Leaving Paradise

"Let's take a break," she says. "No more talk about gazebos that will never be."



Oh, yeah, I forgot. No senseless chatter for Mrs. Reynolds.



Since the accident, trying to stand hasn't been easy. Being covered in a muumuu makes it that much harder. Especially when I have to extend my leg in front of me to get up.



"What're you doing?"



"Getting up."



Mrs. Reynolds waves her hands around as if her limbs can talk. "Usually people bend their legs when they do that."



"I can't bend my leg."



"Who says?"



I turn and look straight at Mrs. Reynolds. Is she kidding? Obviously I'm crippled. Okay, so not crippled. But I got hit by a car. I'll never be the same again.



"You bend your leg when you walk. Don't know why you can't bend it when you stand, that's all," she says.



I finally stand, then take a deep breath. I'm itching to say something, but can't. Mrs. Reynolds is the first person in over a year that treats me as though nothing is wrong with me. It's refreshing and frustrating at the same time.



SEVENTEEN



Caleb



Mom knocks on my door on Saturday night before she leaves for the annual Fall Festival. "Are you sure you don't want to go, Caleb? It'll be fun." Yeah, right. "I'm sure."



"Leah's coming, too."



How the hell did Mom manage that? Leah lives in her room as if she's a bear in perpetual hibernation. I think I've seen her more in the halls at school than I have at home. "I'm gonna stay home and hang out," I say. There's no way I want to go to the fair and be one of the main attractions.



Mom opens the door and peeks her head inside. "Your father and I would like you to make an appearance. Dr. and Mrs. Tremont are going to be there. Your dad relies on his referrals. Put on one of the new outfits I bought and show off the clean-cut person you are."



I don't feel like dressing up in clothes that make me choke, and putting on another fake "happy" show. "Is that what you really want?"



She nods. "I do."



"Fine, I'll meet you there later," I say curtly. This bullshit is wearing me down fast.



"Thanks, Caleb. I appreciate it," she says, as if she's talking to a colleague.



Who is this lady who I used to call Mom? I need to make her realize I'm the same person as before. She can love the old Caleb Becker without trying to create a new and improved one.



After my parents and Leah leave, I head outside and make myself some chicken on the grill. I'm gonna eat here in my comfortable, ripped jeans and t-shirt before I dress up like a banker and head to the fairgrounds.



I'm sitting at the patio table when I hear a familiar voice.



"I thought I might find you out here."



I turn to my ex-girlfriend. Kendra looks great, dressed in a tight, pink shirt and short, white skirt. No trace of conservativeness in her attire, that's for sure.



"You're not going to the fair?" I ask.



She comes up real close to me and bends down. "I went, but you weren't there," she says in a sexy whisper.



"Did you want me to be?"



"No, because I want you all to myself. You're a legend in Paradise. Everybody's clamoring for a glimpse of the mysterious and dangerous Caleb Becker."



"Is that what they think, that I'm dangerous?"



"I'm just reporting the rumor. You were in jail, you know. I heard a lot of things happened to you when you were there to make you change."



"And what do you think?" I ask, confused by her motives for coming here. "Do you think I'm dangerous?"



"Absolutely." She's looking straight at me, but I sense she's thinking about something else. "Was it really as tough as they say?"



"Sometimes."



She twirls her blond curls around her finger. "Did you think about me?"



"Just about every day," I admit. "What about you?"



She smiles. "I missed you. But I couldn't handle what happened."



"Don't sweat it, Kend. That night was totally fucked



up.



"You're telling me."



I look at her sideways. I've been dying to know the answer to this question. "Do you remember what happened?"



She blinks twice before answering. "Not much. I was almost as plastered as you were and ran when the cops came. My dad is the mayor, you know. His daughter couldn't be caught in the middle of that whole messy scene."



"Uh huh."



"I didn't expect you'd go to jail, Caleb. I just ... it freaked me out."



"Freaked me out, too. But I'm back now."



"You sure are."



My ego needs me to ask this next question. It's strange, but this discussion is our way of figuring out where each of us stand in this relationship. "Have you been with anyone else?"



"Not anyone that matters."



What the hell does that mean? I'm not jealous. Okay, I am. But she's here with you now, a voice inside my head tells me.



And I missed her so much. Too much. I've dreamt about kissing her again, those full lips on mine, rubbing against her until I think I'll die from the sheer pleasure of it.



"Come here," I say, moving my chair out so she can sit on my lap. My libido kicks into gear, ready for this immediately. "It's been a long time, Kend, but I'm game if you are."



She settles herself on my thighs and wraps her arms around my neck. I watch her lips with interest as she smiles at me. Wet, shiny lips from whatever she put on them before she came over.



Whoever made that glossy lip shit up is a genius.



I take the curled ends of her golden hair between my fingers and twist them between my thumb and forefinger. Her hair feels different than I remember. It used to be softer. I always loved playing with it. "You changed the color," I say.



