Claire's Song (9 page)

            My mind goes to Claire and I wonder what she thinks of me now.

CHAPTER NINE

CLAIRE

            My parents are going to be so pissed. I skipped the rest of my classes and hid out at the soccer field. I didn't feel like going to classes when we got back and I wanted to find out what would happen to Ryder. When it came close to the final school bell, I made my way to the counselor's office. The halls were blissfully empty and I was able to go unnoticed.

            I saw Mrs. Weathersby first, then a huge entourage behind her. Ryder sat amongst them. He looked so tired, his face drawn and eyes heavy.

            "Now that the police brought you all of your stuff and your car, you should still call your friend to come get you. You're really in no position to drive right now," Mr. Clark says in a hushed voice but I can still hear him.

            Ryder closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, "There's nobody to call, okay? I lied."

            My heart sinks.

            "Ryder?" I step forward, finally letting them know I'm there.

            He looks at me and I can clearly catalogue the emotions, ranging from relief to hurt, as they race across his face before he returns to a blank slate. 

            "Claire!" Mrs. Weathersby admonishes me, but I can tell she doesn't mean it. She looks worn out too. I want to ask a million questions, to know what happened while I was out at the soccer field, but instead I reign myself in.

            "I can take him where he needs to go," I ignore the strange looks from everyone.

            "He has nowhere to go," my teacher whispers to me.

            I dare to look at Ryder. He's playing with his hands, his hair fallen across his forehead, shielding his eyes from me, from the world.

            "He can come home with me," I blurt without thinking. The burn of a blush rushes across my face and I refuse to even look at Ryder right now. I can almost imagine a surprised look on his face.

            "I can call your parents for you, if you’d like," Mr. Clark speaks up. I nod and he disappears into a room to make the call. I was planning on telling them myself, but what's the harm?

            "Is that okay with you, Ryder?" An older woman with glasses asks.

            Ryder looks at me and he appears absolutely lost. It's like he's given up. Without a word, he simply nods and stands up. I hear them mention something about a court date tomorrow and then Mr. Clark emerges with a smile on his face.

            He claps Ryder on the shoulder, "It's settled. I just got off the phone with Claire's mother and she said they would love to have you stay for the night." Ryder nods, but continues to stare at his shoes. Mr. Clark turns to me, "Do you mind driving him?"

            "Not at all. I'll be waiting outside," I motion outside the office, because I get the feeling everyone in this room has been through a lot today. After a while Ryder appears.

            "The bell rang right?" He asks, still not looking at me.

            "Yeah, while we were in there," I motion back to the counselor's office. I want to ask questions, I want to press and push, but now is not the time. Now is the time to just be there.

            "You really don't have to let me crash at your house tonight. I was planning to just sleep in my car until they figure things out," Ryder continues.

            "It's no problem at all. We can grab your stuff from your car, that way no one steals anything over night."

            "Not like I have anything anyone would want to steal. Just my guitar, really," Ryder scoffs as we make it to the parking lot. Most of the popular kids have already left, so we're relatively safe from stares and glares and comments.

            A breeze blows through and whips a few colored leaves past our feet. It finally feels like fall, but then again tomorrow could be 90 degrees again. We walk in silence to Ryder's car and I give him his space as he digs through his stuff, deciding what to bring and what to leave. I know life isn't about things. I totally get that. But at the same time, it breaks my heart that his entire eighteen years of life has been reduced to contents inside a single box.

            My cell phone beeps. It's Mom.

           
Ask Ryder what he wants for dinner.

           
I can't help but smile. My Mom, although she's been distant since Jamie, has always been one to make people feel at home. She's the type to take in stray animals until Dad makes her take them to the pound. Her heart is good. Things have just been rough for all of us.

            "Mom wants to know what you want for dinner," I ask casually as Ryder shuts the car door with his hip. He carries a guitar case in one hand and a box in another. I take the box from him, even though he opens his mouth to protest.

            "Just let me carry it," I snap as we carry everything to the car.

            Ryder just shakes his head and then he finally answers my question. "Anything is fine for dinner." A pause and I know what's coming as soon as we're in the car and I'm headed towards my neighborhood. "You really don’t have to do this. We're not even friends or anything. You didn't even know who I was until a week ago."

            His words sting and they should, because he's right. Had he always sat next to me in Mrs. Weathersby's class? Since August? Two months had passed and I'd only just noticed him last week for whatever reason. I've seen him around, seen him get the crap kicked out of him and his head bashed into lockers, get cussed out by the popular girls, but I'd never said a word, never tried to talk to him before. I always had Jamie and…and I was selfish like that.

            "I'm sorry," I whisper.

            Ryder rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, "For what?"

            "For not helping you. For not getting to know you sooner. But for what it's worth, I'd like to make up for it now." I really mean that. I'm pulled to him and I know it’s not just because he reminds me a little of Jamie. It’s more than that. I like the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around me like a warm blanket. I like the way he looks at me, whenever he does actually look at me, and I like the fact that he gave me his lucky guitar pick when he barely knew me.

            "You don’t have to do that either. I didn't say those things to piss you off or make you feel guilty. You're really nice, but I'm just not a guy you need to get to know."

            And then he's shut off again. He's facing the window, his foot jiggling impatiently. I toss my phone at him and ask him to text my mother about dinner, which he does without a problem. But he doesn't return my phone.

            "What are you doing?" I ask, looking over at him and then back to the road.

            "Just looking at your phone background," he answers and then hands it back. My background is a photo of Jamie and me. It's from the night that I finally figured out I was in love with him. The same night I realized I would never ever tell him because I couldn't bear to lose him.

