The Boy on the Bridge

by Sam Mariano

  “Hmm. Well, you could be Jason.”

  “I don’t think I want to be Jason. Sounds like he’s gonna get his ass beat.”

  “We can try to find one with a less douchey leading man,” I offer as Hunter stops in front of a closed door. “Is this your bedroom?”

  “It is,” he verifies, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

  My eyes widen. I’m glad he’s in front of me so he doesn’t see the look on my face. “We’re doing homework in your bedroom? Where is your mom? Is this allowed?”

  “My mom is out with friends, and yes, this is allowed. God, you’ve gotta learn to relax. Is your mom super protective or something?”

  “No, she’s a normal amount of protective, but she would definitely discourage me having boys in my bedroom.”

  “Guess we won’t be doing homework at your house then,” he says lightly.

  “I don’t think I would be allowed in your room alone with you, either,” I tell him, despite the heat rushing to my face.

  Looking back at me over his shoulder, he asks, “Don’t you ever do anything you’re not allowed to do?”

  “Not really,” I murmur as I step across the threshold and into his space.

  It’s a lot of space. His bedroom is about three times the size of mine, but he fills the space well. He has a big bed covered neatly with a blue comforter and fluffy pillows. Beside his bed is a guitar in front of a big window seat. I start to imagine him playing it, but inexplicably the thought warms my face, so I shift my gaze away quickly.

  In case I didn’t find him adequately impressive, there’s a trophy case mounted on the wall, filled with shiny, gold evidence of his many athletic achievements. While I peer at the trophies and medals curiously, Hunter walks in front of me and approaches his desk. He drops his backpack on top and turns back around to face me.

  Leaning his hip against the desk, he uncaps his water and assures me, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  There’s something enticing about the way he says it, something that makes a small part of me feel… curious.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, looking at him uncertainly. I’d feel too much like a goody goody saying it, but the fluttery feeling in my stomach tells me my mom is probably right, I probably shouldn’t be alone with him in his bedroom.

  “Why don’t we—” A bit clumsily, I gesture to the open bedroom door. “It seems like there was more space out there at the kitchen table. If we have to make a mask, that could probably get messy. We’ll need supplies and space to work.”

  Hunter pushes off the desk and makes his way toward me. “Nah.”

  I take a step back. “Why?”

  “I like it in here,” he says, walking around behind me.

  I swallow, not knowing what he’s doing. A moment later, he shuts the door and my heart drops into my tummy. “I’m definitely not allowed to be in your room with the door closed.”

  “You’re not allowed to be in my room alone with me at all,” he points out, moving up behind me and stealing most of the breath out of my lungs. Dragging a finger along the edge of my backpack strap, he adds, “If you’re gonna break the rules, might as well go big or go home.”

  I should definitely go home. I’m just about to say so, but then I hear him unzipping my backpack. Looking back at him over my shoulder, I’m a little thrown by how close he is, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “What are you doing?”

  He reaches into my backpack, then draws out my copy of Hunger Games and holds it up to show me. “Borrowing your book.”

  My heart pitter patters in my chest, but I try to play it cool. “Oh. Okay. You’re going to read it?”

  With that light, teasing tone of his, he says, “Maybe. You gonna make it worth my time?”

  I lift an eyebrow in censure. “Suzanne Collins is going to make it worth your time.”

  Feigning a grimace, he tells me, “I’m not really into older women.”

  “You’re the worst,” I tell him.

  “Nah, you like me.”

  I kinda do, but hearing him say it so smugly drags a groan right out of me. “A little less with each passing second.”

  Now he grins at me. “Liar.”

  My cheeks are a permanent shade of red when he’s around, so I embrace the heat and lie my butt off. “I actually like someone else.”

  “You do not,” he states, though he sounds a shade less amused. Without even giving me a chance to respond, he demands, “Who?”

  I search my mind for even one name that isn’t his, but I come up with nothing. Somehow, I can’t think of a single other boy at school.

