Keep Me in Your Heart (32 page)

Nathan snapped from his reverie when a group of laughing girls sauntered past the tree where he sat. Once they passed, he stood, dusted off his jeans and lugged his trash back inside the cafeteria. The smell of stale food assailed his nose. His last class of the day, Advanced World Lit and Creative Writing, was the one he was looking forward to most. He loved to write, and he’d been told by Skeet that the teacher, Max Fuller, had a rep for being tough but excellent.

Nathan wasn’t disappointed by Fuller’s classroom. Bookshelves were stuffed with volumes of books, the teacher’s desk was shoved into a far corner, and a lectern stood in the center of a double semicircle. Fuller himself looked rumpled in a well-worn suit jacket and polo shirt. Nathan grabbed a seat in the second circle, directly in front of the lectern, and watched as the room slowly filled. He counted twenty-two other students—the smallest number of all his classes. Only the student desk directly in front of him remained unoccupied; then, just after the bell sounded, a girl strolled in.

Nathan’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the black leather pants and cascade of chestnut hair.

“Nice of you to join us, Miss Lindstrom,” Fuller said in a gravelly voice. “This seat’s for you.” He
pointed to the one in front of Nathan. She slipped into the vacant chair and her long thick hair brushed Nathan’s desktop. He caught a whiff of fresh rain and musk and swallowed hard. His palms went clammy, his mouth dry. How was he going to get through a whole year with the scent of such a wicked angel hovering around him like an enchanted mist?

A
ll the way to the commons, Nathan pictured the expression on Skeet’s face when he’d tell him about having a class with the Harley Princess. When he arrived in the area, Skeet was huddled in a corner, his arms crossed, the collar of his shirt turned up as if to hide his face. “Hey, man, shouldn’t we be heading out to the rally?”

“I’m not going.”

“What? This morning you said—”

“You go without me.”

Nathan could see that Skeet was really upset. He waited until the area cleared of foot traffic before he asked, “What happened?”

Skeet looked up, his eyes hooded. “Nothing happened. I changed my mind. I don’t want to go.”

“If you’re not going, neither am I.” Nathan swung his book bag over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Skeet slowly rose, picked up his book bag and followed Nathan to the parking lot. From the direction of the football field, Nathan heard the sounds of the marching band and of kids cheering. He drove slowly, taking backstreets toward their neighborhood. “Want to stop at my place first?” Nathan asked. “You’ll be doing me a favor by putting off the third degree Mom will be giving me.”

Skeet shrugged. “Cookies and milk?”

“You know her too well. She probably baked all afternoon.”

“At least she’s home.”

Another sore spot in Skeet’s life: a cold mother whose job was more important than raising a kid, and a stepfather who was downright mean to Skeet. Skeet’s parents used to lock him out on weekends, rain or shine, and Nathan’s family would take him in like a stray puppy. Over time, the boys became friends and discovered their mutual love of country music; they formed a garage-band duo in ninth grade. Skeet often said, “We’ll take over Nashville.”

“Except that neither of us can sing,” Nathan would remind him.

“Singers will beg to join us,” Skeet usually replied, pounding his keyboard.

“So, are your classes doable?” Nathan asked, making conversation.

“I guess.”

“No good news to report?”

“No.” Skeet was hunkered down in the seat, staring glumly at the dashboard. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Why do you suppose they stick a guy like me into last period phys ed?”

“Don’t know.” Nathan had the class right before lunch.

“Well, Winston George Andrews got assigned to last period. You know, the period with all the football jocks.”

Nathan’s heart sank. “Probably a computer glitch. You can get it changed.”

“Sure. Whiny-boy asks to get moved away from the big bad jocks.”

Nathan waited patiently for Skeet to tell his story.

“Rod and his thugs shoved me into the hall in my Skivvies just before the bell rang. I was all but naked and every girl on the cheerleading squad was passing by. Of course, it was a big joke. Ha-ha.”

Nathan felt the sting of his friend’s humiliation. “Did you tell the coach?”

“Get off it, Nate. The nerds don’t go tattling on the big bad football boys who can do no wrong because they can catch a ball while running.”

“Well, it isn’t fair.”

“What is
fair
in life?”

“I could write a song about it.”

“What would you call it?”

“How about, ‘I Caught Your Heart While Chasing After Pigskin Blues.’ ”

For the first time, Skeet smiled. “Sounds demented.”

Nathan pulled into his driveway. “Come on in. Be quiet in case the twins are asleep.”

“Can you tell them apart yet?” Skeet followed Nathan through the garage and into the kitchen, warm and smelling of chocolate and cinnamon.

“Nope. They’re exactly alike—both screamers.” Nathan scooped up cookies cooling on a wire rack and grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge. “Glasses,” he said over his shoulder. Skeet took two from a cabinet and followed him into the basement. It was decorated like a bistro, with a small table, a coffee bar, two sofas, bean bags and a giant-screen television.

“How was your first day?” Skeet asked when they’d poured milk and settled into bean bags. “Think you can get the hang of high school?”

“A couple of teachers almost put me to sleep. The best class is my last, lit. Fuller’s going to be tough, but I like him. We have to turn in a creative piece this Friday and then every third Friday until the year’s over. He assigned us all secret numbers. On Monday, he’s going to read the best of the submissions, but only by their special number. That way, no one will know who wrote the piece, but we’ll all get to hear what he thinks is good work.” Nathan shoved a cookie in his mouth. “And I plan to write the piece he reads first. Number seven-oh-five. You heard it here.”

