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Jabbing his fork into the goopy chicken and potatoes mix center on his tray, Nelson brought it to his lips and grimaced at the salty taste.
“The school lunch is going to give us all heart attacks before we turn nineteen,” said the kid on his right.
Nelson slanted the boy a look. Isaac Sobol, five-foot-four, black hair, nasal voice. An all right friend ... if a bit opinionated.
“Say ... what’s with all the talk about you and Punk?”
Him and Punk. Already it’d begun, like he’d feared it would, only not in the manner he’d thought. Her colliding with him in the stairwell was accidental. It was also eye-opening. She’d looked at him with that same adoration she always wore, not anything new, but with it was something else he hadn’t expected, self-deprecation. Yet, whatever she thought about her personal appearance, she obviously had no idea that, laying there, his mind had gone entirely the other direction. Punk ... Pink had curves in all the right places, only how she dressed, the baggy t-shirts, the worn blue jeans, covered them up.
“There is no ‘me and Punk’,” he replied. “We collided in the stairwell. That’s all. And I felt bad because she seemed to be in pain.”
“Nel-son ...”
The singsong voice of Tiffany Schaefer entered his ears, and he refocused. Tiffany was the antithesis of Pink. She flaunted every female asset she had ... low-cut blouses, short-short skirts, and a lot of rubbing up against him which, truth be told, he’d rather she didn’t. Tiffany had a reputation, and he wanted no part of that. Telling her so had become more and more difficult.
Tiffany descended into a chair across the table and leaned over too far. The lacy pink edge of her bra stared back at him. Her hand curved over his, her nails tickling his skin. “I was thinking ... A couple of us are going out to the border tonight, you want to come?”
The border, an empty lot on the legal boundary of their county and the one to the west, was a popular hook-up spot for most teens in the area. He’d been there a handful of times, only once to make out, and didn’t have the best memories of that. Tiffany asking meant only one thing, but thought of being caught with her gave him the willies.
“I’m busy,” he said.
Tiffany’s mouth formed a pout. “Too busy for me?”
“I promised my dad I’d help him clean the garage.” A lame excuse, but one of several he’d thought up to explain his new studies with Pink should he need to.
Being seen with Tiffany bothered him, being seen with Pink as well. But worst of both was anyone knowing he couldn’t read. He’d covered for it successfully so far and begun to think he’d graduate without people finding out, only somehow Mrs. Palmer had and he either learned or stood by and watched his friends go on with out him.
“Can’t you blow him off?” she asked. Her head tilted, her hair fell over her shoulders, one strand snaking down her blouse. She appeared aware of it and pleased.
Taking hold of his tray, Nelson pushed to his feet. “No. I can’t. Think I’ll dump this and go outside. I’m not hungry.”
He heard her snort as he walked away but didn’t look back. He made his way out of the lunchroom and down the hall to the front doors. He spotted Pink shoving through them several feet ahead. Speeding his steps, he caught up with her on the concrete pad edging the lot. “Hey ...”
She turned her head, her eyes taking on the other expression she’d had before they’d parted at the nurse’s office, a grimace. She was in pain. She propped herself up with one hand.
“You okay?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Not really.”
He’d seen her to the nurse’s office then gone on to class. Hanging around would have led to further explanations for him being there, and Pink hadn’t seemed to expect that. Still, the way she fell, he’d figured she’d be bruised for a while, and he’d have been a jerk to walk away.
“I’m going home. Can’t concentrate for being uncomfortable.”
She said it like he was dismissed, yet he didn’t move.
“Are we ...” Still on for later? He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question, yet found he couldn’t back away either.
“We can skip,” she said. “I probably won’t feel like it.”
“No, I ... I’d like to come. That is ... if you’re willing.” He started at his own words. Did he?
Her eyes filled with distrust. She didn’t believe him, and maybe she shouldn’t. He’d only ever ignored her until he needed something and now wasn’t willing to admit to anyone else that he did.
The front doors to the school opened, and he glanced behind. Isaac eyed him from just inside. Nelson looked back at Pink in time for her to nod, then revolved and reentered the school.
“Thought there was no ‘you and Punk’,” Isaac said.
Once again, his mouth betrayed him. “There isn’t. She was going the same way as me and said she was in pain.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I felt bad. It’s my fault she’s hurt.”
Isaac snorted. “It’s hers. She never pays any attention to what’s around her.”
But, walking down the hall, Nelson knew that wasn’t true. If anything, she paid too much attention, especially to herself, and it could be his behavior contributed to it.
I told my mom I slipped on the stairs, showed her a few of my smaller bruises, and left Nelson’s part of the story out entirely. Once home, I holed up in my bedroom and watched TV until dinnertime, waving off sitting at the table, which she actually didn’t protest.
I dreaded seeing Nelson. Knowing how I still felt about him but that he was too ashamed of me was like standing on hot coals with ice tied to your feet – contradictory. I hated myself for going along with his plan, but still couldn’t stop from doing it.
