While You're Away (18 page)

“You dumped the guy,” Will said reasonably. “I’m not surprised.”

“True.”

“Call me an asshole, but I’m actually kind of glad.”

Knitting my brows, I curled my toes anxiously against the carpet. “You are?”

I heard bedsprings and Will sitting up. His voice tightened, probably with a stretch. “You’re my girlfriend now. I don’t want him getting any ideas.”

Another wave of guilt rose in me. That was my opportunity to tell Will exactly what had happened. I even opened my mouth to do it. I don’t know what held me back. Probably fear. I was a coward, I could admit that. Everything felt so tenuous between us, I didn’t want to test it. As much as I wanted answers, I was terrified of losing him.

So what I said instead was, “You know I’m all yours.”

“As long as he knows it, too.”

Eager to get past this topic, I leaned over the edge of my bed. Water dripped from the curls that had escaped the loose bun on the top of my head. Each crystalline drop caught the sunlight as it fell, a little bit of ordinary beauty to distract me. “He does. But there’s something I
don’t
know . . .”

Amused, Will asked, “What’s that?”

Quoting his Twitter account, I said, “OTP come see me? What’s that all about?”

Will laughed. It sounded so good to me. Rich and sweet like honey, soothing me from the inside out. At least, until he followed it up with an answer.

“Omega Theta Pi. I’m rushing.”

T
he first thing I told Jane was, “Do not laugh at me.”

While she arranged her face, I peeled the breading off an onion ring and popped it in my mouth. Most people thought vegetarians were so healthy. Those people had never experienced the deep-fried wonder that was the Garden Fry at our favorite hangout, Planet Veg. Mushrooms, onion rings, french fries, green beans—yes, fried green beans. They were delicious.

Jane reached for the platter. “I’m not laughing at you.”

Slumping on the table, I dropped my head. I could barely look her in the eye. I knew she wouldn’t laugh. But I also knew that on the inside, she’d be howling. Waving a crispy bean like a baton, I moaned, “Will’s joining a frat.”

Jane didn’t laugh. She choked. Her face turned pink and she beat her chest until she caught her breath. Shaking her head slowly, she took her time. She took a drink. Then, after setting her glass back down, she asked, “Are you really surprised?”

My mouth dropped open. “Yes!”

Mirroring my expression, Jane blinked at me. “Why?!”

“Because he’s smart!” I exclaimed. Then I lowered my voice, because the people around us didn’t care and I was getting shrill. “Smart guys don’t join frats. They’re for meatheads and legacies and people who go to college to network the old boys’ club instead of getting an education and . . .”

Jane raised one eyebrow by increments, until it disappeared beneath her bangs. “Stop when you get to something that doesn’t apply to Will.”

Glowering, I said, “Let me repeat. He’s smart.”

“Okay.” Jane reached across the table to take my hand. “Personally, I find the Greek system emblematic of a privileged attempt to inject classism into an inherently classless society—”

I crossed my eyes at her. “Spare me, Margaret Mead.”

“More like Karl Marx,” she shot back. Then she went on. “But even I don’t think you have to be a certifiable idiot to join one. Like you said, they’re all about networking. Meeting the people who will get you jobs later in life. Oh, and also? Tons of beer, life off campus, and a party in your backyard twenty-four seven. Will Spencer is exactly that guy.”

Bristling, I took my hand back. “He’s not.”

With a sigh, Jane sat back in her chair. Awash in resignation, it was like she was waiting for me to come to my senses. When I didn’t, she spread her hands. “He was a jock all through high school. His mommy and daddy bought him a sports car for his sixteenth birthday. He was on both homecoming court and prom court, and he’s going to a school that costs forty thousand dollars a semester.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Oh, and also? He decided to pledge a frat. Case closed. Party animal graduates to frat brat, news at eleven.”

