Here's Chapter Twelve. Enjoy, Sarah. xx
*
EMMA
I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t think.
What is happening to my life?
I tried to get the words out, but everything failed me. Every time I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out and I was beginning to panic. Why was Jordan telling me all this? Up until that night it had never occurred to me that we were even friends let alone one of us being in danger of falling in love with the other.
It had come out of nowhere. After running out on him in panic all I had done was try to figure out how we’d gotten into this situation. I hadn’t told anyone about what Jordan had said, except Logan. I’d spent most of Sunday hanging out with him and when he realized that I was in a world of my own he demanded that I tell him what was wrong.
Needless to say, Logan wanted to confront Jordan. But what would he say? What would he do? Jordan hadn’t exactly done anything wrong; if anything, it had been me. I had probably led him on, or maybe he thought I was easy like all the other girls he’s been with. Maybe that explained it all; he’d been so used to getting girls into bed, he thought I’d just fall for all his bull like they did.
Dad had noticed that something was wrong too. He called me miserable on Sunday night, and he wasn’t far off the mark. I had been walking around, moping, for the better part of this week. Naturally my mother hadn’t noticed. Why would she? She was never home so she wouldn’t know if I were up or down. Sometimes I’m surprised she remembers who I am long enough to enquire about my day before she leaves for her night shifts.
Then Holly came over on Monday night, talking about how Jordan had questioned her about last Saturday. She’d filled me in on what he’d said and then looked at me for an explanation. I told her all she needed to know, which was almost everything, then begged her not to tell Zoe because she would make a huge deal out of it. Which of course she did on Tuesday after Jordan had questioned her too. He seriously wasn’t going to give up. A fact that was proven right on Wednesday when my father finally asked me outright what was going on.
I could never lie to Dad; we were too close for that, but at the same time I didn’t want to have to talk to him about boys. That’s for mother-daughter relationships, not for fathers and daughters. He persisted in that way that he does, until eventually I conceded and told him everything he wanted to know.
Jordan and I had hung out a handful of times for the school project. We’d only spoken for a total five hours all in over the years since he moved next door. And after only a week or so he was declaring his love for me.
“Do you love him back?” Dad watched me carefully.
“No!” I shouted incredulously.
How could I love him back? I didn’t know him, and since he ruined everything, I wasn’t going to know him. This also meant I was going to fail Peer Class, and I’ve never failed a class in my life. Why hadn’t I said ‘No, Mrs. Waite. I do not want to partner Jordan Knight for this project’? If I could turn back the clock that is what I should have said after Jordan handpicked me for the project. Now it was too late. I’d even asked Mrs. Waite for a new partner after Tuesday’s class, but she shook her head and told us that getting to know each other was the only way we were going to sort out our differences. I stopped short of telling her that the difference was that Jordan loved me but I didn’t love him back.
I’d done everything possible to avoid Jordan. I’d practically ignored my friends and hung out in the library every lunch time. I’d sat as far apart from him in classes and made sure to avoid him in the halls at school. I hadn’t gone to Thursday night’s practice because I couldn’t face him staring at me now that I knew why he did it.
Now that he was standing in my room, declaring his love for me a second time, I couldn’t avoid him anymore.
“Jordan,” I tried to keep my voice calm. “You can’t sneak in through the window and say stuff like that to me.”
“Why not?” His face contorted. “Why can’t I tell you that I love you?”
“Because I don’t love you,” I snap without thinking.
“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper. “They call it unrequited love.”
We stay in silence for what feels like hours. Jordan’s eyes are on the floor and he has his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s trying hard not to move. He looks pained and a feeling of guilt washes over me as he shrugs his shoulder in defeat.
I move from the bed and slowly make my way to him, stopping a foot away from where he stands.
“Jordan,” I begin, but stop when I realize that I don’t know quite what to tell him. “I know it’s not what you want to hear and I’m really sorry that I hurt you like this, but I can’t make myself feel the same for you as you do for me.”
He nods.
“Why did you have to tell me?” I laugh nervously. “Look, we have to think of a way to get past this and finish the Peer Class project, ok? So, what do you suggest?”
He shrugs again. “I guess we can try to forget what I said.”
I thought about the proposition. We could, but it will always be in the back of our minds. Each look, each touch, each word will take on a new meaning from here on out. The staring, now that I knew why he was doing it, was no longer funny but strange. He will always look at me with those eyes that’ll remind me he wants me. But my eyes will always tell him he can’t have me. I never thought his eyes or mine could ever be so cruel.
