about how much they hated me, and what mean things they did and said to me. Sonny’s parents had never gotten a divorce, so I assumed they had worked it out, but it wasn’t until I got to the |
binders that I fully understood. Sonny’s father and Gina had an affair. Harry had gotten Gina pregnant. I shut the binder. The Erins were half sisters. That’s why they hated me. They thought Gina and I had nearly caused Sonny’s parents to divorce. “Gina,” I whispered, flipping the pages. That was what Carolyn was talking about at the restaurant. Gina’s daughter had been a reminder, an object at which Carolyn could direct her anger. After the accident Carolyn figured out that she had welcomed Harry’s illegitimate child into their home, taken her on vacations, and bought her Christmas and birthday presents. In a strange twist of fate, Harry |
helped raise his own daughter, even when he thought he was ignoring her to save his marriage. My thoughts drifted to Gina. Sonny’s parents were quite a bit older than her. He was part owner of a prosperous fabrication plant just outside town. He would have to have been in his early thirties when Sonny was born—when we were all born. Gina wasn’t even old enough to buy alcohol when she got pregnant, and she never spoke about the man we both thought was my father. A sudden sympathy weighed me down, making me feel so heavy, I felt stuck to the floor. I’d been so angry with her, but the truth was, we both knew what it felt like to be hated by everyone. |
To have no one. To learn early that the best defense was to shut everyone out, even those who try to help. She was too broken to be my mother; it wasn’t that she didn’t want to be. As the dates on the entries wore on, Alder wrote less about Gina and more about how much they hated me. The older Alder was, the better she explained Sonny’s reports of Harry and Carolyn’s periodic fights about Gina— usually around our birthday—and by middle school, it was clear to Carolyn that Gina’s daughter would always be a reminder of her husband’s infidelity, and she hated me for it—and so did the Erins. She also talked about watching me |
watch Weston, and catching Weston looking at me—dozens of time. My stomach began to hurt. A knock sounded on the door. “Erin?” Julianne said before peeking in. Her hair wasn’t soft and shiny. It was in tangles and matted in places to her head. Her face was shiny and makeup free, and her pink floral pajama set was mostly covered by a long, thin robe. “Oh, honey. It’s three in the morning. Do you think maybe you should take a break?” It was then that I realized my eyes felt like dry, scratchy balls under my lids, and the skin around them was heavy and tight at the same time. “I’m almost finished.” |
“O-okay,” she said. “Weston called a few times earlier. He said you weren’t answering your phone.” “It’s still in my car, I think.” Her lips made a hard line, and she offered a sympathetic smile. “You’re a blank page, Erin. Maybe you shouldn’t fill it with Alder’s words.” “Did you know? About Gina?” She nodded. “I think everyone knows.” I closed my eyes. “No wonder Gina was angry. She was alone, and blamed, and hated, and all she had was me as a reminder.” “Not you. It wasn’t you. You were conceived of love and nothing else. You’re ours.” |
“Everyone was wrong.” “Yes, they were.” “No. They left her with all the blame, and he still got his family and his reputation. It’s not fair.” “No, it’s not. I’m sorry Sonny and Alder took it out on you.” “I need to see her. I don’t know why. I’m not ready yet, but I need to talk to her about this.” Worry sparked in Julianne’s eyes. “Oh, okay. I, um, I understand.” My eyes fell to the binder in my lap, and Julianne shut the door. I rested my chin on my fist as I turned the pages of Alder’s high school journals. She knew I liked Weston, and that was the only reason she pursued him. She wrote about |
losing her virginity, but to my absolute surprise, it wasn’t with Weston. She was cheating on him with Eric Liberty. My face twisted into disgust. Eric was a gangly, pimple-faced pothead who had been held back twice, and then dropped out of high school altogether, and she was in love with him, not Weston. The sky was changing outside Alder’s window. I looked up at Alder’s alarm clock. It was nearly six in the morning. I turned the page, reading about the first week of our senior year. Page after page, I’d read about my misery through her eyes, and how much she enjoyed inflicting it. It was one of the only things that brought her joy. She hated |
sometimes Sam and Julianne. Her aspirations included marrying Eric and moving to San Francisco. Her first entry in October made my blood run cold. |
My hands began to tremble, and I |
slammed the binder shut, leaving it on the floor with the others. My mattress barely made a sound as I crashed into it, burying my head in the pillow. As much as I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, Alder wouldn’t lie in her own journal. The Erins were planning one last twisted, humiliating moment for me before graduation, and Weston was going to help them. The picture he’d drawn of me, the necklace, the attention and phony kindness were all part of the plan to disgrace me in front of the entire school. My pillow was soaked with tears. After everything they had put me through, how could I have been so gullible? How could I have trusted that Weston had |
suddenly taken an interest in me for no reason? The nights at the overpass, the late-night talks, losing my virginity…It was all part of the plan. Maybe it wasn’t his idea, but he was going along with it, and Alder was only pretending to be jealous because she knew it wasn’t real. And even if it was, she didn’t care. She was secretly planning to be with Eric anyway. I kept trying to make excuses for Weston, trying to think of anything that would make him an innocent bystander, but it was all there in her journals. One last stab at me, even after her death. No wonder Weston didn’t want me to read them. He knew exactly what I would find. |
