by Ashley King
"It's no problem at all. We can grab your stuff from your car, that way no one steals anything over night."
"Not like I have anything anyone would want to steal. Just my guitar, really," Ryder scoffs as we make it to the parking lot. Most of the popular kids have already left, so we're relatively safe from stares and glares and comments.
A breeze blows through and whips a few colored leaves past our feet. It finally feels like fall, but then again tomorrow could be 90 degrees again. We walk in silence to Ryder's car and I give him his space as he digs through his stuff, deciding what to bring and what to leave. I know life isn't about things. I totally get that. But at the same time, it breaks my heart that his entire eighteen years of life has been reduced to contents inside a single box.
My cell phone beeps. It's Mom.
Ask Ryder what he wants for dinner.
I can't help but smile. My Mom, although she's been distant since Jamie, has always been one to make people feel at home. She's the type to take in stray animals until Dad makes her take them to the pound. Her heart is good. Things have just been rough for all of us.
"Mom wants to know what you want for dinner," I ask casually as Ryder shuts the car door with his hip. He carries a guitar case in one hand and a box in another. I take the box from him, even though he opens his mouth to protest.
"Just let me carry it," I snap as we carry everything to the car.
Ryder just shakes his head and then he finally answers my question. "Anything is fine for dinner." A pause and I know what's coming as soon as we're in the car and I'm headed towards my neighborhood. "You really don’t have to do this. We're not even friends or anything. You didn't even know who I was until a week ago."
His words sting and they should, because he's right. Had he always sat next to me in Mrs. Weathersby's class? Since August? Two months had passed and I'd only just noticed him last week for whatever reason. I've seen him around, seen him get the crap kicked out of him and his head bashed into lockers, get cussed out by the popular girls, but I'd never said a word, never tried to talk to him before. I always had Jamie and…and I was selfish like that.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Ryder rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, "For what?"
"For not helping you. For not getting to know you sooner. But for what it's worth, I'd like to make up for it now." I really mean that. I'm pulled to him and I know it’s not just because he reminds me a little of Jamie. It’s more than that. I like the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around me like a warm blanket. I like the way he looks at me, whenever he does actually look at me, and I like the fact that he gave me his lucky guitar pick when he barely knew me.
"You don’t have to do that either. I didn't say those things to piss you off or make you feel guilty. You're really nice, but I'm just not a guy you need to get to know."
And then he's shut off again. He's facing the window, his foot jiggling impatiently. I toss my phone at him and ask him to text my mother about dinner, which he does without a problem. But he doesn't return my phone.
"What are you doing?" I ask, looking over at him and then back to the road.
"Just looking at your phone background," he answers and then hands it back. My background is a photo of Jamie and me. It's from the night that I finally figured out I was in love with him. The same night I realized I would never ever tell him because I couldn't bear to lose him.
"Those girls keep checking you out," I whisper in his ear.
I make a show of getting closer to him as we wait in line for popcorn. I could go without it, but Jamie insisted that's the entire reason we come to the movies: for terribly buttery, unhealthy popcorn.
His gorgeous mocha colored eyes flit up and look at the supermodel wannabes behind us. They instantly start giggling and waving at him. Jamie's never been outright rude, but he turns around without even breaking out the killer flirt smile, the one that drives me crazy.
"What’s up with that?" I ask, feeling the prior jealousy leak from my heart.
He shrugs, "Not interested. I'm here with you." He gives me that killer smile and throws his arm around me, tugging me closer. I can smell his cologne and his soap and everything else that's distinctly Jamie. And my heart speeds up, nearly beating out of my chest, rattling around inside of there. My stomach flutters and I feel sort of faint.
At that moment I realized something. I realized that I was in love with Jamie Morgan. I've never been one for jealousy and I felt so jealous of those other girls that I was seeing green, but Jamie ignored them and has his arm around me. I am in love with my best friend, the boy who laughs at inappropriate times, the boy who insists on only listening to music with real instruments, the boy who knows all my secrets. All of them except one.
