Where You'll Find Me (6 page)

I dash out of my room, closing the door behind me, and run downstairs so fast that I miss a step and almost slide the rest of the way on my ass. At the bottom of the stairs, I take a second to compose myself. My heart is pounding, and I’m breathing like I ran a marathon. Damn being out of shape and nervous.

I run my fingers through my hair and walk into the kitchen. My dad is standing at the counter, typing away at his Blackberry, jacket and shoes still on.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, Hanley,” he says without looking up, thumbs going a mile a minute. His hair is still neat, like he didn’t work long enough to tug at it with frustration or stress. If he notices my forced casual tone, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“You’re home early.”

“Yeah.” He presses one more button before turning his attention to me. “It figures the heat in our building would go out on the coldest day of the year.” He shrugs out of his jacket and walks toward the coat closet. I follow. “It was too cold to stay. Everyone’s working from home for the rest of the day.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

Dad places his shoes in the complicated closet organizing system my mom put in a year or two ago. There’s a place for every pair of shoes, umbrella, scarf, and hat. Not that I ever use the system correctly. Dad starts to loosen his tie, then stops and sniffs. “Do I smell eggs?”

My heart rate, which had started to return to normal, spikes again. “No,” I say, louder than I intend to. “I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe the garbage needs to go out.” At that moment, I’m glad that we ran the egg shells down the garbage disposal.

“Maybe.” He studies me with those dark brown eyes that are the exact same color as mine. “Everything okay, Hanley?”

“Yep. Fine,” I say, too quickly. Usually I can lie like a boss, but the higher the stakes, the more I fumble. Hiding a stranger in my bedroom? The stakes are beyond high. “Just thought I’d see what was going on. Say hi. But I think I’ll go back up to my room.” I back out of the hallway, toward the stairs.

“Sounds good.”

As I climb the stairs, Dad follows. What the hell is he doing? Does he suspect something? Did he hear Nate? Did he hear the closet door closing and assume I’m hiding something?

“I thought you were going to work.” I nod toward the den where he holes up when he’s working from home.

“I’m going to change first. No sense sitting around in a suit when no one’s going to see me.”

“True,” I say, relieved, climbing the rest of the stairs. But then my heart drops. Sitting outside the bathroom, where he dropped it after his shower, is Nate’s backpack. The masculine yellow and gray backpack I would never own in a million years. I freeze, trying to decide if I should acknowledge it, ignore it, or try to sneak it into my room. My dad almost runs into me.

“Sorry. I thought I forgot something downstairs.” Maybe if I ignore it, he won’t even notice it.

My fingers are around my bedroom door handle when Dad asks, “Is that your backpack?”

I whirl around. “No.” The answer is too quick. “It’s…it’s Rosalinda’s. She left it with me, and since there’s no school, I said I’ll give it to her tomorrow.”

Dad nods, but he’s looking at me with suspicion. Rightfully so, I suppose. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, picking up the backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. The straps are far too long for anyone my height or Rosalinda’s, but I hope Dad won’t notice. “Fine. I’m just going to watch a movie. Have fun working.”

“Okay.”

My hand shakes as I open my door, Nate’s backpack still slung over my shoulder. I turn and force a smile at my dad before closing the door behind me. For a few seconds, I hold my breath and don’t move until Dad’s footsteps retreat into his bedroom.

With a sigh of relief, I drop the backpack, but I’m not really in the clear until my dad is downstairs. “Don’t move,” I whisper in the direction of my closet doors. No response. Grabbing the remote, I turn on the TV just in case Dad decides to stick his head in the room. I sit awkwardly on my bed and stare at the screen, but all I can think about is the fact that there’s a boy in my closet. A very homeless, potentially dangerous, insanely cute boy.

A few minutes later, my dad leaves his bedroom. The Third Step Creak has never been such a welcome sound. I can relax a little.

I wait another minute or two for good measure, then tiptoe to the closet doors and open them slowly. Inside, Nate looks so scrunched, his blue eyes so pissed, I almost laugh. “Sorry,” I whisper, crouching down to sit cross-legged in front of him. He glares at me, but it’s more sexy than intimidating. When I glance around the closet, I’m relieved to see that the sock monkey pajamas are nowhere in sight. There is a bra and a pair of underwear within his reach, but with that sexy glare, I’m not too worried about it. “My dad’s working from home for the afternoon.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s working in the room right below us. At the bottom of the stairs, which I need in order to get to the door.”

