Only Everything (30 page)

She nodded. “That explains it then.”

“Explains what?” I asked, feeling, incongruously, offended.

“Why you tried out,” she replied. Not judgingly, but matter-of-factly. “I get it. I would do anything to see my dad’s face if I could tell him about that A in English. It’s not cool, I know, but making him proud . . .”

“Feels good,” I finished for her.

She looked over at me and nodded, smiling sadly. “Yeah.” Her voice broke. “But now he’s gone.”

I reached out with my pinky and touched the side of her hand, right near her wrist. For a second, she froze. I held my breath. Every inch of my skin was on fire. Then, just when I thought she was going to turn and run, she slowly, ever-so-slowly, pulled her hand out of her pocket and hooked her pinky around mine.

I bit back a laugh. And for a few, perfect seconds, we just stood there. We held our hands down between us, half-hidden by our thighs, and just were.

“Katrina,” I said finally.

“Are you—” she said at the same time.

We faced each other and laughed, pinkies still entwined. “Ladies first.”

She smiled. “Are you—”

“There you are!”

Her boss—at least I think she was Katrina’s boss—appeared at the end of the hallway. She was the same woman who had been here yesterday when we studied together. Katrina yanked her hand away from mine and stepped forward.

“Sorry. What’s up?” she asked.

I hung back. My pinky finger throbbed.

“Somebody moved all the Lemony Snickets again,” the woman said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. She tilted her head to see me past Katrina’s shoulder. “We have a Lemony Snicket bandit. Whoever it is comes in here once a week and hides them on us. In the bathroom, in the basement, under the trees. But Katrina always finds them. She’s like our very own book detective.”

I attempted to smile, but secretly, I hated this woman for interrupting us.

“I’m on it,” Katrina said.

She cast one forlorn look over her shoulder. At least I think it was forlorn. Kind of hoped it was. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” I said.

And then she was gone, and I was left with one seriously warm pinky finger.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

True

Charlie and Katrina were starting to fall. Even from the far side of the room I could see it—I could
feel
it. Anyone could have. They were sitting right next to each other at the study table, thigh to thigh, practically pressed up against each other. Every once in a while their eyes would meet, and he’d laugh or she’d tuck her hair back and bite her lip. I had to concentrate to keep myself from standing up and shouting,
Would you two kiss already?

Charlie glanced at me, and I refocused on my history text. Beneath my chair, my feet did a happy dance. It had worked. My show-and-tell that afternoon had worked. When Charlie had chased after Katrina earlier, it had taken everything within me to keep from spying on their conversation, but whatever had passed between them, it had pushed them over the next hurdle. They were starting to understand each other. Starting to appreciate each other. Growing closer. Falling in love.

This time, I didn’t want to count my proverbial chickens before they hatched, but I could hope. Hope like hell that before long, these two would be happily coupled and that damn sand timer would turn over and give me a fresh start.

Charlie’s pinky brushed Katrina’s on the tabletop, and they both blushed. I missed Orion so much it hurt. But with every touch, every look, every smile between the two of them, I was getting closer to him. I had to have faith.

The automatic door wheezed open behind me. Katrina looked up. Her hand darted under the table and the color drained from her face.

“There you are!”

Ty, apparently unfazed by the universally accepted quiet rule in libraries, stormed across the room. His eyes were wild and his muscles seemed to bulge beneath his denim sleeves. I instinctively stood. This was an angry man on a mission.

“Where the fuck’ve you been? I’ve been texting you for an hour,” he shouted at Katrina.

“What’s wrong?” Katrina asked, standing up shakily.

“I just told you! I’ve been texting you for an hour!” he repeated, casting a suspicious look at Charlie, who was still sitting in his chair. “Who the hell is this dork?”

“I told you I was going to be here studying with my econ partner,” Katrina said, gathering her books. From the tense look she was casting about the room, she wanted to get him out of here as quickly as possible before he could make even more of a scene. “What happened?”

“I just got fired, that’s what happened,” Ty blurted.

“What?” she gasped.

“Katrina?” Mrs. Pauley emerged from behind the circulation desk. “Are you okay?”

