by Kylie Scott
"Yeah."
"Fucking Chris." Hate burned bright in my heart. I'd never wanted anyone to die a fiery death to the extent that I wished it for him. It weighed on my mind heavy and dark, and churned deep in my belly. Forgiveness didn't even exist.
John took a long pull of his beer. "Come on, Isaac's just over here."
I stumbled along behind him, the beer hanging forgotten from my hand. Flowers and burnt-out candles covered Isaac's grave. Here too, John left one of the beers. I lay down my remaining flowers, staring sightlessly at the petals and thorns, the white sympathy cards so bright in the dark. Death was a stone, dragging me deep. Life had been so much simpler and easier before all of this. I'd been immortal, but tomorrow didn't exist. It was all now, here, today. Until Chris and his gun destroyed everything.
"He died because of me," I said, swaying on my feet. Some facts weighed heavy. "If you guys hadn't tried to help me, he might--"
"Stop it. Don't take that on yourself." Shadows covered his face. But he reached out, the rough palm of his hand cupping my cheek. The movement, the connection, totally unexpected. "We made our own choices, Edie. Chris would have turned on us next. He wouldn't have even hesitated."
With him touching me, I could barely breathe, let alone speak.
"Do you understand?"
I managed a slight nod and his hand fell back to his side. The loss stung.
My head filled with chaos, a multitude of questions, ifs, and buts. Answers about life and death didn't come so easy. I tried not to think about what remained of the body buried below. About what his family must be going through. Fate was a bitch and luck was no better. Yet we were always searching for meaning, for some hidden truth. What bullshit.
"It's not your fault," repeated John. "If it's anyone's, it's mine. I pushed him into charging at Chris--it was my idea."
The raw pain in his words hurt my heart. I breathed out heavily. "No. You're right; Chris would have turned on you two next."
He said nothing.
"And I'd have been dead too. He wasn't going to stop, and no way were the cops giving him what he wanted. The whole situation was fucked. We just got caught up in it." I shook my head, drank more of the crappy beer. Not that it helped.
"It's not on either of us." Sadly, he didn't sound any more convinced. He took another mouthful of beer, stared up at the stars. "It was all Chris, the fucking meth-head."
Before I could think to censor myself, I blurted the words out. "Sometimes I wish there'd been ammunition in that gun. I know the two of us were basically out of trouble by that stage. The police were there. But . . ."
John's laughter was hollow, unhappy. "Yeah. Sometimes I wish you'd shot him too."
It both was and wasn't funny. Maybe I should be ashamed. Or maybe my sense of humor had taken a turn toward the dark and morbid, and that was okay. I don't know.
"Of course, that would make me a murderer," I mused.
"No, we were still fighting then. Would have been self-defense. Think you'd feel better or worse if you had?" he asked, watching me carefully.
I frowned hard, thinking. "I don't know. I'd have killed someone, but . . . maybe it would feel more like justice had been served, you know? I highly doubt I'd be standing at his graveside drinking a beer."
He nodded.
"I needed to do this, to come here," I said. "Thank you for doing it with me."
"Sure."
"You think things will ever feel the same, like they used to?"
"No." He dropped his empty bottle on the ground and started in on another. "Honestly, I think if it did, we'd be even more messed up than we are already."
I watched the moon, the rich golden glow spreading across the dark. "You know, you just might have a point there."
Officially, the punishment for punching Kara and disturbing class had been the cessation of my allowance. Term of sentence undecided. There'd been a big discussion about how I'd recently been through an extremely traumatic event, but how Mom still felt certain rules needed to be followed. Like not assaulting people, even raging bitches who possibly deserved it. I gave a good blank face and kept my thoughts to myself.
Mom allowed for transport costs to and from school, lunch, and not much else. But it had become a problem since I'd started indulging in the odd late-night drive when I couldn't sleep. John was right: it did sort of help. At first, the lack of money had been no big deal. I'd had a bit of cash squirreled away from Christmas and I'd been off my reading game anyway. But that was then and this was now. New books had been released. New books that I needed. Mostly number three in a YA fantasy series that I'd been dying to read, but had been waiting until all of the books were out.
