by Erin Watt
Instead, he frowns. “Your wardens? You think you live in a prison?”
“Yeah,” I say unthinkingly. “They dictate where I go and when. Who I see. Where I’m going to college. I don’t have access to my car. They made me quit my volunteer job at the animal shelter and my real job at the Ice Cream Shoppe. They took the door off my bedroom.” I whisper the last part because it’s so frickin’ humiliating.
“They took your bedroom door off?” Chase’s mouth drops open and his eyebrows shoot up.
“Yes!” I semi shout. Worried, I check to see if anyone heard me. “Yes,” I repeat in much quieter tones. “See, wardens.”
“Not to downplay your misery, but that’s not what a real prison is like.”
“Close enough,” I mumble.
“No. Not even close. Granted, the door thing is fucked-up, but prison is literally being locked inside a tiny cell with a drain in the corner where you have to piss. You get three meals a day and you eat them in a cafeteria full of punks who are probably thinking about stabbing you with their forks. There’s no freedom to move between classes. You don’t get the sun on your face whenever you feel like it. Anytime they want, they can ask you to strip off your jumpsuit and bend over to make sure you’re not hiding real-life contraband in your ass.”
My cheeks are red-hot with embarrassment. I keep forgetting that Chase was in actual prison.
“They don’t even call you by your name. You’re a number. ‘Number Three-Ten, get your white ass out here and mop up the shit on the floor.’” He mimics a high-pitched, nasally tone that must’ve belonged to one of his guards. “I get that you think life is terrible, but your life isn’t a prison. Not like a real one, at least.”
“Sorry,” I say with my eyes pinned to the carpet. I’m too ashamed to look at him.
“Don’t be.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean to go off on you. The fucked-up thing is that I thought the same as you before...before prison. My dad was always on me to go to basketball practice. I wanted to screw around, go to the skate park or hang out with my buddies or lie on the sofa and play video games. I didn’t want to go to the gym and practice my fifteen-foot jump shot for two hours. And that was during the year. You think I got a break in the summers? Yeah, right. Dad made sure I went to basketball camp in Lincoln when I came to visit my mom.”
“You didn’t like basketball?”
“No, I did. But I didn’t love it. I mostly played because my dad used to play, and I had friends on the team. But I sure as hell didn’t want to spend my whole summer stuck inside some gym. That last summer...” He visibly swallows. “I couldn’t take it anymore. So instead of going to practice, I stole my coach’s car and went for a spin. You know the rest. The best thing to come out of it was that my dad was done with me. He washed his hands of me the day I pleaded guilty. Told me that since I was done listening to him, he was done talking. That’s the last time we spoke.”
It’s so matter-of-fact how he describes his father’s abandonment.
“Have you talked to him since?”
“Nope.” Chase shakes his head. “Like I said, it was for the best. He’s an asshole. I was ten when they got divorced, and I was honestly happy about that. He was constantly running down my mom, telling her she wasn’t pretty or smart. When she hooked the mayor, he couldn’t believe it. He told Brian—” Chase cuts himself off. “Rotten, shitty stuff. That’s what he said to Brian. So it’s better for all of us that he’s out of our lives.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Why did you live with him, then?”
“Had no choice. He sued for full custody and won,” Chase says darkly. “He gave a whole speech about how boys need their fathers, yada yada. Mom bawled her eyes out in court, but the judge ruled in favor of Dad. So he got me during the year, and Mom got me for the summers.”
Chase’s home life before the accident sounds terrible, but prison had to be worse. I try to imagine what it was like. I put myself in my room, and instead of the open space where the door is supposed to go, there are bars. I cross my ankles and hug my knees tight to my chest. I wouldn’t be able to survive. I wonder how Chase managed.
“How did you cope in juvie?” I ask.
“By thinking about tomorrow. Each day that passed was one day closer to my release. No cage is forever, Beth. I tried to find one small thing that I could be grateful for each day, like the extra ten minutes of free time outside or a work release picking up trash or ice cream for dessert. That’s how I kept my sanity—I focused on one good thing instead of all the fucked-up stuff.”
One small thing.
Chase gets to his feet. “Lunch is almost over. We should get going.”
I stand up, too, but I’m not ready to go yet. Tentatively, I reach out and place my palm on his forearm. His breath hitches. After a long, long moment, he shifts his own hand so that his thumb is pressed against my wrist.
“Chase,” I start hoarsely.
“Is he bothering you?”
Scarlett’s high-pitched voice has me jumping in surprise. I swivel my head to find my best friend, hands on hips, at the other end of the aisle. I realize that from where she’s standing, it looks like Chase is gripping my wrist.
Apprehension darts through me. I could fess up and say I was the one who touched him. I was the one talking to him.
But the horror in Scar’s eyes triggers that shame I’ve been plagued with since the second I found out Chase was Charles Donnelly. Everybody hates him. I’m supposed to hate him. Jeff is handing out petitions. My parents are trying to get him kicked out.
The more contact he has with me, the bigger the target is on his back, which means the one small thing that gets him through this day and all the rest of the days before he graduates will be harder to find.
