Coming Up for Air Read online

  Ty gives me a weird look, but Greg doesn’t even glance over. “Yeah, see, Ty? The rest of us have accepted it. You’ve got to let it go.” Becca must hear him from the trampoline, because she starts singing the chorus from Frozen. A few of her choir friends join in as she gestures wildly with her arms, hardly visible from underneath her pile of blankets. I think she may have been sipping from Greg’s water bottle. Filled with…not water.

  I swallow my laughter and turn to Greg. “You should have seen that one coming.”

  Greg sits up tall. “I’m just glad my girl appreciates a strong lyric.”

  His emphasis on the word my makes my stomach turn.

  I can feel Tyler looking at me, and I sneak a glance over to him. The fire dances in his amber eyes. Then the song playing around us ends, switching to something with a catchy beat.

  “Shit, Ty!” Greg interjects. “This track is insane. I haven’t heard it in so long. I’m going to go turn it up.” And then he heads inside where Tyler’s phone is connected to the speaker system.

  The uneasiness between Ty and me remains.

  He turns to me. “Don’t listen to Greg. We don’t all have to be into the same stuff. But I think that what he means is that every song tells a story, and sometimes they can say…I don’t know. Like, say something that’s almost impossible, otherwise.” He’s looking at my face, and I suddenly think of the soles of his shoes, words trapped between him and the concrete. “I just mean, you might think of them differently—the songs—if you pay more attention.”

  I feel my heartbeat pick up, and I’m not sure how to answer. I can’t stand feeling this way around Ty anymore, so I try to shake it off, lighten the mood. I move my body back and forth to the music and make up nonsensical lyrics.

  He looks me over. “All right, I won’t give up on you yet, Butler.”

  I feel my face fall before I can stop it, and I can tell Tyler notices.

  Shit. What the hell is happening?

  We’re quiet for a minute before he drops all pretense. “You like that guy, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Hads.”

  I can’t lie to Tyler. “Yeah,” I admit, “I do.”

  “But you’re not happy about it?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with any of this—at all—this year. And even if I did want to, you’ve met him! He’s so not the kind of guy that I pictured myself with.”

  The silence stretches a little too long to be comfortable. “What kind of guy did you picture?”

  “What?” But I heard him. “I don’t know. Someone less…Somebody who doesn’t leave a trail of crying girls behind him. Or who isn’t a total cocky asshole.”

  Ty laughs. “Is all that true?”

  “Honestly? Not really. Which is sort of shocking? He said he had two different girlfriends at his old school, each only for a couple months, but it sounds like things didn’t end badly or anything. Oh, except the cocky part. That part is definitely true.” Then I tell Tyler what I’ve been too scared to consider, even in my own head. “Remy thinks I’m protecting myself. Being defensive. After my mom’s thing. That I’m afraid.”

  Ty studies my face. “What do you think?”

  “I mean, maybe it does have something to do with that.” Somehow, saying it out loud feels like a betrayal. It’s not Mom’s fault. I pick at my nail polish.

  Ty nods. “I get that. And okay, honestly, he might not be the guy I pictured for you either. But, Hads, being scared…That isn’t a good reason to push somebody away.”

  That fear rushes over me. “How do I tell the difference, though? Like, if I’m just freaked out generally or if I actually have a bad feeling about him?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you just have to try. Shit happens, and you deal as it comes. But it’s stupid to have feelings and not do anything about them.” His gaze is heavy. “I think you’d regret it.”

  I try not to feel everything he isn’t saying out loud, and focus on what he is.

  He has a resolved look on his face. “You deserve to be happy. You shouldn’t miss out on that, just because of something bad that happened in the past.” His voice is weirdly formal, like it’s a declaration. “I want you to be happy.”

  My insides squirm, guilt and revelation mixing a confusing cocktail. “Thank you, Ty.”

  He looks more relaxed now, as if he said what he set out to say. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “But nothing’s really happened yet. We’ll see.”

  “It seems like it’s going to. And, Hads, it’s good.”

  We’re smiling nervously at each other, and when Greg comes back through the door to the patio, he isn’t alone. Braden stands next to him, moving the night sky out of the way to shine in the dark, and suddenly I just can’t deny how I feel.

  “I’m going to…,” I start.

  Ty nods. “Go.”

  * * *

  Braden watches as I move toward him.

  “Hey.” I bite my bottom lip. “So you obviously know Greg now.”

  “Obviously,” he answers.

  Greg looks back and forth from Braden to me, then glances at Ty. “Everything cool?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Everything’s cool.”

  “Okay, good. Then I’m going to let you…do whatever this is.”

  I laugh as Greg walks away. Whatever this is, is right.

  Braden gives me a conspiratorial look. “I wanted you to myself, anyways.” He tilts his head toward the sliding glass door. “I got you something.”

  “Yeah?” I take a step closer to him, and he wraps my fingers in his. I try not to worry about anybody who might be watching. For the second time today, there’s a flutter in my stomach; butterflies waking.

