I Wanna Be Where You Are Page 9

  “Not much,” I said, not moving from the doorway. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in his room, but I knew whenever that was, it didn’t smell like cigarettes. His walls used to be covered in posters of basketball players. Now they were bare.

  I stepped around a pile of T-shirts in the middle of the floor and sat on the edge of his bed. He placed his sketchbook on the pillow next to his head, and he stared at me, waiting.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Good. You?”

  “Fine.”

  It baffled me that I suddenly didn’t know how to talk to him. All I needed was to ask for a ride, and yet I sat there silently, like he was the one who came to see me instead of the other way around.

  “Did my mom tell you to come up here and talk to me?” he asked, looking suspicious.

  “No. I need to ask a favor.” I looked down at my hands. Just say it. Who cares if he thinks it’s stupid? “Will you give me a ride to the Homecoming dance tomorrow night? My mom has to work a night shift, and Reina has to be at the school by five, and I don’t want to be there for three hours until the dance starts, and I asked your mom but she has this singles thing, so—”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I paused. “Wait. Seriously?”

  “I have something to do earlier in the day, but I can swing it,” he said. “What time do you need a ride?”

  “Seven forty-five?”

  “No problem.” He leaned back on his elbows. “Do you need me to pick up your date, too?”

  “I don’t have a date.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  I froze. His lips curled into a smirk. Even as I realized he was teasing, I felt heat creep up my neck. “Shut up.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. Although he didn’t seem serious since he was laughing. “I don’t look like the Homecoming type?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I am. Can I be your date?”

  I stared at him. My heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest. “Are you being serious?”

  “Yeah. My mom will lay off if she thinks I’m doing normal high school stuff. Plus, you and I never hang out anymore. What color is your dress?”

  “Lavender,” I said, dumbfounded.

  He frowned. “I guess I’ll look good in lavender.”

  “You’re really going to come?”

  “Yeah.” He folded his arms behind his head and grinned. “Seven forty-five is kinda early, though. Nobody shows up to dances on time. You know that, right?”

  Of course he thought it was uncool to be on time. “I like to be early. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.” He laughed a little. “I’ll be ready by seven forty-five. I promise.”

  I left his house that night in a daze. I couldn’t believe he was really going to the dance with me, and that it was his idea. The next night at 7:40 p.m., I sat on my front porch and waited for him. Seven forty-five came and went, and he still hadn’t shown up. By 8:15, Reina texted, where r u? I told her I was running a little late and I’d be there soon. When I called Eli, it went straight to voicemail.

  By 8:30, he was still a no-show. Then, a little before 9:00 p.m., his Camaro barreled down our block and he pulled into his driveway. I stormed across the street, but froze when Isiah Brown hopped out of the driver’s seat. Eli stumbled out of the passenger’s side, and like a clown car, boy after boy climbed out of the back seat.

  Eli staggered up his porch steps, completely oblivious to me. Then Isiah turned in my direction to stomp out his cigarette. He wolf-whistled, and everyone else turned around, too. I would have been embarrassed if I weren’t so angry.

  Eli was the last to glance over his shoulder, and when he saw me standing there, fuming, he scrambled back down the porch steps.

  His words tumbled out over top of each other. “Chloe. Shit. I forgot. Fuck.”

  “Where were you?” My voice shook.

  “Nowhere. Just … around.” Now that he was closer, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I could see how red his eyes were.

  “Are you drunk?”

  He shook his head so harshly that he stumbled. “No. No, I’m not.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He shrugged, helpless. “Look, I can still take you. Just give me a sec.”

  He fumbled in his pockets for his car keys, forgetting that he hadn’t even been driving. Isiah tossed them over, but they slipped right through Eli’s fingers and landed in the grass. He fell as he bent over to pick them up. Isiah and everyone else laughed. Eli stood up and ran a hand over his face.

  “I don’t want you to take me,” I said. “I’ll walk.”

