Heartstopper (43 page)

It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to see it coming. One second she was peering out the side window, and the next instant she was staring into the leering face, the crossed eyes, the bulbous nose of Gordon Lipsman, as his too soft lips squished against her own. The back of her head crashed against the glass of the side window as her hands lost control of the wheel and the car veered sharply to the left. Instinctively, Sandy’s foot slammed on the brake, and the car careened to the side of the road, spinning around in a free-form half-circle before finally coming to a stop. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she yelled, slapping at Gordon’s arms and trying to get out from under those massive lips.

“Ouch!” he yelped, pushing her hands away even as his lips remained fastened to hers, as if they were stuck there with Krazy Glue.

“For God’s sake, Gordon, get off me.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. Are you crazy?” She finally managed to push him an arm’s length away. He fell back against the passenger window, his breathing labored and loud. He took several deep breaths in rapid succession, and for one awful moment Sandy thought he was about to throw up all over her.

Instead, he shouted, “Kiss me, Kate!” and lunged again.

It might have been funny had it not been so nausea-inducing. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sandy sputtered, narrowly avoiding being pinned again by that leechlike mouth. “Stop it. Stop it this instant.” When he persisted in his attempts to kiss her, she slapped him hard across the face. That stopped him.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes trying to focus.

“You tell me.”

“How am I supposed to know?” he demanded angrily. “One minute, you’re telling me how lonely you are—”

“I never said I was lonely.
You
said I was lonely.”

“You’re confiding in me about your divorce, your family—”

“I did no such thing.”

“You didn’t tell me about your brother in California?”

“I was making small talk, for God’s sake.”

“You offered to drive me home.”

“Because I was being nice.”

“Because you’re interested.”

“I’m not interested, you idiot!”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“What?”
Was she losing her mind? “What are you talking about?”

“You send mixed messages.”

“I send mixed messages?”

“You don’t make yourself clear.”

Sandy tried to make sense out of what he was saying. Was it possible she’d misled him in any way, that her actions tonight could have been so badly misconstrued? Was she really trying to talk sense to a man who only minutes earlier had been lying on his back in a hibiscus bush? “Okay, listen. If what you’re saying is true—”

“It’s true.”

“If I’ve given you the wrong impression in any way, then I’m sorry.” Was she really apologizing, just as she’d apologized to Will Baker a month ago? And while Will Baker could at least make a case for his egregious behavior, could Gordon Lipsman? Did she really not make herself clear?

“Can we go now?” Gordon asked.

Wordlessly, Sandy restarted the car and steered it back on the road.

“Turn left at the next intersection,” Gordon directed icily.

Sandy signaled her intention to make the turn, even though no other cars were on the road. She glanced into her rearview mirror, watched the old farmhouse with the collapsing roof vanish into the night.

H
ey, everybody, Joey’s here,” Joey Balfour shouted over the loud music blasting from the new surround-sound system. Brandishing a case of beer over his head, he strutted through the front door. “The party can now officially begin.”

Megan listened to the prolonged applause, accompanied by a series of admiring hoots and whistles, that greeted Joey’s entrance, along with a few dissenting groans and a smattering of boos. Someone yelled, “There goes the neighborhood!” Someone else muttered, “Asshole.”

The party was being held at the home of Lonny Reynolds. And even though Lonny had only had a small part in
Kiss Me, Kate
, he had a large house, and best of all, his parents were away for the weekend. The living room had been emptied of furniture for the event, and Lonny had been assured that the entire cast of
Kiss Me, Kate
would be back on Sunday to return everything to its previous position, so that his parents would never be the wiser.

“Out of my way, faggots,” Joey ordered, laughing as he roughly navigated his way through a group of revelers dancing in the middle of the crowded living room. He pushed past a small circle of boys talking animatedly about a basketball game they’d missed on TV earlier in the
evening and winked knowingly at Greg en route to the kitchen at the back of the house.

The wink made Megan uncomfortable. It spoke of secrets and hidden agendas. She glanced up at Greg, who was standing beside her, one hand draped casually over her shoulder, the other clutching an almost empty bottle of Miller by the neck. It was his fourth beer of the night, and they’d been here less than an hour. She knew he was already more than a little drunk by the steadily increasing weight of his arm on her shoulders. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“The wink.”