  As he leads me inside, the warmth of the room brings a tingling sensation back into my limbs.

  “Sorry I’m late. My mom made a big deal about family dinner tonight,” he says. “And I wanted to make a pit stop after.”

  Braden continues through the basement and toward the laundry room. I can hear the dryer running before we cross the threshold, and I know it’s because Greg put blankets in there earlier, hoping to bring them out later, toasty warm. He loves to be the hero.

  When we walk in, there is a stack of pizza boxes sitting on top of the washing machine next to half-eaten bowls of M&M’s and popcorn. The room is warm from the dryer, and smells like tomato sauce and garlic.

  “You didn’t get to go home for dinner. And Becca mentioned that her parents wouldn’t be back from the restaurant until later. And since you usually end up ordering pizza anyway, and I, you know, have connections, I thought I’d hook you up.”

  I let his hand go and open the box on top. Pepperoni, green peppers, and onions. I whip around, smiling from ear to ear, and pieces of my hair graze his shoulders. “Tha—”

  He puts his hands on either side of my face and catches the rest of my gratitude with his lips.

  Everything inside my body forgets what it’s supposed to be doing in order to focus on the touch of his mouth against mine.

  I sigh into him, and then I feel the breath go out of him too. He moves even closer, until the washing machine presses against my hips. I shift my weight onto my toes, and wrap my arms around his neck, letting my fingers brush against the ends of his hair. His hands graze my sides, fingertips moving up to my face, cupping my cheeks.

  Fighting this would be like fighting the tide. I don’t have to worry about defining it right now. Better to dive in, waves washing over me, letting the cool water render me weightless and free. Better to enjoy this moment, right now.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, caught up in each other. Moving our careful hands to new places. Memorizing every small sensation.
/>   Eventually, when I pull away to look at him, his eyes are question marks. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first. Was that okay?” He puts a hand on the back of his neck. “I…And you’re so…And earlier, it seemed like…”

  “Yeah,” I say breathlessly, nodding. “Yes, it’s—”

  And then he kisses me again, before I can finish my sentence.

  The bell on the door dings, indicating the exit of our sole remaining customers.

  “They’re gone!” I call into the kitchen, sticking the bill into my apron, which sits at my hips like a wide belt.

  “Yes!” Becca cheers, and a beat bounces from the kitchen into the dining room a few seconds later.

  A smooth voice fills the restaurant, sliding against the tables and up the walls. The song is in Spanish, but I immediately recognize it. Becca and Alberto—Becca’s cousin and a cook at the restaurant—love this song.

  As I collect the dishes, I rock back and forth. My good mood makes everything better. I push the swinging kitchen door open and drop my full tray at the bussing station. As I round the corner, I find Becca and Alberto in a playful sing-off.

  Becca cheers when Alberto finishes a flawless verse. “Madre mia! Alberto! Not bad!”

  He brushes his shoulders off.

  Becca sashays up to me. “Oh my gosh, Hads, are you dancing at work? With minimal prompting? Yes, I am feeling this.” She looks me over carefully. “I thought you were so tired today.”

  “I am,” I say, grinning.

  My phone rang around eleven last night, and Braden’s voice was in my ear. He made my cheeks burn as he told me all his thoughts about my lips, my hair, and the way we fit together. By the time we finally hung up, it was rounding on three in the morning.

  The chorus starts, and I sing along the best I can manage.

  Becca looks at me with approval. “Okay! That was sort of Spanish!”

  “Sort of!” I cheer, spinning. I grab the bucket of rags in bleach water to go finish bussing that table.

  But first I get a washcloth and squeeze out the excess liquid. Becca’s back is to me, and I can’t resist. Twisting up the rag, I snap it right between the back pockets of her jeans. She squeals and looks for something to use in retribution, but I shimmy away, pushing the kitchen door open with a dramatic hip bump.

  And then stop, mid–dance move.

  Because Braden is standing at the front entrance.

  “Hey, Hadley.” The force of his smile hits me right in the chest.

  “Oh! Um, hi.”

  How long has he been standing out here?

  Before either of us can say anything else, Becca calls from the kitchen, “I hope you don’t think you got away with that, Hads! Because brace your cheeks, I’m coming for you!”

  Braden lifts his eyebrows.

  She continues, totally oblivious, “And, watch out, ’cause I just found that big-ass spatula.”

  The door dramatically swings open, and she crashes right into me, kitchen utensil in hand. We steady ourselves, and Becca notices Braden. “Oh. Shit! Sorry! Hi. Totally didn’t know anybody was here.”

  Braden eyes the spatula. “Kind of figured.”

  Becca tucks her arms behind her back. “Alberto, can you turn it down? We have a customer!” The music fades.

  Braden looks like he is doing everything he can to keep from laughing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you…uh, working.”

  “No prob,” Becca answers, because I’m too busy staring at him.

  “Are you guys…open? I was hoping to get some food, maybe say hi to Hadley.” He looks at me, and his voice drops. “I didn’t see you at school today.”

