How to Ruin My Teenage Life (21 page)

By this time a large crowd has gathered around us and I think a photographer from the campus newspaper just took a picture of us. When my parents find out about this, I'm probably going to be grounded for life.

“Let me get this straight. This guy in handcuffs is your sort-of boyfriend. And you kissed that guy bleeding on the ground over there.”

“Yep.”

“And none of you are students at Northwestern?”

I nod enthusiastically and say, “You got it.” No need to needlessly involve the innocent bystander, Tarik.

The security guys look over at Nathan. “Sir, would you like to press charges against anyone here for assaulting you?”

Nathan looks at Avi and says, “I don't think so.”

“Does
anyone
here want to press charges?”

We're all silent.

He walks over to Avi. “Sir, turn around so I can release you from those handcuffs.”

“Um … I'd like to keep them on,” Avi says.

The security guard puts his fingers to his temples and starts rubbing as if he's got a migraine. “Well, then, whoever is not a student at this school should leave University property as soon as you get this all straightened out.” I hear the guy mumbling about crazy teenagers as he walks away and tries to disperse the gaping crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Miranda stumbling out of my car to join us. But I'm not really focused on her; I'm concentrating on Avi … his eyes piercing mine as we stand by the Northwestern dorm with people watching and Nathan bleeding and Tarik all confused and Jess primping and Miranda trying to look innocent.

Avi's hands are pinned behind his back, still bound by the toy handcuffs. “What now?” he asks me. I've missed his deep, sexy voice.

I lick my lips nervously. “Well, the plan was to kidnap you.”

“It was Amy's scatterbrained plan,” Nathan chimes in while working his jaw back and forth. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Me, either,” Miranda says, standing behind Nathan for protection.

I roll my eyes. My accomplices are such weak sauce.

Jessica, who is now fluffing her hair up, says to Tarik, “I suppose you're Tarik.”

He holds out a hand to her. “And you're?”

“Amy's best friend Jessica. But everyone calls me Jess. And that's Nathan and Miranda.”

Tarik looks at me, his eyes smiling but his words serious. “What are you planning on doing with him?”

“Do you care?” I ask.

Tarik shrugs. “I might. Then again, I might not.”

“Whatever you're going to do,” Avi says, “do it. If you haven't realized it, I'm standing handcuffed in the middle of the school campus and people are staring.”

Tarik jangles keys from his fingers. “Amy, why don't I take your friends back home while you two work out … whatever you need to work out.”

“Really?” I say, giving him my best impression of a thankful puppy dog.

“But if he ends up floating in Lake Michigan tomorrow, I'm not covering for you.”

Leaning forward, I kiss Tarik on the cheek and whisper in his ear, “You're a good friend.”

After saying my thank-yous to my accomplices and assuring them they'll be well taken care of by Tarik, I grasp Avi's elbow like a police officer would and lead him to the car.

When we reach the car, I open the door for him and gesture toward the seat.

“Aren't you going to take the cuffs off before I get in?”

“Nope.”

27

Freedom.
Does it mean freedom from persecution?
Freedom to do whatever you want?
Or is freedom a state of mind?
Maybe it's all of those mixed together.

“You don't trust me?”

I give a short laugh. “I didn't cause that whole scene just to let you go free. Get in.”

He bends his head, his hands still bound behind his back, and sits in the passenger seat. He's forced to situate himself so he's not leaning against the uncomfortable cuffs, which makes me want to unshackle him, but what if he decides to leave me after I free him? No, I need him to hear me out, no matter what.

I have to lean over him to put his seatbelt on. He can't do it himself while his hands are bound behind his back. I can feel his breath on my neck as I reach over his body to fasten the seatbelt. It's the law, you know. I think I just heard him give a little grunt/moan combination, but I'm not sure.

“Are you wearing a new perfume?” he asks, his breath hot on my skin. “You smell different.”

I don't answer, although it's either the French fries I had at lunch or the Pleasure perfume I sprayed on an hour ago.

“Where are we going?” he asks when I drive off campus, heading north on Sheridan Road.

“You're my prisoner. Prisoners aren't usually told where they're going to be held hostage. And they don't talk.” To be honest, I don't know where I'm headed. Somewhere we can be alone, somewhere nobody can find us. If there was a button I could press to whisk us away to a stranded island, I'd do it. He needs to hear me out. After that, well … I'll hold my breath while I wait for his response.

