Bitter End (6 page)

It’s not like it was a huge deal, of course. It’s not like we
were a couple, or even that I knew for sure he was into me. It was hardly the end of my world, not seeing him.

But when I got to The Bread Bowl Wednesday night and he was sitting in a booth in the corner, all by himself, that wave of
crush rolled up over me again. I tried not to look too excited when I saw him. He waved. I waved back. I clocked in and took
my place at the register and tried not to look up at him too often.

He had the Ray Bradbury book with him and was slowly sipping a cup of coffee with the book propped open in front of him, but
I tried not to get too excited when I realized that every time I looked up, he was looking at me, too, instead of at the book.

After the dinner rush, Georgia sent me on break, and I decided to casually stop by Cole’s table.

“Hey,” I said, trying not to look too awkward. “Where’ve you been?”

He hesitated, glancing down at his book. “Family stuff,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise. That’s why I’m trying
to get caught up tonight.”

“Oh,” I said. “How far behind are you?”

He grimaced. “Really far. You on break or you off?”

“On break,” I said. “I don’t get off until eight.” My turn to grimace.

“So you’ve got a few minutes?” he asked. Again with that smile. I nodded, feeling goose bumps rise on my arms. Something about
that smile. It occurred to me that the tenderness I felt when Cole smiled at me was something I’d
never really felt before. Dad never smiled, and Celia only frowned. Beth and Zack smiled at me all the time, but their smiles
didn’t feel like this. Their smiles felt like laughter. Cole’s smile felt like warmth. And like it was meant for only me.

There were a few moments of awkward silence between us, during which time I mostly focused on the sweat that I could feel
trickling down my back. Suddenly I was afraid that if I were to look down, I’d have giant pit stains and would die of embarrassment
right on the spot. I cleared my throat. My fingers drifted to the dream catcher and pushed on the beads.

Then finally he shut the book and slid out of the booth. “Come with me,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

He brushed his hand up against mine as he walked past me, digging his keys out of his jacket. I followed him out to the parking
lot.

He led me to an old blue muscle car—one I’d seen in the school parking lot without even registering whose it might be—and
popped the trunk.

“You showed me your poem,” he said over his shoulder as he walked, “so I figured it’s my turn.”

He reached into the trunk and pulled out a guitar case.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the curb. I sat, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“You play guitar?” I asked.

“A little,” he admitted. He laid the guitar case on the sidewalk behind me and thumbed open the clasp. He pulled
out a gleaming acoustic and sat down next to me, laying it across his lap. “I taught myself how to play, so I’m not great
or anything. It’s just a hobby.”

“Cool hobby,” I said, running my finger down the strings. I could feel his shoulder, warm against mine. “I can’t play anything.”

“But you can write killer songs,” he said. “Check it out.”

He propped the guitar up against his chest and started strumming. His fingers moved along the strings like it was nothing.
Like everyone could do this. After a few bars, he started humming, and then pretty soon he sang, softly, “I cannot swallow
your hardened eyes…”

My mouth dropped open. My poem. He was singing the words of my poem. I honestly didn’t know what to think. I was still self-conscious
hearing my words out loud, and Cole looked so vulnerable, sitting on the sidewalk singing and playing guitar. Hearing my feelings
out loud like that, I could almost feel them all over again—the night when the hole where my family should be had swallowed
me so completely I could do nothing but write about it. It was such a raw moment—so exposed—it felt almost too intimate to
handle. I dropped my forehead to my knees and listened, clenching my eyes tight. When he finished, I turned my head to face
him, resting my cheek on my knees where my forehead had just been.

“That. Was so awesome,” I said. “I can’t believe you memorized my poem.”

He plucked at a few random strings. “I didn’t have all the words exactly right,” he said. “But I tried to remember most of
them. It was the first thing I thought about when I read it—wow, this would make a good song.”

I reached out and strummed the guitar softly with my free hand. “I always wished I played an instrument.”

