“You claim to be looking for me and now that you’ve found me you have nothing to say because you don’t want to break the rules? Typical.” I scoff and she rolls her eyes at me and folds her arms defensively.
“You know what Kace? I’m sick of you and your judgment!”
Well damn...the kitten strikes back.
“Sure! I was wrong about you. Sure, there are a lot about you that I don’t know, but do you see me making that an issue? No! The only person here making anything an issue is you.”
Is she scolding me? Hilarious. Janey Bradshaw is actually on my roof, breaking all sorts of rules and still managing to scold me. That upper-class privilege has a stench all to itself.
“Why are you so bent out of shape at the idea of me wanting to help you for no other reason than I know you have the potential to make an exceptional contribution to the world?”
Wait, what? Exceptional contribution to the world? What kind of weed has she been smoking? I haven’t made a meaningful contribution to anything since Rick got my mom shot.
Janey is more naive than I thought. Though I have to give her credit, I was not expecting her to snap back like that.
It’s her perfect understanding of safe space rules that gets me though. What reason could she possibly have for knowing that, unless she read it in a book somewhere?
Though, just watching her face as she speaks about it with such sincerity, I get the feeling that she may actually know what she’s talking about. And she’s completely right, which annoys me even more.
Janey Bradshaw is many things, but I’m starting to see that simple or plain are not included on that list. She’s more human than I ever gave her credit for, though I’ll never apologize to her for trying to get her to take a fucking hike.
“I was looking for Bubba-”
What did she just say?
Janey seems to be pushing all the wrong buttons today. How does she even know who Bubba is? The more she talks, the more convinced I am that she’s lost her damn mind. She approached the principal? She is gunning for real trouble at top speed and, right about now, I need her to slow the hell down.
I need her to understand that there’s no hope for my future and if she’s serious about having one for herself, she’ll have to drop this whole idea she’s somehow managed to drum up in her head that she can save me. I’m beyond saving and if anybody could, I highly doubt it would be little Miss Janey Bradshaw from Rittenhouse Square, who drives a Hyundai Santa Fe and has a trust fund to fall back on if things go sideways. She couldn’t possibly relate to anything I’m going through. Her walls are made out of titanium and padded with the fur of unicorns, I’m sure. She’s so sheltered and protected from everything, I doubt she even knows what real heartbreak feels like, but I do.
I live my life on an offbeat rhythm, pulsing from a broken heart. I get to watch my old friends make strides in the right direction while I pretend they’re all wusses for even wanting to elevate themselves in the first place.
I get to purposely fail my tests so that I can justify not getting into medical school at the end of this bullshit phase called high school because there’s no way I’d get to go.
Not now, anyway.
Not after everything that’s happened. Not after life has gone so far up its own ass to fuck itself. There’s nothing Janey can do for me and even if there was, I don’t want her help. I don’t need her pity. What I need is to say this in words she’ll understand. I need her to get it through her thick skull just how in over her head she is. I need her to walk away from me and never look back.
“Bubba is dead.”
Her transition from shocked to mortified brings her to her knees and without saying a word she openly starts to cry.
I’m not sure what I was expecting her reaction to be, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.
The tears that gush out of her are not the tears you cry for a stranger or at a sad movie where all the animals die. I can almost see her heart in her throat, and I have no idea what to do with this kind of intense emotion.
I stand over her, looking down at her cry the tears I wish I could, and I am once again confounded by her.
She doesn’t even know Bubba. Why should his death affect her like this?
What the hell is wrong with this girl?
I stoop down beside her and before I can say anything, her arms are around my neck, hugging me tightly as her tears continue to fall.
The last person that hugged me like this was my mom - over a year ago and now Janey has hugged me twice in one month and I don’t know what the hell to do with that. I can feel her body shaking as she continues the waterworks and at a loss for a reaction, I feel myself hugging her back.
It’s an awkward feeling at first.
My hands slowly climb their way up her back, feeling the strong softness of her against me. Her hair smells like sweet fruit and it’s soft and smooth against my fingers as I stroke her head, trying to soothe her the way I would sooth Abby if she were ever this upset.
Janey’s making it really hard for me to be a dick to her.
I fucking hate that.
Being mean to her is all I have. It’s all I can offer her.
If I accept her friendship, then I’d be selfish and cruel, which everyone in this shithole thinks I am, but I can’t do that to her.
She doesn’t deserve to be sentenced to my friendship.
“Stop crying, Janey.” I grumble the words in her ear and she squeezes me tighter.
Something inside me unravels at her kindness. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. I’m not even sure how I feel about having her this close to me. There’s a naked exposure that is glaring at me, but Janey seems oblivious to it. Her sincerity fucking annoys me. Foolish or not, baseless or not, Janey Bradshaw actually cares. She seems to have a need to care about every damn thing. I don’t know why and I sure as hell don’t understand it.
Crap.
“Janey, stop crying,” I coax her.
