Ache (2 page)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks again.

“I’m always okay; healing is one of my super-powers.”

“I don’t know anything about super, but you’re my hero tonight.  I’m sorry you got beat up.”

“Beat up?  This?  Ain’t nothing.  No rest for the wicked, isn’t that what they say?”

She laughs sourly and lowers her hand.  “Do you always go around rescuing people, or is it just damsels in distress?”

“No, not all of them, just the ones who need it.  And you needed it.”

She looks down for a moment, maybe replaying everything that just happened, rethinking, and then she changes the subject.  “You weren’t invited to the party, so what’s my hero doing here?” she asks with a curious expression.

“How do you know I wasn’t invited?” I ask.

“Because you’re Connor Clay, and Kyle would never invite you.”  She shakes her head for emphasis.  She looks even cuter when she does it.

“How do you know me?” I ask.

“Everyone knows you.  You have a rep.”

“A rep, huh?  Sounds serious.”

“People say you’re a trouble-maker, start fights, a hoodlum and a few other less charitable things.”

“Less charitable?”

“Yeah,” she says through a grin.

“Well, that’s probably fair, but I’m no hood.  So if you know me, why don’t I know you?” I ask.

“I think we run in different circles.  I’m Bethany.”

“Of course you are,” I say through a smile as I fake a snooty accent.  “Bethany of the Briarcliff family, don’t you know.  They are an in-sti-tution here in Sterling Hills.  Have you not been properly introduced to her sister Buffy?  Quite the fetching young lass.”

“I don’t have a sister, I have a brother and I don’t think fetching is a very good description,” she says while her eyes narrow.

“Is his name Biff?” I ask through a grin.

“I see how it is.  You’re one of those guys that thinks they’re better than everyone else
because
you don’t come from money, is that it?”  She’s not smiling.

“No, I never said I was better, but nothing was ever given to me and if it was, it would be special, something to cherish.  I wouldn’t take it for granted,” I say, looking away.

“You think these people had college handed to them?  You think Kyle’s parent’s money made him the starting quarterback?  We worked our butts off to get where we are, grades, college, sports.  Do you think they give scholarships to just anyone?  How dare you judge me.”  She’s glaring at me now.

“Maybe you’re right, I don’t know, but I’m not talking about making first string or getting into fucking college.”

“Then what’s your problem?  What are you jealous of?”

Good question, but it’s not jealousy — it’s the abandonment.

“Not everyone has it this good growing up, okay?”

“What, you didn’t get enough hugs as a kid, is that it?”  She puts her little fists on her hips.

I pause, wondering if she can see through me.  I search her eyes, but can’t tell what’s behind them.  I suddenly feel very small and childish.  I’ve never had anyone call me out quite like this.  I don’t even know why I’m still here, except I don’t want to leave for some reason I can’t explain.  But I can feel it deep inside just the same.

“I’m talking about pretending the evil around them isn’t real, because if they let it in, if they acknowledge it, then they might have to do something about
it.  Better not to get involved,” I say. 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, what evil?” she asks.

“Look, bad stuff happens everywhere, trust me,
that
I do know.  It just pisses me off a little more when it happens on this side of town, like your boyfriend.  Why didn’t your friends check on you?  See?  Better not to get involved,” I say, nodding back towards Kyle’s.  I’m getting pissed.

“So, you’re the new arbiter of virtue?” she says angrily.

“I saved your ass, didn’t I?” I say without thinking.

Her eyes narrow again and I know I’ve hurt her, but she ignores the dig.  “If we all suck so much, then why are you here?” she asks accusingly.

I feel like shit.  I can’t believe I pushed it this far, I have to learn to shut the fuck up.  “I’m sorry.”

“You
’re just drunk,” she says dismissively, but her tone is still irritable.

“No, wrong answer.  That’s th
e second time in five minutes you’ve said that.   Drunk is never an excuse, never.  Hey, look at me.  I’m sorry, really.”

She just nods.

“That doesn’t look like forgiveness,” I encourage.

“Do you think you made a mistake, just now, helping me?” she asks, her eyes are glassy.

“I’d have let that dude pound on me all night if it meant you were safe.  I really am sorry.  My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes.”

There’s something about Bethany, something I can’t quite put my finger on and even though I want to stick around all night, I’m thinking I’ve worn out my welcome here.

I fucked this up too.

“Hey, you may not have noticed it, but there was another fight a little while back out in the front yard, right there for God and everyone to see, and with the music and beer everywhere, I’m pretty sure the cops are going to be here fairly soon, so I have to split, you know; the hoodlum thing.  You going to be okay if I go?” I ask.

I look into her eyes and even with our argument, I regret the question.  Welcome or not, no way is she okay.

“Yeah,” she says, holding her chin up.  Her display of confidence is almost believable and her courage is touching.

“You want me to help you up to the house or go get your friends?”

“God no!”

“Okay, is there someplace you want to go or we could go?” I ask.

“I’m not in the partying mood anymore.”  She looks away, back toward Kyle’s.

“How about I hang with you then, until you figure it out?  We can maybe just walk down a few houses and sit on the curb or something?”

“Thanks.”  She’s slowly getting her composure back.  I can tell she’s been drinking too, but dealing with dick-face must have sobered her up pretty quick.

“Pound on you all night, huh?” she asks through a grin.

“Yeah, but hey, it only took him about a minute.  That leaves us more time to, you know, talk or whatever.  Am I forgiven?”

“No,” she says, but smiles anyway.

