I cared. I cared, and I still couldn’t bring myself to come home for his funeral.
A faded pink slip was taped over the door where the screen met the frame. I walked the perimeter and picked up a rock. When I reached the back of the trailer where the bedroom was, I whacked the rock against the rusted lock and shimmied the window open.
Hoisting myself over the frame, I tumbled inside. The air was cold, about ten degrees lower than outside. His furniture was empty and free of clutter, but his blankets were still on the bed.
Lowering to the mattress, my hands rested at my sides, curling into the cold comforter as I stared. This room used to be my sanctuary, the one safe place I could go to escape the madness at home.
My vision blurred as I recalled how many days I’d spent here, learning who I was and realizing I needed more than Blackwater could ever offer.
* * *
Gavin’s fingers combed through my hair as I sucked in a shuddered breath, my face pressing to the tear-dampened front of his shirt. My brother Drew was gone, and I’d never felt so abandoned.
“He’ll visit, Avery Dean.”
Maybe we both had to tell ourselves such lies to cope with the finality of his goodbye. Gavin had been Drew’s best friend, and I knew he was as sad as I was, but guys hid their emotions better than girls.
There was an old nursery rhyme that said boys were made of frogs, snails, and puppy-dog tails but young men were made of sighs, leers, and crocodile tears. Where were his tears now? I needed to see his emotions to believe they were real.
I sniffled, trying to get ahold of myself. I was being a baby. “Why don’t guys cry?”
“We do. In private.”
“What happens when the pain is too much and there are people around?” Didn’t they ever just … break?
“We figure out a way to swallow back the pain and save it for later.”
That old rhyme also claimed little girls were made of sugar, spice, and everything nice, but I was more along the lines of an unsweetened tea that attracted flies. And I’d never fit the bill of a young lady made of ribbons, lace, and a sweet, pretty face. Puberty had really botched that deal for me.
Pretty people got pretty things. I was awkward, poor, and a victim of my upbringing in the worst possible way. If I could just look like the pretty girls, the ones on the cheer squad who caught the attention of all the boys, maybe I could get somewhere better than this.
As it stood, I was finding very little to look forward to. “Do you think I’ll ever be pretty?”
Gavin leaned back and studied my face. “You’re pretty now, Avery Dean.”
“No, I’m not. I’m chubby, and my clothes are ugly and I can’t even French braid my own hair.”
He laughed. “What the hell does any of that have to do with being pretty?”
“Everything.”
“Avery, you are pretty. You have beautiful eyes, a smile that lights up a room when you laugh, and…”
Hanging on every word as if it were a lifeline leading to a better place, I blinked up at him. “And what?”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen and a half.”
“Well, you’re built like a twenty-year-old. You’re not chubby. You’re curvaceous. Trust me. You’re pretty.”
No one ever called me more than all right.
I was suddenly very aware of how I was sitting on his lap, the way his face wore a shadow of hair along his jaw, and the intense way his eyes stared into mine. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Gavin?”
“I don’t want one. Not yet.”
“How come?”
“Because I’m leaving in a few years and I don’t need anything or anyone making me want to stay.”
“You’re leaving?” I pulled back, furious he would announce this only an hour after I watched my brother drive away.
“I can’t stay here, Avery Dean. I’m better than this place. So are you. I’ll work for a little longer, but then I’m enlisting. I want to see the world. There’s so much more to it than Blackwater. I want to live in a city and experience other cultures. There’s no culture here, just poverty, pollution, and cynicism. This place is a cancer.”
I’d never heard it put that way, but he was right. Something happened to a person when they spent more than a decade here. Their standards dropped to irretrievable depths and a sort of hardness formed around them like a callous.
“I don’t want to stay here either.”
“You won’t. You’ll go to college and—”
“College is for rich people.”
“College is for smart people. All you need to do is figure out a way to escape, and then you’ll figure out a way to survive.”
I never knew he thought so highly of me. No one else did. I began calculating his age. Drew was nineteen. Gavin had to be around the same. He didn’t graduate because he got his GED and had a job when everyone else was still in school. Maybe he was nineteen. My gaze roamed his face, marking all the signs of maturity.
“Avery…”
Realizing I was staring, I blinked and looked away. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You can look at me.”
My lashes lifted and there was something different in his eyes, a sort of exposed secret that wasn’t there a minute ago. I didn’t have guy friends and I pretty much kept to myself at school when other girls were around. Gavin wasn’t necessarily my friend, but he was Drew’s and the only person who might understand why today was so hard.
My hand lifted and stilled. I hesitated, glancing into his watchful eyes. He gave a slight nod that I read as permission. My fingers combed through his hair, and my lungs seemed to expand in my chest. It was so soft.
His eyes closed, and his head tilted into my touch. “That’s nice.” His voice was a breathy whisper that danced across my teary cheeks.
It was different than the hair on his face. My fingers traced over the stubble at his jaw and gently trailed to his lips. His eyes opened, and I stilled. “Should I stop?”
“Only if you want to.”
I didn’t want to stop. His warm skin thawed the chill inside of me, and I’d never looked at a man so closely. My fingers traced down his sleeves and over his chest.
“Guys are so hard.”
He grunted and my gaze flicked to his, self-consciously checking to see if he was laughing at me. His lashes were low, hiding his eyes, but he still watched me. His arms shifted, and I scooted closer.
“I think you could get a girlfriend real easy.”
“I think you’re trouble.”
My hand stilled, and I stared at his face. “Why?”
“Have you ever been kissed, Avery Dean?”
My head slowly shook. “Boys pay no attention to me.”
“I bet they do. But you have this intimidating edge about you that probably keeps them at bay. I bet they watch you when they think you’re not looking.”
My brow pinched. I didn’t want to be intimidating. I wanted to be loveable. “Well, it doesn’t do me any good if they’re too chicken to say anything.”
“You like being asked?”
I shrugged. “Asked what?”
“By a guy… You like when they ask you? Beg?”