Release

by Aly Martinez

  Just as I’d feared the day she died, I was on my own.

  The class chattered behind me as they worked on the obligatory first-day-of-school get-to-know-your-neighbor assignment. I didn’t need to get to know Josh Caskey. I’d known and hated him since we were both in diapers.

  “Thea,” Mrs. Young called.

  I pivoted on one foot to face her, and then my life as I knew it changed all over again.

  My breath caught in my throat when I saw Ramsey, the freaking leg-breaking spy, standing beside her. Fifth grade and he was already taller than the teacher. He had a hand shoved into his pocket, and the ends of his hair tangled with his long lashes with every blink.

  There were a lot of rules at school. Sit down. Be quiet. No running in the halls. But secretly we all knew only one was enforced.

  No gum.

  Yet there he stood, chewing away as he shot me a smile and a wave.

  I didn’t return his greeting, and that only had a tiny bit to do with me needing two hands to balance.

  I begrudgingly tore my gaze away from my archnemesis and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

  The teacher grinned. “I heard you and Mr. Stewart know each other.”

  “Then somebody lied to you.”

  Ramsey cocked his head to the side. “How’d you get that cast then, gimpy?”

  Judging by the smile twitching his lips, he was teasing me.

  Judging by the inferno brewing inside me, he was standing entirely too close to a ticking time bomb.

  Cocking my head to the side, I retorted, “An idiot fell out of a tree.”

  His dark eyes twinkled in the florescent lighting. “Hang on now. Did he fall or did he jump after he told you to back up?”

  I glared at him with everything I had. “I did back up.”

  He returned my glare, smiling the entire time. “Obviously not far enough.”

  “It would have been far enough if you could stick a landing.”

  He shrugged. “Never claimed to be a gymnast.”

  “Funny, you never claimed you weren’t an idiot, either.”

  “Figured that went without saying.”

  “Well, you figured wrong, idiot.”

  Mrs. Young stepped between the two of us. “Okay, okay. Enough with the name calling. Ramsey, since you’re new, Thea will be your official Clovert Elementary tour guide. And, Thea, since you will be needing help getting to and from the bus over the next few months, Ramsey will be your personal book bag carrier. You two think you can do that for me without someone else breaking a limb?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ramsey answered immediately, though he’d tucked his gum under his tongue before he’d spoken.

  Both of their expectant gazes landed on me.

  I would have rather been listening to one of Josh Caskey’s riveting stories about skinning deer and killing squirrels than this crap. But much like the rest of my life, it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. “Do I have a choice?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  I flashed Ramsey a tight and entirely fake smile. “Fine. I’ll do it. But no promises on the broken limbs.”

  He let out a loud laugh as if I’d told a joke rather than threatened his life. And worst of all, it was a laugh that made me want to laugh too.

  I glowered.

  And of course, he bulged his eyes at me, grinning like a fool and mocking my glower.

  God, this was going to suck.

  “Okay, you two. Get to know each other. And be nice.” Mrs. Young walked away and started helping Josh move his stuff to the free desk across the room.

  Oh, goodie, this arrangement came with the added torture of being deskmates too.

  “Great. Now we’re stuck together,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, I’m not stuck. I asked for you.”

  My long, brown hair whipped the side of my face as I cranked my head around to look at him. “You what?”

  He took the pencil from my hand and gave the arm of the pencil sharpener a whirl. “You’re the only person I know here.”

  “Stop saying that. I don’t know you.”

  He tested the tip of the lead on his finger. Finding it unworthy, he guided it back into the sharpener. “Okay, fine. I’ll put it this way. I know your name is Thea Hull. Your dad’s Joe. Your mom just died. You live two houses down from me. You like to hide under the Wynns’ tree. I just so happen to like to hide up it. And you’re always mad about something. That’s more than I know about any other person in this school, short of my little sister, Nora. So yeah, when the teacher asked if I wanted a helper, I asked for you.”

