Someone Else (11 page)

And I couldn’t really fault him for that, because I had been toeing that line myself.

“You okay?”

I jumped. Again, it was as if Dylan had materialized out of thin air, like the Ghost of Christmas Present.

“Yeah.” I tried to smile but only got as far as a tight-lipped grimace. “Did Jess send you to find me?”

His brow creased in confusion, and for the first time that night I noticed how cute he looked in his button-down shirt and dark pants. “No. I was on my way to the bathroom and saw you over here. You looked upset.”

I peered into the crowd, searching for Breton. I didn’t see her, but I did see Jill Holloway out on the dance floor, wearing a dress that was probably popular in the adult entertainment circuit.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, with a real smile this time. “I just miss my boyfriend.”

My words made him flinch a little, which cheered me up more than I cared to admit. “Oh,” he said, his usual scowl slipping into place.

“He’ll be home soon.” I felt driven by some need to….what? Let him down easy? Provoke a reaction? Get back at him for Breton?

His only response was to change the subject. “You look better without all that crap on your face,” he told me. His honesty was refreshing.

“Jessica,” I said, and he nodded like it made perfect sense.

We stood there in silence for a minute, and I assumed that was it. He’d made sure I was okay and now he’d go back to Breton. But he didn’t. In fact, he asked me to dance.

“I don’t think so,” I said. A slow song was playing, an old classic that had somehow gained popularity over the years. “Breton’s probably looking for you,” I added, as if that were the only thing holding me back from accepting.

“She can wait.” He extended his arm a little, as if reaching for my hand, but then quickly dropped it. “Come on. Just one.”

Like a slide show, my brain ran through its mental catalog of horrifying images, which had grown substantially in the last few hours. One new one consisted of Michael on the bed
with
Lauren, his fingers in her hair and her mouth on his.

“Okay,” I said, and I led the way to the dance floor.

****

Dylan was a couple of inches shorter than Michael, and slighter, so when our bodies met, everything seemed to line up perfectly.

I pretended not to notice.

We didn’t speak at all at first, probably because being this close to each other felt kind of awkward. But once we’d settled into our positions—not pressed together but not miles apart either—the initial embarrassment melted away and we began to talk.

We talked about exams, our classes, our friends, the decorations. Safe things to distract us from the danger in everything else. Like the warmth of his hand on my back, for example, and the way his muscles contracted slightly under my palms. Neither of us made a move to let go when the first song ended, and the relief was palpable between us when another slow one came on and we realized we didn’t have to let go just yet. All these things added up to something I couldn’t bear to contemplate.

The second dance was different, more serious than the lighthearted first one. Dylan got braver and pulled me a little closer, his cheek resting against my hair. I could feel him slowly inhaling, breathing me in, while I concentrated on not brushing against his shoulder with my face, which I knew had to be sweaty and/or oily by now, in prime condition to stain any fabric it touched. By focusing on this, I could almost ignore how nice he smelled and how my stomach performed acrobatics whenever our bodies grazed.

About halfway through the song, I looked over Dylan’s shoulder to see Jill Holloway looking straight at me. She was dancing with some guy I’d seen around school but didn’t know. His hands were placed dangerously close to her ass, and he kept ogling her cleavage. She didn’t appear to notice, intent as she was on Dylan and me. When she caught me looking back at her she dropped her gaze, but not before I noticed the expression on her face. Concern. She looked concerned for me, this girl I barely knew and didn’t even like.

Before I could even begin to decipher what that meant, I was distracted by another small exert of pressure on my back as Dylan drew me even closer. As he did this he turned his head slightly so that his lips were buried in my hair, and all of a sudden I knew whatever feelings he had for me were still alive and well, in spite of Breton. And in spite of Michael.

I backed away, out of his arms. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I knew if he didn’t hear me over the music, he’d see it on my face and still understand.

“Wait,” he said, reaching for my hand. He blinked at me, disoriented, his eyes dark with desire. Desire for me.