Sniffling, she tries to turn off the faucet. She’s still shaking, though. And her arms are still around my neck so I continue to awkwardly stroke her back until she sags against me.
She slowly leans away from me, wiping her face on the edge of her sleeves, still sniffling.
Her face is blotchy and pudgy and her eyes are red.
“I’m...I’m sorry,” she stutters.
“Uh...nah, it’s cool,” I mumble.
“No. I’m not sorry for crying.” She frowns up at me. “What you just told me is sad. I’m not ashamed of my feelings. That’s not what I’m sorry for. I’m sorry you lost your friend, Kace. Nobody deserves that. He didn’t and neither do you.”
That’s the most humane thing anyone has ever said to me in this school...maybe anywhere, possibly ever.
I’ve given up on trying to understand her. I wasn’t aware that people like her could be so sincere, or could actually give a rat’s ass about what happens to people like me.
“Janey, listen to me. What happened to Bubba was messed up and you’re right, he didn’t deserve that, but that kind of thing happens where I’m from all the time. That’s my reality and the more you try to help me, the deeper you’ll find yourself falling into my reality so just stay the fuck away from me, okay.”
Her brown eyes are still shimmering from tears as she quietly looks up at me. Her lips look soft and inviting, but I shift back to her eyes because it’s the right fucking thing to do.
“You and your innocence…your perfect little life and your perfect little family…you don’t need to be trying to involve yourself in my world. So just…just stay the fuck away from me.” I know I sound like a broken record and I know that I should be harsher, really drill it into her thick skull. But honestly, I’m just exhausted. With this world and its unfairness. My life and its uncertainties. Bubba’s death.
She rolls her eyes and for the first time, I’m not irritated by her doing so.
“What about you?” she asks, and I can tell that I’ve still n
ot gotten through to her.
I sigh, pulling her up to her feet as I stand. “What about me?”
“It’s no life for you either,” she whispers. Her voice is laden with concern, her eyes even more so.
Was it always concern that she held in her voice? I’ve only ever been able to hear judgment and condescension. Was that just me?
“It’s the life that I know.”
She shakes her head and pouts. “Please let me help you get out of that place, Kace.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. How are we back to this? Has she not been listening to a damn word I’ve been saying all along?
“You cannot help me, Janey,” I growl and she sighs.
“I know you think so, but I know that I can and I want to.” She sighs again and seems to weigh the rest of her words before speaking them. “But I can’t force you. I won’t bother you anymore. I’m sorry for invading your space and I’m sorry about your friend.”
With that direct apology, she turns and walks away, leaving me on the roof, feeling emptier than I’ve felt in a really long time. For a moment, I consider calling after her, but as I watch her go out the door, I decide that this is ultimately for the best.
I know it is...so why do I suddenly feel like this? Why do I feel like I just made the worse decision possible? Why does watching Janey walking away from me feel like I’ve just been punched in the gut?
‘Get it together Da’Costa, you didn’t come here for this,’ I chide myself, taking a deep breath before leaving the roof and heading for Mrs. Jordan’s office.
The walkway seems longer, quieter, darker. I know nothing outside has changed but so much has happened this week, I can’t see things as being black and white anymore. It was barely black and white before, but as my downward spiral and cluster fuck persists, I can feel myself becoming colorblind. Everything is stitched together by a floss from hell and I don’t know which sick twisted fuck is holding the needle, but when it comes to ruining lives, he’s doing a pretty damn good job.
I knock on the door to Principal’s office, not waiting to be called in before I enter. I find Mrs. Jordan standing by her secretary’s desk gossiping about some student, I assume. I can tell she’s surprised to see me here. I hope she can tell that I don’t care.
“Mr. Da’Costa. I was not aware that we had the distinct pleasure of your attendance today. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Really, bitch? Now is seriously not the time.
I ignore her sarcasm, even though it’s taking everything inside me to suppress my urge to put her in her place.
“I came to report the death of one of your students...if you even give a fuck about that sort of thing.”
I can see her wrestle with which of those things to tackle first. I tilt my head, curious to see if her pride will overtake her sense of duty.
“Step into my office,” she mumbles, and I’m pleased and a little surprised by her choice.
Insider her office, I notice that the pictures of her husband are gone. So I was right. I almost always am about these kinds of things.
“Which of my students do you believe to be-” She can’t seem to bring herself to say the word.
Interesting.
“Odane Rowe. Bubba. He was shot earlier this week. Died in hospital. I’ll have a death certificate soon.”
“You? Wait. What?” An appropriate amount of horror registers on her face as she tries to wrap her mind around the news.
“Why are you bringing in the documents? Where are his parents?”
I laugh at her ignorance and stand to leave.
“His mom died two years ago, and he’s never met his dad. He was being supported by his grandmother who would never set foot in a place like this for a reasonable fear of being judged. He has a son who now has no father and a mother addicted to being a bitch. Have a good day.”
With that, I close the door and walk out before I break under the weight of this grief. I feel like there’s a pregnant elephant sitting on my chest. I need to get some air.
