“If you say so.” She pulls her bag from the backseat and it hits me in the head, right where Dad slammed it into the cabinet.
“Agh!” I feel for blood.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say. And it is. It snapped me out of my shame, at least.
When we walk through the gates of hell, it’s unclear if people are staring because of my face or because Jordyn and I are walking together. I can tell the attention makes her uncomfortable, so I tell her I’ll see her later and duck into a bathroom.
I go right for the mirror, turning my head side to side to examine the damage.
The makeup blends the really bad parts of the bruise into the less bad parts, but my eye still looks pretty gross and my lip is still swollen. And no matter how much I may want to, I can’t even leave school. I’m stuck here until Jordyn wants to go.
The first bell rings. I can hear the panic of people rushing to class. I take one last look at the disaster that is my face, and then turn to confront the masses. Only I don’t make it far. A couple of guys from the team enter as I’m reaching for the handle. Jason and Bryce. They play offense. And they’re inseparable.
“Dude,” Bryce says looking at my eye.
“Shit, man.” Jason shoves Bryce out of the way to take his turn gawking. “What the hell happened to you?”
“What the fuck do you think?” I say. They obviously have amazing memories.
Bryce puts his hands up and backs away. “Hey, man. We’re cool.”
“Come on.” Jason taps Bryce on the shoulder and they sneak past me.
I really wish I had my car.
• • •
I get a lot of sideways glances in my first few classes, but no one dares to address it.
Until lunch.
I see Sheila searching the cafeteria and I just know she’s looking for me. I pay for my shitty pizza and when I turn to leave, Sheila’s blocking my way.
“Holy shit!” She gapes at me, as do all the people in our vicinity. “I can’t believe Brett was able to do that much damage.” Her voice lacks any concern. In fact, she sounds amused.
“Yep,” I say. “He has a hell of a left hook.” Let them believe this is Brett’s doing. At least no one will suspect my dad.
Sheila follows me as I move toward the exit. “That must’ve seriously hurt.”
I ignore her.
She takes my silence as a confirmation. “Good. You deserve it.”
• • •
And I’m done being at school today. I hate that Brett’s going to get credit for my face. Like that asshole needs a bigger ego. I’m about to walk home again, but Jordyn sees me and she knows exactly where I’m headed, so she runs to catch up with me. We walk out to the parking lot together. When we reach her car—she’s decided neither of us needs to be there for the rest of the day—I’m smiling with relief.
“I just couldn’t be there anymore,” I tell her as we drive away. She gets it.
“So . . . what should we do now that we’ve been freed from the clutches of hell? My treat. No arguing.”
“I don’t know. Give me some options,” I say.
“Hmm. You like to swim?”
• • •
Even though it’s in a regular old subdivision, Jordyn’s dad’s house looks like it’s right in the middle of the woods. It’s this giant A-frame log cabin. The pool is designed to look like it was made by nature, but it only looks more man-made. It’s heated, though, and it’s a pool and we’re ditching, so it’s perfect.
Jordyn tells me to change in the guest room—we stopped at my house for my suit on the way over—and meet her in the pool.
It’s not exactly warm out—it’s officially fall in three days—so I jump into the cool water and gasp and swim over to where the warm water from the elevated hot tub spills into the pool. I splash around for an eternity attempting to amuse myself. What’s taking her so long?
But when she finally emerges, I understand. She had to take off all her makeup.
“Now, if you’d looked like this at school, I would have absolutely recognized you, so you really can’t hold that against me anymore.” In fact, she hasn’t changed much. Except now she has curves. I didn’t realize she had such impressive, perky breasts under all those layers of black.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
I swim over to her. “Seriously, though. You’re kind of hot. I know like six guys that would keel over dead if they saw you right now.”
“Sure.” She quickly gets in the pool.
“Marcus would be first in line. He likes his blondes, but he’s always mused about bagging a girl of the ‘Asian persuasion.’”
“Oh, god. Does he really say that shit?” She swims toward the hot waterfall.
“You would cringe if you heard half the shit that comes out of his mouth.”
“And why are you friends with him again?”
“I guess I’m not anymore, really.” Marcus didn’t even acknowledge me in the hall, so either he’s scared that I’m mad about him and Sheila, which I still kind of am, or he’s mad that I beat the shit out of Brett and they lost the game. Whatever. I stand up so the hot water can splash down my back.
“I still think you should get that looked at.” She points at my ribs.
I wave her off. “They’re not broken. Cracked maybe, but they’d just wrap me up and send me on my way with some painkillers I couldn’t afford the prescription for anyway.”
She lets it go.
The wind kicks up and we both huddle under the hot waterfall.
“Maybe I didn’t really think this through,” she says sheepishly.
“Hot tub?” I suggest.
“Yes please.”
The hot water feels great, but it also makes all my injuries angry. Still, warmth wins out.
She starts laughing out of nowhere.
“What?” I say, wiping at my face like I have a bug on me.
“You know what I just remembered? Brian O’Reilly.”
