Sing Me to Sleep

“Sign me up.”

“Okay. The guys and I are staying on a couple weeks—backpacking, trains. Stay.”

“Two solid weeks with no distractions?”

“Blake would be around.”

“Even that would be so much better than”—emotion catches at my voice—“saying good-bye Monday morning.” I curse the bane of nonrefundable group airline tickets.

He strokes my hair. I washed it three times to get all the gunk out of it and hot oiled it before breakfast. It’s gorgeous today. As long as it doesn’t rain and spoil the flattening job the girls did on it. Keep touching it, Derek. Please, keep touching it.

He does. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo like the one I cried on. I notice small red scars on the inside of his arm. Tracks? I don’t want to see them. All the drugs in the world won’t change how I feel about Derek. I close my eyes.

His fingers comb through my hair. “It won’t be good-bye. Just see you later.”

My eyes fly open. “Really?” Take that, Meadow.

“Like Meadow said, we’re neighbors. London is only a couple hours from Detroit. How far is Ann Arbor?”

An amazing, tingling sensation goes through me. I tip my head back and laugh.

“What?”

“I’m up in Port.”

“You’re kidding? That’s like a half hour from my house—if you go fast.”

Then I’m afraid. This can’t be real. He can’t be saying this. I clutch the front of his shirt. “You really want to keep this—happening?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

I nod my head.

He frowns at me. “What did you think?”

“I don’t know. That you were passing time. Being nice. That it doesn’t mean to you what it means to me.”

“That’s cold.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this. Nothing like you has ever happened to me before.”

“Good.” He shifts his hold so he can kiss me. “Let’s keep it that way.”

We get lost in lips and hands and hair and faces. It feels different this time—now that I know it will last. Less physical. More emotional. With every kiss, the way I feel about him deepens. With every touch, he is more and more precious. I’ll be his high. I’ll be his therapy. If he has me, he won’t need anything else. I so want to take care of him.

His lips flow over every inch of my face, promising me.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Of moments like this.

My official Bliss Tour Itinerary is fat as a book. The gala celebration tonight, the awards-ceremony thing tomorrow morning, shopping all afternoon, and our flight home the next morning are all that’s left. The schedule says we have to board the bus at 5:00 a.m. Derek and I better say our see you laters the night before. He doesn’t do mornings.

We, meaning me and eighty girls, not me and Derek, arrive at the sports arena, where the closing concert will be held. We’re lucky it hasn’t rained. Clouds rolled in this afternoon, but so far it’s been dry. They didn’t have to move the concert indoors. Terri hands the usher the plastic card with our seat assignments. Instead of leading us to nosebleed seats in the rafters, they take us to a couple of long, empty rows on the field.

The orchestra starts the evening off. Derek told me they are all Hungarians. The Choral Olympics couldn’t afford the Swiss. After a couple of stirring classical pieces and a piece from a recent movie soundtrack, a Hungarian tenor comes out and sings. He’s good-looking for a guy in his thirties.

Meadow flips out over him. “Next summer—Hungary.” Give me Canada. Just across the border. And soon.

An adult choir from the Philippines sings “The Circle of Light” from The Lion King. They sit in a giant circle with one side open to the audience and make all those animal sounds using only their voices.

The evening wears on. Lots of choirs. I love the Scottish men’s chorus—especially the kilts. The Amabile guys need to get some of those. Derek would be so hot in one. A Hungarian soprano sings a striking aria. I wish I knew how to make my voice do that. The tenor joins her. Standing ovation. The first of the night.

Leah nudges me. “They’re next.”

I glance down at my program. I knew the Amabile guys were closing the show, but I didn’t realize it was so close to over. A shiver goes through me and I’m not cold. I’m hyped to see Derek on the stage, but when this is over, we’re that much closer to going home. I hope they sing all night.

They file out. There’s Derek in his tux again. My Derek. How can that gorgeous creature be with me? He held me, kissed me, and wrote me a song. Me. Maybe it isn’t real. At dinner Meadow was eager to confirm he has a girlfriend in the Amabile Girls’ Choir. Meadow said his online relationship status is single now, but the girlfriend’s profile picture is a pretty cozy one with him. Her status is “Complicated.” I ignored Meadow. My lips were soft and pink from making out with Derek. My head full of his promises.

They start to sing and a nasty voice whispers inside me, He didn’t promise you anything. He just wants to see you again. No commitment. The thought consumes me. I barely hear the two numbers they perform.

The lights go down. A spot shines on Derek walking out, lots of girls squeal. He sings the opening lines of “We Are the World.” It’s a tradition to sing it at every Choral Olympics. The real Olympics are about peace through sports. We’re about peace through song. Derek sings, slowly with lots of feeling. My heart jumps around inside my chest. I struggle to inhale.

A half dozen of the older guys, the core of Primus, follow him off the riser to the edge of the stage. More screaming from the audience. The other guys join Derek’s voice. The tempo picks up. Derek and the guys clap over their heads, getting everyone on their feet. Thousands of voices from all over the world sing about brighter days. Derek leads, in the center of it all. A total star.

So far, far away from me.

The place goes pretty wild after that. Choral decorum out the window. And it’s all because of him. He made that number the highlight of the night. He truly is infectious. Intoxicating. I’m not the only one who feels him. He managed to get to everybody in this sports arena.

When the audience calms down, Derek takes the mike. Major screaming. He smiles and waves. Then he announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow choristers, families—we’ve got a unique treat this evening to close the show.” The orchestra starts playing the tune of a guy-girl pop duet—way romantic, way popular last winter. I’ve sung it to my mirror with my eyes closed a thousand times. I can’t wait to hear him sing it.

But he’s still talking. “I’d like to introduce you to a new voice that made this festival heaven for everyone who heard her sing. Will Beth Evans, the soloist from Bliss Youth Singers, please join me on the stage.”

I am so glued to my chair. Leah and Sarah get me on my feet and push me out into the aisle. I have to force myself to stand up straight and fake a confident walk. A spotlight follows me up the stage. Derek hands me a mike and whispers, “You know this one right?”

“Remind me to kill you later.”

He sings, I gotta be, I gotta be about you, in my face.

I, You—oooh, ooh, back at him.

Onstage, in front of the entire choral world as we know it, he puts his hand lightly on my waist and draws me close, so we’re singing mike to mike.

The way you walk, your golden hair. He touches my hair. The way I see you everywhere. / Babe, don’t be afraid—hold out a hand to me. He takes a hold of my hand before he’s done and I have to sing.

My verse is kind of raw, and it comes out that way. Your breath that drifts across my face. He squeezes my hand. A fire ignites when we embrace. I flush, barely get the next line out. Your lips on mine promise what I don’t dare.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The chorus starts with me.And now—our love is so true,

I won’t take a step without you.

Thank God, you came. If you love me, please don’t ever let me go.

I mean every word. Does he? Is that why he chose this song? He comes in and our voices wind together.All my life I gotta be about you.

Can’t sleep, can’t dream without you.

It’s a fairy-tale vision for two. It’s you. It’s you.

My eyes open. I get a break while he sings.I raise a kaleidoscope up to my eye,

Twist it once and watch the bright colors fly,

And the picture is so clear—

He cups my cheek with his free hand. It’s gotta be you.

He gets me swaying with him during the orchestral interlude. I probably look like a tree. We sing, It’s you, you, back and forth to each other. And then he does a run.

By the second verse, we’re moving in sync with the music, touching each other. Honest, passionate, Derek sings—The way you kiss, the way you sing,

The way you tell me everything.

Will you take my heart? ”

He puts my hand on his chest and holds it there. I’m offering it to you? I feel his heart pumping. The spotlight makes him glow.I feel your love—it beats so strong,

I’ ll walk with you until the dawn.

He smiles. I slide my hand up to his face and trace his lips while I sing, Now I love only as long as I sing you, you.

Derek takes my hand and swings it with the beat. You, you, I echo him. Then we’re singing the chorus again together. The Primus Amabile guys back us up. I’m totally into it. Instead of fearing the audience, I’m drinking in their appreciation. Major rush. Powerful. It twists with the feeling that’s pouring off Derek, and I’m ready for the dramatic second refrain.

Derek and I don’t worry about the words. The guys have it. We improvise runs up and around, chasing each other’s voice. Derek singing, Oh, baby, you.

I get, Whoa-ooh, you-oo. At the end it all comes together. Our back up Amabile guys drop out. My voice blends with Derek’s in the final throbbing phrase. It’s gotta be, it’s gotta be about you.

Applause washes over us. Derek kisses me, and the place goes nuts.

chapter 14

WINNERS

Derek and the rest of the Amabile guys shred whatever decorum was left after the concert last night before the closing ceremony can even get under way this morning. It starts out with all the choirs waving flags and trying to outsing one another’s national anthem. Derek and his friends notch it up to raucous when they get up and run around the arena waving a giant Canadian flag. That bright-red cloth with the red maple leaf in the middle is like a matador’s cape. And the bulls can’t resist coming after it.

The Aussies get up. Then the Chinese. The Russians, Italians, Irish. Soon a mini UN pours onto the floor. Leah and Meadow pull me with them. Sarah and about fifteen other girls follow. We plunge into the craziness, get swept into the current of choristers and national pride. Leah and I have our big flag. Everyone else has the small flags from the opening ceremony. Major red, white, and blue.

The national anthem singing continues, gets louder. The running wilder. Lots of pushing. A total rush. Nothing like the rush I got onstage with Derek last night, but running in a crazy mob of happy humanity is cool. The only thing better would be Derek beside me in this sweaty, pulsing mass. That would make it hot. I sort of amaze myself. Who knew I could think like this?

“The judges have made their decisions,” blares on max over the sound system. “TAKE YOUR SEATS.” After three tries, our competitive natures get the better of us, and we flood into the rows.

The announcements start with the mixed-voice youth choirs. SATB—guys and girls. A choir from a music school in Poland wins.

One of our judges comes to the mike. “The bronze medal choirs in the single-voice youth category are . . .”

I hold my breath. Terri has her head down. We’re all like that—united in tension. In the Choral Olympics every choir gets a bronze, silver, or gold. It would be so humiliating to get bronze. Phew. He’s announcing the silvers now. I see Terri relax. Her head comes up. Silver would be respectable.

Meadow squeals out loud when the judge says, “And now for our gold medal choirs,” without announcing Bliss Youth Singers of Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. Terri shushes her, but she’s smiling all over the place and giving us two thumbs-up.

Gold. We got gold. Terri’s counting so she can figure out what place we end up. In addition to the medal category, they announce in order—from worst to best. If we break into the top ten, she thinks we can get funding from an arts commission for a CD.

As the judge continues without calling our name, we’re having a hard time containing ourselves. Squirming, crying, suppressed celebrating. Another choir. Still not us. Another choir. Still not us.

Meadow bends over with her arms wrapped around her stomach, chanting, “We won. We won. We won.”

The judge pauses and looks around the room. “The top three choirs are Amabile Young Men’s Ensemble, London, Ontario, Canada; Expressly Haiku from Kyoto, Japan; and Bliss Youth Singers, Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA.” Applause and cheering. We’re going crazy jumping up and down, hugging each other, screaming.

“Will a representative come forward from each of these choirs?”

Meadow starts to head out, but Leah and Sarah tackle her. Terri nods at me. “Beth, get up there!”

I follow a tiny Japanese girl onto the stage. Derek comes forward for his choir. The judge recognizes us from the previous evening. “You two behave yourselves this morning.” My face gets as ruby red as our gowns. The crowd laughs. A couple of wolf whistles.

The judge holds his hand out for quiet. “A gold medal and third place go to . . . Bliss Youth Singers, Ann Arbor, Michigan.” The audience claps as I plaster on a smile and move forward to get our medal and special plaque for placing third. I step back.

The Japanese girls get second.

The Amabile guys win. Of course they do. No one has a chance against them. They are too good. Way too good.

Derek goes forward, gets the medal and trophy. Major clapping. He turns and waves and the screaming starts. The guy is chick bait. No doubt about it. How can he want to be with me? He could have any girl he wants. As many girls as he wants. Does he really want just me? Or am I one of the many?

The judge calms the audience, introduces the next presenter, and leads us offstage. Derek walks behind me, leans forward, whispers, “It should have been you.”

His voice wipes out my jealous doubts. I lean back so he can hear me. “Third in the world? I’ll take that.” I wish we could escape to a corner for a steamy make-out session, but he goes off to his choir, and I return to mine.

Terri’s losing it. I put the gold medal over her neck and hand her the plaque. Massive hugging moment. We’re both laughing and crying. Shoot. We have to sit and be quiet while the adult and children categories’ results are read off.

When the announcements are finished, we all sing the test piece in a mass performance, and then it’s done. Over until next summer. The adults start to file out, but the youth choirs pour onto the floor. All kinds of kids congratulate me. The Amabile guys get mobbed. A knot of sweet, nerdy guys that remind me of Scott asks me to sign their programs. I can’t see Derek in the chaos.

The craziness starts to subside. Terri and the moms begin rounding us up. I look around. Sarah is kissing Blake. Derek is still surrounded by about twenty girls. He sees me—excuses himself. Okay, he breaks away from them.

We’re drawn together. I’m desperate to hold him, kiss those lips that are smiling so big at me. We come together in a rush. Then I am holding him. I am kissing that delicious mouth. It is real. He is mine.

“We’re going to miss lunch, ladies.” Terri’s got everybody together but Sarah and me.

Derek lets me go. “This afternoon?”

“We have to go shopping.”

“Come with us.”

Sarah and Blake join us. “Yeah, Beth. Sarah says she’ll do it.”

“What?”

“It sounds really cool. Come with.”

I look at Derek. “What?”

“Time we had some adventure.”

Adventure Park. That’s what they call this place. It’s ropes and nets in trees. And zip lines.

I’m wearing my fleece—it’s cool up here—heavy leather gloves, a helmet, and, get this, a harness. A ring clipped to a rope is supposed to keep me from falling. Derek and I are on a tiny wood platform built about thirty feet off the ground in a massive tree. I wish we could just walk through this ancient forest with its whispering foliage, holding hands and staring at each other, but no—adventure calls.

I’m standing in front of the first zip line, freaked right out. Derek is behind me. “You’re hooked in, right?” He reaches under my arm, brushes my ribs, and tugs on the ring to reassure me that it will hold.

I don’t jump and slide down the line. Partly because I’m totally scared and partly because I like the way this feels, him behind me, reaching his arm around me, looking after me. I lean back into him. “Kiss me for luck.”

“Go Beth. There’s a bunch of people waiting.”

I don’t jump. He pecks my cheek and pushes me off the platform. I scream and close my eyes as I zoom down the line. Halfway down, though, the scream of terror turns into a jazzed squeal. Zip? They aren’t kidding. I actually catch the net at the other end and pull myself onto it. I unhook the metal gadget, so Derek can follow me. He launches himself off the platform—glides way faster than I did.

I’m giddy and laughing. He’s happy that I’m not wimping. We scramble through the rest of the course. It’s way fun. By the end, I leap off the last zip line and take it with my eyes wide open.

Derek’s ready to go again. We have a couple more hours here and can go down any of the courses through the trees that we want as many times as we can get our butts down them.

We bump fists, and he says, “Let’s take the high course. You rock.”

I slow down. “That wasn’t the high course?”

He points to a couple of his friends on a platform at the very top of the extremely tall, massive like a skyscraper—no way, nohow I’m getting up there—tree we’re standing next to. “That’s the high course.”

Jelly knees. Total wimp. “How about I watch?”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t kill yourself. I haven’t had enough of you.”

He laughs—like I made a joke, but it’s got a bitter edge to it that takes me by surprise. “What?”

But he’s gone.

I follow and watch him. Not a good idea. Even the lower course looks scary from the ground. The high course is bloodcurdling. I know he’s hooked in—but he’s way, way, way up there. And he just goes for it. No hesitation. No fear. At one point, there is a younger Amabile singer stuck in front of him. Derek unhooks completely and scrambles around him. Unhooks. He slips—

“Derek!”

He catches himself instead of splatting at my feet. He hooks in again and focuses down until he finds me. He reads the flipped out terror expression on my face from all the way up there. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch.”

I go looking for Sarah, but she and Blake have disappeared.

I could go back and do the same route I went through with Derek, but what a drag doing it by myself. Aren’t I spoiled? All of a sudden, I don’t want to ever do anything by myself again. It’s him or nothing. That makes me sad. Tomorrow morning I’m on a plane, flying away from Derek. He’ll be home in two weeks, and then we’ll squeeze every minute together we can into our lives, but it won’t ever be like this again. How can he waste a minute?

The duet we sang together last night keeps running through my head. I hum the chorus as I wander through the trees. . . . Our love is so true . . . won’t take a step. . . . Thank God, you came. . . . It’s you. It’s you. As long as there isn’t a giant tree to swing from.

I make up my own verse, get lost in the trees as I work out the lines. Finally get it to say what I can’t. I sing first.I want you near, all night, all day.

I need to believe the things you say

You say it’s me—

But how can that be true?

I imagine him singing back to me.There’s no one else, I’ ll be so true.

Trust me babe, and I’ ll love you.

I get stuck on his last line. By the time I find the wood building where all the courses start, Derek’s already there—waiting for me, chugging a giant bottle of tepid Evian.

“How did you finish so fast?” How many more times did he unhook to pass somebody? “You’re a maniac.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Gotta get that adrenaline any way you can.”

“You scared the heck out of me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Not particularly pleasant—for me.”

He clears his throat and takes a swig of his water. “Probably a good thing you won’t be around for the next couple of weeks.” He’s sweating, pulls off his hockey jersey. His T-shirt underneath rides up and exposes a Band-Aid on his lower stomach on his right side.

“I thought you were touring.” I walk over to him, run my hand over his stomach, find the Band-Aid. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Mosquito bite. Look at this one on my arm.” He holds up his arm. “I swell way up.” There is a nasty, swollen, scratched bite on his arm.

“You’re not supposed to scratch at it. Do you have another Band-Aid?” The spot on his stomach wasn’t red like this mess on his arm.

He slips one out of his pocket. I dump some water on his arm, pat it dry with a tissue, and plaster the Band-Aid on it.

“Now that itches like crazy.”

“Stop trying to distract me. Why did you say that about me not being around?”

“We’re not going to be hanging out in museums. Did you know there are glaciers in the Alps you can ski on all summer?”

Shoot. I need to call my mom and see if she’ll buy me a new ticket home. He’ll kill himself.

My face must look desperate. It gets to him. “I’m sorry, Beth.” His eyes fill with a pain I don’t understand. “I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like this.” He makes it sound like tomorrow will be good-bye. “It’s not fair.”

“Don’t say that.” Now I’m scared. “I’d still be crying on that bench by the lake if it weren’t for you. Force yourself? You rescued me.”

“But I haven’t been totally honest with you.” His hand rests on his waist, covering the spot where the Band-Aid is.