“Sorry,” I said again, and I spun around and practically ran off the dance floor, leaving him to stand there alone.

The hallway was bright and quiet as I retrieved my coat from the coat check. Before I even got it all the way on, I dug in the pocket for my cell phone and called home.

“I need you to pick me up,” I said when my mother answered on the second ring.

“What?” she said. Jess’s dad had given us a lift to the dance and Lia’s brother had agreed to drive us home after. My calling for a ride at ten o’clock was not part of the plan.

“Can you come and get me?”

Mom paused for a moment. “Have you been drinking, Taylor?”

“No. I just want to go home now.” I wished I’d come here in my car, so I could hop in and zoom away like this night had never happened.

“Okay.” She still sounded uncertain. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” I hung up the phone and sprinted to the washroom, but not the one close to the gym. I went upstairs to the second floor, where I knew no one would think to look for me. The washroom by the library was empty, and I huddled in there for exactly nine minutes before slinking back down to the main doors. Mom was waiting for me in the parking lot. I’d made it. Safe.

“Taylor, what is going on?” my mother said as I climbed into the passenger seat.

“I don’t feel good and I want to go home. That’s all.” Funny, I thought, considering the reason I’d bolted in the first place was because I’d been feeling a little
too
good.

“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

With a roll of my eyes, I leaned over and blew in her face. The lingering scent of gingerbread filled the space between us. “Happy?” I asked, sitting back.

She glared at me but didn’t press it any further. Miraculously, she didn’t badger me for the rest of time drive home, not even about my overdone makeup job. Sometimes even my mother knew when to back off.

As soon as I got in the house I headed straight for the bathroom to wash all the crap off my face. When it was gone, rinsed down the drain, my pale reflection stared back at me in the mirror. I met my own eyes once and then quickly looked away.

In my room, I finally checked my phone. A text from Michael waited for me, a request to call him when I got home. No matter how late it was. I studied his neat letters, wishing they could tell me his thought process as he typed them. But they were just letters, black and cold against the bright screen. I pressed the off button and then shed my dress for a worn nightgown. Feeling more in control now that all the vestiges of the night had been stripped from my face and body, I slunk out to the kitchen to get a glass of water and the laptop, bringing both back to my room.

I powered up the computer, hoping and praying that Erin was online. She was.

“Hey,” I typed, so relieved to see her name in the online section that I almost broke into tears. Erin and I still IMed regularly, and she’d done more than her share of listening to me bitch in text form. I hated to add more to it now, but I desperately needed someone to talk to.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

I hesitated over the keyboard. Took a few gulps of water. Placed my fingers on the keys. Hesitated again.

“Taylor? You OK?”

“No.”

Sad face. “What’s wrong?”

My fingers hovered over the keys for what felt like an eternity as I debated in my head. I could still feel the heat and pressure of Dylan’s hand on my back. I could still smell him on my skin. My face itched from all that makeup I’d scrubbed off. There were some reminders I’d never be able to wash away.

Finally, I forced myself to answer Erin’s question. “There’s this guy at school…I think I’m attracted to him.”

I expected surprised silence or a line of exclamation marks or at least some expression of shock. But Erin’s response was short and quick. “Talk to me.”

Chapter 10

My stepsister Leanne planned to become a counselor for troubled teens. She was majoring in sociology at Kinsley, and her minor was psychology. “I’m fascinated by human behavior,” she’d told me once. I understood that—human beings are complex creatures who sometimes do things that make no sense. So it was no wonder Leanne was intrigued by me.

She was especially enthralled the day she found me in the upstairs bathroom, re-dying my hair. Or trying to.

“Um,” she said, watching me glop handfuls of dye on my head. “You missed a few spots.”

I sighed. This wasn’t nearly as easy as Robin had made it look back in September. I’d mixed the dye okay, but there didn’t seem to be enough to cover all my hair. And my scalp was burning.

“Can you help me?” I begged. She took in my wild eyes and red hands and the smell of scorched hair and then went to get the folding chair from my room. I sunk down on it, trying to hold back tears. “Sorry. I know you’re probably busy.”

