“Wha—?” his voice catches.
I lift up the lotion.
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” He turns around, and I squeeze the cold lotion directly onto his back. He jumps a little and breaks out in goose flesh. I rub it in, surprised again at the hard muscle beneath his warm flesh.
“You work out, Trev?”
“No. Isn’t that apparent?”
“No, not really. I thought you’d be skinnier than you are.”
He laughs. “I’m confused. Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Yes,” I say, and he’s grinning as he turns back to face me.
“It’s natural,” he says in his Schwarzenegger voice, flexing his arms and chest, bigger muscles than I expected popping up.
“Nice,” I say with a laugh, but my eyes tell him I’m serious. He drops his pose.
“I played basketball and soccer for a long time,” he says with a shrug.
“Why don’t you anymore?” I ask, trying to picture Trevor as a jock.
“My classes at school. I have a lot of homework. And since I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get into college on a sports scholarship . . . or on my looks,” he adds facetiously. “I need to depend on my grades.”
“Don’t knock your looks, Arnold. The killer combination of your eyes and dimples could probably get you into a place or two.”
“Two compliments in one day? That has to be a record.”
“It’s in my nature to be kind to the poor and downtrodden.” I sigh dramatically.
“I’m neither, so you’re going to need a new story,” he says.
“I don’t have one. That’s the best I can come up with. So tell me, college boy, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A writer.”
My eyebrows lift at this. “Of what? Comic books? Bad sci-fi movies?”
“Novels.”
“I could tell you stories that would curl your toes,” I mumble, but he hears me clearly.
“Tell me.”
“No, I don’t think so. I like you having this clean view of me.”
“Clean?”
“Yeah. You don’t know my dirt.”
“You won’t tell me?”
“Someday I might,” I say, thinking of the day when he becomes like me and sees me in my real life. He’ll know most of my dirt then, but not all. Some things I’ll never tell him. I lie down on the blanket next to where he sits.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“I’m not telling you my dirt, Trev, dimples or no.”
He leans back on his elbow, turning to face me.
“Not that. You’ll tell me when you want. It’s something else.”
“Sounds serious,” I tease.
“Kind of.” He slips his hand under mine, lightly rubbing my knuckles. “You keep putting out all of these conflicting vibes.”
I look up at him, then lean up on my own elbow so that we are eye to eye.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re friends, right?” he questions. I nod. “And that’s nice. Unexpected, but nice. But we spend a lot of time together. A lot of time. I’m with you more than I am with all of my other friends combined. And I’m guessing it’s the same for you.”
“I like hanging out with you, Trev,” I say hesitantly, not sure where he’s going with this. “But I don’t mean to hog all your time. You don’t have to be with me so much if you’d rather be with your friends.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’d rather be with you. I like hanging out with you also. I like it a lot. I like you a lot.” He drops his eyes, watching our hands that are still held together.
“Ditto,” I say, confused. He looks frustrated. I’m not sure what he wants.
“But then you do things that put out the vibe like you want to be more than friends.” He’s looking directly at me now, refusing to let me hide from him.
“Like what?” I ask flippantly. I’m trying to turn this conversation, put him ill at ease. It doesn’t work.
“Like today. Your little undressing act for me.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but in the end I don’t. I can’t when he’s looking into my eyes like that, demanding honesty. I look down, chagrined.
“You noticed that, huh?”
“How could I not?” He laughs roughly. “And telling me you’re jealous of Mary Ellen, touching me all of the time when you know what it does to me.”
I want to be flippant and demand he tell me just what it does to him, but I’m afraid that he will tell me. After all, Trevor is nothing if not honest.
“What are you saying, Trevor?” I finally ask.
“I want to be with you.”
“You are.”
“You know what I mean. I want to know how you feel about me. Honestly.”
I look at our hands folded together on the blanket. And just for now, I want to drop the game. For just a little while I want to be what he wants of me. Just for a little while.
“We’re holding hands,” I say, looking back into his gorgeous green eyes.
“Yeah, so?”
“I don’t hold hands with my friends, Trev.”
His eyes change, darkening a little at that. He kisses me then, leaning toward me as we lie on the blanket holding hands. A sweet kiss, asking nothing. It isn’t anything like the demanding full-of-expectation kisses I’m used to. I can’t help but smile at him when he pulls away. His answering smile is dazzling, taking my breath away.
“I need to tell you something, though . . .” I say. “Don’t be offended, but, uh . . .”
He’s patient, waiting for me to find the words. His thumb rubbing the back of my hand is such a pleasant sensation I almost don’t want to say the words. But say them, I must.
“I really like you also, Trev. Completely unexpected, but there it is. I’m not quite ready to, you know, go public. Not with your friends and definitely not with mine, you know?”
I wait for the anger, but he goes against the usual grain again and smiles at me.
“Got a rep to protect, huh?”
“A rep?” I ask. “What, one night in leather and suddenly you’re all hip and cool? You don’t really use words like that, do you?”
“Of course not. It wouldn’t fit in with my geekiness.”
