Pretend You Love Me (21 page)

Coach Archuleta. He had photo albums. He knew our stats. I’d kill them both. They were conspiring against me. I’d make them
pay.

I suddenly felt exposed, bared, every eye in the Merc stripping me naked. Every eye in town would be on me. They’d feel sorry
for me—again. All over again.

I
nterviews. Sidebars. Catch-Her-Star Can-paign. The can, glitter, dotted-swiss ribbon around my school picture. It didn’t take
a genius.

I slammed Jamie up against the wall of his bedroom so hard the trailer shook. “You’re dead, dickhead. Say a prayer.”

Jamie looked freaked, which was wise considering the proximity of my fist to his face. “Whatever I did, I didn’t do it,” he
said in a rush.

I twisted his polo shirt at the neck. He faked strangulation. “What didn’t I do?” he choked. I released my hold roughly. He
stretched out the shirt and gulped for air.

“The can-
paign
.” I drilled the word into his skull. “Catch-Her-
Star
?”

“Oh. That.”

I knew it. Jerk. I grabbed him again.

“I didn’t do it. I swear.” He pushed me off. “But I think it’s a fabulous idea.”

“No one else knew about the camp. Only you and Xanadu. And Xanadu wouldn’t do this to me.”

She wouldn’t, would she? I’d kill her too. No, I wouldn’t. I loved her.

Jamie smirked.

He
did
do it.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“What’s the problem? What’s the
problem
? It’s humiliating.” I sank onto Jamie’s beanbag chair in the corner of his room. “I feel like a charity case. I feel like
the poster child for Jerry’s Kids. Thanks a lot.” I folded my arms across my chest.

Jamie clucked his tongue. “Nobody thinks that.” He resumed what he was doing before I barged in to beat the crap out of him.
Glossing his hair in the mirror with pomade or something. He raised his eyes and met mine. “Get over it,” he said. “Nobody
thinks of this as charity. They just want to help.”

“I don’t need their help. I don’t need their handouts, okay? I’ve got this big job at the Redmans’…” Okay, I didn’t have the
job—yet. But I would. “I don’t even know if I want to go to the stupid camp.” I sprawled back in the chair, arms behind my
head. “I’m going to be really busy this summer with a replumb job, and the only reason to go to softball camp is if I’m going
competitive or want to win a scholarship to college, and why would I want a scholarship when college is so
not
in my future?”

Jamie didn’t answer. He was too absorbed in slicking and arranging every hair on his head.

I sighed and shifted to get comfortable. The chair crunched. I crossed an ankle over my knee and picked at the sole of my
shoe. “What if I end up having to give all the money back? How am I going to do that? I don’t even know who gave what.”

Jamie widened his eyes at me in the mirror. “You wouldn’t dare. That would offend everyone, even me. If you don’t go to the
camp, you and I can take off for Puerto Vallarta. We’ll hit all the gay beaches. Better yet, let’s fly to San Francisco. Shag
a couple of hotties off Castro Street.”

Jamie’s computer beeped. A sexy voice breathed, “Jamie, honey. You’ve got mail.”

“Speaking of hotties.” Jamie slid into his desk chair.

I watched as he clicked keys at cyber-speed. My head lolled back against the wall and my eyes strayed to Jamie’s ceiling.
His glow-in-the-dark stars and moons pasted all over. When we were kids, I used to stay the night and we’d pretend his bed
was a spaceship. We’d fly across the heavens, visit other planets. We always come home to Coalton.

“Oh my God,” Jamie gasped. “Shane wants to buy his plane ticket right now. No second thoughts. He wants me to pick a weekend.”
Jamie swiveled around to face me. “What should I say?”

“Say you need a fax of his psychiatric report.”

Jamie stuck out his tongue and spun back around. He reached up and ripped his calendar off the wall. “Not this weekend,” he
mumbled to himself. “I need to color my hair. My tan is uneven. I have to lose ten pounds and bleach my teeth.” He flipped
to May. “I wonder if you can order Botox online.” Jamie sighed. He skimmed down the month. “Okay. Next weekend.” He keyed
a message on the computer. “No second thoughts.”

