O3 I Put My Trust In You

"I PUT MY TRUST IN YOU"

I had just drenched my waffles in syrup when the doorbell rang. Dad was closest and opened the door. I nearly choked on my food when I heard who it was.

"Hi, I'm Peter Conway. A friend of Faye."

"And my wife apparently," my dad grumbled as he ushered Peter inside.

My mom, who had been frowning all morning, had nothing but smiles for our guest. "Peter, what are you doing here so early? Would you like some breakfast? I can make a few more waffles."

I was ready to shovel my breakfast in my mouth and pull Peter out of there when he said, "I'd love some, actually. It smells delicious, Mrs. Moore."

Mr. Manners claimed the chair next to me as my mom set a plate of eggs in front of him. "I'll be right out with more waffles." To me she hissed, "Sit up and elbows off the table."

I felt my face bunch up at her request. When had no elbows on the table ever been a rule in this house?

"This is nice," Peter said to no one in particular. My dad was busy on his phone and I was still trying to figure out why my mom was trying so hard with Peter. "I have four brothers, so meal time is usually a cage match."

"I can steal your eggs if that would make you feel more at home." I offered. My mother's cooking was legendary. So, I wouldn't mind another helping.

"Try having three sisters and get back to me," My dad said, lowering his phone to stare down Peter. "You ever get stabbed with an eyeliner pencil?"

Peter glanced at me, probably wondering if he was joking. He wasn't. Be still had the scar on his leg. "Uh, no, sir."

"It's highly unpleasant."

I hid my laughter behind another bite of waffles.

"Henry, what have I told you about discussing stabbings at the table?"

"Literally, nothing," I said. Our family was not formal. We sat down to eat as a family, sure, but we didn't have rules about elbows or stabbings.

She piled three waffles onto Peter's plate before sitting down at the head of the table across from my dad. "Well, I'm saying something now."

We settled into a silence as we ate our food. I tried to ignore the fact that Peter Conway was at my table. His thigh so close to mine, I could feel the heat from it. Today he wore a Linkin Park t-shirt that fit him perfectly. He also smelled like cedar wood and menthol. It was nice. If you were into that. Which I wasn't.

"So, Peter, what brings you by today?" My mom asked.

He politely waited to swallow his food before replying. "They daycamp starts on Monday, but there is still a lot of prepping to be done before then. I came by to see if Faye could help."

My mom looked to me, wary. "Faye is actually grounded for her behavior in Mrs. Payne's class yesterday."

I stuffed more eggs into my mouth to keep from saying something that'd get me in even more trouble.

"But I guess if she's with you, it'll be fine."

My head whipped in my mom's direction. Whatever super power Peter had over adults, I needed.

"I'll just need to know when to expect you back." My mom narrowed her eyes at me. "Faye likes to take detours."

"We won't be out long. Maybe an hour--" I kicked him under the table. That was not enough time. "Three tops."

She nodded. "That sounds reasonable. I'll be checking the Ring camera to make sure you're here by then."

There was no one I hated more than the inventor of the Ring camera. I could still sneak out since the camera only covered the front and back doors, but still. It took more effort on my part.

"That should be illegal."

"Faye, I--" My mom caught a glimpse of her smart watch. She turned to my dad. "We're going to be late, Henry."

Right on schedule, my parents got ready for their marriage counseling appointment. They were gone before Peter finished his plate of waffles.

"I like your parents," he said, taking a sip of his water.

"They're all yours." I pushed away from the table, going into the kitchen to drop my plate in the sink.

Peter followed, but didn't set his dishes in the sink. He scrapped the left over scraps into the trash, then opened the dishwasher. "Are these clean?"

"How should I know? What are you even doing?"

His blue eyes widened like he thought I was crazy. "Your mom just made us breakfast. The least we could do is clean up the kitchen."

"My mom loves spending the night cleaning the kitchen," I told him. "Let's go. I only have three hours of freedom. Plus we have to check the school for my book."

