Because of Him

by Jessica Roe

  SOMETIME AFTER MIDNIGHT, just as sleep is finally taking me over, my cell beeps and jerks me awake.

  I seriously consider ignoring it, knowing it's probably just Ibbie texting me to dissect every single word Kip spoke to her tonight, but the annoying girly part of my brain (the part I usually like to pretend I'm too badass to have) that can't ignore a text wins and I roll out of bed to find my phone, groaning the whole time.

  Meet me in the Jeep

  Score for annoying girly brain part.

  I don't recognize the number, but it must be Silver—he's the only one in my life with a Jeep. I don't know how he got my number, but I do know I'm going down there. Of course I am. It's Silver

  Now. Hurry up

  Man, he's bossy.

  I've never actually been given a strict curfew since I've been here, but I'm glad the house is quiet and still as I sneak out.

  Silver is waiting in the driver's seat, impatiently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Get in here,” he hisses when he spots me through the window. “Quick!”

  I roll my eyes and climb in the passenger side. He opens his mouth to say something but pauses when he gets a proper look at me in the moonlight, taken aback. With no make up on and my hair pulled back and in my Wile. E. Coyote pyjamas, I know I must look totally different to how he's used to seeing me. “Okay, you look so freaking adorable right now,” he says.

  “Shut the hell up.” He just grins that stupid gorgeous grin, the one that always makes an appearance when he knows he's pissed me off and he's enjoying it way too much. “What do you even want?”

  “Wanna go for a ride?”

  I don't even have to think about it. “Sure.”

  He drives us to the park—the only one in this tiny town. It's beautiful here, especially at night when no one else is around. Huge willow trees hang over a large pond which sparkles like a thousand tiny onyxes under the night sky. The gang and I come here a lot when school lets out for the day. When it was still hot out we'd sunbathe lazily and do our homework, and now the weather is cooler we huddle under the trees and drink mochas.

  Silver parks up and we sit in silence as we watch the trees sway in the gentle breeze. Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars plays softly through the speakers. He goes to flick it off but I stop him. “No, I love this song.”

  Leaning back in his seat, he smiles softly at me. “Me too.” He hesitates for just a moment, and then reaches into the back seat for something. “Happy birthday.” I raise an eyebrow as he hands me an empty jar, looking far too pleased with himself. I mean, it's a big jar, almost the size of my head, but still...it's an empty jar.

  “I don't think you get how birthdays are supposed to work,” I tell him dryly.

  Huffing, he says, “It's a thing, just let me explain already. I had a speech, just...shush.” He takes a deep breath, preparing himself. “So I know your life has pretty much sucked up until now. And I know even now things aren't always great.” I get the feeling Nash has told him about Oliver's non feelings towards me. “Sometimes when things suck, it's easy to concentrate on that and miss out on all the good stuff, even small things like free doughnuts.”

  “You know you only get free doughnuts 'cause the girl in the bakery has a crush on you, right?”

  “Not the point.” But he does look smug about it. “Whenever something good happens, something that makes you happy, you write it down on a piece of paper and put it in the jar. Then on your next birthday you open it up and read about all the great things that happened to you that year. And then you start it all over again. You get me?”

  “I think so,” I reply slowly.

  “Here, look.” Searching his car, he finds a pen and a scrap piece of paper. “Got...awesome...jar...from...Silver,” he mutters as he writes it down, and then slips it inside the jar. “Now do you get...Why are you grinning at me like that?”

  “You just called yourself Silver. I love that I converted you too.”

  He sighs impatiently at me, but he's also smiling at the same time like I'm just so exasperating but he can't help but like it. “You're a pain in my ass, Ackerman.”

  “I know.” I hug the jar to my chest. “But seriously, thank you. Weirdly, this might be the best gift I've ever been given.”

  “Really?”

  “For sure. And I got some pretty cool gifts today.”

  “Oh yeah, like what?”

  “Kip got me a My Little Pony t-shirt.” Which is my new most favourite t-shirt Of All Time.

