A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(46)

"I'll be here Saturday, at nine in the morning. And I'll be here for  you. Hope you can make it," he says, walking past me and stopping at Wes  to shake his hand before he leaves us both on the field alone.         

     



 

It's quiet and uncomfortable for the full minute it takes for my father  to walk the length of the field to the parking lot where his car sits.

"Joss, I-" Wes starts, and I turn and point at him.

"No! You nothing. What was this? Did you put him up to this? Was this  like an intervention or some lame attempt to try to fix our fucked up  relationship? You can't fix us, Wes. You can't! We're too broken."

I rip the straps of my bag from his hand, but his grip is hard and fast.  We both tug, but I'm no match for his strength, so I halt as he lowers  his head and holds my eyes captive.

"Goddamnit, Josselyn! Your dad did this on his own. He planned this days  ago, when he saw your schedule was different from ours. He shortened  our practice, and told the team if any of us wanted to keep our starting  position he'd better see our asses on the bleachers cheering for the  girls. He said all of that, Joss. Your dad! Not me … him!"

Wes lets go of his hold on my things, and the loss of his grip sends me  back a step or two. I hold his gaze, and all I feel is foolish. I'm  embarrassed because my life is so fucked up. All this boy has ever  really known of me is how much my father has broken my heart. He's seen  it-from the very beginning. The fact that he's here, witnessing this  attempt at making things right-which will no doubt fail-makes me feel  more ashamed.

"He's going to disappoint me," I say, the cry sneaking up on me. I suck it in and roll my shoulders, rebuilding my resolve.

"Maybe he won't," Wes says, stepping into me more.

I take one step back and shake my head, looking at my feet and dropping my things.

"He always disappoints me. He's going to do it again," I whisper. I  don't say it loud, because I'm regretful to admit I don't believe in my  dad. I'm even more ashamed to admit I want to.

"What if he doesn't? What if he wants this more than you?" Wes closes the distance once more.

I swallow and nod to myself, lifting my eyes to meet his, my arms wrapped tightly around my body.

"Are you going to pick me up when I fall? Are you going to be there for  me when he fails?" I bite my lip hard, doubt pushing on one side and the  little girl who wants this wish to come true pounding on the other.

Wes rests his head on mine and pushes the stray hairs from my face, running his thumbs along either cheek.

"He's not going to fail, Joss. He's not. I looked in his eyes today, and  I believe. But I will be there for you, for every bump and setback that  might happen. It won't be perfect, and he'll make mistakes, but he's  not going to quit. He's not going to fail." Wes's voice is soft, and he  tilts my chin with his thumb, urging me to look up at him.

I whimper once and let out a hard breath, looking to the side while I run my wrist over my eyes.

"It's okay to cry, Joss. It doesn't mean you're weak," he says.

"Yeah, it does. And I hate it," I say, refusing to meet his gaze.

"It's okay to cry," he repeats, and his words ignite another sob escaping me.

"Whatever," I breathe, running my hand over my eyes again, finally  giving in and facing him. His smile is soft and his head leans to the  side while he takes over the work on clearing my face of pain.

"Whatever, as in … you'll try? You'll come out here with us on Saturday morning?" he says, his lips in a faint, tight smirk.

"Whatever," I shake my head. "Yeah, fine. I'll come out here."

His grin stays in place, and his eyes remain on mine, studying me, as if  he's drilling down to uncover the secrets underneath them. But I have  no secrets. Not from him. He was my secret-is my secret.

"What?" I finally shrug after long seconds pass under his scrutiny. I feel hot from blushing.

"Are you going to let me take you to this stupid dance?"

It isn't chocolate or flowers, and to anyone else-Taryn especially-it  isn't romantic in the least. But to me, that one frustrated sentence is  the world. It's everything. And it's exactly how I wanted to be asked.

My lip tugs up on one corner, and I nod slowly, still holding his stare. "Yeah, I am."





Twelve





"If you would hold still, it wouldn't hurt when I pulled on it."

