Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

She smiles at me and nods along as she focuses on the road. “I saw Scott at the Save-A-Lot. He mentioned he’s got something for you.”

Scott? The prom. How badly I wanted to kiss him that night. It all rushes back in HD-quality vision. But, I’ve got Derek now. I’m safe. Scott and I can be friends again.

I’m too tired to carry my suitcase up to my room.

“Just leave it, Beth. Get some rest.”

I kiss Mom good night. “I’m okay.” I look at her, and she gets what I’m talking about. “Let’s not make it a big deal.”

She shakes her head.

I haul my tired butt up the stairs. My alarm clock reads 1:50 a.m. Ten minutes. I fall into the shower and throw on a fresh nightshirt. Clean feels delicious. I can’t remember when I showered last.

I sign on. Derek’s there, waiting. Early. That’s delicious, too.

Derek: where are you?

Beth: home

Derek: you should go to bed

Beth: I need to talk to my new boyfriend

I send it before I realize what I wrote. Boyfriend? I wanted him to say it first. Thirty plus hours of travel will do that to you.

Derek: about time you owned me

Beth: you’ve never said it to me

Derek: uh-huh . . . three times.

Like I would have missed that. I yawn and shake it off while I type.

Beth: you are delusional

Derek: girlfriend . . . girlfriend . . . girlfriend

Beth: now I can sleep

I stretch and yawn, get ready to sign off. I’m not sure what to write. I don’t know how he’ll respond if I go on the gush side. I feel overheated, romantic, and so into him even though he’s so far away right now.

Derek: you’re not going to grill me again over my plans for today?

Beth: I don’t want to have nightmares

Derek: my poor little Beth . . . relax . . . we decided to take it easy

Beth: good

Derek: we rented mountain bikes and took them on the train up a mountain . . . a small one . . . we’re in a wired café having that fried potato stuff with eggs and cheese and ham all over it . . . it’s pouring out

I take a perverse delight in Derek’s ruined day. Good. He won’t be able to risk breaking that neck I left my imprint on. I’m hungry for it again. These two weeks are going to be way too long. I’m major possessive.

Beth: rain? YES . . . we can chat longer

Derek: the guys are done . . . I gotta go

Beth: INSERT BLOODCURDLING SCREAM HERE

Derek: get some rest . . . girlfriend

Beth: what about your cold? don’t make it worse

He’s gone. Definitely no gush. I fall on my bed, imagine him riding a mountain bike full tilt down a mud-slick mountain path. He starts to cough and wipes out. I fall asleep. The vision is worse in my dreams. I’m there riding, too. I wipe out into him—cause the crash. He’s lying in the rocks—bloody, muddy. I crawl over to him, and we get it on in the mud. I wake up way too soon.

chapter 17

FRIENDSHIP

The doorbell rings.

I roll over, crack an eye at my alarm clock. It’s almost 2:00 p.m. I’ve given in to jet lag. It’s summer. Who cares? It’s been overcast and humid nonstop since I got back to Port. I wish it would just rain already and get it out of its system. I want it to be nice out by the time Derek gets home. I want to get him to the beach, get him some sun, make out in the sand. We’ve never kissed lying down. Or in the water. These past couple weeks I’ve imagined every possible place we could make out. I’ve compiled quite a list.

Derek was stuck in the Amsterdam airport last night. We chatted until almost 4:00 a.m. my time. Then he got on a plane. I didn’t have the guts to tell him about the list. I’ll show it to him when he gets here.

The doorbell rings again.

Crap. How many hours is that? Could it be him?

I fly out of bed. Sloppy oversize T-shirt. No makeup. Wild hair. Total wreck. Race down the stairs. Throw open the door, and there’s a guy walking away.

“Hey. Stop. I’m here.”

He turns around.

“Scott?” I can feel the flush that’s running up my face.

“So you are home.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought maybe you’d call.” He takes a step toward me and stops. “I told your mom—”

“I’ve been out of it. Total jet lag.” And I’ve been avoiding you. Still.

He nods slowly. “Did I wake you?”

I realize I’m not dressed for visitors. “Sorry. I must look awful.”

He eyes my bare legs. “I don’t mind.” He gets his naughty grin on. “Honest.” He walks up the cement path that leads across our scorched lawn to our white-painted porch—still looking at my legs. “It’s nice to see the real you.” A car zooms by behind him.

“Don’t be morbid.” I slap at a mosquito on my thigh.

He comes up the porch steps and hands me an envelope. “I brought these—if you still want them.” He’s wearing a short tank top and cutoffs. He must be doing the weightlifting thing with his legs, too. Nice. His neck is even thicker now. And I can see real abs beginning to form on his stomach. And those shoulder muscles are even more defined.

I take the envelope from him, slide out a dark brown folder, and open it. There’s Scott looking sharp in his black tux with his arms around a tall blonde stranger. “This is me?”

He nods his head. “One of you.” He stares for a moment. “I think I like this one better.”

I manage an embarrassed smile. “That was the best night. You were so sweet. Thought of everything.”

“What did you like best?”

“The brownies—no, the dancing.” I get redder remembering how we slow danced.

“Too bad Colby is such a creep.”

I lean against the doorway with one leg bent up, like a stork. “It did make it exciting.”

“But we didn’t get to dance again.”

“That’s right—you owe me a nice long slow dance.” I can say that now. I have Derek. I can tease Scott. We’re friends.

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at me like a friend. He looks at me like Derek does. He seems taller. Could he finally be growing? And he’s been at the beach. His hair is blonder, and he’s got a great tan. Scott messes with his iPod, moves in really close, hands me an ear bud—the first slow song we danced to plays. He puts the other end in his ear. “Dance with me, Beth.” He smiles like he’s playing around, but the intensity I read deep in the blue of his eyes says something else.

His arms go around me. He pulls me tight and lays his face on my chest. Shoot, he’s wearing that same aftershave he had on prom night. I can’t resist touching his shoulders. His bare leg brushes mine while we move to the music.

I close my eyes, and the lyrics take me back to that night: Remember when you first held me?

And I believed love could be?

Your lips awoke my senses.

You melted my defenses.

“You need to tell me something, Bethie.” Scott raises his face. “I’ll never bug you about it again, but it’s driving me crazy. Promise you won’t get mad?”

“At you? I’m never mad at you.” I stroke his head like at prom. Derek won’t mind. Scott’s my friend.

“Why didn’t you let me kiss you good night? One kiss. What’s so awful?”

Man, it’s hot out. Sticky. “You wanted to kiss me?” I really need a fan. How can he still do this to me? I have a boyfriend. I’m not starving anymore.

“Wasn’t that obvious? Why did you run like that?”

I don’t answer. Whispers of the words I wrote after my escape float through my memory. Can’t you see how much you have changed?

Frightened to move? Yeah, I’m the same.

Insides yearning—can I walk away again?

“Bethie?” Scott stops moving and takes me by the shoulders. The little boy is gone from his face. He’s a full-fledged guy—not cute anymore. He’s handsome.