A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series) (9 page)

“That's cheating!” he complained, the left corner of his mouth twitching upward. He turned and shot the ball through the hoop with one hand, tripping over my feet on the way. We landed on the ground in a crumpled mess. I couldn't suppress my laughter as I pulled myself out from under his heavy body. I collapsed back on top of him, my head landing on his abdomen. I let myself relax against his body and listened to his heart slow as his laughing subsided. He clasped his hands beneath his head and situated himself into a comfortable position, joining me in staring up into the sky like me. The warm breeze wafted over my skin and I let out a contented sigh.

“You're kinda good at basketball,” he said. “When you're cheating, that is.”

“Oh, please,” I replied jokingly. “You didn't warn me about how good you were
.
I had no choice.” Cephas was silent for a minute. The wind rustled the leaves of the oversized willow tree near the edge of the court. I felt
Cephas’
hand move softly through my hair. I shut my eyes and listened to the crickets chirp over in the bushes.
Cephas’
thumb traveled behind my ear, then down my face. He paused on my cheek, rubbing gently around the bruise Chase had given me.

"Wasn't your dad angry when he found out your boyfriend hit you?" Cephas asked suddenly.

"Oh, well, he isn't home right now. He's away on business for a couple more days. It should be healed up by then," I muttered. He paused before speaking again.

"So you're not going to tell him?" he asked, sitting up and leaning against his hand on the ground for support. His fingers stayed near my ear, though, running through my straight hair. Concern hid his smile.

"No. It would be better if he didn't know."

"But you're not going to keep dating Chase, are you?"

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked sarcastically, lifting my head to face him. "Who else would I date if not the great and noble Chase?"

His eyes narrowed. There he went reading my mind again. He could see straight through me
—
he knew I had yet to break up with my stupid boyfriend, and he also probably knew I probably wouldn’t.

“Why do you date a guy who treats you like that?” he asked seriously.

Truthfully? I wasn’t ready for people to know who I was, yet. If I broke up with Chase, people probably wouldn’t like me, and they would definitely think I was an idiot. High school was not the place to be brave and courageous
.
I could be myself after graduation. The reasoning sounded shallow, even to myself, but it was true: I couldn’t survive high school on my own. I needed Chase. I jolted myself away from my thoughts, embarrassed at the despair so evident on my face. I looked at the ground, but
Cephas’
hand tipped my chin toward his face. 

"You know, I can't always be around to save you," he smiled. His voice always sounded so warm and welcoming.

"Why not?" I questioned. A
sudden frown furrowed his brow. H
e looked sad. In fact, the expression froze onto his face for a long moment as his eyes held mine captive.

“I should probably get home.
I have lots of homework to do before tomorrow,” I offered. His silence made me uncomfortable. His hand released my chin and I sat up; I ran my fingers haphazardly through my hair in an attempt to straighten the disheveled mess. Cephas stood and held out his hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. Steadying me with his left hand, he stared into my green eyes. I observed his face, running my small fingers along the crease in his forehead. I wanted to thank him somehow for saving me last night (at least, that’s what the justification I used to explain away my growing desire to feel
Cephas’
lips against mine). His eyes softened as I lifted my face to his. I could taste his minty breath mingling with mine. My eyes partially closed and I leaned in toward his face. My mouth stopped against his cheek: he had turned his head! Was he rejecting me? I took a step back, though he held me from moving any farther. The left corner of his mouth was smirking. I struggled in between his arms, but I was no match for his stubborn strength.

“Let me go, Cephas,” I demanded. He didn't release me; he just kept smiling. “I can't believe you would do that!”

“Why not? I thought you would have had me pretty figured out by now.”

“What do you mean?” He turned me around, twisting my arms in front of me and pulling my back against his chest. His head lowered near my ear.

“I'll kiss you when I'm good and ready,” he whispered. A low laugh emerged from his throat. I turned around in his arms and shoved him, slightly hurt at his moc
king attitude toward kissing me. T
his was all a joke to him!

“You're such a jerk,” I laughed, trying to clear the hurt from my voice. He grabbed my hand and kissed it softly, his eyes holding mine. “Forgive me?” he asked quietly, smirking again. I rolled my eyes and he released me. Laying my backpack strap over my shoulder, he allowed his hand to slowly travel the length of my arm, finally clasping my hand. Attempting not to shudder visibly at his insinuating touch, I looked away.

“Let's get you home,” he muttered.

We walked to my house, mostly in silence, just listening to the night. Dusk was coming on. The sun was low on the horizon, beckoning the darkness to catch it. The sky was clear tonight, though the stars were always visible in Woods Bay. A few dotted the sky, their light not yet overpowering the setting sun. We walked across the gravel street to my driveway.

"You try to stay out of trouble, alright,” he advised, tweaking my nose before walking back the way we came. As he was walking under the pool of light emitted from the street lamp, he turned back toward me, as if a thought occurred to him, but he simply waved, that ever present smile flashing in the dim light. I waved back and watched him pick his feet up into a light jog. I walked up the cem
ent driveway to the front porch.
D
ecorative iron rail lined the large patio, guarding four lawn chairs and a small table. Turning the key, I pushed the door open and flipped on a light. I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, feeling the weight of my bag with each step. Why did I always bring so many books home?

Flipping on the light in my bathroom, I quickly brushed my teeth, rinsing my mouth in the sink. I put my pink toothbrush in its holder, then looked at myself in the mirror. Wiping some smudged mascara from beneath my eyes, I splashed some water on my face. I was patting my skin dry with a hand towel when I thought I heard a noise. Our house seemed eerie at night, especially when my dad wasn't home. The rest of the lights were off in the house. I started when I heard a tap on the window. Standing perfectly still, I waited a moment. Another pebble hit the window. Oh, great. I walked over to the old storm window and pushed it open. Chase stood on the lawn beneath me, looking up at me with the saddest face he could muster.

