The Romeo Club Page 17

  Glen Adder, who played Mercutio stood on the stage with C.C., who was Romeo.

  C.C. paced in front of Glen. “Is love a tender thing? It is too rough. Too rude, too boist’rous; and it pricks like a thorn.”

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  Glen answered, “If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor! What care I? What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.”

  On the scene went, until Romeo and Juliet met at the ball. Kenadi leaned closer.

  “Damn, they’re good together.”

  “I know. Scary isn’t it?” I smiled.

  Then they came to my favorite scene in Romeo and Juliet. The balcony. Sigh.

  C.C. stood staring up at the makeshift balcony. “She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art, as glorious to this night, being o'er my head. As is a winged messenger of heaven. Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes. Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him. When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, and sails upon the bosom of the air.”

  Liza peered down over the railing. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

  You could see the chemistry between C.C. and Liza as they lit up the stage. When the end of the play came, tears streamed down my cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t the best play to see when you suffered from a broken heart. The curtains went down and I clapped. They opened again, and the drama teacher called the different people out in the order they appeared. When he announced C.C. the Nerd Herd and I cheered loud.

  “Woo-hoo, go C.C.,” I shouted.

  He bowed and blew us a kiss. Once the curtain closed again, we left our seats and went into the lobby to wait for them to come out.

  After about twenty minutes, C.C. and Liza emerged together. People stopped to talk to them. When they got to us, I smiled.

  “You did so good up there,” I told Liza. “And your costumes, oh, my God, I wanted to steal them all.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. Try walking around in them. They’re so heavy.” She pulled me off to the side. “I wanted to thank you for pushing C.C. to go after me. We have so much fun together.”

  “He finally told you?” My eyes widened.

  She blushed. “Yeah. I’d heard some stuff at school, and he wanted to set the record straight. But don’t worry. I think it’s cool what you did for him. He said you helped him with his lines for tryouts and taught him how to waltz.”

  “I’m glad. You guys look so cute together.” At that moment, someone else came up to tell her congrats and she turned to talk to them.

  C.C. caught my arm and pulled me into a hug. “I know I irritate the piss out of you sometimes, but I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve helped me with this year. I wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for you.”

  I returned the hug. “You’re welcome. But this was all you. I only gave you a nudge.”

  He pulled back and grinned. “Yeah, I am pretty amazing. You should see the bedroom scene they cut from the play. It was too steamy.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

  I swatted his arm. “And there you go ruining it all.”

  Right then, Trey and Portia joined us. C.C. released me and shook Trey’s hand. “By the way the TRC is going out to celebrate tonight. You have to come along.”

  When I saw Trey stiffen, I frowned. “Actually, Kenadi and I already have plans. But thanks for the invite.”

  C.C. followed my gaze then gave me a strange look. “Are you sure? I mean we can get a couple tables.”

  “Yeah, you girls should come.” Portia glanced at Trey then at me and smiled. “It’ll be fun.”

  What the heck was she up to? And why did she care if we went or not?

  “No. It’s fine. Really. We’ve got so much to do tonight.” I grabbed Kenadi’s arm. “See you guys.”

  “Bye.” Liza waved, before she wrapped an arm around C.C.’s waist.

  When we got back to my house, Kenadi and I sat on my bed, painting our toenails.

  “Any idea why Portia wanted us to go so bad?” I glanced at Ken.

  “Maybe she just wants you and Trey to make up. She probably realizes how miserable he is without you in his life.”

  “Yeah, right.” I snorted.

  She grinned, putting another coat of polish on her nails. “So, it’s not too late for you to get a prom ticket,” she said. “Lots of girls go stag. Besides, you’ll be able to dance with more guys that way.”

  “I’d rather just hang out here.”

  “But I don’t want to go by myself. I’ll be bored and lonely.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You won’t be alone. Your boyfriend will be there.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t go.”

  “But you’ll waste your dress.”

  I laughed. “You just won’t give up will you?”

  “No. I don’t want you to regret this.”

  “I won’t. I promise. I’ll be fine. The new Dwarves of Iconia II comes out next week, which will give me plenty to do.” With my nails painted, I put the cap back on the bottle of Electric Blue Tears.

  “Del, you can’t quit doing things just because one guy turns into a ginormous douche.”

  “He’s not a douche—okay, so maybe he is a little. But you have to realize, I didn’t just lose a potential boyfriend or prom date. I-I lost a friend.” I swung my feet over the edge of my bed. “You saw him tonight. He won’t even talk to me.”

  “He’ll realize how wrong he is.”

  “But is he wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  She put her nail polish on my dresser then changed the subject to soccer and our district finals coming up next week. When she left, I climbed into bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. You don’t need to go to prom. You’ll probably have more fun vegged out with your video game.

