Shut Out

Chapter sixteen

"Look," Cash said as we pulled away from the high school. "I know you don't want to talk about it. That's understandable. But… But just so you know, he's a jackass. Any decent guy wouldn't have done that to you."

If I'd had the nerve, I would have reminded him that a decent guy wouldn't have kissed me, acted like I was special, and then forgotten about me, either.

Instead, I just ran my fingers through my hair and said, "Thanks."

We went along in silence as Cash's Toyota turned through the dark, curving roads of Hamilton toward the subdivision where I lived. The dream I'd had Tuesday night slithered into my thoughts. The feel of his hands on my hips, his breath on my neck, my head leaning back against the bookshelves as his lips traced a line between my jaw and shoulder. It had been so private, had felt so real and good. Sitting beside him now, in the dim glow of the speedometer's light, with only a foot or less space separating us — I felt claustrophobic and… guilty.

I wasn't sure why. I mean, Chloe was right. I couldn't control whom my dreams were about, and it wasn't like I'd cheated on Randy.

It wasn't like he felt guilty for cheating on me.

I glanced at Cash out of the corner of my eye. He was facing out toward the road ahead of us, and I watched as the passing streetlamps cast the silhouette of his profile across the car. Strong jaw, straight nose, broad shoulders. It felt strangely intimate to watch him drive, his eyes on the road instead of looking back at me.

I wanted to kiss Cash again. Right now. I wanted him to pull the car over and make out with me right there on the side of the road. I don't know if I wanted to spite Randy or just lose myself. Either one sounded good. I could still remember the way Cash's lips had felt on mine — in real life, not just in my dream — and how much I'd liked it. How special it had made me feel.

But Cash had rejected me once already, and after what had just happened with Randy, I knew I couldn't take it again.

"Do you want me to walk you in?"

"What?" I blinked and realized the car had come to a stop and Cash was looking at me — he'd caught me watching him. Embarrassed, I turned away. We were in front of my house. "N-no," I stammered, scrambling for the door handle.

"You sure?"

"Positive." I shoved the door open and slid out of the car, glanced over my shoulder once to mumble "Thank you," shut the door, and hurried away from the car before I could change my mind.

The first time Randy and I broke up was at the end of June, and it was because I wouldn't sleep with him. Not that either of us advertised that little detail. Instead, I skirted around the truth when people asked, saying, "Things just weren't working out," and trusting, of course, that Randy wouldn't tell anyone the real reason for our breakup — it would make him look like less of a man to his testosterone-crazed friends, after all, if they knew that he couldn't get into my pants.

The hardest part of that breakup, though, was telling Dad and Logan. They were devastated. They tried not to show it, but all summer long they said things like "I'm sure you two will work it out" and "I wonder how Randy's doing — I bet he misses you." Little hints that I should call him or give things another shot.

They were thrilled when we got back together after the car accident. Little did they know I'd promised to sleep with Randy when we reconciled — a promise I never kept.

So here I was, barely two months later, walking down the stairs in my Rainbow Brite pajamas, preparing to tell them that we'd split up again — for good this time.

Dad was sitting at the table eating a bowl of Raisin Bran when I came into the kitchen. "Morning, sunshine," he said cheerfully. "How was the dance? I didn't even notice you come in last night, but when Logan got home he peeped into your room and you were in there, fast asleep."

"Yeah," I said, sitting down across from him and pouring my own bowl of cereal. "You were watching a game when I got home. I didn't want to bother you."

"Aw, that's all right. My team lost, anyway. So how was the dance?"

"Um." I took a bite of cereal, chewing slowly to put this off as long as I could. "Actually, we should talk…. Where's Logan?"

"Sleeping, I assume. He got in late last night."

"Really? Why? Where was he?"

"Date."

I narrowed my eyes at Dad. "With who?"

Dad sighed. "Logan's a grown-up, remember? He doesn't have to tell us whom he is going out with."

"Fine," I said, hoping it wasn't Jenna, and poked my spoon at a raisin floating in my milk. "Okay, then I'll just tell you alone, I guess."

"Tell me what, sweetheart?"

Deep breath. One, two, three…

"Randy and I broke up last night."

