My Name Is Rowan: The Complete Rowan Slone Trilogy

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  “Slow down, Rowan. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  I devoured a piece of bacon.

  “Rowan!”

  “What?” I demanded, mouth full.

  “Quit eating so fast!”

  “I’m losing weight again. I’m too skinny.”

  She yanked the plate away from me mid-bite. “Eat like a civilized human being.”

  I took a swig of orange juice and motioned for her to return the plate, which she did. Then I slowly eased my fork down, scooped up the eggs and transferred the food to my mouth. It was far more difficult to eat this breakfast than I’d ever admit.

  “How’s that?” I tried to tone down the sarcasm.

  Gran forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Better. Are you trying to lose weight? You don’t need to get any skinnier.”

  “Just busy. I am working and going to school, you know.”

  “Is that all?” Her hand went to her hip.

  “Yes. That’s all. I promise. I don’t like when I get thin. I look like a skeleton.”

  “You don’t look like a skeleton. But I don’t want to see you getting skinnier. You’ll have me to answer to if you do.”

  “Okay, okay.” I shoved in another spoonful, choking it down. Then I jumped up, grabbed my bag and an apple that I would never eat, and went to the door. “Are you staying here today?”

  “I’ll clean up then head out.”

  I nodded and left. “Bye, boy,” I called to Levi who sat along the side of the house, watching me. I hopped in the car and went to school.

  THE FIRST warning bell clanged through the parking lot. My feet felt heavy as I started toward school. Mike was probably in there. He’d be in biology class later. There was a chance we’d have to pair off and work on our reports. Or the teacher would lecture the entire time–here’s hoping–and there wouldn’t be a minute to spare. If I was careful, I might be able to make it through the day without interacting with him.

  But, standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against a guardrail, was Mike watching me walk toward the school. If my feet felt heavy a minute ago now they were concrete-laden bowling balls.

  Mike and I were nothing, though. He owed me nothing. I was just a delusional little twit. Who was I to think he could like me as anything more than friends?

  Since there was no other entrance, I heaved my bag over my shoulder and stomped ahead.

  He pushed off the guardrail. “I need to talk to you.” His features were hardened somehow, with none of the light teasing and flirty smile that was usually there.

  I pushed past him, my vision blurred with rage and tears. “You must have mistaken me for the other Slone sister. I’m not the one you knocked-up.” As the words tumbled off my tongue they felt foreign, not right.

  “Rowan, stop!” He grabbed my arm.

  “What?” I yanked away. “What do you want from me?” My tone dripped acid. How could I have been so stupid?

  “Rowan, it’s not what it seems.”

  “Bye, Mike.” I ran up the stairs.

  “It’s not mine, Rowan!”

  I didn’t stop.

  “She’s lying!”

  I was already through the large metal doors and running down the hall, his words trailing me like a disease. It’s not mine, Rowan. She’s lying!

  I darted into chemistry class out of breath and panting. I slid into my seat just as Mr. Stewart was handing back our last test. He paused by my desk, lingering a moment too long, but I didn’t look up.

  I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and took a deep breath. When I turned the test over, I saw a perfect score reflected at me in blaring red ink. I should’ve felt better, but I didn’t.

  I sat through social studies where the teacher lectured on goodness knows what. I didn’t hear a word she said because the next class I had was biology. I did not want to see Mike. I knew, for sure, he could see it written all over my face: little mousy girl had a crush on him, poor thing. She must not have realized he preferred her voluptuous sister.

  Damn him. Damn her.

  When the bell rang, I snuck into the girls’ bathroom and stayed there through the entire third period, taking deep, antiseptic-infused breaths. I had never skipped class. Never. Getting into college was too important. But today, well, today was today. And today didn’t play by the rules, so I wouldn’t either.

  To keep my thoughts off things I didn’t want to think about, I pulled out the novel we were going to start reading for English class: Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky. From page one, I was drawn to the dark tone and the psychological workings of Raskolnikov. It was a good way to spend fifty minutes, even if it was in the stall of the girls’ bathroom with itchy fingers eager to slice, and an unsettled stomach ready to get rid of all that breakfast I’d eaten.

  When the bell clanged, I shoved the book in my bag. The bathroom filled with girls glossing and teasing, or filing into stalls. I flushed the empty toilet and washed my hands at the sink, keeping my head low, not that anyone was paying attention.

  Then I slipped into the throng of students, grateful for once that I was small enough to pass unseen. But then I heard his voice. Somewhere. Not near me but close enough.

  I turned and slipped into the crowd going the other way. Without even bothering to go to my locker, I followed that crowd and took the long way to my next class.

  Jess and I had English together, but she wasn’t in there today. She’d texted something about having cramps and staying home. Her attendance record was as poor as my tardy record, but she didn’t care. Her dad didn’t seem like someone who cared either.

  As promised, my English teacher introduced us to Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I sat in the back of the classroom with the novel open, urging my mind to reenter Raskolnikov’s world and stay for just a little while longer out of mine.

  I DIDN’T see Mike the rest of the day. And when the final bell rang, I darted to my car, my insides ready to pour out of me after keeping it together for so long.