  What did he think? That I’d go with him in the ashy black T-shirt and jeans he was wearing? That I would go anywhere with him while he was drunk?

  I backed away, and he took a step forward, closing the gap.

  “Come on, Chloe. Are you really that mad? It’s just Homecoming. Who gives a shit if you miss it?”

  “I do.”

  “Homecoming?” Isiah said. “Eli, why didn’t you tell us you had to go to Homecoming? We didn’t have to keep your girlfriend waiting.”

  The rest of the boys laughed. Eli’s cheeks took on a red undertone as he mumbled, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  Half of me was upset that he was embarrassed they’d called me his girlfriend. The other half was upset because my night didn’t have to turn out this way. I could’ve been at the dance by now, but he’d insisted on coming with me, and he’d broken his promise. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get excited to hang out with him again.

  I felt the anger boil inside of me. The words rolled off of my tongue before I could stop them. “I don’t know why you bothered to ask to be my date,” I said. “Or why I agreed to let you come with me. I wouldn’t be able to stand spending an entire dance with you.”

  Isiah and the other boys kept laughing. Eli stared, wide-eyed.

  “You’re the worst,” I continued. “Don’t bother talking to me ever again.”

  Eli opened his mouth. He closed it. He had nothing to say. When I turned around and began walking toward school, he didn’t try to stop me.

  I didn’t make it too far before my feet began to feel like they were on fire. The zigzag straps on the heels pinched my toes, and I felt blisters forming on the balls of my feet. I was so blinded by anger and the ridiculous pain that I didn’t even realize I’d come up on the busy intersection near school. When the light turned red, I did one quick glance in both directions and stormed across the street. When I was halfway to the other side, a car sped toward me. My heart pounded in my chest as I sprinted the rest of the way. And because five-inch heels aren’t meant for running, I tripped over the curb, and my ankle cracked as I fell.

  Then I felt the worst pain ever.

  The car that almost hit me pulled over to the side of the road, and a pizza delivery guy hopped out to ask if I was okay. He tried to explain that he was rushing to deliver a pizza on time, and that he couldn’t see me until he got closer. He didn’t even have his headlights turned on. Later, I’d be furious that he almost ran me over just so he could deliver some pizza, but in the moment, I could only yell about my ankle and ask him to take me to the hospital where Mom worked. She met me in the lobby, completely frantic. She shouted at me, wanting to know what happened, why I wasn’t at the dance, and why the heck a pizza delivery guy dropped me off, but I could barely answer her. My ankle was bent at a scary angle and it was so red and swollen it looked like there was an egg growing inside of it.

  The pain was getting worse, but I didn’t freak out yet. Not until I got an X-ray and heard the word fractured. Then I realized how bad it was. I wouldn’t be able to dance. And then I couldn’t stop crying. My thoughts turned back to Eli. This was all his fault.

  What’s worse is that he didn’t even care enough to apologize afterward. Not when I came home in a cast. Not after I had my surgery a week later, and not when
he saw me in school, hobbling around on crutches. He didn’t say a word to me at all. I found the picture he drew of me and ripped it into shreds.

  Saturday was the first time he’d spoken to me since Homecoming. We just spent two and a half days on the road together, and he still hasn’t apologized. Maybe he never will.

  Chapter 13

  The Radcliffe Hotel

  I can still hear Eli calling my name as I maneuver my way through the thick D.C. tourist crowd and make it to the center. There’s a group of boys who are dancing. One boy is popping and locking and moving his body in ways that I never could. Two boys are doing flips and tricks off of each other’s backs, and the fourth boy walks around with a hat, smiling as people drop money into it. Then three of the boys line up and crouch down. The pop-and-locker takes a running start, jumps over the first two and steps on the third boy’s back to launch himself into a somersault. He lands in a half split, and the crowd erupts into applause. They can’t be older than twelve or thirteen. I envy the way they look so comfortable moving their bodies. I haven’t felt that way in so long.

