I sit in an empty desk halfway across the room, picking at the hard, plastic desktop. Pen marks and old gum have hardened there, and memories of my own math classes resurface. I glance over at Brecken, remembering my conversation with Raphael, and notice that his black combat boots are untied again. I hate that look. I can't understand why he dresses this way. There isn't a goth bone in his body, so who is he trying to deceive?
I know who he really is inside—compassionate, caring, lonely. And I've memorized every feature of his face, from his curly, mussed hair, to the twitch in his lip. I love watching him, love the way he takes care of his sisters. He isn't fooling anyone with this bad boy facade.
Especially me.
My heart warms, and it puts me in a less anxious mood. “Let's get out of here, Breck,” I say, knowing no one else can hear me. “I want to talk to you and it can't wait. It's important.” I try to make my voice pleasant, yet serious.
He sighs and the two kids sitting beside him look up. His silent glare is enough to discourage their interest. His finger taps a rhythm on his thigh.
“I spoke to someone in charge and there are some things you should know,” I say from across the room.
“Shh,” he whispers, a little too loudly. Other students turn and glare at him.
I can't help but giggle. “You're so cute when you're angry.”
“Be quiet!” he spits, not thinking, obviously.
“What did you say?” the teacher asks.
Brecken closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I didn't say anything.”
“Oh, really?” Her right eyebrow lifts into a thin, angry line.
“He told you to shut up,” the kid next to him offers with a grin.
“I think it's time for a trip to the principal's office,” the teacher quips.
***
Even though this is a serious event, I can't quit giggling. Mostly because Brecken sits in the chair across from the principal scowling, and the angrier he becomes, the funnier it seems. Maybe it's my way of coping.
“So, Brecken. What can you tell me about this incident with Mrs. Beecher?” the principal asks. He doesn't look or even sound mad. I don't think Brecken is in any real trouble.
“Yes, Brecken,” I mimic. “What can you tell us?”
Brecken looks up slowly. “It was nothing, Mr. Cheney. I was just thinking out loud,” he says.
“You were thinking the words, shut up and then accidentally said them out loud?” he asks, his voice incredulous.
“No, not exactly.”
“Let me clear this up for you,” I answer. “Brecken is very upset at me so he lashed out, unthinking, and told his teacher to shut up.” I chuckle to myself.
Mr. Cheney releases a slow breath. “I'm not going to suspend you even though this isn't the first time you've been here, but you really need to watch yourself.” He takes another breath, and hesitates as though disinclined to go on. “Brecken, I want to help you. I know you struggled last year with the death of your mom... and that you were diagnosed wi—”
“Stop,” Brecken says abruptly. “Just stop. There's nothing wrong with me.” He stands, his hands fisted, his face in an expression of anguish.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply there was,” Mr. Cheney says, also rising. “I'm just concerned. I know it must be hard with your dad gone so often and... ”
“I'm fine. Everything's fine.” Brecken turns, but before opening the door, he asks, “Can I leave?” He stares at the floor, not making eye contact.
“Yes,” Mr. Cheney answers.
I follow Brecken out. He walks down the hall, but doesn't go back to class. Instead, he swings his backpack up over one shoulder and goes outside, leaving the school behind.
“Brecken?” I screwed up, teasing him that way, getting him in trouble. My heart aches watching his sagging shoulders, his drawn expression, and I'm so embarrassed. I feel so stupid.
He just keeps walking.
“I'm really sorry,” I say. “I didn't know this would happen. I was just—”
“Teasing. Yeah, I know,” he says, finishing my sentence.
I don't know what else to say or how to finish this conversation. I walk a few steps behind and watch his head tilt toward the sidewalk. What is he thinking? It wouldn't be hard to find out. All I'd have to do is reach out and place my hand on his shoulder.
So I do.
