Complete Nothing (27 page)

“I just want Orion back,” I said aloud, resting my head down on the nearest pillow and clutching the corner in one hand. “I just want to go home.”

As I walked down the long family-photo-lined hallway of Keegan’s second floor on Tuesday afternoon, peeking into rooms with him, I could feel the weight of the recital ticket in my backpack, tugging at the vinyl, pulling down on the straps so heavily my shoulders were tilting backward.

What was he going to say? What would I do if he laughed?

“And this,” Keegan said, opening a thick wooden door and flicking on the lights, “is my room.”

Suddenly the ticket no longer mattered. I eyed Keegan nervously. It was a weekday afternoon, no one else was home except his little brother, who was glued to the Wii in the basement two floors below, and there we were, standing at the threshold of his bedroom. Did he really expect me to just walk in there like this moment wasn’t loaded with a thousand different questions and expectations? But then, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he had no intention of doing anything other than showing me his autographed baseball collection.

Yeah, right,
Lauren’s voice said inside my head.
Because that’s
exactly what guys think about when showing the girl they’ve been Frenching all weekend their room.

Keegan walked inside and stood back against the door. I could either slip in past him or make an excuse to bail.

“What do you think?” he asked. “I cleaned it up just for you.”

“Yeah?”

Now it felt like I had to go inside, so I did. It was perfectly male. Blue-and-gray-plaid bedspread, football posters on the dark-blue walls. Dark wood furniture. A scent that was both flannelly and sweaty at the same time. It reminded me of Peter’s room, except that it was bigger and there was more furniture. I had always thought guys were supposed to be messy, but neither one of these guys were. Every book on Keegan’s shelves was lined up and pushed back, every shelf dusted, every piece of sports memorabilia set and angled in its place.

He closed the door, and the silence surrounded me.

“It’s nice,” I said, because I had to say something. “Very clean.”

“Glad you like it.”

He was right behind me now, his breath tickling the skin of my neck. He nudged my backpack off my shoulders and it hit the floor, the fingers of my right hand curling instinctively around the strap and holding fast. Before I could turn, his lips touched my shoulder, bare thanks to my wide-necked T-shirt, and then he was inching that neckline wider, kissing down toward my arm. When the fabric wouldn’t stretch any farther, he made his way back, across my shoulder to my neck and slowly up to my ear.

Was this really happening? No parents, the door closed, alone in the room with a guy I’d known for less than a week? What was I doing? This was so not me. I had to get out of there.

And then his hand slipped around my waist, gripped my shirt at the front, and turned me around. I took one look into his deep-brown eyes and my brain actually said,
Oh, who cares?
Then my body took over.

We kissed. A lot. Standing there in the middle of his bedroom, we kissed and kissed and kissed, his hands traveling up and down my back, into my hair, down my spine, over my butt and back up again. I gripped the back of his striped polo shirt with both hands, feeling childish and grown-up at the same time. Childish because I had no clue what to do with my arms or legs, grown-up because wasn’t this the definition of a grown-up moment? Kissing a guy I was just getting to know in the middle of his bedroom alone with a zillion possibilities of what might happen next vibrating around our bodies like thousands of tiny supercharged ions?

After what seemed like forever and also like five seconds, he started to walk me backward, inching his feet one at a time toward his bed.

Suddenly my brain started working again.

I couldn’t let him get me to the bed. If I let him get me to the bed, that was like saying I was open to doing things that I wasn’t entirely sure I was open to doing. Things I’d never even done with Peter.

Peter. My heart stopped when my brain landed on his name.

I pulled my lips away from Keegan’s. At that moment, the sides of my T-shirt were clenched in his fists at either hip, exposing a strip of skin above my waistband. He looked me up and down like I was the single sexiest being on the face of the planet, and for that split second, I wanted to say,
Oh, who cares?
again.

But I didn’t.

“Wait,” I said instead.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he rasped, although I could tell in his eyes that he was hoping there wasn’t anything I didn’t want to do.

