If I Stay (11 page)

“I guess maybe it's just me, then,” she said. “I sort of like him.”

“You and every other girl,” I told her. “See you in class, Darcy.”

I swept out in one swift step, running down the hall and ignoring the fact that I knew people were watching me. I probably looked as disheveled in that moment as I felt. And even when I spotted Ben, whose eyebrows raised when he spotted my new ensemble, I didn't want to stay and chat.

“You changed,” he remarked, stopping me short. I tried to catch my breath before speaking.

“Work clothes,” I choked. “I work at the mall. And I'm actually running late, so I need to go.”

“Wait, Gemma -” he started, but I didn't wait. Instead, I ran down the hall and out the doors before he could say my name again.

When Sacha picked up the phone, I was pacing around the back room of the store, waiting for the precise (because it could never be a minute sooner) moment to clock in.

“We're still on for tonight, right?” he asked. “You're not canceling on me, are you?”

“No,” I answered. “I just need to clear my head before work. I swear, Sacha. Am I a mental case?”

“Why would you think that?” he asked. I groaned inwardly, silently. I couldn't tell him everything, obviously, and so I simply said:

“I'm just so confused over...emotions. Toby emotions. Family emotions. Moving on emotions. Future emotions...”

Professor Lawson Emotions
.

“...and I feel like my confusion is turning me into a total mess of a wreck. I literally ran out of the bathroom before coming here. And you know who saw me?”

“Who saw you?”

“Ben. I mean, Professor Lawson. I mean...I'm not kidding, Sacha. I feel so mortified that I might die.”

“Trust me, nobody's dying today. You're just embarrassed. Take a deep breath.”

I did, and another. And another after that.

“Okay,” I croaked. “That's a little better.”

“See?” he said brightly. “Gems, everyone has those days where we feel like a total train wreck. I mean, look at Brandon. And he gets by just fine.”

I laughed.

“Barely.”

“Well, even so. Gems, you're too full of life to let these worries get you down. I've been concerned about you. Brandon, too.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“No, Gems,” he corrected. “I sound like someone who cares.”

“You always make me feel better,” I said. “Thanks for listening to my crazy spout before work.”

“Well, it's not like I've anything better to do in the next fifteen minutes before next class. I'm glad you bothered me.”

“I'm glad you're glad that I bothered you. I'll see you later.”

Click.

With the phone in my hands, I decided to shoot my mom a text, just to let her know that I loved her. She appreciated those little things, and I did still feel bad about leaving her so abruptly.

Sliding the time-card through the almost debit-like system, I punched in and started my shift, happy for once to be manning the fitting room so that I didn't need to deal with customers at the registers. I happily sought out items and delighted myself with picking up the hundreds of swimsuits from the stalls. Even the sound of giggling teenagers gave me a strangely warm feeling.

It's funny how just a pleasant phone-call can turn even embarrassment around, I guess. I popped in my headphones, deciding to lighten the workload with a little music, and danced here and there as I hung up returned clothes on their respective racks and folded unwanted items. I'd switched from Metric to Carly Rae Jepsen's
Call Me Maybe
which made me feel even better. Sillier, even. In those moments, I'd managed to forget, at least for the time being, Darcy and her prying eyes, or how much I was struggling to come to terms with my uncertain future, or how I wanted things that I just couldn't have. I was able to let go for a little while.

That is, until Life smacked me straight across the head.

“Gemma.”

I immediately snapped around. And there Ben was, standing in the dressing room like his sudden appearance at my work was
completely
normal.

“Hey,” he said. He was still in his dress clothes, save for a hooded sweatshirt that was zipped up and covering his button-down and tie. He smiled, his head tilted just slightly to the side as he seemed to savor the look of sheer shock on my face.

So goes my life
.

ELEVEN

“You know,” I stammered, still frozen by the look of amusement that stretched across his mouth in a totally boyish grin. “It's highly unprofessional for a professor to stalk a student. Particularly at their place of work.”

He laughed, and for a second I was worried that someone might overhear us. Which would somehow, as logic would see it, inevitably end in my secret relationship of sorts with Ben being outed. He'd lose his job. I'd get kicked out of school. It would be terrible.

However, paranoia aside, there was nobody around to spy. It was only us and the stack of clothes I was folding. We were safely secluded.

“Then I suppose it's a good thing that I only came to return something to you,” he said, withdrawing a book from behind his back. His book – well,
my
book, technically. I owned it. “You left this on my desk. And to defend my stalking, you did run away when I attempted to give it to you in the halls earlier. Besides, it's not like I came straight to this store after following you in a line of ridiculous traffic. I window shopped.”

Oh
. I blushed. He watched me, still holding a shirt in my hands, looking fondly amused.

“Do you like it here?” he asked. I shrugged.

“It's a job.”

“Yeah,” he glanced around. “At one point, I held down three jobs while completing college. It sucked.”

