The Promise of Amazing (32 page)

My parents shared a look.

“We, as in you and three boys?” my father asked.

“Um, well, not really.”

“Did we not just find you with three boys, two covered in blood and one with drugs, at our place of business after hours?” he continued.

“Yes . . .” I said, looking at Mom.

“Wren, you told us you were going out with Maddie. Why did you lie?” she asked.

“I . . . well . . . I . . .”

I had no answer to that one. My dad’s face reddened.

“Please, it just happened . . . an accident . . . I’m sorry,” I said, trying to tamp down the tears that were finally coming.

“Sorry?
What were you doing there?
”

I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear. There was no easy answer for this.

“I was there to be with Grayson . . . alone.”

He ran a hand across his face and got up from the table.

“Jim,” my mother said.

“Ruthie, don’t.”

He walked over to the coffeepot and poured a cup. He brought it over to my mom before pouring another one for himself. “Do you want something, Wren?”

His tone had changed slightly, lightening even. The gesture was encouraging.

“No, no thanks.”

He sat down again, hands clasped around his mug.

“You’re . . . seeing . . . the Barrett boy?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Let me guess, you’ve been seeing him about a month now?”

“Well, yes, seems about right.”

“Hmm
, now imagine that, because I’ve noticed some changes in you this last month. . . .”

“Dad.”

“Am I wrong, Ruth?”

“Wren, you have been more . . . animated lately,” she said.

“Animated? What are you talking about?”

“It’s like this, Wren,” my father began, “ever since you were in kindergarten, I’ve barely had to raise my voice to you. Every parent/teacher meeting your mother and I have ever been to could have been scripted. They would tell us we didn’t even need to be there, but if they had one complaint, it was that you should speak up more. That’s a complaint I can live with.”

“And that’s a good thing?” I asked.

“After Josh? Yes, it’s a very good thing,” my father continued. “You’ve never once been late to school, and then we get a call you cut your last period. You’ve lied about where you were going and who you were with. And now we find you with three boys, and your hair . . . is . . . blue . . . all since you’ve been seeing this boy.”

“You think all of this happened because I met Grayson?”

“Wren, we’re just concerned,” my mother said.

“To hell with concerned,” my father said. “I don’t think he’s the kind of
friend
we want you to have.”

My first instinct was to storm away crying, but I stopped myself. What would that solve?

“You’re wrong, Dad. All of this happened because of me.
Me
. I’m tired of being the quiet one. The kid who teachers don’t have anything to say about—you really think that’s the way I want to be remembered? How I want to go through life? I cut class . . . because . . . well, that was wrong, and being at the Camelot and breaking the window, all of that was stupid, but I didn’t do it because of some boy.”

“Wren, calm down.”

“No, Dad, because you know if Josh did this, you’d already be laughing about it, probably swapping stories—”

“That’s not true—”

“And if Brooke did this—”

“Brooke wouldn’t do this,” both my parents said.

“No, because Brooke is perfect and pregnant—”

“Wren, stop,” my mother said.

“No. I won’t stop. For the first time I’m making my own mistakes, doing my own thing. You guys are just going to have to deal with it. And Grayson is the kind of friend I want to have, because he likes me for who I am, Dad. He’s a good person—we made a mistake tonight, a huge one, but . . . you don’t even know him—so don’t tell me he’s not the kind of
friend you want me to have because . . . I . . . I love him.”

My words rang out through the kitchen, filling the empty house. Had I actually told them I loved Grayson? I took deep breaths, getting my anger under control. My mother reached for my father’s hand. He seemed reluctant at first but then wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Fine,” my father began. “You won’t be seeing him for a very long time, because I’m not sure you’ll ever leave the house again for anything other than school or work. And we can be sure you won’t work the same shifts; I know the owner.”

“So . . . you’re not going to fire him?” I asked, looking between them.

“Wren, I’m not happy about what happened tonight, but no, I’m not firing Grayson,” my mother said. “He’s a good worker. If he wants to stay on through January, he’s more than welcome. And you can certainly work the same shifts; don’t listen to this guy.”

