Breathing Underwater (16 page)

“My father’s in the Keys all weekend.” My fingers worked up her thigh. A noise escaped her throat, but she tried to hide it. For a minute, she just stared at the road
.

Finally, she said, “Yes. I want to.”

“Good girl.” It was one-thirty. The breeze off the bay was finally cool, and I touched her. She leaned back, and I knew that tonight, the world would change. She’d be mine forever. Caitlin sighed, and I stopped thinking, focusing on her skin under my fingers, her breath in my ear. I pulled into the driveway
.

Wednesday morning, Higgins, in her turbo teacher transport, rides the geek circuit known as Honors English, handing back American Poetry tests. Cries of the wounded fill the air.

“My parents will kill me!”

“Lucky you. Mine will take away my computer.”

Higgins cruises on, oblivious to the carnage. She drops my paper with what, for her, passes for a smile. At least, her waxen red lips gyrate. Maybe. I glance down. A+.

Yesss! The Kid rides again.

My GPA is the only facet of my existence that hasn’t nosedived lately. I didn’t care much before, but now, I take whatever crumb of happiness I can salvage. Even in American Poetry. I return Higgins’s simper with a grinlet of my own. Make her day. Behind me, the whispered grievances continue.

“Like to roll her down the stairs.”

“How would we get her upstairs?”

“Details.”

Higgins taps her fist on the desk. “Your assignment for the weekend: Write a poem in one of the styles discussed.”

Groans. General agitation.

“Does it have to rhyme?” Lucille Shulklapper asks.

“Does it?” Higgins says.

“Other classes just have to memorize the book,” Amy says.

“Other classes aren’t getting extra points for honors.”

Touché
.

“The assignment stands, boys and girls,” Higgins says. “I expect impressive tales of teen angst, and I expect them no later than Monday morning.”

After class, I drift into the hall, trying to imagine a poetry topic that doesn’t include Caitlin. I’d sworn her to secrecy about the pages of poetry I wrote for her when we were together. But writing about anything else seems impossible. Seeing Caitlin now doesn’t help. Since she flaked on me last week, I’ve spent every molecule of energy
not
calling her,
not
seeing her,
not
crawling in her window at night, though I yearned to see her, longed for her voice, craved her touch.

Today she’s touching Saint. They’re doing the between-the-lockers liplock she once did with me. Is she showing off? Trying to make me jealous? It works. My pancreas is gripped by a giant hand. Caitlin and Saint separate. She heads my way alone. Does she see me? I want to say
I love you, I miss you
.

Instead, I whisper, “Fat pig,” and move on.

I’ll leave Thanksgiving with Caitlin’s mom to your imagination....

“I’m worried I’ll violate my restraining order.”

Mario motions me to sit and I pull a chair up to his desk. I had to wait to talk to him. People aren’t clearing out as quickly as they used to; hanging around, instead, to rehash what they’ve said in class or make plans to meet during the week. No one invites me. I guess I wasn’t very friendly at first. If they weren’t all so weird, I’d feel left out.

Mario leans across the desk to give me his full attention. “I’m glad you came to talk to me. Recognizing you’ve got a problem is a big part of solving it.”

“Sure,” I say, already regretting telling him.

“Tell me about what you’re feeling, Nick.”

I lean back, taking out my sunglasses. I put them on and stare at him through their dark lenses. “I just want to do something. Like, I have to see her, have to get her back.”

“Have you tried anything yet?”

What am I, crazy? I can’t tell him about the phone calls or talking to her at school.

“Everything said here is in strictest confidence,” he adds.

Yeah, right
. “Well,” I admit, “I’ve passed her in the hall a few times at school.”

“You didn’t talk to her?”

“Not yet.”

“But you might?” When I nod, he says, “Tell me, Nick. What is it about Caitlin you miss so much?”

I can’t help it. I remember Thanksgiving, Caitlin up to her ears in gravy and mashed potatoes, her mother on the sofa, bitching that we should have gone to Denny’s for dinner, me just flattered Caitlin tried to cook for me. But I say, “Hey, a guy has needs.”

Mario winces. “We’re talking physical needs here?”

“There’s another kind?”

“I think so. Lots of times, boys your age will say they miss sex when what they really miss is human contact.”

Yeah, that’s it. But I say, “No, I think it’s sex.”

He reaches across the desk and slides my sunglasses off my nose. “Talk to me, Nick.”

I blink a second as my eyes get used to light again. Finally, I say, “Yeah, I miss her. You have to make me stop missing her.”

Mario smiles. “I can’t make you not miss her. I
can
tell you it gets easier every day you stay away.”

I look at his fat face, just dying to help me, and I have to bail. “Well, thanks. That’s completely helpful.” I pluck my sunglasses from his fingers and head for the door.

His voice stops me. “Nick?”

I turn to face him.

“I know you already talked to her.”

“How would you know that?”

“From getting to know you in class. You wouldn’t come to me unless there was a real problem, unless you’d already stepped over the line. This is serious. Please stay, and let’s discuss it.” When I shake my head, he walks toward me and takes out a business card. He writes two telephone numbers on it. “This is my home number, and this is my cell. If you need someone, day or night, call me.”

