Tess couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her best friend—her responsible, intelligent, cautious best friend—was throwing all caution to the wind and doing the stupidest thing a young woman could possibly do. It wasn't like her at all, and the thought of what might happen sent chills up Tess's spine.
She wanted desperately to run after her, maybe even tag along with her, but she couldn't do that. If something happened and they both ended up in trouble, then who would help? As much as she hated to allow Isabel to leave with those guys, it was better off if she stayed behind and got some reinforcements. Wasn't it?
She dropped her cheer bag on the floor and ran back into the gym, searching for Michael. Even though he and Isabel weren't together anymore, surely he would still care enough about her to help. "Michael!" she called. "Michael?" But the gym was clearing out, and among the very few people left, he wasn't one of them. "Crap," she swore, stomping her foot in frustration. She felt useless.
Racing out to the parking lot, she hoped to spot him getting into his car, maybe stop him before and he and Maria took off. But the lot was poorly lit, so even if he was miraculously still around, she couldn't see him.
I don't know what to do, she thought, feeling like a nervous wreck. Would it be too irrational to call the police, alert them to a party on . . . where was it again? 5th Avenue? 6th? What if it turned out nothing bad was happening, and then she was the girl who had freaked out for nothing?
She wasn't about to take the chance. No. Not when Isabel was involved. She scampered back inside to her cheer bag, unzipped it so hard and fast that she broke the zipper, and found her cell phone. She pressed the speed dial number for Kyle.
It took him until the third ring, but finally, he answered, "Hey, baby."
"Oh, Kyle," she gasped, so relieved to hear her boyfriend's voice. "Thank God you picked up. I need your help."
"Are you okay?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
"Everything." She wished he had come to the game that night, wished he were there right now. He wouldn't have let Isabel go. He would've been able to stop her. "I need you to come to the game."
"Are you okay?" he asked again. "What happened?"
"Isabel! She took off with these, like, huge guys we don't even know! And they said they were having a party, and I tried to stop her, but she just went!"
"Okay, okay," he said, obviously trying to calm her. "Do you know where they went?"
"I . . . think so. Kyle, I—I didn't wanna go. I didn't wanna go by myself, but I couldn't stop her! What do I do?"
"Just stay there," he told her. "I'm on my way now. I can be there in twenty minutes."
"Okay." Tears of worry and concern were starting to build up. "Hurry." When she ended the call, she realized just how tightly she was gripping the phone, just how hard she was breathing, and just how panicked she was feeling for her friend.
...
Kyle was relieved Tess had called him. If she had gone with those guys and something had happened . . . he couldn't even handle the thought. She'd done the right thing. He just hoped nothing would happen to Isabel.
He got out to the game as quickly as he could, although he had to wait for a train to pass at the tracks, and that slowed him down by about five minutes. When he got there, she ran up to him and threw her arms around him. She was so worried she was crying, so he just tried to assure her that everything was going to be fine and they were going to get Isabel home safe and sound.
The party wasn't hard to locate. They drove around, searching for 5th Avenue, and when they found it, they found a house that was flooded with people. Some were already out on the front lawn puking, as if the party had been going on a lot longer than it probably really had been. Others were practically hanging off the back porch, climbing in the hot tub. Some old school hip hop music was playing loud enough that the cops would probably be on their way in no time.
"Classy party," Tess remarked sarcastically.
"We'll just get Isabel and go." She couldn't have been there more than forty-five minutes at the most. Hopefully she wasn't wasted. Kyle actually had no working mental image of what Isabel would look like wasted.
They bypassed a few pukers on their way inside and they—or rather Tess—got some creepy looks from a few guys upon stepping through the front door.
"Just stay close to me," he told her, holding out his hand.
She gripped it tightly, mumbling, "Not gonna be a problem."
People were packed into that place like sardines. Kyle literally had to squeeze past couples who were making out, losers who were getting stoned, and God only knew who or what else. The smell of weed was so overwhelming that he was surprised the cops hadn't gotten there already.
"I hate parties like this," Tess groaned, scooting even closer to Kyle when a guy with green spikes for hair stuck his tongue out at her.
"I know," he agreed, scanning the people in the living room. "You see her?"
Tess moved in as close as possible, peering over his shoulder. "There!" she exclaimed, pointing her out. Isabel was standing around the keg with a few guys, a red plastic cup in her hand. She laughed at something one of them said and took a drink.
Kyle weaved through the crowd with Tess, determined to put a stop to this. It just didn't look like a good situation for her to be in. Sure, she looked fine right now, but if things escalated, she might not be fine much longer. Besides, it was only a matter of time until this party got busted, and he didn't want any of them around for that.
"Isabel!" he called.
She snapped her head in his direction. "Kyle? What're you doing here?"
Tess stepped up beside him and revealed, "I called him."
Isabel rolled her eyes. "Of course you did."