Just as I thought, his feelings are those of embarrassment, despair, hopelessness, and last of all, loneliness. As far as his actual thoughts go, I'm still in the dark, but this gives me a pretty good idea about how he feels. I could have figured it out without touching him though.
“Can we talk?” I ask finally.
He turns to me on the sunny, public sidewalk. Only a few people are out. An old man across the street edges his grass, and a lady on the other side of the road walks her dog. They pay no attention to him.
“What is there to talk about? I don't think this is going anywhere.” He continues walking, leaving me behind to stare in confusion.
What is he talking about? “Uh, you lost me there,” I call to him.
He doesn't stop to explain.
With a grimace, I follow him down the sidewalk, across a grassy quad where the soccer team practices, and through the tree line into a small, forested area. He stops at a low-branched tree, drops his backpack, and swings up to the first thick branch.
I like the spot. If we walk twenty feet in any direction we'll be back on the street, but this patch of woods feels private, secluded. I float up to the branch beside him and sit with my legs hanging down.
“This is a cool place, Brecken.” I take in the birds that fly between the trees and moss-covered ground. “Do you come here a lot?” It's just shady enough that he can probably see me.
“No,” he says with a sigh. “It's usually full of students.”
I wait for him to continue. When he doesn't, I figure he's waiting for me. “Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong.”
His expression is full of longing, yet resignation. He hesitates. “I really like you, Alisa, and I want more than anything for you to feel the same.” He jumps down from his branch, still pacing.
“I just don't think... ” He stops, looking up at me. “Dammit Alisa, what's wrong with you? Why did you do that to me in class today? Why did you try to get me in trouble? I feel like you don't even care about me. You always get mad, you're way over sensitive, you say mean things, and then don't act sorry... ”
I'm stunned. This is not what I'd expected. I pull back, as though taking on a barrage of bullets. “Wow, Brecken. Don't hold back.”
“I'm sorry, but if we can't even communicate without fighting... ”
“Okay. Wait,” I say, floating down from the branch to stand beside him. I can do this. I can have a normal conversation with a boy without screwing it up. I take a deep breath trying to think of something to lighten the mood. I come up with, “Does your girlfriend know you're dating someone else?” I mean it as a joke, but from the look on his face, he doesn't take it that way.
Finally, he relaxes. Even chuckles. His eyes warm and the tenseness in his shoulders eases. “She suspects I'm seeing someone else.”
I can't help but smile. The moment turns quiet and it's time to broach the subject I fear most. “Brecken, I... I'm not sure how to say this,” I hedge, trying to clear my thoughts.
“I know what you're going to say,” he says, leaning toward me.
“You do?”
“Yeah, and honestly, I feel the same way.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About why I'm here. About your future.” I am unable to get the picture of him lying dead out of my mind. The blood that pools around his body.
“Oh.”
“What did you think I was going to say?” I ask, even though I already know. He wants me to say I love him, that I want to be with him forever, that I can't stand for us to be apart, but I c
an't say that... for a million reasons, even though I want to.
Taking a deep breath, he cocks his head. “You look speckled where the sun filters through the branches.” He reaches out, his hand only inches from my face.
The yearning inside pulls me deeper into that ocean that will never be mine. “I wish I could have met you a long time ago.” It's true, and since I don't know how much time we have together, I want him to know this. I don't want it to end without him understanding my feelings.
“Me too, Alisa.”
For that space in time, I soak him in, like a sponge dying on a blistering, sandy beach.
“Speaking of that,” he leans back and pulls another twig from the tree, “there's something I've been wondering. Where did you live when you were alive? Where are you from?”
I laugh, amazed at the coincidence in my circumstances. “Actually, I'm from here. I didn't realize at first that they'd sent me to my hometown, and I don't know why they did, but I'm glad.”
“You're from here?” He leans forward. “I don't remember you from school.”
“I didn't go to your school. I didn't live on this side of town,” I say with a chuckle, surprised I could grow up in a city and not even recognize it when I came back.
