Some Boys

  I used to wish I’d gotten Mom’s eyes instead of Dad’s silverish gray ones. Hers are such a sunny blue. After Dad left, they turned cloudy. But every once in a while something happens to put a little life in them again. Today they’re sunny, and I’m so afraid I’ll be the one to suck the twinkle out of them. “Mom, I’m so tired.”

  Her lip trembles, but she smiles. “I know, baby. I know.” She folds me into a hug, and a moment later, she starts singing, “I love you. You love me.”

  “Oh, God, don’t.”

  “We’re a happy—”

  “Mom, I’m begging you. Not that song.”

  “What? You used to love that purple dinosaur.”

  “I was three.”

  The sun still lights her eyes, and she claps. “Come on. I know what we have to do.” She bounces off my bed, grabs my hand.

  “What?” Oh, please! Let it not be a 5k run. Anything but that. She leads me downstairs, picks up the remote, and the stereo turns on. She’s got it tuned to some classic station that plays tunes from the ’80s.

  “This is perfect! Dance with me.”

  It takes me a few minutes to recognize The Romantics. Mom starts jumping in time to the frenetic beat of the group’s biggest hit, “What I Like About You.” I don’t know. Maybe it was their only hit. She grabs me, spins me around our tiny living room, and I’m falling all over my feet because I can’t move this fast. But I’m laughing, and she’s doing her special belly laugh. And it feels so good because we haven’t laughed in so many years, and I’ve missed it. Oh, God! I’ve missed it so much. We dance and jump and spin until we can’t talk, can’t breathe, can’t be sad, and collapse in boneless heaps onto the sofa when the song fades and the traffic report plays. We prop our feet up on the coffee table, where there are pictures of the three of us when we were still a family. When we stop panting, Mom lowers the volume and turns to me.

  “Grace, what do you want to do?”

  The endorphins from our dance workout are pumping freely, and I’m not the least bit sad when I tell her.

  “I wanted to crush him, Mom.” I clench my fist. “I wanted to hit him where it hurts, get him kicked off the lacrosse team.” I open my fist, drop it to my lap. “But that’s not going to happen. He’s got too many fans. He could rob a bank, and they’d just say the bank deserved it for flaunting all their money. So I’ll settle,” I say and shrug. “I’d be happy if the rest of the school treated me like a human being again instead of Zac’s broken toy.”

  Mom fans her face. “You’re not going to take that semester in Europe, are you?”

  “No. I’m not running, Mom.”

  “That’s my girl.” She grins, and I frown.

  “Okay, I’m really confused. Why did you keep pushing the semester abroad if you didn’t want me to go?”

  “Grace, I just want you to be happy, whatever it takes. If you want to run and hide, fine. If you want to stand tall and fight, that’s fine too.”

  I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe. Europe sounds pretty good to me. It really does. But—”

  “But?”

  “But it feels exactly like running. Hiding. You deleted my Facebook account, and I get why you did it. But I just think I shouldn’t have to shut up or apologize or change the way I dress for anybody.” I lift my hair off my damp neck. “But I’m keeping the hair. I kind of like it like this.” I toss it over my shoulder and stand. I need to shower off all this sweat and get dressed, but my mom grabs my hand.

  “Grace, about your dad. There’s something you need to know.”

  I sit down again, frowning. “What?”

  “He…well, he was arrested last night.”

  “What?” My eyes bulge. “For what?”

  Mom rocks her head, won’t meet my eyes. “Well, after he drove you home, he was angry and went to your school, accosted a few of the lacrosse players. The coach called the police, but your dad left before they got there, so they went to his house.”

  I jump up. “Well, come on. Let’s go. We have to help him.”

  “Honey, relax. He’s home. He wasn’t held. The charges were dropped.” She stands, takes me by my shoulders to stop my manic pacing. “Kristie’s pissed off, but other than that, everything’s fine. I only told you so you’d see Daddy does care. He has a hard time with emotions and expressing himself. Believe me, he’s furious about what happened to you and even angrier that the police have walked away from the whole thing. But he’s mostly angry at himself for not protecting you.”