The blonde guy beside her squinted his eyes and said, "Kyle? Kyle Valenti, right? I'm Josh Hanson. We wrestled at the Comet Classic sophomore year. Man, you kicked my ass."
And I can do it again, Kyle thought confidently. "Let's go home, Isabel," he said, completely ignoring Josh altogether.
"Uh, I don't wanna go home," she told him. "I wanna stay here."
Tess made a face. "Why? It's disgusting."
"It's a party, blondie," Josh chimed in. "Loosen up."
"Yeah," Isabel agreed. "Loosen up, Tess."
"Oh, I would, but I'm fairly certain you're about to get loose enough for the both of us."
"Okay, just . . ." Kyle gave her a look, signaling for her to calm down a bit. He had this under control. "Isabel, we need to go home," he told her calmly. "This party's gonna get busted and you know it."
"But I'm having a good time," she insisted, forcing a smile.
"Are you?" She actually looked pretty damn miserable to him.
Gradually, that smile fell, and he saw the real Isabel again, the one who didn't really want to be there, the one who probably didn't know why she was there in the first place. The one who would look back on the events of this night and cringe because she knew how dangerous it could be.
"Hey, you know, you guys, there's plenty of beer for everyone," Josh offered. Probably his way of being polite. "Got some harder stuff, too. Chronic's goin' around. Just stay. Have a good time."
"We're not staying," Kyle told him.
"Yeah, I wouldn't stay here if you paid me," Tess snapped. "So you guys can all get smashed or wasted or whatever, but we're leaving. Now." She gave Isabel a warning look.
"Hmm." Josh stepped in front of Isabel, smirking, and stood face to face with Kyle. "So that's your girl, huh?" he said, leering at Tess. "She's got quite the mouth on her. Bet she puts it to good use, huh?"
Instinctively, feeling the need to defend his girlfriend, Kyle shot out both his hands and pushed Josh backward. Josh had gotten bigger than him, though, over the years, so he only stumbled.
"Whoa," he said. "What the hell, man? You wanna fight?" He grinned. "My chance to take down the great Kyle Valenti. What do you wanna bet I kick your ass this time?" He shoved Kyle backward much in the same way, but Kyle was ready for it, so he was able to keep his balance.
No, he thought. I'm not doin' this here. He wasn't going to get into some stupid fight with some stupid guy. He had a future to think about. College, scholarships. It wasn't worth the risk. "We're leaving," he told Isabel, leaving no room for debate. He turned to leave, and Tess once again stuck close beside him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he noticed Isabel slinking away from the losers who had been admiring her. Apparently they'd managed to talk some sense into her again.
When they got back out to the car, the smell of fresh air had never smelled so good. Kyle breathed in deeply, relieved to be out of there. Now he just wanted to get home, drop Isabel off, and get his own girlfriend settled down for the night. He could tell just by looking at Tess that she was still frazzled.
"Okay, you're officially crazy!" Tess yelled at Isabel. "Do you even know what could've happened tonight? Those guys were creeps!"
"They didn't do anything to me," Isabel roared back. "I didn't do anything wrong! I had a couple shots."
"Shots?" Tess echoed. "Since when do you do shots? What's wrong with you?"
"Isabel . . ." Kyle jumped in, feeling the need to interject as a voice of reason. "It's okay to party, but you gotta be safe. Anything could've happened."
Isabel threw her hands down at her sides, looking more . . . annoyed than anything else. "Okay, fine, maybe I made a mistake," she conceded. "But it was my mistake to make. You guys had no right to come here and get me."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Tess apologized sarcastically. "Next time you're about to be gang-banged by a bunch of total drunken losers, I'll just stand by and let it happen." Crying again, she got into the passenger's seat of Kyle's vehicle.
"I didn't mean . . ." Isabel stared at Kyle pleadingly as Tess slammed the door.
"Just get in the truck," he told her, hoping that, by the time they got home, Isabel would think about this whole thing differently.
...
Michael was asleep when his cell phone rang. Or buzzed, technically. Even though he was usually a heavy sleeper, he heard it. He didn't react to it right away, though, because part of him was hoping that whoever was calling would just give up. But it kept buzzing, annoying him, so he reached over and answered it. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's me." He recognized Kyle's voice instantly. "Can you come down and let me in? I don't wanna wake everyone up."
Michael squinted his eyes at the bright red numbers on his clock. What the hell was this? It was in the a.m. "Yeah, sure," he agreed reluctantly, setting his phone down again. He looked down at Maria, who was curled up beside him, and carefully slid his arm out from underneath her. She stirred a bit but didn't wake up as he got out of bed. Good.
He wasn't at all expecting to sit down with Kyle and hear what he heard. But Kyle laid it all out there, the entire events of the evening, from Tess's panicked phone call to the sleazy party that Michael was all too familiar with. It was so strange to fathom that Michael wasn't sure he was hearing his friend right.
"This is Isabel Evans?" he asked, just to double check.
