“Yes, ma’am, I’m looking for Mr. Trader.” I figured asking for Mr. Trader was safer than asking for Nelson. This way they might just take me to his dad, who I’d then confess to. I was surprised by the receptionist’s worried expression.

  “I’m sorry. He isn’t in today. His son was in an accident.”

  His son? I blinked. Nelson was in an accident? Rattled, my fingers shaking, I stilled them flattening both hands on the counter. “I ... we’re ... school friends. What happened?”

  Sadness mixed with the concern on her face. “He lost control of his car and hit a telephone pole. He’s doing well though, spent a few days in the hospital before being sent home. Maybe ...” She paused. “I don’t usually do this, but since you’re friends ... if you want to check on him, here’s his address.”

  She penned it on the back of a business card and slipped it to me. I thanked her and left. A second bus ride took me to Nelson’s house. It wasn’t much unlike mine, a one story, concrete-block home with a span of green lawn leading up to the door. His driveway curved around the right-hand side, however, unlike ours. Inside the garage, I spotted what I guess was his dad’s vehicle.

  I wandered up the front walk, knocking twice, and the door opened almost immediately to a man in gray slacks and a white button up. He looked at me with an expression that reminded me of Nelson. I coughed. “Mr. ... Mr. Trader?” I squeaked. “I’m ... I’m a friend of Nelson’s. I heard ... about the accident? I wondered if ... I could see him?”

  Thinking about the fact I was at Nelson’s house asking to see him gave me the jitters, so I did my best to block it out. His dad stared at me, silent, then gave a smile.

  “Of course. He’ll be glad of the company.”

  He waved me in, and I trailed after him through the house to what I’d call a den. It was decorated kind of Southwest with leather furniture, a thick orange-gold rug in an Indian-type pattern, and a pair of lamps shaped like buffalo. Propped up on the couch, swaddled in a wool blanket, was Nelson.

  Seeing me, his gaze spun wide. “Pink?”

  I rounded the end and came to a halt even with his feet. “You look horrible.”

  He smiled. “And you look great.”

  I rolled my eyes and patted my ribcage. “Yeah, right. I’m still patched up.”

  “So am I.”

  He was being lighthearted, which I thought was good, but it did make me wonder why. I waved toward a chair. “Can I sit?”

  He nodded.

  Leaning back in what was a ginormous armchair, I draped one arm over the cushion. “You missed school and then didn’t come Monday, so I got concerned,” I began.

  His happy expression grew strange.

  “I didn’t ask anyone,” I continued, “but investigated on my own.” I’d decided he’d want to know that first. That way, his work with me and our being sort-of friends would stay the secret he wanted.

  But the strangeness on his face became even weirder.

  “No one mentioned where you were ... not that I overheard,” I said. “Not even Mrs. Palmer.”

  “That’s because they think I’m on a trip.”

  My brows drew tight. “On a trip?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry ... I should have called you about Monday night, but I didn’t have your number. I did read like I was supposed to though. That Sarah Jane reminds me of you a lot.”

  I had several things to say then, but his remark about the character, Sarah Jane, came first. “Like me? How so?”

  He drew in a breath. “She tells the truth.” He said it like that mattered to him.

  “Well, the truth is important,” I replied. “But sometimes, if you’re going to tell the truth and it might hurt someone, it’s better just to not speak. That’s why I’m silent a lot at school.”

  He pursed his lips. “I figured you were shy.”

  “Not shy ... more playing it safe. Being quiet helps me hear things, too. People start to think I’m not around and talk more.”

  His odd countenance returned.

  “Besides,” I continued, thinking it’d help him, “no one wants to spend time with me anyhow. I’m used to it.”

  “I do,” he said.

  My heart skipped a beat. Had Nelson really said that?

  “I like talking to you because I know where I stand.”

  I turned that over in my head. He knew where he stood with me. He knew ... because I couldn’t shake my admiration of him and, being truthful like he’d just said I was, it was impossible for me to lie about it. But, my thoughts reformed, that meant other people had hurt him somehow. It wasn’t any of my business who. Therefore, I didn’t ask. I did have this revelation though – maybe being popular wasn’t always as great as I’d thought. Maybe in a lot of ways, I had the advantage.

