From Where I Watch You (13 page)

“Hey,” Nick says as I come back into the room. “What took you so long?” He wears a smile and my insides lurch a bit. He pats the cushion next to him. “Come and sit down, it’s a good movie. We can change it if you don’t like it.”

I’m almost too warm, and the basement is cool. I sit down on the loveseat next to him, sipping my Coke and watching the movie, but my mind is far away from the story line. I want to call Gaby and tell her I’m alone in my house with a high school boy, watching TV with him. What would she tell me to do?

Last month, Gaby French-kissed a sixteen-year-old boy and she’s still bragging about it. What would they think of me if I did the same thing? Nick is seventeen. I’d one-up Gaby. Maybe she’d stop teasing me about my virginity all the time.

Most girls my age could lie about something like that, but not me. My friends know me too well. I’ve spent the past few years watching Kellen and the way she acts around every boy I’ve ever seen her with. Kellen has never been without a boyfriend.

I turn toward Nick. His arm still rests on the back of the loveseat, behind me. I suck in a breath and bring my knees up so my feet are tucked almost under my thighs. I manage to do this without kicking Nick or toppling myself over. He looks at me for a second and smiles before his eyes go back to the movie.

My heart flutters but I lean in toward him and place my hand on his knee. My other elbow goes up on the back of the sofa, my hand under my chin. I’ve seen Kellen do this a gazillion times with boys. “So, Nick, how’s your beer?”

His eyes go straight to my hand. I’m suddenly afraid he’ll take it off him but when he looks back to me, he smiles. “It’s great, Kara.”

I stare at his mouth and the top of the bottle. “Oh, good,” I say, keeping my hand on his knee and it feels like it’s on fire.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Um, nope,” I lie, twirling a strand of hair in my other hand.

“Do you want to?” he asks.

“Um, okay,” I say. “That would be a first for me.”

He offers the bottle. The smooth, cool glass feels nice on my lower lip and I don’t even have the urge to wipe off the rim like I do when other people offer me sips of whatever they’re drinking. I tilt the bottle back and let the liquid fill my mouth. I’m thankful it’s still cold because if it wasn’t I wouldn’t be able to swallow it.

“Mmm,” I say, handing it back to him. “It’s good!” I lie. It tastes horrible. The bitterness hangs on to my tongue like a canker sore.

He laughs and takes a swig. “Mmm,” he says after he swallows. “Tastes like strawberry.”

“Huh?” It tastes nothing like strawberry.

Nick sits back into the corner, turning toward me. He smiles and makes a sweeping motion across his mouth with his finger and thumb.

Oh. Lip gloss. “Sorry.”

“So Kara, that was a first for you. Any other firsts you’re wanting to check off your list?”

He smiles when he says this, and I feel a pull in my stomach. Like when I’m taking a test and I’m only halfway done and the teacher gives the three-minute warning.

I turn to the TV, grabbing the Coke and taking a too-big sip. Thank God I don’t cough, but Coke dribbles down from the corner of my mouth. Before I can move, Nick’s wiping it off with his finger, and the corner of my lip burns under his touch. I don’t know what to say or where to look and I try to think of what Gaby would do, but I blank out and stare at the TV. Then Nick’s fingers are under my chin and he turns my face gently so I’m forced to look at him.

13.
Set the broken bits aside.

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My stomach unhinges and drops to my feet. The joint falls onto my thigh. I use one hand to pick up the joint and the other to pull my hoodie farther down on my head, as if I could hide now.

The feet belong to Charlie. I’m looking into his disapproving face as he squats down, illuminated by the street lamp.

“You should become a sniper or a Navy Seal or something, sneaking up on people like that. You scared the shit out of me.”

It’s Charlie and he’s harmless, but I still have the urge to run.

“Well,” he starts, his face level to mine as he snatches the joint from me. “You were a little busy, Sprinkles.”

