The Stillburrow Crush (10 page)

Read The Stillburrow Crush Online

Authors: Linda Kage

"Carrie?" E.T. called after me weakly. His voice sounded curious, yet scared. He didn't dare follow me, probably because he knew I was about to do something rash.

I must've looked like some kind of Amazon woman forging into battle, my eyes blazing with fury and my mouth set in one thin line. I marched as if I were carrying armor. It felt like I was going into war too.

I didn't care if
I'd
told my parents the same lie about Under-the-hill asking Luke to tutor me. That had been for protection: my protection and Luke's. It'd be disastrous if Mom thought Luke and I were dating. She'd have gossip spreading through town like wildfire. But why would Luke lie about it? If he didn't want his friends knowing he'd volunteered to tutor me then he shouldn't have volunteered, dang it.

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The Stillburrow Crush

by Linda Kage

He was sitting next to Pastor Curry's daughter, Liz, who was also the head cheerleader. Nathan Bates sat across from him, next to Jill Anderson, and on the other side of Jill, sat Abby. A few other football players and cheerleaders crowded in around them.

Nathan was talking when I neared the table. It sounded like he was telling some story about something that had happened to him in gym class. But I didn't hear much because when Nathan saw me looming at the end of the table glaring at Luke, his words died off. And that caused everyone to glance up, including their precious, lying quarterback.

He'd been in the middle of leaning forward to take a drink from the straw poking out of his milk carton. But when he saw me, he froze. His eyes sprang wide.

I smiled at him, a smile that probably looked anything but friendly. "I'm going to have to cancel our little meeting after school," I said.

His jaw dropped. All his friends turned to ogle him.

"But I was thinking." I tapped on my chin with one hand and set the other on my hip. "Why don't we just tell Underhill we did meet? That way I can do my thing and—" I leaned over the table, pinning him with an accusing stare. "You can still get your extra bonus points." Lifting my eyebrows, I finished, "Sound good to you?"

He opened his mouth to speak but then glanced around at the people surrounding him. When he looked back at me, he shut his mouth, apparently deciding he shouldn't say anything, and nodded.

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I clasped my hands together and smiled. "Good. I'm glad we settled that, then." And I spun on my heel, leaving Luke Carter and his table of friends in my wake.

The phone rang five minutes after I arrived home from school. I'd just finished the apple I picked up as soon as I walked in, and was getting ready to change so I could head out to the shop.

Mom barely let the first ring settle before she swiped it off its cradle. I swore she was going to say, "Marty, is that you?"

But she controlled herself enough to answer in a breathless,

"Hello. Paxton residence."

I turned away and headed toward my room, tossing the apple core into the trashcan, but Mom stopped me. "Carrie.

It's for you."

I was pretty sure I knew who it was before I even turned around and saw the knowing gleam in her eyes. But her wink confirmed it.

I took the phone from her and said, "Thank you." Then I pushed the disconnect button.

Mom gasped. "Carrie! How could you be so rude? What in God's name has gotten into you?"

I didn't have a chance to answer because the phone, which was still in my hand, rang again. I sighed. "I'll get it." But I wouldn't answer in front of her. I carried it to my room and shut the door on Mom's shocked face.

I pressed Talk. "Let me guess. You're sorry for lying to your friends about me and telling them Under-the-hill
forced
you into tutoring me? Am I right?"

"Carrie." His voice was a regretful sigh.

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He couldn't be lying down and spread across his bed like I'd pictured him the first time he called. No, this time he was either pacing the floor, or he was seated in a straight-back wooden chair with his face buried in his hand. Out of curiosity, I almost asked him which it was. Sitting or pacing?

"You're not going to let me apologize, are you?"

"And why should I?" I said, louder than I needed to. But who could be quiet when they were spitting mad? "Who made me feel like a complete jerk yesterday for caring what other people think about money? Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Carter. Caring about financial status and caring about social status is the same dang thing."

"Carrie—"

"No!"

He had that voice—the voice that sounded humble and sorry but also like he was trying to soothe the hysterical female. It only made me madder.

"How dare you? How dare you lecture me about giving status importance and then turn around yourself and hide the fact that you volunteered to spend time with me? Let me repeat, you volunteered. If you didn't want your popular friends knowing you were tutoring a nobody then you shouldn't have volunteered."

I was breathing heavily like I'd just run a marathon. "Why
did
you volunteer, anyway?" I waited for an answer and when none came, I waited some more. I started to think he wasn't on the line anymore. "Are you still there?" I demanded.

"I'm not going to say anything until you're ready to listen to me."

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I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'm listening." I didn't plan on listening to one excuse, though.

But then he said, "You're absolutely right."

My eyebrows shot up. Of course I was right. But it was a shock to hear him admit it.

"I lied to my friends about why I was spending time with you," he said. "But it wasn't because I was ashamed of letting them know I'd volunteered to."

"Then why?"

"I thought you were going to shut up and listen for once."

"I'll listen when you have something to say."

He made a growling sound and muttered something I didn't catch, probably ran his hand through his hair too, in that harried way he had. "I lied because I didn't want anyone to know why I wanted to meet with you."

I snorted. "Well, I don't think you have to worry about that much. Because I know you volunteered and I don't have a clue as to why."

"OK, fine." I heard him sigh and I swear I could feel him struggle with himself over the phone line. "I'll tell you."

Something knocked against my chest, hard. It took me a moment to realize it was my heart. I was touched by the tone of his voice. He sounded tortured—like he had some huge mystery and I was the only human on earth able to solve it.

I wasn't going to let him know he was tugging at my heartstrings, though. No, I was rather proud of the bitter sound my voice had when I said, "Oh, so now you're going to grace me with the knowledge of your precious secret?"

"Yes," he said in a strained pitch.

