Rory glanced around. More people were watching now. It wasn’t every day a hot drummer showed up and pounded out a tune on the flagpole. It was even less common that he was talking to Jake McKallister’s little sister. My classmates assumed he was someone. And they weren’t wrong. He would be theirs one day. But first he was mine.
“Please,” he pleaded. “Let’s just go to your car.”
Rory and I didn’t speak on the way there. It wasn’t until we were in my car that I asked, “Who’s Patty?”
He stiffened. “Where did you hear that?”
“The bitchy woman said they knew about your new Patty.”
“Grace,” he stopped me, the horrified look on his face giving me pause. “You have to tell me exactly what she said.”
I pulled my notebook out and read it to him exactly as she said it to me. “She said, and I quote, ‘Look little girl, I don’t have time for your shit. Tell Rory that Martin and Co. know all about his new Patty, and they’re coming for a chat real soon. Like real soon.’”
The color drained from his face. The message she’d sent made no sense to me, but it sure did to Rory. He looked like he might actually pass out.
I grabbed his hand, abandoning the jealousy in my veins to help him through whatever crisis he was experiencing. “What is it?”
He sat back in his seat, and I could see the wheels turning. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? It doesn’t look like nothing. Who is she?”
“Not now, Grace.”
“If not now, when?”
“How about never?”
“That won’t work for me.”
“Grace, please. I can’t.”
The fear in his eyes was real. I wanted to push, but I wasn’t sure how far I could without breaking him, so I softened my approach.
“Let’s go back to your place for a while. I’ll turn off my tracking, so Mom can’t find me. I’ll just be the two of us, and then we can talk.”
Rory twisted his head, like he was in some horror movie. “No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I don’t want to go back there. Not right now. Take me home.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“No. Not to Camden Place.” He caught my eye. “Home.”
Home. He meant mine. My home had become his home.
* * *
That night Roryasked my mother if he could spend the night. Something was definitely wrong. Something about the phone call had spooked him enough that he didn’t want to go home. When I tried to visit him in the room my mom had made up for him, he refused me entry. It took some effort on my part just to get him to go outside to the firepit, where I hoped to get some clarity.
“What’s going on, Rory?”
“I didn’t want to disrespect your mother for letting me stay.”
“Not that. Why don’t you want to go home? What did that message mean?”
He sighed, and I could feel the heaviness he carried. I wrapped my arms around him and held him as tightly as my arms allowed me. I wanted to squeeze out his pain because I knew that was what this was. Something from his past was surfacing, and it was hurting him enough to drive a wedge between us.