  By the time I slammed my car door shut tears had already started and were streaming down my face like a waterfall. There were two thoughts getting equal billing in my head: Trina’s evil-eyed glare as she pronounced Mike the father of her unborn child, and Mike’s serious, stern stare as he said: It’s not mine, Rowan. It’s not mine.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and sped down the road. I was going to work. And to Dan.

  DAN SAT behind his desk in his closet-sized, personal office talking on the phone about wholesale versus retail value on a midsized pickup truck that had been sitting on the lot for two months.

  He was running his hairy hand over the thinning spot on his head. I wanted to tell him not to do that; that it may hurry along the balding process. But I had never really cared enough. Today, though, I may tell him.

  When he saw me he didn’t wave, smile, shoo me away. He stared at me unblinking as he listened to someone on the other end. Except behind his gaze was a look, an emotion, a want that made me gulp and have to clear my throat.

  I turned away and started cleaning the mess that had accumulated since Mrs. Ames left this afternoon. He said goodbye to the person on the phone and I heard him get up from his chair. He walked into the outer office, a heavy sigh preceding him.

  “Is everything okay?” I made my voice sound sweet.

  He moved to my side. “Yeah. I can’t seem to get rid of that truck. It’s killing me.”

  I faced him and put my hand on my slender hip, pushing it out in a hopefully provocative way. “That’s okay. I’m sure something will come up. You can always take it to an auction.”

  His eyes traveled over my body. “Yep. That’s right. But I could use a better sale than what I’ll get at the auction. Business hasn’t been that good lately.”

  I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “True. But it’ll be okay. It’s almost summer and everyone around here loves a pickup truck in the summer. You’ll sell it.”

  He scanned my face as if
searching for a hint, an answer to an unasked question. Something was different; he just couldn’t figure out what.

  “So,” I started, ready to give him a helping hand. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yeah?” He tilted his head. “About what?”

  “About your proposition. You know. About going out. You got my text, right?”

  He slid an inch closer. “Yeah. I got it.” His voice fell deeper, huskier, though I’m not sure I’d ever heard anything husky before. But if husky had a sound his tone would’ve been it.

  “Yeah. You know. Let’s give it a try.” I pulled out a tube of lip gloss that I’d stolen from Trina’s makeup bag and swiped it across my lips.

  I resisted the urge to lick my lips. Trina would’ve licked hers. And I had to force myself not to take a step back as he moved closer.

  He put his hand over my hand which was back on my jutted-out hip, lip gloss discarded on the counter.

  “That sounds great.” His face was bending toward mine, his lips getting closer. I swallowed hard, but I didn’t move back.

  The door swung open. Our heads turned at the same time to find Jess glaring at Dan. He dropped his hand from my waist and darted into his office.

  “What the hell was that?”

  I waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. Nothing.” My shoulders fell forward and I felt this day would never, ever end.

  “That sure looked like something to me, Ro. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Jess. Let it go.” I wasn’t even completely sure what was going on.

  She yanked off her glasses and started cleaning them on the hem of her gray sweater, fast and furious. “Why is he touching you? Was he getting ready to kiss you?” She thrust her glasses back on her face.

  He was getting ready to kiss me. Or at least it seemed that way. Is that really what I wanted?

  Before I could linger on that question, Jess continued, “Rowan, he’s an old man!”

  “Not that much older than Paul,” I spat.

  My nerves felt frayed, raw. This was my best friend. And we were fighting over Dan. Dan. My creepy boss. But somehow that knowledge didn’t make me back down from her glare. Or admit that I felt so lost right then that I would’ve done anything to feel better…wanted…alive.

  Her jaw clenched. “Do not compare the two of them. That man is a creep!” Her voice was low but her words were lethal, full of knives.

  I slammed my hands on the counter. “It’s no different and you know it. There is no difference between Paul and Dan.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Ro.”

  I stormed into Dan’s office, slamming the door behind me. Dan was back on the phone, and I leaned against the door, trying to calm my breath.

  Jess and I had never argued. Never. But it had been such a bad day. Such a bad day.

  The tears started deep in the back of my throat and worked their way upward, threatening to spill over and drown me in my own sorrow. I grabbed my backpack and just left.

  I dug my nails into my arm, oblivious of the pain. It wasn’t until I rubbed off the scab and blood soaked through my shirt that I stopped. I drove home, climbed through my window and wept into Scout’s tiny back.

  My phone dinged several text messages, but I didn’t check a single one.

  IF A zombie had infiltrated my body overnight, I would’ve felt more alive. Hollow, yet weighed down at the same time. Empty, yet full of so much something, I could barely sit up in bed.

  It was another night spent with little sleep. Shutting off my mind was not an ability I had. Nor was shutting off my feelings. So I had studied. Again.

  Tonight Mike and I would have to see each other to work on our report. Mr. Chambers was not known for being flexible and understanding so asking to switch partners was not an option. In fact, knowing his reputation for being the surliest teacher in the county, he’d move us into our own private room to complete the rest of the school year doing independent study. No one but the two of us. Not an option.

  I forced my socked feet down the hall and into the shower. Today I had to talk to Jess. I couldn’t lose the only friend I had.

