The Trail Rules

by Melanie Hooyenga

  My head falls to my arm on the table and the conversation stops.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Mike, what’s going on?”

  “Hey, talk to us.” The last one is Hannah.

  It takes all my energy to look up. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind and I guess it’s all catching up with me.”

  Willow touches my arm. “I didn’t mean anything before, when I said—”

  I wave off the rest of her words. “But it’s true. The Bunnies ARE bitches and I was part of them so of course you’d think I’m the same way.”

  The normally placid expression on her face crumples and she looks near tears. “But you’re not. I know that. We know that. It’s just,” she looks down for a beat. “Maybe not everyone else knows that. At least not yet.”

  Emilia and Hannah join in with words meant to be encouraging, but I leave lunch feeling like a pile of shit. Cally’s text comes through as I’m walking to fifth.

  How was I nominated?

  I smile. One of the things I love most about Cally is her lack of awareness of how awesome she is. Do you need me to list what makes you fabulous?

  Shut it. I mean how as a junior?

  I lean against the wall outside my class to finish texting so my phone doesn’t get snagged. You didn’t have junior and senior court?

  Just senior. Jesus. I don’t need this.

  My fingers hover over my phone. I don’t want to be the one to break the bad news, but better she hear it now. Did you see who else is on the court?

  I can guess.

  Yeah.

  This is just what I need.

  I’m surprised she didn’t say anything in class.

  The little dots bounce to show she’s typing, then stop. The halls are almost empty so I don’t have much time left to get to class, but I really want to know what she’s thinking. Cal? I’m about to give up when her message comes through.

  You still talk to her?

  Chapter 10

  “So you’re not hanging out with her, just random talking in class, right?” Cally asks. We’re at the coffee shop in downtown Boulder where we went when we first started hanging out—it’s kind of become our place. I asked Cally to come here when I realized this called for more than just texting.

  I sip my latte before answering. “For the most part she ignores me, but today she saw the scratches from our ride and asked if Evan did it.”

  Cally chokes on her drink. “Was she serious?”

  I shrug. “Seemed to be. For a hot second she looked concerned, but I don’t buy it.”

  She stares into her mug for a long moment. “She did claim you were her best friend. Maybe some part of her still has a shred of decency. Like way deep down.”

  I snort. “Like in her pinkie toe?”

  She laughs, but it sounds off. “Or maybe her big toe.”

  “Are you defending her?" My voice is soft. The idea of Cally seeing something good in Brianna after everything we went through doesn’t make sense.

  “No, I just…” She runs her finger around the rim of her mug. “I guess I feel a tiny bit bad for her. If she noticed the cut on your arm and was bothered enough to ask—even if she did it in typical Brianna fashion—maybe there’s a heart in there somewhere after all.”

  I sit back in my chair. “She seems the same to me. Still walking around like she owns the school. She and Kenzie give me dirty looks and whisper during first, and so far they’ve ignored me at lunch.” I sigh. “But that’s about to change. Bri’s dreamed of being Junior Homecoming Queen—then Senior next year—for as long as I’ve known her.”

  “She can have it.”

  “You really aren’t interested?”

  Cally holds out her hands and gestures at herself. “What about me says Homecoming Queen?”

  I rest my elbows on the table, lean my chin on my clasped hands, and bat my eyes. “I DO need to list all the things that make you amazing!”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not unless it includes the twisting backflip I’m working on.”

  “You’d be the first ski chick to win.”

  “Not an award I want.” She leans forward, mirroring my position. “Seriously, can I withdraw my name or something?”

  A prick of something—Jealousy? Anger?—warms my belly but I push it down. Cally’s never been into status and this is why I like her. So what if I’d be thrilled to be nominated? It’s not her thing and I respect her for that.

  I just wish I didn’t have to convince myself.

  I take a drink. “I saw a flyer at lunch with your name on it. They probably won’t want to make new ones. But you don’t have to campaign.”

  Her head drops to the table and she groans loudly enough that the people at the next table look our way.

  I poke her arm. “Come on, this could be fun.”

  She lifts her head and raises an eyebrow at me. “Our ideas of fun could not be more different.”

  “At the very least you’ll get to show off your dress on stage.”

  Her head drops again. “A dress?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a dance before.”

  “Not a fancy flowers and heels and dresses dance.” Her voice is muffled and I poke her again.

  “Don’t forget suits and tuxes and slow dances.” For a second my fight with Evan this morning worries me, but that will blow over by then. It has to.

  She lifts her head again, but this time she has a faraway look in her eyes. “Blake will look hot in a suit.”

  I burst out laughing. “See, it’s not all bad. You’ll go on stage for two seconds, Brianna will be crowned Queen, and we’ll go on with our night.”

  She gives me a sly look. “You don’t think I can win?”

  “But—but! You just said you hated this!”

  A slow, devious smile spreads across her lips. “That’s before you reminded me this is a competition.”

