Tainted Love

I pant in disbelief as Heather speeds out of the parking lot in her mother’s station wagon.

  Fuck.

  I head back inside and find my own mother near the ice sculpture barking out orders at the poor waitstaff to help clear the dishes off the dance floor.

  “What the hell was that about?” I seethe. For the first time since I can remember, I’m treating her as an equal, not one I rather appreciate at the moment either.

  “What are you talking about?” Her face wrinkles with curiosity as if she’s truly clueless.

  “That girl.” I point hard at the door. “Heather.” My voice cracks as I say her name. “What was she doing here tonight?”

  “Helping.” She pulls me toward the kitchen. “Good heavens, what’s gotten into you? Her mother was ill, so she filled the position. Did you have an argument with her at school? I’ve never seen anyone get your feathers so ruffled.”

  “You could say that.” I lean against the wall and bang my head over it a few good times. “I’m in love with her.”

  “What?” Mom funnels her hand over her ear as the band hits its climax.

  “I said I’m in love with her! I’m in love with Heather Knowles!”

  Amanda walks up just as I rage my proclamation, and, for a second, I will her to morph into Heather. That would have been a much better end to this crappy night.

  “You love her?” Amanda looks simultaneously perplexed and vexed by the idea. She snatches off her corsage and slaps it in my face before running toward the exit. “I gotta go.”

  “Don’t just stand there.” Mom does her best to usher me out the door.

  “If I didn’t go after Heather, I’m certainly not running after Amanda.” I dip into my pocket and reach for my keys. “I’m parked across the street. I’m taking off for the night.”

  Mom glances around at the crowd swelling the dance floor. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes.” It comes from my voice hoarse. “Accept Heather as the girl I want to be with. My heart isn’t with Amanda. It never was.” I start toward the door and turn around abruptly. “Mom? Can I ask you a serious question, and I want you to be straight with me.”

  A sagging breath depletes from her. She looks just as pained as I am. “Anything.”

  “Did you ever tell Amanda about my biological father?”

  She closes her eyes a moment. “I was afraid she was the one who let it slip.”

  “So, you knew about the box?”

  “I’ve always known. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to snoop. I—”

  “It’s okay.” A swell of relief fills me. “Believe it or not, it’s the best news I’ve had in a while.”

  I take off into the night, treading out slowly like a dead man making his way to the electric chair.

  Even if my mother does accept Heather, it’s too late.

  I think we both know that.

  Instinctively, I know I should go straight home. I should give Heather some space to digest what a hypocritical ass I am. But I don’t. I drive by her house first, and, when I don’t see that station wagon out front, I drive down to Dancing Waters in fear she’s taking comfort in that douchebag’s arms that I can’t stand. I can’t stand that he hurt her, and I can’t stand that I’ve hurt her far worse. I drive by Jennifer Barkley’s, and then Melissa’s house, and, sure enough, that’s where I find the car. It takes everything in me not to go to the door, and barge on in, begging her to hear me out. Instead, I hightail it home and pull into my own driveway to find Joel Miller sitting on my porch looking good and pissed. It’s not bad enough I ruined Heather’s night. By the looks of it, I ruined his, too.

  “You don’t have to say it.” I get out of the car and head on up, taking a seat next to him on the icy stone. “I’m an asshole. I deserve everything I get. Heather deserves someone better than me.”

  “You’re on the right track. Keep going.”

  “So, what happened?” I hang my head as the night soaks around us like a bad dream.

  “Heather showed up hysterical. They went to Melissa’s house. Don’t even think about going there, dude. You are in some serious deep shit.”

  “I know it.” My head hangs between my knees as I try to figure a way out of this mess. “My mother fessed up and told me she thinks it was Amanda who started those fucked-up rumors. I knew Heather wouldn’t say anything. I don’t even know why I basically accused her.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Dude, we’re like family. That’s a pretty deep scar you’ve been hiding all these years.”

