Reckoning (15 page)

But I know I can’t rely on Rachel forever. I’m not a little girl anymore. And she’s right. I need to do this. If I can’t walk into a party full of people I know, how on earth am I going to face college, or whatever lies beyond that?

I glance down at my hand, remembering what Lovell said about my so-called courage. I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans. I guess I’m about to find out if there’s any truth to it.

Walking slowly toward the house, I start to see familiar faces and some of my tension begins to fade. I glance nervously behind me before stepping through the doorway. No prickling. No buzzing. So far, so good.

As I step into the interior, I can’t believe the amount of people. They are spilling out of every room, pocketed in groups in corners, talking animatedly on chairs and sofas, wandering between rooms.

My eyes scan the rooms in search of Rick. An entryway tiled in elongated sections of dark slate, opens to a large living area on the left. There is a dining room to the right, dominated by a long, dark wooden table laden with food. A matching sideboard contains paper plates and plastic utensils. A few steps in front of me, a beautiful staircase with an intricate wrought iron railing curves up to the second level. Toward the back of the house I can see a large kitchen with a set of double doors open to the back patio. I sigh, having no idea where to look first.

Opting for the living room, I move to the left, and the first person I see is Steph Henderson, leaning against the back of a plush beige sofa, talking to two boys I recognize from the football team. Great. I should have known she would be here. There’s no way someone like her would miss something like this.

Throwing her head back, she laughs a little too loudly at something one of the boys says. Sweeping her hair to the side, her eyes land on me. She murmurs something to her companions who glance at me with a smirk, before peeling herself off the sofa and walking slowly towards me.

“Kat?” she says, looking at me in disbelief. She is wearing a silky white low-cut halter dress, the skirt split halfway up her thigh. Her shining blonde hair is draped over one perfectly tanned shoulder. Large silver hoop earrings dangle from her ears. “What are you doing here?”

“Rick invited me.” I hold my head up, determined not to feel embarrassed.

“You’re kidding, right?
You
know
Rick
?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Yeah. I do.” I surprised by how even my voice sounds.

“Huh,” she says, eyeing me up and down like I’m some kind of vagrant who’s just wandered in from the street. “I find that surprising.”

“Really?” I shrug nonchalantly, a deep-seated anger beginning to uncurl itself in my gut.

“Oh, well. I always knew he got around. I guess I just never realized how far.”

What is that supposed to mean? I ignore the remark, trying to control the sudden urge I have to pull back my arm and punch her solidly in the mouth, smearing the cherry-red lipstick across her face. Smiling icily, I say, “Well, you know. People get tired of the same old thing.”

Her eyes narrow, and she gives me a thin smile before two of her bobble-headed cronies call to her to join them. Looking me up and down again, she says, “Have a good time,” snickering as though the mere idea is a complete impossibility. She walks back to the couch, her flip-flops slapping against her heels.

I turn away in disgust. Bitch.

Glancing toward the kitchen, I wonder if I should head in that direction, when a tall boy with an extremely thick neck and broad shoulders approaches me, his scalp shining brightly beneath his buzz cut.

“You must be Kat,” he says, smiling and nodding.

“Um, yeah, I am,” I answer.

“Rick said to watch for you. I think he just went upstairs. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Oh. OK. Thanks.”

I watch as he takes the stairs two at a time, a ripple of excitement surging through me at the thought that Rick had asked someone to keep an eye out for me. Unsure of where to wait, I wander into the dining room in search of something to drink.

“Hey, Kat. I’m so glad you came.”

I turn around in surprise, my gut squeezing tighter at the sight of Rick, looking wonderful in a layered polo shirt, loose-fitting jeans and flip-flops.

“Can I get you something to drink? Soda, juice, water?”

“Ginger ale would be great, if you have it.”

“You got it. Drinks are out back in the cooler. If you want to come with me…” His voice trails off and he looks at me inquiringly, almost as if he’s reluctant to leave me alone. I smile and nod, hoping my unease doesn’t show that much.

