“Is that how you feel about the stuff with your mom and dad?” I ask quietly.
He jerks his head toward me and looks at me hard, his blue eyes flashing betrayal. I inhale sharply, shocked by his intensity.
“I’m talking about Bandit, okay?” he says.
I nod quickly.
“God, Ricki Jo!” he says, standing up and turning away. “It’s like I’ve said a million times: I don’t wanna talk about it. But hey! Here we are again, you trying to talk about it. So, okay, you wanna talk about how I feel? Let’s do it. My dad’s a drunk and a jackass. I get it. And you get it. End of story. Jesus Christ!”
He rams his foot into the gravel drive and a few rocks fly out into the yard. I feel stupid. Awful. I have asked a million times about his dad, his momma, his feelings. He never wants to talk about it, never opens up. And I don’t know; it just doesn’t make sense to me, living like that—living with that. I would want to talk about it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He turns around to face me, his arms cocked back behind his head. He lets them fall and exhales loudly—it’s as if he’s deflating right here in front of me. His head hangs, his shoulders droop. He nudges the gravel around a little with the toe of his boot, sniffs, and spits.
“Me, too,” he says, almost a whisper.
I watch him for the next few minutes, digging a hole in the back lot. Steadily, he digs.
I finally stand up and walk over to him. I lean in so that our arms and sides are pressed together, and he leans into the contact. We stay like that for a few seconds, until he pushes a little harder and I push back—until we’re smiling half smiles and breathing steady breaths. With the side of my tennis shoe I knock his rock pile over, refilling the emptiness he’s created in the back lot, moving the stones back a few at a time.
When I stomp the last of the gravel back in place, Luke speaks, softly.
“I killed one,” he reminds me.
I look up at his face, at his deep anguish, and see his eyes searching mine, asking me things he won’t let himself say out loud: if he’s a good person, if any of this is his fault. I think about what would’ve happened to Bandit if Luke hadn’t come over. My heart hurts again, and I put my arms around him and hug tightly. I scratch his back lightly, press the side of my face against his still bare chest, and cry for us both.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“This is one of those days when I wish my mom would let me wear makeup,” I say. Luke and I are waiting to get off the school bus, and I realize now that checking myself out in the gigantic mirror the driver uses to keep us all in check was not a good idea. My eyes are bloodshot and really puffy underneath. Even though the vet told us that Bandit’s outlook is more positive than negative, I’ve cried myself to sleep the last two nights in a row, which I’m pretty sure would be a Seventeen magazine Beauty Don’t.
“I think you look all right,” Luke says, climbing down the stairs.
I don’t usually care for liars, but I have a sudden appreciation for the value of the little white lie and give Luke a small, grateful smile.
We cross the back parking lot quickly and, as the first bell rings, we join the foot traffic, heading off to our respective homerooms. I wanted to play hooky today, but my parents said that “moping won’t help Bandit” and “school will be a good distraction.” Actually, I have a Spanish test today and I’m not feeling very preparado; plus, I sleepwalked my way through my science lab last night, which is not encouraging. So school is less of a distraction and more like a whole new form of stress, since the balloons under my eyes will probably prompt people to ask me what’s wrong all day long.
“It’s gonna be a hard day.” I sigh, and Luke nods.
We weave through the hallways and I use him as a shield so I can duck into Mrs. Wilkes’s room unseen. I’m anxious to be alone, and unable to pretend to care about anything other than Bandit. I put my head down and soak up the next five quiet minutes. Then, when the bell rings again, I sit up and brace myself for what will probably be a very long day.
“Oh my gosh, Ericka!” Mackenzie says, rushing toward me. She sets her books on the table and sits down next to me as our homeroom fills up. “I heard about your dog. I am so sorry. Are you okay?”
I shake my head, surprised. “You heard?”
I almost don’t believe her. I mean, she didn’t call me this weekend or anything. How could she have heard?
“Yeah,” she replies. “Mr. Whitman told us when he got back from the vet. It must’ve been awful.”
