My Sweetest Escape (20 page)

with black lung disease. I tried not to close

my eyes and lean into him and imagine him

hanging up a fresh load of laundry, shirtless,

of course, outside on a sunny day.

Dear Jesus, what was I doing?

He’d already said he wasn’t interested,

and I wasn’t interested, so why did he keep

doing things that made it seem like he was

interested, and I kept thinking things like

him hanging up laundry without a shirt on?

I scooted away from him and turned my

laptop so he couldn’t see the screen. He

settled back in his position with the smallest

of sighs and went back to taking notes. Or

at least that’s what I thought he was doing,

but then a paper airplane landed in my lap.

Seriously? How old was he? Although, I had

to give him points. Note passing was a lost

art in the world of texting and Facebook

messaging and tweeting your every vapid

thought out to the world whether the world

needed to know it or not.

I didn’t look back at him as I unfolded

the note.

What didn’t you want me to see? Were

you looking at porn? If yes, may I join you?

If no, what were you doing?

I turned and gave him a disgusted look

before setting the note on the coffee table

and scribbling an answer.

You are a pig and it’s none of your

business.

I refolded the airplane and chucked it

over my shoulder, not bothering to aim as I

went back to working on my blog. I couldn’t

really focus, though, because I thought that

any moment he was going to stick his head

over my shoulder again.

My blog was mine. I didn’t post my real

name, and there were no pictures of me so

no one would ever know it was mine. My

blog was…private. It was mine and no one

knew about it. This was probably what

Peter Parker and Bruce Wayne felt. Only,

you know, their secret identities were more

awesome than my secret blogging identity. I

could say anything I wanted, be anything I

wanted on my blog. That girl that I was

didn’t matter. No one knew her. And

besides, the blog wasn’t about me. It was

about the music.

A little while later, people started

packing it in for the night. I expected Dusty

to get up and leave, but he didn’t.

He also didn’t pass the note back, either,

and when I stole a glance at him, he was

back to being focused. Weirdo. I was about

to turn and ask him if he was going to stay

all night when I heard a book close behind

me.

“Well, I should probably get back to my

shack.” He got to his feet and everyone who

was still downstairs mumbled their

good-nights. He looked down at me as if he

was expecting something. Was I supposed

to walk him out?

Hold up. Did he think this was a date?

Was this a date?

Why would this have been a date? Sure,

dinner had been involved, but only because

he’d been here when we were making and

serving it.

“See you later,” I said, and it sounded

just as lame as it sounded in my head, and I

felt as lame as I had the night before in his

car.

He opened his mouth, changed his mind

and then made one of his drum sounds to

cover it up. “’Bye, Red.”

I gave him one of those two-fingered

waves, and he did one back with a smile on

his face.

It wasn’t until after he was gone that I

realized he’d taken the paper airplane note

with him.

“So I know your sister is, like, super

down on parties, but I got an invite to one,

and I can’t go on my own. Also, if you don’t

want to come with me, I will hurt you. So,

you’re coming,” Hannah said after bio the

next day.

“My sister is never going to go for it.”

“I figured, which is why I thought I could

talk to her and convince her.”

I almost started laughing. That was

never going to work, and it was cute that

she thought it would.

“It isn’t going to happen, Hannah.

You’ve seen my sister in action.” Besides, I

didn’t know if I’d really want to go anyway.

“Oh, I have powers of persuasion.”

Hannah didn’t seem like the type who

would be all over going to a party, so I really

wanted to know why she was into it.

“Why do you want to go so much? Is it a

guy?”

“No, it’s not a guy. I just feel like I want

to get the whole college experience, and

that includes going to a frat party at least

once. It’s on the college bucket list. I

checked.”

I wondered what else was on that list,

because I’d probably taken care of most of

it already. She was being weird about it,

and I knew that it was another thing she

wasn’t telling me about. In some ways I felt

so close to Hannah, but in others I felt like

she had all these secrets that she would

rather die than share with me.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she

said, and I recognized determination on her

face. For whatever reason, she had decided

that this was a thing she was going to do,

and I was going along with it. Hannah had

never made any demands on me as a

friend, and I was so used to it from my

former friends that I felt like a bitch for

saying no.

“I might have a lead on a job that

wouldn’t suck. If you agree to go, I’ll tell you

about it.” It was like one of those game

shows where they put a mystery box in

front of you.

I could win, or I could lose big. But it

might be nice to go out and let loose, for

real this time.

“I will only say yes if you can convince

Renee. Because I’ve already gotten myself

into hot water enough, and she’s just

starting to loosen up on me and let me do

things.”

Hannah put her hand out.

“Deal. I have complete faith in my ability

to convince her.” She was confident, that

was for sure. “So I’ll be over this

afternoon.”

