Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) (5 page)

He turns to stare out the window into our garden. The sun is beginning to set. “Would you want to go out tomorrow night?”

He’s asking me to do something on a
Friday night
? Everybody knows that’s date night.
Is he asking me on a date?
“To do what?”

“To talk. Maybe over dinner?”

I don’t even bother asking if he means as friends or more. It doesn’t matter. I will not put myself in a situation where a guy could hurt me again.

I stand up from the couch. “I’m sorry, Ez. I can’t.”

He hops to his feet in gentleman mode. “No dinner. Got it.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe I could get us into the Cumberland Science Museum after closing? We’d have the whole place to ourselves.”

My eyes go wide. Of course he’d have a connection. I bet his family knows the curator or something.

He’s good. Real good. He knows exactly how to entice me. Museums. Set me loose in one, and I could stay for weeks, reading all the little placards describing each exhibit. When Mom finally convinced Dad to visit Europe, I went to the National Gallery in Vienna. I couldn’t stop staring at the Venus of Willendorf, a tiny statue of a voluptuous woman carved twenty-five thousand years ago, in a time when no one was voluptuous, when humans were cold and hungry. I wanted to know more about who carved that woman. I loved thinking about how much the world had changed since then. My parents finally had to drag me away before we missed our train to Prague. Museums are my Kryptonite.

Still, I say “no thanks” to Ezra’s invite.

“If you’re grounded, I could talk to your mom—”

“No, now’s just not a good time. I need to take a shower, so I’ll see you around, okay?”

The confusion in his eyes is strong and clear. I’m hurting him. But I’m saving myself.

It was two years ago. I was stepping into chemistry class when he took my hand.

“Tease,” he said in a playful voice. “Your parents sent me an invitation to your cotillion.”

“Yeah?” I said softly. I knew my parents would invite him to my sixteenth birthday party because he’s my brother’s best friend. On top of that, the Carmichaels have more money than God and have always supported Dad’s politics.

Ezra tugged on a strand of my hair. “You’ll save your first dance for me, right?”

I swallowed hard. The weekend before, Ezra and I had been watching a movie with my brother and his girlfriend in the common room of Harvey House, his dorm. I’d been lounging on the floor in front of the couch where Ezra was sitting. He kept tapping my shoulder, and when I’d turn around to see what he wanted, he pretended he hadn’t touched me.

When my brother left to go make out with his girlfriend, Ezra patted the couch next to him and smiled. With a deep breath, I crawled up to sit beside him, close enough that our thighs touched. At seventeen, Ezra was two years older than me, and he played goalie for the soccer team. He’d had a slew of girlfriends, all of whom were sweet to me, but I had to hate them on principle because I was in love with him. His experience with girls intimidated me. My sister told me he’d lost it when he was fifteen, with a girl on a mission trip to Panama. I prayed it wasn’t true, even though it likely was.

It was a nice surprise to hang out that night. According to Oliver, Ezra generally spent Saturdays running poker games in Harvey House, gambling with other boys for real money. Instead, he was sitting on the couch with me. I shivered with excitement. He’d finally stopped looking at me as his best friend’s annoying little sister. I knew this because when I wore my first real string bikini that past summer, he checked out my boobs.

During the movie, he threw his arm across the back of the couch, behind my shoulders. I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and for a few minutes, he gently played with my hair.

Nothing else happened that night—well, except for people getting eaten by dinosaurs during
Jurassic Park
—but I could feel the crackle of anticipation between us. I’d saved everything for him. My first kiss, my first hookup, my virginity. I wanted him to have them all.

But on the night of my cotillion, after I’d spent an entire day at the spa prepping for what was going to be the best night of my life, I waited.

I waited and waited for Ezra.

His parents, who had also been invited, came over to wish me a happy birthday. “We sent a car to the school to collect Ezra for the party,” his father grumbled, “but our driver said he wasn’t at the dorm.”

Mrs. Carmichael clutched her husband’s elbow and spoke in a rushed, worried voice. “And he’s not answering his cell.”

