by Linda Gerber
I slid onto the seat next to him. “Hey, stranger.”
“How’ve you been?”
“Okay. How about you?”
He smiled at me. “Never better.”
I can’t even remember what I ate that day. All I could think about was that Jake was there with me. He held my hand and I could barely follow the conversation. But when Michelle and Trey started talking about the next track meet, my ears perked up.
“Saint Mary’s is a tough team,” Trey said. “Inner city. You don’t want to mess with those guys.”
“Remember last year at the basketball play-offs, we had to have a police escort to get out of the arena?” Michelle shuddered at the memory. “You don’t think we’ll have anything like that at the meet, do you?”
“Nah,” Trey said. “Track’s not as big a sport at their school.”
“But I thought you said we had to watch out.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “For the team, not the school. They’re mean, I’m tellin’ you. These guys will do anything to win: dope up, intimidate, play dirty. They even have to do random drug testing for all their meets because they were suspended from competition a few years ago.”
At the mention of drugs, Michelle glanced up at me for just a moment too long. I shifted uncomfortably and she turned her attention back to Trey. “Do both teams have to be tested, or just Saint Mary’s?”
I took a sip of water to hide my humiliation. She probably couldn’t help thinking about how she had found me wasted just the week before. My face burned at the memory. It wasn’t one of my proudest moments.
The waitress stopped by the table to “make sure our dining experience had met with our expectations,” which, in waitress speak, meant that we had occupied her table long enough and it was time to order dessert or leave. We left.
Michelle and Trey made another smooth getaway and Jake offered to take me home. I felt like I was walking on top of the world. Until we returned to the car.
Jake didn’t talk at all as he drove, but the way he kept drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel, I knew he wanted to say something.
“What is it?” I coaxed.
I had been hoping he wanted to tell me how much he liked me or that he’d had a great time or something like that, but when he turned to me, his face told a different story. My heart dropped.
“This is . . . difficult for me,” he said.
Great, I thought. He’s just not that into me. He has a girlfriend. He’s moving to Antarctica.
“Can I be honest with you?”
I frowned. “Of course.”
“I’m . . . worried about you.”
I went stiff. Not him, too. “Do I dare ask why?”
He drummed the steering wheel again. “Are you . . . using something?”
“Using?”
“Yeah. I mean, like . . .” He cleared his throat. “This is hard.”
“Go on,” I said icily. “Nothing but the truth.”
“That night I first saw you—you were acting . . . kind of strung out. And when I was at your house, you seemed anxious. Jumpy.”
“Anxious?”
He nodded. “And then you went back into your room and after you came back, you got really relaxed.”
“And to you, this means I’m using.”
“Not until I saw the look Michelle gave you when they were talking about drug testing. And how you reacted.”
“Oh, really. And how did I react?”
He looked me in the eye. “Like you know you have a problem.”
Yes I did; the kind of problem I could never tell him about. I stared out the window. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Then explain it to me because I really don’t understand. It’s self-destructive and stupid. What would you do if they did test you for drugs and find out you’re using?”
I folded my arms tight across my chest and glared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I do know. I’ve seen it. I know what addiction can do to you. What it can take away from you.”
“Oh. So now I’m addicted? Well, thank you for your insight, but it isn’t what you think.”
He gave me a look as if to challenge me to tell him what it was he thought, and I hated him for it. I hated the mixture of pity and disgust I saw in his eyes—as if I was some junkie who didn’t understand what was wrong with her. Thing was, I knew. And it had nothing to do with pills. I folded my arms. “Pull over.”
“What?”
“I said, pull over. Now, please.”
“Ashlyn . . .”
“Please.”
He flicked the blinker and pulled onto the shoulder, rolling slowly to a stop. “What’s the—”
I wrenched open the door and jumped out. “Good-bye, Jake.”
“Ashlyn, come on.”
I slammed it on his protests.
“Don’t go,” he called, but his voice was muffled through the glass.
For an instant, looking at the way his eyes pleaded with me, I almost changed my mind. But if he thought he was disappointed in me now, what would he think if he learned the truth? I started walking.
Behind me, his door creaked open. “Ashlyn.”
I began to run. There would be no good outcome for this conversation. I knew that. He was going to believe whatever he was going to believe, and I couldn’t tell him otherwise. What would I say? That I was a transcriber for the divine? He might as well think I was a junkie. At least that was believable.
The door slammed and his boots pounded the pavement as he came after me. I cut off to my right, climbing up the steep embankment and then ran into the woods. I could hear him huffing up the hill behind me. “Ashlyn! Wait!”
But all I wanted at that moment was to run as fast and as far as I could—away from him, away from home, away from the trances. It was too hard. Too much. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore.
I tore past the trees, ducking under branches, slapping them away. The smell of pine tar clung to my hands, my clothes. Under my feet, the ground swelled and dipped so that it felt like I was running on a rolling ship.