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“Neither can I. It’s actually going to happen. Shane and I are going to meet.”

“You’re going to die. You’re going to end up a statistic.” I didn’t say what I was thinking: You’re going to end up hurt.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.” Jamie stared at the screen. He covered his mouth with both hands.

I pushed to my feet and moved to the bed, perching on the edge to hang over Jamie’s shoulder. Shane messaged back. Jamie cried,
“He can do it!” Jamie wrote back, “I’m so excited.” Shane: “Me too.” Jamie: “I can’t wait.” Shane: “Me neither.” Shane: “I’m
checking Orbitz.”

“He’s checking Orbitz,” Jamie said, hyperventilating.

“I can read.”

“Oh my God. I’m having a heart attack.” Jamie pressed a palm to his chest.

“What do you think of Xanadu?” I asked to change the subject.

Jamie blew out a shallow breath. “I’m not sure.” He chewed his pinkie nail. “She’s cool, but there’s something about her that
bothers me. Oh yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “She’s straight.”

I stood up. “People aren’t always what they seem.”

“Mike—”

I paved a path through his faux fur rug.

“Mike!”

“What?” I spun around at the door.

Jamie’s eyes flickered from me to his monitor. “Oh my God. He did it! Shane got a reservation.”

What could be more romantic than spending the day with the girl you loved locked up in a plumbing supply shop? I was hoping
she’d see the beauty of it. Of course, she’d have to understand what it meant to me and I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk
about that yet.

We had an oral report to give in History and a fitness challenge in Gym. Today was the worst day of the week for me to ditch.
Oh well. Love was about making sacrifices, right? What was perfect attendance, anyway? A worthless certificate.

“I think Bailey’s parents have a problem with me,” Xanadu said as she hopped into the truck and shut the door. She’d been
waiting at our predetermined rendezvous behind the Dairy D. “They look at me like I’m going to corrupt him or something. I’m
sure they think I’m this big city slut. Where are we going?” She tucked a foot underneath her and turned to face me as I shifted
gears.

“To Dad’s,” I replied. “I need to see how much ABS he has in stock.”

Xanadu said tentatively, “Your… dad’s?”

What? Oh. “I mean, his shop. His… our… plumbing shop.”

“Okay.” Her nose wrinkled slightly.

“We can hang out there,” I told her. “If anyone in town sees us ditching, they’re likely to call the school.”

“You’re kidding.”

I met her eyes. Minimal makeup. Hair in a ponytail. Cutoffs with an eyelet blouse. Rebecca of Sunnybrook.

“You’re not joking,” she said.

“The mayor asked if I’d fix the town fountain, since Coalton Days is coming up. That thing springs a leak every year. I thought
I’d just replace the whole length of pipe to the water main with new ABS…”

She looked at me.

I added, “Not today. I just want to check supplies; see if I have to order anything.”

She glanced away, obviously upset. How insensitive could I be?

“I don’t know what I did for her to hate me.” Xanadu’s jaw clenched. “I ate her fucking chicken fried steak without hurling.”

“People here are used to each other, that’s all,” I said. “Bailey’s parents just need to get to know you.”

“Who cares? That’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about.” She continued to gaze out the window as I hung a left and
tooled down Main.

I didn’t want to pry. I was glad we were off the subject of Bailey.

She exhaled a long breath and cranked up the radio, even though it was country. Travis Tritt. She didn’t seem to care, or
hear.

As the shop came into view, my stomach twisted. Would I always feel sick at the sight of it? It didn’t help that I was ditching
today for the first time ever.

I drove up the alley and parked in back. “Here we are,” I stated the obvious. My voice sounded as far away as I suddenly wished
I was. Coming here was a bad idea.

Before I could change my mind, Xanadu got out of the truck. She perched on tiptoes to peer through the cracked window while
I unlocked the back door. Inside, the shop was the same as I’d left it. Dark, deserted. I opened the slats on the dusty miniblinds
so there’d be enough light to see in the stockroom. To see her.