  My awkward silence lasts too long and Hunter nods smugly. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Mark,” I blurt.

  It’s only a name without a face attached, I’m not even sure I know anyone named Mark, but Hunter’s face darkens.

  “Poplowski?”

  “Yep. Mark Poplowski. It’s him I like, definitely not you.”

  Sounding entirely unconvinced, he asks, “What do you like about him?”

  Oh, God, I don’t know. “He’s… modest.”

  Hunter smirks. “Nope.”

  “He is,” I insist. “And… smart.”

  “He’s lucky he can spell his name.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “He’s kind to others.”

  “When we walk down the halls, he regularly knocks a person’s books right out of their arms just for fun.”

  Heaving a sigh, I offer half-heartedly, “He has nice eyes?”

  He rocks his head side to side, then says, “I can probably give you that one.”

  Victoriously, I nod. “There. I’m shallow and I like dumb, mean Mark with the nice eyes.”

  Hunter rolls his eyes and walks past me. “You’re full of shit.”

  “And excellent book recommendations,” I add, taking a couple of steps toward him since he’s standing in front of his desk now. “I’m full of those, too.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna read your stupid book,” he tells me, putting it down on his desk and unzipping his backpack. Nodding his head toward an extra chair in the corner, he tells me, “Get comfortable, you’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

  I roll my eyes at him, but as I walk over to grab the chair, I can’t keep a little smile off my face.

  ___

  When we first sat down, I checked the time literally every two minutes. I knew it would take me a few extra minutes to walk home from his house, so I knew I had to leave at a certain time. No matter how enjoyable it was to help Hunter with his homework, I knew I had to get home before my mom to avoid another fight.

  But then his mom gets home, and his stepdad is with her. Hunter and I are still in his room with the door closed, so when I first hear them, I think maybe they don’t realize they’re not alone.

  The sound is muffled so I can’t tell what they’re saying, but their voices are raised and tinged with anger.

  I look over at Hunter, uncertain what to do. His gaze is locked on his closed door, dread written all across his face. He waits a few seconds to see if they stop, I guess, and when things only seem to escalate, he finally responds. His jaw locks and he shoves back his chair, then he storms across the room and rips his door open.

  “Can you guys knock it off?” he calls out. “I have a friend over.”

  Now that the door’s open, I hear his stepfather call back, “Like I give a fuck about your little fucking friends.”

  “Stop it,” his mother snaps. “Stop being such an asshole.”

  “Fucking make me, woman.”

  That sick, gnawing, dreadful feeling I always get when my mom is mad at me settles in my gut. I start gathering my things quickly, figuring I should leave if his parents are fighting.

  Hunter slams his door shut and stalks back over to me, his velvety brown eyes darkening, his posture tense. “I’d like to kill him,” he mutters.

  Standing and shoving my things into my backpack, I steal a glimpse at him over my sh
oulder. “I think you need to talk to someone about this, Hunter.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” he mutters. “It just sucks.”

  The bedroom door swings open and a tall, burly man stands there, a menacing look on his flushed face. “What’d I tell you about slamming doors, you little shit?”

  My heart drops clear out of my body. I’ve never heard a parent talk to their child this way, with actual hatred.

  Hunter turns and glowers at his stepdad. “Get out of my room.”

  “Your room?” his stepdad demands, lifting dark, bushy eyebrows. “You own this house now? You paying the bills?”

  “I could say the same to you,” Hunter fires back, still glaring. “My mom pays the bills, not you. Now, get out of my room.”

  That infuriates the man, and he steps across the threshold. “You little fucking smartass. You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

  Finally, Hunter’s mom appears in the doorway. “Just stop it, Dennis. Just stop. Hunter has a friend over, leave them alone.”

  My cheeks burn when they look over at me. I’ve tried to make myself as small as possible to avoid notice, and I’m hugging my backpack in front of me like a protective shield.