When seven o’clock rolled around, I wasn’t sure how to act and so waited for my mom to tell me he’d arrived before exiting my room. I’d stiffened in the intervening hours, the bruise spanning my side having turned a hideous shade of purple. I limped out, hoping my mom wouldn’t notice, and leaned against the corner between the hall and the foyer.
Nelson looked at me, his brows knit, and the same, stupid fluttery feeling encircled my gut. A shock of his hair dangled seductively between his eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away. Instead, I bit my lip.
“Can I ...?” he asked, nodding toward the living room.
I dipped my chin and straightened. Rubbing my fingers down the seam of my jeans, I took a step in that direction. But the pain in my side ripped upwards, and I faltered. Bobbling, I tilted toward the wall, one hand swinging outward. It landed in Nelson’s palm. He curled his fingers around it and strengthened his arm.
There we were again, awfully close together, and he was just as great.
“How bad is it really?” he asked, distracting me.
Unsure why I’d confess anything to him, I shifted my feet for a stronger stance and tugged the bottom of my t-shirt high enough he could see the worst. He made a low-volume hiss.
I dropped it. “I’ll live.” Pulling free, I concentrated my efforts, one foot in front of the other. In the living room, I eased onto the couch.
He stood overhead for a moment. “You didn’t tell your mom. Did you?”
I sighed and shook my head.
He sank into the chair facing me. “I figured. But don’t you think ...?”
I nodded toward the book in his hand. “Why don’t you read?”
Nelson eyed me for a while longer then scooted back in the chair. “Read chapter two over the weekend.”
This surprised me. “You did?”
He nodded. “The quicker I learn, the sooner you’re rid of me.”
What little bit of good mood he’d just engendered took a serious dive. I didn’t want to be rid of Nelson. I wanted more of Nelson, and it seemed whatever he did wrong, I wouldn’t change my mind about that. But probably he wanted rid of me, and that’s what he meant.
“Why didn’t you learn?” I asked. I didn’t want to think about that.
He thumbed the pages, flicking them with his nail. “I don’t know.”
He spoke boyish, and I had this image of him in elementary school. What had twelve-year-old Nelson been doing instead of learning to read? Sports? Video games?
“You didn’t understand it?”
He’d ducked his gaze, his eyes on his shoes, but glanced up right then. “No, I did. I think ... I think I thought it was funny.”
Funny? I didn’t say so, but the word must have been written on my face.
“You know ... a joke that I could get away with it. I mean, I learned the basics when I was small ... But once I stopped trying, I had to get away with it.”
“You bribed people?” I asked.
His face turned ten shades of red. “Girls, mostly,” he mumbled.
Why that made me laugh I have no idea, but a giggle escaped. I buried it in my palm ... too late. The sound lifted the corner of his lips, and a light sparked in his gaze.
“Nelson Trader, Prince Charming,” I said.
He grinned. “Worked ... until now.” His smile faded a bit.
I slid down on the couch. “No, it’s still working,” I said, my voice drifting soft.
He tilted his head, a knowing look in his eye. “It’s different this time,” he said evenly, “because I’m sincere.”
My throat thickening, I nodded at the book. “You should read. Wait ’til you find out what Sarah Jane does to give herself cleavage.”
He chuckled. “Girls.”
Pink missed school on Tuesday. Nelson sat in his desk in first period English, actually looking forward to seeing her, though he probably wouldn’t acknowledge it. When she didn’t arrive, he was strangely disappointed. Her absence on Wednesday as well made him more concerned, so, sneaking out of school early, he drove to her house and practically sprinted to the door.
His first knock wasn’t answered, nor his second. His third came with Pink’s voice shouting, “Hold your horses.” He exhaled, relieved to hear her, but wasn’t prepared for how she looked in the entrance. Her hair in disarray, circles beneath her eyes, she seemed disorganized and frazzled.
“Nelson? What ... are you doing here?”
He responded truthfully. “You weren’t at school for two days. I was worried.”
“That I’d died?” Her sarcasm oozed out.
He held in a laugh. Pink’s acerbic nature, strangely, appealed to him. “That you were sick,” he continued. “You weren’t doing well on Monday.”
Her brows tight, she frowned, then lifted the tail of her shirt. A bandage spanned her ribcage. “I wasn’t. Mom found out Tuesday morning and took me to the doctor. Apparently, I cracked a rib. Hurts like ...” She didn’t finish the remark. “Look ... you want to come in? I was in the middle of something.”
She didn’t explain what but left him there, the door wide open, and headed toward the kitchen. He followed along behind, halting a few feet from the center island to take in the mess on the counter.
“Cupcakes,” she said. “Complete boredom has me baking. Here, you can help.” Taking up the spoon leaning against the side of a ceramic bowl, she elbowed the recipe book his direction.
He stepped closer, seating himself on a small, padded stool.
“Read the ingredients to me.”
Curving his fingers over the edge, Nelson bent toward the page. “One-half cup butter, soft-ened.”
“Got that.” She waved a wax-paper-wrapped stick his direction.
“One and a half cup sugar.”
Again, she pointed toward the ingredient.
“Two eggs. One tea ... tea-spoon van-ill-a ... ex ...” He paused. “Ex ... I’m not sure of that one.” His head lifted.