“Typical Ezra,” his father said with a grimace, squeezing his champagne glass so hard, I expected it to shatter.

Oliver, who’d come home with me on Friday to help get ready for the party, had no idea where Ezra was either. “I hope nothing’s wrong,” my brother said. He and Ezra were completely loyal to each other, and Oliver couldn’t believe Ezra would purposely miss my birthday.

Guests came to the tent in our backyard, drank champagne, danced under twinkling bright lights, and left.

And he never showed.

Jenna gave me hugs and passed me tissues as I cried.

The next day, I heard from Madison that he had snuck off campus, driven down to Chattanooga with Mindy Roberts, and hooked up with her.

He missed my sixteenth birthday party to fool around with another girl.

Monday in the hall at school, I confronted him. “I got my hopes up…and then you didn’t show. Waiting for you sucked.”

With a red face and watery eyes that wouldn’t meet mine, he said, “I’m so sorry I missed your party, Tee. Seriously.”

But he gave no excuse.

That wasn’t good enough. I’d been waiting for him, for our moment together, for years. Well, no more. I would like other guys. Better guys. Guys who wanted to kiss me. Guys who didn’t leave me hanging. Guys who didn’t flirt without ever making a move…

I decided to stop crushing on him, but no one else made me shiver with the slightest touch. Made my heart beat frantically just by appearing before me.

Then I met Ben, and I forgot all about how Ezra had let me down. Of course, Ben turned out to be a mistake too. Boys just aren’t worth the letdown.

Here in the present, I tell Ezra that I need to do my homework.

He holds my gaze for a few moments, then pulls his car keys from his pocket. “You have my number if you want to talk.”

He starts toward the foyer right as Mom is returning to the living room with a tray of iced tea. He kisses Mom’s cheek, and before he leaves, he turns to look at me again.

“Who cares if the soccer team sucks? If you want to play, play.”

Then he’s gone.

• • •

I can’t stop thinking of Ben.

After Ezra left, I holed up in my room. The shock I felt earlier this week is slowly starting to wear off, and my emotions are bleeding through. I’m trying not to cry, but it’s hard. How could Ben love me and still do what he did?

He loved me. I felt it every time he squeezed my hand. His hugs were the best, and he lived for kissing me.

“I love your lips,” he’d say when we’d sneak under the staircase for a quick make out session between classes. Sometimes, his hands would inch under my plaid skirt and cup my bottom through my underwear.

Just thinking about it turns me on. Well,
that
would be a way to pass the time. I hop up to lock my door, lie back down on my bed, and close my eyes. I don’t need guys.
I can take care of my needs myself.

But when I slip my hand down into my underwear, I discover that’s not exactly true. What’s the fun in making myself feel good if I don’t have a guy to fantasize about…touching me, smiling at me, groaning at my touch?

The first time Ben and I went to third base, I got scared. I’d never touched a guy
there
before, and when I saw him naked, I was afraid that when we did have sex, it would hurt. I knew he was a virgin too. What if we did it all wrong and it sucked? From the look on my face, Ben could tell something was up.

“What’s wrong?”

I looked down at his body. It was bigger than I expected. “I don’t see how it will ever work. You know, if we—”

He gently touched my cheek, urging my face to meet his. “Don’t worry, Tee. If and when you’re ready, we’ll figure it out together. I love you no matter what.”

My phone buzzes, jolting me from the memory. Ben’s picture flashes on the screen. I don’t pick up. Hot tears burn my eyes.

The last time he and I were together was last Friday night. The night I took the fall for him.

That Thursday, St. Andrew’s had a game against Grundy County. When I scored the second goal, my team circled me with hugs, jumping up and down, and the thrill carried me until the end of the game. I was pumped about our win, but I had to scramble for a quick dinner before studying for my first college test.