A boy with short, dark hair walks by, carrying a bottle of beer. Suddenly, an arm reaches out, snatching it from him. “Nice try, Matthews. But it’s not happenin’.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Laurent,” the boy pleads. “I’ll be eighteen next month. You know I’ve had beer before.”

“Not in my house, you haven’t. And you won’t be. Not for another ten years, at least.”

Rick laughs, patting his friend on the back. “Better luck next time, Mitch.” Mitch sighs, and drooping his shoulders, heads back through the kitchen.

“He never stops trying,” Rick says, shaking his head. Turning to the man who had brought Mitch’s beverage consumption to a screeching stop, he says, “Hey, Dad. This is Kat.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Kat, this is my Dad.”

Mr. Laurent extends his hand. “Tom Laurent. Nice to meet you, Kat.” He smiles warmly. Tall and thin, with short sandy-blonde hair, and familiar dark brown eyes, the resemblance to Rick is unmistakable.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Glad you could come. Hey, Rick, throw some more soda in the cooler, would you? I’ve got to go upstairs and make sure no one’s making use of the bedrooms. If you know what I mean.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink before jogging up the stairs.

I laugh and follow Rick out to the back patio. He grabs a ginger ale from the cooler before guiding me to an empty chair beside a gently glowing fire-pit. The odor of wood smoke and grilled meat fills the air. “I’ll take care of the soda and be right back,” he says.

I nod and watch him dash through a door that I guess leads to the garage. Sipping my soda, I take stock of my surroundings, too filled with tension to sit. The music I’d heard earlier is louder in the back, flowing from invisible speakers as a steady dance rhythm pulses into the evening air. Dozens of people mingle across the stone terrace, their voices competing with the volume of the music. Several feet away, three girls that I recognize from school are dancing barefoot on the lawn. A group of parents are seated around a table to my right, playing cards. Several boys walk past me and head toward the back fence, tossing a football. Glancing to my left, I spot an older woman looking at me curiously and smiling. Giving her a quick smile in return, I look away, self-consciously smoothing the front of my shirt.

Fighting the urge to make a quick escape, I continue to glance around surreptitiously. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if PJ suddenly appeared, one limb or another entangled with Rick, thereby ringing the death knell for any hopes I had for this evening. Faint as they are, they are the only things keeping my feet momentarily rooted to the spot. But one glimpse of her, and I’m gone. I am
not
going to be the girl chasing after someone else’s boyfriend.

When Rick reemerges from the garage, alone, I breathe a sigh of relief. He dumps a box full of sodas into several coolers before hurrying back over to me.

“So how’s it goin’?” he asks. “Any trouble getting here?”

“No. Not at all. My friend Rachel dropped me off.”

“That’s cool. You should have brought her.”

“Oh, I would have, but some stuff came up and she couldn’t make it.” No need to go into detail. “You have a nice house,” I say, changing the subject.

“Thanks. We’ve only been here a year. My dad designed it. He’s an architect.”

“Really? That’s awesome.”

One of the boys with the football runs up to Rick. “Come on, Laurent. We’re gonna run some plays.”

“No, thanks. I’ll catch up with you later,” Rick says.

The boy glances at me then smiles, shoving Rick playfully in the back of the head. “Yeeaahhhh.”

Rick laughs and looks at me apologetically, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry. They’re kind of crazy sometimes.”

I smile. “That’s OK.”

“So, how’s…” Rick starts to say, when the thick-necked boy from earlier walks up wanting to know if Rick has seen Danielle. “No. But check the basement. I think a bunch of people went down to play some pool.” The boy nods and heads back to the house.

Suddenly the music increases in volume, the bass thumping loudly.

“You want to take a walk or something?” Rick asks, raising his voice. “Find somewhere a little quieter?”