  “I know. It’s been a shit ride. The funny thing is, the only reason I took Amanda to that damn thing tonight was so I could go and see him. It was part of the deal. My mom asked for a favor and made sure I’d look forward to the payout. I haven’t seen my dad since I was six.” Tears come, and I fight them. “I would have done anything to see him, and I did. I couldn’t have done anything worse than keep it from Heather. She has every right to never trust me again.”

  “She will. I have faith in you guys. She really is a great person, and so are you.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “In the words of my mother, if it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out.”

  “I hope so. Hey, do you think I can have Melissa’s private number?”

  “No.” He slaps me over the back with a dull laugh. “Give the girl some breathing room. In the light of day, things will be better. You’ll see. And, if not, there’s no way she can avoid you at school. Melissa says you have like three classes with her. She’ll talk to you. You may not like what she has to say, but she will talk to you.”

  He socks me in the arm before taking off.

  I head inside with the weight of what I’ve let happen sitting on my chest.

  If only I was honest with Heather from the start, things could have been different.

  Would have. Should have. Could have.

  There’s no going back now.

  7

  Boys Don’t Cry

  Heather

  Sometimes in life there are repercussions, consequences for negative behavior for slander, for damage that can never really be undone. But, more often than not, very real crimes of the heart often go unpunished—not this time.

  Russell calls all through Sunday. Then, in a fit of something I would have normally found romantic, he shows up at the door, knocking politely as if he’s about to sell us a set of encyclopedias.

  “Make him go away.” I panic as I duck from the window. The neighbors are starting to gather and gawk. His BMW invokes as much curiosity and a patina of terror in this neighborhood as a cop car.

  His pounding picks up pace, and my heart seizes.

  “Who is it?” Mom comes out with her robe still on, despite the fact it’s two in the afternoon. Her throat is a little better today, and her fever broke last night after I got home. I know for a fact she chatted with Mrs. James about an hour ago, but then she took a shower, and I didn’t get a chance to see what that was about. I’m pretty sure I don’t need to ask.

  “It’s me, Russell. Can I please speak with Heather?”

  Mom reaches for the doorknob, and I quickly block her path.

  “Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “That boy broke my heart. He deserves to fry.”

  Seth and Kurt stumble in from the back, both of them groggy with sleep still in their eyes.

  “What did you say?” Seth is fuming at the thought of anyone hurting me in that way.

  Kurt squints at the Beamer taking up precious parking space on our overcrowded street. “Is this the guy that was sucking on your tits?”

  “Like eww!” Julie and Jill pop up from the couch, and I cringe that they had to hear that.

  The knocking increases in both velocity and volume, and both Seth and Kurt bolt out the door, closing it behind them.

  “What is it you want, you little shit?” Seth roars loud enough to engage a five-block radius.

  Mumbling is all we hear next, then “Heather!” Russell’s pained cry as he pounds against the
door. “Just give me a minute! I swear I can explain!”

  “Get the fuck out of here!” Kurt shouts, then a vague noise that mimics what I imagine a watermelon getting kicked in would sound like followed by a hearty oof. “And keep going, or I’m going to tear off your preppy nose!”

  I peer out the window to see Russell staggering slowly to his car, then getting inside and sitting a good long while. He starts the engine and lets it idle before driving off in the November fog and dissolving away like a bad dream.

  Mom pulls me into her bedroom, and I curl up in the corner of her mattress. The air smells stale, and her sheets are pulled back, airing out all the sickness from last night. I don’t really care if her sore throat germs are crawling all over this bed. Sometimes you just need to be near your mom, and for me, this is one of those times.

  “Do you have to work today?” she asks sweetly while combing the hair from my forehead.

  “I’m not on the schedule until Tuesday.” And I’ve never been so grateful.

  “Seth says he knows a guy who might be able to get your car fixed for next to nothing.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “The school called and said they had it towed to an impound lot, but don’t worry. Seth said he’d take care of it for you.”