Why stay with me after Alder died? Why continue the charade? And then it hit me: he had asked me to prom. He was going to carry out her plan. He was in love with her, and he was determined to carry out her final wish. How malicious would someone have to be to agree to and go through with something like that? I knew the Erins were evil, but Weston…That’s what Brady meant before. He knew what Weston was doing. I had given myself to someone like that. Let him touch me. Put his mouth on me. Penetrate me. I ran to the bathroom, pulled the necklace away from my skin, threw it in a drawer, and then stripped off my clothes. The knob whined as I twisted it, |
and the water rained down. I stepped in when it was still ice-cold, desperate to get any trace of Weston off of me. I stood under the water as it warmed, scrubbing and sobbing, feeling utterly destroyed and beyond betrayed. My skin felt raw and waterlogged, so I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around me. A faint knock on my bedroom door made me stiffen. Julianne poked her head in, and her face fell. “Gracious, sweetheart, you look exhausted. Did you get any sleep?” “I’m awake,” I said. “Wide awake.” |
KITCHEN an hour before the first bell |
would ring at school. They both had concerned expressions, coffee mugs in hand. “I know I said I wanted to spare Sam the details, but…,” Julianne began. She didn’t have to finish. I could see on Sam’s face that he knew what we did. “I’ve been trying to think of something to say to you to make you feel better. Dads are supposed to be wise, but when you’re the one who raised the person responsible…” He trailed off, |
recoiling from his own thoughts. “Sam, this isn’t your fault,” I said. “It’s not Julianne’s fault. It’s a brutal, ongoing cycle.” He walked around the island and put his arm around my shoulders. “You make it very easy to forget I’m talking to a high schooler. I’m supposed to make you feel better, not the other way around.” “Would it help if I said this sucks?” He offered a small smile. “No, not after what Julianne said was in those journals. But thanks for trying.” “Clearly upbringing has nothing to do with behavior,” Julianne said, rubbing her forehead. “You’re such a sweet, kindhearted person, Erin. Even after |
everything you’ve been through.” “What are you going to say to Weston?” Sam asked, pushing up his glasses. The subtle hump on his nose failed to keep them where they belonged. “You know about that too?” I asked, surprised. “Julianne told me this morning. She wanted me to know what had upset you so much.” I glanced up at Julianne, her white sweater making her look like the angel she was. “Did I wake you?” “I was already awake. I’ve never heard you cry that way. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone cry that way. I had to know. I didn’t mean to pry, Erin, but it seemed too important to ignore.” |
Three quick knocks on the door, and then we heard Weston’s voice, muffled by the door. “Erin?” he called, his nervousness evident. I looked to Sam. He nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” His footsteps echoed down the travertine-tiled hallway, and then the murmuring began. “Just let me talk to her,” Weston said, his voice raised. “I can explain.” Sam kept his voice low. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to see me? Erin?” he called again. “Erin!” “Weston.” Sam’s voice was strained, but firm. Julianne’s eyes widened when a |
scuffle could be heard, and she rushed to the front door as well. I ducked my head and rested it in my hands. “Stop!” Julianne said. Their voices quieted, but the desperation in Weston’s voice could still be distinguished. The door closed, and Sam and Julianne returned to the kitchen, both with stunned expressions. “What was that?” I asked. Sam sighed. “He wanted to come inside.” “Did he push you?” I asked, swallowing. Apparently I didn’t know Weston at all. Sam shook his head, clearly unsettled. “No, no…He pushed the door. |
I pushed back. He’s just upset. I told him you could discuss it later, but not to bother you at school. Want me to call Mr. Bringham?” I shook my head. “Please don’t. I just want this to go away.” “Why don’t you take the day off with me? We can go shopping. Or stay home and watch comedies On Demand.” Julianne’s contrived smile was oddly comforting. She was hurting for me, and so was Sam. Empathy wasn’t something I was used to, but there was nothing like it. Our family felt complete and real in that moment, and for the first time, I felt I belonged there in that kitchen, with the two people who loved me enough to stay up all night worrying, push against a |
door, and call the principal. I belonged with them because I belonged to them. I hopped up and squeezed them both in a tight embrace. “Just a few more weeks. I can get through a few more weeks.” Sam put his large hand gently on the back of my hair, pulling me to him. Julianne pulled away to look me in the eyes, hers glossed over. “We wanted your last few weeks of school to be different. We wanted that so much for you.” “I know.” I picked my bag off the floor and slung it over my shoulder. “I’ll see you after school.” “Love you,” Julianne said. Sam small smile was filled with awe |
and pride. “I love you guys too,” I said, walking toward the garage. “What else can we do?” I heard Julianne say. “I need things to be better for her.” “She’s the toughest person I know, honey. She doesn’t need us to fix this for her. We’ll just love her through it.” I smiled. That would carry me through the day. In biology, there were already whispers of trouble between Weston and me. Sara didn’t ask, and that struck me as odd. Maybe it was already evident in my face, even though I was getting to practice my stoicism again. The scars that had formed over the years were |