“Right. And the window isn’t a potential exit. Trust me.” The one and only time I went with the alternate exit idea resulted in a twisted ankle and more scratches than I care to remember.

“So, what am I going to do?”

I shrug, toying with one of the hangers on the floor. “Wait until he takes a bathroom break and run like hell?”

Nate raises his eyebrows. “Does your dad have a small bladder by any chance?”

“Afraid not. I’d go make him a pot of coffee, but that would seem entirely too suspicious.”

“Maybe you could go start a fire? Smoke him out of the house?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you serious right now?”

“Just a small fire. Start it in the bathroom. Lots of water around to put it out.”

“First, if I was going to start a fire, it would be in Heather’s bedroom. Lots of big books to burn. Second, no.”

He laughs quietly and leans back against the closet wall, pausing to remove a stray shoe that must have been wedged behind his back. “Only kidding. Guess I better get comfortable.”

The TV is still on, so I get up and nudge it so it’s facing the closet. Even though I could sit on the bed, I curl up on the ground next to Nate instead, just outside the closet doors. We watch MTV and whisper back and forth for a while.

“Hanley?” he asks at one point.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if this plan is going to work. Even when your dad does get up, I don’t know if that will be enough time for me to sneak out.”

“Yeah.” The thought had crossed my mind as well.

“As much as I’d like to hang out on your closet floor all day, I don’t want you to get caught. I don’t want to ruin this.”

It’s only then that I realize that’s what I’m really afraid of. Not a lecture from my parents about a boy in the house. Not grounding. This thing with Nate has become a
thing
that I’m not ready to be without. “Me neither.”

He looks up. “We just figure out a way to get your dad out of the house for a few minutes. Then I can sneak back out to the garage.”

“But it’s so cold out there.”

Nate shrugs. “It’s better than outside. The blankets you gave me are there. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe. But you can’t keep this up forever, right? What’s your plan?”

The deer-in-the-headlights look is new. Nate is always so self-assured. But this question sucks the confidence right out of him. “I…” He fumbles with one of my hangers. “I don’t really know. I’m just trying to make it one day at a time.”

Though it’s not really an answer, I get it. I’ve had the same plan for two years. I force a smile and tap the top of his shoe. “I’ll tell my dad I need something for school. Wait until you hear us leave, and then the garage is all yours.”

He nods. “When you get back, you won’t even know I’m there.”

He’s wrong. My dad won’t know, but I will. “Thanks for making me breakfast this morning,” I say, grabbing my jacket and cell phone.

“You’re welcome. Consider it an even exchange for the shower, food, and warm house for a few hours.” He tugs on the leg of my jeans before adding, “And thanks for the company.” Even though it comes out as an afterthought, it still sounds like the most important thing he’s said.

I can’t help but smile. “I’ll see you later?”

“See you later.”

Standing over him, I almost feel like I should make a move. Bend down and kiss him. Hug him. Something. But I’m far too sober to be brave enough for that, so I turn and walk out the door, catching one more whiff of cucumber melon as I leave.

Downstairs, I convince my dad that I’m in dire need of index cards for a project due tomorrow. Somehow, he believes me. The entire car ride to and from the store is filled with lectures about being responsible and not putting things off until the last minute. It’s worth it because back in my house, Nate is escaping to safety, and whatever relationship we’re forging isn’t going to be ruined.

When we pull back into the garage, useless index cards in hand, I get out of the car slowly so that my dad walks in front of me. When I’m sure he’s not looking, I sneak a peek over my shoulder, toward the Trans Am. There’s nothing unusual. Not Nate. Not his backpack. Nothing out of place. But I know he’s there. And that’s enough to make me smile.

