Rush (6 page)

I pull away, and watch her arms shake. She's going down.

Brooke tumbles off the wall, makes like a housecat, and paws for my neck. She rings it, steadies herself. “This part isn't so bad.” She bends forward, whispers, “I knew private lessons had benefits. There's a party at my house tonight.” She runs her hand through my hair. “We could make that private, too.”

I pry her loose, unhook her clasp, and turn. Salome stands on the far side of the gym.

“Salome!” I glance at Brooke. “No one showed up today.”

Salome stares at Brooke and approaches.

“Hi, Salome.” Brooke smiles, runs her hand across the back of my neck.

I squirm away and flatten my hair. “You stopped by.” It's a dumb thing to say, but I'll do anything to wipe the devastated look off Salome's face.

Salome holds up her notebook. “I was studying in the library and thought I'd stop in. I wanted to see how your first day back went. Seems like it went fine.”

“It did.” Brooke tosses back her hair and smiles at me. “Jake taught me how to get started.” She turns toward the wall. “It's harder than it looks.”

Salome studies the pegs and the holes on the rock wall top to bottom. I know her. I know what she's thinking, the research she's doing. She's taking it apart, putting it together, like she does a story for the school paper. She's fighting that wall right now, and if she wins—
Oh, no
.

“Don't, Salome,” I walk toward her, lower my voice. “You hate heights.”

She stares at me; her mind's made up. “Is this what it takes?”

“What?”

She steps toward the wall, tosses her notebook next to Brooke's pants, and stretches her neck.

“You need the harness, Sal.”

Salome reaches for a hold.

“The harness.” I gesture to Brooke. “Take it off, now!”

Brooke fumbles with a strap and grins. “I'm having some problems here. Would you give me a hand?”

“Sal!”

She's up. Unwavering. She climbs straight up. No veering for the easy reach.

Brooke stares like I stare. “Did you teach her how to climb?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “That's all want-to.”

Salome. If she were anyone else, I'd let my mind go where dreams have already been. I'd follow her up and meet her at the top. I'd gently touch her lips and her skin with trembling fingers. But I can't go there. It's a brutal type of can't. I can't lose her. The cracks she fills, the sense she makes, the hope she gives—all gone with one stupid touch.

Two minutes later she rings the victory bell, climbs over the top, and walks down. Salome is white, Brooke's red, and I feel a pukey yellow.

Salome grabs her notebook, brushes by me, and marches toward the exit. I lead Brooke off the mats, throw them in the corner, and chase Salome. I catch her outside. She turns the key to the Lees' Volvo, and I knock on the window. Salome puffs out air, and strands of hair around her face jump.

The window lowers slowly.

“Why'd you do that?” I ask. “You didn't need to do that.”

She looks up to me. “You tell me what I need to do.”

“To climb?” I reach in and squeeze her biceps. “I'd say you have that down. You should have seen Brooke fall on her butt.”

She grabs my hand, pulls my arm in, and unloads on my shoulder.

I groan and pull out the deadened limb and watch the window raise on a happier face.

“What's that about?” I rub my arm and lean over her hood. We face each other through the windshield. I can't read her, and she's not talking.

“Okay, we'll do this not-answering thing. How about this one? You going to Brooke's party tonight?” I climb on top of the hood, stick my nose against the glass. “I bet it'll be big.”

Wet squirts douse my face, and wiper blades catch me on the lips. Salome revs the car, throws it in reverse. I flop onto pavement, touch my mouth, and jump to my feet. “What's gotten into you?” I holler at the vanishing car.

I sweep the hair off my face and feel my shoulders slump.

I DON'T KNOW ANYONE WHO
likes Brooke. She's drop-dead beautiful—she is that. And she knows it—she's that, too. That explains why she makes boys crazy and makes girls sick. But everyone, even Ellie, her “best friend,” spends a ton of time ripping her when she's not around. Except on Friday nights. And especially when Julia, Brooke's mom, is on a Vegas run. Then we all suck up, because parties at her house are insane.

