Soulstruck

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Soulstruck Page 18

by Natasha Sinel


  She texts me fifteen minutes later that she’s dropped him off in town, and she asks if I need anything. I don’t feel like answering.

  I hear a soft knock at the front door. So soft, I’m not sure if I actually heard it.

  When I get to the door, I see Rafe walking back to the truck, like he’s given up on anyone answering.

  “Hi,” I say, opening the slider.

  He turns.

  “Oh, hi,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if anyone was home.”

  He looks at Reed’s van, the only car in our driveway.

  “It’s just me. My mom’s out.”

  Something like disappointment flashes across his face.

  “Okay,” he says. “Well, I was hoping to talk to her. Maybe you can let her know I stopped by.”

  “You could call her,” I suggest.

  He nods.

  “I could,” he says. “I also wanted to give her something.”

  “Hold on,” he says and jogs over to the truck. He opens the driver’s side door and reaches in, then slams the door closed as he comes back to the steps. He’s holding something in his hand.

  “I thought she should have this,” he says. He opens his hand, and resting on his outstretched palm is a scallop shell.

  He looks up at the shell around my neck before looking into my eyes.

  “Oh” is all I can say. “Where did you get it?”

  Hadn’t Mom said that Carson had the other half? Had Rafe taken it after Carson died?

  “I’ve always had it,” he says quietly. So Mom lied. Or … wait. I think back to when she gave me the shell. She never said that Carson had it. She said “he.” She talked about young love, so I’d assumed she’d meant Carson. But it was always Rafe who’d had the other half.

  Since I’m just standing there with my mouth open, Rafe takes my hand and drops the shell into it. My fingers automatically clasp tightly around it, and I feel the edges dig into my palm.

  “Why don’t you want to keep it?” I ask.

  “I’ve held onto it long enough,” he says. “It’s time to let it go.”

  He turns to leave.

  “Wait,” I say. “Let it go? Or let her go? You’re giving up on her?”

  Why do I feel like he’s somehow giving up on me, too—on us?

  Rafe looks at me curiously.

  “That’s it?” I continue. “I still don’t know what happened, but I know you were together before I was born. And I saw you two in the truck the other day. You won’t even give it a shot?”

  Rafe looks down at his feet.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he says. “I think you know that. It’s been eighteen years since she left. Things change.”

  “Sometimes they don’t,” I say.

  “She left,” Rafe says forcefully. His Adam’s apple moves up and down. I feel like maybe he swallowed the word me—she left me.

  “She’s been single ever since,” I say.

  Rafe shakes his head and goes back to the truck.

  “You’re a good kid, Rachel.”

  He gets in the truck and starts the ignition.

  “Are you leaving town?” I ask him.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then, here,” I say. I shove the scallop shell at him through his open window. “You can give this to her yourself.”

  He shakes his head, but he takes it from my hand, then drives away, the truck scattering pebbles and smooth white shells as it goes.

  I sleep for the rest of the day. At one point, I feel something on my shoulder and realize it’s Mom pulling the covers up over me.

  “It’s late. You’re still in your clothes,” she whispers.

  “I don’t care,” I say, turning over. She rubs my back for a second and then leaves.

  I pull my phone out. Jay still hasn’t texted me back. I throw the phone on the floor and fall back to sleep.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Vulnerability is basically uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.

  —Brené Brown (author)

  I still haven’t heard from Jay by Monday morning. I shower and get ready quickly in case we’re in a big enough fight that I have to catch the bus to school. I try calling him. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hi,” he says, his voice hard.

  “Hi. I just didn’t know if I should take the bus or what,” I say.

  “I’m on my way to your house.” He doesn’t sound surprised that I doubted him showing up, which is not very reassuring. For a second, I’m tempted to go the passive-aggressive route and say “Forget it, I’ll take the bus,” but I know that would prolong the negativity and, of course, I don’t want to take the bus.

