by Kelly Oram
Again, Spencer’s right. Wes didn’t have to let me in his house. He didn’t have to open up to me. I’m not even sure why he did, but the least I can do is return the courtesy. If I want to fix things between us, I have to let him in. I sigh, causing Wes to glance at me from the corner of his eye. “Trisha saw us kiss that night,” I blurt, seemingly out of nowhere.
Wes’s eyebrows fly up at my confession, and he turns to give me his full attention. There’s more than just surprise in his expression, but I can’t pick out the other emotions. I trudge on with my explanation, ignoring the sudden churning in my stomach. “I didn’t know she’d been carrying that secret around for a year, but she got mad at me last night and announced to everyone that you and I were cheating on Spencer and that’s why he got drunk and died. Everyone pretty much hates me now.” My voice cracks, and I lock my eyes on the road in front of me, shrugging as if I might shake off the weight of Wes’s gaze. “Of course they blame me.”
A thick silence settles between us, made more awkward by the fact that we’re stopped at a red light. Then, when the light turns green, as if the forward motion of the car propels him to speak, Wes whispers, “I never should have kissed you.”
I don’t argue. That is one thing we both agree on. That kiss, as incredible as it was, is the biggest regret of my life—probably his, too. But there’s one thing I have to know. “Why did you do it, anyway? You hated me.”
Wes shakes his head emphatically. “I didn’t hate you.”
I shoot him a flat look as I pull into the parking lot of the Grand Summit Hotel. “Yes, you did. Ever since I asked Spencer out, you hated being around me. You hated when it was the three of us. You hated when Spencer and I went out on our own. You were always trying to get him away from me. You did anything you could to avoid me.”
Wes doesn’t deny it. He can’t. We both know it’s true. His shoulders slump under the weight of his guilt. He doesn’t say anything, so I speak again. I’ve needed to get this off my chest for years now. “I don’t understand.” I’m unable to keep my voice completely steady. “You made me feel horrible for loving him. We were best friends, and then suddenly you turned cold and mean. You were so angry. Things were never the same between us ever again.”
I pull into the hotel loop and stop outside the front doors. Wes glances out his window at the front entrance of the hotel and nods in acknowledgment to two other guys dressed in matching ridiculous outfits, but he doesn’t move to get out of the car. “It was complicated,” he murmurs.
I scoff under my breath. It’s a small, quiet scoff, but it’s 200 percent bitter. “Yeah, it still is, isn’t it?”
Wes freezes, his hand on the door handle. After a loud swallow, he finally looks at me. The depth of the sorrow in his gaze is startling. He’s as broken as I am. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper and takes on a soft quality that’s as full of regret as his gaze. “It’ll always be complicated with you, Bailey.”
He doesn’t give me time to reply before he climbs out of the car. Not that I know how to respond. As he moves to shut the door, he pauses one last time and says, “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. “Thank you for the ride.”
I can’t find my voice, so I simply nod, and he gently shuts the door.
Over the next week, I start to wish Dr. Moscowitz hadn’t taken me off my medication. Since the party, I’ve been ostracized at school, and if I were still numb from the antidepressants, I wouldn’t care that my friends have all abandoned me. Charlotte is the only friend I have anymore. I am so grateful that she came here when she did. I don’t think I would survive without her.
Spencer is with me a lot, too. I can’t decide if having him haunt me is heaven or if it’s torture. I love his company, but it makes my heart hurt because it’s not the same as when he was alive, and I know he’s not coming back. He’s hinted that his time with me is coming to an end soon, and I’m afraid it’s going to be even harder to lose him now than it had been a year ago.
“All right, Bay-be. You’re up.”
Spencer’s cheerful voice and ridiculous nickname startle me from my moping. I’m surprised to see everyone looking at me. We’re having chair tests in orchestra today. I was supposed to go third. I guess the fourth and fifth chair violinists have already played the piece. I’d been so spaced out I didn’t notice.
After looking around the room, I meet Spencer’s eyes again, and he gives me an enthusiastic two-thumbs up. “You’ve got this. Just like we practiced.”