Chapter Nine

“Do you know how much it sucked being sick on a day off?” Rosalinda asks. She slides a veggie quesadilla onto her tray, and I follow suit. It’s Salisbury steak day in the cafeteria, which means the vegetarian entrée is a popular choice. “All I did was sleep. My mom wouldn’t even let me stay home today. She said I’m not contagious after being on antibiotics for twenty-four hours. Damn modern medicine.”

Before I can respond, Clinton calls Rosalinda’s name and motions us over to his table. I pay for my food and follow Rosalinda in his direction. The seats at his table are filled, so we stand along the wall.

“You’re back,” he says to Rosalinda, giving both of us a dimpled smile.

“Miss me?” she asks in a sultry tone.

“Sure, sure. But don’t worry.” He nods to me. “I made sure Hanley wasn’t lonely without you.”

“Hey, Hanley,” the John/Justin kid says, mouth full of food. He’s eating the Salisbury steak. Gross.

“Hey,” I say, trying not to wrinkle my nose, but failing.

“Lucky girl,” Rosalinda says. “But you didn’t save seats for us today? What the hell, Clinton?”

“Sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. Bonfire tonight. You two will be there, right?”

Compared to the bitter cold of the past few days, anything above freezing feels like a heat wave. Perfect bonfire weather. And Clinton’s bonfires are epic. I’m not sure if “filling a field with a shit-ton of people, alcohol, wood, and lighter fluid” is something he can put on his college applications, but it’s impressive enough that I feel like he should.

“Definitely,” Rosalinda says.

Clinton turns his attention in my direction. “And you, Hanley?”

My mind flashes to Nate, but I can’t stay home all the time just because he’s hanging out in my garage. Besides, with the nonzero temperatures, who knows if he’ll still be there? “Yeah. Maybe.”

Clinton grins. “Good. See you later.”

As Rosalinda and I walk toward our usual table, empty seats at various tables catch my attention. They make me wonder where Nate would sit if he went to school here. With the jocks, maybe. The basketball team. He’s tall enough. Or maybe he’d sit with the seniors who are taking college credits this year. He seems smart. Mature.

We sit across from each other and Rosalinda leans close so I can hear her over the cafeteria din. “Do you think Clinton is good in bed? I bet he is. I mean, the muscles alone.”

The thought of sleeping with Clinton makes my quesadilla look like something out of a litter box. “Gross,” I say. “It’s Clinton. I bet he’s slept with eighty percent of the girls in this room.”

Rosalinda dunks a quesadilla wedge in too much sour cream and shoves it in her mouth. “Probably good odds for a reason,” she says around a mouthful of food. “Have you seen the dimples, Hanley? They’re so sexy. I just want to stick my finger in them. And then I just want to take him and…”

“Okay.” I hold up a hand to stop her before she gets any further. “I get the picture.” Not that I want that kind of picture with anyone other than Nate.

“So, you’re going to the bonfire tonight. Don’t give me any of that ‘maybe’ shit. Will the guy from the mall be there? He was hot. Maybe if he’s there, then you and him can hang out and Clinton and I can hang out, and…”

It’s like she knew I was just thinking about him. But as much as some part of me wishes his cafeteria seat was the one next to mine, Nate is my secret to keep. “I don’t think he’ll be there,” I say. “But I’ll go. Think Misty can drive us?”

“Sure. Hey, the label on a prescription that says ‘Do not drink alcohol while taking this medication,’ is probably just a suggestion, right?”

I laugh. “Absolutely.”

She smiles and starts rambling about what she’s going to wear to the party. It’s good to have this girl back.

…

When I get home from school, the space between the wall and the Trans Am is empty. I know Nate can’t sit around my garage all day every day, waiting for me. But I miss him.

The evening turns into a marathon of Johnny Depp movies. Both of my parents work late because there’s so much they need to get done before the weekend, even though they’ll end up working all weekend anyway. It doesn’t bother me. When Heather heats up chicken stir-fry leftovers, I take a plate to my room and keep watching Johnny Depp.

My dad gets home around nine, my mom around ten, and I pretend to be asleep when they come to say good night. Once my dad’s chainsaw snoring becomes a regular sound, I sneak downstairs.

“Nate?” I call as I put on my jacket.

There’s a long enough pause that my hopes start to fall, but then his familiar voice says, “Nah, it’s the other guy who lives in your garage.”

