Equilibrium Read online

Cam came up behind Heather and swung the cooler into her butt. “Quit it,” Heather said. Cam set the cooler down and pretended to sulk.

  Nick ran past Darcy and hurled himself sideways onto the hammock, pitching it back and forth.

  “There’s room for two. Come to Daddy.” Nick held out his arms to Darcy, as if she were a toddler needing direction.

  “Shut up, Nick.” Heather crossed her arms against the image Darcy couldn’t block out, no matter how hard she tried.

  The backyard hammock at home had been their special place for years. Even when Daddy was too down to manage anything else, they’d swing for hours. Sometimes he’d ask her to memorize poems and recite verse back to him. Darcy found out the hard way that some poems served as a foreshadowing of events to come. She should’ve understood the cautionary tale when he’d asked her not to tell her mother about their secret Shakespeare sonnet.

  No longer mourn for me when I am dead

  Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

  Give warning to the world that I am fled

  Darcy snatched up the cooler and ran down the trail to the beach. She squeezed through the overgrown bushes and climbed up the slippery rock path to her favorite perfectly flat boulder. Snow covered the lake, and she blinked against the reflected light till her sight adjusted. She sat, drew up her legs, hugged her knees. Her throat burned, dry as a bone, and she gulped at the beer.

  “What the fuck, Darcy? You’re pissing Nick off, you know.” Cam came up the path alone, sent as a messenger. He plunked down on the rock and stretched out his legs.

  She knew what to do with a messenger. “I was just wondering. Could you possibly use less creative language?” Even she sometimes cursed, but only for shock value. “Sure fuck could be construed as colorful language. But swearing is generally used as a defense mechanism, a lazy man’s way to communicate,” she said, repeating her father’s warning word for word.

  “You used to be nice, Darcy.” He spoke through a swallow of beer, wiped dribble off his chin with the back of his hand.

  Evidently, she’d disappointed him by changing into someone he had trouble recognizing. She didn’t even recognize herself lately, so she kept experimenting.

  Cam frowned. He swung the heel of his sneaker into a patch of ice, breaking off chunks. His outrageously long eyelashes curled up to meet the mane of thick curls drooping over his forehead. When they were both eight, he’d begged her to trim his feminine lashes for him, and she’d slipped. Instead of telling, Cam had covered for her. Told his mother he’d fallen against a fence picket during a game of tag. A flesh-toned scar still cut across his brow bone.

  “Sorry.” Darcy rubbed Cam’s shoulder, trying to erase the verbal jabs she’d given him.

  “Heather thinks Nick’s going to ask you to the prom.”

  It was Darcy’s turn to sputter on her beer. Last week, she’d mentioned wanting to go to the junior prom to Nick as a joke he’d apparently taken seriously. Something ridiculous like a bunch of teenage girls dressing up like fairy princesses might prove a worthy distraction. For the boys, the evening suggested a promise not evident in any fairy tale she’d ever read. No happy ever after, just happy for about fifteen minutes. Or so she’d heard. Despite rumors to the contrary, she was still holding on to her virginity, wearing it like a hoodie she could unzip for optimal impact when she was ready.

  “Am I supposed to tell you my answer before he even asks me? Take away all the suspense? What would be the fun in that?”

  Cam shoved her with the heel of his hand. “Quit it, Darcy. You’re such a pain in the ass.”

  “Umm.” She totally agreed with him. Even she had trouble swallowing how nasty she could get, how far she’d go to produce interesting reactions. Sometimes, she’d get really quiet inside, and her mind would slow down to listen to words she could hardly believe she was saying. Like the way she spoke to her mother this morning about going to Daddy’s grave.

  From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.

  Cam flipped his sweatshirt’s hood over his head. For warmth, he tucked his right hand into the sweatshirt’s left sleeve, his left hand into the right, a ritual he’d practiced since preschool. What would she do without her quirky Cam?

  Cam glanced over at her, responding to her unbending stare, the close scrutiny of his every move. He shook his head, stood up, and guzzled down the rest of his beer.