We? It’s hard to keep from rolling my eyes at him. Since the day I dropped Wes off at work, we sort of went back to square one in the chilly, awkward department. It’s made Spencer relentless with the Befriend Wes campaign. He’s followed me around constantly. When he came to school with me for the entire day the first time and realized that I sat third chair in orchestra, he flipped. I’d always been first chair before, but I’d stopped playing with my heart after Spencer died. I hadn’t had a heart left to play with. Spencer decided to take it upon himself to become my violin drill sergeant for the last two weeks.
“Any day now,” someone grumbles, shaking me into gear.
I grimace at Mr. Daniels as I lift my violin to my chin. “Sorry.”
His answering smile is forced. It’s sympathetic, but he’s also disappointed in me. I’d been his star pupil up until the accident. “It’s all right, Bailey. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Shock the old geezer’s pants off, Bay.”
Spencer’s glaring so hard at Mr. Daniels that I almost snort. I guess he’s noticed the lack of faith in my director’s expression. Not that I don’t deserve the lack of faith. I’m surprised I’m still third chair and not fifth.
But the look of animosity on Spencer’s adorable face lifts my spirits, and when I start pulling my bow across my strings, I loosen up. I’ve always loved the violin. And if it’s really that important to Spencer that I reclaim first chair, then I’ll do it.
Spencer hoots with excitement when he notices determination sweep over me. “Oh yeah. There’s my sexy violin goddess. Knock all their pants off, baby. Show ’em who’s boss. Pwn those geeks hard.”
This time I do snort, and I have to cough to cover it up. At least I’m only doing my scales. I shoot Spencer a look and he grins again, this time with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry.”
Yeah, right. He’s not the least bit sorry. I’d say as much if I weren’t in front of a room full of people. As it is, I still snort again and shake my head. The guy is going to get me thrown in a mental hospital, but at least he’s made me smile.
Finished with my scales, I close my eyes and launch into the test piece that I know by heart. It’s much simpler than the concertos I practice at home. I glide through it with ease, playing it perfectly, and shock everyone in the room.
When I open my eyes, everyone is so silent that I glance around, taking in their stunned faces. Well, Talia and Yuri aren’t so much surprised as glaring at me because they know I’ll be advancing past them both to first chair now. But everyone else just looks shocked.
Mr. Daniels is grinning so hard his face probably hurts. When I meet his gaze, instead of congratulating me on a job well done, he quietly asks, “Are you back, then, Bailey?”
It’s a loaded question. If I say yes, there will be new expectations. I’ll be forced to start trying again and take it seriously. Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Violin makes me happy, and I need something that makes me happy right now since the rest of my life is a shambles.
Spencer’s pleading expression is hard to ignore. He’s got to be holding his breath—assuming he has breath—waiting for my answer. “Please, Bailey. You love the violin. I can’t stand that you’ve practically given it up. I’m the one who died. Not you. I need you to start living again. Live for both of us, since I can’t.”
His words pierce my heart, and my eyes mist over. He’s been begging me since the second he first showed up to b
ounce back from losing him. It’s as if he’s tortured to see me struggling. I guess I can understand that. If things were reversed and I were the ghost having to watch him suffer, it would kill me all over again.
I think I finally get it—why he’s so desperate for me to move on. I don’t understand why he’s determined to make me move on with Wes, but maybe he just hates seeing Wes hurt as much as he hates watching me suffer. Maybe he wants us both to heal. I can do that. Or I can try, anyway. For him. If it’s really what he needs.
Sucking in a deep breath, I meet Mr. Daniels’ gaze and give him a small nod. “I think so,” I mumble. My face heats up at the declaration, and I add, “I’ll try, anyway.”
Mr. Daniels’ face lights with pride. It feels good seeing it. I haven’t had anyone look at me like that since Spencer died. He nods his approval and then moves on to tell Yuri it’s his turn to play. He won’t tell me I’m the new first chair until after Yuri and Talia both play, but I know I will be. What surprises me is that I’m glad. It’s been too long since I’ve cared about anything, but it’s nice to have the feeling back.