"It's lighter. Do you like it?"



What can I say, that it feels more like straw than silk? "I need time to get used to it."



I know I should have kissed her by now, but I'm hesitating. I've kissed Kendra a thousand times before. She's an awesome kisser, and those lips are begging to be messed with. So what's my problem?



She feels the top of my buzz cut with her palm. "I hope you'll grow out your hair. I can't grab onto it now."



"We'll see."



"So noncommittal, aren't you." She laughs, then says, "I missed you, CB."



If she missed me so much, why do I have this strange feeling she's holding something back? Shit, I've got to stop playing mind games with myself and overanalyzing stuff. I know what'll make me stop thinking.



I put my hand on the back of Kendra's head and guide her mouth toward mine. As my lips touch hers, the scent of cherries from the glossy stuff is overpowering.



In a bad way.



My lips and tongue slide against hers, but all I can think about is that I hate cherries. I hate cherry pie, I hate cherries in my fruit cocktail or on top of a hot fudge sundae. I even hate Cherry Coke.



Kendra moans while our mouths are still meshed. Her tongue is working overtime and she twists her body so she's straddling me.



I open my eyes while we're kissing. My gaze focuses on Maggie Armstrong's room. Now not only do I have cherry lips attached to mine, I'm hoping Maggie Armstrong doesn't see me lip-locked and tongue-tied with Kendra.



Don't even ask me why I care.



I pull back and say, "Let's go inside."



Kendra slides off my lap, and we hold hands as I lead her to my bedroom. I wipe off my lips with the back of my hand, hoping the cherry flavor will disappear.



Kendra lies on my bed when we reach my room, not even hesitating or questioning why we're moving so fast after not being together for a year. "It's just like old times," she says.



Except somehow it doesn't feel as exciting or daring as it used to. Maybe it's because we're older now.



I take my shirt off, then slip into bed next to her. She starts kissing my chest. "Jeez, Caleb. Your pecs are huge."



With my forefinger I lightly wiggle her new, shiny bellybutton ring. "I guess we both changed, huh?"



"Let me investigate how much." She kisses her way down, past my chest and stops at the waistband of my jeans.



When she starts unbuttoning them, I put my hand over hers to stop her.



She looks up at me, confused. I don't blame her. I'm all screwed up in the head and need to take everything slower than before. I swear, a year ago I'd be jumping her bones before we even reached my room.



"What's wrong?" she says.



I shake my head, rub my hand over my hair, and take a deep breath. Fuck. I'm screwing everything up.



She rests her head on my shoulder and places her arm across my stomach. It feels real good and I'm glad she doesn't make me talk about it. Maybe she gets it, maybe she understands I can't verbalize my fucked-up thoughts. But then she starts getting restless after a few minutes and sits up. "I should probably go back to the festival before my parents find out where I've gone."



In the end she doesn't understand. Just like everyone



else.



With a flip of her hair over her shoulders, she slips her shoes back on and stands up.



I convince myself things will get back to normal soon enough. I'm back home, I have my girl again. Okay, I'll admit things are strange between us. Her hair is fake, her lips taste different, and her kisses are frantic instead of sexy.



"I saw you talking to Samantha Hunter in the hall yesterday," she says, turning back and looking at me.



I sit up and lean against my headboard, still shirtless. "Yeah, she wanted to know if I'll wrestle this year."



Kendra blows out an annoyed breath. "You don't think she's cute, do you?"



I shrug. "She's all right, I guess."



"Because girls like that are totally manipulative."



"I'm not lookin at other girls, Kend, if that's what you're worried about."



"That's good." The corners of her mouth turn up, but then she bites down on her lower lip. "I'm glad you're back, but..."



"But what?" I ask.



"Can we keep this thing between us a secret, Caleb? The kids at school are expecting a big show between you and me, and I don't want it to get weird. Besides, my dad is up for election in November and he's already forbidden me to have any contact with you. It'll be best if nobody knows about this right now."



Her comments shouldn't surprise me, but they do. I just say, "That's cool," because, well, what else can I say?



Following Kendra out to her car, I wonder what our lives would have been like if I hadn't been locked up. I wouldn't have to keep our relationship a damn secret, that's for sure.



When we're in the front yard, Kendra climbs into her car. Then she opens her purse and pulls out a tube of lip gloss. Twisting the rearview mirror, she carefully glides on more cherry gloss, essentially erasing away our power make-out session. When her lips are as glossy as when she came here, she drives off.



Shaking my head, I head back inside. I spot the picture of Kendra when I get to my room. Removing it from my headboard, I stare at it.



It's hard keeping everything the same when the same things look and feel so different.



EIGHTEEN



Maggie



I'm wearing a long print dress that touches the ground and a powder blue sweater over it. Mom bought me the dress because she knows how I feel about exposing any part of my left leg. Deep down I know she also hopes boys will see me as Maggie Armstrong and not as the girl who got hit by Caleb Becker. Guess what, it's not going to happen.