by A. R. Perry
“Did you call your dad?”
“He’s her emergency contact. The hospital reached out.” His face closes off as he turns away from the phone. “I’m sure it will be a week before I hear back. Just like last time.”
“Well, he is a world away.”
“He should be here.” Braden’s voice lowers. “He didn’t even stay when she was injured. Just popped in, set up care, then left. He had the option for leave and chose to forgo it.” His eyes swing back to me and even in the dim light I can see tears threatening to spill over. “How screwed up is that?”
Very.
“I’m sorry.” Super helpful. I drag a hand down my face. I’m sure I look as tired as I feel. And after an afternoon of trying to pep him up and say all the right things, I think I’m pepped out. “People deal with sadness in different ways.”
“He doesn’t deal at all. When I told him I quit football so I had more time at home for my mom, he just pretended I didn’t say it. He still asks how games are whenever we talk. I haven’t played in almost two years and he still has this crackpot idea that I’ll score a football scholarship.”
“That’s pretty much how my mom acted when my dad first signed over parental rights. Like it was some shock. Parents aren’t the best in these kinds of situations sometimes.”
“My mom always was. That was her superpower.”
“That I’m sure she passed down to her only son.”
Braden smirks as he leans back in the chair, attention on the phone. “I am handy in a crisis.”
“You’ll be the first one I call if I run into one because I’m terrible.”
“Says the girl who took my keys and drove me to the hospital without hesitation. You never give yourself enough credit.”
“I give it when it’s due.” I wave off his statement as I settle a pillow at my back so I can lean against the headboard. “All I did was drive you.”
“And sit with me. And distract me when I asked. And force-fed me disgusting cafeteria soup. And made me feel like there was hope before you had to leave. And—”
“Okay. Okay. I’m blushing over here.”
“I think I’m a bit more thankful every day that you spilled scalding hot coffee down my back on the first day.”
I roll my eyes. “One: It was not scalding hot. And two: I got the tiniest bit on your shoes and pants.”
“I still have the burns.”
“You know nothing about burns until you’ve turned on a steaming wand with your hand under it.”
Braden hisses. “Ouch.”
“Yeah, so quit your whining.”
“Think you’ll survive tomorrow without me?”
“I survived three years there without you. But seeing as Michelle was bound to notice our hasty exit, I’ll just avoid the cafeteria and the bathroom and the halls. On second thought, a ditch day might be in order.”
“Because both of us skipping won’t draw ire from your mom or anything.”
“True. I think she’s enlisted half the town to spy on me. Great word by the way.”
His face lights up with a smile. “Thanks, I have a fantastic teacher. And I guess it’s a good thing that we’ve had a whole one date that mostly took place at your house.” His eyes widen. “Unless she has nanny cams or something. But I have a feeling my dude parts would be missing by now if that was the case.”
My cheeks warm as images from that night float through my brain. “She did joke about that. I’ll have to do a thorough sweep next time.”
“Next time might be delayed for a little while.” The humor from his voice evaporates.
Pop. Like a bubble bursting.
“I can wait. But whatever will I do with the extra time I have on Tuesdays and Thursdays now?”
“Not go on a date with another guy?”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I scoff. He really didn’t notice me before all this. “But I do need to finish my homework.”
“I should get some sleep too. But first, what’s your dream car?”
“Purple Jeep Wrangler,” I answer without hesitation. I saw one on a road trip once.
Drool.
He chuckles under his breath. “Interesting. Night, Stell.”
“Night.” I end the call, then toss my cell on the bed.
Today has been draining on so many levels. I’ve never had to watch someone in the throes of that much grief.
I sink lower on the bed, my eyes drifting close even as the list of all the homework I need to get done comes to mind.
Screw it. There’s always tomorrow.
Tomorrow came sooner than I hoped for. The next day came even faster.
Braden’s mom still hasn’t woken up, which means another day of him at the hospital and another night of video chatting when I should be doing schoolwork. Although, I have today off work so a stop at the hospital is in order.
My phone chimes on the kitchen counter as I’m downing my second cup of coffee. I’m half expecting it to be my mom but I can’t help the stupid grin on my face when Braden’s name lights up the screen.
BRADEN: Whuts the best ting to happen 2 u last week?
ME: Kind of feel like u know this answer.
He responds as I’m tying up my boots.
BRADEN: Maybe
That gets a laugh out of me. Anyone else would never get the answer they’re fishing for, but seeing as his mother is in the hospital, I throw him a bone.
ME: This pretty sweet date some guy took me on.
I lock up the front door, then shove my keys and phone into my backpack. The sky decided to literally rain on my parade this morning. Liquid and phones don’t mix judging from the one I dropped into a pitcher of milk at the café.
I jog to the bus stop and for once I don’t feel winded. Nope. I get that weird exhilarated feeling my mom’s been babbling about for years.
With a sigh I lean under the overhead and fish out my phone.
BRADEN: Good guy?
