by A. R. Perry
He better be worth it.
I shrug on my winter jacket as I step out onto the porch. Outside is a damn winter wonderland including what has to be the most perfect snowman I’ve ever seen in the yard across from my house, but in my current mood I’m not finding the joy in it. The snow is wet and sticky. The cold air makes my lungs hurt. The snowman’s stupid smiling face is begging to be punched.
Yeah. I’ve gone into the red. A space I vowed never to go again after Jesse. And once again, I’ve fallen there all because of a boy. A stupid, gorgeous, caring, sweet, egotistical boy who I thought was different. And yes, I’ve already told myself he’s busy. That maybe he’s trying to spend as much time with his mom as possible. But the little voice in the back of my head keeps whispering things like he made time to call me even when he was at the hospital. That we went on several dates even before his dad came home. That he’s never once ignored one of my calls or forgotten to ask me a question in the morning.
Something is off.
Fear wouldn’t be settling so deep in the pit of my stomach if I wasn’t hiding something from him. And that’s what has me racing to the bus stop. What propels my feet onto the bus when it rolls up. I need to tell him the truth. I need to sort out whatever he’s been told because if it came from the two people who hate me, there’s no way it was the truth.
When the bus pulls up to the stop closest to Braden’s house—one I wish I found on his birthday before I walked half a damn mile—I’ve talked myself into a frenzy. I jog the few blocks separating us, almost slipping and eating asphalt several times in the process because I grabbed the wrong boots. These have no traction, turning to ice skates on the newly fallen snow.
By some miracle, I make it to his front porch. His car is nowhere to be found. A light is shining from the window in the living room. Everything is quiet. And…this is the worst idea. He’s clearly not home. Kate might be pleased to see me, but no telling how his dad will react.
Then why am I knocking? I should run. Doorbell ditching is a thing, right? Except I knocked. Why am I standing here? Oh God, I think I heard someone on the other side of the door. Still time to run. Still time. Still time. Still—
The door swings open and a put-together Mr. DiMarco peers down at me with either a tired or angry expression. It’s a flip of a coin.
“Can I help you?” he asks, tucking the paper he must have been reading under his arm.
“Oh hi, Mr. DiMarco…I was just wondering if Braden was here?” I swear his eyes peer right down into my soul. My shoulders go back out of reflex and I stand a little taller. Weirdest reaction ever, but it almost feels as if his stare is urging me to be better.
Ugh. That makes no sense. I’m tired. I shouldn’t be here.
After what feels like a literal eternity, he shrugs. “Braden went out with some friends.”
Bet I know who… “Oh. Do you happen to know where they…?” There’s that stare again. I let my words trial off. “I’ll just text him.”
The door shuts in my face. Wow. Okay now I see why Braden isn’t a fan of his father being around. Or perhaps it’s just me. In one day I’ve repelled both DiMarcos. Got to be some kind of record.
I peek at the time on my phone. The bus won’t be here for close to forty-five minutes. Guess I didn’t plan this too good. Kind of figured talking to Braden would kill more time. Mr. DiMarco threw a wrench in that plan.
Would it be weird if I camped on his front porch until he came home? My gaze lands on the closed door. Mr. DiMarco is the type of person who would call the cops.
I trudge down the steps, sneaking a peek at the window to see if his father is watching and making sure I get off his property.
He is.
I face forward and speed walk to the sidewalk. Neutral territory. That’s when I let out a loud, grumbling sigh. So Braden is out with friends. He hasn’t reached out in two days yet has time for them. That doesn't mean Jesse told him. He wouldn’t be out with Jesse if he knew…right?
The walk back to the bus stop doesn’t kill enough time. Hell, I probably could make it at least halfway home before the bus even makes it here. Might be tempted if the snow hadn’t picked up. Leaving my house was the worst idea I ever had.
I curl into a ball on the bench, hugging my knees to my chest as I attempt to distract my frazzled brain. Social media calls to me, but I’m too much of a chicken to click on the apps. What if he’s posted pictures of him having a blast without me? Not the salt I need in this wound.
