Breaking Beautiful Read online

  I try to keep my gaze on the box, but my eyes drift to Mrs. Phillips’s eyes, now brimming with tears. I shake my head. “You didn’t need to—”

  “Oh, but we wanted to.” He presses the box firmly into my hands. “We wanted you to know how much you still mean to our family.”

  While they watch I untie the bow and slide the lid off the box. Inside is a pair of earrings. Diamond earrings. I swallow hard.

  “They’re real diamonds. Please try to be careful with them. I’d hate for them to get lost,” Mr. Phillips says pointedly.

  I try to force “Thank you” from between my lips, but it comes out more of a hoarse whisper. I try again. “Thank you.” I back toward the door to the restroom. “I was just—”

  “Of course.” Mr. Phillips smiles, but his eyes stay hard. “We’ll see you later. Enjoy the party.”

  I push through the restroom door, breathing hard, looking for a refuge, but Hannah’s voice from around the corner stops me. “—the most hideous outfit I have ever seen. I can’t believe she would even show her face here at all.”

  I back out again, flee for the hallway, find a dark corner, and sink onto a red velvet bench, still clutching the little box in my hands. They could have been any diamond earrings, but they’re not. They’re the ones I pawned two months ago. If Mr. Phillips knows about the gifts I pawned, what else does he know? What else does he think he knows?

  Chapter

  29

  “There you are.” Mom’s voice starts out sharp, but then it softens. “Why are you hiding out here?”

  “I have a headache.” I lean my head against the cool window, but it doesn’t help the throbbing in my scar. “Could I please just go home?”

  She sits down on the bench beside me. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t fair of us to bring you here. I’ll go tell Dad I’m taking you home.”

  She comes back in a couple of minutes. We get our coats and I follow her out to the van. The wind and rain have picked up, like the night of the accident. All the way home I keep my face against the cold window, watching the rain slide down the glass, remembering the way it covered the windshield of Trip’s truck.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Mom asks as she pulls into the driveway. “I could stay if you want.”

  “No.” I manage a weak smile. “Dad would never forgive either of us if you left him at the party alone.”

  “Yeah.” She laughs. “Parties really aren’t Dad’s thing.” I start to get out, but she stops me. “What do you know about the girl Andrew was with?”

  I shrug. “Her name is Caitlyn. He met her when we went to Hoquiam. I think he’s been chatting online with her ever since.”

  “She’s a little …” Mom hesitates.

  “Weird,” I supply.

  Mom shakes her head and smiles. “Yeah. That might fit.” She leans over and brushes a piece of hair back over my ear. “I guess I never thought we’d have to worry about girls with Andrew, but here she is. I wish I knew if this is a good thing for him or not.”

  “I do, too,” I admit. Seeing her concern for Andrew makes me wonder what would have happened if I had told her everything about Trip. Maybe I should have.

  She sits back in her seat and sighs. “I’d better get back so I don’t miss the big countdown. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just going to go to bed.”

  “Okay. Make sure you keep the door locked.”

  I try to laugh off her concern. “It’s Pacific Cliffs, Mom. What could possibly happen?” But as soon as I get in the house, I twist the deadbolt and check the back door to make sure it’s locked.

  I take a long shower to wash out the hairspray and the thick layer of makeup from my face. I put on my pajamas and go to bed, but I can’t sleep. Everywhere I look I see Trip’s eyes, watching me. The house feels too quiet. I go into the living room, turn on the TV and curl up on the couch. My lack of sleep catches up to me and I doze off to the sound of the “New Year’s at the Needle” celebration in Seattle.

  My head jerks up and my senses are immediately alert. I know that I heard something outside before I’m even fully awake. I listen, but the only sound is the TV, the rain splattering against the side of the house, and the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls. My scar prickles and I reach for the stone, but I left it on the dresser in my bedroom when I got ready for bed.