I ran until I thought my legs would collapse beneath me, until my lungs felt tight and raw—and then I ran some more. I could hear Jake crashing through the trees behind me, but he couldn’t catch me. That was when I was glad to have worked so hard at conditioning. For one brief moment I felt powerful. In control. But that moment quickly passed like a burst of flame from a match. In control was exactly what I was not. Not even close.
And Jake knew it.
“Ashlyn! Wait!” he called.
When I couldn’t run anymore, I finally turned to face him, gulping in air. I bent at the waist, resting my hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath. Strangely, it was harder now that I had stopped than it was when I was running.
“Why?” I wheezed.
“Why . . . what?” He was as out of breath as I was. Maybe more.
“Why do you even care?” I straightened and pushed my shoulders back, my chin at a defiant angle that was supposed to show more confidence than I felt. “What is it to you?”
He spread his hands out before him. I didn’t know if it was a gesture of confusion or surrender. “Look, I’m sorry if I . . .” He drew in a breath. “. . . crossed the line back there. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
That wasn’t an answer. I stared him down, challenging.
“It’s just that . . .” He paused and cleared his throat. “You’re a good friend, and . . .” He shook his head. “No, that sounds stupid. I’m not good at this.”
I folded my arms. “Good at what? What are you trying to do?”
For just an instant he met my eyes, then looked away again. “I really like you,” he said in a gruff voice, as if it made him mad or something.
“Why?” I asked once more, but less demanding this time.
“You’re different,” he said.
I scoffed. He had no idea what an understatement that wa
s.
“I mean that in good way.” He assured me. “I don’t know. I just . . . I care what happens to you.”
For the longest time, we just stood there, me staring at him, him staring at me. Unlike most of the guys I knew from school, he wasn’t afraid to look me straight in the eye when he said something like that. But then it felt like he was looking through my eyes, deep inside of me, so I slammed down the shades before he could see too much.
“You . . . don’t have to worry,” I said, turning away. Tell him what he wants to hear. “I’ll be fine.”
“Wait, Ashlyn.” He took my hand and tried to tug me back toward him again. “I’m just trying to tell you that I understand. I’m here for you.”
I resisted his pull.
“You think I don’t get it, but I do,” he said quietly. “My brother was an alcoholic. I know addictive behavior.”
“But I’m not—”
“Oh, come on, Ashlyn. It’s me. Nothing but the truth, remember?”
I spun to face him. “You’re not interested in the truth. You’ve already made up your mind that you know what’s wrong with me, but what you think is so far from the truth it’s not even—”
“So tell me, Ashlyn. Let me help.”
I deflated. What was I to him, a charity case? I pulled my hand away. “I don’t need your help, Jake.”
He sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”
We stood looking at each other for a long time. “I was in an accident, okay?” I said finally. “Last fall. I broke my back and the doctors didn’t even know if I was going to walk again.”
“That must have been really painful.”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“Is it pain meds?”
My hands curled into tight fists. “Are you even listening to me?”
He stepped away from me. “It tore me up, watching my brother’s addiction destroy his life.” He looked to me with sad eyes. “I can’t do that again. I won’t. But I’ll always be here for you, Ashlyn. Let me know when you want to talk.” And with that, he turned and walked away.
He didn’t look back.
19
After Jake left, I wandered back through the woods to the road, but his car wasn’t there. I hadn’t really expected him to wait for me, but my chest grew tight just the same when I saw he was gone. By then, the sun sat just beyond the tree line, glowing hot orange and pink behind the branches. It threw long shadows like skeletal claws that stretched across the pavement.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I began to walk. I seethed inside, remembering everything Jake had said, the assumptions he made. He wouldn’t even listen to me!
But then I had to admit that the first time since I can remember, someone had recognized there was something wrong with me, but instead of running away, he wanted to get closer. Someone actually cared for me enough to stick around.
If only I could fool myself into thinking it would be the same if he knew what a mess I was. And I was a mess. I’d been holding my secrets inside for so long, I had lost all sense of perspective. I needed to find myself again. I needed to talk it out, but the only person who really understood me—because she shared the same secrets as I did—didn’t want to talk to me. Who else did I have?
There was only one other person—besides Jake—who I could trust to be completely honest with me. I walked back to the mall, hoping Gina was working that night. She’d probably just tell me to get over it, but maybe that’s what I needed to hear.
If she was surprised to see me, you would never know from looking at her. She just glanced up from the magazine she was reading and said, “So you don’t hate this mall as much as you thought, huh?”
Despite myself, I smiled. “How’s it going tonight? Slow?”
She closed the magazine and leaned back against the counter. “That’s not why you’re here.”
For a moment, I almost lost my nerve, so I just blurted it out before I could change my mind. “How do you convince someone you’re sorry for something terrible you’ve done?”
