Roam

by C. H. Armstrong

  I turn to run, but the hall is a crush of people. Even if I barrel through their ranks and make it outside, there’ll still be hundreds more students there to witness my humiliation. I’m trapped.

  “ABBY?” THE VOICE comes through a tunnel as I frantically shove the little red things back in my locker. My mind doesn’t register what they are—I just need them hidden before anyone sees. Hot tears flood down my cheeks and I can’t breathe. Each time I try, the air gets stuck near my throat.

  “Abby—stop! Stop!”

  A pair of firm hands holds my shoulders and I slump over until I’m kneeling on the floor. The tears are coming fast now.

  “Abby, honey. Calm down. It’s okay. Whatever you thought it is, it isn’t. Look.”

  Through tear-fogged eyes, I look at Ms. Burke. She’s squatting next to me. Her blond hair with black tips swings forward and she tucks it behind her ears. In one hand she holds a dozen of the little red things. She brings them to her nose and sniffs, then holds them out for me to smell. “It’s rose petals, sweetheart,” she says. “Someone likes you very much to fill your locker with these.”

  I stare at her. “Rose petals?”

  She nods and smiles. “Yes, and I think I can guess who they’re from.”

  My tears slow and comprehension sets in. They’re not condoms. This is Rochester South, not Omaha East. I have friends here, a boyfriend. Zach.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I—I need to—I need some space for a few minutes.”

  “Is this your open period?”

  I nod.

  “Let’s do this: go collect yourself—use the staff bathroom.” She points at a door almost directly across from us. “I’ll take care of the rose petals. I’ll scoop them into a bag and put them in your locker, and you can deal with them when you’re ready. Okay?”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Thank you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here if you need to talk, or we can get Ms. Raven.”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Abby, something triggered strong emotions for you. If you’re not comfortable talking to me or Ms. Raven, promise me you’ll talk to someone else, okay?”

  I nod then pull myself to a standing position. Taking my bag, I escape to the staff restroom and lock myself behind the safety of a stall.

  Rose petals. Not condoms. Kindness. Not meanness. I can’t wrap my head around it. Humiliation floods through me as I remember the condoms from so long ago—the memory is still as real as the three rose petals I hold between my fingers. They’re so delicate—they would bruise if mistreated. I wonder if Zach plucked from the stem himself, or if he bought them that way. And also, how many roses were used. Judging by what I remember, it must’ve taken dozens of stems.

  A bubble of manic laughter belches out of me at the irony of finding rose petals on the heels of my run-in with Trish. If not for the flashback to the condoms, the rose petals would’ve completely overshadowed the nail polish. But now my head is so screwed up I can’t sort it all out. My tears fall unheeded in the quiet bathroom and, though I mean only to allow myself a few minutes, I cry until my body runs dry.

  The bell rings to change classes, but I’m not ready to give up my solitude, so I stay hidden behind the stall doors as first one, and then another teacher enters to use the facilities. When the room is empty again, I blow out a breath. What I need is Josh. He could talk me through this and have me laughing in seconds. But I’m alone. It’s okay—I’ve gone it alone before.

  It takes me most of the next hour to put things in perspective. Zach was thoughtless in not telling me Trish had worn his jersey, but it wasn’t malicious. And his heart was in the right place when he left me the rose petals. He couldn’t have known the memories they would trigger, so I can’t fault him for that. In fact, I decide, I won’t fault him for the jersey either. If it’s a tradition for players to give their jerseys to girlfriends, then it probably never occurred to him to tell me. He probably assumed I’d know, since he dated Trish last year.

  By the time the bell rings for the last class, I’m composed enough to emerge, but I’m still not sure what I’ll say to Zach.

  A SUBSTITUTE TEACHER greets me at Mr. Thompson’s class. I take a seat and wait for Zach, the entire time running a mental dialogue of what I’ll say when I see him. Time ticks by, and the tardy bell rings. Just as the sub closes the door, Zach slides in and shoots her a sheepish look. “I’m sorry I’m tardy. I—um—lost something in the hall and couldn’t find it.”

  “Please take your seat,” she directs. “I haven’t taken roll yet, so we’ll let this one pass.”

  Zach sits beside me and tips his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. I still don’t know what to say, so I ignore him.

  The sub, a graying woman in a retro 1980s acid-washed denim skirt writes her name on the SMART Board then turns toward us with a nervous smile. “Good afternoon, I’m Mrs. Figgs. Mr. Thompson is out today, but he left instructions for you to form small groups and work on a list of study questions. So if you would form your groups, you can get started while I take roll.”

  Zach turns his desk toward mine, his fierce expression forbidding anyone from joining us. “What’s going on?”

  I stare at my hands. “It’s nothing. I’m just trying to work through some things in my head.”

  “By ignoring me? I looked for you at Door Six to walk you to your vocal music class, and you weren’t there. Then I waited outside after your class, and you didn’t come out. Mrs. Miner said you never showed up. What gives?”

