13 to Life (16 page)

Dad cleared his throat. “Jessie. I
hired
young Mr. Rusakova to help with daily chores. He stopped by to drop somethin’ off for you, and—well, you know how Anna’s always thinkin’. . .”

I looked at her and echoed lamely, “Always thinking. Yeah.” Always
plotting
was more like it.

“Well, she had the forethought to get Rusakova’s phone number for me.”

“How very smart,” I said, glowering at Annabelle Lee.

“I figured I’d rather give him a legitimate job than find out some friend of yours is fallin’ in with the Russian Mafia.”

Pietr focused on the floor.

“Seriously, Dad. The Russian Mafia?” I rolled my eyes.

Dad shot me a look, reminding me to maintain appropriate
respect while under his roof. “You’ll still do all the brainy stuff—the trainin’, the ridin’ . . . but Rusakova will help with feedin’ and muckin’—the brawny stuff.”

“I can do all of that,
too,
” I whispered. “I always have.”

“No one’s doubting your abilities, Jessie. I just want you to focus on school and
your
stuff,” Dad explained.

I rose from the table and headed to the mudroom.

“For God’s sake, girl, accept some help for once,” Dad called as I sat and tugged on my boots. I stood and there was Pietr, my ratty jacket in his hand. He held it out for me, silent.

I grabbed it, then threw open the door so I could hear its hinges whine as I strode out. Behind me I heard my father say apologetically, “She’s a good girl, Rusakova, just stubborn as her mother. She’ll come round,” he assured him.

I was a good few yards ahead of Pietr when the dogs rushed out of the barn. They raced around me, eager to join me for the morning’s chores. A breeze picked up, cool as autumn at its best, and the dogs froze, eyes fixed on Pietr. Hunter began to bark, ears back, the ruff of thicker fur across his shoulders rising defiantly. Maggie, more bark than bite, sat down in front of me suddenly—nearly tripping me—and started to whine.

I turned and looked back at Pietr, shouting over Hunter’s barking. “What’d you do to my dogs?” I asked. “Hunter. Hunter, shut up!” I snapped. He stopped barking, the last yap falling into a questioning growl.

Pietr shrugged. “Some dogs like me. Some don’t.”

My lips pursed. “You’d better come here and introduce yourself properly, then, if you’re going to be working here,” I suggested. I slipped my hands around the collar of each dog. Just in case.

Pietr approached slowly. Hunter began to growl again, and Maggie resumed her nasally whine.

“Shut up!”

They did, and Pietr covered the last bit of ground, coming to stand before us. The dogs nearly ripped my arms out of their sockets as they fell to the ground and rolled over, bellies up in utter submission.

“What?” Mystified, I crouched between them, hands at their collars. The breeze picked up, ocher and sienna leaves rolling brightly between us.

Pietr stooped before me, carefully moving a hand out to let the dogs sniff, and then he patted their tummies reassuringly. They whined in pleasure, as if an old friend had returned home and they needed time to recognize him after so many years. I thought about Homer’s
Odyssey
and the way Ulysses’ dog, Argos, recognized him when no one else could. It was like Pietr belonged here.

“They usually aren’t this”—I tried to find a word as interesting as Sarah’s—“weird.” I sighed, giving up. “We’ve occasionally hired people but . . . the dogs are acting really weird.”

“They’re just being protective of you,” Pietr reassured. “It’s what they—” He paused, gazing into my eyes. Something flapped with a thousand wings in the depths of my stomach. “It’s what they’re bred to do,” he asserted.

Laughing, I stood and headed toward the barn again. “You haven’t seen them eat.” I chuckled. “Once you do, you’ll think
that’s
what they’re bred to do.”

In the first barn, I showed him the hay and grain—and the manure fork. He didn’t seem concerned about getting a little dirty. Walking into the second barn and down the aisle of stalls, I murmured to each horse, rubbing their snouts while conceding that Dad would want me to date a guy who wasn’t afraid of a little physical labor.

But that didn’t matter, did it?
I
wasn’t dating Pietr. Sarah was going to Homecoming with him and I should be happy for her. I wondered how long I needed to keep telling myself that before I’d believe it.

I popped a CD into the player and adjusted the volume so the sounds of city traffic bounced off the stall doors. The horses flicked their ears and relaxed again.