  I tugged my blanket further up and tucked it under my chin. From somewhere outside, I heard sirens. Blue and red lights flashed through my window, creating a strange strobe light effect on my ceiling. I wondered what was going on? Next door, Jimbo started to howl like he’d lost his favorite bone. I covered my head with my pillow to drown him out. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

  Chapter 32

  Groggy, I rolled over on my back and stared at the clock. Geez, it was already noon. I stretched my arms above my head, and then crawled out from beneath a mound of blankets. With a yawn, I opened my dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of soccer shorts, a sweatshirt, and clean undergarments. I slid out of my pajamas and threw on my clean clothes. Next, I jerked on a pair of socks and shoved my feet into my soccer sandals.

  I ran a brush through my hair then went downstairs. My parents had left a note on the table that they’d gone to brunch with my grandparents. And Drake had to work. Silence filled the house. There were no distractions. So my mind wandered to Trey and last night’s snub. Had he done that on purpose, or was it Portia who didn’t want him to hang out with me? Either way, it sucked.

  My sandals squeaked on the hardwood floors as I went to the fridge and got the carton of orange juice out. I poured a cup then put the container back. With glass in hand, I sauntered onto the porch to the swing.

  Underneath it, I found Jimbo curled up. He lifted his head when he saw me, his tail wagged.

  “Hey boy, what’s wrong? What are you doing over here again?” I reached down and petted him. His sad eyes gazed into mine then over to his house.

  I followed his glance and saw several cars parked in the Foster’s driveway and yard. Jimbo whimpered. “All right. I’ll bring you home.”

  I set my cup down on the porch railing. “Come on, boy.”

  We climbed down the stairs and headed across the yard. When I got on the Foster’
s stoop, I rang the doorbell. A moment later, Mr. Foster answered. Staring back from his face were a pair of puffy, red, bloodshot eyes. Did something happen?

  He glanced down at Jimbo. “I’m sorry. He must’ve gotten out again. This week’s been rough. I-I can’t think straight.” He rubbed his temples. “Mrs. Foster passed away last night. And I keep forgetting about the dog.”

  Choked up, I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry for you loss, Mr. Foster. I didn’t realize … ”

  He patted my hand, fresh tears in his eyes. “Jimbo keeps looking for her—”

  “If you want, I can watch him this week. My mom won’t mind if I take him back to my house.” Or at least I hoped she wouldn’t. “That’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.”

  “Thank you, Delyla. I—if you go find Carver, he can get Jimbo’s dog food and dishes for you.”

  My fingers curled around Jimbo’s collar as we made our way inside. People gathered in the living room. Most of them cried, or held wadded up tissues. My heart ached for them. Mrs. Foster was such a nice lady. As I moved past, I heard someone utter the “C” word. Cancer. People talked about how fast she went. How the doctors had given her six months, but it’d only been a few weeks.

  I peered around the living room, but didn’t see Carver. So I headed into the kitchen. But he wasn’t there either. As I turned to leave the room, he walked in.

  His blond hair was disheveled. His normally brilliant blue eyes were lackluster and rimmed red like his dad’s. He wore a wrinkled T-shirt over a pair of faded jeans. “Hey, Delyla. My dad said you were gonna take Jimbo for a few days?”

  “Yeah. I just have to get his food and stuff.”

  “Thanks. You don’t have to do this.”

  “No. It’s okay. Really. You guys have enough to worry about right now.”

  “Follow me. His stuff is in the breezeway.” I traipsed after his tall frame and into a small room between the kitchen and garage.

  When we got inside, Carver shut the door behind us and leaned against the wall. “I’m trying so hard to keep it together. To be strong for my dad.” He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay—they keep saying they’re sorry,” he said. “I-I just can’t listen to it anymore.”

  My gaze met his. His eyes filled with anguish. And for once, I didn’t know what to say.

  “I should’ve been here, last month or hell even last week. Bu-but I didn’t come home. I let a stupid fight with my dad keep me away.” He punched the wall, his fist busting into the plaster.

  I jumped.

  “I should’ve come home, Delyla.” Sobs raked through him. “You know the last thing I said to my mom?”

  “No,” I whispered. My vision blurred with tears. Hearing the pain in his voice tore me up.

  “I told her to tell my dad he’s an asshole, and it’d be a cold day in hell before I came home.” He crumpled to his knees, crying.

  Without hesitation, I dropped down beside him and hugged him tight. I stroked his hair like my mom had done for me so many times—like his mom would’ve done for him if she was here. Jimbo curled up around our legs, whimpering.

  “I’m not gonna tell you things are going to be okay,” I said. “Because sometimes things suck. But you will get through this. I promise.”

  He pulled me closer, nestling against me. “I hurt so bad. It’s like I can’t breathe.”

  My fingers ran through his silky hair, and I rocked back and forth with him in my arms. We sat together, the three of us, on the floor for a long time. Sometimes, I sang soft lullabies in his ear, other times, I just told him it was okay to cry. To grieve. Beyond that, I felt pretty helpless. Because I knew there was no way I could make this better.

  After his tears had subsided, he released me. “Thanks for listening. Sorry about your shirt.” He pointed to the wet spot on my shoulder, where he’d been crying.

  “It’s fine. And I’m glad I was here for you. If you need anything, you know, a shoulder or just want to kick a soccer ball around or something, I’ll be around.”

