“S-seven forty-th-three,” I said. I sounded like a cross between Elmer Fudd and a snake.

  “I see that,” he said. His gaze roamed; he’d noticed my shirt. One side of his lips turned up. “You look nice.”

  I folded my lip between my teeth. “So do you.”

  He laughed. “Uh huh.”

  “Well, can I come in?”

  He reversed, and I stepped through the door into the foyer. Gazing straight ahead I could see into the living room-kitchen combo and past it to the back yard. But I turned my head to the right and looked toward the family room next and saw a complete mess.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He’d dismantled their vacuum cleaner. With newspaper spread across the floor, he’d laid out nuts and bolts and bits of plastic in every direction on top.

  “My mom said if I was going to work for Mr. Evers, I needed to start by repairing ours.” He walked past me and settled cross-legged on the carpet.

  I seated myself in a chair. “So how long’s this going to take?”

  He focused his gaze on me. “Why? You in a hurry?”

  I grinned. “No, I can enjoy the view.”

  He smirked and went back to his work.

  We sat that way for at least an hour, then lifting his head, he kinked his neck left and right and groaned.

  “I can fix that,” I said. “Scoot over here.” I figured I’d try to massage him like he’d massaged me, though I couldn’t possibly be as good at it. He turned his back to me and pressed close until the heat of his skin warmed my legs. I pressed my fingers to his neck.

  “I don’t know the technique,” I said. “But how’s that?”

  “Mmm. Nice. Keep going.”

  I squeezed and manipulated his muscles for a moment. Then he twisted himself to the right and looked up at me.

  “Come here,” he said.

  I leaned over until my face was even with his, and with our faces upside down from each other, he kissed me. I exhaled after he straightened, the most pathetic love-sick sound.

  He shoved to his feet. “You want anything? I’m going for a drink.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  He disappeared from the room, and a noise from behind me made me glance behind..

  “Oh, hello, Dear.” Paterson’s mom stood in the entranceway. “I thought I heard the dog bark.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Radovich,” I said. I stared at her for a moment. Paterson was a good combination of his mom and his dad. He had his mom’s coloring, but his dad’s height and weight. His mom was dressed, white shorts and a yellow top, and a plastic bangle bracelet on her left arm.

  She smiled with pink-coated lips. “Paterson said you had a nice evening.”

  My cheeks warmed. “We did.”

  “Good. Good,” she said.

  I breathed in. At least she hadn’t asked me more.

  Paterson reentered, having retrieved his shirt from wherever he must’ve left it; he had two canned sodas clasped in his hand.

  “There you are,” she said to him. “Do you still have the hand steamer I loaned you?”

  He handed me a can. The cold metal chilled my fingers.

  “In my room,” he said. “I can run and get it.” He popped the top on his soda, and it gave a whoosh.

  “No, no. That’s okay. You need to finish with this, and I can wait.” She waved toward the mess in the floor, her bobbed hair swinging out over her cheek.

  “I’ll go get it,” I said. Paterson glanced at me, a smile on his lips.

  “Would you? I’d appreciated it,” his mom said. “I’d go myself, but the old knee’s acting up.”

  I knew she’d fallen two years ago and smashed up her knee. I remember her wearing a brace on it and using crutches. And Paterson having to do a lot of stuff for her. It had pained her ever since or at least, she complained a lot.

  I set my soda on a coaster on a round end table to my left and stood to my feet. I looked from her to him. “Where is it?”

  “It’s in the floor by the bed,” he said. “You’ll see it. But I think it’s still plugged into the wall.”

  With a nod, I scooted past her and climbed the stairs.

  I’d been up to his room many times over the years, so though it seemed strange to be going up there alone right then, I knew where it was and what to expect when I got there. Paterson was like most other boys, a slob. I’d picked up his clothes, made his bed, and dusted his furniture more times than I could count. And found scary things in weird places. Old pizza came to mind. When we were younger, he’d paid me from his allowance simply to get out of doing it, but as we got older it became just one of those things girls did and boys didn’t.

  I paused in the doorway to scope out the space. His bed was unmade, of course, and across the floor between it and the door strung a parade of clothing. I shook my head with a grin and scooped it up as I went. Wadding the items into a ball, I tossed them in the clothes basket in the corner. I then grasped a couple pairs of shoes and threw them toward the closet where they landed with a thud.

  I spotted the steamer at the foot of the bed and bent over at the waist to pick it up. Clutching the handle, I tugged on the cord extending under the bed, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Well, shoot,” I mumbled.

  Setting the steamer back down, I knelt on my hands and knees, sticking my head beneath the bed, and at that moment, my gaze fell on a pair of books stashed there. I sat up too quick, banging my head on the footboard.

  “Ouch,” I yelped, laying my palm over my throbbing noggin. I reached back underneath and slid the books out and into my lap.

  The title of the top one screamed up at me. Massage Techniques. Massage techniques? I flipped the cover open to find a series of pictorial lessons – neck massage, shoulder and arm, back massage. I halted at the page on hands because there it was, exactly what he’d done the other night.

