“Because this is where she wants to be,” Peter says. I am completely taken aback. I have never heard Peter speak to anyone like this before. He is usually so compliant and respectful toward adults. Inside, I am cheering like a fucking lunatic. Hell, I’m giving him a standing ovation.
As soon as the words are out of Peter’s mouth, Michael raises his fist, as if he is going to hit Peter. I am on my feet in an instant, rushing over to where they are. Mr. Beckman grabs Michael’s arm, and the police are telling everyone to calm down. The world is spinning; everything is crashing down around me. What the fuck was I thinking, telling Peter to bring me here instead of taking me home? Michael is going to go over the edge right here in front of everyone.
Mr. Beckman lets go of Michael’s arm and pulls Peter toward him. Then he tells me I’d better go home with my father. Peter tries to argue, telling him not to send me home with Michael. Mr. Beckman asks Peter if he knew that Michael wanted me home right after the dance. When Peter says yes, Mr. Beckman tells everyone to get their things together because he is going to call everyone’s parents to come pick them up.
No. No. No. Holy shit. What is going on? How can Mr. Beckman be mad at Peter when this whole thing was my idea? When I was the one who wanted to come? As I gather my things, I try to explain to Mr. Beckman that this was my fault and not Peter’s, that he was just doing what I asked. But Mr. Beckman says that Peter knows better. He apologizes to Michael and the police officers and promises to see that everyone gets home safely.
As Michael is pulling me out of the room, I mouth the word “sorry” to Peter. He looks sad and worried, but he also looks angry. At Michael, I hope, and not at me. I think I’m going to be sick.
* * *
It is a week later, and I am no longer playing volleyball. Michael got me pulled from the team due to “disciplinary issues,” telling my coach that I have been drinking and lying. Telling her that I don’t deserve to be on the team. I was in the room when they met to discuss it, and frankly, the whole conversation was more humiliating than anything else Michael could have come up with. He told her that my behavior has been so bad that he’s considering contacting Case Western and withdrawing my acceptance. What the fuck? Can he even do that? The thing that bothered me the most, though, was the fact that Coach Lyons believed him. She let him do this. When we left her office, I felt betrayed.
Peter said he can’t see me anymore. The day after prom he called to tell me his parents said we need to take a break. I think they are worried that Michael will hurt him somehow if something like that were ever to happen again. I understand they are trying to protect him. Peter apologized profusely, telling me how much he still cares about me and how he hopes that things get better for me. He even said he’s sorry that he couldn’t be the one to make it better. I wished him good luck at Northwestern and told him that I’ll be okay.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emma—Present Day
My alarm is going off, and I wake up sweating. I was dreaming about the buzzing sound, and it makes me wonder how long the alarm was going off before I woke up. Jesus, I am hotter than shit. My pajamas are soaked, and my hair is stuck in a matted-up wad. Why am I so fucking hot? I kick off the covers, roll on to my side, and switch off the alarm. It is then that I smell the now-familiar odor of stale cigarettes and warm whisky breath. I roll over on to my other side and see that David is in my bed. He is sound asleep, lying flat on his back with his hands resting on his chest. The blanket covers only his lower body, and I spend a few minutes watching his chest rise and fall. His mouth is slightly open, and for a moment I consider kissing it. I could put my face against his and sink my tongue into his mouth. But I know he didn’t get to sleep until just a few hours ago, and I don’t want to wake him. He is so quiet. He looks almost childlike. I smile at the thought of David stumbling into my apartment after poker. I smile knowing that he wanted to come here to make sure that I am okay. To make sure that I survived a night without him.
As I shower and eat my breakfast, I think about how David will feel when I tell him that I spoke with Ricky last night. I wonder if he’s going to consider me nuts for even caring to find more out about Michael. And then I think about Lucia, and I wonder how much David cared about all the things that she did.
* * *
Wednesday is acting just like the hump that it is. The morning is slow. Slow as fuck. I feel as if I am treading water. I’m not working with Matt this morning because he is having a meeting with some of the project managers, going over our initial designs and tweaking some of the kinks we stumbled on. But then, in the afternoon, things pick up. We have a conference with the architects—making the rest of the day slip by seamlessly. And now, a handful of hours later, I am on the bus again, listening to my iPod and headed back home. Headed back to David. I haven’t heard from him all day.