My fingers hover over the keys. My gut wants to answer it honestly. Wants to say yes. But that nagging, irritating voice in my head is screaming not to show my hand. After all, Jesse seemed like a good guy to my gut at first too.
But he’s not Jesse.
Nowhere close.
Water sloshes onto the curb as the bus rolls to a stop. Guess he’ll have to wait for that answer until I get to school giving me more time to mull it over.
I stand and sling my backpack on, only when I look up it’s not the bus, it’s a red Mustang with a dent in the passenger door. Fear makes me take a step back. My mom has made me watch way too many documentaries about people being snatched off the street and sold into human trafficking.
As the window rolls down, I considering running back to my house. By the time the car had time to turn about, I could probably make it.
“Hey,” a female voice calls.
I shield my face against the assaulting rain and lean forward so I can see into the cracked window.
Janelle is sitting behind the steering wheel, looking way too perfect for the weather. I groan and slid back under the safety of the blue overhang.
“What do you want?”
“Want a ride?”
Do I want a ride? Did she bump her damn head this morning?
“Uhh…no thanks.” Where is the damn bus? The time on my phone shows it’s a few minutes late.
“Come on. By the time you walk from the stop to school you’ll be soaked.”
“And why do you care?” I yell as a car blasts by.
“I mean I wouldn’t have last week…but.” Her voice cuts off, and it sparks my curiosity.
I lean forward again so I can see inside the car. Her eyes are downcast and she’s picking at her nails. “I think the way Michelle has been treating you is pretty messed up.”
Did hell freeze over? Pigs learn to fly? I scan the sky just to double-check. Maybe I had a heart attack while running to the bus stop and this is all some weird coma dream.
“Just get in.
We can chat on the way to school.”
This is such a bad idea. Either she’s playing me or they really are on the outs and I’ll just draw more anger from Michelle.
Then why are my feet moving toward the car?
Damn it. Sometimes my brain just makes choices without checking first.
Oh well. Out of the frying pan…
I slip off my backpack as I climb inside. She has the heat blasting, which feels amazing after the rain but also sends a violent shiver down my spine.
Or maybe that’s just because I’m in the car of Satan’s helper.
“Here.” Janelle reaches over and hits a button. As she’s pulling to the stop sign at the end of the block, I feel my seat warming.
These are a must when I get a car.
“What did you want to chat about?” I ask. My fingers itch to reach for my phone and text Braden, but I don’t want her to see that. Not if this is all a ruse.
“Well…” Her gaze flicks to me as she turns onto the main road. “I wanted to apologize for the whole bathroom thing. She said some pretty messed up things and we should have stepped in.”
“You should have.”
“Right…that’s why I wanted to apologize. Michelle can be…well…a bitch.” The last word comes out as a whisper as if she’s scared Michelle might overhear.
These girls have a crazy weird friendship dynamic.
“Well. Thanks for the apology.”
“So, we’re good?”
“Sure.” Longest. Ride. Ever.
“Well maybe we can hang out sometime?”
The noise that comes out of me shocks even me. I think it lands somewhere between a snort and a laugh. A snaf. Probably the most disgusting noise I’ve ever made.
Janelle is quiet until she parks in the front of the lot. Fantastic. Why does this feel like a walk of shame?
“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I was hoping we could get off on the right foot?” She turns, big puppy dog eyes pleading to hear her out. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in and you can decide. No pressure.”
If it will get it over with…I unlock the screen and hand it over. People are already turning their nosy noses our way. Michelle will for sure hear about this before the end of first period.
“Oops.” I turn back to Janelle as she’s holding my phone out. “I accidentally locked it.”
How does someone who is on their phone all day have such a hard time working it? Maybe because it’s an older version. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes and type in my passcode.
She finishes putting in her info in three seconds flat then hands it back as the phone dings in the crimson bag she carries instead of a backpack.
“Thanks for hearing me out. I should head in before Her Highness wonders where I am.”
We hop out at the same time. A group of girls lean in to whisper. No doubt that Devon will be blowing up my phone before lunch.
Fantastic.
Is this year over with yet?
There’s a group of kids gathered around my locker. That’s the first thing that tips me off. The second thing is the deafening laughter. A few kids walk by and snicker, not even trying to hide the stupid smug expressions on their faces.
A large part of me wants to just turn around and walk right back out the front doors. I’m thisclose to the weekend. Two whole days of not being near or around this school and its drama. Too bad I know what will happen if I run. It only makes things worse.
With my hand gripped on the black strap of my backpack, I roll the tension out of my neck and march toward the group. It takes some elbowing, but I push my way through and…right into a scene from Carrie.
A crude drawing of a pig is painted on the front of my locker in what I hope is paint and not actual pig’s blood. The locker is ajar and even without opening it I can see red dripping. So instead of covering me in blood because I’d never be caught at a dance, they went after my schoolwork—pretty much the most important thing to me besides my mom.
Awesome.
