Breathing Underwater (19 page)

“But I thought—”

She was pretty shaken. Mad maybe? I pulled her close. “Sorry I freaked you out, Kittycat. I forget you aren’t used to guys. You don’t know we play rough sometimes.” She kept protesting, and I said, “You know what I was thinking? I wanted to buy you a ring. You know, like a symbol, since we’re going together. What’s your birthstone?”

Still, she stared like her life was flashing before her eyes. “You hit me, Nick.”

I kissed her. She drew away, and I pulled her back. “Your birthday’s in February, right? I’ll ask the jeweler what the stone is.”

I held her close until she stopped struggling. The sun was down, but it wasn’t dark enough for a moon, and we crossed bridges connecting the islands, Big Pine Key, Plantation Key, Key Largo. Then we drove through mainland Miami a while. When we reached home, the sky above Rickenbacker Causeway was black, and Caitlin slept on my shoulder
.

The opening quatrain of a sonnet by Derek Wayne. Higgins slumps in her wheelchair. Me, I’m freaking. I heard nothing about reading these poems aloud. No way can I read this. No way. Derek winds to a close (wish he’d written something longer), and Elsa volunteers.

“Mine’s a haiku, Miss Higgins,” Elsa says in her most self-important voice. “It’s called ‘Unseen Violence.’” She reads,

My blood jumps like a fumbled ball. People have been leaving me alone lately, but by syllable twelve of Elsa’s poem, every eye meets mine. God, I hate her. I glance sideways, let my eyes sear into hers. She smirks. I remind myself to breathe. Higgins looks from Elsa to me, then back.

“See me after class, Elsa.” She turns to me. “We may as well have yours, Nicholas.”

“Call on someone else.”

“I’m calling on you.”

“I can’t read mine.”

Snickers. Higgins’s horseshoe-shaped eyebrows rise still higher. Shock treatment. “You didn’t do the assignment?”

“Dog ate his homework,” Elsa whispers.

I look at Higgins. “I did it. I just can’t read it here.” Elsa’s stuffing knuckles into her oversized mouth. “It’s … personal.”

“All creative writing is personal, Nicholas.”

“My poem’s not about Beethoven or dragons.” I manage a sneer at Elsa. “I didn’t hear you say we had to read it.”

Higgins tents her fingers, sizing me up, and for a second, I think she’ll cut me a break. No such luck. “If you didn’t complete the assignment, I’m afraid I’ll have to—”

“Give me an F?” I say. “Fine.”

My forehead is tight. I do not want an F. An F is irreparable. With an F, my final grade will be a B, something I’ve never gotten in English. And my father will freak.

But that’s in the future. Right now, there’s only slow death by humiliation if I read.

After class, I wait. I consider begging Higgins to let me write something else, but Elsa’s at her desk. Words like
self-control, appropriate, propriety
slither from Higgins’s lips, and Elsa nods, saying she had no idea we’d be reading aloud. Still, when she faces me, she’s smiling.

“Was your poem about Caitlin?” she whispers, passing my desk.

“No. About you. I couldn’t read it because it was pornographic, all my wet dreams about your nonexistent tits and bony elbows.”

“Pig.” Elsa pulls her books to her chest. “By the way, Caitlin’s hot and heavy with some football player.”

“Thanks. I knew that.”

But hearing it makes me long to do something, long to tell or show or make Caitlin know I’m the one for her. I wait for Elsa to leave, then start for the door.

“Nicholas?”

I turn to face Miss Higgins.

“Didn’t you do the assignment?” she asks.

I try to smile. “Don’t I always?” I pull the paper from my notebook.

Her whitish eyes take me in. “Yes. You’re a good student. I hate to ruin a perfect transcript, but I believe reading aloud is essential to writing. Following instructions is up there too. Why wouldn’t you read?”

“I’ll write something else and read it tomorrow.”

“You must have expected me to see it.”

I hold the paper out with my good-student smile. “You can see it.” I drop it onto her desk and walk out.

When I enter the hall, a fist rams my face.

“Leave her alone!”

“Caitlin’s gone, Nick.”

Mrs. McCourt’s lacy red negligee left little to the imagination, and her feather-slippered feet sported crimson toenails. I wondered whether she put on fresh polish for bed. I was so busy gaping I barely heard her. I think I managed, “Huh?”

“Caitlin left. I thought she was with you.” Mrs. McCourt threw open the door, waving her hand in what was probably meant as an inviting gesture. She offered me a muffin
.

But I was out of there before you could say
magic crystal.
Why did Caitlin leave? I always drove her to school. I jumped into the car, not opening the door. A block later, I saw Caitlin, looking lonely in white pants and a green linen shirt. I pulled beside her
.

She turned. Her face looked different, almost out of line. Then, I realized it was her makeup. Heavier than usual, it still didn’t cover the red mark under her eye. My breath quickened. I’d done that. How? I’d barely touched her. Her eyes met mine
.

She said, “I can’t see you anymore, Nick.”

