Stuck With You (First Kiss Hypothesis) Page 6

  No way did I let myself think he might be feeling some zings, too—until I caught him staring at my lips. I wasn’t imagining that. Caleb Gray has never wanted anything to do with my lips, not once, not ever, unless it was to punch them.

  He’d never do that, because both our mamas would skin him alive, and then my father would dispose of the body, but I know there were times growing up when I pushed him to the edge.

  Now here we are, acting civil, like real live adults, and he was staring at my lips? Like, maybe he wanted to kiss them?

  “Should we drive back on the beach?” I say, if only to break myself out of these irrational thoughts.

  “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

  Ainsley and Sunny chatter in the back, but like wind-up toys losing their steam, they quiet down as the truck rumbles down the beach access path. I’m not 100 percent sure we’re even allowed to do this at night, but hell, you only live once. As we make our way onto the beach, Caleb and I roll down our windows. The pounding of the surf swishes into my ears. I love that sound.

  I turn and peek into the backseat. “That didn’t take long,” I say. “They’re out.” I laugh. “Never let it be said that my girls can’t hold their liquor.”

  He chuckles. “They’re impressive, all right.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his throat bob up and down.

  “They should probably go home, you know,” he says.

  “Yeah.” I peek over my shoulder again. “I guess. But we’re probably all gonna get busted anyway, and it’s only one more day, really. Plus, I need them,” I say. “I need…”

  He glances my way. “What do you need?”

  I search for a word. “I don’t know.” I haven’t had a deep conversation with Caleb since we were kids, but what have I got to lose? “Answers?”

  “Why? What’s going on?” he asks, sounding like he really wants to know.

  I’m not sure I trust that.

  “Just stuff,” I say. “Life. You’re not the only one with demons, you know.”

  “Demons? Me?” He laughs low. “No, no demons.”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. I should know better than to tell him what I’ve picked up on since he got here. He has carefully curated this nothing-bothers-him image that he shows to the world, and for the most part, it’s authentic. But when it’s not, when something is wrong with him, I’ve always seen right through it. “Don’t even try that on me. I’ve known you your whole life. Something’s going on.”

  As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I know what he’s thinking. That I’m the Catie from before, probing and digging, deep and deeper, pushing him to be honest and share, even when I know he doesn’t want to.

  He exhales loudly, and now I know he’s annoyed with me.

  “Anyway,” I say, before he can say something rude to put me in my place, “it’s fine if you don’t want to, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener.”

  The words of warning, the mind-your-own-business speech that I was sure was coming, never does. He doesn’t tell me to leave him alone. He says nothing at all until, “Thanks. Same goes for you.”

  I’m in shock. I let my eyes wander his way again, and his profile in the dashboard light, with the Gulf churning behind him, is a beautiful thing.

  I wish it wasn’t, and I’m definitely not letting myself go back to unrequited crush-ville with him. A dance and a kind word do not lovers make, right? I think Shakespeare said that. Or he should have.

  Whatever. It makes me happy for this brief moment, the thought that even if we’ll never be Cay-Cay as a couple, maybe we really can work our way back to friends.

  I stick my hand flat out the window and let the wind move it like a bird in flight. I lean my head out and let the warm breeze blow my hair back. I can’t help but smile. I think back to what I said to him, about us staying in separate orbits. It had taken me a good long while to come up with that analogy, and I thought it illustrated my point perfectly.

  But now I’m thinking that, in a completely platonic way, maybe I wouldn’t mind our orbits overlapping this week, if only just a little.

  I wake up early after a restless night. The sun is barely up, but I’m wide awake. Sunny moans as I roll out of the bed we’re sharing and tiptoe into the bathroom. Ainsley is snoring on the daybed against the wall. This room is small but cozy, and it’s always been mine. I love that we’re all here together. Next year, we’ll all be at different schools, going down different paths. I’ll miss the sounds of them sleeping when I’m in a dorm room with a stranger for a roommate. I’ll miss them all the time.

