Page 29 of Gone Tonight
He was stronger than he looked.
He took my hand and electricity tingled all the way up my arm and thrummed through my body.
My school felt different late at night. Like an outline of itself, with the insides scooped out.
Our footsteps echoed down the quiet hallways. James led me to the gym, and we walked past the basketball court toward a small room covered in floor mats. It was where the wrestlers practiced.
He told me not to move, he’d be right back.
James disappeared, and I felt the shadows close in on me.
When James returned, my eyes had adjusted enough to see that he was holding a silver Louisville Slugger baseball bat.
At the sight of him, I felt my pulse quicken. I desperately wanted him to touch me again.
He handed me the bat and told me to let it out.
I didn’t get what he meant. He gestured to a rolled-up wrestling mat and said I should pretend it was my mother and give her what she deserved.
I lifted the bat over my head with both hands and slammed it down on the mat.
I looked over at James.
I could tell it wasn’t enough for him. It wasn’t enough for me, either.
I lifted the bat again. And again.
It all came pouring out of me. All the anger and hurt and helplessness that had accumulated for years. I slammed the bat down for every one of her slaps and threats and scratches and insults.
I slammed the bat down on her for not loving me.
When I finally finished, I was breathing hard and sweating. I probably looked wild.
But I didn’t feel helpless any longer. I didn’t feel like a victim.
I dropped the bat and turned to face James.
He was staring at me like I’d given him the best gift possible—like I was the gift.
He whispered that he knew I had this inside me the first night he saw me, when I was glaring at Brittany like I wanted to claw her face off after the vote for captain. Then he pulled me against him and kissed me.
I had been kissed before, but never like that. I felt like I couldn’t get enough of him. I ran my hands through his hair as the kiss went on and on. At one point he pulled away briefly and looked down at me, then dropped his head to kiss me again, like he couldn’t bring himself to stop, either.
After a while, we wandered back outside, holding hands and stopping every few feet to kiss again. We sat on the bleachers, my legs draped over his, and drank a few Bud Lights and shared the chocolate-chip cannoli James had brought from Pizza Piazzo.
When it was time for me to go home, James followed me in his car. He waited until I got into my bedroom and flashed my light, our prearranged signal.
From that night on, James completely consumed me. I was addicted to him. We saw each other whenever we could, and if I wasn’t with him, I was thinking about him.
Every time I arrived at school and saw a new note tucked into my locker slats, or whenever I’d look up during Poms practice and see James sitting in the bleachers, it felt like I was glowing, heated from within. It didn’t even matter when Brittany left a diet brochure on top of my backpack, or when Coach put me in the back row of every routine, or when my blue-and-gold poms went missing and Coach made me pay for replacements. Nothing could bring me down.
Soon it wasn’t enough to only see each other in our free time. WhenJames had to work weekend shifts, I sat in his section and sipped a Diet Coke and nibbled the cannoli he slipped me. I tried to do my homework but mostly just snuck looks at him.
He told me he suffered from insomnia and often went for drives when he couldn’t sleep.
One night, he told me he’d gone by Brittany’s house. The way he was smiling—it reminded me of how he’d looked when Mrs. Davis tried to chastise him at the restaurant and he turned the tables on her.
I imagined him letting the air out of Mrs. Davis’s tires, or smearing peanut butter into the keyhole of their door.