Mackenzie is rubbing my arm and looks genuinely concerned.
“You knew?” I ask again, incredulous. “Why didn’t you call?”
Mackenzie opens her mouth, but has no response. I wait. Her mouth twitches.
“Oh my god, Ericka!” Sarah says, rushing into homeroom and sitting down at our table with Kimi and Laura. “My dad said your dog might die! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I went down and looked at your four-wheeler, and it was covered in blood,” Kimi adds. “Disgusting.”
I look around at their faces and feel what can only be described as betrayal. “Wait a minute,” I begin. “So, you all knew. And none of you called?”
The other girls freeze up, much like Mackenzie did a few moments ago, and have nothing to say. Not “I’m sorry, Ericka,” or “I suck,” or “I lost all the feeling in my fingers and couldn’t dial a telephone.” Nothing!
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. In fact, I can’t believe what I’m not hearing. They knew. Mr. Whitman told them. All of them.
Wait, Mr. Whitman told all of them?
“So you had a party?” I ask Sarah. “And you were all there? Just down the road from my house?”
And I wasn’t invited.
“Well, it was a last-minute thing,” Sarah says uneasily.
And just like that, a lightbulb goes on over my head. They’re back to being the Fab Four, with no room for a fifth, for a country girl whose folks aren’t members of the country club, who doesn’t have a cell phone, who hasn’t hit anything close to a growth spurt, who can’t even do a back handspring.
“Are you—” Mackenzie breaks off, worried, then continues. “Are you okay?”
I look at this girl and feel the most hurt by her, the one I thought I knew best. My “BFF.”
“No, Mackenzie,” I say, letting her see all the pain in my eyes. “I am not okay. My dog has not recovered from his surgery. He may not live, and if he does, he will never be the same. My heart is breaking. I cried myself to sleep the last two nights. And you knew, all along, and you never called.”
Mackenzie looks as though she might say something, but then shakes her head and gulps hard. She just stares at me, almost pleadingly, looking like she feels awful.
I hope she feels awful.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says quietly.
I put my head down on my arms and shut them all out.
“Hello, ladies,” Wolf says, making his daily loud entrance, slamming his books on the table. The noise jars me but I keep my head down. He’s just one more person I don’t want anything to do with today.
“Did anybody get the science lab?” he asks.
I hear the other girls murmur and shuffle some papers, but no one offers the homework up to Wolf. Despite myself, I’m proud of them for keeping their work to themselves. Maybe it really was a onetime thing.
“Ericka,” Wolf says. “Hello?”
He ruffles my hair and I sit up quickly to get out of his reach. I smooth my hair back down and shoot him a killer look, my eyes daggers. “Stop.”
“Whoa! What’s up with your face?” he asks.
“Please. Not today,” I say, defeated.
“Did you get beat up or something? Fight somebody?”
I roll my eyes and put my head down.
“No, no, okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “Late night, whatever. But Ericka, seriously. Did you get the science lab?”
“Yes,” I say into
my arms, the sound muffled. “Why? Did you suddenly have a change of morals?”
He chuckles. “Me? No. But I thought you might want to help out your friends.”
I look up at the other girls and realize that they all have their science labs out but not one of them has anything filled in. I shake my head, completely stunned. I got through my homework between sobs and thoughts of my dying dog, but I guess parties at Sarah’s house take a lot out of a gal. I look at each of them in turn, and only Mackenzie can’t meet my gaze, although the others are squirmy.
“Unbelievable,” I say, shaking my head in disgust, surprising Wolf and obviously putting a major kink in the girls’ plans to borrow my homework again. I put my head back down.
“Okay, gang,” Mrs. Wilkes says. “When I call your name, come up to my desk to pick up your school pictures. Morning announcements were short, so if you can keep the noise to a mild roar, I’ll give you the rest of homeroom to cut out the wallets I’m sure you’re dying to swap. I’ve got a lot of scissors up here, but remember your kindergarten days: Share, and don’t run with them.”