Instead, I pull up my Kindle and open the stupid Shakespeare play we were assigned over break. Yeah, Braden unintentionally gave me a great idea the day we discussed audiobook options for him. Being able to open a book on my phone lets me stay on top of our assignments because I don’t have an excuse when I find myself with a lull in the day.
Like now.
As I sit in the bitter cold because my boyfriend would rather ghost me and hang out with the devil himself.
Ugh. Someone better die in this book.
I’m a whole three pages in when my screen lights up with a call. Not any call. The screen reads She Devil. Another pet name for my fabulous boss. Any other day I would be tempted to ignore her, but work sounds so much better than sitting alone and coming up with an array of ways Braden is going to break up with me.
“Hello?” I answer, trying my best to keep my tone upbeat.
“Stella, can you come in today? Zari is on vacation and apparently there is a bug going around.”
Translation: No one wants to travel in this mess.
“Sure. I can be there in about an hour and a half.”
I don’t miss the sigh. “I guess that works.” She hangs up without another word.
“Yeah. You’re welcome for agreeing to come in so you can sit in the back office doing absolutely nothing,” I growl before shoving my phone into my pocket. I almost wish she was still on the line. Why not lose my boyfriend and job in one day?
An hour and a half turns into three. It’s as if people have no idea how to drive once it snows. Almost as if it doesn’t happen every year.
Shredder looks about as happy to see me as I am her. The place isn’t too crowded, but I can tell by the milk splatters across the front of her borrowed apron she put in some work during the time it took to get here and seems about as happy about it as I assumed.
“It’s been three hours and seven minutes since I called you,” she growls as I toss my purse under the counter.
“I’m aware.” The sound of my finger typing in my employee password is all that fills the space between us for a few glorious moments.
“You might as well have stayed home.”
So not in the mood. “Oh, you want me to head out then?” She hates when I call her bluff, but this is one of the times it’s called for.
Her mouth puckers in a way that makes her look like she’s eaten something sour. Maybe it’s that thank you simmering just under the surface that never gets let out.
“Well since you’re clocked in already…”
“Yippee.” I tie my apron in a loose bow, but feel my fingers tightening on the string as I peer around her and notice the condition of the place. Did a freaking tornado rip through here?
“Well, I have work to do in the back.” She brushes past me and my mouth makes an audible pop as it drops open in utter shock.
She really called me in to do all the damn dirty work.
And this is why I avoid favors for her. I always end up getting screwed.
I get to work cleaning up her mess as the few customers in the place file out into the light snowfall. The sky eased up on the way over here. Kind of wish it played nice a little earlier when I was running to my boyfriend’s house like some sad chick out of a rom-com.
Not my best moment.
Somewhere between the longest ride home on Earth and getting dressed I talked myself off the ledge. If Braden wants to ghost me, then screw him. All he’s doing is solidifying my thoughts on dating before college. Studies even
show that guys don’t mature until they’re twenties to early thirties.
And that’s when I’ll strike.
Yup. There’s nothing wrong with focusing on myself, school and my future career until my life is in a solid place.
At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. It hasn’t stopped me from checking my phone every five minutes to confirm he still hasn’t texted me back. Maybe I’ll feel better once he’s ripped off the Band-Aid and dumped me.
Shredder stays in the back the rest of the afternoon, only popping out once to give me my ten-minute break. Late might I add. I’m busy getting a leg up on side work when the bell above the door chimes. We had been so slow I figured I might get the night to myself.
With a long breath through my nose, I stand from where I was crouched cleaning gunk off the refrigerators, and plaster a fake smile on my face.
It drops the second my gaze falls on those unique blue eyes I’ve grown to adore. I swear his face falls faster than mine. It’s quite a contrast to the gloating smirk Michelle is wearing. She slips her arm through his and tugs him toward the counter when it seems like he’s grown roots in the spot he hasn’t moved from since setting eyes on me.
