Heart Shaped Rock (24 page)

“Tiff, I’ve got to see Dean,” I’m whispering, but my tone is intense. “I’ve got to tell him I’m not with Jared. I’ve got to tell him how I feel about him.”

“Kellan,” Tiffany suddenly shouts, whipping her head toward him. “Saturday night. The Beach House. Operation ‘Recapture Dean Masterson’ shall commence.”

“I’m working Saturday night, baby,” Kellan says. “Saturday nights are the best tips.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. “Gotta keep making the Benjamins to keep my baby in style. The minute I get off work, though, I’ll head down to there and find you.”

“Tiff, I’m not trying to organize a party here.” I feel faint. “I just need to talk to Dean. Will you come with me?”

“Of course, I’m coming with you, Peaches. We’ll get you to Dean, don’t you worry. And he’ll tell you he loves you to the moon and back again.”

“We’re coming, too,” Delaney says, motioning to Juliette on her right. “I’m spending the night at Juliette’s so we can stay out super late.” Delaney need not explain further. Everyone knows Juliette’s mom is a wee bit of a skank.

This is a mess. I need to talk to Dean alone, without any distractions. The last thing I need is for the entire school to watch me grovel to Dean.

“Coolness,” Chaz chimes in, looking right at Delaney. “Why don’t we all go together?” Chaz’s two sidekicks nod their agreement.

Delaney giggles. “Awesome sauce.” Then she turns to me and winks.

This isn’t
Gossip Girl
. This is my life. My throat is tightening up. My head is spinning. “Tiffy,” I whisper. “I’m having a panic attack.” And it’s the truth.

“Okay,” she whispers in my ear. “Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me up from the table, without a word to anyone. She leads me out of the lunchroom and to a bench around the corner, near the gym, where we won’t be bothered. “Maybe we’ve tried to do too much, too fast, Shay. We’ll just take the social calendar a little bit slower, okay? You can walk before you have to run. Saturday night will just be you and me.” She shoves her face into mine and looks right at me. Her dark eyes are steady and reassuring. “Everything’s fine, okay? It’s just you and me.”

I nod.

She grabs my hands, probably worried I’m going to start pulling on my hair with them. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday night, and we’ll go together. Everyone in the world can go see the show and hang out and just happen to be in the same building as us, but it won’t matter, okay? It’ll be just you and me, Peaches. And I’ll make sure you talk to Dean.” She squeezes my hands.

We sit in silence for a moment as I catch my breath.

“C-Bomb said to come to the back door behind the stage right after the show. He said he’d make sure Dean’s there so I can talk to him.” I close my eyes imagining the look on Dean’s face when he sees me.
“Shaynee,”
I imagine him saying.
“You came.”

“Wow, that’s cool of him. So, what are you gonna tell Dean?”

I lean my forehead against hers. “I’m gonna tell him I love him.”

Tiffany squeals and hugs me. “I knew it. You two are destiny.”

“Tiff, has Dean called you lately? Or texted?”

Tiffany’s face darkens. “No, he hasn’t been calling or texting at all. I keep trying him, and he doesn’t reply.” She scrunches up her face. “Shay, maybe you should just call him?”

“No,” I groan. “I have to
see
him. I’ve waited too long.” I can’t even imagine trying to set this all right on the phone. I feel like, with each passing day, and each passing misstep, I’ve dug myself farther and farther into a twenty-foot hole, and there’s only one way out—seeing Dean and baring my soul to him. If he sees the sincerity on my face, and hears the honest regret in my voice, and feels my arms around his neck and the heat of my skin, he’ll understand everything and forgive my stupidity. We’ll go right back to that moment at Sheila’s, when he held my face in his hands and said my name like he’d just discovered dry land after being adrift at sea for months. We’ll go back to that perfect moment in time when we belonged to each other, totally and completely, and nothing else mattered or existed.

Dean.
Just the thought of him heats my body from within.

Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.

The bell sounds for sixth period.

“Oops, we’d better go,” Tiffany says, gathering herself up. “I’m on thin ice after making yesterday ‘Go To Class Only If You Want To’ Day. My dad went through the roof. I had to bat my eyelashes
and
shed a tear before he’d calm down. Exhausting. We’ll talk more at Sheila’s,” Tiff says. “I’m so excited we get to work together today.” She gets up to leave. “So, are you okay now?”

I nod. But I’m lying. My panic attack has subsided, but I’m not okay.