“Aw, man,” I say splashing at her, which only makes her laugh harder. “Dude. That asshat attacked me with a squirt gun filled with Nair in sixth grade.”
“Is that why you shaved your head?” Now she’s laughing so hard, she has to wipe her eyes.
“Shut up.”
“I can’t believe you never told me that. That’s really messed up.” Her laughter slowly dissolves into a smile, but the spark remains in her eyes. “You were just beginning to think you were hot shit and he didn’t like it.”
“I didn’t think I was hot shit.”
“Oh, but you did. Remember the girls who formed the Tyler Blackwell fan club after they watched you play football?”
“But I didn’t, like, tell them to do it.”
“Still. You threatened the very nature of the sixth-grade pecking order. Brian had to take you down.”
“Now that dickhead thought he was the shit.”
“You know, it’s pretty ironic that you went from being bullied by Brian O’Reilly to becoming Brian O’Reilly.”
“What? I didn’t become him.”
“You did. When I first moved back, you had this gross aura of arrogance. And when I tried to talk to you, you pushed me out of the way and called me a ‘fucking goth freak.’”
“I did?”
“Yep.”
“Well, shit. I don’t want to be Brian O’Reilly.”
“If it’s any consolation, you’re not anymore. But only just recently.”
“I’ll take it.” I run my hands down my face and then back up through my hair, trying to recall when I might have had this encounter with her. I can’t believe I was such a douchebag.
We’re both quiet awhile. Deep in thought, I guess. Utterly relaxed by the scalding water.
“It
sucks about your mom,” she says quietly, her head back, eyes closed.
I expect her to say more—the usual “I’m so sorry . . . I can’t imagine how you feel . . . You poor thing . . .” But it never comes. She never says another word about it.
TWENTY
“I thought you said you weren’t going to go all Fight Club.” Dr. Dave studies the new bruises that have appeared since I last saw him.
“I didn’t start this one, Doc. Brett, I guess to save face after I beat the crap out of him, blindsided me on Monday. I merely defended myself. If I’d responded like I’d wanted, his face would look like this and mine would look the same as last week.”
I can tell from his look of utter disapproval that he totally buys this story.
“But I think I might have gained a friend thanks to that asshole. When Jordyn saw this”—I gesture to my face—“we sort of bonded.” I tell him how we’re carpooling again, how I got fired from the dog shit job, and how Jordyn gave me all her weekday shifts and ditched school with me.
“So now you’re friends with Jordyn?” Dr. Dave has completely abandoned his notebook. And his disapproval. He doesn’t even call me out on ditching.
“Crazy, right? I mean, I totally thought she’d hate me even more for being some stupid Neanderthal football asshole and fighting again, but then she’s ditching school to make sure I’m okay.”
“And there’s a history there?”
“Yeah. I mean, we were friends until her parents divorced and she and her mom moved away. We tried to stay in touch at first but, well, you know how it goes.”
“Well, I think it’s good you have someone to talk to. Just don’t screw it up by trying to sleep with her.”
“Seriously? You think that little of me?”
He flips back in his little notebook. “You want I should show you my notes?”
I hold up my hands. “I know. But in all seriousness, she’s too goth for me. I like girls who don’t feel the need to hide behind layers and layers of makeup. And the thing is, she’s actually a pretty girl without all that stuff. Maybe I should refer her to you.”
“Don’t you think it’s interesting how hiding behind layers bothers you, yet you hide behind your own shit?”
“Whatever.” And damn if I didn’t walk right into that.
“So, no notebook. I take it you haven’t been keeping up on my assignment.”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Well, do you think you can try to write in it a little this week? Not every day. Say, twice?”
“I’ll try.” But I probably won’t.
• • •
At school the next week, people have stopped blatantly staring at me. The bruising above my eye is at that in-between purple-slash-green phase, and I wear it proudly. My lips are practically healed. The cuts on the upper are gone and the lower is scabbed but not in an overly disgusting way. But my ribs still hurt like hell.
Jordyn and I have taken to leaving campus for lunch every day. Today we’re at Wendy’s, as I have insisted on treating and she understands my financial situation.
“You remember when our moms met here, like, every day? I’m only just getting over my Wendy’s fatigue,” Jordyn says as we take our trays to the only free table in the whole place.
“You ever wonder why they lost touch? I mean, I thought they were pretty close, but maybe that’s because my mom never had many friends.”
“Yeah. I think it’s because when my mom met Henry, her life just became all about him. It’s like she was missing part of herself and it was him. I’ve never seen her so happy. Honestly, I didn’t know she was so miserable with my dad. She was pretty good at hiding it.”
