Follow Me Home

by Monica Goulet

  Maybe it sounds lame, but that’s why I need to have a boyfriend here. I can’t be labeled again. And Taylor’s still my best option.

  I watch him for a few minutes. He’s laughing at Ryan’s story about how he accidentally tripped the mascot at the opening football game. Maybe he doesn’t give me butterflies, but butterflies are overrated anyway. I felt them when Wes first asked me out and look how that turned out.

  Everyone at the table bursts out laughing over Ryan’s punch line, and I smile, pretending I heard, thoughts of Wes still pushing in the edges of my mind. I wait until the story’s over and shove my chair out from the table.

  “I have a test later,” I say. “I’m going to study.” I find the nearest exit and push my way outside. The fresh air fills my lungs, but it’s still not enough. I sink down under a tree and close my eyes.

  When I open them again, Taylor is standing over me.

  “Hey, you,” he says, sitting down beside me against the tree. “What are you doing out here?”

  I shrug, and lift my head, realizing I’m happy to see him. That counts for something. Maybe the butterflies will come later. If I can just find the right moment to kiss him, I’m sure I’ll feel it. He takes out a cigarette and lights it.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” I say.

  “I don’t usually. Don’t tell Melody – she hates it.” He takes a few drags and spreads his legs out in front of him on the grass. “This is my spot, you know. I come out here about once a week. Take my five minute cigarette break.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

  “It’s not technically school property. That ends at the fountain.” He points to a large circular fountain with cracked paint I’ve never actually seen turned on.

  “And you only have one cigarette a week?”

  “I’m on a budget,” he says. “And I don’t have a death wish.”

  “So what’s the point of even having one?” I don’t like smokers, but I guess one a week doesn’t exactly make him one.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just my thing. Takes the edge off. So what’s the big test in?”

  “I don’t actually have one,” I say. “Just needed some air.”

  Taylor takes a few more drags and tosses his half-finished cigarette on the ground. I watch him put it out with his shoe before bending down to pick it up and toss it in the garbage.

  “You do realize there are hundreds of other cigarette stubs on the ground. Picking up yours probably won’t make a difference.”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t you see the Sesame Street episode about what would happen if we all had that attitude?”

  I smile. “Must have missed that one.”

  “So what’s going on? You worried about the whole fire thing?”

  “Kind of,” I say. “What if Jay didn’t actually do it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I copy Taylor and stretch my own legs out in front of me. The grass prickles through the back of my pants. “He told me he didn’t do it. What if he was telling the truth?”

  “Then I guess he’ll plead not guilty and the cops will have to investigate more.”

  “But what if he pleads guilty because I asked him to? Even if he didn’t do it?”

  “You think he would?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I guess not.” A ladybug lands on my arm and I try to flick it away. It lands on a blade of grass and then flies away. I watch until I can’t see it anymore.

  “You want to go?” Taylor asks. He leans forward to tie his shoe tighter.

  “Go where?”

  “To the courthouse. See if he pleads guilty.”

  “I shouldn’t,” I say. “I’ll miss next class.”

  “You won’t be able to concentrate anyway.”

  “What about you? You’re going to miss class to drive me?”

  “Sure,” he says. He stands up and reaches a hand out. “I just have gym class next. No big deal.”

  I study his hand for a second before I take it. I wait for the butterflies again, but my hand is too sweaty to feel anything but embarrassed. He releases it again and leads the way to his truck. “Can we even go in the courtroom?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt.

  “I don’t know,” Taylor says. “But we’ll try.”

  ****

  They make us go through security when we get inside. I throw my backpack on the conveyer belt and wait for it to go through. No one asks who we are or why we’re here, so I follow the main hallway, trying to read the signs.

  “Want me to ask where to find it?” Taylor asks.

  I’m about to nod when a door bursts open in front of us. And there he is, being led down the hall in our direction by a woman in a suit and a security guard.

  My feet stick to the linoleum. I open my mouth when he passes in front of me, but then he looks at me and I forget what I wanted to say. My mouth is still open when he disappears outside.

  Taylor’s hand covers my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I nod, but my mouth is still frozen open. “I should have asked what happened.”

  Taylor flags down the security guard by the door. “What happened to that guy?” he asks. “Did he plead guilty?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” the guard says. “He’s a minor.”

  “But isn’t the plea public information? It was her house they charged him with burning down.” Taylor points his thumb at me.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to give information about the case. If it was her house involved, the lawyers will contact her parents to let them know the outcome.”

  Taylor nods, and my heart drops. “Can you call your parents?” he asks. “Maybe they already heard.” He follows me to a bench a few feet away, and I take out my phone.

  “Dad?” I say, when he answers. “Did you hear anything about the case? Did he plead guilty?”

  “No, nothing yet, sweetie. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know as soon as we hear.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to sound calm.

