Leaving Paradise (16 page)

thirty-one

Caleb

It’s Sunday. Football Sunday. I’m hanging at Dusty’s Sports Bar & Grill with the guys, since we can sit in the dining area and watch the game from the three large screens plastered throughout the restaurant.

The place is run-down—even the dark, wooden tables and chairs wobble because they’re so old. But their TV screens are big and new, which brings guys from the closest three towns on Sunday afternoons.

I wonder what Maggie’s doing today. She works for Mrs. Reynolds in the mornings, but she’ll probably head home early. Is she home now, sitting in her bedroom? Or is she at physical therapy?

“Did you see that, Becker?” Tristan asks as the crowd in the bar groans.

“Sorry, man, I missed it.”
I was thinking about someone I have no right thinking about.

Shaking his head, Tristan points to the screen. “I swear, Guerrera needs some glue on his hands in order to keep the ball in his grip. That’s his third fumble.”

“Fourth,” Drew corrects him.

I’m not into the game today.

I catch Brian looking at the doorway and signaling over whoever just came into the restaurant. I turn around. It’s Kendra. Followed by Hannah, Brianne, Danielle, and Sabrina. I don’t think their wrestling cheer will go over too well at this place. But then again, maybe it will.

“What are the girls doing here?” a balking Tristan asks Brian, who obviously invited them.

“Can’t we change the rules just this once? Kendra really wanted to come.”

“Ugh, I’m gonna be sick,” Drew says, then fake gags. “She’s got you by the balls, man. When are you gonna see it?”

Drew, the self-proclaimed asshole of our group, for the first time in his life is right on. Just as I’m about to proclaim Drew an insightful genius, the girls reach the table. Kendra is wearing tight jeans and a Bears jersey. Brian’s jersey, the same one I remember him wearing every Sunday.

Brian is staring at his trophy girl, and it’s making me sick too. Because if that’s what I looked like when I was dating her, all grateful that a girl like her chose to gift me with being her boyfriend. Someone shoot me right now.

“Can we join you guys?” Kendra asks, but as the words spew out of her mouth she’s already pulling up a chair next to Brian and motioning for the girls to find some chairs, too.

Seriously, this is a huge violation of the “no girls allowed for Sunday ball games” code. I can tell Tristan and Drew are not happy about the invasion of chicks. The reason the rule was created in the first place was that we all agreed girls (at least the ones in our group, a.k.a. the ones sitting down at our table right now) are not interested in watching the game. They’re interested in breaking our concentration. It’s like a challenge, to see if they can distract us from football.

“Hey, Caleb,” Danielle says as she parks her chair next to me. “Whatcha been up to?”

Before I can answer, the waitress comes over to our table to slap down our food and ask the girls what they’d like to order.

“What kind of salads do you have?” Brianne asks.

The waitress stifles a laugh. “No salads. We got burgers, chicken sandwiches, wings, and fries. Take your pick.”

Brianne is stunned by the choices. I can tell by the way she looks at the waitress in horror. This place is all about the beer/alcohol for the over-twenty-one crowd. Food is the afterthought. “I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” she finally says.

All of the girls order Diet Cokes. Nothing else. Tristan rolls his eyes.

“Wait!” Sabrina says, calling the waitress back. “I’ll have a burger. No cheese, just plain.”

“One plain burger, five Diet Cokes,” the waitress repeats before retreating.

“I’ll have a burger, too,” Danielle says, piping in. “Plain, like hers.”

“Two burgers, five Diet Cokes.”

Brianne raises her eyebrows.

Danielle shrugs. “What? I didn’t have lunch and I’m starving. Besides, I’m off the no-carb thing, Brianne.”

Drew stands abruptly and puts his hands up. “Okay, if you girls want to join us, there’s got to be a few rules. No talking about salads, and I don’t even want to hear the word ‘carb.’ If you didn’t come here to talk about the Bears or football, or to reminisce about the year 1985, be silent. And for God’s sake, if you don’t know which side to root for, I expect no cheering or comments. Got it?”

Kendra’s eyebrows are furrowed. “What happened in 1985? Drew, I hate to tell you but we weren’t even born yet.”

