Call It What You Want Page 13

  Somehow, I can’t stop myself. “I want to help your mom.”

  “Yeah? You’ve got a hundred bucks?”

  “No.” I hesitate. “But I know where I can get it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Maegan

  Friday afternoon, five o’clock. Normally, I’d be hanging out with Rachel and Drew, making plans for the weekend.

  Today, I’m hiding in my bedroom with a book. My social life took a bullet last spring, but apparently I took it from gasping on the floor to DOA.

  An insistent knock raps at my door. Samantha pokes her head in without waiting for an answer. “What time is Rob getting here? Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He said he could come run drills on Friday, right?”

  “Don’t you remember Dad chasing him out of here? Or maybe the way Drew treated him? Or—”

  “It’s not a date. It’s lacrosse. Text him.”

  I haven’t spoken to Rob since Thursday morning, when he barely nodded at my note in class. “No way. Dad’s downstairs. He’d lose his mind.”

  “Then we’ll go to Quiet Waters. Please?”

  I sigh. “He’s not really talking to me since Drew ran him out of Taco Taco.”

  “I thought you were doing a math project together.”

  “Sam, he probably wants to be left alone.”

  Her face falls. “No, Megs. He doesn’t.” She pauses. “He doesn’t want to be humiliated, but he doesn’t want to be left alone.”

  Now my face falls. She’s right.

  A note in her voice tells me she’s not just talking about Rob, either.

  It’s cold and near dark by the time we get to Quiet Waters, one of the largest parks in the county. It’s usually closed at night, but they offer ice skating in the winter, so we park by the rink, which sits at the edge of the open fields.

  The lot is crowded since it’s Friday night, but Rob is already there, sitting on the tailgate of his Jeep. His lacrosse stick spins between his hands, jumping from palm to palm. Despite all the motion, his expression is closed down, like when he was waiting for me in the Wegmans parking lot. I was surprised that he still wanted to meet up, but Samantha was right. He is lonely. I know he is.

  When we get out of the car, a cold breeze eats through my jacket, and I shiver. “Thanks for coming out.”

  He shrugs and looks across the parking lot at the shadowed field. “I didn’t think about how dark it would be. We’ll have a hell of a time seeing the ball.”

  “Let’s try anyway,” calls Samantha. She’s already pulling on her goggles.

  Rob shifts off the tailgate and grabs his helmet. “Your sister doesn’t mess around,” he says to me under his breath.

  The low voice is encouraging. Maybe we’re okay.

  I open my mouth to whisper back, but he turns away to jog after Sam.

  Well, then.

  He was right. They can’t see the ball. They both keep missing, then running after it, breath clouding in the air as they sprint across the darkened field.

  Their joy from the other night is missing. Samantha is no closer to making any kind of decision about the baby. She hasn’t mentioned David or school or what she’s going to do. Each day that passes seems to be a ticking time bomb for her—or maybe it’s a ticking bomb for our whole family.

  As for Rob … I don’t know what’s up with him. This can’t all be about Rachel and Drew—at least, I don’t think so.

  But no one is happy. No one is settled. No one can focus.

  He doesn’t want to be humiliated.

  Samantha’s words are nudging me with guilt. I wish I’d spoken up in his defense earlier. I just didn’t know how, or if I was even doing the right thing.

  Samantha and Rob have broken apart, and they’re walking the field, looking for the ball. I uncurl from the bench where I’ve been frozen into a statue, then stride out across the darkened grass to help.

  “I’ve got another one,” Rob says as I approach. “I can get it.”

  “No,” says Samantha. She’s breathless, and I’m worried she’s been pushing it too much. “It’s too dark.”

  “Sorry.” He makes a face. “I should have figured.”

  Samantha swallows. She suddenly looks a little green. “That might have been too much running. Or not enough dinner. Or too much—” She breaks off and takes a long breath through her nose. “I will not throw up. I will not throw up.”