  There’s already a text on my phone from Gramps asking if I want to FaceTime today. He sent it at five a.m.—he’s always been an early riser. Although he probably doesn’t expect me to be up until after noon, I decide to surprise him. As I make my way through the house to the deck, my eyes go to the door of Caleb’s parents’ room, where he’s sleeping, and that tingle, same one I felt last night when we were dancing, makes its way through me. I should not be tingling, not even a little, but when it comes to him, resistance seems futile.

  It doesn’t matter. In a few days, he’ll be gone. In a few days, this strange experience will all be over.

  As soon as I’m outside, I dial up Gramps.

  “What?” he says, although it takes the word a few tries to come out. His speech is only one thing affected by the Parkinson’s. Sometimes he speaks slowly, sometimes his words all slur together. I’ve learned to understand him, though—mostly. “Do my eyes deceive me?” he asks. “You’re up before lunch?”

  I laugh and smile my biggest smile for him. It’s not something I have to work at—he brings it out of me.

  “Gramps, I’m always up before lunch.” I roll my eyes jokingly. Like any other teenager, I am a master at sleeping in.

  “At the beach, that’s true.”

  “Yes,” I say. “And it’s a beautiful morning. I wish you were here.” The sun is just starting to come up behind the house. I go around to the side deck and show him on the phone.

  “Ah,” he says. “It’s been too long. That is love-ly.” He pauses to rest. Even a few sentences is hard for him. “And you? Are you fig-uring things out?”

  I stare at his face, and his head that he can’t keep still. I’d give anything to take away this terrible disease. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’m good.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he says. “I’ve never known you to run off for no good reason. Something is going on.”

  “No, it’s not. And I didn’t ‘run off.’ There was raw sewage—”

  “Oh no.” He chuckles. “Don’t give me that crap.”

  “Jeez,” I whisper. “Don’t say that so loud. Where’s Mom?”

  “Don’t worry about her,” he says.

  “Easy for you to say,” I reply.

  He laughs. “You know, you don’t have to have your entire life sorted out, Cupcake. I’m still tryin’ to figure out mine.”

  I don’t know how he knows so much, but he always does. “I know.”

  Maybe I don’t have to have all of it sorted, but that Northwestern application is dangling in front of me, and it has a deadline.

  “But really, everything’s fine.” I never lie to my grandpa. I feel terrible right now, but I can’t share this with him—that a big part of me is tempted to leave when I know he needs me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Me? I’m right as rain.”

  I know that’s not true. He hates that he’s losing control of his muscles, and the doctors say it’ll only get worse. “You taking your pills? Your supplements?”

  “Yes, yes.” He lifts a hand and waves it, or tries to. “And how’s my friend, Caleb?”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Good,” I say, though my voice is about three octaves higher than usual.

  “Oh?” Gramps narrows his eyes.

  “Yeah, he’s the same.” My grandfather knows me so well, I’m afraid he can see right through me. “You know Caleb.”
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br />   He stares at me. “Yes, I do.”

  Gramps is way too perceptive. Time to change the subject. “So. You got any news tips?”

  Gramps listens to NPR every morning of his life and jots down the top ten stories that catch his attention. He knows how much I love that sort of thing, even if he doesn’t know about Northwestern. If he did know, he would tell me to go—no, not just tell me to go, he’d buy my plane ticket and pack my suitcase.

  We talk for a while longer and hang up when he gets tired. I love that man so much, how could I possibly think of leaving him behind?

  Chapter Seven

  Caleb

  When my eyes open in the morning—I finally got a few hours of restless sleep—I hear voices. Mo licks my face as I try to focus on them.

  I flip over on my back, stretching like a starfish across the mattress. The girls must have the TV on.

  Mo yelps, needing to go out, and then I hear it again. Booming man voice. Then a laugh. It sounds louder. Okay, all right, I tell myself. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe Uncle Matt, Catie’s dad, decided to come early and save me from these women. One in particular who has been on my mind most of the night.

  I’m trying to get out of the bed, but I get tangled in the sheets, and I hear more laughing. That’s not Uncle Matt. It sounds like more than one deep voice. By the time my feet find the floor, I’ve yanked a pair of basketball shorts on over my boxers. I fling open the bedroom door, totally confused.