I nod, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering madly. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

I follow Rick to the back of the yard, carefully avoiding the group of boys lunging at one another and hoping I’m not about to be smacked in the back of the head with a poorly aimed football. We slip through a gate and into a dimly lit back alley, and I feel a slight sense of trepidation, wondering if I should be doing this. I really don’t know Rick, after all. Although I’ve seen him at school, he’s virtually a stranger. He could turn out to be a total jerk with some sick ideas about finding somewhere ‘quieter.’ As much as I want to be alone with him, maybe it would be better to stay at the party. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, wondering if I’m making the right decision. But a quick glance at his face as he secures the gate reassures me. There is an openness and honesty about him that I just…trust. I silently let out my breath and try to relax.
Just go with it for a change, Kat.

He turns to me, and smiles. “There’s this common area just a few blocks down the street. We can walk over there, if you want.”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

He turns to the right and I fall into step beside him as we make our way past the backs of garages and houses, their windows throwing weak light into the alley, before emerging onto a quiet, tree-lined street. I can see the common in the distance, a green expanse of grass glowing softly beneath the light from old-fashioned, globular streetlamps.

Rick chats easily as we walk, talking about the party and how it grew from just a few friends to most of his classmates and teammates. “I’d actually thought about not doing it.”

“Really? Why?” I look at him in surprise.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. “I thought that it was too big. I wanted it to be just a few friends, but then it got to the point if I invited this person, then I had to invite that person, and on and on. But Skipper convinced me it would be awesome. So…massive party.”

“Skipper?” I look at him with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. He’s one of my best friends. He’s really cool. His real name’s Scott. But we’ve just always called him Skipper.”

“Why? Is he like your leader, or captain, or something?” I ask, surprised at the effortlessly teasing tone of my voice.

“No,” Rick laughs. “Not exactly. He actually got his name because he can’t skip.”

“Seriously?” I burst into laughter.

“Yeah,” Rick says, nodding and laughing. “He used to tell people he picked up the name when he went to Sea Camp when he was ten.”

I nod in understanding. “Well, that makes for a better story, I guess.”

“True that.”

We cross the street and enter the park, heading towards a wood and iron bench beneath a large maple tree. The leaves rustle gently in the evening breeze, and I catch the sweet scent of night-blooming moonflowers and nicotiana.

“I’m really glad you could come tonight, Kat,” he says, turning to me. A tentative smile turns up the corners of his lips.

“Me, too,” I reply, wondering if the erratic pounding of my heart sounds as loud to him as it does to me. “Actually, I was surprised you asked me.”

“Really?”

I nod, taking a seat on the bench.

Rick reaches up and pulls a leaf from the tree, tearing it into tiny pieces he absently tosses to the ground. The smile on his lips grows wider. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while. Quite a while, actually. But never could seem to find the right time. So I kind of figured maybe the party would be a good idea.”

I look at him, my eyes widening, wondering if I heard him correctly.
He’d wanted to ask me out for a while?
“Seriously?”

He nods. “I just didn’t know if you’d be interested or not.” He tosses the shredded carcass of the leaf aside, reaching for another one. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

I look at him, my brows drawing together in confusion. What is he talking about? Remember him? From where? “What do you mean?”

“Kelver Middle School? Drama club? Seventh grade? We did that production of Little Shop of Horrors.” He looks at me expectantly, a glint of humor in his eyes.

I search my brain, trying to remember anything from that play. I’d only gotten involved with drama club after my parents had forced me, convinced I was too shy and quiet, doomed to a life of eternal solitude. Middle school had pretty much sucked for me, so I’d tried to forget most of it. But forget Rick Laurent? Not a chance. “We were in middle school together?”

He nods. I think about the play and the cast, and all the hours of rehearsal, but I can’t place Rick in any of it.

“I wasn’t actually in the play,” Rick says, correctly interpreting the confusion on my face. “I was one of the scene builders. But I knew who you were. I used to hang out in the auditorium hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you.”

“I can’t believe I don’t remember you,” I say, floundering and searching frantically through the recesses of my memory, trying and repeatedly failing to place Rick in a time and place in my past. “I don’t even remember anyone named Rick in drama club.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t, because there wasn’t one. I went by Alex back then. Alexander’s my middle name. I didn’t like the name Richard, and I was sick of everyone calling me Ricky. So I went with Alex. I thought it sounded pretty cool at the time.”