The Sea of Tranquility (37 page)

“Yeah, I was hoping you wouldn’t call me on that.”

“I’m kidding,” she laughs and I could listen to it forever. She stands and examines the boots on her feet. “They’re perfect.”

“Now you can get around the good stuff in shop.”

Her smile fades. “I can’t use any of it.”

“You can use some of it,” I say, because I want the smile back and because it’s true. She can do more than she thinks she can. For some reason, she just won’t try. “And I can be your other hand when you need it.”

She’s walking around the garage and flexing her feet to break them in and I realize that there really is nothing sexier than this girl in black work boots. “You’ll have to bring them to school to change into.”

“Screw that,” she says, and I get the smile back tenfold. “I’m wearing these to school.”

“So I did okay?” I ask, just because I want to hear her say it.

“Almost better than the pennies.” She pushes herself up on her toes and kisses me and she’s salty and sweaty and awesome.

“You didn’t kiss me for the pennies,” I say.

“I didn’t know I was allowed.”

***

She refuses to go inside once she’s got those boots, so we spend another hour in the garage, where she helps me start measuring and marking for a side table she designed for a shop assignment. It’s a really cool design with Queen-Anne-style legs. I wish she could build the whole thing herself but the hand does make some of it impossible and she doesn’t have the expertise for all of it yet, anyway. I’ve been at this for ten years and I still have trouble with a lot things. I do walk her through every step, though. She yells at me if I do something without explaining, because even if she can’t do it herself, she wants to at least know how.

I don’t get nearly as much done as I used to out here, but I think it might be worth it, because there’s something seriously hot about her bossing me around in my garage with a hammer in her hand. I haven’t been bossed around in a while and she’s really cute when she’s determined and pissed, so I don’t mind so much.

I’ve lived and breathed sawdust for as long as I can remember. I think she does now, too.

CHAPTER 43

Josh

Expected. That’s what we’ve become and it’s scarier than anything else.

We’re in the courtyard at lunch every day. We don’t touch each other or laugh, and of course, we don’t talk, but we’re together. No one bothers us. Other than an occasional visit from Clay, the force field stays intact.

I’m trying to finish reading the story Ms. McAllister assigned, because there’s a quiz fifth hour today and I haven’t gotten through it yet. She leans over to see what I’m reading and tilts her head just enough so that it just barely grazes my shoulder and even the slightest contact from her makes me feel home. It’s instinctual. I turn toward her and kiss her hair before I realize what I’ve done in a courtyard full of people. For us, it’s a version of PDA on par with ripping each other’s clothes off and performing a live sex show right here.

I wait for the world to implode, or at least for the looks and comments to start, but there’s nothing. No distinguishable change in the atmosphere at all. And I wonder if the impossible has happened. That this, us, she and I, we have become normal. As soon as the word enters my mind, I know it’s the wrong one. We haven’t become normal, we’ve become expected. And not just by everyone at school. I’ve come to expect us, too. I expect her. I expect her here. I expect her at home. I expect her in my life.

And it’s terrifying.

CHAPTER 44

Nastya

“I like to talk, so I’m just going to imagine our conversation here,” Clay says while he’s drawing me on his back porch after school. I smile and he yells at me to put my face back, which isn’t easy, because Clay yelling at me is even funnier.

“Normally you’d hit all the gay questions first because that’s what people like to do,” he says while he draws, and I don’t know how he can concentrate on both things at once. I’m a one thing at a time type of person which is why I have so much trouble keeping my mouth shut. Silence takes a serious amount of discipline. Because when you
can
talk but you just
don’t,
part of your mind is constantly occupied with concentrating on making sure you don’t open your mouth. Some days I wonder if it would be easier if I physically couldn’t speak because then I wouldn’t have to think about it all the time.

“First question is always the classic
Did you always know you were gay?
That’s a good one,” he says, looking at me without really looking. “Answer? I don’t know. I don’t really think so, because I didn’t really know what gay was ‘til I was like ten. So I’m not sure. When I knew, I knew and I didn’t really try to figure it out but people always ask that one.”

