by Ashley King
When I pull the car into the driveway, I know this is the end of something. I can feel the finality of my decision. Tonight was quite possibly the best night of my life and I haven’t even kissed this girl yet. Her parents are up watching television when we get inside. They ask us how our night went and do the whole parental routine that I never really had. After they go to bed, I walk Claire upstairs and I want to press her against the door, to kiss her just once, just so I can know what it feels like. But I don’t.
“Thank you again, Ryder. I had fun,” Claire says as leans against the doorframe of her room, playing with the hem of her cardigan.
“Me too, Claire. Thanks for going. I figured you’d like that band.” I run a hand through my hair, because I'm fidgety and don't know what else to do or say.
She nods with a tiny smile. Before I know what she’s doing, she’s launching herself at me, arms around my neck, holding me tight. She stands on her tiptoes and suddenly I'm sinking, drowning in her vanilla perfume. My arms go around her instinctively. I just do it and don’t even think about it, because the truth is, I want to hold her. I really do.
“I did like it. I loved it,” she pulls back just enough to look at me and then disentangles herself from my embrace. I stand there, stunned and alive, so very alive, as she smiles at me and backs into her room, quietly shutting the door. Jimmy Eat World filters softly beneath the door and I take it as my cue to leave.
Sadness settles like a weight on my conscience and I feel guilty for what I've done, what I’m doing. I can’t think straight; Claire’s got me all screwed up, so I do what makes me feel better. I go into my room for the little black bag and carry it the bathroom along with that ratty towel. The razor is new and sharp but does nothing to dull the pain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAIRE
I can’t stop smiling. My face hurts from it, actually. It's been so long since I’ve smiled this much. I plug in my white Christmas lights that stay up year round and fall back on the bed, a heap of complete happiness. I turn and look at Jamie’s picture, his bright eyes and suave smile staring back at me, watching me. Guilt starts to creep in, but I quickly turn and face the wall. I promised myself tonight would be nothing but happiness and freedom. Plenty of time for the rest later.
Ryder seemed relaxed for the majority of the night, although he seemed moodier than usual when he left me at my door. The look in his eyes made me launch myself at him and to be honest, I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to hold him, to fall asleep with him and wake up to him, just to make sure that he was okay. That’s all I really wanted.
The night was restless because I wanted to see Ryder again. It’s been awhile since I actually looked forward to waking up. When I practically hopped out of bed the next morning, Mom had already left for the gym, but Dad was sitting at the table drinking coffee.
“Morning sleepyhead,” he grins at me over the rim of his coffee cup. He leans away from the newspaper and gives me his full attention.
“Hey,” I give him a big, wide and toothy smile. I honestly can’t help it.
“I haven’t seen that smile in a long time,” Dad whispers and I can hear the excitement in his voice.
I shrug, trying desperately to play it down, desperate for him not to link it to Ryder. “I had a lot of fun last night. It’s been awhile,” I admit as I sit down with my bowl of cereal.
Dad studies me carefully and then leans in closer. I know this stance and I know that look in his eye. “I love you, Claire and I just want you to be happy. That’s all I ever want." He pauses a moment before he continues. "Besides it’s okay to be happy right now.” I can hear what’s left unsaid. That I shouldn’t feel guilty, that Jamie would be happy for me, that maybe I should reread my letter. One of the last things Jamie touched.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, my tone clipped. I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t get into it right now and I really don’t want to. The floor above us creaks and I hear Ryder making his way down the steps.
“Hey there,” Dad says as he watches Ryder move to the refrigerator.
“Morning,” he says, his voice thick.
Dad’s cell phone buzzes on the table, bouncing around doing its own little dance. He looks at both of us apologetically as he gets up to take the call. His work always does that, always calls at all hours of the day, no consideration if it’s the weekend or not. Ryder pours himself a glass of orange juice and almost looks wary about being left alone with me. Really? I’m not going to molest him. I stare at him, practically begging for him to speak to me.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes on the table rather than on me.
