Hope says this casually, as if it doesn’t bother her, but how can it not? I don’t know a lot about how Hope ended up in foster care. All Guy told me was her mom and his uncle died in a drunk driving accident. He didn’t say anything about her life before or where her dad is. She just made it pretty clear she didn’t have a great childhood. And now I feel like a total dick.
The only positive aspect, she just confirmed Park isn’t her boyfriend.
Guy pushes his chair back and stands. “Where’s Chase? I thought we were supposed to practice?” he asks Park.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not his mother.” He winces and kisses Hope’s temple before releasing her. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Sitting at the table, Park looks into the empty cookie package. Yeah, that’s right, fucker. I took the last cookie. “If we’re not practicing let’s go do something. I don’t feel like sitting around all day.”
“I’m grounded, Park, and I was already blackmailed once.” Hope glowers at Dylan who smiles back proudly. “But you guys go ahead.”
I’m surprised when Park stands up and pulls a set of keys from his pocket. He says something quietly in Hope’s ear and kisses her cheek before glancing at Guy. “Let’s go get something to eat,” he says.
“You coming?” Guy asks me when I remain seated.
I can’t believe Park’s ditching Hope like this. If she was my girl, I’d spend every possible moment I could with her. Of course, she’s not his girl either. She’s not anybody’s girl. Not yet anyway. But I’m the one staying, while Park’s the one going. “No, man,” I say, glancing at Kellin talking to Misty, and then at Hope. “I think I’ll stay here.”
*******
“No way,” Hope insists. “As remakes go, Friday the 13th is clearly superior to Halloween.”
The kids are now outside, so we’re the only ones left at the table. “All right,” I agree. “But the original Halloween trumps all other horror movies.”
“Except Night of the Living Dead, of course. It’s a classic. Followed closely behind by Nightmare on Elm Street. Again, the original.”
I crinkle my eyebrows. “Obviously. I can’t believe they remade that movie without Robert Englund.”
“Right? I know,” Hope exclaims. She smacks my arm and shakes her head. “I mean everybody else they cast in that movie was perfect, but they replace Robert Englund who is Freddy Krueger. It just didn’t work, but I will admit I’ve watched it several times.”
I chuckle at her ashamed appearance. “Me, too. Every time it comes on HBO.”
“So, who do you have first period?” she asks.
“Mr. Langford for Calculus.”
She bites her lip and nods. “What about second period?”
I have to think about it, my schedule’s still new to me. “Um, Mrs. Harper?”
Hope sighs and looks at her hands. “Okay. How about third?”
“Mrs. Bates. Why?”
“I’m trying to see if we have any classes together,” she says quietly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. God, I want to touch her so bad. I wonder what her hair feels like. Is it soft? It looks soft. Thick, too. I keep watching her. Does she want to have classes with me? Probably if she’s asking.
Why am I such an idiot around her? Questioning everything. Forgetting how to speak like a human being. Tripping over all my thoughts. How is it that my confidence soars when I talk to any other girl, but I feel like a bumbling fool when I talk to Hope? How does she have so much power? Either I get caught up in our conversation and start saying whatever pops in my brain without filtering, or I sit here staring at her, overthinking. I’m a mess.
“I have Mr. Roberts fourth period,” I finally say.
She looks at me quickly, smiling. “So do I and I know you have lunch with us fifth period. What do you have sixth?”
“Gym with Mr. Varner. Seventh I have art with Mrs. Guevara.”
“Oh, yes. I have art too.” She smiles at me again and I start gazing at her mouth. Again. “I go to music eighth.”
“You play the drums in the school band?”
Hope traces the grain in the wood of the table with her index finger. Her nails are painted with some kind of glittery clear polish. The light keeps hitting them, causing a sparkle effect. “No. I play the cello.”
Hmm. “That’s awesome. Do you play any other instruments?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “The piano some, but I’m not very good yet. The cello’s newer too, just since I moved here. I’m better on drums. I started when I was eight, playing on a drum pad since my mom couldn’t afford a set. But that’s all.”
That’s all. As if it’s no big deal. I feel inferior. “If you ever want to learn how to play the guitar, I could teach you. I bet you’d pick it up right away since you’re used to a stringed instrument.”
“I’ve played a little with Guy. It’s so weird though. I’m used to using a bow. With the cello, how you hold yourself, the cello, the bow, it all affects the sound. With a guitar, you could lie on the ground and pick at the strings and still get the desired notes. I haven’t been able to get the hang of it.”
I study her for several seconds. “It’s the control,” I say aloud even though I don’t mean to. I just figured something big out about Hope.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I hesitate, deciding if I should just shut up or go with it. This has been nice, me and her talking. I don’t want to screw it up, but I kind of want to know if I’m right. “You like the things you have control over.”
After a few heartbeats that pound against my rib cage, she nods slowly. “That’s frighteningly accurate,” she whispers.