  There are people in the house. People I don’t know.

  “Come on, boy,” I call to my dog and walk slowly down the hall. But as soon as I catch sight of the living room, everything inside of me crashes to a halt.

  “What the hell?” I ask in total disbelief.

  There on the sofa are the frat guys from the party, the same ones from Swede’s. These assholes are like mosquitoes at dusk, impossible to avoid, and on the far end of the sectional, flip-flops up on the ottoman (my mom would kill him), is Sterling—with Catie right beside him. At least she has the decency to look slightly uncomfortable when she sees me.

  Not that she should feel the same, but, I don’t know, did we or didn’t we have fun last night—without that giant idiot? Also, what the hell are they thinking letting these guys into our house?

  “Hey, man,” the oaf dares to speak to me. “Dude, you look pissed.” His friends laugh, even though that wasn’t funny. It was correct, but it wasn’t funny. “You remember me? I’m Sterling, from last night. Here, have a donut.”

  “Yeah, man, I remember you. I wasn’t the one who was wasted.”

  They all turn away to watch the TV, all except Catie, Ainsley, and Sunny. There’s an episode of Rick and Morty playing. The guys all laugh. I do not. Catie gets up from her snuggle session with Sterling.

  “They stopped by with the donuts,” she says in a low voice, then whispers, “We didn’t know they were coming—”

  “Great,” I talk over her, giving her no indication of whether or not I buy her story. I walk around the sectional and stand directly in front of the TV. I pick up the box of donuts, open it, and eye the selection. “You all need to leave.”

  “What are you, man? Like their dad or something?” the one I met last night, Seth, asks. There’s more laughing, and I’m done. But I swallow my anger. Caleb Gray is cool, calm. Chill.

  “Seriously.” Sterling stares at me. “Is he like your jilted ex or something?” he asks Catie. “He seems overly invested.”

  “No,” she grimaces, not making eye contact with me. “No. He’s a friend.”

  “Yeah,” I say, ready to shut this down. “And y’all are in college, right?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Because you know these girls are all under age. Like seventeen, right? Ladies? I mean, if things go the way you’re hoping they’ll go, y’all could be looking at some hard time.”

  I look at the donuts again and pick out a chocolate frosted with rainbow sprinkles. I chew and swallow, taking my time.

  “Now I’m not lawyer, so don’t quote me on that.”

  Sterling lifts his hands like I’m about to arrest him. “Dude, it’s just donuts,” he scowls. “Relax.”

  “Sure. Donuts.” I take another bite. “It’s just that Ainsley here, her dad’s a federal judge, so maybe you don’t want to tempt fate?”

  That gets them up and moving. Seth stands first, shaking his head, trying to act cool, but understanding the situation. Probably the smartest one of the four of them, which I’m guessing isn’t hard to be.

  I shrug and swallow another bite. “These are delicious!”

  “Man, you’re a dick,” Sterling says.

  I smile. “Whatever you say, man. Just get out of my house.”

  “Wait! Come on!” Ainsley stands up and takes her friend Josh by the hand. “He’s kidding. My father won’t do anything to you!”

  I head to the door and open it wide. I’m not gonna argue. I’m gonna stand my ground and watch them go. Mo is at my side, growling at them as they leave, one by one. Luckily, I’m bigger than all of them except for Sterling, but he seems awfully slow-witted. He’s also the last one out the door. As he passes me, I sneer. Is this really the kind of guy Catie goes for? He holds out an arm to take the donuts with him.

  I snap them back out of his reach. “No way.”

  He bares his teeth, which makes Mo growl louder, which makes him keep walking.

  Jackass.

  He’s barely crossed the threshold when I slam the door shut.

  “All right, ladies!” I say, flinging the donut box onto the dining room table. “We need to have ourselves a little huddle. Have a seat,” I order, and I must sound pretty serious because Ainsley and Sunny actually do what I say.

  Of course, Catie does not. She stands up next to the table, arms crossed, because why would she ever do what I say?