I’m not gonna be okay until I see Dean.

Chapter 24

“So, what are you gonna wear on Saturday night?” Tiffany asks, leaning against the pastry display case. We’ve just dispensed with a long line of customers.

“I haven’t thought about it.” That’s a lie. I’m planning to wear something yellow.

“You’re such a liar,” Tiffany laughs. She holds up her index finger, as if she’s just discovered uranium. “Wear yellow.”

I grunt.

“What are you gonna say to Dean?”

“I already told you.”

“No, I mean, tell me exactly what you’re gonna say to him. The words.”

I think for a second. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m an idiot.” I don’t feel like practicing my actual speech on Tiffany. What I need to say to Dean is too personal, too vulnerable, to share with anyone else, even her.

“Are you sure you’re not a dude under there?” she musses my apron. “You sound just like Kellan after he’s been a jerk, minus the ‘I’m sorry’ part. Kellan never says he’s sorry.”

“When does Kellan ever need to apologize? He worships the ground you walk on.”

“True.” Tiffany’s eyes twinkle. “Yes, he does, as he should. But, trust me, he’s a boy, so he constantly screws up and says the stupidest things. He would get out of the doghouse so much faster if he’d just learn those two little words.” She sighs. “But, dang it, he’s so darned cute, I just never stay mad—”

“Hey, Shaynee.”

I look up. Oh, jeez, it’s Jared. My stomach instantly drops. He’s standing at the counter, looking at me like a dog begging for a potato chip.

“There’s something wrong with my phone,” he says, pouting. He leans across the counter toward me. “Your number isn’t in it.”

“Ugh!” Tiffany yells. “That is so lame, Jared.” She turns away in disgust.

Jared looks surprised and then utterly embarrassed by Tiffany’s outburst. “I’m being cheesy on purpose.” He looks at me and flashes those pearly whites. “You never gave me your phone number. I asked Sheila for it, but she wouldn’t give it to me. She said, ‘Leave Shaynee the hell alone.’”

So, Sheila wasn’t going to butt into my relationship with Dean, huh? I guess Sheila’s doing her part to make sure Dean and I find each other again. I grin.

“Hey, Tiff, can you ‘woman’ the counter for a second?” I ask, but I’m already marching out from behind it before she can even reply. I’m rapidly assessing the situation. I’ve got to tell Jared to take a hike. Pronto. But I don’t want to do it in front of the entire coffeehouse—that would be too heartless, even for an assassin like me. And I certainly can’t risk talking to Jared outside in the parking lot—what if C-Bomb happens by? C-Bomb told me he wouldn’t say a word to Dean about me before Saturday’s show, unless I were to do something to piss him off before then. Surely, standing in the parking lot, alone with Jared, would qualify as a felony by C-Bomb’s standards. I’m sure C-Bomb would interpret any communication whatsoever between Jared and me as an exchange of bodily fluids, if not marital vows. I just can’t risk it. “Come on,” I say over my shoulder, and slip quickly into the back room.

I have no sooner entered the back room than Jared is pressing his body urgently against mine, pushing me into the wall, covering my lips with his.

“No!” I say, pushing him away. “No, Jared.”

Jared instantly backs off. He looks stunned.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, scowling at him. “No,” I repeat. My stomach is twisting and churning.

Now Jared looks wounded. “I thought you were bringing me back here to—”

“No! Not at all!”

“But Sunday was amazing, Shaynee.
You’re
amazing. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like, when I’m with you, I’m
winning.”

Is this a Charlie-Sheen-pop-culture reference? Or is Jared taking a not-so-subtle jab at Dean?

“I’m not a prize,” I say coldly.

“Yes, you are. That’s exactly what you are. You’re
my
prize, Shaynee.”

Why is it that when Jared says my name, it reminds me of a golf ball clanking into a plastic cup in mini-golf?
Plunk. Clunk.
When Jared says my name, it falls off his tongue and splats onto the ground. When he says my name, I don’t feel a thing—no aching, no yearning, no sudden flames bursting to life inside of me. “Jared, I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you again.” But, hey, thanks for helping me realize I love Dean.

“I don’t understand,” Jared says, sounding pained. His Tootsie-Roll-eyes are pleading with me. “When we kissed, it was... wow. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

“I don’t feel the same way,” I declare matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s because of C-Bomb, isn’t it? Because of what he said to you?” Jared suddenly looks enraged.

