Another Little Piece of My Heart Page 12

  Thus Tuesday afternoon I find myself holding the backpack I’m borrowing from Aunt Anita and trying to understand why I didn’t say no in the first place.

  “What’s the word Mom used to say?” April asks.

  When she heard about the camping trip, my sister declared loudly that she wasn’t going, to which Hannah responded quietly, “Good, no one asked you to come.” I told Hannah to “stuff it.” It’s weird thinking of my sister as a teammate instead of an enemy, but part of me has been looking for a reason to say that to Hannah anyway.

  April sits on the edge of her bed, watching me and painting her toenails. “Masochism,” she says, answering her own questions. “That’s it.”

  “Shut up.” I dump the contents of my shopping bag on the bed. Yesterday I had to buy a few odds and ends—thick socks, a bandanna and some other items that I didn’t bring to New Hampshire. My canvas sneakers won’t cut it, but I couldn’t justify spending a hundred dollars on a pair of hiking shoes, which is kind of funny in a sad way since once I’d have thought nothing of it. Fortunately, my aunt and I have the same shoe size, so I’m borrowing hers along with some other gear. We’ll also have my aunt and uncle’s large tent, which can sleep four, and Mike’s bringing his parents’ smaller, two-person, tent. I don’t know how the sleeping arrangements are supposed to work, and I don’t want to think about it, to be honest.

  April rolls her eyes as she watches me pack. “Why are you even going?”

  “Because.” I throw a spare pair of socks and a change of underwear in the bag. “Because...it’ll annoy Jared, and I’ll get to hang out with Zach.”

  “You don’t even like Zach that way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You were in a bad mood all day on Sunday. The day after a date with a guy you like should not have put you in a bad mood.”

  Sunscreen, check. Headlamp, check. It takes me a moment to respond as I sort through the crap on the bed.

  “I was tired at work on Sunday. That’s all.”

  “Whatever.” April closes the bottle of polish. “You’re just trying so hard to prove to yourself that you’re over Jared that you’re going to sprain something from the effort.”

  “What are you, a psychologist now?” I toss an energy bar at her. “I already have Kristen for that, thanks.”

  She tosses the bar back at me. “You should see a real one.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” I lie. I’m not sure how I can say it with a straight face. But April’s probably hit the truth dead-on, and it’s scaring me.

  “Fine. Have fun if you can. Don’t get eaten by bears.” She slams the door on the way out.

  Actually, I’m more worried about being eaten by mosquitoes. I add my aunt’s bottle of OFF! into the backpack.

  I zip up the pack and braid my hair while it’s still wet. It’s not too late to back out, but I’m not a quitter. I only hope I can get reception in the mountains so I can text Kristen if necessary.

  Someone knocks on the door, then opens it a crack. Hannah pokes her head through. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  “Cool. The tent and sleeping bags and stuff are already downstairs.” Hannah flops on my bed. For a moment, she winds my pack strap around her finger. I brace myself for bad news. “How are we going to divide up this tent stuff?”

  I tie off my second braid. “Don’t care.”

  “Good. Me, either.”

  “Liar. What’s your plan?”

  “No plan. I was just thinking that if Jared and I took the small tent...”

  I’m going to hurl. Right here in the middle of the attic bedroom, all over the white-painted hardwood floor and the expensively distressed furniture. That ought to make my feelings on this topic clear to Hannah.

  I clamp my lips shut, fighting off the nausea. Miraculously, the feeling passes quickly and now my stomach’s contents solidify into concrete. My whole body seems to follow suit—turning numb and cold.

  My brain scrambles to find a logical, rational explanation for why I find the idea so revolting. So stupid. “Whoa,” I say at last. “You serious?”

  Hannah shrugs. “I haven’t gotten to be alone with him yet.”

  “Oh, okay.” My blood starts flowing again. My muscles relax. Alone is all she wants? “So you’re not thinking what I thought you were thinking?”