“It’s okay.” Her small hands massaged my scalp. “I don’t mind.”

I looked at her in the mirror, remembering how it used to be between us. Back then, when she seemed to hate me just for existing, I couldn’t imagine her helping me do the dishes let alone an onerous job like this one. But now we were friends. Not the type of friends who told each other everything, but friends nonetheless. She met my eyes in the mirror, raising her brows a little, and I realized I’d been staring.

“Thanks,” I said, dropping my eyes. “It looks better.”

“Why did you decide to do this again?”

“I liked it auburn.”

“Brown’s nice too.” She leaned against the counter. “Taylor, no offense, but you’re acting a little strange. The last time Michael came home you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day. This time you look…I don’t know. Terrified.”

So it showed. “I’m just nervous about seeing him. It’s been two months, you know.”

“Hmm,” she said, eyeing me like the future brain-picker she was.

Leanne had no clue about what had gone on these past two months, about Lauren or Dylan or any of it. She assumed Michael and I were handling this long-distance dating thing just fine, that we were closer than ever and both overjoyed at the prospect of spending every waking moment together over Christmas vacation.

Of course, none of those things were true.

In the two weeks since the holiday dance, things had gone from weird to weirder. After talking to Erin that night, I decided that I’d try to ignore Dylan completely. My conversation with Erin reminded me how much Michael meant to me, how special he was. How good we were together. And we
were
still together, in spite of everything. When I finally called him back the day after the dance, neither of us mentioned Lauren or the fact that she’d been asleep in his room. I could have called him on it—most girls would have, I’m sure—but I refused to be a hypocrite. Maybe he’d crossed a line, but I’d crossed it right alongside him.

So, as it stood right now, we were still in limbo. And the next couple of weeks would surely push us in one direction or the other. What bothered me the most was I wasn’t sure which direction I was rooting for.

How could I admit all that to anyone who wasn’t tucked safely behind a computer screen?

“Thanks again, Leanne,” I said once my hair was rinsed and looking almost as good as the first dye job.

“It sucks to dye alone, Taylor,” she said with a grin, and then left me to my primping. Michael was due in twenty minutes and I still wasn’t dressed.

My stomach lurched every time I thought about seeing him. Would he be able to tell? Would he see it in my eyes? Not that there was much to see there. I hadn’t even spoken to Dylan since the dance. Chemistry labs were over until after the break and I’d been avoiding my locker altogether. The only time I was required to be near him was at lunch, and during that time I made sure to act interested in the latest gossip, so Jess and Lia and Mallory would distract me with their daily grievances. It didn’t fool Dylan though. He knew what I was trying to do, but that didn’t stop him from watching me. Even with Breton by his side, his eyes always found me.

But aside from the occasional evocative glance, that was as far as it went. It was over. I’d stopped it in time. I’d still be able to look Michael in the eye, and hopefully he’d still be able to look me in mine. I’d find out soon enough.

Leo started barking downstairs, signaling the arrival of an unfamiliar someone. Then the barking stopped short, as if Leo suddenly realized that he knew and loved this person. Michael.

“Taylor, honey,” my father called from downstairs. “Michael’s here.”

“Be right down,” I called back, and I took a final look in the mirror before leaving my room.

Last time, I’d waited downstairs for Michael to arrive, hardly able to contain myself as I rushed to the door to greet him. This time, I descended the stairs slowly, unsure of what I was about to find.

The first thing I noticed was that he had let a little stubble grow in on his jaw and chin, which made him look older and…well…unbelievably
hot
. He was standing in the foyer with Leo, who gazed lovingly up at him, his tongue hanging out (me and him both). I stopped on the bottom step, gaping like an idiot. Right then I couldn’t even remember my
own
name, let alone Dylan’s.

“Hi,” he said.
That smile.

“Hi.”

Any further conversation seemed irrelevant, not to mention impossible, because less than a second later I was in his arms and we were kissing.