Every Wild Heart Page 12

  I tried to dig up some long buried memory of Denny back then, but found nothing. “How are your parents?” I asked instead. They’d retired years ago to property that they owned in Idaho, leaving the Pacifica stable to Denny.

  “They’re doing well. Still riding every day.”

  “Tell them I say hello.”

  “I will.” That smile was back in his voice. I had the sense that he was imagining the face his mother would pull when she heard my name.

  “Well,” I said. “I should let you go.”

  “Yeah, okay. All is well here. Try not to worry.”

  “I’m a mother, Denny. I run on worry. And coffee.”

  “And music, if memory stands.”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  “Alright then. Goodbye for now. If I were a betting man, I’d say I’ll be hearing from you again around this time tomorrow.” He was teasing, but the warmth in his voice kept me from minding. He’d called me twice after Nic left the hospital to check on her, after all. He was no stranger to worry.

  “As long as Nic is stuck on Corcoran Stables,” I told him, “you are stuck with me.”

  “YOU’RE ON AIR with Gail Gideon. Tell me everything, starting with your name.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually speaking to you, G.G.! I must have called a million times!”

  “Millionth time’s a charm. What’s your name?”

  “Right, right,” the caller said, laughing. “I’m Paulina.”

  “Hey, Paulina. What’s going on?”

  Paulina and her boyfriend had been dating for four years, and what had once been a passionate love affair had fizzled into a roommate situation . . . for Paulina. The boyfriend, apparently, still felt the heat.

  “I think he’s going to ask me to marry him,” she said. She wanted me to tell her if she should say yes. She still loved him, but her feelings had mellowed. Was that normal or a bad sign?

  “Here’s my gut feeling,” I said. “I think you’re calling me because you think, mistakenly, that I’m anti-marriage.” From the engineering booth, Simone looked at me, curious. She was my best listener, really. In a lot of ways, I was always just chatting with Simone. “I don’t know where people got this idea. I’m not anti-marriage; I’m anti-bad-marriage. Marriage that makes you someone that you’re not.

  “But you think I’m going to tell you not to marry this guy, don’t you? And since you’ve called me one million times, waiting for the chance to hear me tell you not to marry this guy, to give you permission to say no, then I don’t think you actually need my advice at all. I think your actions—calling me over and over again, trying to get through—tell you everything. Do you see what I mean, Paulina?”

  “Right,” she answered slowly. “Riiiiiiiight.” She began to cry. “I can’t marry him. I can’t.”

  “Listen, we all know what we want. That’s the crazy thing . . . we all already know. Don’t ask me what you want, ask yourself what you want. The ultimate power is learning how to listen to you. And then of course you have to have the guts to do whatever it is that you really want to do. What’s stopping you? What’s scaring you?”

  “I don’t know. I guess . . . I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Hell no you don’t!” I felt warmed up now, the creaks from being away from the show for six nights worked out of my system. I leaned into the mic. “It took guts to admit that, Paulina. Sometimes, being alone sucks. But if the alternative is forcing a relationship that doesn’t make you happy, then that sucks, too. Sometimes I wonder if choosing to be alone instead of choosing an unfulfilling relationship is one of the bravest things we can do with our lives. It’s not an easy choice.”

  I thought of Tyler choosing to leave me. It would be so much easier to hate him, but I never would. It was torturous to care for that man the way that I did, to even, in some small way, admire him for leaving me.

  “When I need help feeling brave, I listen to music. I’d play you something right now if I could. A song that would make you jump around. A song that would slide onto your skin like armor and pour into your veins like liquid steel. Then, once you were ready for battle, I’d tell you to ask yourself what you want. I’d tell you to own the decision. It’s yours to make. You’re ready.

  “Ah!” I said abruptly. “I just thought of it. The song you need. ‘Nowhere to Run’ by Martha and the Vandellas. Do you know that song, Paulina?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not really into music.”

  I smiled. “Paulina,” I said, laying the rasp on thick. “You are one serious straight shooter. Never have I ever had a caller blow so little smoke at me. No music for you. Got it. There’s something else, then. I know there is. What do you do when you need a shot of courage?”