“What are we listening to?” Pietr asked, brow furrowed in obvious distaste.

“It’s a training CD,” I explained. “It gets the horses prepared for weird noises so they don’t freak out in competition.”

Pietr smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“Me neither,” I admitted. “Mom had the first ones made. I credit that and having the dogs underfoot with being the reasons why our horses are so calm and well mannered. They hardly spook anymore.” But they had totally freaked out the night before Pietr showed up at Junction High.

Pietr nodded, reaching a slow hand toward Rio to pet her nose. She blew once through widened nostrils and then accepted his kindness. “I see that.”

Pietr cleaned stalls and filled feeders at a remarkable pace. I actually stepped over to see that he was doing it right; I was sure he was taking shortcuts. But he wasn’t.

“Everything okay, boss?” he asked with a slow smile.

“Yeah.”

He stood beside me, heat pouring off of him. He’d shed the denim jacket a while ago and had pushed up his sweatshirt’s sleeves, revealing powerful forearms. I could smell the mingled scents of pine-laced sweat and sweet timothy hay on him and I thought together they made a fine cologne.

“Are you going to Homecoming?”

I swallowed. “Amy and Sarah want me to. I think Sarah wants to show you off.”

He grunted and leaned the manure fork against a stall. He picked up a pail of water and began to refill Rio’s bucket.

I asked the next question before I could stop myself. “Did you kiss her?”

He froze, mid-pour, thinking. Water dribbled over the bucket’s edge and onto Rio’s floor.

I righted the pail, taking it from him, my hands brushing his. I shivered at the touch.

“Did you want me to?” he pressed, his beautiful blue eyes dark, hooded.

I blinked up at him. God, he was
so
frustrating. I set the pail down, letting it slosh to show my frustration. “Do what you want,” I commanded.

And then he was kissing me again, moving me backward until I was against the wall, bridles and reins rustling against my head and toying with my hair.

I knew that no matter how much I wanted to be kissing Pietr—to be dating Pietr—I couldn’t. Not right now. So I dodged beneath his arm. “I
can’t
do this!”

He stood back, arms across his chest, observing me coolly. Waiting for a confession. Fine! I could confess, but that would have to be it. There couldn’t be any dating for us—not as long as Sarah had a crush on him. Otherwise, what sort of best friend would I be?

I leaned over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and focus.

“Please tell me what you
can’t
do,” he said, the softest hint of an accent edging back into his voice. “Because it seems like you can kiss me back just fine.”

Ugh. So he
had
noticed. Well, it didn’t matter. I steadied my breathing and rose, careful not to meet his searching eyes. “Yeah. You’re a great kisser.” Oh, God—did I actually admit he was
great
? Out loud? I paused, concentrating on not blushing. Unfortunately, that only intensified the stinging stain of red on my cheeks.

He was chuckling, a rich, slow sound.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I demanded. “Okay, so I do like you.”

“
That
way,” he clarified, keeping most of the mockery from in his voice.

“Yeah. That way,” I admitted. I looked up at him. “But you have to understand. Sarah really likes you, and . . .”

“I get it,” he said. “You have to be a loyal friend first.” He paused. Picked up the pail between us. “I totally get it. I just don’t like it.” He moved down the aisle and poured water into Snap’s bucket. “It’s only one dance, though. Maybe she won’t like me after that.”

I frowned. “Doubtful.”

“It’s not like we’re . . . what—
an item
?”

“After the dance, you will be.” I shrugged, but I didn’t feel indifferent about it at all. “It’s part of Junction’s small-town charm: People assume things, and we all live up—or down—to their expectations.” I was madder at myself than I’d been for months.

I sighed. Wasn’t I getting what I wanted? I wanted Sarah to be happy, so I made myself unhappy and arranged things just right. And I was
totally
unhappy watching him doing the chores because it was time when he wasn’t kissing me. But I was unhappy kissing him because I knew it couldn’t continue, and unhappier yet because I knew I couldn’t betray Sarah—even though some small part of me was really tempted to.

“Then I’ll just have to find a reason to break up with her after the dance.”

“What?” My stomach fluttered.

He grinned at me. “I’ll date Sarah a while—she’ll be happy and you’ll be a great friend, and then she’ll screw it all up.” He took a scoop of grain to Bunny. “I mean, she’s bound to do something that’ll legitimately tick me off—she’s a teenage girl. Like you. And
you
have a gift for ticking me off.”