I had signed up for advanced calculus and economics at the University of the South. Along with those two college classes, I was taking four high school classes, including AP trigonometry and AP chemistry. I’d wanted to take an art course about color theory but couldn’t fit it in the same schedule Oliver and Jenna had taken their senior year.

To stay awake to study for my calc quiz, I took two Adderall pills Ben had gotten for me. He knew who to get them from. I didn’t take pills regularly or anything, and I had no stash, but it wasn’t the first time I’d used them. If I was going to be the best student, then I needed to be alert when it mattered most. After I made it through the test—I think I did okay, though I wonder if I’ll ever find out—I was practically shaking from the stress. My right eyelid was twitching, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was too on edge.

Ben called after I frantically texted him about my freakish eye twitch. “Babe, you need to relax.”

“What if I failed the quiz? You know how much I hate calc.”

“Tee, you knew the material backward and forward. I know you did great. It’s Friday night. Come outside with me.”

I met him on the Card House porch, where he kissed me long and slow, then twined his hand with mine. I handed him my sweater to put in his backpack, in case it got chilly later. Then he led me toward the woods beyond the soccer field.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Relaxing,” he said with a big goofy grin. He patted his backpack, the black one I had bought him for his seventeenth birthday over the summer.

In the woods, Ben found a small clearing. He collected sticks and built us a cozy campfire, like we had done on a few other occasions. From his backpack, he nonchalantly pulled a two-liter of Coke and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Where’d you get that?” I exclaimed.

“Brought it from home. My brother got it for me.” Ben mixed us each a cocktail, and we leaned against a fallen log, staring up at the stars above the lush trees. With each sip of Jack, I relaxed into the romantic atmosphere. My eye stopped twitching. I took my ponytail out of its tight knot, letting my hair tumble down my back. I felt like I’d lost ten pounds.

My boyfriend unbuttoned my shirt and slipped a hand inside as I loosened his blue tie and unzipped his khakis. He pushed up my plaid skirt, pulled down my panties, rolled on a condom, then crawled on top of me. We had been sleeping together for a few months. At first, it made us both nervous, but I was totally in love, and sex was becoming more comfortable. This was one of the times it felt really, really good for me. When we were finished, I adjusted my skirt back into place, let out a contented sigh, and curled up in his arms. But I wanted to cry—I had to get up in six hours to drive to Nashville for a debate tournament.

“All I want to do is sleep in,” I murmured to Ben. “Maybe I’ll skip. I’m exhausted.”

He stroked my hair and back. “Shh,” he said, and I snuggled closer. We both knew I couldn’t skip. The college acceptance committees wouldn’t care that I was tired. All that mattered is that I had perfect grades and was perfect at all my activities. Colleges want awesome students, not failures. I could not be a failure.

Right as I started to nod off, Ben whispered, “I need to use the bathroom,” and left me curled up in front of our campfire. My eyelids felt heavy. I couldn’t keep them open.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I woke up with a pounding headache to a flashlight shining in my eyes. What time was it? Had I missed curfew? Where was Ben? He couldn’t be far. I spotted his backpack. The fire was still crackling. It must have been only a few minutes since Ben had left for the bathroom.

Two dorm mothers stood before me. They’d found the bottle of Jack, and when they searched the backpack to see if I had more liquor, they found a little weed and silver packets with rows of little white pills. Ben was nowhere to be seen.

I was groggy and didn’t have time to think, to weigh the consequences. I didn’t even have time to wonder why Ben had all those pills. I just knew that the teachers thought the backpack was mine because my sweater was in it and I was the only one there.

Dad’s
modeling integrity
motto flew out the window when Ben appeared in the clearing with a panicked look on his face. I gave him a subtle shake of my head, silently willing him to keep quiet. My mind raced.
Ben’s on scholarship. He’ll get kicked out. My dad’s a senator. A school trustee. They’ll give me detention. Or community service.

The dorm mothers already thought the pills were mine.

I didn’t correct them.

Where in the hell should I get coffee?

If I go to Donut Palace for a proper latte, I might run into that landscaper again.

