Delicate (14 page)

I open my car door the smallest possible crack and slip in, then lock the doors behind me. I don’t glance up before backing out of the driveway and racing home.

-
Fourteen
-

I don’t sleep well and am already up and dressed before my alarm goes off for
gym.
I’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to make sense of Trevor’s reaction. He’d obviously seen me touch Grant’s hand. Was what he did to me my payback? Surely he didn’t
mean
to hurt me like that, though. I’d never seen him so upset.

My wrists are achy, but I haven’t turned a light on to inspect them yet. Mostly, I’m just devastated about the demise of Mom’s pearls. How in the world could I let that happen to something so irreplaceable? Even if I could find some like them, I would never be able to forgive myself for ruining something so sentimental.

I beat Sam to the gym for once, so I’m able to have a few more minutes to myself. Once inside under the bright fluorescent lights, I’m horrified at the deep red bruises that decorate my wrists. I quickly fetch my wrist guards and grips from my gym bag and hu
rry to put them on before Sam co
me
s
in. I can’t believe that I’m having to use guards that are meant to reduce the friction with the bar and minimize rips to my hands, to conceal bruises. Bruises from Trevor. Thankfully, they camouflage them well without me having to add any extra athletic tape. If I did that, Sam would freak, w
orrying that I had some sort of
injury. I can’t afford that.  I wince as I tighten the Velcro straps of the guards on my swollen wrists.

Sam comes in just as I
‘m
prepping the bars with chalk.

“Good, we need to work on the Arabian double front today,” he says.

I nod and do a kip to mount the low bar, cringing from the pain. And from his choice of skill.

I drive slowly to school. I’ve already been up for hours and am exhausted. I’m hoping to miss the first bell and make it to class with just enough time to not have to socialize at all. I’m glad it’s raining lightly
;
everyone has taken refuge in their classes by
the time I drive up.  I grab a hooded sweatshirt out of my backseat and pull it over my head, making sure it covers my hands and walk furtively to class like I’m a criminal. 

I’m relieved to see Grant did in fact go out of town. I wonder what the
likelihood of
him deciding not to come back from New York
is
.
I immediately feel guilty for even thinking that. It’s not his fault that I’m so damn miserable. Still, Grant being away for a few days is probably good.
Hopefully, his absence will at least prevent any
more drama.

The day drags on slowly. Quinn notices my foul mood in English, but doesn’t pester me about it since we’re both trying to avoid another round of detention slips.

By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve pretty much convinced myself that I overreacted. There’s no way that Trevor meant to hurt me. It was just a stupid misunderstanding.

I set my tray down in my usual spot just as Trevor walks up. It’s the first time I’ve seen him today and he looks uneasy. His hair is
disheveled
, and his eyes look swollen and tired. His atypical appearance and the obvious reason behind it tug at my heart a bit.

“Hi,” I mumble. Quinn’s eyes dart up at my tone. No bubbly Sydney today.

“Can I talk to you, alone?”
h
e asks.

Quinn puckers her brow, questioning me silently with her eyes. I sigh, and give her a slight smile to show that everything is okay
,
before following Trevor out of the crowded cafeteria.

He walks out into the deserted quad and sits on a damp cement bench. I fold my arms across my chest and stare at him blankly.

“So, talk,” I say flatly. He reaches for my hand and I quickly jerk it back, even though a big part of me just wants to crawl up into his lap and make all of the bad go away.

“Sydney, god,
I’m
so sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.” His eyes are soft and pleading. I don’t respond. I don’t know how to.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats. He looks down and shakes his head back and forth in apparent disgust with himself.

I stand there silently in
the
mist, replaying what had happened with Grant. I try to imagine the roles reversed. I imagine that I’d seen Trevor with some hot girl. Knowing the insecurity that I already feel on a daily basis in our relationship, I can’t imagine the added insecurity of seeing him touch someone else. I cringe at the thought. How could I not have immediately seen the situation from his eyes? I uncross my arms and reach for his hand. He looks up at me like a sad little boy
,
and it crushes my heart.