I grin. “Oh, good. I mean, that Nate guy was starting to bore me.”

“Hey,” he protests, standing and leaning against the Trans Am. The bruising around his eyes is diminishing, and the sexy stubble on his chin is back.

“Kidding.” I step carefully over his backpack and lean against the wall across from him so we’re face-to-face. “Where have you been all day?”

He smirks and drums his fingers on the car’s cover. “What, did you miss me?”

“No,” I lie. “Just curious. You were with the miracle face lotion guy, weren’t you?”

For a minute, Nate looks at me like I asked if he spent the day with the Easter Bunny. Then realization crosses his face. “Oh, the guy at the mall? Sitting near his stand is the best people-watching around. He tells women how old and wrinkly their skin looks, doesn’t get punched in the face for it, then gets them to spend too much money on something that doesn’t work. It’s amazing.”

“Did he ever let you try the lotion? It’s nice, actually.”

“He put it on me. Once. Left me alone after that.”

“Why? What’d you do? Punch him in the face?”

Nate laughs as he touches the healing skin on his knuckles. “No. I think he could tell I’m not his ideal customer.”

“I bet he was disappointed,” I say. A glance at my cell phone reveals that Misty will be here soon. She’s going to wait at the subdivision’s entrance because my parents have special sonar hearing that alerts them whenever her van gets within a quarter mile of our house.

Nate looks me over, from my jacket to my favorite pair of jeans, to the shoes that are bonfire-worthy but still cute. My hair, with the help of a straightener, is so silky that my dark bangs fall into my eyes even more than usual. My eye makeup is amped up. Whether all of this is because of the bonfire or because of who I hoped I’d run into before leaving is open for debate. He reaches up and brushes my bangs away from my face. The split-second touch makes me crave more. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are you headed?”

Though staying here in the garage might be a better option, I say, “A bonfire.”

Nate studies me again, but this time it feels like he’s looking for something deeper. “Don’t you ever get tired of sneaking out?”

“Not really,” I say with a shrug.

He tugs on the zipper of my fleece, lowering it slightly and pulling me closer. “What are you running from, Hanley?”

It feels like my secrets are written all over my face, but I say, “Nothing.”

When he smiles, it’s almost sad. “I don’t buy it.”

I lean in, putting both hands on the car behind him, one on either side, trapping him. “You tell me why you’re living in my garage and I’ll tell you what I’m running from.”

He gives a sly smile and doesn’t budge. “Secrets it is.”

“Secrets it is,” I echo. And even though the small space between us is electric and threatening to disappear, I push off the car and step away. “I’ll see you later,” I say as I open the door.

“Hanley,” he says before I can get too far. “Be careful out there, okay?”

I don’t make any promises.

…

It’s a perfect night for a bonfire. The sky is clear. The moon is bright. The gigantic fire throws off enough heat to chase the cold away. Most of the junior and senior classes are here, and an abundance of alcohol is being passed around. Clinton’s truck is nearby in the middle of the field, music playing from an impressive set of speakers. My guess at the playlist? “Techno, terrible.” But I can’t find it in me to care too much.

I’m staring at the fire, captivated by the flames that are taller than me, while my mind is back in my garage. Though Nate took the question off the table, I keep thinking about what he’s running from. The only information I have about him is that his brother died. But his brother was sick. Nate got to say good-bye. There has to be something else chasing him away. Something worse.

“What are you doing over here by yourself?” Misty’s voice snaps me out of my trance.

When I turn to her, purple spots dance in front of my eyes, the results of staring at the fire for too long without blinking. “Nothing,” I say. “Just getting warm.”

She nudges the cup in my hand. “Is that still your first drink?”

“Yep.” I take a sip. The concoction is something called Winter Punch that Clinton made. I’m not sure what’s “winter” about it, but I get the “punch.” This shit is
strong
.

“Drink up,” Misty says, and holds up a bottle of pop. “Or if you want, we can trade, and you can be D.D.”

There’s no way I’m staying sober and driving Misty’s beast of a van home. “Cheers,” I say, clinking my cup against her bottle. I drink the punch down as quickly as possible. When it’s gone, I choke a little and shiver, but not because of the cold.