Greg laughed. “What wink?”

“The one Joey just gave you.”

Greg shook his head, took a sip of his beer. “Didn’t notice any wink.”

Megan almost said, How could you not notice? He winked right at you. But she didn’t because it sounded like something her mother would have said to her father. Instead she said, “I wish he wouldn’t say things like that.”

“You wish who wouldn’t say things like what?”

“Joey. He calls everyone a faggot.”

Greg dismissed Megan’s concerns with a wave of the hand holding the bottle. A thin arc of beer sprayed into the air, depositing several coin-shaped drops dangerously close to Megan’s new tan suede boots. “He’s just kidding around. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Then why does he say it?”

Greg’s response was to lean over and kiss her. Megan’s annoyance disappeared as soon as his lips touched hers. She tasted the beer on his tongue and wondered if it was possible to get intoxicated by proxy, like secondhand smoke. Which could kill you, she remembered, as he kissed her again, the second kiss even longer and deeper than the first.

“Bedrooms are upstairs,” Victor Drummond said as he brushed past, the scent of marijuana snaking after him.

Megan quickly pulled out of the embrace and lowered her head to stare at the beige marble floor.

Greg laughed. “What’s the matter now?”

The
now
lingered, a subtle rebuke. “Nothing.”

“Anybody ever tell you you worry way too much about what other people say?”

The question poked at her psyche, like a sharp jab to the ribs. “I don’t worry about what other people say,” she protested, sneaking a glance around her to ascertain whether anyone was listening to their conversation.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Really? Then come upstairs with me.” He backed away, depositing his empty beer bottle on a nearby table and extending one arm toward her. Joey Balfour immediately thrust a fresh bottle of beer into his open palm.

“Trust me. A cold one is even better than sex,” Joey said.

“Only if you keep doing it by yourself, faggot.” Greg laughed. “Oh, come on,” he said, as Megan’s face grew dark. He took a long swig of his new beer, then held the bottle out toward her. “Come on. Have a sip. It might loosen you up a bit.”

“No, thanks. I don’t like beer.”

“Is there anything she
does
like?” Joey asked pointedly.

Megan felt her cheeks grow warm and the air grow heavy. A wary silence suddenly replaced the blaring rock music. Gyrating bodies swiveled toward her expectantly. Curious eyes waited to see what she would do.

At least that’s what it felt like to Megan, although in truth the music continued, the dancers kept moving, and only a few people were watching. It seemed as if everyone was letting go but her, that she was the only one holding back, stubbornly refusing to cut loose, to have a good time.
It was a party, for God’s sake. The cast party. And she was the star of the show. The envy of every girl here. Because not only had she landed the part of Kate—a role she’d performed spectacularly, at least that’s what everyone said—she’d also landed her sexy costar, the boy every girl wanted.

And he wanted her.

Except he was getting restless. She could feel it. The play was over. The game they’d been playing for over a month was getting old. Kate and Petruchio had left the building. Only Greg and Megan remained. And how long could Megan keep Greg waiting?
Why
was she keeping him waiting? the music asked, the relentless beat pounding the question into her brain. Because her
mother
wasn’t ready?

It’s just that it’s easy to get lost in the moment
, Sandy had warned.

I won’t get lost.

Promise?

Megan suddenly snatched the bottle of beer from Greg’s hand and downed half its contents in one prolonged gulp. She hadn’t promised her mother anything.

“Wow. Would you get a load of that!” Joey exclaimed. “The girl’s a pro.”

Stop worrying. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.

Megan fought the urge to gag as a spontaneous burst of applause broke out around her. Soon bodies began swaying away from her, curious eyes retreated, then glazed over, lost in the insistent thud of the bass guitar. She turned to see her brother watching her from a nearby corner, caught the worry in the tilt of his head, and she purposefully took another swig. The beer spilled from the bottle and dripped down her chin. Greg’s tongue was immediately at her throat, licking it up.