I take the card and shove it in my wallet, knowing I’ll never use it. I turn to leave again.

Mario stops me again. “I can’t make you stay here, Nick, or make you talk to me. But just remember, violating that restraining order is a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

I replace my glasses and walk out the door.

That night, he calls. When I see his name on caller ID, I let the answering machine pick it up. I reach for my journal.

The saying goes that they tipped the country once, and all the weirdos slid to Key West. On Duval Street, Friday after Thanksgiving, I believed it. Two beefy guys held hands in the doorway of a white clapboard building, and ahead of us, a drunken barmaid danced to the music in her head. The real world was across the Seven Mile Bridge, and we were halfway to Cuba, halfway to heaven. One look into Cat’s eyes told me which was closer
.

We’d finally made it to Key West. Everybody who had to had lied to their parents, and Cat had blown off Thanksgiving with her father. It was worth it. I’d even managed to snag a private bedroom for Cat and me at Zack’s parents’ place. After the four-hour drive and a day at the beach, we grabbed our fake IDs and hit Duval Street
.

Like I said, it was crowded. Outside a T-shirt shop, a dirt-crusted guy in stringy shorts played guitar for tips. Liana’s hips gyrated to the music. Tom looked at the sidewalk. Zack kicked the guy’s guitar case closed. The guy didn’t look up, just stopped playing and reopened it
.

I kicked it again
.

“Quit it,” Saint said. “Guy’s trying to earn a living.” He pulled a five from his wallet and threw it into the case. What a philanthropist
.

The guy stopped playing, eyeing the five. Then he put down his guitar, stood, and threw his arms around Saint’s neck, saying, “God bless you, man!”

We all stared. “I think he slipped O’Connor the tongue,” Zack whispered
.

Saint finally broke free. Three doors down, he said, “Shit, I was going to ask for change.”

“I can’t believe you let him touch you,” Peyton said
.

“What should I have done? Punched him out?”

“Ignored him like everyone else,” Peyton said
.

“I think it was nice,” Caitlin said to Saint, taking his side, as usual. “Helping a fellow human being.”

“A fellow human being with fleas,” I said
.

“What a snob,” Saint said. Liana and Caitlin nodded
.

“You’re just a better person, I guess,” I said. It bugged me, Caitlin sucking up to O’Connor
.

Tom said nothing. He looked first at me, then Liana, like he was scoring a tennis match. Finally, he pointed to Liana’s guidebook. “We should see Hemingway’s house. It says here some of his cats have extra toes.”

We laughed then and moved through the tequila-powered crowd. Cat spotted a teddy bear in a window and looked to me for permission to stop. I told her no way was she carrying that crap around. Instead, we ducked into a bar, one with no name above the door but live music pouring out. They didn’t even check ID. Two guys onstage were finishing a song when we arrived. The pudgy guitar player started another, the shoeless harmonica player joining in, although his missing teeth must have made it hard to play. Some older people danced to music that wasn’t meant for dancing. I said it looked beat
.

“I think it’s colorful,” Caitlin said. Was she going to contradict everything I said?

“Who asked what you thought?” I said. But the others went for beer, and I followed. The song finished. I played pool with Ashley standing close by. I had a second beer, and Tom emptied two bowls of peanuts. I’d been buzzed earlier. By then, I was flying. I ignored Cat and circled the pool table with Tom
.

“Don’t get drunk,” he said to me. “We’re snorkeling tomorrow.”

“Mom? That you? It’s been a while. Your little boy’s done growed up.”

That shut Tom up pretty fast
.

Two beers later, I noticed Cat talking to Zack. They looked pretty cozy actually, considering she’d always said she hated him. I guess hosting us meant he got a chance at
my
girlfriend. Now she sat at his table, and he leaned close to whisper in her ear. I walked over
.

“Isn’t Caitlin beautiful?” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. I had to repeat it, yelling over the guitar feedback, but finally Zack agreed that, yes, Caitlin was beautiful. I said, “Almost makes you forget how fat and ugly she was a few months ago.”

Everyone heard that. Everyone heard because the song ended, and I was still yelling. Heads turned, first to me, then Caitlin
.

“Come on, Cat,” I said. “Show them how hot you look. You know you want everyone to see.” I grabbed her hand and yanked her forward. She wore a shirt over a white tank top. I tugged at the shirt. “Show them your tits, Cat.”

“Stop it!” She pulled away and dove for the chair
.

I blocked her way. “Come on. I want everyone to see what I’m getting.”

“This is because you’re drunk,” she said, sitting
.

I yanked her up. “Don’t you ever sit when I say stand.” I pulled her toward me even as she struggled to escape. By then, everyone was staring. Tom was behind me, trying to make me shut up. Someone yelled at me to leave Caitlin alone
.

“Hey, why aren’t you rednecks playing?” I yelled
.

“Waiting for you to let go of the lady,” the toothless one said
.

“Make me. I’ll knock out your other tooth.” I kissed Caitlin hard. “She’s with me.”

“Hey, how old are you anyway, boy? This ain’t no day care center.”