The Opposite of Love (3 page)

5

CHASE

The lunchtime cafeteria line stretched all the way past the choir room. Chase stood in the line for less than a minute, being jostled by the movement of the students. He gave up and wandered instead past Rose and Becca's tree trunk. He tried not to look over at her. No need to be so obvious.

“Hey you, Chance!” Rose startled him out of his thoughts, throwing an orange at his back, right between his shoulder blades.

It took every ounce of restraint to keep from running up like a panting dog. Instead, he slowly turned. “Chance? My name's Chase.”

“Oh.” Rose bit her lip like she was trying to hide a smile. “My bad.”

You faker. You knew my name
. Chase tried to think of something intelligent to say. They'd barely made eye contact since that morning on her porch a week ago. He hadn't wanted to get Rose into any more trouble than she was already in, so he'd left her sleeping there as soon as he heard the sounds of someone waking up inside.

“I've got a favor to ask. One Disappointment to another.” Rose beckoned him closer. She patted the patch of grass next to her. Then she leaned over and whispered in his ear. The puffs of her breath sent chills through his body. “I am
dying
for a smoke. But the parent police are breathing down my neck. You've got to get me a pack.”

As much as Chase wanted her lips closer to his skin, he pulled away. Considered her for a moment. “What makes you think that I can hook you up? I don't smoke. Besides, they card everywhere.”

“Oh, come on, Chase. I can't ask Becca to get them from her cousin 'cause she's trying to quit.” Rose said, looking over at Becca. Becca stuck a grape Blow Pop in her mouth and smiled around it.

“What's in it for me?” Chase said, proud of his comeback.

“Are we negotiating, then?” Rose sighed. “All right. I'll kiss Becca for thirty seconds and you can watch.”

Chase lost his breath.
Was she serious?

Becca pulled the grape Blow Pop out of her mouth. “I taste like grape,” she said thoughtfully. “Can't say that I blame you for wanting an excuse to nab a smooch, Rose.
I'd
want to kiss me if I could.”

“Tempting.” Chase felt embarrassment rushing in like a wave at high tide. He fought it off. “But look. I'm taking a real risk. Not only do I have to find a way to get cigarettes, I have to find a way to get them to
you
.”

Becca talked around the Blow Pop, making her speech a little warbled. “He's got a point,” she said. “Your parents are watching you like a hawk every second you're out of school. And if Chase brings you cigarettes here and gets caught, he could get suspended.”

Rose kicked Becca's foot. “Thanks, Becca. Way to give him ammunition.”

“There's only one thing I want.” Chase waited a moment for Rose to make a sexual innuendo, but she didn't. “I want to take you on a date.”

Total silence for a full minute. Chase found himself staring at the ground, scuffing it with his shoe. “Look, Chase,” Rose's voice sounded softer than he'd heard it before. “I can't go on a date. My parents won't let me breathe or pee without asking. There's no way they'd let me go out.”

Chase looked up. “A lunch date, then. You eat lunch at school with me every day for the next week.” He grinned, and even Becca looked at him with something that resembled admiration. “And in return”—he paused for effect—“I will bring you a pack of Camels.”

“Make it Marlboro Lights, and it's a deal.”

Monday: Lunch with Rose Parsimmon felt like a verbal Ultimate Fighting match. Before Chase even sat down next to her on the first day, it was—“So where's my smokes?”

Him: “Is that all I'm good for?”

Her: “Pretty much. This is a flat negotiation, nothing more.”

Him, putting his hand on his chest: “Oh, that hurts. I feel so used.”

Her: “And you aren't getting any either.”

Him: “Well, you're a sorry first date, aren't you?”

Rose laughed, then leaned back against the oak tree and tore a bag of Doritos open with her teeth. “I just want to blacken my lungs and get a little buzz.” She gathered her long hair in her hands like she was pulling it back into a ponytail, then let it go. The hairs rushed back and found their places all over again like soldiers in formation. “So where'd you wind up getting the cigarettes?”

“I can't reveal my source.” He looked around for a moment, then at the large oak tree behind her, and tried to figure out how close he could sit without pissing her off. Luckily the grass still glistened with moisture from the weekend's rain, so he planted himself on the only remaining dry spot under the tree. Close enough to feel the skin of her bare legs on his own.

First her skin felt cool to the touch, and then it warmed him, warmed his whole body like a toaster oven. He closed his eyes for a moment and thanked the lord for the weekend's rain, that it was still warm enough for shorts, and that Becca had detention this period, so they had a few moments alone.

“Seriously?” she asked, not pulling away.

“Seriously,” Chase countered. “You'd never go out with me again if I told you where to get them on your own.”