“This side of town? What does that mean?”
“Umm, just that I lived in the Fruit Heights area,” I explain.
“Oh. You were a rich kid.” He sits back, a strange expression masking his features. One I've never seen before and don't recognize.
“Well, I'm not rich now. I don't even carry a wallet,” I joke, trying to bring back the lightheartedness of the previous moment.
“I don't know why I thought this would work,” he mumbles, his face becoming a mask I can no longer read. He stares off into space, lost in his thoughts. “I can't do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn't matter,” he says, looking right into my eyes.
What just happened? “Brecken!” I call as he walks away, discouraged at the widening chasm growing between us. The pain of rejection cuts deep. “How about we go to Canyon Park? I really like it there, and there's something I have to tell you and then... I promise, after that, I won't bother you anymore. I'll leave you alone... if that's what you really want.”
He watches me silently and wants to refuse. I can feel it, but for a moment, he softens and his jaw relaxes. “Why not right here? Right now?”
I look around. The school bell will ring any moment. Classes will be over. I don't want any interruptions. “It will just be better. Please?”
He hesitates, shifting his weight and looking down the street. Finally, he says, “All right.”
I sigh with relief. Maybe I can still fix this. Because if I want Brecken to know me, there is one conversation that has to happen... as much as I dread it.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
~Confiding a Deep, Dark Secret~
Alisa
We arrive at Canyon Park on his motorcycle just as the sun begins to set. A stream bubbles past, tripping over stones in its way, singing a cheerful tune, oblivious to the roiling feelings inside us. I sit at the edge, wishing I could dip my feet and feel its cold current pulling against my ankles. Brecken sits next to me.
“I'm not sure where to start.” I sigh in mental exhaustion. After all I've gone through, I just want to rest. I gaze at his beautiful face, determined to memorize each line, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his lip twitches when he teases me, the way his mouth moves when he speaks. I can even smell him, like pine trees and Lever soap, a memory I never want to forget.
He watches me, curiously.
“What I'm about to tell you I've never told another living soul. Ever.” I search his face for any sign of sarcasm or impatience, but find none. My mind races and my chest tightens in dreadful anticipation. Can I really do this? Can I confess my darkest secret to him, all in the hope that he'll trust me? Understand me? Want me?
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“I... want you to know me better. You know, before you decide to... ” I can’t believe I am about to have this conversation.
He gives me a funny look and shakes his head at my silliness.
“Okay. So here goes. When I was eight years old my best friend's dad started sexually abusing me.” I glance at his sunset-lit face to gauge his reaction.
He studies me, his mouth dropping open. His brow creases into a frown and he actually reaches out to me. “That's not what I expected you to say.”
I nod. “He abused me for years, and my friend Natty too. Sometimes both of us together.”
“Oh, Alisa... ”
“Yeah.” I stand up and wrap my arms around my waist. I step into the middle of the stream, wishing it could carry me away like the dying leaves that float along its edge.
Brecken beckons me to come back, his arm out, his hand open, and I glance into his beseeching eyes. He meets me on the muddy bank, his body barely brushing against mine, the wonderful tingle of his aura surrounding me.
With a hesitant sigh, I whisper. “It lasted a long time. Forever, it seems like.”
“I'm so sorry that happened to you.”
“It was my brother, Derek, who finally figured it out.” I shake my head, wanting to clear it of the horrible memories, but they flood back, like roiling tidal waves on the ocean, tossed back and forth with the force of the storm.
“I'd accidentally left my clothes in the bathroom after a bath. My underwear had blood on them. I wasn't old enough to have periods, and I guess my brother knew it. I remember him coming into my room, holding my dirty clothes. He stared at me, like he wanted to kill someone. I'm not sure how he figured it all out, because I wouldn't talk about it, but he must have told my parents, because a few days later, Mr. Roland was arrested. I never opened up to Derek, even after that. Mr. Roland died in prison a couple years later. It was Natty who testified against him. I couldn't do it. ”
Brecken's eyes squint shut, his lips drawn back like he is going to be sick. “I'd kill anyone who did that to my sisters.”