"Yeah, who else? You know a lot of Isabels?"
"Well . . . yeah, actually." He knew a lot of girls. In general. "I've slept with a lot of chicks, man."
"Okay, let's not reminisce," Kyle advised. "Look, the point is, she's fine, I went and got her, but . . . it was weird, man."
"Well, yeah, it doesn't sound like her," Michael agreed.
"It's not. It's not like her. At all. And Tess was so freaked out, she's been cryin' about it all night. And now she's all worried Isabel's mad at her and . . ."
"No, I think you guys did the right thing," Michael assured him. "But I can't believe Isabel would . . ." He trailed off, shuddering inwardly at the thought of the mess Isabel could have gotten into. And why? What the point of it, of any of it? She was a smart girl, so why would she do something so dumb?
"Something's goin' on with her right now, I think," Kyle speculated. "I don't know. I just thought . . ." He sighed heavily, tiredly. "I should tell you."
"Yeah, but I don't really think I can do anything about it. She's not my girlfriend anymore. She can do whatever she wants."
"Yeah, but you still care about her, right?" Kyle asked.
"Well, yeah, I'll always care about her. She's a good girl. I don't wanna see her get hurt."
"Okay, so maybe you could, like, say something to her," Kyle suggested. "You know, just . . . I don't know. It couldn't hurt."
Michael laughed cynically. That was where Kyle was wrong. It could hurt. Maybe not him, but her. "Kyle, I cheated on her twice," he reminded his friend. "What the hell am I supposed to say?"
Kyle opened his mouth to offer up suggestions, but none came out. In the end, he made a face and shrugged helplessly.
Shit, Michael thought. He wasn't good with words. Plus, he was so damn happy right now that it was hard for him to figure out what to say to someone who wasn't.
...
Obligation. Michael felt it—a lot of it—as he knocked on Isabel's front door the next day. Even though he didn't want to be there, he felt like he had to be there, like he owed it to her to check in and see if she was okay. There had been a time when he'd only felt obligated to himself. Things were different now. He was different. And apparently, so was Isabel.
From the moment she opened the door, she looked like she wanted to punch him in the face. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," she grumbled, immediately trying to shut the door again.
"Hey, wait a minute," he said, outstretching his hand to keep it open. "I just wanted to talk."
Glaring at him, she growled, "You never just wanna talk."
He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if it had been a mistake to come here at all. Clearly she was angry. "I heard about last night," he came right out and said.
She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "So who told you, Tess or Kyle? Probably Kyle, right? Tess is still too mad at you to talk to you."
"Yeah, he told me," Michael admitted. "He's worried about you."
Isabel sighed heavily. "Everyone's so concerned."
"Should we be?"
"We?" She laughed out loud. "Oh, priceless."
"Come on, Isabel."
"Okay, I'm gonna make this quick, because I gotta finish getting ready for church: I'm fine," she summarized. "I wanted to go out and have some fun, and I did. No harm, no foul."
"Since when do you find that kind of party fun?" he challenged. "And since when do you go off with guys you just met?"
"Michael, you're really the wrong person to be lecturing me about wise choices and responsibility," she warned. "I'm fine."
She didn't seem fine, but he hoped that was just because she was upset. They hadn't been apart for very long, so maybe . . . maybe it would pass, and given a little more time, she'd be back to her old self again. "Alright, if you say so," he relented.
"Good." She tried to shut the door again, but once again, he extended his hand and pushed it back open.
"I just want you to know . . . I'm here if you need me." It almost felt wrong to say that, hypocritical or something. But he and Kyle had talked it through, and he really did intend to hold up to what he was saying. "I was actually kinda hoping we might be able to . . . I don't know, be friends or somethin'."
"Friends," she echoed, her eyes locked onto his skeptically. "Are you kidding me?"
"No." It was possible, wasn't it? People broke up all the time, but that didn't mean they had to be arch-enemies. It would have been easier if he hadn't cheated on her. He knew that.
"Have you ever just been friends with a girl before?"
"Yeah." He tried to think back and come up with a name, but unfortunately, the only real answer he had was, "Maria."
"Oh, of course." Isabel smiled angrily. "Before you started screwing."
"She's still my friend," he insisted.
"With benefits."
He shook his head, trying not to argue. But that wasn't at all what he and Maria had, and Isabel probably knew that. "Never mind," he dismissed. "Sorry I tried." He turned and headed down the porch steps.
"No, Michael, wait," she called, stopping him. "Come to think of it . . . you're right."
He frowned, not expecting even that much out of her.
"You were a good friend to Maria," she conceded. "You let her live with you, when she was all alone. You gave her a bed to sleep in, when she needed one. You even became her son's dad." Narrowing her eyes, she ground out sarcastically, "What a great friend."