I don’t know if I want to hear this. Is it Blake’s drug-habit tease or Meadow’s girlfriend theory? “I’m listening.”

“I have—um—”

Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. At least he’s going to tell me. I can help him. He doesn’t realize it, but I owe him. Every time he touched me—all week long—that stupid test and my wrecked genes did disappear. And last night, for those few minutes onstage with him, I was a star. I can’t believe he did that for me. I dreamed the applause all night. Nothing can hurt with him in my life. I never want to sing with anyone else.

It’s bittersweet, though. Here’s a guy I could imagine wanting to have a baby with someday. At least trying. Or practicing. That makes me sweat. Maybe I will need that pill prescription. He says it’s not about sex, but the way I feel when we make out is overpowering. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with sex. Isn’t he feeling that, too?

Whatever it is that haunts him—whatever he needs me for—I’m there.

I step forward, close, so I can speak low. It comes out in a rush. “You can tell me, Derek. It’s not going to make a difference in the way I feel about you.”

He starts to cough, takes another long drink of water, coughs again.

I put my head on his shoulder. “Admitting it is the first step.”

He shakes his head. “Not applicable here.” He puts his hockey jersey back on.

“Of course it is.”

He drains off the rest of his water bottle, pitches it, and grabs my hand. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Stubborn.

Frustrating.

Foolish.

Intoxicating.

He scares me. Thrills me. Totally confuses my sense of direction. Up in the trees. Down on the ground. In the spotlight. In his arms. I have no idea where I am.

There’s a backup at the zip line, and we have to wait. He’s in front this time. I slide my arms around his chest and lean over to ask, “How good a skier are you?”

“Boarder. Maniac level.”

I let go of him—jab my finger in his back. “Now you’re doing it on purpose.”

“I won’t tell you what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“Jumping off a mountain?”

“No—that’s Tuesday.”

chapter 15

SO RIGHT

“We’re so boring.” He met me outside my hotel again tonight. It’s darker. More clouds out. Maybe it will rain. “Last night in Lausanne, and we end up on this same bench.”

“I love this bench.” I don’t want to bore him, though. I nerve myself and let my lips slide down to his neck. He catches his breath. He tastes sweaty. Salty. Savory. Sexy. I suck harder, move my mouth, and do it again. I’m so not bored. He pries my mouth off his neck so he can administer some lip action.

“Uptown is just the bar scene at night.” His words tickle my lips.

“And we’re not into that.”

“I’m just into you.”

I laugh at how delicious he is tonight. “That sounds like a corny pop song.”

“I think it is.” His lips explore the side of my face. “Or you could write it.”

“That’s you.” I pull back so I can see him better. I like him in the dark. Somehow he’s softer, safer. I caress his face. “Did you finish my song?”

“Nope.” He frowns at me. “This beautiful angel distracted me.”

“Uh-oh.” I lean back against his arm. “I don’t want to come between you and your art.”

He grins. “Who said it was you?”

I pummel his chest. He defends himself. He bears down on me, trying to kiss me. I whip my head back and forth. When he finally gets my lips, the kissing is crazy and fast. Eager and desperate. More tongue. More passion than we’ve let loose before. His hot mouth moves to my neck, my shoulder. He sucks on my prominent collarbone. Now he’s kissing my sternum. His mouth slides lower. His hands creep higher.

I should be nervous and freaking out, but all I want is for him to keep going. I’m aching for him to touch me. I want his shirt off—my hands on his skin. His hands on mine—

But he stops.

He pulls his face away, props me up, bends over with his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” His breath comes out in spurts.

I hang over him. “I’m so not offended.” My fingers go to my blouse buttons—undo the top three, and all I’m thinking is I’m glad that underwire bra pushes most of me into view.

Derek looks up. “Beth. Don’t. I’m trying to do what’s right here.” He turns his back to me.

I stroke his back. “I’ve never felt this. I like it.”

“It’s not right.”

It’s dark. No one can see us here. “Is there a right or wrong about it?”

“Of course there is. There are things you don’t understand.”

“It feels right.”

He slides to the far end of the bench so I can’t reach him. “Trust me. It isn’t. You don’t get it.”

“Come back, Derek.” I glance down at my bra peaking out of my shirt and whisper, “What don’t I get?”

“You know how hard it was to stop?” He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes linger. “How hard it is for me not to jump you this second?”

I swallow. “Would that be so awful?” Something crazy and powerful has me, and I don’t want it to let me go. Enchanted? Naw. This is stronger than any magic.

He turns his back to me again. I slide down the bench to him and kiss the back of his neck. I lift his shirt from behind, try to slip it over his head.

“Knock it off.” He gasps as if he can’t breathe and tears out of my grasp, gets up, and walks over to the edge of the lake.

I go after him, wrap myself around him from behind and chew his ear.

He turns around and pushes me away. “I told you—this isn’t about sex.”

“Maybe it could be.” That doesn’t come out how I wanted it to sound—sultry and inviting. I sound scared. Pleading. Desperate.

He turns and can’t keep his eyes from drifting down my shirt, pulls me close, puts his face on my chest, murmurs, “And you’ve got condoms in your purse?”

“No.” I groan. “I’m not a—I mean, I don’t . . .”

He lifts his face, his eyes lock onto mine. “Exactly.”

“You don’t carry—I mean,” I’m not ready to give up, “shouldn’t you be prepared?”

He lets me go. “No. I’m prepared to control myself.”

“But . . .”

He’s looking down my blouse again, practically shaking. “You’re not making it very easy.”

“What if I never see you again?” I choke on the words. “What if this isn’t real? That I wake up tomorrow, and you’ve evaporated out of my life? I don’t want it to be too late.”

“Evaporate?” He tears his eyes away from my cleavage. “You’ve got my email, my cell.” We exchanged on our way home from the ropes. “You already know me online. What more do you want?”

That seems kind of obvious, but I don’t answer. Red-hot embarrassment catches up with me. “I’m sorry.” I fumble around with my buttons. They came undone so easy. Now my fingers are sweaty and awkward. “I’m so stupid when it comes to this stuff.”

“It messes you up, Beth. It’d mess us up. I won’t treat you like that. I’ve been there, babe, trust me.” He brushes my hands away, buttons me up. His fingers are trembling, too.

I’m such a fool. Maybe it would have gotten to a point where I got uncomfortable and tried to stop him, but there was absolutely no resistance in me. If he hadn’t stopped—

Crap. Shouldn’t I not want to give in to him? Isn’t it supposed to be the guy who wants sex?

Respect. Have I lost that? “So now we know. I’m a slut.” He’s right. It isn’t what I want.

“It was my fault, Beth. You’re a nice girl.”

“I wanted to feel you touching me.” I look down at the dark water softly lapping the rocks. “Still do.”

Derek clears his throat, puts his arm around me. “I don’t think that’s slutty. That’s how you’re supposed to feel when you love someone.”

Love? He said “love.”

“Acting on it, though.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “That’s trouble.”

“Especially when we’re dealing with my DNA.” Guess I need to get a backbone or carry protection.

“I know what you mean.” He’s sweet not to dwell on it. Not to force me to examine all the nitty-gritty details.

He takes my hand, and we walk toward our statue. The clouds have dropped low enough to obscure the lights across the lake. A cool breeze wafts around us. It feels good. I’m so hot.

I want to get Derek back on the topic of love, but I don’t know how. He dropped it so casual. Maybe he didn’t mean it. I’m aching to hear it again. I realize that before I let him go tonight, I need some words. I want him to tell me he’s my boyfriend. That I’m his girlfriend. Not some chick touring China. All the email addresses and cell numbers in the world mean nothing if he’s not really mine. But that’s not what I say. I get really, really stupid.

“This afternoon you were going to tell me something.”

“It’s not important.” He pushes his dark hair out of his eyes. His forehead is wrinkled with concern that I can’t fathom.

“You said it wasn’t fair.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then Meadow’s right. You have a girlfriend in the AYS? That’s why you won’t—”

“Had a girlfriend.” He turns and leads me back to our bench. “Let’s not waste tonight like this.”

I stop walking. “You’re not going back home to her?”

“She didn’t like my obsession with you.”

My eyebrows draw together. “You broke up over me—before we even met?”

“What kind of creep do you think I am?” He walks away from me.

I hurry after him. “All guys—”

“That’s stupid.” He takes my hand. His voice loses its edge. “You know me. Do you think I’d be going after you like this if I had a girlfriend? Even if she is in China. You must have dated a bunch of jerks.”

“Dated? No.”

“I’m not like that.”

We get to our bench. “But if it’s not about sex, why are you going after me?” I sit down, bring my legs up on the seat, and wrap my arms around my knees.

Derek settles next to me. “I’m addicted.” I tense when he says that word, but he doesn’t notice. “I can’t get you out of my head. First it was your voice. My ex saw it before I did and dumped me. Then I met you—”

“You like the pretty wrappings? It’s all fake. Everything you see—hair, face, eyes, clothes—even my teeth.”

“Your voice isn’t fake. And your lips,” he barely brushes them with his, “feel incredibly real.”

I freeze, hoping he’ll kiss me again, but he puts his head on my shoulder like that little boy we joked about. “I like your heart, Beth. When I found you on this bench, you opened it and swallowed me.”

I stroke his hair.

“I like that you have no clue how good you are, how gorgeous you are, how fresh and open you are.”

He’s so convincing. I almost like myself. But then I say something that reminds me I’m the Beast. “That Amabile girl, did you sleep with her?”

“No. And we went out a long time.”

“Do you regret—”

“No. Listen, Beth. I’m not going to pretend it’s going to be easy when we get back home. You’ve got your choir. I’ve got mine. We do a ton of gigs, and we’re getting more and more sponsors. I have to spend a lot of time—” He pauses, searching for words.

“What?” Shooting up? Snorting? Popping pills? No, Derek. You don’t need time for that.

“—With my family.”

I don’t believe him. He knows it.

He bends his forehead to touch mine. “I’ve got stuff going on back home that—please—I never want it to touch us. I want something pure, untainted. Be that for me, Beth.” The agony in his voice cuts into my heart.

I sit up and hold him. “Of course, of course. I’m sorry. Of course.” It’s my turn to soothe, my turn to rock. I hum my solo and sway gently.

Something awful has him. He’s running away as much as I am. I should leave right now, but then I would be the Beast. He needs me. I’m here. No way am I letting go of this. I kiss his hair and sing, Oh, the glory of that bright day

When I cross the river Jordan.

The angels playing banjo

And the good Lord on the fiddle.

He starts to cough.

I stop singing and place the back of my hand on his forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

He doesn’t jerk away this time. “Only you.” He tips his head so he can kiss my palm.

I pull him to his feet. “I should walk you home tonight.”

“I’m just whipped from this afternoon.” He steers me in the direction of the Mermaid.

“You’re still not telling me what you and Blake are doing tomorrow?”

“Classified.”

We cross the street to the hotel. Great. Leah and Meadow are sitting on the steps. I don’t want to kiss Derek good-bye with them watching. If we’re alone, he might slip up and use “love” again.

They jump up and run at us. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“What?”

Meadow glares at Derek. “Sarah’s AWOL with Blake.”

Derek curses. “He was going to the bars.”

Leah nods. “We got a weird call from her. She was definitely drunk. Didn’t make a lot of sense. Told us not to wait up.”

Meadow puts her hands on her hips. “She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants, but she’s got to get back here before our wake-up call. If they’re in your room—”

“In our room?” Derek gets upset. “She can’t go in our room.” He realizes how weird that sounds. “Amabile rules. Besides, I’ve got the key. I’ll go find them.”

I don’t let go of Derek. “I should come with you.”

“No.” He squeezes my hand and lets it go. “Stay here in case she shows up.”

He flags a passing taxi and is gone.

I sit down on the steps, resign myself to worry. Stupid Sarah. Stupid Beth. Stupid, stupid me. Poor Derek. He has to save everyone tonight.

Half an hour later a taxi pulls up to the Mermaid. Derek gets out. I jump up. “You found her?”

“She’s in rough shape. I need some help.” He opens the door. Sarah was leaning heavy against it. I catch her before she kisses the pavement. Derek helps me lift the rest of her out and stand her up.

I look at him over Sarah’s head. “Thank you.”

“Blake’s a good guy most of the time. Not when he drinks, though.”

“I don’t mean this.”

He gets what I’m saying. “Don’t mention it.”

“Where’s Blake?” Sarah puts her face into Derek’s. “You’re not Blake.” She stumbles from Derek to me. “I promised Blake tonight.”

Derek lets go of her. “Blake was even more soused than she is. He was trying to unlock the door with his car keys. At least they didn’t do it in the hall. Can you girls manage her from here?”

“Yeah. You better get back. Kick Blake in the shins for us, okay?”

“He threw up and passed out in it on the washroom floor.”

“Gross for you.”

“Maybe waking up with his face glued to the floor by crusted vomit will make an impression.”

Sarah wobbles and groans. Crap. We better hurry. I turn away from Derek, and Leah helps me get Sarah into the elevator Meadow has waiting.

“Bye, Beth,” Derek calls after me.

Stupid Sarah. She ruined our see you laters.

The elevator doors close. Crap. Derek said, “Bye.”

Sarah puts her hand over her mouth.

Meadow says, “Hang on. Not here. Or we’ll all be banned from every future trip.”

Sarah sways.

Leah steadies her. “And Blake was drunker?”

I take Sarah’s head and arms. Leah and Meadow each take a leg, and we carry her down the creaky old hall to our room.

She makes it to the bathroom—barfs in the bidet.

We clean her up and get her undressed, and she barfs again. This time in the sink.

I’m brushing my teeth in the shower stall tomorrow.

It’s after one by the time we get settled. Our bus leaves at five. I’m pumped full of every hormone my body can create. It seems useless to try to sleep. I lie down anyway and try to relax. Stupid Blake. Stupid Sarah. I didn’t get to say good-bye to Derek.But it’s not good-bye. It’s just . . .

Later, babe—

Don’t say good-bye, love,

So I can dream of

The day you’ ll hold me close again.

Close my eyes,

And you will be there.

I swallow my fear

That you will fly too far from me.

I can hold on now

To your promises.

Forget all my questions—

Just believe. . . .

chapter 16

SEE YOU LATER

Next thing I know, there’s a choir mom outside the door, pounding hard. “We load in fifteen minutes.”

I roll off my bed and into our travel clothes—pink track pants and a white T-shirt with my comfy old choir hoodie if it gets cold on the plane. I dash for my turn in the bathroom. The place still reeks of puke. “Gross, Sarah! ”

I do what I need to and brush my teeth, using the shower faucet, then hand the place over to Leah. I stand over my bed, grab an elastic, and harness my hair. I stuff my nightshirt and toiletries into my suitcase. My makeup is in my purse. I can put my face on later. Who cares? We’re eating breakfast on the bus. I zip up my bag, and I’m good to go.

Sarah is a disaster. I get her bag packed while Leah dresses her. Meadow hogs up the bathroom.

Terri pounds on our door. “Let’s go girls. The plane won’t wait.”

A curse on 8:00 a.m. flights to Paris forever.

I grab my suitcase—give up on the elevator—haul the bag, bumpety bump, down the three flights of stairs. I dump it by the bus, turn to go back for Sarah.

And he’s there. Derek. Looking paler in the brisk morning breeze, huddling in his Amabile hockey jersey, trying to suppress that cough of his. It sounds worse. He’s holding a pink rose. He looks at my track pants. “I figured you like pink.”

I pull a face. “Meadow likes pink.”

He frowns. “Sorry.”

I take the rose and breathe it in. “But I love this.”

“I wanted to—”

“Thanks.”

“Last night—”

“Yeah.”

We move together, kiss for the last time in wonderland.

He whispers, “See you later.”

I drink him in. Our bodies wind together, and our lips move in harmony. I don’t let him go until the bus honks. “Later.”

The girls are whoo-whooing at me when I board. Crap. They all watched that exquisitely private moment. I realize how awful I must look. Derek didn’t even flinch. I make one of the younger girls move so I can have a seat by the window on his side. I press my face up to it and search for him.

He waves. Coughs. Waves some more.

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

I hope he’s not getting sick.

I eat a nasty packaged croissant with plastic chocolate in the center as the bus rolls down the Swiss autoroute. It winds along the lake and passes by vineyards. The girls start counting how many castle-like places we go by.

I hang over my music binder, tuck the rose into the rings and scribble. I keep scribbling at the Geneva airport while we wait for our flight, scribble all the way to Paris.My heart’s yours

And yours is mine.

You are what I crave—

I won’t live until I’m kissing you.

With your love,

I can change my fate.

I circle the date,

When my new dreams will spring to life.

You’ ll drop from the stars.

Happy evermore

Like old stories say.

You can believe.

We land at Charles de Gaulle with plenty of time to make it to our flight, but the place is so confusing. We get off their stupid bus at the wrong place, stand forever in a big passport-control line that isn’t going to our gate. Terri’s almost crying by the time all eighty of us are running down the concourse to our gate. This French woman behind the desk screams at Terri because we were supposed to be here early. And then the plane is delayed for some mechanical thing, but everyone acts like it’s because of us. We miss our connection in New York and get rerouted to Detroit through Chicago. We get stuck at O’Hare all day. When we arrive in Detroit, I have no idea what time it is—what day it is. I just know it’s dark out. Humid.

I see Mom.

Her hazel eyes water. Her graying brown hair sticks to the sides of her face.

Crap. I can’t do this now.

I fall into her arms, and she starts to sob.

“Stop it, Mom.” I pat her back, fight to keep myself from dissolving like she is. “My life is great.” I’ve got a huge lump in my throat that makes me croak the words. I sniff and give her a little shake by the shoulders. “I mean it.”

“Oh, honey, you need to face this.”

No. No. No. I’ve figured out how to escape it. Derek.

I got him online in Chicago. We’ve worked out a plan. Every morning, 8:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. Swiss time, is mine. That’s two in the morning for me. I glance at my watch. I don’t have a clue when I last reset it. “What time is it, Mom?”

“Half past midnight.”

“Great—we’re going to make it.”

“Make what?”

All the way home she gets the gushy Derek dish—as much as I dare tell her. None of the private stuff, or my suspicions about his drug habit. She’d go ballistic. “You’re going to love him. I can’t wait for you to meet.”

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.

I bend down and whisper, “I thought it would gross you out.” It feels good to finally say it. “All night I wanted to attack you.”

“Attack me?”

I nod. I need to let go of him—get away from his mouth too close to mine. And those shoulders. I need to run from those shoulders.

“I don’t understand.” His voice is low—sexy—irresistible. “Do you think you can show me?” He closes his eyes and presses upward on his toes, reaching his lips to meet mine.

I forget everything. We’re back at the prom. He wants me. He always wanted me—even when I was ugly. He’s not grossed out. He’s turned on. I inhale him, clutch his shoulders, close my eyes, and let my lips brush his.Could you want me? If it’s a joke,

Please don’t haunt me—dreams in smoke.