“Of course she’s okay,” Ty shot back. “I’m here.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Pauley,” Katrina said, grabbing Ty’s hand and leading him gently, but firmly, toward the door. “Charlie, I’ll text you later,” she called over her shoulder.

Stunned, he lifted his hand in a wave.

“Gino fired you?” Katrina asked as they blindly moved past me toward the door. “Why?”

“That new kid. Heath,” he said with a sneer. “Asshole told him I overcharged on the Porsche job and Gino believed him. Now I’m out on my ass and that jagoff is the new manager.”

“You overcharged on a job?” Katrina asked as the automatic doors slid open.

“More like charged what Gino
should
be charging,” Ty said snidely. “I mean, we’re the ones who do all the frickin’ work, anyway. Who the hell does he think he is, telling us what we’re worth?”

His employees,
I answered silently.

I didn’t get a chance to hear what Katrina said in response, though. The doors had already slid closed. On the far side of the room, Charlie shook as he stuffed his books into his backpack. My heart went out to him. He was just making some headway with the girl he loved. To be interrupted, and that violently, by the girl’s boyfriend . . . that couldn’t feel good. He stormed toward me, clutching his backpack in one hand, his jaw clenched.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Sure. Fine. Why?” he asked, shifting around.

“Because of what just happened,” I replied.

“What? That?” He gestured at the door. “That guy’s always been an ass, you know that better than anyone. I just don’t get . . .”

He trailed off and shook his head at the floor.

“You don’t get why she’s with a guy like that,” I finished for him.

He blew out a sigh and pulled his drumsticks from his bag, gripping them alongside his hip like a saber. “You know what, forget it. If that’s the kind of guy she wants, then screw it. I have a girlfriend anyway. One who actually wants to be with me.”

He tromped by me and the doors slid open before him. My heart was in my throat. This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t give up. Not when I was so close.

“Charlie, wait!”

But he didn’t listen. He grabbed his bike and zipped off into the waning sunlight without looking back.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Charlie

I was messing around on my drums on Friday after dinner, waiting for Darla and her mom to come pick me up for Josh’s party, when the door opened. I looked up, expecting my dad to tell me to keep it down. But instead I saw my brother Corey. His blond hair was clipped short, as always, and he had a cut under his eye. A football injury, no doubt.

“Hey, man,” he said.

“What’re you doing home?” I asked.

“Came for the weekend.” He stepped tentatively down the two concrete steps and chucked his chin in my direction. “Sounds good.”

I looked at my hands. “Yeah, right.”

Corey blew out a sigh and crossed the wide garage, stopping right in front of the drums. “I wanted to clear something up with you, man.”

“What’s that?” I asked, still not getting up from my stool.

“Last week when you told me about cross-country, I wasn’t trying to insult you,” he said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was just surprised.”

I felt a flash of anger and dropped my sticks on the snare.
“Right. Because how could I possibly do anything athletic? Why even bother trying to be as good as you guys?” I got up and walked out from behind the drums to face off with him.

“No! That’s not it!” he said. “I was surprised because you’ve always done your own thing. You never wanted to be like us. You never let Dad browbeat you into playing football. . . . I just never thought you would cave.”

I pulled my head back. “I didn’t cave.”

“Come on. You’re telling me Dad didn’t talk you into it?” he said with a laugh.

“No!”

“Then who did?” he asked.

I paused, feeling suddenly stupid and completely clear at the same time. My dad hadn’t talked me into it, but Corey was right. Someone had. “These guys at school,” I admitted.

“Oh,” Corey said, looking down at his feet. “Big guys?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, but it wasn’t like that. It’s not like they threatened me or something. I just . . .” I sat down atop one of the unpacked boxes. “I guess I wanted to fit in.”

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. “God! Did I just say that?”

“It’s okay,” Corey said. “Happens to everyone.”

“Not to you!” I said, looking up at him. “You guys always fit in everywhere you go. You never have to try.”

Corey sat down on my dad’s favorite fishing cooler. “Not exactly,” he said. “College is . . . it’s different, man. It’s different from any school we’ve been to.”