“It has nothing to do with C-Bomb. You’ve been really sweet to me, Jared, but I just don’t have the same feelings for you.”

Jared’s nostrils suddenly flare, and anxiety floods me. I don’t want to be confined in this small room with him for a moment longer. I push past him, out of the back room, and beeline back to Tiffany at the counter. Jared follows me. I can feel his heat on the back of my neck. “Please, Shaynee,” he begs, and my name goes clank-clunk-splat onto the floor.

I don’t know how to get myself out of this situation. If I mention Dean, will Jared go straight to him, or maybe to C-Bomb, in a fit of rage? Either way, he’ll obliterate any shred of a chance I have left with Dean.

Tiffany steps forward. “Beat it, Jared. She doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s in love with Dean.”

Boom, there it is. Gee, thanks, Tiff.

I’m suddenly petrified this whole scene with Jared is going to get back to C-Bomb, and therefore, back to Dean, only in some grossly distorted retelling. If C-Bomb turned my kiss with Jared into “macking down,” how would he spin a covert, heated conversation in a back room?

“Go on,” Tiffany says like she’s talking to an alley cat. “We’ve got work to do.”

Jared turns to me. “Shaynee, please, let’s just go talk—”

“I’m sorry, Jared. I’ve got to get back to work.”

He turns, and I’m relieved he’s leaving.

Suddenly, Jared grunts and hurls a metal milk canister against the wall, causing every single person in the coffeehouse to shudder as it crashes into the wall and clangs noisily to the ground, spilling milk everywhere.

Oh, hell no,
I hear Mom say.

“Oh, hell no,” I yell. “Get out of here, Jared. Right now.”

Jared glares back at me, and I can plainly see tears pooling in his eyes.

Tiffany steps in front of me, as if she’s a mama bear protecting her cub.

“I’ve got this, Tiff,” I whisper, stepping out from behind her. “Jared, I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you need to leave.”

He slogs to the front door, every step a century in the making. When he finally reaches the door, he turns around, his face awash in pain, and spits out, “You were right, Shaynee. You
are
mean.”

Chapter 25

I hadn’t planned to drive down to Wang Palace, and I probably should be home right now working on my Picasso presentation for Art History, but after my run-in with Jared at Sheila’s earlier, I can’t wait another minute to tell Dean how I feel. The minute my shift ended, it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks: I don’t have to wait ‘til Saturday to see Dean. It’s frickin’ Wednesday. It’s Big Band Night.

Now that I’m actually here, sitting in my car in the Wang Palace parking lot, I’m suddenly nervous to go inside. This is it. I’m finally going to tell Dean how I feel. I’m finally going to look into those blue eyes and bare my soul to him. Who knows how he’ll react? Will he accept me with open arms? Or have I hurt him too deeply for him to just pick right back up where we left off, back at that heavenly moment just before I turned into an escaped mental patient and bolted down Mission Boulevard?

I’m trembling with a physical longing to lay my eyes on Dean’s glorious face again. And yet, I can’t move. What will I say? What will he say?

“Dean,” I whisper, imagining him standing right in front of me, “please don’t walk away. Let me speak. I understand why you didn’t tell me you already knew me. I understand everything. You were being kind; you were holding my heart in your hand, protecting it, letting me find my way. And I was too stupid to realize it. Dean, before I met you... I didn’t know if I could live through another day. And now, I’m alive again. Thanks to you. I know I’ve made so many mistakes, and I understand if you need some time... some time to think about it... but, Dean, I don’t want anyone but you. I’ll never want anyone but you, as long as I live.” Tears threaten my eyes. “I love you, Dean,” I whisper.

The silence in my car is deafening.

Holy crap. That whole speech sucked. I can’t get the words right. There are no stupid
words
to express how I
feel
. “I love you, Dean,” I say out loud again, this time mocking myself. I sound like a frickin’ greeting card.

I can only hope the expression on my face does more to communicate my feelings than words ever could. I can only hope that, when I finally see Dean’s eyes—and lips, and hands, and arms, and hair, and... Oh, man!—that the right words will pour out, right from my heart and straight out of my mouth. Because, currently, my planned speech ain’t gonna cut it. Whatever I wind up saying, I can only hope—and wish and pray—that he fills the silence when I’m done with, “I love you, Shaynee.” Or, at the very least, “I forgive you.”