  She should really be nicer to Cam, instead of treating him like her brother. Cam refused to discuss her father, even though Cam’s father had been the first person her mother had called after finding Daddy’s body. She wondered what exactly her mom had said to Mr. Mathers. Something like, Uh, Tom, I think I found one of your guns. Then Mr. Mathers must’ve told Cam’s mom, energizing the story of her father’s last drama through the small town, leaving no one untouched. Each person took the story way too personally, like Cam, or not nearly personally enough.

  Heather and Nick crunched up the path, walking in perfect unison—right leg, left leg, arms swinging in agreement. Heather had told him. Everything. Why else would he be looking at her like that? Meeting her gaze, then staring at his feet, as if his shoes would tell him what to do next. Stay or flee.

  Darcy pulled her legs up under her, took a sip of beer, and stared out at the lake. Nature never shied away from you. Last week, she’d stood in the yard, catching snowflakes on her tongue. Another six weeks, and spring would come. Then white dandelions would pop up across yards all over town. Then little girls would close their eyes, blow on the fluff, and pray they’d remain their daddies’ sweethearts forever. Then her daddy would be gone for a whole year.

  Nick sat down right beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and took a beer. He held the can between his knees, depressed the tab, and hooked an arm around her shoulder. She didn’t mean to shudder from his touch.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  She tried to gauge his level of pity, how repulsed he might be by the story of her life. His eyes didn’t give him away. Nick had moved to Greenboro a few weeks ago, and nobody had clued him in to one of the town’s most notorious former citizens—writer in residence and crazy person in residence Jack Klein. Well, good. The story must’ve finally died down and been replaced by more recent gossip. Come to think of it, Nick was the most recent gossip.

  The notion of their going out together suddenly made perfect sense.

  “I like your earring.” She slid her finger over the thin gold hoop straddling his left lobe, then dropped her hand when Nick didn’t look away.

  “Want it?” He fussed at his lobe and offered the earring to her. “I have others.” He pushed back her hair to reveal the diamond studs she always wore, a gift from her dad.

  On reflex, Darcy covered her earrings.

  “Okay.” Nick heaved a sigh and snapped the hoop back on his earlobe. “I don’t have a dad, either, you know.”

  “Is he dead?” It was a disgusting thought, but the very possibility of someone finally understanding actually excited her.

  “No, not dead. Just divorced. I only wish he were dead.”

  “Why?” She’d given up wishing years ago in favor of bargaining with God, telling Him she’d be good, do more chores, if only Daddy would get better. But she’d never wished him dead. He’d done enough of that himself.

  “It’d be easier. I like things easy. That’s what my mom says.”

  Didn’t sound exactly like a compliment to Darcy, but Nick seemed to think so, judging by the way he was smiling at her. Heather and Cam sat at the boulder’s edge, dangling their legs. A few feet away, they were in their own world. Good for Cam. He’d had a crush on Heather forever. Heather never seemed to notice how Cam trotted by her side, like a lovesick puppy. Darcy even thought they looked good together—Heather’s stick-straight blond hair working to balance out Cam’s thicket of dark curls. Whenever Darcy tried bringing up the subject of any boy lately, not just Cam, Heather would change the topic. As if fussing over tr
ouble with hair and acne were more amusing than boys. Nothing was more amusing than boys. Darcy placed her hand on Nick’s pocket and gave him a moment to consider what she might be after.

  “Oh, princess wants some weed.”

  “I’m not a princess.” In all the Disney movies, the heroines were either orphans or came from single-parent households. Hey, maybe she was a princess. And he was Prince Charming, sliding a baggie of marijuana from his low-slung jeans and sprinkling the dried leaves into a tidy row on a rolling paper.

  He licked the end of the paper with practiced precision, then handed her a nice thick joint along with his lighter.

  She concentrated on the glow of flame, slurping it up through the crisp paper until the end lit scarlet on its own. She held the smoke and imagined it billowing across her brain. Her fingers ached for it while Nick took his turn.

  “You like it? Grew it myself in Nashua.” Nick inhaled deeply. “Just popped a heater in my grandmother’s greenhouse, started up a new crop here,” he said in a strained voice, without releasing any telling smoke. “She hasn’t used it since my mom and I moved in. I thought, why not get a head start on the growing season? Make a few bucks while I’m at it.” So that part of the Nick rumor was actually true.

