Absolution

by Jennifer Laurens

  “Miss Walker!” Mr. Bringhurst’s voice boomed. “You need to sit down.

  Now.”

  “Go to hell,” Britt ground out. She grabbed her backpack, swung it over her shoulder and marched to the door.

  “Miss Walker—”

  “I’m leaving!” Britt shouted. The partying creatures on her back leapt and swirled, their mouths agape, fangs gleaming. The door slammed behind her.

  My day was starting well.

  At lunch, I caught Weston at his locker. He was alone, pensive. Our gazes met across the busy hall as we stowed books. At least I didn’t sense complete rejection from him. His was a more contemplative expression, filled with confusion unmasked by candid admiration.

  I bit my lower lip, and kept my gaze on his. I care about you. I hope you see that. I hope you believe that I care about you a lot. Too bad Weston couldn’t read my thoughts like Matthias, he’d feel better and I’d feel better.

  He seemed to weigh the unspoken message I was trying to give him during the time we spent studying each other, then he shut his locker and continued down the hall, in the direction of the parking lot.

  Lunch. Alone.

  I hadn’t spent lunch alone since my first year of junior high. I fought insecurity worming its way into my system. It’s just lunch and I don’t have to care that I’m here at school instead of jumping into a car and heading to the Purple Turtle or some other place to hang. Who needs to be seen, anyway?

  I grabbed an apple from the ala carte section of the lunchroom and headed out of the building and into the warming winter sun. Snow blanketed the ground, but I found a dry iron bench and sat, content to be alone with my thoughts.

  I bit into the apple and crunched the flesh between my teeth.

  “Wow, you never stay around for lunch.” Luke sat down next to me.

  “Yeah, well. Things change. I don’t have a car, remember? It’s pretty hard to leave when you don’t have a ride.”

  “What about Brittany? Or Weston?”

  “Britt and I aren’t hanging anymore and Weston needs some space.”

  “Well, you want me to drive you somewhere? That’s not all you’re eating, is it?”

  “I’m okay. What about you? Where are your friends?”

  He sat back, shifted his backpack from his back to his lap and sighed.

  “They’re around. I don’t know, I’m sick of them.”

  My insides leapt for joy even though I remained calm and took another bite. “It can be like that, yeah.”

  “I gotta have something to eat. I’m gonna go to the drive thru at Wendy’s. Want to come?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  We stood and strolled across the snow-caked grass toward the drag, where cars were filling with students eager to race off to the lunchtime offerings a few blocks away from the high school.

  Luke and I got into his car and drove through the buzzing parking lot toward the street. “Hey, isn’t that Krissy?” Luke asked.

  Sure enough, Krissy, dressed in her denim jumper, hair in standard ponytail mode was walking alone in the city park adjacent to Pleasant Grove High School. Luke pulled the car close to the curb and tapped the horn.

  Krissy looked over.

  Luke rolled down his window. “You wanna come?”

  Krissy stopped. Her sober face lit just enough to nearly break my heart for her. Regardless of her brief moment dancing round the raunchy pole of high school partying, she was still an innocent. Maybe even a victim.

  She started in our direction. I patted Luke’s shoulder. “Nice.”

  His gaze never left her, but he nodded, his baby face softening with compassion.

  Krissy got in the backseat and Luke drove on.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice timid.

  “No problem.” Luke’s gaze flicked from the street to his rearview mirror so he could see her.

  “Your hair looks great up and down,” I observed. Before the party, she’d been brave enough to try wearing her hair to her shoulders. Once. She had gorgeous, thick sandy blond hair and I figured—like everything else in her life—her return back to the ponytail was her father’s idea.

  Krissy’s eyes dipped to her lap.

  “So, how’s it going?” I asked, perching so I half faced her.

  Her shoulders lifted. “Okay, I guess.”

  Is your dad less of a whack job? I couldn’t ask that, even if I wanted to.

  “What happened when you got home last night?”

  Krissy avoided my gaze. “Not much.”

  “Your dad was really upset.”

  “He likes to know where I am. All the time,” she said.

  “Ours likes that, too,” I added.

  “Yeah, but I don’t always tell him where I’m going,” Luke put in.

  “Parents want to know because they love us,” I said. Krissy’s dad may have different reasons, but until I knew for sure, I had to give her some hope.

  She remained looking out the window. I remembered when she’d been so excited to go to lunch with Weston and me, being seen hanging with us was a boost to her social status.

  “Wendy’s okay with everybody?” Luke asked, his eyes on Krissy through the rear view mirror.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Krissy’s forlorn gaze didn’t move. “Okay.”