“You owe me,” I announce as I take a bite of my cereal. Ryder shifts, eager to get going, but at least he finally looks at me.
“I do?”
I nod. “Uh, yeah. You’ve gotta play for me. Remember? That was the deal.”
Ryder sighs, clearly agitated, and rubs his face.
“What’s the problem?” I snap. I don’t mean to, but his hot and cold stuff is worse than the Katy Perry song.
“Nothing,” he says, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck. “A deal’s a deal, I know. Give me some time and I’ll play for you, just not today.” I notice that he winces when he moves a certain way. His mouth flattens into a thin line.
“Are you hurt?” I stand and move closer to him. He puts his hand out, keeping me back from him and it’s killing me. I can visibly see the pain leeching his face, his light, dulling everything that is Ryder.
“I’m fine. I just need some time alone,” he grunts and then is gone from the room. I watch him leave and I start to follow, but the look on his face makes me stay put. He doesn’t want me to talk to him. Last night was nothing to him. I am nothing to him. How stupid was I to actually think…I don’t know what I thought. I just know that something inside my chest constricts and flutters when he’s around, my breathing gets faster, and I feel like I’m falling even when I’m standing up straight. He makes me crazy and I just want the chance…the chance I didn’t get with Jamie.
Ryder disappears into his room and I don’t see him again for the rest of the day. Either we just missed each other or he’s been holed up inside those four walls. I hear him strumming his guitar every once in a while when I pass his door. I remember Jamie and his mood, how sometimes he would want to be left alone. Even so, he always let me know he loved me. I’m not expecting the same from Ryder, because he isn’t Jamie and I know that. And I don’t want Ryder to help me get over Jamie. I want Ryder because he's Ryder.
“What’s wrong?” I ask Jamie. He’s leaning against the brick of his house, his eyes closed, head tilted back at the sky. That was the final question in a series of questions that he never answered. He just opened his eyes and then closed them back.
“Nothing, Claire,” his voice is deeper and thicker than usual.
“You’re in one of your moods, again,” I state. I just leave him alone when he gets like this, otherwise we would choke each other out.
“I’m sorry, Claire. Sometimes I just have bad days and maybe you shouldn’t be around me on those days.” Jamie’s eyes are open now and his gaze is trained on me. I’m sitting across from him on the grass, the heat of the sun causing sweat to pour down my back and my hair to stick to my neck. But I do it for Jamie. I'd do anything for him.
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
Jamie looks at me wearily. Today is one of his worst days. On these days he wants to be left alone, but often I am persistent enough to get my way or the mood simply passes. “Claire, I’m no good for you,” he says as he gives me a weak smile.
I pick up the dandelion and blow the little fuzzies off of it, wishing this strangeness away, wishing for normal, wishing for my Jamie to come back to me.
“That’s not true and you know it,” I counter, moving next to Jamie, my back scratching the rough brick of his house. I lean my head on his shoulder, desperate to feel him, to feel his body rise and fall with each breath.
/>
“It’s true, Claire. It’s always been true. No one’s really good enough for you.” I can feel him smile against my forehead and he gives it a kiss. The press of his lips makes me smile, makes me happy, and makes me want more, always wanting more. I don’t say anything else, because there’s nothing else to say.
I let Jamie’s moods come and go and now I realize it was something more, a sign of something wrong and I couldn’t even open my eyes long enough to see it. So with the memory of Jamie swirling in my head, my breath coming faster at the thought, I knock on Ryder’s door. No answer.
“Ryder, you can’t just shut me out. I know you had fun last night. I don't know what’s wrong, but we’re good, okay?”
No sound. Nothing. I’m not even sure that he’s in there.
I don’t talk to Ryder on Sunday, although he’s talked to my parents. He went somewhere, although they didn’t tell me where. My mood starts to wane as my anxiety increases. It feels like déjà vu, except maybe this time I’m smart enough to read the signs.
