I slowly closed the door and realized that the splotches of paint on the outside formed a word.
SLUT.
Tiffany had gotten the last word after all.
Nine
The spray paint on my locker had dried so it couldn’t be wiped off, and I wasn’t sure what to do about the ruined books. I couldn’t carry them around school with black paint all over them. The thought of spending the rest of the day imagining all the kids walking by my locker and stopping to snicker at the ugly word Tiffany had painted on it made me feel nauseated. I couldn’t go to the front office and complain, either. I hadn’t seen her do it, so I couldn’t accuse her of being responsible.
But how could I cover it up? Not like I could go to the maintenance office and ask for a can of paint thinner …
I turned around to look in the door window of the art class. It was empty, and when I tried the knob I found it was open. I went inside and headed for the big supply cabinet at the back of the class. I didn’t see any paint thinner, but there was a long shelf stacked with spray-paint cans. Among them I found one with the same drab brown color as my locker.
I read the label, which said the contents were quick-drying and covered with one coat. “Maybe I don’t have to take the paint off.”
I stuck my head out the door to see if anyone was in the hall, and then took the can of paint over to my locker. Stepping back and holding my hand over my nose to block the fumes, I sprayed the brown paint in short spurts over the black letters, coating it several times until the new paint covered it. A few more sprays disguised the splotches over the vents. By the time I returned the spray paint to the supply cabinet and came back out, the brown paint had almost dried. As I’d guessed it matched the color of the lockers almost exactly. Because I knew it was there I could still see the outlines of the word, but anyone walking by would have to look closely to make it out.
I’d have to buy new textbooks and school supplies, but I had a little money left over from my last school clothes shopping trip. As long as Tiffany didn’t try vandalizing my locker again, no one had to know about it.
Maybe she won’t go for your locker next time. Maybe she’ll spray paint something nasty on Gray’s truck.
Repainting my locker had taken up most of the time I had planned to spend changing my classes in Guidance, but the thought of switching my schedule so I could avoid Boone and his girlfriend no longer seemed like such a great idea. Acting as if I were scared of them would only make things worse.
I wasn’t afraid or humiliated, I realized as I walked to my next class. I was furious. With every step I took resentment built inside me, so cold and strong that it squashed all of my doubts. If Tiffany thought she could terrorize me, she had another thing coming.
I held onto my temper and got through the rest of the school day without another incident. Thanks to the anger, I didn’t rush through halls or avoid the stares. I didn’t see Boone or Tiffany in the rest of my classes, which was fine with me. I felt tall and terrible, immovable and dangerous, a statue filled with explosives, a huge dark storm blotting out the sun.
As they had on the day I’d spilled my drink on Tiffany’s uniform, the other kids kept their distance. Barb must have sensed how upset I was, for all she did was follow me in silence to and from the rest of our classes. After the last bell she finally said something.
“Cat.” When I looked at her, she made a face. “You could call me at home later. You know, if you want to talk about Boone.”
“Thanks.” If I never heard the name Aaron Boone again, it would be too soon. “See you tomorrow.”
Gray met me at his truck (which I saw was spray-paint free) and, once we were on the road, asked me if I was okay.
“Just peachy.” I wasn’t surprised that he already knew about what happened; Gray could be very nosy. Besides, the whole school had to be talking about it. “Can we go home now?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated, and then said, “Tiffany got two Saturday detentions, and she has to pay to replace the keyboard.”
I stared out the passenger window. “Good.”
“She didn’t spill that soda.”
I turned my head to stare at him. “What did you say?”
“It wasn’t her,” he said. “She left the can there by the computer, but she didn’t knock it over. Someone else did.”
He was defending the witch. To my face. “And you know this how?”
“I talked to her.” He frowned. “Cat, don’t you get it? Boone lied.”
My brother, who barely spoke to me on a good day, was now chatting up evil, locker-destroying cheerleaders. “Gray, I don’t care.”
Wisely he shut up while I put my head back and closed my eyes. Of all the places we could have settled down in, Lost Lake was the worst. I hadn’t had any friends at my last school in Chicago, but being ignored was a lot better than being blamed for breaking up the most popular couple at Tanglewood High.
It isn’t fair. I didn’t do anything.
Fair or not, the damage was done. Tiffany was already turning my own brother against me by filling his head with more of her lies. I didn’t want to go back to that school, not tomorrow, not ever. I’d talk to Trick again about homeschooling, and this time I’d convince him it was better for me. Or I’d just quit school and get a job. He couldn’t stop me from doing that.
As soon as we got home I went to my room, where I shut the door and flopped down on my bed. Now I’d probably get one of my killer headaches, I thought, and considered taking some aspirin before my head started to pound. Even through the pillow I pulled over my face I could hear Gray talking to Trick in the kitchen, and braced myself for a big-brother visit.
Sure enough, five minutes later he knocked on my door. “Hey? Can I come in?”
