Crushed

by Dawn Rae Miller

  She hits my arm. “Stop teasing.”

  Three touches.

  “I’m not. You’re awesome.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Now you’re lying.”

  “Only about the violin.”

  She tilts her head, her brown eyes full of questions. There are so many things for us to talk about, but I don’t know how to start on any of them. Should I just say, ‘Hey, Ellie, about that kiss, can we do it again?’ Or how about ‘I’m over Calista and promise never to sleep with her again’? Somehow, neither rolls off my tongue.

  Brady pipes up. “C’mon, Ellie. Eat with us. Sarah and Libby can come too.” He pats his lap. “See, there’s plenty of room.”

  Across from me, Calista folds her arms like a prison warden. “There isn’t any room, Brady.”

  Ellie ignores her and musses up Brady’s hair. “Sarah may like that spot, but the rest of us prefer seating that’s a bit less pokey.” She leans into me and whispers, “See you later?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Even though I want to look at her, I keep my focus forward, on my food and not on the way she bounces across the room. But as she walks away, my heart flops and drops and flops again.

  Cal stabs her carrots and directs a death-glare at me.

  “What?” My voice is hard. At the other end of the table, Alex and Reid play some sort of punching game over hand signals, but next to me, Paige and Brady both tense like they’re waiting for an explosion.

  Calista shoves her plate away. “Nothing.” She turns to Paige. “I’m done.”

  Paige darts her eyes to me, then back to Calista. “You going back to the room?”

  Cal stands up and smoothes the flipped up part of her pleated uniform skirt. “Do you even care? You probably want to sit here and hang out with Fletch and his b-f-f Ellie.”

  Paige’s mouth drops open slightly. “Are you serious, Cal? Really?”

  “Whatever.” She leaves her tray on the table and storms off.

  Once Paige recovers, she points at me. “You have to fix this. You have to apologize to her.”

  Brady chokes. “Careful, Paige. You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”

  “She’s hurt.” Paige thinly set lips dare me to defy her. “You hurt her — again. Don’t get me wrong, I like Ellie, but bringing her around all the time isn’t nice. Salt to wound, Fletch. Salt to wound.”

  I grit my teeth and spin my fork around on the table. Part of me wants to know exactly what Cal told Paige. How she milks the sympathy while making me out to be the asshole? But what’s the point?

  “She doesn’t like me, Paige. She never has. Ask her about that.”

  “You’re wrong. She’s your friend. One of your best friends.”

  “Ellie is my friend. Calista is just a girl I thought I knew.”

  37

  The cold, metal scissor blades scrape across my neck and send a shiver down my spine. “Don’t move, or I’m going to fuck it up,” Brady orders.

  Of course, I immediately twitch when Brady takes the first snip.

  “Dude, hold still. Unless you want to look like an epileptic monkey cut your hair.” He bends my head forward so that I rest my chin against my chest.

  As fun as it is to get a questionable haircut from Brady, it’s not enough to distract me from the envelope sitting in my desk drawer.

  Decline enrollment. That’s what I quickly checked this morning on my Stanford acceptance, but I still haven’t worked up the nerve to walk it down to the mailbox. I don’t know why. Waiting isn’t going to change Dad’s mind.

  “Don’t you feel better already?” Brady asks as more of my hair falls to the ground. “It’s like a snake shedding its skin making way for the new.”

  According to Brady, cutting hair lets positive energy in. Or something. It sounded logical when he explained it, but now, not so much — especially since we’ve both seen the mess I made of his hair. How that can be positive, I don’t know.

  He steps around me. “Put your head up so I can see your eyes.”

  I tilt back until I’m staring at the ceiling and close my eyes so I don’t have to admire the hack job I did to Brady’s hair.

  “How do you not walk into things?” Brady lifts a lock and snips. I have a bad feeling I’m going to end up looking like a toddler who found of a pair of safety scissors.

  “If I knew you two were going to play beauty parlor tonight, I would have come over earlier.”