  I hated that he knew that much about me. I hated that anyone knew that much about me. This time last year, I’d been a nobody. Just the way I liked it. Then my mother had gotten sick and word traveled fast through our small town. From teachers to students, pity shone on all of their faces. And now that she was dead, the attention was suffocating. I was so dang sick of the sympathetic hugs and awkward stares. If one more person told me they were sorry for my loss, I was going to lose my ever-loving mind.

  I couldn’t escape the overwhelming density of sadness in my own house, but for Pete’s sake, I had really been hoping school would be different.

  Clearly, I’d been wrong.

  Only, right then, as Ramsey shot me a crooked smile that made me debate the merits of dropping out of school in the fifth grade, I realized there wasn’t an ounce of pity anywhere on his stupid—yet kinda cute—face.

  For that alone, I decided I wouldn’t use my crutch to push his chair out from under him when he sat down.

  “I’m not always mad about something. I’m always mad at you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  I pointedly flashed my gaze from my cast to him and back again. “Are you kidding right now?”

  “Oh, come on. How long are you going to hold that against me? It was an accident. I said I was sorry.”

  “An accident is running into my bike or knocking over my milk at lunch. Not shattering my ankle. Did you know the doctor said I might walk with a limp for the rest of my life?”

  “Then we should probably start thinking about your new nickname now to get ahead of the competition in high school. I think Gimpy has a ring to it.”

  My mouth fell open. He had not just said that to me. He had not—

  “No wait. What about Ol’ Peg Leg.” He lifted his finger in the air. “Oh, oh, oh! I know. What was the name of that pirate? Captain Jack…” His eyes flashed wide, and his lips stretched so wide that it was a wonder they didn’t swallow his face. “Sparrow.”

  It was really unfortunate that I was wearing my favorite white tank top that day, because my head was about to explode all over that classroom.

  Leaning in close, I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Listen up, Ramsey. One of these days, I’m going to get this cast off. I may look small, but I’m quiet, and I’m fast, and I know where you live. You call me Gimpy, Peg Leg, or the name of any pirate who ever lived and I will tie you up, bury you in the ditch by the old mill, and then help people search for you across town. Got it?”

  That should have been the end of it. Ya know, if I’d been talking to a sane individual with a healthy respect for his own life. But not this kid. Not freaking Ramsey Stewart.

  He aimed his smile at his shoes and rocked onto his toes. “Jeez, Thea. Are you flirting with me? I’m not really looking for a girlfriend, but you seem cool, I guess.”

  Oh, yes. He’d said that. The ultimate comeback for a ten-year-old. The implication that I liked him when in fact I hated him with the wrath of a thousand daggers—or however the saying went.

  I had no other choice than to retreat, collect my thoughts, find a tree, jump out of it, and maybe that time I’d break his leg.

  “Okay, everyone. Find your seats. It’s time to get started,” Mrs. Young called out.

  Ramsey handed my pencil back and swept his hand out in front of him in a grand gesture for me to go first. I rolled my eyes as I
started the grueling journey through the crowded classroom on a set of crutches.

  Swear to God, I almost choked on the pheromones wafting off hair-twirling Tiffany Martin and her lip-gloss-loving girl gang as they drank in the new kid in class. But if Ramsey noticed them at all, he never let on. He walked beside me, grinning like the fool he so obviously was.

  Mrs. Young started reviewing the class rules as I got settled at my desk and I paid attention for no other reason than to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. When she got to the one about candy and gum, I leveled him with a hard stare. He laughed, not even trying to hide it.

  I got busy on the stack of work the teacher had left on the corner of our desks while Ramsey scribbled stick figure pirates. Not that I was watching out of the corner of my eye or anything. I was on my third math worksheet and Ramsey had made it up to a cannon and stick men walking the plank when he whispered, “Hey, Sparrow.”

  I clenched my teeth and cut my gaze at him. “What?”

  Mischief danced in his eyes as he boldly blew a bubble. “Since we’re partners and all, you think I can play Tetris on your watch?”