Damn. She was actually making him feel guilty. He thought he'd gotten past that. But if she was looking for an apology or hoping that he'd say he made a big mistake with Maria . . . she wasn't going to get it. Because he'd apologized already, and he hadn't made a mistake. Not at all. Being with Maria was the best thing he'd ever done with his life.
"I don't want anything to do with you," she informed him, staring down at him like the Ice Queen in her palace. "I definitely don't wanna be friends with you. I don't trust you enough." And with that, she did finally shut that door, and he heard it lock into place.
Oh, well, he thought. I tried. Really, there was nothing more he could do.
...
Maria invited her mom out to brunch that day, just to keep her mind off of Michael and Isabel. He'd told her why he was going over there, and she knew she had nothing to worry about. But still . . . no girl liked to think of her boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend spending any time together. So she figured her mom could be a distraction. Plus, they'd been getting along a little bit better lately, so she wanted to capitalize on it.
Amy suggested the Crashdown, but Maria was totally against that, so they went to a small café that specialized in a more home-cooked style of food. The conversation was stiff and awkward at times, but at least it wasn't angry.
"This is nice," her mom remarked halfway through the meal. "We should make a more regular thing of this. Maybe a weekly breakfast."
Weekly? Maria thought. That was a little much. "Maybe," she agreed, not wanting to dash her mom's hopes completely. "Or maybe every other week."
"You could bring Dylan next time. I miss the little guy."
"I know." The fact that her mom missed her grandson more than her own daughter had always been blatantly apparent, and she was embarrassed to realize that she was a little bit jealous of that.
"I've been so lonely ever since Jim . . ." Her mom trailed off, shaking her head sadly. "You know."
"Yeah." She knew all too well.
"I kind of got used to you two being around again." Amy sighed wistfully.
"We only stayed for a few days."
"I know, but . . . it was nice."
Was it? Maria wondered. She and her mom had such a different perception of things. To her, those nights spent in her mom's house had been torture, because every inch of her had been yearning to be near Michael.
"So have you officially moved back in with the Guerins now?" her mother inquired.
She nodded, pushing the remainder of her scrambled eggs around on her plate. "Yeah."
"And they're okay with that?"
She shrugged. "Haven't heard any complaints." Except from Andy, of course, but that didn't count. He was always complaining.
"And . . . you and Michael?" Amy prodded. "Are the two of you . . . an item now?"
Maria couldn't help but laugh inwardly. An item. Even though her mom was pretty young herself, that was such an old-fashioned way to put it. "Yeah, we're together."
"So he's your boyfriend?"
"Yep." She loved being able to call him that.
"And you're his girlfriend?"
"Yes." What further clarification did the woman need?
"Hmm." Amy stared down at her still nearly-full plate, looking like she was more interested in questioning Maria than she was in the food in front of her. "And are his parents okay with that?"
Oh, clearly she doesn't know Michael, Maria thought. If she did, she would have known that his parents' approval had absolutely no effect on his actions. "I don't know if they actually know about it," she admitted.
"What about that girlfriend of his?"
"Ex-girlfriend," he corrected. "She knows."
"Good." Amy took another bite of her omelet, wrinkling her face as if it tasted bad. "So I have to ask . . ." she started slowly, "are you sleeping with him?"
"Mom!" she hissed, looking around, hoping no one had overheard.
"Well . . ."
She sighed, figuring it was too obvious to hide at this point. "I'm an adult."
"So that's a yes?"
"That's a let's-stop-talking-about-this, because you're my mom and it's weird."
"Are you being safe?" Amy kept on.
"Of course."
"Well, given your history, you can't blame me for asking."
Maria rolled her eyes. Yeah, like she was just going to allow herself to get pregnant again. She wasn't one of the messed up teen moms on MTV who wanted to have four kids and three divorces under her belt before her twenty-first birthday.
Her mother narrowed her eyes at her skeptically and asked, "Every time?"
"What?"
"Are you being safe every single time?"
"Yes." She thought back to that first time, though, bent over the table in the Crashdown, the rushed frenzy of it all, and hoped her mom could not tell that she was lying.
Amy nodded, processing it all. "Okay," she said, sounding surprisingly calm. "That's all I need to know."
That's not what you need to know; it's what you want to know, Maria thought. Her mom desperately wanted to feel involved, to feel like she still had a place in her life. But it was a limited place at best, and Maria didn't see anything changing that anytime soon. Especially since Michael would be going off to college, and she had every intention of going with him now that things were . . . different.
But at least she and her mom were able to have this, this simple breakfast. It was better than nothing. It would never be great, because her mom would probably never truly be happy for her or proud of her. But at least, for now, she wasn't disappointed in her, either. That had to count for something.
...
Confronting Tess at school on Monday was awkward for Isabel. Having had a Sunday to wind down and really take in just how stupid her actions had been, she felt compelled to apologize for being such a bitch. Or at least to thank her friend for being there for her. But neither one quite seemed like enough.
