Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex
Sing Me to Sleep (19 page)
“In our room?” Derek gets upset. “She can’t go in our room.” He realizes how weird that sounds. “Amabile rules. Besides, I’ve got the key. I’ll go find them.”
I don’t let go of Derek. “I should come with you.”
“No.” He squeezes my hand and lets it go. “Stay here in case she shows up.”
He flags a passing taxi and is gone.
I sit down on the steps, resign myself to worry. Stupid Sarah. Stupid Beth. Stupid, stupid me. Poor Derek. He has to save everyone tonight.
Half an hour later a taxi pulls up to the Mermaid. Derek gets out. I jump up. “You found her?”
“She’s in rough shape. I need some help.” He opens the door. Sarah was leaning heavy against it. I catch her before she kisses the pavement. Derek helps me lift the rest of her out and stand her up.
I look at him over Sarah’s head. “Thank you.”
“Blake’s a good guy most of the time. Not when he drinks, though.”
“I don’t mean this.”
He gets what I’m saying. “Don’t mention it.”
“Where’s Blake?” Sarah puts her face into Derek’s. “You’re not Blake.” She stumbles from Derek to me. “I promised Blake tonight.”
Derek lets go of her. “Blake was even more soused than she is. He was trying to unlock the door with his car keys. At least they didn’t do it in the hall. Can you girls manage her from here?”
“Yeah. You better get back. Kick Blake in the shins for us, okay?”
“He threw up and passed out in it on the washroom floor.”
“Gross for you.”
“Maybe waking up with his face glued to the floor by crusted vomit will make an impression.”
Sarah wobbles and groans. Crap. We better hurry. I turn away from Derek, and Leah helps me get Sarah into the elevator Meadow has waiting.
“Bye, Beth,” Derek calls after me.
Stupid Sarah. She ruined our
see you later
s.
see you later
s.
The elevator doors close. Crap. Derek said, “Bye.”
Sarah puts her hand over her mouth.
Meadow says, “Hang on. Not here. Or we’ll all be banned from every future trip.”
Sarah sways.
Leah steadies her. “And Blake was drunker?”
I take Sarah’s head and arms. Leah and Meadow each take a leg, and we carry her down the creaky old hall to our room.
She makes it to the bathroom—barfs in the bidet.
We clean her up and get her undressed, and she barfs again. This time in the sink.
I’m brushing my teeth in the shower stall tomorrow.
It’s after one by the time we get settled. Our bus leaves at five. I’m pumped full of every hormone my body can create. It seems useless to try to sleep. I lie down anyway and try to relax. Stupid Blake. Stupid Sarah. I didn’t get to say good-bye to Derek.
But it’s not good-bye. It’s just . . .
Later, babe—
Don’t say good-bye, love,
So I can dream of
The day you’ ll hold me close again.
Close my eyes,
And you will be there.
I swallow my fear
That you will fly too far from me.
I can hold on now
To your promises.
Forget all my questions—
Just believe. . . .
chapter 16
SEE YOU LATER
Next thing I know, there’s a choir mom outside the door, pounding hard. “We load in fifteen minutes.”
I roll off my bed and into our travel clothes—pink track pants and a white T-shirt with my comfy old choir hoodie if it gets cold on the plane. I dash for my turn in the bathroom. The place still reeks of puke. “Gross, Sarah! ”
I do what I need to and brush my teeth, using the shower faucet, then hand the place over to Leah. I stand over my bed, grab an elastic, and harness my hair. I stuff my nightshirt and toiletries into my suitcase. My makeup is in my purse. I can put my face on later. Who cares? We’re eating breakfast on the bus. I zip up my bag, and I’m good to go.
Sarah is a disaster. I get her bag packed while Leah dresses her. Meadow hogs up the bathroom.
Terri pounds on our door. “Let’s go girls. The plane won’t wait.”
A curse on 8:00 a.m. flights to Paris forever.
I grab my suitcase—give up on the elevator—haul the bag, bumpety bump, down the three flights of stairs. I dump it by the bus, turn to go back for Sarah.
And he’s there. Derek. Looking paler in the brisk morning breeze, huddling in his Amabile hockey jersey, trying to suppress that cough of his. It sounds worse. He’s holding a pink rose. He looks at my track pants. “I figured you like pink.”
I pull a face. “Meadow likes pink.”
He frowns. “Sorry.”
I take the rose and breathe it in. “But I love this.”
“I wanted to—”
“Thanks.”
“Last night—”
“Yeah.”
We move together, kiss for the last time in wonderland.
He whispers, “See you later.”
I drink him in. Our bodies wind together, and our lips move in harmony. I don’t let him go until the bus honks. “Later.”
The girls are whoo-whooing at me when I board. Crap. They all watched that exquisitely private moment. I realize how awful I must look. Derek didn’t even flinch. I make one of the younger girls move so I can have a seat by the window on his side. I press my face up to it and search for him.
He waves. Coughs. Waves some more.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
I hope he’s not getting sick.
I eat a nasty packaged croissant with plastic chocolate in the center as the bus rolls down the Swiss autoroute. It winds along the lake and passes by vineyards. The girls start counting how many castle-like places we go by.
I hang over my music binder, tuck the rose into the rings and scribble. I keep scribbling at the Geneva airport while we wait for our flight, scribble all the way to Paris.
My heart’s yours
And yours is mine.
You are what I crave—
I won’t live until I’m kissing you.
With your love,
I can change my fate.
I circle the date,
When my new dreams will spring to life.
