Where You'll Find Me (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

It’s 11:48, and I’m lying in bed, lights and TV off, pretending to be sound asleep, but in reality, I’m wide awake. Under the covers, I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeve V-neck shirt picked out specifically for this occasion.

In exactly twelve minutes, my parents’ alarm clock will sound. My mom will stumble her half-asleep self into my room, check to make sure that the lump in my bed is a living, breathing person, and then crawl back in her bed until the next alarm sounds at 2:30 a.m. At exactly 12:05 a.m., I will sneak downstairs and spend two hours and twenty minutes with Nate before sneaking back in to catch some much-needed sleep.

At twenty seconds past 12:00, my bedroom door opens. So very predictable.

“Ouch,” Mom mumbles at the same time something crunches. Probably a water bottle under her foot. “Hanley, I swear…”

I pretend to be asleep, breathing evenly for good measure. She stands over me for no longer than a second, and then she retreats, grumbling something about making me clean my room.

As soon as the clock rolls over to 12:05, I throw off my covers, grab my fleece, and head out of my room without stepping on anything, thank you very much. It’s not
that
difficult. As soon as I’m in the garage, I can’t help but smile. “Hello?” I say as I turn on the light.

Nate stands against the wall near the Trans Am, smile on his face as well. “Hey. You ready for this?”

“We’ve got two hours and twenty minutes.”

He opens the side door for me. “Then we better get going.”

It’s much colder than it was earlier in the day, so I jam my hands deep into my pockets. “How was your day?” I ask as we head toward the subdivision exit near Erma’s Café.

“It was good. Read a little. Walked a lot.”

A car approaches, and I duck my head in case it’s a neighbor who knows me or my parents. But the car doesn’t slow, and then it’s just Nate and me on the street again. “Sounds exciting.”

He laughs. “I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime. Boring isn’t so bad.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I duck my head as another car’s headlights sweep across us. Who are these people, and why aren’t they at home, asleep?

“How was the rest of your school day?”

As we walk, I tell him about the pop quiz we had in fifth period, which I failed with flying colors, the fist fight that broke out in the hallway between fifth and sixth period, and the ridiculous math project that was assigned. By the time I finish answering his question, we’re walking into Erma’s.

There’s a “Seat Yourself” sign near the door, so we pick a booth. Most of the tables are empty. There’s a group of four guys talking and laughing, a couple sitting quietly, eating their food, and a tired-looking waitress refilling salt and pepper shakers. I shrug out of my fleece and rub at my nose, which is frozen even though the walk wasn’t far.

A question about how Nate survives the cold is on my lips when I notice that he is smiling at me. Not just smiling, actually, but grinning like a maniac. “What?” I ask, a little bit creeped out.

He shakes his head but doesn’t stop smiling. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You’re wearing the necklace.”

The smooth stone is cold against my skin. I finally braved up enough to wear it and purposely wore the V-neck shirt so he could see it. It didn’t take long for him to notice. “And?”

“It’s perfect. You’re beautiful.”

My cheeks warm. I’m far from perfect and too messed up to be beautiful. But Nate makes me feel like that doesn’t matter.

“What can I get you two to drink?” the waitress asks. She sets two grease-stained menus in front of us.

“Coffee,” Nate says.

“Pepsi.”

Once she’s gone, Nate asks, “So, what’s the deal with the Petoskey stones?” He folds his hands on the table and leans forward. “I mean, when I saw you with the necklace, it looked like you were seeing something else.”

My mind flashes to a memory of Kayla and me, sitting at the kitchen table of her family’s cottage, rubbing sandpaper over Petoskey stones, then covering them with polish.

“They’re as shiny as diamonds,” Kayla said, holding one in the appropriate place on her left ring finger and lifting her hand to admire it. “Hanley?”

“Yeah?” I asked, studying a Petoskey stone of my own.

“When I get married, will you be my maid of honor?”

By third grade, Kayla and I were already thinking about boys and learning terms like “maid of honor” and “wedding planner.”

“Duh.” I rolled my eyes at her. “And when I get married, you better be mine.”