Clasping a hand to my forehead, I tried to force back the ache that sprang up at my temple. Those things were true, absolutely. But that’s not how I saw Will. I didn’t think it was the way Will saw himself, either. Jane was right, though—nobody was making him rush. He was doing it because he wanted to.

“I just . . . There’s, like, this innate thing inside me that got nauseated when he told me that. Like, it somehow changed my opinion of him the tiniest bit.”

Plucking a mushroom from the tray, Jane nodded. “Sorry, girl, but Will hasn’t changed. If you’d said he was joining Greenpeace, or decided to drop out and open a grow-op, then I’d be like, Bessie, take the reins!”

“Then why am I surprised?” I asked plaintively.

It was something I’d been wondering since I got off the phone with Will. My preconceived notions about what it meant to join a fraternity weren’t helping at all. But I’d visited a lot of campuses last fall, and Greek row always had two things in common: incredibly ornate mansions that screamed wealth, and a healthy garden full of red Solo cups on the porches. Or the lawns. Or both.

“You’re still wearing your rose-colored infatuation glasses,” she said.

My feelings for Will were deeper than infatuation. But Jane was right. I’d still been walking around in that glowy state, where everything seems perfect and nothing bad can ever happen. It was a hard crash to reality to realize that I didn’t know
everything
about Will. That he could surprise me. Disappoint me. Even hurt me.

Biting the mushroom in half, I let the earthly flavors fill my mouth. Silverware screamed on china; other people’s conversations filled my ears like the buzzing of bees. A heaviness filled my chest. Or, I think more accurately, a lightness left me. I wasn’t floating two feet off the earth anymore.

Filling the quiet in our conversation, Jane dragged a fry through ketchup and said, “Just promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t go running back to Dave.”

I was stunned. Getting back together with Dave hadn’t ever crossed my mind. Not even a little. But it was like she opened the smallest door when she said it.

One bump in the road with Will didn’t mean I’d go running back to my ex. And that’s all this was, I decided, a bump. Things would get better. Everything would be fine. I’d see Will soon for homecoming, and we’d reconnect, and all would be well.

“That’s not an option,” I told her, and I meant it. I really, truly did.

~

Because I needed some air and to chase the sound of other people’s voices out of my head, I went back to the botanical garden.

The remnants of our private movie night there were long gone. But the ghosts of us, together, still lingered.

Sitting on the lawn, I crossed my legs. With my phone tilted to avoid the sun, I shot a message off to Will. I hated how carefully I felt like I had to word things. The last time we were here, it was perfection. I was drunk on freedom and love and the teasing spark of exploration. We played together; it all happened so seamlessly. Now it was all work, lined with doubts. My fingers felt heavy as I finally typed out my message. I wanted the joy back. I wanted it to be easy again.

can we talk for a few?

Though I didn’t watch the clock, I felt seconds ticking away. I tried not to think about Grace and her rate of return with Luke. I’d never understand her charts and graphs anyway. It was best if I kept my thoughts about me and Will separate from everybody else. Though some small part of me wondered if that was the problem all along.

The more I reflected, the more I realized I’d never spent time with Will and his friends. I’d never been part of his social circle. That public face, I’d seen from a distance all through school. That’s how he managed to sneak up on me at Tricia’s party. It wasn’t that long ago that I was incredulous to find out there was more to him than pretty, rich, and popular. It seemed like I’d known him for decades, but in reality, it had only been months.

Finally, Will replied.
too much to txt?

Swallowing at the knot in my throat, I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.
Phone call would be better. Face time would be amazing.

Another minute slipped away. Instead of texting back, Will called. His ringtone purred at me. It twisted a sharp finger in my heart. The video we’d taken that clip from, Will was so bright and happy and thrilled to be talking to me. Now, apparently, he didn’t have time for video.

“Hey,” I said, answering.

“Hey back, what’s up?”

