Authors: Temple West
Jack shook Mark’s hand. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“It was all Trish’s idea,” he said. “I just live here. Speaking of, I have to go help my dear mother with the hors d’oeuvres. Enjoy the party.”
He made a quick exit, but not before making eye contact with Jenny for a split second.
“Jenny!” Stephanie called excitedly from across the room.
“See you later, Caitlin,” Jenny said, and escaped to the safety of a group of girls. Jack nodded at us and wandered off.
“What was that all about?” Adrian asked.
Not wanting to be overheard, I said, “Quick, hug me.”
He seemed to hesitate, but a moment later, I felt his arms circle my waist. I put my hand on his neck and pulled him down until I could whisper in his ear.
“When I was over here the other night, Jenny and Mark were up at four in the morning talking together in the kitchen. He asked her to model for him this summer. You’re objective. I was wondering if you could watch them tonight and tell me what you think.”
“You want me to spy on them?”
“Not spy so much as observe.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m paranoid he’s your dad.”
Adrian turned sharply to look at Mark’s retreating figure, and I pulled his face back. “Don’t look now! You’re the worst spy ever.”
“I’ll check it out,” Adrian murmured.
“Movie’s starting!” Trish called.
“What’re we watching?” someone called out.
“
Moulin Rouge!
” she yelled back.
People started congregating in the family room, so we followed. Somehow in the chaos of trying to seat that many people in that small of a room, Adrian and I ended up sitting together on the love seat. Way off in the shadows of the room sat Meg, Steph, Laura, and Jenny. Jack had gotten stuck sitting next to Paul and Jimmy on the floor.
I wondered where Mark was. Just as the movie started, I saw him slip into the corner. Jenny didn’t react, but for a moment she closed her eyes. I looked at Adrian and saw he was surreptitiously glancing over at the corner every now and again.
I settled into the love seat more comfortably, curling up next to Adrian (because people would expect us to look all lovey-dovey, especially on New Year’s Eve) and he put his arm around my shoulders, but like earlier, he seemed to hesitate. I didn’t have time to think about it because Ewan McGregor went into a spitfire narration about the children of the revolution and bohemians and narcoleptic Argentineans.
I watched the rest of the movie feeling like I had a little golden ball of happiness inside me that was engulfed by a cold, crushing mass of sadness. It didn’t help that Ewan McGregor was singing every five minutes about how great love was and all you need is love and we should be lovers forever and ever and all that sentimental crap that somehow seemed so sincere coming from him.
And of course, she dies—even after they defeat the creepy-ass duke, she dies anyway. He couldn’t save her. Love didn’t win.
I wasn’t the only girl who was teary-eyed at the end of the movie. Who the hell’s idea was it to watch
Moulin Rouge!
anyway?
As we let the melancholy credits roll, Trish solemnly announced that it was almost time. I hadn’t realized the movie was that long—but here we were, five minutes from midnight.
Trish switched the channel to a news station and the TV host talked animatedly about the upcoming countdown. Everyone perked up and got chatty as Trish passed around champagne poppers and kazoos. I closed my eyes, afraid my face revealed how upset I was.
“Caitlin?” I heard Adrian ask, sounding mildly concerned.
I turned my face toward his and smiled. “I’m just tired,” I told him, which was true, if not the truth, per se.
“One minute!” Trish yelled. The excitement in the room rose tangibly.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and kept the smile plastered on my face, trying to make it look relaxed and natural. I was going to have to get better at lying to him. Which would be a trick, considering he could read my emotions.
I guess I’d have to get better at lying to myself.
“Thirty seconds!”
Somehow over the course of the movie I had pretty much wriggled my way onto his lap. I leaned my head back against the armrest and looked up at him; his dark, wavy hair partly shadowing his face. I reached up and slowly brushed it back.
“Ten seconds! Nine!”
I slid my hand down his jaw, over his chest, and splayed my fingers over his heart, listening with my fingertips to the incredibly slow beat.
“Eight! Seven!” the crowd yelled on the TV. “Six!” everyone in the room shouted. “Five!”