  I swallowed. So what if he’d learned it in a book. That didn’t mean anything. I’d learned things in books. Besides, for whatever reason he’d done it, I’d enjoyed it. I flipped a few more pages, staring briefly at foot massage, then closed the book and set it aside.

  But the name of the second book shoved my stomach into my throat. No. No. No. He hadn’t read this. He couldn’t have. Not Paterson. I knew him, right? He was my friend, and he cared for me. And I thought I now had feelings for him. It wasn’t possible he’d read something like this.

  My hands shaking, I turned the pages, growing sicker by the second, and tried to formulate a good excuse for him. Surely, it was harmless. But it couldn’t be because he’d tried half of it on me.

  Draw her in, it said, by diverting her attention to other things. He’d done that just last night, talking about the barbeque and his dad’s bad food, and I hadn’t seen how he was moving me closer and closer until there I was.

  Offer lots of compliments and make them long term, it continued.

  Long term? Six months, he’d said. Ever since the fair. I tugged at my top; I hated it now. He’d made that up, said it only to lure me.

  I flipped the page and covered my mouth. My eyes burned, and I blinked back the tears. Seduction, it said in bold letters.

  Seduction? A young couple in a heavy embrace glared up at me.

  A sexual conquest. That’s all I was, all he’d thought of me all this time. It explained everything: his weird behavior, his attempts to cajole me. It explained why he wasn’t Paterson anymore.

  I sucked in a sob, my world crashing around me. I had to get out of here, away from this house, this place. Away from him. My breath caught in my chest and my lungs squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. I coughed.

  “Nat? You coming?” he yelled from below.

  I swiped at my damp eyes and tossing the books in the middle of the floor, snatched the steamer and moved to the stairs. I steadied myself at the rail, my heart pounding, my fingers going numb, and took the steps one at the time. At the bottom, I avoided his gaze and looked instead for his mom.

  “Here you are,” I said, choking on my rising emotions.

  “Nat? What’s wrong?” Paterson asked near my right ear.

  “I …” My words faltered. I wouldn’t turn around, wouldn’t look at him. “I … don’t feel well. I’m going home. I’m sorry.” I ducked my head and moved toward the door.

  “Nat?” he called.

  But I didn’t answer. Instead, walking straight outside, I headed for the fence. My weeping started at my first footfall in the neighbor’s grass. However, I didn’t wave at him this time. I couldn’t. Because everything I loved had just blown up in my face.

  Exactly how I’d thought it would.

  ***

  Paterson leaped in place at the click of the door. What had just happened? He glanced at his mom who gazed back, confusion displayed on her face.

  “Pat …” she began.

  He cut her off and scowled. “Don’t call me that.” He didn’t like it on an average day, and he liked it less now.

  Something had upset Nadia, but what? She’d acted fine all morning, so she can’t have suddenly felt bad. That wasn’t it; she was covering. But for what?

  He rubbed his forehead. She’d volunteered to go upstairs and seemed okay then too. It wasn’t until she’d ––

  He froze. The steamer on the floor by the bed.

  Leaving his mom behind, he ran up the stairs and slid to a halt in the doorway at the sight of the books. “No. Oh, no, Nat, it’s not what you think.”

  She’d left one open at chapter five. Chapter five, the one chapter he’d avoided because he’d never go that far, never behave so disrespectfully … so awful. Yet now that’s exactly what she thought of him.

  He forced himself to gaze at the image on the page, and his insides tore apart. Surely, Nadia knew him better than to think he’d do that. Didn’t she? They had years of knowing each other behind them and shared memories.

  But the thought picked at him – she’d had doubts all along, questioned him constantly over his reasons why, and it’d taken all he could do to convince her he cared for her, that she was valuable to him just by being herself.

  He stooped over and lifted the book from the floor.

  This is not what he wanted. He’d never do that to her, but now … now, she believed otherwise. She believed he was no better than the guy who ogled a girl, trying to see down her shirt or up her dress, the guy who thought no more of a pretty face than how much she would give him.

  And that was wrong. Nadia was worth so much more than that. She was priceless.

  Paterson’s eyes watered. No matter how much he tried to tell her that now, she’d never listen. Because if there was one thing he knew about Nadia Asbury, it was she didn’t give you a second chance.

  He swallowed past the knot in his throat, surprised by the tears dripping from his chin. They stained and wrinkled the page. He shut the book and set it aside then threw himself down on the bed.

  She couldn’t disappear, couldn’t walk out of his life and be gone forever, because he loved her. It’d taken pressure from Evelyn for him to see it, but it was so real now. He loved her so much.

  He’d loved her all along really. All these months, she was the one thing he’d looked forward to each day, the most beautiful person in his life. Except now, she thought … thought …

  He cried into his pillow. She thought all he wanted was sex.

  CHAPTER 6

  I cried until my head hurt worse than it had the week before at the church picnic, until my sinuses clogged and pressure behind my eyes gave me a roaring headache. Then I curled into a fetal position on my bed and stared numbly at the wall, the hours stretching out before me endless and aching.

  The pain in my chest spiked sharp with each breath, an agony made more painful by the fact he’d been my very best friend. All of that was gone, all the things I’d thought I knew about him, all the funny quirks that made Paterson, Paterson. I could trust none of it, not my memories, not his fancy words, not our passionate caress.