“I know. That's how Derek felt, and your sisters need you so much. You have to protect them. There are other bad people out there like Mr. Roland!”
“Is that why you killed yourself?” he asks me softly, his eyes round and glowing in the sunset.
I sigh and step back. How do I explain my tortured life? I don't think I can do it accurately. “Partly,” I say. “My life was complicated. When my grandmother died, I was so unhappy, so lonely, but I kept going. I began healing. But when Natty, my best friend, got cancer and died, I died with her. I couldn't deal with anything anymore. I didn't care anymore. My one confidant who'd understood my hidden pain was gone. My parents got me antidepressants, but after I started taking them, I felt even worse, like a black hurricane constantly surrounded me, heavy and polluted. I ached with despair... all the time. I can't explain it, but I had to make it stop. I just needed it to stop.”
Brecken nods. “So then what?”
“So then... I drove into a tree. I got what I wanted, except I didn't. Nothing is what you imagine it is after you die. You don't get to rest. You don't get wings. You don't get to be with loved-ones, not if you kill yourself. You do get to work though. Dead people work all the time,” I say with a sarcastic laugh.
Brecken chuckles as though he understands what I mean. “You poor thing. And then you were sent here to deal with a loser like me.”
My heart fills with something I can’t explain. “You're not a loser, Brecken. You're the furthest thing from it.” I have come to understand this boy, and now, hopefully, he can understand me. I step closer, aching to feel him for real, to feel the heat of his breath on my face, the warmth of his hands on my back.
“I... ” My unsaid words drift on the soft breeze, and I wonder for a moment if I can really say them out loud. I don't want to keep my feelings to myself anymore. What if I never get the chance again to tell him?
“Brecken, I... love you,” I
whisper. I would never normally tell a guy I love him. In fact, I would have rather died—figuratively speaking—than tell a guy I even liked him, but I have a feeling my time with Brecken is drawing to a close. I want to tell him what's in my heart before it's too late, before I'm snatched away and never get the chance.
“I'm still not sure how this all works,” I hurry to explain. “But I might not have a lot of time left with you, and I just want you... to know... or whatever.” With a nervous laugh, I step back. “You know what I mean.” My heart lies open at his feet. Never have I felt so vulnerable, so fragile.
“Uh...” He smiles, warmth curling his lips into a grin. “Thank you, Alisa. I... don't know what to say.”
“This is the point where the boy usually says, 'I love you too.' ” The fact that he hasn't leaves a raw spot in my chest that threatens to rip deeper, depending on his next words.
“I'm not sure... I'm ready to say that again,” he says, glancing quickly into my eyes, and then back down at the stream.
Rip. Like a blade of grass on an early winter morning. One wrong step and I'll be completely smashed. I stand on the border of rejection once again. “I thought you'd say something different.”
His hands rake through his windblown hair, making it even messier. “I want to, but... I don't know if it's a good idea,” he says in frustration. “Here's what I want to say.” He turns to me suddenly. “Yes, I feel the same way. Yes, I want you. But it won't be that way. I'm pretty sure about that. It doesn't seem to matter what I want. I never get it.”
“Then take what you want!” I yell back at him. “You're still human. You have a physical body. Do you even know what that means?” My chest heaves even though air is not being sucked into my lungs.
“You don't understand, Alisa. You can't. And it doesn't matter anymore. I'm tired,” he says. “Can you see that?” Anguish coats his face and he turns to trudge back up the hill toward his motorcycle.
“Brecken... please don't go. Please—”
“I'm sorry, too.” He watches me silently for a moment before continuing up the path, the gravel crunching beneath his feet.
“I thought sharing my past with you would make a difference,” I yell at his stiff back.
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