He pulled off his silly square hat and cupped my jawline, tilting his head and pressing his lips on mine. He didn't bother to begin with his mouth closed. He consumed me, his fear and relief evident in every passionate brush of his tongue against mine. He didn't ask for more promises or for me to change schools. He'd only needed the assurance that I was as scared as he was because love was wonderfully terrifying.
Weston pulled his cap back onto his head and inhaled, deep and slow, as if it were the first time he'd breathed in weeks.
"I'm sorry," he said to me.
Peter and Veronica walked in, looking relieved to see their son more relaxed.
"I'm sorry," he said to his parents. "It just hit me this morning before the sun even came up. But it just kept getting darker. The closer it got, the worse I felt." He touched the silver chain he saw peeking from my gown, and then he pulled the heart-shaped trinket from its hiding place.
"This is the beginning, not the end," I said.
Veronica held Weston's tassel, the corners of her mouth cautiously turning upward. I wasn't sure how much of our conversation she had heard, but she could see Weston was in an exponentially better mood.
"Don't forget this," she said, fastening it onto the top button of his cap.
"Everything okay then?" Peter asked. When Weston nodded, Peter jingled his keys. "Let's roll. The grandparents are waiting."
Weston rode with his parents to the high school, and I rode with mine. The Gates and the Alderman families met in the parking lot, and Weston and I walked toward the vocal room while our parents met Weston's grandparents in the auditorium.
Once inside, Weston chatted with his baseball and football buddies, holding my hand, while I listened to the excited banter of everyone else filling the room. Seniors hugged, and some of the girls dabbed their eyes with tissue, careful not to smear their mascara. Everyone was happy, maybe the happiest I'd ever seen them.
Mrs. Pyles approached me with her signature beaming smile and bright blue eyes. "Look at you!" she said. "Are you nervous?"
"Not really," I said.
"You're going to be one of the first ones to walk."
"Oh. Will they say Alderman?"
"I think so."
I hadn't thought about that. It might be weird for so many to hear the name Erin Alderman over the PA when the Erin Alderman they knew had passed away.
"Would you rather them say Easter? I can let them know."
"Maybe you could ask them to say Erin Easter Alderman?" I said, not sure if that was the right thing to do either.
"You bet." Mrs. Pyles winked. "I'll just go take care of that now."
I nodded. "Thank you."
Before she could get too far, I tugged on her cardigan. She turned and then stiffened as I gave her a hug. It was unexpected but not unwelcome.
"For everything. Thank you."
She hugged me back. "You're welcome, sweet pea. I'm just so darn happy for you." After a sweet grin, she spun on her heels and continued to the auditorium.
Brendan, Brady, Micah, and Andrew stood together in the corner of the room. Brady's eyes were no longer swollen, but the bruising was still obvious with purple splotches that had just begun to turn yellow in a few spots. I figured all traces of his run-in with Weston would vanish within a couple of weeks.
The senior class adviser, Mrs. Hunter, could barely be seen in the crowd, but her voice boomed across the room. "Okay, all! Time to line up!"
Just as we'd practiced on Friday morning, all eighty-four members of our senior class somehow organized themselves into alphabetical order without much confusion. The exciting hum grew louder as we settled into our places. Brady was just five spots away from me, but it was easy to pretend he wasn't there. With Kiki Abrams on one side of me and Charlena Arnt on the other, I was kept occupied with conversation.
Kiki gingerly patted the corner of her eye. "I can't believe I'm so emotional. I didn't think it would bother me, and all I've done today is cry."
"Not me," Charlena said. "Get me the hell out of here."
I smiled, glad to hear I wasn't the only one who felt that way.
The band began to play, and the room quieted down. Kiki followed Mrs. Hunter through the double exterior doors. The sun was already hot, beating down on us, but it felt like liberation to me. We walked in a line down the south sidewalk to the lobby entrance of the auditorium. The line circled around until we were all inside the glorious air-conditioning, and then we waited again for our cue to walk inside.
