Love in the Time of Cynicism (20 page)

After about ten minutes, the preteen next to me realizes that my sister, Prom queen two years running and boy expert, has been sitting across from her the entire time and decides my advice is second class compared to Amanda’s. Amanda, to her credit, takes on this task with grace and answers questions about boys as truthfully as possible while shooting unsure glances at me. I explain quietly that this is very normal behavior and the conversation goes on.

Eventually, Rhett’s fingers find mine under the table and on top of my bare thigh and I can’t help but smile. Everything – from watching Trent manage the sudden barrage of drivel from the twins to enduring Michael’s disapproving stares every time I exchange so much as a glance with Rhett – is worth putting up with because I know, once this is done, Rhett and I can be in a serious and open relationship without the sneaking around. It’s nice, considering we’re practically adults, to be able to have respect within both our families.

Just before my mother brings out desserts, Rhett excuses himself without any other explanation. I shoot him a questioning glance but he shrugs noncommittally and walks away. Once he’s gone, I try to return to the conversation at hand, where Trent, my twenty three year old brother, is arguing philosophy and politics heatedly with the seven year old Sawyer. While that debate is interesting in nearly every way imaginable, my mind’s on Rhett.

I give him eight minutes and then start to worry. The desserts come out and I say I’m going to the bathroom. There are no questions as I try to brainstorm where Rhett might’ve gone. Nowhere in the house; too easy. Somewhere outside, but where? He wouldn’t have gone out on the golf course this close to eight because someone would chase him off.

Then it hits me.

Memorial Park.

That’s where I’d go, so it’s where he went.

I grab my jacket from the recesses of the hall closet since today was the first day it’s been cold enough to warrant one and slip on a pair of Trent’s over-sized skate shoes. Sucking in a deep breath, I step outside, making sure the door shutting behind me is silent. It’s pitch dark, the moon shrouded by a thick bank of clouds as I run the half mile to the park, worry and anxiety panging at my chest. Something must’ve been seriously wrong for him to skip out on me like that. My mind flashes to everything we’ve talked about: the pain and the heartache and everything he’s done the past few years. What if he’s done something now?

My breaths come in short gasps as I sprint over the white sidewalk and reach the locked cast-iron entrance of the park. I’m un-athletic and anxious, not a good combination for running. The gate, barred shut, wouldn’t have stopped Rhett for a second. This week, he told me he used to run track and do the long jump; scaling this fence must’ve been a second nature for him. To me, it’s a nearly insurmountable step, especially in shoes made for someone with feet the size of Europe and a slinky dress that blows around me at every breeze.

Deciding for once in my life to risk indecency, my hands grip the rough metal above my head and I try to vault myself upward. The frozen metal bites sharply into the palms of my hand but I keep going. Rhett’s at our bench, surely, and this is how to reach him. Wind chills me as I toss one leg over the top of the gate, straddled hazardously atop the spikes with only my upper arm strength. Once my other leg makes it over, only a few scrapes suffered, I plunge ten feet down and land hard on my elbows, cutting them up pretty badly. Jesus, it’s going to look bad when I get back to the house.

I break into a run again, icy fall air stinging my nose through ragged breaths, until the river’s in sight. It sparkles vaguely against the black landscape and our willow tree outlines itself against the sky. Beneath the tree, on our bench, is Rhett. Head in hands, most likely sighing like he’s the main character in a TV drama; I let out a heavy sigh of relief when my eyes fall on him.

Rhett doesn’t see me until I sit down next to him and whisper, “You alright?”

His head snaps to attention and he immediately replies, “I’m sorry I left.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “Be sorry you made me climb over that extremely dangerous gate.”

He laughs, “You actually did that? For me?”

I shove his arm and he tosses it around me. “I’d do anything for you, idiot. Now why don’t you tell me why you left me there in the middle of our families?”

“I really am sorry.”

“And I don’t care that you’re sorry until you say what’s wrong.” He sighs loudly and I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s clear he’s not going down without a fight, so I say, “By the way, I’m bleeding in about three places and should probably receive immediate medical attention.”

