Delicate (6 page)

Trevor is waiting for me in our usual spot. As soon as he sees me, he starts
in
my direction and I’m immediately thankful for that small gesture so I don’t have to trudge through the crowded quad. His face is full of confusion, and as I glance down, I quickly realize why. My sweats and hooded sweatshirt, combined with the messy bun on top of my head don’t scream ‘put together,’ like my normal appearance.

“Nice of you to dress up, Syd,” he says while pushing some stray hairs out of my eyes that I’d been too lazy to reach up and do for myself.“Jesus, Sydney, you’re burning up.”

“I know,” I sniffle. “I’m just waiting for this medicine to kick in. I’ll be okay.”

“Why don’t you just go
home?
You can miss one day of school. The world won’t end.” He’s right. One day won’t kill me. Or anyone else for that matter. But it’s just not in me to admit defeat and let a stupid case of the flu take over my day. If I’m
going to take a day off, I want to be doing something fun. Not lying at home alone, sipping chicken broth.

“I’m really okay. Please don’t make this a big deal.”

“Text me if you need me to take you home early,” he says as I walk into my first period class.

Grant is already seated when I slump into the chair next to him.

“Morning, Sydney,” he says cheerfully. I cringe.
He’s t
oo cheerful for the way I feel today.

“Morning,” I grumble. I flop my head onto the table with a slight groan and wait for class to start. I can feel the pounding of my pulse in between my eyes. Miserable isn’t even close to the word t
hat
describe
s
how I feel.

“You don’t look so hot,” Grant says. “No offense
,
”
h
e quickly adds.

I halfway sit up. It’s all I can manage.

“I’m good. Just a little cold.”

“Why don’t we reschedule you coming over tonight?”

“Not necessary. I’ll be fine by then. Unless you’d rather me not come by and risk spreading my germs.” I laugh. And then sneeze.

He narrows his eyes in a look of contemplation.

“If you’re up for it, I’d love to have you,” he says.

I pull up to Grant’s house earlier than planned. Sam had all but kicked me out of the gym, saying that my “snotting” all over the equipment didn’t qualify as a workout. I wish I would have brought the piece of paper with Grant’s phone number, I hate showing up early without calling first.

I take my time trudging up the large steps to Grant’s house. They ha
ve
either grown since the last time I was here, or my equilibrium is seriously off. Through the glass panel, I can see Julie making her way to the door.

“Hi, Sydney,” Julie says. “Grant’s upstairs, you can go on up.”

“Thanks,” I say.
I’m
about to ask which room is his, but she’s already run off somewhere.

I slowly make my way up the staircase and down the long hallway. This is way out of my comfort zone. I pass several closed doors and then come to a half
-
open one. The room is dimly lit and
there’s
faint music playing. The gray walls and sleek, modern furniture
a
re a stark contrast to the antique formal furnishings
in
the rest of the house.

“Sydney?” Grant says. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. I spin around and
he’s
right next to me. His thick hair
is
wet and disheveled, and so help me, he is wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

“Oh gosh. Um. I’m
so sorry. I should have called to say I’d be early. I just…um…Julie told me to come up, and…” I can’t shut up. I try to avert my eyes from his chest. His abs.

He laughs and I officially feel like the dumbest person alive.

“It’s fine. Come on in.” He leads me into the gray room.
His room
. He
picks
up a stack of clothes off of the foot of his bed. “Let me just throw these on.”

I nod.

Because the sight of Grant.

Dripping.

In a towel.

Has left me speechless.

I survey the room while I wait. It’s spotless. What teenage guy has a room this clean? One with a
chief of household-staff
, I reason. My mind flashes back to the sight of his well toned abs and I immediately feel my face burn.
Stop it
, I scold myself. I pull out the desk chair and readjust my position repeatedly, trying not to look as self
-
conscious as I feel.

“Sorry about that,” Grant says. His hair is still damp and wild. And his jeans and fitted white t-shirt aren’t making it any easier to fight the urge to ogle him.

“My fault,” I say, waving my hand around nonchalantly.

“So, how are you feeling? Better?”

“Much better,” I lie.

He narrows his eyes at me as if
he’s
about to call me out on it, just as Julie knocks on the half-open door.