“I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.” Could she, the way I did? The way I used to? This place had been like home to
me. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Xanadu wander around the office area, touching things, examining objects. There
was plenty of PVC and ABS stacked along the wall in back. Dad must’ve ordered pipe right before… Maybe he’d planned to fix
the leak in the fountain before…

Stop thinking about it.

I returned to the office where Xanadu had lifted Dad’s stuffed pheasant off the filing cabinet.

“He shot that when he was eight,” I told her. “His dad, my grandpa Darryl, stuffed it for him.”

Xanadu shuddered and dropped the pheasant back on top of the cabinet. Dad was so proud of that kill. Even back then, he’d
cherished death more than life.

“Hey, your dad played softball?” Xanadu pulled his trophy down.

“Yeah. He was in a men’s fastpitch league. My number, 19, that was his number—”

Her shoulders slumped suddenly and she burst out crying. I plunked the pipe on the floor and rushed over. Removing Dad’s trophy
from her limp hand and setting it gently atop the cabinet in the same exact spot, I asked, “What is it, Xanadu?”

She almost threw her arms around me. Almost. I know she wanted to. She could have. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, but
something kept me from making the first move. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t stop thinking about it,”
she said. “Tiffany. Her death.” A sound like a wounded animal issued from Xanadu’s throat
and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. I took both her arms and backed her onto Dad’s office chair.

She leaned forward, rocking herself. Back and forth. Crying. I balanced on my haunches in front of her. “I don’t know how
to deal,” she said. “How do you deal with it, Mike? Death, I mean.” She blinked up, her watery eyes fixing on me.

“I don’t think about it.” Except at night when the nightmare intrudes. When I see him, his body—falling, falling,
thud.

I stood up fast, a solid mass of hurt caught in my chest. I couldn’t think.

Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Exhale, hold, hold.

“What happened that day?” Xanadu asked quietly.

I was suspended in time, space.

I levered myself against Dad’s desk, my knees wobbly. We shouldn’t have come here.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Her voice soft as a pillow. “All Bailey said was that your dad was
drunk and fell off the water tower.”

I blew. “Is that what Bailey said?” I stood up straight. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not with anyone. Not with her.

Yes, I did. I wanted her to know me, know everything about me. I wanted us to be close.

“Bailey said—”

“Bailey lied.” Bailey should shut up. “Yeah, my dad was drunk. He was always drunk. He was loaded that day, sure. But no more
than usual.” Bailey should tell her the truth, at least. “He was an alcoholic, okay? And he didn’t fall off the water tower.”

“But Bailey said—”

“He didn’t fall.” My voice hard, rough.

Xanadu’s jaw slowly came unhinged. Her hands rose to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, Mike.” She blinked. “He… committed suicide?”

I stared ahead.

“Are you sure?”

I glanced up at the pheasant, the trophy, Dad’s plumbing license, framed and hung on the wall. Expired. The cracked, filthy
back window.

“Mike?”

“I’m sure.” Hate you, Dad. I hate you so much. “He wrote out his will the night before he did it. Pretty obvious what he was
planning.” My eyes met hers.

“Oh God.”

Then her arms were around me, pulling me into her, crushing me against her body. No. I won’t cry. You can’t make me, Dad.
But I felt myself falling, falling, losing control. I wouldn’t. He couldn’t make me.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t force myself to respond to Xanadu, to hold her in return. Not for this. Not because of
him. I’d been dying for this moment, to be together, our bodies melding, but the reason needed to be right. I wanted her to
want me, to desire me, yeah. But our coming together had to be spontaneous. It had to be mutual, reciprocal.

“It must be unbearable.” She stepped back and gazed into my eyes. Her emotion, her empathy dug so deep into my soul it ached.

“I don’t think about it. That’s how you get through. You force it from your mind.”

Her arms fell to the side. “I can’t…
not
think about it,” she said. “I have nightmares.”