Crap. I’m kissing my best friend.

And he kisses me back. Major kisses me back. It’s not smooth and tender like Derek. Scott’s lips are hard on mine—way intense. Too much teeth. But I ache for more when he finally releases me.

He traces my lips with his fingers. “Virgin lips meet virgin lips. I’ve been waiting since fourth grade to do that.”

I bend my head to kiss him again and then pull back with a start. Derek. I have to tell Scott. I try to start, but he meets my mouth more than halfway. He’s better at it this time. I try to push him off, but he fights back, presses his body to mine. I stop resisting. Get way too into it.

He finally lets me loose.

“Scott, Scottie.” I’m breathless from kissing him and feeling so bad at what I’m going to say. “We need to stop this.”

He smiles and hugs me. “Yeah. I had late lunch break. I gotta get back. But I’m off at five. I’ll come over, and we can do that some more. Maybe it won’t rain, and we can go to the beach.”

“Just shut up a minute. My lips—aren’t—virgin lips.”

“Not anymore.” He tries to kiss me again, but I pull back this time, pull his arms off so he’s not holding me.

“I met a guy at the Choral Olympics.”

“Wait. What?” He grabs me by the shoulders and glares. “What happened? What are you saying?”

I shrink back from him. “I got some bad news. He was sweet and . . . it just happened.”

“But I’m your—”

“Friend.”

“No. Beth. No. Not anymore. I’m sick of that. I’ve loved you forever. This creep—whoever he is—doesn’t care about the real Beth. Not like I do. You don’t have to fake it with me. I want to be your boyfriend. You want it, too. I can tell.” His hands slip from my shoulders to my back, and he draws me closer.

“But what about—”

“I don’t care if you kissed a thousand guys in Switzerland.” He starts to lay his face down on my shoulder but jerks back up. “That’s all you did with him, right?”

“Scott! ”

“It doesn’t matter.” His arms tighten around me—brick hard. “Right now it’s you and me. Today. Tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that. It’s always been you and me. It’s just taken us a while to grow into this part of it.” He kisses me, and he’s got so much love on his lips that it makes me cry.

I pull away from his mouth, sniff, and wipe my eyes. “The thing is . . . this guy and I are—” How can I do this to Scott? I have to, though. I’m with Derek. I want to be with Derek.

“Over. No big deal. I’m not upset.” His arms relax, and one hand moves up to stroke my hair.

I need to get away from him. We’re both sticky and hot. It’s so gross out. But I can’t let go. I clench my teeth and say, “We’re sort of involved.”

“Crap, Beth.” Scott’s hand freezes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m in the middle of this. I care, Scott. I really do, but—”

My cell phone rings. The sound floats out my bedroom window and coats us. I know it’s Derek. And even with Scott holding me, giving me his heart, a thrill of Derek desire shoots through me.

Scott looks up, curses. “I’m here, Beth. I’m real. That isn’t.” His mouth is on mine again. Warm. Hungry. So vulnerable.

But my cell keeps ringing.

I pull myself free of Scott.

“Please, Bethie. Don’t.”

I whisper, “I’m sorry, Scottie,” and race for my cell phone.

I get to my room too late. I look out at the cracked sidewalk with grass dying in the gaps. Scott’s car is still there. I pull down the window blind. The doorbell rings. I don’t answer.

I take my cell phone into my bathroom, shut the door and lock it, perch on the seat of my toilet like a giant bird roosting, staring at the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

I’m so stupid. I flip open the phone, pull up the missed call, and hit the green button.

“Beth?” I close my eyes at the sound of Derek’s voice. “Were you still asleep?”

I can’t answer. The resonance of what I just did to Scott gets a hold of me.

“Beth? Are you there?”

I finally manage a weak, “Where are you?”

“Waiting for our bags in Toronto.”

“I can’t believe you got home so fast.” I pick at the last sliver of pink nail polish on my big toe.

“Direct flight from Schipol.”

“That isn’t fair.” My voice is too high, wobbles at the end.

“What’s up? You sound—”

“We’re on the same continent.” Can he tell what I did?

“Same time zone.”

I need to see him. He’ll figure this out. He always knows what to do. “Do you have any nice park benches in London?”

“I think we can find one.”

“I really need to be with you again. Something crazy just happened.” I blurt the whole episode with Scott out to him. “I don’t know what got into him. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I told him all about you. We’ve been friends forever and ever. It’s so weird.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. Crap. I’m so stupid. Why did I tell him?

“It’s okay, Beth. I get it. At least I get him.” His voice is smooth and reassuring. He’s not mad at all. Shouldn’t he be a tiny bit mad? “What about you? What do you want?”

“What do you mean?” I hold myself still as I can and press the phone hard against my ear.

“I’m glad you have somebody solid like that. Maybe you should dump me. You obviously have feelings for him.”

“What? Dump you?” I feel dizzy. “For Scott? No. What? No.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I take a deep breath so I don’t fall off the toilet seat. “The only way you can hurt me is to keep talking like this.”

“Beth, I—”

“Why are you so understanding?” A hint of suspicion creeps into my voice. “You should be livid. And incredibly jealous.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t jealous.”

“That girl. That’s it. You want to get back with her. No, Derek. Please. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re insane.”

He’s right, but I can’t stop myself. “She wants you back. I know it. Have you seen her yet?” The dizzy returns. I force myself to breathe.

“At the baggage claim in the airport?”

“Could happen.”

“I called you first—even before my mum. I want you, Beth.” His voice goes deep with intensity. “The question is do you want me?”

“Crap.” I stand and stretch my legs.

“What now?”

“That means you’ve got to go. Call your mom, you idiot. Then call me back and tell me you can’t live without me.”

“I can’t live without you.”

I’m swirling in Derek deliciousness. “And you’re insanely jealous over Scott?”

“Insanely. No more getting it on with old kindergarten buddies.”

“Preschool.” I glance in the mirror. I can be Bliss perfect in an hour.

“Thanks for telling me. It’s so—”

“Stupid?” I plug in my hair flattening thing.

He laughs. “You. No pretense. No games.”

I turn around and lean against the sink, focus on what he’s saying. “Games? Don’t play them with me. My heart can’t take that.”

“What can it take?”

“Seeing you tonight?” If I leave in an hour, I’ll be in London in time to meet his bus home from Toronto.

“I’m dead on my feet.”

He wants sleep instead of me? “Tomorrow?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

How can he stand not seeing me? We’re so close. “I’ll come to your place. I’ve got a car—”

“Not a good idea.”

“You can come here then.” If I work all night I can have my room clean. Him in my room? Thinking that makes me crazy. “I’m going to be a wreck until I see you again.”

“I’ll try to borrow some wheels.”

“Call me.”

He misses his beat.

“Derek?”

“Are you sure, Beth?” He coughs. His voice takes on the twist of torture it held when he broke down on our bench back in Switzerland. “I can’t guarantee getting tangled up with me won’t be rough on your heart.”

Why, Derek? How will you hurt me? When will you tell me everything? I cover my questions with a shaky laugh. “You do want to dump me. Crap.”

“Just think about it. That other guy—”

Doesn’t he remember those words he sang to me in Lausanne? That promise?The way you kiss, the way you sing,

The way you tell me everything.

Will you take my heart?

I’m offering it to you. . . .

I do. I sing my reply, It’s gotta be, it’s gotta be about you.

chapter 18

PILLOW TALK

I spend the rest of the day trying to get my cell to ring. I call back twice. Leave a message once. Send two texts.

I even call Sarah. “Hey. They’re back. Have you heard from Blake?”

“Blake’s a jerk. Why would I want to hear from him?”

“Do you have his cell?”

She gives it to me. Memorized. Jerk, huh?

I enter it in my cell’s phone book, dial, but hang up before it rings. Calling Blake is over-the-top desperate. I write Derek an email just in case his cell phone got flushed down the toilet or something tragic like that. I finally put on the Amabile guys’ new CD, fall asleep listening to Derek sing, clutching my cell phone to my heart.

It goes off at 2:00 a.m. I startle awake—not sure what’s going on. I sit up confused. The phone is jumping around in my sheets.

Derek. Yes. Derek.

“Hey.”

“You awake?”

“Sure.”

“I fell asleep on the drive from Toronto. I don’t even remember walking into the house.”

What happened to, Can’t sleep, can’t dream without you?

“Sorry I didn’t call back.” His voice sounds thick and scratchy. Exhausted.

At least he’s sorry. “That cold of yours is back. You should get some more rest.”

“I’m wide awake now. Don’t you want to talk?”

I’m wide awake, too. “How about we do more than talk? I’ll get in my car, and you guide me to your place. Just don’t hang up.” I get out of bed and search through the pile of clothes on my floor with my foot. Designer jeans, where are you? I get silly and start singing him the chorus of our duet.And now—our love is so true,

I won’t take a step without you.

Thank God, you came. If you love me, please don’t ever let me go.

He doesn’t come in on his cue. “It’s almost an hour drive. You can’t do that at 2:00 a.m.”

With him as the prize, I could do anything. “Meet me halfway then.” I sing, I’ ll walk with you until the dawn.

He sings back, I don’t have my own car.

“That was so not romantic. Swipe your parents’ car.” I unearth the jeans. They are clean—enough. “You’ll be back before they know it.”

“My dad works the night shift. I’d get busted.”

“Don’t be such a baby.” I hold the phone with my shoulder and squirm into my skinny jeans. “You’re almost eighteen—right? What can they do?”

“Actually,” he pauses, “I’m nineteen.”

“Really?” I sit back down on my bed. “You don’t look that old.”

“Too old for you?”

“No.” I won’t be eighteen until next spring, but that hardly matters. “I didn’t picture you starting college this fall. Are you leaving?” That’s not really a fairy-tale vision for two, is it?

“I’m not going.”

“What?” I assumed Derek was an AP student, straight-A guy like . . . Scott.

“University isn’t going to work out for me.”

“But it has to—” I get up and paw through my laundry, looking for something to wear on top that isn’t an ugmo sweatshirt.

“I’m looking forward to working full-time on my music. And I’ve got some other issues to work out.”

I stop hunting. “Like what?”

“Nothing important.” There he goes again. Evading me. He can even do it with jet lag.

“But eventually—if you ever want to support a family—you’ll need to get a degree and a job.”

“So now you’re my guidance counselor?”

“Sure.” I pull a deep-blue clingy V-neck I bought with Meadow out of the pile. Price tags still on. Yes. “Get a music degree. Study composition.”

“Dissect it?” He sounds miffed. “Pick apart the music that flows out of me and try to put it back together? No thank you.”

“Don’t be such a prima donna. I bet even a genius like you could learn a lot.” I find some toenail clippers in the clutter near my bathroom sink and snip the tag off the shirt. “What about a voice major or directing? I can see you doing that.”

“I’m not enjoying this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right.”

“I never said I didn’t want to go.” He clears his throat. “I can’t. Not this year.”

I hang the top on a hook so I can slip it on as soon as he hangs up. “Don’t they give scholarships and student loans out in Canada?”

“It’s not the money.”

Is it the drugs? That’s what I want to ask him. Are you not going to college because of your drug habit? I don’t want those suspicions in my brain. I sing in my sexiest voice, Your breath that drifts across my face. A fire ignites when—

He breaks in. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

I was being serious. I stop singing. “Sure.”

“I need to tell you something you’re not going to like.” Shoot. It’s her. She wants him back, and he’s going to dump me over the phone.

“You already did that. Tell me something I’ll like instead—how about, you’re walking out the door, getting in your mom’s car, backing it up, and driving out of town to meet me in the middle of the highway?” I examine myself in the mirror over the sink. Five minutes for makeup. Trap my frizzed out hair in a ponytail and iron the bangs. Ten minutes and I can be on the road. It’ll be dark. I don’t have the time or patience for the work true beauty takes tonight. I sing, Your lips on mine—

“Gosh, Beth. You’ve got a one-track mind.”

I give up the song. “I need to touch you. I’m not sure you’re real.”

“You’re talking to me on the phone. That isn’t real?”

“Not real enough for me. Don’t you want to be with me again—like in Lausanne?” That sounds whiny. Am I turning him off? I need Boyfriend 101. Where is Sarah when I need her? I’m not dumb enough to ask Meadow for help. She’d sabotage me for sure.

“I went back and took pictures of our bench. I’ll email them to you.”

“I’ll come see them. I guess I can wait until tomorrow.” Then I could wash these jeans, shower, straighten my hair, put on full makeup—dazzle him. “Tell me how to get to your house, and I’ll be there. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?” I wish Meadow had set me up with sexy perfume. It’s not like I can swipe some from my mom—she’s an accountant.

“I can’t.” He starts to cough again. When he stops he says, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

I’m silent. Afraid. It is her. Crap. I knew it.

“My mum rented us a cottage up in lake country. She’s always wanted to do it, but we never had the cash, or Dad couldn’t get off, or I was too . . .” Wasted? I don’t want to hear this. Stop, Derek. Just stop. Sing to me instead. You know the song. You picked it.

He doesn’t. “We couldn’t ever go before. She met this woman who gave us a great deal on her cottage. She can’t use it this year. Doesn’t normally rent it. We’ve got it for the rest of the summer.”

I blurt, “Can I come, too? What happened to, I won’t take a step without you? I’ll sleep on the couch.” I leave the bathroom, pace around my room.

“It’s tiny—one bedroom. I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

“We could share. We’re both pretty skinny.”

“You really think my mum or yours would go for that?”

I spy the pink rose he gave me when we said our see you laters. I pressed it in my music after we left Paris. I had to hide it from the customs guys just in case they decided it was a fruit or vegetable. It’s lying on a bookshelf next to my choir binder. “I’ll buy a cot, bring a sleeping bag. I could even sleep in my car.” Desperate? Of course. “It’s true for me. I gotta be, gotta be about you.”

“No.” The gruff in his voice turns coaxing. “My dad’s got all this vacation time saved up.” His voice gives out. He clears his throat. “I have to do this with them.”

“Okay.” Fine. I pick up the rose—hold it up to my nose and inhale. It still smells sweet but holds a touch of decay. “How many days do we have until you go?”

“We leave in the morning.”

I wave the dried rose like it’s a magic wand and chant, “No way.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rats. I set the rose carefully on my nightstand. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Please, Beth. Don’t. If you show up here at 3:30 in the morning, my mum will go ballistic.”

“That’s stupid. I’ll be quiet.” I grab the shirt. To heck with my face and hair.

“She’s an incredibly light sleeper.”

“Then I’ll get to meet her.” I head out of my room. “Isn’t she curious about me?”

“She doesn’t know about you.”

That freezes me halfway down the stairs. “Why not?”

“I just got home.”

“Stop lying to me, Derek. It’s her, isn’t it? Your old girlfriend. You’re not going anywhere.” It’s not about me. It’s about her. I hate myself. And I hate him.

“Please, Beth. Don’t be like this.”

I sink onto the step and lower my voice to a whisper. “If I could see you again, I wouldn’t be such an idiot.”

“Try to understand. This is major for my mum. This fall isn’t going to be easy.”

“What’s happening to you this fall? Just tell me the truth.”

“The truth?”

“From your heart—spill it. I can take it. I’m used to guys disappointing me.”

“From my heart?”

“Straight.” I close my eyes, clench my teeth tight, hold my breath.

“I fell in love in Switzerland with this beautiful girl whose every move makes me crazy. I want to be with her twenty-four/seven. Right now. Today. Tomorrow and every tomorrow after that. My mum planned this trip all year as a special surprise. You want me to break her heart?”

“What about my heart?”

“It’s in good hands—trust me.”

“That’s not what you said this afternoon. When will I see you again?”

“I’ll get to your place as soon as we get back.”

“You’ll call me a lot?”

“There’s no phone or Internet in the cabin—but I’ll use the cell whenever I can get a signal.”

I stand up and hang on to the handrail. “It’s going to be a long five weeks.”

“Even longer for me.”

I turn around and tiptoe back to my bedroom. “Did you really mean that—what you said?”

“I promise—I’ll call.” He starts coughing again. Definitely that cold. I should let him go.

But I don’t. “No. That you fell in love in Switzerland?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I thought that was a given.”

“You are so frustrating—delicious—but frustrating.” I’m absolutely dying for him all over again.

“What about you?” He stops, struggles a minute. “Did you fall in love?” His voice catches.

My eyes go to his rose on my nightstand. “I’m not sure I even know what love is, but I’ve got my hands full of something beautiful.” My voice quivers. “I don’t ever want to let it go.” I lie down on my bed, curl around my pillow, wishing it was him.

He slowly says, “Mind if I take that as a yes?”

I’m melting again. “Not at all.”

“Hang on, Beth. We’ll get it together this fall. I’m working on a plan for you.”

I roll onto my back. “For me?”

“For us.”

“Us? I like the way that sounds coming out of your mouth.” I reach out and touch his rose.

“Us. Us. Us. Us. Us.”

“I’ll miss you like crazy.” My voices cracks, and I have to sniff.

“I love you, Beth. Say it back to me—it’s easy.”

And now—our love is so true, singing that to him makes me cry. “Oh, gosh, I do love you. I really do.”

I curl up in a ball, staring at his rose, trying to hold on to the intensity of the way he makes me feel. I should be angry, suspicious, hurt, but I’m mushy and devoted. I totally adore him. I don’t entirely believe him about the cottage, but he said he loves me, twice, no, three times. He even got me to say it.

No guy has ever told me he loved me.

Certainly not my father.

Scott, though. He said it this afternoon. What was it? I’ve loved you forever. That made me want to cry, too. Do I love Scott? How can I when I feel like this about Derek?

Crap. Scott. I kissed him today. And then ripped his heart out. Poor Scottie. I don’t think I can ever face him again. I’ll have to transfer schools or something.

Derek was so cool about it.

I close my eyes. I can’t sleep. There’s too much spinning in my brain.

Derek hasn’t even told his parents about you. Saying he loves you came too easy, too fast, too smooth. You’ ll never see him again. He will evaporate. How can a boy that perfect exist? He’s some kind of spirit or ghost. Or he is a haunted artist with a bad drug habit like those crazy poets my English teacher is mad about.

I hear Sarah joking about Derek back in our hotel room at the Mermaid. Phantom? No way. That guy was twisted. Derek’s not—crap, how do I know he isn’t? He said he wanted to be with me, but he’s avoided me ever since.

I fall asleep and dream I’m Christine and Derek is the Phantom. I’m in white voile and lace and look like that beautiful girl with Scott in the prom picture.

Derek holds out his hand. I take it and beg him—Take me to your dungeon.

Bind me in your chains.

Keep me

With you forever.

Alone there’s only terror.

He pulls me along dark corridors, singing in dusky romantic tones.Trust me in the darkness

Give me time—you’ ll see

I’m not

Your mad enchanter,

An elusive encounter.

I move into his embrace. His lips are on my face, and I sing back to him.Hold me closer,

And I’ ll keep my eyes closed.