We pull up in my driveway and I still have Jamie on my mind. As I park the car, I close my eyes and I can almost imagine it's him in that seat next to me. The tears threaten to come, to pour down my face as I look down at the picture on my phone and his initials inscribed on my wrist. I can't do this now, not in front of Ryder. He's struggling more than I am.
Just as I'm about to open my eyes, I feel his hand on my arm. His touch is warm and secure, bringing me back to the land of the living. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, but concern laces every inch of it, "Claire, are you okay?" I nod as I open my eyes.
Ryder is actually looking at me now, his hair pushed away from those stunning eyes. There's so much depth there and I wonder why he hid it before, or perhaps it wasn't always there or maybe I'm seeing things.
"Yeah, thanks," I place my hand on top of his for the briefest of moments and then get out of the car.
My mom opens the door and she's smiling so wide you'd think she'd just won a million dollars. "Hello, Ryder," she comes up to him, doesn't even give his cuts a second glance as she hugs him. "Welcome to our home."
Ryder is frozen like a statue, not completely sure what to do. Mom doesn't care though, because she starts to ramble about the guest room where he'll be staying and how my Dad is looking forward to meeting him. Once we get him settled in the room across the hall from mine, Mom and I head downstairs to the kitchen where it smells like Italian chicken is cooking.
"His mother did that to him?" Anger laces my mother's voice. I nod.
"Yeah, she's a real piece of work. I was eavesdropping while I waited for him and heard them mention that she's been arrested and tomorrow he has to go to court so they can figure out where to put him," I answer as I grab a fork and take a bite of macaroni and cheese.
"He has no other family? No other friends?" She asks as she grabs the potholders and takes the pan out of the oven. The smell alone makes my mouth water.
"No one. He told me he would've slept in his car if I hadn’t offered."
My mother clucks her tongue and puts her hands on her hips. I've seen that face before and I know what she's thinking. "He's not a stray animal, Mom. He's a person."
Mom gives me her signature stern look, the one that scrunches up her pretty face. "I am well aware of that, Claire. It's just so sad and have you looked at him? He just…well, his shoulders just sag and he just radiates sadness. He needs people in his life and maybe we can all be those people."
I stare at her, not caring that I'm showcasing yet another bite of macaroni and cheese in my mouth.
"Close your mouth, girl. That’s unattractive," she admonishes and then gives me a wink as she takes out the rolls and places them in a basket.
"What will Dad say? Wait, where is Dad?"
"He's upstairs getting changed. Your father will agree because he's like me. Besides this a human, not an animal as you so kindly pointed out earlier."
Ryder Andrews is going to live with me? My life just got interesting on a whole new level.
RYDER
The room is pretty nice. It's got a huge king size bed with a floral comforter that I could do without. I put my stuff in the corner next to the television. It feels weird not having to stress out about hiding my g
uitar or worrying if someone's coming in my room to beat the crap out of me just for kicks or because the LSD they're on is laced with something else and they think I'm trying to rob them or that I'm a killer garden gnome.
It's awkward too, though. I was content to stay the night in my car, but there was no way around it. Mr. Clark was pretty adamant on watching me call my "friend." That felt like a kick in the face, to realize there was really no one to call. Then Claire showed up. My heart did stupid things when I saw her and I couldn't seem to control it. I try so hard to be rude to her, but she keeps coming back, putting up with it and I want to tell her she's better than that, better than me.
Now I'm at her house. In the car I could tell I upset her, but I didn't mean too. I just said what came to my mind. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. When she was about to cry, though, that tore me up inside. Parts of me that I thought were dead came alive. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her it's okay, that I'll always be there for her. But that last part would be a lie.