  “We’re open,” Becca says, elbowing me. “Hadley, how about you help our customer?”

  I shake my head. “Sorry. Yeah.”

  Oh, hello, brain. Welcome back.

  Becca disappears back into the kitchen.

  Braden looks around the empty restaurant. “So…is there room in your section?” He tries to hold his laughter back, but it’s a lost cause. “I’m so glad I didn’t text first.”

  I swat him with the towel. “You’re the worst. Come on. That booth in the back corner.”

  He leads the way, and I tighten my pony as we walk, pulling it high on the crown of my head. I smooth my Belavinis T-shirt and retie my apron, then grab a menu from the hostess stand. I drop it in front of him as he slides into the booth.

  Not trusting myself, I put on my best waitress voice. “I’m so sorry for our lack of professionalism before. But welcome to Belavinis, sir. Is this your first time dining with us?”

  “Thank you.” Mischief crosses his face. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

  “Great! Welcome. Do you need a few minutes to look over everything?”

  “I might.” He picks up the menu. “Do you have any recommendations?”

  I tilt my head and feel the end of my ponytail graze my back. “It depends. Are you looking for something specific?”

  “Actually, now that you mention it….” He drops the menu. “I am.”

  My pulse speeds up.

  His eyes land on my lips. “What about you, miss? Anything sound particularly good lately?”

  I feel a little dizzy. This isn’t fair! I don’t stand a chance with him looking at me like that! Slowly, I nod.

  His expression is wolfish. “I hoped so.”

  “Yeah?” I say breathlessly.

  “Yeah. I hate eating alone.”

  “What?”

  “So, two burgers, then? With fries? And a Coke, for me.”

  I snort.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, “is there something wrong with that order? I thought we were on the same page?”

  All right, I can play along.

  I put my hand on the table, pressing my weight into it, and lean closer to him. “No problem at all, sir. I was simply under the impression that you might want something a little more special. Something you could only get”—I look down at my name tag—“here.” I stand upright. “But it’s my mistake. I can certainly accommodate that very basic choice.”

  I turn on my heel, but before I walk away, his fingers wrap gently around my wrist. It feels like lightning. “Wait,” he says.

  I turn to him.

  “Hadley, I really do only want it…here?” His expression is so frustratingly cute. I want to scrub it right off his face.

  I pull my lips into my mouth. “Good to know.”

  “Okay, last thing.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  “Just to be clear. I totally do want that burger, though. Along with your company, and your—”

  “I’m on it,” I interrupt. I can’t hear him talk about me like that right now or I’m going to combust. I start to take a step toward the kitchen, but his fingers tighten around my wrist.

  When I turn back, he’s smiling big. “It’s just that I had two practices today, and I’m starving.”

  I can’t stop myself from mirroring his happy expression. “That’s very interesting and all.” I lean into his side of the booth. “But if you want me to get you some food, you’re going to have to let go.” There is zero percent of me that wants that.

  “I’m having conflicting interests.”

  For a moment, I’m lost in him, until…“Wait. You had practice before school today too?”

  He nods and slides his hand down to my fingers, tracing them with his.

  I try to pay attention to my words. “But you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

  His thumb moves across my wrist, and he raises a shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean to keep you up—”

  “It’s good. I promise.”

  With the way he looks at me, I’m suddenly in danger of exploding into a fit of hysterics.

  I need to get
out of here.

  “I’ll be right back with your food.”

  Safely in the kitchen, I give Braden’s order to Alberto, then hang on to the prep counter like I just finished a marathon.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Becca is eating a plate of fries.

  “Shhh! He’ll hear you.”

  “Oh my god.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Becca, how can I possibly—like, how is it humanly possible to feel so idiotic and so happy at the same time?” I ask in an urgent whisper.

  “You have a crush.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

  “No. No, that’s not what this is. I had a crush on Noah, and I never felt like this.”

  “Okay, Hads, let’s get something straight. You thought Noah was nice. That guy out there”—she points to the door with a fry—“he’s a lot of things, but he’s definitely not nice. He’s a completely different species.”

  I can’t help but remember Braden saying something similar at Pieces and Pies, that he thought nice was boring. “God, this is embarrassing.” And wonderful.

  “Yep,” she affirms.

  “I hate it.”

  “Big, fat crush.” She offers me her plate, but I shake my head. “Also, did you just leave him out there by himself?”

  I lean my chin into my hands. “Yeah. Trying to act normal is exhausting. I needed a break.”

  She looks at me frankly. “But you’re also dying to go back out there.”

  “Completely.”

  “Here.” Becca grabs two cups and fills them with ice and fountain Coke. “Take a breath. Bring these out there. Sit with him. I promise, you will survive.”

  I grab the drinks. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  She doesn’t bother replying as she practically pushes me out the door.

  I walk toward Braden with a slushing fountain Coke in each hand, and he puts his phone down as I reach the table, looking at me like I’m a slice of our famous coconut-cream pie.

  Okay, I think. They might have a point.

  Nice might be overrated.