All Eyes on Us, page 15
Subject: Re: Just thought you should know
From: Rosalie Bell
To: me
Hey. So, thanks for not sending my dad those photos. Will you delete them please? I think your anonymous texter was pissed because they got in touch. No caller ID, serious dirtbag?
Something tells me I’m not the only one who got an ultimatum for Carter’s birthday. I know I’m not your favorite person, but we need to meet up. Promise I’ll explain everything.
Here’s my number: 723-958-6593.
Rosalie
No way. When I stare at the email, the photos from Thursday night are all I can see. Her body pressed against Carter’s. I jam my fists into my eyes, but the image is burned there. I take a deep breath, then hit reply.
Subject: Re: Re: Just thought you should know
From: me
To: Rosalie Bell
I know you’re lying. We are not about to form some two-woman detective agency.
Figure it out on your own.
—AK
I add her number to my phone, just in case, then toss it in my bag.
I need to get out of the house. I need to drive. My stomach is still in knots, and my head is throbbing. I can’t face an encounter with Linda or Jack right now, if he’s even home. If she’s even up.
When I slip into the hall and down the stairs, the house is mercifully quiet.
As soon as I hit the road, I feel a little better. My brain is still banging against my temples, but the knots in my stomach start to release. Despite the freezing weather, I crack the window to let in some fresh air. I don’t really think about where I’m going, and when I find myself at the high school, I make my usual left at the construction site.
I drive past the crew, putting in a Saturday shift. In the time since we got back from winter break, the gymnasium has gone from a framework and scaffolding to something that almost resembles a real building. I pull into the parking lot and turn off the ignition, but leave the heat running. A minute passes, then ten. I don’t know what to believe, who I can talk to. At Verde on Wednesday, I swear Carter was telling the truth. But on Thursday, someone wanted me to know he was lying. I picture Carter and Rosalie, still together, maybe together right now. Was his car in the driveway when I left the house? I can’t remember. I didn’t look. Maybe I didn’t want to know.
I’m entirely absorbed in my dark fantasy of the two of them in Culver Ridge, doing whatever they do there together—drive around? hang out at CVS? make out in the backseat of the Mercedes?—when there’s a tap on the passenger’s side window. My eyes fly open. A tall, broad-shouldered man is standing next to my car, arms on the hood, face pressed close to the window. I shriek.
“Hey, it’s just me!” He backs two steps away from the car, hands up in front of his chest.
“Jesus Christ on the cross, David Gallagher. Don’t do that to me.”
I wait for my breathing to even out, then press the unlock button. David grins and swings open the passenger’s side door.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Get in, Gallagher. You didn’t have to sneak up on me like that.”
“Didn’t mean to startle you, honest.” David sits down and slides the seat all the way back, stretches out his legs.
“How’d you know I was up here?” I ask.
“Saw you pull in a while ago. Didn’t see you leave, so I thought I’d come find you on my break.”
I can’t remember the last time David and I really talked. The other night at the diner barely counts. Ever since he graduated last year, I’ve barely seen him except around the construction site.
“Mind if I smoke?”
I’m about to tell him yes, I do mind, no cigarettes in the coupé, but then I notice that David’s holding up a joint. I never smoke pot—Carter doesn’t approve. I can feel him sitting between us, shaking his head in disappointment.
“Only if you plan to share that.”
David grins and pulls out a lighter. Imaginary Carter narrows his eyes at me, sad frown lines tugging at his lips. David takes a long pull, then passes the joint my way. I hesitate, but just for a second. What Carter doesn’t know won’t hurt us. I suck the smoke deep into my lungs and immediately explode into a fit of hacking and choking.
“Easy there, cowgirl.” David is laughing at me. “Hit it again, just take it slow.”
I get the coughing under control, then do as instructed. This time, I manage to get the smoke in and out of my lungs without incident.
“First time?” David asks.
“Almost. Clearly I need more practice.”
