You'll Be the Death of Me(30)

Oh my God. I can’t believe he went there.

My face flames with years of pent-up humiliation. Mateo goes rigid beside me as Cal stands abruptly and glares down at us. “Go to hell, both of you. I’m finding a new seat, and then I’m getting off at Government Center and going home. You can take the T back to Carlton for all I care. And if you tell anybody about Lara…” His lips thin and he lifts his chin toward me. “I’ll tell them I have no idea what you did to Boney before we got there, Ivy.”

    My jaw drops as Cal turns away and heads for the back of the train. His burn of an exit is spoiled when the train lurches again and almost sends him flying, but he manages to right himself and sink into a seat as far away from us as possible. Mateo and I remain seated in total silence, which is exactly as awkward as it sounds.

Well. I started this mess by going off on Cal, so it looks like I have to speak first. “Um, so obviously that little blast from the past isn’t relevant to the matter at hand—” I start.

Mateo breaks in. “What did he mean, never mentioned it?”

No, no, no. We do not have to relive this, or attempt to rewrite history. “Mateo, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It was so long ago. I don’t even think about that anymore.”

Lies, all lies. I thought about it as recently as the ride over, when the train was crowded and we had to stand holding the bars above us. I kept swaying into Mateo’s arm, which has gotten a lot more defined than it was before high school, and felt echoes of the buzzing nerves that were my constant companion that summer. There’s no question that Mateo is even better-looking now than he was back then, and he’s been the strong, steady rock keeping me from melting down all morning. It would be easy to rekindle that crush under different circumstances.

I sneak a glance at Mateo, who’s frowning. “Yeah, me neither,” he says. Which: ouch. “But it’s not like I never mentioned it. I left you that note.”

    My breath catches. “What note?”

“At your house. With a pack of Sugar Babies.” My eyes widen, and he huffs out a short laugh. “You never got those?”

“No,” I say. Sugar Babies, my God.

Memories start flooding back, and suddenly it’s like I’m thirteen years old again, walking with Mateo to my house from the corner store downtown. Cal wasn’t around that day; I can’t remember if he was busy, or if I hadn’t invited him. Mateo had bought a bunch of candy and was already digging into it. “Skittle?” he asked, waving the open bag.

I made a face. “You know I hate Skittles.”

“You’re missing out. Give the red ones another shot. They’re a lot better than Sugar Daddies.”

“Sugar Babies,” I corrected him. It was a constant source of amusement to Mateo, back then, that the only candy I liked was a hundred years old and had a perverted name.

“Ivy Sterling-Shepard,” Mateo said, shaking his head. He’d started using my full name when we were joking around, and it always gave me a little thrill. There was something almost flirty about it. “Why can’t you ever try something new?”

“I try new things all the time.” That was such a blatant lie that we both laughed.

“Come on.” He held out a red Skittle. “Expand your world.”

“Fine,” I sighed, plucking it from his palm and popping it into my mouth. I grimaced the entire time I chewed the gritty, fake-fruit sweetness. “Thanks, I hate it,” I finally said, swallowing. “Give me Sugar Babies any day.”

“You’re so random. You know you’re the only person in the world who still eats those, right?” Mateo asked. We turned off the main road and onto a path leading into Bird Park, a shortcut to my house. It was late afternoon on a Saturday, and the usually bustling park was nearly empty. “They probably keep a single factory open just for you.” He finished the last of his Skittles and dropped the crumpled bag into the larger plastic bag holding the rest of his haul, then rooted around for more. “Can I interest you in a Red Hot?”

    “Ew. No,” I said. We reached the swing set at the edge of the playground, and I hoisted myself onto one of the rubber seats. The way-up one, Daniel and I had called it when we were little. It was so much farther from the ground than the other swings, a kid couldn’t dream of getting into it without an adult to help. Even now I had to jump, setting the swing in motion with the effort. “I’ve tried enough new things for one day,” I added.

Mateo dropped his candy bag on the ground and then suddenly he was in front of me, steadying the swing’s chains with his outstretched arms. “Are you sure?” he asked.

In the swing I was almost the same height as him, but not quite. His hands were just above mine on the chains, and our knees were nearly touching. My cheeks grew warm as I met his dark, questioning eyes. We’d had little moments like this for weeks, where we’d be talking like normal and then, without warning, the energy between us would shift into something new. I never knew what to do with that pulsing, buzzing feeling.

Until now. “No,” I said, and then I leaned forward and kissed him. One of his hands released the chain to curl around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. He smelled like Tide detergent and cherry Skittles, which I no longer hated even a little.