014. Taylor
At Aquino High, there's always a scandal.
I arrive at Liam's house in ten minutes, surprised that I'm at my second party in less than a week. It's late, and the party is already in full swing; it's much crazier than Taylor's was. A group of girls is up on the dining room table laughing and dancing, dangling their stilettos from their hands. I squeeze past the crowd of teenagers surrounding them and into the kitchen.
This is what Aquino High students choose to do on their Monday nights?
Since I can't find anybody I know, I pop open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Against my will, I yawn. It's so late that I'm surprised everyone is still standing on their feet and dancing. In fact, it's so wild here that I wouldn't have imagined it was a school night and these people had homework and sports to balance in their spare time.
Someone brushes past me to reach the fridge and I scoot back, pinning myself against the counter. There's a giant cooler sitting on the granite so I lean against that, fingering the hem of my dress.
"Erika?"
I whirl around and see Taylor standing in front of me. He's wearing a blue button-down that has a giant drink stain on the chest, but his eyes are what captivate me as always. Slowly, he lets his gaze travel down me, memorizing me. I let him stare for a few seconds before I say, "This party is crazy."
"You must have just gotten here." He doesn't sound like he's been drinking and his eyes are still clear. "Why so late?"
"I wasn't planning on coming at all," I admit, taking another sip of water. He wraps an arm around my waist and leads me out into the living room. My mind flashes back to the scrap of paper, the hastily-written note I found in Allison's drawer.
I'm in love with your sister.
He's in love with me.
I don't know how I should act around him anymore, but I figure it won't hurt to keep things the same as they have been the last few weeks, so I sit down next to him on Liam's sectional. The cushions are plush and I sink lower on them than I expected.
We sit in silence for a few seconds, and I observe everyone around me. Liam's sitting on the settee on the other side of the living room, his arm curled around a girl I don't recognize. I squint so I can see her face more clearly but my vision is obscured by someone who steps in front of me.
"Did you want to talk to me?" I finally ask Taylor, shouting so he can hear me over the music. He has his arm draped over the touch of the couch so that his fingers just barely brush my bare shoulders, and the contact is putting all of my senses on overload.
He shrugs. "I wanted to spend time with you more than anything." He's yelling too, and I'm have to lean closer as he adds something that I'm unable to discern.
"Do you want to go somewhere else?" I holler. "Somewhere quieter?"
"Good idea." He stands and extends an arm to pull me off the couch. I sway a little in my heels but manage to stay upright, and he keeps his hand wrapped around my wrist as he guides me through the crowd.
I pass a few people I know, but most everyone is obscured in darkness with only a few overhead lights to provide guidance. The bass is so loud that I can feel my temples pounding by the time Taylor leads me into a room and shuts the door. Instantly, I'm gratified by the way the noise is now partially sealed out.
"I regret ever coming to this," I say as I take a few steps on the carpet. My feet are killing me so I kick off my shoes and focus on the softness against my toes.
Taylor flicks on the lamp on the nightstand and sits down on the edge of the made bed—it looks like we're in a guest room. "I don't regret you coming. I've been wanting to talk to you."
I think about the note again, and then what happened the last time we were alone together. It had been almost too much for me to handle, us being so close together and sharing so much.
"Sit down," he says, so I sink down onto the mattress beside him. We sit in silence for a few moments and I lace my fingers together, studying my chipped blue nail polish. Staring at the color reminds me of the Post-It note on my locker, the one that only today finally became a ten.
"Why can't you tell me who's leaving the Post-Its on my locker?" I ask, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He's staring straight ahead, his gaze focused on nothing, so I press harder. "I know everything else about you, Taylor. Why not this?"
Finally he looks at me, those eyes as intense as ever. "You don't know everything. You have no idea how much I'm in love with you."
My heart pounds to match my head. I never imagined he'd say it like that: so openly, so suddenly, so frankly. His feelings for me were things that I denied except in my head, that I read on piece of paper I'd snuck from my sister's bedroom. Now they were things we spoke of out loud, locked in the guest room at Liam's party?
"I did know that," I say. "I saw something from you in Allison's room. A note."
"A note?"
I stare down at my bare feet. "Yeah. It was just scribbled on a scrap of paper. That you didn't like her anymore—that you liked me instead."
"I wrote that a long time ago," he said. "But it's still true."
