If I Was Your Girl (7 page)

“Son,” he said, “I want you to have a good life. Boys who really think the things in your story are confused. They don't have good lives. So you're not one of those boys.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He messed up my hair and smiled again, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “I don't want to hear anything else about this, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Come on, cheer up,” he said. I sniffled and looked at the ground. “Let's go play catch, okay? Take your mind off it.”

“No, thank you,” I said, adding, “sir” before I went inside.

 

7

As I walked away from the party, I took deep, calming breaths of crisp night air. The sun had set, and the stars were out. I still wasn't used to how crisp and clear they looked here. Smyrna wasn't in the city proper, but Atlanta's light pollution reached a long way, leaving the sky a blue-and-purple smear. Out here you could make out everything, even the dim band of the Milky Way. I wished I could walk up into the sky and live on some distant planet, far away from the things I was afraid of. I wondered if joy could ever be felt by itself without being tainted with fear and confusion, or if some level of misery was a universal constant, like the speed of light.

“Hey.” I was halfway down the block when I heard a voice behind me. I turned to see Grant standing in the middle of the empty street. “Leaving already?”

“I'm not feeling great…” I trailed off. I desperately wanted to finish the sentence with the truth, but what was there to say?
I think I like you, but I'll never have a normal life. I think you like me, but you'll never understand who I am.

Grant pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. We both blinked at the sudden radiance.

“Come with me?”

He turned toward the woods, and my feet knew before my brain did that I was going to follow. I was never going to be free of my past; it was always going to be there, waiting to suck me in and crush me like a black hole. The only way to escape it was to keep moving.

As we walked deeper into the woods, the short grass quickly gave way to grasping, thigh-high yellow blades. “That thing with Parker…” I began, thinking about how Grant had stood his ground. I wondered how many more times he would have to come to my rescue before I disappeared like Tommy. How many more friends would he have to alienate? “Will you guys still talk after this?”

Grant shrugged as the flashlight's beam illuminated a path for me to follow. “It would all blow over if we just had it out real quick after school,” he replied evenly. “But he's huge, and mean, and so this stupid thing's probably gonna go on for months.”

He paused as we approached a waist-high thicket of poison ivy. “Think you can jump it?”

“Not really,” I said, still a little dizzy from the beer.

“Mind if I lift you?”

“I think so,” I said, my throat going dry. I touched my fingers to my neck. “I think it's okay, I mean.”

He laughed and grabbed my hips, easily carrying me over the ivy. I felt warm where his hands had touched me.

We kept walking, Grant still leading the way. The path opened onto a lake glimmering with faint white slivers. A chorus of frogs joined the cicadas' call, singing in their own asynchronous rhythm.

“I think boys aren't taught that smart's the same as scared sometimes,” I said.

“You may be right.” He pointed the flashlight up. “We're here.” A tilted wooden platform nestled atop three thick tree branches. Clumsy, mismatched boards nailed into the trunk below served as a ladder.

“Where is here?” I asked. He looked sheepish.

“You'll see.” He climbed up onto the platform and shone the flashlight down. I blinked. “Do you trust me?” He reached down and offered me his hand.

“Did you just quote
Aladdin
?” I took his hand and he easily hoisted me up.

I crawled over to the edge of the platform. From above, the lake reflected the moon clearly, a perfect white circle against its shimmering surface. I took a deep breath and turned to find Grant sitting with his back against the tree trunk.

“Thanks for coming out here with me,” he said.

“Thanks for bringing me.” I breathed in the cool lake air and sighed. “Do you live near here or something?”

“No,” Grant said, looking suddenly cagey. “I, uh, used to. This was Tommy's old hideaway.”

“Your friend?”

“Yeah. We used to come out here, when his folks fought or somebody screwed with him at school.”

“What really happened to him?”

Grant rubbed his thumb over his fingertips. “He died.”

I nodded silently. “Did he do it himself, or did somebody do it to him?”

“If people drive you to something,” Grant whispered, his voice quaking slightly, “then it's their responsibility.”

I couldn't breathe. I wanted to let him know how much it meant to have found someone out here, in this place, who would stand up for someone like Tommy, who would stand up for someone like the boy I used to be. I leaned forward, searching with my fingertips, and slid my hand into his.

“You were a good friend,” I said.

He squeezed my hand and for a long moment we listened to the wind on the lake and the frantic buzz of cicadas as life prepared for its long, cold sleep.

“Thanks,” he said after a while. He put the flashlight down and lay on his belly, his upper body disappearing over the edge. “You know how to swim, right?”

“Yes,” I said. Swimming had been the only exercise I liked after puberty turned my body against me. Floating and darting through the water, I escaped the horrible tethers of my physical body. “I don't have a suit, though.”

“Don't worry,” he said, scampering down and out of sight. There was a momentary rustling and then his white undershirt soared over the tree house and landed at my feet. I stripped to my underwear quickly and pulled his shirt over my head—Grant wasn't that much taller than me, but boy clothes were so loose and baggy that the shirt came down low enough to cover everything.

“Don't lose that dress,” I said as Grant climbed back up. “It's my favorite.”

“It looks good on you,” he replied. I fell silent as he hoisted himself back onto the platform and stood to his full, lean, shirtless height. He caught me staring and blushed. The tension broke as he exploded into motion, leaping off the edge. He hung suspended for a moment, arms spinning wildly, before straightening out and piercing the water's surface with a whisper.

I held my breath for a few tense seconds before he surfaced, laughing.

“You could've broken your neck!” I cried, putting my hands on my hips. “Do you know how many people get spinal injuries from bad dives every year?”

He wiped his eyes and slicked his hair back, treading water gracefully. “No,” he said, catching his breath. “How many?”

“Well,” I said as I stood, “I don't know either. But I bet it's a lot.”