  “I know. I just—I needed some time alone.”

  Zach’s gaze burns, but I refuse to look at him.

  “How much of this has to do with Trish?” he asks.

  My head snaps up and our eyes lock. “What makes you think it has anything to do with Trish?”

  “Because I passed her and Zoë in the hall on my way here. She was giddy, like she had a secret, then asked if you’d gone home. When I said I didn’t know, she said she’d seen you in the bathroom and thought you looked upset.”

  “Oh.” I stare at my hands.

  Zach lifts my chin with his knuckles, refusing my attempt to look away. “So how much of this has to do with Trish?”

  “She said something that upset me. It’s—no big deal.”

  “It’s big enough you avoided me and skipped your favorite class. Why? If it has anything to do with me, I have a right to know.”

  I place my hand over his and lower it to the desk. “It’s nothing, Zach, okay? She said something about hand-me-downs, and reminded me you two have a history.”

  I don’t dare tell him about the roses—there’s no way he’d understand that, too.

  Zach’s eyebrows form a straight line then his eyes flash wide. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “Oh geez, Abs—I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Trish and I dated, and I let her wear my jersey. It didn’t occur to me you’d be bothered by it or I would’ve said something. Dammit—I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m not really bothered by it. It’s just that she has a way of getting to me.”

  “Are you mad? I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad. I’m just sick of her. Every time I turn around, she says something hateful, and I’m beginning to dislike her.”

  “Just beginning?” he asks.

  I laugh. “Okay, no—not just beginning. I’ve hated her since the first time I met her. I don’t know why I let her get to me.”

  “You shouldn’t, you know. If I wanted to be with her, I would. I’d rather be with you.”

  “I know.” I nod. “Sometimes I just need a reminder.”

  “Are we good, then?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “By the way? Thanks for the rose petals.”

  Zach’s face lights up. “You got them already? I was hoping to be there when you opened your locker.”

  Thank God he wasn’t!

  “Yeah. I got them. Thank yo
u. You put a lot of time and thought into them, and I really appreciate it.”

  Zach’s dimple deepens as his smile grows. “I’m glad. I wanted to surprise you and do something special. You know, since Homecoming is tomorrow and all.”

  “You definitely surprised me. How’d you get my locker combination?”

  Zach wiggles his eyebrows. “There are benefits to be had as an office aide.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “ARE YOU GONNA KISS ZACH TONIGHT?”

  “Amber! That’s a completely inappropriate question!” Mom scolds.

  Next to her in the front seat, Nick smothers a grin. My face flushes and I wish he’d drive faster so I can escape. Though he’s decreed the van “parked,” he’s agreed to drive me to Wendy’s so I don’t look like a hobo dragging my gear behind me.

  “Well, is she?” Amber asks.

  “That’s not a question you ask, peanut,” Nick answers.

  Amber turns and stares at me. The seconds tick by and Nick’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror. His lips tip up into a smirk that reads, “Well? Are you?”

  “Stop it! I’m not answering that question!” I say.

  “I would!” Amber announces.

  I blow out a breath. “What do you know about kissing?”

  “I know lots about kissing! I know how to French kiss. Kason showed me. Wanna see?”

  Mom’s head whips around to the back seat, her eyes ping-ponging between Amber and me. Great. Now I have everybody’s attention. I turn to Amber, intent on telling her to shut up, but my nose pinches in disgust. Her lips are pursed together while tiny bubbles of saliva foam over her lips and drip down her chin. She looks like a cross between a goldfish and a rabid dog.

  I shrink away from her. “What the—GROSS! What are you doing? That’s disgusting!”

  Amber wipes her chin on her sleeve then blows out a few more tiny bubbles. “They don’t think it’s disgusting.”

  “Seriously, Amber,” Mom interrupts. “Sister’s right—that’s gross. Wipe your chin. And anyway, who doesn’t think it’s disgusting?”

  She wipes away the last of the slobber and lifts a shoulder. “The French people!”

  “What French people?” Nick interjects, his voice half-distracted as he navigates traffic.

  Amber makes a loud hmph sound. “The French people!”

  “Who?” he asks.

  “The kissing French people! I was showing Sister how to French kiss!”

  Nick chokes on a laugh and Mom turns face forward in the van, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

  “Thank you, peanut, but I think Sister will be fine without any extra help,” Nick says.

  Mom clears her throat. “On a different note, what time do you think you’ll be ready to leave your friend’s house tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “Can I just hang out at Wendy’s until late afternoon, or when Tera leaves—whichever comes first?”

  “I guess that’s as good a place as any,” Nick says. “We’ll take Amber to church then head to the library afterwards. Why don’t you plan to meet us by four o’clock.”

  “Okay.”

  Nick turns into a residential neighborhood and follows the street a few blocks before stopping in front of an impressive colonial-style home with four large pillars framing the front.

  “You memorized the new phone number in case of emergency, right?” Mom asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom. You only made me repeat it back to you a dozen times.”