  The sweet weed lured Cam and Heather. Heather plunked down beside her, cross-legged, not allowing for any space between them. What was wrong with Heather lately? Couldn’t she see how much Cam liked her? He’d seen her red-nosed from colds, freaking out over grades, and beyond comforting when her dog had died. Yet, amazingly, he still liked her.

  Darcy could never show a boyfriend how sad her father made her, way worse than a red nose and freaking out. Way beyond comforting. She couldn’t think of Daddy anymore without remembering how he’d died.

  Nay, if you read this line, remember not

  The hand that writ it; for I love you so.

  Darcy passed the joint to Heather and found a new expression clouding her friend’s features, equal parts concern and eagerness. Nick set up a second jay, twisted the end, and passed it to Cam. “Don’t drool on it, buddy. Okay?”

  Nick didn’t have to worry about Cam slobbering all over the joint. Mess didn’t coexist with Cam’s neatness addiction or his neurotic organizing. He tore through more pads of paper than her mother with his perpetual list making. Probably, he’d made sure he got through all of his homework in study hall so he could scratch it off and arrive at number two on the list: getting stoned.

  Nick stood and stretched, crossing his arms behind his head. His open jacket and T-shirt rose, revealing the kind of six-pack you only saw in movies. The kind she and Heather watched late at night after Mom was asleep. Darcy would stare straight at the screen with what must’ve been a goofy grin on her face and shift in her seat, like she was doing now.

  “Want to go for a walk?” Nick took her hand, and she sprang to her feet.

  Cam waved them on, like when her father had sent her off on her first date. Have her back by eight, young man. She could still hear Daddy camping it up.

  Holding hands didn’t mean anything, but by the time they’d walked to the end of the beach, Nick’s pulse was heating her palm, and her hand was sweating. The snow on the lake glimmered, perfect and white, unlike the graying slush in town. She thought she’d noticed the thermometer outside chemistry edging above freezing, maybe even hitting forty. But that had been midday, when the sun hit dead-on. That had been when Nick wasn’t watching her.

  She dropped Nick’s hand and stepped past the shore’s edge, crunching through the untouched snow. The bottoms of her sneakers slid against the ice, and her heart pulsed in her ears. She ignored the cramps in her feet, how her toes ached with cold.

  Nick followed her lead and stepped onto the lake. He paused for a beat as if considering his next move, and then picked her up and spun her through a panoramic view of the lake, the pine trees, the shore. She steadied herself against his chest, realizing the effect his homegrown pot was having on her for the first time. The way it gentled her down so she could see things more clearly. The curved line her sneakers sketched into the snow.

  “Darcy,” Nick said. His eyelids lowered; his gaze trained on her mouth, and she licked her lips.

  Nick edged his whole body closer, adjusting his legs into a wide-legged stance so he wouldn’t be too tall for her. She tilted her chin. His lips curled into a grin before they touched hers, tentative at first. He pressed harder, and she closed her eyes. Sunlight darted across her eyelids, and standing still, she was sailing across the lake.

  Flavors slid off Nick’s tongue like layers of a parfait. She expected the slightly bitter beer, the savory pot, but the last layer came as a surprise: a sweet cinnamon candy. She swallowed. A low growl rose in Nick’s throat and vibrated into her mouth like a warning signal of going too far. With the heels of her hands, she pushed him away.

  “Wow. You’re a great kisser. Except for the part where you stopped.” Nick’s face had that soft sleepy look, as if he wasn’t sure they’d really stopped kissing.

  Darcy slipped from his arms and trudged farther across the lake. Petal-soft snow slid beneath her sneakers. She couldn’t feel her toes, but the rest of her burned with Nick’s kiss.

  “Hey, what’re you doing?” Nick asked.

  “Snow angel.” She lowered herself to the ice, lay on her back against the snow. She ignored how the sudden shift in temperature weakened her entire body and fanned her arms and legs. Clouds painted milky swirls across the too-blue sky.