  The boy with the money hat opens his arms wide. “We’d like for some of you lovely people to join our show and try some tricks. Any volunteers?”

  Hands shoot up in the air, mostly from little kids. Each boy goes out into the crowd to grab a volunteer. They mostly pick the kids and eager tourists who don’t speak English. The popping-and-locking boy seems to be more selective. I stare at the picture of Biggie on his T-shirt until he gets closer and closer. Until he’s standing right in front of me, holding out his hand.

  “Would you like to join our show, miss?” he says.

  Oh no. This is exactly what I get for standing up front.

  “No, thank you,” I say politely, backing up and stepping on someone’s foot in the process.

  “Aww, come on, don’t be shy.” He continues to hold out his hand.

  The people to my right and left start encouraging me to join him. I really wish this boy would move on to someone else, but he stands there smiling at me. I could just flat-out say no, but I don’t want to be mean.

  There’s no way I’m doing this. People get hurt all the time when they least expect it. Look at what happened to me and my ankle. Or, worst-case scenario, people die when they least expect it. Look at what happened to my dad. I’m not saying I’m going to die while attempting a break-dancing trick, but you never know.

  God, I sound like Mom.

  Either way, I need to get out of here.

  “Actually, I have to go,” I say.

  The boy blinks. “What?”

  Feeling bad, I add, “You guys are so great, though.”

  I push my way through the crowd. Once I reach the perimeter, I run right into Eli and Geezer.

  “Well, look who it is,” Eli says, raising an eyebrow.

  I start to push past him, but he grabs my elbow.

  “Wait,” he says, “before you run away again, I need your help getting our hotel room.”

  I shake my arm loose. “What do you mean, you need my help?”

  * * *

  “Okay, boy, promise not to make any sounds, all right?” Eli whispers to Geezer as he places him into his empty duffel bag and zips it closed.

  We’re doing something really stupid: sneaking Geezer into the Radcliffe, a luxury hotel with a strict no-pets policy. We’re lucky that Geezer is small enough to fit inside Eli’s duffel bag, otherwise this plan would not fly.

  “This is a very, very bad idea,” I say as we walk through the hotel lobby doors.

  I pause, completely stunned at the high ceilings and chandeliers. The white floors sparkle, and the few antique chairs and couches look like they cost more than all the furniture in my house. Eli doesn’t miss a beat. He keeps strolling toward the front desk with the duffel bag holding Geezer slung over his shoulder. I panic when the bag starts to move. Quickly, I catch up to them so no one will see Geezer fidgeting.

  A man with a thick mustache mans the front desk. After he’s done helping the woman in front of us, he raises his eyebrow slightly as we approach him.

  “Good evening,” he says. “Welcome to the Radcliffe. My name is Brian. How may I assist you?”

  “We’d like a room for the night,” Eli says, all confidence. “Two double beds, please.”

  Brian looks at his computer and makes a tsk sound. “I’m afraid all we have left are deluxe rooms with king-size beds.”

  He tells us the price and appraises us. I can tell from his expression that he doesn’t think we can afford it.

  “That’s fine,” Eli says, handing over his credit card.

  Brian holds the card and squints at it. He looks up at Eli and raises an eyebrow. “Do you have identification?”

  Eli frowns as he takes his license out of his wallet and hands that over, too. Maybe he thinks Eli isn’t old enough to book a room. He looks eighteen to me.

  Brian stares at both cards for a long time. Long enough for it to look like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle instead of checking to see if the names match.

  “Is there a problem?” Eli asks.

  “No, sir. It’s simply company policy to ask for ID when guests use credit cards.”

  “You didn’t do that to the woman who was in front of us,” Eli says. “You don’t think that’s my card?”

  Brian clears his throat. “Sir, I would never make that claim.”

  “Well, that’s how you’re acting.”

  I start to tell Eli that we should just leave and find another hotel, but then Geezer starts whining. I pretend to have a coughing fit so that no one will hear him. I bend over and act as if I’m hacking up my lungs like an old smoker.

