Sway (11 page)

He looks down at me with a grin and holds out a hand to help me out of the car. “I parked around back. We’ll be less likely to be bombarded by rug rats if we sneak in this way.”

“Wait—can you do that?”

He shrugs. “You can if you work here.” He seems slightly embarrassed, but the news both surprises and thrills me. Caleb doesn’t look like the kid-loving type. “Anyway, what did you expect it to look like?”

“I don’t know. A little less…flat?” He laughs at this, which does all sorts of warm and mushy things to my insides. I tell myself to shake it off—I don’t
do
warm and mushy—and go to move around him, but he stays still. Looking at me. Blocking my way. The sight is both exhilarating and scary, and there it is again.

I guess warm and mushy is my new thing.

A slow grin tilts the side of Caleb’s mouth, the kind of grin that makes you wonder what he’s thinking even though it’s
obvious
what he’s thinking.

“What?” I say, hearing the nervous tremble in my voice. Of course I’m nervous. He’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me, and I don’t know what to do. He’s going to kiss me, and every part of me is tingling with anticipation.

I think about closing my eyes. I think about leaning forward. I think about touching that eagle wing. I think about a lot of things. Until I realize it’s unnecessary.

“After this, how about we see a movie?” he says, chucking me on the chin. My teeth actually tap together. Then he steps back, leaving me wondering what the heck just happened. Seriously, what just happened? And why didn’t he kiss me? The car door closes and my face turns pink and I follow him into that beige building, and all I can think is that I should have worn that brown sweater so that I could blend in with the bricks.

*

“And so when you met Caleb, how old were you?” I have to shout to be heard, because this place is
loud
, but two hours later, I have three pages of notes, we’ve snapped a few pictures, and this is the most adorable kid I’ve ever had the pleasure of being around. Caleb hasn’t only helped me by introducing me to Ben, he’s practically written my term paper’s entire opening.

“Ten, I guess.” Ben shrugs his ebony shoulder, bare from a game of pick-up basketball. Sweat glistens from his forehead, matching the same ring that shines from Caleb’s. The two are clearly fond of each other. I saw the elation on Ben’s face as Caleb walked through the front door, elation he quickly covered with a cool, detached expression. You can’t hide the eyes, though. His are still shining. “I’ve known him for a year. Usually we meet here, but sometimes he brings me to his—”

Caleb chooses that moment to slap the basketball out of Ben’s hands, and just like that the interview is over. The game is back in full swing, and I have a suspicion that Ben is finished answering my boring questions. Necessary for my paper, but mind-numbingly exhausting for him. I was eleven once, too. I know what it’s like to be forced into interviews. I’ve been sitting for them for years now thanks to my parents and their—

I gasp. Lunge for my purse. Yank out the unopened invitation out and rip into the envelope. Studying the card and my father’s hand-written note at the bottom, I want to die. Death by my own hand would be so much better than him killing me. I check the clock on my cell phone. Fifteen minutes. I have fifteen minutes to get there or my butt will be in a sling held tight by my father’s firm fist. It occurs to me that there’s something pathetic about a twenty-one-year-old still desperately trying to win her parent’s approval. Maybe when I’m thirty I’ll be over it, but it isn’t likely. When you’ve been the spokesperson for a nationwide crusade your whole life, there’s not much hope of your face being replaced. Unless maybe my children take over one day.

There is no way my children will take over, ever.

I shove my notebook into my bag and stand, nervous and fidgety but trying not to appear that way. I need to leave. Because of my inability to think ahead and open a freaking envelope on time, I need Caleb to drive me. But he’s still playing ball, immersed in having fun with a kid who really needs the attention. I feel like a diva for pulling him away, like a prima donna only concerned about herself. It’s a common struggle, one I’ve dealt with many times. Dropping everything for my parent’s rallies has become a way of life, including friend’s birthday parties, graduations, and one halfway enjoyable date I wasn’t ready to end. The guy never called me again.

Panic starts to rise and grip me in its vise. Caleb sees it. Of course he sees it. The ball bounces from his hand and settles in a series of flat bounces as he studies my face.

“What’s wrong?” he calls from across the room.

“Um…Uh…” I say, just so embarrassed. I sigh and shift positions, but there’s no way to avoid it. “My parents have a thing…” I wince because it sounds so lame. “I forgot about it and I’m supposed to be there right now and I need to leave.” My lip slides between my teeth in my usual nervous gesture. “I can walk if you want to stay here. It’s not that far…I think. But they’re going to kill me if I don’t get there soon…” I let that last part trail off, just because it sounds so humiliating when I say it out loud.

But Caleb just grins in his adorable way and uses his sleeve to wipe the ring of sweat from his forehead. “Don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”

The relief I feel is irrational, and I know it. I shouldn’t be this anxious about something involving my parents, but I’ve been late once before—back when I was fourteen and didn’t want to leave a dance recital. The national news covered my father’s reaction for days, analyzing whether or not his behavior teetered on child abuse. It didn’t. My father can get angry, but he loves me. I’ve never doubted it for a second.

“Thank you.” I breathe an audible sigh. I want to hug him, but stop myself and just look at him for a second instead. I can’t decide if it’s his easygoing attitude, the way he embraces the downtrodden, or the way he’s so quick with a smile as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. I know that last one isn’t true. I’m certain he has a story that isn’t all that pretty. All I know is that I really like that smile.