  “Samantha.” I put out a hand. “Here, give me the stick.”

  She all but slams it into my chest. “Go over there so I don’t do this in front of you.”

  Rob frowns. “Do you need something—”

  “Go.” Samantha punches him in the shoulder.

  I grab his arm and drag him away. “Come on.”

  Almost immediately, my sister throws up in the grass behind us.

  Rob winces, then says, “Are you sure we should leave her?”

  “I tried to hold her hair back yesterday, and she asked me if I have a puking fetish. I promise she wants to be left alone.” I pause and glance up at him. The helmet leaves most of his face cloaked in darkness, the face guard painting shadow lines across his mouth.

  I have no idea why I’m staring at his mouth.

  A blush crawls up my neck, and I jerk my eyes forward. “There are benches by the ice rink. We can sit there.”

  The benches are large rectangular planters that overflow with flowers during the summer. Now, they’re swarming with people lacing skates or drinking hot chocolate, but we’re able to carve out a corner for ourselves. Speakers stationed around the rink blast pop music.

  Rob pulls off his helmet, then roughs up his sweat-dampened hair. I expect him to say something, to make some kind of conversation, but he doesn’t.

  As I consider every word Drew said at Taco Taco, I wonder if Rob thinks I feel exactly the same as they do.

  I sit there waiting for words to magically form in my mouth.

  They don’t.

  Rob stares out at the ice rink and eventually says, “Should we check on your sister?”

  I pull out my phone and text her.

  MAEGAN: You OK?

  Her response comes almost immediately.

  SAM: Made it to the restroom

  I’ll be here for a few minutes

  MAEGAN: Do you want me to come there?

  SAM: NO

  “She’s fine,” I say.

  “Fine?” he echoes.

  “Well, she’s in the bathroom. She doesn’t want me to go there. So.”

  “So.”

  That’s all he says. He’s bouncing his stick against the slate walkway along the benches. A mother walks past us with a toddler in tow, and the little boy in a puffy snowsuit stares at us while gumming a cookie.

  I take a breath. “Rob?”

  His eyes don’t leave the stick. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t …” I hesitate. “I’m really sorry about my friends.”

  He glances over. “I’m used to it.”

  That hurts more than it should. “I know … and I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Is that why you’ve been eating lunch by yourself?”

  “Yeah.” I blush. “You noticed?”

  “I’m not exactly sitting at a crowded lunch table myself.” He pauses, his expression bemused. “Though somehow I’ve become friends with Owen Goettler.”

  “I saw that,” I say without thinking.

  “Did you?”

  Somehow his voice has grown a little … deeper, maybe. Softer, but more intense. Or maybe it’s the cold and the dark and the uncertainty between us.

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I did.”

  He studies me for the longest moment, then turns back to stare out at the night. “You could have joined us. You don’t have to eat by yourself.”

  “I thought …” I swallow.

  He looks back at me.
“What did you think?”

  “I thought maybe you were mad about what happened with Drew and Rachel.”

  “Oh. No. I mean, not at you.” He takes a breath. “I thought maybe you were mad because I messed up your friendship.”

  The music from the skating rink is so loud and raucous, but we’ve found this little cocoon of honesty, and I lean closer to him, not wanting to break it. “Is that why you aren’t talking to me?”

  His eyes widen, but then he shakes his head and stares at the ground. “My whole life is complicated. I didn’t mean for that to rub off on you.” He inhales like he’s going to say more … but then he doesn’t.

  I watch the stick spin between his hands, and for the first time I notice the tension in his forearms, the way his knee is bouncing.

  I reach out and grasp the stick above his hand, gently forcing it still. “You can talk to me, Rob.”

  He takes a long breath and lets it out, then turns his head to meet my gaze dead on. “Do you think I knew, Maegan?” His eyes narrow slightly. “Do you think I knew what my father was doing?”

  I don’t know. That’s what I want to say. But that’s not an answer. I don’t know what exists between us, but I do know Rob isn’t a boy who entertains many gray areas in his life.