  I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Is it too much to ask for something to go right in my life for once?”

  “Oh, honey, do you want to talk about it? Is there something going on with you and Russell?”

  “I thought there was. Honestly, I thought I was his girlfriend up until last night.”

  “His girlfriend? So, it’s really over between you and that Slam boy?”

  I don’t blame her for asking. We were on-again, off-again for so long that it was a pattern we had all become accustomed to.

  “Over and done with. I’ve sort of had a thing with Russell.”

  “I thought he was seeing that girl. What was her name, Alyssa?”

  “Amanda.” I sit up and wipe my ridiculous tears away with my sleeve. “So, like they were really seeing each other?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Priscilla sure made it sound like they were, and Amanda even showed up one Saturday on their way to practice for that fancy dance, but that’s all I know, and I’m keeping out of it.”

  “I saw them last night.” My head bobs into this horrible truth. “I’m not sure why he’s coming around—why he’s calling. He’s the one that decided to keep both Amanda and me on a string. I guess it’s true what they say about wealthy boys—they like a proper girlfriend and one that lets them have a little fun on the side.” I give a hard sniff, and Mom pulls me in.

  “Oh, hon, I can’t imagine that Russell was up to something so sinister. I guess I had him pegged all wrong. He really did seem like a decent guy.”

  “He’s probably a sociopath.” I nod into this somber realization. “I don’t want to be that girl for Russell or anybody else ever again. The thing that scares me most is how believable every moment we shared felt. That day in his room, with his father’s letters between us? He poured out his heart to me. He shed real tears. All of that couldn’t have been a lie, could it?”

  Mom pulls me in close, and I lose it over her shoulder as tears rain down from the deepest part of me.

  Sometimes even a mother has no words.

  On Monday, Jennifer picks me up, and both she and Melissa walk me to homeroom. I’ve never felt so ill in all my life. Just the thought of seeing him makes me want to vomit.

  Jennifer peeks in and turns around with a look of fright. “He’s already in there.”

  “Shit,” I bleat just as the bell rings. They take off reluctantly, and I head inside, dragging my feet. I think I’d have more enthusiasm en route to the guillotine. For the first time ever, I hate the fact Russell sits right in front of me. The logical part of me screams find another seat, but at this point in the semester, everyone pretty much has their own, and I’ve never been one to run from my problems. The closer I get, the hotter the fire grows between us, one unfortunately fueled by a genuine dislike—okay, hurt, at this point.

  Russell turns around slowly, his face a bit swollen and patchy. His eyes look tired, red, drugged from a lack of sleep. I’m sort of hoping it’s because he’s been up bawling his eyes out all night, but I seriously doubt it.

  “Morning,” he says, no smile.

  I don’t know what to say, so I opt for silence. I can’t bring myself to meet up with his gaze. Once I do, I may never be able to look away. That’s the thing about Russell’s eyes—they have the power to anchor me down whenever they want. And if today—if the rest of my life is going to be about anything, it’s going to be about not giving away my power.

  “I’m an asshole.” He says it low for my ears only. “I just want you to know that I’m aware of it.” He turns back around, and I can’t help but get lost in that dark forest of hair, the ridges on the back of his neck.

  I miss him.

  I do.

  The rest of the week is robotic. I wish I could say that Amanda and her clepto, slut, stalker, white trash taunts didn’t hurt me, but the fact she has all of Barbie Doll Lane, that ridiculous cotton candy clique of plastic people who sit under the awning at nutrition and lunch, singing the very same song, it makes me want to leave Glen and never come back.

  Yearbook has been mechanical to say the least. Most of the week I’ve sat with Jeff. Any questions Russell has about our page I’ve utilized Jeff and his stoner sensibilities to answer however he likes. I’m not interested anymore. The entire yearbook can look like one big reefer farm for all I care—nothing but pictures of big fat joints, entire rows of them—he can throw in a bong for good measure, and I couldn’t care less now that my senior year has already gone up in smoke. And as far as those stupid Best Of pages go, Russell can do them with Amanda for all I care.

