Breaking Beautiful (22 page)

“Having babies, periods.” She rolls her eyes. “At least this dance is girls’ choice, so we don’t have to do all the work and then sit around and wait for a guy to ask us.”

“So you have a date?” I misjudge the distance to the bag and dump half a shovelful back on the ground.

“No,” she sighs. “I can’t decide who to ask.”

“What happened between you and Randall?” I want to add “this time,” but I resist the urge.

She shrugs. “I’m not sure anymore. We fight all the time when we’re together. But when we’re not”—she screws up her face and pushes her blond-red hair out of her face—“I kinda miss him.”

“You make a cute couple.” They do, even if they fight a lot. I never got Angie and Randall’s relationship. They always have these big fights in public. Not like me and Trip. All of our fights were in private and usually one-sided.

“Do you think I should give him another chance?” Angie brushes the sand off her rolled-up jeans. “I mean, we are kind of great together.”

“I don’t know.” I’m not up to giving relationship advice. It’s bizarre that she would even ask me.

“No one’s asked him to the dance yet.” She stops filling bags and looks at me. “Are you going?”

I drop the bag I was trying to tie and the sand spills out. “No.”

“No? Not with Blake?”

I shake my head and bend closer to refill the bag.

She looks out toward the cliff. “I guess if my boyfriend died I wouldn’t go, either. Just kissing another guy would freak me out. I mean, what if Trip were a ghost or something? Would he come back and haunt you if you were with another guy? Especially a guy like Blake.”

The look I give her, I hope, portrays that that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Even so, when the wind blows against my head and my hair ruffles around my scar, a cold chill runs down my back. Trip doesn’t need to haunt me in person. His circle of influence stretches way beyond the grave.

She goes back to filling the bag. “Blake is kind of cute in that ‘bad boy, rebel without a cause’ sort of way. What do you think Randall would do if I—”

Someone yelling and a vehicle tearing across the sand stops her before she finishes her sentence.

“There’s the guys,” Angie says. For a second I think she said, “There’s our guys.”

Blake and Randall are driving toward us in Randall’s pickup. Blake is in the back, hanging on to a frame made out of metal tubes. It looks like Randall is trying to shake him out.

“Hello, ladies.” Randall slams his truck into park and jumps
out almost before it comes to a complete stop. I’m afraid that Blake is going to be thrown out, but he’s grinning as he jumps out behind Randall.

“We cut metal with fire.” Randall beams like a little boy.

“Brilliant.” Angie looks at me and rolls her eyes. “See?” I can’t believe I’m sharing a private joke with her.

“So the good news is, you can stop all of this, because my friend Randall here”—Blake slaps Randall’s back—“has engineered the frame so it won’t tip over, even without weights.”

“So we’ve been doing this for nothing.” Angie throws her shovel down and glares at Randall. “We’ve been out here in the cold wind, with sand blowing in our faces, getting dirty, and busting our butts, so you guys could tell us ‘never mind.’”

“I thought you’d be impressed.” Randall drapes his arm across Angie’s shoulders and makes a broad gesture toward the frame in the back of the truck. “Isn’t it cool?”

She pulls away. “Like I said, brilliant. You couldn’t have called when you figured out we didn’t need to do this?”

“Maybe I don’t have your phone number,” Randall says.

“You used to have my phone number and it hasn’t changed. In fact, you used to have me on speed dial and that picture of me on the front of your phone.” She steps closer to Randall. “I wonder whose picture you have there now.”

Randall claps his hand over his pocket, but Angie is too quick for him. She grabs his phone and takes off across the beach. He chases her, but she’s pretty fast. It takes me this long to get that she’s flirting.

Blake turns to me. “Sorry you had to do all this work for nothing. What do you think of the frame?”

I study the metal structure. “I thought we were going with wood because it was cheap.”

“Yeah, but Randall’s dad had a bunch of metal pipe that he said we could use. And it will be sturdier. And—”

“And you got to cut metal with fire.”

“Yeah, that part was cool,” Blake says.

“It looks kinda metallic and new.” I look up quick, in case I insulted his work. “I’m sure it will look a lot better with your paintings hanging on it.”

“We do need to age it a bit.” Blake runs his hand across the frame. “With black paint or maybe brown. We can work on that this weekend.” He drops his hand and says softly, “Just two weeks until the dance.”