           
"Those girls keep checking you out," I whisper in his ear.

             I make a show of getting closer to him as we wait in line for popcorn. I could go without it, but Jamie insisted that's the entire reason we come to the movies: for terribly buttery, unhealthy popcorn.

            His gorgeous mocha colored eyes flit up and look at the supermodel wannabes behind us. They instantly start giggling and waving at him. Jamie's never been outright rude, but he turns around without even breaking out the killer flirt smile, the one that drives me crazy.

            "What’s up with that?" I ask, feeling the prior jealousy leak from my heart.

            He shrugs, "Not interested. I'm here with you." He gives me that killer smile and throws his arm around me, tugging me closer. I can smell his cologne and his soap and everything else that's distinctly Jamie. And my heart speeds up, nearly beating out of my chest, rattling around inside of there. My stomach flutters and I feel sort of faint.

            At that moment I realized something. I realized that I was in love with Jamie Morgan. I've never been one for jealousy and I felt so jealous of those other girls that I was seeing green, but Jamie ignored them and has his arm around me. I am in love with my best friend, the boy who laughs at inappropriate times, the boy who insists on only listening to music with real instruments, the boy who knows all my secrets. All of them except one.

           
We pull up in my driveway and I still have Jamie on my mind. As I park the car, I close my eyes and I can almost imagine it's him in that seat next to me. The tears threaten to come, to pour down my face as I look down at the picture on my phone and his initials inscribed on my wrist. I can't do this now, not in front of Ryder. He's struggling more than I am.

           
Just as I'm about to open my eyes, I feel his hand on my arm. His touch is warm and secure, bringing me back to the land of the living. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, but concern laces every inch of it, "Claire, are you okay?" I nod as I open my eyes.

            Ryder is actually looking at me now, his hair pushed away from those stunning eyes. There's so much depth there and I wonder why he hid it before, or perhaps it wasn't always there or maybe I'm seeing things.

            "Yeah, thanks," I place my hand on top of his for the briefest of moments and then get out of the car.

            My mom opens the door and she's smiling so wide you'd think she'd just won a million dollars. "Hello, Ryder," she comes up to him, doesn't even give his cuts a second glance as she hugs him. "Welcome to our home."

            Ryder is frozen like a statue, not completely sure what to do. Mom doesn't care though, because she starts to ramble about the guest room where he'll be staying and how my Dad is looking forward to meeting him. Once we get him settled in the room across the hall from mine, Mom and I head downstairs to the kitchen where it smells like Italian chicken is cooking.

            "His mother did that to him?" Anger laces my mother's voice. I nod.

            "Yeah, she's a real piece of work. I was eavesdropping while I waited for him and heard them mention that she's been arrested and tomorrow he has to go to court so they can figure out where to put him," I answer as I grab a fork and take a bite of macaroni and cheese.

            "He has no other family? No other friends?" She asks as she grabs the potholders and takes the pan out of the oven. The smell alone makes my mouth water.

            "No one. He told me he would've slept in his car if I hadn’t offered."

            My mother clucks her tongue and puts her hands on her hips. I've seen that face before and I know what she's thinking. "He's not a stray animal, Mom. He's a person."

            Mom gives me her signature stern look, the one that scrunches up her pretty face. "I am well aware of that, Claire. It's just so sad and have you looked at him? He just…well, his shoulders just sag and he just radiates sadness. He needs people in his life and maybe we can all be those people."

            I stare at her, not caring that I'm showcasing yet another bite of macaroni and cheese in my mouth.

            "Close your mouth, girl. That’s unattractive," she admonishes and then gives me a wink as she takes out the rolls and places them in a basket.

            "What will Dad say? Wait, where is Dad?"

            "He's upstairs getting changed. Your father will agree because he's like me. Besides this a human, not an animal as you so kindly pointed out earlier."

            Ryder Andrews is going to live with me? My life just got interesting on a whole new level.

RYDER

            The room is pretty nice. It's got a huge king size bed with a floral comforter that I could do without. I put my stuff in the corner next to the television. It feels weird not having to stress out about hiding my guitar or worrying if someone's coming in my room to beat the crap out of me just for kicks or because the LSD they're on is laced with something else and they think I'm trying to rob them or that I'm a killer garden gnome.

            It's awkward too, though. I was content to stay the night in my car, but there was no way around it. Mr. Clark was pretty adamant on watching me call my "friend." That felt like a kick in the face, to realize there was really no one to call. Then Claire showed up. My heart did stupid things when I saw her and I couldn't seem to control it. I try so hard to be rude to her, but she keeps coming back, putting up with it and I want to tell her she's better than that, better than me.

            Now I'm at her house. In the car I could tell I upset her, but I didn't mean too. I just said what came to my mind. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. When she was about to cry, though, that tore me up inside. Parts of me that I thought were dead came alive. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her it's okay, that I'll always be there for her. But that last part would be a lie.

            The day begins to take its toll on me and the weight of it suddenly settles on my shoulders. I can smell the food downstairs and I know it's time to eat, but…that feeling, the one that is as familiar as a second skin creeps in.  I dig through the box and find a black bag and carry it with me to the bathroom. Beneath the sink I find the towels, and I try to pick one that I think won't be missed. I can hear Claire laugh downstairs and the perfect sound causes me to freeze. That laugh is one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. It's a melody that's instantly stuck on repeat inside my head. I look at the razor sitting inside my bag and feel shame wash over me. But I have to do it. It's the only thing keeping me from jumping off the ledge right now when so much has been left undone.