Part 17 (2/2)
My insides deflated when I saw him, same as always, playing his guitar without a care in the world. I had another physical flashback to last night, but this time I didn't feel a s.h.i.+very jolt. I felt stupid and embarra.s.sed.
I was close enough now for Nate to notice. He smiled up at HIT a me. Hey.
Normally, this was when he'd pull me close for a kiss, but I purposely stood out of his reach. He beckoned for me to come closer, but I didn't move. For the first time with Nate, I didn't have to concentrate on squelching my normal curly-haired energy. I had never felt less curly and bouncy than I did now.
”You don't look worried.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but even I could hear the bitterness in my words. Not cool, but I couldn't help it.
”About what?”
”I always meet you during fifth period. Today I didn't.”
He looked at me pointedly, clearly noting that I was indeed right there in front of him during fifth period. The fact that he was right didn't make me any less upset.
”Okay, I'm here now, but didn't you wonder where I was? What if I'd been sick, or hurt?”
”You weren't,” Nate said.
”Yeah, but I could have been!” I screeched just as the bell rang. Without a word, Nate rose and strode toward the building. Halfway there he turned and looked back at me.
”I'm around later if you want to come over and study,” he said, then kept walking.
I was floored. Seriously, I couldn't have been more offended if he'd asked if I wanted to go drown puppies. He didn't get it! Like I would actually want to go wade through pot smoke and get half-naked with him when he didn't care about me at all!
My shock didn't wear off. I spent the rest of the afternoon with my mouth hanging open. Our whole situation-our whole relations.h.i.+p, if that's what you could call it, which clearly you couldn't-was exactly what I'd feared. No matter how close we were physically, emotionally I meant absolutely nothing to Nate. But did that matter to him? Did that stop him? No. Nate Wetherill was evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. By the end of seventh-period AP U.S. history I had proof. Know what you get when you rearrange the letters in Nate Wetherill? HATE WILL ENTER.
Halfway through eighth-period physics, I had transformed my pencil and some paper clips into an excellent Nate Wetherill voodoo doll and was mercilessly grinding another paper clip into its groin. The whole enterprise felt immensely satisfying.
”Cara Leonard!” called Mr. Feinhorn. ”Why does that not disprove Einstein's theory of relativity?”
Uh-oh. Apparently we were in the middle of a lecture, but I hadn't heard a single word of it. I palmed the voodoo doll and racked my brain for any information that didn't have to do with my undying animosity toward Nate. I found none.
”Um, because ... because...” I scrunched my whole face as if struggling for the answer. I practically broke a sweat.
Mr. Feinhorn wasn't impressed. He sighed, then called on Seth Minkoff, who dutifully responded, ”Because it was an invalid test.”
”Yes,” said Mr. Feinhorn. ” That is the answer, Cara. It was an invalid test.”
Mr. Feinhorn looked me in the eye as he said it, and suddenly I understood. Not the Einstein stuff-I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about there. But the invalid test- that made sense. Nate had failed an invalid test. He and I hadn't made specific plans to meet at the rock today, so it's not like I'd actually missed a set appointment. Sure, I usually met him there, but I had the freedom to show or not show as I pleased. Nate wasn't possessive that way. That was a good thing, wasn't it? And even when I laid into him, it's not like he'd dumped me or said he didn't want to see me. He told me I should come over and study. When I looked at it that way, Nate actually came closer to pa.s.sing my test than failing.
Maybe testing Nate wasn't the best way to find out if he really cared about me. I still thought asking it outright was awful and lame and worthy of the kind of are u mad @ me? notes friends pa.s.sed around in seventh grade. But maybe there was a subtler option. Maybe I could just ask about him, about his mom, about his dad or his brother or his life. Then he'd ask about me, and we'd talk and I'd know there was actually something real between us, and I wouldn't feel so hollow about everything else we were doing.
So after school I went to his place to study.
”Hi,” I said, and before Nate could even try to offer me a smoke, I added, ”I was hoping today we could talk.”
”About what?”
”I don't know ... anything. About you. Maybe about your mom.”
Nate grimaced like he smelled a skunk. ”Ouch. Buzzkill.”
”Well, yeah, but-”
Nate was no longer listening. Instead he was lighting up.
Okay, Mom was too painful. I could respect that.
”How about you decide what we talk about,” I said. ”It doesn't even have to be about you. You can ask me something. Anything. Anything you want.”
Nate smiled and put his hands on my waist, slipping his fingers under my s.h.i.+rt.
”Anything I want?” he said.
His fingers traced up my body toward my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, both of which had clearly turned treasonous on me, because they were screaming for Nate's hands to keep climbing.
I stepped back.
”I'm serious,” I said. ”I don't want to fool around. I want to talk. It's important to me.”
Nate opened his eyes wide, tilted his head back, and made a groaning sound like a giant garbage truck stuck between gears.
What was he doing? Had I pressed his self-destruct b.u.t.ton? Who made noises like that?
Finally Nate pulled himself back from whatever brink he was on. He smiled and nodded, like he'd just solved a mystery.
”Ooh,” he said. ”I get it.”
He took my hand and pulled me close. He kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear. ”You're raggin' it. It's cool; it doesn't freak me out. I have my red badge of courage.”
That was it.
”I gotta go,” I said. I pulled away and darted to the door, already dialing Claudia on my cell.
”Beast with Two Backs Hotline,” she answered. ”You're calling early.”
”I just broke up with Nate,” I said.
Claudia's voice screamed into my ear with the impact of a major collision. ”You WHAT? ”
Chapter Nineteen.
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