Though it was the middle of the day, I heard what sounded like yet another party in the background. It wasn’t quite as raucous as the one from Friday night. Still, it was obvious it was warming up. Girls laughed, and guys roared their approval. At what, I had no idea. Rubbing a hand against my chest, I tried to smooth away the ache beneath the bone. “Not much. Missing you, as usual.”

“Yeah, me too,” Will said, somewhat distracted. “I can’t talk too long right now. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

It was all falling apart. Just like Grace had said it would. I rolled back on the lawn. Throwing an arm over my eyes, I blocked out the sun and stopped up my tears. “I was wondering about the fraternity thing.”

A hum came over the line. I couldn’t tell if it was Will or just all the sound around him. “What about it?”

“I didn’t know you were going to join one, for one.”

“That’s not how it works,” Will said patiently. “Right now, I’m rushing. It’s gonna be a couple of weeks. Spending a lot of time at the house with the brothers, doing mixers, fundraisers, that kind of stuff. I only get to pledge—join—if they bid for me.”

The tiniest bit of hope sprung up for me. “So it’s not a guarantee? It’s like an audition.”

Will was walking, because the sound behind him changed. It slipped into the distance, and I heard a door shut. My guess from the echo following his voice was that he’d closed himself in the bathroom.

“Kind of? But I have a good feeling about it. I’m a legacy, and you remember Tyler Stackhouse? Graduated last year? He’s a member. He’s going to sponsor me.”

Swallowing a sigh, I let go of that little hope. “I guess I’m surprised. I didn’t really think about you, you know, doing anything like that.”

“It’s a good organization. They do a lot of charity work. Dad said you can’t beat the connections you make in the OTP.”

Forcing myself to smile, I said, “Good luck, then. I hope you get in.”

“Hey, Sare,” Will said. A new, lower note came into his voice. “What’s the deal? Are you okay?”

“Like I said,” I told him, “just really missing you. I can’t wait until homecoming.”

Will went quiet. He seemed to be shuffling in place. I heard footsteps scraping across tile. The sound bounced around him at odd angles. It gave everything a sort of distorted feel, like he was trapped under glass. Or I was.

“Will?”

“I don’t want you to be mad,” he said.

Now it was my turn to stay silent. My panicked thoughts leapt ahead. This was the breakup. This was the part where he told me that long distance just wasn’t working for him. That Hailey shredded her guitar way better than I did mine, and she put out on the first date. Or something. Sucking up the one shred of courage I had in me, I said, “Just tell me.”

Hemming a bit, Will made a few uncomfortable murmurs. “I don’t know for sure yet, Sare. But if they do bid for me, I don’t think I can do homecoming. OTP hosts a charity drive every year right after rush.”

I couldn’t hide it anymore. I wasn’t going to cry on him, but I didn’t have it in me to pretend that was okay. It wasn’t. Sitting up, I drew in a shaky breath, then said, “I’m not happy, Will. I’ve been holding on to homecoming since you left. Since before you left, actually. When were you going to tell me you’re blowing it off?”

Will sighed. “I’m not blowing it off. We can set another date.”

“When?”

Silence. Then, “I don’t know yet. Sarah, I’m actually in the middle of something right now. Can we please talk about this later?”

“When later?”

Hurt and anger collided inside me. I shook with it. I wanted to beat the ground with my fists and slam doors. I wanted to grab Will by the shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses. How could he throw that out there so casually?

That date we made, the first night we made love, the one that convinced you that it would be right to go all the way . . . I just had that penciled in. Sorry! Rain check?

Tension played across the line. When he spoke, it was slow and deliberate. “There are going to be a lot of events coming up. I’ll want you to be my date. There’s the Fall Social that the alumni host, for one.”

“And that’s when?”

“November.”

I could barely breathe. Waiting until the end of September had seemed insurmountable. Now he didn’t want to see me until November?

“Maybe we should talk later,” I said finally. “I have some band stuff I have to take care of.”

“Sarah,” Will said. “I might have a weekend before that. I just don’t know yet. We’re still going to Skype and text—that’s not going to change.”