“Different bad?” I asked.

“No. But different hard.” He kneaded his fingers in front of him. “But just so you know, I get it, Charlie. And I think it’s cool
that you’re . . . diversifying,” he said, and we both laughed. “Just don’t forget who you really are.”

We both turned to look at my drum kit. “I won’t,” I promised him.

“Can you keep a secret?” he said.

“Of course.”

“Chris doesn’t even know.”

I blinked, stunned and flattered. “Damn. What is it?”

“I’m taking guitar lessons,” he said.

My jaw dropped to the floor. “Seriously?”

He grinned. “Yep.”

“Are you any good?” I asked.

“Nope.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Not yet anyway. But maybe over Thanksgiving we can, I don’t know, jam together or whatever?”

“Sounds like a plan.” I reached out and we slapped hands.

•  •  •

Standing in the center of Josh’s living room, I could tell something was wrong. Everyone around me was drinking and laughing, telling stories and checking out girls, but I was watching Fred. He and two other guys I’d never seen before were setting up their gear in the corner of Josh’s massive, cathedral-ceilinged living room very, very slowly. One of the guys kept checking the door while he tuned his bass, and Fred looked pale, like he was about to throw up.

“I
know
!” Darla said suddenly, reaching her arm around me. “Don’t you love his hair like this?”

She ran her fingers up into the back of my hair and smiled. Josh and Brian smirked. Veronica gave me the once-over. She was wearing a tight black dress that showed off her cleavage. Darla was wearing the exact same dress in blue.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. You’ve done an admirable job with him, D,” Veronica said, taking a sip from her red cup. “You picked out the shirt?”

“Yep. I think red is totally his color.”

“Totally,” Josh said, earning a laugh from Brian.

“What do you mean, an admirable job?” I asked Veronica, sidestepping as a pair of girls traipsed past, holding hands.

In the corner, a cymbal crashed to the floor. For a second everyone got quiet, but then the noise started right up again. Fred glanced around nervously, then picked up the cymbal and attached it to the stand.

“Dude, don’t you get it? You’ve been extreme makeovered,” Brian said with a snort.

I looked down at the shirt I was wearing, not the one I’d tried on the other day, but a different one that Darla had brought over when she’d picked me up for the party. It was red-and-black plaid, more my speed, and I was wearing my own jeans. But I
had
let her put gel in my hair. Which was now making my scalp itch.

I heard Corey’s voice inside my head.
Just don’t forget who you really are.

Darla’s phone beeped, and she released me.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, grasping my freedom while I had it.

“Where’re you going?” Darla asked.

I didn’t answer. I was already halfway across the room, annoyed that I’d let her mess with my look. Not that I thought I had a look, per se, but clearly that was a problem for her and her bestest friend Veronica. And I’d let her fix it because I didn’t care that much what I looked like. Well, now I did. I reached up and patted my hair down in the front. My fingers came back sticky.

Gross. I wiped them off on the butt of my jeans.

I stopped with my back to the band, pretending to check out the pictures on the mantel. A row of smiling family portraits. Josh and his three older brothers and their parents. For a split second I felt like Josh and I were meant to be friends. I had barely handled growing up with two big brothers. I couldn’t imagine three.

“ ‘Where the hell is he?” one of the guys in the band blurted under his breath. He had a scruffy beard and a huge Adam’s apple. The worn Steve Miller Band tour T-shirt he was wearing was half tucked into his baggy jeans.

“All I know is he’s missed school for two days,” Fred replied, slowly unwinding an extension cord. “He said he’d be here, but . . .”

“And he hasn’t texted you?” the second guy—the bass player—asked. He was more clean-cut—slick hair, black T-shirt, black jeans.

“No. I know. Dude has bailed one too many times, but don’t worry. He swore he’d be here.” Fred pulled out his phone. His hand shook as he stared at the screen. “Shit.”

“He’s out?” Steve Miller Band asked, dropping his guitar strap over his shoulder and letting his ax hang.

“He’s out.”

All three of them looked over at Josh. And they looked scared. Like scared-for-their-lives scared.