  Reed’s van is still in the driveway, and I panic. Mom didn’t say that he’d come back, but then again, I was half-asleep when she’d come in. Is he sleeping in the van right now or did he stay with his old housemates last night? Either way, the van is here, so that means he’s still in town. Somewhere. I’m very aware of the scars on my legs, even though they’re completely healed now. My heart clenches and doesn’t release.

  As Jay’s car finally comes toward me, suddenly everything feels so hopeless. I want Jay, I love him, as a friend and maybe more, but everything is so complicated. The idea of kissing stresses him out. But then I think about his soft lips, his hands tracing lines up my back underneath my shirt, and I shiver, remembering his touch. He didn’t seem stressed out right then.

  He pulls into the driveway and I see his eyes widen when he notices Reed’s van. As I open the car door, he nods his head at the van and raises his eyebrows at me.

  “He’s—” I throw my head back against the seat. “I don’t know. He’s not at the house anymore, but his van won’t start. It hasn’t been the best couple of days.”

  “Sorry,” he says and puts the car in gear.

  We drive down my road in silence. When we get to the turn for Route 6, I realize he isn’t planning to say anything else.

  “Why have you been avoiding me?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. I groan.

  “You’re mad because I was hanging out with Sawyer?”

  Traffic on 6 is heavy, and it’s obvious it’ll take eons to pull out onto it. He puts the car in park and turns to me.

  “Yeah,” he says. “That was pretty much a shocker.”

  His tone is harsh and it hurts.

  “And you went to a party at Erickson’s house with all those assholes who treat you—and me—like shit.”

  “I didn’t go with them,” I say.

  He puts the car in gear and pulls out onto Route 6.

  He’s silent.

  “And you were looking pretty cozy with Sawyer—”

  “No, it was just—we were trying to stop the bleeding before you came and—”

  “I know,” he says. “I just didn’t like seeing him touching you. I know I’m overreacting. You can go to parties, whatever. You can do whatever you want. It surprised me. To see you there. After everything.”

  “It wasn’t some big statement or anything. I’ll tell you what happened,” I say, trying so hard to see things from his eyes. “I was in town and Sawyer drove by. He offered me a ride home on his way to Erickson’s. So, I took it because I didn’t have my bike and you were on a ride and I didn’t feel like calling my mom. And I’d had a really shitty afternoon—I haven’t even told you about that yet—and a beer sounded good, so I thought I’d have one and then walk home from there. I’d only been there like twenty minutes and I was about to leave when the thing with Brad happened.”

  Jay nods like it makes sense, but I can’t tell if he’s still mad.

  “I wasn’t on some secret mission to get popular or screw Sawyer or whatever you’re thinking,” I say. “I had just found out that my entire life my mom has been lying to me about everything, and I wasn’t ready to go home and face her yet. It was just a beer. It doesn’t change anything. You know that, right?”

  He keeps quiet, but the tension in his jaw
has released some.

  “I don’t know if you’re done with me now or what,” I continue. “Do you still want this?” I suck in a breath because I can’t believe I’m asking this. Never ask a question you may not want the answer to, I remember hearing somewhere.

  “Rach.”

  But he doesn’t say anything after.

  “Oh,” he says suddenly. “We have to stop for her.”

  I look out the window and see who he’s talking about. Serena, waiting at her bus stop. He pulls off onto the shoulder, and Serena waves. My stomach feels hollowed out and nervous seeing her. And the timing sucks.

  “Hi,” she says, as she slides into the back seat. “Thanks. My mom had to take my car and I was dreading the morning bus.”

  Her citrus shampoo is so familiar, I want to eat it. But all I do is say, “Hey.”

  And Jay says, “No problem.”

  I look at him, wondering about our unfinished conversation. As usual, his face is unreadable, but I want to think he’s apologizing with his eyes. For foisting Serena on me. Maybe for not returning my texts this weekend.

  The three of us had spent a lot of time in Jay’s car since he got it last spring, going into town, to movies, to pizza. Singing, yelling out the windows, laughing. But now everything is different. Those three friends are gone—like we were a flashback montage in a movie. Now we’re practically strangers.