We can hide forever from the sun.

I nestle my head against his neck. In the dream, I’m short enough to do it. Petite. Tiny. He presses me to his heart.Stay beside me, love, and ask no questions.

He just gets the one line. I gaze up at him and drop my song to pianissimo—I’m afraid—how can your love be real?

Is it true or am I dreaming still?

The music gets wild. Scott’s in the dream—running after us, but we lose him. Derek drags me to his lair, and we stay hidden forever. No crystal-shattering screams. No chandeliers crashing. Just Derek and me and the song we sing. It’s not a nightmare. It’s the best dream I’ve ever had.

chapter 19

REALITY

Back to school today. It’s raining out. The gray clouds go great with the gray-metal lockers that line the halls. People I sort of know come up to me. A couple of girls from last spring’s AP history class stop and talk to me. They can’t get over how great I look. I got up early and made myself beautiful. I didn’t bother with flattening my hair—not in this rain—but I did my face almost as well as Meadow’s mom does it, wore that slinky top I was going to wear to see Derek, and my styling skinny designer jeans. Why not show the world what I’ve become?

School is definitely going to be better this year. Colby isn’t here. All of his drones are gone, too. Still, I’m jumpy. Derek’s supposed to call. He gets home Friday. Again.

I thought he’d come home before school started, but then he reminded me, just before he lost the signal, that school isn’t starting for him. I jumped into my usual argument about that, and the line went dead. He probably hung up. He doesn’t like that argument. He knows I’m right. When he tries to explain, he always gets stuck at that place he won’t go beyond. I know it. He knows it. It makes me so mad. I don’t want to be an angry girlfriend always attacking him, so I bite my tongue and remember holding and rocking him like a little boy.

I never want it to touch us. I can still hear the pain in his voice. I want something pure, untainted. Be that for me, Beth, please.

And then I feel creepy for wanting to know what’s behind the lies. He wants to be a different person with me. If it is drugs, that’s a good thing. He could be off at a woodsy treatment place to detox. Maybe he’ll tell me Friday. He’ll be clean, cured, and we can be happy hanging out with each other. Every day. All the time. Nonstop. No more of this.

Gosh. I miss him.

Scott didn’t make the waiting any easier.

I got my old summer job at the library back. They even let me help with the kids’ program this year. The kids aren’t afraid of me anymore. They like me. I ran a toddler story time, and they crawled all over me. The moms just stood there, happy to have their kids pulling someone else’s hair out for a few minutes. I loved it. Every second.

I hated those moms. How they took what they had for granted. How they had what I could never have.

My mom made me see the genetic counselor. He talked about sterilization options, the pill, and gave me a discreet plastic case full of condoms. He mapped out the genetic odds for me.

I wadded up the paper and threw it in my purse with the condoms. “What if I just took a chance?”

He was aghast that I’d even consider it. “You’re too young to take any chances.”

“But, someday.” I looked down at the gleaming tile floor. “I think I want a baby.”

“Adoption is your best option.”

But I want a baby with Derek’s hair and Derek’s eyes. Derek’s voice. Can I adopt that?

On the tail of that pleasant interview, Scott started stopping by the library—every day. Sometimes twice. I thought he’d be weird and hurt. He kind of was at first, but then he was just good old Scott, my friend, but not. I think he grew two more inches before the end of summer. Talk about a late bloomer. He kept asking me out. I almost kissed him again—twice. I came close to giving up and going to the beach with him.

He never brought up Derek. I did—every time I turned him down.

“I have a boyfriend. His name is Derek. Why do you keep doing this?”

He’d move in close, drop his voice all sexy like it was on my front porch and whisper, “I haven’t seen him around. Are you sure he remembers you’re his girlfriend?”

“How do you know he hasn’t been around?”

“I have my sources.”

“You’re stalking me?”

“You wish.”

He’s so annoying. He knows he’s hot now. He knows I think he’s hot now, and he won’t let me forget it. I’ve got to get Mom to quit telling him the pathetic details of my lonesome existence every time she goes grocery shopping.

It’s going to change, Mr.-Scott-nosey-pants-won’t-leave-a-girl-alone. Derek’s coming home. Friday. This week will go fast. School will keep me busy and my mind from wandering to Scott’s muscular, available shoulders and the tender way he stares at me.

Bliss practice starts again Thursday. Today’s Tuesday. It’s almost Friday already.

“Hey.” Scott stops at the locker next to mine and opens it.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“The polite reply would be ‘Hello,’ ‘Good morning,’ or even a simple ‘Hey back.’”

“How’d you manage that?” I close my locker and lean against it. Great. Now he’s got stubbly blond beard all over his face, and it’s way sexy.

He pushes his overgrown sun-bleached blond bangs off his forehead. “The Prince Charming lessons are paying off.” He opens his new locker. “The office ladies were putty in my hands. I told them all about you and me—how we hung out in grade school, how we always had each other’s back, how our friendship was flowering into something more.” He grins at me with all his straight, white teeth.

“You little liar.”

“One lady was almost in tears.” He chucks his backpack into the locker.

“He’s coming back this week.”

Scott shrugs. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“When this jerk breaks your heart, I’ll be here. Right next door. All year long.”

I stand up straight. “He’s not like that. He’s so different.”

“I’m different, Beth. I wasn’t lying in the office. You want me as much as I want you. I can tell.” He moves close—into my space. “You’re the liar.” He touches my hair.

“Okay.” I draw back. “I admit it. You’re really appealing—I’d be a stone not to notice.”

“It’s more than that.” He moves in on me again, puts a hand on my waist.

I close my eyes and whisper, “I know.”

“You admit that, too?”

“Of course, but—” I open my eyes.

He puts his warm fingers on my lips. “Leave the buts out—for once just shut up.” He’s so much taller now—can reach my lips with his if he wants to without me stooping. He smells good. Like he did prom night. I want him to kiss me. I’m dying to kiss him back. Right here in the hall with the 8:35 warning bell about to ring.

Derek. Friday. Derek. Friday.

But Scott—

My cell phone rings.

I pull back, away from Scott’s lips.

“Don’t answer it, Bethie.” The way he looks at me—stripped, vulnerable, alone—tells me exactly how much my relationship with Derek hurts him. “Bethie, please.”

I flip open my phone. “It’s just my mom,” I lie.

Scott touches my face. “See you in choir.” He leaves me to my phone call.

I put the cell to my ear. “Are you sure you can’t come home today? I need you.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Serious. Mum has an Amabile board meeting she forgot about. I’ll call you when I get there.”

Now I’m mega-jumpy. I keep feeling my cell vibrate, but when I slip it out, it’s not going off. I check the battery life a hundred times. I barely notice Scott in choir.

He can tell I’m jazzed. “What’s up?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing.” It’s easier to lie to him. It’s really none of his business.

I’m packing my backpack at my locker, head down, avoiding Scott, when my cell goes off for real.

“I’m here.”

“Cool. I’ll take off as soon as I can. Email me directions, okay?” I’m down the hall, pushing out the front door. Shoot, it’s pouring out.

“I don’t think you’ll need them. I’m pretty easy to find.”

“Just do it. Don’t mess with me.”

“Whatever you say. Hey—how do you get your hair to do that?”

“My hair?”

“It’s hot—wavy like that.”

I look up and squeal like a cheerleader hugging the QB after a touchdown.

Derek sits in front of the school steps on a sleek black motorcycle with two helmets dangling from the handlebars. Dang. He looks good in leather.

I fly at him—almost knock him off the bike. I don’t care if it’s raining and I’m getting soaked. My lips are all over him. He doesn’t even have a chance to say hello. I hear a cell phone clatter, don’t know or care if it’s mine or his. Nothing matters—as long as he’s here. Solid. Real. Kissing me.

Then there’s a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me.” Scott? How can he do this? “You’re making a scene. PDA on school property.” He’s standing under one of the school’s giant blue and yellow umbrellas.

I bury my face in Derek’s black leather jacket.

Derek chuckles. “Hello.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Derek.”

“Scott.” They actually shake hands. “Do you have a minute?”

Derek looks down at me. I shake my head. “It’s raining.” Scott hands me his umbrella.

“Come on, Beth. Scott’s a friend.” Derek gets off the bike and walks a few feet away with Scott. They turn their backs to me.

When they come back, they are both drenched. Derek’s smiling.

Scott’s not. “Bye, Beth. See you tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry about that. What did he want?”

“He told me if anything happens to you, he’d kill me.”

“Scott couldn’t kill anything.”

“Just me. He doesn’t like my bike. Called it a death trap. If he only knew—”

I glance down, examine his bike. It bristles with chrome and a major engine. “If anything happens to you on this thing, I’ll beat Scott to it. Where did this come from?”

“I needed a way to get over here—often.”

“I have a car.” I point out Jeannette, glistening in the rain at the back of the parking lot.

He pulls a face. “You don’t expect me to ride around in that? Come on—hop on.” He hands me a helmet. “I’ll take you home.”

“It’s raining.”

“We’re already wet.”

“What about my car?”

“It’ll still be here tomorrow when I drop you off.”

“You’re staying”—I swallow hard—“the night?”

“If your mum will let me sleep on the sofa.”

I punch his shoulder. “Don’t do that to me. Feel my heart.” I put his hand on my sternum, so he can feel how he makes it race.

He slides his hand up my neck, caresses my cheek with his thumb. “Don’t do that to me.”

I unzip his jacket and press my ear to his chest. His heart matches mine—beat for beat.

He takes the helmet from me, slides it slowly onto my head, does up the chinstrap, kisses my nose, then kicks his bike to life.

I climb on the back, slide close so my legs are hugging him, wrap my arms tight around his waist, bury my face in the wet sweatshirt hood sticking out the top of his jacket. “So far, so good,” I holler over the engine.

He laughs. “Hang on.”

We tear out of the parking lot.

“Slow down. There’s kids.”

He obeys—senses something by the way my voice catches, even manages to touch my hand without losing control of the bike.

I lay my cheek against his shoulder blade and think about him and me and kids all the way home. “Left here. Now right. Okay. You can let it out. This is an open stretch.”

He gives it gas, and we’re flying. I see the appeal. Huge rush. Loads of adrenaline. He thinks he’s going to ride this thing all winter? Maybe I need to get a better car. Poor Jeanette. I wonder what I can trade her for.

When we get to my house, I don’t want to get off the bike, can’t let him go. He twists around and kisses me—our helmets clashing together.

He is real. I didn’t make him up. No ghost. No phantom. Just this endangered boy I’m learning to love. He unlatches my helmet’s strap, slowly pulls it off my head. Dumps his, too. Puts the kickstand down on the bike—I think. I don’t know. I’m too lost in his hands smoothing back my wet hair, his breath on my temple. His mouth closing in on mine again.

I pull away for a second. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything if you’ll kiss me again.”

“You aren’t riding this in the snow.”

His grin says everything. “Shoot, Beth. That’s what makes it fun.”

chapter 20

MY GUY

We make out on the back of Derek’s bike in the pouring rain until my mom pulls up in the driveway.

Derek is so cute with her. “Hi, Mrs. Evans, I’m Derek.” He shakes her hand and unloads all the groceries out of the trunk, helps her put them away while I change and dry my hair. I throw down an old pair of Levi’s and a dry hoodie for Derek.

“Beth, honey,” Mom calls up to me. “Bring that pillow from your closet and some sheets and a blanket when you come down. I’ll make up the pullout in the den for Derek. I don’t want him riding all that way tonight in this weather.”

I am so tempted to call down and tell her not to bother, that he’s going to sleep in my room, but she knows me. Knows my room is trashed—knows how squeaky that old den sofa bed is. Gosh, do I know her? How did she get so devious?

If Derek wasn’t determined to keep me a nice girl, I’d rise to her sneaky challenge. Maybe even clean up my room. Next time he comes over, I will. Just to flip her out. Just in—I don’t know. Better not go there. I’m still at—Your lips on mine promise what I don’t dare.

He cooks dinner with Mom while I do my homework.

I can never get her to cook.

Mom’s got work to do. She leaves Derek and me alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes. I clear the table while he loads the dishwasher.

“You made a good impression.” I put our three dirty plates on the counter so he can scrape them down the disposal. I turn to slide a platter of oven-roasted potato wedges into a Ziploc.

Derek moves up behind me. His arms go around my waist. “I always do.”

I drop the bag of potatoes on the counter and twist to face him. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

I close my eyes—can’t breathe. He kisses my eyelids. Each one, lightly. I will my lips to be patient. His mouth moves to my left temple, my cheek, now it’s on my neck. I bruise easy. I should warn him, but I want to wake up in the morning to find his lip prints on me. I wrap my arms around his head, don’t let him off my neck. He sucks harder and harder, moves his mouth, and does it again.

Then I can’t stand it. I bend my knees and get his lips. I’m so hungry. Starving. No matter how much I ply his mouth with mine, I want more and more. I get my mouth on his neck like in Lausanne. “You been working out?” He looks leaner than he did in Switzerland. “You taste sweaty.” I find a fresh place on his neck to chew.

“Do you like the way I taste?” There’s a deadly serious note in his voice that wasn’t there before.

I stop biting him, caress the spot on his neck that’s already turning pink. “Yeah.”

“My sweat’s kind of salty.”

“What causes that?”

He pulls me close. “Don’t stop, Beth. I didn’t want you to stop.”

I hold his eyes for a moment. We’re both trembling by the time I slowly bend my head and place my lips lightly on his neck. I run my tongue along his skin. I love the way he tastes. Salty-sweet mystery boy. I lick his jaw, suck on his chin, chew on his ear.

I want to be the first to say it face-to-face. “I love you.”

He picks me up and sets me on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist.

“You’re crazy, Beth. You shouldn’t love me.”

“That’s not what I expected to hear.”

“I love you. A thousand times I love you, but you shouldn’t love me. Love Scott.”

I feel like he slapped me. I let go of him, slide off the counter, turn around, and hide behind my hair. “Is that what you came to tell me?” My eyes are burning. “That you want to call it quits? You’re dumping me?”

“No—don’t be dense—no. I want you to dump me. You could be happy with him. I’m—”

“Who I want. You did this to me. Made me feel this. You’re stuck with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought you had a plan. I was hoping for something more substantial than a motorcycle.”

“How about we run away together on the back of it.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Plan A.”

“Okay. Let’s go. As soon as my mom hits the hay. I’ve got about $5K saved for college. How far will that get us?”

“We could go to Nova Scotia and learn to fish. Have a bunch of kids and raise them up to the trade.”

I crumble inside when he says that about the kids, hunch over with my hands pressing hard against my gut.

“Oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m such a beast.”

He guides me to the table and into a chair. I lay my face on the table. He squats down and strokes my head. “No you’re not. I’m the beast. I really do have a plan. I’m working out the details. It’s coming together. I should know by Friday.”

“Maybe we should discuss it. How come you’re doing all the planning?”

“We’ll talk about it when I come back on Friday. You’re going to love it.”

I sit up. He takes a cup out of the cupboard and nukes me up some chamomile tea. I watch him clean up the rest of the kitchen, polish the sink and counters, sweep the floor. He hands me the tea. I take a sip and add more honey. “I have a plan.”

He dumps the dustpan in the garbage and turns around.

“Why don’t you move into the den, permanently? You can visit your parents on holidays and every other weekend.”

He sits across from me and weaves his fingers through mine to stop how I’m drumming the table. He gives me a cautious grin. “You wouldn’t stay a nice girl very long if I did that.”

I snort. “Oh, I’m prepared now. I had to go to the doctor because of that test. They wanted to laser me, but I settled for a box of condoms.”

“Beth, don’t—”

“I need to talk to somebody. Please. I’m going to go nuts. I can’t talk to Mom. It reminds her of my father—and that’s so painful. She feels guilty, like she should have known better. Chosen a guy with better genes for my sake.”

He strokes my cheek with his free hand. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way.” I look up at him. “I’m supposed to see a counselor in a couple weeks. It’ll take me months to get over that doctor’s appointment.”

He frowns and stares down at the table. “Doctors can be idiots. They aren’t all like that. It sounds like you need a new one. Find someone you’re comfortable with.” He looks back up at me. “Someone you trust. You don’t want a lot of bull and false hopes, but you don’t need a bully, either.”

“You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’m never going near that man again.”

“But find a counselor.” He squeezes my hand. “A good one.”

“How do you know so much?” I sip my tea.

“I’ve been around doctors a lot, used to want to be one until—”

“You started to compose.”

He stares past me at the two of us mirrored in the dark kitchen window. “I’d really love to be a researcher. The guy who finds cures.”

“Do it, Derek. Cure me.”

His eyes return to mine. “Don’t give up, Beth. They are working on unbelievable stuff. Especially with genetics. You’ll have as many babies as you want.”

His voice sweeps hope all through me. Then I remember that doctor. “He told me I have to disclose my condition to any—what did he call them? Oh, yeah, potential partners.”

Derek plays with my hand, lets me rant.

“And they should all be screened. Like I’m shacking up with half the football team. Good thing this isn’t about sex. If you ever decide to stop respecting me, you’ll need to get your cheek swabbed first.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m grossing you out now.”

He stands up, comes around to my chair, and pulls me to my feet. He holds me like I’m going to break. “When it’s right, Beth.” His voice is husky. “You and me. I’m your guy. I don’t care what that idiot doctor says.”

“You love me that much?” I press my face against his cheek.

“Of course. Any decent guy would.” He pauses. “Scott does, too.”

“Why do you keep bringing him up?”

“If you and I don’t make it,” he strokes my hair, “I like knowing there’s a good guy there who knows the real Beth—the Beth I love—who will love you better than I can.”

“How can we not make it?”

“I hope we can, but—”

“Whatever it is, Derek. You can beat it. I know you can. For me. I love you. Do it for me.”

His hand drops away from my hair. He lets go of me.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press my face against his neck. “Tell me, Derek. I need to know. Where were you this summer?”

“I was at the cottage.”

“No, you weren’t. I’m not stupid.”

He kisses my hair. “I was at the cottage.”

“Please, Derek. Let me help.”

“You want to help?”

I nod.

“Then don’t ask me any more questions. And kiss me again.”

He gets his way—like the Phantom in my dream.

He always gets his way.

chapter 21

PLAN B

Derek parks his bike behind a teacher’s minivan, so we can say good-bye without an audience. Especially Scott. We don’t want to be in his face.

I walk through the hall, keep my eyes down. Scott’s leaning up against his locker with his arms crossed, glaring at me.

“What the hell, Beth. He spent the night?”

“In the den. My mom was there. And what business is it of yours what I do with my boyfriend?”

Scott gets in my face. “What are you going to tell our daughters when they want to sleep around? Go ahead—as long as he’s good-looking. I’m not having that.”

“What are you talking about?”

He realizes what he said. “I mean your daughters.”