While Drew slaps his forehead in frustration, an embarrassed Brian covers Kendra’s mouth. “That was the last year the Bears won the Super Bowl,” Brian informs her.

He removes his hand from Kendra’s mouth.

“You do know what the Super Bowl is, don’t you?” Drew asks, sitting down at last.

“Of course she does,” Brian comments, then pulls Kendra close and keeps his arm draped over her shoulders.

The rest of the quarter is met with silence from the girls and hoots and hollers from the rest of the people in the restaurant. When I happen to glance at Kendra and Brian during a commercial break, her gaze is directed at me as she whispers something in Brian’s ear to make him smile mischievously.

I swear I just caught her licking his lobe, too.

Disgusted, I get up and head to the can. After I pee, I wash my hands and lean over the sink while I check out my reflection in the mirror. I’m a fucking mess, unable to just chill and hang out with my friends. Especially not with the girls here. Especially not with Kendra here. She puts my nerves on edge, reminding me of the past. The accident. Maggie.

The door to the men’s room opens and sure enough Kendra walks in. I’m not surprised.

“Your boyfriend’ll follow you in here,” I tell her.

She saunters close to me, close enough I can smell her strong perfume mixed with cherry lip gloss. Total overkill.

“He won’t. He thinks you’re upset, so I told him I’d talk to you. He trusts us both.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“He also thinks you’re jealous. Are you?”

“Oh, yeah,” I tell her. She wants to hear it, so I give her what she wants. It’s a game she likes to play. I’m tired of playing games, but it’s the only way to deal with her.

“You’ve been elusive, CB.”

“Try busy.”

“I thought we had an understanding.”

The only relationship I want is the one I already have, with Maggie. It might not be public, but it’s genuine.

The nagging thing is, I don’t know what Kendra knows. Every time we’re together, she hints she knows more about the accident than everyone else. But what if she doesn’t, what if she’s yanking my chain? We were both so plastered that night, and she’s a lightweight. Maybe my ex has been playing me this whole time and I’m a sucker just like Brian.

No matter how much I want to, I can’t risk alienating her.

She creeps her fiery-red fingertips up my shirt like a spider, stopping when she gets to my shoulder. Then she leans in. “You’re like a drug, Caleb. I can’t quit.”

She’s thriving on the chase. Not me. It probably turns her on that someone can walk in any minute and catch us this close together. It’s the risk factor giving her the rush. “So why are you suckin’ on another guy’s ear?” I don’t know why I asked. It’s not that I even care. I put my hand on her waist, ready to push her away if she comes closer. I’m so done with being her pawn.

“I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. It worked. For the past couple of weeks you’ve given me nothing, no emotion or encouragement. Brian thinks you’re into Maggie Armstrong. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Just when I’m about to answer, the door opens. Drew comes in, seeing Kendra and me standing close, touching each other in what might look like an embrace. It’s not what it seems, but it looks bad.

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Drew says, then heads to the urinals. Before he slides his zipper down, he turns his head to Kendra. “Do you mind taking this somewhere else?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Kendra says to Drew as she steps away from me, breaking all contact.

Drew gives a short laugh. “Yeah, well you may have made the rounds with my friends, but you ain’t getting your hands on mine.”

“From what I’ve heard, one hand would be enough,” Kendra shoots back.

“Enough,” I say. “Kendra, go back to Brian. Drew, take a leak already.”

Hurt that I haven’t defended her, she storms out of the men’s bathroom, but not before murmuring, “asshole” to Drew on her way out, to which Drew responds, “slut.”

Drew finishes, then as he washes his hands he says, “Caleb, you think hooking up with Kendra is the answer? Listen, let Brian have the bitch and move onto someone else.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

Drew makes a tsking noise, just like Mrs. Reynolds. “You’re making it complicated.”

Then it hits me.

For the second time today, Drew is right on. I’m letting Kendra manipulate me instead of the other way around. I don’t need to appease her. I can just let her keep the chase going without giving her a chance to go in for the kill. Wow, I’ve been going about this whole situation all wrong, I can’t believe the solution is so simple. I take out my wallet and hand Drew a twenty. “Here, pay my bill. I’m outta here.”

