Crush Page 4

  Inside, Emma O’Neil sat at a table with three other girls. They were in the middle of a really serious conversation, probably about Mr. Weaver. Jonathan imagined walking in and having Emma call him over to the table, but the thought made him suddenly angry.

  Why am I wasting my time? She hardly knows I exist. I’m like an extra on a CW drama, and she’s the star, and no way are they calling me back for a second episode. It’s a stupid crush. Pointless. God, why can’t I obsess on a teen pop diva or something? That way, I wouldn’t have to see her every day, in the flesh, in the now, in the ridiculous fantasy my stupid head keeps building.

  He grew angrier with himself. He couldn’t be angry with Emma. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She wasn’t mean to him. It wasn’t her fault she was perfect and Jonathan was nothing. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Life just worked out that way.

  Jonathan looked away from her. The next face he saw made him feel no better.

  Toby Skabich sat at a small table on the left with Tia Graves. Naturally, she was beautiful in the most predictable of ways, and a cheerleader. They held hands around their massive coffee mugs. Tia was all dreamy eyed, and Toby just kept talking. The perfect teen couple, living the American dream.

  Toby never had to worry about his grades, because no teacher would let a star of the football team fail, plus every girl in the school was willing to do his homework if he just flexed his arms or flashed a smile. The tool already had everything—a nice house, a cool Mustang his dad had given him, the best-looking girl in school—but that wasn’t enough. Toby wanted more and more. He figured he deserved everything and didn’t have to do anything for it.

  Must be nice.

  Unable to deal with any more bad feelings, Jonathan turned away from the window.

  She sat on a bench in front of the ice-cream parlor. A neon sugar cone glowed above her head, casting her face in shadow. But even with the veil of darkness covering her features, Jonathan recognized Kirsty Sabine.

  She wore a long beige trench coat and distressed jeans, nearly white on the thighs. Her head was lowered, chin on her chest, so that her hair draped down either side of her face like frayed curtains.

  Had she been there the whole time? Had he somehow missed her when he walked by the shop?

  The chill on his neck fanned out over his shoulder blades, and he began to seriously shake. A gust of wind raced down the mall, chasing the sensation, adding to it.

  “I couldn’t go in either,” Kirsty said, not raising her head. She sat thirty feet away, and her voice came to him like a whisper.

  A bit creeped out, Jonathan smiled nervously and tried to think of an excuse for why he didn’t go into the coffee shop. He didn’t want to sound totally low rent by saying something like, “It’s too expensive,” but he also didn’t want to admit his cowardice over entering territory already claimed by Toby Skabich.

  “I was just seeing if some friends were inside,” he said.

  Kirsty nodded her head, a slow movement that lifted her chin only an inch from her chest before again resting against it.

  “I looked in too,” she said. “I didn’t really like anyone I saw.”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said. Even though he’d seen Emma, he knew what Kirsty meant.

  Kirsty stood, the shadow on her face growing longer as her slight body eclipsed the purple tubes of the neon ice-cream cone. Her beige coat fell neatly on either side of her body, and she brushed the fabric with her hands, smoothing it further. She took a step toward Jonathan and paused. Kirsty looked over her shoulder, into the ice-cream shop, then down the long walk beside it.

  Jonathan stepped forward to cover the distance between them.

  “Hey,” he said, as if they’d just walked into each other a second ago.

  “Hi,” Kirsty said, smiling and quickly looking away.

  Something about her face seemed different tonight, Jonathan thought. Maybe it was the light or lack of it, but her features seemed more finished, seemed almost pretty, something he never would have thought when he saw her in daylight.

  “What’s up?” he asked, the chill now centered in his stomach. He wasn’t used to talking to girls, and it had to be totally obvious to Kirsty. Knowing this only made him more nervous.

  “Just out for a walk.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “My mom’s on one of her let’s-spend-every-minute-together kicks,” Kirsty said. “I couldn’t deal, so I bailed.”

  Jonathan had no idea what it must be like to have a parent insist on spending time with him, but he laughed and nodded his head. “Parents are a pain.”

