by Celeste, B.
She draws her body into the corner, putting the matching leather Lazy Boy between her and me despite there being at least twenty feet separating us. My eyes trail downward at her shaking hand, which she tries controlling by grasping it with her other palm.
“Uh … sorry.” My thumb stabs the air behind me in a pointless gesture. “Oliver told me to meet him down here.”
The girl doesn’t say anything. In fact, her lips are pressed in a tight line as she watches me like she’s facing a firing squad. Clearing my throat, I bury my hands in my jeans pockets. She’s terrified. Whether of me or just in general, I don’t know. But if she doesn’t like being surrounded by people, she won’t like sticking down here when Tommy and Quinn arrive. They’re not bad guys, they’re just loud.
“You’re River, right?”
Again. Silence.
I want to offer her pizza because there’s nothing to the girl. She’s lean and lanky and the clothes, although new by the looks of them, eat her small frame alive. Frankly, she looks sick. I wonder if there’s something wrong with her that made the James want to take her under their wing. After all, they like charity cases. It’s why they embraced me.
Her eyes are dark, but I can’t tell what color. Probably brown, though the few redheads I know sport green eyes and freckles that cover their cheeks and nose. This girl doesn’t look like she has any, but I can’t tell from where I’m standing. Walking over to her is out of the question, because she’s literally shaking despite trying to force herself not to.
My eyes catch the fallen paperback copy of Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. It’s a free read for class that Perkins said will get me out of the final if I write a paper on it. I thought I’d hate it, but it’s not so bad.
“Did you read that? It’s cool if you did.”
Her lips part a fraction. “Y-Yes.”
She’s unsure. Scared. Hesitant. I get it. So, I don’t hound her. She doesn’t want to talk to me, to trust me. And why would she? We’re strangers.
I tilt my chin toward the pizza. “Well, Oliver has some people coming over to watch the big game today. Basketball, if you’re interested. If not, you can grab some food and head out. They’ll be here any minute.”
On cue, the front door slams shut upstairs, and two different voices call out Oliver’s name. I cuss silently, seeing River’s face pale at their obnoxious laughing.
Quickly, I grab a paper plate and slap a slice of cheese pizza onto it. She flinches when I advance her, holding out the plate. “There’s a second set of stairs over there,” I point toward the back end of the room, “that lead just outside of Robert’s study. The guys won’t come down here that way.”
Her small fingers wrap around the edge of the plate. When the door to the room opens and footsteps plow down them, I go to stall the idiots only to see River has already bolted in the direction I pointed her to.
Damn, she’s fast.
Quinn is the first one down, nearly tripping over Tommy’s foot when he tries passing him to get to the pizza first. Tommy’s carrying two different kinds of chips and dip, and Quinn has Pepsi, Mountain Dew, and something shoved in a brown paper bag. I have a pretty good guess as to what.
“Look what I scored, fuckers.” He yanks the bottle of rum out of the bag and waves it in the air, setting it down next to the soda and pizza.
Tommy smacks him upside the head. “It’s rum and Coke not Pepsi, moron.”
The distinction won’t stop Tommy from drinking it. By the time they have to leave, they’ll be on the verge of drunk, making excuses about why they should stay the night. It has happened before, but I hope Oliver doesn’t let it happen again.
Oliver comes down last, followed by the last person I expect. Peter York.
Tommy and Quinn share my distaste. It’s Quinn who asks, “Who the fuck invited York?”
Oliver shoves him and sets down some napkins and glasses. “I did. We going to complain about it or start eating?”
Halfway through the game, we’re all spread out across the room with three quarters of the food consumed. Between Tommy, Quinn, and Peter, the rum is nearly gone. Oliver had a partial glass and I didn’t have any.
When the game switches to a commercial, Peter glances around the room. “Yo, James? Where’s your new sister at?”
Oliver shrugs. “I don’t know. In her room probably, why?”
