On an Edge of Glass (20 page)

I die.  I mean it.  I
die
.  My face ignites like it’s been splashed with molten lava.

I know that Ben and Mark are watching me closely but Payton and Ainsley are distracted by the conversation that they’re still in the middle of. 

Ainsley asks, “Isn’t there someone in one of your classes that you have a thing for?”

“
Forget that,” Payton interjects, shooting an inscrutable look at Ainsley.  “We should get you all decked out and hit a club on Thursday night.  You can borrow something of mine.  Preferably a skirt.”

             
I’m supposed to go see a movie with Ben on Thursday night. 

Giving Mark my other hand,
I deliberately keep my eyes down.  “You’re at least two inches shorter than me, Payton. Anything that belongs to you would ride up my ass.”

             
She waves her hands in the air.  “The more skin the better as far as I’m concerned.” 

“Of course that’s what you think,” Mark interjects.

Payton ignores him.  She narrows her eyes at Ben.  “You know… Ben, maybe you should set her up with one of your hot musician friends.”  She pauses.  “Just as long as it’s not Nick.  He’s all mine.”

             
My heart is thumping.  I’m starting to feel sick.

“
Really
, Payton?” I try to sound disgusted.

             
Discreetly, I steal a glance at Ben.  His eyebrows are practically touching his hairline. 

“Well, if you have someone s
pecial in mind,” she says gamely.  “Please feel free to say something.”

“It’s not that.”  I shake my head.  “There’s no one special.
  I just don’t want to be set up with one of Ben’s scrungy, tattooed musician friends, okay?”

Payton glances between me and Ben.  “Huh.”

“
I bet Brandon knows someone…”  Ainsley chimes in.

             
“You mean, Brandon the Ken doll?” Payton asks dryly.

             
Ainsley’s forehead puckers, and the corners of her mouth slump.  “Hey!  I like him a lot and you’ve only met him one time.  Give the guy some slack!  Just because he was wearing pants that you didn’t approve of doesn’t mean that you can bash him.  He’s a really sweet person.”

             
“Ainsley, there is no redemption after pleated pants.”

             
Mark nods once.  “Amen, sister!”

             
And they’re off.  But, I’m not listening.  I’m watching the look on Ben’s face—the doubt that’s molding the corners of his mouth and bleeding into his eyes—and I’m wishing that it wasn’t me that put it there.

When I open my eyes
, my room is black.  The neon blue display on my digital alarm clock says that it’s after two in the morning.  For a few seconds, as the remnants of my dreams absorb and sleep slides away from me, I don’t understand why I’m awake.  Then I feel the familiar weight of a leg against mine. 

             
Ben’s still wearing his clothes—even his shoes—and I wonder how he could have fallen asleep like that.  He must have come into my room sometime in the past two hours because I waited up for him until midnight, finally letting myself drift off during a movie that I’ve seen five times already.

             
I touch his hair because I always want to touch his hair, but somehow it seems less like a demand when he’s sleeping.  I run my fingers back through the thick strands and let them fall over his face—over the angular cheekbones and the straight line of his mouth. 

             
I didn’t like the way we left things tonight.  The whole scenario of Ainsley and Payton trying to set me up in front of Ben was awkward.  And then, I went and categorically denied having anyone special in life.  To make things worse, I acted like I thought all musicians are disgusting, smelly losers.  Ben’s expression had been one of defeat and something else.  Maybe it was disappointment? 

             
I know that should have said something about us.  It was a golden opportunity, and I’m sure that’s how Ben sees things.  Ten words from me to Ainsley and Payton, and everything could be out in the open.  No more sneaking into bedrooms at night.  No more secret kisses in the hallway before anyone else in the house gets up. 

             
I don’t know why I didn’t just open my mouth and let the words fall out.  They were there, dangling on the tip of my tongue.

             
I probably shouldn’t have put it off, but I did, and now I feel inexplicably guilty.  And I
hate
feeling guilty.  Especially when I can’t even quite articulate why.

Next to me, h
e stirs and rolls over, and when his arm comes over my stomach I scoot lower so that my head is cradled just under his chin in the curve of his throat.  As I close my eyes and let my breathing fall back into a slow pattern, I try not to let my mind wander too far.  I’ve done too much thinking already.  But one thought is there in the forefront, impossible to ignore.  It’s like a whisper in my ear. 

Let go
.

“How many more?”

             
“I’m not sure.”

             
“Are we talking ten more or ten thousand?”

             
I tilt my head and laugh.  “Probably somewhere in between.”

             
We’re in an empty classroom in the music building.  It’s Wednesday afternoon and I have an hour between exams.  I texted Ben and he told me that he was practicing in here. 

Following the directions that he gave me, I walked in when he was right in the middle of a piece.
  His head was bent over the neck of the cello and his eyes were closed and he looked all lost and beautiful.

I stood by the door and watched him play for about five
minutes before my wonderment dissipated enough for me to scramble to my bag and retrieve my camera.  I got about thirty good shots in before he even noticed me.  Now he’s rolling his eyes and acting stiff and generally being a bad subject.  I take the hint and slip the lens cap back onto my camera.