I didn’t bother to point out that it already had.

W
alking into Dave’s garage again was like going home and going to the moon at the same time.

I recognized my surroundings, but I didn’t belong there anymore. I felt like an intruder. I didn’t know how to breathe the air. The couch took up the middle space again. There was an extra guitar in the workbench rack. It practically vibrated with Dave’s essence. This was no longer
our
space. It was his, exclusively, and I was intruding.

Dread welled in my chest. We had to get through this rehearsal for East River’s homecoming.

Dave nodded toward a plate on his workbench. “Mom made cookies.”

“Thanks.”

Taking one, I bit into it. Savoring salt and sweet, I did my best to make myself at home. The old couch was broken down as ever. I sank into the cushions, in a shape fitted to me exactly. Unpacking my guitar, I stole looks at Dave as he tuned his.

He really had changed his look. Not drastically. It was still him; he wasn’t wearing a costume. But now he wore his clothes with a dark sort of swagger. A little more skin, a more careless roll in his steps. The few good-boy touches, the button-down shirts, the dress shoes, had disappeared entirely. Gleaming with a new sharpness, he was New Dave, sinfully improved.

Because quiet had too much potential, I broke it with a question. “Have you talked to Dany? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.”

Coming to sit beside me, Dave shook his head. It was a slow, sinuous motion that carried through as he pulled his guitar strap on. His blue-gray eyes met mine, sharp with intent. “I didn’t talk to
her
, no.”

I swallowed my bite of cookie and wished for milk. A giant glass of water. An escape hatch to open under me. Dave and I had known each other for so long, but I couldn’t remember him ever looking at me like this. Like he wanted me and might actually do something about it. It had always been sweet looks, sugar kisses.

He’d always backed off, even though he’d obviously wanted more. What if he’d let himself get swept up—if he’d stopped thinking and let me see this wanton, open desire—would I have wanted him, too?

Before, there had been a puppyishness about it. Like he was keening at the back door, begging to be let in. It was hard to see that and think it was sexy. But now those puppy-dog looks were gone. Now, his gaze was raw and ravenous. It was open and unafraid—he practically dared me not to notice.

Jane’s mouthy warning not to run back to Dave played in my head. Sternly, I told myself I wasn’t running back to him. We were rehearsing. We were a band. That was it. That didn’t explain why my palms were suddenly sweaty. Rubbing them dry on my jeans, I tore my gaze away from his.

“All right, Dean Whittier said they’re going to have a deejay for two hours. We’re gonna play the hour in the middle so everybody can slow dance.”

It wasn’t like Dave didn’t know that already. We’d signed the contract for homecoming together. The school had given us a list to follow, detailing song content we could and couldn’t use and a bunch of constraints for a band that was seriously unlikely to
encourage moshing, slam dancing, crunking, twerking, or other dance or motions deemed dangerous or inappropriate by the administration.
Even as I signed the contract, I wondered if they had any idea what any of those things were.

Settling his guitar in his lap, Dave strummed a chord and let the notes hang between us. “Are we going to sing anything new?”

“I figured we’d stick mostly to covers and maybe throw one or two songs from the EP in, in the middle.”

Shrugging, I tried not to notice the way he watched my every move. The way he leaned toward me subtly. Waves of heat radiated from him. Though he sat no closer than he ever had, I was wildly aware of him.

Dave strummed a few chords. Those notes didn’t go to anything in particular, but then he segued into an acoustic version of “Teenage Dream.” It only took me a bar or two to catch up, and soon I was playing lead and singing.

There was a good chance that the line about getting their hands on me and my skin-tight jeans was going to break the contract. But the melody was lush and pretty, especially when it was slowed down and arranged for acoustic guitar. The administration probably wouldn’t notice.

Just as I trailed off the last line, Dave leaned over his guitar.

“About the other night.”