If anything could fix my gnat-like attention span, this book could. And yes, I could have gone to the library and reserved what I wanted to read. Patience and I, however, didn't get along. Not these days, anyway. If you wanted to do something, then you had to get it done fast. Before some psycho with a gun finishes things. Or a car crash. Or whatever.
Given how unhappy Mom had been over my detention, though, money wouldn't likely be flowing my way anytime soon. And Gran didn't approve of students diverting their energies with part-time jobs. We should all be studying all of the time. But Gran was in Arizona and apart from a weekly grilling over the phone, her power was limited since she no longer paid for my education. Here, for me, things were changing, and it felt good.
"Carrie, does your mom need anyone at the salon?" asked Hang, Monday at lunch.
"No." Carrie shook her head, holding up a slice of pizza to her mouth. "She's got me and an apprentice right now, sorry."
"I need a job," I said.
Hang groaned. "I need one more."
"I have no allowance."
"I dropped my cell in the toilet last night."
"You win." I winced.
"No wonder you didn't return my call," said Carrie. "Dad dropped his in once, ruined a brand-new smartphone."
"Shitty." Sophia grinned and bumped Carrie's elbow with her own. "Get it, get it?"
Face pained, Carrie groaned loudly. "Um, yeah. It wasn't that subtle."
"No, it really wasn't," confirmed Hang. "I'd only give that like a two out of ten, max."
"It was a number two!" Sophia thrust her hands in the air.
"No." Gently, Hang banged her forehead against the table. "My bad. I walked right into that."
"Shame on you for encouraging her," said Carrie, laughing and chewing at the same time. "And as for you, you're terrible, Soph."
"Aw, I'm sorry." Sophia laid her head on Carrie's shoulder and looked up at her. "Do you still love me?"
Sophia's gaze softened. "I suppose so. Yes."
God, they were so sweet together it made my heart hurt. Not that there was anything wrong with being alone. Alone was fine and dandy. It lacked the thrill of being with John, though. Together, hanging out with the right person, had benefits too.
"Where are you going to start looking for jobs?" asked Sophia. She had a part-time gig at a clothes store. Futile for me to ask about openings there, however, since they didn't even stock my size.
Hang shrugged. "Check out the local paper."
"And we should do up some resumes, start handing them out to businesses," I said. "Did you try putting your phone in a bag of rice to suck out the moisture?"
Hang nodded. "It's dead, and my parents won't get me another until Christmas. I can't wait that long."
"It's definitely job-hunting season."
"Agreed."
We bumped fists across the table. Yay, sisterhood. The bell rang and we all gathered our stuff.
"Later," said Sophia, after a quick kiss from Carrie.
Hang and I made our way together through the crowded halls. At least I didn't flinch anymore when we passed Isaac's memorial. I still averted my eyes, however, not that it mattered. All of those dead flowers and photos seem to be imprinted on my memory.
But it wasn't the deceased making me nervous today.
&nbs
p; Those were not butterflies in my stomach. Today's mystery meat had probably just given me gas. Deep breaths; seeing John in English was no reason to get all giddy. I clutched a textbook to my chest, calmly talking myself down from overexcited heights.
Someone knocked into me and my book went flying. My head shot up, an apology ready on my lips for not watching where I'd been walking. Except, the sneering girl from the skate park with the long, dark hair stood in my way. Not an accident. And I was not doing this; I was not standing silent and scared, playing the part of her victim. Girls like this have so much, yet they always want more. It wouldn't end here.
"He's mine," she hissed, pretty face distorted with hate.
I cocked my head. "He who?"
"Don't give me that shit. You know who I'm talking about." Behind her, her girl posse smirked, looking me over with great distaste. "Like I'd just give him up to some fat bitch like you."
"Okay, have fun with that," I said, shrugging her off. Presumably this was my new school's version of Kara. Funny how every school seemed to have one.
Except then she turned to Hang to spew some more of her venom. "And if you think Anders is serious about you, you're dreaming, you slope-eyed twit."
"Whoa now," I said, voice firming. I inserted my hefty self between her and Hang. "None of that racist bullshit, thank you."
