Falling for a Bentley Page 7

  “What is this … a potty break? Are you going to give us all name tags and force us to hold hands? ” Comes from Jude—the lanky guy slouched down in his desk in the back of the room. He shoots a cocky grin over at his buddy, who covers up a laugh with the clearing of his throat.

  Yeah, a potty break would be right up their ally, something they could relate to. High school doesn’t necessarily mean more mature.

  “Mr. Honeycutt, I could always have you sit in a chair out in the hallway while we’re gone, if you’d prefer?” Mr. Brooks says, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. I didn’t know Mr. Brooks had it in him, to make wisecracks. I’m impressed. He looks a little like Clark Kent, which always makes me wonder if there is possibly a superman hidden somewhere underneath the intellectual facade.

  “Didn’t think so,” he says as Jude’s cheeks turn flaming red. “If no one else objects, please, quickly form a line,” Mr. Brooks adds.

  I shove my cell phone in the back pocket of my jean skirt, slide from my desk, my flip flops flapping over to where everyone else is standing. Jonah comes up behind me in line and I pretend not to notice. He leans a shoulder against the wall seeming in no more of a hurry than he had been at the restaurant yesterday. He is staring. I shift nervously not sure what to do with my hands or how to stand without bringing attention to how affected I am by having those blue eyes on me.

  He’d been anxious to exit the car when we’d dropped him off at his modest but cute home afterwards. He thanked my parents (including my mother) and muttered something about seeing me at school. My mom had made a sound of disapproval in the front seat. I suspect a nice little talk, warning me to stay away from guys who lack direction is somewhere in my near future. So far, my mother hasn’t dared.

  Jonah nudges my foot with his bringing me back to the here and now.

  “My mom wanted me to thank you and your parents for yesterday,” he says.

  I look up then to find his arms crossed over his chest. A corner of his mouth lifts. “She wants to invite your parents over for a cookout. Soon she said.”

  “You’re teasing, right?”

  “No. My mom is very serious.”

  Rubber soles squeak over the floor as the line moves forward. I follow the guy in front of me, he follows the girl in front of him who follows Mr. Brooks. We take the long hall all the way to the end and around the corner. A heavy metal door creaks open to the stairs that the maintenance men and an occasional prankster with water balloons usually takes to get up on the roof.

  It smells in the tight space, like dirty socks and musty sweat. Six step’s lead up to a small landing, turn and six more steps lead up in the opposite direction to the next landing, and so on: concrete and bright yellow treads for the steps, burgundy painted hand rails. The hospital has the same type of stairs leading to each floor of the car deck. The lighting is always poor.

  Mr. Brooks comes to an abrupt stop one flight up and turns, calling down a couple of guys playfully shoving each other in the back of the line. After no response, he uses his fingers to whistle. “I expect you all to be on your best behavior.” He glares over the top of his glasses, and then pushes them higher on the bridge of his nose. “No fooling around! This isn’t recess.”

  Everyone in front of me doesn’t hesitate in gripping the metal railing and following him up. I take a deep breath taking one step, two steps, three, four … I freeze.

  “Tori, you okay?” Jonah asks as he slams into my back, pushed by a wave of guys still cutting up behind him. He grabs hold of the railing to keep most of his weight off me. His fingers are warm next to mine. He repeats the question, his mouth near my ear, “You okay? You look pale.”

  “Yeah. Give me a second.” Breathe. It’s just a rooftop.

  My grip tightens on the handrail and I take a reluctant step up, then another, and another, the whole time my heart picks up speed. I can see the crumbled baby bird in its nest: broken and lifeless and see the distance to the ground. It wasn’t a long drop, but to me, I’d fallen for forever. The pain from that fall was very real. Something you never forget. I’m going to freak before I reach the top. It’s happening. The overwhelming need to run. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth. My chest and forehead break out in a sweat, the beads of sweat trailing down my skin, salty, stinging my eyes. We come through the metal door to the roof. I am two seconds away from puking. I can feel it surging up in the back of my throat, threatening to give me something else to be embarrassed about. Who wants to puke in front of their entire class? If I spew now, everyone will scatter and wrinkle their noses at the weird girl tossing her pizza from lunch.

