Until We Meet Again(53)
sheepish smile. “Hi, there.”
“Hi.”
“I was worried about you the other night.”
I avoid his gaze. “Oh yeah?”
“You got so sick so fast.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was kind of crazy.”
“I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Studying at the library?” Brandon asks, raising a sly eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“And what are you researching?”
“What, are you Barbara Walters now?”
He laughs. “How about we start the movie?”
“Good idea.”
He stands there awkwardly for a minute before I realize this
is my house, and I should probably take him to the entertainment room.
I tilt my head to the side. “This way.”
As we pass a back window, I can just make out the bushes
near the beach. A fierce longing to run and meet Lawrence
grips me. There’s so little time. I should be spending every
second trying to save him.
“Great TV,” Brandon says, breaking my train of thought as
he flops on one of the leather couches.
“Yeah,” I manage, trying to sift as much of the irritation out
of my voice as possible. “So…I’m pretty tired. Maybe we can
just watch some of the movie?”
“Whatever you feel like,” Brandon says with a grin.
Oh boy. I hope he doesn’t think that was a veiled request to
make out.
I put on the movie, despite my brain screaming with resistance. Stalling as long as possible, I stand by the TV fumbling with the volume, the color, the sound quality.
“Hey, you in the front row,” Brandon says. “You’re blocking
the movie.”
I offer a token laugh, and he pats a place next to him on the
couch. “Come on. You don’t want to miss the opening. There’s
a killer car chase.”
“Sounds…awesome.”
I sit as far to the side of the couch as possible, but Brandon
slides next to me. He smiles, as if we’re going to snuggle up.
Where does he get the idea that something’s going to happen
between us? I assume I can ascribe it to this new, sans-Travis
Howard alternate reality we’re living in now.
As the movie plays on the screen, I fold my arms tightly
across my chest to discourage any handholding action. Ten
minutes in, Brandon’s arm goes around the back of the couch.
Two minutes later, as a gas truck explodes on the screen in a
burst of orange flame, he slides it around my shoulders.
I give him a pointed look, but he just smiles. “Sweet movie, huh?”
I sigh and glance at the clock. I’ll give this twenty more minutes before I claim exhaustion. Mom ought to be appeased by twenty minutes.
“You look really pretty tonight,” Brandon whispers, his
breath tickling my ear.
All at once, it hits me. I’m doing it again. Relapsing into
the same way of thinking that held me in a prison of angst all
summer. I’ve tried to be whatever everyone else wants me to
be, convincing myself that it’s what I want. But I know what I
really want now. And I’m not going to pretend anymore.
I take a deep breath, sitting up. “Look, Brandon. We need
to talk…”
He stiffens. “Okay.”
“I think you’re a really great guy—”
“Who wants smoothies?” Mom glides into the room, holding
a tray with two big glasses filled with pink Strawberry-Banana
Delight. Excellent timing, Mom. As always.
“Looks delicious,” Brandon says, flashing a grin.
“It’s my own special recipe. I won’t tell you the secret ingredient. Let’s see if you can guess.”
I get to my feet, and Mom’s smile fades.
“Cass? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this,” I say. “I…have to go to bed.”
Without waiting for a response, I run upstairs. I push my
bedroom door shut and lean against it. I sit there for a long
time. The stress is starting to grate on me.
Across my room, the sheer white curtain on my window rustles, caught in a gust of evening wind. I can smell the ocean.
The beach. My jaw sets.
Snapping into action, I lock my door and scramble to
turn on some soft music on my radio. The old row-ofpillowsunder-theblanketthat’ssupposed-to-looklike—
my-body trick seems a bit middle school, but I’m not above
that. I tug a black sweater over my shirt and slide into black
pants. Apparently I’m not above looking like a pathetic
ninja either.
The great thing about living in a huge house is that it’s
fairly easy to sneak around. There’s only one close call as I
slide past the study, where Frank is on a late video conference with Beijing. I don’t know where Brandon went, and I don’t care. Mom’s probably going to yell at me. Also don’t
care. As I break through the bushes to the beach, it’s all