Pushing Send

by Ally Derby

“She did one hell of a job with you.”

  “I think yours did, too.” I watch as he licks his lips. They are shaped like bows, big, beautiful bows.

  “Aw, damn, thank you. She thanks you, too, I’m sure.”

  He looks back at his watch. “Ten, nine, eight, seven”—he pulls me up, and my breath catches when he pulls me closer as he stands—“four, three, two, one. Happy New Year, Hadley Asher.”

  He leans in slowly, and I close my eyes as his lips touch my forehead, resting there as he takes in a deep breath, “Let’s make this a good year, okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say as I feel him press his lips more firmly against my forehead.

  “Do you have my number still?” he asks as he pulls away. I shake my head. “That’s a problem. Do you have a phone?”

  “Yes, but I don’t use it,” I answer, still feeling dizzy.

  “That’s gotta change. I won’t push, but if you need me, Bee has it, okay?” I nod. “I’m serious.”

  And I’m dizzy, I think to myself. “Okay.”

  He lets go of me and grabs his coat, then puts on his boots.

  “Half an hour with you and I feel like I can take on the world,” he says, as he steps out of the window.

  As he is climbing down the roof, I lean out. “Pax?”

  He stops his descent. “Yeah?”

  “If you don’t want to be a doctor, what do you want to be?” He pauses, smiles, and then laughs. “Shh,” I scold, but can’t help laughing, too.

  “You just made my year.”

  “Are you gonna answer my question?” I smile.

  “Someday.” He smiles back. “Keep smiling, Hadley Asher, regardless of what happens. And by the way, you are truly beautiful inside and out.”

  I look at him curiously.

  “Truly, Hads. See you soon.” He slips down.

  I hear a thud, then see him run across the backyard.

  I wish I had his number.

  chapter twenty

  Facing Judgment…

  The night before school starts, I sleep like crap, waking up continuously, and feeling like I’m going to get hurt. Instinct, I guess. That and fear.

  When I wake up, I throw some folders and binders—all empty—into my backpack, then walk downstairs.

  Mrs. Cruz is sitting on a wooden stool at the granite topped kitchen island.

  “Hadley, would you like some breakfast?” she asks me.

  “Sure,” I respond blankly.

  “Eat some fiber.” She hands me two granola bars and an apple, and I take them, then shove them in the bag.

  Bee comes out of the bathroom and walks past me without saying a word. It’s very unlike her and makes me feel even more nervous.

  While she grabs an orange out of the fruit bowl and takes a granola ba as well, I watch her, shocked I hadn’t noticed that she looks so much different now. Her deep brown hair fades into blonde at the tips in an ombre style. Her glasses seem to be the only thing that stayed the same about her. She’s a lot taller, five-nine I would guess. She seems to have ditched the book “fandoms” for “bandoms” since she’s wearing a black Fall Out Boy T-shirt. They weren’t very popular when I was sent away, but they must be now. Her thick rubber, pink bracelet reads ‘P!ATD’ in black letters. She’s wearing high-waist denim jeans and black high top Converse. To top it off, her keen brown eyes seem to stare into my soul at every glance.

  “Ready for school, Hadley?” Bee asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say blankly

  “C’mon, then.” She gestures for me to follow her out the front door.

  We hop into the black Chevy car that must be hers.

  “How’re you doing?” she asks, as we start down the series of back roads that lead to the school.

  “Still crappy.”

  “That sucks. It’s been a while; everyone has moved on.”

  “Sure,” I remark.

  “The Jamisons moved, and the hype died down. They live about twenty miles from here now. They can’t sell the house. No one wants to buy it.”

  “I don’t even want to go in that house. I don’t know how anyone could live there.”

  She nods, and then we drive the rest of the way to the hell hole of a school in silence. When we pull into the west parking lot, I hop out with the black backpack at my side. Then I walk in the heavy metal doors again, hoping for a better start.

