Forever Now (Forever - Book 1) (17 page)

That’s when I kneed him right in the balls.

“After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.”

--Emily Dickinson

Cruz didn’t flinch, and if I didn’t manage to give him physical pain, he was emotionally distraught.

“Tess, don’t do this. Don’t hurt me.”

“I hate you!” I screamed and cried even more because I didn’t really hate him.

He hugged me hard, pulling the whole of my body against him. I cried deep, wrenching sobs, and he didn’t let go. The party was still going on downstairs, but we had slipped back into our own world.

After a long time, fatigue took over, and my crying stopped. “I didn’t want any of this to happen,” he said, never letting me go. He rested his chin on my head. “You’re everything. You’re so much better than me. Don’t you see that?”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Yes it is. You’re going to be great. You’re going to be a writer, and you’re going to live in Paris, and I will always be nothing and nobody.”

“Don’t say that. That’s not true. You’re amazing.”

Cruz laughed. “No, Tess.
You’re
amazing. And you’re going to have a great life and meet a great guy.”

“You’re a great guy.”

“No, I refuse to be the one who held you back. Now, you go to bed, and I’ll get rid of everyone.”

He picked me up in his arms and carried me to my bed. He covered me with my blanket and kissed me lightly on my forehead.

“It will only take a second,” he said.

I heard him jog down the stairs, and the music stopped. I heard his voice and then a communal “aww” from the group before the door opened and then much later, closed.

Then, silence.

He jogged back upstairs, and the lights flicked off in the hallway. “Move over,” he said in the dark of my bedroom and slipped under the covers next to me, gathering me to him, like two spoons.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I made you hurt me, and that was unforgivable of me. I’ll never play that game again, no matter the pain.”

I didn’t understand him. Nothing he said made sense to me. But I did know he was warm and comforting and for the first time in days, I felt safe. I fell asleep within minutes and finally slept the dreamless sleep I had been hoping for.

***

There was only one more day of school before winter break. I had almost made it through a semester at school without anyone catching on that my mother had abandoned me, and I was feeling pretty good.

That is, until I woke up that Thursday morning with a hundred and three temperature, chills, and a monster sore throat.

“You can’t go to school,” Cruz said, reading the thermometer.

“Take it, again. I’m never sick. It has to be wrong.”

“I’ve taken it three times,” he said. “You’re sick, like really sick. You have the flu.”

I felt horrible. I felt like lions had attacked me and left me for dead and then a truck ran me over.

“I feel fine,” I lied. “If you could pass me my jeans, I’ll go to school.”

I had to go to school. If I didn’t, they would call my mother to see why I was absent, and when they couldn’t reach her that would lead to all kinds of problems.

“I’ll get the Advil,” Cruz said and handed me my jeans.

I was going to need more than Advil. I was going to need IV antibiotics, a heart transplant, and chicken soup.

But I took the Advil and pulled my hair into a ponytail without brushing it first. “How do I look?” I asked Cruz.

“Like you have the flu.”

He drove me to school and insisted on picking me up afterward. I didn’t argue. There was no way I could walk home. In fact, I didn’t think I would make it past third period.

But I did make it through the day. I fell asleep in math class, but otherwise it went by without a hitch. I had an appointment with Mrs. Landes, the college advisor, during the last period, to update me on the Sorbonne, which kind of perked me up.

“France works differently,” she told me. “I’ve been doing my research. They have a different admissions process. They’ve never even heard of the SATs. And it looks like with your grades, you’re a shoe in for the Sorbonne.”

“Shoe in is good, right?”

“Yes, in old people speak, ‘shoe in’ means good.”

I would have cried, but my fever had burned away my last tears. Still, I was happy.

“And there’s more,” Mrs. Landes said.

“Shoe in more?”

“Good more,” she said. “A possibility of a scholarship for tuition and a stipend for living expenses.”

I gasped, taking in a whole lot of air.

“A scholarship?” I asked. “I want a scholarship.”

“I thought so,” she said. “Here’s the application for that and for a student visa. If you get it back to me by April first, signed by your parents, I think you have a decent shot. Happy?”

