by Monica Cole
“He just moved here, so I doubt it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “New boy, huh? Is he cute?”
More like gorgeous.
“I guess so. Kind of has that whole bad boy look going on. I missed the bus this morning, and he happened to be driving by. It started raining, and he offered me a ride.”
Whitney groans. “God, I love bad boys. You’ll have to introduce me to him.” She winks as we slide into our desks at the back of the room. Our teacher Mrs. Hartford is this ancient lady with terrible eyesight. She taught geometry my sophomore year which was my favorite class because Whitney and I sat around texting each other all period. Looks like Trig will be my new favorite.
After class, Whitney and I part ways. I head to the bathroom to salvage my hair, but I can barely tame the tangled mess into a decent looking ponytail. I clean the mascara off my eyes then apply a new coat from the tube Whitney let me borrow. The rest of the day goes by quickly. My classes don’t seem to be too hard, and I only have one teacher I’m positive I’ll hate by the end of the semester.
“I despise riding the bus.”
It’s the end of the day, and I’m standing outside, waiting for my bus when Whitney appears.
“At least you’re getting a new car soon,” I say, scuffing my shoe on the sidewalk. “I’m going to be stuck on this thing for the next year.”
“If you didn’t live so far out of the way, I’d pick you up,” she defends but I know the real reason is because she takes too damn long getting ready in the morning. That’s how she wrecked her car in the first place. Trying to apply lip-gloss while she was driving.
“I’m probably safer on the bus anyways.”
She slaps me on the arm and I laugh.
“Um, who is that?”
I follow Whitney’s gaze to the black truck parked on the side of the street, a familiar arm hanging out the open window. My stomach catapults to my throat when I notice Canyon staring in our direction. He’s close enough that I can see him smile as he crooks a finger and motions us over.
“Oh my god. Is that him? He’s the one that gave you the sweater?”
I can’t even answer. I’m too busy trying to figure out what he’s doing here.
“Elaine!” Whitney jabs me in the rib with her elbow, successfully getting my attention.
“Ow, what?”
Her eyes get huge. “What do you mean what? He wants you to come over there.”
Of course he does. Can this guy not take a hint? I glance back, just in time to see him lick his lips that are curved into a grin with sin written all over it.
“Come on.” Whitney snatches my hand and drags me across the parking lot.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I protest. I try pulling my hand away, but she has it in a vise grip. “He’s practically stalking me. I’ve told him countless times to leave me alone.”
This makes her stop, and I go barreling into her. “Wait. You told him- this guy that I’ve yet to see up close but can already tell is freaking beautiful- to leave you alone?” She stares at me like I’m crazy. “What the hell is wrong with you? Who gives a crap if he’s stalking you? Look at him!”
I do. I look over, and he’s watching us with that stupid amused look on his face. I cut my eyes back to Whitney.
“Just because someone is attractive doesn’t make it okay for them to stalk you.”
“Well, it definitely doesn’t hurt. Now come on.”
She jerks me along, and I can feel my pulse hammering as we cross the street, stopping inches away from his truck.
“Hi. I’m Whitney.” She releases my hand to shake his. I keep my eyes focused on the ground.
“Nice to meet you, Whitney. I’m Canyon.”
I dare a look in his direction. His brown eyes are on me, bright and playful.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring Whitney when she narrows her eyes.
“I thought I could give you a ride home. Beats having to ride the bus.” He flashes one of those panty combusting smiles at Whitney and says, “You’re welcome to come, too, if you want.”
My mouth opens, but before I can protest, Whitney cuts me off. “We’d love to. I was just saying how much I hate riding the bus.”
Canyon unlocks the truck, smiling at me as Whitney goes around to the passenger side. I want to kill her when she offers to let me sit in the middle since I’m ‘smaller’ but instead of causing a scene, I slide in next to Canyon and try to ignore how close we are. After we’re buckled in, he starts the engine and pulls onto the road, adjusting the music so one of my favorite bands starts playing.
“You like A Day to Remember?” I can’t help it. I’m shocked and maybe a little more attracted to him than I was five seconds ago.
“They're one of my favorite bands,” he replies, tapping his thumbs to the beat of the song. “I saw them live back in Ohio a few years ago. Best night of my life.”
“Okay, I’m insanely jealous of you right now.”
He laughs. “I think they're coming to Nashville in a few months. We could take a road trip.”
Whitney kicks me on the ankle.
I clench my teeth and shrug. “That would be…fun.” I say, but honestly I know I’d never go. I don’t have the money to do something like that and driving three hours to Nashville with Canyon seemed unlikely.
After Whitney gives him directions to her house, she asks him all the basic questions he’s already filled me in on. I take the liberty of picking music on his iPod which I think he finds entertaining because I keep catching him smile when I pick a new song. Our taste in music is scarily similar. Needless to say, I’m impressed. When we arrive at Whitney’s house, she scurries out of the truck, asking me to call her later because she’ll probably need help with the Trig homework. I almost laugh at her excuse because I’m worse at Trig than she is. I know what she really wants is for me to spill about my ride home with Canyon.
“Alright, so I have a confession.”
