The Space Between Heartbeats Page 2

  She slams her coffee mug down. Black liquid jumps over the edge and lands on the counter. “Well, how should I know? Do you keep track of her every movement?” She turns and grabs a dishcloth, her voice getting louder. “She’s your daughter, too, you know.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m standing right here,” I remind her. It’s not unusual to hear my parents fighting, but it is unusual to hear them fighting about me. Maybe they heard me come in late. Maybe they actually care for once.

  “Yeah.” My mother sighs. “I’ll call the school.”

  She rinses out the cloth and places it neatly on the edge of the sink.

  “Yep. Love you, too.” The words sound routine, emotionless, like there’s no truth to them. She hangs up and sighs heavily.

  “I am going to school, just so you know. But if you want me to get there on time, you’ll need to give me a ride,” I say.

  She doesn’t look up, but gulps down the last of her coffee and shoves the milk back in the fridge.

  “The silent treatment? That’s what you’re going with today?” I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s really mature, Mom. You should start writing for a parenting magazine.”

  She glances around the room, her cool blue gaze brushing over me like I’m nothing more than a speck of dirt as she checks to make sure she has everything she needs. With a sharp sigh, she fluffs up the back of her short blond bob, gathers her square leather handbag, and heads out of the kitchen.

  I want to apologize for pissing her off. I want to admit I have no idea what happened last night and I’m sorry that I came in really late . . . again. I want to tell her that I’m scared. But there’s an impassable gulf between us that grows larger every day, filled with all the things we won’t—can’t—talk about.

  I follow her to the entryway, wondering if it’s even worth it to plead for a ride. The idea of her stony silence isn’t exactly appealing, but being late to school has consequences, too. I’m really not in the mood for detention today.

  “Look, Mom—”

  The tinny ring of her phone cuts me off. Mom opens the front door as she pulls it out of her jacket pocket and presses it to her ear.

  “Jackie, my favorite client.” Her bright, plastic voice makes my skin crawl. “Of course you’re not bothering me. What do you need?”

  “A ride to school,” I mumble over my shoulder as I brush past her and out the door. It’s so unfair that her work contacts always get her sunshine, while her family is left with the melancholy dregs.

  “Well, I have the open home scheduled for two on Saturday, so we still have a little time left. Why don’t I make some calls and get back to you?” She pauses when she reaches her car and lets out a merry laugh. “Don’t worry, you will be my number-one priority today.”

  “Unlike me.” I throw her a pointed look. She glances away from me as she nods and hmms at Jackie. “Ugh, forget about the ride. I’d rather walk anyway.” I turn on my heel and make a quick retreat down the driveway, yelling over my shoulder, “Don’t forget to call the school to tell them I’ll be late.”

  The walk to school is just under two miles. I look at my watch and pick up the pace. This day has detention written all over it.

  I get about three blocks from the house before my feet start to bother me. Just as I’m regretting my choices, I hear the welcome sound of an approaching car—maybe Mom has decided to take pity on me, after all. I glance back, but instead of Mom’s sleek silver sedan, it’s an ugly mustard yellow beater, rock music blasting from the open window. And just my luck, Dale Finnigan is in the driver’s seat.

  His long curls hide the angry red scar that cuts across his face, a jagged line that starts just below his right eye and runs all the way down to his chin. As he draws closer, I see his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. He is completely lost in his music as he speeds past me. At the corner, his brake lights flash red. The sudden urge to call out and wave for him to stop courses through me, but he disappears before I can act on it. Even if he did notice me, there is no way he would ever offer me a ride. He hasn’t even looked at me in four months. And I can’t blame him, not after what I did.

  It happened a few weeks before school broke for the summer. I was rummaging through my locker when Dale approached.

  “Hey, Nicole.” He shot me that classic smirk of his, his scar bending to accommodate his smile. No one knew what happened to him, only that it happened before he started at our school that year. For some reason, I couldn’t help but want to run my finger down the raised pink line. Everything about it—everything about him—drew me in. His warm brown eyes, his quiet thoughtfulness, his air of mystery . . . I found him undeniably intriguing. But he was someone the old nice me would have liked, back when I was still Nicky. He hung out with my former friends, like Adam, Lisa, Jake, and Brody, the people who got good grades and ran for student council and volunteered on weekends. I’d left the old me behind, and Dale wasn’t someone the new popular Nicole could afford to be seen with.

  Dale handed me my phone. His fingers brushed mine and I tried to ignore the heat that spiked inside of me.

  “You left this in English last period.”

  “Oh, thanks . . . Darren?”

  He cringed so slightly I almost missed it. “Don’t worry, no one’s watching. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t know my name. We’re practically neighbors, after all.”

  I sighed and leaned against my locker. “Thank you, Dale. I was wondering where it was.”

  He shifted on his feet. “So, um . . . Spotify was still open and I know I shouldn’t have,” he said in a rush, “but I checked out your playlist. You have really great taste.”

  “You what?” My cheeks flamed. I didn’t even let my friends see what I listened to. There were only two things I really clung to from my past—my unique taste in music and my good grades. Even as I forced myself to change, I couldn’t let either of those things go. My new friends would never understand my obsession with either, which is why I kept it totally private. And now Dale knew and he . . . wait . . . he thought I had great taste?