  “Total water torture,” Kirsty replied. “Every word another drop on my forehead.”

  They stood quietly for a moment. Jonathan didn’t know what else to say to the girl. He was full-on nervous, and the chilled anxiety in his stomach was making him uncomfortable. Maybe he should just say good-bye.

  “It’s strange so many people are out,” Kirsty said.

  “Strange?” he asked, grateful she’d broken the silence.

  “After Mr. Weaver. I figured most people would stay home for a while.”

  “I didn’t even think about that. You don’t seem too worried. I mean, you’re out.”

  “I shouldn’t be,” she said. “But since Dad left, Mom’s been really needy. I figured once we moved, she’d lighten up, but that didn’t really happen.”

  “Sorry to hear about your dad,” Jonathan said. The words felt awkward on his tongue. He didn’t know Kirsty at all, so his condolence felt insincere. Fortunately she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Thanks,” Kirsty said. “That’s nice of you.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “About a year ago. A lot of drama.”

  “That blows. Do you still see him?”

  Kirsty didn’t answer immediately. She looked up at the ceiling covering the walkway, stared at it as if searching for the answer there. “Not much,” she said, finally. “Like I said, a lot of drama.”

  Another uncomfortable silence fell over them. Jonathan was about to say “that blows” again, but knew it would sound lame. Instead, he decided to change the subject because it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to discuss Kirsty’s father any more.

  “How do you like it here?” he asked.

  Kirsty’s response surprised him because she didn’t answer his question. Instead, she said, “Do you want to walk? I’m getting kind of cold just standing here.”

  “I guess,” Jonathan said. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Would you mind walking me home?” Kirsty said. “It’s not far.”

  “Sure,” Jonathan said. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

  Kirsty lived in the Briar Gate development, which was half a mile down Horace Road, the street running parallel to Crossroads Boulevard on the other side of the mall. As they walked, Jonathan found himself unable to relax around Kirsty. Yeah, she was nice, and she was even kind of interesting, but she also seemed distant, sort of cold. Jonathan understood. It wasn’t exactly like he was Mr. Personality tonight either. They were simply two school outcasts who bumped into each other and decided to take a walk.

  “So, do you miss your friends?”

  “Didn’t really have friends,” Kirsty said. “My dad scared people off. He’d get up in their faces and drill them like an army sergeant. He was totally paranoid. It freaked people out. I learned pretty young to keep other kids away from the house. And since he was really strict, I didn’t get to spend much time away from home, except to go to school and…”

  “And?” Jonathan asked.

  “Church,” Kirsty whispered, as if embarrassed. “My folks were both hyper about the church back in Spokane. My mom has totally lightened up about it now, but…Ugh! It sucked. What about you?”

  “We don’t go to church,” he said. In fact, he’d probably only been in a church five or six times in his entire life. He attended two Sunday-school classes when he was like six years old, and after th
at it was just weddings.

  “What about friends? I don’t see you hanging out with anyone at school.”

  “My best friend…” Only friend. “…goes to Melling.” And he thinks you’re hot, Jonathan added to himself.

  Jeez, what would David say if he found out he was walking Kirsty home? David had played it totally cool at the bookstore, like he was just goofing about Kirsty, but what if he really liked her? Would he be pissed or something?

  “Was he the guy I saw you with on Saturday?” Kirsty asked.

  “I didn’t think you even noticed us. But yeah, that’s David.”

  “Have you guys been friends a long time?”

  “About three years,” Jonathan said. “This is the longest my family has lived anywhere, so it seems like a long time, but I guess it’s not.”

  Kirsty didn’t reply. Instead, she looked upward, just like she did at the mall. She kept walking, her eyes directed at the sky.

  Again Jonathan noticed she looked almost pretty, her face bathed in night, certainly not the eight David suggested but a good, solid seven. And again he noticed the odd feeling that came to him when he looked at her. It was almost like he had forgotten something but was on the verge of remembering it, a kind of vague recognition.