  We spend the next hour discussing her no-campaigning campaign, which basically requires us to go about our days like normal. Despite my pleading, she insists there be no posters, so there will be no posters. It’s not until I’m doing homework in my room that I occurs to me that I haven’t heard from Evan since class. He always texts or calls after school but my earlier text that I was meeting Cally is still the last message in our conversation. Is he still mad at me? We haven’t gone this long without talking since—my stomach drops.

  Since we broke up last year before winter break.

  I pull out my phone, but instead of texting Evan, I text Cally.

  I think I might have screwed up.

  Did you make a poster?!

  No, lol … with Evan.

  I thought things were good?

  They haven’t been bad, but… something’s been off.

  For how long?

  idk, a couple weeks?

  Are you okay?

  Am I? I’m worried about things with Evan, but it feels different than when we broke up before. Then, I was consumed with a mind-numbing fear that life as I knew it was over. But now, the emotion winning the internal battle is apathy. That’s probably not a good thing. Too soon to tell.

  You know I’m here.

  I do. Thanks.

  xoxo

  I finally text Evan when I’m getting ready for bed. Just a simple Good night xoxo. What can I say? Cally has rubbed off on me. He replies with the same message, and I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than if he hadn’t replied at all.

  *****

  The next morning, Cally and I open the front doors of the school and are greeted with a sea of hot pink. Not on the students—on the walls. Pink posters with Brianna’s face scream VOTE FOR BRIANNA from every flat surface.

  “How did she have time to make these?” Cally asks. “It was just announced yesterday, right?”

  “She’s probably been making these since seventh grade.” Cally quirks an eyebrow and I laugh. “Pure speculation. Although…” I step closer to a poster and inspect the photo. “This picture is
definitely from last year. I took it.”

  “That’s a little close, Slope Rats.”

  We turn in unison at the snotty voice behind us. Kenzie’s sporting her full bitch face, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Give it up, Kenzie.” Cally mimics her stance and squares her shoulders. They’re about the same height but Cally is infinitely stronger.

  Kenzie wavers for a beat, then lifts her chin higher so she’s looking down at us. “Vandalizing her posters won’t help you win.”

  I finally find my voice. “Nice of her to use a photo I took.”

  Kenzie looks confused. Her gaze bounces between me and the poster.

  I lean closer, hoping she can’t hear how loudly my heart is beating. “Guess she doesn’t trust you with a camera.”

  She rolls her eyes and tosses her jet black hair over her shoulder. “Whatever. Just step off.” She turns to walk away and I can’t help but yell one more jab.

  “Sucks not to be nominated, doesn’t it?”

  Her head turns slightly so I know she heard me, but she keeps walking.

  “That was stupid,” I say. “So far they’ve been ignoring me, but that’s when I kept my mouth shut.”

  “Are you upset you weren’t nominated?” The determination that was on Cally’s face moments ago is replaced with concern.

  “What? No. I just said that because I knew it’d bother her.”

  She bites her lower lip, watching me. “I’m sorry I went on and on about how I don’t want this. I didn’t even think that it might be something you’ve thought about.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay, really.”

  She touches my arm and my defenses slip. “Are you sure?”

  I bob my head affirmative. “Totally. We better get going.”

  “Text me after Chem.”

  “I will.”

  My stomach slowly twists itself into a knot during homeroom, and by the time I get to History I can barely stand upright. Bri and Kenzie have resorted to physical violence in the past, but one stupid comment shouldn’t push them over the edge.

  I repeat that to myself until they enter the room. Kenzie stares at me without blinking until she gets to her seat. Brianna arrives in a cloud of expensive perfume and a bright pink top that’s quite possibly burning my retinas, but she doesn’t look at me. Surely Kenzie told her what happened, so why isn’t she giving me her infamous Medusa death glare?

  Class passes without anything thrown in my hair and the whispers are the same as usual—too quiet for me to hear so I have to imagine what they’re saying. When the bell rings, I bolt from my seat and rush through the hall to Ethics, then keep my head down as kids filter in.

  Brianna holds her head even higher than normal and glides into her seat like it’s a golden throne atop a podium. She tosses her hair over a shoulder and gives me a brief glance before focusing on the front of the room. She and Kenzie must practice that move. I swear I never did the arrogant head toss when I was hanging out with them. At least I really hope I didn’t.

  “Someone’s full of herself today.”

  I turn to see Jasminda smirking at Brianna.

  “How is that different from any other day?” I whisper. She may not care what anyone, including Brianna, thinks of her, but I can’t shake the fear of pissing her off that she instilled in me over the years.

  Jasminda snorts and looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Touché.”

  “Good luck,” I say, because I’m flustered under her gaze. Her dark eyes are clear and seem to see right through me. I’m not comfortable letting my friends know what I’m thinking and it feels like she could read my thoughts if I let her.

  She glances at the pen in her hand and taps it on the desk. “I don’t believe in luck. You either deserve something or you don’t. That one,” she nods in Brianna’s direction, “does not. The trick will be whether our easily influenced classmates will realize that or once again vote for the pretty blond girl.”