Dread creeps into my heart like fog. I don’t want the dance to come, mostly because it means the end of my excuse to hang out with Blake. After New Year’s Eve, Mom said it was okay if I kept working for Grandma Joyce, but she’s had fewer orders lately, probably because the holidays are over.

“How’s the last painting coming?” I say.

“Finished it. Last night. I was up until like two o’clock.” He yawns.

“You finished the last one?” I feel like he left me out of something important. “I didn’t even get to see it.”

“I know,” Blake says. “I want it to be a surprise, for the night of the dance.”

I look away from him and toward the ocean and Angie and Randall. They seem to be patching up their relationship again, chasing each other in front of the waves, with the glow of the setting sun behind them—like something out of a movie. I turn
back to Blake because the scene is so familiar that it hurts to watch. “I guess I’ll see the last painting when we set up the day before.”

Blake brushes his hand across his neck. “I was thinking about that.” He clears his throat. “It would be stupid for us to do all this work and then not even go to the dance.”

I look down and draw circles in the sand with my toe. “I’m surprised Kasey hasn’t asked you yet. I heard she was going to.”

“Actually, she did.” He draws a circle next to mine with his shoe. “She put a big poster over my locker a couple of days ago.”

Jealousy hits my chest—cold and sharp. I fight it. “Oh, I guess I missed that.”

“You didn’t see it because I took the poster down fast. I didn’t want her to be too embarrassed when I said no.”

My heart leaps. “Why did you say no? Kasey’s really nice and cute and—”

“I told her I already had a date.” Blake steps closer to me—so close I can feel his breath on the scar over my eye. “I told her I was going with you.”

I step back and my eyes travel over his shoulder to the cliff road and the rocky surf below.

“Stay away from him.”

“I can’t.” I’m trying to work up tears by concentrating on the image of Blake in Kasey’s arms. “It’s too soon. I’m not—”

“Too soon for who?” Anger flashes in his eyes and I step back, instinctively moving to protect myself. “You or the kids at school? You or the people in town?” He kicks at the sand.

I squeeze my eyes shut as real tears burn behind them. Now I don’t want him to see me cry.

He stops. “Allie, I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest.

“Don’t.” I try to resist his embrace, but he won’t let go. I start to melt and let him pull me close. His arms around me feel nice—strong enough that I feel safe, but not so tight that I feel trapped.

“I’m sorry,” he says into my hair.

I grit my teeth to keep from crying and shake my head against his shoulder to show him he has nothing to be sorry for. I don’t trust my voice. As soon as I open my mouth, I’ll start bawling and then who knows what will come out.

“I just want you to be okay. I just want you to be happy again.” He smoothes my hair over the top of the scar. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

I can’t answer so I lean against him. My head fits perfectly under his chin, between his neck and his shoulder. When Trip held me it never felt this right. He was so tall that my head got buried in his chest, and it wasn’t soft—not like the tenderness I feel in Blake’s arms.

We stay still, breathing together. My mind fills with the memories of a dozen summers here with him. Exploring the cliffs. Building castles in the sand. The kiss in the cave. And everything since then. Bringing me my homework. The night I threw the box of bad memories over the cliff. Roller-skating in Hoquiam. Him crying on my shoulder on New Year’s Eve.

I think about what Andrew said.

What do I owe Trip?

What do I owe this town?

What do I owe Blake?

The wind sings through the cliffs, the waves crash on the beach. It’s all muted by the sound of his heart thumping against mine, and a tiny, long-silent voice in the back of my head asks, “What do I owe myself?”

Angie’s giggle crashes into my brain like the sneaker waves that used to knock me into the cold surf when I was a little girl. I step away from Blake—quick, embarrassed. Randall is standing behind Angie with his hands on her waist. His eyes are filled with something that looks like disapproval.

“Maybe you guys should double with us.” Angie giggles again.

Blake clears his throat, “We aren’t—”

“No, thanks.” I slip my hand into Blake’s. “We already have somebody to double with.” I stare back at Randall, making him look me in the eye. Remembering that he saw Trip hit me and didn’t try to stop him. I keep my eyes locked with his until he looks away.