  A gust of wind startled him out of his reverie, and he returned his attention to the sidewalk.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, because the silence was getting to him. It was a stupid question, but he had to say something.

  Kirsty lowered her chin and turned to face him. She wore a shy smile. “I’m just looking at the night,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, okay.”

  At Kirsty’s house, a two-story brick place with big windows in front, they paused on the sidewalk.

  “Thanks for walking me home,” Kirsty said, sticking out her hand.

  Jonathan was relieved to see the gesture. For a couple of heart-stopping seconds, he’d wondered if Kirsty considered this chance meeting a kind of date, wondered if she might expect a kiss or something. He knew that was just his imagination going into hyperdrive during the quiet stretches of their walk, but still, he felt relief knowing nothing was expected of him but a quick joining of the hands.

  He took her hand, squeezed lightly, and a shock, like static electricity, crackled along his palm.

  Kirsty jumped a little and laughed again. “Magic,” she said with a smile.

  “Yeah,” Jonathan replied, feeling more uncomfortable than he had all night.

  “So, you want to get together again sometime?” Kirsty asked. “For just like coffee or something. Not a date, I mean. It’s just good to talk to somebody my own age.”

  “Sure,” Jonathan said, though what he was thinking came closer to I don’t think so.

  “Cool,” Kirsty said. “Thanks again for walking me home.”

  Then she turned away and walked toward her house.

  In a second-floor window, Jonathan noticed a silhouette, the dark form of a woman peering out between two white curtains. Kirsty’s mother, he assumed.

  Still, the shadowy shape unnerved him, just as Kirsty herself had done. He took a step back on the sidewalk. At the end of the path, Kirsty opened her front door and stepped into the dark foyer.

  Jonathan turned to walk home. He was already wondering how he would explain this encounter to David.

  5

  “You were scammin’ on my woman?” David asked, mock anger edging his voice as it rolled over the phone line. “That’s cold, brah.”

  Jonathan laughed. He rolled over on his bed and stared at the ceiling, glad his friend wasn’t really upset. “Yeah, well, I’m a chick magnet. They can’t stay away.”

  “Whatever. The important question is what did she think of me?”

  “She thinks you’re a god. Way out of her league.”

  “True,” David said. “Too true. I knew she was way into me. SWIM, baby, SWIM. So, what’s this Kirsty like? Tell me what I’m missing.”

  That wasn’t an easy question. Jonathan still didn’t know what to make of the girl. She seemed nice, certainly not a geek, and no way was she stuck up. It was that feeling he had when he was with her—the sense that he was forgetting something—that totally messed with his head. And he knew it was probably just being full-on freaked out by speaking with a member of the opposite sex, a rare occurrence at best. But it wasn’t like he thought she was hot. She didn’t intimidate him in that way. He didn’t really know what to tell David.

  He settled for “She’s okay, I guess.”

  “I’m translating that to mean freak, and not the good kind.”

  “No,” Jonathan said. “She’s cool. I mean, I was all pissed off with Mom, so I bailed. Then I saw Toby the Scab at Perky’s, reminding me why my life sucked so thoroughly. Kirsty just kind of showed up. It wasn’t like anything was wrong with her. I just didn’t have my mojo flowing.”

  “Jonny Boy,” David said, “you have no mojo. I say that as a friend. You are mojo-impaired. You’re mojo-less. You lack da MO…JO.”

  “Like you’re any better?”

  “I am the Mojo Master. Kiss my ring, bitch.”

  Jonathan broke up laughing. He could picture David standing in the middle of his room, one hand on a hip and the other extended, palm down, presenting his fingers and a ring.

  “You’re totally deluded,” Jonathan said.

  “I paint pretty pictures of an ugly world. So, what’s the story? Are you going to ask her out? Is Kirsty going to be Jonathan’s she-slave or what?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not into her like that.”

  “Good,” David said. “You keep feeding the undying flame of Emma worship, and I’ll handle Kirsty. That way you won’t get hurt when she realizes she can’t live without the David.”

  “She’s all yours.”