I wanted to tell him. He had to know, it was
important
that he know—
“Four! Three! Two!
One!
”
—I was done pretending.
“Happy New Year!” a dozen voices cried out as an avalanche of confetti burst onto the TV screen and filled Times Square.
But I barely heard them.
I leaned close—so close my lashes brushed his cheek—and waited, giving him a chance to pull away. But he didn’t. He tilted his face toward me a fraction of an inch—
And I kissed him.
It was soft and still, like one breath would break us both. He drew in a sharp breath and pressed his lips to my temple, eyes flared into their luminous silver. He pinched them closed, resting his cheek against mine. I slid my fingers through his hair and let my cool hand rest on his warm neck, slowly folding him into my arms. He buried his face in my shoulder and hugged me tightly.
We didn’t say anything.
I held on to him as long as he would let me, and then I let him go.
As we were leaving, Adrian intentionally bumped into Mark while helping me on with my coat, to get a better “read.” When we got into the truck, he told me that Mark was definitely human—he could actually sense his emotions and they all felt “light,” which I guess was a good thing. Basically, there was no way he was Adrian’s dad.
When we got to the ranch, Adrian walked me to the door and popped inside to say good night to Joe—who’d waited up for me—before driving home. I wondered, not for the first time, how he got back over every night, and how he got past the locked front door. He couldn’t dare take the truck, because Rachel and Joe would be able to see it from their bedroom window. Did he walk? It was a mile each way. Which really wasn’t that far for someone like him, but still, it was every night in the snow and the dark.
I didn’t wonder long, though, because I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. When I woke up, Adrian was just kicking his shoes off to climb into bed. I sat up to give him enough room, then realized I hadn’t set my alarm for the next day. Unfortunately, I’d left a half-f mug of coffee on my nightstand right next to my phone, and when I groped blindly for it, I knocked the mug over. It crashed to the floor, spilling coffee all over my pillows—and Adrian’s white shirt.
It was a mark of how distracted he was that his first thought was to take care of the stain—instead of listen and see whether anyone else had heard the noise.
He’d just pulled his shirt over his head when the door burst open and the light flipped on. Norah stood there with a fireplace hatchet and a sleepy look on her face.
“I heard a—”
But she stopped dead when she saw Adrian sitting next to me in bed, half-naked.
We all froze in a moment of mutually stunned silence.
And then, of course, Joe came in behind Norah.
“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes still adjusting to the light as he squinted into the room. It didn’t take him long, however, to notice who was in bed with me.
Without a word, Joe took the hatchet from his daughter’s hand.
“Norah, go back to bed.”
Shit. That was Joe’s serious voice.
Norah slunk off immediately, although I would’ve bet money she had her ear pressed to the door. I’m pretty sure she had rushed in here with the hatchet to protect me from whatever it was she’d thought had been attacking, but Joe looked like he wanted to use it for other purposes.
And then Rachel walked in.
It took her a split second longer to take in and process the scene before her.
I knew I should speak up and explain what was really going on, but—how? For once, Adrian was just as tongue-tied as I was—and probably just as scared.
Joe finally pointed at Adrian with the hatchet. “You—out.”
Adrian pulled his still-damp shirt back over his head and stood, grabbing his shoes.
Joe didn’t move, so Adrian had to shuffle sideways to get through the door. Joe and Rachel shared a look before Joe followed Adrian, and Rachel stepped into my room, closing the door behind her.
“Would you like to tell me anything about what just happened?” Rachel asked. I could see a vein beating in her temple.
I didn’t say anything. Honestly, what could I say that she would believe? There was no way to defend myself.
“I’m disappointed,” Rachel continued after I didn’t speak. “You told me earlier tonight that you and Adrian weren’t … together. You lied to me.”
I could feel my face burning, not in embarrassment, but in anger. This was unfair. She didn’t know it was unfair, but it was still unfair, and it made me really, really angry. I already knew what was coming next.
“Consider yourself grounded until further notice,” Rachel said. “Joe and I will discuss this with you in the morning.” She turned to leave and then stopped, looking back over her shoulder. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again. Finally, she left, turning off the light behind her.
