Messed Up (21 page)

“
It’s hard for me to know what I would even be like without Levi,” I finally said quietly, hoping that answered his question and we could move onto lighter subjects.

Out of nowhere, Conner took my hand in his and looked into my eyes, “Chelsea, I told you from the beginning that your friendship is something I am happy to have. Knowing you has been the best thing about this summer. The only thing actually,” he smiled, “since were together most of the time. But I think it’s only fair that you know that my feelings for you go way beyond friendship. The way I feel about you… I didn’t think I could feel this way about anyone.”

“
Conner…” I started to say, but was interrupted.

“
No wait. I need to get this out. Chelsea, I’m falling in love with you.” Crap, crap, crap! “I realize that isn’t what you want,” he seemed to be reading my mind, “and I don’t want you to worry. I am still in this a hundred and fifty percent as your friend, nothing has to change.”

“
How can it not change Conner?” I pulled my hand away from him in irritation, “You’re my best, no erase that, my closest friend, at least within six thousand miles. How am I going to be able to be honest with you about the most important aspect of my life right now, without assuming your rooting against him?” I could hear my voice becoming shaky as frustrated tears threatened to make their grand entrance.

“
Because,” he sighed, “you should trust by now that I would never root against you. And as much as I hate the fact, I know
he
is what you want. As long as that’s true, I will support Levi in your life,” Conner looked at me with eyes so filled with misery that I nearly went over and kissed him, just so he would feel better. Thankfully, just then the phone rang.

“
Hello?”

“
Is Chelsea Mallory there?” asked a deep voice.

“
This is,” my heart thudded to attention.

“
Hi, this is Ray Higgins, Toby’s dad.”

“
Oh! Mr. Higgins, thank you so much for returning my call. I have been so worried about Toby and I was hoping you would know how I could get in touch with him?”

“
Toby’s here with me, in San Diego,” Mr. Higgins said.

“
That’s such a relief!” I looked over at Conner and gave him a big smiling thumbs up, “Could I speak with him?”

“
Toby is not taking phone calls at the moment,” he took a breath, “To tell you the truth, he had a falling out with his mother. He is of the mind to start his life over here in San Diego. I’m sure he’ll come around and want to talk to his old friends, but for the time being he’d rather not.”

“
Oh. I understand,” I said, a little dejected, “Thanks for letting me know he’s okay.”

“
Well, it’s good to know he has such nice friends. Good night then.”

“
Bye,” I hung up the phone and did a little dance around my room. It felt like a one ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders and chucked out the window. My joy lasted for exactly two seconds before I remembered the new dilemma I was facing with Conner.

Conner left a half an hour later after watching the first three sketches of SNL. Neither of us brought up the subject of Conner’s recent confession, but when he hugged me good-bye it felt different, awkward and somehow forced. As I lay in bed that night I pledged to myself that I would not allow things to be uncomfortable between us ever again. If Conner said he could handle just being my friend then I would hold him to that. There was no way I was going to be able to make it through the remainder of high school without him.

I smiled to myself as I thought about Levi. What a total freak I had been. It was actually quite embarrassing to consider. Thankfully I had trusted my instincts and had not gone running to the police. Levi can never know that I considered him as potential murder suspect, I thought. That would definitely put a damper on our relationship.

It made sense to me now that Toby would need to get away from his mom. She was obviously overprotective, driving him to the concert and enforcing a humiliating earplug rule. I mean, she seemed nice enough to me, but then again, I didn’t have to live with her. I could practically hear my mom saying,
Things are always different behind closed doors.

It was one-thirty in the morning and I was still wide awake. I decided to call Levi, doubting he would be asleep. Honestly, did that boy ever sleep?

He picked up on the first ring, “Let me guess. Your window is open and you’re sure you closed it.”

“
Nope. I just had a terrible nightmare that my boyfriend left me while my parents were out of town,” I hoped I sounded flirty rather than whinny.

“
That does sound like a nightmare,” I could hear him smile, “How was your night, Punky?”

“
Interesting. We had a nude model in my art class.”

“
How can I sign up for this class?” he joked.

“
I don’t think she would be your type,” I went on to describe in extensive detail each roll of flab on the model. Levi laughed hardily and it made me feel good to hear him sound happy and relaxed, so good in fact that I asked a question I had been afraid to hear the answer to, “Hey, the other day when you said no more slumber parties with my girlfriend, were you talking about Conner?”

“
Your deductive powers are staggering, Chelsea,” he answered lightly.

“
How did you know he’d spent the night?” I asked hoping to sound nonchalant.

“
The truck in your driveway. My deductive powers are pretty good too,” he explained, an edge creeping into his silky tone.

“
But how did you see his truck in my driveway?” I asked, knowing I was pushing the subject.

He was silent for a second, and then lowered his voice, “I’ve got eyes everywhere, Chelsea. Everywhere, and all the time.”

“
You’re creepy,” I laughed stiffly, “Then what am I doing right now?”

“
You’re in bed, your TV is on, and you locked your door and window,” he said seriously, and then added, “And your
girlfriend
left exactly forty-five minutes ago.”

19

I had another bad dream that night. It started out as they always did, with me trying to run up a seemingly eternal mountain. Oozing and maggot infested garbage spilled from the holes my feet made in the surface of the mountain as I clawed my way toward the top. I could sense that I was being chased. When I looked back I couldn’t see anyone, but I could hear his breathing, I could almost feel his hot breath on my ear. Toby stood at the top of the mountain, staring at me with a horrified expression.