Canyon turns down the music as we leave the neighborhood, filling the cab with too much silence.
“Okay,” I draw out hesitantly.
“St. Paul’s isn’t as bad as you said it would be. I’m a little disappointed.”
I arch my eyebrow. “Seriously? Did you end up at the right school?”
“I’m serious. St. Paul’s has nothing on where I went back home.” His brown eyes flicker down to mine, sparkling mischievously. “I did get in trouble for smoking on school property though.”
I snort a laugh.
“So did anyone give you shit about the sweater?” He nudges me with his elbow, and I realize I’m still sitting beside him.
I cross my arms over my chest and discreetly lean away. “Only Whitney. She thought it was from some guy that has herpes.”
“Mason Doyle?”
“Yea. How do you know that on your first day?”
He shrugs, the movement tightening his white shirt around his biceps. “I heard some girls talking about it in class.”
I nod, smashing my lips together as the cab fills with silence again. I look out the window and notice we’re almost to my neighborhood.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so.”
He keeps his eyes on the road, so I take advantage of looking up at him. If Whitney was ever right about anything in her life, it was saying how attractive Canyon is. His hair that was neatly styled this morning is now disheveled and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie loosened around his neck. He smells even stronger of tobacco and cologne, like he was trying to cover up the smell but created a scent that could probably bring women to the brink of insanity.
“There’s a party coming up in a few weeks,” he starts, causing my inappropriate thoughts to vanish, “it’s at a place called The Cove but I have no idea where the hell that is. I was wondering if you’d want to come. You can bring Whitney along.”
His question takes me by surprise. Alden High kids don’t go to parties with St. Paul’s kids. It’s
just how it works. I’ve also heard their parties are ten times wilder than ours, something that doesn’t appeal to me since I’m not much of a party goer myself. At least anymore.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to go?” I ask doubtfully.
“Why not? I invited you.”
“I don’t think it works like that. We’d probably get kicked out.”
Canyon taps on the brakes when I tell him where to turn on my street. He pulls into the driveway, next to my mom’s 1998 Chevy Impala, and I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment, not just from my mom’s beat up car but also from our crappy one-story brick home that most likely equals a closet in what Canyon must live in. Up until now, I’ve never had to worry about what people thought. Whitney is the one friend I have other than a few acquaintances at school, and I know she would never judge. But having someone else see where I live, especially someone a lot better off than my family, is utterly mortifying. It makes me despise my dad even more for leaving.
He walked out when I was three, leaving my mom in the middle of nursing school which she never got to complete. Now she works as an LPN, which pays decent but has never been enough to cut a dent in the piles of debt my dad left behind. Parker worked all during high school to help pay bills, and when we found out the NFL was looking to draft him, he promised my mom he would fix all the shit my dad caused. Then I went and made the biggest mistake of my life and destroyed those plans. It makes it hard to place all the blame on my dad when I’m the reason we’re still living like this.
Canyon parks and I grab my backpack. I have the door open when I feel his hand on my arm.
“Hey, don’t want to forget this.” He slides my cell phone into my hand, the tips of his fingers brushing my wrist.
“Thanks,” I murmur. I jump out and offer him a small wave. He smiles and I hurry inside, sneaking past my mom in the kitchen and to my room. I realize I’m still wearing his sweater, so I take it off and toss it in the dirty clothes hamper then climb in bed. I’m practically asleep when I feel my phone vibrate beside me, a text from an unknown number flashing across the screen.
Canyon: You never answered my question.
How in the…?
Me: How the hell did you get my number?!
Canyon: Now what fun would it be if I told you that?
Me: This is taking stalking to a whole other level buddy.
Canyon: I told you, I’m not stalking you.
Me: Then what do you call this?
Canyon: Common interest.
Me: It’s not common if it’s only one sided.
Canyon: Are you saying you’re not the least bit interested in getting to know me? Because I find that hard to believe.
My thumb hovers over the keypad, debating my response. As hard as I’ve tried avoiding him or telling myself I don’t want to be friends, it seems like fate has other ideas. And that’s exactly what I think it is. Fate. What are the odds he would be on the cliff the exact night I decided to take my life? And then this morning with him passing me on my way to school? Our lives keep colliding, like they’re so desperate to intertwine. Maybe his friendship is what I need to keep from completely unraveling. My phone beeps with another message.
Canyon: In all seriousness, if you don’t want anything to do with me, say the word and I won’t bother you again. But I think you don’t mind the thought of us being friends. In fact, I know you don’t.
Me: Alright. Alright. I’ll agree to try this “friends” thing out on one condition.
Canyon: Anything.
Me: Why? Why do you want to be friends with me so badly?
Canyon: You’re real. The first night we met, I saw everything on the inside first instead of who you are on the outside. I related to you, because I’ve been where you were and I know how it feels to be standing on the edge and then to make the decision to tough life out. You’re strong. And you’re real. And you don’t take people’s bullshit. I like that Elle. I like you. All I’m asking is for us to be friends.
Canyon: Not to mention the fact that if we don’t become friends, I’m bound to become the next St. Paul’s asshole and then any chance of us being friends is shot.