Great. School photos. Usually this is a really fun day. I mean, you never know how your picture is going to turn out, but I like passing them out and collecting them from my friends. Unfortunately, I’m a bit limited in the friends department… especially today.
When I return to my desk and look at my picture, I find I’m actually pleased at the way it came out. My eyes are open, my smile is braces-free, my curls are full and frizzless (thanks to the tips I got from the “Wild, Yet Tame” article in Seventeen), and I love my outfit. Mackenzie and Laura are furiously working on their science labs while Kimi and Sarah are going gaga over their own pictures. Wolf is smugly cutting wallet-sized photos of himself from his photo sheet. I hesitate, then grab the other pair of scissors to start on mine. At least Luke will want one.
“Ericka,” Kimi says, “here’s mine. Can I have one of you?”
I look over at her with a smirk, not willing to trade a two-by-three photo for my homework.
“Oh, me, too!” Sarah joins in. “I want one of all the girls. Our little exclusive club.”
She and Kimi giggle. “The W’s!”
I look at them, bewildered. Didn’t they forget to invite me to a slumber party a couple miles away? Didn’t they know about my dying dog and not call me? Weren’t they just ready to use me for my science lab? It’s like none of that affects their view of the Fab Five—like it’s up to me how long I want to be mad.
I choose to be mad for a while. I deserve to be mad for a while.
But not forever.
“Wait! First put your name on it, and the year,” Kimi demands. “We’re gonna think these are so funny when we’re seniors.”
I cut out a couple more photos and turn them over, scrawling my name and the date on the backs. I stay quiet; I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I’m still mad.
Sarah and Kimi slide pictures over to me, and then to Wolf and the other girls. I pass around my photos, too. I’m starting to feel a smidge better—well, more like a sliver of a smidge, really. Mackenzie and Laura get into the photo-day excitement and give up on science. It’s actually cool looking at everybody’s pics. Mackenzie looks like a knockout, as usual. Laura and Sarah love theirs, too, and Kimi is being a sport, even though she’s a little upset about a long flyaway in her normally perfect bob.
“Wolf, let’s see ’em,” Kimi says.
He grins and picks up his stack of photos. Then he clears his throat dramatically and starts talking like an old game show host.
“Hmmm,” he says. “First, to Miss Minnesota. We’re all so glad you came to Preston County High.”
Ugh! I hate it, but my heart deflates. I’m new, too!
He passes a pic to Mackenzie. As it slides past me, I notice he’s wearing that killer white polo that brings out the natural tan of his skin. Just looking at his pic, at that patented smile, makes me want to pick it up and kiss it a million times.
“Then, to Kimi, for your lovely curves,” he says, and I nearly gag. Gross.
“Laura and Sarah, here you go, my beauties. Enjoy.”
All the girls laugh at his creepy little game, but then he tucks his pictures into his shirt pocket and looks up at the clock.
What? Wait, what about me?
“Hey, Wolf,” Mackenzie says, “what about Ericka?”
I look down, trying to act uninterested.
“She doesn’t get one,” he says.
Wow. I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing. His words bounce around my head, a constant echo: She doesn’t get one. She doesn’t get one. She doesn’t get one.
“Wolf!” they all protest in unison.
I honestly can’t believe it. I feel ridiculous. I hadn’t expected this day to get worse in only the first fifteen minutes. I tuck my picture folder in my backpack and wait for the bell.
“Are you serious?” Sarah asks him.
The bell rings, and not a moment too soon.
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he says, his grin set to super evil. “I gotta ration these babies out.”
He pats his shirt pocket and I breeze past him, chin up, as if he doesn’t exist. But I want to pull the tiny pictures out of his pocket and slide them all over his beautiful face, paper cutting his ego in half.
“Thought you might want backup,” Luke says quietly. I toss him a grateful smile and bend down to get the books I need.