All at once I couldn’t bear the thought of listening to another pep talk from my big brother. I lifted the pillow and lied. “I’m trying to study.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. “How about I make dinner tonight?”
Trick could make exactly three dinners: overcooked ziti, overcooked meatloaf and overcooked goulash. But letting him cook would give me the time I needed to pull myself together. “If you want.”
I got my backpack and pulled out my homework, which consisted of one worksheet from Calculus and my blank research paper outline. I finished the math in no time, but I had nothing for my English paper. What could I put down? Lost Lake was founded by a family of runaway circus trick riders whose descendents currently live on a private, no-trespassing island. P.S., the youngest sneaks out to ride around at night, smash through fences, and leave unconscious teenage girls under trees.
I wished I could talk to Jesse again. I knew he’d understand how awful things were for me. He was stuck on that island with no friends, no life. Being rich and living in a mansion might be cool, but not if you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. Not if you spent all your time alone, like him.
Like me.
I shoved myself off the bed and went out to the kitchen, where Trick was frowning at a page in my cookbook. I went to stand beside him and saw he was studying a recipe for chicken and rice.
Knowing how hard it was to eat burnt rice, much less scrub it off the bottom of a scorched pot, I took the cookbook and closed it. “Step away from the cooking utensils, sir, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
He didn’t laugh. “Gray told me what happened at school today.”
“Lots of things happened.” I went to the fridge and hunted through the shelves, collecting things and stacking them in my arm. “But I didn’t get in any trouble.”
“What about this boy, Aaron?” Trick asked.
“Boone?” I shrugged. “He’s NMP.”
“NMP.” Now he frowned. “Net Material Product?”
“Not my problem.” I shut the fridge and carried the pile of food over to the counter. I felt him reach out to put a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I stepped aside. “Trick, don’t. Okay? I’m fine, really.”
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“You keep saying that.” He dropped his arm. “I could go to the school tomorrow and talk to someone. See if they can do something about this situation.”
“Oh, yes, that will make things so much better for me.” I unwrapped a rotisserie chicken and started carving away thin slices. “Don’t you remember anything about how it is in high school?”
He shrugged. “I never had a problem with bullies.”
“That’s because you were always bigger and meaner-looking than them. Two things I, regrettably, am not.” I shook my head. “I have to go to Tanglewood until I graduate, which unfortunately is not tomorrow morning. So unless you want me to be treated like a communicable disease for the next three years, you should maybe stay out of this.”
“You don’t have to graduate from Tanglewood,” he said quietly. “We can move.”
I stopped slicing and eyed him. “Excuse me?”
“I would like to stay and make a go of the farm,” he said, “but not if it has you this unhappy.”
I knew exactly why my brother wanted to stay: the farm that had belonged to our father. I couldn’t talk to him about that because I wasn’t supposed to know. I wondered how he’d react if I told him I’d seen the deed. Would he lie about it, or say it had slipped his mind?
“Cat?”
I didn’t know what to say to him. I was unhappy. Part of me relished the idea of packing up and moving again. Trick would take us somewhere far from Lost Lake, somewhere I could start over and not have to worry about Gray or school or cheerleaders who hated me or—
Jesse.
I couldn’t move away. Not from him. Even if he didn’t want to see me again, I had to stay. There was always a chance that he’d change his mind, or that we’d meet again one night and he’d like me better. He needed to know I was here, that I was waiting for him.
I know you are.
That thought came out of nowhere, and it wasn’t mine. It sounded like Jesse was inside my head. Great. I’d obsessed over him so much that now I was pretending to hear him in my thoughts. Then everything around me dimmed as I felt another heartbeat join the throb of my own.
Does this feel like a pretense to you, Catlyn?
Dimly I heard the knife fall out of my hand and skitter over the edge of the counter.
Trick caught before it hit the floor. “Cat?”
The sharpness of his voice snapped me back to reality, where for a second everything seemed too bright and crowded.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I guess the thought of packing up my room again made my brain freeze.” I composed my expression before I faced him. “Trick, we don’t have to move whenever I have a bad day. My life is not exactly charmed. We’d have to live on a houseboat.”
His mouth hitched. “It must not be as bad as I thought if you’re already joking about it.”
“I’m serious,” I assured him. “A houseboat with no anchor. And really big, souped-up engines. Like a house speedboat.” I paused before I added, “Let me handle this, okay? Please?”
“All right.” He handed me the knife before he peered at the pile of chicken I’d sliced. “So how do you heat that up? In the oven, or in a skillet?”
“If you’re cooking? Neither of them.” I gave his shoulder a comforting pat. “Let me introduce you to this marvelous, cooking time-programmable appliance called the microwave.”
Teaching my big brother how to rewarm chicken without turning it into jerky made dinner edible and helped avoid any further discussion of my awful day at school. While we ate I could feel Gray looking at me now and then, but I pretended he was invisible. I was still mad about him taking Tiffany’s side and telling Trick about Boone.