  On Friday, during homeroom, the senior class of 1986 locks in its votes for what will be the most superfluous pages in the entire yearbook. When it comes to Best Couple, I freeze. Of course, I knew we would be there—Russell James and Heather Knowles, our names embedded along with a list of seven other couples. What I didn’t expect was to see Russell James and Amanda Prescott listed directly beneath it. It’s a knife in the heart all over again.

  “Wow, that’s a first.” I say it loud enough for his ears only, and his shoulders tense because I know for a fact he’s aware.

  “I didn’t want this,” he says, turning his head just enough over his shoulder. His stubble is growing out over his cheeks, a distinct preppy no-no. He’s even resorted to wearing jeans and concert T-shirts, and it’s not even Halloween. I’m sure they’ll revoke his yuppie affiliation soon.

  “Of course, you didn’t want this.” I smirk back down at the paper. “You wanted to keep me under wraps. I guess you failed Mistress 101. Better luck next time. I’m sure life will offer you plenty of opportunities to practice.” I lock my gaze on his obnoxious blue eyes. “You’ll get it right. Assholes always do.”

  I gather my things and leave.

  Russell

  Heather Knowles. When I first laid eyes on her a few years back, I think we shared an English class together. She was undeniably kind to the nerdy girl who nobody really talked to, and instantly I thought she was pretty cool. I already knew she was pretty. Then Joel started going out with Melissa, and I thought there might be a chance to get to know her better, but she had a boyfriend, and I didn’t want to make waves. Last summer, that day at the mall, I suspected that Amanda was the one who lied and told the cashier she saw Heather slip something into her bag. I suspected it, but I couldn’t be sure, so I stuck around in the event that mall cop threw Heather in a pair of shiny new bracelets. My heart broke for her right there, and something in me wanted to protect her. Some protector I turned out to be.

  It turns out Heather’s ability to throw a cold shoulder in my direction might have the psychological ability to kill me. I don’t know how much more I can take before I crack. If this silen
t treatment doesn’t end soon, I’ll be moved to do something drastic. I can’t bear the thought of Heather hating me. I hate me enough for the both of us.

  On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Mom makes good on her promise and drives us out to the Los Angeles Men’s Incarceration Facility tucked away in the San Bernadino Mountains. Dad vacillated on whether or not he should join us, and, after much deliberation, decided that perhaps this was a moment I best share with my mother for now. He sends his love and even asked me to hug his old friend for him. I wonder how I would feel if I were in prison for something I didn’t do, because I took a plea deal in exchange for leniency—if you can call twenty years lenient. I wonder how I would feel if Heather were my wife and I lost both her and our son to my good “friend.” There’s not a good friend in the world I’d want sleeping with Heather, raising my kid. I shake my head at the thought. As if she’d ever want to be my anything after what I did to her.

  Naked Eyes belts out “Always Something There to Remind Me,” and I give a dull smile. No truer words were ever spoken, or in this case, sung.

  We pull into the facility and go through a rather extensive visitors’ briefing and checkpoint before we’re led to an empty cafeteria.

  It’s cold out. Snow is in the forecast for these parts, but I can see the lawn outside the windows, see a few inmates playing basketball. In the far corner there’s a golf green, two or three holes, and beyond that is a tennis court. It looks more Club Med than Club Dread.

  Def Leppard’s “Rock of Ages” plays softly from the corner, and for some reason, this relaxes me just enough.

  “Are you nervous?” Mom’s voice jumps when she asks.

  “Yes. And so are you.” I give a bleak smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this together.”

  “I just want you to know that the last year, while he was going through that entire nightmare, we weren’t”—she shakes her head, tears spring to her eyes—“we weren’t a hundred percent. So the divorce was sort of coming in that respect. I don’t want you to think I abandoned him in his time of need. I visited for years.”