This Girl: A Novel Read online

  “Don’t make me beg.”

  For a moment, I had forgotten she even asked me to perform. I pull back and laugh. “You already are.”

  She doesn’t pull her hands away from her chin and she’s looking up at me with the most adorable expression. An expression I already know I’ll never be able to say no to. “All right, all right,” I say, easily giving in. “But I’m warning you, you asked.”

  I pull my wallet out of my pocket and take the money out, holding it up in the air. “I’m in!”

  When the emcee recognizes me, I slide out of the booth and begin making my way to the stage. I’m not prepared for this at all. Why did I not think she would ask me to perform? I should have written something new. I’ll just do my “go-to” piece about teaching. It’s easy enough. Besides, I don’t even think I’ve discussed my profession with her; this might be a fun way to do it.

  I reach the stage and adjust the microphone, then look out over the audience. When we lock eyes, she perches her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. She waves her flirty wave at me as her smile spreads across her face. The way she looks at me sends a pang of guilt straight to my heart. She’s looking at me right now in the same way that I’ve been looking at her.

  With hope.

  It hits me with that look that I shouldn’t waste this opportunity on a poem about my profession. This is my opportunity to put it all out there . . . to use my performance as a way to let her know who I really am. If her feelings for me are half what mine already are for her, then she deserves to know what she may be getting herself into.

  “What’s the name of your piece tonight, Will?”

  Without breaking our gaze, I look straight into her eyes from up on the stage and reply, “Death.”

  The emcee exits the stage and I take a deep breath, preparing to say the words that will either make or break the possibility of a future with her.

  Death. The only thing inevitable in life.

  People don’t like to talk about death because

  it makes them sad.

  They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them,

  all the people they love will briefly grieve

  but continue to breathe.

  They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them,

  Their children will still grow

  Get married

  Get old . . .

  They don’t want to imagine how life will continue to go on without them,

  Their material things will be sold

  Their medical files stamped “closed”

  Their name becoming a memory to everyone they know.

  They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them, so instead of accepting it head-on, they avoid the subject altogether,

  hoping and praying it will somehow . . .

  pass them by.

  Forget about them,

  moving on to the next one in line.

  No, they didn’t want to imagine how life would continue to go on . . .

  without them.

  But death

  didn’t

  forget.

  Instead they were met head-on by death,

  disguised as an eighteen-wheeler

  behind a cloud of fog.

  No.

  Death didn’t forget about them.

  If they only had been prepared, accepted the inevitable, laid out their plans, understood that it wasn’t just their lives at hand.

  I may have legally been considered an adult at the age of nineteen, but I still felt very much

  all

  of just nineteen.

  Unprepared

  and overwhelmed

  to suddenly have the entire life of a seven-year-old

  In my realm.

  Death. The only thing inevitable in life.

  I TAKE A step away from the microphone, feeling even more nervous than when I began. I completely laid it all out there. My whole life, condensed into a one-minute poem.

  When I step off the stage and make my way to our booth, she’s wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, so I walk slowly in order to give her a moment to absorb my words.

  When I slide into the booth she looks sad, so I smile at her and try to break the tension. “I warned you,” I say as I reach for my drink. She doesn’t respond, so I’m not sure what to say at this point. I become uncomfortable, thinking maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about telling her my life story. I guess I sort of put her on the spot, too. I certainly hope she doesn’t feel like she has to tell me how sorry she feels for me. I hate pity more than anything.

  Just when I start to regret my choice in performance, she reaches out and takes my free hand in hers. She touches me so gently—it’s like she’s telling me what she’s thinking without even speaking. I set my drink down on the table and turn to face her. When I look into her eyes, it’s not pity I see at all.

  She’s still looking at me with hope in her eyes.

  This girl just became privy to everything I’ve been scared to tell her about my life. The death of my parents, the anger I held toward them, the amount of responsibility I now face, the fact that I’m all Caulder has—and she’s still looking at me with hope in her tear-filled eyes. I reach to her face and wipe away a tear, then lightly trace my thumb across the wet trail running down her cheek. She places her hand on top of mine and slowly pulls it to her mouth. She presses her lips into the center of my palm without breaking her gaze from mine, causing my heart to catch in my throat. She just somehow managed to convey every single thought and emotion she’s feeling through this one simple gesture.

  I suddenly don’t care where we are or who might be watching us. I have to kiss her. I have to.

  I take her face in my hands and lean in closer, ignoring the part of my conscience that is screaming for me to wait. She closes her eyes, inviting me in. I hesitate, but as soon as I feel her breath fall on my lips, I can’t hold back. I close the gap between us, lightly pressing my lips against her bottom lip. It’s even softer than it looks. Somehow the background noise has completely faded and all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pulsating throughout my entire body. I slowly move my lips up to her top lip, but as soon as I feel her mouth begin to part, I reluctantly pull away. As much as I want to kiss her with everything I’ve got, I’m also vaguely aware that we’re in public, and I’ve got at least two students here tonight. I decide to save the better kiss for later, because if we do this right now, I know I won’t want to stop.