  I half-open my eyes as the scissors snap dangerously close to my eyebrow and around another piece of my hair. “I told you’d you get in,” I say, trying not to move out of fear of being blinded. Ellie’s letter came yesterday and she hasn’t stopped beaming.

  “You did indeed.” She leans into me and narrows her eyes.

  That can’t be good.

  “Brady,” she says holding out a twenty-dollar bill. “If I give you this, will you go away and leave us alone for a few hours.”

  My blood heats up by about a hundred degrees.

  “Seems like a win-win for everyone,” Brady says a little too giddily. He keeps dogging me about not asking Ellie out. He saw us kiss. He knows we like each other.

  Brady hands Ellie the scissors and grabs the money.

  I straighten up. “Hey, you didn’t finish.” Not that I want him to, but I also can’t walk around with half a hair cut.

  Brady shrugs. “It can’t be worse than what you did to me.” He opens the door. “Have fun, you two.”

  I walk to the door and examine my reflection. It’s lopsided in the front where he didn’t finish, but it seems okay in the back and over the ears. “Tell me the truth, is it bad?”

  From where she stands next to my desk, Ellie rolls her eyes and says, “No. You’re just as lovely as ever, you prima donna.”

  “I know I’m gorgeous, Ellie, but does my hair look like shit?”

  She pats the chair. “Sit down. I’ll try to fix it.”

  I sink into the chair, and Ellie stands before me. She finger combs my bangs and purses her lips. “I don’t know what he did, but I think I need to make it shorter.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t give me a buzz cut.”

  As she snips, her fingers gently brush back my hair. When she gets to the back, Ellie blows lightly on my neck and a shiver runs down my spine.

  “I think this is the best I can do.”

  “Thanks.” I brush the chopped hair off my shirt and pants.

  We stand across from each other, saying nothing. I want to know why she paid Brady to leave us alone, but the words stay trapped in my mind.

  It’s weird. I’ve envisioned this moment for so long, but it’s never looked like this. Usually, I picture us standing under the redwoods, or listening to music, and I lean over and kiss her. I never thought we’d get here after a bad haircut and a bribe to rid ourselves of Brady.

  “So.” She walks closer to me and shoves gently on my chest with both her hands until I fall back onto my bed. “Now that we’re alone, we should talk.” She pushes again, harder, and I’m flat on my back.

  My mind spins. First she got rid of Brady, then gave me the best erotic haircut ever, and now, Ellie’s shoving me down on to my bed. What exactly does she want?

  She straddles my waist, and I can’t stop thinking that there are exactly two layers between us. If my RA came by now, we’d be in violation of several Harker rules. The least of which would be her in my room after hours.

  “I’m at your mercy,” I say. And I mean it. She could ask me to suck Brady off, and I might consider it for a minute, if it meant she’d keep straddling me like this.

  Ellie sighs. “I like you – a lot. More than I probably should, to be honest.” Her dark hair tickles my chin. “But school’s almost over, and I’m not sure I want to start something now.”

  My heart sinks, but that doesn’t stop me from reaching out and resting my hands on the soft curve of her hips. “Elle, is this really about school ending or something else?” Like Calista.

  She removes my
left hand from her hip and traces the lines of my palm with her fingertip. I close my eyes and force my breathing into a steady, controlled rhythm. I know she can feel the effect she’s having on me, and I hope she does. I hope she knows how badly I want her.

  “You’re going to Stanford. I’m going to Brown.” She smiles as she says the name of the school. “That’s too many miles for weekend visits, Fletch.” She presses my fingers to her mouth and kisses them. A low moan escapes my lips. “And what we have now is so perfect.”

  “Perfect for who? Because this – whatever this is – is killing me.”

  She tosses her leg over my torso and slides off me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Yes you did. Don’t lie, Ellie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

  She folds into my side and snuggles next to my chest, her head fitting perfectly into my armpit. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m scared.”

  “Of me?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Because I’m so scary?”

