Secret Life (RVHS Secrets) (11 page)

Now he was going to wonder if I was looking at his crotch. I
was
not
looking at his crotch. My
eyes started to shift on their own.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I was so not a crotch checker-outer.

The problem was he was
so
beautiful. I’d always drifted toward beautiful things. They made me feel
better.
Clothes, hair, makeup, purses, notebooks…oh, and
boyfriends.
Beautiful accessories to hide my not-so-beautiful
disfigurements.

“Are you okay?”

No. Hell no, I wasn’t okay. I backed away from him quicker
than an overpriced knockoff.

“I’ve
gotta
go.” I stepped back
again, stumbling over my own feet. “Class.”

I rushed down the hall to the staircase before he had a
chance to ask me if I was insane.

Which was a good thing because I really
didn’t want to have to lie about that too.

~*~

I never bothered to turn my phone on between classes. I
would, but the only person who might text me just dumped me.
Also,
Amy and phones?
Not so much. Plus, the school confiscates them for a
week if you forget and leave it on in class. You get it back at the end of the
day—due to angry parent rants—but every morning in homeroom you have to turn it
over.

So, the piece of paper half stuck through the grid of my
locker made my heart stop like a car running into a pile of cement blocks. It
quit moving, but the engine revved.

Jared used to leave me notes. Maybe this was the
Let’s
Talk…Again
note. Maybe he realized cute
little blondes were overrated. Maybe he just realized I still had his Red Sox
hat.

I pulled the triple folded scrap of paper out, trying not to
tear the edges as it came free. Bracing myself for the worst, I totally hoped for
the best.
More than the best.
Hoping that I’d get my
boyfriend—my security blanket—back. Opening it, slowly, kind of savoring the
moment that would repair part of my life, I shook my head at an unfamiliar
scrawl.

“Did you get my text?
Away game.
Be
over after.”

It was better to crumple the paper into a tiny ball than to
crumple onto the floor in front of the entire Senior Hall.

Chapter
12

The Rule of Three Outfits.
This was
in the Top Ten Rules forever and ever, amen.

That was the max. As soon as I put the third outfit on my
body, it had to stay. No more obsessively changing clothes. No more wading
through my closet—or floor—hoping I owned an outfit even I didn’t know about.
No more searching for the combination that would make my brain say,
Hey
, she doesn’t look like a badly dressed
extra in a b-horror movie.

Man, rules suck.

But rules were the only thing that got me through some days
and, after that brain-stall-number-two moment in the alcove, I couldn’t seem to
get my balance back.

What did I care what he saw?

No, really. Did I care?

Mental shake. No.
I didn’t—wouldn’t—care.
Chris Kent was the…

Well, he wasn’t the enemy. I couldn’t seem to scrape up
enough heated feelings about him
any more
. He seemed
more like an idiot.
A very hot idiot.
Which, let’s be
honest, describes about 90% of all jocks I knew.

But that wasn’t fair either. My Calc homework had gone
faster last night with him than it could possibly have gone solo.
So, idiot, no.
Social idiot, maybe.

I glanced at the clock again. Amy usually called me after
the game ended. Figuring Chris would shower and then come over, I had plenty of
time from her call till he got here.

The History graph rested against the wall in the corner of
my room, the missing chapters added to it. I’d also started a second one with
just the really big stuff and made a list on a note card of the questions from
today’s quiz and the ones I had in my folder. Hopefully I hadn’t lost any.

I’d done all that and even fit in my extra credit essay for
English. It was a great topic: Best Friends and Confidents: Women Writers and
Their Secondary Characters.

I think I needed to reread all of Jane Austen. Yes.
For fun.

Against the pounding of the music, my cell phone vibrated
itself off the edge of my nightstand.

Holding two shirts, a pair of shorts, three skirts and
extra-long jeans over one arm, I got down on my knees and dug the phone out
from under the bed.

“Hello?”

“Just got back.
Great
game.
Luke made two assists.”
All the pertinent Amy
information in less than ten words.
“I was thinking of going for a run
and stopping by. It’s gorgeous out.”

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Right now?”

“I just have to change. I’ll be there in, like, twenty
minutes and we can go for a walk.”

Any other time that would rock. We used to go for walks just
the two of us all the time. Okay, Amy went for a really long run and then a
walk. My workout was her cool down. But it was always worth it just to hang
with her.

“Yeah.
Okay. Great.” I tossed all
the clothes on the bed. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

I grabbed shorts and a long sleeve generic tee from the
pile. Dressing for Amy was easy. All I had to do was
be
comfortable and not look in any mirrors.

