecurity were cut open. Her aunt and uncle showed Gretchen off like a prized dog at Westminster. “Isn’t she the image of Oma? Look at those eyes, like the sky, Stacia! Have you tasted this torte? Amazing!” There was no getting around it— Gretchen was everything good the family genetics had ever produced.

Gretchen was also full of information—older by two months, she seemed to feel it was her job to fill in the blanks for Posey. Gret told her how you got pregnant (French kissing), how babies came out of their mothers (pooped out), where Posey’s real name came from (Great-Aunt Cordelia, who only had one eye and fell in a well and died, but Posey shouldn’t bring that up, because it would make their mothers cry).

Gretchen also told Posey the reason she’d been adopted—Stacia had a baby girl who had died, and Posey was the replacement.

Henry had confirmed that one. In his factual way, he told her their mom had been pregnant when he was in kindergarten, then went to the hospital, and no baby ever came home. That was all he knew.

But all in all, childhood had been A-okay. Posey had friends, was allowed to run cross-country in middle school, deemed the least dangerous sport by her parents. Being a good six or eight inches shorter than most of the other girls, she never won, but it was fun nonetheless. Her grades were solid, her brother was tolerant and helped her with homework. She was invited to birthday parties and had friends over.

And then came high school.

Somehow, everything changed the summer after eighth grade. Girls she’d been friends with were now obsessed with boys or their own beauty, their long hair, their thrilling boobies. Posey was left out, still skinny as a toothpick, uncurvy, undeveloped, uninterested in whether Brandon really had checked out Emily at recess. The boys who’d once played kickball with Posey now made rude comments about her flat chest. When her freshman class read
The Diary of Anne Frank
, there were giggles and whispers. Posey found energy bars and candy in front of her locker for weeks. Just before the freshman chorus concert, when all fifty kids were waiting to file onto stage, Kyle Stubbins asked her if she had a tapeworm. It was stunning to her…she’d gone to Kyle’s birthday party in fourth grade, gave him a Magic 8 Ball, which he’d really liked. But high school was a cold, alien world, one where old friendships didn’t seem to matter.

So Posey took the tried and true route of teenage survival: invisibility. She was friends with Kate, but they didn’t have many classes together. Posey didn’t raise her hand too much, didn’t try to talk to the popular kids, just floated along at the fringes, ignored the occasional insult and chose extracurricular activities that were underpopulated: the French Club, woodworking. It worked; if she wasn’t noticed, at least she wasn’t tormented.

Then, in the springtime of her freshman year,
he
came to town.

Posey was standing in the hall, waiting for the popular kids to get out of the way so she could get her lunch-box out of her locker. This simple act was a painful daily event, as all the cool kids got hot lunch and would
die
before bringing in homemade lunches. Worse, Posey’s locker was next to the locker of Jessica Blair, a junior and reigning queen of the evil popular crowd. Jessica was going with Rick Balin, tanned, blond, and beautiful, star tight end of the football team, and their minions swarmed around them.

Posey waited, hugging her books to her chest. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to ease past Jamie Highgate. He didn’t move, so she wriggled past. Rick was leaning on her locker door and (of course) didn’t notice her. “Excuse me,” she said again. “Sorry, I need to get in here.” Rick finally moved, though he didn’t look at her. And great. Now Mitchell Oberlin was in the way. Despite having had four cheese blintzes for breakfast, Posey was lightheaded with hunger. “Excuse me,” she said once more, managing to open her locker door an inch, just enough to glimpse her salvation in the form of a giant blue lunch-box. “Excuse me. Sorry. Can I—”

And then…and then
he
came down the hall, black hair thick and rumpled, flannel shirt open over a T-shirt with mysterious logo, faded blue jeans. Scuffed black leather jacket. He was unshaven (unshaven!), and his motorcycle helmet (motorcycle!) indicated his form of transportation. The principal was with him, lecturing him about behavior and second chances, and from the look in his eye, this guy could care less. The crowd around Jessica and Rick fell silent at the spectacle of this…this
god
. His eyes cut around the hallway, assessing and unimpressed.

For one second, the clear green gaze landed on Posey, and all other sounds were instantly blanked out except the thudding of her heart. Her cheeks tightened with a blush. Knees tingled, mouth went dry. Who
was
that?

For the next few weeks, Posey found out all she could about this new deity. Liam Declan Murphy…sigh! He was just out of juvie (juvie!) for stealing cars. Every day, he arrived on a battered Triumph motorcycle, which Posey learned was uber-cool, way more so than a newer, shinier make. According to the rumors that flew thick and fast, he played guitar (guitar!) in a band in some sleazy bar (squee!) across the river in Kittery. He lived with an uncle over by the quarry. Parents were either dead, in jail or witness protection.

Each bit of information was utterly thrilling. Suddenly, the world had more meaning, more layers, more color. He was a junior, she was a frosh, so their paths didn’t exactly cross, but she ogled him from across the parking lot, made a point of going from Latin to Algebra via the second-floor hallway, despite the fact that both her classes were on the first floor. But even the small possibility of glimpsing him—unkempt, beautiful, aloof—was more than enough justification.

And then came that miraculous day when she tore into the kitchen of Guten Tag for her after-school strudel fix, and
he
was there. Him! Liam Declan Murphy! Was there! In her parents’ kitchen! She could
smell
him…oil and soap and just the slightest hint of something warm and spicy, like pumpkin pie.

Posey managed to close her mouth, abruptly aware that it was hanging open. Her backpack slipped from her limp fingers, alerting her mother to her arrival.

“Oh, hi, sweetheart! Liam, this is our daughter, Cordelia,” Mom said. “But everyone calls her Posey.”

“Niih,” Posey breathed. This was
amazing!
God
so
loved her!