easily brought back to the surface, stronger than ever, because this time I had a solid support system at home. I knew no matter what happened with Weston, I would always have Sam and Julianne. They were mine. Forever. During second period, right in the middle of Mrs. Vowel’s lesson, Mrs. Pyles stood in the doorway with her trademark smile. “I need Erin, Mrs. Vowel.” The teacher dropped her arm from writing on the Smart Board. “Should she take her things, or will she be back?” Mrs. Pyles looked to me. “Go ahead and grab your stuff.” I did as asked and followed her down the plexiglas-lined hall, garnering stares |
from the students and teachers in every class we passed. “They think I’ve hit the lottery,” I whispered. “And at the same time they’re judging me, thinking I’m benefiting from Alder’s death. Every good thing that happens to me gets twisted.” “I’m worried about you,” she said. “Apparently Mr. Bringham and Mrs. Rogers are too. They want to touch base with you about how things are going.” “Did Sam call?” “Mr. Bringham didn’t say as much. Why? Is everything okay at home?” “Sam and Julianne are wonderful.” Mrs. Pyles looked relieved. “Good. You deserve nothing less.” |
“Are we going to the office now?” Mrs. Pyles nodded. “Did they send you to get me?” “It’s my planning hour. I heard Mrs. Rogers ask a student to send a note to have you come to the office, and I said I would do it. I thought this would give us time to chat. I saw you got a new car. That’s pretty fantastic.” “It’s incredible. Sam and Julianne have already done so much for me” “They’re such good people. And obviously lucky too.” “Lucky?” “To have you with them again. Getting you back, even after losing Alder, must have made it a little easier, don’t you think?” |
“I don’t know. They don’t really talk about it. I think they are afraid it’s unfair to me to talk about missing her.” “I can see that. Makes sense. But they can miss her and still be glad to have you.” “They do. They are. I don’t know anyone else who could handle it the way they have. I hear Julianne crying in Alder’s room sometimes. Not a lot. It must be really hard for them, not being able to grieve normally.” “It’s unique. Both sad and happy. But everyone sees how happy you’ve made them.” “You think so?” I asked, stopping in front of the office. “Absolutely.” She winked at me and |
opened the door. The secretary, Mrs. Bookout, popped up from her seat. She was barely taller than the partition that separated her desk area from the rest of the office lobby. “I’ll just tell them you’re here,” she said. When she reappeared, she gestured for me to go in. “Are you coming?” I asked Mrs. Pyles. “I have to use the copy machine and get a few things together for next period.” With that, she walked behind the partition and down the hall to the back offices, and I walked into Mr. Bringham’s office. He sat behind his |
desk with a kind smile, his fingers intertwined in front of him. Mrs. Rogers sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, equally happy. This time the vice principal, Mr. Mann, sat in on the meeting as well. His reddish, thinning hair and square glasses matched his rust sweater. “I hope you’re not nervous, Erin. We just wanted to check in with you. How are things going at the new place? Getting along well with Sam and Julianne?” “They’ve been incredible. They told me the other day that they’re taking care of my college expenses.” Mrs. Rogers beamed. “That is fantastic news, Erin. It truly is. We’re |
very happy for you. Looks like you’re getting settled.” “I’m happy for me too.” Mr. Mann crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Your grades are still looking good. We’re very impressed with how you’ve handled all of this.” “Thank you.” “How are things with Gina?” Mrs. Rogers asked quietly. “Nonexistent.” She nodded, clearly not sure how to react. “Everyone reacts differently. This must be hard for her too.” “Actually, I think she’s relieved.” “Oh,” Mr. Mann said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re a |
great young lady, Erin. We just want you to know that we’re here. We’re rooting for you. Things like this…Sometimes reality hits when we’re not prepared, and if you find yourself lost, we’d like for you to let us find you some resources to help you wrap your head around all of this. Because it’s a lot.” They all stared at me, as if they were waiting for me to break down. “It hasn’t been totally smooth. It’s a lot to take in. But we’re taking it one day at a time.” “So nice to hear you say we,” Mrs. Rogers said. “It’s important to have support at home.” “I agree. I was just thinking today how much it’s helped.” |
They looked at each other, relieved and satisfied with our chat. After we had touched base on my grades, college plans, and how impressed with me they were, they released me from class, but not before Mr. Bringham offered a chair anytime I needed to talk. I thanked him and headed for my locker. Their positivity and smiles had my mind elsewhere, so when I turned the corner to see a devastated Weston standing at my locker, I was unprepared. I paused and then continued, determined to get through the combination lock quickly and exchange my English textbook for my Algebra II workbook. He said nothing, just stood a few inches from me while I turned the black |
dial back and forth. I loaded my textbook onto the upper shelf and pulled out my flimsy algebra workbook. When I closed the long metal door and turned, Weston hooked his finger in my shirt. “You read her journal from this year, didn’t you?” I didn’t answer. “I know what you’re thinking. I understand that you hate me right now, and if I were you, I’d hate me too, but please let me explain. You can punch me or scream at me if you want, but just hear me out.” I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see the redness that darkened my face from chin to hairline. “Sam told you to stay away.” |