  “Well, that too. How about I wouldn’t say no to that? We are talking about Jared Steele.” She sighs dreamily.

  Never mind. My muscles clench yet again. Part of me wonders why she’s telling me this. Does she want me to talk her into it? Talk her out of it? I don’t know Hannah well enough to say. It probably doesn’t matter, either. Staying neutral’s the best I can do without losing it.

  “Okay. I mean, if you want that tent, it’s fine with me. Just don’t be stupid about it.”

  Yet part of me is wondering what’s not stupid about it. My cousin is considering having sex with a guy she hasn’t even known for two weeks, who she’s only hung around with for a few days, and part of her motivation—if not all of her motivation—is because he’s some famous musician.

  Sure, she wouldn’t be the first groupie to do something like that. Besides, it’s her decision and her body. But it’s infuriating. I’m the one who Jared’s called shallow, and yet here’s my cousin wanting to sleep with him for his star status. Where’s the fairness in that?

  “You think I’m being stupid?” Hannah latches on to the last words I said.

  “No. Well, yes. Look, all I’m saying is that if you’re going to do this, make sure you’re protected. Jared’s probably banged a thousand groupies by now. God only knows what sorts of diseases he’s carrying.”

  I get the satisfaction of seeing Hannah turn somewhat green. Then I grab my pack and head downstairs.

  Hey, it might have been mean, but it’s still good advice.

  * * *

  We arrive at Crawford Notch State Park around five. I’ve never been to the White Mountains before. Standing along the highway that runs through the park, the mountains stretch toward the sky on all sides. I’m awed by the three—and four-thousand-foot walls of trees and rock face, and I breathe in the sweet air tinged with the scent of forest. My imagination drifts toward tomorrow’s hike, filling me with the urge to get lost in those shadowy swaths of trees, never to return. I’ll become wild Claire, at one with nature, living alone with only moose and hawks as company. No family, no need for college, no radio to remind me that someone named Jared Steele ever existed. It’ll be peace.

  Then I remember I had the same sort of daydreams at my mom’s funeral. Of running away, getting lost in the woods near the cemetery, of leaving the hell my life had become behind. I spent most of the funeral and the subsequent days in this half-dazed state, and I regret it now. I wished I’d experienced the pain of it all more deeply. Escaping into my absurd imagination doesn’t seem fair to my mom’s memory. I spent too much time trying to escape from her when she was alive.

  Hannah’s gotten us a great campsite. The cars aren’t too far, which makes unloading easy, and a river runs by only a couple minutes’ walk away. Best of all, the site next to us is empty, so we don’t have to deal with other people’s noise seeping through the woods.

  I help set up the tents while Lisa and Zach argue over the best way to build a fire. Beer solves the argument. “Do it your way then,” Zach says at last, and he pops open a bottle.

  I’m not sure whether that makes Zack extra agreeable, extra stupid, or like every other college boy in the world. One thing it doesn’t do is make him more attractive. But I’m determined to ignore that fact.

  When I check out his trunk, I discover we must have brought more alcohol than food. Someone wants to hike with a hangover tomorrow. I bet that’ll be a blast.

  After dinner we settle
around the fire, drinking and making s’mores. I’m hoping alcohol will numb my brain from all the Hannah-and-Jared crap. She’s practically sitting on his lap.

  I pull my stick away from the fire and inspect my marshmallow. I like them evenly light brown, warm and gooey enough to melt the chocolate without tasting burnt. There’s a technique to getting them that way, but it’s time-consuming.

  “Someone’s a perfectionist,” Zach says sitting by me.

  It’s true. Everyone else is on their third or fourth s’more, but I’m patiently toasting my second marshmallow. “Some of us appreciate that quality is better than quantity.”

  “Some of us think you can have both.”

  “Yeah, and some people think they have both, but that’s only because they don’t understand what true quality is.” I wave my perfect marshmallow in his face then head to the picnic table to build my s’more. “’Course the problem is that once you know quality, you’re ruined. Too many things don’t live up to your expectations.”