  His lips quirk to the side and he makes a pff sound. “The jar is way better.”

  “Totally.” I pat it on it's jarry head. “I love it.”

  “I have one of my own.”

  “You do?”

  “Grams got me doing it when I was a kid.”

  “Oh. Not your mom?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Naw, my mom and dad are...hard to explain. Did Nash ever mention anything about them?”

  “He said you spent a lot of time at Granny Yo's place when you were a kid. That's how you and he became buddies.”

  “Yeah, mom and dad travel a lot. They're big into the hippy lifestyle.”

  “Shut up!”

  “It's true. Ever since I can remember they were always jetting off around the world on another adventure, rallying for another cause, which is why my brother and sister and I stayed with Grams so much. I was the youngest, and I guess I didn't get whey they weren't around a whole lot. I thought they cared more about their causes than they did about us.” My heart cracks a little as I imagine a skinny legged, freckly faced kid version of Silver with his nose pressed against the window, pining away for his mom. “So Grams used to tell me that it wasn't that they didn't care about us, it was just that they had so much love in them that they had to spread it around the whole world.” A fond smile lights up his face at the memory. “Because don't get me wrong, when they were around they were awesome. Anyway, that's why Grams got me started with the jar thing, and then I just kind of stuck with it.”

  “She's pretty great.”

  “Yeah, she is.” Now I understand his loyalty to her; why he was willing to drop his life in the city to take care of her when she had her fall. She was the constant in his life, the one person he could rely on.

  “What do you put in your jar?”

  “Huh?” He looks up at me, surprised, like he hadn't expected me to ask that.

  “What do you put in your jar? You still do it, right?”

  “None of your damned business!”

  “I bet since we met they've all been about me,” I tease.

  I was kidding, just trying to goad him into arguing with me because I'm a little bit evil, but a blush spreads across his cheekbones, so dark it's easily visible in the moonlight, and he says nothing at all. I want to mess with him some more but my heart is doing crazy things inside my chest and I think I might have lost the ability to speak.

  Instead I just watch him as he stares out at the pond, pointedly not looking in my direction, and the moonlight hits his face in the most incredible way. I wish I'd brought my new camera along just so I could keep this moment forever.

  I love the way his hair grows in senseless curls. I love his hands and his long fingers and how expressive and fidgety they get when he's talking about something he's passionate about. I love his eyes, his quirky smile, his one ever so slightly crooked tooth.

  I'm afraid. I'm terrified, because I think I might be falling in love with him, and that scares me more than anything I've ever faced before, and I've faced a lot of scary crap.

  Slowly, because I just can't help myself, I reach out my hand to touch his, resting clenched on his thigh. For a moment I worry he'll reject me—and I've never had to worry about that before—but without even glancing my way, he opens his hand and laces his fingers through mine. He holds on tight, so tight, like he needs my touch to keep on existing.

  I wonder what would happen if I leaned over and kissed him right now. If I crawled onto his lap and just sho
wed him how I felt. Would he let me do it? Would he kiss me back? My heart pounds as I contemplate.

  But in the end it doesn't matter because I spot a figure over in the bushes not too far away, watching us, and my heart rate doubles, bashing uncomfortably against my ribs. I nudge Silver and point him out. I expect him to freak out and rip his hand away, but he just squints at the figure and shakes his head, both amused and disgusted. “It's just an old perv hoping to catch some late night action.”

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah, you get creepers everywhere, even nice towns like this.”

  Letting go of his hand, I bounce up and down in my seat so hard the car rocks.

  “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Giving him a show.”

  Silver laughs a deep, belly rumbling laugh, but he's shaking his head in exasperation at the same time. He smiles over at me. “You're so damn annoying.”

  And I stop bouncing and smile back, because every time he says that to me I know he wants to kiss me, even if he can't.

  “By the way, I meant to tell you...you looked beautiful in your dress tonight.”

  “When did you see me in my dress?”