Girl time was exactly what I needed.
Comfortable,
mirror-free girl time.

With her running and Chris walking, I should be all set.
After he showered he’d head this way and we’d already be gone, out on our
oh-so-fun walk. He’d have to walk home.

And it would serve him right, Mr.
Leaves-Bossy-Notes-In-My-Locker.

~*~

Or not.

The knock at my door came about fifteen minutes after I got
off the phone and five minutes too early.

“Rachel,” my mom's voice carried up the stairway. “Chris is
here.”

I glared down at the shorts I’d thrown on.
Too short to sit in, too baggy to be anything but muumuu shorts.
Just right for walking with Amy and hell if someone else came
over.

I could change. No one would know. It wasn't like there was
a
freakin
’ nanny cam in my room. I'd have to fess up
with Dr. Meadows. That was
her
one
rule, no matter how strongly I felt something was a failure, I had to “speak it
aloud” during our visits.

Was that a cold I felt coming on? I could only be so lucky.

“Rachel?” My mom knocked gently on the door.

“Come in.”

I could see the panic reflected in her eyes when she spotted
me holding the clothes up in front of the mirror.

“I already changed three times.” My voice shook. Probably
from the breath I couldn't seem to suck in. “I’m supposed to go walking with
Amy.”

“Aw, honey. I know you don't believe me, but you look fine.”

I glanced toward the mirror. I did
not
look fine. I looked awkward and in pain like someone was
sticking a needle in the back of my earlobe. Couldn't she see that these shorts
made it obvious my legs were completely out of proportion with my body? I
looked like someone stuck a huge-headed mini-troll doll on Barbie’s legs and
then Barbie gained 178 pounds. I looked like a freak.

“Honey, honest.” Mom’s hands landed on my shoulders, softly,
like they almost weren’t really there. “Look at me.”

I couldn't take my gaze off my legs, the way my feet looked
ginormous
at the end of them, the way my ankles were too
small for my knees.

Mom stepped between me and the mirror and took my chin
between her hands, lifting my face so I could only see her.

“Tonight, with that boy surprising you, I would give you my
very own permission to change if I thought you needed to. I'd write you a note
or something. But I can tell you, it isn't a matter of not looking good. You
look fine. And that isn't just a mother speaking. I'd protect you even from
your own worries if I thought anyone might
ever
look at you and see anything off.”

I shuddered in a deep breath, and dropped the mish-mash of
clothes, watching them fall in a storm of cloth.

“Now, go down there and get your tutor on.” Only my mom
would try to make that work.

“Mom, please don't say stuff like that.”

She smiled and pushed me out the door, closing it with a
final click behind her.

I yanked on the hem of the shorts, pulling them as low on my
hips as I dared and headed for the stairs.

“Rachel, I don't mind having Chris here every night, but I
need to know...”

Oh, God, she was going to ask about him and me. And I'd say
“nothing.” I’d try to mean it, but I wouldn't be sure after the bridge and
falling into his chest and almost breaking my nose on his shoulder...as if that
were hot or something...but that was so not going to happen, and I was
so
not going to open myself up to
everything that went along with it.

I may have promised Dr. Meadows not to date randomly, to
distract myself with pretty boys, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Or that
Chris was my normal distraction. Or that he’d ever even be interested in
me—crap.

“...should I do more grocery shopping? I'm beginning to
wonder if anyone feeds him.”

How is it possible I have the most observant mom and the
most dense
mom at the same time?

“Hopefully he'll just stop showing up. I'm sure he'll get
bored with the studying thing soon.” I gave my shorts one last tug. “Sooner or
later he'll refocus on his bimbos again.”

I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to head toward
the kitchen, only to find my way blocked. And the barricade did not look happy.

“Bimbos?”

My mom looked from me to him and then, wisely-or-not, said,
“I'll be in the living room.”

Was she really going to leave me
unchaperoned
with a dangerous young man?

“You know what I mean.” I waved his words away as I moved to
sashay by him.

Before I got by, Chris’s hand grasped me around my arm.
There we were again, stuck in a small place with his hand on me.

“I know you think you know me. I know I screwed Amy over. I
know what my reputation is. But sometimes a person isn't the person they were.”

I stepped back again. Well, I tried to.

That sounded too close to “I've changed” for me.

That would mean this new Chris was more dangerous.
Because a boy who is that good-looking and sincere is a bigger
danger to the heart than an asshole with a pretty face.

“Okay,” I said, mostly so he’d let me go.