  I head straight to the guidance counselor’s office to pick up my schedule from the secretary. She looks me up and down with the permanent grim smile she always carries in the back pocket of her ugly pantsuits.

  “Hello, Hadley.” She whips out another. She must have a couple of pockets today.

  I nod toward her, then exit the office.

  First period, calculus; second period, history; third period, English; fourth period, science; fifth period, study hall; sixth period, lunch; seventh period, home economics; eighth period, general music; ninth period, Spanish; and tenth period, home-room. Great.

  I walk to calculus alone, then sit through forty-two minutes of pure torture. We have to read pages fifty-seven through sixty-nine and solve the basic equations on page seventy.

  As I leave the class, I notice Sky walking through the halls alone, wearing a pink sweater over an ombre crop-top with light pink and light orange, a denim skirt, and white Vans. At least her style hasn’t changed, but the rest of her has. How did people grow that much over almost two years? She’s taller, like possibly five-foot-ten; her hair is less curly and wavier now, and her eyes are a mocha shade.

  Deciding not to approach her, I shake my head and walk to history. This class isn’t as bad. I sit alone in the back and follow along in the textbook. Ancient Greece has interested me since I read PJO—Percy Jackson and the Olympians—but class is still hard. Still, it’s better than calculus.

  I leave when the bell rings, thinking about the homework assigned: thirty-two pages of the ancient Greece textbook we are reading.

  English is fine, I guess. Not very fun, but better than lunch is going to be. I used to like English, but I have no idea what I was thinking back then. It seemed to take a while, but it was okay. Homework: the first twenty-four pages in Hamlet.

  Science, as always, is like an instant death. The forty-two minutes seems to take forty-two hours, and the teacher is evil with a capital E. He seems to be stretching the class out even more than it already feels. By the end, three guys in football jackets get detention for falling asleep. Most of the girls snicker, and the other two guys in the room with the same jackets laugh openly and loudly.

  It’s odd. I don’t seem to remember any of these people. Even odder, no one is whispering behind my back.

  When the bell rings, everyone leaves the room briskly. It’s as if they have some deep fear that they are going to have to stay in that class the whole day if they don’t leave right then.

  Study hall is fine. I manage to do all of my reading and even take notes.

  Lunch is scary. I don’t eat anything as I sit next to Bee. I know Bee has friends, but I must be like a bug repellent to them. I now finally see people point and whisper about me. I must be some urban legend around here: “The girl who killed her neighbor” or a Dementor of sorts when I’m really just an innocent Gryffindor. Or a public service lesson—“Don’t bully or this can happen like it did with that girl.” It sucks. Every time I notice someone pointing, Bee asks me a question or does something to distract me. I know she is trying to help; however, it only makes me feel bad for her.

  The forty-two minutes seem to drag on forever, almost longer than science. When the bell rings, I get up and leave for home economics. Lovely. Cooking, cleaning, and sewing. So much fun. We are teamed up with a partner to bake cookies today for “fun” and an easy A.

  When it’s announced that we have to be in partners, all the girls instantly give each-other “that look.” Miranda, one of Claire’s old friends, shoots Bee a glance, but Bee doesn’t respond at all. More guilt.

  “You and me, Hadley.�
� Bee links arms with me.

  We make cookies in silence until she asks me the forever dreaded question: “What was it like in there?”

  My eyes start to water.

  Two cups of flour, two cups of flour, two cups of flour, I repeat in my head over and over, not responding.

  When the bell rings, I just leave. I don’t care anymore.

  General music is good. I don’t have to sit with anyone, and we don’t partner up. We merely sit and listen to classical music, taking notes for an upcoming project. It’s good. It’s really good.

  The bell rings as soon as the piece finishes, and I leave right then.

  Spanish is boring, or I should say, El español era tan aburrido como un saco de patatas en una noche de mediados de veranos.