This is why Hope doesn’t do relationships. Because she can’t control the other person’s commitment, most likely afraid they’ll leave her like her mom did. It’s also probably why she likes the drums. She controls the pace of the entire band with the beat of her drum sticks.
Now that I found this piece of the Hope puzzle, I’m yearning to put the rest together.
Chapter 8
Hope
We’re both quiet so long I’m starting to worry I said something wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have owned up to his control theory. I don’t know what it is about him that has me saying so much. I’ve known him for two days and he probably knows as much about me as Guy does.
Mason clears his throat like he’s about to say something when Alec clomps through the door with Addie and the twins. Archer is crying uncontrollably, so I get up and take him from Alec. “It’s okay baby boy,” I soothe. “It can’t be all that bad being two.” He hiccups in my arms and digs his fingers into my hair. I have no clue why he does this, but since he became a master of his motor skills, he’s liked holding onto my locks. I rub his back. “There. That better?”
He nods at me and I kiss him before setting his feet on the floor. Alec puts Amy down and sighs. “Thanks Hope. Jenny’s not home yet?”
I shake my head as Addie puts her foot on my shin wanting her shoes taken off. I bend down and start untying them. “No, not yet.”
Addie sticks her other foot out and I begin on that one. She looks at Mason for a moment then turns her head back to me. “Who is he?” she asks in her quiet five year old voice.
“That’s Mason,” I say. I glance over at him. “This is Addie. My foster mom’s daughter from her second marriage.” I nod my head at the twins. “That’s Archer and Amy. Jenny’s kids from her current marriage. And that’s Alec, Jenny’s current husband.”
Alec gives me a look. It’s similar to Dylan’s death stare and just as unintimidating. He looks at Mason and offers a smile. “That would make me the dad,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Mason says standing up. He leans across the table and shakes Alec’s hand. Alec’s thrown off a bit by the gesture. We don’t typically have such polite friends.
Mason turns to me and I can tell he’s getting ready to leave. I don’t want him to, but can’t think of a reason for him to stay without looking stalkerish. “I should probably go. My mom will need the car for work.”
“Okay,” I say trying not to look disappointed.
“Walk with me outside?”
“Um, yeah,” I utter confused.
Mason waves at Addie. She moves behind Alec’s leg, but smiles as she peeks around his khakis. “See you later,” he says. She waves back and Alec does the guy head nod thing which Mason returns. I follow him out the door, stopping when he hovers before the porch steps. He looks out at the driveway where Kellin plays basketball with Misty and Dylan.
His face is full of indecision when he turns to face me, studying me for a moment and I stand very still, waiting for him to say something. All I can think about is how attracted I am to him. How strange it feels to be so drawn to someone after so long of feeling nothing.
“I like you, Hope, and I think you might like me too,” he begins. My stomach twists with nervousness. Yes. Yes I do like you. So much. Wait. Does he mean he likes me, likes me? Like I like him? Or just likes me strictly in the platonic sense? Oh, man that would suck, which pretty much sums up my life, so…yeah.
“I’m just going to be really honest right now because this is all new to me and I don’t know how else to handle it.” He takes a deep breath and pushes the hair off his forehead. “I like being around you. I like talking to you. When I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you.” He stops there and I guess I’m supposed to say something, but I’m at a loss for words.
He’s making his feelings clear, but being vague about his intentions. I don’t know what he wants from me. He knows how I feel about relationships, so I’m assuming he isn’t looking for one. I also made it clear that I’m still a virgin, so hopefully he isn’t trying to help me cash in my V card.
Mason’s a fun dude. I like being around him too. He’s still waiting on my response, shifting anxiously. He’s nervous. I like that I make him nervous. It’s empowering. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time. It makes me brave. “I like you too, Mason,” I whisper. He grins and takes a step backwards.
“Good. That’s really, really good.” He turns to leave and stops abruptly, circling back to me. “Do you have your phone?”
I take it from my pocket and hand it to him in a daze. He starts keying in a number and I realize what he’s doing. “Wait,” I say, grabbing my cell from him. He raises his eyebrows, hand cupped in front of him as if he still holds my phone in his palm. Feeling completely stupid for my reaction, I try to backpedal. “Sorry. I have a…thing I do with my contacts. I nickname everyone.” I hold the phone in front of him. “Just put your number in.”
He takes it as if he’s afraid I’ll yank it away again. As he continues, a smile starts to form on his lips. “What will my name be?” he asks, holding the phone hostage while he awaits my reply.
“I don’t know yet. You’ll have to wait and see.”
“As long as it’s not something lame. Maybe something like Hot Stuff or Sexy Beast. I don’t want your screen to say Annoying Psycho every time I call you.”
I look up at him through my eye lashes. “Do you plan on calling me a lot?” I ask and I become conscious of the fact that I’m flirting with him.
His green eyes focus on me, flicking over my face, resting on my lips long enough for the cracked out butterflies to return to my stomach. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Yes. I plan on calling you a lot.” He releases my cell phone and bounces down the steps.