  He’s not really asking about his father at all, I realize.

  What he’s asking is, Do you trust me?

  As soon as I figure that out, the answer is obvious. It’s been obvious since the day I realized he was waiting for me in the Wegmans parking lot instead of letting me walk in alone.

  “I don’t think you knew.” As I say the words, I realize they’re true. All week, it hasn’t been my gut telling me to be wary of Rob Lachlan. It was everyone else’s gossip.

  I slide my hand down half an inch until my fingers brush his. “I don’t think you helped him.” I pause. “I think you’re kind. And honest. And thoughtful.”

  His dark eyes hold mine, and I wish I had a map of the emotion I see there.

  Boots stop with a slide of grit on the walkway in front of us, and a girl’s soft voice says, “Rob?”

  We both turn and look up at the same time. Callie Rococo is looking down at us. I don’t know Callie well, but we’ve had a few classes over the years. She’s on the varsity dance team, with the body to match. She’s what Samantha always calls “basic”: clear skin, bright blue eyes, impeccable makeup, completely forgettable face. Right now she’s wearing tight jeans tucked into Uggs, her blond hair spilling over the neck of a North Face down vest. A pair of ice skates hangs over her shoulder—definitely not rentals.

  “Callie,” says Rob. He sounds thrown. “I … hey.”

  “Hey,” she says softly. “I was skating with my sisters on the other side.” She gestures vaguely at the other side of the rink. “I thought that was you.”

  After a beat, Rob stands. Damn his chivalry. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  Her eyes flick to the lacrosse stick, and a tiny frown line appears between her brows. “You still play?”

  “A little.”

  Callie moves closer by a fraction. She touches his arm. “I’ve been thinking about you. How’ve you been?”

  “I’m good.” If he’s surprised at the question, I can’t tell. His voice is even and gives nothing away. A shadow of the old Rob Lachlan sneaks into his voice. “I was running drills, but it got dark.”

  Then Rob turns to look down at me, and he holds out a hand as if to pull me to my feet. “Maegan, do you know Callie?”

  No boy has ever offered a hand to me, so it takes me a moment to get it together to take his, even though I can stand from a bench on my own. “Yeah, we’ve had a few classes together over the years.”

  “Sure,” she says. “Hey.” I brace myself for some kind of nasty comment about cheating or screwing over my classmates, but her expression isn’t dismissive. Maybe my edges are too raw from everyone else, and now I’m the one who looks unkind.

  I offer a small smile. “Hey.”

  Her eyes flick back to Rob. “I’ve been wanting to call you, but I wasn’t sure … ah …”

  “I’m around,” he says.

  I’m around. What does that mean?

  Her eyebrows go up. “Oh! Well, great. Are you …” She hesitates. “Connor’s having a party tomorrow night. I was going to check it out. Any chance you might want to …” Her voice trails off, and I can tell she’s waiting for him to fill the silence.

  He doesn’t.

  But he waits for her to finish.

  “Well,” Callie says, her voice faltering. Her eyes flick to me and back to him. “Maybe I’ll see you guys there?”

  It takes a moment for her words to register. I’m so used to people giving me a wide berth that it’s a shock to be treated like I’m part of a couple.

  “I don’t think I’m invited,” Rob says.

  Samantha appears beside us. She smells like she’s chewed an entire package of spearmint gum. “Invited where?”

  Callie glances at Samantha, then back at Rob, and her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to get in the middle of a … of a …” Those words trail off, too. She shifts her feet. “It’s been a rough few months. I just—I think a lot of people miss you being around. You should come.”

  “I don’t think so,” he says.

  “Are you talking about a party?” says Samantha. Despite the fact that she spent the last twenty minutes puking, she sounds interested. “Tonight?”

  “Ah … tomorrow,” says Callie. “At Connor Tunstall’s.” That little frown line appears on her forehead. “Aren’t you Samantha Day? I thought you went away to school.”