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  I look at my watch. Third period is already over. “Yeah, I’m just about to go into my last one.”

  “Okay honey, have a good – oh hold on, I have another call.”

  I wait as my line goes on hold. My heart beats faster in my chest, counting the seconds. Taylor puts his hand on top of mine to stop it from shaking, and I stare at it, letting the warmth calm me down.

  “Kelsey?” my dad says. “You still there?”

  “Yes,” I say, sitting forward. “Was that them?”

  “He pleaded guilty.”

  The blood rushes to my face. I should be relieved, but I feel sick to my stomach.

  “Everything’s going to work out now. Don’t you worry,” my dad says. He sounds happier than I’ve heard him in days.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say. I drop my phone in my purse and stare at Taylor’s hand again. “He pleaded guilty.”

  “That’s good, right? It means he must have done it.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Taylor follows me to his truck, but I don’t get in yet. I lean up against the side of it and stare up at the sky. Taylor leans beside me, so our shoulders are touching.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he says. “Sherbrook isn’t a bad place.”

  “I know.”

  He puts his arm around me, and I let my head fall on his shoulder. It feels safe. I let my hand fall to my side and it bumps against his. He doesn’t move it away.

  I decide to do it before I can think about it. When he turns to look at me, I kiss him. Our lips barely touch at first, and I hold my breath until I feel his lips move, ever so slightly.

  Then just as fast, they’re gone.

  “Wait,” he says, pulling away. “That was a bad idea.”

  I back up, my head spinning.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just –”

  “No, I’m sorry. I just th
ought…” I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking.

  “It’s not your fault,” he says, getting into the truck. “I shouldn’t have let you.”

  I stay frozen outside. This can’t be happening.

  Taylor rolls down his window. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

  “I’ll just walk,” I say. I move away from his truck toward the road and hear him start the ignition. I keep my head down, hiding my face.

  His truck pulls up beside me. “Get in – come on. It’ll take you an hour to walk back. You’ll miss the rest of your classes.”

  I stop walking and stare at the ground. Please go away.

  “I’m not leaving you here,” he says.

  I scrape my shoe over the stones on the asphalt. When he still doesn’t leave, I walk over to the passenger side and get in.

  He drives back toward the school without saying a word. I wonder what he’s thinking. That I’m stupid? That I completely read him wrong? That I think I’m better than Melody?

  I glue my forehead to the window and stare out the whole way back. When the truck stops, I hop out as fast as I can and don’t look back.

  Chapter Nine

  The bell rings as the door closes behind me. I make a run for my history class and slouch down in my chair.

  I want to throw up on my textbook. What was I thinking? I can’t face Taylor again. Or Melody. I’ve totally screwed up everything. Again. Victoria was wrong – Taylor doesn’t like me. He never did. I never should have listened to her.

  I slouch down lower in my chair and try to be invisible – the way I used to try to be with Wes when he was having a bad day. It never worked then, and it doesn’t work now either.

  “Kelsey?” Mrs. McKay asks.

  “Yes?” I squeak. She stares at me and I know I missed the question. She shakes her head a bit and turns to someone else.

  I stay slouched down until the bell rings again, but I don’t rush out. I wait until the classroom empties and the buzz from the hallway dies down. Then I slip down the hall into the detention room. They gave me a day’s grace to make up for the fire, but apparently my house burning down wasn’t enough to forgive it altogether.

  I try to do homework, but I can’t concentrate. I try to think of anything other than Taylor, so I end up thinking of Jay, and what will happen to him now. Maybe being locked up somewhere is like this, only longer. I can’t imagine feeling trapped like this for days. Not going outside when you feel like it. Being forced to follow rules. I wonder if it’s like jail where Jay is – if they’re actually locked in cells all day and night. I hope it’s not, and I don’t know why.

  Just like I wanted Wes to pay for what he did, but I let him get away with it anyway. My hand slides up to my eyebrows, and I pull out a few. They fall to my desk in a fan. I stare at them until my hour is up and catch the late bus back to the hotel.

  There’s a note from my parents saying they’re downstairs in the restaurant if I want to join them. I write my own note underneath and grab my bag. I need to do something, anything that will make me not think about Taylor and the stupid thing I did.

  ****

  I pull into the parking lot of Richmond House. I don’t know if he’ll still be here, but I don’t know where else to go. The air in the car is stale, but I can’t make myself get out. I roll down the window an inch, and then another. Someone’s cutting the grass in front of the building and the rumbling fills the car and drowns out the radio.

  I kill the ignition and force myself inside.

  “Jay Miller, please,” I say. It’s the same lady at the front desk with the Vaseline smile. Please let him still be here.

  “ID please?” she says, even though I know she recognizes me from yesterday. I hand it to her anyway and she spends more time than necessary studying it. She finally sets it on her desk and runs her pen down a list on a clipboard until she finds my name. “Go on in,” she says, without looking up.