She met up with Tess in the juniors hallway at her locker, and a peculiar silence hovered about them until Isabel broke it. "Hey," she said.
"Hey," Tess echoed unsurely. "How are you?"
Isabel exhaled shakily. "Better now, I think."
"You think?" Tess echoed.
She nodded confidently. "I'm better. Saturday was . . ." She shuddered, trying to push it out of her mind. "I don't know what it was. It was a really stupid decision. I get it. I don't even know why I . . ." She trailed off, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. She wasn't used to messing up. On anything.
"It's okay," Tess assured her quietly. "I mean, yeah, it really freaked me out, but you're going through something right now, and I shouldn't judge."
"No, judge all you want," Isabel urged her. "You probably kept me from making a huge mistake."
Tess shook her head. "No, you wouldn't have . . ."
"Tess . . ." She really didn't even like to think about what she would have done if her friends hadn't shown up when they did. Part of her had been so determined to have a good time that she hadn't even realized she wasn't having that good of a time at all.
God, she wasn't used to feeling so confused.
"I'm just glad nothing happened," Tess said.
"I'm glad you were there to help." Isabel smiled at her softly. "Thank you."
Tears sprung to the corners of Tess's eyes for a moment, evidence of how truly scary the whole ordeal had been for her. "I'm your best friend. It's sorta my job."
But it isn't, Isabel thought. Is it? Tess was a year younger than her. She was supposed to be more immature and more dysfunctional. Yet she was the one who would probably have an engagement ring on her finger by the end of the year, she was the one in a stable relationship, and she was the one who wasn't attending crazy parties with random guys.
"I'll see you later then," Isabel said, giving her a little wave.
"Bye."
Clutching her physics book to her chest, she wished it were so easy to patch things up with Michael. But their relationship, if it could even be called that, was far too broken to ever fix.
When she rounded the corner and walked out into the cafeteria, where everyone was assembled to hang out and await the morning bell, she felt immediately that something was off. It seemed like everyone was looking at her, whispering things. It wasn't paranoia; it was truly different than it usually was.
Even someone without a 4.0 GPA could have figured out what they were all talking about.
Embarrassed, she grabbed Kyle as he walked past and demanded, "Who all did you tell about Saturday?" Or maybe Michael had told someone. That seemed much more likely.
"Just Michael," he replied.
"Then why is everyone talking about it?" She could hear laughter, mocking laughter that wasn't at all trying to be subtle, and she could hear labels she'd never had to deal with before. Slut. Whore. No. That wasn't her. She was the class president, the soon-to-be valedictorian. She'd just made a mistake.
"Isabel, there were a lot of students at that game," Kyle reminded her. "If Tess saw you leave with those guys, I'm sure she wasn't the only one." He shrugged semi-sympathetically, then continued on his way. Even though he could have put a stop to it. Even though he was so universally well-liked that all he would have had to do was tell everyone to stop talking about it, and they would have.
Feeling the heat of the student body's questioning gazes, listening to the stinging sound of their wildfire gossip, she tried to be tough, look strong, act like it didn't affect her. But truthfully, she hated to think that she'd done something to tarnish her reputation. After all, in a small school like theirs, your reputation was basically all you had.
...
Sneaking out of school had never been particularly difficult, but it was even easier now than it had been at the beginning of the year. Maybe the teachers just didn't give a shit anymore.
Michael was all too eager to meet up with his girl after getting a text message from her during fourth period. She was at the Crashdown and said she was bored, so he ordered something to be delivered for lunch. Best of both worlds that way. He got to see her, and she got to see something other than the fading alien murals on those same restaurant walls.
"Special delivery," she greeted flirtatiously, holding out the sack with his food in it.
He grinned, closing the distance between the two of them. As he swept her up into his arms and kissed her, she dropped the sack, gasping. Oh god, he loved that he could make her gasp.
Spinning them around, he pressed her back against the building, covering her smaller body with his larger one as he continued to assault her with kisses. He would have done anything to have her there with him, every day. To be able to slip away any time, just steal a moment. Steal a lot of moments, actually. That would have been nice. But then again, if she were a part of that school . . . he'd definitely be failing all his classes, because he'd be so . . . busy.
He traced his hands up and down her sides, sides that were covered by that ridiculous teal-blue uniform. Her alien antennae headband bobbed as she made out with him, and he wondered what they would look like to someone just driving by. The two of them, slipping away behind the school, back by the parking lot, desperate to get their hands on each other. Her, all intergalactic, and him, totally into it regardless of what she was wearing. He didn't want to stop kissing her.
"I'm not sure this the best place for this," she moaned, stretching her head to the side.
Sucking on the smooth skin of her neck, he mumbled, "I can't wait." He had no intention of getting it on with her right here, right now, like this, because she deserved better; but still . . . it was fun to pretend.
"You're gonna have to," she told him, holding on tightly to his shoulders as he bent down a bit to rub his entire body against hers. "I have to be back at work in ten minutes, and you have to be back in class."