He picks up a gray squishy eraser thing and rubs it against the paper.

“Next one is usually
Have you ever been with a girl, and if you haven’t, then how can you be sure you’re gay?
Answer? Not telling. None of your business. Next.” He puts the eraser down and looks at the picture like he’s not happy with something.

“Then there’s the one I don’t mind answering.
Were your parents pissed?
” The eraser is back again. “Not really. I don’t think they were pissed. They didn’t tell me if they were. Disappointed? Maybe. But if so, they didn’t outright say that either. I got the
It may not be the path we would have chosen for you, but
we just want you to be happy
speech. It’s a classic. I think it’s on a website or something so parents can just print it off and read it, because both of them said the exact same thing, like they coordinated it or something. They haven’t been together since I was two, so I had to do the coming out thing twice with them. I think Janice, my dad’s wife, was a little freaked out, but I didn’t care what she thought so much. And she’s been cool since.” Damn, this boy can talk. I don’t think he took a breath once. I wonder if I should be embarrassed that I wanted to ask him every one of those questions, and if I talked, I probably would have by now.

Clay is looking happier with the picture now. His face is relaxed. When he’s frustrated, his face tenses and he twists the bottom of his shirt around. I spend a lot of time staring at him, too. Not much else to do.

“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What first? I bet your classic is
why don’t you talk?
I’m right aren’t I? But I’m going to skip that one. I think there are far more interesting questions to ask.”

He asks his questions. Lots of them. But he doesn’t get any answers from me so he comes up with his own. He takes pleasure in telling me how the world is coming to an end because Josh Bennett lets me sit with him at lunch and has been seen not only having unsolicited conversations with people but also,
gasp
, smiling. And that thought makes me smile, which Clay seems to appreciate.

According to Clay, the prevailing explanation for my foray into the
Josh Bennett Dead Zone
is that I must already be dead. That one amuses me because they think it’s funny, but I think it’s kind of true. Other people are sure I’m in a cult and I’m brainwashing him. That theory is my favorite. I’ll have to let Josh know.

“At least you shouldn’t have to worry about that shitdick Ethan after today,” Clay continues.

I look at him, confused.

“You didn’t hear about that?” His eyes are wide but I don’t know why, because he knows no one really speaks to me. “This afternoon, Ethan was walking down the hall and bragging about you blowing him in the bathroom.”

I shrug. This isn’t anything new. Ethan spews this crap all the time, especially since he’s figured out that I don’t dispute it. The only three people I care about know it’s not true, and I have a feeling that everyone who knows Ethan, knows it’s not true also. Clay must see my lack of shock and it makes him almost giddy at the fact that he gets to tell me the rest of this story.

“Yeah, ok, not a big deal, right? But this time he did it with Josh walking behind him. It was awesome. Michelle and I had a front row seat. Josh nailed Ethan to the wall and Ethan’s like ‘You don’t scare me, Bennett.’ and Josh is like ‘Good. Then you won’t run the next time you see me coming, because if you ever say her name again, I’ll make it possible for you to suck your own dick.’ The best part was that Josh never even raised his voice. Just flat, scary freaking calm. Then he let Ethan go and walked away like nothing happened.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “See? Awesome.”

I don’t really think it’s so awesome. I know how much Josh hates to call attention to himself and I wish he didn’t think he had to do it for me.

Clay finishes the drawing, and when he starts cleaning up, I go grab my stuff. At this point, I’ve paid my debt for his door-holding ten times over. I figure he owes me something now. When he’s done, I pull the photograph I’ve been holding for days out of my backpack and hand it to him. Then I grab a sheet of paper and a pen and ask for what I want.