“But any and all keys to the love shack shall be given to me,” my father added. “I don’t want you there again unless it’s for an event. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Dad,” I said. “Could I, um, get myself some hot chocolate now?”

He nodded. “Grab us some Oreos while you’re up.”

I turned on the kettle, grabbed the Oreos, and arranged some on a plate before returning to the table. I slid back into my chair and put the cookies in the center. My dad and
I reached for the same one. He mock-scowled at me, and I smiled, letting him take it. He twisted the cookie apart and gave me half.

“Wait a minute. . . . Dad, who told you the staff calls the cottage the love shack?” I asked, raking my teeth across the Oreo cream.

Mom stifled a smile and squeezed my dad’s hand. They shared a playful look that seemed to transform them into teenagers again, and suddenly I felt like I was the one interrogating them. My father chuckled, and this odd realization came over me, one that made my skin crawl just a little. . . .

Was my father actually blushing?

“Who do you think named it that twenty-three years ago?” my mother said.

I swallowed my cookie and pushed away from the table to check on my boiling water. Maybe the three of us being quiet and going off to our separate spaces without talking wasn’t such a bad thing sometimes.

“Guys . . . that’s just . . . wow . . . TMI.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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TWENTY-SIX

GRAYSON

I LAY ON MY BED, STARING AT THE ACNE-VULGARIS
ceiling and attempting to send telepathic messages to Wren, since I was banned from all technical/electronic devices. This was a new one for Pop. Even when I was expelled, he’d let me keep my cell phone. I felt like I was under house arrest.

Not that I would have called Luke or Andy, but I kept wondering what sort of story they’d told about last night. Did Detective Preisano go back to Luke with my term-paper explanation? Did Luke deny it? When all was said and done, I felt like I’d put a pretty positive spin on it. And if Luke and Andy were smart, they’d just go along for the ride.

But Luke was vindictive and smart.

And Andy . . . well, just, shit.

My stomach lurched with a weird twinge of hunger or anxiety; I couldn’t tell the difference. I hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch the day before. Had it only been the day before? A school day? Friday. Christ, it felt like I’d lived a week in one night. I folded my head into a pillow burrito, rolled to my side, and groaned. When I let go to breathe, Pop was standing in the doorway. I sat upright. He looked like he wanted to smile, but it passed. He had two mugs, and he handed me one. Black coffee. I leaned against my headboard. Pop sat in my desk chair, placing his mug in the space my laptop usually occupied before he had confiscated it.

“Last night was not my proudest moment,” he said.

“Not mine either, Pop,” I said, sitting up and putting the mug on my side table. “I’m sorry.”

“I just thought we were past all this, Grayson. You seemed to be gettin’ on again, things looking up in school and with Wren. What happened? Why would you even think about writing those term papers? That’s all this is about—you were telling the truth last night, right?”

More or less, or less
.

“Yes, Pop. It was dumb. I’m done with the term-paper thing.”

“Good.”

“Does Mom know?” I asked.

“A week and a half before Christmas, ya think I’m gonna
saddle her with this shit? Nah, it can wait,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “You know, maybe we don’t need to tell her at all. As long as we’re handling it.”

Pop deciding
not
to tell my mother something? That was new. “I say we let this one slide.”

We sat for a few minutes in thick, thoughtful silence. Pop leaned on his elbow against my desk.

“Have I let too many things slide?” he asked.

“What?”

“You think any of this would have happened if you went to live with her?”

“Pop, what are you getting at?”

“Grayson, I’ll admit I was happy you chose to live with me. I’m not sure if it had to do with feeling like I’d won something over your mother or the fact that I’d have you with me. Both, I guess. I never doubted I could take care of you, or us, but sometimes I wonder if you might have been better off in Connecticut.”

“Don’t say that. I could have gotten into trouble anywhere. Could have been worse.”

“Could have been better.”

“It is what it is,” I answered. “I didn’t start my term-paper business because of something you or Mom did or didn’t do. And last night . . . that was just . . . me, Luke and Andy being idiots. All of this is my fault. Me.”