  His fingers closed around mine as he helped me to my feet. “I will. And thanks again for taking Jimbo.”

  “No problem.”

  Jimbo and I went back to my house and I let him inside. Mom glanced up when she saw us.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Mrs. Foster passed away. I offered to take the dog for the week.”

  Mom gasped as her eyes welled. “It was nice of you to do that. I should probably stop over and see if there’s anything they need.”

  I nodded then set Jimbo’s dishes in the kitchen. Once I finished, I led him up to my room. “You better leave my underwear and teddy bears alone.”

  He glanced at me as if he understood. With a sigh, I climbed back into bed. Jimbo curled up next to me and I hugged him tight. Life was so messed up. But I realized there were far worse things than not having a date for prom.

  Chapter 33

  Two days later, I stood next to my parents beneath an umbrella at the cemetery as Mrs. Foster was laid to rest. Rain spattered against the headstones, while the wind whipped through the trees. It was like the sky was crying too.

  The ceremony ended with everyone singing Amazing Grace. Tears streaked down my face, and I dabbed at them with my tissue. Everyone lined up to give their condolences to the family. Mom and Dad walked ahead of me, followed by Drake. When it was my turn, I hugged Carver. He held me tight.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I-I might stop by later.”

  “I’ll be home,” I said, giving him one last squeeze.

  By the time we got back to my house, the rain had let up to a light drizzle. So I went inside, took off my dress clothes, and threw on my jogging pants and sweatshirt. Once changed, I snatched my soccer ball from the closet and took the dog out into the backyard.

  At first, he looked at his house then glanced up at me. I knelt beside him and he rested his head against me. “Your Mama was buried today, boy. She won’t be coming back. But I’ll help take care of you.”

  With one last scratch behind his ears, I rolled my ball into the rain soaked grass and raced after it. At first, Jimbo lay on the ground and watched me.

  Trey walked across the wet grass, hands shoved into his pockets. His gaze met mine. “Do you have a minute?”

  My pulse roared in my ears. “Um—yeah. Wh-what’s going on?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on my soccer ball. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been acting lately. I’ve been a total dick to you, and well, I’m sorry. It’s just, I was so mad at you.” He chewed his bottom lip. “The truth is, I miss hanging out with you. And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Trey, I … ”

  A car door sounded from next door and Jimbo’s ears perked up. A moment later, Carver appeared.

  Trey followed my gaze, his jaw tightened. “I should probably head back home. Maybe I’ll catch you later.” He hurried away before I could tell him I accepted his apology.

  Carver watched Trey’s quick retreat. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No. You’re fine.”

  He bent down to pet Jimbo, who’d loped to his side. “Hey boy, I hope you’re being good.”

  “He is.” I dribbled the ball over to him.

  Carver’s puffy eyes met mine. He unbuttoned his suit coat and set it on the picnic table. Next, he slipped off his dress shoes and socks, then rolled up his shirt sleeves. He glanced at me, and I knew exactly what he needed and wanted.

  I passed him the ball with the outside of my foot. Like me, soccer was home for him. As he ran down my makeshift field, I tore after him. It took me a minute, but I caught up to him. He flipped the ball up with his feet, and juggled it on his knees. Then he was off again.

  This time, I cut him off and played defense. I watched the ball for a second, then shifted my eyes to his hips. In seventh grade, he’d taught me
to watch what direction a player’s hips went, because that’d be the direction they took the ball.

  A second later, I made a play for the ball, and stole it. I caught it on the top of my shoe and juggled it. Another move he’d taught me. I dribbled back the other way, but Carver easily caught up. Back and forth we went. Sometimes, I’d get a shot off into my goal, other times it was him. After several times back and forth, Jimbo decided to join us. He ran alongside whoever had the ball, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

  As we weaved down the field, I saw the tears running down Carver’s face. But we didn’t stop or talk. We just played. We left everything on the field. Our hurt. Our tears. Our fears. It was just us and the ball.

  When darkness set in, we were both covered in sweat and mud. Carver took one more shot, which of course, went in. Without a word, we headed over to the picnic table and plopped down on top of it.

  I stripped my sweatshirt off, and used the sleeve of it to wipe my brow.

  “I remember when I taught you to play,” he said at last. “You used to always come into my yard with your ball and try to copy my moves.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, and you always tried to send me home.”

  His lips twitched at the memory. “But my mom yelled at me for doing that, and then she made me teach you how to play.” He toyed with the buttons on the sleeve of his shirt. “That day she said, ‘Someday, you’ll be glad you helped her … she’s not gonna be a little girl forever. Just you remember that.” His voice cracked.

  I quirked an eyebrow at him and stared at the mud splatters on his dress pants. “She was a wise woman.”

  He reached over and ruffled my damp hair. “Yeah, she was. But seriously, Del, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through this week without you.”

  My cheeks warmed as I glanced at him. “You would’ve managed.” A door shut from the other side of my yard, and I saw Trey taking the trash out. He looked in our direction and gave an awkward wave.

  This was the second time, I’d seen him today. What was going on with him?

  Carver waved back. “Do you want me to go so you two can hang out or something?”