Nothing but Trouble after Midnight, Page 4

Two hours later, Courtney and I arrived at the party, grabbed a pair of chaise lounges by the pool, and slid into our sunbathing poses. We were soaking in the rays of the setting sun when Austin lowered himself to the end of my chair. “Glad you made it, baby.” He placed a beer between his thighs and started admiring his own pecs. “Guess what?” I shrugged a shoulder. “I benched 18 reps of 225 today.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Hell yeah! Running backs are doing 20 to 25 at the NFL combine.”

  “The NFL?” Courtney wondered. “Are you going out for the draft or something?”

  “No, I gotta’ go to college first.” He looked at her like she was mentally challenged, but Courtney was clueless about the sports world. Then again, she was that hot, and guys didn’t really care if she conversed in their language or not.

  Austin continued on, “I’ll put in my three years and then head out for the draft.” He ran his fingers up my leg and found a resting place on my inner thigh. “But I have to bulk up for next year. The scouts will be at the games, and I want my pick of anywhere in the state.” He glanced at Courtney. “That way Chloe and I can stay close to home.” His eyes found mine again as he leaned forward slowly, his lips landing on the top of my knee.

  “Heads up!” Brandon shouted from across the pool, and Austin lunged forward and caught a whirling football headed for my face.

  “Thanks.” I smiled at Austin as he flipped the ball in the palm of his hand.

  “I never miss. You know that, baby.”

  “Yeah, three years of games, home and away, and when you guys made State, I went to all your playoff games too. Do you realize how many nights I have spent watching you run up and down that field?”

  “A lot.” He sipped his beer and smiled.

  “Yeah, and in those three years, what have you done for me?”

  “I went to all your track meets.”

  Courtney lifted her sunglasses, which were more an accessory than a necessity. “That’s because you run track, Walker.”

  He cackled, chugged the rest of his beer, and wandered off to form a pick-up game in Brandon’s backyard. Moments later, Caitlyn Rivers and Aimee Peterson, the captain of the cheer squad, showed up with too much pep for a non-football Friday night. “C’mon, let’s watch the boys.” Caitlyn turned toward the game, and a huge grin filled her face as Brandon, Austin, and Ricky pulled off their shirts. “Ooh, and it looks like our guys will be on the Skins’ team.”

  “Oh, big deal! We live in Florida,” Courtney returned quickly. “Half-naked guys are more common than orange trees.”

  Aimee rolled her eyes to the sky, and Caitlyn frowned at us. Apparently, we lacked the proper rah-rah attitude. They left, and Callie arrived next. She shoved my feet aside and plopped down at the end of my chair. Her face was red from something other than the setting sun, and she was pushing out exhales like she was trying to avoid a massive panic attack. “Okay, you guys need to stay totally calm.”

  “Like you?” I questioned with an unavoidable snicker.

  “Oh, shut up! You will not ruin this for me.” She glanced back at a circle of guys, none of whom were under six feet, and then back to us as she squealed, “Mike just asked me to the prom!” Her bare feet were tap dancing the Chattahoochee rock, and there was no way she could hold back her excitement, so I grabbed her hand and suggested, “We should go inside and scream like crazy.”

  Not even close to calm or cool, we slipped away for a synchronized potty session, and once inside the pool bath, we looked at one another and committed a long succession of ear-splitting shrieks. Our mouths hung open; our screams flowed freely; and we jumped up and down with more excitement than when Caitlyn won concert tickets over the radio. This was probably the best news of our entire junior year, and Courtney was the first one to stop freaking out. “Okay, give us all the details, Cal.”

  Callie drew a deep breath. “Well, Mike told me that after he and Amber broke up, he wanted to ask me out, but he was all concerned about my brother and everything, and I’m like who cares, but I mean he does because he and Landon are tight, you know. So, he actually talked to my brother before he asked me to prom.” Her hand touched her chest, and I imagined her heart was beating like a bass drum. She drew another deep breath and fell onto the toilet. “I’ve never been so happy in my whole life.” And that’s when the happy tears started flowing freely, and we consoled her during her time of great joy. “This stuff only happens in the movies. I mean, Mike is my ideal. He’s so cute and smart, and most importantly, he’s tall and can take me in a game of one-on-one.”