The day begins to take its toll on me and the weight of it suddenly settles on my shoulders. I can smell the food downstairs and I know it's time to eat, but…that feeling, the one that is as familiar as a second skin creeps in. I dig through the box and find a black bag and carry it with me to the bathroom. Beneath the sink I find the towels, and I try to pick one that I think won't be missed. I can hear Claire laugh downstairs and the perfect sound causes me to freeze. That laugh is one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. It's a melody that's instantly stuck on repeat inside my head. I look at the razor sitting inside my bag and feel shame wash over me. But I have to do it. It's the only thing keeping me from jumping off the ledge right now when so much has been left undone.
After a minute, I hear someone come up the stairs. Blink 182's "Down" rings throughout the second floor and I can hear Claire moving around. I can sense her nearness and I start to feel like a creep.
Double-checking the lock, I grab the razor with one hand, while removing the leather cuffs with the other. With one look at them, I know I need to move higher up on my arms or move to my stomach, where no one can see them. I cut my forearm first, the slice of pain easing my anxiety. Afterwards, I move to my stomach, knowing no one will see me without a shirt on before I die. Blood oozes from the cuts and I quickly clean them with the ratty old towel I found under the sink. Once I feel human again, I clean the razor and put it back inside the black bag. I pull my black hoodie on and let the sleeves rest right at the leather bands, carefully covering where I just sliced myself. I look rough. The cuts are mostly on the right side of my face and across my nose. The deeper gashes are near my hairline. My eyes are red and it's obvious I'm already sporting one heck of a hangover. It's hard to believe that only hours ago I was lying in my bedroom getting wasted. It doesn't even feel like the same day.
As I step out of the bathroom, I still hear Blink 182 filtering through the house, but the smell of food makes my mouth water. It’s a weird feeling, actually, since I don't normally eat for several reasons. One being we usually don't have much and two being that I just don't. I know I shouldn't, but I walk to Claire's room and stand at her door. She's sitting at her desk, her pencil waving around in her hand as she sings every single one of the lyrics.
"Hey," I manage and feel stupid for saying it. What kind of opening line is that? What else was there to say though? Hey, I was just cutting myself in your bathroom because I have issues and want to die. And plus you've seen my crazy mom and what she can do to the kid she birthed.
Claire starts and then regains her composure, that sexy blush spreading across her pale cheeks. "I was actually waiting for you," she begins and then notices my raised eyebrow. "Ugh. Not in a creepy way. My parents needed to talk privately before dinner, so I came up here to wait for you. They're probably done, so we could go down."
I take in her room, even though I've seen it before. It's like punk threw up in here. She's got posters all over the place of all these bands, all bands I like, and she has pictures in frames all over her dresser. Her parents are in a lot of them, but I see Jamie in the majority. There's a small rose and candle in front of one of them. Claire notices me staring and gets up from her chair.
"That's my favorite picture of him," she says quietly. She moves to the frame and runs her hand over it so carefully that it's almost painful to watch.
"Can I ask you about him?" I step inside the room and move to where she's standing. Just being near her drives me insane. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon and it's the best thing I've ever smelled. I have to check myself to make sure that I'm not being a loser and sniffing her.
Claire looks at me warily, no doubt wondering why the sudden interest.
Taking Back Sunday's "A Decade Under the Influence" begins to play and I take the moment to try to make her smile. "Obsessed with this band much? I mean, the poster, the shirt?"
I'm rewarded for my efforts with a small smile and then she glances at Jamie's picture before looking back at me. "Yeah, I guess. I like all kinds of bands, not really obsessed with just one. This..this is just my random playlist." There's a pause and then she speaks again, "What do you want to ask me?" She twists her wrist and eyes her tattoo. I can see the sadness pouring from her eyes and I want to kiss her more than anything. What's wrong with me? I need to stay away from her, but I can't. It's literally the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
"Why did he do it?" I ask as I stare at the picture of Jamie Morgan, the guy who seemed to have it all.