He laughed as I walked back toward the tree.

“I'm going to jump,” I announced.

“I don't think—” he began, but I started running before he could finish. I reached the edge and took off. For one joyous moment, I felt weightless and free. And then came the burning slap as I hit the lake flat on my back.

“Ow,” I croaked, floating to the surface.

“I tried to warn you,” Grant said, swimming over.

“It's fine,” I said, closing my eyes and feeling the pain radiate through my body. I didn't mind it; pain reminded me I was alive. For years I had been so numb, desperate to feel anything at all.

I opened my eyes and stared up, watching the stars turn overhead. A firefly buzzed urgently above my forehead, pulsing brightly to attract a mate. I sighed and gently paddled my feet, all my fear from earlier melting away.

Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours, Grant paddled toward the shore. He strode smoothly out of the water, not showing any sign of fatigue, and stared at me as I emerged.

“What?” I asked, looking down and panicking when I saw the thin white T-shirt sticking to my black bra. I crossed my arms over my chest and felt my face color.

“You're beautiful.”

I blinked in surprise. No boy had ever told me that before.

He grabbed my hand and we began the walk to my apartment. Reeds gave way to cut grass, and soon we were on a sidewalk. Streetlamps glowed through the trees.

“You know what I'm gonna ask you, right?” Grant said. “Because I'd like to kiss you right now.”

My heart caught in my chest. “Really?”

“We don't have to,” he said quickly. “I know what you said before, about not being able to date.…”

“No,” I said. I leaned over and placed my hand on his. “I mean stop worrying. Yes. I mean yes.”

He started to say something else but I closed my eyes and leaned toward him. He touched my face and met me halfway. Our lips were beaded with lake water. The kiss only lasted for a moment, but my mouth was numb and warm all at once.

He took my hand again and we finished the walk to my apartment in a pleasant, comfortable silence, my whole body singing with joy.

Except,
a voice in my head whispered,
he would never have done this if he knew the truth.

“Is something wrong?” he said, giving me a concerned look. I realized I'd been lost in thought.

“Oh,” I said. “No. Nothing's wrong.”

“It was a bad kiss, wasn't it?” He groaned.

“No, it was great. It's something else.” I hadn't expected this, hadn't planned for it, wasn't ready yet. But my lips were still warm from the kiss, and I felt more alive than I ever had. Happier than any medication had ever made me. Maybe I would never be ready; maybe I had to leap off the dock even if it meant falling flat moments later. Maybe I had to just let go. “I just … I like you.” It felt like a relief to finally say something true.

“I like you too,” he said. We stopped by my stairwell and laughed like happy idiots, our fingers laced together.

“I have to go, okay?” He sneaked another quick kiss and then we pressed our foreheads together, our faces only inches apart. Finally, he let me go.

“I'd like to call you tomorrow,” he said, getting out his phone.

“I'd like that,” I said. “My phone's still at the tree house. Bring it here and we'll trade numbers.”

“Okay.” Grant smiled and backed away without turning, as though I might disappear if he looked away.

I walked upstairs and turned on the landing to wave at him. He remained in place, silently watching. I waved again, not wanting the moment to end, before he smiled and started the long walk to his car.

I ran a hand through my hair and whispered, “Shit.”

*   *   *

I found Dad asleep on the couch, a DVR menu bathing him in blue light.

“Daddy?” I said softly, unafraid to use the word this once because I knew he wouldn't hear me. “I'm home.” He grunted and his eyes fluttered. He looked at me for a long moment with half-lidded, bleary eyes, and sounded far off when he spoke.

“Andrew?”

My heart nearly shattered. But then I remembered I was wearing Grant's shirt, that the light was low and he was half-asleep. I thought of
Sandman
and wondered if the son he wanted waited for him in Dream's kingdom every time he slept. I couldn't blame him.

“It's Amanda,” I said softly.

“Amanda?” He blinked slowly and leaned in close. “Why are you wet? Whose clothes are those?”

“I went swimming with friends,” I said. “Didn't have a suit, so I wore this.”

“Oh,” he said, stretching and yawning again. His back popped. “Good. It's bad to be alone.”

“Let's get you in bed.” I put his arm over my shoulder and immediately recognized the smell of whiskey.

“You're a good kid,” he said, a faint slur in his voice. “Daughter. Sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“It's fine.”

“You look happy,” he said.

“I think I am.”

“I want you to smile. I love you.”

Did he realize it had been a decade since he'd said those words? “I love you too,” I replied. He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed my cheek before I could react, then stumbled off to bed.

I closed his door and stood in the hall for a long time. The television buzzed, the vent fans whirred, and cold water soaked into the carpet around my feet as I replayed those three words in my head. I touched my fingers to my cheek, still the littlest bit raw from his stubble.

I remembered how angry he had sounded when he told me that lives like mine weren't good, couldn't possibly be good. I felt the scar above my ear and thought about how warm and tingly my lips still felt from Grant's kisses. I prayed that Dad had been wrong.

 

8

My phone chirped as I made my way through a sea of students rushing the front doors in preparation for the weekend. I sidled into one of the few empty spots by the office and pulled it out, hoping it was one of the girls saying their Friday-night plans had fallen through and they could hang out. Instead I saw Grant's name and the first few sentences of another of his texts.

“Hey!” the message read. “Sorry to keep bugging you, it's just I really liked what happened the other night and I thought you did too. I hope you'll—” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and put my phone away without reading the rest. The night of the party had been a mistake, a complete violation of the rules I'd set for myself—my plan, the whole reason I'd come to Lambertville. It was stupid, it was risky, and it couldn't happen again. Grant had been texting me ever since, and I'd been steadfastly ignoring him and avoiding him in the halls. I debated blocking his number to spare myself the temptation of responding, but for some reason I couldn't.