My daughters? The sons? They’ll die in utero. All those miscarriages Aunt Linda had—they will be my children. The doctor said if an afflicted baby survived, it’d be severely handicapped—would spend its life dying. The other children will be carriers like me. Like my cousin. Like my dad.

Scott’s bracing for me to scream at him, but I don’t. I slump against my locker and touch his wrist. “You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?” Scott comes from a big family. “Oh, Scottie, you still want to play house.”

He was so sweet when we were in preschool. He always wanted to feed the dolls. The stroller rides he gave would have made any real baby puke its guts up, but even that was sweet.

“That’s kind of impossible now.”

He looks away from me. “Because of Derek.”

“No. It has nothing to do with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” The pain of seeing me all over Derek leaks out with his words and splashes around us in tiny bitter drops.

I look away from his face. “I should have told you sooner. I’ve been busy running away from you. Resisting you isn’t easy.”

“Then stop.”

“That’s what he said.” I make myself face Scott. “Derek told me to dump him and go out with you.”

“He’s not as dumb as he looks.” Scott recrosses his arms.

I take a deep breath. “This summer—”

“Doesn’t he want to play house?”

I shrug. “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who plays house.”

“But you are—Beth—you’re a house-playing girl.”

I nod. “But I can’t play house.”

“Sure you can.” He relaxes his arms. One drifts toward me. “We’ll get married and play house as much as we want.” He cradles my elbow, gently strokes my arm.

“It won’t work with me.”

“Of course, it will.” He takes hold of my other arm, too. “When Derek self-destructs, you’ll come to your senses and come back to me.” He leans in and whispers, “Just don’t sleep with him, okay? I was ready to run him down with my pickup when I saw him dropping you off this morning.”

I swallow hard. “Like I’d tell you.”

“You don’t think I’d figure it out? You’re a crap liar. You told me just now that you didn’t.”

I push away from him. “Our relationship isn’t about sex.”

“Good—because ours will be.”

I put my hand on his chest. “Shut up and stop sidetracking me. This is important.”

“I’m sorry.” He takes both my hands in his and squeezes them.

I let him. I even squeeze back. “I probably can’t have babies.” My head drops.

He touches his forehead to my drooping head. “Who told you this?”

“A doctor and a genetic test.”

“When?”

“I got my cheek swabbed right before the tour.”

He starts, pulls back. “That was the bad news?” His voice sharpens. “You never said a word to me about this and you told a perfect stranger?”

“Post-prom things were all weird with you.” I flush. That was all my fault. “And he wasn’t a stranger. We have a connection you wouldn’t understand.”

“Right.” Scott lets go of my hands. “Him all over you. Making a play when you’re falling apart.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You are so naive.” He turns back to his locker and starts slapping his books around.

“This isn’t about him.” I grab his arm and jerk him back. “It’s about you. I can’t be that girl in your daydreams rocking the baby while you play catch with our son. That’s what you want. Find someone who can give you that.”

He takes me by the shoulders, squeezes really hard. “Is that what you think of me? That I care about some stupid fantasy more than I care about you? The dream can change, Bethie. As long as you’re in it—that’s all that matters.”

“I’m sorry, Scottie.” My eyes sting. “I really am. I’m not in it.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Find somebody cute and sweet who adores you.”

“Don’t make me retch.”

I sniff. “Please, Scottie, stop torturing yourself. Stop torturing me.”

“No way.” His face gets hard. “I’m here, Bethie. Every day. Loving you. Wanting you. I’m not going to run off into a hole and lick my wounds. I’m going to bleed in front of you. I’m not going to fake it with somebody else. I’m going to be right here in your face—until the day I die.”

“You following me to college?”

“Yep.”

“What if Derek and I decide to get married? Will you walk me down the aisle?”

“You won’t marry him. He won’t last. I will. You’re going to marry me.”

I pry his hands off me. “Your crystal ball needs a tune-up.”

He stands in the hall, his face full of pain. “I love you, too.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Bethie. You do.”

“I’m sorry, Scottie. If I make you bleed, I’m so sorry. I can’t help it. I love him. I’ll love him forever.”

Scott won’t talk to me the rest of the day. Every time I see him, I want to hold his hand and tell him it will be okay, but it won’t. I can’t.

Thursday he’s the same, but at least I’ve got choir to look forward to. I play Derek’s CD all the way down to Ann Arbor. Terri plans to tell us her ideas for this season. I used to always love the first practice when she introduces new music. The challenge of sight-reading the parts and making sure all my altos get it right. But Bliss can’t hack the really challenging stuff.

The Amabile girls sing some hyper-hard, atonal modern pieces. I would so love to do that. I’ve only ever seen one other choir do those—and it was crap compared to the AYS. I wish we could sing pieces like that. Maybe in college I can.

I haven’t decided on a major, but it’s going to be music something. I don’t have the bucks for an elite school. I’ll have to stay in state, go public. If Derek stays in London, maybe I better stick with Ann Arbor and go to the University of Michigan. But that would be so far from him. There’s a big university in London. Maybe I could go there. We could start together next year. Major in music together. It seems weird he wanted to be a doctor, but he’s composing now. That’s a gift he can’t waste. Somebody else can cure me.

Friday is twice as long as Wednesday and Thursday combined. Scott is twice as grumpy. I need to move my locker. When the final bell buzzes, I race out of school and speed home.

Derek’s there.

Waiting in my driveway.

Just like he said he would be.

I can’t get out of the car fast enough. He opens my door, gives me a hand. I can’t kiss him here—too like Scott and prom night.

I step all the way out of the car and push the door closed with my butt, lean up against it. Derek comes at me hard, pins me there with his body, greets me with his lips. We make out for about ten minutes, then he pulls away. “Hi.” He drills me with his chocolate-brown eyes and plays with a piece of my frizzed-out hair that he said was hot.

“I missed you.” He’s turned me into a puddle again. I’m sloshing in the driveway.

“We need to talk.”

“Plan B?”

“Ready to execute.”

“Should I pack a bag? I’ve got my bankbook in my purse.”

“That’s Plan A.”

“Right.” I lead him into the house. We both eye the stairs going up to my room. “We can talk in my room if you want.” I cleaned it up—just in case. I want to be ready when it’s right.

He shakes his head and tugs me in the direction of the family room. He sits on the loveseat and makes me take the couch. “If you’re any closer, we won’t talk much.”

I lift my eyebrows.

He looks at his watch, then me, alone in the middle of the couch.

I run my hands over the leather cushions. “We’ve never made out lying down.” I want him to lie beside me, feel his weight on me, even if it’s just kissing.

“First, you must agree to Plan B.”

“Right. I’m sorry. You are distracting.”

He leans forward, rests his arms on his knees, and clasps his hands together. “I spoke with my director, and she talked to the AYS conductors. They want you. You’re in.”

“The AYS?” I shake my head, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“The Amabile girls’ directors listened to your rendition of ‘Take Me Home.’ Auditions were last spring, but they’ll make an exception for you.”

“How does this get us together?”

“They practice Tuesdays. We can hang out before and after. On Friday nights we have chamber, the best girls and guys. You and me sitting together and singing. We can go out after. Every Friday like clockwork. We’ll be together at festivals and extra practices.”

I tense up. “Why can’t we just hang out on the weekends?”

He leans back on the couch and stares at the blank television. “My weekends are pretty full. After our Choral Olympics win, everyone wants us. It’s going to be a head rush. I want you there for as much as possible.”

I wrap my arms around my torso. “Can’t I just be a groupie in the crowd?”

“No. I want you part of it. Don’t you want to sing with me again?”

I close my eyes and remember those amazing impromptu moments with him on the stage. The taste of the mike. The magic of the crowd screaming our names. The elixir of his lips on mine. Who wouldn’t want more of that? I open my eyes and nod. “I do want to sing with you.”

“My music.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll do it together.”

“Sure.” I nod my head.

He’s nodding along with me. “And you’ll get to sing with the AYS. We’re touring together next summer. Think what that would be like.”

Touring together. An international flight together. Days and days. It sounds so good. But . . . “Me? Singing with the AYS?” I can’t get my head around that one.

Derek smiles and keeps me nodding.

“But my choir practices Tuesdays. I can’t—”

“Do both.”

“I have to leave my choir?” I feel guilty for being impatient with them last night. Feeling like I was too good. Terri planned our entire season around me. I’ve got four pieces with solos this year. Not just one.

“They aren’t good enough for you. You owe it to your talent to sing in the best choir you can.”

“The AYS are the premier choir in the world.”

He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him, so earnest, so handsome, so devastating. “And they want you.”

I turn my back on him. I can’t decide if I keep looking at him. “I’m going to have to think about it. The drive—”

“We’re way closer to Port than Ann Arbor is.”

“What’s it like in the winter? You guys are on the snowbelt side of the lake.”

“Brand new highway. Always plowed. I don’t want you driving through Detroit anymore.”

The protective note in his voice doesn’t make me angry like it should. It makes me want to go over to the couch and tell him I’ll do anything he wants. Then I remember Bliss. He wants me to leave them. “Terri will die. I’m her only star. She invested in a lot of great stuff for me to sing.”

“She’ll get over it. She should be happy for you.”

I hate that his answers are all so true. “The AYS are going to hate me.”

“Certainly not.”

“Don’t be stupid. First, I steal you. Then I barge into their choir and steal the solo spot.”

“I didn’t say they were giving you the solos. Those you’ll have to earn on your own. They have about six soloists. The competition will be tough but good for you.”

“So I’m going to sit by your ex every Tuesday? She’ll let me have that spot beside you in chamber?”

“She’ll like you as much as I do. They all will. I’ll tell them they have to.”

I turn around and pull a face at him. “You have that kind of power over an entire choir of mega-talented women?”

“Of course.” He manages not to smirk.

“You’re full of it.”

He sits up and gets all innocent looking. “They want me to be happy. When they see how happy I am with you, they’ll welcome you like a long-lost sister.”

I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I can’t abandon my choir.”

He stands up. “Get something to eat. Chamber practice starts in an hour and a half and you’re coming with me.”

“Tonight?” I don’t follow his lead. “Now?”

“Yes.” He nods.

I’m glued to the couch. “No.”

“I already told them you would. Kind of an informal tryout.”

“Great.” I lean back on the couch and stare up at him, finally starting to get steamed. “No pressure there.”

“Pressure is a good thing. It makes you stretch.”

“I’m tall enough already, thank you.”

“Three more inches and you’d really be sexy.”

Three more inches? I’d be a skyscraper. “Let’s stay around here tonight. Go to a movie. Watch TV. I cleaned my room.”

He shakes his head. “I have to go to practice. And I promised you’d be there.”

“I wish you would have discussed this with me first.”

“I didn’t think it would be an issue. I thought you’d be falling all over me with gratitude.” He comes over and sits beside me on the couch. “Please, Beth.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me long, slow. “I want to be with you.” He kisses me again. “This is the best way.” He pulls me close against his chest. “Come sing with me.”

“This kind of persuasion isn’t fair.”

He keeps kissing me, presses me down on the couch with his body. My womanly senses go berserk. He kisses me once like that and gets up. “You coming?” He gives me his hand.

Of course, I take it.

I hate that he’s so confident.

I hate that he takes for granted I’ll agree to whatever he comes up with.

I hate not knowing his secrets.

“If I come tonight, you have to tell me—”

His eyes get pained. “Don’t go there, Beth.”

Then I hate myself for prying, probing the tender spot, hurting him, but I do it anyway. “What are you on?”

“We don’t have that kind of time.”

“I do.”

“Stop this, Beth. It’s not going to work if you keep asking me.”

That scares me. I’ll put up with anything to make this work. Even drugs. Even not knowing. Even going along with this crazy plan.

We get sandwiches, I call Mom, and we launch into the night, Derek on his bike, me in my car. I follow Derek over the Rainbow Bridge that crosses the Saint Clair River before it dumps itself into Lake Huron. We only have to wait at the border for about ten minutes. Once we get into Canada, we’re on that new freeway Derek bragged about. It is well maintained. This is Ontario. Nothing like the broken-up mess we drive on around Detroit. Not much traffic. Perfect for Derek to kill himself on. I can’t keep up with him. I don’t try. I’m not going to encourage him with even a hint of a race. He keeps circling back to find me and racing off again. Jeannette has a hard time over seventy. He’s going a lot faster than that. I couldn’t race if I wanted to.

The buzz of his bike turns into the drone of an organ, and I’m back in that dream. This time it is a nightmare.

I’m in my lacey white Christine dress again, kneeling by the side of the freeway, cradling Derek’s broken body in my arms, headlights beating against us. The organ gets loud and screechy, the orchestra comes in, cymbals crashing, violins on hyperdrive. I look up at the sky and sing, but I don’t sing like Christine this time. My voice is tortured madness.No, God, you can’t have him.

You gave him to me.

He’s mine.

He’s all I ask for.

This boy I can adore.

I imagine ambulances arriving and paramedics rushing toward us. I put out my hand and screech—No one else come near him.

He sees only me.

My love

Can never harm him.

My touch will ever warm him.

Derek’s eyes flutter open. They fill with terror. I’m not Christine anymore. I’m the Phantom, and all those Amabile girls—especially his prissy ex—better get this straight. I won’t ever let him go, no matter how many chandeliers I have to take out.

Derek’s headlight cuts into the night. He flips a U-turn, catches me, passes me. I sigh in defeat and turn on Jeannette’s crackling old radio to keep the ghosts at bay, getting more and more uptight about this whole situation. What am I doing? Amabile? Who am I kidding? I’m not even Canadian. I need to run back to my own kind with my head down and my tail between my legs. Crap. He’s gone again.

It’s getting darker. What if he’s nowhere around when I get to the turn. What if I don’t see any signs that say London? What if I slam on the brakes and flip my poor, rattling, ugly old car around. Head for home. Now. Jeannette stutters. I agree and ease up the gas to give her a break.

Shoot. He’s back. No escape. That lone headlight bearing down on me has to be him. Mind reader. The guy’s got some sort of powers. He’s certainly got control of me. Yes, Derek. Whatever you want, Derek. Please, Derek. Keep me in the dark—that’s fine with me. I’ll just sigh and let you kiss me again. He’s too perfect to withstand. It’s so not fair.

And now he’s Evel Knievel on his motorbike. I’ve got to sabotage that thing. What if he got high and went out on it?

Self-destructs. Scott saw it as soon as he laid eyes on Derek. Stupid Scott. If Derek dares to self-destruct on me, Scott won’t have to carry through with his dumb macho caveman threats. I will kill Derek myself.

chapter 22

CHAMBERS

Derek slows down when we get near London. He puts on his flashers and rides smack in front of me like a police escort for a pop star. I so don’t miss the exit. And he’s right there as we wind through the city to the church where they practice.

He parks his bike beside me. I get out. “I’m never following you again.”

“What?”

“Every time you disappeared, I was sure I’d find your crumpled body in the middle of the road. Don’t do that to me.” I stalk away, push through the door into the church before he can make excuses.

He introduces me to all the directors. There’s two from his choir and two from the AYS. I smile and shake their hands, thank them for letting me sing with them tonight.

She’s here. His ex. I recognize her from Derek’s profile. He took her pictures with him down, but she’s still all over his wall. Great. She’s even tinier than she looks in her picture. She’s standing in a spot in the center of the choir next to an empty space that’s obviously Derek’s. She moves—quietly finds a new spot. Our eyes meet, and she smiles.

Crap. She is a nice girl.

My face heats up, and I look back at the tall conductor with a wispy beard that I’m supposed to be talking to.

“Why don’t you try the solo on this first piece?” He hands me the sheet music.

Derek’s name is in the corner next to Arranged by.

“Derek wrote the solo for one singer—”

“Back when I could still hit the high notes.”

“We split it alto/soprano—which line do you feel comfortable with?” The guy waits for me to answer.

I don’t. Derek butts in with, “She can sing it all.”

“Derek.” There he goes again. I flip through the music, sight-reading in my head and checking the lows and highs. He’s right. As usual. I can. “I’ll try it.”

Derek maneuvers me through the choir to our places. “Don’t be nervous.”

“You are the only thing that makes me nervous. Singing calms me.”

“Then we better get started before you bite my head off.”

One of the AYS directors leads the warm-ups. No back rubs—guess that’s a girl choir thing. Derek tries to stick with me on the high notes, gets screechy, and gives up. On the low scale, I can go way past the lowest note in this solo. Derek is impressed.

“I sing tenor at school.”

He laughs.

We both have to drop out when it drops to bass range. I notice Blake is a bass. Figures.

Now tall guy with the wispy beard takes the wand. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. It’s good to be back with you. We’re going to get right to work on Derek’s arrangement. He’s found us a soloist who can sing the impossible range he wrote. Everyone say hello to Beth.” He pauses while people turn and nod to me. I half raise my hand and wave a couple fingers. “She’s joining us this season. Please make her feel welcome.”

Wow. Done deal. I look sideways at Derek. He’s so avoiding me. He’s supposed to keep his eyes glued to the director, so am I for that matter. Still. No excuse. He must know I’m fuming. I open my music, hold it so I can watch the director, too, and smash my foot down hard on Derek’s toes.

He winces.

Now I can sing.

I fall in with the altos. This is their first run-through of the piece, and already the sound is amazing. The basses are really good, mellow and rich. Their low vibrations ground it. Derek’s pure voice beside me leads the tenors. The altos are all getting the part—not just me and my perfect pitch. And the sopranos don’t balk at the harmonic descant Derek throws at them on the second page.

The first verse and chorus is SATB. Then an instrumental interlude with piano and strings, and I come in. It’s not perfect, my first shot at that solo, but it’s pretty good. At the end of the piece, several of the girls turn around, lightly clap. Not haughty. Friendly. And Derek’s ex is smiling at me again. It’s nice. These girls are nice. It’s all overwhelming, Canadian nice.

Derek’s hand on my back and brief, “Way to go,” is knee-melting nice.

Derek tries the tenor solo in the next piece. He muffs it a couple times but makes it through. Another girl sings the soprano on that one. It’s short but poignant, and she sings it well.

All of them, the girls especially, have a real beauty to the tone of their voices. Nobody is weak. And the blending is flawless. No one tries to stick out. I can’t say it isn’t a total rush to meld my voice with that group. It would be amazing to sing with them all the time. I can’t believe Derek talked them into me. He obviously has everyone here wrapped as tightly around his baby finger as I am.

How does he do it? Why do they let him? Maybe they know. Whatever it is that he won’t tell me. Everyone here could know every little nasty, sordid detail. Maybe I should get chummy with all these nice girls. Especially Derek’s ex-nice girl.

After practice, Derek introduces me to some of them. His ex included. She really is nice. “We’ll see you Tuesday, then.” No hint of anger at me in her voice whatsoever. “Practice starts at 6:30.”

“I’m not sure—”

“She’ll be there.” Derek decides for me again. “Save her a seat, okay?”

She gives him a dazzling, perky smile. “Sure, Derek. I’ll look after her.”