But, what were our other options? I couldn’t go on ignoring him. He lived next door and he was my partner for the Peer Class project, plus the fact that he’s Captain of my father’s hockey team. I would have to see him every day.
“We could try that,” I announce finally. “But there’s going to have to be rules.”
His eyes flash to mine expectantly. I notice that they’re slightly teary, a watery gloss swimming with the blue of his irises and I almost melt in them until I force myself to focus.
“We only see each other in the day,” I begin to recite the conditions of us hanging out. “And we have a third person with us every time. We only talk about project related things and there will be no more mention of love. And there will be no more climbing in through bedroom windows, ok?”
Jordan laughs to himself. “Your old man told me about the window,” he smiles.
Great, I thought. Of all the boys Dad could encourage to jump through the window, he chooses the captain of his hockey team. My father hardly trusts Logan to come up here when he uses the front door, but now he was actively persuading a man-whore like Jordan to sneak in. There will be words said about that tomorrow.
“Are we agreed?” I push for an answer, and sigh with relief when Jordan nods his head. “Good. Now you’d better go. I’ll see you in school tomorrow, ok?”
Jordan nods and begins to back away to the window. Just as he’s about to start climbing out I remind him that my house has stairs and a front door that are more conducive for entering and exiting a house. He grins sheepishly and makes his way for the door. When he turns to me, I recognize a longing look as he takes in my body. His eyes travel up my legs, a burning sensation trailing his gaze across my skin as he moves his eyes up to my chest and then fall on my face.
I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and I want nothing more than to stop them from reddening, but I can’t. My head is whirling too much to think of such trivial things and is more preoccupied with staring at Jordan as he exits my bedroom, a whispered good night reaching me too late.
He was gone.
I could hardly sleep that night. My thoughts were doing overtime thinking about Jordan and everything over the last week. His speech from earlier was playing around in my head as if there were secret meanings in every word; every word except the part where I remember him saying he loves me.
Friday was a nightmare that was playing out in the cold light of day. Holly had invited Sam to sit with her, Zoe and I, which naturally meant Adam and Jordan tagged along too. Despite sitting next to each other, the atmosphere between Jordan and I was awkward for everyone to see. Jordan barely spoke the whole hour, and I don’t think I said more than six words in total. ‘Hi, how are you?’ and ‘Good, thanks’ were all our conversation was.
Even when Jordan came over to my house after school things were still strained.
We sat in the kitchen with my father pottering around pretending to make dinner. I had made him promise not to leave us alone, and for the most part, Dad was doing a stellar job. He’d managed to create a lot of distraction, which meant that Jordan and I didn’t have much time for talking, and Dad had even managed to create some sort of concoction that he swore was edible.
“So,” Jordan finally cleared his throat and pulled out the questionnaire for Peer Class. “I know the basics about you, and I know that you have your ears pierced and you have a tattoo on your wrist-” I heard my father grumble to himself at the mere mention of the tattoo, “- and that your favorite film is the Lion King. What about favorite food?”
“Oh, easy. Cinnamon pancakes,” I smile at the thought of having one right now. “When we were younger, Dad would always take us to Joe’s on Sunday mornings. I always ordered the same thing: cinnamon pancakes. Then we’d go down to the lake and run around and be all goofy. It was never a good Sunday unless we were coming home covered in mud and trailing it around the house.
“My mother would always shout at us,” I laugh at the memory. “But then we’d play the puppy dog card and she could never resist our hazel eyes because she said it was always as if she were looking in a mirror. Since those days, Sunday has always been my favorite day of the week.”
“Favorite drink?” Jordan asks as he scribbles down my previous answer.
I tell him that I can’t get enough of mango and passion fruit smoothies, especially during the summer when it gets so warm that all you really need is a blended smoothie to cool you down.
He asks about my favorite sport, and I tell him that he should already know that about me. We covered my love for my room because it was my sanctuary and that very few people that I trusted were allowed in there.
I knew the next question on the paper was the one about being in love, and I dreaded having Jordan ask me, but he never did. He skipped onto the drink and drugs question, and I could instantly feel my body tense up.
“I don’t do drugs because I’ve never been offered any,” I tell him. A clattering behind me reminds me that my father is in the kitchen too. “Not that I would take them if I were, of course. And I don’t drink either,” I say, my eyes flickering to my father who is watching me as if I’m fragile.
“But you must have tried it, right?” Jordan asks as he raises his eyes to me for the first time since we started. “I mean, every teenager has gotten drunk at least once. You never wanted to try it?”
“It’s complicated,” I bite my lip to avoid saying more than necessary.