  We learn about Spanish history and all that “good stuff.” As soon as the bell rings, I glance at my schedule, realizing I have the Spanish teacher for homeroom as well. God, I hope she doesn’t hate me, too.

  As everyone settles in, I realize Bee isn’t in this homeroom. She’s only in my home economics and my lunch.

  “Good afternoon class. Please take your seats. Members of the female select choir, baseball players, and anyone else who must leave during this period, please make sure you come and check in with me before you leave. If you aren’t leaving, please begin your work sessions,” Ms. Rivera says.

  I read my calculus and finish the problems. No homework left at all. Good.

  After the final bell, I walk to Bee’s car and hop in the passenger seat. She’s already in the driver’s seat, and we don’t talk at all.

  When we pull into her driveway, I hop out of the car with my bag and go to my—no, the room. I fall on the bed like I used to at ho—no, the house in town—deciding to read ahead in Hamlet.

  At page thirty, I already don’t like it. It’s not even a sixteenth as good as THG, PJO, or TMR. Blah, blah, love, blah, blah, ghost sighting, blah, blah, depression and insanity is all I get out of this story. I toss it aside then lie back, looking at the ceiling. I can get enough of this in real life.

  Pulling The Hunger Games out of my duffel, I start reading it again. Prim cries, Rue dies, and I read it all with a blank expression. This is sappy, too. All love in books is fake and unrealistic, but it’s good to read about, I guess. I’m up to chapter eighteen when I am called down to dinner, which I’m not really up for.

  Walking down the stairs, I then sit in the only empty chair. I don’t eat anything, and none of the Cruzes notice. I’m excused and go back to the room I was assigned.

  I look up when there is a knock on the door.

  “Can we chat?”

  I sit up. “Yeah.”

  I guess I saw this coming.

  chapter twenty one

  Headphones

  “I got a message from Paxton Jamison today. He wanted to know how your first day back was.”

  “What did you say?” Is it okay that he did this? And is it okay that I actually feel warm inside because he did?

  “Told him it was probably hell. He said he was gonna come home. I told him no.”

  I look down at my hands.

  “I know everything he did to get you out. I know his father is livid with him for turning his back on his family and demanding they drop the charges—”

  “I didn’t ask him to do that. I—”

  “I know you didn’t, but I know he is kind of crazy about you, and—”

  “He is not.” At least, I hope he’s not. He is so much better off without someone like me.

  “Hadley, I know he was here the other night.”

  “I didn’t ask him to come, Bee. I—”

  “Okay, but you need to pick a side. Either be on his or don’t.”

  “A side? I don’t understand.”

  “He’s going to throw away medical school and a life that could afford him—”

  “He can’t. I’ve ruined enough lives. I—”

  “You haven’t, but if you love him—”

  “Love him?” I gasp.

  “Hadley, Pax thinks he’s in love with you, and heck, he may be, but if it’s just that he feels badly about everything you’ve gone through—”

  “I never asked for that, either, Bee,” I snap.

  “Fine.” She slaps her hands on her legs. “Here’s the way I see it. You are attracted to Pax, and who wouldn’t be? He is beautiful. The entire past two years has been wrapped around you for him. It’s easier to help someone than bring back the dead, which is impossible. He’s doing what feels right because he’s Pax, and that’s what Pax does.”

  “What Pax does?”

  “People like him. Nice people. Kind people. They want to do well, so he will make a good doctor.”

  I begin to grow angry. “He doesn’t even want to be a doctor, Bee.”

  “He did before he met you.”

  “Wow, okay. Just wow.”

  “I’m just speaking the truth.”

  “I want to be alone.” I stand and walk toward the window.

  “I am leaving my phone on the bed. Call him. Either tell him at the ripe old age of sixteen you love him, and you’re worth throwing away his dream, or tell him you don’t feel that way about him.” With that, she leaves.

  I feel like the weight of the world is again placed on my shoulders, and it is.

  I look back at the phone, then walk over to the bed. I pick it up and scroll through until I see his name. Then I press call.