One of the AYS directors hands me a heavy binder of sheet music. “We’ll be doing the first ten on Tuesday.” Ten? Whoa. “Know your part, okay? Derek says you’re happy to sing alto.”

I nod.

“Great. We had to retire a couple of our best last year.” She makes it sound like her singers are racehorses not girls. You can compete in the youth choir category until you are twenty-two. Then retirement? I hope not.

I can’t make it Tuesday. I have to go to my choir. The words are there, ready to escape my lips, but I just nod.

We leave Derek’s bike and drive Jeannette to a nearby Tim Hortons. I’m starving. I get soup and a big sandwich on a croissant. Derek polishes off four pink-frosted, candy-sprinkled donuts.

“That’s not a very manly choice.”

“You’re so sexist.” He picks up his last donut and bites into it. “Pink? I thought you’d get it. In honor of Meadow. She’ll get to be the soloist again.”

“Poor Terri.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Poor Meadow—and her parents.” I put down my spoon and lean forward. “They invested a lot in me last spring.”

“And you delivered in Lausanne. You don’t owe them anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” They counted on me for radio spots and their Christmas party this year.

Derek nods at my choir bag. “Go home and take a look at that music, and if you can honestly tell me you’d rather sing the baby stuff Terri’s got for you instead of what the AYS are doing, plus my fantastic creations in chamber choir—fine.”

I lift a spoonful of soup and pour it back into the bowl. “You know it doesn’t compare.”

“Good. How about we meet back here—Tuesday at 5:30 for a quick dinner before your practice.”

I glance around and frown. “Is this the only place to eat in London?”

“That I can afford?”

“Now who’s being sexist? I can pay—especially for better food.”

Derek wipes his sticky fingers on a napkin. “You don’t like the ambiance?”

“I don’t like the soup.” It’s even worse than the Dunkin’ Donuts by my house.

“Can’t beat the donuts.”

“If you get fat—”

“Me? Impossible.”

He’s right. I look at him closely. It’s not just that he’s leaner than in Switzerland like I thought on Monday. He’s thinner—probably by at least ten pounds. Drugs make you skinny. Even I know that. He slips out a few pills and swallows them—like in Lausanne. Right in front of me. Who takes vitamins at night?

“Do you think that’s a good idea? You have to ride your motorcycle home.”

“They’re for my stomach.”

I study his face. “Not vitamins?”

“Vitamins for my stomach.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. My cold is cleared up for now.”

“But—”

“I’m fine.” He takes off for the guy’s restroom.

When he comes back, I smile truce at him and say, “Hey, why is your ex-girlfriend being so nice to me? She caught me staring and smiled. It’s weird.”

“She’s dating somebody else. We’re friends. She’s cool with you and me.”

“She’s too nice, though. There’s something kind of creepy about it.”

He shakes his finger at me. “Now that isn’t nice.”

“I live next to Detroit where people shoot you if you cut them off in traffic.”

“Here, people stop and wave you in.”

“I could see your ex doing that.” I stir my soup.

His eyes follow my movements. “I told you. She wants what’s best for me, and she knows that’s you.”

“How can she know that?” I drop the spoon and lean back, get his eyes. “Why isn’t she best? I think I’m best for you. But she should think she’s best for you.”

“It’s complicated. Ancient history. I don’t want to get into it tonight.”

“Of course not.” I dig a spoonful of soup out of my bowl and stare at it with distaste. I can’t eat it.

Derek clears our tray. I follow him to the door. He holds the door open and says, “Just let me—let us be nice to you. I want this to work. We need it to work.” He takes hold of my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb while he talks low in my ear. “I love singing with you. I want to write with you.”

I shake my head at that. “We can always go back to Plan A.”

“I don’t want to be a fisherman.”

“Pack your guitar and we’ll head for Nashville.”

He takes my keys and unlocks my car. “With Motown in your backyard? You’ve got diva pipes. You could be the next Mariah.” He opens the door for me.

“Not Whitney?”

“You could be any of them.”

I get in and wait for him to go around and get in on the passenger side. “Motown is too close. It wouldn’t be running away.”

“I can’t run away. I’ve got—”

“Too many ties? I’m not enough? I’m not sure if I like your Plan B. I want you to myself. Too many Derek groupies back there.”

“You’re the only one I kiss good night.”

My eyes are drawn to his lips and heat pours through my body. “Prove it.”

Derek pushes his seat back as far as it can go. “Come here.” He holds his arms out.

I shift over the parking brake in the center console and onto his lap. I hold his face between my hands and kiss him.

He kisses me back. “I want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s you?”

“Probably not. But if I can get you singing with Amabile—that’s something. The best I can give you.”

I shake my head—press my lips to his chest. “Your heart. That’s all I want. That’s the best thing you can give me.”

“You stole that before we even met.”

“I don’t want to be a thief. I want you to give it.”

His arms tighten around me, and his mouth presses on mine again. “It’s yours, Beth.” His words flow into my soul and twist me into knots. “You know it’s yours.”

chapter 23

QUITS

You say that you’re mine.

You say that your heart is true.

I believe every line,

When you look at me the way you do.

And even though I doubt you,

I can’t live without you.

Your lips made it right,

Holding me tonight.

I close my eyes and say, “Yes.”

Say, “Yes,” forever after.

If I’m part of your song,

Nothing, love, will ever go wrong.

Our tune will hold laughter,

Soothe my fears of disaster.

I’ ll leap and f ly with you,

Fly with you forever after.

I couldn’t sleep after I got home last night—wrote that to my favorite song from junior high. I got groggy before I could finish it. It needs two more verses and a bridge. In the cold light of this morning’s cold cereal, I reread my scrawl, try to make sense of the crossed-out lines, and remember what he wants me to do. Derek’s Plan B is unbelievably great. Really. But I so don’t want to call Terri. Awkward times a zillion. It takes three tries dialing her before I have the guts to let it ring. She doesn’t pick up. I force myself to let it ring five times, get ready to hang up before her voice-mail comes on.

“Hello?”

Crap. “Hi, Terri.”

“Beth? Is that you?”

“Uh-huh.” I sit down on a kitchen stool and then stand right back up. “Sorry to bug you.”

“Don’t think of it.”

“I just wanted . . . I need to—”

“You sound upset. Is there a problem?”

“Um—not really.” I walk around the counter.

“Do you need help?” She pauses and her voice gets intense. “Are you safe? ”

“Oh, yeah. No. It’s nothing like that.”

“You scared me. I know your parents are divorced and—”

“No. No. Nothing like that.”

“Well, what can I help you with?” Her voice lifts. “I hope you like the pieces we’re doing.” Excitement comes through our static-laced cell connection.

“They’re all great. I appreciate you showcasing me.” I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter. “But, um, maybe the other girls don’t.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’ve been thinking . . . maybe I should . . . ” I trail off.

“Don’t worry about it a second. You’ll be off to college next year. We wasted so many seasons hiding you in the altos. I’m making this last one count.”

I realize I have a chunk of frizzy dyed hair clutched too tight in my hand. “I’ve been listening a lot to the Amabile CDs.”

“The guys or the girls?”

She caught me. “Both.”

“If you go to the right school next year, you’ll be performing pieces like that. Where are you applying? We should talk.”

“Okay. Thanks. We should.” I try to start telling her about the AYS, but she’s way ahead of me.

“Have you heard from Derek? Since Lausanne?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that going?”

“He’s intense.” Why do I make him sound like that? I should say that he’s amazing, says he loves me, wants to look out for me.

“Smooth?”

“Very.”

“Be careful, Beth. I know you’re new to guys wanting your attention. You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Really?” I know she’s talking physical, but maybe her advice applies to more.

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re sure you’re safe?”

“Very. Bye.”

I hit Derek’s number.

“You talk to Terri yet?”

I grit my teeth. “Uh-huh. Just.”

“How’d she take it?”

My face screws up tight. “She hasn’t got the pill yet.” I don’t say it very loud.

“What?”

I sink onto a stool and tip my head forward so my hair falls around my face. “I couldn’t do it.”

“You can’t just not show on Tuesday. Call her back. She deserves that much.”

“I can’t quit over the phone. Never see them again.” I sound defeated. “They’re all going to hate me.”

“Who cares? They’re using you.”

His confidence makes me sit up straight. “Amabile won’t be using me?” My voice has an abrupt edge to it.

“No.” Unyielding. Harsh. Commanding. All in one solid negative.

That gets me up on my feet. “And you’re not using me?”

I’m glad I can’t see his face. “What does that mean?”

“Terri asked about you—about us. She said I shouldn’t agree to anything that makes me uncomfortable.”

“That’s rich.”

Mom’s head pops around the corner. “You okay?” Guess I’m getting screechy.

I wave her off and run up the stairs hissing into the phone. “Maybe I’m not comfortable with quitting my choir. Maybe I’m not comfortable singing with all those nice AYS girls. Maybe I’m not comfortable with you planning my life.”

Silence. He starts saying something and stops. Clears his throat. Twice. “Comfort is highly overrated. Joining the AYS won’t be comfortable. It’ll be loads of hard work. I didn’t think you’d be afraid of work. I thought you’d eat it up.”

“It’s not the work.” I make it to my room, shut the door, and lean back against it.

He’s saying, “Are you afraid of spending more time with me? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

Does it? I don’t know. I thought that’s what I wanted. All I wanted. “Sometimes I am afraid.” I sink slowly to the floor. “Not of you—for you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” His tone cuts.

Crap. He’s angry. But I keep pushing. “Back in Lausanne—Blake said—”

“Blake’s an idiot.”

“It’s eating me up. When we’re together, you’re overpowering. I can’t think. But when I’m alone—that’s all I do.” I’m talking too loud again.

“Then we need to be together more.” I’m on the verge of dissolving into the sexy, coaxing thick in his voice.

I bang my head back against the door to clear it. “You’re sidestepping me again.”

“You’ve got a lot of music to learn. That should keep you busy until Tuesday. No more worrying.”

His bossy tactic gives me backbone. “I’m not coming Tuesday.”

“You have to.”

“No. I don’t.”

He heats up. “You’ll be way behind. It’s tough to miss even one week of practice. They started this week. If you don’t go Tuesday, you’ll be two weeks behind. You’ll miss solo auditions.”

“If they want me to solo, they know how I sing.” I get on my feet and glance around my cluttered room for that folder of music.

“But you have to compete for it.”

I laugh. “Are you saying there are claws under the nice?”

“Hardly. They give everyone a shot.”

“So I don’t solo on those ten pieces.” I uncover the folder on my dresser and flip through the pieces. Some of them look really good.

“I vouched for you. My rep’s on the line here. Get over yourself and call Terri.”

I slam the folder shut. “I don’t like being told what to do. I didn’t ask you to risk your precious name for me.” My room is too hot. I go over to my window and open it. Muggy out. I pull it closed, stand staring out at the overcast afternoon and the cars going by on the cracked asphalt.

“Please, Beth. I miss you.” His voice is slinky again. “Let’s not fight over this.”

Crap. We’re fighting. The defiance drips out of me. I don’t want to fight with him. “Isn’t there a Plan C out there?”

“Amabile will be so good for you. Please. Come sing with me.”

“It’s going to break Terri’s heart.”

“If she cares about you, she’ll be pleased.” He’s right. Again.

“I can’t tell her over the phone.”

He exhales. “Go Tuesday, then. I’ll email the AYS directors and tell them you’re winding up your commitment with Bliss.”

“Thank you.” Relief washes through me. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” That’s easy for him to say. He’s never been scared in his life. “I’ll see you Friday then.”

Friday? That’s way too long. “How about I drive over to your place tomorrow afternoon? You’re not busy on Sunday are you? Can’t I meet your parents?”

Too fast, he says, “Sorry. No can do.”

“You met my mom. You blew her away.”

“Good to know. The way you’re talking tonight I may need an ally in this. What does she think about you joining Amabile?”

I turn away from my window. “I haven’t told her. I didn’t know it was all so definite until last night. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing.” Is that the truth? I don’t know.

Derek doesn’t believe me. “The only one undecided here is you. Let me talk to her.”

“No way.”

“You are quitting Tuesday?”

“Of course.”

“Then commit. Tell your mum or I will.”

“You’d make a good Central American dictator.”

“Not big enough for me.”

“Total global domination?”

“Now she’s talking.”

I sit cross-legged in the middle of my bed. He’s got me smiling again. “Are you sure there’s no Plan C churning in the maniacal recesses of your genius?”

“Talk online. Text. Get an international calling plan. I got my cell bill. The calls to you wiped out my entire college savings account.”

“But you’re not going.”

“This year. I didn’t say I was never going.”

My smile fades. “You mean I sacrifice my choir and join Amabile so I can be with you, and you’re going to take off on me?”

“You’re more likely to take off on me.”

An exasperated huff escapes me. “I don’t have the bucks for that.”

“And I do? School or no school—I have to live at home. Right now, I just want to make it through this fall.”

“You keep saying that. I don’t get it. What’s so tough? All you’re doing is sitting around composing, singing with your choir, and pulling my puppet strings.”

“I don’t want to get into it on the phone.”

“You never do.”

“I need to go.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Really, Beth.”

“Stop.” It hits me that I finally have bargaining power on my side. “Let’s make a deal. I quit my choir Tuesday, and you tell me everything on Friday.”

“Please, Beth. Don’t put me in a corner like that. Trust me.”

My phone goes dead.

I scream words Derek’s nice ex-girlfriend doesn’t know and pitch my cell across the room. It hits the wall next to my bed and disappears down the crack.

Dang. I’m toast if it broke. I get down on my belly and start pulling crap out from under my bed so I can get to the phone. When I cleaned it up last week, I avoided under the bed. Actually, I shoved a bunch more dirty clothes, magazines, and random junk under it.

There’s my binder from the Choral Olympics. I was supposed to turn it in last week. I sit up, cross my legs, open the binder, and turn slowly through the music. I’ll miss them. Terri. Leah. Stupid Sarah. My altos who follow wherever I lead. I’ll even miss Meadow. They’re no longer just girls in the choir who barely speak to me. They are friends.

I never had girlfriends before. Normal girls at school wouldn’t ever have anything to do with me. And the other outcasts—the fat ones and mutants like me—kept to their own lone selves. Dumb. I know. I should have reached out, formed a powerful alliance of the forbidden, and taken over the whole school. It will be so hard to walk into the church Tuesday night and tell them I’m joining the Amabile Youth Singers.

I open the sheet music for “Take Me Home” and find two of Derek’s tissues with the imprint of his rose between the pages of my solo. I get up on my knees, find the flattened flower on my nightstand, breathe in its faint sweetness. Why can’t we go back? Spend our lives on that bench on the banks of Lake Geneva, watching the clouds drift past the Alps across the smooth blue sheet of water, discovering each other.

Those moments were magic. When I think back, it feels like I’m watching a play. It’s someone else crying on Derek’s chest, someone else singing that sexy pop duet with him, someone else kissing him good-bye in front of the bus, someone else watching him cough in the cold morning light as we rolled away.

He should be with that girl at Amabile. She knows her lines, has the stage business down. She won’t trip and take out all the scenery. She’ll bat her eyes and nod her head. “Yes, Derek. Of course, Derek. Whatever you want, Derek.”

He’s in love with her. Not me. I’m a shadow. Leftovers. Hungry and grasping—wanting more than he’s prepared to give. Afraid to give him what he wants.

It should be easy. Most guys would want my body and that’s it. Use me up and then split—like bio-Dad did to Mom. All Derek wants is to sing with me. He’s on an entirely different plane of existence. If this was about sex, it would be so much easier.

But that’s not what he wants.

He wants my soul.

chapter 24

CREEPY

I spend all day Sunday learning the AYS music. I sit down at the piano and pick out some of the trickier parts. Four of the pieces are on their old CDs that I’ve got uploaded on my iPod. I make myself a practice playlist and walk around school Monday and Tuesday with my headphones on. There’s a killer solo in one of the new pieces that I want.

I still haven’t told Mom what I’m doing. What if she doesn’t want me to quit Bliss? She’s clueless about the youth choir world. She doesn’t get how big an opportunity this is. I mean, I could be on one of those CDs. If I wasn’t so gutless, I’d be singing with them tonight instead of driving all the way down to Ann Arbor again. If I wasn’t so gutless, I’d get to see Derek again. We connected online last night for a few exchanges, and then he had to go, with a “good luck tomorrow night.” I’m going to need more than luck.

“Hey.” Scott bumps my arm as he sits down beside me in choir.

“Not today, please.”

He puts both hands up. “Excuse me.”

“Sorry. I’ve got a big decision to make tonight.”

“Don’t.”

“Honestly—is that all you ever think about?” I wiggle my butt over to the far side of my chair. “Did you ever think there could be more than one type of big decision in a relationship?”

“Good to hear.”

“The Amabile Youth Singers has offered me a place.” Why am I telling Scott? “I have to tell Terri tonight.”

“And you’re not sure?”

“No. I am. It’s an amazing opportunity and—”

“Derek’s making you.”

“No.”

“Then why is it a ‘big decision’?”

“You’re twisting what I said.”

“No. You’re denying what you said. Gee—” He rifles his hands through his hair. “Don’t let him control you like that. It’s creepy.”

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn my shoulder to him and focus on the music we have to sing.

As I drive down to Ann Arbor, Scott’s words hum in the drone of the freeway. Creepy. A weird shiver hits me. I try to shake it off. I remind myself that this drive to Ann Arbor is ninety minutes—on a good day. London is a lot closer. And the drive is pretty. All those trees and fields. When the leaves turn this fall, it’ll be like driving through a postcard. And then I’ll get there and get to see Derek—on Fridays we’ll sing together half the night. Make out the rest of it. That makes me almost turn the car around and head for the bridge to Canada. He would be so happy if I called him and told him to meet after the AYS practice. I could be in his arms again tonight. I’ll go Thursday and tell Terri. No big deal.

Crap. I’ve gone too far south. I just passed the sign to Windsor. I’m a full two hours away from London. And the AYS start way early. If I try to change course, I’ll end up missing both.

I need to pull myself together. All I can think about is making out with Derek. It seems to drive my decisions more than anything else. How shallow is that?

I will do this—swallow my cowardice, misgivings, my craving to get behind Derek’s perfect facade to the trouble he refuses to share with me, and silence Scott’s voice saying—He doesn’t treat you, babe, like I do—

He doesn’t meet you babe, like me.

I’ ll be your rescue on the horizon,

Your prince on bended knee.

I’ ll climb your walls,

The dragons fall,

If you’ ll stay here, babe, with me.

He’s creepy, so creepy, stay with me.

You’re the beauty to my beast.

If we kiss, the spell will release.

It’s midnight, girl, the ball has passed,

Wake up, and you’ ll see

Whose love will last.

He’s creepy-

No, he’s not. Shut up, Scott. You can’t even sing.

I march into practice ready to tell the world I’m joining Amabile.