  Jared’s at the table, too, and he flinches when I break off a piece of chocolate. As he reaches for his water bottle, his hand brushes mine. It’s the first time our skin’s touched in two years, and I get this pain in my chest. This zap that runs like electricity up my arm.

  I jerk my hand away.

  “Sorry,” he says, only his words aren’t audible. I read them on lips, and he walks away so fast he bumps into the side of the table.

  “You guys should have brought your guitars with you,” Hannah says obliviously, licking goo from her fingers. “Then we could have been all cheesy and sung songs around the fire.”

  I recover enough to return to the circle. “No way. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself by playing in front of a professional.”

  Jared smirks. “Professional just means someone is crazy enough to give you money. Not that you’re any better than anyone else. I’d love to hear you play.”

  I drop my gaze to my s’more, certain my confusion is like a neon sign on my face. Is Jared playing with my head, or does he mean that? If he means it, it’s all the more reason I need to get the band together for the competition. I want him to hear how much better I’ve gotten. I want to show him I don’t need him as much as he doesn’t need me.

  Lisa grabs a stick and pokes at the fire. “I keep telling Claire she should play at The Bean Factory’s open-mic night. They’re lots of fun.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t do solo stuff. I’m not good enough.”

  “You’re—” Jared catches himself, and I’m not sure what he was going to say, nor am I sure I want to know. He stares at the sky.

  Hannah misses the awkwardness and sticks out her tongue. “You’re no fun. Either of you.”

  Nope, none at all. Not these days.

  I bite down on my s’more, and marshmallow runs all over my fingers. I chew slowly, staring into the fire to avoid seeing Hannah and Jared. They’re sitting so close their knees brush.

  That should be my knee, a dangerous voice inside me whispers. My knee. My seat. My spot in his tent tonight. The flames make shadows dance along Jared’s face, and my memories drag me in.

  There was this one perfect Saturday when we were struggling with some song that wasn’t coming together. Jared’s mother was working that night, and so we ordered pizza for dinner, then took our guitars outside and built a fire in their metal fire pit in the backyard. We sat around it for hours, feeding it the dry brush from the yard and struggling through iterations of lyrics and chords.

  At one point, Jared became so frustrated that he kept piling the kindling higher and higher. The flames grasped at the indigo clouds until they were as tall as the roof on his mother’s one-story house. Just before I was about to warn him to stop, he collapsed next to me.

  We took a break to let our minds relax and watched the fire devour the sticks. I was fascinated by the way the flames both existed and didn’t at the same time. Like you could touch them, and it’s not the pain that keeps you back, but the fact that they’re not really there. Almost as though something that burns so bright must be kept out of reach because we’re too insignificant to hold it.

  Jared had his arms wrapped around me, and I leaned into him, feeling so comfortable. His chin rested on my head, and his chest rose and fell as he breathed.

  And it occurs to me now that fire was us. We burned too brightly too fast.

  “Be back,” I mutter to Zach.

  I head into the woods, and when I’m far enough from the fire to be unseen, I charge down to the river. My throat closes up on me. I fall to the ground and hug my knees to my chest. Tears sting my eyes and I hold them in. There’s nothing to cry over, I tell myself. You cried yourself out already. You’re done.

  But Jared’s presence has been picking at the scab over my heart. Maybe it began at the Vamp Dust concert. Maybe before. Maybe all my hate and anger have been my sword and my shield, an attempt to protect myself, not from Jared’s insults, but from the feelings that I never managed to kill. Defense mechanisms—that’s what Kristen would tell me.

  So tomorrow this ends. Once we return home, I will not let myself get within spitting distance of Jared anymore.

  I sit there for a while, getting control of myself. The sun’s sunk below the trees, and the forest is getting dark. Occasionally, laughter from the campsite cuts through the river’s rumble and the rustlings in the underbrush.

  The weird forest noises turn rhythmic after a time, and I realize I’m hearing footsteps. I stiffen, waiting to see which thoughtful person has come to find me. I pray it’s not Jared. I pray it is, too, and hate myself for it.

