Heartstopper (23 page)

“Are you kidding? Where
isn’t
it coming from?”

Megan felt her heart drop into her stomach. “It’s on the Web?”

“Flashed on my computer screen as I was getting dressed. Couldn’t believe my eyes.”

So that’s what had taken him so long to get dressed. That’s what had accounted for all those sidelong glances as he was fixing his hair.

“Congratulations. You’re famous,” Tim continued. “Apparently you two put on quite a show at the audition. And I don’t mean on the stage.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Then it’s true? You were really making out with that muscle-bound moron?”

“No, of course it’s not true. And he’s not a moron.”

“He’s the mother of all morons. He probably posted that story on the Web himself. You really let him suck your fingers?”

“Oh, shit.” Megan began spinning around in circles, torn between continuing toward the park and running for home. “Don’t you dare say anything about this to Mom.”

“What am I going to say to her? That you begged me to attend the vigil of some girl I couldn’t stand so that you could be with some jerk
she
can’t stand?”

“I did not beg you, we weren’t making out, and what do you mean, you couldn’t stand Liana?” Megan asked, trying to keep up with the sudden shifts in the conversation. “Since when?”

Again Tim shrugged. “Since always.”

“Why didn’t you like Liana?”

“Because she wasn’t a very nice person.”

“She was nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, you were in the minority, believe me.”

“I
don’t
believe you,” Megan insisted, pointing across the street at the large gathering of young people. “Everyone loved Liana. All these people are here to honor her memory.”

“They’re here because it’s the only game in town. Where else are they gonna go? It’s a happening, Megan. We’re here to sing and dance and get high.”

“That may be why
you’re
here,” Megan protested, having a hard time picturing Tim doing any of these things. But then, she was starting to think she didn’t know her younger brother very well at all. He’d changed in the months since their father had moved out. “But it’s not why
I’m
here.”

“No,
you’re
here to meet Greg Watt.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Really? You better tell
him
that.”

“What?” Megan spun around. Greg was crossing the street toward her, wearing an oversize, orange-and-black football jersey, his massive shoulders moving in rhythmic coordination with his slender hips. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face that bordered on idiocy. Why did she find him so damned attractive?

“There’s my Kate,” he said, swooping her into his arms. “Hi, jerk-off,” he said to Tim before effortlessly scooping Megan into his arms and tossing her over his shoulder. “Bye, jerk-off.”

Megan squealed, half in terror, half in delight, her hands slapping at Greg’s back, her ponytail reaching for the ground. “I’ll meet you back here at a quarter to twelve,” she called to Tim as Greg proceeded across the street and into the park. “Put me down, Greg,” she cried, but her voice sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears.

“Quiet, up there,” he said, then bellowed at the crowd, “Make way for Petruchio and his woman.”

Megan allowed her body to go limp. It was useless to argue. Her protests only fueled Greg’s recently ignited dramatic fire. Besides, as much as she wanted to be upset with him
—had
he posted that story about them on the Web?—she found his antics charming, even thrilling. No one had ever picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder before. No one had ever called her his “woman” and paraded her around for all to see. Everyone was watching them. And while such behavior might not be considered strictly appropriate under the circumstances, no one seemed to mind. This was a vigil, after all, not a funeral. They were here to celebrate, not mourn. Still, should she really be enjoying herself quite this much?

A girl was dead. A girl she’d liked and admired. Although it was becoming increasingly clear that not everybody felt the same way. Certainly her brother hadn’t. And how many others? she wondered. How many were
here tonight just to sing and dance and get high? How many had come because it was “the only game in town”?