When I reach a red light, I look over at him. He's wearing a gray long-sleeve T-shirt with some logo in Hebrew on it, along with faded jeans with a small rip on one of the knees. I wonder if that rip happened tonight when Nathan jumped him. I can't read Avi's face; he's a master at hiding emotion. Is that something he's been taught, or was he born with that talent?

“Amy, you don't have to do all this,” he says.

“Oh, yes. I do,” I tell him before I push on the accelerator and start driving again.

“Listen, Amy, when I came to Chicago I didn't know—”

“Avi, wait until you hear me out before you say anything. Okay? I mean, I have some things I have to get off my chest before you tell me how much of a mistake it was that you came here and you're going back home in two days never to see me again.”

“Whatever you want,” he says, looking out the window and taking a deep, frustrated breath.

Oh, great. Now I've pissed him off. I'm passing the Baha'i Temple, which looks like the Planetarium. It's so huge and brilliantly lit up.

“It's the Baha'i temple,” I explain when Avi's eyes go wide from seeing such a unique building.

“Whoa,” Avi says. “The one in Haifa by my aunt's house has a gold dome. Stuck in the middle of the mountain you can see it from miles away.”

I drive past the temple, past Gillson Park, past the million dollar houses on Sheridan Road
only people who have old money can afford
, my mom says. By the time we pass Glencoe I know my destination.

Rosewood Beach.

It's a small beach in Highland Park my mom took me to one summer when I was little. I remember the wind was so strong my blanket flew up and threw sand in my face. I wasn't a sand person to begin with. It was too messy and got all over and it took days to get out of my hair and shoes. And as much as my mom wanted to get me in that Lake Michigan water, I resisted. I saw the kids who played with their buckets in the water and splashed around … eventually they had to come out of the water and walk on the sand. That dry sand stuck to their feet and legs and hands and … ugh, all over.

Turning into the little driveway leading down to the tiny parking lot, I think of how messy situations can sometimes be a good thing. I think I'm just learning that.

I park the car in the darkened parking lot right near the edge of the beach overlooking the lake. No other car is in sight. We're the only ones here in this secluded place.

Almost as if we're on an island alone.

“Are you going to take the cuffs off now?” he asks.

“Nope. Not until you hear what I have to say.” I turn in my seat so I'm facing him. The only thing between us is the arm rest and cup holders. And our strained relationship, if you want to get technical.

I reach over and unbuckle his seatbelt, the click releasing him from the harness. He's as comfortable as he's gonna get with his hands secured behind his back.

His eyes are shining in the bright moonlight. I can feel them on me as though they were his hands.

“Don't look at me,” I tell him.

“Why not?”

“It embarrasses me. What I'm about to say embarrasses me.”

“So let me talk,” he says in his smooth, confident voice. “I'm not embarrassed.”

I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows. “Just turn around.”

He shakes his head in confusion, but turns and stares out the opposite window.

I brace myself for the worst and start talking. “Last summer was the best summer of my life. Meeting someone I really liked surprised me more than anything.”

“Same here,” he says to the window.

“Yeah, but you told me not to wait for you. You didn't want to get involved, you didn't want a relationship … all you wanted was a summer fling.”

“It was awesome.”

“Yeah. But then it was over. You went to the army and I came back home. When things go wrong with Jess, I can't call you. When things go wrong with friends at school or my family, you're not here to calm me down and tell me not to freak out or hold my hand in that familiar way.”

This time he turns to me, his jaw clenched. “So you replaced me with Nathan?”

With my index finger, I twirl it in cirlces to remind him to turn around.

He looks at the window again and repeats, “So you replaced me with Nathan. I get it, Amy, you don't have to state the obvious.”

“I admit it,” I say quietly. “I kissed Nathan. Twice. And he was a good kisser. Well, the first time he wasn't, but the second time was considerably better.”

“I don't want to hear it,” Avi says, his voice tight.

“Yes, you do. I don't want secrets between us, Avi. And I don't want you running away from me when things get tough.”

“I don't run.”

“You left so fast I didn't have a chance to figure things out in my own head,” I say, putting my hand on his thigh. I need to touch him, to make him realize how much I care. Will he know by my touch how much I want him back in my life, how there's a void in my heart only he can fill?

He looks down at my hand. “Did you figure it out?”