“I can’t wait to see the movie.”

“Well, here’s something else to eat your heart out over. Guess who’s sitting right in front of me in Fuller’s class?”

“Impress me.”

“Lisa, the Harley Princess.”

“You lie!”

Nathan grinned. “Scout’s honor.”

“Talk about unfair! I get creepy football jocks and you get a goddess. She sits right in front of you?”

“Her hair’s so long that it almost touches my desk.”

“You’re going to fall madly in love with her. Wait and see.”

“No way.”

Skeet pointed his finger at Nathan in an imitation of firing a gun. “Pow. Dead meat at Lisa’s feet.”

Nathan was spared the third degree about his school day until the dinner table that night. His mother peppered him with questions, and he tried to answer politely, but it seemed to him that his interior space was being grossly invaded. Yes, he could handle the course-work. Yes, it was an adjustment listening to someone drone on in a lecture. No, he never got lost. Sure, he had met some “good” kids—not exactly true, but it was what she wanted to hear.

Finally his father interjected. “We miss you down at the firm. The gang says hi.”

One of the perks of homeschooling was that
Nathan had been able to work downtown at his dad’s place of employment, a large architectural and engineering firm. He had worked there two full summers and sometimes during the workweek when his homeschooling load was light. “Tell them I’ll be back over Christmas holidays.”

His father nodded, took another slice of meat. “I hope we have extra jobs at Christmas. Business is slow.”

“I can get another job. The malls are always needing extra help for holidays.”

“You don’t have to work at all,” his mother said. “This is your last year at home. Maybe you could just hang around.”

Nathan looked at her as if she’d grown another head. “I’d be bored to death.”

“Would that be so horrible? A little boredom? Besides, you don’t really know how difficult school will be. And the twins should get to know their big brother.”

“They’re babies, Mom. All they do is eat, sleep and poop.”

“They won’t always be little.”

“Karen, leave the kid alone. If he wants to work, he should. A little extra money for college isn’t a bad thing.”

Nathan sighed. They were talking around him again, as if he’d suddenly gone transparent. He stood up from the table. “I’m going to get a jump start on
some assignments.” He went straight down to the basement and through the special door, into a room set aside for his homeschooling.

His mother had transformed the space into a classroom that changed with him over the years. There was table space to work, a computer hooked to the Internet, bookshelves, a blackboard, and even a small area with test tubes where they’d worked on chemistry the year before. He’d gone on field trips once a month with other homeschoolers, and when he was younger, he’d played in a soccer league. He’d dropped out of everything in tenth grade. Deep inside, he longed for something he could never put into words. He wanted to touch and taste and feel anything that would shake his small, protected world and help him express the fire that burned inside him. Music came close. He was certain there was more, something he hadn’t yet come across, but it
had
to be out there. Waiting. Nathan felt stifled and hemmed in, like an animal in too small of a cage.

He sat down at the computer and opened the writing program, intent on starting his piece for Fuller’s class. He wanted it to be good enough to be selected for the first reading. Without warning, the screen blurred and a vision of Lisa’s hair tumbling down her back filled his thoughts. He’d wanted to grab a handful and bury his face in it.

He’d been attracted to a few girls over the years, homeschoolers like himself, but he’d been too shy to act on those feelings and they’d passed quickly. This girl was different. She was a loner too. This girl intrigued him.

He touched the keyboard and willed his brain to concentrate on his assignment. Lisa was competition. He had no idea if she could write; told himself that she was probably as deep as the fluff on a dandelion. Her badass attitude was probably a cover for what
wasn’t
inside. According to Skeet, everyone in high school had an image to uphold, a personal facade. Lisa Lindstrom was no different. Nathan just had to crack it open. He was sure that once he did, he would forget all about her.

B
y Friday, Nathan was nursing a huge case of jitters. Not just because of the assignment, which he’d worked on harder than anything he’d ever turned in to his mother, but also because he couldn’t seem to get into the rhythm of Crestwater High. The constant noise bothered him still. Even in classrooms when it was supposed to be quiet, kids coughed, shuffled, whispered. The teachers’ lectures moved at a snail’s pace. Entire days passed in slow motion. Plus, his senses had become finely attuned to Lisa’s every movement.

“I don’t think that’s her boyfriend on the Harley,” he told Skeet on Friday morning as they walked in from the parking lot.

“And why do you think that, Sherlock?”

“He slows, she jumps off, grabs her stuff and walks
away. No kisses goodbye. No tonsil exploration. Is that SOP around here?”

“The tongue tangles?” Skeet shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. But only if you’re related.”

“Funny.” Nathan jerked open his locker without smiling. “Whatever happened to modesty?”

“What’s yanking your chain today?”

“I turn in that assignment for Fuller. Guess it’s got me spooked.”

“Is it that important to you that he plucks your paper from the pile? I mean,
why
? Sounds like you’ll get another shot at it between now and graduation.”

“I just want to be the
first
best paper. Hard to explain.”

Skeet looked baffled, then shrugged again. “Whatever, dude.”

Nathan shut his locker. “Did you work out your phys ed problem?”

“I signed up for the tennis team. They meet last period too.”