  Courtney chewed on the end of her fingernail. “So, are you gonna’ let him dunk it in your basket then?” Courtney was a master of the innuendo and harassed us mercilessly about our sexual status, acting like we were the last two members of the Virgin Sisterhood.

  “Hmm, maybe on prom night.” Callie turned toward me with a mischievous smirk. “Then you’ll be the last one.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Courtney started with a smile. “Haven’t you heard all the rumors?”

  “C’mon Courtney.” I was tired of the Riverside rumor mill turning out stories about Austin and me.

  “Come to think of it, Landon said Austin was running his mouth in the weight room this afternoon.” Callie looked at me with those dark brown eyes of judgment. “I mean, you’re spending the night here, aren’t you?”

  “That doesn’t mean we’ll actually do it,” I defended. “Austin talks the big talk, but he knows I want to wait until...” I let my voice linger, since they would only mock me for wanting to wait until marriage anyway.

  Courtney rubbed her chin. “Austin doesn’t seem like the patient type to me.”

  “I know what you should do, Chlo.” Callie shot up from the toilet seat. “You should go through his stuff and see what he has planned for tonight.”

  “No way! I am not doing that!”

  “Fine!” Courtney grabbed Callie’s hand and headed into Austin’s room. “Then we’ll do it for you.”

  Brandon was an only child, and the Edwards let Austin crash in the bedroom by the pool. The whole arrangement bonded them like brothers, and while Brandon’s parents were out of town for the weekend, Austin moved in, redecorating the place with his crap everywhere. His unzipped duffle bag sat on the dresser like an open invitation, and Courtney rummaged through the contents quickly. She pulled out a brown paper bag and peeked inside. “Okay girls, I’ll give you three guesses.” She shook the bag. “What’s inside?”

  I wasn’t interested in playing, so I folded my arms across my chest like a grump at a comedy club; but Callie, on the other hand, licked her lips in anticipation. “Antifungal foot cream.”

  “Nope.”

  “Fast-Acting Tinactin for his jock itch.” She gulped for air dramatically like a contestant making bid on the Price Is Right. “Oh, I know Ex-Lax!”

  “Not even close, but I’ll give you one more try.”

  She scratched her head for the desired effect. “Hmm, could it be Rogaine?”

  Courtney dumped the contents onto the unmade bed. “Nope, you lose.” A big lavender box of condoms sat on top of the pale blue comforter, and Callie examined the jumbo pack of prophylactics. “‘Her pleasure.’ Well, that was thoughtful of him.”

  Courtney walked over to me and draped her arm around my shoulder. “So, he’s either planning on having sex with you or with someone else. Either way…” Her voice drifted off while I stared at the box of condoms, and I thought about last night and the fight we had. I thought about how much he begged me to still come to the party, and all of it made sense. He was obviously ready to have sex. Now, the question was, was I?

  Austin stepped into the room. “What’s going on in here?”

  “I was looking for some, uh, toothpaste,” I tried.

  Callie tossed the condoms onto the bed and gestured toward Courtney. “And we were looking for the bathroom.” They shut the door behind them.

  He looked over
at the bed and then back at me. “You still need toothpaste?”

  “Nah, I’m not too concerned about oral hygiene right now.” I grabbed the box of condoms and held them up like I was on a commercial. “Why do you have these?”

  He spread his hands out to the sides. “Because you’re not on the pill.”

  “And why would I be on the pill? I’m not having sex with anyone.”

  “Yeah, don’t you think I know that better than anyone? I’m the one who’s been denied for seven friggin’ months!”

  “You are such a jerk,” I muttered through clenched teeth like I was an accomplished ventriloquist, and then I searched his hardened expression for a reason not to continue. But his face offered no alternative. “It’s over, Austin! I really mean it this time!”

  I was pissed about the tears welling in my eyes, and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined our break-up scene a few times in the last few months. Every time, I wore a smug expression and was armed with wit. But here, as the scene unfolded, I had too much emotion and too little wit. I grabbed my overnight bag off the bedroom floor and flung it over my shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

  “Good. Go home. I won’t stop you,” he said, gesturing at the box in my hand. “Because those would expire before I used them with you.”

  “Oh, shut up!” I chucked the box of condoms at him. I aimed at his crotch, and needless to say, after years of tossing the ball with Rob Callahan, I didn’t throw like a girl. But Austin’s hand flew up ever-so-quickly, snatching the projectile prophylactics in midair. “Thanks, I’ll need these tonight.”

