Everything You Want Me to Be(87)

Now that we were here, he cracked open the paneling on the driver’s-side door and pulled a flask out of his secret compartment. He took a long pull and gave it to me.

“What is it?” I sniffed and made a gross face.

“My dad’s Jim Beam. Try it.”

I didn’t get more than my lips wet before gagging on the stuff. Tommy laughed.

“That’s even worse than beer.”

“Won’t drink. Won’t have sex. You’re just Daddy’s little angel, aren’t you?” He was smiling as he said it, though, scooting over to my side of the seat. He tried to wedge an arm behind me, but I pushed myself back into the corner.

“Tommy, we have to talk.”

“About what?”

“I can’t go out with you anymore.”

“What?”

I repeated it without looking at him, feeling the hot confusion of his stare. It was so tempting to fall back into the part just to avoid hurting him. Focusing on the barn, I took a deep breath and reminded myself what I’d just told Portia less than an hour ago—I was done acting.

“What are you talking about? Did your shift get changed or something?”

“No.” I kept my voice steady. “I want to break up.”

I could feel him pulling back, retreating to his side of the cab. It was a minute before he asked why.

“Because we’re going different places. It’s not going to work out.”

“It’s because of the sex stuff, isn’t it? Look, I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I promise.”

If he wanted to play it that way, fine. It wouldn’t be a lie. “You know how I feel about it. You were just starting to make me really uncomfortable all the time. On the defensive, you know?”

“Okay, all right? I won’t bring it up again, not even at prom.”

“Prom?” The word totally threw me, like it wasn’t even in English. I’d been so consumed with the play and Peter, I hadn’t given prom a single thought.

Glittery dresses, slow dances, standing in front of the house while Mom and Dad took pictures. It seemed so . . . high school.

“We’ll go with the whole gang. The guys are talking about renting a limo and everything.”

“I’m not going to prom.”

“Everyone’s going.” He said it like that was the only argument he needed to make. If only he knew how I felt about everyone.

“Not me.” I couldn’t even imagine how awful it would be. Dancing in the gym with Tommy, trying to keep his hands from drifting, while Peter stood in the corner with the chaperones, miserable. I’d spend the whole night trying to think of ways to talk to him and he’d hate it, afraid one of us would say too much, look too long.

I hung my head in my hands. “Some girls aren’t meant to go to prom, Tommy.”

The seat dipped as he slid my way again. As soon as I felt his thick fingers rubbing into my back, I sat up quickly. His face was a shadow full of hesitation and hurt.

“Get back, Tommy.”

“What did I do, Hattie? What did I do that was so wrong?”

His voice broke and I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in the glow from the parking lot light. I couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t sit here listening to him cry for a girl who didn’t even exist.

I yanked open the door, grabbed my purse, and jumped out.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere I want.”

His expression turned bitter. “Everybody told me not to go out with you, that you were just a freak who wouldn’t give it up. I guess they were right.”

“Then go find someone else to take to prom, Tommy. I’m sure there’s some little junior out there who’ll be happy to let you fuck her.”

I slammed the door and headed to the dark edge of the parking lot, where the trees were waiting to swallow me from sight. I heard a window open behind me.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“New York,” I yelled, without turning around. “Get lost, Tommy.”

I ran into the weeds and found the trail, then waited until the truck’s engine fired up and spun out of the parking lot, gravel flying from the tires. My stomach was rolling from yelling at him and being so mean, but it was better this way. He wouldn’t try to make up with me on Monday now. He would tell Derek and all the other football guys what a bitch I was and they’d trash me and feed Tommy some beers and that would be that.

As the roar of the truck faded, I started noticing other noises. The first of the spring frogs sang in the lake. Last year’s dead weeds rustled in the breeze and somewhere not far off an owl was hooting. It might have been coming from the barn. As the night settled in around me, the bad feelings all disappeared and I realized I was free, finally done with that awful role I’d created for myself.

I floated down the trail as the moonlight bounced off the water, guiding my way. The stars were out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I’d miss this. You probably couldn’t see the stars in New York City, not even from Central Park, but here—where the only interference was the tiny glow from the parking lot behind me—I felt like I was standing on the edge of the solar system. There were thousands of lights, winking and shining, pulsing in the night. I could see satellites and planets and the only thing breaking the horizon was the barn in front of me. It was spectacular, a feast of light, the whole universe laid open, and I felt the way I’d always felt looking up at it, like I was huge and tiny at the same time. Yes, I would miss the stars.