  “You okay?” Zach’s voice. He sits by me on the bank.

  “Headache.” True, in the metaphorical sense.

  “Sorry. Someone must have packed some painkillers or something. You want me to go check?”

  I shake my head. “I’m better, thanks. Probably just needed to get away from the fire.”

  I look at Zach, trying to focus on how nice it was of him to check on me.

  I didn’t quit guitar just because I wasn’t as good as Jared at first. So why do I keep quitting on guys just because we don’t immediately have what Jared and I had? All this time that I’ve been sitting on my butt, waiting for the next hot, musical Prince Charming to come along and sweep away all traces of Jared’s bad juju, is time I should have been using to make an effort with the Princes right in front of me.

  “You want to head back?” Zach asks.

  I rest my head on my knees and smile. “Not yet. You just got here.”

  “When you put it that way...”

  He leans over and I put my arms around his neck. I’m expecting something—anything—but his kiss feels weird. His lips are all wrong. Not wrong as though something’s wrong with them, but my brain expects the person I’m kissing to taste like Jared. To smell like him. To move like him.

  That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?

  Appreciate him for who he is. Stop comparing, I think. Keep going. You’ll get used to it.

  I’m way more forward than I feel comfortable with, but I hope that speeding things up will get my brain to adapt faster. The temperature’s dropped with the sun, and I slip my hands under Zach’s shirt. His skin is so hot, and the heat feels good against my cool arms. But I wish I’d drank more so I didn’t realize how sloppy his kisses are or how his breath’s full of beer.

  This is all normal. This is good for you.

  Zach’s hand reaches under my shirt and fumbles with my bra, and that’s fine, too. This is a victory. I’m doing great. I pull away from Zach’s overly wet lips and kiss his neck, letting his beer breath puff to the side of my face. He gasps slightly and pulls me closer.

  “You’re so hot,” he whispers.

  Right. Damn right. So why do I feel so cold?

&nb
sp; Chapter Twelve

  I’m restless the entire night—partly because of the hard ground, but mostly thinking about kissing Zach and Jared kissing Hannah in their private tent.

  When I wake up, I’m stiff, sore, my mouth tastes disgusting and my eyes are dry from sleeping with my contacts in. Everyone else in the tent is still sleeping, so I lace up my boots and wander off. Although it’s chilly, the dawn’s thick with humidity, and fog lurks over the river, lending a surreal air to the view. Since all the food is locked in Zach’s and Lisa’s cars, I sit on the picnic table and wait for the others.

  I’ve been in New Hampshire two weeks. I’ll be home again in two more. I don’t even have the beginning of a new school year to look forward to, and instead of making progress with my music or the band, I’ve regressed. To top it off, my bandmates are being slow to respond to my calls and texts.

  I expect that sort of thing from Alex and Nate, but Erica? She’s the responsible one and she’s home from Korea, so what gives? Her answers to my messages have all been enthusiastic but vague. Honestly, you’d think I was trying to get them to commit to a world tour instead of just organizing some kind of practice schedule. I realize it’s summer, but that doesn’t mean we need to be total slackers. Not about the music anyway.

  Frowning, I start to wish I’d brought my guitar, after all. I’m feeling a bout of “Dust in the Wind” coming on, and there’s a stillness in the morning air, a hush like the one I feel before I’m about to perform. If I were nice, I’d play everyone awake. Maybe something like “Morning Has Broken.”

  But I’m not feeling especially nice. I’m feeling depressed, and that makes me want to lash out at the people bringing me down. So I’d compose something instead. Something harsh and jarring. Then, one day, when I’m being interviewed on the radio, the DJ will ask me: “So, Claire, tell us. How did you ever come up with the idea for your number one hit, ‘Wake Up, Assholes’?”

  And I can be all smooth, like: “Well, I was on this camping trip from hell once, and Jared Steele was sleeping. It seemed appropriate.”