I think Taryn likes feeling like she's the boss of me. It's typically  the other way around. She hasn't really been the one in control of  things in our friendship since we were kids. When my life turned upside  down, she ceded dominance to me. The older I got, the more I realized  she gave it to me because she knew I needed it-I needed to be in charge  of something. So, she let me call the shots when it came to the trouble  we got into.         

     



 

But now-now that she has a handful of my hair in her grip, pins poking  every which way into my scalp, hot irons poised to scald my skin-Taryn  is once again in charge.

"This is torture for me. You know this is torture, right?" I blow up at  my forehead, a few stray curls she's left there to cool sliding across  my skin.

"This coming from the girl I watched purposely throw herself from a  moving vehicle at fifty miles per hour. Yeah, I'm really sure this is  going to be the thing that kills you," Taryn says.

"It might," I say, my eyes looking up from the corners, my head held  firmly in place with her hand while she pushes one more piece of metal  into a thick chunk of my hair. "And I'm pretty sure we were only going  thirty at the time. Maybe thirty-five."

"You know, I would kill to have thick hair that curled like yours. It's so unfair," she sighs.

"Well, I'd give it to you if I could. You have no idea how many times I've thought of shaving my head," I say.

Taryn's fingers pause and she twists my head so my eyes are looking at  her, her hands sliding to my cheeks where she pushes my mouth inward  from the sides.

"Please say you're kidding about that. Do not-I repeat-do not, not ever, shave your head."

"I'm … kidding?" I say through smooshed lips.

Taryn stares at me for an extra second, then rolls her eyes and jerks my  pony tail once more. I'm pretty sure she didn't really need to do that.  I zone out on the thought of me shaving my head for a few minutes while  Taryn finishes working my hair into something presentable. I really did  have the clippers to my head once last year. I even went ahead and took  off a chunk in the very back. It was just enough that when I pulled it  up in a tie, I could feel the short hairs along my neck. I liked to  touch them and think of how easy it would be to shave it all-to be that  free.

"Okay," Taryn says, pushing hard on my right shoulder and spinning me  around on the kitchen stool we'd pulled into her bathroom. "Time to take  it all in."

I don't recognize myself at first, and all I can seem to do is stare at  the girl looking back at me in the mirror. Her face is still mine. I  refused the extra makeup. I have eyeliner on-heavy-and that's enough. I  insisted that my hair be pulled up, because I feel more in control that  way. I always have. But Taryn insisted I let her make it look hot. It  isn't anything big, and the changes she made were subtle, but the girl  in the mirror is older, happier, and maybe ready to be kissed on a dance  floor in front of everyone who thinks she doesn't deserve it.

"Well? You like it?" Taryn's biting her thumbnail and looking at me in  the reflection. Slowly, my lip rises on one side and my eyes slide over  to meet hers.

"Yeah," I say. "I do."

"Thank God!" she says, slouching back, resting her weight on the bathtub  edge behind her. She looks me up and down, her eyes scanning me almost  the way Kyle's do. "You look good like this. I know you say it isn't  you, but … it's you. This is you tonight, Joss. And every guy-mine  included-is going to notice."

My chest starts to pound and my head feels light. I don't need everyone  noticing me; I only need one boy noticing me. All I want is to look good  enough for Wes not to regret picking me.

"Okay, do you want to just take the dress home so you can finish getting  ready there? Or do you want me to help you with that too?" Taryn says,  drifting across her hallway into her room. I follow her, my fingers  instinctively feeling the slickness of my hair pulled up on all sides.  Whatever she did, my hair isn't moving for the rest of the night.

"Uh, I guess I'll take it home. Wes wants to pick me up there. My  dad … he … he said he wanted to see what I looked like," I say, my hand  moving to my eye, rubbing the lid because it's starting to twitch. This  entire night is surreal. It was never supposed to happen-on so many  levels.

"It's good that he does. Maybe … maybe he's checking back in," she says, handing me a plastic-covered dress on a hanger.

"Maybe," I shrug, knowing how quickly he can tune out again.