Rose picked up Chase's hand playfully. Her fingers brushed against his left wrist. The wrist bore a small dark circle. “I know what this is,” Rose whispered. She pushed up her sleeve to reveal a row of the same dark circles.

The summer before he turned thirteen, and two months before his dad, Walter, left for good, Chase had talked a neighbor into buying him a pack of Camels, which he hid in the far left corner of his closet underneath a pile of dirty laundry. He'd sat, barefoot and shirtless, his right leg hanging out the unscreened window, and smoked nearly the entire pack in one sitting. One right after another, over and over until he thought he might puke. And then he
had puked.
And after he'd brushed his teeth, he lit another and another.

He could hear them fighting, his parents. Crashing. Screaming. Threatening. Crying. Don't cry, Chase willed his mother.
Hasn't she learned that yet?
Chase had considered calling the cops, but thought better of it. The neighbors had done it before, and it never really helped. Sure, it ended things for the moment, but he'd pay. His mother would pay.

So instead of calling the cops, instead of stepping in and shoving Walter out of the way, instead of creating a distraction, Chase pressed his last cigarette into his wrist. Hard. He bit down on his lip and pressed harder. Until the pain was so loud that he couldn't hear the fighting any longer.

Remembering this, Chase balled up his fists. They were each the size of grapefruits. Looking at them balled up like that reminded him of Walter. Chase had always thought you could tell a lot about a person by their hands. Maybe because Walter's bulging fists had come flying at him so many different times from so many different directions.

Chase turned his attention back to Rose. Her fingernails were cut short and uneven. Her fingers were bare. Rose's hands looked like she didn't care. No—scratch that. Like she wanted it to
look
like she didn't care. Because Chase was pretty sure that she did.

He touched the dark circle on his wrist. “I don't smoke. Not anymore, anyway.” He thought instantly back to his mother, Candy, always trying to quit cigarettes and chocolate and swearing. Chase tried to remember when he started calling his parents by their first names. Maybe when Candy started passing him off as her little brother. Everyone said she looked way too young to have a kid. So she just pretended she didn't. “I'm trying to reform myself, I guess,” Chase added.

Rose made a funny noise—kind of like she was choking, but when Chase looked closer, he saw that she was laughing. Damn. He'd thought he might have a chance to perform mouth-to-mouth. “
Reform
yourself? You're talking like you're some kind of sorry-ass delinquent.”

“Well, maybe I am.”
Little does she know. She hasn't seen me get into it with Candy. She hasn't seen Daisy cower under the bed
.

“Oh, come on.” Rose shook her head, her hair falling into her face. “Just because you don't do your homework and you got in a couple of fights after school, that doesn't make you a delinquent.”

The warning bell rang, signaling the beginning of the six-minute passing period before fifth. “Well,
you
seem to have the art of delinquency down, Rose. Maybe you should give me lessons. You
are
stuck having lunch with me for four more days.”

“Don't remind me.” Rose groaned, but almost playfully.

“Speaking of which,” Chase began, standing back up, “tomorrow we eat somewhere else. It's a surprise.”

Rose bit her lip like she was trying not to smile. “I'm hard to surprise,” she warned him.

“Have confidence, Rose,” Chase said, walking backward toward his locker. “I'm better at this than you think.”

6

ROSE

Tuesday: “I can't believe I'm letting you kidnap me for a lunch date,” Rose whispered the following afternoon, stumbling in the darkness. Chase pressed his hand across her eyes, and she could smell a faint muskiness that might have been cologne or laundry detergent. His hands were so big that one of them could completely cover both of her eyes, leaving her no chance of peeking.

Sounds of students faded away as Chase helped her step up slightly into a room. Her feet tapped against the floor as she entered, making her think it might be the linoleum floor of a classroom. The air chilled her skin and sent goose bumps rippling down her arms.

“Cold?” Chase asked. He wrapped his free arm around her, warming her. The other hand loosened its hold, and Rose strained to see through the fingers.

A few more steps, then, “Voilà!” Chase lifted his arms from her, and for a second she stumbled, trying to get her bearings.

A classroom. With a stove and a sink and a fridge. “Welcome to Foods and Nutrition II.” Chase held his arm out like he owned the place. A tiny table sat in the middle of the floor, covered with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth that looked suspiciously like one she'd seen at the Steins' a few weeks before. “I'm the T.A. for this class fourth period,” he explained, looking uncertain for a moment as he waited for her reaction. “Mrs. Crawford loves me.”

Rose just stared at the room, at the table, and at what looked like two paper bowls of spaghetti. “You made me pasta?” She didn't move to sit down.

