Read Between the Lines (25 page)

I can’t help it
, he said when he finally admitted it.
I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Tears. More tears. Panic. And me, holding him like he was a baby.

Hating him and loving him at the same time.

Comforting him and wanting to hurt him.

I reach over for his hand again. He finally squeezes mine like we used to. I squeeze back.
I love you.
But I know it’s hopeless.

The bus pulls into the parking lot. Because we’re in the last seat, we have to wait for everyone to get off before us. A few guys turn back to tell Ben, “Good job tonight,” but we all know it isn’t true. He lost the game for us. Even the coach said so. “Why are you so distracted, Mead? Get your head in the game!”

But he fouled out in the third quarter and sat with his head in his hands the rest of the game. We cheerleaders kept up our cheers and claps and yells, but without Ben the team was doomed. Even Jacob, the second-best player, couldn’t carry the team without him.

We sit in the dark and wait. I can feel the disappointment surrounding us. The hopelessness as everyone slowly shuffles down the narrow aisle. Finally, I stand up and Ben follows me. We step outside into the cold, and without me asking, he follows me to my car. I know he doesn’t want to do this. I know it’s all just pretend. He wants the guys to see him get in the car with me so they’ll think we’re still a couple.

I wave good night to Lacy. A good friend would offer to drive her home. That’s probably what she’s thinking. And more. She must know about Ben. She must. But she’s never said anything to me. Never hinted, while we drove for hours looking for her brother, that my search was in vain. Even if I found Ben, I would never find the Ben I was looking for.

Just like perfect, he doesn’t exist.

Ben and I drive through town without talking. When I signal to turn onto his street, though, he says, “Don’t.”

He reaches over and touches my hand. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Don’t,” I repeat.

“Grace,” he says. “I’m sorry. Can we go somewhere to talk? Please?”

I sigh and turn off the signal. “Where?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t care.”

It’s a horrible answer. I decide to drive us back to the high school, winding through side streets. We don’t talk. By the time we get back, everyone’s gone and the parking lot lights highlight its emptiness.

“Why back here?” he asks.

We both stare at the main entrance to the school.

“I’ve always loved this school,” I say. “I love being a cheerleader. Being popular. Being good at . . . everything. When I’m here, I feel good about myself.”

I know what this makes me sound like. Shallow. Stupid. A Barbie. But I’m not any of those things. I’m just Grace. Trying to tell the truth.

“I wish I could be like you,” Ben says.

“You could be,” I tell him. I know it’s probably a lie, but I want to believe it. I know it’s not fair, but I want it to be true.

“I hate who I am,” he says sadly. “I wish I could be someone else.”

“You can be whoever you want to be,” I say, as if it’s that easy.

He shakes his head and then bangs it hard against the headrest. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” I say. “You just don’t want to because you’re scared.”

He sighs. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re all about image, right? You care what people think about you. You work so hard to be . . . perfect.”

“Just like you.”

He sighs again. He is perfect at sighing.

“Right. Just like me. Only with me, it’s a lie.”

“You think you can’t be like me if everyone knows your secret?”

“I know I can’t.”

He’s right, of course. I don’t want him to be, but he is. I saw the players making fun of the boy cheerleader at the game tonight. I heard the names.

“Can we walk?” Ben asks. “I need air.”

We get out and start walking down the sidewalk along the edge of the parking lot. We are just the exact right height together. Him just a few inches taller than me. When we slow-dance, his shoulder is the exact height for me to rest my head on. We walk over to the concrete steps leading up to the doors of the school and sit on the top ones under a light. This is our throne. King and queen of the school.

Or queen and queen
, I think. I smile a little. It’s something Beth would say, and I’m surprised a Beth-like thought would enter my head. But then I realize it’s really not that funny.

With the light shining down, Ben’s eyelash shadows reach down his strong cheekbones. I love his dimples. His perfect jawline.

My legs are cold and I squeeze them together. But he takes off his jacket and puts it over my lap like a blanket.

“It’s funny,” he says, “how alike you and I are.”

I reach for his hand out of habit. It’s cold.

“Almost perfect,” he says.

“Nearly,” I agree.

We sit quietly, letting the truth settle in.

“I guess this is where we break up,” I say.

He lets go of my hand so that he can put his arm around me.

“I love you,” he says. “It’s so messed up. I know I love you. But . . . I can’t . . .”

“Be with me.”

I want to tell him I love him too. But I don’t really know if I do anymore. I love his hair. I love his dimples. I love his strong jawline. I love his hand in mine. I love watching him play basketball, and I love sitting here with him, like we are king and queen.

But I don’t know if I love
him.

I rest my head on his shoulder, where it fits so perfectly. So temporarily.

“You cheated on me,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

I feel something wet on my face and wipe it off. A tear.

“I’m so screwed up,” he says.

I reach up and erase the wet trail of tears on his cheek with my thumb.