“Even if we didn’t have two classes together, I can’t stay away from you.” “Try,” I said, walking away. I didn’t look back. Algebra didn’t keep me as busy as I’d hoped. The thought of Weston staring at the back of my head or trying to talk to me during health and art made me queasy. So much that I could barely eat the cheese fries I’d ordered at Sonic during lunch. The carhops hustled in and out of the double glass doors like ants at the mouth of their hill. The cars were parked in their respective spots on each side of the drive-in restaurant. Trucks and sedans all had their windows rolled down, the drivers either waiting for their order or |
pushing the button on the small silver box beneath the menu sign and waiting their turn. My red BMW was the only vehicle parked with the window rolled up; my thoughts could have steamed the windows. Scream and punch him? I felt like I’d been screaming underwater my entire life; it was comforting to keep my feelings just beneath the surface. Most people wouldn’t understand, but reactions were dangerous, like temptation or addiction. Letting someone affect me was giving away the only control I had, and even if it was Weston, letting go—even once—of the fortitude I’d kept for so long was a slippery slope I was too afraid to step on. |
Slipping off course now wouldn’t achieve anything. Weston’s need to explain and make this right was about him, not me. Justice was not his, it was mine. I had been the one surviving since the fifth grade. Spanish with Miss Alcorn was uneventful, but I spent the entire period worrying about the next one. Weston sat right behind me in health class, and I dreaded any snide remarks from Brady. Since the deaths of the Erins, he wasn’t quite as vocal, but he still had his moments. As I walked to class, Weston appeared next to me. We walked together in silence, and I didn’t acknowledge him when I sat down. It |
seemed all the worrying I’d done the hour before was for nothing, until five minutes before the dismissal bell, when familiar fingers grazed my shirt. “Erin,” he whispered. “Please.” “Quit begging, Gates,” Brady said from the back of the class. “You’ve turned into such a pussy. She found out. Just give it up already.” I kept my face pointed forward. Coach Morris looked up from grading papers. His eyes darted to Brady and then to Weston. “Is there a problem?” After a brief pause, Brady spoke up. “No problem. Weston just won’t leave Erin alone, even though she wants him to.” |
Coach Morris’s eyes quickly moved to me. “Is that true?” I swallowed and then shook my head. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Weston’s fingers touched me again, and I leaned forward. Coach Morris noticed. “Weston,” he began. “It’s really nothing,” I said, begging him with my eyes not to call attention to me. Coach considered my silent request and conceded, going back to his papers. “I’d say Weston lying to you, pretending to like you, making you think he’s into you enough for you to say yes to prom so Alder could pour shit soup over your head in front of everyone is |
something,” Brady said. A collective gasp echoed throughout the class, and then the whispering began. I closed my eyes and then turned. I had to see the expression on Weston’s face for myself. I needed to hear him deny it. His teeth were clenched. He was breathing through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He hung on to his desk as if his life depended on it, his knuckles red and then bright white. I could feel tears burn in my eyes. “Say it’s not true,” I whispered so softly that I practically breathed the words. “It’s not true,” Weston said through his teeth. |
“You’re a damn liar,” Brady said from the back, a smile in his voice. “I was there when they planned it.” As if he knew what was about to happen, Coach Morris jumped over his desk at the exact moment Weston left his. Weston wildly swiped and grabbed for Brady, held back just in time by the coach. “You spoiled, repugnant, miserable piece of shit!” Weston screamed. Brady sat back in his seat, watching Weston with wide eyes. Coach Morris struggled with Weston all the way out of the classroom, and moments later the bell rang. The other students gathered their things and rushed out so they could see whatever scene |
was happening in the hall. I sat in my desk, unmoving, feeling raw and exhausted. Brady was packing his backpack slowly. The anatomy posters and charts would be the only witnesses to whatever salt he was about to pour in my wound. “Erin,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I’m a dick. I work pretty hard for the title. I’m also just low enough to know that the best way to get back at Gates is to go to prom with me.” I froze. That wasn’t even the last thing I expected him to say. Asking me to prom wasn’t anywhere on the spectrum of things Brady Beck might say to me. I looked up at him, and for the first time, he wasn’t glaring at me with hatred or |
disdain. “You…don’t have a date to prom?” I asked. He tried somewhat of a smile, but it ended up being a small, indifferent shrug. “Not yet.” After a long pause, I stood up, still meeting his eyes, even though he was a head taller than I. “Maybe that’s because everyone else thinks you’re a spoiled, repugnant, miserable piece of shit too.” I walked away and didn’t look back. |
MORE THAN USUAL. Sam had rearranged |
his schedule with the hospital so he was home more, and because I was down to only a couple of evenings a week at the Dairy Queen, the hours after school were spent watching movies on the couch between my parents, playing Monopoly at the kitchen table, and driving Julianne to Ponca City to shop for shelving and décor for my future dorm room. One night, sitting between Sam and Julianne on the couch while watching |
The Princess Bride, Sam reached behind my shoulders to twirl Julianne’s hair. She leaned into his hand. “How did you two meet?” I asked. They looked at each other, and Sam paused the movie. Julianne smiled, but Sam spoke first. “In high school.” “You’re high school sweethearts?” I asked. “Yes, we are,” Julianne said, looking at Sam with the same love in her eyes that I’d seen in their wedding photos. “Even through college?” “Yep,” Sam said. “We both went to Oklahoma University.” “Oh,” I said. I knew that. I’d seen Julianne’s diploma framed in the study. |
