“Don’t touch me, Owen. I’m fucking serious.”
We were standing under the only street light on that side of the bridge, positioned right in front of the Fletchers’ house, which goes to show how much pull Owen’s family had in Coral Pines. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’m an idiot. I know I shouldn’t have told you what to do. Will you please, please forgive me?” His voice sounded strained, like it was difficult for him to apologize. “I just see the way he looks at you, and I don’t want other guys looking at you that way.”
“What are you talking about, Owen? I don’t even know Jake, and you and I are just friends. That’s all.” If even that, I thought. “So, you shouldn’t care who looks at me, because I’m not into that kind of shit—not with you, not with anyone.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry. It’s just that…he’s not a good person, and the way he looked at you was making me crazy.”
How was he looking at me?
“You’re forgiven, Owen.” I turned to leave again. “But, I gotta go.”
“Where you gonna go, Abby?”
I opened my mouth to give an answer, but nothing came out.
“Stay here tonight. I have my own part of the house with my own entrance and everything. No one will even know you’re here. I’ll even sleep on the couch and give you the bed. Please?” Owen made sad eyes and stuck out a pouty lower lip.
I laughed.
What did he want with me anyway? I wasn’t from his side of the tracks. I was a girl who couldn’t even tell you what city my side of the tracks ran through. The Fletchers’ garage was bigger than any house I’d ever lived in.
I really didn’t want to sleep in Owen’s room with him, just feet away from his family. But I had nowhere else to go. Jake had caught me in the junkyard, so sleeping in Nan’s old truck was no longer an option.
I sighed, defeated.
“Okay, but just tonight,” I said. He grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Owen really did have his own separate entrance. His room was more like a studio apartment, complete with its own mini-kitchen and living area. His house was huge, and it wasn’t even the only one on the property. His entire family lived in four separate homes, on ten acres. The one that held his apartment was the main house, and the largest. It was three stories with white siding and red shutters. It was like Little House on the Prairie on steroids, more plantation than house. I was curious how it felt to be so close to family all the time, especially since I had none.
I pulled a pair of running shorts from my backpack and a lighter long sleeved t-shirt and changed in Owens bathroom. When I came out Owen was laying on his bed, wearing only his boxers, flipping channels on the TV, a bottle of beer at his lips. “Want one?” He lifted the bottle to me.
I ignored his offer. “I thought I got the bed?”
“I thought we could watch some TV first. I’m not really tired yet and the view from the couch is lousy.” The goofy grin on his face made me hesitate for a second before giving in. There was no trace of the anger he displayed in the truck, just good ol’ happy Owen. The Owen I had started to like. And I really needed some time to just sit and watch a little mindless TV.
“Fine, but no funny business,” I said sternly, “and I get to pick the show.”
“Yes ma’am.” Owen saluted me. “Scouts honor.”
I jumped in his big comfy bed and scooted under the covers. Just as I was about to put my head on the pillow, Owen lifted his elbow and gestured to the crook of his arm. “Snuggling is always nice while watching TV,” he said. I looked up at him with a crooked eyebrow and he crossed his eyes at me.
“You really are goofy, you know that?” I said. “I’ll take a pass on the snuggling.” We were just sort-of friends, after all, and friends watch TV in bed, I figured. I really didn’t know what the guideline was when you were friends with a boy, but before I could finish my thoughts—and before Owen had a chance to argue with me about what show to watch—I had already fallen asleep.
***
I am nine years old and it’s the middle of the night. I am lying on my mattress on the floor of my old room. My window sounds like it’s about to shatter under the heavy pounding of the wind and rain. My pillow is smashed against my ear so I can’t hear the thunder crashing or see the lightning that lights up my room every few seconds. It must be why I don’t hear the squeal of my bedroom door when he enters.