Abi and the Boy She Loves

by Kelsie Stelting

  And Jon was vulnerable right now, hurting. The perfect timing, like Michele had suggested for Evan and me.

  I slowed in the hallway and crept toward his room, hoping I’d be able to hear some of the conversation inside. Maybe if I knew what she said, I’d know how to make him see the truth.

  There were two voices, one low, Jon’s, and one feminine. Denise.

  Someone whispered behind me, “What are you doing, Abi?”

  I sprang forward, nearly falling on my face in Jon’s open doorway. “God, Frank, you scared me.”

  He chuckled silently like my near heart attack was the funniest thing in the world.

  I punched his arm because it wasn’t. “You’re stupid.”

  He lifted the two bottles of water in his hands and shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m funny.”

  “That’s up for debate.”

  The voices in Jon’s room had quieted now. They must have heard us.

  Frank gestured toward the door, and I went first. Denise sat on Jon’s bed, her hand on his immobilization brace. The sight of it was enough to make me want to vomit. God forbid she stand on the other side of the room or disappear like I wanted her to.

  When she saw me, she didn’t make any motions to back away from Jon. I looked away from her to Jon, who had a concerned expression clouding his eyes.

  “I need to talk with Abi,” he announced. “Now.”

  The strength in his voice made Denise jump. “But Jon—”

  “No,” he said. “Get out.”

  The harshness in his words surprised me too. Jon almost never sounded that angry. What had she told him?

  Frank handed Jon a water bottle and said, “Crush you at GTA later?”

  Jon nodded, but left it at that, his green eyes on me.

  The second the door closed, I said, “What did Denise tell you?”

  He pushed himself further up on the bed and folded his arms. “What do you think she told me?”

  I rubbed my face, exhausted. “I’d rather not play games. But probably something horrible that’s going to make you want to leave me more than you already do.”

  My voice shook on those last words, and I had to look down. Jon hadn’t said he wanted to leave, never suggested he thought the injury was my fault, but I felt guilty nonetheless. If he didn’t feel like leaving me, like I’d ruined his life, he should.

  He was silent for too long, so long I had to look up at him. I watched his emotions go from frustrated to conflicted to full of feeling.

  He spread his arms wide. “Come here.”

  I looked at him, tears springing to my eyes yet again. “What?”

  “Come here,” he repeated.

  So I did as he asked and carefully climbed into bed next to him. He lifted the blanket over the two of us and wrapped me in his arms. For a moment, we stayed that way, breathing in the muted hum of the party below and the warmth passing between us.

  But I still felt unsettled. “Don’t you want to know what happened out there?” I finally asked.

  He shook his head, his chin rubbing against the top of my head. “Not particularly.”

  “What?” I craned my neck to look at him.

  He looked down, meeting me eyes. “Should I be worried?”

  “Well...no, but Denise—”

  “I don’t care about Denise,” he said, anger tinting his voice and then simmering. “I care about us, here and now. Abi, I’m never going to run again. Do you really think I’m going to risk losing everything I have left over something a jealous ex-girlfriend tells me?”

  A light laugh escaped my lips at the absurdity of it. Jon was right. He knew Denise just as well as I did—better. And he was finally seeing through her act. Maybe things between us would go back to normal soon. He would see he had a life outside of running. At least, I hoped.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jon sat on my bed, his leg elevated on a pile of pillows, while I packed my bags full of freshly done laundry. We had to leave for college the day after next for track practice, since athletes didn’t get as long of a break as other students.

  My phone chimed with a text message. I set a stack of winter sweaters in my suitcase and then went to my dresser to see who it was.

  Stormy: I want to see you before you go back. Come over?

  Abi: I’ll see if Jon’s up for it.

  Stormy: Let’s just do girl time, okay? I’d ask Frank to hang out with Jon, but he’s working.

  Abi: Sure. I can come over after I finish packing.

  “Who is it?” Jon asked.

  I set my phone back on the dresser. “Stormy. She wants some girl time before I go back.”

  He frowned. “Girl time?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “Maybe she wants to talk about baby stuff. Or Frank.”

  “Sounds stimulating.”

  I threw a winter hat at him.

  “Seriously,” he said, tossing it back. “Why didn’t you ask me first?”

  I paused over my suitcase. Saying you’re not my dad seemed a little much in this situation, but I was tempted. “What do you mean?” I asked instead.

  “I mean, we were going to hang out today, and you just decided to drop me. You don’t have a hot date with Freckles, do you?”

  The hurt on his face was clear, even through the poorly made joke. “It’s not that at all.” I went to him, holding his hand. “I’ll show you the texts if you want.”

  He didn’t say no. So I got my phone from the dresser, opening up the texting screen.

  He glanced over the messages, barely masking a look of relief when he saw it was actually Stormy.

  “See?” I said, taking it back. “It’s not about you.”

  “I knew that much already.” Cringing, he moved his leg from the pillow tower and sat up. “I’m going back home.”

  “I’m not leaving yet,” I said, an ache forming in my heart.