Chapter
32

The next day when I come into the kitchen for breakfast, Blake is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal with Andrew and Dad—the sugared kind, the kind that his grandma won’t let him eat.

“Hey,” I say, dropping my backpack.

“Hey.” He grins back. “I thought you might want a ride to school.”

“Means I don’t have to wait for her,” Dad says as he pushes out his chair and kisses me on the forehead. “Have a good day.”

“You ready to go?” I ask Blake.

“What’s the rush?” he says. “Andrew’s bus hasn’t even got here yet. Sit, have a bowl of cereal.”

“Sounds good.” I sit in the chair next to Blake and pour myself a bowl of the sugary stuff, too. Sitting together, the two of us crunching on sugared cereal, reminds me of when we were kids. It feels good.

All the way to school we talk Sweetheart Ball plans—not dance committee stuff—our own plans. Andrew told me he asked Caitlyn so we’re doubling with them.

“So what do you want to do for costumes?” Blake asks as we turn into the school. “We don’t have very much time.”

“Caitlyn invited me to go costume shopping with her on Saturday. She said her sister manages a vintage clothing/costume shop in Aberdeen.” I’m a little worried about shopping with Caitlyn. Based on her regular wardrobe, I wonder what kind of costume she’s going to come up with.

“Saturday’s not good for me. I have to work.” Blake pulls into the school parking lot and turns off the car.

“She doesn’t want you and Andrew there anyway. She said it’s girls’ choice so we get to choose.” The idea of picking out a costume for Blake without his input makes me nervous. What if he hates it? “But if you have any ideas …”

“I trust you.” He turns off the car. “Vintage clothing, huh? Sounds cool.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling that Caitlyn buys most of her clothes there.”

Blake looks at me like he’s surprised. “What’s wrong with Caitlyn’s clothes?”

“They’re a little weird. Don’t you think?”

“She has her own style. That’s cool, right? Like you and your hats.” He reaches over and tugs at my beret. I hold it down so he doesn’t see the weird mass that my hair has become. I’m trying to grow it out so it really covers my scar.

Blake climbs out, shoulders both of our backpacks, and reaches for my hand. I glance behind him, to see if anyone is
watching, but I take his hand and hold on as I climb out of the car. Thanks to Angie, the whole school probably knows we’re going to the dance together anyway.

I’m kind of floating across the parking lot when I hear a shrill voice screaming in our direction. “You broke into my house!” It’s Hannah. This feels familiar, but the last time Hannah freaked out on me, we were in the cafeteria, not in the parking lot. “Both of you.” She points a long, red, manicured fingernail at me first, and then at Blake. “You were in my bedroom.”

My heart flutters like a bird trying to escape from my rib cage, but Blake stays calm. He grips my hand. Maybe he thinks I’ll go after her again. “What are you talking a—”

“You stole it. Right out of my bedroom. Because you were jealous.” Her voice quivers. “Jealous because he loved me more.”

The other kids in the parking lot make a loose circle around us, looking for another chick fight—Hannah and Allie round two. But I’m not going to lose it this time. I scrape the edge of the tigereye with my chewed-off fingernail. “What exactly do you think I—”

“—everything, everything he ever gave me. It’s all gone.” Instead of lunging toward me she flops onto the curb and bursts into shoulder-shaking sobs, the kind that get hard to watch after a couple of seconds. The circle evaporates, kids looking at each other, shrugging, and shaking their heads as they walk away.

She looks so pitiful that part of me wants to comfort her. I look around for Angie or Megan, but they aren’t here. I walk toward her and reach for her shoulder. “Han—”

“Don’t touch me.” She bats at my hand and I step away.

“Break it up!” Mr. Barnes yells. The circle reforms as he
steps between me and Hannah. He looks from me to Blake then to Hannah—a sobbing, gushy mess on the sidewalk. He backs away like he did when I mentioned feminine supplies. “Maybe we should take this to Ms. Holt’s office.”

Between the three of us we get Hannah into the health room. She’s blubbering about calling Detective Weeks because we broke into her house.

“What was stolen?” Ms. Holt asks calmly. The nurse’s office is crowded with me, Blake, Mr. Barnes, Ms. Holt, and Hannah. It gets worse when the bell rings and Ms. Holt has to shut her door because of the long, curious looks from the hallway.