Where You'll Find Me (10 page)

I walk over to him. “Maybe I’m really thirsty.”

“Hi,” he says, leaning over to kiss me. The kisses shouldn’t all be as good as that first one. But they are. They really, really are.

“Hi,” I say once we pull apart.

“How was your day?”

“Good. You?”

“I spent most of the day walking.”

“Walking where?”

He shrugs. “All over. Up to Romeo.”

My mouth falls open. “You walked all the way to Romeo? Isn’t that like ten miles each way? At least?”

“I had some time to kill. Some thinking to do.”

“About what?” I ask.

He leans his head back against the wall. “Stuff.”

It’s only then that I notice the slight frown on his face. The wrinkle in his forehead that I want to reach out and smooth with my thumb. I know from experience that after losing someone, some days are harder than others. Maybe Nate is having one of those days. “Stuff about your brother?”

It takes a second, but then he nods. “I miss him. I miss home, too. More than I thought I would.”

His pain is too close to my own. Every cell in my body screams at me to shut down. To run away. But I don’t do either. I take his hand in mine. I stay.

After a couple of minutes, he lets out a heavy sigh and turns toward me. “I’m okay.”

“Promise?” I ask around the lump in my throat I didn’t realize had appeared.

He considers, then nods in the direction of the bag I brought out. His smile is forced, but it’s there. “Licorice might help.”

Happy he’s giving me an easy out, I squeeze his hand once before letting go. When I open the bag of licorice, the artificial strawberry smell is strong and sweet. “Well, you must need sustenance after all that walking.” And thinking.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a piece. “How’s the grounding going?”

“Good, I guess. I snuck out this afternoon. Had to bribe my sister, but it was worth it.”

“Snuck out to…”

“Hang out with Rosalinda and Misty.”

Nate nods and snatches another piece of licorice from the bag. “Fun?”

“It was. We did girly things like paint our nails and rate the abs of shirtless men.”

He pokes his stomach and says, “Mine are probably only a nine point five.”

Though that wrinkle still stretches across his forehead, it’s nice to hear him joke around. “Not a ten? Better do some sit-ups.” I smirk. “Start now. I’ll watch.”

He laughs. “Don’t you have a party to get to or something?”

“Oh, sure. If it means avoiding crunches, you’re all about me partying.”

“You got it,” he says.

A thought from the bonfire night crosses my mind. “Hey, random question.”

“Hey, random answer.”

I remove the cap from my water bottle and roll it between my fingers. “If there’s a party or people hanging out sometime, would you want to come with me?”

Nate hesitates. “You mean…you want me to meet your friends?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, if you’re going to be antisocial and ignore everyone, then I’m uninviting you.”

“Not what I meant. I just mean…is that a good idea?”

“We don’t have to tell them you live in my garage. It should be okay, unless…” I trail off, thinking again about the secrets Nate is keeping. The bruised knuckles after his fight. The unknown events that brought him here.

“Unless there’s a warrant out for my arrest and your friends are going to recognize me from
America’s Most Wanted
?”

“Actually, not too far from what I was thinking,” I admit.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not on
America’s Most Wanted
or any other country’s most-wanted list, for that matter.”

It could be a lie. After all, I have nothing more than his word. No last name to research. No ID to verify. No family or friends to question. But there’s a hint of pain in his eyes that makes me believe him. Lies are easy. I’ve been telling them for two years. It’s the truth that hurts, and I see that hurt in Nate.

He promised to tell the truth, and he is.

“It does,” I say. “So, do you want to? Come to a party? Hang out sometime?”

Now it’s Nate’s turn to study me. It feels like he sees the truth and pain in me, too. “Are you sure you want that? Are you sure you want this world to blend with the rest of your world?”

Even as butterflies hit my stomach, I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He leans over to kiss me, and the sweetness of the licorice intensifies. “Okay.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Are you sure he’ll be here?” Heather asks under her breath, tousling her hair and tugging at her shirt. It’s the most nervous I’ve ever seen my composed, put-together sister, including the day of her driver’s test, the ACTs, and when she had the lead in the school play. She’s got it bad for Clinton.

“Positive. He’s got math next hour, and he always hangs out here beforehand. I see him every day.”

“Okay.”

“Stop messing with your hair. It looks fine.” Heather nods and removes her hands, but only for a few seconds. When we turn the corner, sure enough, Clinton is sitting on the edge of a half wall, phone in hand, textbook and notebook sitting next to him. He’s wearing a green polo shirt with his jeans today. “Just be cool,” I whisper.

We approach Clinton, and he looks up from his phone, giving us a huge, full-dimple smile. “Hi, ladies.”

“Hey, Clinton. What’s up?”

Clinton shrugs and pockets his phone. “Nothing. Just wasting time before class.”

I nod. “Yeah. Us, too. Hey, have you ever met my sister?”

Clinton turns his attention to Heather. “You’re Heather, right?”

“You know my name?” Heather asks, and all my hopes for her coolness fly right out the window.

Luckily, Clinton just laughs. “Yeah, you’re in my literature class, right?”

“Right.” Heather smiles so wide it looks like it hurts.