I nodded but was no happier. What Pietr didn’t know about Sarah was that she was perfect: absolutely incapable of ticking someone off. I picked up a soft currycomb and stepped into Rio’s stall. I followed the gentle curves of her powerful body, realizing that as simple as the solution seemed to Pietr, he had no idea what he was up against.

Sarah was absolutely infallible and completely lovable . . . unless she was dating the guy you liked. I barely stopped myself from groaning.
One
of the guys you liked . . .

That evening and the Homecoming Dance arrived far too soon.

I had never seen so many blue, white, and gold balloons as I saw the night of the dance. They filled the gym, long ribbon tails brushing against people’s hair whenever one started to lose helium. It was at least vaguely amusing to watch girls in their finest angrily swatting away the ticklish ribbons, their dates occasionally grabbing and popping the offenders as if it were a demonstration of chivalry reborn.

I slid off my shoes, putting them in the growing pile by the gym’s doorway. Amy was beside me dressed in a pretty and long-sleeved green dress, equally coaxing and prodding me. I still wasn’t convinced I should be there.

But Sarah had sounded like she was on the verge of tears when I’d begun to list my excuses on the phone that afternoon. Considering what I’d already done to support Sarah, watching the guys I liked dance with two other girls didn’t seem like it should be such a big sacrifice. It felt big, anyway.

“What is that song they’re playing?” Amy asked, wrinkling her nose.

I listened, remembering the songs Dad had been going through the whole afternoon to create the mixed CD.

“Steam in the subway, earth is afire—”

“Hmm.” I searched the large room’s edges, sadly curious. I spotted Derek dancing with Jenny. She was focused on him like she was obsessed. “Hungry Like the Wolf—” I said, thinking she looked like she could snap him up in one bite. “It’s by some British band, I think.”

“Woman you want me, give me a sign—”

“So they subject us to eighties music and stuff from overseas?”

“ ‘Across the pond,’ ” I corrected, smiling. “Oh. It’s Duran Duran. Believe me, it could be waaay worse. Have you ever listened to music from the seventies?”

She shook her head.

“One word:
disco.
”

We both faked a body-quaking shiver and laughed.

Amy’s expression changed suddenly and she grabbed me, turning us back away from the gym. “Don’t look now, but somebody’s watching you.”

“Derek?” I whispered.

She mouthed,
No
.

“Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “The other guy you’re crushing on.”

“What? I’m n—”

But she looked at me with such open disgust I had to shut my mouth.

“How obvious is it?” I muttered.

“Oh, I’d think everybody’s figured out what’s going on by now—”

“Oh, no—”

“Except for Sarah,” she clarified.

I responded with a hearty, “Thank God!”

“Yeah, but that can’t last—not the way he looks at you.”

“I’ll have to talk to him, then,” I said in my most stoic tone.

“Yee-aahh.”

“What?”

“Have you tried talking to him before?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. And I had.

“And what happens?”

I blushed. “He kisses me.”

She blinked and then said, “Well, then, maybe
I
should try talking to him,” with a devilish grin. “I wouldn’t mind being kissed by a guy like that.”

“So, how
is
Marvin?” I asked, trying not to wince at the memory of my first kiss, but hoping to change the subject.

“He’s here somewhere. Probably with an armload of flowers. Could be worse.” She looked at me. “At least
I
have a date for Homecoming.”

The suspense tugged my stomach in knots. “Is he still watching?”

Amy glanced over my shoulder. “Even worse!” she hissed. “He’s coming this way!”

“Do we have time to get to the bathroom?” I asked. I was
not
ready to see Pietr.

“No—hey. Look, Jessie, it’s Pietr!” Amy twirled me around to face him.

“Oh. Hey, Pietr,” I said. “Hey, Sarah!” I brushed past him, hugging my best friend—the girl who had followed him across the gym’s shiny floor like a shadow in stocking feet.

She was flushed, and I wondered if it was from keeping up with Pietr’s long-legged pace or because of something he’d said to her earlier.

“You look beautiful!” I said with a smile. It wasn’t a lie. Sarah seemed to glow, her pale blond hair luminous under the gym lights’ lowest setting.