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“Not by much,” he grouses.
Eventually, I cuddle in against him and we fall asleep.
* * *
The next morning, I’m awake before he is. He’s only in boxers. This is new also. I mean, me being naked except for a thong is definitely new, but I was so preoccupied with what was happening to me last night, I didn’t really realize what was going on with him so much—that he’d undressed. I was too scared to touch him last night. But now, with him asleep and unaware, I figure I can do some quiet exploring.
He feels nice. Surprisingly so. I don’t know what horrors I was expecting, but this doesn’t seem so bad. There’s something kind of tender about touching him like this. His eyes open. They seem wide and warm to me. He doesn’t speak or move, like he’s afraid he might spook me. I stroke him a little and his eyes close and he covers my hand with his own, to show me what to do. He looks so cute, so focused on this. I lean over and bite his ear. The effect is strong; I knew it would be. He pulls me in, intent now on the instruction. He whispers things to me, like harder and faster. I’m not sure I want to keep with it, I think I’d stop, but he’s fixed on this, working my hand and it’s too late to stop. My chest hurts and feels kind of heavy. He starts whimpering, grips me hard, and then lets loose.
His breathing is jagged after. His mouth is different when he kisses me, softer, wetter. I just don’t think I was ready. I wasn’t ready. And even though I really care about him, part of me suddenly feels a little sleazy—and very delicate. Like maybe I’d cry if he said the wrong thing. But he doesn’t. He does all the right things, drying my hand with a bath towel and being extra sweet to me. He touches my face and kisses the freckles, which are mostly across my nose, but some do stray up to my forehead. Eventually we make it out of the room.
“Morning, Cami,” his mother says from the kitchen.
“Morning.” Luke’s mom knows I stay the night, but usually I’m gone before she wakes up. Running into her like this is embarrassing, particularly after what her son and I have been up to this morning. But Luke doesn’t seem to notice or mind his mom being there. He’s holding my hand. The other hand.
“I’m taking Cami home, Mom,” he says, and ushers me to his truck.
I stare out the window.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’m better than fine,” he says with a smile, and kisses me goodbye. I climb through my window, change my clothes and crawl into bed. I was the one who unbuttoned my jeans in the first place. I asked for it. Plus, it’s no problem. It was just my hand. We’ve been dating a long time. Sneaking out to see each other at night. Is it selfish of me to have liked the part where he was caressing and touching me more than the part where I was touching him? I guess he has a right to have what he wants, too. I mean, what was he supposed to do, stop and have a discussion with me about it? Hey baby, I’m going to have you give me a hand job now. You okay with that? Hmm...maybe. But there’s no stopping him from wanting it now. Which is fine. Yeah, of course it’s fine. I want to please and satisfy him. It was nice—kind of tender, in an intimate, erotic way.
* * *
As it turns out, third is a place Luke and I can both manage to be at for the rest of the summer. He’s happy because he’s more satisfied, and so am I—once I get more comfortable with everything. It works. At least for us it does.
Meanwhile, too soon the first day of school appears, sprouting up like a zit just after Labor Day. The only good thing I can see about my senior year is that because of a cleverly-arranged work-study program, I’ll be able to leave each day at 12:05. I guess I’ll also be glad to see all my friends. Although I work constantly in a place where almost no one’s my age, I do have friends. They’re all just linked to my best friend, Taryn. And because she’s flying in from L.A. at the very last moment possible, I don’t get to see her until twenty minutes before first period.
I wait for her big return into my life at the same place I always wait—the lunch table near our lockers in front of C Building.
“CAMI!” she cries, rushing up to me. She looks fantastic, even thinner than usual. Taryn always reminds me a tiny bit of the Mademoiselle doll I had as a kid. She has the same long black hair, pretty round face and thin legs. She even has the same wardrobe—cool hats, vests and shoes.
“Hey! Welcome home! You look fantastic.”
“Thanks,” she says, blinking her eyes and posing for invisible cameras. “I’d say it’s great to be here. But it really sucks.” She grins and her eyes shift to my left. “Derek! You grew facial hair!”
“Sure did.” He strokes his upper lip, clearly pleased. “Hey, Camster.”
Derek, like all of Taryn’s friends except me, is a theater geek. “Hey. Nice mustache.”
“TARYN!” more theater friends cry. Taryn’s the prettiest, best-dressed and most talented actor we have at school by far, and now she’s a senior, so this should be her year. We’ve been friends since kindergarten.
“Look, I have to run,” I say. “I’m in A Building.”
“Okay, see you babe!”
I don’t understand why teachers feel they must first hand you a printed syllabus and then go over the thing in detail out loud as well. Do they think we, as seniors, don’t know how to read? Anyway, I spend the next four hours listening to what’s right in front of me, secretly texting Taryn how much it sucks to be back, and wishing I was someplace—just about anyplace—else. Then at noon, a miracle—I’m done for the day.
LUNCH? SAME TABLE? Taryn texts.
Unlike me, Taryn does have fifth and sixth-period classes, so she has to stick around. I could hang out awhile with her anyway even though I don’t have to, but really I just want to leave campus and she has all that catching up to do with her theater friends. Our lunch table will be swamped for the next few weeks at least. Can’t. I’m meeting Luke, I text back. I head to my locker to stash my books. No homework yet, thank God.
FOR A QUICKIE?
I roll my eyes. NO!! I text her.
NO QUICKIE?? TELL ME IT’S NOT JUST FOR FOOD ;)
Are you done yet? Come over! Luke texts me.
On my way, I text back and head to his house.