"I take that to mean you've been the one putting the Post-Its on my locker?"
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. When I look at him I see now he's the one staring at the carpet. His eyes are lowered so that all I see are his long eyelashes—I can't see his expression clearly.
I let him stay silent for a little while longer before I gently pry, "Taylor?"
"Yes." His voice is abrupt and borderline harsh. "Yes, I've been leaving those on your locker all year long. Happy?"
"Why is it harder for you to admit that you were leaving those than to tell me you're in love with me?"
More silence, except this time, I don't think he plans on responding. There's a bang against the bedroom door, but Taylor had the foresight to lock it and we aren't interrupted. The sound, though, seems to snap him out of his reverie. Slowly, he swings his head to the side so that he's studying me intently.
"Telling you how I felt about you, to your face, is easy. It's what I was supposed to do all along. But the Post-It notes? That was me being a coward. I started that system because I wasn't brave enough to say it to your face. I kept hoping one of the guys would leak to you that I liked you. The secrecy oaths, the fancy meetings? All of that was just a shield. A shield for me, because I was an idiot."
I let him keep talking—he hasn't paused to take a breath yet and I doubt I'd be able to get in a word edgewise even if I wanted to. "After everything that happened last summer...once I realized I liked you, I knew it was impossible that we would ever be together. I'd look like a fool to tell you how I felt. I was lost and I didn't know what else to do."
"You could have said something," I say. It's true that I would have never given him a second glance if he'd confessed his feelings for me last summer. I'd still been furious with him, and the burning in my chest every time I looked at him could be classified as hatred. He made me sick to be around—except now, I see a more vulnerable side. There is more to him than the administrator of the notorious Post-It system, than the boy who cheated on my best friend.
He cheated on my best friend.
My stomach twists. I'm usually able to forget that when I'm in his presence: his eyes and his voice sweep me up into an alternate universe, where nothing has ever gone wrong. But I can't dismiss that now.
He reaches out suddenly and takes my hand; his fingers are so big that they wrap all the way around my palm, swallowing it in his grasp. Somehow it's easy for me to breathe even with the warmth that's spreading through me.
"Be honest with me." Now he places his fingers against my chin and turns my face so I'm forced to look at him. "How do you feel about me?"
My heart is pounding double-time as my brain tries to process the fact that his hands are on me: on my hand, warming my freezing fingers; on my face, making my cheeks flame. Those huge dark eyes are still studying me, his dark eyebrows wrinkled in anticipation.
"Taylor..."
My voice comes out weak. I've never sounded this uncertain before, and a part of me enjoys the not-knowing and the defenselessness. Maybe Taylor and I are learning how to be vulnerable together.
Slowly, his fingers curl around my neck, rubbing small circles where my hairline begins. I don't say anything—I can't say anything. Even if I tried to open my mouth, no words would come out.
"Stop me if you want," he says quietly, his voice a gentle hum. His breath fans across my cheeks and I try not to move. Now I'm positive he can feel the heat on my face.
I don't stop him. It's like that moment in time is immortalized, that instant where our lips are six inches apart, then three, then two. And then there's no distance at all, and Taylor is kissing me.
I don't think; all I can process is touch. I can still feel his fingers pressing against me; I can feel his hair as I curl my hand in it and press his head closer. I can feel his soft lips against mine and my heart pounding, threatening to explode from my chest. And then that eternal moment is over, and he pulls away and I suddenly feel very cold.
"Taylor." Why is it that I can only manage to say his name?
Slowly my vision clears and his face un-blurs, and I can see his confused eyes. "You didn't stop me," he says, his voice still barely above a whisper.
I can't find words, so I just shake my head.
"Why?"
Now is the time to tell him like I always do that I don't want to be around him, that he ruined my best friend's life and, much as I hate to admit it, my sister's. But something about this time is different, and I can't tell him that. I think about the Post-Its I find on my locker every Monday and how we'd sat on his porch at his party last Friday. I think about how much I love the feeling of him next to me.
Then I think of Spencer, and I realize that even though I try to fix it maybe that relationship is ruined. Maybe I have nothing more to do but look forward, into the future. And maybe Taylor is my future.
"I don't know." It's the honest truth, but he still looks confused, so I press on. "I want to hate you for what you've done, but I can't."