"Shut up, you stupid fu--"
"I mean, why can't we all just get along? Wouldn't life be better without this judgmental, small-minded crap?" I asked. My voice was cool, nonchalant even. It was as if Chris's gun had been able to reach deep inside my mind and trip some crucial circuit-breaker. And just like that came the nightmares, and the insomnia, and the impatience. But that same switch had changed whatever hold people like Kara had ever had over me. I still didn't like being the center of attention, but I couldn't remember what if felt like to actually be scared of them. It was just gone. "Right, Hang?"
"Oh, absolutely," she confirmed.
Bitchy girl just sneered at us.
"And it's so boring," I drawled, rolling my fingers into fists. "You're a slut because you like to wear your skirt high and have sex. While your other friend there must be a frigid bitch because she likes to wear her clothes baggy and I hear she turned some dude down. And on and on it goes, all of it superficial and meaning absolutely nothing. They're just pointless, insulting labels that don't even come close to who any of us really are as people!"
"Actually," said Hang, "that's a valid point."
"What the hell are you on about?" asked the bitch queen.
"Everyone should just do their own thing without assholes like you giving them a hard time," I said. "Would that honestly be so bad?"
"What did you just call m--"
"You're not even original about it," I said. "God, the fat thing. Do you have any idea how often I've had that flung at me? I mean, what if I only take the word as being a descriptor? Then you're screwed. But I bet if you tried, you could make up much better insults. Give it a try; I'll wait because your opinion really, really matters to me. Whoever you are."
Her mouth opened, anger turned into confusion before morphing into rage.
And there was my moment. Fists made correctly this time, I drew back, ready to swing. A strong hand gripped my arm, halting the whole process.
"No," he said, forcing my fist back to my side.
"Uh-oh," said Hang.
"John." The girl nervously flicked her hair. "Hi."
"What's this about?"
I cleared my throat. "I believe your girlfriend was just staking her claim or something."
"Christ. We screwed a couple of times, Erika. That's it." The look he gave her was grim. "Don't hassle Edie again."
"But--"
"I might not be around next time to stop her from knocking you on your ass."
Eyes wide, the girl pulled herself up as tall as can be. Not particularly impressive. I could take her, easy.
John picked up my book, handing it to me with a nod.
"Thanks," I said.
With a final displeased glance at the girl, he ushered me into class. His fingers brushed against my lower back, something I liked a little too much.
"That was exciting," said Hang, following behind. "I've never nearly been in a fight before."
I gave her two thumbs up. She'd stayed by my side, right up until John's intervention. That deserved respect.
"Fighting at school again? Seriously, Edie?" said John.
"She started it." I slipped into my seat, shoulders rounded. Feeling like the naughty child did not go with my outfit.
"Yeah, and you were about to end it." He took the desk behind me, face still distinctly unhappy. "The amount of shit that hitting Erika would have landed you in is not worth it. You know that."
"I should have just let her insult my friend?"
"You'd made your point. You didn't need to throw any punches."
"Right." I turned back to face the front. He didn't understand and I wasn't in the mood to explain. Someone like him had probably never been bullied in his life.
"What happened to not caring what people say, hmm?" he continued. "I'm trying to get things together here and I've already got a record. I won't get dragged into your bullshit again, understood?"
Outraged, I turned back. "My memory must be faulty. John, can you run the bit by me where I asked for your help?"
The blue of his eyes turned ice cold. He likely thought "bitch."
I definitely thought "asshole."
Lucky for all, the teacher walked in then, calling for order. The weight of John's pissed-off gaze drilled into my back throughout class, however. What with him not being my keeper, this did not impress me at all. Neither did the niggling idiotic, completely wrong feeling of guilt.
We got lucky with the job hunt. A new smoothie place was about to open at Rock Creek Plaza. Hang and I got there just as the manager began sticking the Help Wanted sign in the front window. Talk about timing. The store consisted mostly of shiny stainless-steel juicers and blenders and the like. Giant pictures of fruit and lots of eye-bleedingly bright orange trim.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Ingrid, the manager, told us to come back the next afternoon for training. It turned out she did a lot of bouncing. I don't know if she was snorting sugar or just high on life. Either way, Ingrid had energy to spare. I liked her, even if just watching her did wear me out.
