Burn Girl (11 page)

“I … I … Well, it came up when we were talking about something else. I mean, it wasn't like we were just talking about how you looked.”

“Uh-huh.” His discomfort amused me. At least I wasn't the only one mortified by our increasingly personal discussion.

“My face is red, isn't it?” He ran his fingers through the hair that fell across his face.

“Way beyond that.”

We both laughed and returned to our lounging positions.

“I like coming to this park,” he said. “So much going on all the time. Sometimes I just hang out here while James finishes a shift.”

I listened to the sounds that Cody must be hearing: the guys playing Frisbee and laughing, the air brakes of the bus, a small child pitching a fit.

“I kind of picture you with superhuman hearing skills,” I said.

“Nothing as cool as that. Over the years, I've just gotten good at paying attention. That's how I knew you'd been running when you got to the bus stop.”

His beautiful full lips formed the widest grin I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but smile too.

“And it's green apples,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You smell like green apples.”

“I don't know what to say. Thanks?”

We fell into an easy silence as Cody picked at blades of grass, his hand still dangerously close to mine.

“I wish I could see your face,” he said. “James said you're beautiful.”

The lump in my throat grew bigger. I wanted to disappear.

He leaned in, just enough so my breath caught, and said, “I told him I already knew that.”

I allowed the fight with Brittany and the weird footrace with the Mustang to slip from my mind. In that instant, only Cody mattered. I didn't want to be anywhere else.

CHAPTER 13

When I got back to the trailer, Mo waited for me on the steps. She tapped her watch to indicate she'd been waiting a while.

“What happened with Brittany? And why you didn't call or text right away?” she asked.

“Read something on Facebook, did ya?”

“No. James called me to check on you. He was worried after you ran from the store.”

James
. I'd left him there in the sci-fi aisle to clean up my mess with Brittany. He'd told me to leave, but I should've gone back to apologize.

“Why does James have your number?” I asked.

“Sometimes I have him special order a book for me. The store has my number on file.” She smiled slyly. “Why else would I give him my cell number?”

“You're a flirt,” I said. “Anyway, I'm surprised Cody didn't tell him I was okay.”

“What's Cody got to do with this?”

“I ran into him at the trolley stop. It's a long story. And I didn't text earlier because you were at the dentist.”

“I got out two hours ago.” She gave me a look that told me I needed to give her every detail—and fast.

“I couldn't call. I've been with Cody this whole time.”

Mo froze. Then she mouthed “Oh my God.”

“I'm freaked out too.” I reached over to pinch her lips closed. “My head is going to explode if I think about this anymore.”

“Details. Now.”

“Let's go to my room. It's chilly out here.”

Mo followed me into the trailer. We nodded quick hellos to Frank, who was on his computer at the kitchen table. He seemed to want to ask something, but we rushed past. Other than my quick apology earlier in the week, we hadn't talked much, but Mo would have to come first.

Once in my room, we closed the door and lay side by side on the bed.

“So tell me already!” Mo's voice filled the trailer.

“Keep it down. I don't want Frank knowing my business. Okay?”

“Fine,” she whispered. “Spill it.”

As I expected, the fight with Brittany interested Mo less than Cody's scheming to meet me at the trolley stop.

“He apologized for being stalky,” I said.

“It's not stalky. It's romantic,” Mo said. “And James helped him? What a great guy.”

“Cody or James?”

“Both, but let's concentrate on Cody for now. First, he punches a guy who insults you. Then he records and listens to you singing. Now this? He's in deep.”

I could feel my face flushing, but I still found it hard to believe, even with evidence right in front of me. I wrapped my arms around my sick stomach and begged it to stop flopping for just an instant. Another part of me wanted this new and unbelievable feeling to last.

“I don't get it, Mo.”

“What's to get? You're smart. You're beautiful. You both sing in choral. Maybe he's tired of all the girls who gush over him but in the end treat him like an imbecile.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that people are always trying to help him navigate the halls or else they talk extremely loudly like he's deaf or stupid.”

I thought about our conversation. He got it. He knew what it was like when people felt awkward around us and said stupid things—like somehow we were to blame for making them feel uncomfortable. How could we feel normal when we spent so much energy trying to make others feel okay?

But I
had
felt normal with Cody today. Once I got over my excruciating nerves, that is. And although I was comfortable around Mo, she couldn't help but try to protect me from anyone and anything that could hurt me. She saw the scar. She saw all my scars because I let her. I didn't know if I could reveal everything about myself to Cody. I still hadn't figured out how much I could share with Frank or Jane, for that matter.

“So he held your hand?” Mo lay down beside me and whispered directly in my ear. “Did he stroke it like this?”

I jerked away. “Stop joking. Yes, he held my hand, but only at the beginning. Then we just sat in the grass, close but not touching.”

“You could've grabbed his hand.” Mo turned over onto her stomach and rested her chin on her arms. “Don't expect a guy to always make the first move.”

I had no clue how to make a move. Any move. I'd missed out on the middle-school and junior-high crushes other girls experienced. I'd spent those years recovering from the accident and then taking care of Mom. Only the wrong kind of boys had ever paid me any attention. And some of Mom's adult friends.

“So, you think I should kiss him first?” Saying that out loud caused my stomach to catapult through my throat.

“Definitely. What's your plan?”

I had no plan. I didn't think I could even sleep, much less plot my next interaction with Cody.

“I thought you were going to help me with geometry.” I tugged at her backpack until she let go of it. I pulled out a textbook and spiral.

“How can you study at a time like this?”

“Um … because there's a test later this week?” I loved teasing Mo. Her faked annoyance made me laugh.

She snatched the book in my hand and stuffed it into her pack. “You make all As. You don't need me to tutor you anymore.”

“Not all As. I have a B in geometry. Hence, the need to study.”