The best course of action I can take for both of us is to keep my distance from Chase.
His vivid blue eyes lock with mine. Clean, bright and full of permission, he gets what I’m about to do. It doesn’t make me feel better, though.
I mouth, I’m sorry.
Then I wrench my hand away. “I told you, I don’t want to talk to you,” I snap.
Scarlett rushes over and puts a protective arm around my shoulders. She glowers at Chase. She was so mad and prickly yesterday, so the solidarity she shows toward me now is touching. Like she’d actually fight him to protect me.
“Leave Beth alone,” she orders, and I’m touched again because she called me Beth. “It’s bad enough that she has to see you every day. Don’t you dare try to talk to her.”
One corner of Chase’s mouth lifts wryly.
Scarlett gasps. “Are you laughing at me? Oh my God! Leave Beth alone, you hear me?”
He lets out a breath and that almost smile fades. Then he walks away without a word.
The moment he’s gone, Scarlett frantically searches my face. “What did he want from you?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
“Are you okay?”
I am not okay. I am truly awful. Chase just made me feel so much better about everything. He comforted me. He listened to me. And I repaid him by acting like he was a leper the moment someone saw us together.
“No,” I say, and it’s not a lie.
16
Even though Chase gave me silent permission, I still feel terrible about what went down in the library. I can’t stop obsessing over it, and my guilt is made worse during Music History when Troy Kendall goes in on Chase. For the entire class, the Manson comments come hard and fast, but Chase merely keeps his head down and stoically endures.
When Ms. Dvořák has her back to the class, Troy turns to me. “You sign Jeff’s petition yet?”
I ignore him.
“Hey, Lizzie, did you hear me?”
“Shut up, Troy,” Scar says. “Leave her alone. Can’t you tell she wants you to shut up?”
Thank you,
Scarlett. I throw her a grateful look. She smiles and reaches over to squeeze my hand. Yesterday’s annoyance is gone, our misunderstanding obviously set aside.
“Thanks for helping me out,” I tell her after class.
“Of course. I’m your best friend.” She smooths my hair down. “I haven’t been a very good one, though.”
“No. It’s me who hasn’t been the good friend,” I protest.
“I was a total bitch to you yesterday,” she counters, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry I snapped at you about the party.”
“What was that about anyway?” I have to ask. “One second you wanted to go, and the next you were all mad that Jeff was going.”
Scarlett sighs. “I’m gonna blame it on PMS. I’m supposed to get my period this week and I’m feeling so cranky.” She changes the subject by staring pointedly at my outfit. “You still haven’t explained the country-club look you’re rocking today. Whose clothes are those?”
“Jeff’s sister,” I admit. “The party ended up being a total disaster and I had to crash at Jeff’s house.” When her eyebrows soar, I say, “Long story. I’ll tell you later. But let’s just say that I don’t plan on going to another party with Jeff ever again.”
For some reason, she perks at that. But her tone is sympathetic as she says, “Aw, I’m sorry it sucked.” She eyes me hopefully. “We’re good, though, right?”
I haul her in for a hug. “Of course we are,” I whisper into her shiny hair.
“Are you two gonna start making out? If not, move your hot asses out of the doorway,” Troy says.
“Screw you,” I tell Troy, peeling myself away from Scar.
“I’m open. What time and when?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll take you both. My dick is long enough to satisfy both of you.”
God, Troy is gross. “That’d be half past never,” I reply.
Scarlett laughs behind her hand.
“I’ll see you at five. I’ll supply the condoms—” He breaks off as someone brushes by his shoulder hard, knocking him off balance. “Hey, fucker, don’t touch me.”
It’s Chase who bumped him. And Chase, in very Chase-like fashion, merely ignores the mouthy football player. I hastily step in front of Troy when it looks like he’s going to run Chase down.
“Five o’clock isn’t a good time. You have football practice,” I remind him.
He peers down at me, trying hard to catch a glimpse of my cleavage. Again, he’s gross. “Yeah, okay, but we can get together after. I know you girls like it when I’m sweaty.” He raises his arms and flexes.
How is it that Troy can be so unsexy, while Chase, who doesn’t even try, makes me tremble?
“Let’s go.” I grab Scar’s hand.
“What’re you doing tonight?” she asks as we leave a protesting Troy in our wake.
“Home,” I say glumly. “My parents expect me home every day after school.”
“Do you want a ride?”
“It’s out of your way.”
“So?”
“So...yes.”
We exchange smiles, but mine fades away faster than hers. The conversation I had with Chase in the library is still haunting me. I know that prison is supposed to be a punishment, but hearing him speak about it in such stark terms makes my heart ache.
I don’t believe Rachel would want everyone to be sad and suffering because of her death. She hated it when people were angry or upset. She was such a positive, peppy person, and she went out of her way to try to make people happy.
So I need to apologize to Chase, because even though shunning him is what he wants, it doesn’t feel right.
As Scarlett drives me home, I make a real effort to find out how she’s been. She’s going to visit Northwestern, even though she doesn’t think she’ll get in.