  I don’t really care. “Seriously. What the hell is wrong with y’all?”

  I know Ainsley’s mad. Catie, too. Her eyes are flashing, and she’s got her fists planted on her hipbones. Girl is good at everything, except when it comes to hiding her emotions. She wears them clearly on her face, no guesswork needed.

  “Oh my God. Nothing is wrong with us, Caleb.” Catie sighs. “We did not invite them.”

  “But you let them in.”

  “Ainsley did,” Sunny says, glancing at her. “But I made sure they knew you were home, and that there was a dog.”

  “Yes, because we’re not dumb, Caleb. We know how to handle ourselves,” Catie says.

  “Yeah, Catie wouldn’t even let us eat a donut,” Ainsley adds.

  Catie lifts a shoulder. “You can’t be too careful.”

  I look down into the box, hoping those guys wouldn’t actually drug perfectly good donuts. “Fine. All I know is I made Catie’s mom a promise, and it didn’t include letting strangers into my house.” I stare down at one that has a strip of bacon across the top and maple frosting. They’re from Mike’s Donuts, which are the best anywhere, and even if they were bought by a bunch of morons, even if my new coach at CFU would probably kill me for the empty calories, I’m not about to let them go to waste, even if they have been laced.

  “All right, then. So, you’re in charge, right? You make the rules? What exactly are we allowed to do?” Catie snaps. “We have one day left together, and you seem determined to play babysitter from hell. We might as well all go home now.”

  No. That word pops in my head like a shot. No. I do not want her to go home, which makes zero sense. When I found her and her friends here, I wanted them nothing but gone. It’s Catie Dixon. What do I care if she goes home? I’d be better off if she did.

  The thing is, I’ve barely given a thought to my future since I surprised her at the front door.

  Mo whines at my feet, his eyes moving between me and Catie.

  I think about what she said in the truck last night. Something is bugging her. Life isn’t perfect. She has demons. I think of these things, and I feel something.

  I feel bad.
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br />   I pick up the maple-bacon donut and take a bite. Maybe now is not the time to be noticing what she’s wearing—a big T-shirt that covers her shorts. Her toned legs stick out from underneath it. She is wearing shorts, right?

  I look from face-to-face. “Listen, I am not trying to ruin your fun.” I lift my hands. “I swear it, Catie, don’t look at me like that. I know you can take care of yourself. You’ve been reminding me of that my whole life. But I can’t stop wanting you to be safe. Okay? That’s it. And excuse me, but you, all of you, can do better than those guys.” I inhale and look specifically at Catie. Her angry eyes soften, just a little, like maybe she gets that I’m not here just trying to be a dick, that maybe I actually care.

  An idea comes to me, and I lift a corner of my mouth in a half smile. A good idea—I think, anyway.

  Either that, or it’s the dumbest thought I’ve ever had in my life.

  “All right,” I say. “Truce, yeah? Let’s go do something,” I say, not feeling too hopeful.

  Catie plops down on the sofa and groans.

  “Like what?” Sunny asks.

  “Oh no,” I say. “It’s a surprise. Wear your swimsuits and bring some towels.”

  I know they probably don’t want to go anywhere with me, but it’s been years since I’ve been to the waterslide. Catie probably, too.

  “It better be fun.” Ainsley stands. “And my dad is a county judge, not federal.”

  “Federal sounded scarier.”

  Sunny flashes her tentative smile—I suspect she’ll go along with anything I want as long as I don’t tell her parents what she’s been up to this weekend. Which is dumb. I’m not going to tell anyone anything. I promised Aunt Kathy I’d watch out for them. That’s all I want to do. My eyes move to Catie again, now flat on her back on the sofa, covering her eyes. Mo is at her side, worshipping her as usual.

  Yes, that’s all I want to do. Watch out for them. I don’t want to do anything else.

  No, I don’t want her to go home. It’s okay to admit that. Maybe I can find out what’s going on with her. Help her find some answers and exorcise those demons. Plus, man it was hard seeing her with that ass Sterling. Last night, and then again this morning. Is that weird? Is that wrong?