  Paulina laughed. “I listen to you, G.G.!”

  In the booth, Simone grinned at me. If you were lucky, you found something to help you through the rough patches in life. For Simone, it was radio. For me, it was music. For Nic, it was horses. For this woman, Paulina, it was me. I was deeply aware that this was an honor, and I did not want to let her, or any of my listeners, down. Still, throughout the show that night I kept returning to thoughts of the girl that Denny had reminded me I had been; a girl who never stopped listening to music, a girl who craved more horse, more speed, more everything.

  Chapter 10

  On Tuesday, Mr. Hylan asked the class to break into groups of four to practice presenting the Shakespeare monologues he had assigned them. “I don’t want to add any undue pressure,” he intoned, “but you should know that I have a surprise up my sleeve that will make the day of your final performances even more exciting. Let’s just say, preparation is your friend, my friends.”

  Nic and Lila paired up and then Jack Myeong asked if he and Noah Clarke could join their group. The rest of the class had already gathered into foursomes.

  Lila looked at the boys and, with a smile that only Nic could have identified as sarcastic, said, “Excellent. We’re the Dream Team.”

  Mr. Hylan sent each group to a different location on campus where they could practice without disturbing other classes. Nic’s group was assigned the front steps of the school.

  “I’ll be coming around to check on you,” Mr. Hylan said. “So do not ‘wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.’” He delivered this last line in his serious Shakespearean actor voice, hands lifted dramatically skyward.

  “That poor man,” said Lila, shaking her head.

  They sat on the front steps and one by one read the monologue that Mr. Hylan had assigned them. Lila volunteered to go first. She stood and easily recited one of Puck’s monologues from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. What she lacked in theatrical talent, she made up for in sheer speed.

  “You have it memorized,” Jack said when she’d finished. “I don’t have mine memorized yet.”

  “I don’t either,” Nic assured him.

  “I think it was really good,” Noah began quietly, “but maybe you could just, you know . . . slow down a little. If you want.”

  Nic smiled. Suggesting Lila slow down was like suggesting an earthquake stop shaking your house.

  “I’ll go next,” Nic said. She pulled the printout of her monologue from her backpack. She’d been assigned one of Juliet’s monologues from Romeo and Juliet. In a flash, she thought of herself stuttering in front of Lucas and her pulse momentarily quickened. But that wasn’t going to happen again! She reminded herself that she had tried to jump Tru over a fallen tree. She couldn’t envision it—when she tried, the girl riding Tru was just a blur. But it had been her. Nicola Clement. And if she had done that, surely she could read a few lines of Shakespeare out loud. Besides, only Lila and Jack and Noah were present. Why should she be nervous?

  She took a deep breath and read her lines easily. When she was finished, Lila clapped.

  “That was so good!” Lila said. Nic heard the surprise in her friend’s voice, and she didn’t blame her for it. Nic was surprised herself.

  “I h
ave no critique,” said Jack. “It was perfect.”

  “Ditto,” Noah said. “Great job. Except, you know, you need to memorize it.”

  “But you still have lots of time,” Lila said.

  Nic grinned. She was relieved to be done, but more than that she felt as though she’d achieved something.

  “I’ll go next,” Noah said reluctantly. He spent several long minutes digging through his backpack. Nic and Lila exchanged a glance. Finally, he looked up from his bag. His cheeks were burning pink. “Someone stole my monologue.”

  “Noah,” Nic said softly. She understood how he felt. She’d gone to bizarre lengths to avoid public speaking herself, once making herself so sick with worry that she’d literally thrown up.

  “No, seriously,” he said. “It’s that guy Hunter Nolan. He keeps stealing my homework.” His voice dropped and he looked away. “I’ve seen him do it.”

  “Hunter Nolan is a senior,” Lila said. “Why would he want a freshman’s homework?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t really want it. He just does it for shits and giggles,” Jack said. Nic noticed that Jack’s skin, too, had become mottled. “I never leave my backpack in the halls anymore.” He glanced at Noah. “You should use your locker.”