“Really?” He moved so he could sit up straighter. “Maybe I’ll teach you sometime. It’s not that hard.” He hovered his hand
over mine and strummed the strings with more confidence. The vibration under my fingertips seemed to move down my entire body.
I curled my toes up inside my shoes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the front window. Georgia was standing there, fiddling with the blinds. She raised her eyebrows
at me.

“Shoot,” I said. “I’ve gotta get back.”

Cole stood, holding his guitar by the neck. “Yeah,” he said.

And there was that awkwardness between us again. On my end, the awkwardness was filled with the vibration of the guitar strings,
which I still felt in the arches of my feet.

Just as I started to make a move for the door, he reached out and touched my wrist, very lightly and very quickly, as though
he were afraid I might burn him.

“So maybe I can teach you a little this weekend?”

At first, I was confused. What was going on this weekend? And then, with a
thunk
of my heartbeat, I realized what he was really saying.

“I’m working Friday, but I’m off Saturday.”

He smiled. “Okay. We can go to the lake or something. Bring food. I’ll teach you ‘Yesterday.’ That was the first song I learned.
It’s pretty easy.”

“Yeah, sounds great. You want to meet there?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll swing by your house and get you.” We sat there nodding at each other, and then Georgia knocked on the
window again.

We both turned our heads this time. Georgia raised her eyebrows even higher. Cole chuckled.

“I guess I should get back now,” I said. “I’ll see you in lab tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said, bending over his open trunk and laying the guitar inside. “I’ll be caught up, I promise.”

I pointed at him. “You better be!”

“See ya, Emily Dickinson.”

I forced myself to turn around and open the door.

I watched him shut his trunk, get into the driver’s seat, and take off, then practically hopped, giggling and making little
squealy noises, all the way to Georgia, who was now messing with the blinds in the back of the dining room.

“Long break,” she said, without looking at me.

“He asked me out,” I said, putting my hands on Georgia’s shoulder. “We’re going to the lake on Saturday.”

“Ooh la la, the lake,” Georgia said in a droll voice. “Sounds like trouble waiting to happen.”

“Oh, please,” I said, moving to the blinds next to her. I twirled them closed much more quickly than she had done.
“I’m a good girl. I don’t know the first thing about trouble.” I batted my eyes at her dramatically.

Georgia turned away, swishing her towel at me. “Oh, lordy, don’t let me hear things like that.”

I reached over and hugged Georgia from the side, barely able to contain my excitement.

If I had to sum up today in one word?
Finally
.

Celia was following me as I practically sprinted through the living room, tossing discarded dirty socks and old wet towels
into a laundry basket. I straightened up the throw pillows on the couch and folded a blanket that had been lying crumpled
in a corner for about a week, and draped it over our ugly couch.

You could definitely tell the place was kept by a family who’d given up. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered me. It was depressing,
but I was used to it. But with Cole coming over, I was suddenly embarrassed about everything that was my life.

The drapes were heavy with dust, the couch wearing through on the outside edges of the cushions, the carpet filthy and flattened.
Everywhere were dirty glasses and plates and laundry. Bottles of fingernail polish were permanently stuck to the coffee table,
which was sticky on one
end from God-knows-what. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw anyone vacuum. It was amazing what kind of mess you can get
used to. It was amazing what kind of life you can get used to.

“So when are you going to have time then?” Celia said for the thousandth time. “We have to plan this out. It’s not every day
Shannin comes home.”

This was definitely true. Shannin hardly ever came home to visit. It was going to be a huge surprise to Dad to see her show
up, especially given that she was coming to help us throw a big surprise party for Dad’s birthday, not that Dad ever celebrated
anything. A surprise this big needed months of planning, or at least Celia thought it did. Dad’s birthday wasn’t until April,
and it was just barely October. I thought six months was way more time than we needed to put this together. Celia thought
it was nowhere near enough time. Shannin just tried to keep Celia happy, but that was easy to do from hundreds of miles away.
Shannin didn’t have to live with Celia’s nagging. “Plus,” Celia continued, “you told Shannin you’d do it, Alex.”