"This is the Summer Sunrise," said Ingrid with great enthusiasm, waving her gloved hands around as she spoke. "A handful of raw squash and pumpkin pieces, some orange segments, a squeeze of lemon, a couple of leaves of lettuce, a cup of ice, and a sprinkling of chia seeds."
Hang studied the lumpy concoction with an impressively straight face. "Awesome."
"Isn't it?" With practiced ease, Ingrid put the ingredients into the commercial blender and the blades whirred to life. "It only needs thirty seconds. Any questions?"
"No, I don't think so," I said, pasting a professional smile on my face. "Looks tasty."
"It really is. We're going to have so much fun working together, girls. I can't wait." Ingrid poured the murky orange mixture into a cup and handed it my way. "You can have this one, Edie."
"Oh. Thanks." I took one tiny hesitant sip, trying not to taste anything, doing my best not to gag. When I started coughing, however, Hang smacked me on the back, forcing the Summer Sunrise to slide down my throat.
"What do you think?" asked Ingrid.
My eyes watered. "Wow. Yummy."
"Right? We'll make the Green Berry Blitz next for you, Hang," said Ingrid. "It's got kale, cabbage, celery, and strawberries in it. I can't begin to tell you how good it is for your digestive tract."
Fear filled Hang's eyes. "I can't wait."
"You're so lucky, Hang," I said.
"Drink up, Edie," she bit back.
"Ingrid?" A woman stood in the doorway, viewing us with open disgust. She was all sharp edges, dressed in a designer tracksuit.
"Susan! What great timing."
Ingrid put a little something extra into her bounce. "These are the part-time girls I hired, Hang and Edie."
Susan said nothing, nor did her look of abhorrence lessen.
"Girls, this is the owner, Susan," Ingrid continued, unaware. "She invented all of these fantastic recipes by herself--isn't that amazing?"
Our best smiles in place, we both dutifully nodded.
"Outside. Now." Susan turned on her heel, marching back out.
"Sure thing!" With a wave of her fingers, Ingrid followed. "Won't be a moment, girls."
We watched them go in silence.
I poked a straw into the cold orange mush, stirring it round and round. "For someone with a healthy digestive tract, Susan doesn't seem very happy."
"I was just thinking that."
And for all of her niceness, Ingrid didn't seem to exactly be the brightest. She'd left the door wide open. Fragments of their conversation, or more accurately, of Susan tearing into the woman, floated through the store. ". . . we're selling people the idea of good health. Does that girl look healthy? Does her body say Susan's Smoothies to you? Or does it say 'I just ate a box of donuts and I'm going back for more'? Well? I can't believe . . . The little Asian one can stay. We don't want to look racist. But you need to get back in there immediately and fire that . . ."
Ouch. What a bitch.
I stood tall, aiming for blase. "I never could have sold this sludge, anyway."
Without a word, Hang snatched the Summer Sunrise out of my hands and slammed it down on the counter, icy goop slopping everywhere. Then she grabbed my hand and led the exodus.
"Are you sure?" I asked, knowing she needed the money.
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," she snapped.
Whoa. "Okay."
"Hang. Edie." Ingrid had stopped bouncing. "Wait."
I lifted a hand in farewell, but Hang didn't even slow down. The girl was on a mission to get us gone from this place of raw vegetables and misery.
"You're great, Ingrid. Seriously. But you, you're a cunt!" I waved cheerily at Susan. "'Bye."
Hang barked out a laugh.
"Guess it's still job-hunting season."
"Yep."
The week didn't improve.
John and I still weren't speaking, ignoring each other throughout Thursday's English class. It sucked. I missed him. But he was wrong to say I should just put up with being insulted. For years, I'd let Kara push me around and she hadn't lost interest or moved on to tormenting some other poor sap. She also hadn't experienced any inner awakening leading to her deciding not to be a complete and utter bitch. Things had only escalated. I wanted to explain all of this to him, except pride got in the way.