  Nic stared at Jack. “He’s done this to you, too?” She didn’t really need to ask. It was not hard for her to imagine Angel Bully stealing homework from the boys’ bags.

  “He does it to everyone,” Noah answered for his friend. “All the freshmen guys. It’s our warm welcome to Kirke.” He barked out a short, bitter laugh.

  Nic slammed her hand against the stone step.

  The other three looked at her in surprise.

  Her eyes smarted as pain shot from her hand up her arm. Her head thrummed as though in answer to the pain in her palm.

  “He shouldn’t get away with that,” she said, thinking, And he won’t.

  WHEN THE SENIORS arrived at Dr. Clay’s Freshman Connection class, Lucas walked right up to Nic. “Hey,” he said. “Should we go to our spot?”

  Their “spot”? She looked up at him, blinking. “Sure,” she said. She stuffed the handout Dr. Clay had given the class into her backpack and slung the bag onto her shoulder. “I just hope it’s true that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

  “Lightning?”

  “Disaster,” Nic said, walking with Lucas into the hall. “Our first meeting was a disaster. You must have thought I was . . .” She trailed off, not really interested in saying the rest of this sentence out loud. He must have thought she was completely off her rocker. She’d babbled about meatball subs and Tru and . . . oh God, had she mentioned her therapist? She had. And she’d stuttered over the word “predictable” so that she’d ended up barking the word “dick” at him about sixteen times. And then she’d sobbed and run away. All in all, she’d really put her craziest foot forward for the new guy, and yet here he was, offering her that flash of smile, the one that exposed his sharp canine teeth and made her want to run her fingers over his lips. They looked remarkably soft.

  “I thought that you seemed the opposite of boring,” Lucas said. They moved in a stream of freshman-senior buddy pairs that were headed toward the soccer field, but somehow Nic felt as though they were alone.

  She had to remind herself not to stare at him. “I like your spin on it. I figured you thought I was weird.”

  “Oh, I do.” Lucas rearranged his face so that he looked serious. “For the record, I think you’re super weird.” He said this as though it were a compliment.

  Nic looked down, her mouth twisting into a smile.

  They sat under the same tree they’d sat under a week earlier. The moat they’d dug in the grass with their fingers during that meeting was still there. Nic inched away from it, turning her body so that it ran alongside instead of between them.

  “I’ve been avoiding the meatball sub,” Lucas said. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “Beware the tacos, too. I think it might be the same meat.”

  “‘Beware the tacos,’” he repeated. “Noted.”

  Nic felt him studying her. It didn’t bother her. In fact, she liked it. Had anyone ever studied her before? She’d watched so many people . . . all that time, was it possible someone had been watching her, too, and she’d been too wrapped up in her own mind to notice?

  “How’s your horse?” he asked.

  “He’s okay. But there’s this other horse at the barn who was abused before she came to Corcoran and I . . .” Nic stopped herself. Why was she telling him about Peach? She’d hardly spent any time with Lucas, but she realized that she felt oddly close to him. In a way, the fact that their first conversation had been a complete disaster almost put her at ease. He’d seen her at her worst and he seemed to like her anyway. Still, Nic felt it would be a betrayal to tell him about the promise she’d made to help Peach. If anyone found out that she’d gone into Peach’s stall, she might not be able to do it again.

  Lucas waited for her to say more.

  Instead, Nic dug around in her backpack and pulled out the crumpled handout from Dr. Clay. “So, do you know about this list of questions we need to answer? Apparently, I’m supposed to find out at least one of your deepest, darkest secrets by the end of class today.” She pretended to read from the paper. “‘True or false: Lucas Holt’s favorite TV show is The Real Housewives of Atlanta.’” Nic looked up and gave Lucas a questioning look.

  He shook his head and laughed. “False.”

  She looked back down at the paper and pretended to continue reading. “‘For fun, he enjoys baking oatmeal raisin cookies.’”