  I scoff at that. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have left us.”

  “Grace,” Mom says and lifts my chin. “Come on. Be fair. I’m not thrilled he left either, but even if he’d stayed, you’d still dress the way you dress and do the things you do, even if they made him nuts, right?”

  No! Okay, maybe, but still. With a sigh of surrender, I shift my weight and say nothing.

  “I don’t want you to hate him.”

  “I don’t.” I only hate Kristie and all her kuteness.

  “Okay.” She gives me a quick squeeze. “Let’s get dressed, and I’ll drop you off.”

  We head upstairs, and I decide to wear the toughest outfit I own. I don’t care how many eyebrows I raise.

  Chapter 20

  Ian

  When the light fills my room—still clean, by the way—I’m already up. I didn’t sleep well and when I did finally catch a few z’s, my dreams were freakin’ bizarre. I kept seeing Zac with Grace. Like I was watching them while they—ugh. I don’t want to go there. She knew I was there, kept looking at me with those amazing bright eyes begging me for help.

  But I just stood there.

  Then Zac looked at me and did that nod thing like I was standing there for him because we’re friends. Teammates. Like it’s my duty.

  I rake my hands through my hair with a loud sigh. One more day. Just one more day to get through with her.

  I don’t think I can do it, and the thing is I don’t know why. Why does she keep getting under my skin? Why does it piss me off when she lifts that chin and sneers at me? Why was she with Zac at all if she liked me so damn much? Why did she let him—

  My door opens, and I jump. “Jesus, Dad!”

  “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Since you’re up already, come down for breakfast with the rest of the family.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why are you up? Any more dizziness? Headache?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He frowns at me, tries to figure out why I’m lying, but lets it go. “Good. Don’t forget. Your follow-up appointment is this afternoon. Three thirty.”

  Thank God. Then I can get back on the field, where I know what I’m doing.

  “Good morning.” Mom’s not dressed yet. She pads over to me on bare feet, ruffles my hair. “You have your—”

  “Yep. Got it. Dad just told me.”

  “Hey, little man. I’m making eggs. Want in?” Val cracks eggs in a bowl, starts scrambling.

  God, yes. “Thanks.” I grab the loaf of bread, feed some slices into the toaster. Claudia’s pouring coffee. I snatch a cup, hope it will defuzz my brain. She glares at me, dark eyes circled with makeup, almost the way Grace does hers. “What’s with all the eyeliner?”

  Her mouth falls open. “What do you care?”

  “It’s a question, Claude! Jeez. Why do girls wear all that stuff? You’re prettier without it.”

  Now Val, Mom, and Dad’s mouths fall open like some synchronized dance. I roll my eyes. “What?”

  Claudia looks at Mom. Mom pretends to wipe away a tear. “I think…I’m not sure, but that might have been an actual compliment. I’m so proud.” Mom throws her arms around me.

  I wriggle free, laughing. “Shut up, you guys. I’m just sayin’.”

  “It was a compliment. You think your sister is pretty. Admit it.”

  I shoot a look toward my dad, silently beg him for help. He grins and shakes his head. “You’re on your own, pal.”

  Oh, Go
d, I’m in hell. Three women and abandoned by the only other guy in the house? “Cold, Dad.” The girls circle me, tease me, and the toast pops. I finally throw my hands up and admit it. “Okay, okay, you’re all pretty. Happy now?”

  Like somebody flipped a switch, they stop. Mom nods. Claudia grins, and Val plants a noisy kiss on my cheek I wipe off with a dish rag. A few minutes later we’re all passing plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast to each other and sipping juice and coffee. It’s kind of nice to have extra time in the morning and—

  “Little man, pass me the napkins.”

  And we’re done. I drop my palm to the table. “Val, will you stop calling me that? I’m taller than all of you.”

  “You are not.” Claudia rolls her heavily lined eyes.

  “Dad. Stand up.” I stand, put my back to his.

  “Holy hell, when did that happen?” Val wonders.

  Mom wipes another fake tear. “My baby’s not a baby anymore.”