“You don’t have to leave. I’m not gonna tell Brian what you and Kendra were doing.”

“At this point, I don’t even care,” I say, then leave the men’s room and head out the back door.

thirty-two

Maggie

Caleb comes over in the afternoon, totally unexpected. I open the door to answer it and here he is, standing in front of me with a determined look on his face.

“I wanted to see you,” is all the explanation I get. “Is your mom home?”

“No. She just left for work five minutes ago.”

Caleb and I are friends. Okay, we’re more than friends. It’s strange and complicated, but it’s the only unstrained friendship I have.

I lead him to my room and have him wait there while I bring up some drinks and chips. We sit on the floor and munch on the chips. We talk about school and wrestling, and laugh about the times when we were kids in preschool and the stupid things we did. Then we play gin with the playing cards my mother got me when I was in the hospital. He doesn’t talk about kissing at all. He doesn’t even look at me with that hot, wanting look I’ve seen before. He’s got something on his mind. I don’t know what it is, but it’s distracting him.

After a while he puts down the cards and says, “I want to help you, Maggie.”

“With what?”

“Playing tennis again. I always see you looking into the closet like there’s a monster in there, so I checked it out while you were in the kitchen. I found your racquet.”

I stand up. My heart starts racing as I hobble away from him. “I’m never playing again.”

He stands, too. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Maggie. I’m trying to help.”

I turn my back to him. “I can’t play.”

“Just try, Maggie. What’ll it hurt?”

“I’m not going to be good.”

“Who says you have to be good?”

He doesn’t know being good at tennis has always meant more than being good at tennis. It’s so much deeper than that.

When I look at Caleb, I want to make him proud of me. He’s trying to fix whatever pain he’s caused me. I want to help him, too. “Okay, I’ll try,” I say. “But don’t expect much.”

“I won’t.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re behind Paradise High looking out across the tennis courts. It brings back memories of me trying to prove myself. Taking a deep breath, I follow Caleb onto the hard, green surface.

When Caleb retrieved my racquet, I froze. I didn’t even want to hold it. So after he fetched his own racquet and some tennis balls from his garage, he carried everything without complaint as we walked to the school.

Now he’s holding out my racquet to me.

I hesitate.

Taking my hand in his, he wraps my fingers around the racquet handle

“I’m scared,” I admit to him.

“Me, too.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he says. “If you beat me. I have to keep up my tough-guy image, you know.”

That makes me laugh. “You don’t need me to make you look tough, Caleb.”

With that, he takes the tennis balls and heads to the opposite side of the court. “Be easy on me,” he jokes.

He hits the ball right to me, nice and slow. Instincts take over and I hit it back. It feels good, I have to admit, but it also feels strange. My body moves differently now, like I’m stiff and can’t loosen up. My legs, my stance, are both awkward and wrong. I can’t balance on the balls of my feet and pivot when the ball comes at me. I can’t lean over in the ready position, ready to strike at the ball when it flies by.

When Caleb hits the ball back to me, I don’t swing.

He stands up and shakes his head. “You could have gotten that.”

“I didn’t want to. Can we go now?”

“No. Hit this back to me ten times, then we’ll go.”

He hits the next ball right at me. I hit it lightly.

“Nine,” he says, counting down.

Three more balls come within arms length and I gently hit them, so they easily fly over the net right to him. My feet still haven’t moved from this spot.

“Six.”

Five more gentle balls fly over the net and bounce right in front of me. I send them flying back slowly.

“One more, Maggie. Then we’re out of here.”

Great. Only one more and the humiliation can end.

He sails one hard and fast over the net. It bounces five feet away from me. I don’t even try to get it. He does it again . . . and again. I put my racquet at my side and stare at him. “Are you trying to humiliate me?”

“Stop acting like a baby and go for the ball already,” he says, shaking his head. “
Come on
.”

How dare he!

This time, as the ball shoots over the net, my anger and nothing else drives me as I take three steps and whack the ball back at Caleb with all the pent-up power and frustration inside me.

It hits him squarely on his arm. “Ow!” I don’t ask him if he’s okay, because he has this arrogant look on his face and the corners of his mouth turn up in victory. “Did that feel as good to you as it did to me?” he asks.