No words come out while I watch him squish the joint into the dead, frosty leaves and pine needles and dirt. Then he stands up and uses his shoe to bury it even deeper.

I pinch my eyes shut, my feelings split between being pissed that I didn’t feel the full effects and shame that he caught me. When I open them I see the family eating pizza in my house. Too quickly I try to stand and end up stumbling forward, knocking my bag over. The angel I stole from my yard topples over and out, her head hitting the ground. My Playtex box of weed falls out, too.

Charlie bends over and pulls out the angel and the box. He stands up, holding my angel and my pot, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. Now it’s all shame, and it threatens to squash me into the earth with the dead things. I’m afraid of how the judgment on his face will come out in words. If Noelle caught me that would be one thing; she’d beg for my lighter, but Charlie Norton is something altogether different.

“What the hell are you doing? Did you steal this? You’re a thief and a pothead now?”

“Mind your own business, Charlie,” I hiss, grabbing my treasures from him. He lets go of his hold on the angel, but the box remains clamped in his fingers.

“No way, Sprinkles.”

With his left eyebrow arched and the slight smile, I’m positive he’s going to insist I share it. A surge of disappointment runs through me. Maybe he’s not who I think he is.

I tug on the box. He tugs on it harder as the smile disappears.

“You’re too good for this, Sprinkles. What the hell are you doing?”

“Smoking it, Mr. Obvious. It was my sister’s. I found it in her stuff and decided to not let it go to waste, okay?”

“Nothing good can come from you smoking this shit. Take my word for it.”

We’re both holding the box. I feel like if he doesn’t give it back I will cry, and it has nothing to do with what’s in it.

“What are you doing out here anyway? Are you following me?” I pull hard on my sister’s Playtex box at the same time as Charlie. It rips and I hold the ripped part while Charlie ends up with everything else. But then the pot falls on the ground amongst the dead things.

Dead, like Kellen’s dead in the ground. “That was my sister’s ! It was Kellen’s, okay? Besides, she didn’t smoke it all the time, you know, just when she went away. Everyone in college smokes it and it doesn’t make her a criminal. It doesn’t make her a bad person! And now she’s dead and you’ve no right to take it from me!” I blink hard. “Anyway I thought you had a date with that little waitress wannabe that works for my mom.”

“So where’s Westcott?”

I stare at the kitchen towel lying in the dirt. “I never said I had plans with him.”

“Huh,” he says, his left foot poking at the towel on the ground. “Yeah, I followed you. But I ran into an old friend and lost you. I figured you might be headed over here because I, uh, I just guessed.” He bends over and starts picking up Kellen’s stash while I keep quiet. “Wow. You could sell this and buy that plane ticket.” He stands up, cramming the towel back into the ruined box.

“Charlie, I would never sell . . .”

He puts his other hand up. “I know. I know you’re not that kind of girl. Now give me your lighter.”

I stare at the ripped-up box for a few seconds before I reach back into my bag. My hand digs around; my knuckles rub against the angel as I find the lighter.

“Let’s go.” He grabs the lighter from me as he nods in the direction of the house next door.

Mrs. Nguyen stands in the window, arms folded, looking at us.

I doubt she can see us out here in the dark, but I don’t want to stick around. She bought me and Kellen Astro Pops from the ice cream truck a few times each summer. My Astro Pop always melted and ran down my wrist, making a purplish splash onto the hot summer sidewalk. But then I forget about Mrs. Nguyen because I’m so aware of the rough heat of Charlie’s hand as he leads me down the street. We walk a few blocks and he doesn’t let go until we’re creeping down an alley, and Charlie’s lifting the lids off of recycle containers.

I don’t even ask.

Finally he props up a lid and whispers, “Bingo!” and retrieves a large coffee can.

I hear the smile in his voice. “Now we look for puddles.”

I follow behind as he continues down the alley. Soon he stops and squats so I catch up to him. There’s enough light from a nearby garage that we can see.

Charlie uses the can to crack the thin layer of ice over the first puddle we find. The ice floats away as Charlie sticks the can in the middle of the water.