Suddenly, he spits out, “It just feels like a lot of lying, you know? I don’t like lying to impress people.”

“You didn’t have to lie. I don’t care if Michael thinks you’re a good enough guy to be dating me.”

“You don’t understand,” he argues, removes his arm from around me, and stands up. “I
do
have to lie for so many reasons.”

“Name one.” I join him standing and take his hands in mine. “Tell me why you can’t be yourself.”

“
Because
,” he stresses. As I’m about to say he’s acting like a five year old, he blurts out, “Because Michael told me you’re going to study at an Ivy League school like everyone else in your family and become a doctor or a lawyer or something respectable and I don’t-”

“You don’t think you’re good enough to be with me? Is that it?” My voice softens when he nods. “That’s so dumb, Rhett. I don’t want to become a doctor. Hell, I don’t even think I want to go to college; at least, not yet. I need to get
out there
,” I swing my arms around as if encompassing the whole world. “To experience life somewhere I can have blue hair and nobody will look at me like I’m some child, to spend my days in a tiny apartment living my own life and not the one people here think I should live. I want to get as far away from here as I can once high school’s over and do God knows what, but there’s one definite in my plan, and that’s
you
. Not Michael, not my mom.
You
, Rhett Tressler. And if you don’t think you’re good enough for living in a crappy apartment and following your own dreams, then you can break up with me and leave me alone before I fall in love with you, alright?”

Once I’m finished, flustered and thankful it’s dark enough to stop him from seeing the blush clinging to my cheeks, he erupts in laughter. Pure joy echoes out of him and ripples over the river. “Cordelia Kane, you are something else. Are you honestly saying you’re planning on falling in love with me?”

I step forward and press my head against his chest. “I never thought I was the type for falling in love, but you’ve thrown off my entire game plan.”

“Well I never fancied myself the kind of person someone falls in love with, but now you’re here and I’m willing to explore that possibility.” He runs a hand down my spine until I shiver against him. Over the past few weeks, he’s admitted (rather sappily) that nothing makes him happier than hearing me laugh, and tickling is the fastest way to do it. He goes on, “”Especially not someone as amazingly fly as you.”

“Fly?” I pull away from him and say, “I keep forgetting that we’re actually characters in
The Breakfast Club
and not living in a twentieth century suburb. My apologies.”

“
Don’t you
,” he sings loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, “
forget about me
.”

“You’re the worst,” I laugh as he goes on. “You want to go back, then?”

“Not yet,” he answers. “In fact, let’s never go back. Run away with me, Cordelia, right now.”

I grin and reply, “Where exactly are we going, captain?”

He smiles broadly at me and my heart leaps faster. “Next stop: everywhere.” We begin to walk toward the entrance and he goes on, “Anywhere but here. Paris, Tokyo, London, New York, Los Angeles. Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow you.”

We reach the gate as he says this, and he helps me over. When I’m on the other side, he ascends and jumps down like he’s done it a million times before. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he reaches for my hand before pulling back and examining my fingers. “Shit, you actually are bleeding. You didn’t have to do that for me, but I’d be happy to bandage it for you.”

“Shut up; yes, I did.” I roll my eyes. “And it’s not that bad; you’re only looking for an excuse to be chivalrous again.”

“I apologize from the bottom of my heart.”

As we arrive on my front step, Rhett falters a moment.

We stand there under the automatic light and I say quietly, “It isn’t Paris or Tokyo or New York. But it’s here, and it’s now, and this is where we have to be. It’s not the place that matters, it’s the people. And I think there are some great ones waiting for us in there.”

“How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“One of my many talents, I’m afraid,” I answer.

Then, I push the front door open and run up the steps to my bathroom as he returns the dining room. I turn on the sink with my forearm and wash off the shallow wound. As the blood washes off my left palm and stains the water pink, I realize how hard I’m going head-over-heels for Rhett. There wasn’t a moment of trepidation as I ran toward the park and even as I grated my hands on the cement at the park, my mind was focused only on getting to him. Every time I see him, a spark rises up in me and I never want it to stop. It’s like there’s a fire lodged deep in my chest, somewhere between my heart, which beats faster when Rhett’s near me, and my stomach, which flips at the thought of his touch, and it constantly needs to be fed in order to keep me warm.