“It’s Dad’s dream school for me,” she confesses. “I don’t have the grades for it, but I know just visiting will make him happy. What about you? Still on for one of those beach schools? Have you resent those applications? You still have a couple weeks before the deadlines.”
“I’m mailing everything out on Monday.”
“Make sure you physically hand the envelopes to the mailman this time,” she advises.
“Trust me, that’s the plan. My parents don’t get to screw up my college prospects twice in one month.” Though if I do get accepted to any of those colleges, I’m not sure how I’ll ever convince Mom and Dad to let me go.
“Am I selfish for not wanting you to go away to a coast?” she gripes. “If you do, I’ll never see you.”
“Sure you will. We’ll come visit each other. And we can plan epic holiday reunions.”
“Oooh, or we can go away for the holidays. Girls’ trip to the Bahamas or Aruba or wherever, really. As long as it’s hot.”
“Deal.”
When she drops me off at home, she’s smiling, and I’m glad for that. Her PMS story isn’t entirely believable to me, but as long as we’re not bickering anymore, I don’t care what was up her butt yesterday. I’m just happy it’s not there today. Maybe today’s one small thing will be reconnecting with Scarlett.
Actually, no. My one small thing today is going to be apologizing to Chase. That’s going to make me feel better.
At my front door, I take a deep breath and start thinking of excuses. I’m going for a long walk. Like a really long, two-hour walk. I have a study group with... Not with Scarlett. I don’t want to use her. I don’t want to use anyone.
I walk into the house. It feels empty. “Mom?”
No one responds.
I wander through each room. “Mom? Dad?” My heart rate picks up. It’s eerily silent in here. I quicken my pace. In the kitchen, I find a note on the counter.
Dad has to make a special delivery of lumber to Prairie Hill tonight. He won’t be home until eight p.m. I’m heading back to the office to handle a work emergency. Back around seven thirty. We’re trusting you to stay inside.
I crumple the paper.
Good. I don’t need an excuse. I check the clock. It’s nearing four. I have four hours to get across town to the mayor’s house, which is five miles away. I should be able to make that in an hour. I run upstairs and change into a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes.
I’m going for a run, I jot on a new piece of paper, just in case one of my parents comes home earlier than scheduled. Be back soon.
This probably falls outside of my list of approved activities, but I’m not in prison, am I?
17
The mayor lives on a sprawling estate in Grove Heights, Darling’s richest neighborhood. The streets here are wide and lined with majestic oaks. All the driveways are set super far back from the road, and every house is considered a mansion. Jeff’s family lives only a couple of blocks away, so I make sure to avoid their street as I slow from a run to a jog.
I’m out of breath and red faced as I trot up the long, tree-lined drive. I thought I was in better shape than this, but I started feeling out of breath thirty minutes into my run. I make a mental note to use our treadmill more often.
The house has a pillared entrance and a huge wraparound porch. I’m nervous as I ring the bell, because what if Chase’s mom or the mayor answer the door? I don’t think either of them would recognize me as Rachel Jones’s little sister, but if I introduce myself with my real name, there’s a huge chance they’ll contact my parents.
My worst fear comes true when the door swings open to reveal a woman who can only be Chase’s mom. Her hair is the same shade of blond as his, and they have the exact same eyes, a dark, vivid blue.
“Hello there.” Her words are nice enough, but there’s wariness in her voice. She takes in my running gear and the disheveled hair that’s come loose from my ponytail.
“Hi. Um. Mrs. Donnelly?”
Her gaze instantly cools. “It’s Mrs. St
anton,” she corrects.
Right. Of course she took Mayor Stanton’s name after they got married. Already I’m off to a bad start.
“I’m...Katie,” I lie. “A friend of your son’s. I’m in his Music History class at school.”
Her eyebrows soar to her forehead.
I hurry on. “I lent him some, um, notes and he forgot to give them back to me earlier. So I came by to pick them up. Is he home?”
“Charlie?” she says.
Does she have another son I don’t know about? And why is she staring at me like my nose has grown two sizes? My face heats up, because obviously she knows I’m lying about who I am and why I’m here.
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
“You’re a friend of my son’s,” she says slowly. “From school.”
It takes me a second to realize that she’s amazed, not suspicious. Those blue eyes do a careful sweep of me from head to toe. She blinks a few times. It’s like she can’t believe there’s actually someone, on her porch, who wants to see Chase.
Without another word, she pivots and calls, “Charlie! You have a visitor!”
Footsteps sound from the interior of the house, and then Chase appears. When he spots me, he does a double take.
I see his surprised mouth forming my name. “B—”
But his mother, fortunately, cuts him off. “Your friend Katie is here to pick up some notes?”
A wry glint lights his eyes. “Katie,” he says, sounding resigned. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I answer. I shift from one foot to the other. “Um, yeah... I came by for those Music History notes I gave you.”
Another nod. “Yup. Got them in my room.”
“Come in,” Mrs. Stanton urges, and her tone is far more gracious than when she first opened the front door. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be long. Just gotta get...those notes,” I say lamely.
“This way,” Chase mutters, gesturing for me to follow him.
“Are you sure I can’t bring you down any snacks?” his mother calls after us.