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"What makes you think I care what your little mystery is anymore?"

He groaned. "Carrie, let me come over. I'll explain everything."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

He sounded incredulous. "I'm not talking about it over the phone."

I hissed at him. I wanted to scream. Dang. He must have realized I'd have to know his secret—that I wouldn't rest easy until I did. I sighed. Curiosity was going to be the death of me. "OK. OK. Come over. And bring your trigonometry book.

I might as well get something good out of this too."

"I'll be right over." He said it quick and didn't bother to say goodbye, merely slamming the phone down.

I wondered then if we'd ever have a phone conversation with proper farewells.

Luke didn't come right over like I'd expected him to. I let Mom know he was on his way and she asked if we'd worked out our problem. I told her there'd never been a problem. She only smiled to herself and rolled out dough for a pie. I leaned against the kitchen counter, resting on my elbows and snipped off a piece of the unbaked crust when she turned to fetch the pie pan. I waited there for a minute almost expecting a pounding at the door right away, even though I knew it would take him longer than that to get to my place.

But when time passed and he still hadn't shown, my smugness started to dissipate. He was going to stand me up.

OK, it wasn't like a date or anything. But this was as close to a date as I'd ever come. I began to pace the living room.

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Mom popped her head in and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I wanted to snarl and tell her to cut the perfection act, but I only shook my head no.

When Luke finally rang the doorbell, I about tore the hinges off opening it for him. I was on the verge of asking what happened to, "I'll be right over," when I caught the look on his face. He was nervous. He looked sick-to-his-stomach pale. And his eyes darted. He held his bag down at his side today not over his shoulder and his fingers were gripped around the strap tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. I decided against cracking a smart-aleck remark.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He nodded but didn't speak. He was acting as if speaking would unsettle his stomach and he might vomit his after-school snack all over the floor. I shut the door behind him quietly and led him to the kitchen. Luke pulled up short when he saw my mom at the counter, pouring cherry filling into her piecrust. His gaze zipped toward me in a panic. I wanted to demand right then what the matter was.

"Hello again, Luke." Mom set her work down and smiled at him.

He nodded back but didn't return the smile. "Hi."

"Back again to tutor Carrie?" He nodded but still said nothing, and Mother smoothed her hands down the side of her apron. "Well, isn't that nice of you? Would you like something to drink?"

He raised a shoulder like he didn't care one way or the other.

"Is milk all right, then?" Mom said.

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From the horror on Luke's face, I thought he might go into the whole never-consume-health-food-right-after-school spiel. But he refrained and accepted the milk with a nod.

Mom was quick to serve him, but while her back was turned Luke glanced at my pile of schoolbooks on the kitchen table. "Not here," he whispered, darting a look from my mother back to me. I wasn't about to suggest that we go to my room to study but Mom took the decision right out of my hands. She handed the milk to Luke and as he chugged it like he had cottonmouth, she glanced at the table and then to us.

"Why don't you two go to Carrie's room to study? I'm afraid I'll disturb you if you stay in here."

My jaw fell open, but Luke thanked her as he handed the empty glass back. He turned to me and almost pulled me into leading him to my room. When I glanced back, I could see my mother over his shoulder. She winked at me. Again.

I seethed the whole way. "If you say one word about my—

"

"I don't care if it's decorated in pink ruffles and is stuffed with teddy bears," he said, pushing me inside. He shut the door behind us and turned. His hands were in the air as if he were ready to deliver a speech. But when he saw my room, he stopped.

"Wow. It's like stepping from day into night."

He had a point. My bed wasn't made. My clothes were strewn across the floor. I had papers and notebooks stacked in every corner. Posters I'd taped to the wall hung crookedly.

I guess it was a typical teenager's bedroom but that didn't mean I was proud of it.

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I glared at Luke's startled expression. "I thought you didn't care."

He shook his head. "You're right, I don't. I like your room.

It's...homey."

I snorted, then jumped when he grabbed my shoulders. I looked into his eyes and my mouth fell open. I'd never seen him look so serious before.

"Swear to me," he said. "Swear that what I'm about to tell you does not leave this room."

I nodded. My heart started that odd thumping again.

"You can't tell anyone," he said.

"I won't."

He shook his head, as if not yet trusting me. "I've never said anything about any of this to anyone in my entire life."

I gasped. "You're gay, aren't you?"

His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. "I'm serious, Carrie."

"What?" I said. "That's exactly how you're making it sound. It's like you're coming out of the closet or something."

"I'm not gay. But that's exactly what everyone would think if they knew."

"Knew what?"

He bit his lip and stared at me. Then slowly, he turned away and bent down to his bag. He unzipped it and reached inside. I held my breath but when he pulled out a plain notebook, I exhaled like a deflated balloon. He turned back slowly.

"This," he said, and held it out. I glanced at him, asking with my eyes what it was. He didn't answer. So I reached for 98

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it. I started to tug it away from him but he had a tight grip on it.

"You swear to me, right?"

"Yes! Geez," I said, and jerked harder. He let go then and I went sprawling backward. I glared at him when I regained my balance. "What is it?"

When he refused to answer, I opened the first page.

It was filled with poems. I skimmed a few and then turned the page. There were more. I flipped through another couple of pages. All poems. I glanced at Luke. He'd fallen onto my bed and was sitting on the edge with his feet firmly placed on the carpet. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. His head was lowered and he was staring at the floor between his feet.

I went back to the beginning and read the first poem more carefully.

It was good. I reread it and it was even better the second time. It wasn't just good, it was really good. It wasn't that sappy junk, either, that teenagers sometimes write and then imagine they're tortured poets. This was real poetry. Being a writer, I considered myself somewhat of an expert. I wasn't good at poetry myself, but at least I could recognize a good poem when I read one.

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