I left my brothers to clean up and took a shower before I went to bed. I meant to read a few more of my mother’s love letters, and took out the bundle, but as soon as I lay down on my bed I felt exhausted. I closed my eyes to rest them for a minute, and drifted off.
Sometime during the middle of the night a tapping sound woke me, and I sat up feeling grumpy and disoriented.
“Unless the house is burning down,” I told my door, “go away.”
“Catlyn.”
The voice wasn’t coming from outside my door. I turned around and saw a shadow move across the glass panes. “Gray?”
“Catlyn, open the window.”
Was he locked out of the house? Had he climbed up the pine tree outside my window? As big as he was, the branches would never hold his weight.
I grabbed my robe and yanked it on before I went to unlock the window latch and pull up the bottom slider. “What are you … ” I stopped as I looked down twenty feet at a boy standing next to the pine tree. A boy who was definitely not my brother. “Jesse?”
He bent down, and when he straightened he soared straight up and caught my windowsill with his hands. When I stumbled back, my hand over my mouth to smother a yelp, he swung himself over and into my room.
“Catlyn.” He straightened, glancing all around before he met my gaze. In the light from my lamp his eyes looked lighter, like the chrome on Trick’s Harley. “I thought this might be your room.”
I couldn’t believe it. He’d jumped two stories and vaulted into my room. As if gravity didn’t affect him at all. “How did you do that?”
“I had to see you.” He stepped toward me. “I know I said I wouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” When he saw that I was backing away, he stopped. “It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes. No.” The back of my legs hit my bed and I sat down on it. “Jesse, for God’s sake, it’s the middle of the night. If my brother heard you out there—”
“He didn’t.” He came and knelt down in front of me. “Catlyn, your face is so pale, and your eyes look bruised.” He reached out to touch my face and I pulled back. “Why are you frightened of me?”
“Aside from you pole-vaulting in here without a pole, I’m alone with you in my bedroom at one a.m.” I glanced down as he took my hand in his. “Jesse, you can’t come into someone’s house like this. Not when she has two large brothers who could very easily beat you to a pulp and will if they find you here.”
“I’ve never done this before tonight,” he admitted, and curled his strong fingers around mine. “Do you really want me to go? I will.”
“No.” I breathed in his scent, like a spice garden in the moonlight, and felt it warm me from the inside out. “You made that jump; you’ve earned a few minutes.”
Instead of the weirdly formal riding clothes I’d seen him in the last two times, Jesse wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Both had been black once but had faded to gray, and the jeans had ladders of small, frayed rips. His silky black hair hung in a wind-blown mane around his face, as if he’d been out riding with it loose.
I didn’t look half so good. I wished I was wearing the new navy blue robe Gray had given me for my birthday, which looked like silk, instead of the ratty old pink terry cloth from four Christmases back. No way I was going to take it off and show Jesse my candy-striped pajamas, which were even more ancient and so threadbare they were practically transparent in the most embarrassing places.
“You look cute.” He tugged on the lapel of my robe. “I like you in pink.”
“I despise pink, but it was a Christmas gift. Quit reading my mind.” I gave him an uneasy look. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up and drew me to my feet. “But you have been thinking about me.”
If he were psychic, he would know. “Sometimes. You’re kind of mysterious.”
“So are you.” He inspected my face. “I’ve been feeling your thoughts in my mind, as if you were calling my name out loud. Wherever I was, I could hear your voice inside my head. Even when I watched you from the hayloft.”
“The hayloft?” I echoed blankly.
His mouth hitched. “You don’t know how many times I’ve sat up there on that old trunk so I could watch you groom your mare. You were brushing out
her mane and wishing your hair had the same tinge of red as hers.”
“Reading someone’s thoughts is impossible.” So was his jumping up into my room, and the way he was looking down at me now, as if I were as beautiful as he was, and being with me was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. “Jesse, why did you really come here?”
“I couldn’t stay away another night.” He slid his arm around my waist and used it to pull me a little closer. “I wanted to be with you.”
I would not blush. I would not stutter. I would start breathing again, any moment now. “You don’t even know me.”
He smiled. “You love reading poetry and listening to music and riding at night. You love your horse and your brothers. You would help a stranger in trouble, even if it meant getting hurt yourself. You’re not afraid of the dark.”
I turned my head to look at the open window, and his hair brushed across my cheek. It was so soft it felt like a cool breeze against my skin. “This isn’t real. Things like this don’t happen to me.”
“Or me,” he murmured, stroking one hand over my rumpled hair. “Catlyn, listen. All that matters now is this. I need you with me. I want you to come away with me tonight.”
I could feel his heartbeat against mine, racing as fast as my own, and shivered. “Why?”
“It’s the only way we can be together.” He put his fingers under my chin and tipped up my face. “We belong to each other. You can feel it just as I do. You’ve known it since the moment we met.”
I did feel connected to him, more than I’d felt to anyone, even my brothers, but I wasn’t so sure it was love at first sight. How could I love someone I barely knew? “What if you’re wrong? What if this is a big mistake?”