  Then I hear it again, a bump on the front porch. The hair on the back of my neck and around my scar stands on end. A squirrel or a raccoon, I reason with myself, or Sasha wanting to come in out of the rain. But my tiger-striped cat dozes on the other chair—a sleepy purr vibrating out of her throat.

  The rumble of an old pickup, like Trip’s, roars down the street. Headlights pass in front of my house—slow. I sink deeper into the couch so I won’t be seen through the window and wish for my tigereye. The headlights pass again, slower. I can’t stop thinking of the guy at the pawnshop, the earrings—that Mr. Phillips knows I sold Trip’s gifts, the locker notes, the accident, how incredibly messed up my life is.

  I should go check out the noise, reassure myself that it’s nothing, but I can’t make myself move. I strain my ears again—silence. I reach for the remote to turn the TV up so it will drown out any other sounds. The reporter, wearing a long blue rain jacket and a wilted paper crown, asks the crowd outside the Space Needle about their New Year’s resolutions. New Year’s resolutions—last year it was “ten minutes early for everything, get straight As, and—”

  I gasp as the flash of a face appears at the front window. I curl my fingers around my quilt and reach for my cell phone. Then there’s a tap on the door and a voice whisper-yells, “Allie.” I stay still for a second, my heart thumping, every nerve in my body on edge.

  “Allie.” This time his voice is loud enough that I recognize it. I jump off the couch and hurry to open the door.

  He’s drenched, weather-beaten, and almost unrecognizable. He’s not even wearing a jacket, just a black T-shirt that clings to his chest. I step aside to let him in, but he leans against me, wraps his arms around my neck, and starts to sob.

  “Blake.” I hold his wet and trembling body close to mine. “What happened?”

  He keeps sobbing. There’s something embarrassing about a guy crying. Especially when it goes on for a long time and you don’t have any idea why he’s so upset. I’m not sure what to do.

  I pat his back as the wet from his clothes soaks into me. I move with him to the couch. When he sits down, I pull away and wrap him in Grandma’s quilt. He keeps shivering and saying that he’s sorry, but other than that he’s not making any sense. I’m almost to the point of calling my parents or maybe even a doctor when he finally starts to calm down.

  “Allie, I’m sorry.” He wipes his face with the quilt.

  “You already said that.” I’m not sure what else to do so I stand up. “I can get you something warm to drink.”

  He nods and wraps the quilt tighter around himself. I heat a cup of water in the microwave and mix in hot cocoa. When I bring it back to Blake, his teeth are chattering so loudly that they almost drown out the “nine … eight … seven … six—” I click the TV off with the remote before the countdown hits “Happy New Year” and sit down beside him. “You want to talk about it?”

  He sips the cocoa and stares across the room. With his hair wet and plastered to his forehead, the lost look on his face, and the little bit of cocoa at the corner of his mouth, he looks like a kid. I feel like a mom trying to protect her little boy. I’m cold, too, because of the wet that soaked into my clothes from his, but I don’t dare crawl under the quilt with him.

  Finally he sets the mug down. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

  “We already covered that part, Blake. But what do you have to be sorry for? What happened?” My mind is racing in a direction I can’t go—cliffs, accidents, red dresses.

  He sighs a quavering, after-tears sigh, and stares at the chair where Sasha is still sleeping undisturbed. “My mom.”<
br />
  I relax a little and wait for more.

  “Phoebe.” He shakes his head. “Things were going so well this time. She was clean for at least ten months. She was happy. She was working. And Greg, her new boyfriend was—is—actually a decent guy.”

  He breathes in. “The vacation was fun. Snowboarding was excellent, and his condo was so cool. I wish you could have—” He trails off. “Everything was good until two days ago. I went out boarding, and when I came back they were fighting, screaming at each other. He accused her of taking some money from his wallet. I wanted to believe that he was lying, that my mom wouldn’t—” Blake swallows. “But I could see the way her hands were shaking, and the red around her eyes, and I knew. It had been almost a year.”

  I’m rubbing Blake’s shoulder, trying to keep him warm, or offer some comfort.