"Screw class," he declared flippantly. This was better.
"No," she chastised. "It's important."
"No, it's not," he insisted.
"Go to class," she told him, staring at him sultrily, with the same bedroom eyes she had when she straddled him. "Don't screw class. And then tonight . . ." She trailed off, licking her lower lip seductively.
"I can screw you?" he asked hopefully.
"Play your cards right." She hooked her fingers into his belt loops and pulled him even closer. Good God, having her hands down there made him feel like he was losing his mind, even though she wasn't even touching him.
He just had to kiss her again.
When he got back to lunch, all he had was a barely-concealed hard-on and a flattened hamburger. They'd accidentally stepped on it in the midst of their make-out. Didn't matter, though. Her lips had tasted better than any fast food ever would.
As he approached his lunch table, a few guys, mostly football players, walked by him and said things like, "Way to go, man," and "Nice, Guerin." He didn't quite understand what they were talking about until he sat down next to Kyle and asked, "What're they talkin' about?"
Kyle handed him his phone, showing him a picture that must have been posted to Twitter a matter of minutes ago. Because there were himself and Maria, looking pretty damn hot and heavy against the side of the building. It looked like someone had snapped it from the parking lot.
#Nooner, it said below it.
Michael made a face. What the hell? They were just kissing; they weren't fucking. That was gonna be later. "Who posted that?" he asked.
Kyle put his phone away and revealed, "Ryan."
Michael rolled his eyes. Of course. Guy had nothing better to do with his life.
"Yeah, he pretty much just sent it out to everyone he's ever met."
Michael's stomach tensed. "Everyone?"
Kyle nodded as the bell rang.
Quickly glancing over at the cheerleaders' usual table, Michael watched as Isabel scampered away with Tess close at her side. She was trying not to make it noticeable, but he noticed. He noticed her wiping away tears as she headed off to class.
...
"So what, we're, like, Internet porn?"
Michael laughed a little at Maria's summation of their Twitter scandal. "Not porn. Just a picture of us . . . pounding out a nooner." He shrugged nonchalantly and set the last of the dishes on the drying rack.
"We were not pounding out a nooner," she reminded him, hitting him playfully with the dishtowel.
"Yeah, but that's what everyone thinks we were doing. And let 'em think that. It's good for my reputation." He grinned mischievously. But seriously, it kind of was. He didn't want people to think he'd lost his edge, his appeal.
She rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Oh, well. We were photographed making out. I guess we could've been photographed doing a whole lot worse."
"Hell, I've been photographed doing a lot worse," he informed her. Once, even, with an engaged college girl. Oops.
She folded the dishtowel and hung it on the oven handle. "It's weird, though, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Just . . . high school. I can't decide whether those people really have nothing better to do with their lives or if they're actually truly that interested in what're you're doing. Or . . . who you're doing, as the case may be."
He shrugged, not giving much thought to it. He was used to being high profile. Small schools worked that way. "I'm pretty popular. Snowball king, remember?"
"Yes, I remember." She leaned against the counter, stuffing her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. "I was never that popular. Most of the time, people didn't even notice me."
He shook his head, not understanding that. "How could they not notice you? Look at you." He steadily closed the gap between them, reaching out to put his hands on her hips.
"Well, I'm not saying I'm ugly or anything, but it's not like I'm . . . Isabel Evans."
"No." He traced his hands up her sides, stopping when he felt her bra beneath her shirt. "You're a lot more." He bent his head and found her lips, kissing her more softly than he had outside the school today. The same passion was still there, of course, but the rush was gone from it. They had an entire evening ahead of them, and since they were technically roommates, they could spend every minute of it together, doing whatever they wanted.
The best part about kissing Maria was the way her entire body pressed up into his when he did so. She probably didn't even realize did that, just did it on instinct. He loved that she moved forward enough so that he could reach around and cup her backside, squeezing gently.
"Mmm," she moaned between kisses. "We really shouldn't do this here."
"Why not?" he challenged, hoisting her up onto the counter. She didn't appear to have much resolve as she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He kept kissing her—her mouth, her cheek, her neck—totally zoning in on her when she suddenly gasped and slammed her hands against his chest, pushing him back.
"Shit!" she swore, sliding off the counter, looking off to the side.
Reluctantly, he followed her gaze. His mom was standing there with a sack of groceries in her arms, probably having seen more than enough to know what was going on.
"That's why not," Maria mumbled, hanging her head.
"Mom," Michael greeted unsurely. He wasn't really embarrassed, because over the years, his mom had caught him doing a lot more than just kissing a girl; still, no matter how many times it happened, it was always awkward.
She cleared her throat, looked down at the floor, then back up at them. "Hi," she managed.
"Hey," he returned.
"You wanna help me put this stuff away?" she asked, setting the grocery bag down on the middle counter.