The sink off and my hand clean, I awkwardly get a band-aid (much to my dismay, there are only the hot pink ones that haven’t been used in years) on with one hand. Then, patched up like a four year old, I walk down the steps and sit down.

Chapter Twelve – The Great Chronicle of Halloween Adventures

On Halloween, everyone has the day off school so I don’t wake up until absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, my sleeping is cut short by banging on my door. The clock reads seven thirty, far too early for a day at home. I trudge out of my warm bed and am greeting by Sky throwing the door into my face, apologizing, and grabbing my hand. Before I can protest, she’s dragging me, wearing nothing but sweat pants and a bra with my hair in a scraggly bun, to her house. That sure wakes me up.

I yank away from her while standing half-naked in her front yard and yell, “What the hell are you doing, Sky?!”

Panicky like I’ve never seen her, Sky replies, “I need your hair. Right now. That cosmetology job I applied to – the one in LA, remember – said they were seriously considering a position but needed more photos for my body of work, so I’m dyeing your hair today if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

“It might be, considering I don’t have time for this today.”

“Why not?” She groans, “There’s no school.”

“I promised Rhett’s mom I’d babysit, and then Rhett’s taking me on some mystery date.”

“Aww.” She grins, then turns sour. “Seriously, though, this’ll only take, like, an hour and a half. I’m sure Dr. Love can wait until then.”

“This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.”

“Says the girl standing on my front lawn in her frilliest pink bra.”

“Dammit, Sky!” I walk angrily inside her house and cross my arms over my chest, horrified at the thought of anyone seeing my bare, pale stomach like this. “You have a shirt?”

She peels off her top layer, a faded denim button down, and throws it at me, now standing in her black camisole. Begrudgingly, I button the shirt over my cleavage. “Ready?”

“Fine,” I agree with a sigh. She leads me downstairs and sits me down in her salon chair. “If this ever happens again, don’t be surprised if you wake up underwater one day.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” she agrees. Her hands comb over the racks of dye until she finds a bottle of bleach and a jar of dye something labeled ‘intense tiger lily.’ Dear god.

“Come on,” I whine like the child I am inside, “we both know if you’re bleaching and dyeing, it’ll take at least two hours. We’ve been here before.”

“You’ll be out of here by nine, I swear.” She begins combing and sectioning my hair. “Can’t Rhett hold down the fort without you until then?”

“Give me your phone.” She hands it over and I dial Rhett’s number, which, thankfully, I have memorized by now. He picks up on the third ring and apprehensively says, “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Cordelia Kane,” he confirms. “Why aren’t you on your phone?”

“I’ve been abducted by the international terror cell known as Skylar Arabella Waverly-”

“Thrilling. Tell her I said hi.”

“Rhett say hi,” I tell Sky. She smiles and starts applying freshly mixed, chemically pungent bleach to my hair. “Anyway, I won’t be over there until nine thirty. I know I promised nine, but she’s having a cosmetology emergency and needed my head.”

“No worries,” he promises. “Only Sawyer’s up now, and he’s a generally chill individual. I look forward to seeing you whenever you can make it. And, by the way, are you afraid of heights?”

“Not really; why?” But he’s already hung up. I set the phone on the counter and sit back as Sky tugs at hair for the next twenty minutes, then lets it sit another half hour until my hair is the astonishing shade of white one only gets to experience before coloring. She rinses out the locks of white and admonishes me for not conditioning her work properly before shampooing, rinsing again, and blow-drying the mass of tangles. She trims my bangs and takes a few pictures of her handy work. Then it’s back to having her pull at my hair while brushing on loads of rich orange gel and packing it in tin foil folds. Sitting for another forty five minutes and rinsing, blow-drying, curling.