She’s holding a small tray, which she quickly sets down at the end of the long birch desk that takes up the entire length of one side of the room and walks out.

“Thanks, Jules,” Grant calls after her.

He stands up and grabs the back of the chair I’m sitting in and wheels me over to the side of the desk with the tray.

I stare up at him and his lips twitch upward in a small smirk.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“You aren’t feeling any better, admit it,” he says. “Try to eat something. Trust me, if anything can help, it’s this. Jules makes the best chicken soup on the planet.”

“Seriously? You had her do this for me? Totally unnecessary,” I say.

“It’s nothing,” he says, waving me off. “Look, if it’s cool we can just work up here. I’ll run downstairs and get our supplies. You eat.”

I d
o
what I
’
m
told and
eat
every last bite of the delicious homemade soup. Times like these ma
k
e me miss my mom. She should be making me soup and taking care of me. Since she died, I’ve sort of been on my own in that regard. Sure Dad is physically there, but he’s still hurting. Most days, he’s just going through the motions.

“Good girl,” Grant reappears and says, pointing toward the empty dish.

“Thank you for this. I really do feel a lot better now.”

“Glad to hear it,” he beams. “Here, relax while I set everything up.” He’s suddenly behind me, wrapping a warm, ivory
-
colored blanket around my shoulders and leading
me over to the small loveseat on the opposite side of the room. Being taken care of is a totally foreign feeling.

I pipe in with my two-cents sporadically, but mostly, Grant does the majority of the work while I lay under the plush quilt.
I’m
not typically this at ease in other peoples
’
homes, but things with Grant are easy. And
I’m
exhausted.

I remember closing my eyes for just a split second. But now, I’m cradled in someone’s arms. I half crack my eyes to try to make sense of what’s happening. Who’s strong arms are these wrapped around me? Mmmm, who cares, I just want to stay like this. I finally open my eyes, and look up at Grant, carrying me down the winding staircase.

I frantically try to maneuver my way out of his grip.

“What’s going on? I fell asleep?” I say.

“Shhh…” he whispers. “I’m going to drive you home, Syd. You’re exhausted.” I start to wriggle again, but he grip
s
me tighter.

“It’s okay. I’m fine to drive,” I say. I still fidget, but I’d be lying if I said I’m fighting as hard as I
should
be.

“Sydney, seriously. Not open for debate. I’ll drive you home. Jules will follow in your car.” His face is so close to mine
,
I can now see the short stubble on his chin and cheeks. The small cleft in his chin that I hadn’t notice before. And the clean, soapy smell still lingers from his shower earlier. The way his arms feel around me is unreal. I give up my half
-
hearted attempt at a struggle and flop my head back down onto his chest. I know it’s wrong. I know I should argue. But the truth is, I really don’t feel up to driving home, and having someone take care of me feels flipping amazing. Especially someone that doesn’t have to.

He effortlessly carries me through the house and out into the garage, then sets me down gently in the passenger seat of his car. The interior is impeccable, just like his
room
,
and smells of rich leather. He starts the car and soft music that I don’t recognize drifts me back to sleep.

I know immediately when I wake up that I’ve overslept for gym. And for the first time that I can remember, I just don’t care. I’m still so tired. I wonder what Grant told my dad about bringing me home. I stumble over to my window overlooking the driveway and my car is parked in its usual place. I can’t believe I slept that hard. How embarrassing.

When I wander downstairs, I find the house deserted. The note on the counter from Dad says that he called Sam and the school. I’m off the hook for the day.
Wow
. I open the refrigerator and stare
,
uninterested at its contents. My stomach is grumbly, but nothing looks good, so I start back for the stairs.

I’ve almost made it to the top step when I hear a soft knock on the front door. Trevor, most likely. I haven’t even checked my cell phone, but I’m willing to bet there are a dozen missed calls from him. I don’t check the peep-hole, and instead, fling the door open to find Grant standing on my porch, his messy brown hair blowing perfectly in the wind.

“Um, hi,” I say. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and clutch them near my throat nervously. Each gust of wind blows his hair and makes my breath catch.

“Hey. Sorry to come by without calling. I just wanted to make sure you were all right
.
Y
ou were pretty worn out last night,” he says.

“I’m doing okay,” I say. “Thanks for bringing me home. I feel really stupid about everything.”