  “Through the window.” He seems to realize how this sounds because his eyes widen. “Not that I...I didn't mean...I just happened to look out of the window and you were there...Shut up, Blair.”

  I just grin.

  HALLOWEEN MORNING DAWNS and I let myself into Jemma's room early. We giggle as we help each other get ready, anticipating everyone's reactions. I don't think I've ever felt more like a girl.

  Jemma puts on a pair of my jeans—tight, black, ripped—and my beloved biker boots, with plenty of dark eye liner and clip-in coloured extensions. I've gone the other direction with a sunset orange summer dress of Jemma's, golden wedge sandles and simple, peach toned make-up. She's even done some clever cover up with my hair and fishtail braided it to one side so my stripes are barely visible. Man, she's good at being a girl.

  I'm going to have fun being Jemma today.

  When we clatter downstairs into the kitchen, Felicia almost faints when she gets a look at us. I swear she's about two seconds away from swooning and crying, 'What have you done to my baby?' Nash almost chokes on his coffee from laughing so hard.

  Jemma and I high five.

  My image conscious sister was worried that people in school would think our Halloween switch was dumb¸ but even Imelda admits that it's pretty awesome.

  Gage stops in the middle of the hallway when he sees us walking together. He glances between the two of us, his mouth hanging open. I can practically see the filth forming behind his eyes. “Holy mother. This is the best day of my life. Do you two wanna-”

  “No,” I interrupt sharply before he can say something that will both disgust me and make me hate him forever.

  He pushes his fingers through his dark spikes, pouting. I have to admit, it's cute. But still...no. “But-”

  “No, Gage!” Jemma yells. She links my arm and we walk away. “What exactly were we saying no to?”

  I MAKE SURE I arrive early to Silver's class. He's alone in the room, sat at his desk, prepping for the lesson. For Halloween he's dressed as Abraham Lincoln, top hat and fake beard included. It's adorable, but I won't be able to take anything he says today seriously.

  He glances up when he hears the door click shut behind me and blinks in surprise at my appearance.

  I don't move any closer, but I ask, “What do you think?” and I spin around in a circle, not bothering to pretend like I didn't do any of this for him, like I didn't want to see what he'd think if I looked like a regular girl for once.

  Seconds pass as he watches me silently and then suddenly stumbles to his feet, as if his olden days costume and my dress has made him feel like he needs to be a gentleman. “You look pretty,” he rushes out. Still staring, he clears his throat. “Real pretty.”

  “You like?”

  “No.” That one word comes out way too quickly. He must see the hurt on my face because he hurries to continue. “I just mean that you look really nice, but...it isn't you. I like the way you normally look.”

  We smile stupidly at one another until the door opens behind me and my classmates begin to trickle in.

  WHEN I GET home after school my room is tidier than usual. I mean, I always keep my room neat anyway, probably neater than most teenage bedrooms—Fen thinks it has something to do with a need for order and structure I didn't get as a kid or...whatever—but now it's magazine worthy. Obviously Felicia shares her children's lack of personal boundaries. It doesn't bother me all that much, I have nothing to hide from her.

  I flop down on my bed. The Halloween party Kip is throwing for pretty much the entire student body doesn't start for another few hours so I have time to kill before I need to get ready. I'm swapping the Jemma look for zombie ballerina—it was Ibbie's idea.

  It takes me a couple of minutes to realize that something is wrong in here; something is missing.

  As fast as I can in Jemma's swishy dress and stupidly tall shoes, I run downstairs to find Felicia. She's cleaning the kitchen and humming like an out of tune Cinderella.

  “Where is it?” I ask breathlessly, trying to keep my voice friendly even though I want to snarl and scratch her face right off. Because I know, deep down I know what she's done.

  “Where's what?” she asks. Her voice is innocent, but also completely not at the same time, and she's going about her task whilst looking anywhere but at me. Yeah, she knows exactly what I'm talking about.