The dream changed instantly. I was now following Toby down a long twisted hallway. I had been there before in my dreams. I was running as fast as my legs could manage, but I couldn’t seem to keep up with Toby. Suddenly, I lost sight of him and I was alone; everything was silent. I found myself entering a tiny room, with stark white walls. In the corner was a bed, barren aside from a single white calla lily that lay on the pillow. I walked over to it and picked it up. A loud crash boomed as the door behind me slammed shut. Then the pain began, dully at first and intensifying as each muscle of my low back seemed to be ripped to pieces; like I was a toothpick and somebody was bending me in half, the wood cracking as they folded back and forth until all that was left were splinters.

I woke the next morning to knocking at my bedroom door. My clock read ten-thirty.

“Chelsea, rise and shine!” I heard Conner’s voice call.

I staggered across the room to open the door, rolled my eyes at him, and was back in bed before he’d made it all the way inside. I wondered if seeing me in this disheveled state would help to stomp out some of his infatuation. A small but loud part of me hoped not; how screwed up is that?

“You look like you had a rough night,” he observed as he pushed me over gently and got in bed next to me.

“People like me don’t need caffeine or uppers to keep them awake. I’ve got my own mind forever harassing me with disturbing thoughts or harrowing nightmares,” I said sourly, “You on the other hand seem extraordinarily chipper this morning.”

“What’s not to be happy about? It’s a beautiful morning, my best friend is no longer implicated in a murder plot, and we’ve got a birthday party to go to.” So I guess the fact that said friend rejected you last night is not causing
you
any loss of sleep.

“Whose birthday is it?” I asked.

“My grandfather’s. I’m hoping you can be convinced to be my date to his little shindig,” he said hopefully. The word date jumped out at me like a hot spark from a fire.

“Only if your grandma’s making her gnocchi.”

“It wouldn’t be a party if she wasn’t,” he pointed out, grinning widely. Of course he knew I would follow him wherever he planned on taking me, my standards were pretty low, when it came to Conner. He put his arm around me and pulled me into one of his hugs. I commanded my body to relax, and it eventually relented. Conner’s hug was a rejuvenating force not unlike getting out of a cool pool and then letting the hot sun dry your skin. A general sense of well-being and contentment washed over me and marinated my body.

“This feels better,” he finally said into my hair, “That hug last night made me feel like crap.”

“Amen to that,” I agreed, “Let’s never let that happen again, okay?”

“Agreed.”

“Hey Conner,” I said after a quiet minute, our arms still around each other, “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings last night. It’s not like I couldn’t ever feel that way about you. It’s just that that part of my heart is otherwise engaged at the moment, you know?”

“I understand,” he said quietly.

“The thing is your friendship is really important to me, and I wouldn’t ever want that to change.”

I felt him kiss my head lightly, and then, there it was, one itty bitty, teeny weenie butterfly, fluttering its wings in the pit of my stomach. A small smile rolled over my face. So, maybe my heart hadn’t put up the
no vacancy
sign after all.

When I was born my mom put me on the Evergreen Nursery School waitlist. At age four my name finally came up for a spot. I remember very clearly walking into the warm inviting classroom on my first day of school. There was a carpet square just for me, a cubby with my name on it, and perhaps most memorably, every adult in the room knew me by name and smiled at me like they’d never been so happy to see a kid in their lives. I remember feeling so completely at home that I didn’t even cry when my mom left.

That is kind of what I felt like each time I’d been at a Bianchi family function. Every one of them, from Conner’s ancient great-grandmother with two inch thick glasses that hung precariously off the edge of her nose, right down to his nine month old niece with thunder thighs the size of loaves of bread, hugged me as if they were overjoyed at my presence. I have to admit a girl could get used to this kind of reception. Of course, they were the same with one another as well. I reasoned that all this hugging must be why Conner had mastered the art so successfully himself; years of practice.

Little Pickle, the baby, was shoved into my arms as soon as we walked in the door that afternoon. I was certain Little Pickle couldn’t be her birth name, but that’s what everyone called her, so I didn’t question it. She was a squirmy little thing, who was constantly being passed from one person to the next. Her thick red hair had been pulled into two ponytails that stuck out like carrot sticks on either side of her head.

“Thank god you’re here, Chelsea,” exclaimed Stella hugging and then dragging me toward the kitchen, “I am desperate for your help! Gram has, once again, totally over extended herself.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Conner who was being jostled into a man-hug by his sister Chloe’s husband, Rick.

“Chelsea!” boomed Conner’s mom, Mary, as she tightly squeezed me, “It’s so good to see you! How are you holding up with your folks out of town? You know you are welcome at our house any time you get lonely. I was so happy Conner was able to help with your air conditioner unit the other night. He’s just so handy.” So that was his excuse for sneaking away to my house in the middle of the night the other day.

“I know,” I responded, “He’s such a saint.”

“Erving is going to be thrilled you could make it dear,” said Conner’s grandmother as she burst into the kitchen with oven mitts on both of her hands.

The greetings continued on like this until ever member of the Bianchi extended family had gotten their chance to squeeze me. At some point in the mayhem I was able to pass off Little Pickle to Conner’s great Aunt Bernice. I found myself alone in the kitchen with Conner’s three sisters, Stella, Chloe, and Donnie. They were in a rush, as was the constant pace of the Bianchi family, to get all the food prepared. I was put to work cutting carrots, although I was suspicious that they were just trying to keep me busy, I didn’t see where the carrots were fitting in anywhere.

“So tell us the truth,” Donnie asked her hands covered in ground pork from the meatballs she was making, “Is our little bro a good kisser?” The three sisters exploded into giggles at this.

“Donnie!” Stella shrieked, “You don’t need to answer that Chelsea. Ignore her, we all do.”

I laughed, attempting to sound like the question hadn’t just sent me into a mini cardiac arrest, “I wouldn’t know, we’re just friends,” I replied, “But I’m sure he is. Conner is good at most things.”