Terri is in the front with a smile bubbling from ear to shining ear. “Good, Beth. I didn’t want to make this announcement without you.”

I squeeze through the altos and take my seat next to Sarah. “What’s up?”

She shrugs her shoulders.

“Okay.” Terri takes a big breath and fans her face. She’s pink. Whoa. Maybe she’s met a guy. She’s getting married and leaving us. She’s going to introduce a new director that I will have absolutely no loyalty to. Bliss will fall apart without Terri. Lucky I’m leaving.

“Is everybody ready?”

“Get on with it.” Meadow echoes what we’re all thinking.

“I went to the mailbox this morning and look what I found.” Terri waves an off-white envelope in the air. “Any guesses?”

“No! ” we all shout back.

“Now, girls, girls, remember—your voices.” She slowly slides out a letter and shakes it open. “Dear Miss Bolton, Thank you for your grant application. The commission is impressed with Bliss Youth Singers’ achievement on the world stage and is delighted to approve your request.”

Grant? Whoopee. We’ll get new hair bows. I’m so glad I’m out of here.

Terri pauses, looks at all of us, and continues reading. “We look forward to hearing the CD you plan to produce.”

CD? We’re cutting a CD of our own?

“What do you say, girls?” She’s looking straight at me. “Are you up for it?”

Derek’s not online when I get home, so I call him. I don’t care what it costs. I use the landline, though. Maybe Mom won’t notice when it shows up on the bill. And she likes him. She still keeps bringing up Scott—but she likes Derek. Enough to spring for a few international long-distance phone calls. We need to get a cheap plan.

Derek doesn’t pick up. It’s way late. Practice went over. We sang through all our old favorites trying to decide what to put on the CD. “Take Me Home”—for sure. Our other competition pieces. And all the new stuff Terri chose for me to sing this year.

“You know what would be cool,” Leah piped up. “If Beth could get Derek to come and sing that duet with her. We could do the backup.”

I turned at least red—probably purple.

Terri winked at me. “I’ll check into the licensing if you think he would?”

“I don’t know. He’s really busy. I’ll ask.” I’m such a liar. But what could I do?

Derek’s voice-mail comes on, and I hang up. Maybe he’s asleep. I thought he’d wait up—want to talk. I check my computer screen again. No Derek. I can’t do this in an email. No way.

That’s when I decide not to tell him until I see him. I’ll go Friday. Steal one more night in Amabile’s rarified air.

I get there late. He’s waiting outside the church. He kisses me too quick and hustles me to the door. “How did it go Tuesday?”

“I’ll tell you after.”

I can’t relax and get into the singing. I’m an intruder. What am I doing here? The wispy-beard director gets an alto and soprano to try the solo I sang last week. It works. They so don’t need me.

Derek leans over and whispers, “You were much better.”

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes. “Not even close.”

His ex sings the next song with a solo. Her voice is delicate—not breathy like Meadow’s but feminine and pretty—fairies sing like that when they dance at midnight. I keep my eyes focused on the music. No way do I dare look at Derek. What if his eyes read regret?

He lost her for me? It doesn’t make any sense. He could get her back easy. Maybe, after tonight, he’ll want that.

After choir, he makes me hop on the back of his bike. “You aboard is the best way to ensure my safety.”

I can’t argue.

I press my face into his leather-jacketed back and enjoy hanging on to him. He rides over a bridge and then takes a narrow road down into a park. It’s full of old maple trees. When he shuts off his bike, I can hear moving water—close.

“I found us a new bench.” He leads me to a green wooden park bench beside the small river that splits London in two. “This is the Thames. Not Lake Geneva—but—”

“I love it.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not for donuts.”

He sits down and pulls me beside him. We fall easily into our Lausanne make-out position. It feels so right. I comb his silky dark hair out of his eyes.

“So you’re okay? Tuesday wasn’t too traumatic?”

I get my mouth on his. I need this first. I need the assurance of his lips pressing harder and harder. I need his arms and his shoulders and his chest. I need to cling to him and kiss. I get hungrier and hungrier.

“Hey—hey. Slow it down.” He presses his cheek against mine. “We’ve got all the time you want tonight.”

I press my face into his shoulder.

“You’re not cold, are you?” His fingers slide through my hair.

I put a ton of conditioner on it, didn’t rinse it all out, and left it wavy. I wanted it soft for him. I can tell he likes it.

“Thanks, Beth. I told you this would work.” He shifts me so my head falls back on his arms and bends to kiss me again.

I put my fingers on his lips. “Tuesday. I tried, but—”

It all comes out in a rush. His body goes stiff, and his arms drop away from cradling me. At least he doesn’t dump me on the ground.

“I’m sorry. Terri wouldn’t have a CD if I left.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Don’t hate me. Please.”

He’s quiet a long time. I don’t let go of him—keep my face pressed into his neck. I wait for him to shove me into the dirt, but it doesn’t happen.

“Why’d you come tonight?”

“To taste it again and tell you face-to-face.”

“You took your time about it.”

“I wanted to soften the blow.” I get my lips on his neck and chew on his salty sweetness. “If we can’t sing together, maybe—”

“Crap, Beth. Knock it off.” He pushes me away—stands up so I have to. He heads back to his bike. “Plan C isn’t going to be any fun.”

I run after him. “Don’t get mad. There was nothing I could do.”

“You made me look like a fool in front of the entire Amabile organization.”

“They don’t need me.”

He stops, turns on me. “You’re right. They let you in because I need you.”

“Why, Derek? She’s gorgeous. She still loves you; I can tell. Why are you with me?”

A flap of wings and honking sounds come from the direction of the river. He looks toward that instead of at me. “She knows me way too well.”

“And I’m special because I don’t?” I hate that. I hate it. I hate it.

“You see me in a way she never could.” He looks back at me. “I want to be the guy you think I am. When we’re together, I almost believe it’s true.”

I reach for his hand. “I want to be with the guy you are.”

“No, you don’t.” He squeezes my hand and drops it, heads up the path to his bike.

“Why not, Derek,” I yell after him. “I’ve been patient all this time. You have to tell me why not.”

He keeps walking away. “That wasn’t the deal.”

I run after him. “I’m the one who should be angry.” I catch up and grab his arm, pull him around to face me. “That’s the real me—an angry beast. Ask anyone.”

“That’s a load of bull you tell yourself so you don’t have to try.”

“I’m trying—trying so hard, but you have to try, too. I saw your arms, Derek. Back in Lausanne. Those pills you’re always swallowing. We both know they aren’t vitamins. What are they?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Does it help you write? The high? Is that where the music comes from?”

“My music? You think I have to get high to write? That’s cold.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah. Drugs—whatever it is you snort, swallow, inhale, or inject.”

“I don’t do drugs.”

I want to believe Derek standing in front of me. I don’t want to hear Blake saying Derek has a drug habit. I don’t want to see him swallowing pills. I don’t want to touch the tracks on his arms. “I’m not blind.”

“Stop with this nonsense. Do I look like some kind of low-life user with a fried brain?”

“Looks?” I know how fake that can be—see it every time I pass a mirror. “You’re a genius, Derek. You could make me see anything you want.”

He flinches like I hit him in the gut, turns away from me, and gets on his bike. He kicks it to life like he wants to kill the thing. I climb behind him. He revs the engine and takes off. I hold on tighter than I should. He gets to my car way too fast. He stops—doesn’t get off to help me or kiss me good-bye.

I slide off the bike.

“I’ll call you.” He tears fast into the night.

I drive home super-slow and careful, imagining Derek’s body mangled under that stupid bike all the way.

chapter 25

REPRISE

He doesn’t call. Two weeks. Nothing. If we’re over he should at least tell me. I resist calling him. Total invitation to get dumped. He’s not online anymore. I think he’s blocking me. He’s with her again—I know it. They’re together talking about me. Laughing. That song I started gets another verse.Don’t take it away.

Don’t twist me in knots and run.

What else can I say?

Again? Please can I be your one?

The only girl who feeds you—

The girl you said you need, too.

Don’t break my heart.

Give me a new start.

It so doesn’t go with that other chorus. Time for a bonfire. My eyes land on Derek’s rose lying on my desk. No. I’m not burning that. I’m never burning that. But all the garbage, crap, awful, stupid lyrics I’ve got scratched on scraps of paper and the backs of notebooks—incineration time.

Scott keeps flirting with me at school. My heart’s breaking, and he won’t let up the pressure. Not that I tell him my heart’s breaking. He would so take advantage of that. Little brat. He’s nice to everyone at school but me. He was talking to a nerdy-looking kid who looked familiar one morning.

“See you at practice then.” The kid walked off down the hall.

“Who was that?” I watch the kid disappear into the crowd, trying to figure out who he reminds me of.

“You don’t recognize him clothed?”

“That kid was the offering?” That awful morning still makes me cringe. “What are you doing with him?”

Scott shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I helped him get into Quiz Bowl. He’s smarter than he looks.”

“Thanks for rescuing us last spring.” I lean against my locker and study Scott. “Who else have you rescued?”

His ears get red. “I wish you’d let me rescue you again.”

“Come on. School’s not bad this year with the Horsemen gone.” My eyes follow the fluid movements of the muscles in his arms while he reaches for a text on the top shelf of his locker like I’m in a trance.

He turns his head, notices I’m staring. His blue eyes grab mine and won’t let go. “You still need to be rescued.”

I turn away. “Derek isn’t Colby.” I chuck my notebook at the back of my locker.

“He’s worse.” Scott grabs my elbow and spins me around. “He’ll hurt you way worse—don’t—”

“Shut up.” I jerk free of him and slam my locker door. “You don’t know anything about it.” I stalk away in a huff.

Who am I kidding? Scott does know. He sees the pain I’m in. He sees everything. Like that kid—the offering. All I saw was Colby’s tool. Scott saw a person. He made sure his poor, humiliated soul had a place to heal.

That sounds awfully good to me right now. Beautiful even. I remember dancing against him at prom. His face on my chest. Him shoving Colby away from me. Our kiss on the front porch. How wonderful I felt when I finally figured out he wanted that kiss. The look on his face when I told him about Derek.

Derek. I’m committed to him. I love him. I’m not ready to give up on him. He’ll heal my heart. I don’t need Scott. Derek will be back? No. Be positive. He will be back.

Monday after school I turn into my driveway, and Derek pulls up behind me on his bike.

I’m out of the car and all over him before he even gets his helmet off. He’s into it, too. “You scared me.”

He kisses my ear and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

I kiss the side of his face. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“I had to go away.”

“To a land with no telephones or Internet?”

He nods, and I’m so eager to get back to his lips that I believe every word. “I thought I’d screwed it up.”

“We should get out of the street.”

I lead him into the house.

We’re still making out, lying in each other’s arms on the family room couch when Mom pulls up. I’m on my feet, running out to talk to her, breathless and giddy. “Derek’s over. Can he stay?”

“The night?” She’s nervous about it this time.

“Dinner?”

“Of course.”

Derek and I mess around, making dinner in the kitchen while Mom watches the news. He’s playful and affectionate and makes really good pasta. Neither of us says much. Words are trouble. I’m so happy he’s back that I don’t care about anything else.

After dinner he wanders over to the piano. The Amabile folder lies on the bench. He sets it aside, glances up at me.

“I wanted it. I really did.”

He nods. He sits down and begins to play. His fingers caress the keys and a delicate melody emerges. I’ve heard this song before. I sink onto the couch, close my eyes, and remember him humming it to me on our bench in Lausanne. He doesn’t stop halfway through this time. It’s whole and rich and stunning.

“You finished it.”

Mom stands in the kitchen with a dirty plate in her hand. “That’s a striking song. I don’t know it.”

Derek gets up from the piano. “It’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s a lovely piece.”

“Thanks.” He looks thoughtfully over at me. “It just needs words.”

“Derek composes and arranges pieces for his choir.”

“Is there anything Derek doesn’t do?” Mom looks from him to me and back to him. She puts that last plate in the dishwasher and heads to her den. “Behave yourselves,” floats down the hall from over her shoulder.

We flick on the TV, find an old movie, try to watch it, give up, and make out until Mom interrupts us.

“School tomorrow, Beth.”

“Okay.”

I walk Derek out to his bike. “Why’d you come back?”

“I didn’t leave you, Beth.” He hugs me. “Honest. I was going to call the next day.” His words ache with sincerity.

I believe. I shouldn’t, but there’s too much love in his voice for doubt to survive. “So,” I exhale, “what’s next?”

“I don’t know when I can get away again. We’ve got some cool gigs coming up. Maybe you can come to some of them.” He caresses my face.

I’m so there—nodding as he speaks, but then I remember. “Crap. We’re recording the next two weekends.”

“I guess we’ll have to make do online.” His lips press against my temple. “Thanks for tonight. You don’t know how badly I needed to see you.”

“Me too.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to take a hike.”

“Me neither.”

He kisses me, and I cling to him. When will I see him again? I can’t let go of his lips. I get crazy, chewing on his mouth, sucking his lips and tongue, hard and desperate. I press myself into his body.

He groans, grabs my arms, and shakes me. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

I just get his mouth again.

He pulls me tight. His kisses turn hard, overpowering. His grip on my arms hurts. What happened to my gentle boyfriend?

I should fight him, tell him he’s hurting me, but I don’t. I’m limp, completely in his control. He scares me, wild like this. He’s always been so tender, so careful. I love this, too, though. I don’t want him to stop. My beast slips its leash. I get as fierce as he is. Crap. Why is my mom home?

She flashes the porch light.

Derek’s head jerks up off my neck. He shoves me away. I stumble, catch myself.

I’ll have bruises on my arms in the morning. His neck will be a mess. We’re both breathing hard.

He coughs as he gets on his bike. He won’t even look at me.

What have I done?

Are we messed up?

I am the Beast.

He kicks his bike to life and drives away. No good-bye. No see you later.

No I love you.

Suddenly the mild October night is bitter cold.

I wrap my jacket close around me and walk slowly up the path to the porch, climb the stairs, and push through the front door.

Mom is waiting for me in the living room. “We need to talk, Beth.”

“Not now.” I’m a wreck, Mom. Please. I wander up the stairs to my room and fall face down on my bed.

She follows me, sits on the bed’s edge, and strokes my hair. “I’m worried about you.”

I’m so not having this conversation.

“Derek reminds me so much of your father.”

I whip my face to the side and glare at her. “How dare you say that.”

“It’s true.”

She’s creeping me out. “Derek is not like him.” I shudder against it. “Derek is perfect.”

“I thought your father was perfect.”

“But you were wrong—I’m not. Go. Away.” I pull a pillow over my head.

“No.” She lifts the pillow off and hangs on like she needs it for support. “Listen, I can see that your relationship is getting more serious. That you might be thinking about—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s not like you’re an expert or anything.”

“I guess I deserve that. We should have had this talk a long time ago.”

“We should have talked about a lot of things.” But we didn’t—I never wanted to upset her. She’s always seemed so fragile to me.

“Linda and I were best friends through junior high and high school. Your father was a couple years older than us. I always had a crush on him. He was so cool—long hair, electric guitar—as irresistible as Derek is in his own way. Lots of girls. He had a reputation for getting what he wanted when he wanted it.”

“And you liked that?”

“I knew he was pretty wild, but that made him all the more appealing. I—as you can imagine—was anything but wild. He didn’t know I existed. I hung out at Linda’s as much as I could just to get a glimpse of him.”

I don’t know what she’s getting at. This is nothing like Derek and me.

“Summer after Linda and I graduated, he was home from college. Bored I guess. Linda and I were in the backyard tanning one day. I went in for a drink of water, and he saw me. I had on a new bikini. ‘Look who’s all grown up.’ I don’t think he even remembered my name. ‘You still have it bad for me? ’”

“He knew about your crush?”

“Linda must have told him. I flushed red, he put out his hand, the next thing I knew we were making out in his bedroom. He had my bikini off before I even knew what was happening.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“All I remember about that first time was how much it hurt, how much I bled—”

I so didn’t want to hear that. “It’s like he raped you?” How can she think he’s anything like my Derek?

“No. Took advantage? Yes. But I didn’t try to stop him.”

“You got pregnant from just that one time?” Was her whole marriage a myth?

She looks down at the pillow. “No.”

“You went back?”

“All summer. There’s an emotional side that goes along with the physical side. He said he loved me, and I—”

“Couldn’t get enough of him?”

“I thought you’d understand now. That’s how you feel about Derek, isn’t it?”

I nod. I’m starting to see what she’s getting at. Derek’s not like my father. I’m like her. Now I need the rest of the story. “What happened? After the summer?”

“He went back to college, and I found out I was pregnant. When I called and told him, he gave me the address of an abortion clinic. I couldn’t do that. Not to my baby. Our baby. I still loved him.”

“What did you do?”

“I broke down and told my parents. They told his, and they forced him to marry me.”

“And then I was born, and he hated me.” Enter damn ugly daughter.

“He didn’t love you. He didn’t love me. He was totally consumed with himself.”

“Derek’s not like that.”

“Are you sure? I’m not sure I like what’s going on with you and him.”

She sees way more than I give her credit for. I don’t want to go down that path with her. I keep her on the defensive. “How old was I when my father ran out on us?”

She fluffs the pillow, turns and smoothes it gently into place on my bed. “He didn’t run out on us.” She brushes my hair off my forehead and swallows hard. “We left him.”

“What?” I can’t have heard her right. “I always thought—”

“You were such a beautiful baby. So sweet. So gentle. A little angel in my arms. I couldn’t raise you in that atmosphere. I tried—overlooked a lot. I loved him. I finally realized we only had one option. I moved back home, went to college after all, and—”

“Here we are.” The upside-down part of me is in motion. This sudden change makes me kind of dizzy.

She nods her head.

I study her face, finally see who she is. “I love you, Mom.” I hug her. “Thanks for making me listen.” Tears seep out of my eyes. I always thought she was weak, but she’s strong—stronger than I dreamed of.

I need to rewrite an old song I made up about them. Make it true.Now get away.

Magic-carpet ride from this hell.

Fly through the night,

Build a place where together we’ ll grow.

Just get away.

Your beautiful daughter keep her far,

Far from his sight.

He’s not the man we wanted

To love.

Get away.

chapter 26

STUDY NOTES

The next couple months are crazy. We start recording the CD. It takes forever. Every time Derek invites me to a performance, I’ve got another recording session. We only manage to get together again once. We keep connected online, but then he’ll disappear, sometimes for a few days, sometimes more than a week.

I don’t ask anymore. Everything is so fragile right now. I don’t want to make him angry. I can’t risk losing him. I’ve decided I don’t want to know. I’ll close my eyes and savor what he gives me. It’s not enough. Maybe someday we can figure out how to get more of each other. As the weeks pass, I grow grateful for every whisper over the phone, every line he writes, every stolen second we get.

I don’t know why it has to be stolen and what I’m stealing him from. The time we got together it was here. He won’t let me go to his house. I still haven’t met his parents.