  “He threw her out. He said I could stay, that he would put me on a plane home the next morning. But I couldn’t let her be alone, and I was too pissed off at Greg to use a plane ticket he bought—stupid, I know. I took two hundred dollars with me. Grandma told me not to tell Mom I had it.” He swallows. “I didn’t, but most of it was gone.”

  I squeeze his shoulder; my heart is aching to take away his pain. “I couldn’t call Grandma for more money. I couldn’t let her know Mom had …

  “Greg called us a cab, but by the time we got to the bus station, we had missed the last bus, so we had to sleep there. It was cold and the benches were hard and metal. There were these creepy guys hanging around, saying things to Mom and staring at her, but she slept like it was no big deal. The next morning she barely talked to me at all—just asked if there was enough money left for her to get some coffee.

  “My car was at her apartment, and by the time we got there I was so mad that I just left. Left her standing there like some kind of stray dog—her hair all over the place and makeup smeared across her cheeks. I didn’t even make sure she got back into her apartment.” He buries his face in his hands.

  “Blake, I—” but there isn’t anything for me to say, no words—nothing that will help him.

  He runs his fingers through his hair, exhausted. “My car broke down so I had to walk the rest of the way here.” He stands up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. I’ll go.”

  I reach for his hand. “No, stay.” The pain in his eyes seeps into my chest—rain on my ocean. “Please.” I stand up. “You need some dry clothes. I’ll go find something.”

  I find a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in my dad’s drawers. Briefly I consider underwear, but that would be way weird. He’ll drown in Dad’s clothes, but at least they’re dry. Blake goes into the bathroom to change. I wait until he’s out before I change in my bedroom. I take a long time because I’m trying to process all of this—Blake, here, his mom, and me.

  When I come out, Blake is sitting on a towel on the couch and staring at nothing. He looks so lost and hurt that I want to put my arms around him and hold him until he smiles again. But I can’t bring myself to get that close to him. Instead I get a pillow and a dry blanket from the linen closet.

  “I think you should stay here tonight.” I hand him the pillow. “It’s late and I don’t want to drive you home in this mess. Is Grandma Joyce home yet?”

  He wraps his arms around the pillow. “Tomorrow night.” He starts to stand. “I don’t have to stay. I can just—”

  “Sit down,” I say. “We covered the ‘sorry’ part. You’ve been through a lot. You’re allowed to freak out.” I’m using the same words he used on me in the cave—trying to get him to smile—but mostly so he remembers how much I owe him.

  “Allie, I can’t—”

  “Sit,” I say, and to reinforce that this is a command, not a request, I push against him.

  He sits down fast and I end up on his lap. He pulls me against his chest and buries his head in my neck. “Thanks for being here.”

  My face is burning when I pull away. I scoot to the edge of the couch and curl my legs underneath me. Then I pick up the pillow and motion for Blake to lie down on my lap. After he does, I tuck the blanket around his shoulders.

  Emotion and exhaustion overcome him. In a couple of minutes his deep, even breathing mixes with Sasha’s snoring. Stupid cat slept through everything.

  I can’t relax with Blake’s head on my lap. I have this freaked-out, guilty feeling. Like I’m in trouble. Like someone is going to catch us together.

  “No one will ever love you the way I do.”

  I’ll never forget the look on Blake’s face the first time I saw him after he had spent eight months in Reno and nearly three in juvie. I was kissing Trip. I think Trip made sure that was the first thing Blake saw. The message came through loud and clear. I’d given up on him, the way everyone else in Pacific Cliffs had. I hadn’t tried to write him, or call, or anything while he was gone. Instead I had hooked up with Trip. I’d been with him for almost the whole time Blake was gone.

  He didn’t say anything to me for nearly three months. When we passed in the hall at school his face was blank, like I wasn’t even there. Then one day he caught me alone at school when I was on my way to the bathroom during class.

  “I don’t like the way he treats you,” he blurted out, something he had been holding on his tongue for a long time.

