Rory stood over him, legs akimbo, fists clenched. “She. Said. Stop,” he spat out. He was the smaller of the two men. Jake was taller and heavier, but Rory was fighting mad. I’d never seen him so angry. He grabbed Jake by the collar of his dress shirt and punched him in the nose. Hard. His eyes flashed and his fist balled, ready to hit Jake again. A crowd was gathering on the other side of the windows, heads poking out the open sliding door, watching the showdown between the school’s star quarterback and the star soccer player. And me standing there shaking, wanting to sink through the floor.
“You don’t touch her, you hear me?” Rory said through gritted teeth. “You don’t ever touch her again.”
Jake swore loudly. “Get away from me. Get out of my house, man.” His nose was spurting blood. Some speckled his dress shirt. I could see the pinpoint blotches. I was trembling all over, the crushed Solo cup in my hand, vodka soaking the front of my dress. Everything felt surreal.
“Lolly, are you okay?” Rory cut his eyes to me. He was panting.Everything in him was on high alert, every muscle coiled. He was practically vibrating with anger.
I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. I had never felt so humiliated.
“Good.” He released Jake’s collar abruptly, and Jake fell backward on the deck, curled up in a fetal position, still holding his groin as blood dripped slowly down his chin. “Let’s get out of here.” Rory held his hand out to me. I took it.
Through the window I saw Jessica watching us, her mouth a thin line of displeasure. I’d wager she was going to have choice words for Rory later. He pulled me close to him and slung his arm around my shoulders, pressing me against his side, all lean muscle beneath the jersey. He shielded me as he guided me through the sliding-glass door. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
In the living room the music was still pulsing, and the room was buzzing with speculation. By now everyone had congregated near the windows, and they parted for us as we came through. I kept my head down, cheeks burning with shame. Rory paused just long enough to whisper something in Jessica’s ear and give her a quick peck on the cheek. She did not look pleased.
Rory kept his arm around my shoulders until we were at his Subaru. He opened the door for me and silently handed me his worn navy Columbia fleece, the one he kept in the car for hiking. It was fuzzy and smelled comfortingly of him. I pulled it on gratefully, then shut my eyes as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
“Lolly, are you really okay?” he asked as we turned out onto the road, his tone concerned and protective.
I nodded. “I think so.” Then, “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” It came out hoarse. I was both mortified and incredibly relieved.
He glanced at me then with a flicker of something like admiration. “It looked like you were handling the situation pretty well yourself,” he said lightly. “You’ve got quite a knee on you. He’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“Good.” I blushed, crossing my arms defiantly. “Serves him right.”
I didn’t say anything more—about my horrible first kiss, or about the Solo cup of vodka, or about overhearing him and Jessica talking about me, or about Jake revealing that Rory had told all the guys I was off-limits. I was tired and overwhelmed and welcomed the silence that fell between us as he drove me back home. We pulled up in front of the house. The lights were still on in the living room. Chances were good Mom was in bed by now and Dad had probably fallen asleep watching a baseball game. If Dad woke I could say I’d come home because I wasn’t feeling good, which was not a lie. The vodka was sloshing acidly in my stomach. I gathered my discarded jeans and sweatshirt from the floor by my feet.
Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but something made me reckless. I had nothing to lose. Rory didn’t care for me that way—he’d made that abundantly clear to Jessica—but I wanted him to know the truth before he left. I turned to Rory, just before I got out of the car, my hand on the door handle. “You know, it’s funny,” I confessed suddenly, meeting his eyes, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I always thought my first kiss would be with you.”
In the filtered golden light from the streetlamp overhead I couldn’t read his expression. He went very still and didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he reached out and gently brushed his thumb across my lips. The calloused pad caught on my lower lip and pressed there for a second. I froze, heart pounding.
“I always thought so too,” he said softly. Our eyes met, and I saw confusion in his gaze and something I couldn’t quite name. It looked a little like longing and a lot like regret. Then he pulled his hand back and the moment was broken. I let myself out of the car and stumbled up the steps. He was still watching me, just a Rory-shaped shadow in the driver’s seat of his car. He didn’t drive across the street until I’d pulled on my sweatshirt and jeans over my vodka-soaked dress andopened the front door. Once inside I turned to watch his taillights wink out in the driveway of his house. I touched my fingers to my mouth, wishing he had been the one to kiss me, wishing I’d never gone to that stupid party at all, wishing once more, for the thousandth time, that I wasn’t so desperately, heartbreakingly in love with Rory Shaw.
17
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
AUGUST
After the nightof the party, I didn’t hear from Rory all summer. We usually texted each other once or twice a week, sharing a funny anecdote from the diner or a bit of school news, but now there was only silence between us. I didn’t know what Rory was thinking, and I was too self-conscious to reach out to him. However, when I thought of the warmth in his eyes, the way the pad of his thumb had traced across my lower lip, I felt a mixture of confusion and hope. Then, in late August, just before the start of my senior year, I found out Rory was back.
“Nancy says Rory’s coming home from California tonight,” Mom called as I swung through the kitchen door of the diner, arms laden with dessert plates. Rory had left the day after the party to staff the soccer camp in California. Throughout the summer I’d heard tidbits from Mom, that Rory was enjoying coaching fifth graders at camp, that he’d be home for a week before going out early to Michigan to get settled. That Nancy would be accompanying him. Jessica was not going with him, Mom told me. I was relieved to hear it.
“You should invite him here for supper. Our treat. Everyone wantsto see him,” Mom badgered good-naturedly when I came back into the kitchen to grab the coffeepots.
“Mom, Rory doesn’t want to hang out where he used to work. I’m sure he’s got better things to do.”
Mom shrugged. “A free meal is a free meal. Besides, we’re like family. Ask him.”
I promised I would. Secretly I was thrilled and nervous that he was coming back. What would it be like to see him again? I was glad I’d said what I did in the car. It was true, and I didn’t want him to leave for college clueless as to how I felt. But I had no idea what he’d thought of it, and he was still with Jessica.
The week passed quickly. I caught only glimpses of Rory from across the street. Jessica was often by his side. I felt a keen disappointment, but then what had I expected? He was making his feelings clear. Apparently, he really did view me as just a friend or little sister. I did text him, delivering my mom’s promise of a free dinner if he stopped by, but I didn’t hold out much hope.
The day before he left for college, however, Rory dropped by the diner without Jessica. My mom fussed over him, bringing him a huge plate of meatballs and roasted potatoes. All the staff came out to slap him on the back and catch up, talking about the summer and his future plans. I kept out of the way, busying myself with other chores. Only once did he glance my way, his eyes snagging on mine. He broke the glance, looking away. But I’d seen something in his eyes, an intensity that thrilled me. I didn’t know what it meant, but I had an inkling it was something good.
Later that night I saw the light go on in his room across the street as I lay in bed with the shade up, keeping an eye out for him. Tomorrow that light would be out, his bedroom window dark. He would be far away in Michigan, starting a new college life. It was a lonely thought. I was just drifting off to sleep when something tapped against the glassof my bedroom window. I slipped out of bed and looked out. Rory was standing on the front lawn, arm notched back as he prepared to toss another pebble at my window. I lifted the sash and stuck my head out, heart pounding.
“Hey.” He grinned. He was wearing a brand-new Michigan State sweatshirt. His parents had embraced school spirit in a big way andallof them had matching sweatshirts. “Want to go down to South Beach?” he asked in a loud stage whisper.
