FOR A LONG TIME, CASEY'S ALARM BUZZED, AND SHE DIDN'T know what it was. In a horrible nightmare, she was at Great Adventure, in a flume that suddenly was a rope bridge over a chasm thousands of feet deep. She got dizzy, and she had to walk the bridge, but it swayed. She'd never been so scared.
Then she woke up, enough to slap the top of the clock-radio and silence the alarm. She felt her heart pounding, so hard it hurt. She kept her eyes shut and told herself it was only a dream.
But as her sleep faded, she remembered the real nightmare. She looked at the glowing red numbers on the clock. Six o'clock. Time for her morning run.
All right, she thought. Today we start from scratch. We're gonna really get in shape.
Her determination made her feel euphoric for a few seconds. But when she got to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, Casey lost it. Her whole face was puffed out, and her left cheek was gross. A purple and yellow bruise sat right under her eye. She touched her finger to it and hissed. It was tender, and felt squishy.
What was she going to tell Mom and Dad? Couldn't he have hit her in the stomach or something? The creep.
She bent her head and sluiced cold tap water on her face. Then she stepped out of the long, peach-colored T-shirt she'd slept in and stood under the shower. She scrubbed her hair and lathered every inch of herself, including the bottoms of her feet. She wanted to wash him away. The only bad thing about the shower was that it hurt to let the spray hit her face.
Back in her room, Casey put on a tank top and shorts, then sat on the edge of her bed to lace up her running shoes. Hazy gold light sliced the raspberry carpet. Outside, cars rolled past. She loved this time of day.
She poured a glass of orange juice. Luckily, Mom and Dad were used to her morning runs, and they didn't bug her. She drank the juice by the stainless steel sink, in the middle of the big kitchen with its bay window, feeling miserable and alone.
Why didn't I smack him back? she asked herself angrily. When she remembered just sitting there and letting him hit her, she felt her stomach heave. What a jerk.
She rinsed out the glass and went outside. The air was damp and mist hung against the cornflower-blue sky. The trees that lined the street looked top-heavy with dark green leaves. A cool breeze shivered through her wet hair.
She stretched out and then began to jog her usual route, up Roberta Street and around the big, long curve past the satellite dish in Longman's side yard. She could hear the soft thump of her sneakers against asphalt. Her thighs ached right away, especially where she'd pulled a muscle a couple of weeks ago. Perspiration broke out on her face and back.
No way am I going to quit, she thought grimly. She wished she could keep running until she was out of the development and on the expressway, and then in some other state, on a strange highway, running past farms, grazing cows, and barns with silos. She dreaded coming back home. All those questions:
"What happened to you?"
"Oh my God, Casey, did he hit you?"
"I want the truth."
"Do I have to call the police?"
Thinking about it made her run harder. She began to pant, and her lungs burned. Then she remembered that she'd upchucked in the bushes. She wondered if that stuff stayed overnight, and if Daddy would see it and ask her what it was.
She blinked away sweat, and the salt touched her tongue. Okay. She'd cover the bruise with makeup. She'd stay out of sight today, and by tonight it would probably be better. Except she'd get the third degree about what had happened after she and Paul left the party.
Well, she had to take some lumps. So they'd get on her case about what a creep Paul was. At least she hadn't gotten in too deep. In a way, she was lucky.
She broke stride and yelped as pain shot through her leg. "Damn damn damn," she said, as she limped along with her hand against the back of her thigh. She was right on Greenwood Road, with a million cars whooshing by, and probably every jerk behind the wheel was staring at her.
She managed to work out most of the cramp, but she was shot. She limped all the way back up Carla Street, and had to walk way out in the road three times to avoid the arcs of lawn sprinklers. Once she got spattered anyway. Behind her, a big green garbage truck squealed and the garbagemen clanged cans. Terrific. The garbage truck always woke up Mom. She'd probably be in the kitchen with her cup of coffee and her New York Times, just waiting.
Casey bit her lower lip and vowed to get away with it. No questions. She couldn't take it. As she renewed her determination, her head filled up with Paul, the way he looked while he was dancing on Glenn's patio. Her skin remembered how he felt and her mouth tingled with his kiss. She missed him, because it was over and she wasn't seeing him again.
Idiot, she thought. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Suddenly, Casey laughed. The way she was limping, she probably looked like Lillian. But Casey was so stupid, she pulled this kind of stunt with nobody around.
The mall was a zoo; it was the weekend before school opened, so all the mothers were dragging their little darlings around to get them new jeans and sneakers. "I hate when they bring their kids," Casey told Faye.
"Me, too." Faye's cheeks caved in as she sucked the last of a Coke through a straw. They sat on a gray metal bench in front of the health spa so they could watch the hunks go in and out.
"I mean," Casey continued, "they know the kids' sizes, right? Why do they have to put them through torture?"