Monday morning Ryder’s gone before I get downstairs for breakfast. Mom says he had a test to make up, which of course is not true. I get in my car and drive to school, parking closer to the doors this time. I see Ryder’s car sticking out like a sore thumb near the last few rows where we usually parked when we rode together.
I grab the poster we worked on for Mrs. Weathersby’s class and head inside, curiosity gnawing at my mind like a rabid dog. Everyone stares at me, but I keep on going. The whispers, the nasty things do not escape my ears. No, I hear every single one of them, all of the lies, the hurtful things being spewed from their mouths. I push my way to my locker, no one caring that they’ve bumped into me or knocked me around. I’m used to it, but it became more bearable with Ryder at my side.
I change out my books, keeping my poster at my feet when I see Lindy swinging her hips, coming towards me. Her faithful followers are right behind her, Bianca and Alicia, both little mini-Lindys right down to the matching purses. I try not to roll my eyes as I hurry up, wondering what she’s got up her sleeve. She looks like she’s ready to gloat or something and I can’t quite place the mischievous look on her face.
“Even the loser doesn’t want you, Claire. How pathetic.” Lindy comes to a jarring stop on the other side of my locker, her fingers gripping its side.
I shoot her a withering look, an attempt at hiding how sensitive I am when it comes to Ryder. I turn away without saying a word and zip up my backpack. My poster rolls away from my feet and Lindy steps on it, a huge boot print landing smack dab in the middle.
“Lindy, seriously move.” I bend down to pick up the poster, but her foot remains pressed down on it. Her overly glossed lips form a sneer. “Are you still mad that Jamie didn’t want you?” I snap, the anger unchecked. I instantly regret my words when I see the transformation flutter across her face. I swear her eyes turn red and her eyebrows pinch together. The collective gasp of her minions shatters the weighty silence. I know it was the wrong thing to say, but I am so tired of hearing her crap.
I stand up, forgetting about the poster. Lindy bends down and picks it up. She studies it for a minute. I think about how hard Ryder and I worked on it, how perfect it is. The assignment's due today and I can’t afford a zero. My stomach drops when I realize what she’s about to do. I try to yank the poster away from her hands, but she’s faster and taller. She tears the poster in half, handing it off to her friends. They all start tearing the poster into the tiniest of pieces while all I can do is stand there and helplessly watch it fall to the ground like demented snow. What really hurts is that they are laughing, loud and hard, actually enjoying this. I turn to see people watching them, no one coming to my defense. Some are laughing along with the girls, while others are shaking their heads, but no one stands up for me. I realize then it’s time I stood up for myself. A plan starts hatching in my mind and I know without a doubt what I’ll do, but the nausea rolling in my stomach makes me think otherwise.
Without another thought, I rush to my first period, ignoring the comments being shouted at my back. I try to compose myself before I walk into Mrs. Weathersby’s classroom where she’s hunched over a stack of essays, her red pen poised over them.
“Claire?” Ryder’s in his seat, a book cracked open. He's up in an instant, his hands reaching out for me.
“Get away from me,” I grind out. I don’t want his sympathy, not now, not like this. He shrinks back, hurt plain on his face. I don’t even care right now.
Mrs. Weathersby’s gaze shoots up from the papers and locks on mine. She too is up in an instant and standing right in front of me. Ryder still won’t go sit down. He’s hovering, his eyes studying every detail of my face.
“I need to speak with you alone,” I say to Mrs. Weathersby in my harshest tone.
“Claire, listen,” Ryder begins.
“Ryder, she said alone. Now, if you will.” The teacher motions for the door. He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck as he steps outside.
Mrs. Weathersby looks over my shoulder to make sure he closed the door behind him. Once satisfied, her eyes are on me again. “Claire, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I answer. Mrs. Weathersby gives me a look that calls bull crap.