  I comforted myself, saying it was better this way, better that I knew who he really was, better I’d found it out in advance, better than him continually leading me on, my living a lie, and his taking advantage of me. But the knowledge of that didn’t relieve my heartache only made it worse.

  I couldn’t face him. No way I could go to church the next day, look at Penny and Jenn and explain why he was on one side of the building and I was on the other. No way I could sit beneath Evelyn’s gloating, her acting like she’d been right all along. No way I could be there next week for him to kiss me. Which left me with the question of how to get out of it all and the seed of an idea. I had to deal with this one day at a time, and avoiding tomorrow was foremost.

  I made to rise, but my cell phone buzzed. I ignored it. It’d be him. Again. He’d texted me twice already.

  Please talk to me.

  You’ve misunderstood.

  No. I hadn’t. How could I misunderstand that?

  It buzzed again, and I pressed delete without reading it. Pointless. I rose from my bed, wiping my tired eyes and wandering from the room. I went downstairs, looking for my mom and found her on the back patio, reclining in a chaise lounge. I slid the sliding glass doors open a crack and poked my head out. The sunlight hit me in the eyes; I squinted.

  “Mom?” I asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and seeing the appearance of my face, which I could well imagine was ghastly, wrinkled her brow. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

  “I don’t feel so good. My stomach.” I mashed my hands to my waist and doubled over. I had to make this good or she wouldn’t believe me.

  She swung her legs over the side of the chair, her bare feet smacking the concrete, and walked to my side. She laid a hand on my forehead. “You’re not hot.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s … bad cramps.”

  Her eyes softened. “I see. Well, why don’t you go lay down, and I’ll bring you the heating pad.”

  The heating pad was Mom’s solution to many ailments – headaches, backaches, girl stuff – and though I didn’t actually need it, I’d lay there sweating for hours if I could avoid seeing Paterson. I nodded and returned to my room.

  She came up five minutes later, heating pad, a couple pain pills, and a bottle of water in hand. I downed the pills and settled down under the pad, sweat already breaking out.

  My phone buzzed. I tried to bury it in the covers, but it persisted, so I turned it off.

  She stared at me then, her head kinked to the left, her eyes searching my face. “You sure cramps are all this is?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I just need quiet. Maybe later I’ll feel better.”

  But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t feel better later or during the night or first thing Sunday morning. If I had to throw myself down the stairs and break my leg, I’d do it. I wasn’t going.

  She turned her back and moved toward the door, but her hand on the knob, she paused. “You want to see Paterson if he comes by?”

  My insides sunk. My mom was always smarter than I gave her credit for, and it was times like this I remembered. I shook my head. “No. I want to be alone.”

  She stared at me briefly then left.

  The tears bubbled back up and trickled down my cheeks. Alone. From now until next week and then every day after. Alone and without the boy who’d been everything to me and for just one week, even more than that.

  It was over, me and him. We were separate. Why did that have to hurt so very, very bad?

  ***

  “Hey, Paterson, where’s Nadia?” Penny called across the sanctuary.

  Paterson wadded his hands into fists, tightening them until his knuckles hurt and his fingernails cut into his palms. “Home,” he said. “She’s sick.”

  He’d been telling people that all morning. First Jenn. Then Evelyn. Now, Penny.

  He’d texted Nadia three or four times yesterday, called once, and debated about showing up at her door, but didn’t. She didn’t want to speak with him, and he couldn’t blame her. Maybe if she had enough time to think it out, there’d come a day. Then again, maybe not.

  “You and her still exclusive?” Penny asked, plopping down on the pew in front of him.

  “Don’t know what you mean by that,” he said. He stood to his feet, uncomfortable. “Listen, I gotta go.”

  Somewhere, anywhere but here. Shooting out of the sanctuary, he walked to his car and got in. He laid his head back on the seat, soaking in the rising heat.

  He shouldn’t have come today anyhow, except his parents expected it. His life was full of expectations lately. They’d been the reason he’d bought the book. He’d kept thinking, what did he know about women? Nothing. He was inept and incompetent. He’d say the wrong thing, make the wrong move, but he wanted to impress Nadia so bad.

  The beginning of the book seemed to have good tips – how to talk, how to behave, things he could try. He’d figured he could use those, but avoid the end because, after all, he’d never go that far. That part went against what he believed. He’d thrown in the massage techniques for good measure.

  And it had all worked, too, so he’d thought he was justified. She’d asked a few questions, but seemed happy with his answers. Then Friday night proved his success. There they were, her in his arms, and she’d asked him to kiss her.

  The kiss. He shut his eyes. Amazing.

  Yet all of it was only a way to get her to believe in him, to help her see him as more than Paterson, her best friend, and instead as a boy who’d fallen in love with the best girl he knew.

  Yet he’d messed up and she was gone. Where in the book was advice for that? What was he supposed to do now? She wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t even answer the phone if he called.

  He looked back toward the church. She wouldn’t answer for him, but she would if it was Penny. Penny could talk to her. Then if he could get Nadia to give him five minutes––

 

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