I looked for Weston, and once our eyes met, he waved at me and winked. I waved back, feeling strange to be around so many of our classmates without him near me.
Mrs. Hunter and Coach Morris swept open the doors, and we walked down the aisle to the front six rows that had been roped off for us. Before I sat in the front row, I saw Sam's and Julianne's hands poking up from the sea of heads, waving to me. I waved back and took my seat.
A few moments later, a familiar voice whispered in my ear, "Hi, gorgeous. What are you doing later?"
Immediately, I felt at ease. Weston was sitting right behind me.
"Whatever you're doing," I whispered back.
He touched his lips to the skin just behind my ear, and then I could hear him settling back into his seat.
"So cute," Kiki said with a knowing smile.
Principal Bringham was introduced, and after a lot of talking by a lot of people, our school song, and the speeches given by the valedictorian and salutatorian, the superintendent and principal took their places. With a microphone in his hand, Coach Morris headed toward the sound booth in the back of the auditorium, getting ready to call names. I stood with the first row of students, and we lined up at the base of the stairs leading to the stage.
"Laura Kathryn 'Kiki' Abrams," Coach Morris's voice called over the PA.
The crowd erupted into applause with several people yelling various cheers. For half a second, I wondered if the room would get awkwardly silent after my name was called, but the thought didn't have enough time to linger.
"Erin Easter Alderman."
After a short pause that was clearly surprise at the name that had been called, the room broke into applause, and both Sam and Weston stood to yell for me.
"Way to go!" Sam said.
Julianne snapped a dozen pictures.
"Woo! Erin!" Weston called. "Good job, babe!"
I climbed the stairs, shook Principal Bringham's hand, and then crossed the stage to the superintendent. I shook with my right hand and took my diploma with my left. Chairs were lined up in rows toward the back of the stage, and I took my place next to Kiki.
"Charlena Nicole Arnt," Coach Morris called.
The crowd erupted again.
One by one, the names were called, students walked across the stage, and then they took their seats. When it was Weston's turn, my small cheers were drowned out by his football and baseball teammates. He took his seat behind me, and once again, he leaned up to kiss me--this time, on the cheek.
As each name was called, there were more empty seats in the reserved section. My throat began to tighten, and my eyes began to burn. The emotion surprised me. I had been counting down the days for this moment. But it wasn't bittersweet or even relief. It was everything I had ever felt from kindergarten to that moment, all at once. Every memory, every smile, every tear, every disappointment, every victory was piling on top of me under the bright stage lights.
Once the formalities were over and we were outside, Mrs. Hunter organized the pandemonium long enough to count down to the moment when we'd throw our graduation caps. The photographer got his camera ready as did all the parents, friends, and various family members. In unison, the graduates ripped off their caps and tossed them into the air.
As the caps returned to earth, Weston pulled me into his arms, and in the height of the celebration, he made the entire world around us freeze in the moment with one incredible kiss. It told our love story, our future, and our past. And it was all in front of near
ly everyone we knew. When he finally let me go, slowly, everyone around us began to move again as if they hadn't noticed that we just had one of those moments that only a memory could accurately capture.
Weston hooked his arm around my neck, seeming so much happier than he had earlier in the day.
"Now what?" I asked.
"There's a graduation party at Diversion Dam, complete with a keg and bonfire, or there's a quiet night on our overpass with Fanta Orange, falling stars, and lightning bugs. Lady's choice."
"Wow. That's a tough one," I said, a wide grin spreading across my face.
THE CICADAS WERE SINGING in a high pitch, the haunting rise and fall competing with the crickets chirping somewhere in the pastures bordering the overpass. The steady stream of headlights heading north and south beneath us and the intermittent gush of air with each passing semi added to the light breeze blowing through the grass. The twinkling stars above made the evening perfect.
Weston was lying next to me, allowing me to use his arm as a pillow. As soon as we'd stepped out of the air-conditioned cab of his Chevy and spread the denim quilt across the truck bed, I had noticed the early summer heat hadn't left with the setting sun like it usually did this time of year. Even in a white lacy tank top and shorts, the sticky humid air settled on my skin, and beads of sweat were beginning to form along my hairline and at any points where our skin touched--which was a lot.