I throw the racquet at him and head off the court.

I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it felt exhilarating and awesome.

He steps beside me and pulls me to him. “I’m gonna have a bruise, you know,” he says. “But watching you whack that thing was damn hot.”

I look over at the welt growing on his arm. “It was?”

In a swift motion, he moves forward and pins me against the fence with his body. “I’m going to kiss you.”

My stomach does a little flip; I forget about being mad. My nerves take over all emotions. “Here?”

“Oh, yeah. Right here, right now. You gonna run away this time?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”

He smiles, amused at my answer.

I look up into his eyes that give me a glimpse into his private world, then lick my lips in anticipation.

And that is the beginning of our kissing marathon. All I have to say is that I don’t feel inexperienced after an hour of lips and tongues and innocent and not-so-innocent caresses on both sides. I don’t feel insecure about kissing anymore.

We moved from the courts to the park and back to my bedroom. On my bed. Caleb leans back and moans. “We have to stop this or my body is going to suffer aftershocks for days.”

Relaxing, I lay my head on his chest. “That was nice.”

“Yeah, too nice.”

He’s breathing heavily. We both are. I take a deep, slow breath and bask in the moment. I could stay here forever, just like this. Gazing. Feeling wanted. Feeling protected. Feeling normal.

“I should hate you for making me play tennis.”

“Yeah. But you can’t, can you? Besides, we’ve had a makeout session you’ll be thinking about for weeks.”

“You’ve got an ego problem.”

“Only with you.” He chuckles, then yawns.

“Do I bore you?” I ask.

“Not at all,” he says, stroking my hair. “It’s just . . . I don’t sleep too well. And I’m so relaxed and content my body is ready to crash.”

I lean up on my elbows. “So sleep.”

“Here?”

“Sure. My mom won’t be home until late.” I start to get up, to leave him my whole bed so he could sleep in peace.

“Don’t leave me,” he says. “Lie next to me.” He pulls me down with him. “You’re so different,” he says almost to himself.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, looking away. I want to keep the false fantasy that I’m the same as other girls, at least for a little while.

“Different in a good way.” His brows furrow. “A really good way.”

Then he pulls me tight against him. We’re spooned together as if we’ve been dating for years. We’re even sharing the pillow I’ve slept on since I was ten. The last thing I remember before waking up is Caleb’s slow, rhythmic breathing behind me as he falls into slumber.

But now I hear the front door open and I’m fully awake. “Caleb, wake up. My mom’s home.”

It takes him a second to get his bearings, we’ve been sleeping for over five hours.

“Wait here and don’t make a sound,” I say, then kiss him on his sleepy lips.

Sliding out from beneath his arm pinning me to him, I close my bedroom door and head downstairs. “Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice groggy from sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sweetheart. I hate these late Sunday nights, but I’d rather have them and be able to spend the mornings with you. It seems we spend much too little time together lately.” She puts down her purse and starts climbing the stairs. I pray she doesn’t want to hang out in my room and have one of those mother/daughter talks. Not now. But I guess if she does, the truth will come out. Maybe it would be a blessing in disguise, but I’d rather not chance it.

“It’s fine, Mom. You always worry about the small stuff.”

She doesn’t hear the creak of my bed behind my door. But I do.

Mom’s eyebrows furrow. “Why are you sleeping in your clothes?”

Oops. “I was in my room and must have dozed.”

“Well, I’m beat, too. Go back to bed. You have school in the morning. And change out of those clothes.”

“Okay. Good night.” I hope she doesn’t realize I’m anticipating with bated breath the moment she closes the door to her room.

When she closes her bedroom door, I hurry back to my room. Caleb is sitting on my bed, startled. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, still looking as dangerous and cool as ever even half-asleep. “I lost track of time.”

“Me, too.”

He walks over to the window.

“Caleb, what are you doing?” I whisper.

“Finding a way out.”

I put my hand on his arm and tug on it. “You’re not jumping out my window. Just wait fifteen minutes and I’ll lead you to the front door. My mom sleeps like the dead and she falls asleep really fast. Besides, if we get caught we’re in this together. Right?”

It takes him a while to respond. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe what I just said. “Yeah. Right,” he finally murmurs.