Part 7 (1/2)

”No girlfriend.” He frowned. ”I don't . . . date.” His eyes searched mine as I tried to process that statement, looking for some type of reaction.

”Like, ever?”

”Not in a long time.” With another quick rub through his hair, he turned his attention back to his plate and put a quick end to that conversation.

Picking up my napkin, I dabbed it across my mouth while my mind spun in crazy circles. He didn't date? Maybe Harper had been right about this guy. ”Enigma” seemed like the perfect word for him.

The ebb and flow of cheering and screaming at the televisions around us had dulled into a subdued roar of voices. My attention drifted to one of the many flas.h.i.+ng screens just in time for the Mets game to flip to a commercial break. As I watched, the TV switched to a 60 Minutes advertis.e.m.e.nt, and right there, in front of me, my face appeared on the screen.

Chapter 14: Ian.

8 Years Earlier I reconsidered my stance on PDA when it came to Maggie. As long as it involved her soft lips on mine, I couldn't really care less what was going on around us. Anywhere was fair game. The two of us together was magnetic, explosive-like a roll of Mentos in a two-liter bottle of soda. (Fair warning, always perform that experiment outside.) I lasted exactly three hours and twenty-one minutes before asking her out in the middle of the hallway on our way to chemistry cla.s.s. She smiled that smile that made me feel like I was wrapped up in suns.h.i.+ne, linked her fingers with mine, and said yes.

My face spent every day twisted up into a goofy grin, always looking forward to the moments we could steal together between cla.s.ses, the evenings cuddled together on the couch, sneaking kisses whenever my mom and dad left the room.

I'm ashamed to admit that my friends.h.i.+p with Rachel fell a little to the wayside. I was that guy, and in truth, I felt like a t.u.r.d. This time it was me plastered up against the lockers with Maggie's lips sealed to mine, barely aware enough to see Rachel pa.s.sing by, darting a glance toward me through downward lashes.

I'd noticed she'd taken to carrying extra textbooks with her when her backpack wouldn't hold anymore. Her seat at our lunch table remained conspicuously empty, and though I scanned the cafeteria for her, she was nowhere to be found. I planned on looking for her, but then there was Maggie, sitting next to me, draping her legs over mine, and offering me half of her cookie, and any thoughts of Rachel simply fled my brain.

I was a s.h.i.+tty-a.s.s friend.

A few weeks pa.s.sed, then a few months-three so far, and Rachel had become little more than a wisp of smoke that appeared and then disappeared in the periphery of my vision. I was planning on tracking her down, but it turned out she found me first.

I flicked through the channels, trying to find something to watch as my b.u.t.t sank into the permanent indentation I'd made on this couch cus.h.i.+on. Maggie's laughter drifted out from the kitchen, mixing with my mom's while they cleaned up after dinner. Mags had blended seamlessly into our close-knit family, until it felt like she'd always been there.

A knock sounded from the front door, and I pushed myself to my feet. ”I've got it,” I shouted. More laughter erupted, and I doubt they even heard me, or the knock for that matter.

The face behind the front door was as familiar as my own. Rachel's sleek brown hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her ever present backpack was hanging off her back, weighing down her shoulders so that she slumped backward.

”Hey,” I said, pulling the door open for her.

”Hey,” she said, barely bothering to glance at me before she brushed by.

I frowned at her back, then followed her. Her head turned toward the kitchen where the sound of voices was as heavy as the smell of chicken pot pie in the air. With a heavy exhalation, she shook her head, and kept right on walking.

Through the living room, up the stairs, past my bedroom. I stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning on the banister. ”What are you doing, Rach?”

The look she gave me was withering. ”I don't think that's any of your concern, Ian.”

I flinched as if she'd slapped me across the face. Sure, we'd had our arguments, but she'd never looked at me quite like that. Could I really blame her though?

Lifting a hand, she rapped on Ben's door. A few seconds later it opened for her, she slipped through, and closed the door behind her.

What the h.e.l.l?

Too curious for my own good, but not willing to beg Rachel for information, I climbed the last few steps, crept over to Ben's door with soundless footsteps on the beige carpet, and listened for all I was worth. It was such a chick move.

Despite my disregard for my brother's privacy, I didn't have any luck hearing anything, at least not anything distinct. There were voices, hers and then his, but their words were m.u.f.fled, like they were . . . well like they were speaking on the other side of a door. But then something caught my attention that made my blood turn icy, freezing in my veins like someone dumped me in the Antarctic-a zipper was being pulled down, the sound of it completely unmistakable.

Before any thoughts managed to form in my brain, I shoved the door open, and found the startled glances of both Ben and Rachel land on me. All clothes were present, and they weren't anywhere near his bed. Not even close.

Ben lounged in his desk chair with Rachel leaning over him, pointing to a pile of papers in front of him on his desk. Her backpack, the zipper culprit, sat gaping on the floor.

”Ever heard of knocking, a.s.shole?” Ben asked with a scowl.

Rachel's lips thinned into a pinched line as she glared at me. ”Get out, Ian, this doesn't concern you.”

”Yeah, Ian, run along and play.” Ben waved his hand toward the door, but I stayed firmly rooted where I stood.

Rachel gave me her back, pretending that I wasn't there. ”You got all that?”

Ben nodded. ”Yup.” Reaching into his pocket, he pa.s.sed her a sheet of paper, the edges frayed like he'd ripped it out of a notebook. ”Here's the rest of the stuff from today. I'll come find you in the morning?”

”You know where I'll be.”

Their words circled around my brain, rolling round and round as I tried to make sense of them. While my mind worked on overdrive, Rachel packed up her things, covered a huge yawn with the back of her hand, and walked right around me like I was a sign post rather than a person.

Ben grinned at me and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, turning back to his laptop.

I took the stairs two at a time, coming right up on Rachel's heels.

”You're not even gonna say hi?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and started laughing. Not an actual laugh, but a sad and tired one that sounded like she dragged it up from the very bottom. ”Seriously, Ian? You've been too busy sticking your tongue down Maggie's throat for weeks to even acknowledge me and now you want to talk?” She shook her head. ”I'm busy. Very busy.”

I didn't doubt it. She looked like she'd walked through a hurricane and come out the other side barely intact. Honestly, I thought if she sat down for a second she'd be dead asleep in five seconds flat.

When she went to walk away, I grabbed at her. My fingers hooked onto her backpack rather than her arm, and it slid off into my hands. Suddenly determined to figure out what she was hiding from me, I ripped it open and grabbed for the paper Ben gave her.

Her eyes went wide, and she reached for it. ”Give it to me.”

I had more than enough height on me that when I held it above my head she couldn't reach it. Turning around so that I was facing the stairs, I unfolded it. All the while, Rachel climbed me like a spider monkey, trying to get it back.

I don't know what I expected to be written there, but a list of Ben's homework a.s.signments wasn't anywhere near the top of my guesses.

She slid off my back and waited. Waited for me to turn around. Waited for me to react.

”This is what you've been doing? You're doing his homework for him?”

Lunging at me, she ripped the paper from between my fingers, leaving me with the tattered corner. ”Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I've been doing his homework. I've been doing it for months, which you probably would have noticed if you'd spoken more than ten words to me recently.”

Guilt-I was swamped with it, drowning in it. The only thing I could think to do was to s.h.i.+ft the blame. ”Get over it, Rach. You're just jealous.”