Secret Girlfriend (5 page)

Chapter 6

Chris carried the card table down to the field and began unfolding
it next to where I’d put Coach’s binders.

“What did Parker say to you?” he asked.

“Nothing.
He’s just grumpy. Not a
morning person.”

I lied to Chris. Chris Kent. What was I thinking?

I glanced across the field to where Luke stood—arms crossed,
weight shifted on one leg—scowling in our direction. Not even just our
general
direction.
Right
at us.

Chris shoved one of the legs into place and locked it there.
“He’s sniffing around in all the wrong places.”

I honestly didn’t know whether I should be ecstatic or
offended by that statement.

“I’ll talk to him,” Chris continued. “Let him know where he
stands.”

Oh. My. Gosh.

“How are you getting home after morning tryouts?” he asked.

Chris still squatted next to the table, pushing the rusted
legs out and forcing their locks to hold. His hair gleamed in the sunlight and
it took every ounce of unknown willpower I had not to reach out and run my hand
through it.

“I don’t know.” Even I could hear the hope in my voice.
Since Cheryl had driven herself, she wouldn’t need him to take her home.

“Okay. Cool.” He straightened and ran his own hand through
his hair. I watched as every strand fell back in its rightful place. “Let me
know if Parker says anything funny to you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Chris.”

“No problem, babe.” He jogged away, joining the circle of
guys stretching at midfield.

“Whalen,” Coach bellowed at me from a few feet away. “We’re
going to work them hard. I need accurate counts today.”

“No problem, Coach.”

He strode off blowing his whistle and shouting for attention.

For three hours I timed laps, counted shots, blocks and
saves, and generally tracked everything everyone did. At eleven, Coach gathered
the team and glared at them as they stretched—or fought for consciousness—on
the ground before him.

“Men, you’ve made it through the first four sessions.
Tonight is your last free ride. Tomorrow I announce tryout captains and begin
cuts. Go home.
Stretch.
Hydrate. I’ll see you in eight
hours.”

Without another word, he strode off the field. Guys
collapsed on the grass laughing, groaning. I collected the binders and made my
way toward the school.

“Hey, babe.
Wait up.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Chris jogging my direction.

“What did you think of tryouts today?”

“They’re going really well.”

“Yeah?” he
asked,
a surprising
amount of uncertainty in his voice.

The brief show of vulnerability widened my smile.

“You think I’m doing all right?” he continued.

I shifted the binders and laid my free hand on his arm. “I think
you’re doing great. You had a high shot on goal percentage and your times are
really good. He’d be crazy not to name you one of the captains.”

Chris’s gaze dropped to the binders. “Is he making notations
or anything?”

I laughed. The man didn’t even sign his own dailies. He had
me do that. I wasn’t sure Coach
Sarche
knew how to
hold a pen.

“He claims it’s all locked in his head. But at least he’s
going to announce it tomorrow. Sounds like first thing, huh?”

“Yeah.”
Chris glanced down at the
lower field where the cheerleaders still did their jumping around thing. “How
are Parker’s stats?”

Luke’s numbers rivaled Chris’s. One of them took the lead in
every category. Where one snagged first place, the other fell to runner-up.

“I haven’t been paying much attention to everyone else,” I
said.

He stopped and smiled down at me, the one that made my
stomach flip every time.
Every.
Darn.
Time.

“Yeah.
I know. Thanks, babe. I’ll
see you at tonight’s session.”

“Oh.” I looked up at him and caught his eye, trying to keep
the disappointed look off my face.

“You know I’d love to hang out. But Ben is having the
seniors from tryouts and the cheerleaders over.”

“All the seniors?”

“Yeah,” he said, before stopping himself. “Well, you know.
Not
all
the seniors.”

Not me.

Some of the guys filed past us as we stood there, him
waiting for me to say it was okay and me hoping he’d realize he could bring me
with him. No one would probably even notice I was there.

“So,” he drawled. “I have to head in.”

“Okay. Yeah. See you tonight.”

His smile looked more relieved than pleased as he squeezed
my arm then strolled away. I gave myself a moment before following everyone
into the school. Even with all the time we’d hung out after work at the day
camp that summer, we’d never done anything with his friends.

