Chapter Twelve

                                    

                                          
Been a while, hasn't it? ;)
                          
"Cecelia?"
                          
Turning awkwardly to the side so I could face her, I watched her cover her face with her hands. I was never good at comforting people, and this was no exception. The sniffling sounds of crying were mostly masked by the pulsating music emanating from the house. I could still hear the deep bass and pop music, and the sound of people who had been drinking. Way too much. Thinking of the party made me think of Jarrod and the look on his face when he saw me with Lucas. Why would he care if I was there? Was it the fact that I went to Matt's party? The same Matt who gives him so much shit at school? I felt an inexplicable need to explain myself to him – tell him what happened – so he doesn't misunderstand, and I wasn't sure why.
                          
"If you mention this to anybody, I'll ruin your life, okay? I swear to god."
                          
I looked at Cecelia, her quiet voice loud in the car. Her face was wet, her carefully applied make-up running rivulets down her face. She didn't look at me as she reached over to my side of the car to grab a pink tissue box. I considered saying something along the lines of my usual brand of snarky: 'My life's already crap, so go right ahead!' but decided against it.
                          
"I won't, Cecelia," I murmured, with no hint of sarcasm.
                          
She froze, clearly thrown off guard by my lack of animosity. I assumed that I had been correct in thinking that Cecelia was in trouble, and I burned to ask her more about what happened, but her face was hard.
                          
"God, this party is getting fucking old. Let's get outta' here," Cecelia said, sounding more like her normal bitchy self. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she pulled out of Matt's driveway and onto the main road.
                          
We arrived home just before 2am, and both of us knew how to creep into the house making as little sound as possible. I could taste lipstick in my mouth, and there was sweat layering where Cecelia's little dress clung to me. Gross, I thought, as I climbed up the stairs. I was looking forward to a warm bath and my Goo Goo Dolls playlist, but before I could kick off the painful heels I was wearing, I felt Cecelia behind me, her silence more unfamiliar to me than her insults.
                          
"Lianne?"
                          
I turned around, and she walked into my room, lingering in the doorway. I guessed my make-up looked nowhere as gross as hers.
                          
"I just wanted to say, um, thank you, for um, you know.. You're still an evil bitch, but you're not all bad," she muttered, like it was the nicest thing she had ever said in her life to me. Which hey, it was.
                          
With a toss of her golden hair, she left the room, but not without adding, "I want my dress back tomorrow, and god fix your face."
                          
I couldn't help myself. I laughed.
                          
                                                                                    ---------------------------
                          
Monday was a drearily dreary day. It was dark and overcast, and I was not ready to face high school. Peter dropped us off at the usual spot and Cecelia popped out, a sneer on her face, though for once, it wasn't directed at me. She kept her word in exchange for me going to the party with her and hadn't insulted me since that night. If James was surprised by our sudden cordiality, he didn't show it.
                          
I got to calculus class in record time just before Mr Gregory walked in, sporting a plaid suit and his shabby briefcase. I glanced nonchalantly around the room, though my heart was pounding. Jarrod was in his seat on the opposite side of the room. His hair was ruffled and messy, and I wondered if it was because of his bicycle helmet. The dark blue polo shirt he was wearing wrapped snugly around his torso, and he had a light frown on his face. His eyes, however, refused to meet mine. In fact, they were so sharply focused on the book in front of him I was curious to see what he was looking at. I tried to catch his eye one last time, and his jaw clenched, emphasising his already defined jawline. I blinked. Had I imagined that?
                          
I turned back and found Cres with her eyes on me, a mischievous twinkle behind her huge glasses. I rolled my eyes.
                          
Class was a monotonous ordeal filled with differentials and pronumerals, things that I was slowly beginning to understand due to Jarrod's help.
                          
Jarrod.
                          
He was up and out of his chair as soon as the bell rang, swinging his guitar over his shoulder with one hand.
                          
"Cres, I'll see you at lunch!" I said hurriedly, and she barely had a chance to respond before I was out the door too. I could see Jarrod's brown hair in the crowd in front of me as easily as my favourite Joplin record among the rest of my mess at the hangout. People were already practicing for the Stevenson Music Competition, and I noticed that most of the music rooms were occupied with competition hopefuls – thinking that their songs would be more powerful or more beautiful than Jarrod's. As if.
                          
I caught up to him as he was pushing open the door to the courtyard.
                          
"I've realised my cardio isn't as good as it was before," I began, feigning being out of breath. He didn't even turn around.
                          
"Hey, Jarrod. Jarrod! Wait!"
                          
He stopped in his tracks, the sunlight shining directly on him, and I marvelled at how it enhanced his already striking features. I waited as he turned to face me, and what felt like an eternity later, his eyes landed on my face. Several emotions seemed to flash in their depths – anger, confusion and something else. It was gone as quickly as it came. His gaze settled on me, and it was the indifferent stare he had on his face the day we met. When we were complete strangers. Before he opened up and told me about his dad, and we bonded over our shared pain. Don't you remember? I wanted to scream.
                          
"What do you want, Lianne?"
                          
Usually the sound of him saying my name sent tingles down my spine. Today, it felt cold and distant. I flinched.
                          
"Um, so are we meeting after school today?" I asked after a beat of silence, and I cursed myself for not thinking up something better to say. Anything better.
                          
"I'm busy," he said flatly, and before he turned to leave again in his favourite abrupt way, I grabbed his arm. He stiffened, but didn't move any further.
                          
"Jarrod, can we talk? I can explain about Matt's party..." I trailed off, not knowing where to begin.
                          
"You stood there watching, Lianne. When Matt and his asshole friends... You fit in with them, you know?" he spoke quietly, but I could detect underlying sadness in his tone.
                          
"I went to the party for Cecelia, Jarrod. And you have no idea what Matt tried to do to Cecelia. Don't you dare compare me to them – I am nothing like them!"
                          
Jarrod gazed down at me with an unreadable expression on his face, and suddenly, I realised that we were standing close to each other, closer than we had ever been, and I felt angry that he said that about me and how much he misunderstood the situation... but I also felt like I couldn't breathe, my heart pounding so hard, I could hear it, and I could feel my face flushing.
                          
The courtyard emptied as students left for their next classes, until it was just Jarrod and I, standing in a small alcove, in our own little world.
                          
I swallowed, trying to remember what I was saying as I looked up at him, so close I could see a spot where he cut himself shaving. He smelt like sandalwood and soap, and it was driving me crazy. I'd be lucky if I remembered my name in two minutes. Jarrod cleared his throat, not moving away from me, and his face lost some of the hard edges. His hair dropped into his eyes and I found myself wanting to brush it back.
                          
We both jumped as the bell rang. Our moment broken, he stepped back. Pausing for a moment like he was about to say something, he strode off across the yard.
                          
I let go of a breath I didn't even know I was holding and slumped against the wall. Holy fuck.