Friday at Brooke's brings together the strangest assortment of kids. Sportos and goths and drama geeks and Immortal wannabes—kids who wouldn't glance at each other outside the door of her gate drop it all and live and let live inside. There's no explanation for it. It's a Brooke house thing.

I walk to Troy's place after dinner. He waits on his porch.

“You set?” I ask.

He jumps up. Strange seeing Troy again. Marriage and firefighting haven't changed him one bit. Cheyenne is still a hermit and seems cool with his going out, which is great for me.

I watch him approach and try to think of something not to like. No go. Troy smiles a lot and has no brain clouds. Life treats him good.

But maybe not now. He slows, and his gaze drops.

We walk past the mill. I stare at Dad's castle, where Troy's dad sweeps the floor.

Troy bends over, picks up a stone, and fires it toward the wooden gate. It bounces off the word
Hanking's
with a
thunk
. “My dad's still there, cleaning up your dad's mess.”

I slow and replay his line. Very un-Troy. I speed up and say nothing.

Troy continues, “Monday after you were expelled, my dad got called in and reamed.” He shoves me again. “Lectured on responsibility. Darn near fired. That should've been your lecture.”

“Listen to you! Who was the one who ran away from high school after one year because of his
responsible
behavior with Cheyenne? Did her dad want to kill you because of your responsibility?”

I look up at Brooke's, a block in the distance, then back at my red-faced friend. I blink hard.

He glances over his shoulder. His voice softens. “I'm trying to do right by her, but—”

I get in his face, try to catch his gaze. “What's going on?”

“It's been tough lately.” Troy eases down onto the curb. “Since we've been back, she's even quieter. It's like living in a morgue. Thought tonight might lighten the weight. At Brooke's.” He leans back onto the grass. “But it's different. It's been too long, and walking to Brooke's feels different now.” He exhales hard. “Cheyenne doesn't even want me to hang out with you anymore.”

I think on that, nod.

“You aren't in high school anymore. Go home.” I run my hand through my hair. “Cheyenne's great. There's nothing waiting at Brooke's that you don't have better at home.”

He stares up at me, raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously,” I say. “If I was hooked up with . . . Get out of here.” I step on his foot, wait for his groan, and leave him behind.

I reach Brooke's steps, where Salome and Kelli stand.

Salome looks around. “Troy didn't come with you?”

I point over my shoulder. “Is there still a body sprawled on the sidewalk?”

Kelli's mouth falls open. “Did you do that to him?”

“Yeah, just for fun. One right hook and—”

Salome boots my bad ankle, and I buckle.

“Troy!” She and Kelli push by me. I stand alone on the steps and picture the scene behind me. I hear Troy laugh. Salome joins him. I turn to wait for Salome and hear the door unlatch behind me.

“It's about time.” Brooke grabs my forearm and yanks. It's her party, so I let her pull me in.

 

IT'S LOUD AND DIM
, and the shadows of everyone I know are there—except Troy, who probably still lies on the sidewalk.

Feels strange to see kids from school, but I drag forward, hurtling by comments like I did trees down the mountain.

“Hey, Jake, whatcha been up to?”

“School's been a bore since you left.”

“Salome was looking for you.”

“What?” I pull against Brooke and strain to find the speaker.

“Let's go out back,” Brooke hollers in my ear. “The hot tub was empty last time I checked.” She pulls me through the house, onto the patio. The tub's not empty now.

Twenty kids sit around and laugh, and we move nearer, push through the crowd.

“Hey, brother.” Scottie's narrow-eyed gaze wanders from me to Brooke. He pulls his arm free from the girl at his side. “You're not with Salome?”

Kyle and his brown leather jacket walk up from behind. “Forget her.” He jams Scottie's head beneath the waterline. Two girls laugh and step out of the water, and the crowd cheers.

“Come on.” Brooke pulls me off the patio, away from the pool, and behind the flower gardens.

