Chapter Six
I wake up feeling a little lighter than most days. Like I do
most Tuesdays and Thursdays. Because today I tutor Rory after
school, and so I know I have some alone time with her to look
forward to. As much as it sucks to pretend I don't want more, I'd
be lying if I said I wasn't grateful for every minute I get with
her. And it gives me an opportunity twice a week, while tutoring
her in a subject she detests, to gauge how she's doing.
Next week will be the
final exam, and so this is probably one of the last tutoring
sessions we'll have, if not the last. The truth is she's pretty
caught up on the coursework, so while I could probably swing
talking her into one more session just to be safe, it won't be more
than the one.
With the end of the year
approaching, there's a cloud of uncertainty hanging over me,
casting an ominous shade on everything I do. I see her around, of
course, but rarely alone. And as just
friends, without a legitimate excuse to
get together just the two of us, I fear I'm going to lose these
opportunities for good.
Lately she's seemed a bit
better. Ever since that God-awful brunch. Not all better, of
course, but better than she's been since Miami. Except she's still
so damn tired all the time, and it drives me crazy.
I jog through the double
doors that lead out the gymnasium wing and down the concrete steps
to the student lot. Tucker and Dave are already chatting by my
truck and I greet them each with our standard handshake.
"'Sup, bro," Dave says in
greeting. He's not actually asking me what's up, just saying hello.
I nod in return just as the rest of the boys join us.
"Pizza?" Luke asks. He and
Marshall always want pizza.
I look to Tuck, silently
asking him what only he knows will decide where I'm going to eat
lunch.
"Girls want to meet at the
diner," he replies.
I nod, tell Luke and
Marshall that I'm going with Tuck and Andy, and they shrug and head
on their way. Dave comes with us, too, and they climb into my car.
I see Carl and Tina by Carl's car, waiting on Rory, who always
takes an extra couple of minutes taking the long way around the
outside of the building to avoid walking by the locker rooms. If my
last class wasn't on the exact opposite side of the building, I'd
go out of my way to walk her every day.
I wait to get into my car
until I see her joining her friends. I want to wait even more, to
see if she seeks me out, makes eye contact, maybe even gives me
that sweet smile of hers, but I don't. I have to play the
game.
Just friends.
And so I drive my boys to
the diner and pretend like hearing the girls will be meeting us for
lunch didn't just brighten my day even further, and as I sit in the
booth, pretend I'm not carefully positioning myself to sit next to
her. It's a farce that at least Tuck, and probably Dave and Andy,
see right through, but they don't say a word.
The girls arrive and I get
up to let Tina and Carl sit next to their guys. Rory makes her way
over to my side of the booth to sit next to me as planned, and her
lips slide up into a small, sincere smile. I watch her face with
greed, and my eyes inexorably skate over her tight ass as she bends
to scoot in next to me. I can't pull them away, so I shut them
instead, for the barest of moments, before I grab a menu and
pretend to look over offerings I've long memorized in an attempt to
disguise my longing.
Dave and Tuck start
arguing about the Knicks, who are actually in the playoffs this
season, and I take advantage of the distraction and take another
survey of Rory. I watch as she stifles a yawn, grinding her teeth
together to quash it. But the scrunch of her eyes, they way they
water slightly, gives her away.
I lean down to her ear, I
can't help it. "You okay?" I ask.
She doesn't turn to me. I
guess she's used to me whispering words for her ears only. Instead
she bites her lip, telling me that whatever she answers, it won't
be the whole truth. She's not a liar, but she does rationalize
half-truths to herself, and put enough half-truths together, and
you have total bullshit.
"Yeah, fine, why?" Her
tone is meant to be light, blasé. But it rings false to me, and I'm
pretty sure that I wouldn't have believed her even if I hadn't seen
her bite her lip.
I don't call her out on
it, though. What would I possibly say?
"You just seem… tired," I
make an attempt.
She's not surprised by my
words, and I half think she was expecting them. She swallows
anxiously though, and I think that maybe she'd been worried I'd
notice.
She fakes an ironic
chuckle. "I'm always tired, Sam," she murmurs. No one else at the
table is remotely interested in our conversation, all engrossed in
their own. Either way, only I know why Rory is always tired. Only I
know about her nightmares. And it fucking kills me. Knowing I can't
protect her from them.