  “Stop it,” his mother says again, her eyes pleading as she looks up at her awful husband.

  “Someone needs to teach this boy some fucking manners,” he says, pointing in Hunter’s direction.

  Venus nods in a placating manner and approaches her husband, giving him sort of a sideways hug and trying to pull him back out of the room. “Come on. We’ll talk to him later. Come on, leave them alone.”

  Hunter’s stepfather remains where he is for a minute, staring Hunter down, then he finally backs out of the room. Hunter’s mom ducks her head back in, saying, “I’m so sorry about that,” to me.

  I get the feeling she’s used to apologizing for her husband. I get the feeling this sort of thing isn’t a rare occurrence.

  As desperately as I want to leave, I feel cemented to the spot. I can leave and escape this mess, but Hunter can’t, and that’s all I can think about.

  I don’t know what to do. I want to tell Hunter he can leave, that he can come back to my house if he doesn’t feel safe here. We might have a “no boys allowed” rule, but this goes way beyond that.

  Hunter isn’t safe, and that’s not okay.

  Awkwardness hangs heavy in the air around us, but when I finally gather enough courage to look over at Hunter, he must feel it, because his gaze swings to mine.

  “You can come to my house, if you want to,” I offer. “Me and my mom aren’t doing anything tonight. We can finish our homework there. My mom will make us some dinner, and then we might watch a movie. It would give your mom some privacy to deal with all this.”

  For a moment, he looks tempted, but then his gaze drifts back to the door and I can practically feel the weight of responsibility holding him hostage here. “I can’t,” he finally says. “I have to stay and make sure he doesn’t hurt her.”

  I know it’s his choice, but I want to force him to come with me. “I’m afraid you’re not safe here, Hunter. I… I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he assures me, that same hard-edged defensiveness I saw on the bridge starting to rise up all around him. “I can handle myself.”

  “He’s a grown man, Hunter, he could really hurt you. Clearly, he has anger issues or something, and your mom didn’t protect you, she just distracted him.”

  His gaze whips back to me angrily, protectively. “She’s handling it, okay? Just back off.”

  I shrink back, nodding my head and glancing at his desk to make sure I didn’t forget anything. All that’s left of mine is my copy of Hunger Games, but I leave that for him to read. “All right. Fine,” I say, since I can’t make him leave with me. “I have to go home.”

  He doesn’t say anything right away, just lets me walk toward his door to leave. Before I make it out to the hall, though, he calls out, “Riley.”

  I stop and look back at him. “Yeah?”

  “Remember, you promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

  There’s a sort of desperate vulnerability in his gaze that I would bet isn’t there often.

  He’s afraid I’ll betray his confidence, but I’m afraid I’ve betrayed him more by making that promise in the first place.

  Swallowing down a lump of dread in my throat, I nod my head in acknowledgment. Then, without another word, I escape Hunter’s vicious mansion and practically run back to my small, safe home.

  Chapter Three

  Days pass like they always do, but now I’m worried about Hunter and I have no way of knowing whether or not things are changing for him. He insists his mother is handling the situation and kicking his stepdad out, but that’s not how it looked to me.

  All I want is for him to run up to me the next day at school and assure me his mom has kicked his stepdad out and that vile, awful man won’t be around anymore. I want the problem to go away so I don’t have to keep thinking about that stupid, thoughtless promise I made not to tell Hunter’s secret.

  A secret like this shouldn’t be kept.

  When someone is getting hurt, when someone is in danger…

  Someone needs to intervene, and I’m worried Hunter’s mom isn’t going to.

  He still has faith in her though, so maybe I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong. I hope next time I see him, that weight will be off his shoulders and I won’t have to feel terrible about keeping my mouth shut about his dysfunctional home life.

  Over the next few days, though, Hunter doesn’t say a single word to me. I try to catch his eye a couple times in class or in the cafeteria, but it’s like I don’t exist again.