But if I go to Foothills, which does not have proper lattes, there’s the very real possibility Ezra will be there…and the slight possibility that one of the old dudes might want to play gin rummy like that man at the nursing home.

Starbucks by the interstate it is.

By the time I drive out there, the parking lot is packed. Who knew the interstate Starbucks was so hot right now? I find a spot on the side lot and am walking up to the entrance when I do a double take.
Wait. Is that Mom’s Lexus?
Oh my God. If she’s been hiding a secret coffee fetish, I am going to kill her. And then force her to buy us a Keurig.

I slide inside to find Mom schmoozing with Tennessee citizens. It’s a meet and greet. Mom and Dad often ask me to go to these events whenever I’m home. It’s weird she didn’t invite me to stop by before school.

I wave at Mom. She sets down her white paper cup and rushes over to me. “Taylor, what are you doing here?”

“Getting my coffee fix.”

She purses her lips. “You know it’s not good for your skin.”

“But it’s great for my soul,” I say, feigning seriousness. “What are you drinking anyway? Black coffee with a shot of espresso, I hope.”

“It’s green tea.”

I make a face. “Green tea tastes like grass.”

“Taylor,” Mom whisper-yells. “Stop that. The camera crews will be here any minute.”

That’s when I spot Dad.

He’s staring me down from behind the counter, where he’s wearing a green apron and holding a white cup and Sharpie. Dear Lord, what
won’t
Dad do for a vote? If he had to, I bet he’d shovel elephant poop at the Nashville Zoo.

Dad has a tough race coming up in November and is doing everything he can to rock the vote. Hence the Starbucks excursion. Tennessee has always been super conservative, so his real competition is usually during the Republican primary in August, which he won by a landslide. But this time, the Democratic opponent—Harrison Wallace—is getting a lot of voter support. He’s young, cool, and seems very real in his TV commercials, which play over and over and over. Especially the one where he’s unloading groceries from the car like he’s a regular guy, even though he’s been a congressman for six years. He wants to move from the House to the Senate.

Dad stops playing barista and comes over to me. “What are you doing here?”

I nod at the marker and cup in his hand. “I’ll have a grande skim latte, please.”

Despite his obvious discomfort at seeing me, he actually laughs at my joke, but Mom scowls. When an elderly woman pushes her walker by us, Mom’s frown turns into a smile, and they exchange pleasantries. It takes the lady a good twenty seconds to move out of earshot. Then Mom turns to me again.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“I need my caffeine first. Dad, do you need to know how to spell my name for the cup? It’s T-A-Y—”

“I’ve had enough of your sass,” Mom says, glancing around Starbucks. “We’ll talk about this later. You need to get to school before the cameras get here.”

“Are you embarrassed by me?”

They hesitate for a moment before saying, “Of course not!”

But they are. And I’m not sure whether to feel hurt or ashamed or angry. Hurt because they’re my parents, and even if they’ve always been a bit overbearing and expected a lot, up until today, they had always been proud of me and wanted me by their sides.

Ashamed because I fucked up big-time, and I can’t blame them for being embarrassed by me. I’m embarrassed by me.

But I’m also angry because I’ve always done exactly what my parents asked of me. Sure, I bent the rules here and there, like when I used my sister’s driver’s license to get my ankle tattoo, but overall, I’ve been a very good daughter. Have they forgotten the
real Tee
all because I made one mistake?

“I’ll see you later,” I mutter and turn to leave. My parents don’t try to stop me. I climb into the Beast and drive toward school.

“God, they suck!” I yell to my empty car.

At a traffic light, I lean my head against the steering wheel. Coffee. I still need coffee. I will not survive without it. I quickly flip a U-turn and speed down the four-lane.

Five minutes later, I swing open the door to Donut Palace and beeline to the counter. “Grande skim latte, please,” I tell the barista.

“It’s on me.”

I groan under my breath. The sexy landscaper is back. I mentally repeat my
No more boys
mantra, give him a curt smile, and say, “No, thank you.”