  “Sarah Jane would look like you, too,” he said.

  Unsure of how to take that, I didn’t respond.

  “She’s insecure so she tries to cover up what is actually a very pretty girl.”

  I couldn’t feel my toes, couldn’t feel my hands, but my face was scalding hot. Never in all my seventeen years did I think Nelson would pay me a compliment. He was acting truthful, too. I’d been around him enough by now to recognize when he wasn’t.

  “Ordinary,” I replied. “Sarah Jane and I are ordinary and plain and unremarkable ... unlike Tiffany.” I’d actually pulled her name out of nowhere, thinking she was cute and petite and likeable, but Nelson’s reaction to it couldn’t have been worse if I’d sawn off his big toe.

  He made a grunt, his eyes squeezing tight in pain, and, scrambling for a handhold, swung himself to a sitting position. I stared at the cuts and bruises on his bare legs, the massive slice center of his naked chest, and slid from my seat to a place at his side. I trailed one finger lightly across the mark, halting at the end to glance up, and couldn’t hear anything but the swish of my own pulse.

  “That scares me,” I said, “you looking like this.”

  “I’ll live,” he replied.

  I smiled. I’d said the same. Funny, he’d repeat it. I continued. “But you don’t have to say nice things to me. No one can hear them, and I know they’re not true.”

  His forehead furrowed, horizontal lines crisscrossing his brow. “Don’t be like Tiffany,” he said. “Be like Pink.”

  He was so close, a hair’s breadth. I could feel the heat rising from his skin.

  “And it is true,” he added.

  With that remark, he seemed to become more removed. He shoved to his feet, and it hit me I was with Nelson at his house and he had on nothing but shorts. A film of sweat swept over me.

  He glanced back right then and laughed quietly. “I’ll find a shirt,” he said, as if I’d proved his point, which I guess I had.

  He was gone several minutes and returned with the book in his hand. He jerked his chin to the left. “Come with me.”

  I trailed after him from the den and into the kitchen.

  He waved me to a seat. After fetching a couple sodas from the refrigerator, he took a spot at my side and folded the pages back, removing his bookmarker. “Walter Stevens had a crush on Sarah Jane,” he read. “Then one day, he decided to tell her ....”

  I knew Nelson would be out of school for the rest of the week, so I bent my nose to the grindstone, keeping a low profile and simply doing my schoolwork. We’d agreed to not meet on Thursday since he didn’t have a vehicle. But one thing did change – we exchanged phone numbers and he began texting me. He’d send me stupid comments about what he was watching on TV or dumb emoticons, and I’d trade gossip about people at school. It lightened the days and made them pass a lot faster.

  The following Monday, he showed up in class wearing a long-sleeve shirt, the cuffs buttoned. I knew why. Except for a bruise on his cheek, which I figured he’d explain away, you couldn’t tell he’d been in any kind of accident.

  He smiled at me and winked, which made my heart skip a beat. I was happy he was there even if we didn’t talk publicly. He texted to say he’d be at my place that evening since he’d borrowed his dad’s car. I sailed through the day on that, my mood pretty light.

  Then just after lunch, I was headed to class and had almost reached the corner of the downstairs hallway when I heard two voices speaking pretty clear, one of them spouting Nelson’s name. Tiffany. I had a flashback to Nelson’s reaction when I’d mentioned her. The other speaker was also female, but not someone I knew right off. I halted in place, letting the crowd flow by me, and strained to hear.

  “He’s sneaking off almost every night, going to see his boyfriend.”

  Boyfriend? The word stabbed me in the chest.

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “Well, it isn’t anyone around here, and he’s too secretive.”

  I knew Nelson well enough to know she was wrong. The only sneaking he’d done was with me. Still, my mind went back to him telling me rumors had upset him. That’d be a big enough one to do it.

  “Honestly, Tiff, you’re so vindictive. You should have let it go by now.”