Weston had dipped his hand into the ice chest and popped the top of a can of Fanta, handing it to me, before we'd settled in. We took turns drinking it as we stared up at the sky, listening to the muted tones of summer.
Graduation hadn't taken long, but the hundreds of pictures, the mingling, the polite good-byes, and hugs and smiles were just the prologue to the family parties, the presents, and the questions about my future and Weston's future and anything else I didn't have the answers to. The soreness in my cheeks from retaining an appreciative, polite smile for hours and the exhausting trading of energy it had taken to socialize were much better than being alone, but it had taken some getting used to.
Thoughts of what I might have done this afternoon had my life not taken such a drastic turn had been a quick reminder to endure the burning in my cheeks and to be grateful that people cared enough to ask me about the future I now had.
Still, sitting quietly with Weston in my very favorite place was the best part of the day. He mindlessly played with my hair while his eyes scanned the millions of stars lighting the sky. They were more visible outside the city limits, so much that each time I looked up from our spot on the overpass, I would suck in a sharp breath at the sight.
"I love you," Weston said simply. His voice was even. It didn't seem like the start of a more difficult or serious conversation. He just wanted to say it out loud.
A grin stretched across my face.
A few months before, Weston had just been a wish, out of reach, but now, I was in his arms. The desperate words he'd said to his parents earlier played over in my head like they had been all day. Between the handshakes and pictures, the reality of being loved--by Weston, by Sam and Julianne--and the responsibility that came with it had become clear. Love in any capacity required understanding, a give and take, conciliation and compromise. Love was a lot more work than being alone, but it was completely worth it.
I peeked over at Weston. He needed me. He was the boy who I'd stolen glances at, waiting for the next time our eyes would meet, as I'd hoped he knew that making his cherry dip cone extra tall somehow translated into a proclamation of love. Now, I was the one person he was desperate to keep, the one he needed in his future. Whether or not we were supposed to love each other that much didn't matter as long as our love played into the continuous forward movement of the infinite span of time ahead.
"I love you, too," I said.
A car driving toward us from down the road, not on the interstate below, piqued my attention, and I lifted my head to see a pair of headlights approaching the overpass from the east road.
"What if it's the sheriff?" I asked.
Weston seemed unfazed. "He'll tell us to move it along. No big deal."
As the vehicle came closer, I saw it was a pickup, and it slowed to a stop just before it reached the bridge. I held my hand up to shelter my squinting eyes from the bright lights. All four doors of the crew cab opened, and several dark forms stepped out.
Weston sat up then, too, and hopped down to the dirty cement below. "Shit," he hissed under his breath.
"You're missing the party!" Brendan stepped out of the path of the headlights just enough so that he was no longer only a silhouette. He was holding a can of Natural Light in his hand, shifting his weight from one leg to the other just to stand upright.
Brady, Andrew, Micah, and Tyson were standing across from him, all holding beers of their own. Tyson seemed a bit unnerved. Andrew's eyes were glazed over, and he was clearly focusing just as hard as Brendan to stay upright.
"Looks like y'all are about done for the night," Weston said. His tone was guarded. He was trying to sound unaffected, but there was a tinge of nervousness in his voice.
"Want a beer?" Brendan asked, tossing a can toward Weston.
He let it fall to the ground near his feet. "Not really."
"What's your deal, Gates?" Andrew asked. "You never come out with us anymore. You've lost your sense of humor since you've been with her." He pointed at me, his aim a little off.
"Pack it up, Erin. We're going to find somewhere else not so crowded," Weston said.
I closed the ice chest and began to fold the blanket.
"You really do think you're too good to hang out with us, don't you?" Brendan said. "What a fuckin' douche bag you've turned into, Gates."
Weston held out his hand and helped me down from the tailgate. Then, he pushed it up, and it latched with a click. "We're going to head out, boys. Have a good night." He pulled his keys from his pocket.