“Right? I had no clue Mom was that depressed. I mean, she had depressive episodes from time to time, but it never seemed that bad, you know? She would just seem sadder than usual. It’s not like she ever stopped eating or getting out of bed or any of those Lifetime movie symptoms. I wish she’d talked to me about everything. I wish I’d known, like, how much she was hurting. I still have no idea why she did what she did. I mean, I know it was because of Dad, but then why didn’t she just leave him? And why now? Why not wait until I’m off at school? Did she just assume I was all set up for the future and that I’d be okay without her this year? Why would she leave me with that asshole? Did she think it would make him stop drinking? That he would get his shit together and be a decent human being? How could she think that, you know? He’s a fucking monster. Always has been. Obviously she knew it or she wouldn’t have done what she did. God, if she would have just left a goddamn note or something explaining—”
“Wait, wait, wait. She didn’t leave a note?”
“Nope.” I take a bite of my chicken sandwich, not even tasting it.
“Nothing?”
I shake my head.
“That’s seriously fucked up.”
“Right?” I take a sip of Coke. “I kind of wondered if my dad killed her and made it look like a suicide, but he was too far away to have been able to—”
She’s stopped eating. “How do you know for sure? He could’ve—”
“I know because she was still warm when I found her.” Now I’ve also stopped eating.
“Shit. Tyler . . .”
“And now there are four people on the entire planet who know that, so . . .”
“I won’t say a word. To anyone. You know I won’t.”
And I do know.
“You think if our moms had kept in touch, we would have kept in touch?” I ask.
“I was thinking about that the other day. And yes. But I don’t know if we would have been friends. You were just getting cool and it was pretty obvious I was never going to be cool.”
“But we’re friends now.”
“But, well, I hate to break it to you, but . . . you’re not cool anymore.” She dips her fry into my chocolate Frosty and pops it into her mouth.
“Hey.” I fling a fry at her.
She throws one back but I catch it.
“So, you still do that?”
“Dip my fries? Of course! I was wrong to ever have doubted you on that. It’s awesome,” she says, dipping another fry.
“Then why didn’t you get your own Frosty?” I dip the one I caught and pop it into my mouth.
“’Cause I knew you’d get one.”
If you had asked me two weeks ago if I would be hanging out with Jordyn Smith, I would have told you you were high. And now, it’s like we’ve been friends all along. Life is strange.
TWENTY-ONE
Just as my bruise has managed to turn the color of piss, Jordyn and I get to assist Henry at a wedding shoot. He’s even letting her take some of the photos.
I’m waiting for them out in front of this venue that looks like a massive Colorado craftsman mansion/castle. Henry had to replace a flash, and Jordyn had to run back to their house to grab a lens he took home, thus our carpool fell apart.
School has been bearable thanks to Jordyn. Sure, there are all kinds of rumors about us floating around, things involving me letting her drink my blood while we have sex and stuff, but we just laugh them off.
I’ve been able to replenish some of my emergency fund now that Henry’s giving me more shifts. More shifts means more responsibilities, but nothing I can’t handle. I’ve even done a few of the retouches from start to finish. Jordyn used to do all the final finishing touches, but she doesn’t have to anymore. And when we have downtime, Henry shows me some of his work that doesn’t revolve around people staring into the camera. Landscapes and candids of unsuspecting people at various locations who spark his interest. He explains what drew him to each subject and I’m starting to understand composition. Last week he gave me an old DSLR camera to experiment with. I’m still too afraid to show him any of my attempts, though. Most of them are of Captain and stuff around the house—nothin
g that would mean anything to anyone except me. I did bring the camera along tonight, so we’ll see what I come across. Plus wearing it around my neck makes me feel a little more official.
Finally I spot Henry’s car and meet him to get his gear. That’s my job for the night. I get to follow Henry around with his bags and bags of stuff, just in case something doesn’t work or he feels like swapping lenses. The ol’ funeral suit is getting a lot of use these days. The belt has to be tightened a little more and the jacket’s a little big now, but it’s not too noticeable. I hope.
Jordyn pulls into the space next to him. When she steps out of her car wearing an elegant silk dress—and it’s not even black, it’s the rich dark blue of the sky just before it turns black—I stop dead. Not just because of the dress, but because she’s made herself up to look like a normal almost-eighteen-year-old girl. Actually, she looks pretty damn beautiful.
“Shut up,” she warns before I have a chance to compliment her.
“Can you believe it?” Henry chuckles.
“I thought she was someone else,” I say.
“You guys are so funny.” She scowls as she takes a bag from the trunk.
“Allow me, m’lady.” I bow to her as I reach for the strap.
She smacks my hand away and shoves past me toward the front door.
Henry and I are both chuckling as we follow.
“I’m amazed she agreed not to wear all that shit on her face,” Henry says. “Wish she knew how beautiful she was without it.”
“Me too,” I say. Then I see Henry smile to himself with a certain gleam in his eye. What’s with everyone jumping to conclusions about us? I have to set him straight. “I mean, it would make her life so much easier. The kids at school aren’t very nice about it.”
“Yeah. I think that’s why she does it. To keep everyone at a safe distance,” he says. “I’m just glad the two of you are gettin’ on so well. It’s about time she had a friend.”
He says “friend” but “boyfriend” is clearly implied. I’m about to correct him, when the father of the bride introduces himself.
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