When he’d talked about them, he made them sound like idiots.
Like watching twilight creep in with me at the old
Rec
Center after the campers went home was better than being with them. We were a
one-on-one pair and it was just hard to not get that one-on-one time.

I still had my second favorite place to be. Up until Chris,
it had been my favorite. It had been far too long since I’d spent time there,
since I’d focused on what was important to
my
plan. Get
one
of my eleven paintings
done to submit for college apps.
Just one.
You’d think
I could do that.

Tossing the binders in the locker and slamming it shut, I
turned to find the ever-present Luke Parker standing behind me.

“Hey.
You going to Ben’s pool party?
I guess it’s a seniors’ thing. He even invited me. Nice guy, huh?”

I closed my eyes, just for a second, just to push it all
away and be alone while the new, all-seeing guy towered over me.

“Nope.
I’m not going. You have fun
though. I’m sure it’s a great way to get to know the team.” As if I cared about
that.

I started to walk away. I knew if I didn’t get out of there
like super-quick I’d do something humiliating. And even if I didn’t, Luke’s
frightening ability to read me would have him saying things I didn’t want to
hear again. Not after the way Chris had brushed me off.

“Thanks for the ride this morning,” I called over my
shoulder. “Have fun. See
ya
tonight.”

Chapter 7

The lock slid free with a reassuring snick I hadn’t realized
I’d been listening for. Acrid tinted air washed over me, welcoming, comforting.
I pocketed the keys Mrs. Cleary had given me the last day of school. I guess
part of me had been afraid I wouldn’t be able to get in. That the locks had
been changed or the room moved.
That the far corner—my
corner—had been cleared out.

But there, where I’d left it two months
ago,
was the two-by-three canvas covered by a pale blue cloth tarp. Other works in
differing degrees of completion rested around my corner, my own little world
walled off by the ancient bamboo screen.

Pulling the tarp clear, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The
scene, half finished on the canvas but fully realized in my mind, swam before
me, the two realities overlapping. Blinking away the illusion, I scrutinized
the picture with a critical eye. A woman stood by a stream, a hand raised to
shade her eyes against the sun. The tree was heavy with leaves, the thick grass
dotted with multi-colored flowers. Behind her, a stream flowed by, dragging the
low-hanging willow branches along in its wake. But it was the woman who drew my
attention every time. She was ageless, immortalized by a few strokes of a
brush.

My mother.
Even then, the day we
moved into
Stonehaven
, she was beautiful.

I found the brushes I wanted and set them
aside,
tapping each on the edge of the counter to make sure no drawer dust clung to
the soft bristles. Slipping the keys from my pocket again, I unlocked a cabinet
at the front of the classroom. This was the Art Room Mecca. Ms. Cleary kept the
expensive paints for the students who were serious about their work there.

Freshman year I’d quickly realized the elective I’d thought
to breeze through was the one thing I could count on every day to challenge me.
Mrs. Cleary wouldn’t overlook me. She always asked the tough questions, pushed
to make something better than good enough.

With the paint ready to mix, I plugged in the CD player and
keyed up U2. Not the new stuff, the really powerful older stuff. Cranking the
volume, I left the world of boys and tryouts and seniors and pool parties
outside and closed my eyes, feeling the music all the way to my fingertips.
Against the naked background of my mind I saw the finished painting as I wanted
it to be. As I dreamt it could be.

My mother’s face drifted in and out of focus as I reached
deeper for the more honest memories of our time in
Stonehaven
.
The picture cleared. Opening my eyes, I dabbed at the pallet with a flat brush,
fine tuning the slope of her neck down to the pale, loose sundress like all the
others she lived in that summer.
Detailing.
Shadowing.
Trying to capture that
something that even then couldn’t stop her from being breathtakingly beautiful.
The shadows emerged, giving a reality to the scene I hadn’t been able to
achieve with my other stuff. My own work dragged me in, consuming me.

Maybe it was that the day was hazy. Or maybe I’d done
everything possible to push it from my memory. Either way, the artist in me
struggled to capture her, to hold her on canvas… even as the teenager in me
wished that day six years ago had never happened.

# # #

“Amy Nicole, if you’re not down here in two minutes, you’re
going to school. The elementary school is an easy stop on my way to work.”

Were there ever words crafted to motivate an eleven-year-old
faster?