"Yeah," Faye said. She jammed the straw up and down in the crushed ice at the bottom of the cup, then shook the cup and sucked again to get the dregs of the soda.
Just then, a little blonde boy screamed and waddled ahead of his mother, who shrieked at him. Casey shuddered at the awful sounds. "Why'd she bother having him?"
"It was fun at the time," Faye said.
"Yeah, sure. Oh, Jeez, look at that!"
Casey nudged Faye. A huge guy had come up to the desk at the entrance to the spa. Faye made a face. "That's grotesque."
He wore a yellow tank top and his deeply tanned skin was stretched over enormous muscles. His biceps were the size of bowling balls. "How can he move?" Casey whispered.
"He rolls."
Casey lifted her legs up onto the bench and hugged her knees. "Can you imagine him on top of you?"
"Give it up."
Casey giggled. The hunk went into the spa. "Where would you hug him?" she wondered. "My arms would just make it around his leg."
"Sounds like something you'd do. Then he could drag you around."
"Thanks a lot."
"Don't get paranoid. Anybody ask you about your injury?"
Casey stiffened. "What injury?"
"The one to your brain," Faye said acidly. She pointed with the wet straw. "That one on your face that you tried to hide. I mean, if you're going to put on enough makeup for a prostitute, it's kind of a tip-off."
Casey gazed gloomily ahead, her chin resting on her knees. The racket of the hammering gave her a headache. They were still working on stores in the new wing of the mall. "I banged my face against the car window."
"How?"
Casey glared at Faye. "What do you mean, 'how'? Like this, dummy." She lunged forward and said, "BANG!"
"You had Mr. Epstein last year, right? You're picking up his sick humor."
"Well, what did you want me to say?"
"I meant, was it an accident or something?"
Casey faced front again. Two workmen passed by, in T-shirts and baggy pants. The smell of chocolate brownies came overwhelmingly from Mrs. Fields. "No. We were making out and I was shifting position."
Faye just looked at Casey for a moment, with cool eyes. "What kind of position were you in?"
"Get out of here, will you?"
Faye made a sour face and got up to toss out her Coke cup and straw. She came back and stood over Casey, one bony hip jutting out. Faye looked like a scarecrow in shorts and a summer blouse. "So how was it?"
"Huh?"
"Making out with Paul? Inquiring teenagers want to know."
"You're disgusting." Casey let her legs drop and flung an arm across the back of the bench.
"You were the talk of the party."
"I'll bet."
"Everyone figured he was going to dump your body on Blue Point Road."
Casey rolled her eyes heavenward and clicked her tongue. "I'm sure they're really disappointed."
Faye chewed the inside of her mouth, seeming to consider what to say. She looked around with extreme ennui. "I have to start shopping someday soon."
"Here?" Casey asked. "It's ridiculous. How about if we hit the flea markets."
"Sounds good. I need belts and shoes."
"I need pants. But I hate what they're wearing."
"You mean like those?" Faye jutted her chin and Casey looked at a pair of chunky girls in tight-fitting pedal pushers. One pair was white with big yellow flowers and one was a patchwork of Day-glo green, blue, and pink.
"That's gorgeous," Casey said. "They walk like they've got constipation."
Faye gave one of her eerie silent laughs. "You really should have taken Creative Writing."
"Oh, yeah. More pressure. I've got to do two research papers this year, and all my college essays, and track, and take the AP exams. I really wanted to do more writing."
"Oh, it's cake for you," Faye said. "Anyway, Mr. Anderson has had about twenty novels published."
"I know. He never lets anyone forget it. But nobody ever heard of any of them."
Faye smiled. "He's also a dirty old man."
Casey pursed her lips. "Sure. That's why you want to set me up with him."
The noise had become a roar, like ocean waves in Casey's head. Her cheek throbbed like mad. The afternoon and evening stretched before her like years of a prison sentence.
Faye was watching the workmen, over Casey's head. Casey realized that Faye hadn't said anything for a long time. "Did we die?" she asked.
"No. I was just watching your boyfriend. He's pretty sexy."
Casey thought that if she ever found herself in a thunderstorm and a million volts of lightning zapped her, it would feel like she felt now. She sat up very straight and hoped to God that Faye was kidding, or wrong. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the mating habits of the newt."
"Faye!"
"An right. Didn't you know he was working in the mall?"
"No."
"Oh, sorry. I guess you were too busy banging your face against the windshield to ask about his employment."
"Shut up, Faye."
"Yeah, right. See you later."
"No! Don't go."
Faye squinted at her in exasperation. "What's the matter with you? Did you have a fight with him or something?"
"Yes."
"You want to sneak away?"
"No."
Faye made a tight-lipped smile. "Ho-kay. Casey's got it bad, and she's going to act like a major fruitcake. just feed me instructions slowly. Talk me through this!'