He ignored my pleas and loaded the dishwasher. "Does your mom enjoy cleaning the kitchen or does she do it because no one else steps up to help?"

I stared at him for a long moment.  "What planet are you from and how do I get you back to it?"

"This would be quicker if you helped."

He was fully committed to cleaning the kitchen and since he was my way into the school, I couldn't just leave him. So, against my will, I helped.

Peter started the dishwasher then washed pots and pans in the sink while I put away extra food and wiped the counters down. Mr. Perfect went back over the counters, clearly not satisfied with my work.

Something about that really pissed me off. "Next time, don't ask for my help!" I threw the damp rag I used at him, hitting right in the chest.

He looked taken aback. For some reason I felt embarrassed. Heat flooded my cheeks as I tried to figure out what made me react that way.

"Sorry." Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper. He folded the rag and hung it over the sink divider. "I didn't mean anything by it. I always go over the counters twice."

"Whatever, Mr. Perfect. Can we go? We just wasted twenty minutes."

With a curt nod, Peter lead the way out to his car. Electric, of course. I felt like I was sitting inside of a wind up toy that'll run out of juice at any moment.

Surprisingly, we made it to the school in one piece. I'd only been to school on the weekends with Daniel. He played baseball and had practice. We'd hook up in his truck after or before. Sometimes both.

We parked around back in the teacher's lot and entered the school through the gym. Are shoes squeaked and echoed through the room. The gym looked huge with the bleachers folded into the wall.

In The End had been stuck in my head since seeing Peter's shirt. I couldn't help myself, I belted the bridge. The acoustics were amazing. My eyes squeezed tight, I got lost in it. Feeling the lyrics deep in my bones.

My music tastes leaned more pop than rock, but I appreciated good lyrics no matter the genre.

"Wow."

I startled at Peter's voice, my eyes flying open. I'd completely forgotten he was there. He watched me with awe. Like I was a new recycling category he just discovered. My face burned. I wasn't shy about singing in public. I knew I had a great voice. But no one had ever looked at me the way Peter did.

"You listen to Linkin Park?" He asked.

I shrugged, scratching my elbow. "I only know, like, three of their songs."

"Your voice is...amazing."

Not only was Peter Conway complimenting me, but he was making me blush. I did not like that one bit.

"Let's find my book." I pushed a head, thankful the gym door was only locked from the outside. If not, my dramatic exit would'vd been spoiled by me slamming my face into the heavy metal door.

Peter followed me out into the mid-morning sun. Since we lived in the weather-less part of California, the school was basically outside. The lockers, the cafeteria. Everything was circled around the grassy quad.

We trekked across the grass to the B building. Peter unlocked it and held the door open for me. Once again our footsteps echoed through the halls.

Senior prom posters still covered the walls. Daniel took me as his date to his senior prom. I had so much of the spiked punch that I didn't remember much. Just waking up with a nasty hangover in nothing but Daniel's tuxedo jacket.

That's why my sister's prom dress was the perfect thing to wear in my music video for I Don't Wanna Dance With You. I was thankful I hadn't wasted my senior prom on Daniel. Next year was going to be better. I'd be sober, for one. Maybe I'd have a date whose only goal wasn't to sleep with me in the back of a limo.

When Peter unlocked room B15, I got to work searching every inch of the room. Peter helped, going as far as to move the large rolling storage cabinets. Even though there was no way my notebook would be under them.

After a solid twenty minutes, all we came up with was dust bunnies and a wallet with fifteen dollars in it. Which Mr. Perfect obviously offered to return with the money.

"You sure no one else came in the room?" He asked, scratching his head.

"Only you."

He pivoted in a slow circle. "Maybe someone came in while we were talking? You had your stuff on the desk closest to the door, right? Anyone could've walked by, stuck their hand in and grabbed it."