  “All is going according to plan.”

  “You’re disturbed,” Jonathan said.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” David replied.

  Jonathan lay in bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. Unable to sleep, he thought about Kirsty, her plain face somehow more complete, more attractive at night, and he thought about Mr. Weaver. Since Kirsty was in his English lit class with Mr. Weaver (and they did talk about the guy a little), it wasn’t a big stretch, this connection. It was, however, strange. In his mind he was walking with Kirsty, listening to her speak: I couldn’t go in either…I didn’t really like the people I saw…My dad scared them away…Strange so many people are out…after what happened to Mr. Weaver. Then Jonathan pictured Mr. Weaver in his living room—he had no idea why; he certainly didn’t know what the teacher’s house looked like—and the pudgy Weaver was watching television, drinking a beer from a tall glass. The next moment Mr. Weaver was gasping silently, clawing at his face. Strange so many people are out…Then Mr. Weaver was outside, soaring through space, but it wasn’t a pleasant flight. He scratched and kicked at the air, his mouth was open as if to scream, but no sound emerged. He hit high up on a tree, his body bending back slightly with the impact. He fell forward, arms and legs dangling, his body perfectly balanced on a thick tree limb.

  Jonathan shook the reverie from his mind. It was just too unpleasant, so he decided to think about something else.

  That was easy enough.

  He thought about Emma O’Neil. Imagined holding her, and this time it wasn’t just to comfort her while she mourned their late English teacher. No, what Jonathan imagined was having met Emma by accident at the mall instead of Kirsty. He saw her smiling, almost mischievous face, hanging before the neon tubes of the ice-cream parlor.

  She wore the short red skirt she’d worn two Mondays ago, the fabric smooth and tight to her hips. With the skirt she wore a snug white sweater with short sleeves, a top Jonathan had seen her wear half a dozen times, to breathtaking effect. She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him, noticing him. Finally.

  Hey, Jonathan said, as he had to Kirsty.

  Hi.

  Wha
t’s up?

  Just hanging out. I thought I might find you here.

  Emma stepped up to Jonathan and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned in close to place her lips against his.

  Even imagining such a moment made Jonathan blush. He smiled to himself.

  He shifted in the bed, rolled over to look at the window.

  The wonderful image fled, and Jonathan froze. Eyes open and staring. His heart beating fast.

  A man-shaped shadow fell over the glass. Its darkness was deeper than the night. Somehow solid, it was framed between his open curtains. This wasn’t simply a shadow though, because Jonathan could make out eyes, nose, and mouth. They seemed painted on the form. They also seemed furious with him. The lips moved silently, their edges low in a disapproving frown. The smoky eyes darted back and forth, scanning the interior of Jonathan’s room.

  Childhood fears of the bogeyman flooded back. He felt like a little boy, paralyzed by the knowledge that monsters did exist, and they lived close. This wasn’t how he pictured the bogeyman, though. It looked more like the robe of the Grim Reaper, inhabited by a spirit instead of a skeleton. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of him.

  He closed his eyes, attempting to blink away this angry phantom, but it remained on the glass. Sweat popped out on Jonathan’s neck. His pulse sounded in his head, a staccato thunder.

  Against the glass the shadow rippled. It spread out like liquid, smearing the facial features, making them transparent, so Jonathan could see a corner of the apartment complex through the form. With another rippling wave it rose, like a manta ray climbing through an ocean current.

  Then it glided skyward and was gone.

  Jonathan leaped from the bed. Every muscle and nerve sprang and sparked as if he’d been coiled up for hours. His fingers and toes tingled badly, and his stomach felt as if it were filled with ice water.

  “Crap,” he said in a high whisper. “Crap. What was that?”

  He paced the room, trying to burn off some of his nervous energy, hoping motion would bring some sense, some logical explanation to his frightened mind. He wanted to believe he’d been asleep. It was a dream. A nightmare. A trick of his overactive imagination. But no, he was awake. No foggy remnants of sleep were on him. There had been no moment of time unaccounted for.