“C’mon, you know you want me to buy you coffee. A coffee that’s hot and dark, just like me.”

I snort and burst out laughing. “You did not just say that.”

“How about it?” He winks at me.

“No, thank you.” I turn back to pay the cashier.

“C’mon, bab—”

“She said no.”

I whip around to find Ezra. Landscaper Guy eyes Ezra, who’s wearing a
Hall’s Construction
T-shirt.

“Dude, why would she want a construction rat when she could have a
landscaping lion
?”

I crack up again.

His pickup line was so ridiculous, I expect Landscaper Guy to send a horny pelvic thrust in my direction, but he vamooses when Ezra gives him the glare to end all glares.

I can’t say I’m not glad the landscaping lion ran off to rejoin the pride, but I’m not thrilled to see Ezra again either. My heart skips at the sight of his green eyes.

No. More. Boys.

When I give my debit card to the cashier, Ezra hands the woman a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll get yours.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“Would you rather the
landscaping lion
buy it for you?” he says with a laugh.

“I can pay for it myself.”

Hearing the hard edge of my voice, Ezra lets me buy my own latte.

Ezra places an order for a coffee and six cinnamon doughnut holes, then turns to me.

“I figured you might come here,” he says.

“How’d you know?”

“You love lattes, and this place has the best ones in town. You always ordered them at the Friendly Bean at St. Andrew’s.”

I smile a little. He noticed that when we were in school together?

“Donut Palace is so much better than the Friendly Bean,” I say.

“Yeah, I’d forgotten how much I love the doughnut holes here.”

The barista calls my name and holds out my drink to me. I take it and nod at Ezra’s tee. “What’s the shirt for?”

“I’m working for a construction firm.”

“Why?”

He looks into my eyes for a long moment, then shrugs. “I just like it.”

As a kid, Ezra loved taking things apart and putting them back together. Computers, car engines, microwave ovens. It drove everybody batty. One time, Ezra convinced my brother to disassemble Dad’s riding lawnmower. My father grounded Oliver for a week for not being assertive enough to stand up to Ezra. Another time, Ezra got detention at school for taking apart a teacher’s SMART Board.

So it’s not totally surprising he likes construction. But why is he doing it during the school year?

“What about college?” I ask. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for missing classes?”

Ezra’s coffee is ready. He picks it up at the counter along with a white paper bag of doughnut holes. “I’m not going back this semester.”

I touch his forearm. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” He stares down at my hand on his skin. He clears his throat, then gruffly says, “Look, I need to get going.”

I take a long sip of coffee and watch him stalk out into the parking lot. What’s up with him?

Then I remember he’s not my problem, and I don’t want him to be.

• • •

I made it to the weekend!

I celebrate by going shopping at the Gap for new jeans, followed by a long run. After showering and dressing to earn Mom’s approval, I head down to the kitchen to see what’s happening for dinner.

There, I find Mom and Marina working on hors d’oeuvres. Two platters filled with lean meats, cheeses, olives, and a loaf of bread sit on the granite countertop. Mom is circling a separate veggie platter like a vulture.

I slide onto a stool at the island. “What’s going on?”

“Peter and Maura Phillips are coming over to discuss your father’s campaign,” Mom replies, popping a baby carrot in her mouth. She passes me a cocktail plate and gestures for me to grab anything I want. I choose a few olives and a slice of salami.

“What’d you do this afternoon?” Mom asks.

“I drove over to the Galleria and got some jeans.”

“Did you get any other clothes?” she asks eagerly. Mom loves shopping.

“Nah. I didn’t want to use any more of my allowance.”

She furrows her eyebrows. Then a sly look crosses her face, and she smiles conspiratorially. “Do you need anything else besides jeans?”

Every year, Dad gives us kids a clothes budget, but Mom has always felt it wasn’t enough—certainly not enough money to buy clothes
befitting a senator’s kid
, so she’s been known to slip us some cash here and there if we need something in particular, like when I needed a new outfit for the governor’s Independence Day Ball this past July. According to Mom, nothing in my closet “would do,” so she swore me to secrecy and swept me off to Nordstrom for a new cocktail dress.