I grinned, liking that every once and awhile he would slip up and talk like a normal person, saying little things like
suck
or
awesome
. He wasn't Benjamin Hugo Lawson, then. He was Ben. Just Ben.

“How old are you?” I asked, hoping for an appropriate answer. “I never asked.”

“Twenty-six,” he said. “Why? Is that too old?”

“Does it matter?”

I moved away, bringing my stack of clothes over to a shelf in one of the empty fitting rooms that was reserved for returned items that couldn't be put back out for purchase. Things with deodorant stains, or bathing suits with the stickers torn off the bottoms, which was really quite gross. He followed me, his eyes moving around and dancing over the mirrors that made even attempting to escape Ben possible. He was everywhere at once.

“You know, you're fun to watch dance,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Oh God,” I muttered. “You did NOT watch me dance, did you?”

He laughed, his smile splitting so that his perfect teeth showed. Even the slightly imperfect ones that were still, in my Oxycotin over-driven mind, perfect.

“It was great. I'd love to dance with you.”

“I don't...” I started, feeling my face grow warm. “I don't actually dance, though.”

“What if I asked you to right now?” he was still smiling. “I love this song.”

The song only played about a million times throughout the afternoons when parents were still shopping: Deep Blue Something's
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. We swapped the soundtrack out in the early evening for Generation Y.

“Are you kidding?” My mouth gaped open slightly, and when I looked down, I saw that I'd dropped the clothes I was holding.

“Just for a second. I don't want to distract you for too long. You are working, after all.”

“And that would be
highly
unprofessional,” I added.

The grin on his face was priceless. I only wish I could have captured it. Or better, if Sacha
could have somehow captured it.

Ben pulled me against him, twirling me around under his arms as we awkwardly danced, him towering over me, the two of us laughing like children. I couldn't believe I was dancing in a store dressing room, of all things, when the fantasies could have been running limitless.

And yet it was entirely wonderful, the sheer innocence of it all.

“I've never done that before,” I admitted, and he asked:

“What? Danced in a dressing room? Me either.”

“Well, minus the dressing room part,” I said. “I've never really danced with anyone.”

Which was true. I'd skipped my senior prom, and the only real dance I remember was in middle school, when on Fridays they'd hold these dances at the local church for the eighth graders only. I only ever went to one, and left immediately appalled at just how promiscuous a bunch of fourteen year olds could be.

“No,” I continued quietly. “But that was really fun.”

He smiled, brushing the hair from my face. We looked at each other warmly until our stare was broken by the sound of a small cough, sending me rocketing into the air. I swear, my head nearly hit the ceiling.

“Gems?” My boss, who was really just about my age, looked rather confused. An appropriate reaction, I suppose. “Everything okay?”

“It's fine,” I muttered, kneeling down and collecting the items that I'd dropped on the floor. “I was just catching up with an old acquaintance. Everything's all set for now, though. I put the returns away. I'm really sorry.”

I hated rambling. An unshakable curse that choked me whenever I was nervous. I stumbled with my words like a complete idiot. Thankfully, my boss interrupted.

“Well, we need to cut some hours off the schedule, unfortunately,” he said. “So I was wondering if you'd actually fancy a break?”

“Like, a long lunch or something?”

“More like taking the rest of the day off,” he smiled, attempting to make it seem, I'm sure, like he was genuinely doing me a favor. “But we'll see you on Wednesday.”

“Oh,” I fell flat. “Well, alright. If you need the hours cut.”

“I really appreciate it, Gems. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” I tried to smile. “It's fine.”

Ben followed me to the door that lead to the back room, where I changed out of my work shirt and into what I'd been previously wearing: a cream-colored quarter-sleeve just thin enough to show the black camisole beneath. I clocked out, buttoned up my coat, and with my bag in tow (the book included) I stormed through the door and out of the store with Ben right behind my footsteps.

“You seem upset,” he remarked, concerned. “How important is this job?”

“Very,” I muttered, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. I slowed my pace a little, and the two of us walked, side by side, through the rest of the mall. Which was nice, in its own small way. I enjoyed the noise and the people that were so busy with their own shopping that for this small instance, we could go unnoticed. “But don't worry. Things will be fine.”

He looked displeased as he held the door open, the wind immediately whipping my hair into a mess of golden-strawberry waves. Ben walked me to my car, and I bid him a small wave. However, when I went to unlock the door, I heard him mumble:

“Oh, no.”

“What?” I asked.

His eyes were on my tires, where kneeling down, with my awesome luck, I saw that the back left tire was completely flat. “Oh, Jesus. You've got to be kidding me.”

I straightened immediately back up.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked, straightforward. For a second, Ben appeared startled.

“I'm not sure,” he answered. “But I struggle to believe in coincidence, that's certain.”