  Tetris. The idiot wanted to play Tetris on my Timex.

  How was this happening?

  I closed my eyes and dreamed of better days.

  Two weeks, twenty-one hours, and six minutes to be exact.

  I’d never forget the hollowness I felt that first day as I made my way to the bus with my book bag awkwardly weighing me down. By the time three o’clock had rolled around, I’d been ready to collapse. My leg was killing me, my armpits were on fire from the crutches chafing them, and my arms were shaking from the constant struggle to hold myself up in order to keep my leg and my armpits from hurting worse.

  Going home to an empty house was going to hurt the most.

  A year ago, my mom had been waiting for me, my special first-day-of-school treat of M&M Rice Krispies Treats on a plate and a proud smile on her face.

  This year would be different. Forever would be different.

  Ramsey had spent the day talking to me. No, seriously, the kid never stopped talking.

  Or smiling.

  Or chewing gum.

  Or breathing.

  It was overwhelming. And because it was Ramsey, it was infuriating too. I’d ignored him as best I could, but there was no avoiding him.

  Just before lunch, I’d been called to the counselor’s office. I’d never been so excited to get away from a person in my life, even if it did mean discussing my feelings since my mother’s death. As I left, Ramsey waved, his arm over his head, his hand looking like it had taken up a secondary career as a windshield wiper. It was as if he’d thought I was leaving for good and not a half hour.

  It had only been a day, but being his only friend had to end. And fast.

  “Move,” I barked at Tiffany Martin as she waited at the door to the bus, desperately waiting to catch Ramsey’s attention.

  I’d all but sprinted out of the class before he’d had the chance to finish packing his bag. Regardless of what Mrs. Young thought, I didn’t need help.

  “Excuse me?” she snapped back.

  “I said, move.”

  Her pink lips curled with attitude. “What is your problem?”

  “Move,” he rumbled as he stepped up behind me.

  I rolled my eyes at his knight-in-shining-armor routine.

  “Oh, hey, Ramsey,” she purred.

  Rolling my shoulders forward, I faked a gag.

  “Hey, Tiffany,” he replied absently, too busy yanking my left crutch from under me to give her his eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I snapped, falling to the side.

  He caught me with a hand on my bicep and slid my book bag off my arm. Then he repeated the process on the other side. “There,” he said with a satisfied smirk as he slung it over his free shoulder. “Maybe next time you can wait on me instead of trying to break a world record for speed.”

  I righted my crutches and shot him a fiery glare. “Maybe next time you can keep your dang hands to yourself.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  If looks could kill, Ramsey would have been on his ninth life for the day. Fortunately for him, and really unfortunately for me, he was wearing a force field that made him immune to my rage.

  I hated him, but I wished I knew where to get one of those force fields too.

  By the time I performed the herculean task of climbing the three steps with Ramsey trying to help my efforts by shoving me from behind, the bus was full, leaving only one seat open—the dreaded bench of Loserville directly behind the driver. And because I had clearly insulted God at some point over my short ten years, it was the same day Mrs. Perkins decided to give us assigned bus seats for the rest of the year.

  Ramsey had been wrong. Five days a week on the bus and at school—we were absolutely stuck together.

  And it was, without question, the single best thing that happened to me that year—maybe even ever.

  It took a while for me to realize how important Ramsey was to me. Honestly, for about a month, I just thought he found it entertaining to annoy me.

  Every day, he asked me if I wanted to get my wheelchair and ride around the neighborhood with him. Or go to the Wynns’ tree. Or go to the gas station and get a pack of gum.

  My answer was always no.

  His response as I snatched my backpack and slammed my front door in his face was always, “Aw, man, come on, Thea. Don’t be so lame.”

  He never let the rejection dissuade him. The very next day, he’d be back at it again. He’d laugh and try to chat with me in class, introducing me as Sparrow to people he’d just met but I’d known my entire freaking life. I hated the nickname, but I was too numb to do anything about it.