  Oh, God. That’s it. I’m done. “Dad. We should go.”

  “Should we?”

  “We should totally go right now so I’m not late.”

  With one final sip of coffee, Dad’s up and kissing each of the girls good-bye. “Wash that crap off your face. Your brother’s right.”

  I run for the door, Claudia’s wail of “Daaaaaaaad!” the last thing I hear.

  In the car I blow out a heavy sigh.

  “So what the hell was that?” Dad jerks a thumb toward the house.

  I lift my shoulders. “I just don’t think she needs all that eyeliner to get noticed, you know?”

  “Agreed, but why did you notice? You never have before.”

  Crap, crap, crap. He’s good. Set me right up.

  “Ian, you have a thing for Grace. Is that what this is about?”

  “What? Me?” I wave my hand with a laugh, then hiss in pain when it smacks the closed window. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Oh, really. You sure about that?” His raised eyebrows tell me he’s not buying it. There is no thing. Okay, so she’s seriously hot in an in-your-face kind of way. And yeah, she’s kind of funny. And smart, definitely—at least when it comes to her mouth.

  Her mouth. God, her mouth tasted good. And her scent. I could bury my face in her hair and smell all those lilacs for the rest of my life. Only I can’t because Zac moved on her first.

  “Yes. No! Just, ah hell, just forget it.” I swing the door open and stalk into the school. The heavy steel door practically bounces off the wall. I jog up the stairs and skid to a stop.

  Grace is already here, and there’s nothing—no spark, no interest—because I do not have a thing for her. Okay, so her legs look good in those curve-hugging pants, ending in mile-high boots. Nice enough, if you’re into the rock star look. And yeah, that little sliver of skin that cuts up the head-to-toe black and the leather wristbands that lace up her arms are both hot. And maybe the talon bracelet she wears wrapped around her left bicep makes her look like a warrior, and all that sleek hair shining in the sunlight makes my hands itch to touch it. Big deal. The face without its typical heavy makeup that lets those bright eyes of hers shine. Only they’re not shining today—

  Oh, fuck.

  Everything I was worried about, everything that confused me, just every damn thing in general that’s been circling and buzzing around my brain, keeping me up at night—it all just stops to stare. Stare until looking just isn’t enough. “Jesus, Grace, I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “So sorry.”

  I wait, wait for her to smile, wait for her to nod, wait for her to freakin’ say something.

  She doesn’t.

  Instead, she whips around and kicks a locker door.

  Chapter 21

  Grace

  Ian climbs out of his dad’s white Camry, looking seriously pissed off, and I take an involuntary step away from the second-floor window where I’m watching him. But then I remember, This is Ian. Ian, who wouldn’t throw away all the stuff in a sick girl’s locker. Ian, who defended me from my friends…and his, sort of. I thought he was better than all the other guys.

  I thought he was decent.

  Until yesterday, when he flipped out because of that picture.

  Now I know better. Now I know he’s just a boy, and boys are scum.

  The door downstairs slams open and closed, and I flee before he catches me, hand pressed to my galloping heart. Is that why he’s mad? Did I get him in trouble with Jeremy and Kyle? I bite my lip and then shrug it off. If I did, too damn bad. Those guys are slime. What if I got him in trouble with his dad? I fling up my arms and curse. Why is every little thing so goddamn hard? Why do I even care so much? He was nice for a few days, but yesterday he was cruel enough to pick at all my scabs and leave me bleeding. I should just join a convent or something. Swear off men, take a vow of chastity. As his feet pound the stairs, my blood heats up, and my stomach flutters. And I know I will never keep that vow.

  He stops abruptly at the top of the stairs and just looks at me, a dozen emotions rushing across his face. He curls his hand into a fist because it’s trembling. I don’t know how I know that bugs him, but I do. His mouth works, but he’s unable to form any words. He shifts his weight under my scrutiny.

  Who are you? I want to scream. I want to grab him by the shirt, shake him, and—

  “Jesus, Grace, I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  What? I stare at him for a second more. Oh my God, who the hell are you? Why do guys have to be so irritating and frustrating and aggravating and—fuck! I can’t take anymore and plow my foot into a locker door.