A sleezy smirk spreads across his face. “I just want to see the chick. Must be some hot shit for the James’ to want her.”
“She’s thirteen,” Oliver growls defensively.
My fists tighten on my sides. “The fuck, man?”
Tommy cackles and tosses a balled-up napkin at Peter. “Jailbait, bro. Not worth it, trust me.”
Oliver and I both scowl at Tommy, who holds his hands up in surrender. My eyes shoot back to Peter, who doesn’t seem phased by our death glares. It could be the alcohol, but they say liquor is a truth serum. It just shows how screwed up York really is.
Quinn doesn’t say anything during any of this, just keeps eating his chips. I’m ninety percent sure he came here stoned, which would explain all the food he’s consumed. Normally, he can’t out-eat any of us.
“I’m just saying,” York presses, “she’s been the big topic of conversation for months. We shouldn’t have to meet her the same time everybody else does.”
My knuckles crack. “Why not?”
“Because we’re Oliver’s friends.”
One of my brows arches. “Are you now?”
Quinn snorts. “York wishes.”
Peter flips Quinn off.
“None of us are obligated to meet her,” I inform York. Hell, all of them. “And it’s probably best if we don’t make a scene at school. She’ll have enough shit to deal with.”
Oliver tips his head. “He’s right. River is off limits to you assholes. I don’t want you messing with her. She’s going to need time to adjust, and you won’t help.” The last jab is at York, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Hey, I don’t care if I meet her or not,” Tommy tells us. He winces. “No offense, bro. Maybe thirteen-year-olds do it for York, but I like my women developed. If you get my drift.” His hands fondle his chest like they’re boobs, making Quinn laugh and the rest of us groan.
Peter scoffs. “You’re all sick. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Nobody says anything because no one believes him. York will do anything to get in with Oliver and the fact Oliver invited him should make him chill. It’ll probably just fuel him to stay in our circle, despite everyone hating him.
“Cool it, douches,” Oliver declares. “The game is back on.”
Nobody mentions River again.
Monday comes around too quickly, and I’m almost late to first period because my grandfather had another fit. It took him an hour to convince me he didn’t need to go to the hospital, and I only left because our neighbor Margaret came over and told me she’d look after him as usual when I’m gone.
Grandad has been getting sick more often since he beat cancer two years ago. His body isn’t strong enough to fight off simple colds, so they always wind up turning into something worse. His latest one left him with walking pneumonia, and he’s on the last few days of antibiotics for it.
Oliver is standing by my locker holding the usual white bag of pastries from the Quick Stop in town. The donuts are pretty good considering they’re from a gas station, but Eddy’s, the small bakery inside, makes them fresh every morning. I’m pretty sure Oliver is their prime customer.
I toss my books in my locker before taking only what I need for morning classes. It’s day two, which means I’ve only got math and English along with a study hall and gym before lunch. On day ones, I’m stuck with more downtime than I like. So sometimes I’ll use the extra study halls to go to the library or gym until lunch hits.
“Mind being a few minutes late to calc?” He hooks a sudden right that leads to the middle school wing, so I follow him. I hate calculus anyway.
&n
bsp; “Where to?”
“It’s River’s first day.” He shoots a few smiles to the passing teachers who pay us no attention. “Mom and Dad are worried about her and when some guy came by the office to show her around she looked like she was about to pass out.”
Some guy? “Another student?”
He nods.
I blow out a breath. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
There’s no way to know that for sure, so I get the need to check on her. I spent less than three minutes with her, and she looked like she wanted to vomit the entire time. She doesn’t like being near strangers, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see it.
My face screws at the thought. “Do you think it’s a good idea for me to tag along?”
He gives me a pointed look. “Would you rather be in calc right now? Whitman hates tardiness.”
He has a point. And it isn’t like I’m not curious about his new sister. I am. I remember what it’s like being the new kid when I moved in with my grandparents. It sucks.
