Breathing Underwater (20 page)

“I don’t know.”

“You’re going to let her boss you around?” I slipped the box from Caitlin’s hand and removed the ring. I took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, I eased the ring over her knuckle. “Give me a chance, Cat.”

“I don’t know.”

“So, you don’t love me anymore?”

Caitlin didn’t answer. Mrs. McCourt’s car pulled into the garage. I heard footsteps in the house. Then she was in our faces. She winked at me, barely looking at Caitlin
.

“Your hair’s a mess. Can’t believe he stays around with you looking like that.” She smiled at me again. I still held Caitlin’s hand and saw Mrs. McCourt’s eyes go from my face to our hands. They lit on the ring. “Where’d you get that?”

Caitlin raised her head. “Nick gave it to me.”

“Give it back. A young lady does not accept jewelry from a gentleman.” She turned her shadowed eyes on me. “Where does a boy your age get that kind of money?”

Caitlin muttered something about dealing cocaine, and her mother said, “Sarcasm isn’t attractive.”

“Who’s being sarcastic?” Caitlin said
.

Mrs. McCourt shook her head. “Caitlin can’t keep the ring, Nick.”

“I’m keeping it,” Caitlin said, which was news to me. She crossed her arms, stuffing the ringed hand between elbow and breast. “I’d think you’d be happy someone buys me a present, but no. You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Caitlin didn’t respond. Mrs. McCourt yanked her into the house and slammed the door. I walked to the driveway, unsure whether I was high as a concert audience or lower than a flea at an NBA convention
.

When I got to the car, I heard my name. I searched the pink shutters for an open window. I walked toward it. I could barely see through the screen, but she held up her hand, and the ring gleamed
.

“I’ll keep it,” she said
.

“To piss off your mother?”

“She sent me to my room—can you believe it?” Caitlin rattled the screen until it detached. She stuck her hand under and reached for mine. “It’s not the ring, it’s you. All day, I’ve thought about what you said about changing. How you loved me. I didn’t tell anyone we broke up except Elsa. Big mistake.”

“Was it?”

She nodded. The black screen didn’t dull her blue eyes when she said, “I love you, Nick. I want to be with you. I just want you not to hit me.”

I promised I wouldn’t, and she said, “I believe you.”

“Hello?”

The pay phone smells of booze and hairspray. I grip it, taking a swig of beer. Across the room, Leo, in someone’s University of Miami baseball jersey, tries his moves on a redhead. Caitlin’s voice fills my ear.

“Why are you doing this, Nick?”

She’s different. At least, she sounds different to me.
Wheel of Fortune
blares in the background, and Caitlin sounds used up. Is it Saint’s threats? Mario’s nagging?

No, it’s me. The only thing that’s changed is me.

“Please leave me alone,” Caitlin’s new voice says, and I want to obey if it would make her sound happier. Leo gestures from the bar. I wave him off, closing my eyes, trying for the feeling I used to get with Caitlin, how it felt to know she loved me. Could love me. No good.

“Please, Nick.”

Leo calls my name when Cat says it. I push the receiver button, leave the half-full beer on the ledge, and find Leo. He’s added a blond to his circle, overripe but borderline beautiful and obviously meant for me. She smiles. Leo palms my shoulder.

“Nick, meet Laura.” He sees her notice my black eye. “Nick got hit with a baseball.”

Cut the crap
. But I nod and straddle the barstool. Laura leans against me, smelling like the telephone did, and I feel the roundness of her breast on my arm. I don’t react.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender asks.

“You have Mountain Dew?” I ask, suddenly remembering Mario’s rule about no alcohol. Why am I even here?

The bartender shakes his head. “This isn’t McDonald’s.”

“Order a beer,” Laura says. But I wave the guy off and look at Leo. He’s making out with the redhead. I wonder where Neysa is tonight. Laura watches me, putting her hand on my butt. I don’t react. Finally, she says, “What are you, gay?”

“That’s it.” I leave her standing there and return to the telephone. I fumble for Mario’s card. He said call him anytime. I stare at his name a minute before shoving the card back into my wallet. I call a cab.

I fall, painfully sober, into bed. When I wake, the digital clock flashes 12:00. My watch says 8:30. I’m late for school. I remember I’d been dreaming of Caitlin, and I roll over, longing to dream of her one last time.

The first thing I do is pick up the journal. Funny, I didn’t want to write in it. Now, I’m way over the word count I needed. I could probably stop. But I have to see this through to the end. If I don’t, I have the feeling I’ll drown.

So, I was being careful again, freaking about whether I’d make a wrong move. Sometimes, I heard Elsa’s voice,
He did that to you,
and saw Caitlin running from me. But Caitlin wore my ring, and everyone knew she was my girl
.

At school, Tom was big news. Back in October, he’d bet Liana that if an opposing team scored ten points on our defense, he’d get a short haircut. Liana had been lobbying for that anyway. “What if you win?” I’d asked once. “If no one scores ten points? You get anything good?”

He smiled. “Not like you mean, little buddy. Liana said she’d cook me dinner.”