  My fists clench so hard my nails dig painfully into my palms as I try to keep calm. “The picture of my mom. It was on my desk.”

  She shrugs as she wipes down the counters. “Oh dear, it must have gotten swept away with the trash. That's a shame.”

  Panic grips my chest and I freeze for just a second. How could she be so cruel?

  I race outside, prepared to dig through the trash cans if I have to, but I should have remembered...today was trash day. The trash is gone. The photo of my mother is gone.

  All the air seems to leave my chest and suddenly I can't breathe. My vision darkens around the edges and the world...the world is closing in around me. I bend over. There's a choking sound coming from somewhere...it might be me.

  A car door slams and someone calls my name, but it sounds faraway, at the other end of a tunnel. I feel a faint pain in my knees as I drop down to the ground.

  “Blair!”

  I open my eyes, unable to remember closing them. Silver is kneeling before me; it takes me a second to remember why he looks like such a dork. He takes my shoulders in his strong hands and through the hazy fog in my mind, I feel him gently stroking my neck with his thumbs.

  “You're having a panic attack,” he tells me, kindly but firmly. The words don't make much sense because there's a buzzing in my head and it's all I can focus on. “Blair, look at me.” Hands cups my cheeks and lift my face so I can't help but look into his eyes. “You're having a panic attack. I need you to breathe for me, okay?”

  It seems impossible, but with Silver whispering encouraging words in my ear, after a few non starters I breathe deep. Air rushes into my chest and my vision begins to clear.

  “Silver...” I croak, clinging to his shirt.

  “You're okay,” he murmurs. “I got you.” Those three words are what help to calm me. I know he means it and...he makes me feel safe. He's the only person that's ever made me feel safe.

  I rest my head on his shoulder as he strokes my hair. It doesn't matter if anyone sees us right now; he's just a neighbour comforting a neighbour. There's nothing sexual, nothing romantic about it.

  “You want me to take you inside?” he asks eventually. I don't know how long we've been kneeling here together.

  I shake my head desperately. “Not in there. Not yet. Please.”

  “It's okay, I meant my place.”

  Without waiting on me to answer, he scoops me up into his arms and despite everything I almost smile. My
lips don't quite turn up, but they want to. “I can walk.”

  He heaves a sigh, feigning disgruntlement. “Just let me have this.”

  By the time he sits me down on his grey sofa, tears have begun to fall. Slowly at first, but then faster as I let memories of my mom drown me. Thankfully Granny Yo is at Bingo because I don't think I could bear for anyone else but Silver to see me this way. Strangely, I don't mind him witnessing me at my most vulnerable.

  What happened outside wasn't my first panic attack. I'd had them all the time after my mom first died, back when I'd lived with Fen. When the horror and the guilt and the anger and the hopelessness would overtake me and I'd forget how to breathe. It lessened over the months and I'd thought I was better. Today feels like a huge step back.

  “Talk to me,” Silver begs, holding me close and pressing his face into my hair. At some point he must have pulled off his hat and the stupid Abraham Lincoln beard and discarded it on the floor. That weird pile of fluff is all I can concentrate on. “Please talk, your tears are killing me.”

  “I can't. It's stupid.”

  “It's not stupid if it made you cry. I know you, Blair. You don't cry over stupid.”

  I hiccup. “Felicia threw away my picture of my mom.” Or burned it, probably. “It's the only one I had...the only one that counts, anyway. Now it's gone and she's gone and I'm scared I'll forget what she looked like.”

  “You won't...” But he can't make himself sound certain because he knows as well as I do it's not something he can promise.

  “I'm a bad person, Silver,” I whisper.

  “You're not.” He shakes his head and strokes my hair. “Blair, you're not.”

  “You don't understand. The last thing I ever said to her was that I hoped she died.” I choke out a sob as I remember my mom's face that day. She hadn't been upset, or horrified, or devastated, or anything she should have been. She just hadn't cared, as if it was something she hoped for herself too. “She'd told me that day I was old enough to start paying my own way.”