“I’m sorry too,” I say. And I mean it. He pulls me down onto his lap and holds me tightly for a long time, until the mist turns into full
-
on rain and sends us running. And laughing. And together. 

Sam d
oesn
’t find it odd when
I’m
ready with grips on to work on the uneven bars again after school. I wish for miraculously quick healing bruises. I
’m
not sure
how many more workouts he
will
allow me to devote entirely to bars, or how many more Arabian Double Fronts my sanity
will
allow.

When I get home from gym, Dad is working in his office as usual. Maisy is at the bar in the kitchen working on homework. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sit down next to her.

“Hey Maze,” I say.

She barely looks up.

“I was wondering what you wanted to do for your birthday?”

She closes her book and perks up.

She doesn’t want anything crazy, just a sleepover with her friends. I can handle that. It fe
els
good to see her so animated, and really, just to have her talking to me for once. 
Like I’m doing something right.
After we brainstorm, she skip
s
out of the room
and
she finishe
s
her homework with a rare smile.

I spread out my books on my bed and try my best to concentrate on my homework, but who am I kidding? The emotional drain from the last couple of days has left me barely functional. I lay back on my fluffy stack of down pillows and frown as I notice the cluster of pearls on my nightstand. I find a small drawstring bag in my jewelry box and scoop the loose pearls carefully into it.  It’s early, but I flip the light off on my way back to my bed.

“I’m sorry Mom.” I say under my breath.

I slide the books off of my bed, letting them hit the floor one by one with a loud
thunk
, and curl up under my thick comforter and let the tears take over.

“I worked on beam today for the first time in a few days.”

I’m finally able to work on beam again. My long sleeved leo’s cover what’s left of the bruises. The
y’re
less ugly now, but still a gross shade of yellowish-green
.

“I’m able to do some of my best thinking up on beam.”

Unless I’m working on a difficult skill, Sam doesn’t hover.

“My pike double back dismount is pretty flawless. I stuck the landing perfectly today.”

My feet slammed into the mat with such powerful force behind them
, for
a second I didn’t feel so damn weak.

“This is what I’ve worked so hard for for so many years.”

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Trevor asks as we walk to class after lunch. 

“I have detention right after school,” I moan. He snickers at my annoyance. And it’s light. And happy. And normal.

“That’s okay. Why don’t I come by later tonight?” he suggests. He tilts my chin up with his thumb. “We can just watch a movie or something.”

“That sounds perfect,” I grin. Luckily, I’
ve
worked out so much this week, I’
ll
be able to head straight home after detention and get comfortable while I wait for Trevor.

I stare out the window of the detention room, watching the rain and wind whip the trees around. What a miserable afternoon. I probably ha
ve
some homework I could be working on, but instead, I spend the two hours dreaming of getting home and curling up on the couch with Trevor. It’
s
been such a long week. I’m so glad that once I get out of here, it’
ll
officially be over.

I hurry to my car after detention, not even attempting to avoid the puddles. My jeans have soaked up the water and are now saturated  past my knees.

“Come on. Come on,” I mumble under my breath,
as
my wet fingers slip on my car key. I finally get the door open and jump inside. The warmth of my car
envelops me
. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear view mirror.  My long hair is plastered to the sides of my face and still dripping. I can’t help but laugh out loud. I reach into the back seat and grab a towel out of my gym back and dab at my face and hair, trying to absorb some of the water as I look around the deserted school parking lot. There are only about a half a dozen cars left.

I toss the towel behind me and then turn the car key.

Nothing.

I try again.

Nothing.

Why is this even happening? All I want to do is get home and into some sweats. I silently curse myself for being a rule-follower and not bringing my cell phone to school.

I try unsuccessfully once more to start the Toyota before accepting defeat. I take the key out and sprint toward the front office. At least the major downpour has slacked off. I pull on the door. Locked. This has got to be a joke.

Just as I turn the corner, I run into someone full speed. Grant. He catches me in his arms before I slip on the wet concrete.