  Serena leans forward a bit.

  “Are you going to the lacrosse game?” she asks.

  “No,” I say as if it’s the last thing on earth I’d do, which it kind of is.

  “Actually,” Jay says, clearing his throat. “Kyle’s coming off the bench today. He asked if we could go watch. My mom and Gabe left this morning for New York, so they can’t make it.”

  “You should definitely go,” Serena says. “Most teachers probably won’t give homework tonight since we have the superintendent’s day tomorrow.”

  “There’s no school tomorrow?” Jay asks.

  With everything this weekend, I’d forgotten, too. Normally, I’d be happy about a day off, but tomorrow everyone will be at the house for the meeting.

  I stare at Jay’s profile. Lacrosse game?

  “Nah,” I say. “I’m just gonna head home. I’ll take the bus if you go.”

  Jay glances at me as he pulls up to a red light. I know that expression. It’s the Don’t make me handle this alone, I need you expression. It’s true. With all the noise, chaos, uncertainty, probably the only way he agreed to go in the first place was because he knew I’d go with him.

  When we get to the lot, all the junior spots are taken. I know that Jay’s calculating how long it will take if we have to park in the beach lot and walk. I see him clench and unclench his teeth, holding in the anger.

  “There’s a spot!” Serena says, practically bouncing in her seat. She’s always been good at that. Back when the three of us went places together, we’d tell Serena to use her parking karma, and it always worked. For a second, I let myself wonder whether that spot would’ve been there if she hadn’t been with us. Maybe not. And that makes me miss her, even though she’s just a couple feet away.

  “Thanks for the ride. I have to get my stuff to the gym lockers before homeroom,” Serena calls out as she runs toward the school building, her giant cheerleading gear bag bouncing against her leg.

  Jay locks the car doors and starts walking.

  “Hold up,” I say. “You’re going too fast.” My legs are tingling and holding me back today. Usually it means rain, but today, I’m sure it’s because Reed is here, making all my scars hurt. Inside and out.

  I follow Jay to his locker. After he opens it, he turns to me and looks me in the eye.

  “I’m really sorry,” he says. And because I know he’s continuing our conversation about us from the car, my stomach drops like I’m on a roller coaster because I don’t know what he’s going to say.

  “I was avoiding you, and I know that was totally immature,” he says. “Of course I’m not done. I’m just dumb.”

  We both smile at his silly pun.

  “So,” I say. “You do still want this?”

  He bends down so his mouth is close to my ear, and then, his breath warm, he says, “If by this, you mean you, then yeah.”

  My breath catches in my throat and my body gets warm all over.

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “I know,” he says. The second bell rings. He stands up straight and closes his locker. “See you later.”

  He walks away toward the science labs, sticking close to the wall.

  I give myself a few seconds to breathe, get my books, and head to class.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  It’s amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy.

  —Rupert Everett (actor)

  Jay’s not at his locker after the last bell, so I go to look for him in the bio lab. He’s there, towering above Mr. Billings, who’s sitting at his desk at the front of the classroom. I wait outside the door.

  “I’m going against my own rule here. This is the first perfect score I’ve ever given,” Mr. Billings says.

  “It’s a stupid rule,” Jay says. I hold back a snort. “The no perfect scores thing. I mean, you should want your students to get perfect scores. That would mean you’re doing a good job teaching the material. Right?”

  Mr. Billings sighs. “Right,” he says. He closes his laptop and puts it under his arm. “See you tomorrow.”

  Mr. Billings walks past me and nods.

  Jay shoves things in his backpack.

  “Perfect score, huh?” I ask.

  Jay startles and then smirks.

  “You finally worked up the courage to fight that test grade, I see,” I say.

  “No courage needed. He’s been out the last couple of weeks. New baby. I told you that score was bullshit. And I was right.”