“What’s it look like ... the second half.”
Lowering his gaze, he concentrated harder. “Tr-ack? Ex-track?”
“Close. The end’s a t, so it’s tract.” She emphasized the last letter. Pink pushed a small brown bottle his way. “That’s this stuff. It comes from an orchid.”
He raised his head again. “Really?”
She nodded, then tapped the tip of her finger on the page. “Keep reading.”
He obeyed, scrolling down the list, and began on the instructions, once he’d reached the bottom. He looked up at the end to find her bowed over the bowl, her arm moving in circles, and didn’t speak. He took in the curve of her lips, her tongue poking out, unintended, on the side, the tousled mound of her hair sprung around her face.
She was attractive in her own way. Why had no one ever noticed? Why had he never noticed? Because he was too busy looking at himself ... and girls like Tiffany, who wore their girlishness on the hem of their skirt. But Pink wasn’t any less a girl than they were. He’d found that out first hand. She just doubted she was.
She looked up and paused in her stirring, the same disbelief surfacing on her face. “What? I’ve grown horns?”
He shook his head. Curves. She’d grown curves and soft skin and a rosy tint to her cheeks. “You have ...” He stretched out one arm and wiped a drop of batter from her chin. He turned his soiled finger up in her view. “I hope you’re going to let me stay and sample those,” he continued.
She wiggled her nose. “It’s going to cost you.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked.
She nodded sharp. She released the bowl and disappeared from the kitchen, returning with a paper in her hand. Slapping it in front of him, she patted the page. “Vocabulary for the SATs. Got those off a webpage. For every ten words you can read, I’ll give you a cupcake.”
He scanned the list. “And if I read the whole thing?”
“Then you’ll be one happy man tonight.”
He laughed. “You should bake more often.”
“Ooo, chocolate. Can I have a bite?”
“No.” Nelson crammed as much of the creamy confection in his mouth as possible and smiled at Tiffany across the table.
Her lips puffed in a pout.
Isaac, on his left, laughed. “Where’d you get that anyhow?” he asked after he’d calmed.
Nelson switched his gaze, polishing off the last piece. He’d earned six cupcakes Wednesday night. He’d quit mainly to leave a few for Pink’s family. It didn’t seem fair to take them all home. But the ones he did, he’d eaten two before bedtime, one for breakfast, and now, one for lunch. Two left.
“A friend.”
“A girl?” Tiffany asked. “You’re seeing someone?”
Her voice rose at the end, and Nelson had the mental image of a cat with its claws out. Annoyed, he frowned. Who he did or didn’t see was really none of her business. He’d never given her any indication he was interested in her.
“I’m seeing someone,” he said for effect.
This time she looked hurt, a dog that’d lost its owner. Sinking back in the plastic chair, she folded her arms over her chest. Seconds later, she gave a huff and flounced away from the table.
Isaac shook his head, “Man ... you’ve made an enemy now.” He swiveled his gaze. “Who’re you seeing anyway? Don’t tell me Punk.”
“Not Punk,” Nelson replied, hasty. “Who doesn’t matter anyway.” The words left his mouth and circled around to slap him in the chest. Uneasy, he squirmed in place. A half-truth was the same as a lie. He wasn’t seeing Punk, yet in some ways, he was. Already this week, he’d been at her house twice, three times in the last seven days. He didn’t think of her as Punk anymore either, so there again was a half-truth. She was Pink, as feminine in his mind as the name suggested. Yet in public he’d act like she wasn’t?
“The way you’re squirming,” Isaac continued, “I’m starting to think it’s a guy.”
Nelson started. A guy? Not a guy, but a girl no one would believe in if they knew. Worse, a girl who deserved better than way he kept acting. His stomach in a knot, Nelson pushed up from the table. “Need to use the restroom,” he said.
He left Isaac in place and wandered into the hall. Making a left, he aimed for a side door, but passing the stairwell came to an abrupt halt. Voices echoed through the door, strident in tone.
“If he’s seeing someone, it isn’t anyone he wants people to know about.”
Tiffany. He’d known she was mad.
“Don’t you think you’re getting too worked up?” the second voice asked. “You’ve been after him for a while. Apparently, he’s not interested.”
Unable to place the speaker, Nelson peeked in the door’s thick window, but could only see a pair of red sneakers.
“Because he’s ‘interested’ in someone else, and I’m betting it’s not a girl at all.”
Hearing the rumor for the second time in the last ten minutes, Nelson’s gut gripped.
“A guy? You think Nelson’s gay?”
“Well, you explain it,” Tiffany snapped. “Why’s he not want this?”
Unable to stand there any longer, he surged forward, out the side door, and into the lot. He kept going until he’d reached his car, impulsive, jumping in and cranking. He drove too fast, not paying attention to red lights or stop signs, nor noticing which way he was going, and so didn’t see the semi blocking the intersection.
He slammed on the brakes, over-correcting to avoid it, and his tires hit the curb. The car vaulted skyward only to slam back to earth and skid right toward the light pole.