  “Grace, are—”

  “What is your deal, Russell? Just what the hell is your deal?” I shout, hands on my hips. When he stands there like a statue, I rant and pace around him. “One day you’re this sweet guy who…who saves people, and then suddenly you’re this…this vicious dirtbag with a tongue that stabs through hearts. I don’t get it. Is this more payback? Are you and the entire lacrosse team using me as a fucking team-building exercise? What did I do to you? Tell me! What the hell did I ever do to any of you except—”

  “Except what?”

  I clamp my lips down and sneak a look at him from under my hair. He’s stunned. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was shell-shocked. God, I groan silently, slide down to the floor, and let the last of my anger go. There’s no point to any of this. Maybe Mom’s right. A semester or two in Europe and I can start over. Be whoever and whatever I want.

  A shoe squeaks on linoleum, and Ian is kneeling next to me. Slowly he puts out a hand. I don’t know. Maybe he thinks I bite. I should stop him. But I’m more curious than angry now. His hand touches my hand, a soft, hot brush of skin and then a soft squeeze, and it—oh, Jesus—it completely undoes me. I break down in a flood of tears, and now his arms are around me. His lips kiss my forehead.

  Damn it, my forehead.

  It’s even hotter than I’d imagined it, and I wish I could turn off my brain’s center of confusion.

  “Sorry,” I hiccup. “I thought I was done with the crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “I do,” he says after a moment. “You had enough.” He finishes with a shrug. “I think maybe I was the straw that broke your camel.”

  I burst into laughter—loud, wet giggles. “That sounds so…so—”

  “Kinky?” He fills in the blank with a grin, and I roll my eyes.

  “That works.” Then I get serious. “You were horrible yesterday.”

  “I know. Sorry. Saw you sneaking away from the field with that camera and thought, Liar.”

  I flinch, and his hand tightens around mine.

  “Grace, listen to me. I don’t know what Zac’s thinking.”

  I try to pull back, but he won’t let me go.

  “I swear I don’t,” he adds. “But I know you’re not lying. You’re not.” He squeezes my hand and smiles wide. “Let’s go out tonight. Just us—no Zac talk, no Miranda or Lindsay talk. Let me make it up to you. I’m not an ass, I swear.??
?

  My other hand flies to my mouth. That ball of dread that curled up and died deep inside me just shrunk to half its size. He’s kidding me. He has to be kidding me.

  If he’s kidding, I will break into a million pieces—I know it.

  After I kill him first.

  “What about your friends?” I have to ask.

  He lowers his eyes and drops my hand. “I don’t know, Grace. One step at a time, okay?”

  “What changed your mind?”

  He shifts to sit next to me, brings his knees to his chest, and frowns. “Maybe it was all that stuff you said about doing things that are easy or right.” He lifts a shoulder. “It would be so easy for you to—I don’t know—hide. Run away. Pretend.” He shakes his head. “But you get in people’s faces. You don’t back off. Even when you’re scared. And you’re scared a lot lately, aren’t you?”

  “Am not.”

  He leans closer. I hold my breath. “Liar,” he whispers.

  A second later we both crack up laughing.

  It’s the best day I’ve had. Ever.

  He climbs to his feet, sways a little.

  “Dizzy again?”

  “Nah. Got up too fast. I’m good.” He heads for the cart, peeling off his jacket. He hangs the jacket on one of the hooks and then pushes the cart to where we left off. He’s wearing jeans—nothing new there. But the shirt’s different. It’s clean, wrinkle-free and fits him. Fits him well enough to make sure I notice he’s got a seriously nice body.

  Oh, boy, do I notice.

  I swallow hard, grab a fresh set of rubber gloves, and we soon have a rhythm going. We work for hours side by side, and the only tension in the air is ours—not Zac’s.

  “Hey, Grace?”

  I look over my shoulder at Ian. He’s not scrubbing. He’s looking at me with a frown. Immediately the ball of dread swells. “What?”