“Nah. Just thought she’d do better with you.”
Oliver’s lips quirk as he nudges me. “I appreciate it, Rhett. But honestly, she’s still nervous around me too. The only person she seems to be okay with is Mom.”
Interesting. Maybe it’s not all strangers. I wonder what happened to her that makes her twitchy around men. But the more I think about it, the worse the possibilities that cross my mind get. I’ve heard some rough shit about the foster system, and from what I remember the James’ saying, River has been in it her whole life.
We stop in front of a classroom already full of students. There’s chatter inside that makes me assume class hasn’t started yet.
River is sitting in the back corner of the room, hunkered down in the desk like she’s trying to melt away. Oliver notices too, his lips twitching downward as his gaze drifts at the other kids who are talking to each other and paying River no attention. She probably likes that, but I can tell Oliver doesn’t.
Before I can say anything about it, Oliver reaches for the door and walks in. I have no choice but to follow, walking over to the middle-aged teacher who’s writing something on the chalkboard.
She startles for a moment over seeing us, and then composes herself. “Can I help you boys with something?”
From the corner of my eye, I see River staring in our direction. When I shift my head to look at her straight-on, she quickly looks away. Her hands are tucked in her lap underneath the desk, eerily still like if she doesn’t move we won’t see her.
I see you, River.
I’m only partially aware of Oliver talking in soft murmurs to the teacher, Mrs. Ortiz according to the name plaque on her desk. “…and I think it would be good to give her a little pep talk, you know? Brother to sister.”
Mrs. Ortiz beams at him and agrees, letting Oliver head over to River’s desk. Kids watch him approach her in curiosity, leaning in when he kneels next to her. She stiffens at his closeness but whatever he says makes her ease. Her eyes sneak a peek my way before darting back to Oliver. She nods, but keeps her lips pressed together.
After a long moment, Oliver stands and points to me. River’s eyes meet mine, but this time she doesn’t break the contact. I give her a small smile and wave to show that I may look like a giant, but I’m not a threat.
“She seems quiet,” Mrs. Ortiz observes from next to me. Her voice is low enough for only me to hear. “The office mentioned she might struggle in this transition period, so I’m glad she has brothers like you.”
Instead of correcting her on the matter, I give a short nod. “We just want to make sure she settles in okay. Being the new kid isn’t fun.”
Her smile softens. “No, it’s not. But I can tell your family cares a great deal for River. And after being informed of her past, it’s good to finally have people who will take care of her.”
She knows about what happened to River? I suppose certain people are obligated to know, but it seems like an invasion of privacy.
Mrs. Ortiz gestures toward Oliver. “You don’t want to go say something to her too? I’m sure she could use all the encouragement.”
“Oh, ah—” I wet my bottom lip. “Oliver is the one who has a way with words.”
It’s not a lie. Oliver has always been the pep-talker. People expect him to give them advice, especially before games. It’s tradition.
Mrs. Ortiz nods in understanding and her smile widens when Oliver saunters back over to us. Glancing at River, I note her shoulders aren’t as tense. But her lips are still pressed tight together, and her eyes don’t look back at me.
Ortiz tells us to have a good day when we walk out.
“So?”
Oliver shrugs. “Her lunch is right before ours, so I’m going to cut study hall and check in on her. You in?”
He wants to eat with River? “Uh, sure.”
Less time in my head is a good thing. It shouldn’t surprise me that Oliver is living up to the big brother role. He’s a natural protector, a decent human being. But he never admitted how he felt about his parents adopting a child, just went along with it because he knew that’s what they wanted. Now that she’s here, it’s nice to see him looking out for her.
“Do you think she’ll be okay here?” I ask, mostly because I worry about York. The guy is all talk and no show, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat. His big mouth will get him into deep shit, especially if it involves River.
Oliver blows out a breath. “I hope so. Mom and Dad filled me in on some stuff she’s gone through. It’s … yeah, it’s fucked, bro. But she’s a fighter. I can sense it about her.”