“So, Heather, why don’t you ever come out with your sister?” Clinton nods in my direction.

At this point, Heather seems to try to pull “cool” out of somewhere and shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. Most of the time I have other plans.”

I resist the urge to snort. If her “other plans” include studying and sleeping, then she’s totally telling the truth.

“Well, do you have other plans for tonight?”

Heather’s eyes go wide. “Tonight? No,” she stammers. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Good. Don’t make any. My parents are out of town, so I’m having a few people over. Nothing major, but we’ll have a good time. I expect both of you to be there.” Clinton nods at me.

As much as I want to say yes, to ask if I can bring Nate, that’s not what Heather needs. Heather wants to hang out with Clinton; she’s going to hang out with Clinton, no little sisters involved. “Actually, I’m kind of grounded right now, and I can’t risk sneaking out tonight.”

Clinton winces. “Parents who actually care? Ouch.”

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “Sucks, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says and turns to Heather. “Heather? What about you? I bet I can get Tony to D.D. for you.”

“Sure,” she says with too much enthusiasm. “That would be great.”

“Cool. Be ready around ten. I’ll tell Tony to look for the better half of the Helton sisters.”

“Very funny,” I say.

The warning bell rings, and Clinton hops off the wall, picking up his books. “If I’m late to this class one more time, I’m going to get detention. Again. See you later, Heather.”

“Later.”

Heather and I walk down the hall, side by side. When we’re well out of earshot, she whispers, “Ohmygod, he knew my name.”

I’m unable to prevent a smile. “That he did.”

“And I’m going to hang out with him tonight.
At his house.
”

Yep, Heather has it bad for Clinton. Very bad. I just hope she doesn’t get her heart broken or get pregnant. “That you are. And even more importantly, you’re going to a party. A party which you’re going to have to sneak out for, because no way in hell are Mom and Dad going to let their innocent daughter be corrupted by a boy’s party.”

Heather contemplates this for a moment. “You’ll cover for me?”

“Maybe,” I say, watching for Heather’s reaction out of the corner of my eye.

As predicted, she goes from calm to furious in 2.4 seconds flat. “Hanley, do you know how many times I’ve covered for you, and how many times…”

“I’m totally kidding.” I laugh. “I’ll cover for you.” The tardy bell rings, and I drape my arm over my sister’s shoulders. “Welcome to the dark side.”

…

It turns out not much covering is necessary. Apparently, when your oldest, most responsible, mature, and honest daughter says she’s going to bed at nine on a Friday night, there’s no reason not to believe her. Therefore, the thing that wakes me is not my parents questioning Heather’s location, but Heather herself, puking in the bathroom she and I share.

I sneak out of bed and pull my parents’ door shut. The “covering for Heather” job description probably applies to post-party puking as well. Sitting outside the bathroom door, I wait for the toilet to flush before knocking softly.

“What?” Heather moans.

The smell in the room is a nasty combination of vodka and old cheese that makes me gag a little. Heather is sitting on the ground near the toilet. The outfit she so carefully picked out for tonight is wrinkled, and there’s a stain on the front. Alcohol. Not puke, thank goodness. I fill a paper cup with cool water and hand it to her.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

She groans.

“I should have warned you to go easy on the alcohol.”

“Yes.” She closes her eyes. “You should have.”

“How was it, though? Did you have fun?”

Heather nods, but the enthusiasm I expected doesn’t register. “Yeah. It was fun…just…” She trails off, and for a minute I think she’s fallen asleep.

“Heather,” I whisper, giving her a nudge.

“Hm?”

“It was fun, but what?”

She sighs. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Sure. But Heather?”

“Hm?”

“Water. Lots of water. And Advil. Lots of Advil.”

“Kay.” She pulls herself to her feet. I steady her when she sways.

“Did Mom and Dad notice I was gone?”

“They didn’t notice a thing.”

“Good.”

“See you in the morning. Or maybe the afternoon.”

Heather moans. I smile and go back to bed.

…

As predicted, it’s almost noon on Saturday, and Heather isn’t out of bed yet.

“Maybe I should go check on your sister,” Mom says, slicing raw vegetables for lunch. “It’s not like her to sleep this late. I wonder if she’s not feeling well.”

That’s one way to put it
, I think. But I continue my “covering for my sister” duties. “I’m sure she’s fine, Mom. She was up late working on homework a few nights this week. Just let her sleep.”

Mom wipes her hands on a towel, then puts her hands on her hips, which are sporting a rare pair of jeans. She claims she isn’t going into the office at all today, but I doubt that will last. “What’s up with you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes in my direction.

“Me? What do you mean what’s up with me?”

“You’re sticking up for Heather. You never stick up for Heather. What’s going on?”

Normally, I would become defensive. Argue about how nothing I ever do is right. How I get called out for being mean to Heather and now I’m getting called out for standing up for her. But today I decide to take a different approach. “Heather and I have been getting along better.”

“Really?” There’s no shortage of suspicion in the word.

“Yeah.” At least it’s not a complete lie. “I think this whole ‘grounding’ thing is working. Maybe I’ve learned my lesson. Maybe I can—”

“Nice try,” Mom interrupts before I can get any further. “You’re not getting out of your grounding early no matter how nice you are to your sister. That doesn’t mean you need to go back to being cruel to her, though.”