. . . . .
I’m feeling pretty good when I meet Charlotte in the hall in front of our history classroom at the end of the day. We have to give our presentation today, and Charlotte is really excited. She’s bouncing on her toes with her keys in her hand. After being bumped to first chair, it’s easy to match her smile. “Come on!” she says when I walk up. “All our stuff is in my car, and Mr. Thatcher already gave us a pass.” She holds up the slip of paper and drags me toward the student parking lot.
My mood gets even better as we change for our presentation. Charlotte has been almost as zealous as Spencer with her let’s-distract-Bailey-from-the-fact-that-all-her-friends-have-dumped-her act. She dragged me into the city last week, and we found a costume shop that had both Marilyn’s white dress and Jackie O’s famous pink Chanel suit and hat. They even had both women’s wigs.
As I step out of the bathroom stall and stand next to Charlotte, I can’t help feeling impressed and excited for the presentation. We look authentic from head to toe, and we’ve prepared a pretty humorous presentation on JFK that I think the class will like.
Charlotte grins at me in the mirror. “We’re going to rock this.”
I actually believe her, and I feel better than I have in a year. Maybe I really am back. “We are, aren’t we?”
“You know it.”
She plants a kiss on our life-size cutout of the thirty-fifth president, leaving a big red lipstick print on his cheek, before closing her bag and heading out of the bathroom. Her confidence is infectious, and when we finally stride into the classroom and are met with gasps, laughs, whistles, and catcalls from the other students, I’m able to hold my head high and give them my best Marilyn Monroe smile and sexy wink.
Our presentation goes off without a hitch. We have the group laughing, and Mr. Thatcher is grinning at us with pride. The smile on my face is genuine—though that could be from all of the ridiculous comments Spencer keeps making. Still, just like in orchestra, I feel different. It’s as if I’m thawing out. I’m slowly coming alive again, and I know with certainty that I’ve been as dead to the world as all of my friends, teachers, and family say I was.
It feels good to be back, doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I suspected it would. It’s nice to have fun again, to laugh again, and interact with people. As I finish the presentation, I meet Spencer’s eyes, and an understanding passes between us. He knows what I’m thinking without me having to explain, and it makes him grin from ear to ear.
“Ladies,” Mr. Thatcher says as Charlotte and I take a bow for the class, “that has to be one of the most creative presentations I’ve ever had for this assignment. And so well done. You’re both natural actresses!”
“Well, it’s not like Bailey had to act much,” Chase grumbles. “She’s used to cheating scandals, after all.” He glares my way and gives me a hard smirk. “Right, Bailey?”
The good mood is sucked out of the room in an instant. My stomach rolls, and I’m sure my face is as white as my dress. “Chase!” Mr. Thatcher snaps. “I don’t know what that’s about, but knock it off. One more word from you, and you’ll have detention.”
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Charlotte grabs my hand and squeezes it. Her grip gives me strength, makes me calm down. With her by my side supporting me, and Spencer across the room trying to punch his non-corporeal fists into Chase’s head, I swallow back my panic and find the strength to stick up for myself. I glare at Chase with all my might. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest and shoots a bitter frown at me. Jake, looking just as angry, says, “How can you pretend to be innocent? We all heard what Trisha said.”
I scoff. “Yeah, and she had no idea what she was talking about, either. She’s a lying, jealous bitch. Everyone knows that.”
The class gasps, and Mr. Thatcher snaps at me now. “Bailey! That’s enough. Whatever’s going on, you all need to calm down now or you’ll all end up in the principal’s office.”
I stand my ground, ignoring Mr. Thatcher’s warning, and glare at the two guys who used to be some of my best friends. “Trisha has no idea what she saw. She jumped to conclusions and exaggerated because she hates that Wes refused to go out with her.”
“Kind of like you, Chase,” Charlotte sneers. “You’re being a total asshole right now because you’re pissed that Bailey wouldn’t go out with you. Real nice. Classy. And you wonder why she turned you down.”