“I didn't kidnap you for nothing, you know. Stay with me, Avi. Stick with me through my mistakes and through my crap and through my crabbiness and through my doubts because … oh, God, I love you.”

I'm waiting for him to say it back to me, not that it even matters. My love won't waver. I can list one reason, or a hundred reasons, why I love him. There's a connection when we laugh, when we fight, and when we kiss … there's a restlessness that burns inside me for him when he's not with me. I'm calmer when we're together.

He's in the Israeli army, I know. And I won't likely be seeing him for a long time. Maybe he'll get leave in the summer; maybe he won't. It doesn't even matter to me, as long as we take the time now to say whatever, whenever.

“Come here,” he says.

I look over at the small space in the front seat, the cup holders and arm rest between us. “Um, where do you want me to go, Avi? There's not much room here.”

“You're smart. Figure it out.”

Don't ask me how it is that my prisoner is giving me the orders now, but I'm totally okay with it. I squeeze my way over the hump of the armrest and wiggle my way over to the passenger side, finally able to sit comfortably while straddling his legs.

“I'm selfish,” Avi says, his dark chocolate eyes boring into mine. “Because I don't want to share you.” He bends his head down, says something in Hebrew to himself that sounds like a curse, and says, “My ego took a beating when I found out you kissed Nathan. I left you because my damn ego was bruised.”

I twist my head down so he can see my face. “If you can forgive me, I can forgive you … and your ego,” I say. “I just want to spend every second together before you go back to Israel.”

“And after I go back, what's between us? I've got three years in the army. Who knows what'll happen.”

“I don't want to break up, Avi.”

“Me, either. How about a don't ask, don't tell relationship until I'm out of the army?”

Don't ask, don't tell. That sounds fair. “Sababa. Does that mean I can call you my boyfriend instead of my
non
-boyfriend?”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Definitely.”

“Do we have a contract drawn up? Do we shake on it?”

“How about we seal the deal with a kiss. No distractions this time.”

We both lean forward, meeting in the middle. Just as our lips are about to touch, my cell phone rings.

“Aren't you going to get it? It might be your dad.”

Tilting my head to the side and brushing my lips against his, I say, “No distractions, remember?”

Ignoring the persistent phone, we start kissing softly, the way it was the first time he ever touched me. Sweet and slow, with passion and hunger lurking behind as if waiting to be unleashed with a vengeance.

Lips against lips, I caress his face before moving my hands down to the hard planes of his chest, exploring my way while he's still bound and we're still kissing.

“One day we're going to do this somewhere else than in a car,” he says, his voice and breath coming harder than before. Through his shirt I can feel his heart racing faster, too. I smile, knowing that I can bring him to feel this way, that he wants me as much as I want him.

Wiggling closer to him and putting the seat into a reclining position, I realize I'm playing with fire but it feels too good to stop. Groaning sounds fill the car. I'm not even sure if they're coming from me or him. Avi nuzzles my neck with his lips, licking and kissing a path down to the V in my shirt while my fingers are wandering around his body giving caresses of their own.

With a shift of his body, suddenly Avi's hands are on my waist, moving up my spine and cradling my head. His breathing is heavy and erratic and his eyes are so intense when he looks into mine it makes my breath hitch.

“You're free from the handcuffs?” I whisper, feeling weak from his kisses and caresses and hands and words.

Between kissing me, he says, “Yeah. There was a release button on them.”

I lean back, separating our lips and bodies for a second. “When did you find it?”

“About ten seconds after you put them on me.” His fingers brush stray strands of hair away from my face. “The funny thing is, you don't need handcuffs to bind me to you. I'm yours without them.”

I pull his head toward mine, and we kiss and continue exploring as we move in rhythm against each other.

“I want to forget how inexperienced you are,” he groans the words into my ear.

“So teach me,” I say. I bite my lower lip as I sit up and unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt.

“Look at me?” Avi asks.

“Why?”

“So I can see your eyes.”

Avi's eyes are totally focused on my face and not my shirt as I move my hands lower and start unbuttoning the rest of the buttons. My hands are shaking. I'm not sure if it's from the cold car or my trembling nerves.

“Didn't you listen when your dad had the sex talk? Didn't he tell you boys only want one thing?”

“Do you, Avi? Do you only want one thing?” I say as I open my shirt and reveal my bra beneath it.