  “Patience,” I whisper, mustering up all the self-control I’ve got. I stroke her cheek with my thumb and she smiles at me in understanding. Still holding her face in my hands, I close my eyes again and press my lips against her cheek. She sucks in a breath as I release my hold and slide my hands down her arms, trying to remember how to breathe again. I’m unable to pull away from her, so I press my forehead against hers and open my eyes. It’s in this moment that I know she’s feeling exactly what I’m feeling. I can see it in her eyes.

  “Wow,” she exhales.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Wow.”

  We hold each other’s stare for a few more seconds. When the emcee begins announcing the qualifiers for round two I’m quickly brought back to reality. There is no way I can sit here any longer without pulling her onto my lap and kissing the hell out of her. I figure in order to avoid that; my best course of action would be to just leave.

  “Let’s go,” I whisper. I take her hand as we slide out of the booth and I lead her to the exit.

  “You don’t want to stay?” she says after we walk outside.

  “Lake, you’ve been moving and unpacking for days. You need sleep.”

  As soon as I say it, she yawns. “Sleep does sound good.”

  When we reach the car I open the door for her, but before she gets in, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. It’s a movement that occurs so quickly, I don’t even think about it beforehan
d. Why does she have that effect on me? It’s like my conscience just goes out the window when she’s around.

  As much as I know I should let go before it gets awkward, I can’t. She returns my embrace, then rests her head against my chest and sighs. We stand there, neither one of us speaking or moving, for several minutes. There’s not a single kiss passed between us, not a single graze of my hand across her skin, not a single word spoken . . . yet somehow, this is the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone.

  Ever.

  I don’t want to let go, but as soon as I look up and see Gavin and Eddie exiting the club, I pull back and motion for her to climb inside. Now is not the time for an Eddie introduction.

  As we’re pulling out of the parking lot, she leans her head against the window and sighs.

  “Will? Thank you for this.”

  I reach over and take her hand in mine. All I really want to do is thank her, but I don’t respond. I had a lot of hope for tonight, but she far exceeded my expectations. She’s exhausted and I can tell she’s about to fall asleep. She closes her eyes and I drive home in silence and let her sleep.

  When I pull into her driveway, I expect her to wake up, but she doesn’t. I kill the engine and reach over to shake her awake, but the peacefulness in her features stops me. I watch her sleep as I try to sift through everything I’ve been feeling. How can I possibly feel like I care about someone after only knowing her a matter of days?

  I loved Vaughn, but I can honestly say we never connected this way. On this sort of emotional level, anyway. I can’t remember feeling this way since . . . well, ever. It’s new. It’s scary. It’s exciting. It’s nerve-racking. It’s calming. It’s every single emotion I’ve ever felt balled up into an intense urge to grab hold of her and never let go.

  I lean closer and press my lips against her forehead while she sleeps. “Thank you for this,” I whisper.

  When I walk around and open her door, she wakes up. I help her out of the car and we’re both silent as we make our way to her front door, hand in hand. Before she goes inside, I pull her to me again. She rests her head against my chest and we resume the same embrace from outside the club. I can’t help but wonder if this feels as natural to her as it does to me.

  “Just think,” she says. “You’ll be gone three whole days. That’s the same length of time I’ve known you.”

  I laugh and squeeze her tighter. “This will be the longest three days of my life.” We continue to hold on to each other, neither of us wanting to let go, because maybe we realize it really will be the longest three days of our lives.

  I notice her glance toward the window like she’s worried someone’s watching us. As much as I want to give in to the insatiable need I have to kiss her, I give her a quick peck on the cheek, instead. I release her and slowly walk back to my car. When her fingers release from mine, her arm drops to her side and she smiles a smile that quickly causes me to regret not kissing her better. As soon as I’m in my car, I conclude that there is absolutely no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight if I don’t rectify this.

  I roll down my window. “Lake, I’ve got a pretty long drive home. How about one for the road?”

  She laughs, then walks to my car and leans through the window. I slip my hand behind her head and pull her to me. The second our lips meet, I’m a goner. She parts her lips and at first, our kiss is slow and sweet. She reaches through the window and runs her hands through my hair, pulling me closer, and it completely drives me insane. My mouth becomes more urgent against hers and for a brief second, I contemplate canceling my trip this weekend. Now that I’ve finally tasted her, I know I won’t be able to go three days without it. Her lips are everything I’ve been imagining they would be. The door between us is pure torture. I want to pull her through the window and onto my lap.

  We continue kissing until we get to a point where we both realize that either she needs to climb inside the car with me, or we need to come to a halt. We simultaneously slow down and eventually stop, but neither of us pulls away.

  “Damn,” I whisper against her lips. “It gets better every time.”