“Duh.” Kayla rolled her eyes back, mimicking me, and we dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Only now that will never happen, and it stings every time I think about it. But I’m wearing the necklace for Nate and to honor my best friend. The one I still wish could be my maid of honor someday.

“I collected them when I was a kid. My friend and I spent hours wading in the shallow water, searching for the stones.” It’s an accomplishment that my voice only shakes once. “We’d fill our pockets until they overflowed.”

Before I can get too emotional, the waitress returns with our drinks.

“What do you want to eat?” she asks, picking at a hangnail.

Nate nods once in my direction. “Do you know what you want?”

I shake my head and in doing so, shake off the memory. The menu has barely even registered in my mind.

“Do you like cherry pie?” Nate asks.

It was Kayla’s favorite. I nod and wonder what it is about Nate that makes everything remind me of her.

“Two pieces of cherry pie,” he tells the waitress. “A la mode.”

She nods and takes our menus, still picking at her hangnail. “Trust me,” Nate says, as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You’ll love it.”

“I trust you.” It’s only once the words are out of my mouth that I realize I do trust him. Secrets and all, I trust him.

He smiles. “Your story reminds me of the time when my family went to Florida. Jeremy and I filled an entire bucket with seashells. Our parents told us to put some of them back, but we didn’t listen. We kept them all, but we didn’t know you’re supposed to rinse them off. By the time we got home and opened up the bag of shells, they stunk so bad I almost puked. That kind of ended my fascination with shells.”

I laugh and tell Nate the story about the last time we went to Florida. I got the stomach flu and puked all over Minnie Mouse. There’s unfortunate photographic evidence somewhere in our house.

While Nate tells me another story, the waitress brings our pie. True to his word, it’s amazing. The filling is the perfect combination of sweet and tart, and warm enough to melt the ice cream. Vanilla bean. The kind with the black specks that has the best vanilla flavor.

Time passes quickly, laughing and talking with Nate, enjoying our dessert. It’s easy to pretend that this friendship, this flirt-ship or relationship or whatever it is we’re starting, is normal, even though it’s not.

At one point, the waitress brings our check. Nate grabs it and puts twenty dollars with it. I want to ask him where he gets his money, how he pays to do his laundry, eat out, and see movies, but I don’t. The last thing I want is to break this fragile balance we’ve got going on. Instead, I say, “Thank you.”

“Thanks for coming out with me.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. It’s warm and comfortable and perfect.

We talk until we’re the only ones left in the café besides the waitress, who’s now at an empty table, flipping through a magazine. When I check the display on my phone, it’s almost two, which means we’d better get going if I’m going to be back in bed, pretending to be asleep, on time.

“Ready to go?” Nate asks.

I nod. Once we’re outside, Nate drapes his arm over my shoulders, pulling me to his side. It makes walking a little bit challenging, but I love the contact. I lean into him and want to stay there forever.

He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m really glad I picked your garage.”

“Me, too.”

We walk in comfortable silence for a minute or two. “Hanley?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think everything happens for a reason?”

Another memory of Kayla washes over me. I hesitate before responding. “I don’t know. Do you?”

He hesitates, too, but then he says, “Yeah. I do.”

When we get back to my house, Nate closes the side door behind us, sets his backpack in its usual spot, and goes to turn on the light, but I stop him. “Don’t,” I whisper, grabbing his hand.

“It’s dark,” Nate whispers back. He reaches up and palms the side of my head twice before gently finding the curve of my cheek. “How am I supposed to see you?”

I reach for his other hand and bring it up to the other side of my face. “You don’t need to see anything.”

“I don’t?”

Instead of responding, I shake my head because even if he can’t see it, he can feel it. And then, before I can even take a breath, Nate’s lips are on mine. Adrenaline soars as I taste ChapStick and Nate and cherry pie. His hands drop to my back, and he pulls me close, and I’m not sure if my feet are touching the ground anymore. The kiss is my whole world.

When Nate pulls back, I’m left gasping for breath and wanting more.

“You’re right,” he says, as out of breath as me. “Better without the light.” He traces one finger down the side of my face and around the back of my neck before kissing me again.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s the alarm reminding me to get upstairs ASAP. I groan into Nate’s mouth.

“What?” he asks between kisses.

I lean my head against his chest. “I gotta go.”