“If you insist.”

I’m back in my bedroom when Heather’s door finally opens. The bathroom door closes, and I listen for more puking but don’t hear anything. The toilet flushes, and water runs for a minute or two. When Heather exits the bathroom, she heads straight into my room and collapses on the bed.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

She grunts something unintelligible in response.

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible. How do you stand this?”

“You get used to it after a while. How was Clinton?”

Heather flops over onto her back. “Good. He’s so cute and sweet, and he says the funniest things.”

Warning bells sound in my mind. There are too many ways for Heather to get hurt in this situation. “He’s charming. That’s for sure.”

“He was kind of all over Rosalinda, though. Are they dating?”

“I’m not sure what they’re doing.” Besides hooking up, that is.

Heather sighs, then moans. “Ohmygod, my head.”

I laugh. “Drink water. Take more Advil. You’ll feel better.”

“Advil.” Heather says the word with reverence she usually reserves for the periodic table or quadratic equations.

“Are you going to hang out with Clinton again?”

“Maybe. He said he’d let me know the next time he has people over. I’m just… I don’t know if that kind of thing is for me, you know?”

Unlike me, Heather’s not running from anything. She’s happy in her perfect little hermit life. Escape is a necessity for me, but a novelty for her. “Yeah. I get it.”

“But Clinton… He’s so cute…” She trails off, and her breathing evens out like she’s fallen back to sleep.

“Heather.” I nudge her shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Go back to bed. But first show Mom that you’re alive. Just tell her you have a headache.”

“Ngh. Am I moving yet?” She’s completely still.

“Not quite yet. Try again.”

She sighs and forces herself off the bed. “Later, Hanley.”

“Later.” And I realize that I’ve talked to Heather more this week than in the past couple of years combined.

…

A few hours later, Rosalinda calls me about going to a party. It’s at a senior’s house, not someone any of us know very well, but someone with a reputation for having kegs, a killer sound system, and neighbors too far away to call the cops. The party will be big. Crowded. The perfect setting for bringing Nate because he’ll be able to blend into the background. “Can I bring someone?” I ask, phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder while I scroll through a couple websites on my laptop.

“Misty?” Rosalinda asks. “I already invited her. She’s in. She can give us a ride.”

“No. I mean…can I bring a guy?”

“A guy? Who?” Though I can’t see her, I can practically hear her bouncing in her seat.

I chew on my thumbnail. “Nate.”

“Mall Nate? Ohmygod, Hanley, he is gorgeous. Yes. Bring him. Please. Does he have any cute friends for me?”

“I thought you were with Clinton.”

“Just because I’m hooking up with him doesn’t mean I have to date him. Doesn’t even mean I
want
to date him.”

“Right. How could I forget?” I ask drily. “So, tonight?”

“Misty and I will pick you up around eleven. Nate will be with you?”

There’s always the chance that he changed his mind since I brought up the idea of a party, but I hope that chance is small. “Pretty sure.”

“Good,” she says. “See you later, girl.”

We end the call, and I toss my cell phone on my comforter. Plan made. Now two hurdles stand in my way: getting Nate in on the plan and having a talk with Heather.

I sigh and roll off my bed to head across the hall. When I knock, I keep it quiet in case she’s still sleeping.

“Come in,” she says.

“Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me.

“Hey.” Her hair is still a mess, and she’s still wearing pajamas, but she’s up and painting her nails. The girl survived her first hangover.

“So, you know how I covered for you last night?”

“Yeah,” she says without looking up.

“Well, do you think you can cover for me tonight?”

“Where are you going?”

“Party. Not at Clinton’s house.”

“When?”

“Around eleven. I’ll probably be home by three or four.”

Heather changes from painting the nails on her left hand to her right hand. “I’ll cover for you, but what about bed checks?”

I glance toward Heather’s bedroom door, making sure it’s still closed.

“I’m going to turn Mom’s alarm off.”

“Wait, wait,” Heather says, recapping the nail polish and looking up with wide eyes. “You’re going to sneak into Mom and Dad’s room, turn off the bed check alarm, then sneak out to a party? That’s ballsy, even for you.”

“I know. But I really want to go to this party.”

It takes a second, but then Heather nods. “All right. What am I supposed to do if Mom gets up and heads to your room when she realizes the alarm didn’t go off?”

“She won’t wake up on her own.” I already thought about that, and Mom is far too sleep-deprived to wake up on her own in the middle of the night. Hopefully. “But even if she does… I don’t know. Call her in your room. Fake appendicitis or something.”

Heather blows on her nails. “I am not going to the hospital for you.”

“Fine. But it won’t happen, so don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll do my best. No promises, though.”

“Thanks, Heather.”

“Yeah, whatever. Get out of my room.”

I laugh because that part, at least, feels normal. When I head to the garage, Nate isn’t there, but I’m prepared for that possibility. Using the piece of paper and pen I thought to grab, I write him a note: “
Party. Tonight. Be ready to go before 11:00. Can’t wait. <3 H.H.
”