“Better than Doritos, right? Becca gave me the lowdown. Spaghetti is supposed to be one of your all-time favorite foods.”

Rose considered telling him that Becca was a liar and she hated pasta, but when her mouth opened, nothing of the sort came out. “Only angel hair.”

“My sources speak the truth, then.” Chase pulled her by the elbow toward the heaping bowls of angel-hair pasta, swirled in a red sauce that smelled of garlic, basil, and sweet onions.

She allowed herself to be led, but still didn't sit. “You're not seducing me, I hope you know. This is purely me filling my end of the deal, remember?” It felt strange, having someone do something so nice for her without wanting something in return.
Unless maybe he did.
Maybe he'd read what other guys had written on the bathroom walls and maybe he figured he could—

“Stop worrying,” Chase told her gently, cutting off her thoughts. “Just sit. And eat.”

So she did. She twirled the long strands around the prongs of the fork and managed to bring a bite to her lips without dropping any on her lap. Cheesy as it was, Rose couldn't help picturing the scene from
Lady and the Tramp
, when both dogs slurped the same piece of spaghetti and wound up mouth to mouth.

“Tell me if you like the sauce, so I know whether to take credit for it.” Chase ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it messier than before.

“I like it, you dork.” Rose tried to sound sarcastic, but she couldn't help smiling at him. He looked so vulnerable, sitting there red-cheeked and nervous.

He smiled back. “It's Ragu. I would've had candles too, but it turns out they're against school regulations. Fire code and all, you know.”

“Oh, so now you're a rule follower,” Rose teased. “See? You
do
make a sorry-ass delinquent.”

“I thought you were going to take me under your wing and show me the art of true delinquency.” Chase took a great big bite of pasta, and sauce dripped onto his chin.

Rose leaned over to wipe it off with her index finger. She held it up for him to admire, then licked it off. She sighed happily, “I
do
have my work cut out for me, don't I?”

7

CHASE

Wednesday: Chase couldn't help but think it was a good sign that Rose had made him muffins for their third lunchtime date. They'd been mostly edible, and Chase had managed to eat three. Honestly, he'd have eaten a mountain of them if it would've made Rose happy.

Still, his stomach felt a little queasy tonight. Chase wasn't sure if it was from the muffins or from watching his mom get ready for a date. That always turned his stomach. Chase watched Candy apply her eyeliner so carefully that you'd think she was doing brain surgery on herself. She spread it on thick. Something twisted in the pit of his gut. Chase gripped the door frame with both hands, bracing his weight. “Going out again tonight?” This was the third night in a row.

Candy's eyes flicked from her own face to his in the mirror. “Yeah.” She leaned in and pulled her upper eyelid out flat as she painted it.

Candy'd been sporting a new boyfriend, a real winner like always. Night manager at Sam's Subs. The kind of guy who wore his shirts open so you could see little sprouts of chest hair. And fake-gold necklaces. Thick accent, although he didn't talk long enough for Chase to figure out from where. Stoned 90 percent of the time. The man reeked of bud, like it was leaking out his pores through his sweat.

Chase tapped the door frame with his palm to get her attention. “Daisy has a spelling test tomorrow.”

“Shit. You're right.” Candy put down her mascara wand and swiveled around to look at Chase directly. “Can you quiz her tonight?”

“I might be busy,” Chase lied. That was crap, of course. He had nothing to do. It wasn't like he ever even opened his own homework. And it wasn't like he could see Rose outside of school or anything.

“That's crap.” Candy pointed out. “Quiz her on her spelling words. Only watch how she writes the letters too. She still flips her
r
's and
d
's. God knows why. She'll have to start riding that short bus if she doesn't get it together soon.”

Chase ducked his head under his own arm to make sure Daisy still sat out of earshot, her school notebook spread out on the kitchen table along with some pretzels and crayons. “Don't say shit like that,” Chase told her, his words sounding sharp even to his own ears.

“She can't hear me.”

“Maybe not, but I can.” Chase straightened up. “Don't say shit like that.”

Candy said nothing for another ten minutes, until she stepped out from the bathroom as a finished product. Chase lay across the couch, his feet stacked up on the armrest, and the buds of his iPod firmly planted in his ears. She'd dressed in a miniskirt and a tight top cut low to accentuate her boobs.

She was not a big person, but for the size of her overall frame, her boobs were big. Plus she wore those push-up underwire things and that made them look even bigger. Chase would've loved to not know the details of the kinds of bras she wore, but he sorted the laundry and it was hard to not notice these things.

