NINE

It feels like an eternity before Brandon slides his hands up my arms and sets me gently back from him. I can feel him staring at me. I feel the light pressure from his hands on my arms. I hear the steady in-and-out of his breath. But I can’t look at him. I won’t. I don’t know how to face him.

And then one hand leaves my arm and his fingers brush against my forehead as he pushes my hair away.

“I’m not strong enough for this,” I finally say, my voice choked and barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to be.”

At this, I look up at him, floored that he didn’t respond the way I thought he would. I expected him to say, “Of course you are,” or “Time heals all wounds.” Any number of things that wouldn’t have been the right things to say in this moment.

I want to reply with “I don’t?” but that feels juvenile and stupid. Because I know I don’t. At least, now I know. Or maybe I always knew and now I just believe. Either way, it was exactly the right thing to say, and I wonder how he knew that. And I wonder what he did after his parents died to get through this Hell.

I swallow hard over my raw throat and meet his tender hazel eyes. “Will…will you help me?” My voice is small, like a child, and he gives a little laugh in response.

“Have I not been doing that all along?” he says.

I think for a moment, recalling our interactions thus far. Realizing he’s been the only one able to bring me out of hiding. He’s also been the one to send me back into it, but that’s not his fault. That’s my fault for feeling something for him that scares the shit out of me.

“Jess? Brandon?”

Shit. Mom’s in the hallway calling for us. We can’t come out of the bathroom now—she’ll wonder why the Hell we’ve been in here together.

Without a word, Brandon winks at me and then exits the bathroom, clicking off the light as he does, leaving me in darkness.

“Hi, Mrs. B!” he says cheerily as he steps into the hallway. “Dinner ready?”

“It is,” Mom replies. “Where’s Jess?”

“She just ran upstairs for a minute. She’ll be right down, I’m sure.”

Their voices fade, and I give it another few seconds to make sure they’re in the kitchen, so I can make my escape. I dart upstairs as quietly as I can and run to the mirror in my bathroom. Shit. My eyes are red and puffy. I look like a nightmare, but I think of Carly, and I giggle as I think, What would Carly do?

I splash cold water on my face and pat it dry. A little eye cream, a little powder, mascara, blush, lip-gloss. I stare back at myself, surprised and pleased by my work. My eyes are still a little puffy but I’m hoping it’s not as obvious to everyone else as it is to me.

“Jess!” Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming? It’s getting cold!”

I barrel out of my room and down the stairs. She’s standing at the bottom, staring up at me, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” she asks as I descend the final step.

“Fine,” I say, a little too cheerily. “Smells good.”

She puts her arm around me and we start to walk slowly toward the kitchen. “That Caroline is quite the little chef.”

“Who knew?” I whisper back.

“She’s been keeping her talents hidden under moodiness and chains.”

I hold back a giggle as we enter the kitchen. Everyone’s already sitting around the table, and I take the open seat between Brandon and Dad as Mom starts to dish up the pasta.

Small talk ensues through the duration of the meal, and I’m pleased to see Caroline engaging all of us. Much the same way Mom and Dad are probably pleased to see me engaging everyone. It does feel good to laugh and chat about the mundane things in life.

“Well, it’s getting late,” Brandon says. It’s long after we’ve finished our meals, and we’ve just been sitting here at the kitchen table talking about everything and nothing.

I look at the clock. 9:15. Where did the time go?

My gaze wanders to Brandon. He’s looking at me, and our eyes lock. I want to talk to him alone; I want to thank him for being so cool and understanding in the bathroom earlier. Which sounds really strange when put that way.

I look away as I bite back a smile.

“Are we going to try that recipe tomorrow, Caroline?”

Caroline blinks her thick, black lashes at Mom. “Really? Tomorrow?”

“Sure! Come on by around four thirty. That’ll give us plenty of time.”

“Actually, she’s got more transcribing to do for me,” I pipe up. “So come right after school, okay?”

Brandon flashes me a smile leaden with gratitude. Getting Caroline over here right after school means she won’t have time to get into any trouble with her so-called friends.

“All right, I guess,” Caroline says, trying to play it cool, but I see how pleased she is under all that makeup.

“Well, I guess we’ll see you both again tomorrow for dinner,” Dad says in his soft-spoken voice. “Get home safe.”

I walk Brandon and Caroline to the door while Dad and Mom start to clean up dinner. Caroline definitely has more pep in her step than usual, and that’s saying something, since she’s still wearing those clunky boots. She throws on her coat, and then whirls around. Before I know what’s happening, she’s got her arms around me.

“See you tomorrow, Jess,” she says, giving me a tight squeeze.

“Um, yeah,” I reply, trying to process this sudden change in Brandon’s little sister. “See you tomorrow. Thanks for everything. Oh, and dinner was delicious.”

She beams with pride. “Thanks.”

Brandon hands her the keys to the car. “Start her up for us, okay?”

“You drove?” She stares at him incredulously and the obstinate Goth-girl is back for a moment.

“It was windy. I didn’t want to mess up my hair.”

Caroline rolls her eyes and Brandon winks at me as she stomps out the door. Once she’s shut it behind her, Brandon turns a bit more serious.

“I really can’t thank you enough,” he says. “She’s like a different person. Or maybe like the person she used to be, I guess.”

“It’s nothing.” I shrug. “I’m happy to keep her off the streets.”

“Listen, I was gonna go shopping tomorrow for some new clothes. Any chance you’d like to come along and be a second pair of eyes? I really can’t be trusted in a department store.”

“Oh, no?” I raise my eyebrows, curious to know what he means by that.

“I’ll have to show you my closet sometime. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Am I to believe you spend uncontrollably on things you don’t need, then?”

He shrugs, and one corner of his mouth turns up into a wry smile. “Don’t need…should never, ever in a million years put on my body…you know. Just an all-around disaster.”

I laugh. “I’ll help you,” I say, “but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That when we get back, you have to try on every hideous piece for me.”

“And then we’ll bag them up and take them to Goodwill.”

I hold out my hand and he shakes it. “Deal.”

We hold hands a little longer than I’m comfortable with, and I jerk mine away.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. I wish there wasn’t. There shouldn’t be. We’re friends. Good friends. That’s all. The fact that he’s really cute has nothing to do with anything.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” he finally says.

I step back, worried that he’s going to try to hug me. If he does, I have no idea what will happen. I could break down into tears again. I could throw my legs around his middle and beg him to take me to bed. Either one is a risk I’m not willing to take.

“Have a good night.”

He nods, understanding, and then heads out the front door.