The door closes and I shriek. Caleb is standing in the attic with me, the glass of water in his hand. "Oh my God!"
"I'm not going to hurt you, Maggie. I just wanted to say thanks for the water and ... well, and I know it's not easy working together, but I do appreciate you not kicking me out."
"You can't leave," I say.
"Why not?"
"Because that door locks automatically."
Caleb eyes the door stopper he just kicked out of the way. "You're joking, right?"
I shake my head slowly. I'm trying not to panic at the reality of being stuck with Caleb Becker in an attic. Breathe, Maggie. In. Out. In. Out.
Caleb tries turning the knob, then tries a turn-door-knob-while-pushing-on-door action. "Shit." He turns to me. "You and me. In the same room. This is not supposed to happen."
"I know," I say.
"We could yell for Mrs. Reynolds. She's sleeping outside, but--"
"She'll never hear us all the way out there. Her hearing is marginal if you're ten feet away. When she wakes up we'll hear her and then yell our heads off."
"So you're saying we're stuck here?"
I nod again.
"Shit."
"You already said that," I inform him. Caleb starts pacing while running his hands over his buzz cut. "Yeah, well, this sucks. Being locked up is getting to be the theme of my life," he mumbles. "How long before she usually wakes up?"
I shrug. "It could be a half hour, but sometimes she sleeps for an hour or more, like yesterday."
Taking a deep breath, he sits in the middle of the floor and leans against Mrs. Reynolds' trunk. "You might as well take a seat," he says.
"I'm kind of afraid of spiders."
"Still?"
"You remember that about me?"
"How could I forget? You and Leah used to make me your personal spider killer," he says. I look at him strangely.
"Sit," he orders. "I'm giving the old lady two hours to free us and then I'm breaking that door down."
Neither of us say anything for a long time. The only sound is our breathing and the eerie bangs and creaks of the old house.
"Was it scary in jail?" I ask, breaking the silence.
"Sometimes."
"Like when? What did they do to you?"
I turn and look at him. His expression is wary. "You know, you're the first one who's asked for details."
"I'll admit I've heard the rumors. I suspect most of them aren't true."
"What'd you hear?"
I curl my lip, nervous to be the one to tell him. "Let's see ... you had a boyfriend in jail... you joined a gang... you attempted to escape and got solitary confinement ... you beat up a guy who afterward needed to be hospitalized ... should I continue?"
"You believe any of it?"
"No. Why? Are they true?"
He leans his head back against the trunk and lets out a long breath. "I was in a fight and got thrown in solitary for it." He puts his palms over his eyes. "I was in solitary for thirty-six hours. God, I can't believe I'm talking to you, of all people, about this."
"Did they give you food and water?"
He laughs. "Yeah, you still get meals. But you're sleeping on a slab of cement and a one-inch foam mattress on top of that. A stainless steel toilet is your only companion."
"At least you were alone," I say. "I had to wait for someone to bring a plastic bowl for me to go to the bathroom while I was in the hospital. Then I had to lay there while they wiped me. It was so degrading."
"Do the doctors say you'll ever walk without a limp?"
"They don't know. I have to go to physical therapy twice a week until I go to Spain."
"Spain?"
I explain why I'm working at Mrs. Reynolds' house every day and about my dream of leaving Paradise so I can get away from the past.
"I couldn't wait to get back home," he admits. "Coming back here meant I was free of being locked up."
"That's because you're Caleb Becker. People will always accept you. The only thing that kept me from being a loser before was tennis and Leah. Now that I've lost both, I have nothing except humiliating stares and comments people say but don't think I hear."
Caleb stands and paces the attic again. "Coming home has sucked. But leaving Paradise would be a copout."
"To me," I tell him, "leaving Paradise means freedom. I feel locked up just living in this town where everybody reminds me what a loser I am now."
Caleb crouches down, his face right in front of mine. "You are not a loser. Hell, Maggie, you always knew what you wanted and went for it."
I tell him the honest truth. "Not anymore. When you hit me, a part of me died."
TWENTY-FIVE
Caleb
"Caleb, phone!" Mom yells from the kitchen.
I've been in my room, trying to figure out these mixed-up thoughts I've been having since Tuesday, when Maggie and I got locked in the attic. We sat there for maybe forty minutes. In that short amount of time I probably shared more with her than I have with Kendra. Ever.
I'm in serious trouble here.
I pick up the cordless and head to my room. "Hello?"
"Hey, CB. It's Brian."
"What's up?"
"It's Sunday," Brian says in a way-too-cheery tone.