  A breeze carrying the smell of fresh cut grass hits my face. I take a couple of reluctant steps out onto the rooftop. The air suddenly turns heavy with the smell of machinery. I turn into Jonah’s chest.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Are you going to pass out?” Jonah hugs me to him, my body rigid in his arms. He backs me a few feet away from the others.

  “I can’t do this! I need to go back down!” I start to beg, practically dragging him by his arm toward the door.

  Jonah stares down at my face, his hold tightening around me.

  “Shit Tori, you’re trembling. You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?” he whispers.

  “A little.” I avoid glancing over the side, although I can see green and blue: the tops of tall pine trees and the sky, which seems closer with its puffy, white smothering clouds.

  “More than a little. Why didn’t you tell Mr. Brooks … or me?”

  “I thought I could handle it.” Only two people other than my parents know about my fear of heights. Keria and Colton. Colton reacted to the knowledge by first laughing and then pressuring me into every uncomfortable situation imaginable.

  “What you need is to face your fears” Colton said.

  To prove this he’d taken me up on an old rickety train bridge and wouldn’t stop dragging me toward the middle until I actually started beating him with my fist, my gaze locked on the long drop beneath me.

  Keria had once pointed out the oddity of my fascination with birds and my fear of heights. She asked if it was possible I envy what comes so natural to them. Her observation had stumped me.

  “Please, don’t try to force me to the edge,” I say to Jonah now.

  “Relax. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do.” Instead he moves me into the shadows, until my shoulders press into the rough brick wall, a safe distance from the edge. His long fingers curl around my upper arms, his face inches from mine. His pupils swallow the blue in his eyes.

  A few feet away Mr. Brooks goes right into discussing how words are like paint and with them we can paint a memorable picture for our readers. And as artist’s, we can manipulate emotion and feelings in the mood we create through our work. He gazes out across the well-manicured grounds surrounding the school watching the way people interact down below, suggesting we do the same. The rooftop air conditioning units rumble on, blowing hot air, drowning out everything Mr. Brooks is saying.

  Not that I care.

  It’s impossible to care about writing or art or anything when I’m feeling like this.

  My arms are stiff, slightly out at my sides, my palms glued to the brick wall as if my hands have the ability to suspend me in air if the floor collapses. The problem is I’m not Spiderman. “This is embarrassing,” I acknowledge.

  “Tori, lots of people are afraid of heights,” Jonah replies. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.” A weird noise comes from my throat.

  Jonah studies me for a moment. “Stay right here,” he tells me walking over to Mr. Brooks.

  “Like I’m going anywhere,” I mumble still glued to the wall.

  There is a smile on Jonah’s face when he heads back toward me. He slides a strong hand in mine and tugs me towards the exit door.

  “What did you tell Mr. Brooks?” I squeeze his han
d. My flip flop gets stuck on the previous step and I almost trip, a clear sign that I’m destined to break something else.

  Jonah pauses giving me time to slide my toes back in flip flop. Rubber flaps, the sound amplified by the acoustics in the high stairwell. Remind me to never wear flip-flops again.

  “I told him I sprang my ankle on the way up. He said to have someone help me to the nurse’s station.”

  “And I am your someone?” I can’t resist smiling. It’s sweet. He’s sweet.

  “You are definitely my someone.” He stops on the bottom step and turns to face me. I come to an abrupt stop, his hand still in mine by my side. He is so close I can feel his heartbeat against my chest. Not even aware of what I’m doing I breathe him in. He smells like guy whose just ran track.

  “Better now?” he asks. “You survived.”

  “Yes. I did. Thank you.” My grip loosens on his hand. I feel stupid now, for losing it up there.