“Okay?”

“More like, we'll see.” Which was the truth and I was
running out of people I didn’t have to lie to.

He leaned in to meet me eye-to-eye. After a moment he
nodded, but he held me there, studying me as if waiting for me to tell him
something more.
The scariest part?
I didn’t suffer his
gaze the way I did everyone else’s. I didn’t sense judgment or measuring. And I
could feel the heat coming off him as if he glowed invisibly. It was heaven. It
was soft, comforting.

It was horrible.

Him
studying me was the last thing
I needed—even if he never looked at my outsides.

He was the one girls flocked to. Make that the
whole school
flocked to. He was the
center, the core of our state-champions-seven-years-running-soccer-team boy.
And nothing he'd ever done said anything beyond
I wish I was with your best friend
.

And, I was suddenly bothered by that.

Crap.
Again.

“Amy should be here any minute.”

That got his attention. He dropped my arm and strode into
the kitchen, mumbling under his breath. I trailed along in his wake feeling guilty
for no reason I could explain.

I’m not the one who invited myself to someone’s house and
just showed up without making sure it was okay.

“I told her we were working on a History project together.”

He spun around, his cheeks pink under the tiny, almost
invisible freckles splattered across them.

“You told her?” Panic and betrayal forced his voice up a
notch.

And then the guilt gave way to anger. “
No.
Partners.
What was I supposed to do?
You’ve decided I’m your tutor. You just show up when you want. You’re throwing
everything out of whack.” I yanked at the bottom of my shorts.
“
Everything
.”

He glared at me over his backpack as he shoved his books in
it.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do?” I asked again.
Demanded.
I could feel the rush of it all forcing my words
up my throat and threw them at him. “You said
hello
to me in the hall!”

He stilled, the notebook falling into the bag and tipping it
over.

“I said hello to you in the hall?”

My skin burned like I’d
laid
out
all day without sun block. I was probably splotchy, for God’s sake. It wouldn’t
be a surprise if he didn’t even remember seeing me let alone speaking to me.
And worse, I’d thought about it all day.

I tugged at my shorts again and his gaze dropped to where my
hands laced around the bottom hem.
And stayed there.
My heart skittered.

He was looking at my legs. Maybe my mom lied. She would,
wouldn’t she, about them not looking too long with these shorts. After a
moment, his head lifted, his gaze coming with it to meet mine.

My tongue stuck to the top of my mouth. He’d said something,
hadn’t he? That meant I had to answer him. I couldn’t for the life of me
remember what he’d said.

“Rachel.” I could hear the sigh like he knew he had to
repeat himself. “What does my saying hello to you in the hall have to do with
anything?”

Oh.

“Amy was there. She wanted to know what the
hello
was all about.”

He pushed his hand through his hair creating a wave of curls
he probably fought a losing battle against. I’d kill for those curls.
On my head.
Yeah. Not that I wanted to run my hand through
his curls. No. Curls
bad
.
Hands bad.
Shorts
bad
.

Getting Chris out of my house, good.

“Only girls could make a ‘Hey’ into something more.”

That was probably true.

But then I remembered the whole conversations Luke and Chris
had hovering over Amy and only saying “Hey.” I cocked an eyebrow at him,
wondering if he remembered the same thing when a blush crept across his cheeks.

“We aren't exactly known around school as the best of buddies.”
I don't know why, but I couldn't meet his gaze. I was suddenly afraid this guy
who wasn't supposed to see anything might see too much. A heavy thud echoed off
the counter as he dropped the book he’d been holding and came around the
counter. He stopped right in front of me, so close I could smell the Tide
detergent on his clothes.

“We said we'd be friends.” His voice was close, almost in my
ear.
Almost in my mind.
“I think right now I could use
a friend. And I think I’ve never met someone else who might need one even more
than me.”

I looked up. How could I not? This time, nothing was holding
me there.
Nothing but my own inability to step back.

“If you didn't mean it when you said we were friends,” he
kept going, unfazed by my
fazedness
. “I get that. I
probably screwed that up before we even met...or re-met...or whatever it is
when you start talking to someone you've known your whole life.”

“I—”

“Don't.” He raised his hand, interrupting me, not that I'd
known what I was going to say. “I get it. You're a good friend to Amy and you
can't seem to take that chance that I’m not chasing her.
That
this really is about tutoring.
If I can't say hi to you at school,
that’s fine. But I need you to finish this. You said you'd give me a week to
prove I could pull the grades off with your help. And, you have to admit, my
math skills aren’t what you thought they’d be.”