Casey clenched her fists and let waves of conflicting emotion rock her. "I don't know what I want to do."
"Why not just go away? You can always call him tomorrow!' Casey wished she had the guts to turn around and look at him. But she didn't trust herself. She could feel her insides turning to soap suds. Hatred, like a drumbeat, crashed against her ribs. But more than anything she was scared out of her wits. Her skin crawled at his nearness.
She said, finally. "Let's go to A&S."
"A&S it is."
Casey took a deep, rattling breath and stood up. "Come on," she said urgently.
"Too late, he saw you."
"Oh, crap."
Faye stared hard at her friend. "Casey, is something wrong?"
Casey shook her head.
"What's going on, Casey? I'm scared. Do you need the police?"
Casey tried to keep her eyes steady as she looked at Faye. She could feel herself filling up. "Don't be a jerk."
She felt him come up to her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. "Hi, Case."
Oh, man. Everything was pumping and floating and jerking around inside. Her mouth had dried up. Her palms were damp. Faye's eyes held bewilderment.
"Can I talk to you?" Paul asked.
His voice felt like hard fingers pressing into her shoulders. Casey cursed herself for not getting out of there faster.
"Just for a minute," he said. "I have to get back to work, anyway."
Well, all right. He was here. It was probably best to finish it formally. If there were no loose ends, she'd sleep better. But she swore she'd scream her head off if he so much as touched her. "Okay," she croaked. "Just for a minute."
Faye smiled weakly. "Well, I'm off to A&S. In fact, I think I'll hit the shoe department."
She stressed the last two words. Casey nodded tightly. "Okay, I'll meet you there in two minutes."
"'Bye." Faye waggled her fingers and then turned and strolled away. Soon she was swallowed by throngs of shoppers. Casey looked longingly into the alien mob, feeling stranded.
Paul said, "How about a slice of pizza or something?"
"I'm not hungry. I just had lunch."
"Do you mind if I get something?"
"Why should I mind?"
"Come on."
She made her mouth a pencil-thin line and turned around. She felt her body swell and contract, like an accordion, as she looked at him. He wore a Van Halen concert T-shirt and a pair of faded Wranglers, with ugly work shoes. His wrist veins had popped from hammering, and grimy perspiration covered him. His eyes seemed dark and hooded and a lick of damp hair had pasted itself to his forehead.
"I meant what I said. Only two minutes."
"I know."
They started to walk, through sun that filtered down through the skylight. Casey kept her mouth shut tight, refusing to make small talk. They emerged in the Food Court. Thousands of people sat at little square tables. Casey's nose filled with the smells of pizza and chow mein. Paul found a table and stood as Casey sat down. "Sure you don't want anything?"
"Nothing."
She wanted some pizza more than anything, but she'd die before she let him buy it for her. She watched him thread his way to Sbarro's. Casey brushed crumbs from the table. In the center of the white Formica lay an amorphous sticky stain, probably from soda. Casey touched a surreptitious finger to her cheek and blinked at the stinging pain. What a mess. Boy, in the movies they slapped each other in the face all the time and nothing happened.
Paul came back with two slices of sausage pizza on a paper plate and a big cup of Coke. He sat down and began to eat the first slice. He lunged a little to catch the cheese and sauce, but some strings of cheese stuck to his lip and stretched back to the plate. The smell of the pizza made Casey's stomach lurch with hunger.
Paul jerked his chin at the plate. "Hf fthr sls," he mumbled.
Casey caught herself laughing, and forced her jaw shut. She looped her handbag over the back of her chair and leaned back in what she hoped was ablase pose.
Paul swallowed and washed it down with Coke. Casey could remember last night in the car, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with this boy.
He heaved a sigh. "Look," he said, in a fumbling voice. "I have a temper. I always did."
"You have a sickness," she said with a surge of fury. He stopped, and seemed to square himself to take her abuse. "Okay. I usually keep a lid on it. I ... don't know why I did that last night. I feel like hell."
"You ought to feel like hell. You're a creep." She didn't believe she was saying this to him.
"I left the party because I was scared," he said. He let the pizza sit on the plate now, and Casey had to restrain herself from grabbing it.
"Scared of what?"
"Of not fitting in. I knew you had these bonds with them, and it got me pissed off."
"Okay. So?"
He shrugged and drank some more Coke. "I don't know. I kept hoping I'd run into you so I could tell you I was sorry."
"Sure."
He really looked sad. "Yeah, okay. I can dig why you won't give me a break."
"Oh, come on," she said, leaning toward him. "Do you think I should give you a break?"
"I don't know. I'm mixed up about it. I'm crazy about you, Casey. I know that sounds like a jerkoff thing to say after I ... did that stuff. I didn't get any damn sleep last night. I put my hand on the phone about fifty times to call you. I wanted to tell you I was working here, to come down and talk. I didn't believe it when I saw you."