  “Goodness, ma’am, are you all right?” Brian says, looking alarmed.

  Eli pats my back. “She’s fine. Just getting over a bad cold is all.”

  As soon as Geezer stops whining, I stop coughing. My throat feels raw and sore.

  “So, we’ll take the deluxe king room,” Eli says to Brian firmly, like he’s waiting for a challenge.

  Brian finally swipes Eli’s credit card and hands us our keycards. We rush toward the elevator, and the second the doors close, I partially unzip the top of the duffel bag so Geezer can poke out his head. The first thing he does is lick my cheek.

  “That guy was a dick,” Eli says. Then he turns to me and smiles. “But this was a brilliant plan, was it not?”

  I stare straight ahead and ignore him. If it’s not an apology coming out of his mouth, I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.

  Chapter 14

  The Nobleman

  Once we’re in the room, Eli unzips his duffel bag all the way and Geezer jumps out. When Eli tries to pet him, he shifts away, clearly upset that he was put in the bag in the first place.

  I walk around the room, touching the champagne-colored curtains and the gigantic television. If we break anything in here, it will probably take our life savings to pay it back. I kick off my sneakers and start to walk toward the bed, and that’s when it hits me: Eli and I will both have to sleep here. This is nothing like the times we napped on the same couch when we were younger. We’re practically adults. Actually, Eli is an adult. He’s eighteen, and he smokes cigarettes. And I can’t stand him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. He’s looking at me funny.

  I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of the room, staring at the bed. I must look like a weirdo.

  “Nothing.” I grab my bag and fish out my pajamas. Without saying anything else, I walk away to shower and change.

  After I brush my teeth and wrap my hair, I walk out of the bathroom and Eli passes me on his way to shower. He looks at my bonnet and grins. I can tell he’s about to make a joke, so I hold up my hand before he can speak. “Be quiet,” I say.

  His grin widens. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  I ignore him as I walk to the bed and sit up by the pillows.

  When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s
changed into a new pair of basketball shorts and a fresh T-shirt. I still think his bald spot looks funny, but I don’t say anything. He sits pretzel-style at the edge of the bed and starts flicking through television channels. Even from behind, his profile is striking. How annoying.

  When Geezer shuffles over and lays his big head against my thigh, I focus all my attention on scratching his head and pretending that Eli isn’t here, but I can feel the moment he turns around to glance at me.

  “You know what,” he says suddenly, “this bed feels pretty bouncy. I bet these springs don’t even make a sound.”

  In one fluid motion, he hops up and bounces lightly, making Geezer and me wobble.

  “You’re going to break the bed,” I warn.

  “I don’t weigh nearly enough to break the bed.” He bounces again, higher this time, and then keeps bouncing at a steady rhythm.

  Geezer grumbles and leaps off of the bed, annoyed. Every time Eli lands, he makes me bounce a little, too. He’s too tall to be doing this. He could knock his head into the ceiling. Now that would be funny.

  “Come on,” he says eagerly, holding out a hand for me.

  I shake my head. “Will you sit down?”

  “Not until you try it, too.” His hand is still extended. He wiggles his fingers and smiles.

  “No.”

  He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  The bed is so huge that he begins bouncing around me in circles.

  “Watch this,” he says. He falls onto his back and bounces right up onto his feet in seconds. “True athleticism.”

  I want to wipe the smug smile off of his face. “I can do better than that.”

  “I doubt it,” he says.

  This is what makes me get up. I go to the corner of the bed and tell Eli to move out of the way. I do a little chassé and I leap into a pas de ciseaux. It’s nicknamed the scissor kick, because my legs slice past each other before I land.

  Eli stops bouncing and looks at me in awe. “How the hell did you do that?”

  I shrug. “True athleticism.”

  “I can do that, too.” With a determined look on his face, he jumps in the air, but his legs never scissor. They do a weird flailing swipe. He doesn’t look graceful at all. Miss Dana would scold him out of her studio.