Megan lifted her head to see some sixty or seventy kids arranged in a large, free-floating circle, some talking softly, others laughing loudly, some with cigarettes dangling from their lips, others with candles waiting to be lit, some swaying to the random strumming of a handful of guitars, others swaying in passionate embrace. From upside down, she saw ghoulish Victor Drummond puffing on a joint that was then pried from his lipsticked-red lips by his equally ghoulish friend Nancy, who took several long drags before passing it on to Tanya McGovern. Megan wondered if it was wise of them to be smoking weed so openly when she was pretty sure she’d spotted several police officers patrolling the outskirts of the park. But Victor was already rolling another joint and seemed blissfully unconcerned with the so-called long arm of the law. Greg spun around and suddenly Brian Hensen popped into view. He was sitting off by himself, staring at Delilah Franklin, who was about twenty feet away, trying to engage Ginger Perchak in conversation. Closer to the main path stood Peter Arlington. Peter was kicking at the grass and staring vaguely into space, as if afraid to make direct eye contact with anyone. He’d probably gotten wind of what people were saying behind his back, that illness could be faked and fathers persuaded to lie for their sons. Megan didn’t know Peter well, but she knew he’d been crazy about Liana, and she couldn’t imagine him doing anything to hurt her.

She wondered what it felt like to have half your face blown away. She wondered if Liana’s killer would ever be caught.

Megan sensed movement out of the corner of her eye. “Who’s that?” she said, lifting her chin to get a better view of a large pineapple palm in the distance off to her right. “Is that Mr. Peterson?” She wondered what her science
teacher would be doing in the park, lurking in the shadows. Was he there to spy on them, to report any indiscretions to the principal? But her question was drowned out by the sound of the guitars.

“You say something?” Greg asked.

“I thought I saw Mr. Peterson.”

“Peterson? Where?” He spun her around.

“Wait. Put me down. You’re making me dizzy.”

Greg gently lowered her to the ground as a tremulous male voice began singing “Tears in Heaven.” “I don’t see him.”

It took Megan a few seconds to reorient herself and locate the large pineapple palm. “I thought I saw him over there.”

“Don’t see anyone.”

“Guess it wasn’t him,” Megan said as several boys emerged from behind the tree, pushing and shoving one another.

“Hey, Petruchio,” Joey Balfour suddenly called from the middle of the crowd. “Saved you a seat over here, man.”

“Catch you later,” Greg called back, taking Megan by the hand and leading her away from the gathering.

“We won’t be able to hear the speeches from over here,” Megan protested weakly.

“Think we’ll miss anything?” He led her toward a bench at the far end of the park, then pulled a joint out of the pocket of his jeans, prepared to light it.

“You really think that’s a good idea? The area’s crawling with cops, and if that
was
Mr. Peterson—”

“He’ll tell your mother?”

“Or post it on the Web,” she said pointedly.

Greg returned the joint to his pocket, leaned back against the green wooden slats. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Who did?”

“Could have been anybody.”

“Joey?”

“Joey? Nah. My money’s on Ginger.”

“Ginger? Why would she do something like that?”

“I saw her watching us. And you got the part of Kate and she didn’t.”

“You swear it wasn’t you?”

Greg smiled. “I swear,” he said easily. “Gentlemen never kiss and tell.”

“You’re not a gentleman,” she reminded him, although, strangely enough, she believed him. “And we didn’t kiss.”

“Yeah. I was kinda hoping we could do something about that tonight.”

He leaned forward. Megan found herself holding her breath as his face drew closer and his mouth touched down gently on hers. She felt her lips start to tingle, the sensation spreading quickly across her body, like a rash, and she drew back. “You really think it was Ginger who posted the story?” she asked, turning away and looking at her feet, her voice barely audible.

His hand moved to her chin, guided her face back to his.

Megan closed her eyes and tilted her head, but instead of pushing his tongue down her throat, as she was half-expecting—he was a jock after all, and what did jocks know about finesse?—he planted a series of delicate kisses on her eyelids, sending her body into fresh spasms of shock and delight. If he doesn’t kiss me again, she was thinking—on the lips and right this minute—I’m going to explode. And then he
was
kissing her, full on the mouth, and still she felt she was about to burst wide-open. She fought the urge to throw her arms around him and wrestle him to the ground. Who would have thought he’d be such a good kisser? she wondered as she only reluctantly came up for air.

