“I guess that answers my question,” Wesley says as hysterical tears run down my face. It all stops pretty suddenly, though, when I’m hit by a really strong desire to throw up.
Wesley must notice that I’ve turned green because he takes my bottle and passes it to Erin. “Why don’t we get you some air.” He stands up and grabs my hand, helps me to my feet. The room spins. I’m so busy trying to keep everything down that I barely register when he slides his arm around my waist. I let him lead me outside onto the tiny balcony. He slides the grimy glass door closed behind us, cutting us off from the party and the throbbing techno music. We’re on the third floor but it feels much higher, maybe because the stars are so dizzyingly close, like I could touch them if I just reached high enough.
Wesley steers me to a weathered lawn chair parked beside a planter full of cigarette butts. Judging from the sheer amount of butts—and the pyramid of empty beer cans stacked in the corner—Travis and Ewen spend a lot of time out here.
That planter, I decide, is my backup plan. While throwing up in front of Wesley would be beyond humiliating, I still feel like it’s a better option than that bathroom. Fortunately, the cool night air has already started to calm my stomach, so maybe I’m out of the woods.
Wesley leans against the rusted wrought iron railing, studying me as I take deep breaths, like I’m practicing yoga. “Better?” he asks.
I nod. “A bit, yeah.”
He glances up at the fat yellow moon. Since he’s no longer looking at me, I feel safe studying him. I’m so used to seeing him in his pirate costume that he looks kind of weird in normal clothes. Less like he should be on the cover of a romance novel, and more regular hot boy. He’s wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt the same stormy color as his eyes.
What is wrong with me? Wesley James ruined my family. I’m going to give up hating him just because he’s all right to look at and he makes my knees a little bit weak?
Pathetic.
It’s then that I notice something crawling along the dirty cement, near Wesley’s foot. It’s a big nightmare of a spider—ugly and hairy, probably it has fangs—and I’m totally paralyzed. When Wesley sees it, he bends down, extends his fingers, and lets the thing crawl into his hand. Then he gently moves it to the railing where it won’t get stepped on.
He catches the horrified expression on my face and smirks. “Come on, Q. You’re not scared of a little spider, are you?” He makes a move to pick it up again and I get a little scream-y. He chuckles. “I’m just messing with you.”
Of course he is. He’s always messing with me. He’s made it his life’s work to mess with me.
“I’m not that surprised that you’re afraid of it, actually,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
“You seem to be afraid of a lot of things.”
My eyes narrow. Oh my God. Who does he think he is?
“Elaborate,” I say. Before I kick you in the junk.
“Let’s see…” Wesley strokes his chin, his eyes wandering the sky, like he’s searching for the answer up there. “Clowns.”
I snort. “So? Everyone is afraid of clowns. If you aren’t afraid of them then there’s something wrong with you.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” he says.
“And you just proved my point.”
He smiles. “All right then. Thunder. Remember that time we got caught in a storm?”
Yes, I do. We were on the way home from school. I made him run the entire three miles, even when my lungs felt like they were going to burst after the first couple of blocks. By the time we got to our street, I was soaked to the skin, but so relieved to be home, I hardly cared.
The other thing I remember about that day? Wesley held my hand the whole way. I didn’t have to ask him to do it; he just did.
“Big deal. Those are totally common, everyday fears,” I say. “It’s not like I’m afraid of things that actually matter.”
A total lie, obviously. I’m afraid to see Gran and that matters more than anything else. But I’m definitely not going to tell him that.
Maybe it’s the alcohol—okay, it’s definitely the alcohol—but suddenly I want to prove to Wesley that I’m not afraid of anything. Not him, and not a little spider. So I get out of the chair and, without really thinking it through, grab the spider off the balcony railing.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. It is hairy. And crawly—oh so very crawly. I really want to shot put it over the side of the balcony, but if I show fear, that will prove Wesley’s point. And I’m so not doing that. So I let this spider crawl on my hand, trying to ignore the tickling sensation on my palm. It’s almost worth it just to see the shocked expression on Wesley’s face. Almost.
After what seems like forever but is probably only ten seconds or so, I set the spider back down. I am dying to go to the gas station and scrub my hands, maybe throw up a little, but I lean against the railing to steady my shaking legs.
“Well,” Wesley says. “I did not expect that.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it totally is. I held a spider! There is nothing I can’t do.
“So now we just have to work through your clown issues. Maybe we should go to the circus sometime,” he says. He’s suddenly standing close to me. Way too close. Like if he took one step forward, we’d be sharing the same breath. One small step closer and he could kiss me.
For the first time since Wesley James walked back into my life, I’m not thinking about how to get him out of it. I’m thinking about kissing him.
I lean into him a little and his mouth curves into a smile, like he knows what I’m thinking. Because he’s thinking the exact same thing.
My heart is full-on racing now.
But as his fingers skate lightly over my arm, sending zings through my entire body, someone raps on the door. A blond girl is standing on the other side of the glass. When Wesley looks over at her, she smiles.
“Do you know her?”
“Uh, yeah,” Wesley says, taking a step away from me. “That’s Jolie. My girlfriend.”
fourteen.
Whatever it was that was about to happen between Wesley and me—if anything was about to happen—vanishes as the girl slides open the glass door and bounces onto the deck.
Wesley has a girlfriend. A GIRLFRIEND! One that he’s never mentioned. Although, since I’ve made a point of not asking him any personal questions, this shouldn’t really come as a surprise.
Still. I am struck by how much it bothers me. It should not bother me. But oh, it does. Especially when this girl slides into the space I just vacated and wraps her arms around his waist. Something she does with ease, probably because she’s done it a million times before.
“Hey, you,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I know we agreed I wouldn’t come up for another few weeks, but I just missed you so much.”