  She smiles and nods in agreement. “I’ll see you in three days. You be careful driving home tonight.” She presses her lips against mine again, then pulls away.

  I regretfully back out of the driveway and into my own, wishing more than anything I wasn’t about to leave town for the next three days. When I exit my car she’s making her way back up her driveway. I watch as she gathers her hair and pulls it up in a knot, securing it with a band while she nears her front door. Her hair looks good like that. It looked great down, too. As I’m admiring the view, it dawns on me that I never even complimented her on how great she looked tonight.

  “Lake!” I yell. She turns around and I jog back across the street to her. “I forgot to tell you something.” I wrap my arms around her and whisper into her hair, “You look beautiful tonight.” I kiss her on top of the head, then release her and walk back to my house. When I reach my door, I turn around and she’s still standing in the same spot watching me. I smile at her and go inside, then immediately head straight for the window. When I pull back the curtain, I see her twirl back toward her house and practically skip inside.

  “What are you looking at?” Maya says.

  Her voice startles me and I snatch the curtain shut and turn around. “Nothing.” I take my jacket off and step on the heel of my shoe to ease my foot out of it. “Thanks, Maya. You want to watch him again next Thursday?”

  She stands up and heads to the front door. “Don’t I always?” she says. “But I’m not watching that weird one again.” She shuts the door behind her and I throw myself on the couch and sigh. This was by far the best date I’ve ever been on, and I have a feeling they’re only going to get better.

  6.

  the honeymoon

  LAKE SMILES, THINKING back on how blissfully happy we both were after that date. “I had never had a night like that in my life,” she says. “Everything about it was perfect, from beginning to end. Even the grilled cheese.”

  “Everything except the fact that I failed to mention my occupation.”

  She frowns. “Well, yeah. That part sucked.”

  I laugh. “Sucked is an understatement for how I felt in that hallway,” I say. “But, we got through it. As tough as it was, look at us now.”

  “Wait,” she says, pressing her fingers to my lips. “Don’t jump ahead. Start from where you left off. I want to know what you were thinking when you saw me in the hallway that day. My god, you were so pissed at me,” she says.

  “Pissed at you? Lake, you thought I was mad at you?”

  She shrugs.

  “No, babe. I was anything but pissed at you.”

  oh, shit

  MY THREE-DAY WEEKEND. What can I say about my three-day weekend other than it was the longest, most treacherous three days of my entire life. I was distracted the entire time thinking about her. I could have kicked myself for not getting her phone number before I left; at least we could have texted. My grandfather apparently noticed the difference in my attention span during the course of the visit. Before we left their house last night, he pulled me aside and said, “So? Who is she?”

  Of course I played dumb and denied having met someone. What would he think if he knew I went on one date with this girl, and she already had me in a stupor? He laughed when I denied it and he squeezed my shoulder. “Can’t wait to meet her,” he said.

  I usually dread Monday mornings, but there’s a different air about today. Probably because I know I’ll get to see her after work today. I slide the note under the windshield wiper of her Jeep, then head back across the street to my car. As soon as I place my fingers on the door handle, I have second thoughts. I’m being way too forward. Who says, “I can’t wait to see you” in a note after one date? The last thing I want to do is scare her off. I walk back to her Jeep and lift the wiper blade to remove the note from her windshield.

  “Leave it.”
r />   I spin around and Julia is standing in their entryway, holding a cup of coffee between her hands. I look down at the note, then back at the Jeep, then back at Julia, not really knowing what to say.

  “You should leave it,” she says, pointing to the note in my hand. “She’ll like it.” She smiles and heads back into the house, leaving me completely and utterly embarrassed in her driveway. I place the note back under the windshield wiper and make my way back across the street, hoping Julia is right.

  •••

  “I TOLD YOU last week he was coming,” Mrs. Alex says in a defensive tone of voice.

  “No, you said he called about coming. You never told me it was today.”

  She turns to her computer and begins typing. “Well, I’m telling you now. He’ll be here at eleven o’clock to observe your fourth-period class.” She reaches to her printer and removes a freshly printed form. “And you’ll have a new student in your next class. I just registered her this morning. Here’s her information.” She hands me the form and smiles. I roll my eyes and shove the form into my satchel, suddenly dreading the remainder of the day.

  I walk in a hurry to third period considering I’m already five minutes late. I look down at my watch and groan. An eleven o’clock observation? That’s just an hour from now. All I have scheduled for my classes today are section tests. I wasn’t prepared to lecture at all, much less in front of my faculty advisor. I’ll just have to use this period to prepare something last-minute.

  God, could this day get any worse?

  When I round the corner to Hall D, the day somehow gets one hundred percent better as soon as I lay eyes on her.

  “Lake?”

  She’s got her hands in her hair, pulling it up into a knot again. She spins around and her eyes widen when she sees me. She pulls a sheet of paper from between her lips and smiles, then immediately wraps her arms around my neck.

  “Will! What are you doing here?”