  She turns her head slightly up toward me, so I can see her eyes. “Because I don’t want to get hurt.”

  My stomach clenches. I understand. She’s worried, despite everything I’ve done this year — or maybe because of what I have done – that I won’t stay faithful to her.

  “Ellie,” I say.

  She puts her finger on my lips. “Shhh. I want to enjoy this. Just you and me. Okay.”

  I lie there, wrapped in her warmth, for what seems like hours. Neither of us speak. Our chests rise and fall, first hers, then mine. Never in sync, rather chasing after each other.

  ***

  “I should go.” Ellie rolls away from me and sits up. Her messy hair gives the impression we’ve been doing a lot more than we have. It’s a good look on her.

  “Can you do something with me first?” I ask.

  Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Depends.”

  I open my desk drawer and remove the envelope. “This,” I say, holding it up so she can see the large cardinal S. “I need to take it to the mailbox.”

  She tilts her head and draws her eyebrows together. “Your Stanford letter?”

  I pick at the edge of the thin envelope. “My Stanford decline letter.”

  “Why?” Ellie’s voice doesn’t hide her surprise.

  I shove my feet into my shoes. I’ve practiced the answer to this question a hundred times in my head. I thought I had it down. Still, I clench my teeth and hope my shoulders don’t sag too much.

  “My dad won’t pay for Stanford. And there’s no way I’m going to get financial aid. So Princeton it is.” I give my shoelace one last flick, fix the leg of my jeans, and stand up. Calm, matter-of-fact. Detached.

  “Fletch—”

  “Will you come with me or not?” I ask harsher than I mean to.

  “Are you sure?” Her warm brown eyes question me in a way her words don’t.

  No, but what choice do I have? “Yeah. Princeton won’t be that bad. Besides, it’ll make visiting you easier,” I joke.

  She touches the side of my face. “You don’t want to go there.”

  “Lots of kids don’t go to the schools they want. Hell, some don’t even get to go to college. I should just be thankful.”

  She nods slowly, like what I’m saying is the wisest thing she’s ever heard. “Then let’s do this.”

  We sneak down the hallway and out into the inky night. I flip the collar of my fleece up to cover the lower part of my ears. Beside me, Ellie leans into me, and instinctively, my arm wraps around her.

  At the top step, she breaks away from me and skips down the stairs. Behind her, the moon hangs low, giving the impression of a halo surrounding her head. It would be funny if I wasn’t so miserable.

  “Where’s your Princeton letter?” she asks.

  “In my room. I haven’t mailed it yet.”

  “You’re not going to Princeton, are you?”

  “Where else am I going to go?” I got into every school, except Amherst, and sent back my decline letters immediately. The only school I wanted to go to was Stanford, and I got in.

  “The letters are due Friday. What are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I grasp her warm fingers and lead her toward the empty Quad. The mailbox sits outside the entrance to the dining hall.

  In my other hand, I clutch my future. Once I do this, there’s no going back. My dream of Stanford is over.

  I bite my lip and stare at the box. What if this isn’t the right decision? Maybe I should just say yes to Stanford and deal with Dad later?

  No. This is what I have to do.

  “Can you do it?” I ask.

  Ellie steps back, away from the mailbox. “No.”

  I swallow, take two breaths, and go for it. When the door bangs shut, and the letter disappears into the cavernous blue box, I am more confused then ever.

  38

  Brady streaks across The Beach, completely naked and totally not caring who sees him. “Seniors!” he screams as he blasts underclassman with the water gun.

  “Shut the fuck up, you dumbass. And put some clothes on. No one wants to see your dong,” I yell from up on my balcony.

  “Get your ass out here.” Brady stops in front of my room and shoots up at me. The spray hits the hammock.

  “I’m busy.” Graduation is tomorrow, and I don’t have my valedictorian speech memorized.

  Brady fires again, this time narrowly missing my head. “You’re seriously going to sit inside on your last day of school?”

  Good point.

