Collateral Damage (8 page)

"I know. I mean, I hate that he and Mattie couldn't be together. They deserved to be happy, you know?" She pauses a moment, thinking. "I couldn't imagine not being with the person I had feelings for. And then not being able to tell people about my feelings. It would suck."

"Yeah," I reply. But then I remember Ethan—his life—how he should've pushed for more, something better. "But it's more than that. He was smart. He had plans. He wanted to get out of town and actually be somebody. Then his parents get sick and he has to come home and take care of the farm. When they finally die he's lonely, so he marries Zeena to keep him company. Everything is cold and sad. I don't know. You have to feel bad for a guy who wanted so much for himself and ended up with nothing."

She eyes me carefully, brows pulling together. "Wow," she mutters.

"What?"

"It's just that...that was really insightful."

I can't hide my smile. "You're surprised I'm capable of thought-provoking conversation."

"No," she replies, returning my grin. "So...they're poor." She writes this in her notebook.

"Zeena is sick and crabby," I add.

"Mattie is Ethan's only happiness."

I clasp my fingers behind my head, propping it up. "You know...I don't think Ethan did it on purpose," I say, thinking aloud.

"Did what?"

"Fell for Mattie."

"Why not?"

"Because I just don't think he did. I don't think you can control something like falling in love."

"You think it just happens?" she asks. "Unplanned? Unannounced?"

"I think you fall in love with someone when you least expect to—when it's the last thing you want. That's what's so great about it."

She blinks a few times at this, and I know something I've said surprises her. She shifts in her chair and clears her throat, nervous. "Have, um, you ever been in love before?"

That's kind of a personal question, isn't it? My eyes narrow, squinting back. "Why do you ask?"

"Insight," she replies, shoulders lifting easily. "I was just wondering if you were speaking from experience."

Immediately I think of Callie. Callie, who I've told I loved a million times. Callie, who I'm practically living with on weekends. Callie, who I've dated for four years. Callie, who is planning our wedding.

But Jaden can't know about Callie. No one can.

"Nah. What about you?"

Her arms fold across her chest, and I hope she's not getting defensive when she just asked me the exact same question. "Why do you wanna know?"

Because you asked me," I point out. "It's only fair, right?" Jaden sits straighter, thinking, and I wait for the acknowledgement—that she and Blake Hanson are madly in love—that there will never be another who understands her as well as he does. She might even throw out the words "soul mate." I think I'd like to hear it, coming from her lips. The confirmation. Then I can feel sorry for them both.

"No, I don't think so."

I suppress a laugh. "It's not fair? Or you've never been in love?"

"Love," she answers, matter of fact.

Shit. That's not what I expected to hear. Not even close. I struggle to mask the shock I know is written all over my face—in my voice. "Not even with Blake Hanson?"

Her face pales a little, though I can't tell if it's from the name or if I'm just now noticing the horrible lighting in this room. She stares at her notes, lost in thought.... And she doesn't answer.

Not even with Blake Hanson.

My God. How long have they been dating? A year? And she doesn't even love the guy? That is seriously jacked up. How can she not see how jacked up that is? "I'll take that as a resounding no."

"Of course I love Blake," she sputters. But she refuses to look me in the eye, and I'm not convinced. After all, you can't bullshit a bullshitter.

"You didn't say you did," I point out.

She shakes her head, finds the courage to latch her gaze onto mine—her green eyes on fire. But she hesitated. She knows she screwed up. Maybe she even knows what a prick her boyfriend is. Honestly? I'm relieved.

"I don't have to," she says. "It's understood."

Understood? What does that even mean?

"I asked if you'd ever been in love, and you said no."

"I love Blake." Her forehead creases a tiny bit, as if feeling these words for the first time. As if even now she doesn't know what to make of them. They're foreign to her. Unfamiliar. She doesn't love Blake Hanson. She's not even pretending to.

"Then why didn't you just come out and say it? Why did you even have to think about it?" I ask.

"I have a right to think about it."

"If you really love someone you shouldn't have to think about anything. You should
want
to say it. It's not difficult."

Her cheeks turn pink. "That's absurd. I'd know if I was in love, right?"

"I would think that you should," I reply.

"Okay, then." She turns her attention back to her notes.

I fight back a smile at the realization that this girl has been dating the same guy for a year and she doesn't even know if she loves him. Poor Blake—perpetually stuck on first base. No wonder he's so anal. Maybe I should cut him some slack.