“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Misty says with a laugh.

“Smith! Helton!” Clinton yells. “Get your asses over here! Your girl is doing a beer bong and needs cheerleaders. I nominate you two.”

“I need a refill first,” I yell back.

“Got it, got it,” he calls, jogging over and taking my cup. He flashes his dimples at me and says, “I’m empty, too.”

“Who’s up after me?” Rosalinda asks, waving the beer bong as we walk over to her.

“Not it,” Misty says. “Bonging pop just doesn’t have the same effect.”

It’s a few degrees colder away from the fire, but when Clinton returns with a cup of punch that’s even fuller than my first one, the alcohol warms me from the inside out. It’s probably still warmer than it is in my garage. Maybe I should have invited Nate to the bonfire? Warmth. Fun. Alcohol. Whatever he’s running from, my methods of running seem far superior to his.

Rosalinda smacks me on the ass with the beer bong tube, startling me enough to make me spill a little of my drink. “What the fuck?”

“I wouldn’t have had to hit you if you were paying attention,” she says.

“I’m paying attention now,” I say. “Are you going to talk all night, or are you going to do this?”

“You’re next,” she says as Clinton holds the funnel up over her head.

I don’t argue.

…

Despite the fact that Misty claims to have consumed nothing stronger than a Mountain Dew, Rosalinda and I give her a field sobriety test before we leave, asking her to walk and turn, then stand on one leg. We attempt the test as well, ending up on the ground in hysterics. Since Misty is able to pick up our sorry asses and get us to the car, we figure she can’t be lying about the whole “sober” thing.

Coming home drunk tonight feels a lot like it did last Thursday, but this time I’m looking forward to seeing Nate instead of forgetting about him.

“Nate,” I call as I throw open the door so hard it slams against the wall and bounces back at me. “Oops.”

“Shh,” he says, holding a finger up to his lips as he closes the door. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I just missed you.”

When he grins, his crooked front tooth is on full display. “Did you have fun?”

“I had exactly the perfect amount of fun.”

He laughs. “Glad to hear it. You want to sit with me for a while? Sober up before you go inside?”

Sitting seems like a very good idea. With movements that could be described as significantly less than grateful, I sit against the wall on a blanket. Nate sits across from me, leaning against the Trans Am. We’re both cross-legged and our knees are hitting, but it’s far from uncomfortable. He reaches for his backpack and pulls his Nalgene out for me. The water is cold and tastes like Nate.

“You,” I say, tapping his knee for emphasis, “are awesome. You use the ChapStick in the black tube.” A few drops of water spill down my chin, and I wipe them away.

Nate raises his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

I motion to the bottle. “I can taste it.”

He digs around in the front of his backpack and pulls out a tube of ChapStick. Sure enough, it’s the one in the black tube with the metallic cherry taste that lingers on the rim of the bottle.

“I knew it.”

He laughs and puts the ChapStick back. “It’s not too girly, right?”

“No way,” I say, handing the bottle back to him. “If it was the kind in the pink tube, then maybe. But the black tube? You’re golden.”

“I’ll remember that for future purchases.”

Nate’s backpack catches my attention. “What else do you have in there?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Though it’s obvious from his smirk that he’s kidding, the words still hit a little too close to what I’ve been worrying about. “Seriously. Do you have a gun? A knife? Food? A kitten?”

“No weapons or animals of any kind.”

“Well, what then?”

“Clothes. My water bottle. Sometimes food. Money. A book.”

“What book?”

“
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
.” He shrugs. “It was my brother’s favorite book. He gave it to me before he died. It’s the one thing I wish I would have grabbed before I left, so I bought another copy. Ever read it?”

It’s good that I just swallowed the sip of water that was in my mouth, because otherwise, I’m pretty sure it would have come out of my nose along with my snort. “No.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t read.”

I poke his knee again. “Understatement of the century.”

“Take my word for it. This book is good.”

But I’m no longer paying attention to his words. I’m distracted by the stubble on Nate’s strong jaw line, the blue of his eyes. “Reading is sexy.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips. Lips that I definitely want to kiss.