CHAPTER 45

Nastya

I didn’t remember what actually happened to me until over a year after it did. For days, then weeks, then months, I knew what everyone else knew. I knew that I left home to walk to school to record my last audition piece. I had gone home to change and get ready first, before heading back to campus. I agonized over every aspect of my appearance that day, especially my hands. I meticulously painted my nails to perfection. I wore a pale pink blouse with pearl buttons and a white eyelet skirt and everyone knew what I was wearing because they found me in it, even if the buttons were torn off.

I knew exactly where I was found in a heavily wooded section of the preserve that separated the park I cut through that day from the subdivision behind it. I knew that they didn’t find me until late that night because a thunderstorm had rolled in, making the search nearly impossible. By that time, the Amber Alert had been running all over the state for hours. My name, my picture, my description. Everywhere. Even after they found me, the morbid curiosity didn’t stop. People never can get enough of tragic stories about pretty little girls. I was good entertainment for a while, especially during the
will she or won’t she
period, when they didn’t know if I’d live.

I knew that when they got me to the hospital I was taken into surgery immediately and my heart stopped on the table for ninety-six seconds before they were able to restart it again.

I knew what had happened to me by piecing together an extensive list of injuries. For months, that’s what I felt like. A list of injuries. A sum total of hurts. My entire body was made of pain.

One day I overheard one of my many doctors talking to a police detective when he didn’t know I could hear.
Have you caught that monster yet?
he asked. The detective told him that they hadn’t.
You should string him up when you get him. He ruined that poor girl.
I guessed he was right, because that was exactly how I felt, and when you hear your doctor saying that you’re ruined, you figure he knows what he’s talking about.

***

“Did you always sleep with a shirt on? Before me?” I ask Josh when we get into bed. Asher hates sleeping in a shirt. He insists that all guys hate sleeping in clothes but I don’t know if it’s true. Josh always sleeps in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, which is usually what I’m sleeping in, too. Josh won’t let me fold his underwear, but apparently he doesn’t have a problem with my wearing them.

“Before you, I didn’t sleep with anything on,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, even if I can’t see it.

“Oh.” I feel my face get hot. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he laughs. “It’s a good trade off.”

His hand finds its way up to my cheek. He leans down and kisses me and his lips are an invitation I’m going to have to accept sooner or later. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were blushing.”

But the fact is that he doesn’t know me better. He doesn’t really know me at all.

***

For the first time in weeks, we’re not spending half the night in the garage. It’s still early, but I tell him I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I’m not tired. I’m just hoping he’ll follow me. After about fifteen minutes, I hear him come out of the shower and then he climbs in next to me. He kisses the side of my head and says good night and then laces his fingers through my mine like he always does; like he’s reminding me that he’s still here, or maybe vice-versa.

I slide my hand under the fabric of his t-shirt, up his stomach until it’s flat against the skin on his chest and I can feel his heart beating against my palm. I can just hear his breath hitch because he didn’t see it coming. He’s warm and solid and I want to touch every part of him. I should stop this, because I know where it’s going. But I’m the one who started it, and really, I just don’t want to.

“Sunshine.” It’s all he says.

He rests his hand on top of mine through the fabric of his shirt. “You can take it off if you want to,” I tell him.

“I’d rather take off yours,” he jokes.

“That, too,” I say, but I’m not joking. I feel him tense just slightly under my hand, but he doesn’t move to do anything, and we lay there for a minute, just breathing and trying to read each other’s thoughts.

“You have my permission,” I whisper.

It isn’t like I’ve never touched him and he’s never touched me. Just never everywhere at once. I’m in one of his t-shirts, like always, and he pulls it up over my head and I let him because that’s what I want. I want him to touch me. Here. Now. Everywhere. Always.

“I wish I could see you,” he says.

“I’m glad you can’t,” I admit. Too many scars. I can blame them even if they aren’t the real reason.

I’m more at peace with Josh than anywhere else in the world and I want to run away before I ruin us both. But then his shirt is off, too, and his body is pressed against mine so that there’s no space between us. He pushes my hair away, muttering something about “stupid hair always in your face,” but he keeps his hand tangled in it, and then he kisses me, and that’s what we do for a long time.