“Hey, Meg,” Tim cautioned, approaching, Amber right behind him, her fingers tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, “go easy with that stuff. Okay?”

“What if she doesn’t like it easy, faggot?” Joey asked.

“Fuck off,” Tim said.

Megan’s eyes widened in alarm. Had her brother really just told Joey Balfour to fuck off?

Joey stumbled backward, clutching his heart, as if he’d been shot. “Excuse me? What did you say to me, faggot?”

“He said, everybody dance!” Amber interceded, pulling Tim into the middle of the room, where they were quickly surrounded and absorbed by the other dancers.

“That’s the sheriff’s daughter, buddy,” Greg reminded Joey, who looked poised to take the room apart. “Wouldn’t want her calling her daddy, now would we?”

Greg’s warning sunk slowly into Joey’s dull eyes. “Your little brother’s got a big mouth,” he told Megan.

“He’s just kidding around,” Megan said, purposely using Greg’s earlier words. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Greg smiled.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Joey demanded, clearly itching for a fight.

“Take it easy, man,” Greg said. “You’re getting paranoid.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re starting to get on my nerves. You and the little princess here.”

The front door opened and in walked Delilah Franklin.

“Good God. What’s that horrible smell?” Joey asked, sauntering toward her. “Hey, Deli. Forget to use toilet paper?”

Delilah ignored Joey in much the same way the other kids were ignoring her. “Hi, guys,” she said, although only Brian Hensen and Perry Falco smiled in response, and those smiles were tentative at best. “Hey, Megan,” Delilah said when she spotted her.

Megan felt her heart sink as Delilah made her way across the room. What was the matter with her, for God’s sake? Was Delilah purposely trying to make her life miserable? Why had she come here? Couldn’t she sense she wasn’t welcome? It was bad enough Megan had had to put
up with her every day at rehearsals. Did she have to endure her presence now as well?
Be nice
, she heard her mother say, so since she was already feeling guilty, Megan said, “I thought you had to take your grandmother home.”

“I did. She even made me wait until she fell asleep before I could leave. Every time I tried to sneak out, she’d open one eye and tell me to stay put.”

“Grandmother, Grandmother, what big ears you have!” Joey sang out, swooping back toward them.

“Joey …” Megan warned.

“It’s all right. She does have big ears,” Delilah agreed with a wobbly laugh.

“What’s her problem anyway?” Greg asked.

“Congestive heart failure,” Delilah said.

“What’s that?”

“Her heart is failing—congestively,” Delilah said with a smile, and both Megan and Greg laughed.

“Hey,” Joey said. “The Deli made a funny.”

“Thanks for asking,” Delilah said to Greg, who turned away self-consciously.

“Smells like that’s not all she made,” Joey continued, waving his hand back and forth in front of his nose, as if to banish an unpleasant odor. “Granddaughter, Granddaughter, what a big ass you have!” Joey slapped Delilah’s backside.

“Ouch,” Delilah yelped, trying to elude a second slap, even as Joey’s hand made sharp contact with the denim of her jeans.

Megan felt the sting of Joey’s fingers without being touched. She flinched.

“Better wash your hands,” Ginger warned, laughing as she and Tanya walked by.

“I think I broke my wrist,” Joey joked, doubling over and grabbing his hand.

Tears filled Delilah’s eyes. She looked toward the ceiling, as if trying to prevent them from falling.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Greg said.

“What’s your problem tonight?” Joey shot back. “The princess got you pussy-whipped already?”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? Better than a pussy.”

“Come on, guys. Chill,” someone said. “It’s a party, remember?”

“People should remember who their friends are” came Joey’s instant retort.

“I’m out of here,” Greg said. He took Megan’s hand, began leading her from the room.

“Catch you later, faggot,” Joey called after them.

“Where are we going?” Megan asked.

“You’ll see.”

Megan said nothing as they reached the front door. She was trying to decide what to do. On the one hand, this was her big chance to be alone with Greg. On the other hand, this was Greg’s big chance to be alone with her. And as much as she relished the former, she wasn’t sure she was ready for the latter. Greg could be a real sweetheart. He could also be a real … a real jerk. He’d been both in the last ten minutes alone.