“But we barely saw each other. I was a Kappa Kappa Gamma, your Sam was Sig Ep, and we both had a heavy workload. We agreed that our college experience came first, and if it was meant to be, we would stay together. We experienced things on our own, but my best memories were the things I experienced with Sam.” Sam pushed up his glasses and grinned. “Really?” “Really.” She leaned over and patted his knee and then looked at me. “You are going to have a great time at OSU. It’s a beautiful campus.” “I’m looking forward to it even more than before,” I said, looking down at my hands. |
Julianne turned her body toward me, settling against the back cushion of the couch. “Have you talked to him?” I shook my head. “I can’t think of anything nice to say.” “Still angry?” Sam asked. Julianne wrinkled her nose. “Of course she is. Still against prom?” “I don’t really…I’d never planned on going before.” “Maybe you could ask someone?” Sam asked. I shrugged. “There’s no one I really want to go with.” “What if…,” Julianne began, but then she decided against it. “What?” I asked. “What if we went shopping for a |
prepared. If not, we’ll sell it, or you can keep it for a formal if you join a sorority.” “I won’t join a sorority,” I said with certainty. She shrugged. “Then we’ll sell it.” “Maybe,” I said. My phone lit. It was Weston. Again. It was always Weston. I put the phone back on the coffee table. Sam and Julianne traded glances, and then Sam lifted his arm, pointing the remote at the television and pressing the play button. |
On Monday I was in a strangely good mood, and I decided it was because I was scheduled to work. Weston had stopped trying to explain things to me days before, but he looked miserable. Just as I gathered my things in front of the mural and headed to my car—which was parked on the one end of the small group of cars parked in the lot, while Weston’s truck was parked on the other end—Weston jogged up beside me. I tried to ignore him, but as I reached for the handle, he grabbed my hand, putting a folded note in my palm. I crinkled the notebook paper in my fist. “Please read it. I won’t bother you anymore, if you just read it.” |
With the tiniest movement, I nodded once and then opened my car door. The drive to the Dairy Queen from the mural was just a couple of minutes. I parked and walked into the small building, note in hand. “Hey, stranger,” Frankie said, smiling. She was on the phone, and I could tell immediately that she was talking to her mother about her kids. I smiled at her, leaned against the counter, and fingered the paper in my hands. After several minutes I finally unfolded it, my face crumpling as I read the two simple sentences. |
I TOLD MY DAD ABOUT DALLAS. SEE YOU AT SIX ON PROM NIGHT. |
LOVE YOU, |
WESTON |
I crumpled the paper in my hand and held my fist to my chin, supporting my elbow by resting my other arm across my stomach. Frankie watched me warily. “I’ve gotta go, Mom. Kiss the kids for me.” She hung up the phone and took a few steps toward me. “What’s that?” “A note from Weston.” “Is it bad?” “We aren’t together anymore.” “You’re not?” “No. He…I found out he was planning to help Alder get me to prom so they could embarrass me.” “What?” she shrieked. “No. Weston |
wouldn’t do that.” “It’s in her journal. He didn’t deny it. Brady knew about it.” The color left her face. “There has to be an explanation. There has to be something else you don’t know.” “There is. I was stupid,” I said, wiping the ridiculous tears falling down my cheeks. “But…she’s dead. Why would he continue with the plan?” “He told her he would? I don’t know. I knew there was more to it. I knew he wouldn’t just suddenly have interest in me. I just…I wanted to believe it,” I said, my voice breaking. “What’s in the note?” she asked, horrified. |
I held it out to her, and she scrambled to read it. Then she looked up at me. “What does it mean?” “I promised him that if he told his dad he wanted to go to the Art Institute of Dallas instead of Duke, then I would go to prom with him.” “You don’t think he’d still go through with it. He’s…Somewhere in the midst of all this, he had a change of heart, Erin. He fell for you, and now you know the awful truth, and he wants to fix it. He isn’t the type of person to go through with something so cruel.” I shrugged. “You don’t have to go with him. If you’re afraid of what will happen, don’t go.” |
I lifted my chin and wiped my cheeks once more. “I’m not afraid of them. I refuse. No matter what they do to me, I am in control of the way others make me feel. They can’t hurt me if I don’t let them.” Frankie handed me the note, and I took it, folding the wrinkled paper into the same square it was in when Weston gave it to me. As I did so, the paper sliced my finger, and a small dot of blood pooled from the tiny cut. I shoved the note into the front pouch of my apron and wiped the blood on the closest napkin. “They can bring whatever they’ve got. The joke’s on them,” I said, opening the window when the first car slowed to |
a stop in front of the shop. Frankie watched me, shaking her head in awe. “You’re so close to graduation. So close to being free.” I turned to fill a cup with soft serve and dumped in bananas and caramel, holding the cup up to the mixer. “I am not Easter anymore. I won’t hide.” “You want to go with him.” Her words hit me with such force, I crouched to my knees, barely holding the cup on the counter. “Is she all right?” the woman on the other side of the window said. Frankie rushed over to me, kneeling down. “I’m a high school senior who wants to go to prom. I’ve got one chance to see |
what that feels like. Screw ’em. Screw him. Screw ’em all.” “Attagirl,” Frankie said, holding her palm to my back. “To hell with ’em. And if he does anything to embarrass you, even so much as acts like a fool, God help him. Because your parents and me will nail him to the wall.” I stood, holding the cup in both hands. “You won’t have to worry about that. I am writing my own story. And in my story, I get a happy ending. No matter what happens, they can’t touch me.” I pulled my cell phone from the front pouch of my apron and texted Julianne. |