  Wendy’s was tucked into a Chevron gas station, the convenience store-slash-eatery a perfect spot for kids to hang, eat and watch for hotties any hour of the day. The parking lot was jammed with the lunchtime high school crowd. I scanned the parked vehicles for Weston’s silver truck and saw it parked to the side of the building. My nerves hummed. Should I go inside? I didn’t want him thinking I was stalking him, pressing him to move faster than he was ready in a direction he was hesitant to go.

  How retarded are you? You like him. He likes you. Nothing is wrong with caring about what he does.

  Inside the restaurant was just as busy. Laugher and shouting flew over the voices of employees calling out orders, the scent of French fries and grilling meats stirring my empty stomach into a rumble. I searched the hive of diners for Weston’s chocolate hair.

  He sat eating lunch at a table surrounded by a handful of guys I recognized from the football team. Once, Brady had been Weston’s best friend, but the boys parted ways a few months back when Brady’s partying style had gone over the top for Weston.

  Weston’s demeanor had gone from partying jock to pondering student. Even now as guys around him laughed and joked and made fools of themselves by being loud and obnoxious—Weston ate his lunch with a straight face, tuned out.

  Part of me wanted him to see me, another part wanted to turn around and get out of there. I might have, too, if one of his buddies hadn’t noticed me. The jock’s jovial expression flattened. His elbow went into Weston’s side.

  Weston’s head jerked up. His eyes met mine.

  Luke, Krissy and I moved forward in the line, closer to the cashier. My brain muddled with Luke and Krissy’s sporadic conversation. Thrill soared through me now that Weston knew I was there.

  “You want something?” Luke asked.

  “No thanks,” I muttered.

  “Uh, I was asking Krissy, Z,” Luke chuckled.

  “That’s nice of you,” Krissy said. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Luke offered.

  Weston rose, and my jagging nerves drew tight.

  “Oh, no, I can’t—” Krissy said.

  “Let me get you something,” Luke insisted.

  The guy ahead of us moved aside to wait for his order and we stepped to the counter. I didn’t hear what Krissy and Luke ordered, only their voices mixing together as they spoke to the cashier. My focus was utterly on Weston, weaving my direction. He slid around bodies until he was next to me, then stared into my eyes. He ticked his head toward the exit.

  “I’ll be outside,” I tossed over my shoulder to Luke.

  I followed Weston out the door, savoring his scent, watching the way
his shoulders moved when he parted the crowd.

  He held the glass door open for me and we went outdoors. He stayed at my side then, and our steps turned into a stroll in the direction of his silver truck.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said.

  Relief threatened to spill prematurely inside me. I held it in place, in case he was about to drop the it’s over bomb. “I’m not here to force you into talking to me. I came with Luke for lunch.”

  “I’m not being forced,” he said, rubbing his hands back and forth as if he was anxious. “I thought all I needed was time away from you. A break. To think about stuff. You know?”

  I nodded, bracing myself.

  We turned the corner of the building. His truck, clean as a showroom gem, glistened under the frosty noon sun.

  “I didn’t sleep last night.” He scrubbed his face. Oh no. Here comes the dump. He stopped at the side of his truck, reaching out an arm, placing his hand on the side. His dark brown eyes met mine.

  “Neither did I.” I was sure his lack of sleep had nothing to do with being haunted by an evil spirit or admitting seeing an angel to his parents.

  “All night I thought about you,” he said. “About Matthias. As weird as everything is, I don’t care. All I care about is being with you.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping Weston wouldn’t see my body shake with adrenaline and joy. “It’s a lot to… understand. I get that.”

  “I’m not going to try and understand it. If I think too much about it, I start getting weirded out, so I’m not going to think about it. Does that sound wrong? Maybe I’m weak or… or stupid for not wanting to figure it out. But…

  I trust you.”

  Matthias had told me plenty of stuff I couldn’t understand. Stuff I’d had to accept and trust.

  I reached out and laid my hand on his bicep, the contact causing him to go still. “I’ll talk about whatever you want to talk about, but I won’t push or anything like that, okay?”

  The trust in his eyes humbled me, and dropped another weighty cloak of responsibility on my back. I was okay with that. I wasn’t afraid of what it meant.

  Weston slipped his arms around my waist and drew me against him.

  “I need to hold you,” he whispered. Warm tingles raced through my body.

  I returned the embrace. “You feel so good,” he laid his head against mine, sighing.

  He felt good too. I closed my eyes, relieved to have a friend. Mortal comfort and companionship.

  The roar of an engine and the screech of tires over asphalt trumpeted through the air. Weston and I jerked around to see where the sound came from. Britt’s white Mustang barreled toward us.