In the darkness, I sat very still. If I moved, all of the rage would leak out somewhere, and I’d do something rash, like yell, or slam my door, or run out in the night to go scream and throw rocks at birds. I stayed still until I started shaking, and then I lay down and stared blankly at the wall, and didn’t fall asleep until dawn.
* * *
I wasn’t allowed to see Adrian anymore. Rachel drove me to school every morning, and picked me up every afternoon, as if afraid I’d make a run for it.
They couldn’t keep me from seeing Adrian on campus, but that hardly mattered—he seemed to be punishing me as well, though for
what
, I had no idea, because he refused to talk to me. At lunch, he’d walk me to the picnic tables and even sit next to me, but he wouldn’t speak or make eye contact unless someone started acting suspicious. If necessary, he’d put his arm around my shoulders mechanically or kiss my hair.
After lunch, we’d walk hand in hand to my fifth-period class—silently. In study hall, if I asked him to help with algebra or chemistry, he would. Other than that, we didn’t talk. I convinced Rachel and Joe that without Adrian, I’d be failing my classes, so they occasionally let him over to the living room to tutor me, but they’d be sitting in the same room with us, chaperoning. I made a habit of shoving my hands into my coat pockets so no one would see that they were shaking. The rage of several months ago came back in full force, drenching every moment.
The one thing that surprised me was that Rachel and Joe let me hang out with Trish—in fact, they encouraged it. Maybe they figured if I hung out with my friends more often, I’d forget about Adrian. I went over to Trish’s three or four times a week for the afternoon, and often one of the others would come, too; mostly Meghan, but sometimes Stephanie with Laura or Jenny. Ben was also over at Trish’s a lot. He never interfered with us hanging out with her, but he was always nearby, and I often caught the two lying side by side on the floor or sitting next to each other on the couch, holding hands, as if that simple expression was all they needed to say how they felt about each other. I felt so happy for Trish, and for Ben too, I suppose, but mixed in was a stupid bitterness. The most complicated thing that would ever interfere in their relationship was whether or not Trish made it into Oxford. I could picture him gladly going with her. I could picture them getting married. I could picture them with big, fat babies, and grandbabies. They would eat scones and start saying “poppycock!” and they’d be happy.
I tried to push the bitterness down.
I tried—but most days, I failed.
Rachel dropped me off at school and I shuffled, eyes mostly closed, to homeroom. I got all of three steps before tripping over the curb, landing on a piece of ice, and going straight down in a flail of limbs. Adrian was walking ahead of me down the sidewalk and must have done his vampire thing and rushed over, because I never actually hit the ground. Holding me, he sighed—an angry sound—and put his arm around my waist as he half dragged, half led me to Mr. Warren’s class. Trish met us at the door and stared curiously.
“Can you help her inside?”
“Sure.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t ask any more questions, just slung my arm over her shoulders and helped me walk through the door. After she deposited me in my seat, the bell rang, and I knew Adrian would be long gone.
“What’s wrong with you?” Trish whispered, leaning close before Mr. Warren took roll.
“I’m tired,” I replied bluntly. My cheek was stuck to the desk and my eyes were cemented shut.
“You look like you haven’t slept for a week.”
“Mphm,” I replied. More like two weeks, but whatever.
“What’s wrong with Duchess de la Mara?” Meghan asked. I’d made the mistake of looking at her face; she wore lipstick so bright it seemed to pierce my eyes.
Mr. Warren saved the day. “Rise for the Pledge of Allegiance, please. You, too, Ms. Holte.”
Trish grabbed my arm and all but dragged me up. I mumbled the pledge and fell back down into my seat when we were done, dragging my sweatshirt hood over my face and propping my chin on my fist to appear awake. It seemed to work; Mr. Warren didn’t bother me the rest of the class, and Trish raised her hand to answer whenever he looked in our direction.
As the bell rang and we headed to math (a class I had trouble staying awake in anyway), Trish glowered at me. “Mystic, something is seriously not right with you.”
I laughed, a little hysterically, because it was funny.