  “Or maybe he’s just exhausted from changing diapers all night and he just wants this overgrown baby to stop crying.”

  “Wah, wah, wah,” he says, sticks his tongue out at me, and throws his backpack over his shoulder.

  At our lockers, Jay pulls out some books and grabs a couple of earplugs out of a side pocket of his backpack.

  “Listen,” I say. “Is this lacrosse game thing really necessary? I was thinking maybe we should do something just the two of us. We can, you know, hang out.”

  He groans softly. “I promised Kyle I’d be there. But if you don’t want to go, it’s okay. I can meet up with you after.”

  He says the words, but his eyes say otherwise.

  I pile about thirty pounds of textbooks into my messenger bag.

  “Come on, let’s go to the damn lacrosse field,” I say, slinging the bag over my head, which makes my shoulder sag about three inches.

  “Here, I’ll take that,” he says.

  “Chivalry is dead, He-man.”

  “Suit yourself,” he says.

  We push through the heavy red doors to the outside. People are in constant motion, moving around like ants—toward the bus line, the parking lot, the arts center, the gym, the sports fields.

  I feel Jay’s unease next to me, so I wait for him to get his bearings.

  It isn’t raining, but the sky is overcast and the air feels thick and wet.

  “This weather sucks for my hair,” I say. “Come on.”

  I pull my hair back into a loose ponytail with the band I keep on my wrist. I grab Jay’s elbow and pull him along. He’s moving too slowly. I just want to get to the game and get it over with so we can make out.

  “Your legs hurt? You want some Advil?” Jay asks. I must be limping a little.

  “I’m fine. It’s just the weather,” I say. “What’s with all the thoughtfulness? It’s bizarre.”

  When we get to the lacrosse field, we go directly to the bleachers to find a seat. I lead the way, and Jay follows close behind. I know he’s staying focused on me so he won’t get overwhelmed. There aren’t that many people at the game yet—maybe f
orty, a few more—but it’s enough to make Jay’s jaw clench and unclench. We sit down and put our bags down on either side of us.

  I put my hand on Jay’s leg and lean into his ear, catching a whiff of the shaving cream that still lingers from this morning.

  “You good?” I ask.

  He nods, looking out onto the field.

  “What number is Kyle?” I ask.

  “Eleven.”

  I hear Serena’s familiar laugh. She’s jumping up and down on the sidelines with the other cheerleaders. They’re all wearing their black-and-gold cheer uniforms. She does a perfect cartwheel, her long brown legs windmilling through the air. She claps, smiles, touches her hair. I turn to Jay and realize that he’s staring at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

  I punch his leg, right at the meat of his quadriceps. He yelps.

  “What was that for?”

  “You’re staring at her,” I say.

  “Who?”

  As if on cue, Serena lets out a loud “No way!” to the other girls, like she’s just heard the best gossip in the world.

  “Forget it,” I say.

  The game is about to start.

  “Look,” I say. “Kyle’s starting.”

  Kyle stands in ready position, looking like some strange masked, padded animal with a stick. And then, after the two guys in the middle do their little stick-crossing thing, the whistle blows and the ball is up for grabs. I watch Kyle as he runs back and forth, holding up his stick, waiting for someone to throw it to him.

  Kyle gets the ball and starts running down the field, cradling the ball in his stick.

  Jay and I both jump up. “Go! Go, Kyle!” we shout.

  Kyle passes the ball to another player, who scores. Everyone cheers. Kyle pumps his fist at us. Jay gives him a thumb’s up.

  When we sit down, an overwhelming sense of happiness washes over me. I feel so good all of a sudden, with the excitement of Kyle getting the ball and Jay next to me. I take Jay’s hand and interlace my fingers in his. He tightens our grip. Serena turns to us and waves, acknowledging Kyle’s assist.

  Jay pulls his hand away from mine and waves back. And I don’t like how quickly he let go of me.

  “Oh my god, you totally want her,” I say, even though I know it’s not true. I can’t help myself.

 

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