“Keep watch, Sprinkles, okay?”

I nod and whisper. “You’re weird.”

Charlie stands up and faces me. He squashes the whole Playtex box into about half of its size and drops it into the coffee can. I cringe when he lights it on fire. Small flames flicker and mirror off the inside of the can.

The burning sweetness of my dead sister’s weed stash makes me a little sad. Plus, I half expect her to appear and give me dirty looks for wasting it. Charlie stands up and thrusts his hands into his pockets as he looks around. Then he takes a knee and waves his arms out over the burning pot.

“God of thy glorious grass, we offer you back your wares, in the coffin of a tampon box, and ask your forgiveness. Sprinkles no longer requires the fruit of your weedy goodness, as I will show her the way to get high on life itself. For this we pray, amen.”

He bows.

I find myself smiling, in spite of everything. The coffee-can bonfire reflects flames in the puddle, and the ice bits drift and bob like tiny ant rafts. The sweet smoke turns acrid, making me cough. Maybe if I get closer I can suck in some fumes, but a back porch light and the squeal and bang of an old screen door set Charlie off—grabbing my hand and dragging me down the alley.

“C’mon,” he whispers.

It’s scary dark and suddenly I don’t want to be outside anymore. “You know I was having a great time before you showed up.”

“Shut up, Sprinkles! Run!” he hisses as a tiny beam from a flashlight comes from behind.

Now some guy is yelling and running after us. The beam from his flashlight bobs here and there, between my feet. The guy yells that he called the cops. I can barely hear him; my heart pounds so loud in my ears. I’ve never been chased before, or dealt with the cops, except when Noelle tries to get out of speeding tickets.

When we round the corner we wait. My lungs border on pain, even though we haven’t run far. Charlie doesn’t breathe hard at all.

He turns to me as I try digging my fingers into the brick wall behind me, like I can disappear. “I can’t breathe,” I say, looking down to my feet.

Charlie faces me, he’s so close and I can’t see his face because of the light coming from behind him.

“That was fun, Sprinkles. I—”

He stops talking and leans his face down to me. My heart pounds and I’m not sure what he’s going to do, but then he lets go of my hand, turns, and heads down the street.

That was weird, but still I suck in enough breath to swallow the lump in my throat as I watch him leave.

When he turns around, I see his outline, hands on his hips. “Are you coming?”

14.
Crack and crumble.

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When he leads me to the door of the Moon Bar I stop. A small group of smokers gather a few feet away, drinking and laughing and talking.

Charlie turns around. “What’s wrong?”

“A bar? I don’t have a fake ID, Charlie.” Noelle made me one but I lost it, right into the nearest trash can.

He smiles, pulling on my hand. “The bartender’s a friend of mine. He won’t hassle us.”

A little panic flashes through me as I wait for one of the smokers to stop us. I just want to go home to the safety of my bed, but Charlie pulls me through the door.

The Moon Bar is packed. And just like when we were at the coffee shop, Charlie smiles and greets everyone because he knows everyone. What it must feel like to have the room wake up and smile because you walk through the door. Clearly Charlie’s used to it. The bartender hollers something to him and eyes me while he wipes out a glass.

“Hey our seats are over there.” He points to a pair of wingback chairs by the window. “Go ahead.”

I watch as he heads to the bar. Great. He’ll probably bring me a beer, and I hate beer. I’ll have to sip and fake that I like it, just like I do at the parties Noelle drags me to.

People are drinking and laughing and playing pool or darts. In the back of the room there’s a small dance floor, and a small stage for a band but no band plays tonight. The place smells like stale beer and old French fries and sweat and dead smoke.

Charlie sets drinks down in the windowsill behind me and turns his chair to face the window. Then he turns my chair around with me in it, and hands me a cup. I’m relieved because it’s dark and bubbles pop on the surface. Coke. He smiles and sighs as he looks out the window and sips.