“Come round the school on Saturdays anytime. I’ll smoke you up. You should bring Trina.”
So David is into Trina. A smile flickers across my lips, then just as quickly dies when I remember Trina’s on my shit list.
“Thanks, I might take you up on that.” I glance down at the construction site. “How’s the project going, anyway?”
“Scheduled for completion in June. Too bad you’ll graduate before you get to use it.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Seriously, Amanda? You should see the sad excuse for a track and field they’ve got out at NPCC-L.” David used to play lacrosse for South, but he was never as good as his little brother.
“No team at community college?”
“Not exactly. But I’m getting out of there anyway.”
I raise my eyebrows. He passes the joint back to me, and I take another hit.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m applying to WVU, sophomore transfer. I’m pretty sure I’ll get in. I just have to put together enough cash.”
“You’ll be there with Carter and me!” My voice is almost a squeal. For a moment, I forget that no part of my future with Carter is certain. And then I remember. If I lose Carter, I lose WVU too. Because how could I face four years on the same campus if we’re not together? Which leaves me with the three other, significantly more expensive schools where I’ve applied, if I even get in. Which leaves my family where exactly?
“That’s amazing.” I try and fail to sound cheerful. “I really hope it works out, David.”
“Yeah, well. It’s not a done deal yet. WVU’s state, but it’s not exactly free.”
Right. However bad we’re struggling, David’s family’s struggling even more. I’m sure going to Carl for a loan isn’t an option. I lean back into the headrest and close my eyes. After three hits, I’m definitely feeling something. Warm and almost weightless. But something else too. I turn until I’m facing David head-on. We used to have fun freshman year. We never did anything fancy—the movies, the mall—but he always made me feel like the prettiest girl in the room. The only girl worth his time.
“Listen, I’ve gotta get back.” David retrieves what’s left of the joint and opens the car door. I wrap my arms tight around my waist, as if he might have seen inside me just now, as if I can stop him from looking.
“Just don’t get on the road for a while, okay? Get some air, take a walk around the track.”
“I’m not that stoned,” I protest. But I know this was a mistake. David, the pot. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, Carter’s disappointment mingling with my mother’s, my father’s. Somehow, I’m letting everybody down.
“Just looking out for you, kid,” he says, a flicker of something I don’t recognize flashing across his face, then gone.
“Don’t worry about me.” My voice is tight. David hesitates for a moment.
“Give Trina my regards?”
“Of course.” But I know I won’t say anything to Trina. It’s selfish, but so what? Being with David isn’t an option for me. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. I should be nice, set them up, but I feel bitter, mean.
He waves, then heads back down to the site. I sit in the car for a few more minutes, trying to enjoy the soft fabric and blasting heat. My headache’s almost gone, but I’m not ready to go home.
I decide to take David’s advice and step out of the car into the cold, crisp air. I head down toward the track. I’ve spent countless hours on the bleachers, watching Carter’s games. Today, it’s totally deserted. I leave the gate swinging behind me and start walking across the field. For a moment, I have this feeling like I’ve already graduated and I’m back in Logansville, walking out here like old times. The grass is cold and crunchy beneath my feet. That’s the sound of high school, I think. The sounds of memories. I’m swaddled like a baby in my puffy coat; the cold can’t catch me. I lie down in the middle of the field and close my eyes. Everything melts away—David, Carter, college, my parents. I’m floating.
Suddenly, there’s the sharp bang of metal against metal. I sit up, heart pounding.
“Hello?” I must have fallen asleep; I’m groggy and freezing.
No one answers.
“David?”
I jump to my feet, then turn slowly in a circle. There’s no one here. My heart is still pounding fast, too fast. The field, once familiar and welcoming, is menacing and cold. I have to get out of here. Now.