“No, it’s not that.” Even though it was. And now I had to figure out exactly what
it
was. My eyes fell on my bag, which was now behind him. “I wanted to ask you . . . before I forget . . .”

I went to my backpack and bent down self-consciously to pull the ticket out of the back zipper pocket. Putting distance between us, even momentarily, felt good. I felt solid again. Like I could think straight.

“Do you—I mean—would you . . .”

The ticket fluttered in my trembling hand. Apparently my mouth was not keeping up with my brain.

“Would you come to my recital on Friday night?” I asked. And I held my breath.

Keegan glanced at the ticket. His face was blank. It was as if he’d never seen a ticket before in his life and didn’t know whether he was supposed to take it from me, swat it to the ground like a bug, or crumple it up and eat it. After a long, breathy pause, he finally plucked it from my fingers.

“Sure,” he said. “I’d love to.”

The force of my elation hit me so hard I was shocked. I didn’t know until that very second how much it meant to me that he say yes. And when he did, I wanted to throw myself into his arms.

So I did.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Anytime,” he replied, touching his lips to mine. “I bet it’s awesome, watching you dance.” He moved my hair behind my shoulder, and his expression turned serious. “I bet you’re the most beautiful dancer there is.”

Everything inside me went liquid, molten and hot. “Really?”

He nodded, as if he was so taken, so emotional, so aroused, I guess, he could no longer speak. So I sat down on the bed and looked him in the eye. And after that, there was no need for either one of us to speak at all.

“How long do we have to do this for?”

Big Tom, the elderly man across the serving table from us, shot me a look like
Who the hell is this girl?
Honestly, I was right there with him. Ever since the moment we’d walked through the door of my church’s basement, where the soup kitchen was located, Josie had been whining. Whining about the smells, whining about the people, whining about having to stand the whole time. Unbelievable.

I carefully ladled mashed potatoes onto Tom’s plate.

“Enjoy, Tom.”

“Have a good night, kid,” he replied. But he looked like he couldn’t imagine how I possibly would.

I waited for him to lumber away to the gravy bowl before I turned to Josie. “I told you. Gavin and I signed us up for a two-hour shift.”

“Two whole hours?” she moaned, bending slightly at the waist. She was wearing a white tank top with her breasts pushed up inside it, and tiny blue shorts, her long hair tied into two braids. Every male in the room, from the homeless family men to the other youth
group volunteers to the ancient security guard in the corner, had checked her out at one point or another. It wasn’t like I was going to tell anyone how to dress, but if she thought that was an appropriate outfit for volunteering . . . well, she was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to some people?” I said. “Have some fun.”

“Fun?” she griped, staring down at the salad tray. “This place is a crap hole. No one has fun in a crap hole.”

Marcy Fiore happened to be walking by with a full tray of chicken at that exact moment. I swear I thought she was going to dump the whole thing over Josie’s head. I took Josie’s wrist and steered her a few feet away toward the dessert table.

“Tara’s having a good time,” I pointed out, nodding across the room where Tara Schwartz was hanging out with a whole troop of little kids. It looked like they were playing duck-duck-goose, laughing in a circle on the linoleum floor. Over at the far end of the serving table, Gavin talked with a couple of younger guys in construction gear. His eyes darted to Tara, and he smiled. I hadn’t smiled once since we’d picked Josie up.

“Well, Tara’s an idiot,” Josie said. She wrapped both her arms around one of mine and pulled me toward her chest. “Let’s get out of here. We can go get some food, maybe head back to the playground.” She tipped her head up, resting her chin near my shoulder and blinking up at me suggestively. For the first time I noticed how fake her huge eyelashes looked. Maybe they
were
fake.

This awful, red-hot anger bubbled up inside me, and I shrugged away from her. “I’m gonna eat here.”

I silently counted to ten as I went back to my station.

“You’re gonna eat this slop? Seriously?” she said loudly. “Those aren’t even real potatoes. They’re made from gross boxed powder.”