  I saw red right then. She should have let it go. Nelson was the best guy in the world. He was funny and kind. I adored him, and no one, especially not her, would talk that way. I stepped forward determined to do ... something. But she and the other girl had meshed with a couple others, and I chickened out.

  The school day ended eventually, and Nelson showed up promptly at seven, the book in his hand. “Hey,” he said in greeting. He came in, unasked, afterward and headed for the living room. He’d shed the long sleeve shirt for a t-shirt. His arms looked ghastly, all yellow and blue with cuts across them.

  I couldn’t get Tiffany’s conversation from my head. “What really happened?” I asked. In the accident, I meant, and apparently, he understood me.

  Nelson dropped down on the sofa and sighed. “I was upset, so I didn’t pay attention to what I was doing. I swerved to avoid a truck and hit the pole. I remember nothing but a lot of broken glass and fuzzy faces.”

  Upset, and I knew why. I debated with myself over asking then finally did. “What upset you?”

  He stared at me with that expression I’d come to recognize as his I-don’t-want-to-say one.

  Running one hand over his head, he flipped his hair in every direction. “Rumors. None of them true.” It seemed he was done with the subject.

  He opened the book, shuffling back from his bookmark. “Walter rea ... rea-lized he knew nothing about Sarah Jane’s life.” Nelson looked up. “Was thinking about that.” He released the book and the pages filtered shut. “I probably have no right to ask, but the only place I’ve seen is this room. I’d like to see where Sarah Jane spends all her time.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “You want to see my room?” This threw me off temporarily, since I was still thinking about the rumors.

  He nodded. “I can stand in the doorway if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Nelson wanting to see my room was bizarre, but on second thought, I’d give a dollar to see his. So, maybe it was mere curiosity that made him ask.

  “Sure, I guess,” I said. “Give me a minute to make sure it’s clean.” A cursory look confirmed there were no underthings tossed around. I did my best to straighten my bed and shoved my clothes hamper in the back of the closet. “Okay, you can come.” I waved him down the hall and backed inside. He took a place in the doorway, and once again, I couldn’t believe that Nelson was here doing this.

  He trailed his gaze around the room, ending his perusal on my face. “It looks like you,” he said.

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Well ...” He jerked his chin toward the dresser. “That’s old and I’ll bet, sentimental.”

  It was. I nodded. “Belonged to my grandmother when she was a girl.”

  “You feel secure in the past,” he said.

  That was an interesting observation. I was more secure with the past. The future, however, scared me silly. Not that I wouldn’t succeed. Whatever I decided to do after high school, I was sure I’d do well. But the uncertainty of it and what might happen along the way bothered me a lot.

  “Also, it’s boyish, but underneath there’s all this girl stuff,” Nelson continued. “Like a t-shirt covering a very attractive figure.”

  Heat flashed across my face. I was all bandaged up because of my rib. I couldn’t see how he’d noticed anything.

  “You ever wear a dress?” he asked.

  I choked, coughing to catch my breath. “A ... a dress?”

  He nodded. He looked past me at the closet. “Can I?” he asked.

  Can he what? Look in my closet? I should have been weirded out, but Nelson, I’d discovered, could do about anything and I’d agree. I waved in that direction.

  He stuck his head inside and tugged a hanger from the rack. He extended it to me. “Would you put this on?”

  “N-now? Now?” I repeated the question stronger. “You want me to put it on now?”

  “Indulge me,” he said.

  I stared at the dress. It was a frilly number, short light green skirt with a puffy crinoline and straps that tied behind my neck, a party dress I’d worn only twice. I took it from him, and he scooted from the room. But I didn’t put it on right away. Instead, I crumpled onto the bed and stared at it in my lap.

  How had this happened? How had I ended up here with him doing this? Nelson was all the things I’d thought I wanted to be on the first day of school – popular, outgoing, involved – only time with him had proven I didn’t really want that at all, that I liked myself more than I’d realized and was worth knowing for me. At the same time, I’d learned I was pliable where he was concerned, and I still wasn’t sure if I was okay with that.