I followed, cruising at idle speed. “Why?”

She kept walking. “Why? Because you hit me, Nick. You hit me! You practically kill us driving home in the wrong lane, then you hit me. Does any of this ring a bell?”

She crossed the sidewalk and started walking in people’s yards. I ditched the car to run after her. In a few steps, I lost my breath. Impossible. I ran miles at football practice. But Caitlin’s words knocked the wind out of me. God, it was a slap, barely a mark. Yet, I was helpless to the point of desperation. I put my hands on her shoulders, and she recoiled like I’d hit her again
.

I begged her to give me another chance, but she said, “No. I can’t take it. I can’t be with someone who hurts me.”

She broke into a run, and I chased her like an asshole. I was an asshole. We were near school. The traffic jam had started. Heads whirled at the awesome sight of Nick Andreas chasing the homecoming princess down the street. I barely noticed. I was too busy begging for another chance, telling her what a scum I was, it was all my fault. I was as close to bawling as I get. Bawling about what a loser I was and how I’d do anything to make it up to her. Anything
.

She stopped at the parking lot entrance, and cars worked around her. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

“But you said you loved me. Is that something you turn on and off?”

“I just can’t be with you.”

“If you love me, I can change.”

Caitlin said she wished she could believe that. Then she turned and started toward the oak tree where our group met every morning. She said she wouldn’t tell anyone what happened
.

Why was she doing this? I wanted to run, throw myself at her feet. Or maybe grab her shoulders and shake her until she begged me to stop. But she stood by Saint, their bodies perfect as puzzle pieces. I was the one who didn’t fit. I trudged to my car. One thing was sure, I’d do anything to get her back
.

The mirror reveals the only black eye I’ve gotten from anyone but my father. This one’s courtesy of Saint. And Tom. Tom was with him.

They’d ambushed me coming from English class. After the punch, Saint grabbed my arms and held them behind my back.

“Leave her alone!” Saint yelled.

I didn’t struggle, just looked at him. “What do you mean?” I said, my father’s face taking over, his cool eyes appraising Saint’s fiery ones. I’d seen that face enough to be able to put it on and off. I hated myself for it.

“You know damn well. Stop calling her! Stop talking to her in the halls! Stop leaving little presents in her locker!” He shook me with every sentence. “She’s not interested, okay?”

“Who’s not?” I said, cool as he was hot. “Caitlin? I’m not allowed to talk to Caitlin.”

“Don’t screw with me. We both know you do, and I don’t need a court order to kick your ass!” He shoved me against a locker. “Consider this a preview.”

“Come on, Nick,” Tom pleaded with me. “Just lay off.”

I glared at him. “You’re not speaking to me, so shut up.” I pulled from Saint’s grip. “And you’re just pissed I got there first.”

As I walked away, Saint yelled, “By the way, thanks for the roses. I told her I bought them.”

Now, I pull the photograph of Tom and me off the mirror. I look at it a second before I rip it unrecognizable.

I’d been camped on Caitlin’s doorstep since two, after a morning spent on the beach, texting her over and over to forgive me. She didn’t answer, and there was nowhere else I could think of to be. At five forty-five, Caitlin showed up with Elsa. I demanded to know where she’d been
.

“What business is that of yours?” Elsa said. Caitlin fished for her keys, avoiding my eyes
.

“We need to talk,” I said
.

Elsa grabbed Caitlin’s arm. “She isn’t speaking to you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” I said. When Elsa didn’t move, I thrust a silver-wrapped package toward Caitlin
.

“I can’t, Nick.”

It’s hard for me to admit this, even to a notebook. Even to myself. But at that point, I begged. Flat-out begged her to open it. It was my only chance. I sank to my knees, not caring how I looked. Nothing mattered. Nothing
.

And finally, Caitlin gave in. She pulled from Elsa’s grip, eyes weary under her heavy makeup. I straightened. She took the package, peeled off the paper, gasping at the leather-crested box. She opened it
.

The amethyst caught the sun’s dying rays from its diamond perch. Caitlin’s eyes widened
.

“I was going to wait ’til Christmas,” I said. “But there won’t be Christmas without you. There’s nothing good for me without you.” Elsa made the “tiny violin” gesture with thumb and forefinger, but Caitlin turned the box in her hand. “Put it on,” I said
.

Elsa’s voice. “She won’t take you back just because—”

“I love you, Caitlin.” I ignored Elsa
.

“Caitlin, you can’t be bought with some trinket.” Elsa was angry. She pointed to Caitlin. “You think I haven’t noticed that big, red mark on your face? He did that to you.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did he?” Elsa demanded. “Caitlin?”

Caitlin was silent. We stood there a long time. Caitlin looked from me to Elsa, then back. Finally, she said, “Of course not.”

“Oh, God! You’re such a liar! You should be happy together, a liar and a criminal.” Elsa stormed into the street, not checking for traffic
.

Caitlin started to follow. I stopped her, saying, “Try it on, Cat.”