Do you have plans tomorrow? |
No. Did you have something in mind? |
I’ve been asked to prom. Kind of. |
Yay! Who? |
Weston. |
Are you sure? |
Not really. But I’m going. |
Okay, then. We’ll discuss this turn of events later. But you’re going to need a dress. |
Tuesday after school, Julianne met me at Frocks & Fashions downtown. I |
just sort of stood around while she looked at the dresses. She would show me one, and I’d shake my head. After several noes, she approached me. “What’s your favorite color?” she asked. “All of them.” “That’s convenient.” She chuckled. “What about this one?” she said, holding up a sea-green dress with a full skirt and a bunched bodice. I shook my head again. “What do you dislike about it?” “The big skirt. The color. The fact that it’s strapless.” She nodded. “Got it.” A few minutes later, she held up another dress, her eyes animated. “Look |
at this one!” She took a closer look at the tag. “It’s your size!” It was blush pink, the long skirt soft and flowing to the floor, with a thick, gathered empire waistline that sat below a transparent bodice. The see-through fabric went over both shoulders, and hundreds of small silver rhinestones grouped together to cover the breast area and then broke apart as they traveled up to the neckline. Julianne turned it around. The back was see-through like Alder’s dress, but the rhinestones lined the outer edges instead of grouping at the bottom. “Do you hate it?” I shook my head. “No, it’s kind of pretty, actually.” |
“Yeah?” she said. “Why don’t you try it on?” “I don’t know. I feel like I’d be wasting your money if I don’t go.” “Phooey. Come on,” she said, pulling open the curtain to one of the dressing areas. I took the dress from her hands and went inside, closing the curtain behind me. I pulled the dress from the plastic and stepped into it, pulling it up and slipping my arms through the holes. “I found the perfect shoes!” Julianne said. I tried zipping it up, but couldn’t maneuver my hands far enough up my back. “I think I need help with the zipper.” |
I pulled back the curtain, and she gasped. “Gracious,” she said quietly, lowering the shoes in her hands. I looked down. “It’s nice.” She took me by the hand and cupped my shoulders, facing me toward the three-paneled mirror. She zipped the back up the rest of the way and handed me the shoes. “This is not nice,” she said. “This is spectacular.” |
I caught Weston watching me dozens of times the rest of the week, always seeming like he was on the edge of |
saying something, but he never did. The green eyes that I used to long to connect with became a source of conflict, as I hoped to see them and dreaded seeing them at the same time. Finally, on Friday morning before class, he met me at my locker. “It’s my last game tonight. You said you’d go.” “We’ve both said a lot of things.” He winced, and then he forced a nervous smile. “What…what does that mean? Are you really not going to go to prom after I told my dad about Dallas? It was a big deal. He yelled. Then he talked for hours about how much I’d grown up. After he accepted it, of course. I was scared outta my mind. But |
I did it.” I kept my eyes on the back wall of my locker. “I enrolled online for Dallas yesterday.” I still didn’t speak. “Please come to my game. I’ll make you a deal. Double or nothing. If we don’t win tonight, you don’t have to go to prom with me.” I looked up at him. “Why? Is it really so important to you that you carry this out for Alder?” His brows pulled together, and he shook his head. “Nothing is more important to me than you. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. I would do anything to take back agreeing to Alder’s |
plan. I wanted to go with you. I wanted to spend time with you. The rest could have been avoided.” “You want,” I glared up at him. “It never stops being about what you want, does it?” “I guess so. I don’t want regrets. I want to hold the girl I love in my arms during the last dance. I want her watching my last baseball game. I want those last memories of high school, but I want them with you. But that’s all I want. I swear it.” I shut my locker. “Come to the game. If we lose, I’ll take back my tux and cancel your wrist corsage.” “You ordered me a wrist corsage?” I |
said, dubious. “And a white limo,” he said, his eyes hopeful. I took my biology book and left Weston standing at my locker alone. As I walked to class, something close to nausea set in while I choked back the debilitating mix of emotions swirling inside me. |
AGAIN. My hand felt sweaty against the |
cell phone in my hand as the BMW made its way to the baseball field. “Hi, sweetie,” Julianne said when she answered. “I’m…I’m driving to the baseball field. Weston’s last game is tonight.” “Oh?” she said without judgment. Her lack of surprise surprised me. “He asked me to come. He also reminded me that I promised to go to prom with him.” “This is beginning to make more |
sense,” she said, trying to sound positive. “As a mother, I’m not sure I’m okay with coercion.” “Tell me to come home.” “You don’t want to go to the game?” “No. But yes. But no.” Her breath blew into the phone. “Can I come?” “To the game?” “Yes. Your Sam is here. I bet he’d like to go to Weston’s last game too.” “Um…yes. Yes. Please come.” At least I would have someone to sit with. “On our way in ten,” she said. “See you soon.” I set the phone in the cup holder and turned the wheel to the right, into the baseball field’s parking lot. It was |
already full, with vehicles overflowing into the grass belonging to the fairgrounds to the north. A white, newer, high school bus that read CHISOLM LONGHORNS was parked on the south end of the parking lot, empty. People were still filing in to the gate, but by the scoreboard, I could see that the game had already started. When I walked in, Weston just happened to be walking from somewhere near the dugout to home plate with a bat in his hand and a maroon helmet on his head. He looked up into the stands for a moment and then looked down to his cleats, tapping the bat against his left foot. He took a step and glanced back one |