  I slip into the visitors’ room and sit in the too small chair. I tap my foot and pick a spot on the yellowy-beige wall to stare at. The wall starts to blur the longer I stare at it, and I think I’m seeing things when I catch sight of Jay out of the corner of my eye.

  “You pleaded guilty,” I say, before he can sit.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  I study him, but I can’t read his expression. “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Is that why you came here? To thank me?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Jay stares back at me. “Go on then.”

  I tear my eyes from the wall and let them dart around the room at all the families – some talking quietly, some arguing. “You don’t get many visitors, do you?”

  “What does it matter to you?”

  “It doesn’t,” I say quickly. “I just have a question.”

  He looks at me, then glances at some of the families too. I wait for his eyes to focus back on me, but they don’t. He twists the pink and green bracelet around on his wrist. It’s getting frayed and dirty. I don’t think he ever takes it off.

  “What’s with the bracelet?” I ask.

  He looks down at his wrist and covers it with his hand. “That’s your question?”

  “No. Just curious.”

  “My sister made it for me.”

  “Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.” I wonder if I had a sister who made me a gaudy-looking bracelet, if I’d be kind enough to wear it every day. Not that the bracelet is gaudy; it’s kind of nice, actually. It’s just not exactly him. “Did you start the fire?” I ask.

  “I pleaded guilty, didn’t I?”

  “True,” I say, carefully. “But you told me you didn’t before. How am I supposed to believe you now?”

  Jay’s eyes land squarely on my forehead. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I did,” I say. “But that’s when I thought you did it. Now I’m wondering if you were telling the truth before and I wanted –”

  “I did it,” Jay says.

  I clamp my mouth shut and then open it again. “You did?”

  He nods.

  “Then why did you tell me you didn’t before?”

  He taps his fingers on the desk. I want to grab them and make him stop. “I don’t know,” he says.

  I stare at him until he finally looks up. “Why’d you do it?”

  “It was an accident. Kind of.”

  I sit back in my chair and it moves a bit, scraping against the floor. Wes always said it was an accident when he hurt me. In the beginning anyway. Even he knew he could only call something he kept doing an accident for so long.

  “Nothing’s an accident,” I say, spitting the words out.

  He’s silent and I wait for him to keep going. I don’t think what he says will make a difference, but I need to hear it anyway.

  “I was in your house and went up to the attic,” he says, so quietly I have to lean forward to hear him. “I found this box we must have left up there and it had this picture of my family. It made me so angry to see everyone smiling.”

  Jay looks down at his hands, and I can tell he can still see the picture in his mind. “I took a lighter to the corner so I could burn it, and then I started looking around and remembering my parents in the house, and how everything used to be. I got so angry I just dropped the picture without thinking. It fell on some newspapers, and before I knew it, a few boxes started on fire. I ran down to find a fire extinguisher, but by the time I got one, the smoke was too thick in the attic to get back up.”

  I stare at a place somewhere over Jay’s head. “So you didn’t mean to start it?”

  “I don’t know,” Jay says. “I didn’t want to burn down your house, but I think I did want it gone.” He’s gripping his knees, which are almost at his shoulders because the chair is so tiny. He rocks back and forth slightly, making me dizzy.

  I get up and walk over to the window and grip the ledge. I want to be angry at him. I want to slap him – fight back the way I never did with
Wes. Let him know how much he hurt me and my family. What he took away from us. When I turn back around, I almost think I will.

  If he had gotten up and walked away, I might have. I would have chased after him, screamed at him, done whatever it took to get him to realize what a horrible thing he did.

  Instead, he’s still sitting there, watching me with the same look on his face he had the first time I saw him – sadness, but there’s something else there too, like he’s pleading with me for something.

  I just don’t know what.

  I take a breath and walk back to the tiny table. My finger traces over a pencil mark. “What happened?” I ask, finally. “To your family, I mean.”

  “My parents died in a car accident,” Jay says, still staring at his hands. They’re rough. Callused.

  I watch him, waiting. The conversations around us start to fill my head. The kid at the table beside us is asking when he can go home. I glance over – he can’t be more than thirteen. His eyes are red and watery as if he’s trying hard not to cry, and his mom closes her eyes for a minute. I can’t hear what she says to him.

  Jay leans back in his chair and twists one of the buttons on the cuff of his uniform. “My sister Laura and I had nowhere to go,” he says. “My parents had put down my grandparents as guardians when we were young, but they’re in a nursing home now so they couldn’t take us. My mom’s only brother is an alcoholic, and my dad’s sister died of cancer a while ago.”

  “So they just left you on the streets?”

  “Not exactly. They put us in foster care. They tried to get us together, but it was harder to find a family who wanted to take in a teenage boy. I ended up in a group home for a bit, but I hated it, so I left. Dropped out of school and got a job with a roofing company. I was trying to save up to get out of here.”