She smiled, and I tried to smile back. I didn’t have a shot. I was shotless. There was no way I could get my mother to sign anything by April first.

“Thank you for all your help,” I said.

“You don’t look particularly happy, Tess.”

“Just a little under the weather.”

I took the forms and slipped them into my backpack. “Merry Christmas,” I said and left her office.

Cruz was waiting for me in his car at the curb. He had left the car running, which was wise, considering the hit or miss aspect of the engine starting. He hopped out when he saw me, took my backpack and helped me into the car.

“I did it,” I said. “How do I look?”

“Like you have the flu and you forgot to brush your hair.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

Back at home, I put on my pajamas, and Cruz tucked me into bed. He surprised me with a can of chicken noodle soup, which he heated up in the microwave. I took more Advil and sipped the soup.

“Now you can rest for two weeks,” Cruz said. He sat at the edge of my bed and studied me as if I was going to die any second.

“I’m feeling better,” I assured him. “You know what I want to do for Christmas?”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” I agreed.

We were tired. Surviving took up a lot of energy. I just wanted to sleep for two weeks. Cruz and I had put our fight aside and our kiss too, it seemed. We were good friends again, but there was a tangible tension between us, which we didn’t dare comment on.

“I have after Christmas sales to work, but besides that, I want to do nothing,” he said.

We had a lot of nothing at home. Without television or the internet, there wasn’t a lot to do in the house. “Mrs. Maclaren did give me six movie passes for Christmas, though,” I said.

Cruz’s eyes got big. “Movie marathon,” he breathed.

I fell asleep at four and didn’t wake up until ten the next morning. My fever was gone, and so was my sore throat, but I still felt like roadkill.

It was Christmas Eve, and true to our word, we did nothing. We sat on the couch downstairs with pizza and pretzels, and read to each other. I read Emily Dickinson poetry to Cruz, and he read Car & Driver Magazine to me. The next day we exchanged Christmas presents. Cruz gave me a jar of peanut butter, and I gave him an air freshener for his car. We went to the movies and sat through three films in a row. It was probably the happiest Christmas of my life.

The next day, Cruz was working all day, and that’s why I was alone in the house when the doorbell rang. I froze. The doorbell could represent so much bad news: A visit from the landlord to evict us. The water getting shutoff. Ditto the electricity. Or it could be the cops coming to take me away to a foster family.

I tiptoed to the door and peeked through the peephole.

I opened the door. “Martin?” I asked. I hadn’t seen him since he let me into Dahlia’s house and took my bags to her room. He was still dressed like a butler, but I couldn’t imagine what he was doing at my house instead of Dahlia’s.

“Miss Tess, Captain Sherman sends you this note.” He handed me an envelope.

“Thanks.”

“And he requires an answer before I leave.”

It dawned on me that I didn’t have a phone and no way to be reached except face to face. I was worried about what was in the envelope. I doubted it could be good news, especially considering what was happening the last time I saw him. Still, I did want to know how Dahlia was doing, and I had no way of finding out.

“You probably should open it,” Martin said.

I ripped it open. It was typed on Dahlia’s father’s personal stationery, telling me that Dahlia insisted on seeing me, even though she was not supposed to have visitors at this time of her treatment. He wanted to know if I’d visit her tomorrow at four in the afternoon.

“Of course,” I told Martin. “I really want to see her.”

He nodded and handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Don’t bring any gifts. They won’t let her have anything.”

***

I took the bus to Neiman Marcus because Cruz was going to drive me from there to visit Dahlia. The mall was packed with shoppers taking advantage of the after Christmas sales. I was one of the few people not weighted down with shopping bags.

I paused at the door to Neiman Marcus. I really didn’t want to spend any time in snooty central, but I was supposed to meet Cruz inside. Why didn’t I tell him to meet me at Wetzel’s Pretzels? I fit in much more at Wetzel’s Pretzels than at Neiman Marcus and besides, they gave free samples.

I could have really gone for a cinnamon sugar pretzel.