Every part of me tensed. I didn’t want to talk about the other night. I didn’t want to talk about this at all. I wanted to rehearse, and go home, and sit in my music room while trying not to text Will. That’s what I wanted. In my chest, my heart twisted painfully. It was like a hand had gripped it suddenly and rolled it in its fist.

“We have a lot of work to do,” I started.

“I was out of line.”

That wasn’t what I expected to hear. Leaning back to consider him, I tried to read his expression. His face was smooth as ever, his brow furrowed artfully. He looked apologetic, and he radiated sincerity.

It was hard to remember that was Dave’s default expression. It was the reason we’d played in so many over-twenty-one clubs. He had a face that people wanted to trust. That’s why girls weren’t afraid to throw themselves in his path; it was like they instinctively knew he’d never hurt them.

I met his gaze. “Yes, you were.”

“I won’t lie,” he said. “I still have feelings for you. But I’m not going to push it.”

That felt more like Dave. And because I needed music now more than anything, I nodded. I didn’t want to overthink every single thing. Taking his hand, I squeezed it. His fingers turned in mine—rough, where Will’s were smooth. Hard-worked, where Will’s were refined.

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you.”

Slowly, he let his grasp slip from mine. “We should get back to work.”

Singing was easy after that. We found each other in the melodies and the harmonies. After a while, we were even laughing again. Every so often, though, I’d catch Dave unguarded. Watching me, my lips, my fingers. The heat he generated, that was new.

In fact, I caught myself thinking, that was really the only thing we’d been missing before. I’d always enjoyed making out with Dave. But I’d never wanted it to go further than that. With him, just the tips of his fingers slipping against my waist had been more than enough.

Suddenly, there was heat. A spark. I didn’t have to act on it. It didn’t sound like he wanted to. But it swirled in my thoughts nonetheless. What if I just hadn’t been ready yet? What if Dave really had been the perfect boyfriend?

It could have been a terrible mistake to let him go.

~

Will and I cooled off for a couple of days. We still sent those duty texts, but they were clipped and impersonal and we didn’t call once. There were no Skype visits, and we didn’t even flirt on Twitter. It felt like Antarctica between us. I ached in the cold; I only hoped that he did, too.

Then, four days after the disaster call, two dozen Gerbera daisies (my favorites) arrived at my doorstep, with a hand-drawn card.

Will wasn’t much of an artist, rendering us as stick figures under a rainbow. His dark, slanting handwriting spilled a poetic apology down the page. He wasn’t much of a poet either, but that didn’t matter. The PS on the card was perfect. It read, “
Because you once told me these were some happy @#(*! flowers. I love you
.”

They came just in time for our next date on Skype. But there wasn’t a switch inside me. I couldn’t flip from icy cold and frustrated to ready for my first cam sex like that. Not with just a bouquet of flowers and a cute note. They made me feel better, but I didn’t know if they made me feel better
enough.
My nerves jangled until dark. I didn’t know if I could do it. If I could go through with it.

Reservations aside, I planned to do it anyway. That’s how things had always worked with Will—I jumped, and he didn’t let me fall. With his roommate out of town for a robotics convention, Will locked himself up with his laptop and with me. I barred my bedroom door and turned the music up so no one would hear.

As soon as his video call came through, I pounded the trackpad a little too hard. I nearly knocked the laptop right off my desk, and I did send a cup full of markers and guitar picks flying. I scrambled after them, so when Will appeared on the screen, I was nowhere to be seen.

“Sarah?” he asked curiously.

Snatching the cup off the floor, I popped back up, blushing. “Sorry, I’m clumsy. And nervous.”

Resting his angular chin on the heel of his hand, he studied me. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” I said. It didn’t explain it, but a vague gesture at him, at me, at the whole situation, filled in the rest. Instead of fading, my blush grew. It had been fun and playful to flash him. This was something else. And things hadn’t been right for a week. I wasn’t ready for this. We weren’t in the same place we had been last time. I wanted to back out, more and more.