Luke transferred to my high school as a senior last year—he was the hot transfer student in need of a job, preferably as a chef, and I’m the daughter of the guy who owns Étoile. When Taryn heard Luke needed work, and then caught him staring at me at lunch one day, she arranged for us to run into each other—literally. I helped him get the job, he took me out for ice cream to thank me, and we’ve been together ever since.
“Hey, how was school?” he asks. Tight T-shirt. I approve.
“Just like last year, only I’m done at noon and you weren’t there.”
He smiles. “Are you hungry? I made yogurt.”
“From scratch?”
“Yep.”
Luke’s new to professional cooking, but not new to the kitchen. He’s always loved to cook, wants to be a career chef, and loves to come up with little surprises like this for me. “What flavor is it?” I ask.
“Strawberry.”
He takes a container from the fridge and hands it to me with a spoon. “Mmm...” I say. “This is great. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He turns me around so I’m facing the kitchen counter and my back is to him.
“What are we doing?”
“Nothing. Eat your yogurt.”
“I don’t mind if I do. How was your morning?”
“Dull.” Suddenly, Luke comes up behind me and reaches up my skirt. Just like that. No kissing and caressing first. He just goes for it. And maybe because it was so unexpected, because it’s in the kitchen in the middle of the day and while I’m eating lunch, it doesn’t work for me. I start wondering if maybe something’s wrong with me. And the worry only makes it worse. Now I’m not eating the yogurt, I’m leaning against him and hoping he’ll either get better at doing this in a hurry, or else leave me alone and let me finish my food. “You’re awfully quiet,” he says. “You want me to stop?”
“Um...” He pulls his hand away and presses up against me. Yeah, the kitchen in broad daylight just isn’t working for me at all. “Can we go to your room?”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Kind of. It’s weird for me in here.”
“I thought you’d like down-and-dirty in the kitchen.”
“No,” I say. “I think I prefer sweet-and-tender in the bedroom.”
He picks me up off my feet.
“Wait!” I cry.
“What?”
“My yogurt!”
He rolls his eyes and grabs it for me.
A few hours later, he’s across the worktable from me at Étoile, stuffing cubes of fresh ginger into a duck carcass. “Watch where you stick your hand, there.”
At first Luke thinks I’m correcting him. Then he realizes I’m making a joke about his hand being up a duck’s ass, and he grins.
I watch him truss up the thing and go back over to his station. Sometimes, when he has to prep something, he’ll work near me, but usually no. And he doesn’t sit near me during the staff meal. He sits with the hot-line guys. I sit with the prep cooks. It’s like the French restaurant version of our high school lunchroom. And the principal, in this case, my father, is currently on his way to my table.
“How was school?” Dad asks.
“Fine.”
“What are your classes again?”
“English lit, statistics, human anatomy and U.S. government, which switches to economics in January. Can I have Saturday night off to sleep over at Taryn’s?”
“You’re already on the schedule.”
“But I haven’t seen her all summer.”
“We’ll discuss it later,” he says. Which means no.
Chapter Six
About a month ago, Julian transferred from the military hospital in Bethesda to a veterans’ rehab center in Boston. Since then, Estella and Brandon have both been regularly making the two-hour drive down to visit him. So when I see Estella’s SUV in the garage following her most recent visit, I don’t think much of it. I grab my backpack, go inside and call out to her but get no answer. Strange, but whatever. It’s after eleven, I had school this morning and then work since two and there’s still homework I haven’t done. I get some cheese and crackers from the kitchen and my cell beeps. It’s Luke:
Whatever happened to nighttime visits?
I smile. I haven’t really stayed out all night at Luke’s since school started. For one thing, it’s tiring on a school night. For another, I prefer not to take the risk of getting caught—meeting up at lunchtime is far safer.
Sorry, it’s late and I still have homework. School tomorrow.
I send the reply to Luke, look up and am startled to spot Estella standing just inside my bedroom doorway. “Oh,” I say. “Hey, what’s up?”
First, I see the wheelchair beside her. Then, I see Julian. In my bed.
His face looks much better than it did in June. The swelling is way down, the bruises are gone, and so is the nose bandage. His leg and a half are covered by my lacy white comforter and pink floral sheets.
“Um...what’s going on?” I ask, completely confused. As far as I knew, Julian wasn’t due here for another few months.
“Julian decided to leave early,” Estella says with a frown.
I look between the two of them. Obviously, this is the source of a disagreement.
I turn to Estella. “I don’t understand.”
“He went ‘AMA’—Against Medical Advice—and checked himself out before he should have,” she tells me with an even bigger frown.
“Sue me for wanting to get the hell out of there,” Julian retorts.
“It’s better than being here, where we have no real facilities to care for you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Well, it’s nice to have you here earlier than expected,” I offer, trying to keep the peace. Guess I’m giving up my room ahead of schedule. “You look much better now.”
Julian glances at me, gets an indecipherable look on his face, and then turns away. “Oh good,” he says sourly. “What a relief.”
Huh. I decide to overlook his foul mood. “I hope the room’s all right.”
“Yeah, thanks for cleaning it.” His voice is snide.
“I didn’t expect you until December.”
“Oh, you mean then you wouldn’t have covered the floor with all your dirty clothes?”
Okay, that’s it. “No, I’d have thrown you a party. Because you’re such a swell guy.”
“Cami,” Estella chides. “Apologize.”
I think about telling her I won’t, and then sigh and grit my teeth. “Sure,” I say reluctantly. “Sorry, Julian.”
“Does that mean you’ll clean it up?”
“Unreal,” I mutter.
“Screw you.”
“Edgy comeback. That one take you awhile?”
“Get out,” he says.
“Wouldn’t you like me to get you a nice pink nightie to go with those sheets first?”
“I said out!”
“Oh dear, the big tough Marine has ordered me out. I guess I’ll have to wring my hands and scuttle away now.”