  He fidgeted with the dog tags hanging around his neck. The words GRANITE—ROCK HARD were punched into them.

  “No way.” I leaned closer, studying the metal rectangles. “Where did you get these?”

  “Their reunion concert last year.” He grinned.

  I looked up. “The one at the Hollywood Bowl?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes sparkled. “My sister took me.”

  I stared at him in awe. “I really wanted to go to that. I can’t believe you like Granite.”

  He chuckled. “An obscure glam rock band from the nineties? What’s not to like?”

  I bit back a smile as I met his gaze. His eyes had flecks of gold I’d never noticed before, and he had the lightest dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, I realized how close we were standing. We looked almost . . . intimate. I let the tags go and stepped back. “I didn’t know anyone else our age had even heard of them before.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us have.” Dale shrugged, suddenly looking shy as he slid off the dog tags and held them out to me. “Do you want them?”

  I shook my head, completely taken aback by the offer. “What? No. I can’t take those from you. They’re epic.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m giving them to you.” He took my hand and dropped the necklace into my palm, closing my fingers over it. His skin was warm, his touch light and delicate. The smile I’d been fighting finally bloomed on my lips.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  Dale shoved his hands in his pockets, looking a little embarrassed. “I got a drumstick from the same concert, and that’s even more epic in my opinion. Besides, those will look great on you.” He gazed down at his shoes as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

  “Thank you,” I said, rubbi
ng the dull metal with my thumb.

  He cleared his throat, squeezing the back of his neck and glancing at me. “So, why do you like Granite so much?”

  “Oh, my dad used to be into them,” I said, the smile slipping from my lips. When we were younger, my dad occasionally took Jody and me on his business trips to LA. He’d blast Granite, and we’d sing our heads off as we flew down I-10. The memory stung, a reminder of how my family used to be and all the little rituals we’d lost along the way.

  “Nicole?” Amber’s clipped tone sounded from down the hallway. Penny walked besides her.

  My blood went cold and I threw the dog tags into my locker, slamming it shut as my friends approached.

  Dale gave me a dry look. “Really?”

  “You should probably get going,” I whispered. “I’ll catch up with you later.” But he just stood there, a slow smirk spreading across his face. Penny’s eyes darted back and forth between us, struggling to comprehend why we were talking.

  “Hello, ladies,” he greeted them smoothly. I had to admire him. The guy wasn’t scared of anyone.

  Amber’s upturned nose crinkled. “Are you lost?” Her tone was acidic as she took in Dale’s baggy gray T-shirt, scruffy ripped jeans, and bright red Converse.

  I stood up a little straighter, not missing Dale’s flat expression as he eyed Amber. He was so unimpressed it nearly made me laugh.

  “So, thanks for returning my phone,” I said coolly, trying to make it obvious that we were done here.

  “You’re welcome.” He put his hand on my elbow. “Hey, maybe we can catch up after school tomorrow, listen to some music.”

  Penny sneered while Amber crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at me expectantly. I knew what she wanted: me to put Dale in his place, to make him regret ever talking to me. I had to protect the icy reputation I’d worked so hard to cultivate.

  So that’s exactly what I did.

  Shrugging his hand off, I looked him right in the eye, my tone sharp. “I’m busy tomorrow, so, no.” Scared he might make everything worse by trying to arrange another time, I eyed his clothing in disgust and went for the jugular. “Now, fuck off, Scarface.”

  My friends snickered and Dale’s expression fell. Pity flashed in his eyes, followed by a deep disappointment that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. It wasn’t hard to read his mind.

  You should know better.

  I wanted to apologize as soon as I said it, but it was too late. The words were already out there, heavy in the air between us, and I couldn’t take them back.

  I looked back at him just once after I walked away. Dale was pulling his shoulder-length curls down over his face, a pathetic attempt to hide his scar.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WEDNESDAY, 8:45 AM

  I arrive at school over an hour late, just as the second period bell rings. Barrington High is a typical suburban California high school, a cross between an alpine lodge and a strip mall. The central building has a green tiled roof and covered walkways that lead to the swimming pool and athletic fields. The only high school in the area, it is home to around nine hundred students and has a parking lot twice the size of the local airport’s.

  The corridors are empty and thankfully no one spots me as I sneak in through the back entrance and hightail it to American history before Mrs. Spencer arrives. I dump my bag on my desk next to Amber and Penny. Amber’s eyes are bright, her makeup flawless. Penny’s wearing a new red plaid shirt and skinny jeans, her black hair braided over one shoulder.

  I give my hair a sniff, wishing I’d set my alarm so I’d had time for a shower. I smell like grime and pine needles. I tug my shirt up so it’s covering my chest a little better, dreading the moment my friends realize I’m still wearing the same outfit I had on the night before.

  “You guys won’t believe the morning I’ve had,” I begin.

  Amber doesn’t even acknowledge me. She’s too busy assessing her hot pink nails. Penny finishes off a text, then slams her phone down.

  “So . . .” Penny gives Amber a “tell me everything” grin.