“You will pay for that window. You. Luke. Andy,” he said,
lifting his coffee mug at me for emphasis. “You have to do the right thing.”

“Of course.”

Tiff knocked on the doorjamb. “Luke’s at the door.”

“What part of grounded are you not getting?” he asked me.

“I didn’t call him.”

“I invited him in, but he said he can’t stay. Blake, I think you should let the boys talk.”

My father stopped midsip. “So that’s it, we’re playing good cop, bad cop now.”

Tiffany clucked her tongue. “I’ll tell Luke you’ll be down in a minute, Grayson.”

Pop sighed and took a slug of coffee.

“When you’re done with Luke, take a shower. You look like a greaseball,” he said, standing up and tousling my hair. “And leave that screw out of your eyebrow; you look better without it.”

“Sure, Pop.”

I waited until he left the room to get up. What could Luke possibly want? As I pulled a fresh T-shirt over my head, I thought of at least one thing: the necklace. I grabbed it out of my desk drawer, where it had been since the day Wren gave it back to me. Whether he really wanted it or not, Luke was getting the last lingering trace of a past I wanted to forget. I tossed my jacket on and went outside.

Luke was on the porch, hands in his pockets, waiting.
When he turned around, I saw the damage I’d inflicted. It looked like he’d smeared a deep-purple shade of eye black from the corner of his right eye to the outside of his cheek. I thought for sure that when I saw him again I’d want to finish what we’d started, but I felt strangely calm. His face split into a grin. And for some reason we cracked up, laughing for a long minute.

“I did that?” I asked, inspecting his injuries. He had another bruise on his cheek and a cut on his bottom lip.

“I got three inches and twenty pounds on my old man. Think he’s going to mess with me these days?”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the porch railing. “You’re not in trouble?”

“With him? Nah, I think he got off on going to the police station. Gives him something to complain about on his next corporate golf outing. Term papers? Nice spin, Barrett.”

“I thought so. You went along with it, then?”

He hunched his shoulders, squinted up at the sun. “I didn’t want to . . . I was going to take us down, you know . . . big, fiery exit and all that, then I thought, what’s the point? I got in, Barrett. Princeton. Early action. Got my letter yesterday.”

Luke had set his sights on Princeton freshman year. It was a huge achievement. I should’ve been happy for him, but it stung. After all the crap he’d pulled, he still got what he’d wanted the most. Where was his karmic payback?

“Congrats. That’s . . . that’s awesome news, Luke,” I said. I
knew I should have shaken his hand, or clapped his shoulder, or given him some gesture of bro-love, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe this had been his sole purpose for coming here—to gloat.

“Why would I screw around with that, right?”

“Right.”

Luke gripped the railing with both hands and watched a few cars pass down the street before speaking again. “You want to hear the most messed-up thing? Since you got kicked out of Saint Gabe’s, everything is easy. No one challenges me. Nothing drove me like competing with you.”

“Dude, c’mon, I was ranked tenth; you were always above me. No competition there.”

He laughed. “Don’t you get it? You’re my friggin’ barometer, Barrett. Not even getting into Princeton feels as good as I thought it would without you to measure it by.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but I understood what Luke meant. I’d felt the same way about being in Bergen Point. The classes were fine, maybe not as specialized as what I’d been used to at Saint Gabe’s, but interesting enough. The fact that I didn’t have any close friends to challenge me in class or on the lacrosse field was what made it dull.

“Here,” I said, pulling out the necklace and offering it to Luke, “consider this your congratulations present.”

“You shouldn’t have, Barrett,” he said, taking it from me.

“What do you think you’ll get for it?”

He shrugged, studying the necklace in his open palm, as if he actually did think of it as a present. “I think I only paid, like, eighty bucks for it. It’s gold-plated silver.”

My mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about? You gave that to me for Spiro to fence.”

He closed his fist around the necklace, wound up, and threw it toward my neighbor’s house, where it disappeared into the thick evergreen shrubs surrounding the front yard.