more time, seeing me walk in. He jogged to the fence, sticking his fingers through the holes and hanging on with a wide smile and relief in his eyes. “Erin!” I pulled my mouth to the side, my emotions torn between being embarrassed by the attention and being flattered by his reaction. “Get going, Gates!” Coach Langdon barked. He looked back to his coach, to me, and then jogged to his position. I watched him as I climbed the steps. He let the first ball go by. “Strike!” the umpire called, holding his fist in the air. The crowd booed. Weston leaned forward and twisted |
his hands around the grip of the bat. The pitcher hurled the ball at him, and Weston swung. The ball met the bat with a crack and then launched, low and straight, right past the shortstop, and bounced into left field, sending the outfielders sprinting. The crowd cheered while Weston ran to and reached first base. He kissed his index and middle finger and held it in my direction. “Erin!” Veronica called with a smile. She waved me over, and I sat with her on the fourth row, to the left of home plate. Julianne and Sam joined us less than an inning later, sitting on each side of me. None of them had a clue how much |
was riding on this game, and I began to feel guilty about putting that extra pressure on Weston. The first two innings, the Blackwell Maroons were up, but the next two were plagued with mistakes, and we were four runs down. I could see the frustration on Weston’s face, and he began yelling cheers and jeers to his teammates from the dugout and the pitcher’s mound. Once he pitched the ball, and it came straight back at him. He ducked, and it went straight into the second baseman’s mitt. The crowd let out a collective ooh. “Lord, that was close,” Veronica said, putting her hand on her chest. “The pitchers should really have to |
wear helmets too,” Sam said. Weston coughed into his elbow and waited for the catcher. He shook his head twice and then nodded. He reared back, hiked his leg, and launched the ball at the batter. “Someone’s lit a fire under his ass today,” Peter said after Weston threw three consecutive strikes. The umpire called the out, and the players jogged into the dugout. The Chisolm players put on their mitts and ran to their positions on the field. In the sixth inning, we were batting, down by one. I could hear coughing from the dugout. “Is that Weston?” Veronica said. “He has his inhaler, right?” |
“He always does,” Peter said, trying to sound casual, but I caught a hint of worry in his voice. “He’s been having a lot of flare-ups with his asthma lately,” Veronica told Julianne. A commotion drew our attention to Blackwell’s dugout, and then Coach Langdon stepped out and yelled. The paramedics standing by rushed to the coach, and players began to hop out, walking backward as they watched in astonishment at whatever we couldn’t see. Peter stood, taking two steps at a time down the bleachers. Veronica took the cement steps. “Oh God,” I said. My parents stood too, and I followed |
them down the stairs and through the gate. “Let’s go!” Julianne commanded. “Weston?” Veronica cried. Peter was holding her shoulders as she cupped her hands over her mouth. One of the paramedics ran to the ambulance and came back with a gurney and supplies, quickly loading Weston onto the stretcher. That was the first time I got a good look at him. He was pale, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead. His eyes were rolled back into his head as he gasped for air. His inhaler fell out of his hand to the ground. “Go! Go!” Sam barked, helping Julianne and the paramedics push the stretcher’s wheels across the dirt and |
grass to the sidewalk, and then to the ambulance. The entire crowd was silent. The players all took a knee, holding their hats over their hearts. “No, no, no,” I whispered, watching helplessly. The ambulance sped off with full lights and sirens down Coolidge Street toward the hospital, and Peter and Veronica ran to their cars. “Erin! Erin! Come on!” Julianne called to me from the parking lot. I ran with her to her G-Wagon. The door slammed behind me, and I watched her twist the ignition and yank the gear into reverse and then into drive. “Where’s Sam?” |
“In the ambulance. Weston’s had asthma attacks before. Not in a long time, but he will be okay. He will.” “You promise?” I said, my entire body trembling. Julianne’s lips pressed together, making a hard line. “He can’t do this again. He wouldn’t.” “Who?” “God.” I blinked and then looked out the window, watching the houses pass by. Julianne pulled into the back lot of the hospital where the ambulance bay was located. The ambulance was already parked, its back door hanging wide open. Julianne held my hand, and I kept her |
quick pace as we walked inside to the waiting room. Mothers holding feverish babies and an elderly couple, one of them with a deep cough, took up the few chairs available—not that we needed them. I wrapped my arms around my middle, and after twenty grueling minutes, Sam appeared. He looked worried. “They’re stabilizing him,” he said, but he put his hand on the small of Julianne’s back and led her into the hallway. They spoke softly, having an intense conversation. Julianne looked back at me once and covered her mouth with her hand. |
I couldn’t find a comfortable place to put my hands, so I finally resorted to crossing them across my stomach again. Sam and Julianne returned, taking me in both of their arms. “He’s going to be okay,” Sam said. “You’re sure?” I asked. “They’re working on it.” He handed me a five-dollar bill. “Why don’t you get us some waters from the vending machine down the hall?” I nodded, taking the bill and leaving the waiting room, turning right. I could see the vending machine. It was close to the end of the hall, near the front entrance. On my way, a woman in scrubs rushed past me, pushing a square-shaped piece of equipment with an arm and a |