  Nick laughs. “Okay, then. Call if you have an emergency, but only for an emergency. We can’t afford more minutes right now.”

  I slide the door open and jump out before either can offer more advice or edicts. “Will do. Thanks for the ride.”

  “I’M SO EXCITED you’re here!” Wendy beams.

  She swings open the heavy white door and steps aside for me to enter. When I step into the foyer, she throws her arms around me in a hug that startles me with its warmth and honesty. “Tera’s here already, and she brought the dresses she promised.”

  “I hope they fit,” I say, pulling out of her hug. “Is Josh here yet?”

  “Not yet, but he’s always running late.”

  “I thought that was yours and Tera’s M-O.”

  Wendy lets out a bark of laughter then grabs my hand and leads me through the front hall and into the family room. Though prepared for its size, I’m still astonished. In the center of the room is a matching sofa and love seat in mahogany leather, set off by a glass-top coffee table with matching end tables parked on each side of the sofa. Centered in front of the furniture and mounted high above a gas fireplace is a big-screen TV. My jaw drops—the TV is easily the size of our van.

  “Oh.” Wendy frowns. “I thought my dad would be in here—I was going to introduce you.”

  I tell her it’s okay, but I can’t stop staring at the TV.

  Wendy reroutes us back through the foyer and up the stairs toward the second level, where we run into her mom on the stairs. She’s a replica of Wendy, only older. They share the same petite figure, but what sets them apart as mother and daughter instead of sisters are the tiny smile lines beside her eyes.

  “You must be Abby,” she says.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Welcome.” Her eyes smile like Wendy’s. “I’m Karyn. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Karyn pats my arm as she passes. “I’ll let you girls do your thing, but call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Thanks, Mom—we will,” Wendy assures her.

  Wendy’s room is at the end of a long hall. On each side are framed photographs in various sizes, a shrine to her family. I stop at a photo of a toddler with two older boys. They’re sitting on a sandy beach with a blue ocean behind them. Catching my gaze, Wendy removes the photo from the wall and her lips tilt upward. She runs a finger over the photo, and a thin layer of dust lifts from its surface.

  “West Palm Beach, Florida,” she explains. “I think I was three or four. I really only remember the ocean and building sand castles.”

  “And the two boys?”

  “My brothers, Declan and Drew.” She points to their images as she says their names. “They’re six and nine years older than I am. Declan’s in law school at the University of South Dakota, and Drew is doing his residency at the Clinic.”

  “His residency?” I ask.

  “Yeah. To be a doctor? He wants to be an oncologist. He graduated with his medical degree from The U, so now he’s working on his residency—six years, I think, on top of the eight and a half he’s already done. We’re lucky he got accepted back here at home.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of school.”

  “Right?” Wendy replaces the photo on the wall. “But Drew’s always loved school, so it’s a natural fit for him.”

  We continue down the hall and stop at the last door on the left. Inside Tera gazes at her reflection in a floor mirror. She turns from side to side, gauging her appearance. Seeing us, she bounces toward us. “You made it! Are you ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be!” I say.

  Tera loops her arm through mine and pulls me toward a large bed in the center of the room. “Well, c’mere and let me show you the dresses!”

  Wendy’s bed is queen-sized with tall oak bedposts. It’s so beautiful I catch myself staring again. One side is a mess of rumpled bedsheets, while the other side is neatly made with a cotton-candy-colored comforter, proving the bed is large enough for her to sleep on one side without mussing the other. On the made-up side are three semi-formal dresses, laid out side by side.

  “Oh wow.” My jaw drops. “These are gorgeous—they must’ve cost a fortune. I’m not sure I should borrow any of them.”

  Tera waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry. We’ll have our chance to shop in your closet soon, and these will only go to waste if you don’t wear one. C’mon—try one on.”


  Tera picks up a strapless dress in dark green. The bodice is covered from the sweetheart neckline to its waist in glittering rhinestones that sparkle when it moves. The skirt is short and flares from the waist with a sheer overlay threaded at the hem with an invisible wire, causing it to curl rather than lay flat. “Try this one—it’ll go great with your hair.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Of course I’m sure! I wore this one our freshman year, so I’m pretty sure nobody will remember it.”

  I take the dress and walk to the full-length mirror, looping the hanger over my head so it hangs in front of me. My breath catches and my nose tickles with the beginning of tears. I bite down hard on my bottom lip—I will not let them see me cry.

  “Try it on already,” Tera orders.

  I move toward Wendy’s en-suite bathroom, and a surge of panic flashes through me. “Oh no—I didn’t bring a strapless bra!”

  “No worries—I’ve got lots of them,” Wendy says. “Try one of mine.”

  She opens a dresser drawer that’s stuffed to overflowing. A few garments fall to the floor, while another catches on a corner and dangles over its edge. I gape at the mess and wonder how she finds anything, but she seems to know exactly where to look.

  “Found them!” She holds out three strapless bras.