His hand moves back up to my cheek and I let him rub my skin with his thumb. For a brief second I allow myself to shut my eyes and enjoy it, but then I force myself to take control of the situation once again. "You cheated on my best friend—with my sister. And I know you regret it but that's messed up. And now, now if we admit to whatever we have, where does that put me? Right in the middle of it all. It makes me just as wrong as you were."
"That's all you can see me for, isn't it?" he asks. His hand falls down, onto the quilt, putting distance between us. "All you see when you look at me is that one night when I screwed up. You can't see past that."
"Taylor—"
"I see past you. I see past how you blackmailed Allison. I see past what you did to me when you forced me to tell her that we were related. I see past all the lowly things you've done just to scrape ahead. And you can't get past this one thing?"
I feel like I've been slapped. Suddenly, all the warmth in my body is gone, replaced by a bitter numb.
When I stare down at my lap I see that his hands are crumpled into fists so tight that his knuckles are white. "We've both messed up. We've both done some pretty awful things. I think we should mutually accept that these things have happened, but they're the past now. They're not our future."
My throat feels parched, and when I swallow I can't quite eliminate the scratchy sensation. "What do you want from me?" I manage.
"I want you. I've wanted you since last summer and I'm not going to stop." Slowly his fists unclench; slowly they take my hands and hold them so tight I think he's going to cut off the circulation. "Just think, Erika. Everyone sees you for who you are and what you've done. That's how everyone sees me, too. Don't you think we belong together? Do you ever think we're going to find anyone else?"
I think of Spencer again; his face blurs in front of my vision, his bright blue eyes staring deep inside me. I realize he sees me just as Taylor described: as scarred and lowly. Maybe Taylor's right. Maybe I don't deserve anyone else. Maybe no one else will ever see me as anything more than a revengeful schemer.
When I raise my gaze to look at Taylor I see that his eyes haven't left me. He looks straddled between a little boy and a man with too many burdens. I realize that's how I feel, too. Without thinking I press the back of my hand against his cheek, watching his eyes flutter shut. For a second I watch his long eyelashes flutter and feel his cheekbone against my knuckles. Then, I say, "You're right."
He doesn't open his eyes, just lets his head fall forward until his forehead is pressed against mine. I try not to think about everyone at school and what they'll think, but I can't help it.
"What about when people find out?" I ask. Then, my heart stops. "What about Brynn?"
"At Aquino High, there's always a scandal." His voice is calming, reassuring. There's no mention of Brynn and I realize that maybe there doesn't have to be. Maybe, for a little while, this can just be between us.
I forget about the party and Allison in her bedroom at home, crying. It's just me and Taylor, alone and enjoying each other's solidarity. Everything will be okay. I have someone at my side now, someone who truly understands.
I don't realize I'm clutching his fingers for dear life until my knuckles cramp. Quickly I draw them back, flexing them to try and ease away the pain. "I should go," I say, sitting back. "It's really late and we have school tomorrow."
He doesn't protest, just stands and flicks off the lamp. There's darkness for a fraction of a second, brightened only by the moon shining through the shutters in slits, until he opens the door.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says. I can barely hear him over the still-raging party.
I nod and step out into the hallway. I feel like I should say something, or that I should kiss him again, but I do neither. Instead, I turn around and walk away, my shoes dangling in one hand.
Silently, I edge through the crowd, only stopping when I reach the door to put back on my shoes. My vision feels unreliable and I don't know whether to attribute that to my fatigue or everything that just happened. I'm still not entirely sure what happened in that room with Taylor, or what we became. All I know is that this is a step to erasing the past and moving forward.
I open the front door and step out into the frigid early morning air, instantly wishing I'd brought a sweater. With shaking legs, I navigate down the driveway to my car and open the door.
Just as I'm about to drive away, I twist back to look at Liam's house. The lights are still on and if I strain my ears I can still hear the bass. The front door is cracked open and someone's standing there, peering out. I catch a flash of blonde hair and pink dress before she steps out on the porch and crosses her arms.
Allison.
Fear jolts through me, and I whip around so that I'm facing the steering wheel. My hands are trembling as I turn on the engine and press my hands against the freezing steering wheel. Too quickly for comfort, I back out of the driveway and turn onto the main road. As I angle my car to drive away I dare a glance back at the porch.
The girl in the pink dress, my sister, is still there.