"Sure," he agreed. "We were just doin' the dishes. Just now."
"We got done with them," Maria added.
"Yeah. See?" He motioned to the drying rack. It was pathetic attempt at making themselves seem productive. In a way, the only embarrassing part was that he was so bad at trying to cover up what had to be obvious.
"That's good," his mom said, opening the refrigerator. She kept it propped open with her foot and reached back over the counter to grab a carton of eggs from the top of the sack. She started placing them in a little holder on the inside of the door, then cleared her throat again and asked, "Maria, can I talk to my son alone for a minute?"
Oh, great, he thought, feeling consumed by dread. This was going to be the birds-and-the-bees talk, wasn't it? He'd successfully avoided it for eighteen years, mostly because he'd just started having sex so early on in life that his mom hadn't gotten around to it. But now she was going to backtrack, tell him all sorts of stuff he already knew.
"Sure," Maria said, stumbling over her own feet as she backed away. "I'll just . . ." She motioned behind herself, then slipped away.
Michael put both hands on his hips, deciding it was best to squash the conversation before it got a chance to start. "Alright, spare me the lecture. We're using condoms. We're bein' safe."
"Condoms," she echoed.
"Yeah, and she's on the pill." What else could you do, really? Besides abstinence, which just wasn't an option for him.
His mom nodded, looking like she was moving in slow motion as she placed the last egg in its holder. "So you two are officially sleeping together now."
"Yeah." Probably best to just be honest about it.
She kept nodding, closing the refrigerator door slowly. "Can't say I didn't see this coming."
"Was it obvious?"
His mom actually smiled a bit. "I'm willing to bet you've had feelings for her for quite some time now."
He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Probably even longer than I know."
"Probably," she agreed, looking him up and down for a moment. Then her smile actually grew, and she said, "Believe it or not, I'm happy for you."
That came as a relief. But then again, why wouldn't she be? "I'm in love with her, Mom," he blurted.
His mother inhaled sharply.
"I know, it's crazy to hear me say that, but I am. I'm, like . . . totally in love with her."
For an instant, it looked like tears stung her eyes. "Oh, honey . . ." She came towards him and reached up to touch his cheek. "You're growing up."
He really was, wasn't he? He hadn't thought about it, but being with Maria . . . it made him feel different. On the inside, as a person. It wasn't just love. It was like . . . like he was a man when he was with her. And maybe a decent one at that.
"But I need you to remember . . . it's not all grown-ups here," she cautioned.
"I know. Dylan and Tina."
"Your sister is . . . young and impressionable, Michael. And she idolizes you. I have to think about her in all of this. Okay?"
He nodded, not quite sure what she was saying.
"So whatever you and Maria are doing . . . I don't wanna see it, and I don't wanna hear it. I don't even wanna know it's going on."
"Yeah, sure." He could do that. Unless . . . "Wait, are you just talkin' about sex or, like, all the couple stuff?"
"Sex, Michael."
"Oh. Okay." Yeah, he could keep that on the down-low. Hopefully she wouldn't see the #Nooner picture.
"I mean, it's bad enough that I know it's going on beneath my roof, but . . . I don't wanna know, you know?"
"Yeah." It made sense. He got it.
"Don't wanna know what?" his father's gruff voice suddenly grumbled.
Michael turned around, surprised to see his dad standing just a few feet away. He hadn't even heard him come in.
"Oh, just . . . nothing," his mom sputtered. "How was work?"
He stared at her for a few seconds, almost as if he was angry at her for even asking the question. "I got fired."
"What?" his mom gasped in disbelief.
Here we go, Michael thought warily. Hopefully they had enough booze on hand to cover this binge; otherwise he'd be headed out to the bar, and they might never hear from him again.
"Almost two decades of work, and they can me, just like that." His dad grunted, sounding remarkably flat and emotionless about it. "Guess I must've shown up to work late or drunk or both one too many times, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess," Michael agreed, finding it hard to feel any sympathy. What did it matter anyway? His dad had always hated working construction. Now he could do something new, maybe something he'd like better.
Or maybe not. Maybe there wasn't anything he liked anymore. Professional alcoholic wasn't actually a job.
"Well . . . maybe they'll change their minds," his mom said, attempting to be optimistic. She tried to hug her husband, but he just shrugged her off like she was nothing more than an annoying fly.
"Not gonna happen," he muttered. "To hell with it anyway. I don't give a damn."
No, you don't, Michael thought. Had he ever?
"So what'd I walk in on?" his dad asked, diverting the topic away from himself. "Feels like I interrupted something."
Michael locked eyes with his mom momentarily, urging her to be the one to answer.
"No, you didn't," she assured him. "I was just asking Michael how school was today."
"Oh, yeah?" His dad stared at him almost challengingly. "And how was it?" Almost as if he was daring him to admit he'd had a great day.
"It was fine," he downplayed.
"You learn anything?"
