One of the Guys (6 page)

Loch rubs his head again. As the chainsaw grows louder on screen, I want to give him a hard time for missing the hunt this week. I want to complain about Winston. I want to whine. But he's got real problems. I'm lucky. Mom wants me to concentrate on my grades, not work. I attend the best private school in the state, and I might have my choice of colleges in the spring without having to worry about tuition.

I don't have to claw my way into a good future. It's waiting for me on a silver platter.

I feel like shit.

On the screen, a scared girl runs through a Texas field, a chainsaw spitting into the air. I listen to the sound of Loch's breathing. I wish he could always be here. My constant presence. Up until now, he's always been around, reminding me of who I am, who I was, who I will be: a girl who doesn't cross her ankles. As we spend less time together, will I forget who I am? Will I lose myself?

I hold my stomach and burp, releasing the frustration from the week. Loch laughs. “Nice one.” He tries to compete, but his burp comes out weak.

As the sun bleeding through the curtains fades, the glow from the computer screen illuminates the dirty laundry in the corner, the neglected dishes, the empty Mountain Dew cans lined up along my desk like an aluminum army of sugar. The chainsaw massacre ends, and Loch chooses the next flick.
Cloverfield
. I'm not surprised.

He reaches for my hand—at least I think he does—but then looks away and returns his attention to the movie. As my skin warms, I wonder if the stress of Winston is taking a toll on my immune system. I pull the blanket over my shoulders.

Loch's voice turns low, sweet. “Maybe we can make it through this year together, Toni.”

I lay down, hiding my smile. “That would be nice, Loch.”

After a few minutes, I float off to a comfortable sleep.

I wake up with my head on his soft shoulder. A puddle of drool decorates the collar of his shirt. Loch is slumped against the bed, his mouth slightly parted. I jump up and wipe leftover drool from the corner of my mouth.

Loch doesn't stir. He sleeps like the dead. I look down at my basketball shorts and white tank top. My cleavage spills out. Embarrassed, I find an old sweatshirt on the floor, yank it on, and run my fingers through the knots in my hair.

Stepping over Loch, I head down the hall to the bathroom. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair into a low ponytail. I take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down. There's nothing to get worked up over here. Loch has spent the night at my house before. He's seen me at my worst, smelled my morning breath, poked fun at the crust in the corners of my eyes.

This is nothing new.

So why does it feel different?

As I creep back into my room, Loch stirs and groans. I linger in the doorway and watch as his eyes open. For a moment, he looks confused, like he's forgotten where he is. Then his eyes find mine and a smile spreads across his face.

“Morning,” he says. I don't know how he finds the strength to always be so pleasant in the morning.

“Caffeine,” I grumble. “Must. Have. Caffeine.”

A few minutes later, we descend the stairs together. Loch yawns and stretches, his long fingers scraping the ceiling on the way down. In the kitchen, Mom hovers over a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. Brian grabs his keys from the hook by the garage. He freezes when he sees us, staring from beneath his New England Patriots baseball cap.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Richards,” Loch announces, grinning sleepily. Most people forget this, but Mom took Brian's last name when they married a year ago. I kept Dad's name. I will always keep Dad's name.

“Micah.” Mom wipes milk from her chin. “Did you sleep well?”

He smiles again. “Don't I always?”

Brian cracks his knuckles and says to no one in particular, “We'll discuss this later.” He slams the door behind him. The sound of the garage door opening and closing blankets the confused silence.

“He's still not used to having a teenage daughter,” Mom explains. “It makes him nervous.”

“I don't belong to him,” I snap.

Mom claps her hands. “Change of subject—Micah! How did your first week of senior year go? Everything you hoped it could be?”

“Sucked big time.” Loch keeps on smiling. “Thanks for letting me stay over, but I better get going.” He slaps me on the back. “Later, Toni.”

“Later.” Seconds after he leaves, I pop open a Mountain Dew and lean my elbows against the kitchen counter. As I twist the tab on the can, back and forth, back and forth, I can feel her eyes on me. Finally, I look up.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Lecture.”

“I probably shouldn't allow boys in your room anymore,” Mom says. “Overnight. With the door closed.”

“Mom.” I pop off the tab and clasp it between my fingers. This new concern of hers is clearly Brian's influence. “He's not a boy.”

Mom's eyebrows raise. “And how, may I ask, do you know that?”

I sip from the can. “I haven't seen his man bits to know for certain, but he's slept over here a thousand times before.”

“But you've both grown up—”

“It never bothered Dad,” I interrupt.

Mom looks up, her eyes full of surprise. She picks at her chipped red nail polish. “It
did
bother him.” She takes a bite of her cereal. More milk dribbles down her chin. “But it would bother him more now. Micah grew into that manly chin of his. He transformed over the summer. He's kind of movie-star pretty now. Don't you think?”