  Resigned, I changed into the dress, at the last minute pinning my hair up. I dug out a pair of heels. It felt funny walking around barefoot, after all. I made my way down the hall, halting just outside the living room to breathe in deep. I stepped inside, my nerves rattling, one hand mashed to my waist.

  His gaze spread wide, and he gave a long whistle. “Wow. You look ... great.”

  I worked up a jittery smile. “Doubtful,” I said.

  Long lines formed on his face and his eyes took on a solemn light. He walked toward me, halting only a short distance away and raising his hands to my shoulders. “You don’t see what I do, a lovely girl with a sweet smile and captivating eyes.”

  I guess I looked skeptical because he turned me around and steered me across the room toward the sliding glass doors. Standing there, I could see our reflection. He looked awesome, even bruised and banged up. On the other hand, I looked awkward.

  “I feel ... exposed,” I said.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I won’t tell anyone, and you can go back to being Pink tomorrow. But for tonight, be Brigitte.”

  His using my first name surfed through me. “Brigitte’s insecure, like Sarah Jane. She can’t believe Walter even noticed her.”

  Nelson gazed at me, silent, then glanced over his shoulder. “Walter wants to dance. We need music.”

  I trembled inside. Nelson wanted to dance with me? Nobody would ever know we’d danced, but I was dressed up and not stupid enough to refuse. I left his side, turning on the TV and switching to a music channel. Some Tony Bennett tune came on. Nelson took my hand, pulling me close, and dropped his other hand to the small of my back.

  Staring at each other, we swayed, unable to look away for quite some time, and our bodies warmed. Slowly, my head dipping toward his chest, I pressed my cheek there. “I’m dreaming,” I said. He laughed, the sound reverberating in my ears. I peeled my face back. “Seriously. You do know I’ll never get to sleep tonight?”

  “Me either,” he said, his smile lighting my mind.

  CHAPTER 4

  I was right about not sleeping. I tossed and turned until well after midnight, then had a dream where Nelson and I were dancing in a long hallway, like something out of King Louis XIV, all gold and crystal and glitzy. It stuck with me the next morning all the way to school. Getting out of the car, I waved at my mom and made my way inside and got this crazy, insane idea.

  I could fix Nelson’s reputation. He didn’t know I knew what Tiffany had said, and I guess if I did what I was thinking of doing, I’d have to confess I’d found out. But, I reasoned, it’d be after the fact. Surely, he wouldn’t mind. The timing would have to be perfect though, and I had only the barest window of opportunity.

  To pull it off, I had to find someplace concealed where I could see the lockers but not be seen. I flicked my gaze left and right and decided the custodian closet was perfect. I had to hope it’d be unlocked. It wasn’t, so I adapted my plan and crunched up in the recessed opening. Peering out, I waited until Nelson appeared.

  He spun the dial on the front of his locker, left-right-left, and tugged open the door. Digging out my cell, I brought up his number and held my thumb over the keypad. Then, I looked for Tiffany. The likelihood she’d be nearby was pretty high because I knew her locker was just down from his. I spotted her blonde head, her perfectly manicured nails digging through the stash she kept inside, and hit dial.

  Nelson startled at his cell ringing. He pulled it from his pocket, his brow wrinkling at seeing my name, and brought it to his ear.

  “Don’t say anything,” I whispered, watching him react. “Clear your screen and hand the phone to Tiffany.”

  “What? Why?” he asked.

  “Just do it.”

  He hesitated, and I knew I was asking a lot of him. But the more time went by, the more I knew I had to follow through.

  “Nelson ... Hand it to her, but don’t say it’s me.”

  He glanced around the hall, obviously looking for where I was, then, not finding me, stepped right and tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s for you ...” he said, his voice muffled, away from the speaker.

  She looked down at his phone, then up at his face. He extended it further.

  She took it finally, bringing his cell to her ear, and I closed my eyes to concentrate. If I watched her, I’d never be able to do this.

  “Hello? Who is this?” she asked.

  “This,” I began, “is Sarah Jane. I wanted you to know that how great you thought he’d be, he is. Only better. Last night, we danced together, Nelson and me, alone, nobody to look at but each other. You think of that next time you decide to spread rumors.” I was done, so I hung up.