  Nick’s face smiled down at her. “What the hell.” He lay beside her, fanned his arms and legs, and then scrambled to his feet. When she started to get up, Nick swept her legs out from under her and cradled her knees over one strong arm. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he ran, carrying her across the ice against his shivering chest.

  At the shore, he lowered her onto the ground with more care than she’d expected from him. Her whole face throbbed from laughing. His blue lips leaning in for a frosty kiss didn’t slow the giggles. Not even when he found himself making out with her teeth. Now Nick was laughing, too.

  “I was gonna ask you something, but I can’t remember what it was. I need another kiss.”

  She cupped his pink cheeks and pressed her lips to his cold mouth.

  “Okay,” he said. “I remember. Would you—you’re going to think it’s stupid.”

  She couldn’t quite believe his sudden shyness, how innocent he looked soaking wet and shivering. His wet hair made him even more striking. Drops of water glistened at the ends of his dark-blond lashes. She touched his jawline, and a fake tear slid down his cheek. “I’m listening.”

  “Would you go to the prom with me?”

  She took her time gathering her hair over one shoulder into a controllable bundle, and then squeezed until a torrent of melted snow flooded down her arm. Her scalp tingled. “I don’t know, Nick. When is it?”

  “It’s the end of May, I think—I could find out—the paper—” He brushed at the snow caking his arms. “Jeez, I lose everything.”

  She put him out of his misery. “I’ll go with you.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I’ll—”

  “You were messing with me.”

  “What makes you say that? I wouldn’t mess with you.”

  “You’re doing it again.” He liked it, judging by the grin running rampant. He got right in her face, flattening his features. “You talking to me? I said, Are you talking to me?”

  “Robert De Niro, Taxi Driver,” Darcy said. “My dad used to do that.”

  “Yeah? Mine too. Scared the shit out of my mother. Let her know what was coming next.” Nick clawed at the snow, as if searching for something he’d lost.

  Darcy’s dad didn’t look any more frightening when he tried the classic movie lines out on her than the boy shifting snow through his fingers. Daddy’s impersonation of a deviant taxi driver intimidating a baffled stranger always cracked her up. Her father only scared her when he wasn�
��t consciously trying to.

  Daddy.

  There he was again, throwing a shadow over her shoulder. No, it was just Cam come to interrupt her moment of improv identification.

  “Got any food at your house? Heather and I are starving.” Cam crouched down behind her, glanced over his shoulder at Heather waiting on the rock. “We’ve got wicked munchies.”

  “Are you kidding? We always have food at my house. It’s like part of my mother’s religion.” Thou shalt not go hungry. Come to think of it, she was hungry, too. Famished. “Want to come over my house?” she asked Nick.

  “Like this?” Nick pointed to his sagging, wet jeans.

  “My mom won’t be home yet, and I can put your pants in the dryer. No biggie.” A shiver hunched her shoulders.

  Nick nodded and took her hand to help her up. “You look cold,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her, but Darcy slipped from his reach and caught up with Heather. “Hey!” Nick called after Darcy, and a laugh cracked his voice.

  Heather swiped at the brush, knocking clumps of snow to the path. “So what happened?”

  “We made snow angels.” Darcy smiled, not thinking about the snow, but about Nick’s lips and the sound he made when she kissed him back. The path spilled into the property’s yard, and she twirled, actually twirled, into the open.

  “Well, duh. I know that—I have eyes. I mean, did he ask you to the prom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Heather glared at the cottage, the foliage, the hammock beside her. Not exactly the response Darcy had imagined.

  “I know it’s silly, but I don’t know—it could be fun. I love to dance and, hey, we can go dress shopping. You can help me with my hair. And—”

  Heather was crying.

  Heat flooded Darcy’s face and pulsed at her temples. “What’s wrong? What is it? Is it the thing with Vanessa? I only hang out with her so I can tell you all the stupid things Loudmouth says.” Heather used to hang out with Vanessa, too, until she and Vanessa had a disagreement. Heather had found Vanessa annoying and Vanessa hadn’t agreed.

  Heather almost smiled, but she wouldn’t give up an answer.