camera-like contraption on the end. It looked like a portable X-ray machine, and I imagined she was heading for Weston’s room. The vending machine took Sam’s five-dollar bill. I pressed the button for a bottle of water, collected the change that fell into a bin at the bottom, and then repeated the process two more times. The waters felt good against my skin as I carried them back to the waiting room. Sam and Julianne were standing next to Coach Langdon and stopped talking when I approached. They took their waters but didn’t open them. Sam hugged me to him, and we waited. When I couldn’t wait any longer, I stood by the door, watching the clouds |
roll by, and witnessed the sky turning dark. One by one the players and the coaches stopped by and ambled around the waiting room like we did. Another lifetime later, Peter turned the corner, and everyone gathered around him. “They have his oxygen levels back to normal. He’s getting a breathing treatment now, but they’re going to keep him overnight. They’ll be moving him to a room upstairs soon.” Weston’s teammates’ departures were staggered, and then it was just Sam, Julianne, Coach Langdon, and I. Peter came back in, followed by Veronica and a couple of nurses pushing a hospital bed down the hall. |
I tried to glance past Peter but couldn’t get a good look. “Thank God,” Julianne said. “Thanks for your help today,” Peter said to my parents. “If you hadn’t helped, I don’t know that he would have made it to the hospital.” Julianne glanced back at me when I gasped. “But he’s okay now, right?” I asked. Peter nodded, touching my shoulder. “He needs to rest. We’ll call you tomorrow.” I nodded, and Peter left us for the hall. Sam and Julianne breathed out a simultaneous breath of relief. “I feel like I should have caught it |
earlier,” Coach Langdon said. “Don’t blame yourself,” Julianne said. The coach rubbed the back of his neck. “Ask Peter to keep me updated.” Sam nodded, and the coach pulled his keys from his pocket and pushed the glass door, walking in quick steps to his car. “You ready, honey?” Sam said to me, holding out his hand. “He stayed out there because he wanted to win,” I said. “He probably knew what was happening, and he didn’t tell anyone because he wanted to finish the game.” Sam offered a sympathetic smile. “It was his last game, Erin.” |
“No, I agreed. He said if he lost his game today, then I wouldn’t have to go to prom with him.” Julianne frowned. Tears filled my eyes. “He didn’t want to go to Duke. He wanted to go to the Art Institute of Dallas. I gave him my word that if he told Peter, I would go to prom with him. He told Peter, but I couldn’t go. Not after…Weston offered a double or nothing. He asked me to come to game today, and said if he didn’t win, then he wouldn’t bother me about prom.” Julianne’s lip trembled. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.” “I was going to go anyway. I didn’t care what they did to me, I was going to go, but I’ve been torturing him the last |
two weeks, making him feel like I hated him. I know exactly how it feels to be hated, and I did it to him. That’s so much worse than what anyone has ever done to me.” “Erin, honey,” Sam began, but I shook my head and took a step back from him. “Everyone’s been saying how he was the awful one, and I was the victim. Even him. But you’re all wrong. I’m the terrible one. I know how hurtful it is, and I…I love him. I know what it’s like to feel rejection from someone who’s supposed to love you. I had no excuse to treat him that way, and he nearly died today over the stupid prom. Just so I would go with him.” |
Those still seated in the waiting room watched the scene I was making, half of them curious, half of them making judgments. “You’re exhausted,” Sam said. “Let’s go home, and we’ll bring you back first thing in the morning. As soon as you wake up.” I shook my head. “I can’t leave him. I should be here.” “I know you want to—” Sam said. “No, I should. It’s a should, Sam, not just a want.” “Okay,” Julianne said, taking my hand. “Sam, you have an early case. I’ll stay here with our daughter.” Sam nodded. “Of course. Of course,” he said, taking Julianne’s keys when she |
extended them. He hugged us both and pushed the door open, disappearing into the dark parking lot. Julianne spoke with one of the women behind the admissions desk, and then she gestured for me to follow her. We walked to the elevator and rode it to the second floor. The waiting room was dark and empty. Julianne switched on the light, and we took a seat on a bench seat. She pulled me to lie down in her lap, and I did, letting the tears fall from my eyes, across my nose, and onto her jeans. She ran her fingers through my hair but didn’t speak. “I was scared,” I whispered. “I didn’t know how to forgive him. I didn’t |
know how to be in love with him. I didn’t know how to make it work. I feel like I’ve been waiting for my life to begin, and Blackwell was the holding pattern. I thought Weston was part of that. I couldn’t see anyone from here fitting into my new life.” “You were hurt by what you read in those journals. On top of the years of hurt you’ve already endured. No one blames you. Not even Weston. It’s obvious by his behavior. Did he say why he agreed to help Alder?” “Just that she offered him a way to do something he already wanted.” “Oh,” she said, but it was more of an aw. She placed her palm gently on my forehead. |
“He makes me feel too much. I’ve spent my entire life not letting people get to me. The way I feel about him scares me.” “Rest, my love. It will all be different in the morning.” Дата добавления: 2015-11-04; просмотров: 36 | Нарушение авторских прав
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Most of the entries after that were
Blackwell, her house, her car, and
SAM AND JULIANNE MET ME IN THE
EVERYTHING FELT INSIDE OUT. EVEN
dress, and if you decide to go, you’re
“Can I come in?” she asked.
THE TONE BUZZED ONCE AND THEN