Her eyebrows raised a notch. “Well. This should be an interesting conversation.” She pushed off the stool, pausing a moment to redistribute her weight, and then waddled to the back section of the kiosk. “Come into my office. Let’s talk.”
She sat on one of the studio chairs and motioned for me to take a stool. “Now,” she said, “why don’t you tell me what this is about?”
I sat and picked at the lint on the table drape. “It’s my fault my mom died,” I said.
Her expression didn’t change, but she shifted in her seat. “I see. How did it happen?”
“Car accident. I was driving.”
“Ouch. Harsh.”
“I know. My sister can’t bring herself to talk to me. She moved away before I even got out of the hospital. And my dad . . .”
“Ah.” Her voice became serious. “I’m sure they know how sorry you are, Ashlyn. You just have to be patient. Everyone has their own process of handling grief.”
“It’s more than that. I . . . I have visions.”
“Flashbacks of the accident?”
“Not exactly.” I picked up a stuffed-lamb prop and ran my fingers through its acrylic fleece. “More like premonitions.”
“Whoa.”
Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I told Gina everything—the trances, the night at the party.
“And the writing? The numbers? That’s the catalyst?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s about the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Cool?” I jumped up from the stool. “Are you kidding me? How can you even—”
“Oh, come on. Sit down. I apologize for my bad choice of words. It’s fascinating. You have a gift.”
“Some gift,” I muttered.
“Everything has a purpose, Ashlyn. It’s up to you to discover what it is.” She sat back and studied me. “But . . . that’s not what you want to hear right now. So out with it. Tell me the rest.”
I hesitated for an instant. “Okay, here’s the thing; I really like someone, and—”
“Jake.”
I nodded miserably.
She laughed. “Like I didn’t see that one coming. If it makes you feel any better, he has it bad for you, too. I can tell by the way he watches you, like he’s in pain or something. It’s kinda sweet. You should tell him how you feel and put him out of his misery.”
“I think he pretty much knows by now,” I mumbled.
For the first time since I’d met her, Gina looked truly surprised. “By now?” she repeated. “I must be losing my touch. What did I miss?”
I told her about the night Jake spent at my house, the movies, the kiss. How I had been sneaking out from under Mrs. Briggs’s watchful eye to meet him.
She shifted on her chair. “Well. You have been busy. I can see I need to reset my radar. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Jake doesn’t know about the trances. He thinks I’ve been acting weird because I’m on drugs or something. I’m afraid if I tell him . . .”
“Oooh. I see.” She rubbed both hands absently over her belly. “You’d rather he think you’re a stoner. You don’t trust him enough to be your friend if he knows the big, bad truth about you.”
I had to admit, it sounded pretty lame the way she put it. But I had tried to explain it to him once and he wouldn’t listen. “He’s going to believe what he wants to believe. Trying to explain would only make it worse.”
“Oh, give me a break. Even you don’t believe that load of crap. Look, Ashlyn, there’s no substitute for honesty. Not everyone has to know every detail of your life, but this is Jake we’re talking about. He’s good people. You’re not doing yourself any favors by shutting him out. Tell him the truth.”
“Didn’t you say that sometimes people are more important than the truth?”
“I was talking about protecting feelings, not keeping secrets.”
“But what if
he—”
She pushed herself to her feet. “Respect him enough to find out.” She nudged me as she passed on her way back up to the front. “And there’s no time like the present.”
I turned around and my stomach did a complete somersault when I saw Jake, shoulders bowed, walking toward the kiosk. Gina waved to him, her bracelets jangling. “Hey, sweetie! How’s it going?”
“Not so good. I could really use someone to talk—” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting there.
Gina leaned her elbows on the counter. “Oh, I’m sorry, hon, I’m really busy. But I’m sure Ashlyn would be happy to talk to you.” She turned and gave me a pointed look. “Wouldn’t you, Ashlyn?”
I stood shakily, rubbing my palms against the legs of my pants. “Yeah. I really would.”
Looking back, I wonder what might have happened if Jake had turned and walked away. If I had listened to the warning bells clanging inside my head as his eyes met mine. Both of us had plenty of time to back out as the silence stretched between us, but neither one of us did.
Nothing about Jake’s dour expression or the way he stood with arms crossed tight across his chest said that he was interested in what I had to say, but at least he didn’t leave. That was something. I swallowed my hesitation and slipped out from behind the kiosk counter.
As I stood in front of him, my words got lost. How could I expect him to understand unless I told him everything? And I couldn’t do that if he was going to just walk away from me again. I had to know that he would stick around long enough to listen.
So I slugged his arm.
“Ow!” His eyes widened in surprise.
“That was for leaving me,” I said, and stalked past him.
It didn’t take long before he fell into step beside me, rubbing his biceps. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Then you shouldn’t follow me now,” I said, “because it doesn’t get any easier.”
“I know.”
I shot him a sideways glance. “You really don’t know anything.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop. “Then tell me. I promise to listen this time.”