Casey had taken Paul's straw wrapper, and was busily working on tearing it up the middle and twisting the ends. She was on a cliff now, and when she fell over the edge she'd tell him it was all right, that they could start over. But she clung onto that cliff with white knuckles. Not this time. Not again.
"Well, you saw me," she said. She sighed and looked around, afraid to meet his eyes. "How do you get all these jobs?"
"This was through my uncle," Paul said. "He's a foreman for another outfit. The fence company wasn't giving me enough work."
"Work for what? Are you going to college?"
He shook his head. "Nah."
"Why not? Why are you going to waste your brain?"
He smiled. "Are you worried?"
She crushed the straw cover in her closed hand. "Don't be a jackass."
"I can't go to college," he said. "My father's on welfare. My mother works three jobs. We never had any money, anyway. We lived in a tent in Eisenhower Park for a year."
Casey looked at him. "Is this for real?"
"Yeah, it's for real. You can check it out. My father worked for this construction company up in Massachusetts. We lived in this neat house in the country. Really pretty. But he got greedy and took us all to New York and he tried to start his own company. He went broke pretty fast. Then he became a drunk."
"Oh, man," she said in a soft voice. "I can't imagine living like that."
"So anyway, I have to bring in a salary."
He continued to eat the now-cold slice of pizza. Casey's brain raced. "You know, Paul, you could register at Suffolk Community—"
"Oh, sure. Thirteenth grade."
"No, come on. You could take one course at a time, and still work, and meanwhile you'd be piling up credits. Then you can transfer to any college whenever you want to. I mean, it's not terrific, but at least you're getting somewhere."
She could see his eyes considering. She was reaching him. "I could go down there and ask about it."
"You really should," she said.
He crunched the pizza crust. "Thanks," he said. "You got me thinking."
"Well, let's not get hysterical," she said, but her heart was bounding.
He put his hands palms-down on the table. "I mean it," he said. "I'm glad you don't hate my guts totally."
"Of course I don't hate you totally," she said, as she stepped off the cliff. "I just hate what you did."
"Well, so do I."
The people in the mall seemed to stop eating and walking, and for an instant she felt she was in a tableau of wax figures. She looked at the pink and yellow neon signs and at Paul, who looked so tired and so young. He was a little boy, a smart, mixed-up, angry little boy.
"Oh, Paul," she said sadly. "Why did you have to be an asshole?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Didn't you feel how much I cared about you? Why'd you screw it up?"
"Casey, would you give me another shot? One date. If I can keep from crapping out, we can think about the next one. I don't want to give you up."
Her cheek burned. The back of her head still hurt. "I don't know what to say, Paul. You could be doing a job on me. This whole soap opera about your family, and now suddenly you're inspired to go to college. It sounds great, but everyone always said you were a con man."
He stood up with an abrupt, violent motion. "I gotta go."
"Hey, don't get ticked off at me."
He subsided. "I'm not. I don't blame you. I loused up."
She stood up, too. "Paul, you don't have to louse up anymore. You can change."
"If you say so."
"Oh, damn it, what do you want from me? Am I supposed to fall into your arms because you've got problems?"
"No."
She breathed in and out, four or five times, as a vise squeezed her chest. "All right. One date. I want to go where there's a crowd. And I'll meet you there."
He smiled his devilish little smile, the one she'd seen the first time she'd met him. "Boy, you drive a hard bargain."
"You bet your ass."
"Well, I'll see my ass and raise you an elbow."
Her laughter popped out; she couldn't stop it. He touched her shoulder, very briefly, with two fingers. She almost didn't know it had happened.
"I have to get back," he said.
"Okay."
"I'll call you up."
"Okay."
There was a pause. "I'm going to go to Suffolk and register. I mean it."
"Okay."
"Jesus, say something else."
"I don't know what else to say."
He smiled. "Take care, Casey. See you soon."
"Sure."
He seemed to want more, but he held back. He wrested himself away and strode headlong through the crowds. Casey stood like an idiot by the table. On an overwhelming impulse, she grabbed the untouched second slice of pizza. It was stone-cold, the pointed end curled up, the sausage circles hard. She bit into it and chewed ecstatically. She gobbled down the whole thing, including the burnt crust. Then she picked up his Coke and finished that.
She suddenly, absurdly, felt good that she could go to the A&S shoe department and tell Faye that she and Paul had patched up their fight. She didn't have to explain to Mom and Dad why she wasn't going to date Paul anymore. These things lifted a load from her heart. She was filled with a sense of future. She wanted to turn him around. Love could do that.
Casey grabbed her handbag and walked away from the table, smiling. If only her face didn't hurt so much, she could pretend nothing bad had happened at all.