  Behind him, Paige leaps on Reid’s back, and Alex holds a thermos of what I assume must be vodka – the real Russian kind.

  But the thing that makes me smile is Ellie, stretched out on a blanket. While the rest of the senior class throws an impromptu celebration over the end of finals on The Beach, she’s lying on her back, staring at the clouds.

  Or me, because she catches me watching her and waves. “Come down. You can practice your speech later.”

  “Where’s Sarah and Libby?” I ask.

  “Getting some stuff in town,” she says sheepishly.

  “My car?” I ask, knowing full well that’s what she means.

  Ellie shrugs and flashes her devious smile. “You never said Sarah couldn’t borrow it. Now, come down. You’re missing all the fun.”

  I shove the crumpled piece of paper in my pocket, strip off my shirt, and sprint down the stairs.

  ***

  Morning light breaks through the trees, bathing the school in a haze. I stumble back to my room, with a mouth that tastes like an ashtray. I still wear my clothes from yesterday. I reek.

  A few parents already mill about campus, dressed in their finest. Graduation begins in two hours which doesn’t leave me much time to work off this hangover.

  When I left Ellie’s, the bodies of my friends — and a few random seniors — littered the floor. Casualties of the night’s festivities.

  Each step echoes around my brain as I climb the upper campus stairs. What was I thinking? Unlike my friends, I have to give a speech before a crowd of eight hundred in a few hours.

  In my room, I strip off my clothes, wrap a towel around my waist, and head to the shower. Maybe lukewarm water will calm my throbbing head.

  The smell of shampoo nauseates me, and I double over and puke. Not once. Not twice. But three times. Fuck Alex and his real Russian vodka.

  I kick the mess down the drain with my foot and lean against the wall so that the spray hits my chest. Once I’m sure my head won’t explode if I move, I turn off the water and walk through the plastic curtain labyrinth until I reach my towel.

  Lifting my feet requires too much effort, so I shuffle. An eerie quiet fills the dorm. Most of the underclassmen have already gone home.

  Huh. My door’s open. I swear I shut it, but then again, I’m most likely still drunk, so what do I know?

  With one hand clenching my towel and the other holding my sh
ower supplies, I kick the door open with my toe. There in my room, is Dad sitting at my desk, messing around on my computer.

  What the hell?

  “Hey, buddy!”

  I drop the stuff by the closet and rub my hand over the back of my aching head. “Hey, Dad. What are you doing here?”

  He laughs like I just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “It’s Graduation Day. Where else would I be?”

  “No. I mean in my room. Why are you in my room?”

  He ignores me and jumps up out of my chair.

  “Fuck, Fletch, you look like hell. Do I even want to know what you did last night?” He gives me a sly smile, the one I used to think meant he was proud of me, but now just creeps me out.

  “Probably not.”

  He snorts. “Your mom and the Desmaraises are still at the B&B. But…” He gestures at my state of undress. “Why don’t you put some clothes on, and we can talk.”

  I wish I had a bulletproof vest. How am I supposed to pretend like everything is okay? Like I don’t know what he does? Who he is.

  Heat works it’s way up my neck and into my ears. As much as I pretend everything is normal, I have to do this. I have to talk to him.

  But not yet. I need time. In my dresser, I find a pair of jeans I hope are clean and a t-shirt. I have no plans of wearing a dress shirt or tie. My gown will mostly cover whatever I wear anyway.

  “About Princeton,” he begins. “First, I’m so proud of you. But I also want you to realize it’s going to be harder than Harker. You’re really going to have to focus. Can’t let girls and stuff get in the way.”

  “Is that what happened with Mom?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

  “Excuse me?”

  My legs shake, betraying whatever semblance of bravery I’m trying to portray. “Mom. Did you feel trapped when she got pregnant with me? In college.”

  For the first time I can remember, Dad looks confused. “What? Why are you asking me about that?”

  I’d never given it much thought, but lately things have begun sliding into place. Mom went to Boston College and on the weekends, she would take the train down to visit Dad.