  “Wrong again. Let me see that list.” He reached out to take the paper from Nic, but she held onto it. Their eyes locked. Lucas’s smile slowly spread. Nic let go of the paper.

  To her surprise, Lucas began to ask her the actual questions that Dr. Clay had written. She answered mostly honestly, wondering if he knew that she was Gail Gideon’s daughter and if because of this he already knew some of her answers. She told him about her family (parents divorced, two half-brothers), where she was born (San Francisco), her hobbies (riding), her favorite class (here she lied and said English, when as of that exact moment Freshman Connection had taken the lead), her favorite color (green).

  “Like your eyes,” Lucas said.

  She nodded, flushing, and took the paper from him. “Your turn.”

  Lucas told her that his parents were in the process of getting a divorce. He and his mom and his two younger sisters had moved to the area from Brooklyn. Lucas’s dad still lived in the house they’d all lived in together.

  “My mom grew up here and always wanted to come back,” he said. “She told my dad he could have the house if he let her take me and my little sisters to live in California. She was always yelling at him about how being his wife had made her lose track of who she really was, and the only way she’d be able to find herself again was if she went back home. Anyway, my dad jumped on the deal, and even sweetened it for my mom by pulling some strings to get me into Kirke. I think my mom is kind of in shock about it all now—it’s like she got exactly what she thought she wanted, and now she’s confused about how it happened. Our house in Brooklyn is worth a ton of money so basically my dad traded his family for a golden real estate ticket. And every day he gets up and brushes his teeth in the bathroom that he shared with my mom for like twenty years. He chose to stay in the place where his family imploded. How fucked up is that?”

  Nic had not expected such an outpouring of information. The bitterness in Lucas’s voice upset her. She wondered what she could share with him that might make him feel less alone.

  “My mom and I still live in the house where we all lived together before my parents got divorced,” she said.

  Lucas stared at her. “Why?”

  Nic could see the pain in his face. She had no idea why she and her mom had stayed in their house after her parents divorced—she’d never really thought about it before. She could hardly remember he
r dad in that house; maybe her mom didn’t either. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She could not help but feel she was somehow failing Lucas with this answer.

  “Maybe your mom wanted to stay because she didn’t want you to feel like everything was changing . . . like your whole life was over,” Lucas said, looking away. “Parents are always worried their kids are going to kill themselves.”

  “I was five,” Nic said. She was pretty sure that her parents had never worried that she might kill herself, and she was now just as certain that Lucas’s parents had. “I don’t really remember my parents being together.”

  “Lucky you,” Lucas said sharply.

  Nic was quiet.

  He ran his hand through his dark hair. Nic watched him take a deep breath. When he turned back to her, his eyes were softer. “Sorry,” he said.

  Nic looked down at the hand he’d put on top of hers. Her pulse jumped below his touch.

  Inside, the buzzer announced the end of class.

  “There are three more questions,” Nic said.

  “I guess some of my secrets will have to remain a mystery,” Lucas answered, that flash of smile restored.

  ON THE WAY to the barn, Nic asked Roy if they could stop at the supermarket so she could buy a bag of carrots for the horses. Inside, she found herself slowing to a stop in front of a small display of inexpensive children’s toys.

  Back in the car, she tossed a bag of pretzels to Roy.

  “Find what you were looking for?” he asked, eying her in the rearview mirror.

  She nodded, knowing that her smile could not possibly hint at her plan since she hardly knew it herself—it was vague still, a glimmer of sunlight behind slowly clearing fog.

  In her bag was a Matchbox Jeep Wrangler, a miniature version of Angel Bully’s car.

  SHE FELT PEACH watching her from the moment she stepped into the aisle. The horse seemed less agitated today, and quietly followed Nic’s movements with her eyes. Nic worried Denny would notice the horse’s curiosity, but he didn’t. She grabbed a soft brush from her tack trunk and silently brushed Tru’s head from the aisle. As he had the day before, Denny leaned against the wall beside Tru’s stall. Bear lay at his feet, breaking the quiet with his steady pant.