“No,” he says, hugging me tight.

An idea pops into my head. An idea that could be the best or worst idea I’ve ever had in my whole life. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” I repeat, fumbling in the dark for his hand.

“Hanley, no…I can’t…”

“We don’t have to do anything. Just…don’t you want to sleep in a bed for once? Where it’s warm and comfortable? With me?”

“You’ll get in trouble. Your parents will kill me.”

“They’ll never know. I’ll handle the bed check.”

Nate sighs, which I take to mean “yes,” so I pull him toward the door. “Hurry and be quiet.”

I direct him carefully through the foyer, up the stairs, and over the Third Step Creak. We head away from my dad’s snoring and into my room, closing the door behind us.

“Hanley,” he whispers.

“Shh,” I hiss. I soundlessly kick a few things out of the way so we can make it to my bed. When I take off my coat and shoes, he does the same. My fleece covers his belongings on the floor. I motion for him to slide in to the bed first, and he hesitates. “Hurry,” I whisper. The clock on my nightstand says 2:27.

“The closet.” He’s looking over his shoulder, but I shake my head.

“They’ll hear you.”

After another second of hesitation, he climbs in, and I slide in next to him, covering us both with blankets. His body heat instantly warms me. I want nothing more than to kiss him again, but we have to wait.

“What do we do when your parents come in?” His breath is warm on my neck.

“You stay under the covers and don’t move an inch. I pretend to be asleep. It’ll be fine.”

He laughs so low that it’s little more than an exhale. “Are you trying to reassure me or you?”

My heart
is
pounding. “Both.” My parents’ alarm beeps faintly down the hall. “Show time.”

Nate ducks under the covers, and I arrange a few pillows to hide his shape. I hope he can breathe. Pressing myself against him, I lay still and try to even out my own breathing.

The door opens, and I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I wait for the scream. I wait for the covers to be flipped back. I wait for the world to end.

But it doesn’t.

Mom glances over me, turns around, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her with barely a
click
. I feel Nate’s exhale of relief. Mom’s probably not even back in bed, but I can’t help it. I start laughing. It’s the kind of laughter that’s silent but shaking. My eyes water as I fight to keep it all in.

Nate throws back the blankets. “What’s so funny?” he demands in a whisper.

But I’m laughing so hard and trying to be so quiet that I can’t talk. “I can’t…” I gasp. “I can’t believe it worked.”

“Shh,” he whispers, but he starts laughing, too. Slow at first, but then just as hard as I am. Neither one of us can stop, so Nate does the sensible thing. He presses his mouth to mine, and that does a pretty damn good job of shutting both of us up.

As his lips part, I slide on top of him, my legs straddling his. This is the first time I’ve had a guy in my bed, but it feels natural. Our chests press together, and my breathing quickly synchs with his—fast and shallow, each breath upping the intensity. He lets his hands drop low on my hips, pulling me close, as if any space between us is too much.

I kiss my way down his neck, to the spot where the base of his throat meets the collar of his T-shirt. His pulse jumps almost as fast as mine. When that’s still not enough, I roll up the bottom of his shirt and kiss his stomach, feeling muscles tighten beneath my lips.

“Hanley,” he groans, sounding like he wants me to stop and he doesn’t want me to stop at the same time. Reluctantly, I slide back up. Our kisses grow slower. Softer.

We stay like that for a long time, kissing, touching, exploring. He doesn’t try to go too far, which is good because I’m not sure if I’d stop him. Eventually, we pull apart. He’s lying against the wall with his head on my pillow. I settle in with my back against his chest, resting my head on his arm. He wraps his other arm around me. This is the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my entire life.

“Nate?” I whisper, my voice and eyes heavy with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“This was the best night ever.”

He runs his thumb over my arm, sending chills through my body. “For me, too.”

“I’m tired,” I whisper, fighting off a yawn.

“Sleep.” He kisses the top of my head. “Sweet dreams.”

And though I expect to dream of Nate or maybe Kayla, I don’t. I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep. When I wake up, I’m alone in my bed, and I think the whole thing might have been my imagination, except my sheets smell like laundry detergent that isn’t mine, and I can still feel Nate’s mouth on my skin.