"Emma, I'm sorry," he began. "Can I come up?"

I scowled at him and shouted in a whisper, before slamming the window shut, "If you want to. You know it's always unlocked anyway. You didn't have to be dramatic!" I turned away from the window and hurriedly put on my sweater. I flipped on the hall light and creaked down the stairs. Chase was standing at the bottom, the same, ridiculous look plastered on his face. Funny
—
I always seemed to be looking down at him. That thought sounded rude to me, but I was so fed up with Chase. He didn't speak for a moment, so I urged him forward.

"Why are you here, Chase?" He looked taken aback. I wasn't usually that blunt with him, but I had had enough. I stood with my arms folded, glaring like only a woman completely put out about a man can glare. He raised his hands as if to explain, but no words came out of his mouth. His arms fell to his side, his head slumping in shame.

"Emma, please take me back. I'm sorry
—
I'll do anything!" he begged.

"You've already done enough," I responded coldly.

"I just
—
I drank too much.
I didn't know what I was doing," he tried to explain.

"That's the problem
—
you drank . . . too . . . much." I tried to speak slowly so he would understand. "You always do. And then you act like an idiot. I'm sick of it. I'm not your mother. Grow up." I saw his face turn from shame to anger. Good. Now he would quit trying to get me to take him back. He was easier to deal with when he was angry . . . besides the other night, that is.

"Don't tell me to grow up. You're the one who's immature!" His gumption began to grow. "Yeah, yeah. You're always trying to change me. What kind of a relationship is that?" He seemed proud of himself for coming up with a good excuse for his behavior. This was the moment in which I would usually relent and accept Chase’s apology, but I suddenly thought of Cephas. ‘I won’t always be around to save you,’ he had said. He was right; he wouldn’t always be around, and neither would Chase. I had to start defending myself at some point, and I had the gumption right now to do so.

"You're right. It's not a good relationship. You drink, party with your friends, and treat me like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you. Then you blame me for all of your screw
-ups. And you know what?
I don't want to change you anymore. I want to get rid of you. So just turn around, walk out the door, and go home." He looked indignant and nearly as fed up as did I.

"What are you saying?" he asked, eying me suspiciously. I couldn't believe I'd been dating such an idiot.

"It's over, Chase. I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore." The words sounded harsh, even to me, but it was the truth.

"You're gonna regret this!" he warned, pointing his finger at me before he marched out the door and slammed it behind him. The slam was resounding, affirming the end of a long relationship. I kind of liked it. I walked upstairs and fell instantly asleep.

CHAPTER 6

He had rejected me. I had been too forward, and he rejected me. He probably didn't even like me. He could choose any girl in the world
—
why not choose one of those gorgeous blondes that I spotted dancing around him yesterday? I was stupid to think someone as dashing and captivating as Cephas Bourdon would go for me. He probably just saved me out of obligation, then walked with me so I wouldn't feel so stupid. I scowled at my own ignorant hopes and changed the channel. It was five, and the news wasn't taking my mind off of anything. I flipped rapidly through the channels as a fly landed on my arm. I tried to flick the fly away, but it escaped my vengeance. I looked up at the television. A man was talking about something
—
sports? The screen read ESPN.

"Today, during a practice game, a fight broke out between Miami Heath's point guard, Derek Londersall, and an official. Londersall claims the referee made a bad call with no probable cause. The accusation infuriated the official, who threw Londersall out of the game. But it didn't stop there. Londerall began swinging at the official, accusing him of throwing games on purpose! Londersall will be . . ."

I switched the channel. S
ports players always seemed so dramatic. Why did Londersall care anyway? He would still get paid.

“What are you so mad about?" came the voice of my father as he walked into the living room from the kitchen.

"I'm home for not even an hour and your ecstasy at my return has already vanished," he complained, mocking my bad mood. I rolled my eyes and continued flipping through the channels.

"So," he continued. "That ground really showed you what was up, eh?" He nodded toward the ice pack I held against my cheek. I looked away.

"Yeah, landed right on my face," I chuckled nervously. I hoped he wouldn't see through my lie. I think he might have murdered Chase if he knew what had happened.

"How was Atlanta
—
really." I pried. He rarely ever went on a business trip without a good story. My dad was quite the catch; from his brown, messy hair to his broad shoulders, combined with his impeccable sense of style, women were always after him. He moved a glass of ice water to his mouth, ignoring me.

"C'mon, Dad!" I whined, "Who did you meet this time?" He chuckled, and then sobered.

"Em, you know I could never do that. It's so close to the day
—
" he stopped and choked back his emotion. My m
om was killed in a car accident. I
t would be two years on Tuesday. I mechanically changed the subject.

"So, tell me about your trip," I declared, telling more than asking. "Did you give an amazing speech?" My dad smiled.

****

The hall was silent. Students studied busily in their classrooms in preparation for final exams. The school year would end in two weeks, but seniors never had difficult finals. We just enjoyed our last two weeks of school. The hall was silent, except for Marian's non
-
stop chatting. I glanced through each door as we meandered through the quiet hall, looking for anything interesting.

"So, oh my gosh, girl! Are you so stoked for senior trip?" Marian's high ponytail bobbed up and down as she bounced with excitement. "Did you hear they need one more chaperone? My mom was like, 'do you want me to go?' and I was like, 'No
way!' I mean, that would be so awkward!"