  “I know.” He forced a smile. I could tell because it didn’t reach his eyes like usual. “I’ll see you later.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “As soon as you want to see me. If you do.”

  He hobbled out of the room on crutches, and I couldn’t help the stinging lump that formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it down, along with an added dose of guilt, and went back to packing.

  The front door closed, and a knock sounded on my doorframe. I looked up to see Grandma there, her head leaning against the wood trim and a basket of laundry resting on her hip. “How ya holding up, hon?”

  I shook my head, sending a tear dripping down my nose. I groaned, more frustrated with myself than anything. Jon was right. We were spending time together. Why hadn’t I asked him what he thought?

  Grandma walked in and set the laundry basket on my bed. “It’s been a tough time for everyone.”

  “You can say that again.” I sniffed.

  “You know what they say. When it rains, it pours.”

  “Well, it feels like monsoon season,” I muttered and sat on my bed to sort through the laundry.

  “You’ve always been good at finding an umbrella,” she said pointedly. “And I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

  My lips trembled, and my hand stilled on a T-shirt. I didn’t feel very proud of myself right now. I’d ruined Jon’s track career, ruined Evan’s relationship...What would I ruin next? I looked up at her, searching for the truth behind her words. She’d meant every one.

  I walked into Stormy’s house and found her in her room, a bowl of popcorn on her swollen stomach.

  “Should you be eating sodium?” I asked.

  She glared at me.

  I put my hands up like a shield—I had a feeling I might need one soon—and said, “I meant to say, do you need a foot rub?”

  “That’s more like it.” She laughed and patted the bed beside her.

  I obliged and got on the mattress. For a second, I listened to her pop the snack in her mouth and crunch it.

  “Jon didn’t want me to come here,” I blurted.<
br />
  She looked over at me, a piece of popcorn caught on her top lip. “What do you mean?”

  “He thought I should have asked first.” I reached over and flicked it off.

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know he was a caveman.”

  “I didn’t either.” I grabbed some popcorn myself and popped it in my mouth, savoring the flood of flavor while I chewed over my feelings. “Do you think it’s just because he’s hurting?”

  She thought it over for a second. “I mean, maybe?”

  “Ugh.” I lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. “This is awful.”

  “That’s it.” She had a turtle moment as she tried to sit up but didn’t get the momentum.

  She had no idea how good of a friend I was for not laughing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We’re getting out of here,” she said. “Frank’s not here to baby me, and you’re not wallowing inside. Let’s go out.”

  “And do what?” I asked. “It’s Woodman, and we’re nineteen.”

  “I don’t know.” She flung her arms out. “A movie, dinner? Shopping for some slutty outfits?”

  I rolled my eyes at the last comment. “But I could use a few clothes that aren’t sweatpants.”

  “That too,” she said. “When we get out of the house, you’ll feel better.”

  And she was right. After an hour walking around the strip mall, my anxiety had eased, if only slightly. Retail therapy had to be a real thing. And at least I wouldn’t leave a “session” feeling completely wiped.

  That was, until we ran into two of the people at the bottom of my list.

  I ducked behind a stand of clothes and waved Stormy to follow me, but she defiantly craned her head around. “Who’s here?”

  Farther down the aisle, Denise and Michele consulted each other, and Michele grabbed Denise’s hand, walking determinedly toward us. I didn’t know when they’d become friends, but I really hated it.

  I realized I must have looked stupid hiding behind a frame and stood straighter, muttering, “Five o’clock.”

  “Great,” Stormy grumbled.

  They strutted up, their chests puffed out like it somehow made them more menacing.

  Stormy cut them off before they could speak. “What do Paris and Nicole want today?”

  “Who?” Michele asked.

  Denise pointed at me. “We want to talk to her.”

  “Oh please,” Stormy groaned. “Take your high school drama elsewhere. We have real problems to worry about.” She grabbed my hand and turned away.

  Denise cocked an eyebrow. “Like your bastard child?”

  Stormy froze, fire behind her eyes. She could have kicked Denise’s ass, pregnant or not.

  Even though part of me wanted her to, I held her arm so she had to stay put. I turned to face them. “Get it over with, Denise. What do you two want?”

  They looked between each other like they weren’t expecting me to agree.

  “Well,” Michele began, lifting her chest again, “I want an explanation.”

  “Of what?” I said. “The fact that Evan was my friend before he was your boyfriend? And, while I think of it, the same goes for you and Jon, Denise.”

  They both stared at me, stunned. I took advantage and kept going. “Michele, I know literally nothing about you. Mostly because I don’t care. If Evan likes you, I’m fine with it. But there’s a reason he didn’t chase you last night. And there’s a reason you’re talking to me now instead of him.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, clenching her jaw and staring hard at a mannequin.

  “If you care about him, you’ll back off me and work things out with him. I’m with Jon. I love Jon. I’m going to marry Jon.”

  Everyone’s jaws dropped.

  “What?” I asked. I knew I wasn’t that profound.

  Stormy elbowed me. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Married?” Denise squeaked.

  Oh. That was it. “I mean, someday, yeah.” My cheeks reddened. If this got back to Jon...