  I stared back at him, wishing I could shoot daggers from my eyes or blow fire from my nose, but I wasn’t given any superpowers at conception, just the X-chromosome that caused crying at the most inconvenient times.

  Courtney drove me to her house, which was where I was supposed to be anyway, and we sat in her driveway for a while as I wiped away tears with the back of my hand.

  “I have some napkins in the glove box,” Courtney said as she reached for my hand. “Chlo, we’ve been friends for a long time and through lots of guys together, but I’ve never seen you cry this much over any of them.”

  “But this started that summer before ninth,” I admitted slowly. “I know we only had that one date…well, mostly because I thought he was a jerk.”

  “And?”

  “He can be. Trust me. But there is another side to him, the side that no one sees. And that’s why I’m crying, Court. All those memories—” I broke off, thinking of my room. It was a shrine to Riverside’s football god. I had framed photos on my bookcase and an entire bulletin board of his newspaper clippings.

  Courtney knew. “Just put everything into an old shoe box. Cry hard over it tonight, and then seal it with duct tape. Someday you’ll be able to open it again, and you’ll smile about it. The heart has a way of forgetting about the bad times, Chlo, and all you’ll have left are the good memories of Austin Walker.”

  I heaved out an “O-k-k-ay.”

  “Or better yet, we could hit the clubs tonight,” she started with a mischievous grin, “since I believe in the replacement theory myself.”

  “No thanks,” I said quickly. “I don’t need another Austin Walker.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Chlo. He’s one-of-a-kind.”

  A slight grin transformed my face, and I grabbed my bag from the tiny backseat of her red convertible. “I think I should just go home.”

  She led me toward the side of her house where her lawn met Rob’s yard. It was the grassy expanse where we played soccer and ran through sprinklers on hot summer days, and it was like walking on childhood.

  I lifted my eyes slowly and glimpsed over at the darkened house next door, and Courtney answered my thoughts. “The Callahans went out for dinner.” We continued across Rob’s yard until we reached the woods, and at the edge of his property stood a huge oak with a tree house in its boughs. As children, it was our place. It was where we laughed uncontrollably at each other’s jokes and whispered our secrets, and a little part of me wanted to flick off my flip flops and climb inside, but the majority of me felt sixteen and thought better of it.

  I stepped gingerly into the woods and followed the pine needle path to my backyard. I hugged Courtney goodbye at the gate and entered my dimly lit house. The only light came from the master bedroom where I found my mother propped up on several pillows and engrossed in the latest Grisham novel.

  “Mom, I just wanted to let you know that I was home.” I forced out a fictitious yawn that manifested into a real one. “I was too tired to stay up with the girls.”

  “Okay, Chlobear.” She smiled and lifted her eyes from the page. “Go get some rest, hon, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay, goodnight, Mom.”

  I made a pit stop in the kitchen, pulled the tub of Rocky Road out of the freezer, and grabbed a big girl spoon. Armed with the quintessential break-up food, I headed up to my room. Once there, I removed pictures from frames and newspaper clippings from the bulletin board, and then cried over the last three years while I shoved heaping spoonfuls of chocolate heaven into my mouth. It was the pleasure-over-pain principle, and when I finished with my tears and had consumed over four servings of ice cream, I tucked the shoe box on a shelf in my closet, hiding it behind a pair of barely worn winter boots.

  Now, what? I wondered, but I knew enough about break-ups to avoid music at all costs. There’s no actual study on this, but the majority of songs were probably written after a bad break-up, which is why I dismissed my other favorite alone time activity: writing. With music and writing out, I decided to try reading. I walked over to my bookcase to find John Steinbeck: A Biography, but it was buried under my copy of Wuthering Heights and my spare set of keys. There was a note sticking out of Emily Bronte’s famed novel, and it was from the other member of my book club. Since our Dr. Seuss days, Rob and I have exchanged favorite titles; but lately, he concentrated on the novels of the American literary canon, and I fired back with classical romances.

  Dear Hopeless Romantic-

  I just finished those three hundred pages of

  exquisite torture and can’t wait for the next book.