One night online he surprises me.

Derek: how’d you like to spend a whole weekend with me in Toronto?

Beth: suddenly it’s right?

Derek: I knew you’d take it like that

Beth: this isn’t about sex?

Derek: shut up

Beth: only if you tell me how you’ll know when it’s finally right

Derek: easy . . . my mum says it’s wrong unless you’re married

Beth: you’re a big boy . . . you don’t have to do what Mommy says

Derek: you don’t know my mum

“And why is that?” I ask the screen. I don’t type it, though. Complaining only makes him disappear.

Beth: so you’re asking me to elope to Toronto with you? let me check my calendar

Derek: maybe next time . . . this time I’m asking you to come sing with me again

I get all hot. Singing with him is such a rush—but how can I? I stare at the screen, imagining myself onstage with him again, letting our passion fill our song. I’ve got so much bottled up in me. It needs to get out somehow. But I wrecked that. Derek didn’t give me the full scoop, but I could tell the AYS directors were angry.

Beth: I can’t show my face around Amabile again

Derek: it’s just the guys . . . they all still think you’re the goddess

Beth: me and all those guys?

Derek: you and ME and all those guys . . . Saturday we’ve got a movie premier downtown TO, and Sunday we’re doing a live CBC Radio broadcast

He is so nuts to think I can do that.

Beth: and you want me to muck it up?

Derek: I arranged “Beth’s Song” as a duet with tenor/bass backup . . . I want you to write the words and then come sing it with me

Beth: I can’t write lyrics good enough for that song

Derek: don’t be stupid

Beth: you write it

Derek: I already did my part . . . it’s your turn

I can’t. I can’t. No way. I can’t. I’m not hot anymore. Suddenly I’m really cold. Freezing cold. I start typing.

Beth: I’ve got midterms and a big project due . . . our CD-release concert is coming up

Derek: this is important

Beth: I can’t do it . . . all I’ve ever written is bits and pieces . . . fragments . . . and most of it’s hideous and sappy

Derek: apply yourself . . . you’re wasting your talent

Just because he can write, doesn’t mean I can. He talks about music flowing out of him. I have to squeeze out every word. And it’s still bad.

Beth: what talent? I’d ruin your song

Derek: no you won’t . . . you’ve got plenty of time . . . if it stinks, I’ll tell you and you can try again

Beth: that sounds like great fun

Derek: that’s how it works . . . I can’t remember the date, but it’s after your Thanksgiving . . . the second weekend of December I think

Am I relieved? Disappointed? A mixture of emotions surge in choppy confusion.

Beth: that’s when our concert is . . . we’re doubling it for our Christmas concert

Derek: shoot . . . you did that on purpose

I need to give him something. I flip to the calendar. Sunday’s free—totally.

Beth: how about I take the train up to Toronto on Sunday and watch your broadcast? that would be cool

Derek: come Sunday and sing with me

Beth: please, just let me hide out in the crowd . . . I’d love to be your groupie

Derek: NO . . . I’ll email you the music

Beth: I can’t

He ignores that last post—I’m sure of it. Within three minutes there’s an email in my inbox with an attachment.

I hit reply and type, “There’s absolutely no way on earth I can do this.”

It’s late. I’m whipped, and his hyper-confidence in me makes me angry. It sounds cool—him and me singing a song we wrote on the radio. What I wouldn’t give to do that. But that song is too beautiful, means too much. My words would clunk against his music. I don’t have beauty inside me like he does. I’m the Beast. Ugly. That’s all I can write.

Since that night when I told him I couldn’t leave Bliss and we fought in the park, I’ve been patient and understanding. Crap. I haven’t even met his mom. I’ve let him get away with it. It’s all exactly how he wants. He’s not going to make me do this.

Next morning I get a text from Derek on my way to my locker to dump my backpack: try 2 lines

I chuck my bag into the locker. “Crap.” I key in: 0 lines and mash the send button.

Scott arrives in time for that performance. “I don’t like the way he treats you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I have to see you like this every day.”

“Like what?” I jerk my head around and glare at him. “I’m fine.”

He frowns and leans against his locker. “Uptight. On edge. Isolated—even from me.”

I scowl at him. “I’m really happy with Derek.”

“Deliriously. I can see that.” Scott folds his arms across his chest.

“When we’re together—”

“Doesn’t seem to happen much.” He leans toward me. “What’s with that guy?”

“We’re both really busy.”

“Too bad. Maybe you should look closer to home.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Scott’s surprised. I haven’t given him an opening like that for weeks. He steps closer. “We’d be together whenever we want. At school and after. Weekends.” His dark blue eyes get intense. “If you would just let me in.”

“I’m busy, though. My choir and the CD. Not to mention all these AP classes I’m taking this year.”

“We study well together. Don’t you miss that?”

I can’t lie. I do.

“How about I come over this afternoon, and we can study for that econ exam we’ve got Thursday?”

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“Come on, Beth. He doesn’t own you. You’re not his puppet.”

Exactly. “This is just to study?”

“Like old times.”

“You know, Scottie.” My old name for him slips easily out. “That would be nice. I have missed you.”

“I’m here. Every day. I’m here.”

The bell rings, and we head off to different classes. It’s nice to have Scott acting like a friend again. I’m actually looking forward to seeing him in choir today. And he’s a lot better at econ than me. I could use his help. My phone buzzes as I sit down. Derek.

1 line?

I painstakingly type, I’m not your puppet out in full and send it back to him.

After school, Scott and I walk out to my car together. “How is your history project going?” I ask to fill the nervous silence.

“So-so. It’s kind of a dumb project.”

We’re supposed to look at how politics or governments were influenced by art or vice versa. “I like it. I’m studying how jazz influenced politics during the Depression.”

Scott opens my door for me. “I got stuck with Stalinist-era Soviet art.” He slams the door and goes around to the passenger side.

“Stalinist art sounds cool to me.” I adjust my mirror while he gets settled. “You could tie it in with communist propaganda.”

“Boring. It’s not fair. You get to do music. You’re an expert.”

“Jazz?” I start Jeannette’s engine and back her up. “Are you kidding? I sing choir music.”

He laughs. “Some of it’s jazzy.”

“A gospel spiritual isn’t jazz.” I drive out of the parking lot.

“Want to trade topics?”

“No way.”

“I rest my case.”

When we pull up to the house, oh, crap, Derek is sitting in the driveway on his bike. Scott whips an accusing look at me.

“I didn’t know he’d be here. I don’t want to—”

“Rub my face in it?”

Derek’s at my door before I can answer, opening it, pulling me up, and kissing me.

Scott is out of his side fast. “Are we still going to study?” He’s got his backpack in his hand, looks ready to bail.

I twist around to face Scott. Derek keeps his arms around me. “Of course.” I pat Derek’s arm. “Scott and I have a big econ exam we need to cram for.”

Scott glares at Derek. “You any good at econ?”

“Nope. Must be why I’m always broke.” He squeezes me. “If you’re busy, I’ll take off.”

“No.”

Scott’s face falls. Great. I can spend the next three hours studying with Scott or making out with Derek. And they both know it.

Derek reaches inside his jacket. “I’m just dropping this off.” He pulls out some white pages folded in half. “I don’t have to stay.” He looks from me to Scott. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

He’s taking this so wrong. “That’s stupid. We’re just studying.” I lead the way into the house. “Come on, Scott. We’re wasting time.”

We spread out our notes and books on the kitchen table and get to work.

Derek wanders into the living room and sits down at the piano. He messes around, improvising jazz—slow, seductive stuff that makes it incredibly difficult to concentrate on econ.

Scott looks up from his notes. “Jazz, huh?”

I get pink and flip to the back of the chapter, hunting for review questions. “Ask me these.”

Derek keeps playing. After a while, he comes into the kitchen. “When is your mum home tonight?” He glances at the clock.

“She’s got a late meeting.”

Derek opens the cupboard under the stove, pulls out a tall pot. “How about pasta then?”

Scott can’t like seeing how comfortable Derek is in our kitchen.

“Sure.” I turn to Scott. “Do you want to stay? Derek’s pasta is pretty good.”

Derek puts the pot in the sink and turns on the faucet. “The secret is to cook the pasta al dente and finish it in the sauce so it sucks up the flavor.”

“Naw.” Scott glares at me. “My mom’s expecting me.”

“He won’t poison you—I promise.”

Derek laughs. “Then what will I do with all this hemlock I’ve got chopped up?”

“You—” I point to Derek. “Shut up and let us study.”

Scott and I struggle through another half hour, trying to decipher lecture notes with Derek humming and chopping and frying behind us.

“This is truly a culinary masterpiece.” Derek walks around the island with a plate of steaming pasta in each hand. “Sure you don’t want some, Scott?”

“I guess I better go.”

Derek puts the plates down at the far end of the table. “I guess you better.”

Scott slams his book shut and grabs his notes and backpack.

I look up at Derek. “We’re not done.”

Scott shoves his stuff in his pack. “I’ll see you at school.” He won’t look at me.

I follow him to the door. “Thanks. Maybe we can finish Wednesday. I’ve got choir tomorrow.”

His eyes are full of hurt. “You want to?”

“I can’t get that stuff in Chapter Six.”

The pain in his eyes eases. “Okay.” He drops his voice. “My house?”

“Sure.”

Derek is sitting, staring at the steam rising from his pasta. “How long has this been going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Private tutoring.”

I take a big bite of pasta and chew.

“At least now I know why you say you’re too busy to work on this with me.” He lays the folded-over sheets of paper on the table between us.

I swallow. “School is crazy hard this semester. And econ is my worst, deadliest subject.”

“You seemed to enjoy it with Scott.”

“Why were you so nasty to him? I thought you liked Scott—at least that I had such a good friend.”

“I thought you’d be upfront with me. Going behind my back? That isn’t like you.”

“I need to preapprove all my study plans with you?”

He snorts. “Studying?”

“That’s all we did.” I put down my fork and glare at my plate of pasta.

Derek leans closer to me. “And what did you do last night or the one before when I wasn’t here?”

“That’s a nasty thing to say.” I turn my head and meet the storm in his eyes, unleash one of my own. “I’m not the one holding you at arm’s length. I’m not the one who can’t ever get together. I’m not the one who won’t take his girlfriend over to his house to meet his parents. I’m not the one who disappears off the face of the earth for days at a time with zero explanation. I’m not the one who comes up with wild, impossible plans. I’m not the one—”

“Sorry. I thought you were.” He puts down his fork, picks up the papers. “I’ll quit bugging you.” He stands up and looks around for his jacket.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting out of your way. Call Scott and tell him I’m dumped, and you can finish whatever you two really planned to do.” His face goes from angry to sincere little boy devastation. Quite an act.

“No way.” I glare at him. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Sit down and eat.”

He obeys.

We both shovel pasta and chew.

He swallows first. “It’s obvious. I’m making you miserable.”

“That’s not true.”

He reaches across the table and touches my cheek. “That’s not a happy face, Beth.”

I catch his hand, hold it on my face. “If you would just—”

“It’ll probably get worse before it gets better.” He gets out of his chair and crouches next to mine.

I look down at his deep, tortured eyes, the concern spread across his brow. “Will it get better?”

“Maybe. No guarantees.” He stands up. “Go be happy with Scott, and I’ll disappear.”

I get to my feet. “Don’t you dare.” I put both hands on his chest. “I couldn’t live if you left me.”

“No. Don’t say that.” He grabs a hold of my hands. His are cold. “Don’t put that on me.”

“Too late.” I lean toward his trembling lips. “You’re stuck.” He lets me kiss him. “I’d rather be miserable loving you, than happy with anyone else.”

He kind of devours me at that point. Good thing Mom keeps the kitchen floor so clean because we don’t make it to the couch. We sink down, roll around, get lost in lips like we did back in Lausanne during that concert.

I sit up and squirm out of my hoodie so I’ve just got a tank left on. I skipped the bra today. He stares—then pulls me back down beside him. I meet his lips, wrap my legs around him. He kisses me back, then chews on my bare shoulder, smoothes his hands across my back. His lips slide to my neck, down my throat. He presses his face on my chest. I’m dying for his skin. I need to get my lips on his body. I unzip his sweatshirt, go for his T-shirt.

He grabs my wrists. “Don’t do that.”

I fight to get my hands free. He distracts me, kissing my lips again. I stop fighting him. He relaxes his grip but doesn’t let go. We’re locked together. I roll onto my back, bring him along so he’s on top. I stretch my arms, with his still attached, up over my head, and go crazy kissing him. He lets go of my wrists, runs his hands down my arms—

I grab the back of his T-shirt, fast, yank hard.

He wrenches free, pushes away from me. “Damn it, Beth.” He pulls his shirt back down, but I see the Band-Aid on his stomach—in the same place it was in Lausanne. “I said don’t.”

I lay on the floor stunned. Ice-cold misery flows through me, twisting the fiery passion that throbs me into stark pain.

Damn it, Beth.

Damn it, Beth.

Damn it, Beth.

Then Derek is back on me, but he’s not the same person now. His kisses are too deep, out of control. He presses his body against mine, too hard, jamming me into the unyielding tile floor. I go nuts, try to fight him off. He fights back—overpowers me.

I yell, “You’re hurting me, Derek! ”

He groans and rolls on his side. “Damn it, Beth. I don’t want to hurt you.” He grabs his hair and kind of chokes. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—”

I scramble to my feet and gather up my sweatshirt. I hurry to the far side of the room, turn, holding my sweatshirt up like a shield. My other arm is out, hand raised to ward him off. I’m trembling, terrified. Damn it, Beth. Damn it, Beth. That’s all I can hear. He’s saying something else, but it doesn’t get through.

Isn’t this exactly what I want? What I’ve dreamed of? What I’ve begged him for? Why am I flipping out? I want the heat to surge again, but it’s frozen into a dagger, cutting me inside. “Go away, Derek.”

“Damn it, Beth. We can’t leave it like this.” He starts to cough.

I run up the stairs to my room, lock the door, press against it. I brace for him to follow and pound on it, knowing I’ll let him in, remembering I love him, reassuring myself I want this. He’ll be gentle. He’ll be sweet. He won’t hurt me.

He’ll tell me everything after this. We’ll share everything after this.

I wait and wait.

No steps on the stairs.

No gentle knock.

No voice whispering that he loves me, he wants me, he needs me.

Only the creak of the kitchen door and the brutal sound of his motorcycle tearing open the silence of the night.

chapter 27

TREATMENT?

I hate my mother for telling me all that crap about my father.

I hate him for calling me damn ugly.

I hate Derek.

I hate music.

I hate singing.

I hate pasta.

I hate Lausanne and Lake Geneva and stone benches.

I hate Scott.

I especially hate AP econ.

I fall asleep before I finish the list—before I come to the only person I really hate. This morning I stare at her in the mirror and see the truth.

It messes you up. Derek’s famous advice about sex. We didn’t even manage to do it, and we’re utterly messed up. I’m massively messed up.

And Derek? What about Derek? Crap, he’s messed up, too. Why would he curse me out over his T-shirt? Does he really never want to do it with me? Am I that gross after all? I think back through it all, over and over and over.

Was it that Band-Aid on his stomach exactly where it was in Lausanne that made him angry? It’s so not a mosquito bite. Could it be a scar? Why the Band-Aid then? Is it a needle mark he doesn’t want me to see? What kind of scary drugs do you inject into your stomach? Over and over, exactly in the same place?

The whole thing is so, so disturbing. I don’t even know how to feel anymore. What I wouldn’t give to peek under that little flesh-colored vinyl strip.

When I see Scott at school, I break my date to study with him.

“He won’t let you?”

“I’m not being fair to you. I’m with Derek. Nothing is going to change that.”

Scott closes his locker with a clang, steps so close I can smell his citrus cologne, and whispers, “We’ll see.”

The rest of the day, he’s funny, cute, friendly Scott again. He brings his econ notes to lunch and goes over the stuff in Chapter Six with me. In choir he can’t get his tenor part. He scoots his chair up against mine and leans over so we’re almost cheek to cheek—so he can hear me sing his part better.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Masochist.”

I laugh. “Thank you, Prince Charming.”

“Any time, Beauty.”

Here he is saving me again. I should love him. I really should. I wouldn’t have made it through the day if not for him.

As I drive down to choir, all I can think about is that Band-Aid on Derek’s stomach. Guys don’t use Band-Aids. If it was a cut or a mosquito bite, why would he care if I saw it? Why is it still there?

It all seems . . . medical.

The Band-Aid.

The cough.

The weight loss.

The pale, pale skin.

The mysterious disappearances.

Even his advice about doctors. Those pills he’s always popping. Dumb Blake and his idiot drug habit.

It all adds up. Not to an addiction, but to an affliction.

I couldn’t live if you left me. And what did he say? Don’t put that on me.

Is he planning on leaving me because he’s . . .

No, that can’t be right. Oh, gosh. He could be sick. Really sick. Not just allergies or a cold that goes away.

For an ugly second, I worry if I could catch it. What is it? Could he have HIV? That’s why he won’t—no, no. Not that. Diabetes. They stick themselves all the time. It’s probably just that. Are diabetics pale? Do they cough? Maybe it’s leukemia. He can go to a hospital and get treatments. He’s going to be fine. People recover from leukemia. Bone marrow. He just needs new bone marrow.

It will get worse before it gets better.

That fits.

He can’t be that sick, though. Most of the time, he’s fine. He just coughs. It’s bronchitis or something. Maybe mono. But mono’s catching. He’d tell me if he had mono.

What disease makes you cough?

Just dumb stuff like colds, flu, pneumonia. I had that once. I coughed forever. Old smokers cough. But that doesn’t work for Derek.

Why won’t he just tell me?

I can’t bring it up—confront him. Not for a while. Not after last night. We need to get back to where we were before I threw him out. Oh, crap. I threw him out.

Late in the night after choir, I check for Derek online, but he’s not signed on. I write him a text about wanting his body. I’m still kind of crazed. Delete it. Simply send, I miss you, and go to sleep.

In the morning, I check my cell. Nothing gushy and sweet in reply. No voice-mail messages. No posts. No email. I’m scared. After everything that happened Monday night, I need to know that he’s all right with me—that we’re all right—before he slips off into that awful nothingness. I promise not to ask about the phantom Band-Aid on his stomach. Crap. It could have been there all along. He’s always got a sweatshirt on. Or a thick leather jacket. We’ve been dating for a few months now, and I’ve never been close enough to him to see his bare chest. Isn’t there something wrong with that? I feel dread in the pit of my stomach. His anger. His violence, even. There’s just so much about Derek I don’t know.

But I won’t ask. I promise to be the perfect, pure thing he asked me to be back in Switzerland.

What else can I do? I love him.

Days go by.

Weeks.

How can he expect me to bear this? I’m helpless, delusional, don’t know where he is, what’s happened to him, what’s happened to us. Are we messed up forever? This silence shakes me up. It’s so much longer and louder than before. I can’t break into it.