The Force of Gravity(48)

I don’t even care when Friday arrives—my dad told me again this morning that my car will be ready soon, but I don’t believe him. You can only dangle a carrot in front of a person for so long. It’s been almost two whole weeks since I’ve had Elijah’s lips on mine, and I’ve been taking it out on my pencil erasers, one by one, during each math class. If I don’t get some Slate soon, all the erasers within a ten-mile radius are going to suffer a brutal homicide.

“Kaley, can you see me after class?” Elijah’s voice pierces the silence as he passes back our quizzes.

He and I haven’t communicated since last Friday, and I literally have to press my lips together to hold back a grin. After ten painstaking minutes, the bell finally dismisses class. When the last student leaves, he boldly approaches my desk.

“Is your car back yet?”

He’s so close to me, I catch his delicious scent and clutch my notebook to refrain from grabbing him.

I shake my head. “No. My dad said it will be ready soon, but he’s full of it. He’s been saying that since Monday.”

“Okay,” he says, clearly disappointed. He glances at the door. “Text me if you get it back this weekend, okay baby?”

Baby? He’s not playing fair.

His eyes linger on my mouth before he steps away, and it takes everything I have to maintain my equanimity. My arms feel frail as I fumble with my books, cradling them to my chest. Just as I turn around, Emily enters the room alongside a girl I barely know, her eyes locking with mine.

“Hey,” she says softly.

She glances at Elijah, then back to me.

“Hey,” I say with a careful smile and walk out the door.



“WHAT’S UP WITH you?” I ask Emily as she’s driving me home. Her wide grin has me guarded. She never asked me about what she saw this morning—or thought she saw—much to my relief. But since she hasn’t exactly been smiling the past two weeks, this mood swing causes my fear to jump to the worst case scenario: She talked to Derek and has put the pieces together.

Calm down. There’s no evidence of anything.

“Nothing,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, right,” I say, laughing. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” she says as we pull up to my house.

My jaw drops.

Tommy is standing in my driveway next to a sleek, shiny, pitch-black Chevelle.

“What the hell?” I exclaim.

Emily laughs in delight, and I step out of her car in a daze. Before I can turn back to her, she drives away, beeping her horn while waving good-bye. I’m too stunned to be mad at her for leaving me alone with Tommy.

I gape ahead as I walk up to the car. The windows are rolled down, and I poke my head inside. “Is this my car?”

Tommy hands me the keys, smiling. “My dad and I did some work on her. Well, with the help of his crew.”

I run my fingers across the new glossy paint. My old beater gleams back at me like she just rolled off the assembly line.

“Are you for real right now? You guys painted it?” I turn to him. “And my dad knew?”

He nods, looking quite proud of himself for pulling this off.

“Dang! He told me it was the carburetor or something. I can’t believe you were all in on this.”

“Oh, we did way more than paint it. We pretty much rebuilt the entire thing. Runs great now. She’s fast, so be careful. I can take you out the first couple of times until you get used to it.” He grins at me. “Do you like it?”

“She’s gorgeous,” I say. Tommy and I haven’t spoken in almost two weeks. The awkwardness of it all has me unsure of what to say next.

“You’ll look hot in this thing, babe. Not that you didn’t already.”

Babe?

My temper instantly flares, and I turn to him, crossing my arms. “So, what now? Did you think I would just come running back to you because you fixed up my car? I didn’t ask you to do this.”

He glances down, shuffling his feet. “No,” he says quietly.

Not the reaction I was expecting. Silence grows like a poisonous weed around us. When he looks back up at me, his face and neck are flushed.

“I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

I release my arms, letting out a sharp breath. “Thank you,” I say, trying to take the edge off my voice. “For the car. You didn’t have to do this.” I glance at my glistening Chevelle. “How much do I owe you?”

“What?” His eyes are tender, but he seems almost offended. “It’s a gift, Kay. No strings, I promise.”

And he goes for the kill.

“Wow . . . I don’t know what to say.” I can’t look at him. He’s still the reigning King of Guilt.

“Look,” he says. His voice breaks, demanding my attention. When I meet his watery eyes, I’m stunned. “I really do love you, Kaley. You’re not like the rest of the girls at school. I don’t want anybody else . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

His words are like a switchblade to my heart. I’ve never seen Tommy break down. Ever. A sharp pain pierces the back of my throat, and I strain to hold it together. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have, but I don’t want to lead him on either. I know it’s best if he just moves on.

“Tommy,” I begin. “I cannot believe you did all this for me,” I say, motioning to the car. “I can’t thank you enough. I care about you so much. . . . I always will, you know that. But the truth is . . . I’m not in love with you. And frankly, I don’t think you’re in love with me either.” I think about the way Elijah treats me, carrying my bags, his gentle touch, respecting my virtue—almost to a fault—and I add, “In fact, I’m positive that you’re not.”

“I am, though,” he says, his voice gruff. “I swear to God, I’m in love with you, Kay.” The muscles in his neck are stretched taut, and I know he’s holding back a real cry.

I keep my voice calm. “You think you are.” I can’t stand seeing him like this, but I have to do the right thing. I’m no angel either, and he wouldn’t be saying these things if he knew the truth. If the other man wasn’t my teacher, I’d confess right now. He deserves to move on. He deserves to be happy with someone else.

His shoulders sag as he slips both hands into his pockets. I take a step forward and wrap my arms around him, my own tears pricking my eyes. He encloses his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

We have a history together. Nothing can ever change that.

Nor do I want it to.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he whispers back.

I don’t know how long we hold each other, but long enough for a painful tingle to spread through my arms. I step back and wipe the stream of tears off my face. “Thank you for my car. It’s too much, though. I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, and I want you to at least know that I’m sorry. I really am.”

I look into his reddened-blue eyes. “I know you’re sorry, Tommy.” After his over-the-top gesture, I can only imagine what people will think of me when they find out I didn’t take him back. I sigh as my eyes slide over my slick new car. “But people are going to think I’m a total bitch.”

He shrugs. “Fuck ‘em,” he says. He gives me a half-smile, pulling a laugh out of me.

“That’s excellent advice.”

He gazes at me for a moment. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

Elijah’s handsome face flashes through my mind.

“Um,” I say, struggling to think of something. “Plans with my mom!” I burst out.

He tilts his head, scrutinizing me, then lets out an uneasy laugh. “Okay, then. Well, can you give me a lift? I sort of need a ride home.”

“Oh!” I say. “Sure, hop in.”

“Take the long way to my house. I want you to take her for a spin and make sure you’re good.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I can handle it, dude.”

He begins to tell me everything they did to my car, and the pangs of guilt start all over again as I slide into my newly restored Chevelle. I turn the ignition, and it roars to life, startling me.

Tommy laughs at my reaction. “Nice, right?”

I nod as I shift into reverse. I’ve never felt so undeserving in my entire life. When I tap on the gas, my car lurches backward, and I slam on the breaks.

“Shit,” I breathe.

“Told you,” Tommy says, gratified. He leans back in the seat and rests his arm on the window frame. “Just ease into it.”

I baby the gas pedal as I back out of the driveway and turn onto the street. The engine rumbles along while I get a feel for her, and it isn’t long before I’m hauling ass down a back road. My old Chevelle feels smoother, sturdier—like it won’t choke to death every time I press the gas pedal. But most of all, it feels powerful. I can see now why people talk the way they do about American muscle. This thing is still a beast—but in a good way now. I almost feel invincible.

I thank Tommy over and over. At least we’re talking again. The silent treatment between us has been awful, and I’m grateful to have him back in my life. It gives me hope that maybe one day we can be friends again.