  Samantha wraps an arm around my neck. “I did. God, I need to get out. Can we come, too?”

  I glance at Rob. Samantha has no idea about the dynamics here, but I would bet money that Rob would rather rip his fingernails out with pliers than go to a party at Connor’s house.

  I clear my throat. “Sam, you’re in college.” And pregnant, I think. “We don’t have to go.”

  “No, it’s okay,” says Callie. “There are some other college kids coming, too. You know Connor has connections.”

  “I remember,” says Rob. I can’t read anything from his voice.

  “It’s fine,” says Callie. “Connor won’t care.”

  “Pretty sure he’ll care.” For the first time, a dark note creeps into Rob’s tone.

  “Well, he won’t be the only one there. Come if you want, stay home if you want. No pressure.” She glances across the rink. “I need to get back to my sisters.” She turns and strides away.

  Samantha hooks an arm around Rob’s neck, too, and pulls him into our bizarre hug, like we’ve been hanging out together all our lives, and not just for the last few days. “Rob, my friend, you have to take us to that party.”

  “No way.” The hard-edged confidence is gone from his voice. He sounds as off-balance as I feel.

  “Who was that girl?” says Samantha. She still hasn’t let go of his neck—or mine. “Do you know her?”

  “Ah … my ex-girlfriend.”

  My face warms again. I didn’t know that. Not that I ever kept track of that crowd, but still. It explains the tension. Worse, I can see them together. Preppy girl, preppy guy. Dancer plus athlete. They’d go to college, get degrees, then buy a six-bedroom mansion and have generically beautiful children.

  Then he adds, “I haven’t talked to her in months. Not since before … before.”

  I frown. “She broke up with you because of your dad?”

  “No. She broke up with me because I was more into lacrosse than into her.”

  I duck out of my sister’s hold. My face is still warm from all these realizations. I shouldn’t even care. Rob has never done so much as flirt with me. “We can’t go to a party.”

  “We can.” Samantha gives Rob a shake. “You have to take us.”

  “You are soundly out of your mind.”

  “Please?” She presses her forehead against his face and mocking
ly pouts. I wish I had a shred of her confidence. “Please, Rob?”

  He glances at me like she’s not attached to his neck. “Is something on me? I feel like there’s something on me.”

  Now I’m blushing for an entirely new reason. I don’t know why she’s being like this. If she wants to go so badly, she could go by herself. No one is going to throw Samantha out of a party.

  Samantha stage whispers at him. “If you don’t take us, I’ll tell everyone this is your baby.”

  He bursts out laughing. “Let me warn my mom first.”

  “Please,” she says more seriously. “Don’t you have any idea what it’s like to be cooped up in your room with no one to talk to?”

  That hits its target. He sobers immediately, then sighs.

  “Please?” Samantha whispers.

  Rob looks at me. My sister is literally hanging off him, but his gaze finds mine and holds me there. “Do you want to go?”

  I wish I could read his mind. I wish I knew the right answer.

  Samantha lets go of his neck and attaches herself to mine. “Please?” she says. “Please, Megs.”

  Please, Megs. I stare back at Rob. “Okay.”

  Samantha squeals.

  Rob sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. His expression is dark and inscrutable. I expect him to refuse again.

  Instead, he says, “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rob

  Mom raps on my door frame when I’m buttoning my shirt. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she smiles. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks.” I feel like a poser. I’m wearing a forest green button-down and jeans that I got for Christmas last year. Everything brand name, everything from a different life.

  I’ve spent most of the day thinking of ways to use Lexi’s credit card number to buy things for other people who need them. I feel like I should grab a ball cap and a hooded sweatshirt from my closet.

  “You’re going out?”

  I try to ignore the interest in her voice. “Yeah.” I hesitate. I had a lot of freedom before, and it never occurred to me to ask permission before going anywhere. I never got in trouble, so I had a long leash. “Is that okay?”