"Oh." Dad hesitated before putting his spoon down on the table and focusing all his attention on me. I could already see the cloud of disappointment in his eyes. "Well, I know things can get dramatic at school dances. Maybe you'll see him at school on Monday and you two will talk it over and — "

I shook my head. "No, Dad. It's over. I'm not getting back together with him this time." I pushed my bowl of cereal away from me, my appetite gone. "Sorry. I'm really sorry; I know you and Logan love him, and I know he's like part of the family, but after last night… I'm sorry, Dad."

"Lissa, honey, don't apologize to me." He reached across the table and took my hand in his. "What happened?"

I rubbed at the corners of my eyes with my free hand, feeling tears begin to spring up. "Last night at the dance, I caught him kissing another girl." No need to go into the dirty details about the bathroom and the girl's thong. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Hey, I said stop apologizing." Dad squeezed my hand. "Listen, honey, Logan and I… We do think a lot of Randy. But if he doesn't respect you, then he has lost our respect, okay?"

The tears were actually slipping down my cheeks now. So embarrassing. Maybe I had just been in too much shock last night to really cry, and sitting here, talking to Dad, it was finally hitting me. I hated it, though. I didn't want to cry over Randy.

"But he was like a second son to you," I reminded Dad. "He played football and watched games with you. He made you happy."

"But making you this upset does not make me happy," Dad said. "Lissa, what made me happiest about Randy was that, as far as I knew, he made you happy. Sure, it was nice that we had things in common, but that doesn't matter in the long run. Who you date is your decision. If you want to date an unshaven, sports-loathing vegetarian poet, I'll still be happy for you — just as long as you're happy with it."

I managed a crooked smile. "Even a soccer player?"

Dad laughed. "Even a soccer player… Though Logan may disagree on that one."

"Well, he won't even tell us who he's dating, so he can just deal."

Dad smiled and patted my hand before pulling his away and returning to his bowl of cereal. "I love you," he said. "And I'll welcome any boy you date with open arms. And if they hurt you,

I'll… Well, I'll make Logan think of some way to make them pay, because I'm pretty useless."

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I do leave some mean shin bruises."

I laughed and stood up to walk around the table. I wrapped my arms around Dad's neck from behind and rested my chin on his shoulder. "Thank you, Dad. I just wish it hadn't worked out this way. I know you loved him. You don't have to deny it."

"I'll love the next one even more."

I released Dad. "There may not be a next one. I'm giving up on boys."

"Don't get my hopes up." Dad looked over his shoulder at me. "But you'll have another one in no time. I'm sure of it."

"We'll see." I picked up my half-eaten bowl of cereal and took it to the sink. "But thanks. For being so sweet, I'll let you have dessert after dinner tonight. What would you like me to make?"

"You're making dinner?" Dad asked. "I thought your friends were coming over for a girl-slumber-over-sleep-party thing."

I rinsed out my bowl. "Slumber party. And no. I have a feeling no one will show up tonight. Some other stuff happened after I caught Randy…. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it, but I don't think they'll be talking to me for a while."

"Even Chloe?"

"Especially Chloe."

Just as the words left my mouth, the doorbell rang. I finished cleaning my bowl, wiped my hands on the dish towel, and headed into the living room. "Coming!" I shouted as the doorbell rang again.

"Rainbow Brite? Really, Lissa? How old are you?"

"Chloe?" I stared at her standing in the open doorway. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be — "

"Pissed at you? Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you, too. Why haven't you been answering your cell? I called it, like, a gazillion times."

"I haven't heard it ring," I told her, stepping aside so she could walk in. "I didn't charge it when I came in last night, so it might be dead. I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to call me today — except maybe Randy, and I don't want to talk to him."

"Ugh. Who would?" Chloe slipped off her sandals and positioned them neatly on the front mat, just the way I liked. "But whatever. Enough chitchat. You have, like, twenty girls showing up here in about four hours, and we have a lot to talk about and work to do before they get here."

"Wait. What? Twenty girls? You mean they're still coming?"

But Chloe was already halfway up the stairs to my bedroom.

I glanced toward Dad, who'd wheeled his chair into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. I shrugged my shoulders, and he just smiled at me. "I'll order pizza tonight," he said. "Go have fun."

"Thanks, Dad." And I ran upstairs after Chloe.