The class gasps again and bursts into snickers. Chase’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he slumps back in his chair, glaring at Charlotte.
Mr. Thatcher finally loses it. “Charlotte! You and Bailey, wait for me in the hall, now.”
We stomp out without a word, our heads held high. I’m not even upset about what Chase said anymore. It feels too good to have stood up to him. Charlotte seems to be on a bit of a high as well, because as we turn to face each other, she cracks a grin and I laugh. “That was awesome,” I say. “Thank you for sticking up for me.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “I was only following your lead, rock star. Way to not put up with his crap.”
After taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and raise my chin proudly. “It did feel really good.”
“And it was so, so, so sexy,” Spencer adds. I flick my eyes his direction and he gives me his most adorable grin. He’s trying to make it wicked, but he never could accomplish the bad-boy look. “I approve.”
I snort at his approval. When Charlotte questions it, I say, “I can’t believe what you said to Chase. Did you see how red his face was?”
She shrugs. “He needed to hear it. He’s not the total lost cause Jake and Trisha are. He could be a nice guy, if his ego weren’t so huge.”
“Well, you definitely took him down a peg with that one.”
She shrugs again, trying for indifferent, but her lips twitch and it makes me laugh. When I giggle, she breaks down and chuckles, too. We’re both still snickering when Mr. Thatcher comes out into the hall. He eyes us with a frown. I can tell he’s angry, but at the same time, he’s watching me as if he’s analyzing me and worried he might say the wrong thing. I know he’s gotten the “Bailey is a troubled student” spiel. He was just as surprised as the rest of the class with my presentation. It was a huge step for me, and he obviously doesn’t want to set me back.
“You ladies want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks. He leans casually against the wall, arms folded and one foot crossed in front of the other.
Charlotte speaks first. “Bailey’s been getting bullied. She needed to stand up for herself.”
I give Mr. Thatcher an apologetic pout. “Chase crossed a line, and I completely lost my temper. Sorry about the language. I was so mad I wasn’t thinking.”
“I was,” Charlotte grumbles. When Mr. Thatcher cocks an eyebrow at her, she folds her arms and stares right b
ack. “I’m not sorry for what I said to him. It was the truth. And he needed to be put in his place so he’ll stop harassing Bailey.”
Mr. Thatcher holds his stare a moment longer, bouncing his gaze between Charlotte and me. Finally, he concedes. “Do I need to talk to the principal about the bullying situation?”
Charlotte and I both shake our heads. “It’s all right,” I say when Mr. Thatcher frowns in disapproval. “I doubt Chase and Tyler will bother me anymore after that, and even if they do, I don’t really care now. If they’re going to act like that, they aren’t worth being friends with anyway.”
“That’s right, Bay,” Spencer says. “You’re better off without those losers. I’ve never liked them. Charlotte rocks, and Wes will come around.”
I’m getting better at ignoring Spencer when he butts into my conversations, but his words strike a chord in me now. I do have Charlotte. It was because she was standing there with me, supporting me, that I was able to stand up for myself. She’s a real friend.
I glance at her and realize something. Spencer was a real friend, but Trisha and her crowd never were. They were friends of convenience. I hung out with them because they included me. Not because they were my true friends.
Having gone so long now without a real friend, I understand what a rare thing someone like Charlotte is. And how amazing our friendship is. Spencer is right. I’m better off without my popular crowd. Even if Charlotte ends up being my only real friend from now until I graduate, that’s all I need. The others don’t matter.
Suddenly, the weight I’ve been carrying around since Jake’s party lifts off my shoulders. I feel better than I have since Spencer’s death. I didn’t know it at the time, but I lost my only true friend when he died, and I’ve been completely alone ever since. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t ever recover. Maybe that’s why Wes is still having such a hard time, too. He also lost Spencer. If he’s like me, he’s going through life alone now, and he’s got way more to deal with than I do. That must be why Spencer is so desperate to make us get together. Wes must need someone like Charlotte as badly as I do.