I’d called him a sucker. But by late November, no one had scored ten against us, and Tom got the credit. Key was having its first winning season, and if we won the last game, scheduled to coincide with Key’s annual Winterfest carnival, we’d make the regionals
.

“What she doesn’t know is, if I lose, I’m shaving my head,” Tom said as we walked to the chorus room to meet Caitlin one day after returning from Key West. Two guys, hands still greasy from auto shop, accosted Tom, wanting to rub his head for luck. One guy even called Tom Samson. I said I guessed that made Liana Delilah
.

Tom didn’t answer because at that second, Caitlin rushed from the chorus room, Derek Wayne hot on her heels. Derek was saying, “You know you want to do it,” and Caitlin giggled, practically crashing into us
.

“Do what?” I asked, giving Derek my best glare
.

“Oh, nothing.” Caitlin tried to pull me toward the parking lot. Derek walked away
.

I didn’t budge. “I want to know what Wayne the Brain wants you to do.”

“It’s silly. Just, Mrs. Reyes said I should try out for the Winterfest talent show.”

“That’s great, Cat,” Tom said. “If she asked you, she must think you’re really good—like when Coach told me to bulk up so I could be starting linebacker. He couldn’t say that if the position wasn’t available.”

I was getting a little sick of Tom and football. Caitlin was beaming, and I said, “Wouldn’t that take a lot of time, though? You’ve got your sorority meetings.”

We were approaching the parking lot, and suddenly it was like a conga line heading for Tom—except the music was more Insane Clown Posse than Gloria Estefan. Several generic-looking cheerleader types approached Tom about being a target in Friday’s pie-throwing raffle. Liana materialized from the crowd, along with a reporter from Keynotes. Dave “Doobie” Dooley, who smoked pot behind the bushes mornings before school, threw himself at Tom’s shoulders, shrieking, “Don’t let her scalp you, man!” Some freshman JV players followed, giving Tom we’re not worthy gestures. I steered Caitlin around the carnage. Once we broke from Tom, we walked alone
.

We reached the car, and I opened Caitlin’s door. “I don’t want you in that talent show.” I didn’t like it. She’d have extra practices. Then be parading herself on stage for everyone to see
.

“But Tom said…”

“The gridiron hero’s a music critic now?”

“He had a point.”

“So, go out with Tom.” When Caitlin started to protest, I said, “Look, I’m trying to protect you. I’ve heard you sing. You suck. I don’t want you embarrassing both of us.”

She started babbling about what Mrs. Reyes had said, and I said, “Are you deaf or just stupid? I said no. Subject closed.” Why did she have to do stuff to set me off? I saw my fist clench in my lap
.

Caitlin saw it too. She stared at my hand, then at my face. Finally, she said, “I guess you’re right. I’m really not good enough.”

“That’s my girl.” I put my arm around her, kissing her. “Will your mom be late tonight?”

“Probably around seven.”

“So I’ll come over after practice.”

“Sure,” she said, and I kissed her again
.

Tom and Liana finally broke from the crowd, and we drove to Mr. Pizza together. Caitlin didn’t mention the talent show again, and neither did Tom. Still, it nagged at me. All I’d had to do was make a fist, and she’d given in. Or
had
she?

“Where did you get the black eye?” Higgins asks after class Wednesday, pointing two red-tipped index fingers at my face. Behind me, second period drifts to their desks.

“Present from an old friend.”

“Same friend as last time?”

“Last time?” I feel suddenly warm despite the air-conditioned cool.

“January, I believe,” she says.

I don’t flinch. “No. Then, I was training for boxing. Had to give it up, though. Interfered with my poetry.”

Higgins pulls her grade book from the top drawer and flips through its pages. She doesn’t smile. “You missed two days in October, came back with bruises.”

“Flu.”

“A day in January—fat lip.”

“Cold sore.”

“Now this.”

“This wasn’t—”

“Mrs. Walters noticed the same pattern last year.”

“It’s not what you think,” I say.

“What do I think?” Higgins draws breath between slightly parted teeth. I can’t avoid her eyes. She knows about my father. From my poem, maybe, and my face. But what does that mean? Teachers are supposed to report child abuse, but I’m not a child. I’m sixteen, old enough to take care of myself. I shift my suddenly immense weight from foot to foot.

Breathe
.

I give her a Nick Andreas smile, meeting her eyes with my good one. “That I have lots of enemies?”

“Or one enemy,” she says. “Someone at home, perhaps?”

I gesture at my eye. “My dad didn’t do this.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I shrug and walk away, almost breaking into a run at the door. I don’t think I breathe until I get to chemistry class, but my mind is racing. If Higgins says anything to my father, he’ll just get meaner.

The sound of ice cubes greeted me. In my father’s house, ice cubes are airraid sirens that send me diving for cover. I searched for an exit. There was none. Usually, I missed happy hour, my father’s version of dinner at home, but he was early, I was late, and worlds collided. My father swirled his glass. I tried to look casual—impossible—and walked past him
.

“Hi, Dad.”

He gestured me closer. The clink of ice against crystal intensified, and I began the countdown in my head …
ten
,
nine
,
eight
… I walked toward him …
three
,
two
… He brandished a wrapped condom between two fingers like a witness with the bloody glove. “This is yours?”