  Most of the time, I ignored him altogether, pretending that a ghost was carrying my book bag instead of the school’s new heartthrob. I never said thank you or upheld my end of the bargain of showing him around school, but he didn’t seem to care.

  He also didn’t seem to care that pretty much everyone in class hated the miserable Thea Hull. The few people I’d hung out with or played with during recess in the past wanted nothing to do with me. It wasn’t like I was a lot of fun anymore. I honestly wouldn’t have blamed Ramsey if he’d hated me too. God knew I hated myself.

  My dad was still a zombie who worked long hours. I suspected that it was in an attempt to steer clear of my mom’s memories as much as possible, but it was hard not to take it personally.

  On good days, I took a bath and wore clean clothes to school, stared into space during class and didn’t get caught. I’d come home, eat whatever microwave dinner my dad had bought that week, and spend the rest of my night watching TV until I passed out on the couch.

  On bad days, I wore the same clothes from the day before, got sent to the counselor’s office for not paying attention, came home, locked myself in my room, and stared at the ceiling until sleep devoured me.

  My grades crashed, and despite three requests from Mrs. Young for a parent-teacher conference, my father never replied.

  I was relieved he didn’t care about my grades.

  I was heartbroken he didn’t care about me.

  But through it all—the bad, the worse, and the sometimes stinky—Ramsey was always there. Why, I had no idea. But for a girl who essentially lived alone in a house she shared with her father, there was the biggest gift of all.

  “So then, Josh, was all like, ‘Watch this,’ and kicked the dog in the stomach.” Ramsey let out a loud laugh and dropped his head against the back of the bus seat.

  My mouth gaped open. “Why are you laughing? That isn’t even close to funny, you idiot.”

  “Then you obviously didn’t see Josh’s face when the dog whipped around and bit the crap out of his leg. It was like one of those cop shows where the dog latches on and starts shaking back and forth.” He chomped his teeth, pretending he was going to bite my shoulder.

  I put a palm in his face and shoved his h
ead away. “Good. Josh deserved it.”

  “I thought his mom was going to have a heart attack. She came flying out of the car, screaming about rabies and begging for someone to call nine-one-one knowing good and dang well she was the only one who had a cell phone. I’m telling you what, rich people are crazy. My leg would have to fall off before my dad would call an ambulance.”

  The bus doors opened as we arrived at our stop. We waited for all the other kids to get off before I started the production of getting to my feet. Ramsey got off the bus first, but he stood at the bottom, waiting for me. Like pretty much everything else in our relationship, I’d found this habit extremely obnoxious. Until a few days earlier, when I’d fallen. He’d caught me before I’d face planted on the road and it had taken every bit of the manners my mother had taught me to mutter a quiet thank-you.

  You should have seen the smile on that boy’s face.

  I knew Ramsey. With as much as he talked, it was hard not to. But with two reluctant and mundane words of gratitude, it was as though I’d offered him a brick of gold. It was sad.

  He was a nice kid who deserved far more than my misplaced wrath. Though, back then, I hadn’t realized that it was misplaced, so I’d ignored the pang of guilt in my gut as I’d hurried up the driveway. Thankfully, Ramsey hadn’t harped on my gratitude as he’d handed me my backpack and I’d slammed the door in his face.

  Yeah, fine. I felt guilty about that too. But what the heck was I supposed to do? Shove the wrappers and TV trays out of the way and invite him in for a drink? In a glass I would have had to wash first since Lord knew when the last time the dishes had been done. Oh wait, I knew exactly how long because I’d never stopped counting.

  One month, two weeks, four days, three hours, and twenty-nine minutes.

  “Did they figure out whose dog it was?” I asked as both of my crutches landed safely on the ground.

  Once he was sure I was steady, Ramsey backed out of my way. “Yep. Mine.”

  “What? You don’t have a dog.”

  “How do you know? You been spying on me, Thea?”