"But who? And why?" I plopped down in one of the plastic chair. Since talking to Peter yesterday in his driveway, I held on to the fantasy that my notebook was here in this room. Knowing for sure that it wasn't, that someone out there is walking around with my lyrics, my stories...it made me sick.

I placed my head on the desk. Using every bit of willpower I had on not crying in front of Peter Conway. Only Cherry was allowed to see me that way.

His hand rested on my back as he squatted down to be level with me. I hated how nice it felt, but didn't have it in me to shrug him off. Maybe I didn't really him want to stop.

"I'll find it," he promised. "I'll ask around. At least we know the janitor didn't find it and toss it. The trash is still full." He nodded to the small black trash can next to the teacher's desk still over flowing with balled up paper. He was right. That was a silver lining.

If someone stole my song book, I had a chance of getting it back. But if it was in the trash... Ugh, why didn't I listen to Cherry when she suggested photocopying the book just in case?

Feeling a little less like crying, I turned to Peter. I wasn't expecting him to be so close. His breath still smelled like breakfast. This close, I could see the fine, blond stubble on his cheeks.

His hand, still on my back, was causing an emotional disturbance. I shrugged him off then. "I should go. I only have about an hour and a half left before I have to get home."

He stood with me. "Do you need me to take you somewhere?"

The last thing I needed was more time with Peter inside his toy car. "Nope. I can walk." I headed for the door.

"Faye, aren't you forgetting something?"

All I brought with me was my phone, which I had in the pocket of my jean shorts. "What?"

"Manners," he said matter-of-factly. "A thank you. Bringing you here is against the rules. I could get in trouble."

"Oh. Duh. Silly me." Instead of a thank you, I flipped him the bird and left.

***

Cherry met me in her drive way, a bright pink flamingo floaty around her waist. I forgot she and her family were going to the water park today.

Her younger siblings were already in the back seat of their truck, fighting over a tablet. Her dad loaded a cooler in the trunk and her mother watered their flower garden with the water house. Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker were the only adults I didn't hate. They were cool.

"Did you find the notebook?" Cherry asked, hope filling her face. It immediately vanished when I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Faye."

"Whoever stole it is going to be sorry!" I mumbled, picking at my nail polish. "What's the prison sentence on murder."

"You'd go nuts in prison having people run your life," she pointed out.

"How is that any different than now?"

"You don't have to worry about being shived or beaten with a bar soap in a sock."

I let myself laugh at my friends silliness. "Why do you know so much about prison?"

She shrugged. "I like prison movies."

"Angela, let's go before traffic gets too bad," Mrs. Whitaker called out as she climbed into the driver's seat.

Cherry's birth name was Angela. She never liked it because of that talking cat app with the same name. So, on the first day of sixth grade when our homeroom teacher asked us if we had a preferred name, she said Cherry. That's what I, and most everyone else, called her from then on. But she was still Angela to her family.

"Have fun at the water park," I told her.

She hugged me. "Don't sit around mopping about your song book, okay? You're full of enough music to fill a hundred of those things."

I appreciated the sentiment, but I wasn't worried about not having my songs. What scared me most was who had them and what they planned to do with them.

I hugged her back. "Thanks, Cherry."

She got into the back with her siblings and I waved at the Whitakers as the pulled out of the driveway. Once they were gone, I checked my watch. I still had half an hour before my mom would be checking up on me.

That was not much time to do anything while on foot. So, I headed home. As I cut through a field between Cherry's neighborhood and mine, I heard someone call my name. Stopping, I looked around but didn't see anyone. Weird.

I kept walking. Focused on getting home. Then I heard my name again, closer this time. I scanned the field of weeds and dirt, and still saw nothing.

A pair of arms grabbed me from behind and I screamed.

***

Sorry for the cliffhanger, but the next chapter will be up tomorrow!

I hope you're enjoying these Faye/Peter scenes as much as I am. They're dynamic id just so much fun to write!

Please leave a vote and a comment if you enjoyed it!