  -Rob

  I slid his note back into the book, and I wondered if he was right. Was I just a hopeless romantic doomed for one disappointing relationship after another? Maybe if I had spent more time watching the TV’s version of love, I wouldn’t be so jaded each time I came close to finding it. I was sixteen, almost seventeen, and even though I had a few relationships behind me, I had never been in love. I had never come close to finding anything that I had experienced in the pages of my books, and I had to wonder if my expectations of love actually kept me from falling in it.

  -7-

  Making the Grade

  The next afternoon, I was sprawled across Courtney’s pink satin comforter, perusing through a stack of magazines. I was looking for the answers to the “love” question, but after flipping through several Cosmo’s and the big prom issue of Seventeen, I didn’t have any answers—just more questions. So I decided to take the “Rate Your Date” quiz at the end of the prom issue, and since I hadn’t secured another date for the dance, I used Austin as my point-of-reference.

  “And what do you know…Austin Walker failed another test,” I said to myself, but loud enough for Courtney to overhear. She was on the phone, orbiting the house like Halley’s Comet, so I expected her to return at some point. What I didn’t expect was the particular sound of her laugh upon reentering the room. It was deep and breathy, and clearly belonged to her next-door neighbor and not her.

  “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

  “Well, hello to you too, Frankenstein.”

  That’s when I remembered the pale green glop caked on my face. I flung off the bed and rushed into the bathroom as the blood rose in my cheeks.

  “What does that stuff do anyway?” Rob inquired from a closer proximity than I would have liked.
br />   “It helps with my complexion,” I answered as I washed my face and patted it dry with a pink hand towel.

  “Well, it worked, Chlo.” He smiled widely, offering the grand entrance of his dimples. “Your cheeks are much redder than normal.”

  I stepped toward him. He was consuming the doorway and blocking my way into Courtney’s room. “Oh, you’re so funny.” I pushed my pointer finger into his chest. Extremely hard. His chest—not my jab, and for some reason, curiosity urged me to test it again. So, like a little researcher, I advanced my finger to the same exact spot. This time he drew his shoulders inward and flexed his pecs like he wanted me to draw a particular conclusion about his muscular density.

  A little “impressive” slipped from my lips even though I had not given my mouth permission to report my findings, and a smile spread across his lips. His hand rested lightly on my bare shoulder, and that’s when I noticed I was missing a shirt. I was only dressed in a pink spandex camisole, and the weather dials on my chest were forecasting the temperature in the room. Mine hinted at chilly.

  I pushed him aside and grabbed my shirt off the bed. Quickly, I slipped into my blouse and started at the buttons. “Aren’t you going to ask me about last night?”

  “Nah, Courtney told me what happened.” He paused for a moment. “And she didn’t leave out any of the gory details.”

  “Great,” I muttered sarcastically as my nimble fingers finished the last buttons. But as I looked up at him again, his brown eyes fell to my chest. “Hey, you missed one, Chlo.” And before I could check my own handiwork, he reached across and slowly slid the button through the small slit. As I watched his fingers flutter near my heart, that feeling surfaced again. It was indescribable in words. It was just the way I felt around him sometimes. He was the first boy to hold my hand and profess his affections for me, and all I knew was the feeling started in childhood. But since I had no name for the feeling and couldn’t describe it with words, I simply recognized its existence and waited for it to pass again.

  Courtney entered the room, and we both stepped back and looked away from each other. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and shout-whispered, “Did I interrupt something?” It was completely rhetorical, but she liked to pose those questions on occasion. Courtney was around when Rob and I were “dating,” and she acted like she owned the teasing rights to our playground romance.

  “Mom said dinner would be ready in an hour or so.” Rob turned toward Courtney. “But Josh has been ready for you all day.” Josh was his cousin on his father’s side, yet a few months younger than Rob, and like most normal, healthy teenage boys, he was infatuated with Rob’s neighbor.

  At the mention of Josh, Courtney bit down on her lip and left the room with her phone, and I proceeded to the bathroom for a few minor touch-ups as Rob resumed his post in the doorway again. I slid a tube of gloss across my lips, pressed them together, and let out a smack. I looked up at him in the mirror and spoke to his reflection. “I have something for you,” I said and pulled a white envelope out of my bag.

  Rob eyed it with curiosity, and I replied, “It’s my entry for the contest, silly.”

  “Oh,” he said with a smile, sliding a finger across the seal and pulling out the folded paper. I watched his expression as he read the following:

  “Why Should Rob Callahan Take Me to the Prom?”

  by Chloe Preston