Somehow, I manage to push words out from my dry mouth. “What can I get you two?”
Michelle leans her head on his shoulder—her stupid height allowing her to do it with ease. “Oh, Stella…this is awkward.” She punctuates her words with wide eyes as her hand trails down Braden’s arm. “Braden said you weren’t working tonight…” She cringes in the most over-the-top way then shrugs. “But, I’ll take a nonfat latte.”
She said whole milk, right? No. I think she said heavy cream. With spit. A big loogie.
I feign indifference—my only protection at this point—and type in her order.
“And how about you? Maybe a screw you? Or perhaps a kiss my ass?” I pin him with a glare and in that moment I watch as the surprise wears off, replaced with what I can only describe as disdain.
Michelle scoffs. I think my words offend her delicate ears, which is hilarious coming from the girl who posted a half-naked picture of Braden online.
“How about a big glass of water to wash away the bullshit you’ve been stuffing down my throat for the past few months?”
My face heats, set on fire by the burning rage exploding in my veins. I’m the bullshitter? Me. That’s rich.
“Whatever. Of course you’re doing this here. Should have seen this one coming.”
“Yeah. I should have seen it coming too.” He grabs on to Michelle’s elbow and directs her toward the door, calling over his shoulder. “Say hi to Jesse for me.”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, somehow sucking all my anger away and leaving my legs wobbly. This is my fault. I should have told him sooner before Jesse got to spin the story his way.
Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes. I blink hard, wishing them away and focus on cleaning. If I can hurry I can get out of here sooner and…and…wallow? God, I haven’t wallowed over a boy since freshman year. It came with a huge tub of ice cream and a double helping of motherly smothering. This time however, I think it’s going to come with a dash of I-told-you-so.
Six months has never seemed longer.
Thanksgiving passed with a giant helping of eh. Mom worked. Mr. Lee closed for the first time since I started working there, which left me alone all day to pretty much continue my patter of nothing.
No social media. No leaving the house except for work. I couldn’t bear to see Michelle’s smug face all over Instagram with Braden. No way in hell would she let a moment pass without rubbing it in my face even though she claimed she didn’t want him.
Cattiness trumps family drama after all. In her world at least.
The three days I worked since the underwhelming dumping I received were full of anxiety and fear that Braden would show up. Honestly. I’ve seen him break up with girls and that couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t just walk away.
My mom has been MIA but that may have something to do with me not telling her about the breakup. Whoops. It’s for the best though. She would want to talk out my feelings or do something ridiculous like go paintballing or take a boxing class to work off said feelings. It didn’t work last time and it won’t this time.
What will work is going to school and retreating into my closed-off world where insults don’t hurt and my heart stays in the dark, dusty corner of my chest where it belongs. Whoever said lead with your heart should be punched.
I roll over in bed and drag a hand down my face before glaring at the retreating sun that signals my last night before returning to school. Maybe I should have told my mom instead of wallowing on my own. Sure. Our relationship wasn’t as epic of a disaster as Jesse, but then again, I haven’t faced the firing squad at school yet. The only, and I mean only, positive thing to come from all this is my utter lack of appetite. Between running to keep up the facade and not eating, I’ve dropped seven pounds.
So take that, Jesse.
Stupid Jesse. I should drive over to his house and slash his tires. I’ve never seen the boy show any emotion that wasn’t faked, but if he saw his precious Jeep perched on rims he bragged cost three grand, I bet he would cry.
Yeah. My whole this-is-my-fault mentality warped a bit over the past few days. Now I’ve taken an everybody-sucks outlook. I even came close to telling Shredder where she could shove her side work today, but decided against it last minute. Bills and all.
My phone chimes from the nightstand next to my bed. I knew I shouldn’t have turned it on. Friendly conversations aren’t at the top of my to-do list and the only two people it could be were Zari or Devon.
Screw it. If it is Devon, then I can live in someone else’s drama for a little while.