  Amber blushes. “It was good.”

  “What was good?” I lean forward.

  “And . . .” Penny waves her hand, gesturing for Amber to go on.

  A smug grin spreads across Amber’s face. “Okay, it was amazing. He’s a really good kisser. I think I like him.”

  Penny lets out a little squeal. “I so hooked you up.”

  Amber giggles. “Have I mentioned how much I love study group?”

  “Who did you hook up with?” I ask in a teasing, playful tone, desperate to hide that I can’t remember anything that happened at Matt’s house.

  Amber looks away from me.

  “What?” I throw my arms up.

  She sniffs and clears her throat.

  “Okay, is this because I didn’t call you this morning? Because, for your information, I can’t find my phone.”

  Amber shakes her head and runs a finger through her hair, making sure her perfect auburn locks are in order.

  I roll my eyes. Whenever I piss Amber off, she makes me work double time to figure out what the problem is. Turning to the sweeter of my two friends, I give Penny a pleading look. “Pen, help me out here. Did I do something last night? I don’t remember doing anything wrong.” I refrain from adding, “Actually I don’t remember anything at all.”

  Penny checks her phone again, then opens her textbook as the teacher walks in.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone. Glad to see most of you have your books out already.”

  I ignore Mrs. Spencer and turn back to Penny. “She’s got you in on this, too? Give me a break. I can’t fix this if I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whisper.

  Penny scratches the side of her nose, then pulls out a pen, looking toward the front of the class.

  “Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot,” I mutter before slumping back in my seat.

  My mind races with all the things I could have done. Unfortunately, my slate is hardly clean. Amber once ignored me for three weeks when I made out with a guy she liked from the soccer team. I eventually got her to forgive me, but I’ve never told her we hooked up again after her birthday party in the backseat of his car. Did I let that slip last night?

  I glance up at Mrs. Spencer as she begins her tirade on the quality of our homework assignments. “You’re juniors now and there is no excuse for sloppiness or incomplete work.” The class lets out a collective groan when she threatens to make us repeat our last essay.

  I shoot Amber an exasperated glance, but she doesn’t respond. I twist toward her and make one more attempt to placate her. “Hey, have you decided what you want me to buy you yet?” A light bulb clicks on in my brain. We were supposed to go shopping today. I lick my lower lip and paste on a sweet smile. “I was thinking tomorrow would be perfect for an LA shopping spree, what do you think?”

  So our trip is delayed by one day, no big deal. Besides, nothing gets Amber talking faster than fashion. If anything can break her out of her frosty mood, it’ll be this. Unfortunately, she is too busy pretending to listen to the teacher to acknowledge me . . . which means she’s super pissed.

  I sigh, knowing a lost cause when I see one. I check the time and then make a quick decision. Standing, I grab my bag and walk to the front of class.

  “Mrs. Spencer, I’m not feeling very well. Can I go see the nurse, please?”

  She’s so busy writing on the white board, she barely turns to acknowledge me. I take her brief nod as an okay and turn to leave, firing Amber a morose look as I walk out the door. She ignores me and dips her head to start copying Mrs. Spencer’s scribble.

  Tears scorch my eyes as I make my way down the empty corridor, wondering what I could have possibly done to piss off my friends. I take a deep breath and swipe the tears away, steeling myself. I’ve learned the hard way that tears never sol
ve anything.

  As I pass by the stairs, a voice drifts up from the bottom of the stairwell. I let out a sigh of relief.

  Trent.

  Finally, I can get some answers.

  I rush down the stairs and whip around the corner only to stop dead in my tracks. Trent is leaning against the white brick wall, his muscular arms wrapped around a blonde. Lauren Peters.

  “I don’t want to get caught,” she says breathily, though she looks as if she’s in no rush to leave him.

  “We won’t.” Trent touches his nose to hers. “No one comes around here during class time.”

  I’m too shocked to move.

  Trent’s hand comes to rest on her hip, his lips skimming her neck. “You looked really hot last night.”

  Lauren giggles, the sound like fingers on a blackboard in my ears. “You have a girlfriend, Trent.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, but come on. Have you seen you?” He kisses her and she lets out a soft moan, her long nails gliding through his messy black hair.

  Lauren pulls away and her teeth brush over her lower lip, her eyes feigning fear. “What if Nicole finds out?”

  “She won’t,” Trent promises. “Trust me.”

  “Oh, really?” I demand as Trent leans down to kiss her again. I rush forward and punch his shoulder . . .

  And my hand passes straight through him.

  I stumble back with a gasp, as Trent shivers and rubs his arm, his face pale.

  “Are you okay?” Lauren touches his cheek, her forehead wrinkling.

  “Yeah.” He shudders again, then smiles down at her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He puts his hand on her lower back and leads her through the door to the courtyard outside. It clicks closed behind them.

  It’s a struggle to breath, but I force air in through my nose and approach the door with shaky steps. My arm quivers as I reach for the handle.

  My fingers pass through the metal.

  “What the hell,” I whisper, gazing down at my trembling hands. A shard of a memory starts to come back to me. A thump. The crunch of branches. The smell of pine needles and wet earth.