  Denise stepped forward. “It doesn’t change the fact that you stole Jon from me. What, was Evan not good enough for you? Was he too available?”

  Stormy let out the most exasperated sigh I’d ever heard, but I shook my head. This wasn’t about Michele or Evan at all. It was between Denise and me. I stared at her now, at the eyeliner too thick along her lashes and the jutted jaw that she used to hide how insecure she really was.

  I tried to make her understand. “Look, Denise. You know I used to be so jealous of you—of how Jon felt about you, but I couldn’t do anything about how skinny you were or that you always wore cute clothes and big sunglasses. I could only work on me. I don’t know why, but he picked me. He chose me.”

  Denise’s eyes were bright red now as she looked me over. “But, why you?”

  Shaking my head, I shrugged. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  Denise and Michele looked between each other, and Michele muttered, “Let’s go.”

  With a final examination of me and a trembling lip, Denise turned and followed her friend.

  My shoulders sagged. I’d won. I’d managed a confrontation, stood up for myself, but I didn’t feel happy. I was sorry for them. I knew how it hurt to love a guy and not feel good enough—to look for problems. But I had other things to worry about right now.

  Popcorn crunched beside me as Stormy shoved a fistful in her mouth.

  I stared at her, slack jawed. “Where did that even come from?”

  Swallowing her popcorn, she said, “What? Catfights make me hungry.”

  It was the funniest thing I’d heard all day.

  Stormy let out a scream, dropping hangers of clothes on the floor. “THE BABY MOVED! SHE MOVED!” She folded over her stomach, like she could hold the baby in her arms.

  “What?” I cried. “No way!”

  She smiled over at me, an evil glint in her shining eyes. “She’s going to be a handful. Already likes drama.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I wanted to tell Jon about my encounter with his ex, but when I texted him, he just sent me clipped answers. I tried heading over to his house that evening, but Marta said he was already asleep.

  I gave up, resigned to the fact that I’d have to wait until our drive back to Austin the next day. Knowing we’d have two hours in a car together to sort it out didn’t make sleeping any easier, so when the Scollers picked Gram and me up for breakfast the next morning, I was less than chipper.

  I downed at least three cups of coffee along with my eggs and wholegrain toast, and even took one for the road, which I finished by the time we got back to their house. Marta gave me more than a few concerned looks.

  As we pulled into their driveway, Glen looked at me in the rear-view mirror. “We want to speak with you and Jon,” he said, then opened the door and got out.

  I couldn’t see Jon’s expression from where I sat in the back, but I wondered if he was as confused as I was. I tried to gauge Gram’s reaction, but she was already walking toward the house. Apparently, she was in on this.

  Jon and I followed up the group, walking slowly because he was on crutches.

  In a hushed voice, I asked, “Do you know what this is about?”

  “Not a clue,” he muttered.

  Had they found out we were having sex? We hadn’t since Jon’s injury, but still. Maybe Marta was serious about us waiting until marriage. Or they finally wanted to chastise me for putting Jon in a position to be injured. They hadn’t yelled at me yet, so it was high time. I wouldn’t even blame them.

  When we reached the living room, Marta said we should sit on the loveseat across from the sofa. All that was missing was an interrogation lamp and two-way mirrors.

  Jon put his crutches together and lowered himself down. “What’s this about, Mom?”

  Glen folded his hands in his lap. “This was my idea.”

  “But it has my full suppo
rt,” Marta said, and Grandma nodded.

  My brows came together. What was going on here?

  Glen took a breath. “I think it might be wise for you both to take the semester off. You’ve been through a lot. Jon, you just came out of the hospital. Abi, there’s the trial coming up. And your father’s parole hearing. You’re going to have to miss classes, practices. There are going to be people asking you questions you don’t have answers for. They’re going to try to get you to admit to things you didn’t do. They’ll accuse you of being a charlatan, drawing that boy out to the country and provoking him. Of provoking your father. It will be messy.”

  I gaped at him. “Provoking my dad to beat me?”

  He gritted his teeth, but didn’t deny it. “Honey, I think you have bigger things to worry about than school and track this semester. Marta and I will worry about your tuition if you can’t get back on the team next year.”

  My mouth opened and closed like a drawbridge blocking confounded words from spilling over my tongue. I turned to Jon. What did he think about this?

  His jaw worked, the muscle there twitching. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am, son,” Glen said. “Abi was incredibly brave to finish the semester after what happened, but it’s only going to get harder.”

  Harder than running for my life on the Mexico border? He had to be kidding.

  Jon stood up, grabbing his crutches. “No. Abi’s given up so much already, and you want her to what? Give up track, lose all the momentum she’s worked to gain?”

  Mr. Scoller worked his jaw. “You might think running in a circle is all life has to offer—”

  “What about you?” Jon demanded of Grandma. “I can’t believe you’d support this.”

  Her voice was firm as she glared between Jon and Glen. “I support what Abi decides is best for her.” Then she looked directly at me. “Whatever you decide, sweetheart, I’m here for you.”