“You want to lie down?” he asked.

“What?”
Watt?
she heard her brother echo. Megan’s head shot from side to side.

“What’s the matter?”

“My brother—I thought I heard his voice.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Megan jumped to her feet. “I should go look for him.”

Greg stood up, pressed his torso into her back. “Your brother’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“It’s just that I promised my mother we’d stick together.”

“Are you always Mama’s good little girl?”

Damn it. What was her mother doing here? Was she going to let her ruin everything? “Not always.” Megan turned around, her mouth reaching for his. His arms wrapped around her as he lowered her to the ground. She shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. They were moving way too fast. She’d get grass stains on her new Victoria Beckham jeans.

It was the last thought that brought her to her senses and back to her feet. “Wait, stop.”

“What’s the matter?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not right. Not here. Not now.”

“Where then?” he asked logically. “When?”

“No, you don’t understand. We’re moving way too fast.” She decided to omit the part about getting grass stains on her Victoria Beckham jeans.

“I’ve always been a sucker for speed,” he said, pushing himself off the ground. “Come on, Kate. What’s your problem?”

“For one thing, my name’s Megan, not Kate.”

“I know that.”

“The point is, you don’t know me,” Megan told him, thinking if she could just keep talking, she might be able to forget about the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue. “And more important, since that doesn’t seem to bother you a
whole lot, I don’t know
you.”
She knew she’d give anything for him to kiss her again.

Instead, Greg plopped down on the bench, supporting the back of his head in the palms of his hands. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” Megan admitted, lowering herself onto the seat beside him. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Nothing to tell. Like they say, what you see is what you get.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“I think you’re way more complicated than that.”

He shook his head. “Anybody ever tell you, you think too much?”

“My father used to tell my mother that.”

“Yeah? Not so much anymore, I guess. Sorry,” he apologized before Megan could react. “I guess that was a pretty dumb thing to say.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not exactly a secret that my parents have split up.”

“I like your mom.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I give her a hard time and everything, but … she’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“And she’s a good teacher.”

Megan felt a surge of pride. She thought of her mother in her red-and-white silk dress and wondered what she was doing right now. “What about your parents?”

His body stiffened beside her. “My father is your typical farmer. He’s a mean son of a bitch.” He smiled, as if he’d just paid his father the highest of compliments.

“And your mother?”

“Dead. Two years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, what is it they say? Shit happens?”

“You must miss her.”

“Not so much anymore … You want to know what I miss?” he continued, unprompted. “I miss the way she used to sing when she was making dinner.” He laughed.

“Did she have a good voice?”

“She was good at everything she did.”

“I guess that’s where you get your talent.”

“Maybe.” It was his turn to get to his feet. “So, I guess we should go join the others.”

“We could sit here a little while longer,” Megan offered, not wanting to leave.

“No, we should go. You’re right. This isn’t the time or place.”

Megan stood up, waited for him to take her hand in his. But he was already walking away from her, and he didn’t look back or slow down.

W
here had his sister disappeared to now? Tim wondered, his eyes scanning the shifting crowd. He checked his watch, pressing the button on its side that illuminated the large dial, noting it was almost eleven o’clock. Where had she gone this time?

He peered through the darkness at the shadowy forms. Despite the tall, overhead streetlights that circled the park like a halo, and the smaller, more ornate gas lamps that lit up the various inner pathways, it was difficult to make out the individual faces of those still present. A number of kids had started wandering off about half an hour ago, having grown restless after more than two hours of well-intentioned, if badly executed, songs and pleasant, if boring, reveries, and those who remained had begun breaking off into smaller groups, which had made it harder for him to keep track of Megan.

Not that he wanted to. But what choice did he have? Someone in his family had to start behaving responsibly. And wasn’t he the man of the house now? Wasn’t it up to him to make sure everything was okay, that life continued on as normal a course as possible? Except what was normal anymore? Did anybody know?