Fuck that. I
can protect her from
them. I did protect her from them, in Miami. And a small part of me even
resents her a little that by breaking up with me, she took that
right from me. And the worst part is—she's the one suffering for
it. Because I can handle my own suffering. It fucking sucks, but if
it's what she wants, then it's what I'll give her. But watching her
yawn for the third time since we sat down fifteen minutes ago, and
seeing the sorrow in her eyes… it fucking destroys me. Whatever is
left of me, anyway.
She barely picks at her
grilled cheese sandwich, maybe eats one and a half french fries.
When she yawns again not another ten minutes later, this time
unable to even try to suppress it, I narrow my eyes at her. She
blinks away from me, swallowing nervously again, or maybe it was
another stifled yawn, who even knows anymore?
I lick my lips
unconsciously, still leaned into her, itching to say something to
her, to tell her she needs to get some fucking sleep, to accuse her
lying to me about how she's been doing.
But I say none of these
things. I can't. Not in front of half of our friends. They're
starting to gain interest in our conversation just from the way I'm
glaring at her, and so I turn my attention to my burger. A minute
later and everyone is talking about some bar we're going to the
night before Senior Sleep-In next Friday.
I glance at Rory's plate
and notice she's barely made it on to french fry number three. I
nudge her lightly with my elbow, and nod my chin at her
plate.
Fucking eat.
She picks up the grilled
cheese and takes a small bite, exaggerating her chewing for my
benefit. I smile, subtly nodding my approval.
That's it, baby
girl, I think to myself when she takes a
second bite, bigger the first. I can call her what I want in my
head, and I do. It makes all of this the smallest bit more
bearable.
We talk about some events
coming up, including prom, which Andy, Tucker, and their girls are
looking forward to, but that's about it. To be completely honest, I
don't even want to go. But my friends would never let me out of it,
and it's easier to just go along with it. It's just one
night.
Chelsea has hinted that
she'd like to go as friends, but so far I've played dumb to her
subtly. I honestly probably won't take her either way, but it's
hard to even think about her, to consider her, when I can't think
of anything other than the possibility of taking Rory.
That is the one thing that
would make that night not fucking suck.
But I don't know if she's
up for something like that right now. A month ago I would have said
she was. But that motherfucking bastard…
Anyway, something tells me
that now she might not be open to going with me, even as a friend.
She would probably see it as crossing the line of friendship either
way, and wouldn't want to blur those lines. And fuck am I scared to push
her.
I glance over at her
again, and am pleased as fucking pie to see that she's finished
half her grilled cheese and more than half of her fries. I don't
bother hiding my smile. If any of my friends notice the lift in my
mood, they don't show it. Rory doesn't notice a damn thing, she's
too fucking exhausted to function, but at least she ate
something.
I remember that Carl drove
them to lunch, and am grateful that Rory's not driving. I'd hate to
start a fight by insisting she hand her keys over to
Carl.
We walk them to their car
and Dave follows along. Tucker kisses Carl through the driver's
window as I help Rory into the backseat. She gives me a curious
look, acting like she doesn't need my help, but she practically
stumbles into the seat. I grimace. She really needs to get some
motherfucking sleep.
When there is nothing more
I can do without making a scene of one kind or another, I
reluctantly close the door and step back from Carl's A4.
I keep my eyes open when
we pull back into the student lot. We left just after the girls,
but only we got stuck at that damn red light on Branch Road, and
their car is already parked, Carl and Tina heading up the steps and
back into the building. But Rory's not with them. She wouldn't be,
of course, and I scan the perimeter of the building in search of
her, but she's nowhere in sight.
There's no way she could
have made it around the corner of the building so quickly, and I
cut the engine and jump out of the car before my boys can even
unbuckle their seatbelts. I catch up to Carl and Tina at the double
doors.
"Where's Rory?" I
demand.
Carl gives me a look,
telling me she thinks I'm overreacting. But I don't give half a
shit.
I raise my eyebrows,
waiting with thinly veiled impatience until Carl rolls her eyes and
sighs.
"Relax, Cap. She just had
to get something from her car."
I don't wait. I turn and
scan the lot for her jeep. I don't know why I'm suddenly overcome
with the threat of panic. Somehow I know that Rory's story about
getting something from her car is bullshit. It's another one of her
half-truths, I know it. She may have gone to her car, but I have