  “What?” My heart started pounding. How could he know anything?

  “I said, I don’t like how Trip treats you.” This time every word was clipped and precise, bitten off with anger.

  I ducked my head and tried to push past him. “It’s none of your business, Blake.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. When I looked into his eyes, I could see concern, and pain, and frustration there. It made me want to dissolve in his arms and tell him everything. Instead I pulled away and kept walking.

  “Allie,” he called after me. “Don’t—” That was as far as he got before Trip grabbed him from behind. That happened a lot with Trip. He’d just appear when I thought I was alone—like he was always watching me.

  Trip put Blake in a headlock, choking him until Blake was coughing. “Were you touching my girlfriend?”

  “Stop it!” I screamed.

  Trip’s eyes rested on me for a second—cold and angry. He threw Blake against a metal garbage can. Blake hit the edge so hard it sliced into his forehead. By the time a teacher came to break it up, Blake was bleeding all over the floor.

  Trip told the principal that Blake had been harassing me in the hall, and I backed him up. Half the school had heard me scream, “Stop it!” Trip said that he was trying to get Blake away from me and that he tripped and fell against the garbage can. I agreed with Trip. Blake was suspended for four days. Trip got detention for three, but he only went once.

  I push Blake’s bangs back and I can see it, a faint pink line across his forehead—my fault—the scar he got trying to help me. I let him down then, too, let him take the blame for something that Trip did.

  Sleeping like this, he looks so vulnerable.

  “Stay away from him, Allie. Did you see how easy it was for me to hurt him? Next time I’ll smash his head in.”

  I press my hand against my right eye and answer the voice.

  “You can’t hurt me anymore. You can’t hurt him.”

  I wish I could believe it.

  Chapter

  30

  “What the hell?” Dad says when he walks through the door and sees Blake sleeping with his head in my lap. “Is this why you wanted to leave the party?”

  I slide out from under Blake carefully, so he doesn’t wake up. “Shhh,” I say when I reach the door. I explain what happened briefly and with as few details as possible.

  “How could any mother do that?” Mom says.

  I try to hush her up, but Blake’s eyes flutter and he sits up. His hair is mashed on one side and standing straight up on the other. He blinks a couple of times like he’s not sure where he is.

  Dad walks over and sits on the couch beside him. “Where
did you leave your car, son?”

  Blake clears his throat and looks around for a minute like he’s still disoriented. “Just before Taholah, underneath that big casino billboard.”

  Mom and I look at each other. That means Blake walked over ten miles in the storm.

  “Why didn’t you call someone?” Dad says.

  “My phone’s dead.” Blake brushes his hand through his hair like he’s embarrassed.

  Dad goes into mechanic mode. “What kind of noise was your car making? What happened just before it quit? How old is the battery?”

  Blake struggles to answer Dad’s questions. I think of my conversation with Detective Weeks. It makes me feel better that he seems to know less about cars than I do.

  Finally Dad lets it go. “You can stay here tonight. We’ll see if we can figure out what’s wrong with your car tomorrow.” He stands up. “I think we all need to go to bed, including you, Allie.”

  .........

  After Mom and Dad go to bed, I sneak into Andrew’s room. “We need to talk.” I try to look stern. He goes for innocence, but his computer is on his lap and I’m sure he’s chatting with Caitlyn. “Why didn’t you tell me she was going to be there?”

  “You were … you’ve been …,” he tries.

  “Busy? Preoccupied?” I reach for his laptop, but he holds it away from me, so I ruffle his hair instead. “Never too busy for you, little bro.” I sit on the bed. “So, you and Caitlyn?”

  He blushes, ducks his head, and types, “So, you and Blake?”

  I shake my head. “We’re just friends.”

  Andrew raises his eyebrows. “You don’t have to be just friends.”

  “I do.” I trace the edges of his quilt. “It’s complicated.”

  He shakes his head. “You worry too much about what people think. Blake needs you. You need him. You should be together.”