Half the room fell silent. Gavin glanced over nervously. Marcy
dropped the chicken tray with a
thwap
. She put one plastic-gloved hand on her hip and stared me down.

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked Josie through my teeth.

“Whatever.” She checked her phone. “I’ve been here over half an hour, which means I can officially put it on my transcript. I’m out.”

She walked over to Marcy with her yellow volunteer slip and held it out to her. I thought Marcy might ball it up and shove it down Josie’s throat, but instead, her angry face went serene. She took the slip from Josie, leaned into the table to sign it, and handed it back.

“Thank you,” Josie said, her nose in the air.

“Anything to facilitate your leaving,” Marcy replied.

Gavin snorted a laugh. Josie’s jaw dropped. She turned to me, braids flying. “Are you coming?”

“I told you. Two-hour shift,” I said coolly. Then I held my breath. “And also, don’t expect any big invite to homecoming.”

“What?” she snapped. “You’re dumping me?”

I sighed. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Josie groaned and stormed out, dialing her phone. “Mom! You have to come get me!” she demanded before the door slammed behind her. “I don’t care if you have dinner on the stove, come get me!”

I was surprised when a few people clapped their hands. One guy even hooted his approval. I shook my head as I slapped some potatoes onto a young mother’s tray.

“You’re better off without her,” she said.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, too annoyed and baffled and embarrassed to come up with anything else.

Gavin approached me slowly. I made a point of moving the
potatoes around the pan, dragging them toward me and pushing them back again. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You okay, man?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

My fingers gripped the ladle like it was the only lifeline attached to the
Titanic
, and my face was actually pulsating. Thoughts of Claudia filled my mind. The last time she was here, she’d come right from ballet in sweats and sneakers, her face still shining from her workout. She’d let Big Tom twirl her around in the center of the room. She’d laughed with this group of girls who had looked at her like she was a movie star. She’d charmed everyone. That was the word. Charmed.

I felt like Josie had just trashed that memory.

“What the hell was I thinking?” I asked, dropping the ladle. “Why did I break up with Claudia?”

Gavin hesitated, pressing his fingertips into the tabletop. “I don’t know. You never told me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know either.” I sighed and stared down at the food. “That True chick said something about separation anxiety. Is that even a thing?”

“Hell if I know.” Gavin shrugged. Then he quickly blanched and crossed himself, like saying the word “hell” in church was bad. Which was insane, since the priests said it every other Sunday in their sermons. “Look, man, who cares why you did it? It’s in the past now. If you want Claudia back, you should do something about it.”

“Like what?” I asked, banging the ladle against the side of the tray. Potatoes fell from it in big white globs. “She’s hanging out with that Keegan Traylor jackass.”

Our eyes locked and we both crossed ourselves.

“Yeah, but they’ve been together less than a week,” he said. “You guys were together for over a year. She can’t like him as much as she likes you.”

A tiny spark of hope warmed my chest. “You think?”

“Definitely. Call her. See what’s up.” He looked over at Tara, who was running around a circle of sitting kids, giggling, and he smiled. “You never know.”

Could it be that easy? Could Claudia really want me back so much that she’d just forget about the great Keegan Traylor?

I breathed in for what felt like the first time in a week. “You’re right. I will.”

Marcy finished distributing some of the chicken, then walked past us on her way back to the kitchen.

“Marrott,” she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, “I’m a big fan of forgive and forget, but do me a favor and don’t bring that girl back here. Ever.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her confidently. “You won’t be seeing her again.”

I was just finishing up my inventory of the cupcake display, when someone stepped up to the counter. I felt a chill go down my spine and looked up, half expecting Apollo to be sneering down at me. Instead I was looking directly into Orion’s eyes, and he was smiling.

“Has anyone ever told you you look cute in that apron?” he said.

I glanced down, a blush taking over my face. “Thanks.” Surreptitiously I looked around, expecting to see Darla finding a table for them, but she wasn’t there.

“No Darla?” I asked.

Now it was his turn to blush. “Not tonight. I’m here with my family.”