“I could use leggings and a few more shirts for school,” I whisper in case Dad is lurking about.

“We’ll get you some,” Mom says with a smile. “You know, you could probably afford more clothes if you’d kick that coffee habit.”

“Get us a Keurig and I’ll stop blowing money on lattes.”

“Amen,” Marina says, while Mom rolls her eyes.

I pop an olive in my mouth, then open the folder Miss Brady gave me during counseling today. It’s a list of all Hundred Oaks’ clubs and activities.

“What’s that?” Mom asks.

I scan down the page. “I need to choose another extracurricular besides soccer.”

“Why? Don’t you feel like you have enough on your plate?”

I shrug. “Not as much as at St. Andrew’s. I need to add to my résumé, or Yale will wonder why I started slacking during my senior year.”

“But Taylor,” Mom says quietly, not meeting my eyes. “Don’t you think you should relax a little? I don’t want you turning back to Adderall.”

“But my early decision app for Yale is due November first! I can’t stop working now, Mom.” My voice is full of desperation. “Not after all these years.”

“I know you work hard, Tee,” Mom says, squeezing my hand. “But we can’t risk another incident like this.”

Another incident?

“You need to concentrate on taking care of yourself right now,” she adds. “I’m sure Yale will accept you. You’re a Lukens, for God’s sake.”

Clearly, she is not in the know. “Dad said he won’t give the alumni association a heads-up that I’m applying.”

Mom practically chokes on an olive.

“My application is no different from anyone else’s,” I add. I have killer grades, and I do amazing work. I shouldn’t need a
name
to get ahead. I can do this on my own. And I’m going to do everything in my power to get in.

Dad strolls into the kitchen, looking tired, probably because he flew back from DC this afternoon, but he perks up when he spots the food. He loads a cocktail plate to the brim with cheese and ham, which earns him a slap on the wrist from Mom.

I continue to pore over the list of clubs and activities. Maybe I could do Quiz Bowl. I mean, who doesn’t like shouting answers at the TV when
Jeopard
y
!
is on?

The Dinner Club sounds fun too, but it turns out to be cooking. I’d join if it were only about eating. Then there’s the Polar Bear Club. They jump into freezing cold bodies of water. Ooh, skeet shooting!

Not much on this list appeals to me. I sigh.

“What are you up to, Tee?” Dad asks as he uncorks a bottle of red wine.

“Trying to pick another club to join.”

Mom glares at Dad. “Edward, I really don’t want Taylor overextending herself. I’m worried. She should be focusing on her studies and soccer, not joining random clubs so Yale won’t think she’s a slacker.”

Dad pours a dollop of wine, sniffs it, and taste-tests it. “Taylor and I had a talk. She knows it’s up to her to get into college. But I never said she has to join clubs.”

“You’re missing the point, Edward.” With a heavy sigh, Mom pours herself a large glass of wine. “Don’t you think you take your values too far? We’re not all perfect.” Mom disappears to the living room to wait for her guests and chug her wine. I don’t blame her.

The kitchen is silent as Dad stares after her and tops off his wineglass. He rubs his eyes, then pulls up a briefing on his iPad. Part of being a senator is reading briefing papers all the time.

I click on a pen and begin crossing out clubs that there’s no way I’ll join.

Outdoor Grilling Society

Gospel Choir

Knitting Klub

Robotics Club

Polar Bear Club
oh hell no!!!

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dad looking on as I work, smiling.

After how much I’ve screwed up in the past two weeks, I never thought he’d smile at me again. Which is a relief. But I’m still kind of angry because Mom’s right. We’re not all perfect. Earlier this week, I felt like Dad had given up on me. And now he’s happy that I’m looking at a stupid list of clubs? Why do I have to work so hard to make him proud?

Can’t he love me for me?