  Jonah stares down at where our fingers are threaded together. His brows pull together. “I won’t tell anyone about you being afraid of heights.”

  “I know. Keria said you’re good at keeping secrets,” I reply.

  Trustworthy, that’s the kind of guy Jonah is. That’s why Keria trusts him with her worst secrets. That’s why I trust him.

  I stare up at him. He is a good head taller than I am. My gaze drops to his lips. The bottom one is fuller than the top one. I remember those lips and the feel of them on mine. At that moment I find myself wishing he would kiss me, kiss me again the way he had at the party, before we were interrupted. Instead he clears his throat and takes a step back, releasing my hand. “We should probably head to the nurse’s station.”

  “Oh. Right. Your injured foot.” I shake off what just happened. I have a boyfriend and shouldn’t be fantasizing about kissing another guy.

  It doesn’t take long for the nurse to figure out there’s nothing wrong with Jonah’s foot. She laughs, shaking her head. “The things you kids will do for a few minutes out of class. Here, give this excuse to your teacher.”

  We make it back to writing right as the bell rings and the class is dismissed. Twenty sets of feet shuffle toward the exit door making it difficult for me to get to my seat. There is complaining about some new assignment. I clear my things off my desk, put them in my book bag and heave it over my right shoulder, sending Jonah a smile for helping and understanding. I’m almost out the door when Mr. Brooks calls, “Ah, I almost forgot about you two...” He motions Jonah and me over to his desk, pencils our names in on the sheet in front of him, and looks up at us. “Stevens and Anderson, the only two left. Guess that means you two are stuck with each other.” Mr. Brook smiles and hands us both a sheet of paper. “This is the questionnaire. You’ll be writing a biography about each other, due at the end of the quarter. So use these questions to get to know each other.”

  Jonah walks with me until we reach the courtyard.

  “So I’ll text you later about the assignment,” he says, hesitating. His gaze stays focused on his camel colored work boots swallowing the hem of his jeans. He rubs the muscle that runs along the back of his neck, tense. I can tell there’s more he wants to say. It’s one of those moments when you feel like something amazing is about to happen … and then it doesn’t.

  The opportunity expires.

  “Yeah. Well. See ya.” He turns and crosses the courtyard.

  The courtyard is packed with students toting book bags, bustling along the concrete pathways that lead to the separate cafeteria. Students who usually eat outside in the sunshine are already beginning to gather along the brick wall and over by the picnic area: smart kids, Goths, and the big-time partiers who have consumed so many drugs their entire outlook and appearance have changed—bathing and hygiene less important. The cool kids eat inside where it’s air conditioned. That is where Keria, Colton and I usually sit, but lately, the three of us seem to be having trouble being in the same place at the same time.

  My gaze lands on Keria and Colton in a heated discussion on the other side of the courtyard.

  The fight: Keria is yelling, shoving a finger at Colton’s chest. I’m too far away to make out what she’s saying. I’m not so sure I want to know. With the flip of her blonde hair, she goes to storm off and Colton grabs hold of her arm, his face twisted in pain. That’s when Keria sees me heading their way and her entire body turns rigid as stone. She mutters something to Colton that makes him glance my way. His hand drops from her arm and is shoved through his seen-better-days hair.

  I make my way towards them.

  Colton avoids looking me in the eyes. He exhales a breath appearing completely strung out. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. He says nothing. With every passing day, he’s becoming more and more distant, a stranger.

  “Tori, are you hungry? I’m starved! I think we should eat inside,” Keria says latching onto my arm. She offers no invitation for Colton to join us, not that he ever needs one. I struggle to keep up. She drags me across the courtyard, far away from my sulking boyfriend. Nearing the cafeteria door, I glance over my shoulder to see if Colton is still there. He is gone.

  “What the hell was that about?” I ask reclaiming control of my own body and pace.