You’ ll drop from the stars.
Happy evermore
Like old stories say.
You can believe.
We land at Charles de Gaulle with plenty of time to make it to our flight, but the place is so confusing. We get off their stupid bus at the wrong place, stand forever in a big passport-control line that isn’t going to our gate. Terri’s almost crying by the time all eighty of us are running down the concourse to our gate. This French woman behind the desk screams at Terri because we were supposed to be here early. And then the plane is delayed for some mechanical thing, but everyone acts like it’s because of us. We miss our connection in New York and get rerouted to Detroit through Chicago. We get stuck at O’Hare all day. When we arrive in Detroit, I have no idea what time it is—what day it is. I just know it’s dark out. Humid.
I see Mom.
Her hazel eyes water. Her graying brown hair sticks to the sides of her face.
Crap. I can’t do this now.
I fall into her arms, and she starts to sob.
“Stop it, Mom.” I pat her back, fight to keep myself from dissolving like she is. “My life is great.” I’ve got a huge lump in my throat that makes me croak the words. I sniff and give her a little shake by the shoulders. “I mean it.”
“Oh, honey, you need to face this.”
No. No. No. I’ve figured out how to escape it. Derek.
I got him online in Chicago. We’ve worked out a plan. Every morning, 8:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. Swiss time, is mine. That’s two in the morning for me. I glance at my watch. I don’t have a clue when I last reset it. “What time is it, Mom?”
“Half past midnight.”
“Great—we’re going to make it.”
“Make what?”
All the way home she gets the gushy Derek dish—as much as I dare tell her. None of the private stuff, or my suspicions about his drug habit. She’d go ballistic. “You’re going to love him. I can’t wait for you to meet.”
She smiles at me and nods along as she focuses on the road. “I saw Scott at the Save-A-Lot. He mentioned he’s got something for you.”
Scott? The prom. How badly I wanted to kiss him that night. It all rushes back in HD-quality vision. But, I’ve got Derek now. I’m safe. Scott and I can be friends again.
I’m too tired to carry my suitcase up to my room.
“Just leave it, Beth. Get some rest.”
I kiss Mom good night. “I’m okay.” I look at her, and she gets what I’m talking about. “Let’s not make it a big deal.”
She shakes her head.
I haul my tired butt up the stairs. My alarm clock reads 1:50 a.m. Ten minutes. I fall into the shower and throw on a fresh nightshirt. Clean feels delicious. I can’t remember when I showered last.
I sign on. Derek’s there, waiting. Early. That’s delicious, too.
Derek: where are you?
Beth: home
Derek: you should go to bed
Beth: I need to talk to my new boyfriend
I send it before I realize what I wrote. Boyfriend? I wanted him to say it first. Thirty plus hours of travel will do that to you.
Derek: about time you owned me
Beth: you’ve never said it to me
Derek: uh-huh . . . three times.
Like I would have missed that. I yawn and shake it off while I type.
Beth: you are delusional
Derek: girlfriend . . . girlfriend . . . girlfriend
Beth: now I can sleep
I stretch and yawn, get ready to sign off. I’m not sure what to write. I don’t know how he’ll respond if I go on the gush side. I feel overheated, romantic, and so into him even though he’s so far away right now.
Derek: you’re not going to grill me again over my plans for today?
Beth: I don’t want to have nightmares
Derek: my poor little Beth . . . relax . . . we decided to take it easy
Beth: good
Derek: we rented mountain bikes and took them on the train up a mountain . . . a small one . . . we’re in a wired café having that fried potato stuff with eggs and cheese and ham all over it . . . it’s pouring out
I take a perverse delight in Derek’s ruined day. Good. He won’t be able to risk breaking that neck I left my imprint on. I’m hungry for it again. These two weeks are going to be way too long. I’m major possessive.
Beth: rain? YES . . . we can chat longer
Derek: the guys are done . . . I gotta go
Beth: INSERT BLOODCURDLING SCREAM HERE
Derek: get some rest . . . girlfriend
Beth: what about your cold? don’t make it worse
He’s gone. Definitely no gush. I fall on my bed, imagine him riding a mountain bike full tilt down a mud-slick mountain path. He starts to cough and wipes out. I fall asleep. The vision is worse in my dreams. I’m there riding, too. I wipe out
into
him—cause the crash. He’s lying in the rocks—bloody, muddy. I crawl over to him, and we get it on in the mud. I wake up way too soon.
into
him—cause the crash. He’s lying in the rocks—bloody, muddy. I crawl over to him, and we get it on in the mud. I wake up way too soon.
chapter 17
FRIENDSHIP
The doorbell rings.
I roll over, crack an eye at my alarm clock. It’s almost 2:00 p.m. I’ve given in to jet lag. It’s summer. Who cares? It’s been overcast and humid nonstop since I got back to Port. I wish it would just rain already and get it out of its system. I want it to be nice out by the time Derek gets home. I want to get him to the beach, get him some sun, make out in the sand. We’ve never kissed lying down. Or in the water. These past couple weeks I’ve imagined every possible place we could make out. I’ve compiled quite a list.
Derek was stuck in the Amsterdam airport last night. We chatted until almost 4:00 a.m. my time. Then he got on a plane. I didn’t have the guts to tell him about the list. I’ll show it to him when he gets here.
The doorbell rings again.
Crap. How many hours is that? Could it be him?
I fly out of bed. Sloppy oversize T-shirt. No makeup. Wild hair. Total wreck. Race down the stairs. Throw open the door, and there’s a guy walking away.
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