  I don’t know if I like that he has that power. I don’t know if I like that he dictates whether or not I exist on a whim, that he can show me attention and fill me up with butterflies and nervous energy, or he can ignore me right out of existence. What’s worse is I don’t know why he does it. Is it because he’s afraid of what I know about him? Or is it just because he’s a jerk?

  I spend entirely too much time thinking about it, and clearly he spends no time at all thinking about me.

  Thursday at lunch, I’m sitting where I always sit, in the cafeteria on the emptier side of one of the long tables with my best friend, Sara. Since we became friends in first grade, the only time we don’t sit together is when one of us is out sick. Sara misses more school than I do, so normally I’m the one who ends up alone, but today both of us stare wistfully at the cool table.

  Sara, because she has a massive crush on one of the basketball players, Wally Kazinsky. Me, because, well, that’s where Hunter sits. I’m not saying I have a crush on Hunter, but I’m definitely preoccupied by him.

  “You know how you can just tell that some guys will be really handsome older men?” Sara asks suddenly.

  I glance over at her in question.

  Nodding decisively, she says, “You can just tell Wally will be so handsome when he gets older. I mean, he’s so handsome now, but he always will be. You can just tell.”

  I adore Sara, but I don’t understand why she likes Wally so much. He hardly knows she exists, and not in the way Hunter sort of pretends I don’t exist—I doubt Wally even knows her name.

  I’ve also heard about her obsession with him for so long, I struggle to show continued interest in her repeated Wally talking points. “Yeah, probably,” I offer, glancing down and picking at the offerings on my plate. Some cold fries and a truly mediocre chicken patty sandwich.

  Giving up on trying to muster any enthusiasm for my meal, I push the tray away and pull my can of fruit punch in front of me. It’s not food, but I need something in my stomach to hold me over until I get home from school.

  “We should be studying for our science quiz instead of wasting our time looking at boys who don’t know we exist,” I tell Sara.

  Her gaze drifts back to me, but at that, she looks bored. “Why? It’s going to be so
easy.”

  For her, maybe. Sara is a science whiz, but I am far from it. “Then you should give me all the answers,” I joke.

  “And Wally totally knows I exist,” she tells me, her dark eyebrows rising. “The other day at recess, he looked at me.”

  I heard that story the other day, and the day after that, and again on the phone over the weekend.

  “Like, really looked,” she says knowingly.

  Sara is adorable, and I think he’s a fool not to look at her since she’s so head over heels for him, but he doesn’t. She’s a thin, petite girl with chin-length brown hair and stylish black-framed glasses. She’s a science geek though, and Wally is a shallow, popular jock, so honestly, unless she starts sashaying around in one of the short skirts the cheerleaders wear on Fridays, Wally will never notice her.

  Then again, I would have said the same thing about Hunter Maxwell not so long ago, and just a couple days ago I was at his house, in his bedroom.

  The thought makes me blush, then bums me out since he’s ignoring me now.

  “You never know,” I tell her, shrugging. “Maybe he’s finally realizing his life would be way better with someone as awesome as you in it.”

  Sara beams at me, then darts a look over her shoulder in his direction. Turning back to face me, she sighs happily. “He totally is. It’s fate.”

  I flash her a smile and take a sip of my fruit punch.

  Lunch eventually ends and we all make our way outside to recess. All recess really is, is a bunch of people standing around talking to their own friends. When we were kids we all played together, but now that we have our own social circles, that’s where we stay.

  Me and Sara, though, we’re the entirety of our circle. It’s stupid and unfair, but Sara doesn’t have many other friends, and none but me that hang out with her outside of class. She never has, not since Valerie Johnson snubbed her in first grade.

  That’s how we became friends, actually. Every year, Valerie Johnson (the most popular girl in our grade) hosts a sleepover at her house. Each year, it gets more and more exclusive, and there are rumors going around that this year, she’s going to have boys there. Hunter and Wally are at the top of the rumored guest list, which bums Sara out for a lot of reasons.