MAGGIE
The rest of the week things with West’s dad seemed better. He was still having problems breathing, but he was awake more. In pain less, or so it seemed. He didn’t need to take as much of the medicine that kept him drugged up. I’d gone to visit him on Wednesday evening. West had come to get me after his football practice, and we had eaten dinner with his mother. Then we went to talk with his dad.
On Thursday, West met me at the door of the cafeteria and insisted I eat at his table. Since Serena was no longer there, I agreed. The guys were still trying to figure out our friendship. It didn’t make sense to them, but by Friday they had accepted that I was going to be sitting with them from now on, and they all seemed okay with that.
West and I were . . . well, I didn’t know what we were. We texted all throughout the day and talked on the phone every evening. We didn’t just talk about his dad or my past; we talked about life. He told me stories about him and Brady as kids, and I told him about my years as a cheerleader in junior high.
But I found our situation increasingly confusing. Like when West would get close to me and breathe deeply like he was taking me in. Or the times he held his hand on my back longer than necessary. Or the time Nash sat down beside me and started flirting, and West had gotten angry. He tried not to show it, but everyone saw it, including Brady.
Even though he did all those things, he still flirted with the girls at school who came on to him. Although he wasn’t having sex with any of them in the restroom or getting attached to any of them, he also never mentioned our kiss or acted as if he’d like to try it again.
He hadn’t mentioned what his plans were after the football game Friday night nor had he asked me about mine. So I asked Aunt Coralee if I could please go straight home and go to bed. I was tired. She agreed, and I left right after the game with her while Uncle Boone stayed to talk to Brady.
West had scored three touchdowns, and the smile on his face had made everything that was wrong, right. I loved seeing him happy. I wished I could be there when he told his dad all about it.
I let the week’s events replay in my mind while I showered and got ready for bed. Brady seemed less annoyed with me lately, and I knew it was because he didn’t have to take me everywhere anymore. His parents had stopped trying to foist me off on him constantly. Dinnertime was easier, and I liked listening to all of them talk.
I also let the idea of starting to talk in public again roll around in my head. I had talked to West’s parents but only because I hadn’t wanted to make things difficult for them with my silence. And, if I never got a chance to speak to his dad again, I didn’t want to regret staying silent.
I wanted to be a part of this family, but as long as I didn’t talk or share my day-to-day life, I remained an outsider. If I started talking to my aunt and uncle, eventually they were going to want me to talk about what I’d seen. About what had happened. I didn’t want to. I was no longer terrified to hear my own voice—talking to West had shown me I could hear myself again and not fall apart—but I wasn’t ready to talk about my mother . . . or my father. The Higgenses knew all there was to know. If I could trust them not to force me to talk about that night, then I could talk to them.
I finished showering then stepped out and towel dried my hair before slipping the towel around my body and hurrying back to my room.
Stepping through the bedroom door, I started to scream when I saw West standing inside. I quickly slapped one hand over my mouth while gripping the towel tightly around me with the other.
“West?” I asked, adjusting so I could hold my towel around me with both hands.
His eyes weren’t on my face but on my very bare legs. I was tempted to run back into the hallway.
“West?” I repeated.
His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and he grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I texted you that I was coming up, but you didn’t answer.”
“Coming up?” I repeated, still very confused.
He nodded to the window. “This was Brady’s room most of my life. I’ve been climbing in that window since I was seven.”
Oh. But why was he here?
“You left . . . the game . . . and you didn’t go to the field party. I waited for you.”
This. This was what confused me. I didn’t understand when he did things like this. He hadn’t asked me all day about my plans tonight. I assumed he had some of his own. I hadn’t known he wanted to see me.
“I left with Aunt Coralee. You didn’t mention seeing me afterward.”
Now he was the one who looked confused. Why was he confused? He was the one giving me crazy mixed signals! “I figured you knew I’d want to see you. Hang out.”.
I shook my head. I didn’t know anything.
He grinned at me this time. “Well, always assume we have plans. You’re the only friend I want to hang out with. Now, could you maybe get some clothes on? That’s uh . . . distracting.”
“You do know you came into my room uninvited, right? If I had known you were coming, I’d have been dressed.”
He smirked. “I texted you.”
“I was in the shower.”
“Minor detail.”
This time I laughed. But I quickly caught myself and bit my lip, hoping Aunt Coralee didn’t hear me. “Turn around,” I whispered.
“Why?”
“So I can get my clothes on.”
“Okay, yeah, that,” he said, and turned to face the wall.
I went over and grabbed a pair of panties from my drawer and then some leggings and a baggy T-shirt. I had never dressed with a guy in the same room. Even though he wasn’t looking, it still made me nervous. I dressed quickly and reached up to run my fingers through my wet hair. Crap. I’d forgotten about my hair.
“I’m done,” I told him as I turned to search for my brush.
“Nice,” he said, which made me pause and look over my shoulder at him.
He winked. I hated it when he winked at me. Mostly because I loved it when he winked. I hated that I loved it. Because friends did not get birds in their tummies over winks.
“You should wear leggings more often,” he said, and I set my attention on looking for a brush. When I finally found it, I started pulling it through my tangled hair before turning back to him.
“How was the field party?” I asked, sitting down on the end of my bed.
He shrugged and sat down beside me. “Boring. You weren’t there. No one else is fun to talk to.”
I rolled my eyes, making him chuckle.
“Your aunt and uncle check on you at night?”
I shook my head. I locked my door at night. I have nightmares and, although I didn’t scream in them, I often cried and whimpered, saying things I didn’t want them to hear.
“Can I stay a while if we whisper?”
Like I would tell him no. I never told him no. Even though I should tell him no. . . . It wouldn’t hurt him for me to tell him no, and he could stand to hear it more often.
“Of course.”
