David had promised to keep their secret. He knew—they knew—it would get out sooner or later, of course, but not yet. She wasn’t ready to face the questions and gossip.
By lunchtime, she’d gone beyond anger. She was pissed. She ignored their friends and strode across campus to the weight room. He was there with his football buddies. Amid the clunking of weights and the huffing of exertion, they were talking and laughing.
When she stepped into the room, it fell silent.
Damn you, David.
She felt her cheeks heat up. “Hey,” she said, trying to sound normal, as if she were just another high school girl instead of a ruined one.
David slowly sat up. The way he looked at her made it difficult to breathe. “Bye, guys.”
No one answered him.
In silence, she and David walked across the campus and out to the football field. It was a cold, crisp day, with a layer of frost glittering on the grass. The air smelled vaguely of apples.
“How could you do it?” she said at last. Her voice was surprisingly soft. She’d expected to scream the question at him, maybe hit him for emphasis, but now that she was here, she was icy cold and afraid.
He took her hand and led her to the bleachers. They sat down on the cold, hard seat. He didn’t put his arm around her. Instead, he stared out at the grassy field and sighed.
“You promised,” she said again, louder this time, her voice shrill. “And Coach Tripp. Everyone knows he has a big mouth. Didn’t you think—”
“My dad won’t talk to me anymore.”
Lauren frowned. “But …” She didn’t know how to finish her sentence.
“He said I’m a stupid idiot. No. A fucking idiot. Those were his exact words.” David’s breath floated out in pale clouds.
She lost her anger; just like that it was gone. Something inside her seemed to fold inward. She touched his thigh and leaned against him. For all the years she’d known him, he’d been trying to get his father’s attention. It was one of the things they had in common. A parent who didn’t seem to love you enough.
The Speedster was David’s pride and joy not because it was the envy of other boys or because girls loved it. He cared about the car because his father loved it. What David cared about were the hours spent in the garage with his dad. There—and only there, it seemed—they’d talked.
“He won’t even work on the car. He says there’s no point in fixing up wheels for a kid who’s going nowhere.” He finally looked at Lauren. “I needed to talk to someone. A guy.”
How could she not understand that? This was a time of almost unbearable loneliness. She slipped her hand in his. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“I’m sorry I told him. I thought he’d keep quiet.”
“I know.” They fell silent again, each staring out at the field. Finally Lauren said, “At least we have each other.”
Softly, in a voice that held no confidence, he said, “Yeah.”
When Lauren got home, Mrs. Mauk was waiting for her on the front step. By the time Lauren saw her, it was too late to turn around.
“Lauren,” she said, sighing heavily. “I went to see your mom at work today.”
“Oh? Did you catch her?”
“You know I didn’t. Her boss said she’d quit. Left town.”
Lauren sagged beneath the weight of those two words. “Yeah. I’m going to get a full-time job. I promise—”
“I can’t do it, kiddo,” she said, and though Lauren could see she didn’t like this news, she broke it anyway. “You can’t afford this place by yourself. My boss is already tired of your mom’s late payments. He wants me to evict you guys.”
“Please, don’t.”
Mrs. Mauk’s fleshy face folded into a sad look. “I wish I could help you. I’m so sorry.” She slowly turned and went inside. The busted screen door banged shut behind her.
If one more person told Lauren they were sorry, she was going to scream.
Not that it would do any good.
She trudged up the stairs, walked into her apartment, and slammed the door shut.
“Think, Lauren,” she said, searching for her old self, the girl who could climb any mountain. “Think.”
Someone knocked.
No doubt Mrs. Mauk had forgotten to tell her that she needed to vacate the premises by tomorrow.
She went to the door, yanked it open. “I can’t—”
There, standing in the gloomy darkness, was Angie.
“Oh” was all Lauren managed to say.
“Hello, Lauren.” Angie smiled, and there was a gentleness in it that caused Lauren a physical pain. “Maybe you’d like to invite me in.”
Lauren imagined it: Angie Malone inside, walking on the smelly shag carpeting, sitting—no, not daring to sit—on the lopsided sofa, looking around the room. Making judgments, feeling sorry for Lauren. “No. Not really.” She crossed her arms, blocked the doorway with her body.
“Lauren,” Angie said sternly. It was the mother voice. Lauren was helpless to resist. She stepped aside.