Will said, “Well. Funny you should say that.”

“Why?” I asked, wary.

His tone had taken me by surprise. Picking up his computer, the video blurred a little. When it focused again, I saw his room at a new angle. On his desk, candles burned, and on the floor was a blanket. A picnic basket. With a teasing smile, he sat down on the blanket and patted the spot beside him. “Come. Sit with me.”

With a dubious laugh, I shook my head. “What’s all that?”

“I thought about it,” Will said, opening up the basket. He reached inside and produced grapes. Apples. And it was when he pulled out the random wedge of cartoonish cheese that I realized all the food in that thing was fake. Waving the cheese around, he looked up at me. “And I realized, as hungry as I am, I’d never eat this shit.”

Knitting my brows, I still smiled as I allowed, “Okay?”

Will tossed the wedge over his shoulder. It bounced and disappeared beneath Antwon’s desk. Wildly proud of himself, Will leaned in. “Which means, as much as I miss getting with you, I’d rather wait for the real thing.”

I exhaled. All my anxiety burned away in an instant. It was replaced with relief, and infatuation and adoration. Still more proof that Will wasn’t the guy everyone thought he was. In fact, it seemed to me like any other guy in the world would have gone for it. And screen-capped it. And probably shared it with all his friends.

Not Will. And it was proof that he could surprise me—by doing things like rushing a frat, but also by cooking up incredibly romantic schemes. But that I also absolutely knew him, and trusted him. It made it so much easier to love him. Carrying my laptop back to my bed, I stretched out with it. “I love you, you lunatic. I wish I could just lay here with you all night.”

Will smiled at me in the dark. “We can do that.”

“Can we?”

Holding up a finger to stay me, he disappeared from view. Shifting the computer around, he propped it—on his desk, I think. I heard two quick breaths, no doubt Will blowing out the candles. Then the angle changed, and he moved the screen around until he was centered in the picture, in his bed.

With a lazy arm splayed over his chest, he turned his head to look at me. “There. Let’s sleep together.”

I rolled onto my side. Curling a pillow against my chest, I gazed at Will, so far away. He was mostly shadows with a few streaks of light outlining him. I probably looked the same to him. All blue and black and hazy. But he was there. With me, the two of us together again.

“Let’s not fight anymore,” I said.

Reaching toward the screen, his fingers briefly blotted out the picture. It was like he was trying to stroke my face from a distance. “We probably will. Why don’t we promise to always make up, instead?”

A sweet sentiment. I reached out for him, too, and nodded. “Okay. If we have to fight, we’ll always make up.”

Gentle, Will seemed to search my face. All of the tension peeled away, like we’d found each other again. He looked at me and knew me. I knew him again, and I loved him so much when he said, “We’re meant to be, Athena.”

I kissed my fingertips, then pressed them to the camera. He did the same, and then I settled down in my sheets. “Shhh,” I told Will. “Close your eyes.”

He did as he was told. At least partially. Lips moving slightly in the dark, he murmured to me anyway. “Sing me a lullaby?”

“You’re too old for a lullaby,” I replied with a smile.

“Then just sing?”

That simple request moved so much inside me. Tears sprung to my eyes, but I blinked them back. It was from happiness, from my world shifting back into place.

I tried to remember the first song I’d sung for him, but for some reason, the only song that came to mind was “Everything.” I hadn’t written it for him, but it had come to me the same time he had. They were twined together in my memory: new music, new love.

I skipped the first verse completely and started with the chorus. That was the most important part, the one that told him I belonged to him, that he belonged to me. They were my lyrics, embroidered with his words. They slipped from my lips, pure and alive.

“We don’t have to talk. We don’t have to do anything. Be anything. Be everything. This could all be a dream, some impossible dream we once had.”

Drifting off with a smile, Will murmured, “Love you, Sare.”

And though he was sleeping, I hoped he heard it when I said, “I love you, too.”