He winks at me before turning to Ben. “So what do you think of Kate? Think you can handle more of her questions if I bring her back here next week?”

Ben dribbles the ball a few times before resting it on his hip. A female worker in navy blue scrubs walks through a door and announces lunch. A dozen kids go running, but Ben stays back. He flips the ball onto a fingertip and begins to twirl it.

“I think I can take her, as long as she doesn’t get pushy. Besides,” he shrugs, “she pretty. I’ll do anything for a pretty girl.” Ben offers a smile my way that could light this room, but even that doesn’t break his concentration. The ball continues to spin.

Caleb laughs when I blush. “So would I, dude. So would I.” He gives Ben the kind of fist-bump that only a couple of testosterone-filled guys can give. “That she is. We’ll be back next Monday.” He looks at me for approval, and I nod. Of course I nod. And smile like a stupid teenager. I’ll come back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that if he’ll just bring me. With or without a paper to write.

Two minutes later we’re in the parking lot behind the building, and he’s tossing my bag in the backseat. I reach for the passenger door handle, but Caleb blocks me with his hand pressed to the glass. I haven’t noticed the scar that runs from his thumb to the base of his ring finger until now.

“I thought I told you to let me open it,” he says. In theory, the words might seem harsh. In reality, his soft tone sends all kinds of shivers down my spine.

I give him my best glare anyway, even though it feels weak. “Excuse me, drill sergeant. I didn’t realize opening my own door was a crime.” I step back, secretly happy at his open display of chivalry even though I’m single-handedly setting the women’s movement back decades. But who cares about the women’s movement? Not me. Definitely not me.

“From now on, if you’re with me, it is a crime.”

I start to protest with some stupid sarcastic comment about never riding with him again, but when I look up he’s watching me with a look that borders on fascination and I like it. I more than like it. And it’s that one small difference that begins to make me nervous.

“You were good with Ben, Princess. He liked you a lot.”

“I liked him too. Are you sure you don’t mind me coming back here with you? I don’t want to get in the way.” Not that I’ll let it stop me. He can tell me yes, no, or start babbling in Pig Latin, but I’m showing up next week if I have to walk backwards the whole way to get here.

“Of course I don’t mind.” That look hasn’t left his face, and I feel myself swallow. “He’s right, you know,” Caleb says. His left hand settles on the hood of the car, the other rests in his pocket. But then he pulls it out and reaches up to tuck my hair behind an ear…to frame my face with his fingertips. “You are pretty. So pretty I can barely think straight.” His eyes ask a question, and then he leans in. I feel his breath on my face just before he brushes his lips with mine. It’s a soft kiss. A sweet kiss. Different in the way he touches first my top lip, then the bottom, then covers both in a move that leaves me breathless. It doesn’t last long. Not nearly long enough. He pulls back and I’m staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Blue like the ocean. Blue like heaven.

“You taste good, too.” His slow grin settles around me, warming me, enveloping me like the softest blanket. “Maybe I should try that again.” I close my eyes and lean toward him, not waiting for him to take the lead this time. I feel vulnerable, left wondering how a boy could make me this happy in only a few days, thinking that none of it makes sense, but all of it does. This time, as his mouth covers mine, the kiss isn’t as gentle. It’s filled with an urgency that surprises…and excites me. A longing builds in me that I’ve never felt before, and I press myself closer. My hands find his hair at the same his arms wrap around my waist and pull me in. He kisses me, and it’s all I can do not to melt into him, but he pulls back a little before I have the chance. Not far; his mouth stays close to mine.

“Wow,” he whispers. “It gets better each time. Maybe we should go for a third…”

I laugh, but barely, unable to manage more than a strange sound. My mind and legs have turned to liquid. Caleb seems to sense my struggle, and he smiles.

“Princess?”

I sigh and look up at him, a fog clouding my brain. “Hmmm?”

With a killer grin that does all kinds of weird things to my insides, Caleb fumbles around me and cracks open the door. “We’d better get going. I’d hate to make you late.”

Late for what?
And then I remember.

“Okay.” I don’t want to leave, but somehow I manage to make it into the seat anyway. My seatbelt goes on. Caleb slides in beside me. His hand finds mine.

It isn’t until we back out of the lot that I remember we need to hurry.

*

“What’s the address?” Caleb pulls the car in drive moves out onto the road. He twirls a figure eight over the top of my hand. It makes me feel secure, appreciated. Safe in a way I’ve never felt before.

I produce the paper and read it aloud. But instead of speeding up like I expect him to do, Caleb slows the car down and pulls to the side of the street, then studies me. He looks confused, puzzled. Like out of all the things I’ve said over the last five days, this one thing makes the least sense.

With a frown, he pulls the paper from my hand and reads it. “That can’t be right. This is…” His words trail off and he reads the entire paper. From top to bottom, taking in every word. I know this in the way his eyes travel up and down and up and down, as though he can’t take it all in with one pass and has to make another.

And then he looks at me. Really looks at me.

He’s motionless, transfixed on something I can’t see, like he’s trying to process something. I know the feeling, because I’m doing the same thing. We need to get moving, and suddenly I’m not sure I want Caleb to come with me. It’s not exactly that I’m ashamed of my parents, but this whole display tends to get a little embarrassing.