  Chapter Six

  ____________________

  Weston’s arms snatched me, yanking me away from the side of the truck. We flattened ourselves against the building.

  Britt’s Mustang screeched to a halt, barely missing Weston’s truck.

  “She’s insane,” Weston blew out.

  Britt burst out of her car and wobbled over. The same dark spirits I’d seen in class earlier still leeched her body, stimulating her.

  “You!” She pointed at me, swaying like a blow-up punching toy. “You stay away from him.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Weston hissed. “You’re drunk.”

  “’Course I’m drunk. ’S her fault.” Britt lunged at me, but tripped on her platform shoe and crashed onto the pavement, coming down flat. Patrons slowed to watch. Britt didn’t move.

  Weston and I exchanged glances.

  I inched forward. “Britt?”

  Gawking passersby annoyed me. Britt remained flat on the filthy gravel.

  “What the hell was she doing?” Weston twitched from head to toe, his face red as blood.

  “She’s pissed, dude.”

  The voice stopped my heart. Brady appeared behind Weston. He leaned casually against the building, one leg bent and propped up, his arms across his chest. Like Albert, he was dressed in black, only his ensemble wasn’t the designer-like suit Albert wore. Brady looked like one of the Beatles in his tight black pants and snug black turtle neck.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  Weston’s angry gaze flicked from prostrate Britt to me. Brady laughed, and came away from the wall, strolling until he stood directly behind Weston’s shoulder.

  “She almost killed us!” Weston shrilled.

  “That’s what you deserve, loser,” Brady hissed into Weston’s ear.

  “Yeah, well, she didn’t.” I had to cool Weston down. “Don’t be mad, okay?” Weston knew I saw evil spirits, but he’d freak if I told him Brady was here. I voted to tell him after the fact. I had to get rid of Brady first.

  “You’re defending her?” Weston almost screeched.

  Brady grinned and circled Britt, stopping at her ankles, his lusty gaze traveling up her bare legs to her hiked-up mini skirt. “Nice.”

  Control, control, control. “No. I just don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Oh, please fight.” Brady clasped his hands at his chest as if begging.

  “Please.”

  Shut up! I thought.

  “Now what?” Weston shifted, set his hands on his hips.

  My mind scrambled. “Let’s get her out of here.”

  “Forget it. She did this to herself.”

  “Does she need some help?” A construction worker dressed in insulated overalls, stained overcoat and knit cap stopped, along with his ogling buddies, all of them trying their best not to stare, fighting the gravitational pull of Britt’s hiked skirt.

  “It’s okay,” I waved them on, hoping they’d split. They hemmed, then continued into the store.

  I didn’t want to go anywhere near Britt with the swarm of evil circling her like vultures honing in on the dead, and Brady’s presence added to the mayhem. What gave him the right to hang around, anyway? I hope he’s not going to make a habit of showing up every time Weston gets mad. That’s all I need.

  “We should put her in her car,” I suggested, then bent down, reaching for Britt.

  “And then what? How about we leave her here. She deserves a reality check.”

  “We can’t leave her in the middle of the parking lot,” I said, tempted by the suggestion. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “I’m not touching her.” Weston’s hands lifted in surrender. I didn’t blame him. But he couldn’t see the black spirits and Brady hovering. Britt remained on the ground, dead to the world.

  “I’ll drive her home if you put her in her car. Let’s go.” I jerked my head in the direction of the Mustang. The gathering crowd thickened. Somebody asked if they should call a doctor and Weston sneered. I told the Samaritan-lady we had everything under control. Still, it wouldn’t be long before management noticed what was going on and called the cops.

  Begrudgingly, Weston slipped his arms beneath Britt and pulled her to her feet. He guided a limp, mumbling Britt to her waiting Mustang. I opened the passenger side door and he put her inside, then pried her arms from his neck. She blubbered into a crumpled heap. He closed the door.

  Brady wagged his brows and morphed into the back seat of the Mustang. My mouth opened to shout at him, but I snapped it shut.

  Weston rounded her car, as if he was going to be the one to drive her home. I raced around the back, meeting him at the driver’s side door. He glared. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll drive. You’re too angry.” With Brady and those black creatures in the car, who knew what would happen?

  “I can drive without letting my feelings interfere,” Weston whispered with a look around at nosey onlookers.

  My fingers on his chest, I grinned and lightly pushed him back. “You’d trust me to drive your truck? I didn’t think so. I’ll drive Britt home.”

  He pinched his lips, as if fighting a smile. “Guess I’ll follow you.”

  I really didn’t want to get in the car and be locked in such a small space with those disgusti
ng creatures and Brady. Swallowing a nervous knot, I dipped into the driver’s side, and closed the door.