Part 11 (1/2)

”It isn't what you think,” I said. ”The Chris stuff.”

I tried to bite back the words, angry at feeling the need to defend my actions. Especially to someone who in all likelihood had a girl somewhere else who still considered herself taken.

He nodded. Not in agreement, just a general nod.

And didn't that just tick me off?

”It isn't. You just have this really bad opinion of him.” I flinched as he dug a rock out of my palm. ”He isn't always that compet.i.tive guy you see.”

I waited for Luke to raise his head, to look at me, even if the challenge in his eyes wasn't one I wanted to face. He just kept digging things that belonged in nature-not in skin-out of my hand.

”And, I mean, who are you to judge when you've left some girl thinking she has a boyfriend? Your brothers told me you didn't have the guts to break it off with her.”

The towel swept over my hand again as he asked, ”Is that what you think Chris is doing? Not telling you you're not his girlfriend?”

How did he do that? How did he turn everything back on me, back to me? Couldn't he see I was being Take Control Girl and asking the questions here? And anyway, what did I care about Luke and his maybe-girlfriend? Fine.

Before I knew it, the words were pouring out, justifying, answering.

”When I was eleven, we'd just moved here and things were... things were bad. And Brian Murphy picked on me all the time. Chris stood up for me when I needed a friend. When no one else would. He was... nice.”

There was no way I was going to tell him how un-nice everyone-everything-else had been.

Luke's head was lowered, the dark lashes closed in on his eyes, but I could have sworn he rolled them. I'd recognize my signature move anywhere.

”I know he's gotten a little self-centered, but you can't tell me a bad guy would have done that. And then we worked together this summer at the Rec Center, and I thought *this is my chance for him to see me again.' And he did.”

My skin heated in an all over blush and I wondered if my hand warmed in Luke's. And still he didn't look up. He carefully swept the damp towel back and forth over my palm, clearing away dirt that was no longer there.

I wanted to stop talking. To keep it all to myself. But I needed this one person to understand. This person who saw me when I was invisible, before I morphed into this hazy, nearly discernible self.

”The more time I spent around him, the more attention he gave me until it was just the two of us each night talking. It was his idea for me to be the stats girl so we could keep hanging out.”

Luke dipped the rag in the bowl and rung it out before attacking the dirt on my other hand.

”He has this plan-”

Luke snorted. The first thing he'd said, and it wasn't even a word.

”He does.” I wasn't stopping now. I couldn't stop. ”It's a good plan. To get into Monroe State, he needs to be really well rounded since he's not top of the cla.s.s-an alum basically made him a list. So he needs to win things like Homecoming king and stuff. And he knew he'd have to have the right girlfriend to do that.”

I looked away, down at the floor and thought about how not the right girlfriend I was for that.

”And so, he's kind of seeing Cheryl for, like, you know, the proper image. Like JFK marrying Jackie.”

Luke stood so quickly he knocked the chair over backward. He stared long and hard into my eyes, that same wordless searching look he'd given me the first day-only anger washed over me this time. And then he threw down the rag. It hit the edge of the bowl and splashed water over the side.

”He isn't good for you. He's using you for something and you're letting him. I don't care what he did in fifth grade. He's an a.s.s. And you're a blind fool.”

Before I could say anything, Luke kicked the chair out of his way and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door as he went. I waited, listening to the sound of his truck as it sped down the drive, and knew that maybe sharing the story wasn't the best idea I'd had that day.

As I sat staring at the door that had fallen shut behind Luke, my phone text sounded.

Sorry about today. Lunch was dull without you. See you tomorrow.

I wondered if that was supposed to make me feel better. I wasn't invited to a dull party.

I hit my speed dial hoping I'd finally be able to get some Rachel time on the phone.

”You've reached the middle of nowhere. Leave a message after the beep.”

BEEP.

”Where are you? Seriously-seriously.” I looked down at my wrapped hands. ”Luke and I had this huge fight about Chris and he has this girlfriend that he didn't even bother to break up with before he moved here-Luke not Chris-and he-Luke-said I'm a fool and I don't know what to do because he feels the same way about Chris that you do and now he said he's using me-Chris not Luke-and you aren't here and my dad is MIA and tryouts are going really badly. I think they're going to kill each other and Coach said that if I-”

BEEP.

”Your message has exceeded the maximum time. To re-record, press one.”

”Arg!” I threw the phone down, almost as disgusted at myself as the cell service and its stupid time limits.

I was tempted to pick up the phone again just so I could throw it across the room, but I'd either break it or a window with my luck. Instead, I threw myself across my bed and did my best not to become a pouty-pouting girl. But everything was just... too much.

Luke and his pushy, bossy, all-seeing ways. Chris and his not so all-seeing density. The run, the argument, the little Parkers. But the thing that kept running through my head every time I thought of Luke storming out on me, the thing that had me lying on my bed wanting to cry, was that warm, safe mom-hug from Mrs. Parker.

Sometimes a girl just wanted her mom.

Chapter 13.

The last time I'd had my mom was my most beautiful memory. The moment in my life I felt the most love at one time-in one place-from one person.

The last time I'd had my mom was also the absolutely most gut wrenching memory I could recall. Well, except for the betrayal of losing my dad, too.

It was only five quick months after that spring day they told me. School had started and Indian summer was slipping into fall. I know now that my mom's words that day weren't just a good-bye. They were that hug she'd known I'd need over and over once she was gone.

”Amy-girl.” My dad still called me that then. Even after Mom got really sick... which was only two months after The Picnic. We didn't even get to keep her with us for most of that time.

And so there he was, standing in my doorway, a bag in one hand, my jacket in the other. ”Ready?”

I hadn't wanted to be ready. I'd wanted to stay in my room and pretend things were the same as they were last spring. I wanted to ignore everything and close my eyes and wait for my mom's gentle tap on the door telling me to get ready for school.

Instead, I reached for my jacket and gave my dad a quick hug before following him out to the car.