I’m only vaguely aware of the people around me as I bolt for the door. I catch a glimpse of that strange girl that’s always hanging out with Janey and an equally strange boy trying to get her attention. She glances over at me and I can see her dismissing me almost immediately.
She’s nothing like Janey. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know anyone else who is.
I suppose you can’t judge a person by their friends.
While I allow myself to believe that slice of comfort, reality falls into my lap. Bubba, my only friend, is dead. You may not be able to judge a person by their friends, but you can tell a lot about where they’re headed from the company they keep and right now, I’m living and breathing in a den of vipers and a pack of ravenous wolves. I’m so thoroughly fucked it’s depressing and the more I think about it, the more I want to throw everyone in a furnace because I can’t be the only one who burns.
“Are you okay?” Out of nowhere, Janey stops me in my tracks, her voice wrapped in concern. I flick my eyes up and pause by the door to regain balance and ground myself.
I look over at Janey who doesn’t realize she’s caught me at the worst of times. Whatever snappy comment I was about to ruin her day with falls flat on my tongue as I spot someone more deserving of my anger. Across the room is Lucas, trailing his fingers as he walks the length of the hallway. The mere sight of him fuels the anger inside of me more than I can put into words.
I ignore Janey’s question and push through the front doors, fighting the crippling fear of leaving her alone with Lucas. Deep down, I now that sticking around, allowing him to see me with her, is a lot fucking worse. Doesn’t matter that she was about to become just another punching bag for my words. By the look of things, she’s already on his radar and I need to do every damn thing I can to make sure that she doesn’t stay on his radar for too fucking long. I might not like the girl. But her death is not something I want on my conscience.
12
Janey
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” I whine to Erika who is sitting across from me, sipping on her iced coffee.
“You take on so much, Janey. It’s a miracle you don’t burn out more often.”
I sigh, trying to decide whether or not I should share the news with her.
“Do you remember the guy I was asking you about earlier?”
She shakes her head and I sigh, even though I didn’t expect her to.
“Bubba,” I remind her, and she shrugs, waiting for me to get to the point.
“What about him?” she asks, taking another sip. She looks disinterested, as she usually is when the conversation isn’t about her.
“He’s dead, E.” I feel tears welling up in the back of my eyes again, just thinking about it.
Erika’s mouth falls open and she places her cup on the table. “What? Like…not alive?” Her voice is low, as though speaking these words out loud would lead to a catastrophe.
“He was shot this week.”
“Oh my gosh!” She leans back in her chair then shakes her head. “How do you know this?”
I fidget before answering her, unsure of what she’ll say next and how I’ll respond. “Kace told me,” I responds and my heart sinks as I watch the concern fade from her eyes.
“Oh,” she responds, still looking at me.
“He was his best friend or something like that,” I continue. I try to sound much more casual about it than I feel, and I hate myself for it. Why should I have to pretend to not care about someone because everyone else doesn’t?
“Oh...” her voice trails off and she finishes her coffee, draining the last drop with an obnoxious slurp before fidgeting with the ice cubes.
I sit quietly, waiting for her to respond with more than a vowel, but she doesn’t. In fact, she doesn’t say anything for a while. Instead, she picks up her phone and starts to scroll her fingers across screen.
I sit in disbelief. I don’t want to judger her
. I don’t know what thoughts are running through her mind. People deal with information like this different. At least that’s what I try to tell myself as her fingers pause against the screen and she smiles.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her directly and she shrugs.
“You mean about that guy? I mean, it sucks that he’s dead, I guess. But we didn’t know him so...”
“Would your interest in his death have been the same had I not mentioned Kace?”
She blushes and I know I’ve found the source of her nonchalance and I cannot express just how disappointed I am in her.
“Well, I mean...” she starts, “you’ve seen Kace. You’ve seen the way he...you know....is.” She waves her hand up and down her body. “If this guy was his best friend, then he was most likely the same. Right? Why waste tears on that? You pick the life you want.”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing. I’d expect this from literally anyone else. But not her. Sure, she might not be the most alert person in the world, might care too much about her problems and too little about anyone else’s, but for those words to actually leave her lips… I’m stunned six ways to Sunday.
I’m on my feet in an instant, my legs wanting to take me anywhere but here.
“Where are you going?” she asks, as I grab my bag.
“I’m going home, Erika. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her jaw drops. Like I’m the one acting out of character.
“Janey!” she calls after me, rocking back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her like a petulant teenager. Which, I guess, she kinda is.
I glance back at her and shake my head before heading down the stairs.
13
Janey
My ride home is loud. Obnoxiously loud. I can’t bear to hear my own thoughts as I struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that Kace could have been killed. But ‘could have’ doesn’t exactly trump ‘has’ and that’s the part of it that burns like a thousand fires right now. Someone died. A student in our school. And no one seems to care two hoots about it.
Rebel: Enemies to Lovers Bully Romance Page 10