“Come on, Mom. Seriously?” Chase carefully pulled the earbuds out one at a time. “No offense, but you look a little desperate.” Rose could pull off an outfit like that and look hotter than a firecracker, but looking at Candy made Chase cringe.

Candy met his eyes with a heavy stare. “Nice, Chase, nice. I can always count on you for a solid vote of approval.”

“I just say it like it is.” Chase's voice picked up steam. He couldn't help but notice the way Daisy set down her crayons and stopped chewing her bite of pretzel.

“No—you just like to put me down.” Candy's voice matched his own, only her edge sounded shrill. “You and your dad both.”

And the counterattack. Right on schedule. Chase couldn't help himself. “Why're you bringing my dad into this?” He stood up, a full head and a half taller than Candy, and at least twice as heavy.

She did not back away, although all it would've taken was a flick of his finger to knock her right off those three-inch heels she wore and onto her ass.

“We both know he was a piece of shit. You trying to say I'm a piece of shit too?” Chase didn't even realize he'd been yelling, until he saw Daisy frozen, half standing, totally motionless except for the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Chase stopped. He reached out his hand toward her. “It's okay, Daze.”

But Daisy spun on her heel, knocking over her chair, and hightailed it to her room.

Candy stepped back from him. “Whatever, Chase. What-the-fuck-ever. I'm out of here. Don't wait up.”

“Wasn't planning on it,” Chase whispered, deflated.

He found Daisy behind her winter sweaters in her bedroom closet. He could hear her sniffling from outside the closet door. His throat tightened up. Shit, he wasn't going to cry too, was he? It wasn't his fault his stupid little sister got all weirded out by a little yelling. He hadn't done anything out of line. Had he?

Funny thing was, he'd been the one to show Daisy all the best hiding places. The closet and under the bed were favorites. Chase slid the closet door open and stepped inside. “I'd go for the snowman sweater myself,” he tried to joke.

She said nothing.

“What's up, Daisy-Dukes?”

She didn't answer him, just wiped her face on an off-white sweater. He couldn't help but notice that she smelled like pretzels. “I don't like that.”

“What?”

“I don't like that voice. That's your angry voice. It makes my stomach hurt.”

Chase considered this. “You know I'm not like Dad, right, Daze?”

She sniffled.

“You know I wouldn't hurt you. Don't you?”

Daisy nodded but didn't look at him. And all of a sudden he remembered standing in this very closet as a little boy, no more than four, thinking the legs of his overalls totally covered him up, thinking Walter would never find him there. He remembered Walter shoving the closet door to the side so hard it came off its hinges. Chase remembered squeezing his own eyes shut. If he couldn't see Walter, then Walter couldn't see him, right?

He'd run to hide when Walter yelped. A pain yelp. Because he'd stepped barefoot on the Thomas train Chase had forgotten to put away. He remembered Walter, still rubbing the sole of his foot, yanking him out of the closet by the elbow.
What you hiding in here for, boy? You afraid of me? You afraid of your own dad?
He remembered how he'd looked anywhere but at Walter's eyes, hoping for a way to escape. Not that different from the way Daisy looked right now.

Chase kneeled and touched her hand. “I would never hurt you. I would never, ever, ever hurt you. I promise.” It mattered so much that she believed him.

She looked up. “Princess pinky swear?”

He tried not to laugh, relieved. “I princess pinky swear times a million. I will never hurt you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Daisy whispered. She bit her lip and then added, “Are we all going to hell?”

“What?” Chase lifted her chin to face him. “Where did that come from?”

“Because you and Mommy fight all the time. And we don't go to church.” Daisy's eyes seemed wide and dark as plums. “This girl at school says anyone who doesn't confess their sins will go to hell. But we never go to church anymore. Not even on Easter.”

“Don't you think going to hell has more to do with the kind of person you are than whether you sit in a sweaty church every Sunday?” Chase asked.

“I guess so.” Daisy didn't sound convinced.

“Listen, Daisy-Dukes. I'm definitely not the person who has all the answers about religion and sin and all that.” Chase stood up and held out his hand. “But somehow I doubt this girl from school has all the answers either. So how about you decide for yourself if you want to go to church, and if you do, I'll take you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Daisy whispered for a second time, accepting Chase's hand and climbing out of the closet.

They studied for the spelling test over a dinner of Top Ramen and Mountain Dew. Then Chase indulged Daisy by enduring her favorite teenybopper television shows for an entire hour. He tried to keep his mind from wandering back to Rose, but failed. Did she actually like Chase, or was she just repaying a debt? As much as he wanted to believe the muffins were a sign, maybe they were just muffins.

A thought grabbed on to his mind. He wouldn't know unless he made a move, would he?