“Whatever you say,” she says as she motions for me to continue.
“I need an extension on that poster. Something happened to the one Ryder and I worked on and I’ll probably need until Wednesday at least.”
Mrs. Weathersby pauses a minute, studies my face, and then with a sigh she answers, “That’s fine, Claire. Take until Friday if that’s what you need. I just wish you would talk to me.”
I nod, feeling awfully numb. “Thank you for the extension.” I start to walk to my seat, but I pause, “And if it makes you feel better, I don’t really talk to anyone.”
Mrs. Weathersby turns and looks through the small window in the door where Ryder is standing like a soldier. “You should, Claire. Ryder’s a start, if not me, then maybe him.”
“Maybe. So, I’ll get that poster to you by Wednesday,” I offer as I turn to go to my seat, signaling the conversation is over. Mrs. Weathersby nods and gets back to grading as much as she can before the first period bell rings.
Ryder sees me and comes inside, relief written all over his face. He slides into his seat and leans over towards me. “Claire.” It’s one word, but it’s everything to me, it jump starts my heart, it breaks through the ice, and I hate myself for being so affected.
I say nothing, just cut my eyes to look at him, eyebrows raised.
“We worked on that poster together. What happened to it?”
I shrug. He wants to play hot and cold, well, so can I. I’m a girl so there's no doubt that I'll be better at it.
“Claire, please,” he pleads. His voice threatens to break me.
“It’s been…destroyed.” I still don’t look at him. I busy myself with my backpack and grab a book out of it.
“Lindy?” Venom filters through his tone, mirroring how I feel inside. I’ll figure a way to get her. A plan is forming, but really there’s nothing that can ever pay her back for everything she's done, to me, to Jamie, to Ryder. To all of us who don't orbit her like she's the freaking moon.
I say nothing and continue to read my book. He wants to ignore me, well, I can do the same. He sighs and I can see him rubbing his forehead, his leather bracelets moving out of the corner of my eye.
“Look, I’m sorry. But I’d rather not have this conversation here.”
I shrug again. Total witch move, I know. Finally Ryder sighs and moves back against his chair. “After school I’ll come straight home. Meet me there.”
I’m intrigued.
RYDER
The way Claire came into Mrs. Weathersby’s class, how frantic she looked, felt like someone kicked me in the gut. I could see the crazed look in her eye, the completely heartbroken expression on her face, the way she tried so hard not to cry. Unmistakably it had something to do with
Lindy, although Claire swears it didn't. She told me Saturday (although I ignored her) that she was bringing our poster in today. Next thing I know she's asking for an extension. Mrs. Weathersby is onto her, I can tell. She knew Claire was lying, just like I did. The fact of the matter is that I felt like a giant tool sitting there next to her, watching her ignore me or giving me shrugs for answers. I deserved that, yeah, sure. But I distanced myself from her for her sake. I didn't want to get close just to leave her, although my resolve really isn't that strong and neither am I.
When I watched her, my mind raced with how to make things right and I came up with the best thing I had. That's the main reason I'm racing back to her house after school. I straighten up my room as best I can, although there's not much to clean up in the first place. Claire's mom did buy me new clothes and shoes, all of which could be found in every corner of the room. I spray cologne in the air, open the blinds and put the guitar on the bed. Am I really getting this worked up for a girl? Is this really happening to me?
I dig in my pocket for my new guitar pick and put it beside the guitar. There's a whole notebook of songs to pick from. I could play one of those or play a cover of something she might like. I flip past the song I wrote for her and my hand hovers there. Shaking my head, I flip past it and decide I'm not ready yet.
"Well?" Claire's agitated voice startles me. She's standing at the door, arms crossed and unimpressed.
I shove the notebook in the nightstand drawer and turn back around to her. "Come in," I motion into the room, although I feel like an idiot doing it. Maybe the whole thing is just stupid. Why do I care if this girl is happy? Why is she the one to get under my skin?