  Trina’s door was closed and so was Mom’s. I hadn’t seen either one of them yesterday, which wasn’t unusual, at least in Mom’s case. I stopped by Trina’s door but there was no sound. Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe the pregnancy was making her more tired than usual.

  I flattened my palm against the cheap wood of her door then rested my forehead against it. My little sister. My used-to-be-so-sweet little sister. How had it come to this?

  Then I thought about her and Mike together, and I shoved away from her door and stumbled into the bathroom.

  I LOOKED for Jess in the parking lot but her bus sat along the curb, empty of the students. She hadn’t waited for me.

  My legs barely carried me into school. If I were a ghost, I wouldn’t have felt more invisible as I walked down the hall. I couldn’t feel anything anchoring me to this world, to my life. Would I just float away one day? Just disappear into the atmosphere? And would anyone even notice?

  I was supposed to check-in with Miss J. Or was that yesterday? I didn’t feel like talking to her so I got my books and meandered my way through the day like I’d been drugged, sliced open, then re-sewn with nothing but cotton filling my insides.

  Finally, it was noon. I had skipped biology again and now the day was half over. If it wasn’t the longest day of my life it was pretty darn close. Instead of taking my lunch break, I went to the library. I slid into a cubicle and let my head fall against the cold, smooth surface.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  My head flew up to find Mike’s face, with cheeks red and eyes bright, staring down at me. He pulled up a chair from the next desk and scooted so close our knees touched.

  “You don’t need to talk to me. You need to talk to Trina.”

  I scooted my own chair back, but he stopped it with his foot.

  “Rowan, please.”

  I stared at him, trying to turn my former cotton filling into steel. But it didn’t work. Those green eyes, as dark as pine, were my undoing.

  “Fine,” I barked. “What is it? Why do you need to talk to me?”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Then why would she say it is?” This shouldn’t be so painful. Mike was nothing to me. It shouldn’t matter if he had sex with my sister. And got her pregnant. It just shouldn’t matter.

  He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. Dark circles lined his eyes and he looked pale, like he hadn’t slept last night. Or the night before.

  “I don’t know. I mean. We have never…done anything!”

  I stared at him. “You haven’t…done anything? You didn’t have sex with my sister and get her pregnant?”

  “No!” he said.

  Mrs. Grey shushed us from her desk across the room.

  He leaned into my ear. I could smell his cologne and a faint trace of hair gel. “I have never had sex with your sister so I certainly didn’t get her pregnant!”

  “You’re lying!” But my voice lacked the conviction.

  He seemed to sense it too because he held my gaze, making me falter even more.

  I leaned toward him. “Then who did?”

  “I can tell you for sure it wasn’t me. Look, I’ve wanted to ask you out all year; at least since I broke up with my ex-girlfriend. I wouldn’t go and mess it up by having sex with your sister!”

  My mouth dropped open. Was he lying? Was Trina? With sharp angles forming every word I spoke, I said, “Then why would she say you were the father? Answer me that.” It wasn’t difficult to make my words hateful. The mere thought of Mike and Trina together was enough to do that.

  He put his hand under the desk and covered my knee. “I don’t know. That baby is not mine. If she’s even pregnant! Knowing your sister’s reputation, it could be anyone’s. But it’s not mine.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and tried to will my leg not to shake. His hand was large, more t
han covering my skinny knee. And it was warm. Solid. Yet soft.

  “I wouldn’t mess around with your sister when you are the only Slone girl I’m interested in.”

  My breath refused to move.

  “I’ve asked you two once to be quiet. This is study hall not social hour.” The pinched face of Mrs. Grey peered at us over the rim of her bifocals. “If I have to tell you again, you will be given a detention slip.”

  Then the bell rang. I stood, my hands shaking so bad it took two tries to get a grip on my bag while Mike waited. He held the door open for me and we made our way into the hall. I kept my head down as Mike steered me through the crowd toward a corner, his hand swallowing my own.

  “Look,” he said. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I mean, leave?”

  “Leave now?”

  “I just have health. I can miss it. Coach is the teacher. What’s yours?”

  “Spanish. Trig.”

  “Please tell me you can miss it? Please, Rowan.”

  I leaned against the cool, tile wall. Mike hovered over me, one hand pressed against the wall by my head. Could I miss Spanish? I had an ‘A’ in the class. There were no absences on my record. If I had less than three absences in a class the entire year, I would be given an extra point on my final grade. And since I hadn’t missed any, maybe I could miss just this one. The same was true with trig.

  But more than that, the thought of spending one more moment in this school felt infinitely worse than being stuck in a dryer on the hottest setting. I needed air. And I wanted to hear what Mike had to say.

  “Let’s go.” I wouldn’t do this again.

  It was a sunny day and warm for April. I pulled my hoodie off, careful not to let my long-sleeved shirt ride up my arm.

  We moved toward our cars, parked near each other.

  “Your ride or mine?” he asked.

  “Mine. I have to be back in time for work.” I shuddered at the thought.

  “I have practice that I can’t miss, but let’s just get out of here for a little while.”

  Never had I heard a better idea.