“Listen, Brooke—”

“We don't need anyone else tonight.” She reaches her arms around my neck and kisses me, hard and deep, but it takes me nowhere, and my mind wanders. To the hot tub, to the street, to Salome.

My hands move on instinct and reach for the buttons of her blouse.

There are two kinds of pretty. Brooke, she's part-time gorgeous—when you're with her, when her half-covered body drapes over yours. Right then, there's no doubt, she's something for the eyes. But Salome, she's pretty always—when you're at home and haven't seen her in days, or she won't talk to you. She's fill-the-brain pretty.

I let Brooke's blouse drop, and pause. She doesn't notice. Her hands grope, and her voice whispers my name, and this is the last place I want to be.

I pry her like a suction cup away from me, steady her at the shoulders. She blinks and cocks her head.

“It's okay. I'm okay with this.” She lunges at me, and inside a switch flips. The dark cloud descends. I not only don't want her, I loathe her—loathe being near her. I push her away, reach down, and hand her the blouse.

“Put it on. I need to go.”

I emerge from the flower garden to Salome and drippy Scottie. They stand close to where we were. Depending on the noise level, maybe they were too close. Maybe they heard.

“There you are.” Salome reaches for my hand, looks me in the eyes, and pauses. “Oh, tell me no.”

“No! Nothing,” I say. “I stopped.”

Brooke runs out, hands clutched around the top pressed against her. “Oh, hi, Scottie, Salome.” She turns to me. “Guess everyone is looking for you.”

“I—I need to go.” I push out of this gruesome party and toward the gate.

 

SALOME SPENDS SATURDAY
locked away at home, where she doesn't take my calls and destroys my weekend.

I spend the day in the garage, sharpening saw blades and staring at my jacket shred. Maybe it is cursed, but it brings me comfort. I set down my blades, work the leather, and wander onto the driveway. She can see me clearly from there. I whistle, wander back beside the truck, and repeat the process.

I gaze into her window, see her shape, and glance away.

But she doesn't, and after thirty trips down to the mailbox, I quit. I head inside, slam the garage door behind me. I won't see her tomorrow either—she'll be rotting away at Brockton Baptist—morning service and afternoon meetings and evening service. It's awful having God as your competition.

Monday arrives, and I haven't seen her in three days. There's a buzzy jitter inside, one only she can calm.

I hop on my scooter and whiz down Winders Street through a semideserted world. The kids are locked up in school, their parents are incarcerated in the mill, I'm under house arrest—tough town.

I accelerate and pull into the high school parking lot and check my watch. Third hour. Phys ed. Perfect. I walk the perimeter of the campus and reach the ballfields on the far side. Across the football field, twenty girls jog the track. Well, four jog and about sixteen walk.

I stick to the tree line that skirts the field and smile. Salome runs. Of course she runs. I slip under the bleachers and work my way down to the middle of the track. I crawl forward, squeeze up through a crack, and plunk down on the metal seat, hands folded.

Salome, Kelli, and Haley jog the far side, circle round toward me. Walkers stare as they pass—or giggle or shake their heads or start to jog—but what they say or do doesn't matter. It's only the blonde who wears my red PROPERTY OF sweatshirt, the one who laughs free and clear. I see her, and the tingle stops. And a different type of tingle starts.

“Jake! What are you doing here?” She pulls up with Haley. They lean over the fence, while Kelli mutters and runs on.

“Thought I'd visit, is all.”

“You can't be here.” Salome says.

Haley gazes around the track and glances all nervous like at the school, as if some drug deal is going down. “If they see you here, you'll be—”

“Suspended? Expelled?” I ask.

“Honestly, Jake.” Salome runs her hand through her hair. “What do you need?”

“You,” I say.

Haley smiles and starts to run. Salome climbs the fence, sits down next to me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Where's Mrs. Hurd?” I ask.

“She's not here today. We have a seriously obese sub watching us run from the building.” She bites her lip. “What did you mean by that?”