I start running, but when I get to the gate, it’s closed, latch wrapped in a bike lock and fastened. I weave my fingers into the mesh of metal diamonds and shake, tears stinging my eyes. The field is surrounded by a tall chain-link fence on three sides. On the fourth are doors to the locker rooms, but they’ll be locked up for the weekend. I make a half-hearted attempt to climb, but the mesh is far too fine. My boots scrape futilely against the metal. I’m trapped.
I sink to the grass, back sliding down the fence. This gate never gets locked. Someone saw me here. Someone did this to me on purpose.
I take out my phone, hands shaking, knowing full well there’s going to be a message waiting for me. Sure enough, two brand-new texts from Private.
You think you’re smart, but you’re just an animal in a cage. The sooner you learn that, the better this will end for you, Princess.
You have 11 more days to pull off a public breakup. I know you can bring the hurt, Amanda—don’t let me down.
I’ve been worrying about all the wrong things. While I was sweating over David and the pot, I should have been thinking about the person who is watching my every move. Not Carter, not my parents. Private. This is payback for Thursday night, for sending the photos to Rosalie instead of her dad.
I bang my head against the locked gate and scream, but there’s no one around to hear.
I can’t call Trina, or Adele for that matter. This is too embarrassing. I open up a new conversation and text Alexander.
Hey, you around?
Yeah.
I need you to come to South. Bring wire cutters, I’m locked in at the track.
What?
Just get here. Please?
On my way.
And Alexander? Don’t tell anyone.
18
ROSALIE
SUNDAY, JANUARY 14
She knows I’m lying. When Carter and I didn’t actually break up at Eat’n Park, someone was listening. Either Private tipped her off, or Carter Shaw is a very bad liar.
Amanda has the photos and Private has the photos. It’s only a matter of time before everything rips to shreds. A thousand threads, snaaaap. In church, the shell of some other girl sings the hymns and recites the prayers while I sink into my chair and the long, cold fingers of my parents and the congregation and the Holy Spirit Himself squeeze tighter and tighter around my throat until there’s no air left.
Richard and Julia are fully absorbed in the service, but Lily sees me shrinking in my chair, body caught somewhere between suffocating and disappearing altogether. She reaches over and slips her hand into my hand. Our fingers weave.
“Jesus loves you,” she whispers. “His love is all around. Can’t you feel it?”
I smile weakly at my sister, and tears well up in my eyes. All I can feel is the pulsing bass, which reverberates through the church’s sound system. It pounds against my lungs, thud, thud, thud, until finally the tears spill over.
After service ends, I nibble cookies and try my best to make small talk with Ivan Brophy, one of the FOC kids I mind the least. From the seats behind us, I can feel Mom’s eyes fixed on my back. She’s deep in conversation with Mrs. Hagan, and their voices carry.
“You know he and Cecilia had a terrible go of it when he was growing up,” Mrs. Hagan is saying. “She let him run wild, and now look what’s happened.” They’re talking, it seems, about the Hagan’s next-door neighbors, Philip Ireland and his mother, Cecilia. Before service, I’d overheard Beth Clark murmuring to Emily Masters that Philip had “run off to Dayton, with a man.” He’s a grown adult. I’m not sure leaving home to move in with your boyfriend qualifies as “running off,” but this is the kind of occurrence that makes waves in Fellowship circles, even though the Irelands aren’t FOC. It’s gossip fueled by equal parts fear and disgust. The purity ring feels tight and hot around my finger.
“He was exposed to too many of the world’s sins,” Mom agrees. “And he doesn’t have Jesus in his heart. It’s people like that who ruin godly marriages.”
The words crash down across my back. I’m not sure if they’re for my benefit, or despite of me. I try to block them out, focus instead on Ivan Brophy’s mouth. He’s regaling me with an animated description of his volunteer plans for tomorrow’s day off from school. When he asks if I want to join the outreach day trip for Mission Driven, I politely decline.
