“Understandable,” Raegan said. She knew the real reason. I had already told my parents I was going to see T.J., and they would want to know why he’d canceled again. They already didn’t approve of him, and I had no interest in perpetuating the dysfunctional cycle of hostility that was created when more than one of us were in the same room. Dad would be in a hostile mood like he always was, and someone would say too much, like we always have, and Dad would yell. Mom would beg him to stop. And some way, somehow, it would always end up being my fault.
You’re stupid for trusting him, Camille. He’s secretive, my father had said. I don’t trust him. He watches everything with those judgmental eyes.
But that was one of the reasons I fell in love with him. He made me feel so safe. Like no matter where we went or what happened, he would protect me.
“Does T.J. know you went out last night?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about Trent?”
“He didn’t ask.”
“He never asks about your nights out. If Trent was no big deal, you’d think you’d mention it,” Raegan said with a smirk.
“Shut up. Go to your parents’ house and let your dad torture Kody.”
Kody’s eyebrows pulled together, and Raegan shook her head, patting his massive shoulder as they walked to her bedroom. “She’s kidding.”
When Raegan and Kody left a couple of hours later, I opened my books and laptop, and began to write my paper on the effects of growing up with a personal computer. “Who comes up with this shit?” I groaned.
When the paper was written and printed, I began to study for the psych test I had on Friday. It was the better part of a week away, but experience had taught me that if I waited until the last minute, something would inevitably come up. It wasn’t as if I could study at work, and this test would be particularly difficult.
My cell phone pinged. It was Trenton again.
This is new. I’ve never had a girl give me her number n then ignore me.
I laughed, and picked up my phone with both hands, punching in the letters.
I’m not ignoring you. I’m studying.
Need a break?
Not until I’m done.
Okay, and then can we eat? I’m starving.
Did we make plans to eat?
You don’t eat?
. . . yes?
K, then. You plan to eat. I plan to eat. Let’s eat.
I have to study.
K . . . THEN can we eat?
U don’t have to wait on me. Go ahead.
I know I don’t have to. I want to.
But I can’t. So go ahead.
k.
I put my phone on silent, and slid it under my pillow. His persistence was as admirable as it was annoying. I knew who Trenton was, of course. We were in the same graduating class at Eakins High. I had watched him grow from a dirty, snot-nosed kid who ate red pencils and glue, into the tall, tattooed, excessively charming man he was now. From the second he got his driver’s license, he had made his way through high school classmates and Eastern State coeds, and I swore I’d never be one of them. Not that he’d ever tried. Until now. I didn’t want to be flattered, but it was hard not to be after being one of the few females Trenton and Travis Maddox had never attempted to sleep with. I guess this proved that I couldn’t be completely unfortunate-looking. T.J. was magazine-quality beautiful, and now Trenton was texting. I wasn’t sure what was different about me between high school and college that had caught Trenton’s attention, but I knew what was different for him.
Less than two years before, Trenton’s life changed. He was riding in the passenger seat of Mackenzie Davis’s Jeep Liberty on their way out to a spring break bonfire party. The Jeep was barely recognizable when it was hauled back into town on a flatbed trailer the next day, just like Trenton when he returned to Eastern. Swallowed by the guilt of Mackenzie’s death, Trenton couldn’t concentrate in class, and by mid-April, he’d decided to move back in with his father and drop all of his classes. Travis had mentioned bits and pieces about his brother on slow nights at the Red, but I hadn’t heard much more about Trenton.
After another half hour of studying and chewing at my barely there fingernails, my stomach began to growl. I ambled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Ranch dressing. Cilantro. Why in the hell is the black pepper in the fridge? Eggs . . . ew. Fat-free yogurt. Even worse. I opened the freezer. Score. Frozen burritos.
Just before I pressed the buttons on the microwave, a knock sounded on the door. “Raegan! Stop forgetting your damn keys!” My bare feet padded around the breakfast bar and across the beige carpet. After twisting the bolt lock, I yanked on the heavy metal door, and I instantly crossed my arms over my br**sts. I was only in a white tank top and boxer shorts, no bra. Trenton Maddox stood in the doorway, holding two white paper sacks.
“Lunch,” he said with a smile.
For half a second, my mouth mirrored his, but then it quickly disappeared. “How did you know where I live?”
“I asked around,” he said, walking past me. He sat the sacks on the breakfast bar, and began pulling out containers of food. “From Golden Chick. Their mashed potatoes and gravy remind me of my mom’s. I’m not really sure why. I don’t remember her cooking.”
Dianne Maddox’s death had rocked our town. She was involved in the PTA, the Junior Welfare League, and coached Taylor’s and Tyler’s soccer team for three years before she was diagnosed with cancer. It caught me off guard that he mentioned her so casually, even though I suppose it shouldn’t have.