“Trev, that’s not what I meant . . .”
“It’s okay. I know what I am, and I’m okay with it. Maybe someday you will be too.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m okay with not going public. I don’t think my friends would be any more thrilled than yours. So until we see where this is going . . .”
“Kiss me again,” I say softly.
“Isn’t this public, though?”
“We don’t know anyone here, not that I saw.”
He obliges, ever courteous.
The freak and the geek.
What did I get myself into?
9. Tents and Blisters
I’m going on a camping trip with my family.”
We’re lying side-by-side on the trampoline behind Trevor’s house, holding hands between our safely distanced bodies. His mom is still not thrilled about me hanging out with Trevor, especially now that she’s seen him holding my hand and putting his arm around me. That definitely makes her skittish. But after our bowling excursion, Trevor’s parents and mine have become quite social, and so she’s marginally accepting. His dad is accepting and always seems slightly amused by us. Todd, of course, is always happy to see me, and I find that the more time I spend with him, the less uncomfortable I am. He’s kind of growing on me.
“What? When?” I ask.
“In a couple of weeks.”
“For, like, the weekend?”
“No, we’re going for a week.”
“A week?” I sit up, and he follows. “But . . .” I trail off and look around his yard as if it might suddenly spring up with little signs answering my questions. “What am I supposed to do without you for a whole week?”
I feel a little panicky at the thought and te
ll myself it’s only because I’m going to have a hard time continuing my campaign with him gone.
“I don’t know. How did you survive before me?” I give him a dirty look and shove him in the chest. He dramatically rolls away from me, doing an entire backward flip over. I try not to laugh, but he’s such a geek I can’t help it.
“Ow,” he moans. “Don’t do that. You don’t know your own strength.”
“You’re such a dork,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s why you love me.”
“In your dreams, my little Goldum.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh.
“You mean Gollum.”
“Whatever.”
He’s been trying to convert me into a sci-fi geek, but it seems I’m a hopeless case. His mother, Mrs. Brady/Cleaver comes walking out to the tramp, carrying two lemonades. I almost groan at the all-American-ness of it. She makes her presence very well known whenever I am over, always bringing us treats or suddenly having chores to do wherever we are. You would suppose the woman didn’t trust me, I think wryly.
“How are your parents, Jennifer?” She always calls me by my full name even though Trevor has told her repeatedly I prefer Jen.
I almost think she does it to annoy me—and it does—which might explain my automatic flippant response that I have honed over the years for the amusement of my friends.
“Dead and in prison, thanks for asking.”
Only as she freezes in the act of handing the lemonade over do I realize what I’ve said. I glance at Trevor and see a pained look on his face.
“Oh, sorry, you meant the fosters. I mean, the Grants.” I laugh nervously. “I just realized I live with the Foster Grants,” I babble uneasily. “You know, like the sunglasses?”
She’s still staring at me, stricken, and Trevor’s expression isn’t far off. I decide it’s a good time for retreat.
“I gotta go, Trev. Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Br—Hoffman.”
I scramble off the tramp, shoving my feet into my flip-flops, and make a quick exit through the gate.
“Jen, wait.”
Trevor catches up to me at the end of the driveway.
“Let me drive you home.”
“That’s okay. It’s a nice day. I can walk.”
“Can I walk with you then?”
“Free country,” I say, walking away, leaving him to follow.
“You okay?” he asks a few silent minutes later. He has that concerned look again.
“Look, Trev, if you’re gonna walk with me, then no heavy conversation, okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees, but the mood has been dampened and it’s a quiet walk home. He leaves me at my door with a quick kiss.
⊕⊗⊕
I’m lying on my bed, bummed about how bad this day has turned out when my foster Sue comes in, wearing the straw hat. She’s obviously been out working in the yard. She’s been trying to be a little more interactive lately but not overly intrusive, which makes it hard for me to be resentful about it.
“You don’t look too happy,” she states the obvious.
“Yeah, Trevor just told me he’s going to be gone in a couple of weeks.” I decide to skip the whole other issue that has depressed me. “I’m looking forward to a long, boring week hanging around here while he’s gone.”
“You’ve gotten to be pretty good friends with him, huh?”
“I guess.”
“Carol called.”
“Who?”
“Carol—Trevor’s mom.”
Funny, I haven’t really ever thought of her as having a name. It’s somewhat ironic that she shares a name with the Mrs. Brady. I speculate idly whether her middle name is June.
“What did she want?” I wonder if she called to tattle on my slip of the tongue.
“She called to invite our family to go camping with them.”
I gasp, sitting up and turning to face her.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“You’re asking me?”
“Well, Pat and I think it sounds like fun, but we decided it should be your decision. I don’t know how you feel about camping but thought you might like to go if Trevor was going.”
This is an amazing development—an adult who asks my opinion instead of telling me what I should want. I think about saying no just to see if I really can wield that kind of power, but I don’t want to blow the chance to not have to spend a week waiting for Trevor to get home.