I grab my phone and roll onto my back, propping my head on the mess of pillows that have served as my resting place all day.
Devon’s name lights up with two notifications.
DEVON: Stell, what the hell?
DEVON: Have you been on Insta? And why am I finding this out online?
The mac and cheese I forced down under my mom’s watchful eye this afternoon threatens my esophagus with a surprise encore. I pull up Instagram with speed rivaling The Flash and scroll through the feed with a jerky movement of my thumb.
What is Devon talking about? Everything seems normal. Food pictures. Outfits of the day. Random outdoorsy photos even though it’s cold enough to shrink a snowman’s balls. I’m about to text Devon and ask if he snuck into his parents’ liquor cabinet when loud rap music fills my quiet room.
I squint at the video Michelle uploaded fifteen minutes ago trying to figure out what the hell is going on beyond the strobe light flashing the camera. There’s a dark outline of two people going at it. Hands. Definitely hands. Wide shoulders dip to the side highlighting their faces and forcing a gasp to escape my parted lips.
Braden’s tongue makes an appearance, his cheeks hollowing as he goes at Michelle’s mouth with animalistic abandon. I drop my phone and tuck my knees in tight to my chest. My stupid heart feels close to exploding out of my chest.
At my feet, my phone chimes a few more times. Three text messages and one email. None are motivation to move. Hell, maybe they’re the reason I can’t move. I don’t need Devon rubbing this in my face.
God. Michelle and Braden. Again. Wasn’t it a week ago that he was saying there was no way they would ever be a thing again? And why? Why did she want him back so bad? Is winning all that matters to her?
Growling, I shove the heels of my palms into my eyes until I see stars. He could have waited at least a couple weeks.
I blink away the stupid tears threatening to overflow, and jump up. My running shoes lay by the door. I shove my feet into them as I reach for my black beanie and matching jacket hanging from a hook on the door.
With one last glare at my phone, I jog through the house toward the front door, not breaking stride as I slip out into the bitter night air. My mom runs every morni
ng for a reason. Says it clears her head. That’s what I need. Maybe I can run until I have no energy left to care.
I fall into an aggressive pace, pushing hard enough to make my legs burn as I focus on the snow crunching under my sneaker-clad feet. A few houses already have Christmas lights up. They look beautiful under a thin layer of white. Christmas itself may not be my favorite holiday, but there is something about the lights. Something about how they brighten the darkness with their flashy, multicolored luminance.
Somehow I end up at the elementary school I told Braden about. A few overhead lamps cast a yellow glow on the playground making the snow sparkle like millions go glitter pieces. The gate is locked tight like it was that day I made the stupid decision to jump it. And just like that day, I fit the tip of my shoe into the diamond-shaped hole in the chain-link fence and haul myself up. Once I reach the top, I flick a leg over, careful not to get the edge of my jacket caught and jump.
I land in the snow and buckle as my right foot hits something hard. Fluffy, white powder puffs into the air as I roll rather ungracefully until I’m lying on my back staring up at an overcast sky.
At least I didn't get caught this time.
The three lone swings creak as a gust blows through. I catch the rusted chain and hop on, letting the momentum swing me backward.
This was my favorite spot as a kid. I would swing until my hands had blisters from the way the old metal pinched my skin. Still, it would take all the tricks in Mom’s book to get me to come home for dinner. Why did I avoid this place all these years?
I kick my legs out and tip my head back, reveling in the lightness I feel. If only I could transfer the feeling to my heart. Without the distractions of running, it’s back to thumping wildly in my chest. Each beat leaving me more hollow than the last.
I laugh and rest my temple against the freezing chain. We weren’t even together that long. That’s what is so ridiculous. Why—better yet how—did he manage to make me feel so shattered? It has to be because he’s the first boy who looked at me since Jesse. He saw past the fake bravado I put on and saw me. And he liked what he saw. Maybe that’s why I feel so raw. Because I still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t see past the mistake that was Jesse even though it was two years ago.