“I'm not playing teacher anymore,” she said. “Those days are done.”

Starting the day after I'd met Mo, and every school day after that, she'd shown up with textbooks in hand, ready to teach me everything she'd learned. She even graded my homework assignments and made me take exams. Maybe those days had run their course, but the thought made me sad.

“I could tutor you in other ways.” She puckered her lips.

“You look like a fish,” I said.

“A fish who's kissed a lot of boys.”

I didn't doubt her. Mo's mom already allowed her to go on dates.

“Tell me about your first kiss,” I said.

“It was stupid. Fourth grade. Joe Parrish and I both had hall passes to go to the restroom. He sort of ambushed me.”

“Not swoon-worthy, huh?”

“No, just a lot of spit. And he smelled like Doritos. You'll get to kiss the most luscious full lips I've ever seen on anyone, except maybe Sam from
Glee
. I'm almost jealous of what that will feel like.” She buried her face in the bed and squealed like a girl with far less kissing experience than Mo actually had.

Did I really want this goofball coaching me through my first kiss? Well, my first real kiss. When I was only seven, one of Lloyd's friends had caught me off guard one night as I was sneaking a Coke from the fridge. He'd smelled of chewing tobacco and beer, not Doritos. When he forced himself onto my mouth, his teeth had clicked against mine and cut my upper lip. At the time, I thought it was the worst thing I'd ever have to endure.

“What's wrong? You got all quiet.”

“It's nothing. Maybe I'm just a little freaked out,” I said.

“Come on. You had to know someone was going to fall for you one day.”

I'd seen the train wrecks Mom dated. Or rather, slept with. I never felt I could trust a guy's reasons for hanging out with me. She'd warned me over and over that they'd only end up hurting me.

“If you dare say you're not good enough for Cody, I will seriously smack you.” When Mo leaned in for a hug, I couldn't hold back my tears. Crying for the second time that day.

After she left, I wanted to be alone, completely deprived of all stimuli so I could recover from the mind-blowing day I'd had. My brain would surely malfunction if I had to interact with another human being. That, of course, meant Frank wanted to talk.

“Arlie? I'd like to come in.” He shuffled his feet on the linoleum outside the door to my room.

“I'm really tired. Can it wait until morning?”

“No, it can't. I'm not trying to invade your space, but I'd like you to respect my request.”

Oh brother
.

I pulled back the door and made a sweeping motion with my arm. “Welcome to my abode.”

The full-size mattress and its plywood platform took up most of the room. A one-foot-wide pathway wound around it, just enough to be able to scoot through to reach the closet. Frank stood awkwardly in the doorway like he couldn't decide where to sit.

“How 'bout the couch,” I suggested. “We'll have more room.”

I tried to look relaxed. But more than anything, I wanted to get on my bike and ride as far away from this conversation as I could.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

“You get home from your therapy appointment two hours later than usual, then Mo shows up and you guys hole up in your room,” he said. “I was worried something came up for you.”

“I'm fine.”

Frank picked at his fingernails, chipped and dirty from construction work. “I just want to know how you're doing. You made it clear you don't want me acting like a father, but you seem to be holding back more and more.”

My uncle had uprooted his life and moved here to be my guardian. I had no idea who and what he'd left behind for me. He asked questions about my life but told me very little about his.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Not used to anyone checking up on me.”

Stupid gut clenched some more.

“What about your mom?”

“What about her?”
Please stop, Frank. Not this, not now
.

“Didn't you guys talk? I mean, you haven't said much about what happened before her death.”

What would I have to share to get Frank to back off? Every so often, he'd start these conversations … little investigations into what life was like with a drug addict. I was surprised he hadn't asked me if I'd ever used or was tempted to use.

“Mom wasn't really capable of that type of relationship. She had problems.”

“That's obvious,” he said. “But did she even act like a mother?”

“It was hard for her.”

“Hard for her? What about the little girl she let get burned in a meth-lab explosion? I mean, what the hell? Who does that?”

I choked back my gasp. I couldn't even enjoy one of the happiest days of my life without talk of Mom ruining it.

“Well, shit. I've done it again,” he said, quieter now. “I'm just so … I don't know … Oh hell.”

When he stopped talking, I thought about taking his hand but changed my mind.

“It's okay. Nothing's black and white. She wasn't all bad, and she wasn't all good,” I said. “I just don't see why I have to talk about it all the time. Isn't it enough that I see a shrink?”

“I want you to be okay.”

“Do you think I'm not okay now?” I pulled back, more curious than defensive.

“Who would be okay with all that you've gone through? The accident alone was bad enough, but Sarah killing herself?”

I'd grown tired of everyone insisting Mom killed herself, but I resisted challenging them. They'd just say my hurt was keeping me from seeing the truth. They didn't realize it was actually scarier to think someone else might have hurt her.

“Why isn't anyone willing to admit it's possible she didn't kill herself?” I braced for the response I knew was coming by the look on Frank's face.

“The coroner declared it a suicide. For chrissakes, she had enough meth in her to kill a horse. It wasn't an accidental OD.”

“I'm not saying she didn't OD.” I'd pulled a thread that was now unraveling the safe, new world I'd just begun to build for myself.

“Then what are you saying?”

“Maybe someone—”

“Maybe someone what?”

“Someone could have killed her,” I whispered.

“Murder? Really? Why do you keep protecting her? Maybe it's time you got angry.”

Frank's wet eyes shone with pity or sadness or something close to it. I didn't need his pity, and I didn't want his advice.

“I
am
angry!” I shouted. “But it's not like I can fight with a corpse.”

“Arlie, I'm sorry.”

“Stop being so sorry for everything,” I said. “I get it. She was worthless. She was selfish, but suicide doesn't make sense.”