“You can’t help it,” I say. I know this is true. My uncle is gay and he told me all about what it was like for him, denying it for so long. Now he’s married and has two kids. He’s happy. His husband, my other uncle, is hot. Kind of like Ben. Everything turned out all right for him.

That’s what I hope for Ben. I feel it now. That hope. Deep in my heart. So maybe I love him after all.

“This isn’t the end of the world,” I tell him.

“Why does it feel like it?”

“My sister would say because you’re self-centered.” I smile so he knows I don’t mean it in a bad way.

He squeezes me tighter. “Your sister is such a little bitch.”

“I know. I wish I could be more like her, though.”

“I like you just the way you are.”

“Too bad I’m not a boy.”

He stiffens next to me.

“C’mon,” I say. “We can talk about it.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” I say. “But I won’t be your fake girlfriend, either.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me. You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry for that too.”

“What will you do now? Will you keep pretending?”

I stare at his shadow lashes. Blinking away tears again.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says. “I don’t know who I am. I know it sounds so pathetic, but, Grace, I really am confused. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to have feelings for . . . anyone but you. But I can’t help it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Ben. Being gay isn’t wrong.”

“I’m not gay!”

“Then how do you explain Stephen?”

“I don’t know! Maybe it’s just Stephen, you know? I don’t feel the way I feel about him with anyone else.”

“I’m not an expert,” I tell him. “Maybe you’re bi?”

He sits forward and covers his face with his hands. “I hate this. I hate it! I just want to go back to the way things were.”

I’m about to say
me too
, but the more I think about it, the more I know that’s not true. I don’t think I ever believed Ben was really into me. He was always tentative. Always kind of fake. This is the most I’ve ever felt him want to touch me at all. Because it’s safe now. He knows I don’t expect more than a hug and holding hands. He’ll never have to force himself to kiss me again.

“I just want to be normal,” he says sadly.

“There’s no such thing,” I answer.

I smooth his jacket over my legs. I touch the fuzzy letter
I.
The pins he’s earned for varsity and captain. This is what we care about. How many pins we have. We want to be MVPs. The most valuable of all.

What’s so wrong with that?

It’s stupid
, Beth would say. That’s what’s wrong with it.

I stand and turn to him. “I should take you home now,” I say.

I reach out my hand and he takes it. I pull him up. We stand for a minute, under the light. It flickers and makes a zapping sound, as if it’s about to go out. But for now, I imagine it’s a spotlight shining down on us. The king and queen’s last appearance.

We both seem to be drinking it in, this last time together. Then we step down into the dark.

When I pull into the driveway at Ben’s, the light is still on in Lacy’s room. I cringe, thinking how I used her to get to Ben. It’s all true. But she’s a friend
now
, and that’s what counts. I hope. I haven’t been the greatest friend to anyone since I started dating Ben, come to think of it. Especially poor Claire. God. The boy really has made me a little crazy.

“I guess this is it?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so.”

He leans over and hugs me, but this time his arms feel awkward and clumsy with the steering wheel in the way.

“Good luck with everything,” I say. “You’re going to be OK.”

He nods. “You too.”

It’s funny, and this is going to sound annoying, but I never doubted that.

I drive away before he gets to the front door. I can’t stand watching him walk away from me one more time.

I turn on the radio and blast the volume as I drive home.

At the traffic light just before my house, I see someone staggering down the middle of the road toward me. When the light turns green, he trips into the intersection and stretches out his arms, beckoning me forward.

I flash my lights at him to signal for him to get out of the way, but instead he starts screaming at me.

“Hit me! Just do it!”

I don’t move. It’s late and there aren’t any cars on the road. I don’t know if I should honk my horn. I reach over to my armrest and press the button that locks all the doors. My broken heart races to life.

“Dooooo it!” the guy yells again.

The light turns red. The guy walks closer to my car. I still don’t know what to do, so I stay put. I grip the steering wheel more tightly with my shaking hands.

Then the guy’s standing right in front of me. He starts pounding on the hood of the car.

“Hit me, goddamn it!”

I press the horn and he jumps back, then laughs. He’s either drunk or insane.

I inch the car forward a foot. He runs toward me and slams his fists against the front of the car again. I honk several times.

“Bitch!” he yells.

He gives me the finger and laughs.

What the hell? I feel a jolt of anger mix with the adrenaline already coursing through me. I roll my window down just a crack.

“Hey!” I yell. No one calls me a bitch, and definitely no one gives
me
the finger. “Get out of the way!”

I realize this is incredibly stupid behavior on my part. My heart is pounding in a way it never has. It makes me feel alive in some new way I can’t name. I should be terrified, but instead I suddenly feel . . . powerful. Like my heart is pumping some kind of new wild energy through my body.

“Make me!” he slurs.

Oh, please. “I have had a crappy day!” I yell. “So you better move it!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a crappy
life
! So whuddayou think about
that
?”

“That’s not
my
fault!”

He walks over to my window. I think we recognize each other at the same time. It’s Mr. French, the janitor from school.

“You,” he says, staggering back.

Oh my God. I just got in a fight with the janitor?