“I will, okay? Just not today,” I answered. “We’ve got time.” She sighed and flopped down on the couch, knocking the blanket
off. “Watch it,” I said, bending over and picking it up. I spread it over the cushion to hide the stains again.

“What’s the big deal about this guy anyway?” Celia asked. “You’re acting like he’s royalty or something. I saw him in the
library the other day. I don’t think he’s all that.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said. “Because if you liked a guy I liked, the world might reverse its spin on its axis or
something. I just like him, okay? And I want him to like me. So I don’t want this place to look so…”

“So like our house? Maybe I should get Zack’s mom to come over here and be a mom stand-in. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to
be worried about how our family isn’t good enough.”

I glared at my sister. Celia never saw any reason to care about what had happened to our mother. She saw it the way Shannin
did—Mom’s death was what it was, and Dad’s life was what it was, and none of it had anything to do with her. Celia and Shannin
didn’t seem to feel anything when a kid would ask how come our dad never said anything or when another adult would ask us
where our mom was. My sisters didn’t seem to care that they couldn’t answer any questions about our mom because those questions
had never been answered for us.

“It’s not like that,” I snapped. “I just want this place to look decent. You’re just jealous.” Usually Celia was the one with
boys coming in and out of the house. For once, it felt good to have someone over for me. Someone better than any of the greasy
boys she liked.

The doorbell rang. Celia made a mock surprised face and pulled herself off the couch as I scrambled to take an armful of dishes
to the kitchen. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m so jealous of you going out with a guy who still wears his old school’s letter jacket
to his new school so everyone can see how amazing he is.” She reached to open the door as I scurried into the kitchen and
dumped the dishes in the sink.

I stood by the kitchen counter and took a few breaths, trying to clear my head. My hand drifted to the dream catcher necklace
hanging beneath my shirt.

I wasn’t embarrassed of my family; I just wanted to impress Cole. In a way, I felt the same as when I’d shown him my poem—nervous
and afraid to show my real self to him. Afraid that he wouldn’t like what he saw.

I heard the front door open and could hear Celia talking. Quickly I ran my fingers through my hair and stepped out into the
living room.

Instead of Cole, Zack was sitting on my couch, his foot up on our coffee table, the remote already in his hand. Celia was
sitting next to him, blabbing on about something unimportant. Zack didn’t even look up when I came into the room. I walked
over and smacked at his leg.

“I just cleaned that,” I said. “Move your foot.”

He wiggled his foot back and forth on the table, eyes still glued to the TV. “Moving it,” he said.

“Ha-ha-ha,” I said. “You’re so funny.” I pushed his foot and it flopped to the floor.

He finally glanced at me. “What? Why do you care so much about where my foot is all of a sudden?”

“Ever since the Prince of Pine Gate is coming to pick her up,” Celia said.

Zack settled on a channel and dropped the remote in his lap. “Who? You mean that new guy in the tutor lab?” He leaned over
and pulled a bent toothpick out of his front pocket, straightened it, and popped it into his mouth.

I nodded. “We’re going out tonight.”

Zack shook his head. “Guy’s in my gym class. He’s kind of a tool. Thinks he’s a badass. Got a big mouth.”

I picked up the laundry basket and held it against my hip. “That’s rich coming from you.” I started toward the basement. “Bethany
thinks he’s hot,” I yelled over my shoulder. “She’s happy for me.”

“Bethany thinks everybody’s hot,” Zack yelled back as I tromped down the stairs. I set the basket on the floor next to the
washing machine. Just as I was heading back up the stairs, the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it!” I hollered, and raced up the stairs. I needn’t have rushed—Celia and Zack were into the show they were watching
and weren’t making a move toward the door at all. “It’s probably Cole,” I said, catching my breath.

“Be still, my heart,” Zack cooed in a falsetto voice. Celia giggled.

I pulled open the door and there was Cole, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, his shirt tight across his chest, showing off
the muscles underneath. He looked so strong and confident standing there. Like he could protect me from anything.

“Hey,” I said, trying not to sound all crushy and breathless and like I was just checking out his pecs. “Come on in.”