“Must be what drew your parents to her.”
His grin is prideful. “I think so, too.”
Instead of heading to calculus twenty minutes late, we spend the last thirty minutes in the gym tossing around the basketball. Coach usually bites our heads off if he sees we’re skipping class, but by this time he’s normally in the elementary wing teaching kids how to kick a soccer ball with the other Phys Ed teacher.
When second period rolls around, we head our separate ways with plans to meet outside the cafeteria during fourth. Walking into Perkins’s room, I drop into my seat and remember I never grabbed my book from Oliver’s house. Then again, I wasn’t sure if River was finished with it yet. I doubt it. It’s not a long book, but not an easy one either. She’s only been around for a few days.
Most of the people in here aren’t my usual crowd, and I like it. Nothing against Oliver, but the rest of the idiots who hang around us would give me crap for wanting to participate in reading discussions. I could have been in AP English this year getting college credits, but I chose the easy way out because I had no clue if I was even going to college.
Our discussion on Orwell’s 1984 turns into an argument over the film adaptation, which Perkins tries to reign in but can’t. It leaves me bored because, yeah, the movie sucks. But this isn’t a film class, it’s an English one. These morons admitting they watched the movie instead of reading the book says a lot about their intelligence level.
When the bell rings, Perkins calls me over to her desk. Gripping my notebook in my palm, I stand in front of her and glance at the busy halls.
“How are you coming on the paper?”
My attention is pulled back to her. “Uh, good. I let a friend borrow the book, but I’m getting it back tonight.”
I’m not, but whatever.
One of her blonde brows quirk. “It must be a pretty special friend for them to get a book out of your hand.”
The amusement in her tone has my lips tilting slightly. She’s not wrong, I don’t like letting people take my books before I’m done with them. Then again, River didn’t take it from me. I lost it. Not really great book-owning skills.
She grabs a stack of papers and straightens them out. “Just remember that I expect the paper by Friday. Your friend can always read it after you’re done.”
I just nod and walk out. The paper is nearly done; I just n
eed to add a few quotes for evidence on my claim. Oliver told me he’d bring me the book today but forgot, which means I’ll grab it tomorrow when we swing by after practice. Tuesdays are taco night at the James household. I never miss them.
When fourth period comes around, Oliver is right where he told me he’d be in front of the cafeteria entrance. The room is full of loud, echoing voices from the middle school occupying the space. It doesn’t take us long to spot River because of her red hair and lone position in the corner of the room. The black sweater she’s wearing is at least one size too big and she wraps it around herself like a blanket.
A security blanket, I realize. She obviously wishes she could disappear, but somehow she’s all I see in the massive space.
Oliver walks over to her and waves, causing her to straighten up. Her eyes go from him to me, her lips twitching before pressing into a firm line again. I can’t tell if I scare her or not, so I keep quiet and let Ollie do the talking.
“Hey.” He jabs a finger at me. “This is Everett. I mentioned him before, remember?”
She blinks then nods, glancing over at me. Neither one of us mentions that we’ve technically met before, so we both play it off. It wasn’t a formal meeting anyway.
“Anyway, I promised we’d eat with you, so here we are. Are they serving anything worth eating today? Should have probably warned you about bringing your own lunch. Darlene can whip something up for you …”
Oliver keeps talking and River nods along, but I wonder what’s going through her head. She doesn’t seem upset we’re here, I can tell by the way her arms rest easily at her sides. There’s no indication of nervousness or skepticism like before.
“Spaghetti.” Her voice is so quiet it almost drowns in the sea of other conversations. But I hear it. The lull of her soft tone is woven with uncertainty and something else. Can’t be sure what, but whatever it is encourages her to talk.
It’s me who speaks up. “It’s not that good, if you like spaghetti. The meat sauce is watered down and I’m pretty sure the meatballs are tofu.”