  “Bee?” he answers, sounding out of breath.

  “Pax?”

  “Hadley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bad day?”

  “No. It was actually easier than I expected.” It’s not a lie. Well, not a total lie. I didn’t get lynched.

  “Hadley, is that the truth?”

  “Yeah, it is. Listen, the other night—”

  “I crossed a line. I’m nineteen, and you’re seventeen.”

  “Sixteen,” I correct since technically I still have a month before I do turn seventeen.

  He groans, “Okay, but when you feel—”

  “Pax, I feel confused, overwhelmed, and I am trying to get my life back.”

  This time, he says nothing.

  “Pax?”

  “Yeah, Hadley?” he says softly.

  “I need you to breathe, but I need to not be confused. I need to focus on me, and you need to focus on you.”

  Again, he’s quiet.

  “Pax, please say something.”

  “I can’t think of anything to say right now, Hads. I wasn’t proposing. I didn’t think I was coming across as if I was”—he stops and clears his throat—“trying to be anything more than a friend.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, but you have to stop trying to help me and let me figure it out from here.” My voice waivers. “I may never be able to repay you for what you’ve done.”

  “I don’t require repayment, Hadley, truly. Regardless of what you feel or think, I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he repeats.

  “Pax?”

  “Yeah, Hads?”

  “Have I told you thank you?”

  “You have.”

  “I hope you know I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I hope you know that I—” I stop because I want to tell him I only smile when I’m with him or laugh or feel alive. “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” he says in a tone barely above a whisper.

  “See you on Christmas Eve?”

  God, why did I say that?

  It takes him a few minutes to answer. “That’s a really long time from now. Can’t promise anything.”

  I hear doors slamming and then a louder slamming noise.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “ ’Kay, take care, Hadley Asher.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to say a word, only hangs up.

  I walk to the door, set the phone by the wall next to the door in the hallway, close my door, and lock it. Then I w
alk back to the bed in this temporary home and lie down and cry.

  ~*~

  I go through the rest of the week at school wearing blinders and ear buds. Well, not real blinders, but definitely real ear buds when I am in the hall or at lunchtime. I listen to music on a playlist purposely selected for times like this: Owl City, The Script, Eminem, Jason Derulo, Maroon Five, JayZ, Nelly, and a few more.

  I am in homeroom the day before my home visit, sitting in the back, away from the rest of my peers, minding my own business when I hear, “Hey, Hadley.”

  The girl is wearing a black, leather jacket, torn, denim, skinny jeans, black combat boots, and a white, tight T-shirt. Total Dauntless. If Thalia from Percy Jackson and the Olympians had a doppelganger, she just introduced herself. But she doesn’t need an Aegis; her keen and cunning eyes seem to do the trick.

  She plops down next to me while I pull out my ear buds. This girl obviously doesn’t know my story.

  “I’m Ash, the new girl. From the whispers I hear around this ultra-conservative town, you are gonna be happy to have me around. As soon as they have more than five minutes to judge me, the fact that you got screwed by a whole lot of people, who still have nothing better to talk about, will become old news. So, basically, you and I will become fast friends.”

  I look around the room, seeing them all staring. Then I look back at her.

  “Well, all right, then.” Apparently, she has heard about me.

  “We have a few classes together, too.”

  “I didn’t see you in any.”

  “Let me ask you something. Would you really have noticed with your head in the book and ear buds shoved in your ears?”

  I almost smile, almost.

  “So, what are we doing this weekend?” she asks, as she puts her feet up on the chair in front of her.

  ~*~

  “Are you sure?” I ask Dad as I sit down on the couch.

  “Yes. I have another home visit lined up for February first. If all goes well, you’ll be home by your seventeenth birthday.” He smiles proudly at himself.

  I want to be happy. I look around the house, finding it’s pretty clean. This may actually happen.

  “Paxton Jamison called,” he says, bringing my attention back to him.