Brady took a step forward. "You've practically spit on Alder's grave, the way you've been hanging all over this skank since they died."
Weston protectively angled his body in front of me. "Why does it upset you so much, Brady? You know how I felt about Alder, how I didn't feel about her."
"I knew," Brady said, his words slurred, his glossy eyes tightening. "Because I was your best fucking friend. And I don't even know you anymore, man."
"So, what? You want to hit me? Did you bring these guys to help beat the shit out of me? What is that going to solve?" Weston asked.
Tyson shook his head. "I'm not hittin' Weston, man. This ain't my fight."
Brady sneered at him. "Pussy."
"Fuck you," Tyson said. "Wes is my friend. I'm not helping you jump him because you--"
"Shut the hell up!" Brady yelled.
Weston narrowed his eyes at Brady. "You were in love with Alder. That's why you're so angry."
Brady chucked his can of beer at Weston, and he covered me with his body. It narrowly missed his shoulder and hit the ground, darkening the dirt on the bridge in a fizzy small black pool.
"You don't know shit," Brady said, taking a step. "You never deserved her. Now, she's dead. And you're banging this skank whore!" he yelled the last word, pointing at me with four fingers.
"C'mon," Weston said, gently grabbing my arm. "Let's go before this gets ugly."
"Too late," Brady said with a guffaw. "You brought ugly with you."
Weston flipped around, but I grabbed his T-shirt. He leaned forward, stretching the white fabric.
"You wanna go?" Brady asked, holding out his hands. "Let's go."
"You're still pretty banged up from the last time I got a hold of you. You sure about this?" Weston asked.
"Weston, please. Let's just leave," I said. My hands were trembling.
Even if Tyson weren't going to help, it would still be four against one.
"Shut up, Skittle tits. I have had it up to here with you," Brady said, holding his fingers up to his forehead. "You move into Alder's room and play house wit
h her parents. It's fucking gross how they've just forgotten about their daughter and let you take her place like she never existed. You'll never be Alder. No matter how much high-dollar soap you use or how many brand-name jeans Julianne buys, you'll still be the secondhand, socially backward spawn of a crack whore, pretending to be one of us."
Weston's hands balled into fists at his sides.
"Please, Weston," I begged. "Please take me home."
Weston shook his head as he took a step despite the fact that I was pulling back on his shirt.
"I don't know how, but I'm going to prove this was a mistake," Brady said. "Alder's parents are going to be ashamed, and that gutter slag will go back to where she belongs."
Weston laughed once without humor. "A mistake? Is that what you're hoping for? Look at her, Brady. She looks like Julianne!"
"Yes, it's a fucking mistake!" Brady said, spitting his words. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Weston gently removed my hand from his shirt. "If you want to know about mistakes, Brady, you should ask your parents."
Before Brady could process the insult, Weston lunged, and they were on the ground. Brendan and Andrew jumped in, too.
"No! Guys!" Tyson yelled, holding out his hand to Micah, forbidding him to join in. "Knock it off!" he said, trying to pull Andrew off the top of the pile.
Brendan scrambled away, lifted his boot, and kicked Weston off of Brady. Weston writhed on the ground for a moment and then tried to pull himself up to his knees.
Brady pulled back his elbow and let his fist fly, knocking Weston square in the jaw. Weston caught himself, his palms flat on the cement.
"Stop!" I screamed.
Brady turned to me, glowering. Keeping his eyes on mine, he kicked Weston in the head, knocking him facedown.
Brendan did the same, landing the toe of his boot into Weston's ribs, and then Andrew did, too. Each time Weston tried to push himself up, they would kick him again.
"That's enough!" Tyson yelled, the veins popping out of his neck.
I pushed past them, throwing myself on top of Weston's body. He was so much bigger than me that I barely covered him. I kept my eyes closed, bracing myself for the next blow.
"Don't you fucking dare!" Tyson yelled again.
I looked up, and he was pointing at Brady, who was poised to attack.
"Get in the truck!" Tyson demanded.
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