“Sure, why not?” I say, thinking that Trevor would appreciate that response.
⊕⊗⊕
“A tent?” I’m horrified.
“What did you expect? A wilderness hotel?” Pat holds out his hand for one of the tent stakes I’m holding.
“No.” I know I’m pouting, but I’m definitely not happy. “But at least maybe a trailer or something. Anything with a solid roof and walls.”
Pat looks up at me and gives me a sardonic look.
“I feel certain that you’ll survive this experience.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say. It’s not you sharing a tent with the cheerleader,” I mumble.
“What was that?” he asks distractedly as he pounds the stake into the hard ground.
“I said it’ll be on your head if I don’t. They probably throw people in prison when they allow their foster kids to get eaten alive by a bear because they only have tents to camp in.”
Pat laughs at that. I don’t think he’ll be laughing when they take his badge away for child endangerment.
“Okay, grab the other side of that pole and help me set this up.”
Once we have the tents set up and all of our equipment stowed and organized, we gather at the Hoffmans’ camp to cook dinner together. Trevor can see I’m in a bad mood and tries to tease me out of it. Not even an excited hug from my buddy Todd helps.
Trevor even does his Schwarzenegger impression because usually that makes me laugh. To be honest, even now I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the smile trying to break out.
“Not gonna work today, Trev. I have to sleep in a tent with the cheerleader. Double whammy.”
“You have to sleep with whom?”
“The cheerleader.”
He looks blank.
“Tamara.”
“She’s coming?” He perks up at the news, and I glare daggers at him. He laughs.
“I love your jealousy,” he says.
“I’m not jealous of her.”
“Riiight.” The word is drawn out and cynical.
“Hey, Trevor, why don’t you and Jennifer come and help us with these potatoes?” Mrs. Brady/Cleaver calls out chirpily, looking perfectly campy in her hiking boots and plaid vest.
“She likes to be called Jen,” I hear Sue tell her from inside what they are all cheerfully calling “the supply tent,” and my brows raise a little at her defense of me.
“Oh, right. Trevor told me that. I keep forgetting.”
I’ll bet you do.
We peel potatoes until I want to scream and then have to wait eons until we finally eat my first ever Dutch oven–cooked meal. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. The only thing that sours it is the arrival of the cheerleader just as we’re finishing up. She should have been home from school sooner but was on some kind of mini-vacation with some friends. I wish she could have stayed just one week longer—or two months, two years, whatever.
Trevor ducks into the tent he’s sharing with Todd and comes back out with a guitar. I’m shocked; I didn’t know he played the guitar. He comes and sits near me, and I watch the cheerleader get up on pretense of stretching, only to reseat herself much closer to Trevor on the other side.
He starts messing around, jumping from song to song, not really playing, just goofing. Then with a slantwise grin at me, he starts jamming “Great Balls of Fire.” I didn’t even know it was possible to play that on guitar.
His father gets into it, and the two of them sing loudly with overdone twang in their voice, Todd joining
in on the “Great Balls of Fire” words. They’re kind of amusing. When they finish, everyone else claps, the cheerleader the loudest, but I only smile my secret smile for Trevor when he looks at me to gauge my reaction.
“Trevor will now be taking requests,” his father announces in his best DJ imitation. Of course, the cheerleader is the first to jump on that.
“Oh, Trevor, do you know ‘Father Abraham’?”
I roll my eyes at the geekiness of her request, but as Trevor is a true geek himself, he of course knows it, and everyone joins in—except for me. Then his father jumps into the bear song, which Trevor immediately picks up on.
“The other day,” his father booms in his baritone and points at Mrs. Brady/Cleaver, who immediately echoes him.
“I saw a bear.” Now he points at the cheerleader who happily echoes the words in pitch-perfect tune.
“Out in the woods.” He points at me, and suddenly everyone is quiet, even Trevor. I look at him, and he gives me a challenging look, brows raised, daring me.
I look over at the cheerleader, and she is triumphant in her certainty that I will make this miserable for everyone, so I look at Trevor’s dad and echo him blandly. He laughs along with my fosters and moves on to the next person.
I don’t sing along any more than that, but when I look over at Trevor, he smiles happily at me. The cheerleader is sullen—both good things.
⊕⊗⊕
The next morning when I crawl out of the cold, damp death trap, it’s to see Trevor and his dad jogging past. Trevor sees me and stops. His dad slows a little, turning to jog backwards for a few steps.
“See you two at breakfast.”
Trevor helps me up off the ground, and I feel self-conscious about my plain gray sweats and bed-head hair.
“Don’t let me interrupt your run,” I say.
“We’re done. We were just headed back to camp.”
“You jog a lot?”
“Almost every morning with my dad.”
“Huh. That’s something I didn’t know about you.”
“Just another of my secret talents.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows comically.
I reach up to smooth my hair. “I look like crap,” I complain.
Trevor pulls his ball cap off his head. He plops it on my head, smoothing my hair back behind my ears.
“I think you look cute,” he says. I groan.