  That could just as easily mean Cally, but she’s right. Three of the five nominated are blond and blue-eyed. “I—I…”

  She smiles, and I can’t tell if it’s condescending or sincere. “Don’t feel bad. You’re born how you’re born. I was born like this. You were born like that.” I can’t tell if she means her appearance or something bigger.

  “I sit with your friends at lunch,” I blurt. My sudden change of topic startles us both and we stare at each other for a beat before her face relaxes. “Emilia and Willow. I started sitting with them this year. They told me yesterday they’re friends with you.”

  “Yeah, they’re cool.” She looks like she might say more, but Miss Simpson moves to the front of the room and everyone stops talking. I hope Jas doesn’t think I changed the topic because she was making me uncomfortable—it’s just that I don’t have much chance to have “serious” conversations, as my mom would say, and I’m definitely not used to people being interested in my opinion.

  “Today I’d like to talk about decision making,” says Miss Simpson. She paces in front of the whiteboard with a marker clasped in her hands, but she doesn’t turn to write. “You make thousands of decisions every day—what to eat or drink, which videos to watch, whether or not to reply to a text—but I’d like to talk about the ones that can have a bigger impact. Going along with your friends when you’re not comfortable with what they’re doing. Speaking up—or not speaking up—when you think a friend is struggling. Helping a stranger when they clearly need help but doing so would be outside your comfort zone.” She stops behind her desk and leans on her hands. “All of these are rooted in morals, the set of rules by which we determine what’s right or wrong. Morals are different for everyone and there isn’t one correct way to live, but we do have a common base that society tends to agree on.” She uncaps the marker. “Who can tell me some common moral rules?”

  “No killing people,” a boy shouts from the back row.

  Miss Simpson writes it on the board. “Great, what else?”

  “Don’t lie and cheat,” says a girl behind me.

  “Treat people the way you’d want to be treated,” says Jas.

  “Don’t steal.” Brianna’s voice is low, almost a little shaky. I turn to look at her, but if something is off, no one else notices.

  “Don’t covet your neighbor,” says a girl on the other side of the room.

  “Hey, that’s from the Bible,” says the ‘no killing people’ boy. “This isn’t religion.”

  Miss Simpson finishes writing and faces us. “True, it’s not, but many of our current laws are rooted in the Ten Commandments.”

  “I thought you’re not supposed to teach this stuff in public school,” he says.

  She waggles her hand. “Much of the Bible is intended as a guide for how society should function. Very few people knew how to read when it was first written, so it served as a way to define what was considered acceptable behavior. The Commandments are a useful list to follow, but the ideas behind them existed before the Bible and continue to be relevant today.” She recaps the marker and paces the front of the room. “When you’re faced with a situation and you aren’t sure how you should act, morals can help you. You’ve probably heard someone described as being moral, and while that often gets mixed up with also meaning religious, religion does not own the market on moral people.” She stops pacing. “Having morals basically means doing the right thing. The trick is knowing what that is.”

  Miss Simpson spends the rest of the class giving situations and having us guess the appropriate response. By the time the bell rings, I’m questioning everything I’ve done my entire life—especially my years spent in Brianna’s shadow. I can say with almost full confidence that I never blatantly hurt anyone, but it’s possible I inadvertently said or did things that I should probably apologize for.

  I text Cally on my way to Chemistry. I need to atone for my sins.

  What’d you do now?

  Not now. Before. With Bri.

  Like the
12 step thing?

  Does that involve apologizing to people you’ve wronged?

  I think so.

  Then maybe.

  Evan’s waiting for me outside class. No time like the present. I rest my hand on his arm and reach up to kiss his cheek. “Hi, newest member of the ski team.”

  He doesn’t turn away, but he doesn’t seem thrilled that I’m touching him.

  I step back. “I guess that means you’re still mad at me?” Okay, probably not the best way to apologize.

  He lets out a breath and looks over my head. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just… I don’t know. Frustrated. I feel like we’re repeating the same shit from last year.”

  Even though I thought the same thing, my stomach drops. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to be a bitch, it’s just—”

  “Sometimes it comes naturally?”

  Both our jaws drop. His eyes widen, like he can’t believe he said it, but rage courses through me fast and quick. Atonement my ass. I hold up a hand before he can say anything else and stomp into the classroom, heat burning my face.

  He has to follow me—perks of sitting at the same table, yay!—but I refuse to look at him. “Mike,” he whispers. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, you say things you don’t mean all the time.”

  “I don’t think you’re a bitch. But lately it seems like—I don’t know.”

  I stare at a scratch on the table. Run my finger over the groove. Deciding. “Like something is off?” This probably isn’t the best time to bring up whatever’s going on—or isn’t going on—but now that I’ve said it I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my chest. I drag my gaze from the table to meet his eyes, and my stomach flips. His green eyes look so sad, so lost, that I immediately know whatever’s off between us is definitely one-sided.

  “Is that what you think?” His voice is so low I have to lean closer to hear him. “I know I’ve been a little distracted but…” he trails off and I feel like a jerk. “Mike, you’re still the most important thing in the world to me.”