“Mom. It's
Loch
.”

As she tosses the bowl into the sink, leftover milk splatters onto the countertop, but she leaves it. “Things can't stay the same forever, Toni. Everything changes, whether you pretend to see it or not.” She kisses my forehead before she disappears into the living room.

After I gulp down the last of the Mountain Dew, I toss the can into the recycling bin. I know things change. She doesn't have to tell me that. Once upon a time, I had a father. Now I don't.

If that's not living with
change
, I don't know what is.

six

O
VER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, THE
weather shifts and cold air swoops in to replace the last remnants of summer. Crunchy, crisp leaves spread across town like a seasonal plague. The lake water trembles, and the sky's mood darkens. Weather I would normally welcome on a Saturday morning, sinking beneath my covers, warm and cozy. Today, however, a special homework assignment calls.

“I must be seeing things,” Brian says when I walk into the kitchen, the early morning light shuffling through the blinds. “It's Saturday, and Toni is awake before noon? Wow.” He sips his coffee.

I set my book bag on the counter, groaning, and head for the fridge. I gulp down a Mountain Dew and grab another for the road.

“You headed out?” Brian asks.

“Yeah.” I try to leave, but he just keeps talking.

“Searching for Champ with your boyfriend?”

I stop, embarrassed. “Loch isn't my boyfriend.”

“Oh. Hard to keep up. Sorry.” Brian cracks his knuckles. “Do you
want
him to be your boyfriend?”

Brian makes it sound like Loch could be a first boyfriend (oh, how cute!) to write about in a diary or something. How do I explain my relationship with Loch to Brian? Loch's my best friend. I can share things with him that I could never share with a
boyfriend
.

I take a deep breath, telling myself to be nice here. “I'm going to campus to finish a lab I didn't complete in my Community Ecology of the Forested Landscape class. I ran out of time.”

Brian leans forward, faking interest. “You liking Winston?”

“Nope.” It is my hell.

“It'll get better,” he says.

“Sure,” I lie, humoring him. “You're right. I bet it will.”

I leave, dragging my feet. The fall air tastes cold and fresh, the only perk of rising so early. As I open the door to my Maxima, I see Loch making his way across the lawn, book bag on, wearing a blue sweatshirt and mud-stained jeans.

“Now there's a sight that needs to be documented,” Loch says, holding up a flip camera, filming me as he walks. I picture the bags under my eyes, my messy hair, my tired look.

I block my face with my hand and say, “It's too early for the paparazzi.”

He laughs and slides the camera into the front pocket of his jeans. “Seriously,” he says. “I'm concerned here. The sun's barely up. And yet, here you are.”

I tell him about my class, about the lab, about my inability to finish things on time at Winston. Loch leans against the hood of my car. “You know, I was just headed to the lake for a quick scan, but a stroll in the woods sounds intriguing,” he says. “Can I come with you?”

“I'll just be wandering the woods, taking photos of trees,” I say.

His eyes light up. “I could search for Bigfoot tracks.”

I smile. Only Loch. I'm relieved by the idea of familiar company. “You driving?”

He takes his keys from his front pocket. “Naturally.”

Loch just gets it—how important it is to continue traditions, however insignificant they may seem. I hide my excitement as we walk to his driveway.

As I climb into the Honda, I yawn again, my eyes still heavy with sleep. I tuck my book bag near my feet and pop open a second Mountain Dew, taking a few sips before setting it in the cup holder.

The empty backseat acts as a stark reminder that Ollie and Cowboy are slipping into new lives, away from me, away from this. It's not quite the same without Ollie kicking my seat, without Cowboy's quiet presence, without all of my friends surrounding me, our own miniature community. Pieces of the puzzle are missing.

“It should be illegal to be awake this early on a Saturday,” I say.

Loch's chin looks extra stubbly this morning. “I'll wake you when we get there,” he says.

I give him a thumbs-up and rest my head against the window, closing my eyes. Despite the ache in my heart, it isn't long before I drift back into a beautiful Saturday morning slumber.

When I wake up, Winston's campus appears in the car window. Golden-leaved trees surround the brick building. Rolling green hills act as the backdrop. The moody sky has brightened, and rays of sunlight warm the side of my face. Fresh drool trickles out the corner of my mouth. I sit up, wiping it away, and glance over at Loch.

He's looking at me, an amused expression on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He turns away, grinning. “We're here.”

We park in the front lot, and I lead the way into the woods behind the main building, following the worn path walked by many girls before me. Smarter girls. Girls who can finish an assignment on time. Girls who fit in here.

I forgot gloves, so I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my cold hands as we trudge forward, the morning silence like a fog around us, ever-present.

“What are you supposed to be looking for?” Loch asks.