  “What do you mean?” She bounces through the double doors, straight up to the serving line, grabs a salad and a bottle of water plunking it down on her tray. The tray glides along the cold steel. Retrieving my own tray, I do the same. Not once does Keria look over at me, I mean real eye to eye contact. In fact, she seems to be avoiding it like she avoids church.

  “Is there something you need to tell me?” I ask. I hand the lunch lady a five dollar bill, collect change and head towards our usual table. Do I really want to know what is going on between her and Colton? Yes. I have to know.

  She catches up, keeping pace beside me. “Okay, don’t freak out, because it’s really not a big deal…” she pauses as if she wants to say something else but then decides against it. I get the feeling I’m not getting the whole truth. Only the parts she thinks are important. “I talked Colton into buying me a couple of pills, something mild to help me have more energy and now I kind of owe him the money, which I don’t have. Your boyfriend can be a real asshole!”

  She leaves me standing there, stupefied. What just happened? There’s so much wrong with what she just said, so much that I don’t even know where to begin.

  Colton is waiting by my locker after school. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze focused on the floor. He looks deep in thought and I get a strange feeling something is about to change.

  “Hey,” I say, my stomach tied in knots.

  He glances up then. “Hey,” he pauses, “think you can come over later? We need to talk.”

  “I agree.”

  His gaze narrows on my face, like he hadn’t expected me to agree so fast.

  “Well… I have practice first,” he informs me. “I should be done around six?”

  “Six o’clock is fine.”

  “All right, Tor…” He hesitates, then cups my face in his hands and presses a quick kiss on my forehead. “I better go. You know Coach gets really pissed when we’re late.”

  Three and a half hours later, Colton opens the front door for me wearing nothing more than a pair of gym shorts. “Hey, beautiful,” he says.

  Being at his house is awkward. It doesn’t feel like we’ve been a couple who has dated for a year. Understandable I guess, since we haven’t spent much time together lately. We’re slowly drifting apart. It’s my fault just as much as it is his.

  “You hungry?” he asks. “I was about to make a sandwich.”

  “I’m not hungry, but thanks.” I follow him down the foyer and into the kitchen, where he already has out everything needed to make one major sandwich.

  “Are your parents’ home?” I shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t know why I even asked. The house is quiet and it’s obvious, like always, we’re the only ones here.

  “N
ah, they flew out to Vegas last night. They should be back in a couple of days.” He stacks layers of folded sliced roast beef and veggies on the bread, compacts it all together, licks his fingers, and then sits his paper plate down on the glass table in the dining area. Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator he offers me one. I shake my head dropping down in the chair next to his, my hands on the table top. Eyeing his well-crafted sandwich, I remember how we use to share food. Now the way Colton chews with his mouth open, his spine straight with his broad chest out, while he tries to carry on a conversation when he should be focusing on not spitting food when he laughs. I hate that about him … and his laugh, now that I think about it.

  “What’s wrong? You look like something is bothering you,” he says, glancing over at me, while he downs his mega sandwich in a few loud hefty bites. The amount of food guys can pack in their mouth at one time has always amazed me.

  “I was just thinking how it used to be… you know, between us,” I answer.

  Another huge bite. Some soda to wash it down. God, please, don’t show me the food blended with soda. That image will be burned into my head while we’re kissing.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately too … how it used to be,” he returns.

  “Colton, I…”

  He pushes the empty plate away, sighs, and goes straight into messing with one of his mother’s red place mats. “Please don’t say anything until you hear me out. It’s my fault. I’ve been a little,” he pauses. “I’ve been distracted lately.”

  “Keria said you bought her pills. Are you selling now?”

  His head jerks up, his gaze meeting mine, his wide eyes.

  “Is that what she told you?” He comes up out of the chair, his jaw working under the skin. He paces. “I should have expected as much. I didn’t buy her shit and NO, I’m not selling Tori. How can you even ask me that? Your cousin is seriously fucked up. She’s liar and a tease. Everyone knows that you can’t trust a thing that comes out of her damn mouth.”