And then finally coffee hour is over, and the Bells are going our separate ways: Dad and Lily take the car home, Mom stays for her shift in the church office, and I take off on my bike. The road stretches out like a wide gray ribbon. I can’t put enough distance between me and God’s Grace, the world passing in a blur of barbed wire, frost-tipped grass, dairy cows. It isn’t until I get to Bracken Hollow that I realize my jaw aches and my head is pounding from clenching my teeth all through service.
Inside, I hang my coat on an empty hook in the office and massage my temples. Our branch is small and the tech is about a decade short of modern, but I love it here. There’s exposed brick on the walls and big open windows. It always smells like the plastic they use for library bindings and vanilla carpet freshener. I say hello to Marge, the librarian on duty, and settle in at the info desk. Within minutes I have a patron with a question, a blissful distraction from the din inside my head.
By the time my shift ends at four, my headache is gone and I’ve almost forgotten I told Carter to pick me up. We’re supposed to be going to some coffee shop he found a few miles out, somewhere in a strip mall where he swears no one will spot us. The whole thing grates against my better judgment. I can’t get high at the library, and there will be no Bell family face time tonight. But I need to see Carter. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say, but we have to talk about Amanda.
Through the row of front-facing windows, I can see him drumming against the steering wheel. Marge makes her final “library closing” announcement, and a minute later I’m in the parking lot, phone to my ear, reminding Dad about my date. Check-in complete, I strap my bike to the back of Carter’s car and slide into the front seat.
He leans over to kiss my cheek, but freezes when I open my mouth. “Amanda knows we’re lying.”
“What?”
“I know you talked to her, but either she didn’t buy it, or someone’s been spying. And I think it might be the latter.”
“Spying?”
Just talking about this makes me jumpy. Unless there’s a bug in the Mercedes, no one could possibly be eavesdropping, but I lower my voice, just in case.
“Someone’s been following me. At school, and the other night they showed up at my house.”
“Oh my god.” Carter grabs my hand and squeezes. “Did you get a look at the guy? Did he say anything?”
I shake my head. “I think it might have been a woman, but I’m not sure. I just saw her shadow. Someone tipped Amanda off that we’re not really broken up. And someone’s been following me around. So, two plus two . . .”
“Okay.” Carter puts his other hand on top of mine and looks me straight in the eye. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“How? Amanda has . . . stuff on me. Stuff that can’t get out.”
“What kind of stuff?” Carter’s grip on my hand loosens, and the corners of his mouth drop down. A somber gloom settles across his face, making him look much older than his usually boyish seventeen years.
I turn toward the passenger’s side window and look out. Then I turn back to Carter and lie to his face. “Stuff about my family; I don’t want to talk about it. But Amanda could really do some damage, and she’s definitely pissed.” Because of course she is. Guilt balloons in my stomach, and I’m not sure what I want anymore. To keep myself safe, yes, but at what cost?
I look into Carter’s eyes. The gloom has lifted; he looks like a confused little boy.
“Maybe we should take a break,” I suggest. “A real one. Just for a week or two, until this blows over.”
“No!” Carter smashes his fist against the steering wheel, and the horn lets out a sharp blast. I gasp. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” He slumps back against the headrest. “I’ll handle Amanda. Just don’t do this.”
I’d like to believe him, but Carter’s not going to convince Amanda of anything. I’m sure he did his best last week, but Private’s one step ahead of us.
“Just for a little while,” I repeat. At least until January 24 is here and gone and this whole mess with Private blows over, Lord willing. I can hold my parents off for ten days. I’ll tell them Carter’s family took him on a trip for his birthday; that’s something rich people do.
“I love you, Rosalie.”
For a moment, there’s a thin silence in the car. My stomach twists.
“I love you,” he repeats. As if I didn’t hear it the first time. As if destroying everything once wasn’t enough.
I let the words hang. I’m the girl with zero expectations, his no-strings-attached commercial break from the regularly scheduled programming of being golden boy Carter Shaw. The guilt-balloon in my stomach expands and expands. He’s not allowed to fall in love.