“Fin
e,” I say, taking a step toward the front of the classroom.  I slide one strap of my bag off my shoulder and shuffle the contents around until my camera is safely stowed away.  “But, one of these days I want free access to take pictures of you while you’re playing.”

His hands are stilled and he’s looking at me sideways.  “Why?”

I drop into a chair in front of him and shrug.  “Because your face is interesting.”

Ben
laughs, openly amused.  “
Interesting? 
Wow.  You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

I wave my hand. 
“Don’t be a jackass.  You know that you’re hot.  You’re a perfect specimen of masculinity by my standards and by those of every single girl that you meet.  I just mean that when you play an instrument you go somewhere else.  You get all these new faces.”  I look up and he’s watching me closely.  His mouth is curling into a crooked smile.  “And, I want to capture them all with my camera.”

After a few silent beats,
Ben purses his lips thoughtfully.  “So, you think I’m hot?”

I bring one of my legs
up and tuck it underneath me.  “Ugh!  No.  That was just a figure of speech.  I didn’t want to say anything, but if we’re being honest, you’re
hideous
.  I can barely stand to look at your chiseled jaw, and your eyes surrounded by those horribly long lashes, and that awful dimple.  It’s such a blight to your face.  And good God, don’t even get me started on your muscular abs.  Gross.” 

             
He ducks his head so that his hair falls forward and blocks his face, but I hear him chuckle. 

“You
’re not so great yourself,” he says with a wink.

“Why thank you.  I value your opinion.”

He laughs some more.  “You know, the guys have been talking about getting someone to take some professional photos while we play,” he says.

             
“I’m not a professional.”

             
“No, Ellie, but you’re really good.”  He positions the bow to his cello.  “Maybe you can take some pictures on Friday night.”

             
“Friday?”

             
His shoulders drop and his expression changes to one of disappointment.  “The show at The Hill?  I thought you said that you were coming.”

             
My heart stutters.  “Oh, right.  I’m still coming.  I haven’t forgotten.”

             
“Good… because I really want you to be there, Ellie.  You can meet the other guys in the band and get to know that part of my life.  It’s important to me.”  He sighs and slides the bow across the strings so that they make a low groaning sound.  “But if we’re not on the same page, just tell me now.  I don’t think I can…”  His voice fades away.  “Not after what happened with Lily and Drew.  It’ll be too hard.”

             
Everything about this conversation has changed in the past ten seconds and I’m not really sure how that happened.  It feels like a thousand tiny bugs are scurrying around in my stomach. 

“We’re on the s
ame page,” I say finally.  “We’re on the same word.” 

A Long Way Down

“What are you wearing?” Payton
asks.  She slips a tight black sweater over her lace bra, adjusting first her right breast, then the left one.  Clearly she’s expecting tonight to turn into something special. 

             
“Is this vampy look for Nick?”   

             
Payton shrugs.  “Oh, will he be at the show tonight?”

             
I giggle.  “He
is
the drummer…”

             
She feigns surprise, clasping her right hand over her chest.  “Oh, that’s right! Silly me.  I completely forgot.”

             
I throw a pillow at her.  She turns to the jewelry holder on top of her dresser and starts to slip a multitude of rings onto her fingers.   

             
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling of her bedroom.  Payton’s got a bunch of those glow-in-the-dark plastic stars splattered up there directly over the bed.  They remind me of the planetarium, which of course gets me thinking about Ben.  And pretty soon my mind is on a one-way track to Swoonsville.

             
“Ellie? Hello?  You in there?” 

S
ilver fingernails waggle in front of my eyes.  I blink and refocus.  Payton’s face has gone all squished-up with concern.  It’s not a look that she wears often.

             
“Uh, yeah,” I say as I sit up and shake the loose thoughts away.  “I’m just spacing out.”

             
“You’re sure everything’s okay?”

“It’s just stress over my exams and
my Columbia application,” I explain, intentionally keeping my head down. 

When I look up, I can see that
Payton’s not buying what I’m selling.  She’s got her arms bent, hands on her hips, and one eyebrow pitched sky-high.  “You seem different lately.”  It’s a statement, but she says it like a question. 

“I told you.
  I’m fine.”

             
She squints at me.  Her hazel eyes are like needles digging under my skin.  I squirm and finger the threading on the bed comforter. 

“I don’t believe you.
  I think it’s a lot more and that you’re keeping secrets” she says.

Secrets. 
My breath wobbles.  Keeping secrets about my love life from my best friends is not something that I aspired to.  It just happened due to the circumstances.  And even though I told Ben that I was going to tell Payton and Ainsley soon,
now
feels
too soon
.  I know that they’re going to feel like I betrayed them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.  I’m not desperate enough to push you.”  Payton drops her arms and makes her way over to the closet.  With her back to me, she leans against the door frame.  Her feet are crossed at the ankles.  “So, if you won’t tell me what’s really going on with you then you can at least tell me what you’re going to wear tonight.” 

I swallow and shrug lightly
, trying to regain a bit of normalcy.  “I’m not sure—probably just jeans or something casual.”

“You mean something
boring
?”

“
Excuse me?  Boring?”

Looking at me over her shoulder, s
he nods her head once.  “Yes Ellie.  Jeans are fine, but when they become like a uniform, it turns into boring.