“What was that?” Trish asked as we both sat down. “Looks like you and the Incredible Hunk just had a fight.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered, getting out my books.
“Well, it’s nothing that his Christmas present won’t fix,” she said with a wink.
“Not everything can be fixed by having sex!” I yelled, so outraged that I actually stood up. Everyone stared at me.
“What’d I miss?” Meghan asked, strolling through the door. “I heard yelling and the word ‘sex.’”
I slunk back down into my chair; embarrassed, but still pissed off.
“Caitlin’s having trouble with the mister,” Trish whispered loudly as she sat down.
“Has she tried using his Christmas present yet?” Meghan whispered back, also loudly.
“She says it can’t be fixed by sex.”
She looked astonished. “Really?”
Trish nodded.
“That must’ve been a big fight.”
Mr. Warren walked in then. It was probably the only time I’d been grateful for class to start.
“Caitlin,” Trish whispered to me. “You know we’re just giving you a hard time, right? If you don’t want to do the down-and-dirty with de la Mara, it’s none of our business.”
I nodded in her direction, but was still too angry to actually respond.
“Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.”
We said the pledge and sat back down, and Mr. Warren began teaching, so there wasn’t time for Trish or Meghan to comment anymore on my love life. The day dragged by slowly and I waited in a sort of anxious, angry tension for lunch. Fourth period rolled around, but Mrs. Leckenby was just giving a lecture about the history of modern art, so I didn’t even have a project to keep my hands busy. When the bell finally rang, I loaded my bag slowly, feeling the beginning of a headache building behind my eyes. I wasn’t angry anymore, but I was still frustrated with Adrian (and Trish and Meghan for that matter) and tired from my sleepless night. I walked out of the art room straight into Adrian’s arms.
“Y’know,” he said, pulling me away from the flood of students, “if we never fought, we’d never be convincing as a couple. Maybe this was well-timed. Come on,” he said before I could respond. “We need to talk.”
He let go of me and walked in the opposite direction of the lunch tables, stopping in front of a group of pine trees.
“I’m not your boyfriend,” he began bluntly. “I’m your bodyguard. But I’m something else, too.”
“And what’s that?” I tried to load my voice with sarcasm to hide the fact that I would rather have been anywhere other than where I was, trying once again not to cry. I could see Trish and Meghan staring at us from the lunch tables. Actually, a lot of people were staring. Adrian tended to attract attention.
He moved so that he blocked my view. “I’m your friend,” he said, meeting my gaze evenly. “You may not believe it, but I enjoy being around you. It’s not an inconvenience, in any way.” He put his hands on my arms. “I have a few more things to say and I want to make sure you hear them. And to make our audience happy, I want you to hug me.”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to touch him, because I wanted to touch him.
“Cait,” he said in that stupid, soft way of his.
I hated that he had that effect on me. I stepped forward and put my arms around his waist woodenly, staring straight at his chest. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to make me relax.
“One,” he began, resting his chin on the top of my head and holding me tightly. “I’m sorry you got involved in all this. You’re right, you didn’t ask for it, and it’s not fair. Two: I’m not sorry I got to know you. You make me feel more human, and that means everything, to me. Three, and please listen to this: There is nothing wrong with being afraid. I’m afraid every time I leave you at your doorstep and drive away. I’m afraid every time I fall asleep that whoever is on watch isn’t going to be paying enough attention.”
He tilted his face down and lowered his voice. “Fear is a good thing, sometimes. It keeps us aware of what’s important.” He smiled a little, but only a little. “Four: If the circumstances were different and I ever actually saw you in my Christmas present, I’d be in big trouble. Five: According to the chore chart, we’re supposed to kiss today.”
We actually had made the chore chart—he’d gone for the gold star stickers. Although we’d somehow managed to conveniently “forget” that Mondays were smooch days. He never brought it up, so I didn’t, either. Except for now, of course.
He searched my eyes for a moment, then leaned down, hovering half a centimeter away, giving me the chance to pull back.
But I didn’t.