Kids are laughing behind me. A few have their cell phones out, no doubt wanting to get a piece of my breakdown or whatever they thought would come from this. Too bad for them I spent half a year being bullied way worse.
I fling open the door and suppress a smile when I hear a girl shriek seconds after some of the red—seriously, I hope it’s paint—flew off in her direction.
Serves her right.
Everything is destroyed. I can’t see anything through the red, which means all my notes, my books I left overnight, and the rough outline of my English report are all gone. All that hard work.
As I’m going to slam the door because nothing in there is of any use now, I notice a piece of white paper sticking out from between books.
Can’t wait to see what this says.
The kids have pretty much dispersed. Guess I didn’t give them a big enough reaction.
Careful not to touch the paint, I flip open the paper.
Last warning. The typed lettering reads.
Not even ballsy enough to handwrite it. I roll my eyes and crumple the paper before tossing it in with the rest of the trash in my locker now.
Shouldering my backpack, I head toward the office. As much as I don’t want to talk to anyone about this, I need new books and an extension on my homework. It’s a good thing I’m not tutoring Braden at the moment. I’ll need all the extra time to catch up.
The same grumpy women from the last time I was in the office greets me with a cup full of sunshine.
Not really.
She looks up from her computer with a scowl and arches one eyebrow. Woman of little words. My type.
“Yeah, someone vandalized my locker. Everything is destroyed.”
Her other eyebrow joins its friend as she shoots up from her desk.
I wave her off. “No big show, please. I just need new textbooks and a note extending my homework a few days so I can make up the lost work.”
She hesitates for a moment, her hand hovering over the phone no doubt to call the principal. Don’t adults realize that when you make a fuss, bullying gets worse?
“Seriously. Please don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. It was a harmless prank gone too far. But since it destroyed most of my books, I need new ones. And a new locker. That thing won’t be usable for some time.”
Her scowl deepens, but she sits, nodding as her hand reaches for the black mouse on her oddly colorful and out of place mousepad.
My phone dings as she types something, her long nails clicking on the keyboard.
BRADEN: Wut do u want 2 be remember 4?
Not high school that’s for sure. If I had that stupid remote from Click, I would fast-forward through all this BS without a second thought.
Knowing that none of my responses will be kind, and only lower his already strained mood, I close out of the text.
Just in time for another one to come through.
DEVON: Told u
Ahh. Doesn’t take a genius to crack that one. He warned me being close to Braden would bring down hellfire to rival freshman year. Guess he likes being right.
I send him the thumbs-up emoji then shut my phone down. I have a strong feeling this is just the beginning of the texts today.
“Are we good here?” I ask distractedly as I scan the walls cluttered with empowering posters that come off cheesy.
The receptionist clicks a few more times on her mouse before meeting my hardened gaze. The longer I’m in this office, the more time Michelle and her lackeys have to think I’m ratting them out.
“Mr. Sawyer would like to see you before I can finalize anything.”
Great. I swallow the lump in my throat as I readjust the strap on my backpack. “The bell is going to ring any—” The first bell fills the small space with its shrieking noise. I point to the ceiling as if to emphasize my point. “I can’t miss class. I’ve missed a few days helping a friend through a tough time.”
“Mr. Sawyer will write you an excuse.
This won’t count against any of your absences. He’s waiting for you in his office. Just go through this door and—”
Waving off the rest of her words I fling open the door. I know where his office is. I spent way too many days in there during freshman year. I can only pray he hasn’t called my mom already.
The wood is cold under my knuckles as I tap twice, praying once again that he didn’t hear it and I can sneak out. The moment I hear him shout for me to come in, my stomach sinks, threatening to send my breakfast up and out.
“Miss Bellemore, take a seat.” He gives me his best welcoming smile as he motions to the red leather chair in front of his desk.
Music flows out of the tiny speakers next to his monitor. It’s something classical, an attempt to soothe me or him. He’s gained a few more framed photos on his desk since the last time I was in here. I liked it better when it was less cluttered.
With a sigh, I let my backpack hit the ground with a thunk, the noise reassuring me that I at least have some of my schoolwork.
“So, I hear there was an incident this morning involving you,” he says behind his steepled fingers. If there’s one thing I like about the man, it’s that he doesn’t beat around the bush.
“A harmless prank.” My eyes remained locked on the front of his desk where a large chunk is missing from the bottom.
“Is that so?”
“Yup.” I pop the P, feigning indifference. Although after the many times I’ve met with him, I have a feeling he knows me enough to see right through my act.
“Well, I wouldn’t call destruction of property a harmless prank. Then again in my day filling someone’s car up with balloons and Saran-wrapping their car shut was more my style. So maybe I’m just out of touch.”
My eyes flick to his before finding a new place to focus my attention.
“Or perhaps we have a repeat of freshman year?”
My spine stiffens and I have to fight back the string of curse words souring on my tongue. I knew he would jump right to that conclusion. Of course, he’s not far off, but his involvement in my systematic torture, did little to detour anyone.