“Hey,” he said.

“Liam will be working here in the kitchen,” her father said. “Washing dishes, cleaning up.”

“I… That’s… Hi,” Posey said. Working
here?
Unbelievable! They’d become friends, she could see it immediately. They’d hang out, Liam would grin and talk about those dumb popular kids. They’d become BFFs…then, yes, she could see it so clearly, they’d fall in love. High school would be a dream of happiness. Prom queen, okay? No more invisibility, no more slinking through the halls. He’d wait for her to graduate, then they’d head off for the same college. Get married, have a house on the water, make out every single night. Oh, Elvis Presley, they’d
sleep
in the same
bed!

Every day from then on, Posey tried to get his attention, to make him see what a great friend she could be. But Liam was always busy, always offering to do something else once a task was done. “Mr. Osterhagen, you want me to break down those boxes in the back?” he’d ask, and her dad would thank him for being so diligent. Other than grunting hello, Liam really didn’t speak to her. He was polite and respectful to her parents, though he was rough around the edges, but whatever affection he may have had for Max and Stacia didn’t transfer over to her. It wasn’t that he was rude; it was more that he didn’t seem to think there was any reason for them to talk. At school, he might acknowledge her with a nod (which she’d relive over and over, admitting that yes, she was pathetic, but he
nodded
and it was
thrilling
).

Posey wasn’t the only one obsessed with Liam, that was clear. It was his attitude. And his looks. Liam was gorgeous. He was aloof. He had hidden depths and a tragic and secret past. Everyone wanted to be him or do him. According to the girls’ room gossip, which Posey both lived for and dreaded, Liam was
such
a good kisser. Yes, Amanda Peters
was
planning to meet him under the bleachers after school—who wouldn’t? And everyone knew that he’d already done Taylor Bennington, but what guy hadn’t, right?

However many girls Liam did or didn’t do, he didn’t talk about it. He might give a slow smile or a smoky look—the meaning of the term “bedroom eyes” became abundantly clear. But he didn’t brag about his conquests (not that she could tell) or his motorcycle, didn’t talk about his misdeeds. He just didn’t seem to care, and that was the most exciting thing of all.

But Posey knew a little something about being on the outside looking in, and there were times when she swore she saw the same yearning in Liam’s expression, that little flash of vulnerability. He may have been admired, but he didn’t belong.

Previously, Rick Balin had been the alpha dog of Bellsford High. His family had lived in town forever; they’d owned mills, then boatyards, and Rick was the type of kid who got a red Mercedes convertible for his sixteenth birthday, crashed it before the week was up, and got a silver Mercedes as reward. He was blond, he was solid, he played football, he was careless and smug and it worked. Only at Bellsford after he’d flunked out of Choate, Andover, and St. Paul’s, Rick was widely regarded as a catch, and Jessica Blair daily trumpeted her status as his girlfriend.

But from Liam’s first day forth, the order changed. Liam was the lone wolf in the pack’s territory, and rather than challenge Liam, Posey watched as Rick and the lesser dogs began to mimic him. If Liam’s jeans had holes in the knees, the next day Rick’s would, too, though Rick probably ordered the maid to age and rip his own. At first, Liam ate his lunch alone in the courtyard, rather than in the cafeteria; Rick and his followers started eating outside, too. Eventually, the pack eased around Liam, trying to impress, to assimilate him. Liam tolerated their presence, but Posey could tell it was tolerance only (well…that’s how it looked). He let them hang out, but he didn’t become one of them, and in some ways, he seemed more alone than ever.

Sure, he might (he did) sleep with a few (more than a few) girls here and there—hard to avoid, as they practically hurled themselves at his groin, but he hadn’t truly connected with anyone. Yet. Maybe once she finally
blossomed,
as her mother put it, he’d notice Posey. It was what she prayed for nightly, heaven knew.

Then one day after school, as Posey was walking to the restaurant, she spied Liam out by the trash cans in the alley. He was kneeling down, holding something in his hand. Posey froze, drinking in the sight of him—the torn jeans, the faded black T-shirt, the way the wind ruffled his hair. Then a tiny, striped cat came out from behind the trash can, warily, slowly. It sniffed the air, then leaned forward, closer. Liam said something too quietly for Posey to hear. The cat sniffed again, took another step closer…then took the offering in his mouth and scampered back to safety. Liam smiled, stood up, and saw Posey.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” Her face heated in a rush.

“Don’t tell your parents, okay? I probably shouldn’t be feeding him, but…” Liam shrugged.

“I won’t tell anybody.”

“Thanks.” He started back into the restaurant.

“Is he tame? Do you think he’s lost?” she blurted, terrified this would be their last conversation.

He turned around. “I think he’s a stray. It took two weeks to get him to come to me.” The sound of his voice—the fact that he was
speaking
to her—was breathtakingly amazing.

“Does he have a name? The cat? Did you name him?” Posey babbled, unwilling to let him go. The intimacy of the moment, the hidden
depths
of this mysterious alpha male, oh, it was so romantic! He was
feeding
a starving
cat!
Him! The motorcycle guy who had girls crawling over him!

Liam paused. “I’ve been calling him Joe,” he admitted with a crooked grin, and Posey almost died.

“That’s a good name,” she managed.

Liam’s smile grew. “See you, Cordelia.” With that, he went inside.

The simmering lust, the raging interest exploded into love. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man who took the time to feed a homeless kitty? She held that image against her heart like a secret jewel. Only she knew about it, she was sure. Those girls Liam might’ve slept with, girls who left their panties in his locker or wrote things about him on the bathroom walls…they didn’t know what Posey knew—Liam Declan Murphy was not just the hottest thing ever to grace Bellsford High…he was a softy, too.