I laugh at his comment.
Me: You’re already a St. Paul’s asshole but I’ll let it slide since you practically went in blind.
Canyon: Every girl wants a St. Paul’s asshole who will be good just for them.
Me: You’re an idiot.
Canyon: Just wait until you get to know me ;)
Chapter Six
If Parker thought telling me this was a pool party would butter me up…well, he was right. I love pools. The lake. I love swimming, but it’s been years since I’ve gotten to. Growing up, Whitney and I would spend every summer at her parent’s in-ground pool or take weekend trips to the lake. But then life happened. And sometimes when life happens, things just aren’t the same. You stop doing what you once loved, because contrary to the definition of life, it has a twisted way of sucking the enjoyment out of things.
While I’m still not thrilled about being dragged to a party, it doesn’t hurt that for the last half hour I’ve been lounged out by the pool with an ice cold beer in my hand. The sun has set, the stars are twinkling like the lights wrapped around the pool gate, and the breeze is light and warm. This night has summer written all over it.
“You’re pretty brave laying this close to the pool. I’m surprised you haven’t been thrown in.”
Parker wheels up beside me, a Coke in hand because he’s not much of a drinker. Never has been actually, but I think that has to do with him feeling like he carries around more responsibility than he needs to. Neither of us knew our dad well, but Parker was old enough to remember how much it hurt to see him walk out the door and never come back. He saw how much it hurt mom, and he eventually figured out the struggle it created for our family. Yet, somehow I feel like I have more resentment for my dad than Parker ever did.
Maybe because I saw what my dad’s abandonment did to Parker. He was forced to grow up faster than he should have, not because mom made him feel like he had to, but because Parker felt a responsibility to take care of us where my dad had failed to. I appreciate what Parker did and honestly, I don’t know how my life would be right now without him. But I also hate that so many aspects of his life were taken away. I hate that I’m partially to blame.
“If I get tossed in the pool, someone’s going with me. And only one of us is getting out alive.” I grab my beer off the table beside me and take a drink.
“Aw, come on,” he says, playfully nudging me in the arm with his elbow. “I thought you liked swimming.”
“I do. I also like kicking people’s asses who throw me in pools.”
Parker laughs lightly, shaking his head. “When did you get so violent?”
I shrug. “College changed me.”
“You make it sound like prison,” he says, toying with the tab of his Coke can. He’s quiet for a minute, and when he speaks again there’s a noticeable shift in his voice. “Have you been it enjoying it? School, I mean.”
I look down at my pale legs stretched across the pink and purple lounge chair and mull over his question. To be honest, there are days when I enjoy it and days when I don’t. I thought college would be a good escape, but I found out pretty quick that there’s no detaching yourself from life or refusing what it hands you. Everything I thought I’d left behind came with me, and no matter how hard I tried to move on and embrace my new life, the old one was always there, reminding me of its existence. But there’s no way I’m telling Parker that. He doesn’t need to worry about me anymore than he probably does. When we used to talk on the phone, he’d ask me how things were, and I’d always answer with something positive. Something completely opposite of how shitty things actually were because I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. I still can’t.
“Yea, I guess I’m enjoying it.” I grab my beer and pick at the label. “I’ve mastered the art of writing a paper the night before it's due while simult
aneously nursing a hangover.”
Parker chuckles, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Sounds like you’ve learned all you need to know.”
“The papers maybe. The hangovers? Not so much. Those things are a bitch.”
“McDonald's.”
“What?”
“McDonald's.” He repeats, looking over at me. “Seriously. McDonald's is the best cure for a hangover. I used to go to class with like ten McGriddles, and by the time lecture was over, BAM” he exaggerates his point by slapping his hands together, “hangover gone!”
I laugh. Actual deep throated laughter than has my shoulders shaking. “That’s…wow. Thanks for sharing that.”
His mouth turns up as he takes a drink. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m dead serious.”
“No, I believe you. I’m just wondering why you didn’t share this bit of information with me earlier.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I thought it was common knowledge.”
“Ginger ale is common knowledge,” I argue, drawing my legs up and trying to balance the bottle on my knee, “but now I know I’ve been doing it all wrong.”
He smiles but our attention is drawn to a shrill scream then a loud splash that sends water flying in our direction. Parker wheels back, but I get partially soaked, my white tank top clinging to my skin and yellow bikini.
The girl in the water emerges, her blonde hair tangled around her face. “I’m going to kill you, Garrick!” She squeals, and it takes me a second to realize I recognize the voice.
“Whit?” I call, setting my beer on the table.
She whips her head in my direction, still trying to peel the hair off her face.
“Elaine?” She swims over to the edge, seeming to have forgotten all about Garrick who’s now on the other side of the pool, stalking towards his next victim. “What are you doing here?”
I reach down, offering my hand to help her up. She’s wearing a white halter top and sheer pink sarong that’s twisted around her legs like saran wrap.
“I’m here with Parker,” I say, pointing to where he’s still sitting safely by the deck. He waves, and she returns it.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. You can help me dispose of the body.” She glares at Garrick as he lifts another girl above his head, preparing to launch her in.