“If you want to come for dinner, you

can. We always make plenty, and you

wouldn’t be the first person who’s invited

themselves over.” Crap, I hadn’t meant to

mention Dusty coming over. I knew she’d

want to overanalyze it and read more into it

and say things that would totally mess with

my head.

“I don’t even need to ask who it was. I

can figure it out based on the fact that you

mentioned it and that you clearly don’t

want to talk about it.”

Well…maybe Hannah would turn out to

be a sympathetic ear. I only paused for a

second before launching into the story of

Dusty helping me make dinner and then the

airplane note.

Of course, I left out the part about my

own feelings. She was smart enough to

figure them out anyway.

“So I’m just…confused and I don’t know.

He’s so…complicated.” I remembered Mase

saying something about the complications

being the best part of life.

“Is that code for ‘sexy’? Because he is so

into you.”

“Then why does he tell me that he

isn’t?” I made a frustrated sound that made

a few people walking in front of us turn and

give me a look like I was crazy. I was going

to be late for math, but I didn’t care. It was

the kind of class that you didn’t have to

attend to get a good grade in. Hell, the tests

were open book, and I’d heard the TA

would point you to the right answers if you

asked nice enough.

“Look, I have to go, but we will pick this

up later. What time should I come over?”

she said.

“Around six?”

“See you later, girl,” she said, taking off

for her next class, which was clear across

campus. She was going to have to book it to

get there.

I went to math and spent the entire

hour and fifteen minutes listening to

Maroon 5. They were one of those groups

I’d loved for so long, and their music was

the equivalent of a hug, or a bowl of

chicken soup. Warm and comforting.

I drove back to Yellowfield House in a

daze and was less-than-surprised to see

Dusty’s car parked on the street.

“Honey, I’m home,” I called as I shucked

my shoes off and set my bag down in the

entryway.

“How was your day, dear?” Dusty called

from the living room, where he was hanging

out with Mase.

“Are you moving in now?” I said,

grabbing a can of soda from the fridge. “Do

you want one?” I would have felt like a jerk

not asking.

“Nope, I’m good,” he said right behind

me.

“I swear to God, the next time you do

that…” I couldn’t think of what I was going

to do. “You know what? I won’t tell you

what I’m going to do. The anticipation will

just kill you, waiting for the moment. I

would enjoy that.”

“Easy, Red.”

“Seriously, why are you here? Because I

know you have a little bromance, but one

half of that isn’t here right now, so it can’t

be Hunter. And it can’t be because you love

to cook. And it can’t be that you really,

really love the house.

So what is it?”

I leaned on the fridge. I knew I was

asking a question I wasn’t going to like the

answer to, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I

wanted to know the truth, whether I liked it

or not.

“Maybe it is something else that keeps

me coming to this house. Maybe…maybe

I’ve been waiting for the right moment to

say it out loud.” He wouldn’t look at me,

which meant that he might have been

telling the truth. I was really tired of him

always trying to change the subject, or

making a joke out of things.

“I really come here because I’m crazy

about…this coffeepot.” He moved around

me and stood by the fancy coffeepot that

Hunter had probably bought and that cost

more than my entire textbook budget for a

year.

“I mean, I really, really love it.” He

leaned down and pretended to hug it and

stroked it fondly.

“Are you shitting me?”

He stood up, his smile faltering for a

second.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…nothing.” He’d done that

on purpose to screw with me, and I wasn’t

going to give him the satisfaction of

knowing that he totally had. I walked past

him back into the living room. Mase was

busy with a textbook and a highlighter.

“What’s up, Jos?”

“Nothing.” I turned on the television and

flipped around.

Dusty made sure he entered the room

and sat down in the recliner loud enough so

that I’d hear him. Jerk.

I purposely settled on an annoying girlie

reality show that he would probably never

watch in a million years. I turned up the

volume. Mase didn’t seem to mind. He was

known for his deep focus when he was

reading.

We sat in silence as the girls went out

shopping and to clubs and fought and made

up with their boyfriends. I waited for him to

beg for me to change the channel, or get up

and leave. Maybe this was the way to get

rid of him. Drive him away. I should start

playing Nickelback, or that really angry

Russian girl-band music I’d randomly found

on the internet.

I should start talking about menstrual

cramps and yeast infections and other girlie

shit he wouldn’t want to hear about.

But then I would probably repulse the

rest of the males n the house, and I didn’t

really want to ruin their lives. Just Dusty’s.

What was it about him that made me so

crazy?

He started softly making drum noises in

the chair. Now he was messing with me. I

turned the show up and he started making

louder noises. I still wouldn’t look at him.

“Can we take the volume down a notch?

I’m going deaf over here, and I’m a big fan

of standing near speakers at clubs,” Mase

said, grabbing the remote and turning the

volume down. “Are you okay, Little Ne?

You’re being kind of…not you.”