I stood quietly, uncaring about the fact that the air was cold and my feet were sore and my freaking tire was flat. Of all things. Like I could afford a new tire.

“You didn't do this, did you?”

I was joking, of course. But he still seemed just slightly insulted.

“How could I?” he asked, innocently enough. “I didn't even know what your car looked like until right this second.”

“Well...” I sighed heavily, locking the car again and staring down at my stupid feet. “Could I maybe have a ride home?”

“You don't ever have to ask for my help, Gemma,” he said warmly, motioning for me to follow. “Just let me know. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, but we're still sort of strangers.”

“I think we're well past that point,” he replied coolly, his eyes scanning over the cars that were packed along the lot. “And are you sure that car is actually...” he paused, quickly making it seem like he was searching for his keys, but I knew he was just selecting his next words carefully. “...safe to drive?”

“What do you mean?” I asked defensively. “I love my car. It was a gift from my grandmother when she stopped driving it.”

“Well, that was very kind,” he said. Although I could tell he wanted to say something else. “I loved my first car. It was a piece of junk, but I adored it.”

“What are you driving now?”

Ben practically glowed, pointing a finger to the vehicle that rested just a few cars down from where we stood. My jaw nearly hit the ground.

“What is it?” I ran over, completely enamored by how sleek this car was. And I didn't even consider myself a car person. I knew nothing about them. “It's like a silver bullet.”

“It's an Audi. Beautiful, no?”

Ben said
Audi
like he had something sweet on his tongue. He unlocked the doors promptly, holding the door open as I clambered inside. Even the interior smelled divine. Like leather and something musky, rich.

“This is just so neat!” I had to restrain myself from touching the windows as he slid in next to me and started the engine. “I'm sorry. It's just that I've never been in a car this nice before.”

“Another first?” he grinned. “I like this. I like showing you these firsts. I like seeing your face when you're all surprised.”

“Like on the first day of class?”

He laughed, and turning out of the parking lot he handed me his iPod.

“Something like that,” his eyes crinkled softly. “You're welcome to play something, if you'd like.”

I scrolled through the music selection, settling on something by The Shins, and we drove together for a little while in silence. As the song came to a close, he asked, randomly:

“What was your favorite book when you were a child?”

“Huh?” I was honestly thrown off guard, but I took a moment to think about it. “Picture book or just text?”

“Either or,” he answered quickly. I frowned.

“Well, it's probably a tie between
Goodnight Moon
or
Where the Wild Things Are
. No question. What about you?”

“Easy,” he said, laughter in his voice. “
James and the Giant Peach
.”

“I saw the film Matilda when I was younger,” I felt just a little embarrassed. “But I've never read any of his books.”

“Oh, you absolutely must. I have a copy of it somewhere in my office. Matilda, too.”

“You still have a copy?”

“I keep all my books,” he said, sounding proud and maybe something deeper. “I don't think I could ever get rid of them.”

“Were they gifts?” I asked. He was quiet as he turned the corner.

“Yes,” he answered softly. “From my mother.”

I looked at him, watching as he drove with his hands resting gently on the steering wheel, like the car was capable of driving itself. He looked back at me, smiling.

“What is she like?” I asked, wondering if I should have used the present tense. Worrying that maybe it wasn't my place to ask, and maybe the topic upset him.

But instead, he just sighed.

“She was wonderful, beautiful, and very kind. She never yelled, either.” He said the last part with a certain loss in his tone. “She was my favorite person in the whole wide world.”

“Did she like to read?”

“Oh, yes. She loved to read. I suppose you could say that's where I've developed my fondness for books.” He stopped at a red light, turning to me. “You know, your artwork is really something else. I saw some of your pieces hanging in the Student Center. Where did you learn to draw?”

“I just sort of started on my own,” I told him. “It was really one of those scenarios where ever since I was little, I was always drawing. Crayons, pencils, pens. Whatever was available.”

“You absolutely must do something with it,” he said, and I was surprised at how serious he sounded. “You are far too talented to leave that school and do nothing with your work.”

“Thanks,” I said, then called for him to take the next left. “But I'm still sort of figuring out the whole life-after-college thing.”

All of a sudden, he stopped at the curb. The curb where from a distance I could see the Haunted McMansion, gates and all. And with the clouds rolling in, it looked particularly ominous beneath the dark afternoon sky. Ben caught me staring, proceeding to pass a quick look at the house. But he seemed otherwise oddly uninterested. Most people were enthralled by the giant, Tim Burton-like structure.

“I've always wanted to visit that mansion,” I told him. “Brandon thinks it's haunted.”

Ben laughed, reaching out and resting his hand on my shoulder.

“It's not haunted,” he said. “Believe me, there are no ghosts. No ghouls, or goblins. I did see a stray black cat wandering around the gates at one point, though.”

I snapped back to him, my pupils likely shrunk to the size of a pin-head.