“Coming!”

I pulled my
Keds
on and sprinted
down the stairs. It was a double-stuff Oreo worthy day. Not only did I get to
skip school, but my mom and dad were staying home too.

It was enough to make a kid suspicious.

Of course, this was all part of the “things are going to
change, we need to spend more time together as a family” kick my parents had
been on for a couple months. They’d started what they’d called “minor
adjustments” right before we’d moved to the little cottage on the river in
Ridge View. Leave it to parents to see ripping me from my friends and moving
several states away as a
minor adjustment
.

In the kitchen, my mom sat at the oversized butcher’s block
table, packing a bunch of food into a basket while my dad played with her hair.

“Hey, are you guys going to be all mushy or are we going on
a picnic?”

My dad turned and grinned at me… he didn’t let go of my mom,
but still. It put a quick stop to anything more.
Like
kissing.
Who wanted to deal with that?

“Are you ready?” Mom asked, as she brushed past my dad to
get some sodas from the fridge.

“Amy-girl.”
My dad reached up and
gave my ponytail a light yank. “Run to the car and get the picnic blanket out
of the trunk.”

Picnics were so perfectly special that, yes, we had a picnic
blanket permanently in the car. You never knew when you’d need to eat outside
and without a table.

But…

“Why am I bringing the blanket in?” It was beautiful out,
and I never bought that whole
if-we-eat-indoors-on-the-floor-we-can-call-it-a-picnic thing.

Dad glanced toward Mom before answering.

“Why would we want to go somewhere else when we haven’t even
explored our own new space?” He threw his hands out wide like a ringmaster in a
circus. All he needed was a top hat and some clowns dancing behind him. But our
new kitchen wasn’t really big enough for dancing clowns. “We have lots of land
and flowers and that big tree with that pretty perfect looking rope swing. Not
to mention the river running by. What more could we want?”

I glanced at my mom. She looked so hopeful.
And tired.
She’d been doing all the unpacking while I’d been
at school, so I guess it was time to suck it up and yard-picnic.

“I’ll go get the blanket.” I called over my shoulder as I
pushed the screen door open, “But this means I get
two
sodas at lunch. And cookies.”

 
Mom and Dad were
already headed down to the river as I slammed the truck shut. Mom had her arm
looped through his, leaning against his side and smiling up at him. They looked
like a couple from an old movie.

Other kids complained about their parents all the time. How
they fought with them, fought with each other, were boring or stupid or
annoying or bossy.

I was one of the lucky ones. I had
great
parents. They’d always told me they had wanted three kids,
but were blessed with one super kid instead. When I was little I thought I was
a super hero and just hadn’t come into my powers yet.

My mom made me a cape.

I wore it.

In public.

No, we do
not
discuss these things.

Dad settled Mom on the blanket and then spread everything
around us, spoiling each of us.
His girls.

I picked one of the flowers bending over the edge of our
blanket. I think they were one of the reasons Mom pushed for this house—a
natural garden painting the river’s edge.

“These flowers are going to be gorgeous. All the silt from
the last time the river flooded has really made the shores fertile.” Mom pulled
a buttercup from its cluster and held it under my chin. “Someone likes butter.”

I made a face, ignoring how both of them laughed.

My
favorite part
of the new house was the rope swing over the river.

Before I could test it out, we had to move everything out of
the way, settle Mom in the lawn chair, and let Dad do the first string testing.
He bounced on the rope a couple times, putting all his weight into it. And
then, super fast, he ran at it, swinging out over the river.

Which would have been great if he’d
grabbed on high enough to not drag his feet through the water on the way back.

Finally he let me on. I hooked my feet over the thick knot
at the bottom and let him push me out and catch me back over and over. Mom held
up her fingers, giving us scores. She was worse than the
America’s Top Model
judges. That last one
so
didn’t deserve a three.

When I was done—okay, when Dad was tired of pushing me—we
flopped down at Mom’s feet and played I-spy with the clouds drifting by.

“So, Amy-girl.”
My dad propped
himself up next to the lawn chair my mother was in. “There’s something your mom
and I need to talk to you about.”

I glanced from one to the other. They both looked worried.
I’d known it was too good to be true.