I gathered my courage and opened the door. The store was still the same except for the snooty gold Christmas decorations. I ducked and weaved my way to men’s cologne, doing my best to avoid the snooty Mcsnootster salesladies, but I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

I wasn’t wearing a designer cocktail dress, hooker heels, and fake boobs like the rest of Neiman Marcus’s clientele. Instead, I was wearing Levis, a man’s white t-shirt, and the over-the-top hat that Dahlia had given me for my birthday. I figured she wouldn’t be too happy to be locked up in a hospital, but the hat might cheer her up.

I found Cruz behind the counter, surrounded by a group of women with artificial looking faces, asking him to spray himself with the different colognes so that they could smell his body. They were obviously flirting with him, trying to get his attention, as if he would go out with ancient married ladies.

Would he go out with ancient married ladies?

I wasn’t sure. Desperate people can do a lot of crazy things, and Cruz and I could definitely be categorized as desperate.

But I mean, gross.

Gross.

I waved my hand in the air to get his attention, but he was too busy spraying himself and getting sniffed by the rich old ladies to notice me. So I had no choice. I had to actually go up to the counter and drag him out of there. It was exactly what I didn’t want to do.

He didn’t recognize me at first because of the hat. “Dahling,” I drawled, elbowing the ladies aside and putting my hands on the counter. “We are late for our rendezvous.” I winked, and I could tell he was fighting off a smile. It was almost fun.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Sorry ladies. I’m done for the day.”

“Can we afford a cinnamon sugar pretzel?” I asked him as we walked out.

“No, but let’s get one, anyway.”

I didn’t think the car would ever start. Cruz pulled and pushed the choke and checked under the hood, but it took a good ten minutes of the car wheezing and coughing before it finally started.

“That was a close one,” Cruz said.

It was a forty-minute drive to The Lavender Serenity Center, which turned out to be neither lavender nor serene. It was located in Rancho Santa Fe, one of the richest areas in San Diego. Most of the houses there were giant, sprawling estates on acres of land with horses.

From the outside, The Lavender Serenity Center fit right into the neighborhood. A long, winding driveway cut through the property, bordered by a white picket fence. Horses ran free among the eucalyptus trees, and the building itself looked more like a high-end ranch than a center for mentally ill teenagers.

Inside was totally different. Sure, there was a waiting room that looked like a five star hotel lobby, but beyond that, it was like a hospital on Riker’s Island.

A bodybuilder orderly buzzed us through the door and a nurse was waiting for us on the other side. “Come this way,” she said, ushering us to a small room. “Empty your pockets and put your purse in here,” she said, throwing a bin on the table.

“Excuse me?” Cruz asked.

“Some of the guests could hurt themselves with certain items. We’re just trying to safeguard their health.”

Guests. I wondered if Dahlia thought of herself as a guest.

The nurse walked us to room three-fifteen. At first, I thought she had taken us to the wrong room. Inside, a girl was sitting in a chair, and she looked nothing like Dahlia.

“It’s Dahlia,” Cruz said to me, reading my mind.

I took a step closer to her. She was wearing pink pajamas and fluffy slippers, and she was half-covered with a thin blanket. Her hair had flattened, just like her personality. Drained of color, she was biting her lower lip and looking down at the floor. She had deflated like a balloon. In the place of her bubbly personality, she was left almost catatonic.

I kneeled down in front of her and put my hands on her knees. “Dahlia?”

She blinked and looked at me, seeming to recognize me for the first time. “You’re wearing the hat,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Of course I wore it,” I said. “It’s fabulous. I’m Emma Stone in this hat.”

Dahlia smiled. “Emma Stone.”

“Cruz came, too,” I said.

He waved. “Hi, Dahlia.”

“Chino,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t dress for the occasion.”

“You look great,” he said. “I wish I wore pajamas, too.”

“I think it’s going to be pajamas for the next year.” Her tears flowed down her face, and her nose ran. I took the Kleenex box off her bedside table and passed her a couple.

“This is upsetting her,” the nurse said. “I think you should leave.”

“Go to hell,” Dahlia told her.