“Hey, Luke,” I hear Wolf say. “I just want to say I’m sorry to hear about your dad, man.”
I look up in shock.
“Ah, yeah, it’s all good,” Luke says, trying to brush it off. His father’s story was in last week’s paper, like we knew it would be, but at least it didn’t make the front page. Luckily, the city council is thinking about working with the government on a bypass highway, which is way bigger news.
“I read it last week, but I haven’t really seen you,” Wolf continues, putting out his hand. “At least he’s okay, though, right? Could’ve been a lot worse than a broken leg, huh?”
Luke nods and shakes Wolf’s hand. I look at them, feeling angry at myself because every time I want to hate Wolf, he does something human and I warm to him again. He’s such a jerk, most of the time, but deep down, he’s a good guy. I know he is. Every now and then, in moments like right now, he can’t hide it.
“Here, man,” Wolf says, pulling out a wallet pic for Luke.
I don’t believe it.
“Uh, thanks,” Luke says, obviously feeling awkward. He slides the photo into one of his books without even giving it a glance.
“Ericka,” I hear and look in the direction of the sound, grateful for the distraction. Luke scoots toward Wolf a little as Mark works his way over to me.
“Later, man,” I hear Wolf say as he saunters off, snapping right back into jock mode.
Mark leans down and puts his hand on my back. “Listen, Mackenzie just told me about your dog.” He squats next to me and moves his hand up to my shoulder. “I am so sorry to hear that. If you need anything, if I can do anything, let me know, okay?”
I gulp. And nod. Mark Watts is a good guy a hundred percent of the time.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Picture,” he responds.
My confusion must be evident on my face because he starts to turn red.
“Uh, no, sorry,” he says. “Here, I don’t know if you want one, but I don’t know that many people yet, and—here’s a school picture.”
“Oh,” I say, giggling. He says something stupid, the Seventeen voice in my head reminds me. “Here’s one of me, too. We’ll probably laugh at these when we’re seniors.”
He chuckles, stands up, and starts to walk away. Then… he looks back! He always does the “look back.” I grin and put the last book in my bag, stand up, close my locker, and look at Luke. He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his right eyebrow up high.
“I don’t like him like that,” I say.
“S
ure,” Luke teases as we walk off.
“Hi, Luke!” Laura shouts, holding a picture out to him before we get very far.
He gives her a nod and takes the picture. Just like with Wolf’s, he puts it in his book without looking at it. Then—and this looks painful—he pulls one of his own from his back jeans pocket and hands it over to his very cute, very bubbly, and very obvious admirer.
“Oh, it’s really good,” Laura gushes, looking down at the wallet-sized version of her blond-haired, blue-eyed crush… totally absorbed and basically ignoring the real thing towering over her as she turns to stick it in her locker.
“See ya,” Luke says quickly, seizing the opportunity to grab my arm and jerk me along with him, working our way back into hallway traffic. I cock my own eyebrow and smirk up at him.
“I don’t like her like that,” he says, mocking me.
“Sure,” I tease, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
It’s funny how Luke is with girls. I mean, Laura is cute and really nice (even though we’re kind of in a fight right now), but he acts like a girl liking him is more of a hassle than anything else. I don’t know; maybe it’s all timing or something. Like I would like Mark if I weren’t hung up on Wolf… which is totally annoying.
“Why can’t I like good guys, like Mark?” I wonder aloud.
“ ’Cause good guys finish last,” Luke states.
“Then what’s the incentive to be a good guy?” I ask.
Luke drapes his long arm around me and looks down. “Good guys get awesome best friends,” he says, and we laugh. I put my arm around his waist and we walk to first period. Thank God for Luke.
“Is he okay?” Candace asks before Spanish class starts, as we wait for the final bell.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I can’t stop thinking about Bandit, and I can’t stop thinking about the Gumbels. I want to toilet paper their house or shoot it up with paint balls or have them arrested. I expected all this sadness, but I am surprised by the anger. I am really angry.
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