He and Claire are wrapped around each other with the biggest smiles on both their faces. He's dressed up in a Halloween costume as Jack Sparrow, I guess, and Claire's a dalmatian, complete with drawn on whiskers and nose. She's crazy cute. Even though my attention is focused on taking in every detail of this picture, I still hear Claire's sharp intake of breath as though she's just given herself a paper cut. I turn to her, instantly feeling callous, although those weren't my intentions.
"Look, you don't have to answer that."
She shakes her head and turns away from the picture. Her eyes flit to the posters decorating her wall, Blink 182, Taking Back Sunday, New Found Glory, Breaking Benjamin. Then she walks over to her desk drawer and pulls out a small wooden box with intricately carved flowers all over it. She pulls out a folded envelope with her name neatly scrawled across the front.
"This tells why he did it," she holds it in front of her and then puts it back into the box. Her hands are shaking. Crap, her entire body is shaking and I don't know what to do. "He was unhappy. Depressed….I…I had no idea," Claire's words are shaking just like her fragile body. The tears look like they're going to start coming and she holds up a hand, "I'm sorry. I thought I could talk about it, but I can't, not yet."
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything. I'm sorry," I move forward and surprise us both by taking her in my arms. She's so tiny that she doesn't even come to my shoulders. She freezes for a moment and then she wraps her arms around me. It's the best thing I've ever felt. She fits perfectly against me, like a missing puzzle piece. Something's happening to my heart, I feel it constrict, expand, move around and stretch from its hibernation. I want to shout for it to stop, to go back to sleep. But this feels too good. My hands run through her short hair and then I rub her shoulders, anything to calm her down. I feel the wetness of her tears on my shirt and I hold her a little tighter.
"Claire? Ryder? Dinner!" Her mom calls from the stairs. We break apart and just stare at each other for a minute. She's looking at me differently, like she's really seeing me. Finally a small smile breaks upon that beautiful face.
"Let's go," she says as she wipes the rest of the tears from her eyes, even though I wish I could be the one to do it.
We head downstairs and I feel like this is the beginning of something new and I can't help but wonder if it's too little too late or if it even matters anymore.
CHAPTER TEN
CLAIRE
He held me. Ryder Andrews actually com
forted me and it felt perfect. I felt like he understood me and I swear I saw a light in his eyes. It's still there, looking at me every once in a while across from the table. He's eating, but not much. I want to mother hen him and tell him to eat more, but then again he's like a frightened animal and I don't want to scare him off.
My Mom and Dad seem to be doing really well and I can already tell what their decision is regarding Ryder, especially given the glances that Dad keeps shooting at him. Ryder's been really cordial, but you can tell he's not used to having a real family or even having dinner at a table.
"Ryder, we wanted to talk to you about something," Dad finally says as he puts down his fork. Mom does the same and blots her mouth with her napkin, a huge smile spreading across her lips. She's about to split at the seams. Jamie's parents sucked, so my parents kind of took him under their wing too. Now Ryder's their newest project, I guess.
Ryder takes a drink of water and smiles as he sees the aspirin I placed next to his glass. He then looks up at my Dad. "Yes sir?"
"Mallory and I were thinking that you could live with us. Claire's told us a little about your situation and she said there's no family that you could live with. Well, we could take you in. There will be rules of course."
Ryder looks at me, disbelief clouding his eyes, and then he looks back at Dad. Dad continues, "You'd sleep in the guest bedroom and we can change it up for you, whatever it takes to make you comfortable. You'll have a curfew, same as Claire's. You are not allowed to go out on school nights. There will be no alcohol, no drugs. And most importantly, you will sleep in your own room at all times and will not touch my daughter."
My face turns beet red at that comment and my Mom's mouth drops open. "Greg," she admonishes.
"It's true, honey. He's a teenage boy and she's a teenage girl. It's got to be said," he tells her and then glances at me before turning back to Ryder.
"I can't ask you guys to take me in. I have a car…" Ryder's voice trails off as he begins to play with his food. He moves it around the plate, not making eye contact with anyone at the table.