Yeah, he thought, that you're an ass. But then again, he'd already known that. "Not really," he replied.
His dad grunted, making a face. "Of course not." He pushed past the wife he wouldn't allow to comfort him and headed upstairs, his footsteps resounding as he went.
Michael frowned, wondering if it was wrong for him to be glad his own father had gotten fired. Logically, he knew that meant money would be tight until he found another job—if he found another job. But still . . . he couldn't help but feel like his dad deserved it. The reason why he felt so crappy and pissed off and miserable all the time . . . was because he didn't deserve to feel better.
I feel better, he thought. So that had to mean he was better. Right?
"Oh, goodness," his mother exhaled shakily, bracing herself against the counter.
This was the part that sucked, though, seeing how that jackass's situation affected her, too. "Why didn't you tell him about me and Maria?" he asked.
"It's just really not the best time."
"Why?" Was lying to him the comfy alternative to the truth now?
"Because he just got fired."
"Yeah, so?" He'd hated that job anyway.
"I just . . ." She looked at him apologetically. "I don't know how he's gonna react."
Well, that pretty much spelled it out then, didn't it? Michael nodded solemnly, accepting the fact that his dad would not be happy for him the way his mom was. In fact, it was very likely that he might be furious. Or disappointed. Or maybe even a little bit jealous.
...
Lying next to Maria, falling asleep with her in his arms, was something Michael would never get tired of. The days of that stupid wall of pillows were thankfully long gone, and she willingly cuddled up against him now, using his chest as a pillow. She draped her limbs over him, and Michael predicted she'd be fully on top of him come morning. But she was so lightweight and her skin was so soft to the touch that he just couldn't bring himself to move. He didn't want to.
Even though sleep was tugging at him, he had a lot of thoughts and questions racing through his mind, one in particular. All night, ever since his dad had come home, he kept thinking about how badly he didn't want to be the guy who came home from the crappy, dead-end job eighteen years from now, complaining about how he'd gotten fired and then just accepting it. And he had options, things he could do to assure he wouldn't be that guy.
"Maria," he said quietly, hoping she hadn't completely nodded off yet. She hadn't moved or said anything for a while, though. "Maria, are you awake?"
She shifted ever so slightly, moaning contentedly. "Mmm."
Yeah, that definitely wasn't one of her awake sounds. "Baby, wake up," he murmured against her forehead. "Please." He hated to do it, but since she didn't move, he had to lift her off of him a bit and gently shake her shoulders. "Hey, I gotta ask you something."
"I'm tired," she purred, her eyes still closed.
"I know. Sorry." He wasn't going to be able to fall asleep until he got some stuff out in the open, though. "Will you look at me?"
It seemed to take a great deal of effort, but at last, she opened her tired eyes. Just barely at first, but the longer she looked at him, the wider they opened, and she started to smile.
Who knew? he thought. I can make someone smile just by . . . existing. He wasn't doing anything particularly amazing lying there, but she looked as happy to be there as he was.
"You love me, right?" he asked.
"Of course." She started to curl up close to him again. "That's not even a question."
"Hey, hey, hey . . ." He held her back a bit, just so he could look at her when he asked the question that was really on his mind. "I was wondering . . . since you love me, do you maybe wanna go somewhere with me?"
"Where?" she asked.
"Maybe . . . Alabama?"
With that, she looked completely awake and with it again. She must have understood right away what he was asking, but he clarified it anyway.
"College, in Alabama."
Maybe it was just the moonlight coming in the window, but her eyes looked like they were sparkling.
"I know I told you once that I want you to go with me, but now that we . . ." He trailed off, feeling unusually nervous, like a kid asking for a prom date or something. "Now I really want you to go with me. You and Dylan."
"Yeah, we're sort of a package deal."
"That's okay with me." Honestly, the fact that Maria was a mom . . . it didn't turn him off or make him shy away at all. It never had, because it was just part of who she was. One of the best parts. "I really wanna go to Alabama, try to play football there. But I don't wanna go without you, so . . ." Maybe it wasn't healthy or natural to be so invested in one person, but if she wasn't going, he wasn't going. It was as simple as that.
"Michael . . ." She reached out and stroked his cheek, the simple touch driving him wild. "I'd go anywhere with you."
Relief flooded him. He'd pretty much assumed that she would agree to it, but not knowing had been a killer. "So you'll go?"
"Yeah, I'll go."
Thank God, was all he could think. Oh, thank God. Somehow, some way, this was all happening. Maybe it was meant to. At the beginning of the school year, he would have never seen it coming, but now . . . it was all he could see.
"Come here," he said, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her body up onto his. He kissed her exaggeratedly and proclaimed, "We're goin' to college."
"Well . . . you are," she corrected, drumming her fingers atop his chest. "Dylan and I are just tagging along."
It didn't matter, though, did it? It didn't matter how or why they got there. All that mattered was that they would all be together. That was the only thing he cared about.