I put my arm around her and give her a sideways, non-threatening brotherly hug.  I hold her for a minute and she squeezes my arm and then pulls away.

“For all your arrogance, you did save me.  I’ll give you that.  And you are arrogant,” she says, leveling a stare.  “It’s funny though, someone like you saving me from someone like that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Well, he’s, and you’re — no one would believe that you helped someone like me.  People would think it would have been the other way around.”

“Why’s that?  Oh yeah, the hood thing.  Tell you what, I won’t make fun of your name or money anymore if you won’t think of me as a hood.  Think of me as a time-displaced pirate instead.”

“Time-displaced pirate?” she asks through a smirk.

“I read science-fiction, among other stuff, so sue me.”

“You can read?  Will wonders never cease?”  She grins.

“Keep it up,
I’d rather people not be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal
,” I say.

She pauses.  “What was that?”

“Jane Austen, she wrote some clever shit.  So, what say ye?”

“Okay, okay.  I’m sorry.  But does that mean I’m supposed to be more or less agreeable?”

I give her my own serious look and say, “I think I’d like to be very troubled by you.”

She takes a deep breath and steps away from the tree and then turns, wearing just a wisp of a smile.  “You know, I don’t live far.  You could walk me home; it’s only a couple of blocks over on Oak.  If you want to, that is...”  She looks up sheepishly.

I pretend to ponder the idea over, like I have pressing business somewhere else, but I can think of nowhere I’d rather be than escorting Bethany home, it’s like something out of the books I read — sort of.  “I can do that, but only on one condition,” I say as I push my hair back over my shoulders.

“What’s that?”

“Help me find my hat.”

She laughs and steps out into the street, looks around for a moment, disappears behind Meat’s pick-up and then returns with my fedora.  She starts to hand it to me and then flips it back, rolling it up her arm and puts it on her head in one quick, stylish move.

“What was that?  You on the spirit or dance team or whatever you call it?”

“Something like that,” she says as she runs her fingers along the brim.

“Fine, it looks better on you anyway, but then I figure most things would.  So, Oak Street?”

“Yes, please.”  She grins.

I push off the tree and stagger.  “Maybe you should walk me home?”

She puts her arm around me and it feels warm, comforting, and different than when I hugged her a minute ago — not brotherly at all, or sisterly for that matter.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine, let’s go,” I say.

We cross the street and as we step up onto the sidewalk, she takes my hand, lacing our fingers together.  I squeeze back, assuming she needs the reassurance, the connection with safety and hope she’s forgiven me for being a prick earlier.

It’s really nice.

“Kyle is going to be in so much trouble,” she says.

I’m also guessing she needs to babble about whatever to take her mind off of what just nearly happened, so I go along.  Besides, I like to hear her talk, I like her voice.

“So?” I ask.

“Karen, she’s Kyle’s sister, she’s having her Sweet Sixteen party next weekend.  His parents are out of town and when they get back, they’re going to be pissed.  Kyle’s going to have to clean everything up.  It’s kind of funny, but it’s going to be awful for him too.  He should have known better.”

“Sweet Sixteen?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s a big fancy party, all the girls have them.  Do you live under a rock, you’ve never heard of a Sweet Sixteen party?  And no jokes!”

“No jokes.  I never get invited to parties, sweet or otherwise, so I wouldn’t know.”

“If I knew you then, I would have invited you to mine.”  She squeezes my hand.  “It was last year, it was wonderful.  I felt like Cinderella.”

“Yeah, I can see Cinderella.  It’s probably that beautiful thing you have all over your face.”

She just grins and then watches her feet.

“You said, ‘last year,’ so are you going to be a Senior?” I ask.

“No, I graduated early.  I just turned seventeen.”

“Sweet,” I say.

“I guess.  I’m looking forward to going to college though, you know — all that hard work?”  She looks pointedly at me.

Not forgiven just yet.

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t judging you.  I get the hard work thing, I do.”

“So why are you really here, Mister Connor Clay?” she asks again.

“Really?  I was looking for beer and trouble, not necessarily in that order.”

“You’re already drunk and it looks like trouble already found you, so where were you?”

“I’m in a band.”

“Yeah, I’d heard that.”

I grin again.  It’s hard not to around her.  “Well, I
was
in a band I should say, not anymore.  We were playing over at the Holiday Lounge; we play there most every week.”

“The
Holiday Lounge?  Should that sound familiar?”

“Yeah, it’s that pretentious jazz club over on twenty-third, behind the pharmacy.  Anyway, lots of posers show up there, smoking their clove cigarettes and drinking martinis.  They try to act cool, like they are in the scene, but they’re just trying to get lucky like rutting rodents.”

“Rodents don’t rut, that’s deer,” she grins at me.

“What-the-fuck-ever, they’re assholes — fake.”

“If it’s a bar, how did you get in?  You’re not eighteen.”

“I lied and they never carded me, besides, I think the rules bend some for the band.”

“So what happened?” she asks.

“The owner was being a dick, so I said to him, ‘why don’t you give children a break and go fuck yourself for a change.’”

“You didn’t!  Why did you say that?” she asks in surprise.

“That’s what our singer asked, why, why, why — why does there always have to be a ‘why' — sometimes shit just is.  He’s a creepy fuck.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything, he punched me.  And then I threw a beer bottle at him, but I missed and it shattered the mirror behind the bar.  He told me he was calling the police, and then I told him he just assaulted a minor, so he told the band that either I was gone or they all were.  So they fired me.  I think that about sums it up.”