"Why are you doing that?" she asks, annoyed.

I can't help it—I can't stop smiling. "What?"

Her fingers tighten to fists. "That. Laughing at me."

"Why are you getting so defensive?"

"I'm not defensive," she insists.

"Do you love Blake? It's a simple question. I don't know what the big deal is." The harder I smile the more flustered she becomes. I almost hate having so much fun at her expense. Almost. "Yes or no, Jade?"

"Yes...No...I mean...." She heaves a troubled sigh.

Mission accomplished.

I lean back in my chair. "You don't love Blake Hanson. In fact, you don't even know why you're with him anymore."

"Really? Then tell me, Parker. Why am I still with him? Please. Enlighten me." She rolls her eyes for effect, but the damage is done and she knows it.

"You're with him because he's
safe
. You're happily stuck in your little comfort zone. You've been with him for so long you don't even know why you're together anymore, but you'll never let him go because he's so dependable. It's a relationship of pure convenience." I tip the chair back on two legs, hovering comfortably. "The cheerleader and head basketball player. I mean...can you
get
any more stereotypical? I bet you go out for pizza every Saturday night, too. And sometimes he calls just to tell you good night."

"I don't cheer for basketball," she says. She doesn't deny the rest.

"It's basic, Jade. What you need is a little excitement in that monotonous life of yours, and I doubt Blake Hanson provides that for you."

"Blake is a nice guy. He's...perfect."

Yeah, Blake Hanson is a nice guy like I'm going to be nominated Prom King.

Wait. Did she call him perfect?

If I'd eaten any lunch, I would've hurled it by now. "Perfect. Really," I say, disbelieving.

"Yes."

"Blake is boring."

"You said I was boring," she reminds me.

"My point exactly."

"How did we even get on this? I thought we were talking about
Ethan Frome
."

"We were...until
you
asked me if I've ever been in love."

She clears her throat, swallows hard. "What did you think of the cat?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Creepy. Like Zeena incarnate."

C
HAPTER
N
INE

I slip into the throng of students filling the halls, maneuvering through the crowd, pushing against the flow. I'm halfway to my locker when I hear it. Over the shouts and squeals and conversations—the chaos that is a high school hallway between periods—there is one, gentle laugh that soars above the rest.

I know this sound.

And, when I glance to my right, I see Jaden. A quick glimpse of that smile, her pink nose and pale lips, as if she's just returned from outside. She disappears in a classroom, Blake by her side. He stops at the door, leaning against the frame.

So not only is Blake perfect, according to Jade, but they are clearly the perfect couple. Considerate enough not to make out in front of their lockers. Never flashing their relationship status in front of those less fortunate. I'll bet they've never even had a fight.

But she doesn't love him.

Because if she did, she'd make out with him in front of her locker between every period. She'd tell everyone she met that she belongs to Blake and he to her. And they'd fight like hell, because fighting requires passion, and love
is
passion. When the fighting stops—when the passion's gone—that's when things fall apart.

I continue past them, pressing on.

At the end of the day I hover at my locker, taking my time changing out books, listening to conversations around me.

Someone's grounded.

Parents are so unfair.

Someone else failed Coleman's biology quiz.

My boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is a total bitch.

Jesus. These kids can't all be clean. They found a pile of drugs on campus last year, for God's sake. Someone at this school knows
something
about
someone
. I need specifics.

I scan the hall. Two lockers down there's a guy—small and skinny—with these untamable curls hanging in his face, hiding him from the world. He has this perpetually lost, loser thing going. I'd swear he was a freshman if he wasn't in the senior hallway—not the kind of guy I'd typically seek out for information, but I'm running out of options.

Parker Whalen is about to get social.

"Hey, man," I call. He and his friend continue their conversation, ignoring me, so I try again. "Hey."

His friend nudges him with his elbow, eyes wide, and whispers: "Dude, I think he's talking to you."

The kid turns toward me, tosses the hair from his eyes with a practiced shake of his head. "Yeah?"

"Hey," I repeat. "So is there like, anything to do in this God-forsaken town?"

He eyes me warily, not understanding. "Like...what do you mean?"

"Things to do? On weekends?"

"Play video games. Chat," his friend offers, shrugging casually.

"I mean like parties. You know, don't people hang out after ball games? On Saturday nights?"