“Dad, I’m eleven, not stupid.” He rolled his neck to look up
at my mom while I waited. “Seriously, how much worse than moving here could it
be
?”

“Your dad and I moved us here for a very specific reason.”
My mom shifted her hand to lay it on my father’s shoulder. “We want the next
couple months to be a great time for all of us. We wanted to slow things down
and just enjoy our family. There’s a good school here and we’re close to one of
the top hospitals.”

I’d argue with her on the school thing, but…

“Why do we need to be near a great hospital?” My gut
clenched like when you’re at the top of a roller coaster and your brain tells
you for one split second you’re going to fall off the track.

An edgy, grating sound escaped my dad and I shifted to look
at him. His eyes were
glimmery
and focused far off
over my shoulder.

“Amy, I’m sick.” My mom’s hand tightened on Dad’s shoulder
when he covered his eyes and let out something that sounded frighteningly like
a sob.

“Sick, like a really bad cold, right?”
Right?

“No, honey.
Sick like I’m not going
to get better and…” She gave me the saddest smile I’d ever seen. It hurt to
look at coming from my always sunny mother. “And I’m going to get worse.
Pretty quickly.”

My dad really was crying now and I don’t know which scared
me worse.

“No, you’re not.” I mean, that didn’t even make sense.

“Yes, sweetie.
I am.” She looked
healthy. I mean she’d been tired and stuff, but we’d just moved. And she was
sitting there, peaceful. Shouldn’t she be throwing stuff and screaming if she
was dying?

If she was leaving us?

How could she stand it? I couldn’t.

I jumped up, not sure where I was going, and ran. I ran down
our lane and over the bridge that kept us separated from the rest of town. I
don’t even remember which way I turned, I just ran like I’d find an escape.
The sound of my
Keds
slapping on the
ground, the huffing of my breath, the too loud pounding of my heart pushing
everything else out of my head.

I’m not sure when I stopped. I ran until I had to walk and I
walked until my legs gave out. Someone called my dad and he came and got me.
Not one word about running out on the family. Not one word about Mom dying.

Yeah, that was a day for the history books.

Years later, that was the day I tried to capture on canvas.
The first part, the flowers and my mom’s soft smile.
The rest?
Not so much.

# # #

It wasn’t until the music switched off that I realized I
wasn’t alone in the art room anymore. The sudden silence snapped me back to today,
the painting in front of me a faded study of a faded memory.

Glancing up, I funneled my sadness into an anger I didn’t
know I had in me. It pounded through my body and over every nerve ending like a
summer rain, hard and deafening. When I saw Luke Parker standing there, looking
around as if he’d never seen a high school art room before, I almost threw my
brushes at him.

“
What
are you
doing here?” I didn’t have the time or energy to show him any type of patience.
This was
my
place.
My
sanctuary.
And wasn’t he supposed to be at a stupid seniors-only pool
party?

“I thought I’d see what was so interesting you’d skip
hanging out with your
boyfriend
and
his buddies.”

I swung toward the jar of soapy water and swirled my brush
until it came away clean. Without facing him, I answered. “He’s not my
boyfriend.”

Luke was closer than I expected when he replied.

“No. You aren’t his girlfriend, but I’m not so sure about
the other way around.”

The sound of his footsteps neared and I spun to face him as
he moved to step past the easel, to come around to my side of the painting.
My space behind the canvas.
I raised a hand in front of me,
the movement so abrupt it caught his attention.

“Stop,” I said. “No more.”

I shook my head at the words.
No more.
No more questions. No more pushing. No more steps toward
the only four square feet of Earth I considered my own.

Most people would have pushed, urged me to let them see,
questioned
why they couldn’t.

Luke’s gaze didn’t leave mine. It didn’t slide toward the
canvas trying to catch a peek of what I worked on. He just nodded once and
stepped back.

My breath rushed out in a huff. “Thank you.”

He nodded again, as if he got it.

“So, this is what you do? Where you go?”

“If you mean, do I come here to get my painting done, then the
answer is yes.”

“No. I meant
,
this is where you
come to hide and work things out? Where even the few people you can’t hide from
leave you alone?”

I stilled to the point of fearing my heart had stopped.

“How dare you.” I came around the canvas at him. “How dare
you show up a few days ago and provoke and question me about my entire life.
You don’t know
anything
.”