Foretold (32 page)

She knocks on the side of the RV, the sound echoing inside. “Need help?”

“Nope. I got it.”

“Okay. See you later, Carson,” she says, waving wildly.

I watch Willow until she turns around and disappears. Alone now, I lean on the edge of the small kitchen counter. I sigh, and it feels like I’m releasing a bunch of demons. This is a new beginning, a place to start a new life and forget my past.

“I met our new neighbor today,” I tell my parents as we sit down for dinner. “His name is Carson.”

“That’s nice,” Mom says.

“I think we should invite him over for dinner or something.”

Dad reaches out and grabs one of the cornbread muffins that I made. “That sounds like a great idea, Willow.” He takes a bite, then turns to my mother. “This is delicious. Our daughter has a talent, Betsy.”

“Yes, she does,” Mom says, smiling at him. “She’s also got a green thumb. Have you seen what she’s done next door?”

“I sure have. I hope that Carson fella appreciates all the hard work you put into his property.”

After Mr. Yates died, I’ve made sure that his yard is taken care of. He used to pay me to do it, but it wasn’t like a job, because I like to garden. I don’t know if Mr. Yates appreciated the well-groomed yard, or if he just liked having me come over so he could have someone to talk to. He was lonely and his family didn’t come around much. I wonder if Carson is going to be just as lonely as Mr. Yates.

• • •

Carson’s lived next door for two weeks when I decide to make a housewarming cake for him. It’s a special recipe I made up two years ago one day when I was bored. I call it Creamy Apple Pie Upside-Down Cake. I sold the recipe to this bakery called The Cakery Bakery in town, and it’s one of their best sellers.

I find Carson outside his RV, sitting on a folding chair in front of Mr. Yates’s old fire pit. He sits alone every night like this, staring into the fire as if the answers to life are gonna jump out of the flames and smack him in the face. I don’t want to burst his bubble and tell him that’s not gonna happen.

“Hi, Carson!” I say cheerfully as I walk toward him. “I made you a housewarming present.”

He eyes the cake in my hand.

“Here,” I say, handing it to him. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles before putting the cake inside his RV and coming back out.

I sit on a stump a little ways from the fire. “I’m glad you moved in. It was sad having no neighbors after Mr. Yates died. He was a nice man, and had the most awesome stories about when he was a teenager, like the time he dressed as a girl to get into his girlfriend’s dorm room.”

Carson watches the fire without responding.

I say something to fill the void, which I figure is better than uncomfortable silence. “How old are you? You know, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Eighteen.”

“Oh. I’m sixteen. I have a cousin Tracy who’s my age, and she’s dating this guy Jake who’s eighteen.” I laugh nervously. “Jake’s really different from you, though. He’s really rude. And he’s got his ears pierced with lug nuts. Tracy told me
that once his ear got infected by the lug nut and all this pus started oozing out of it. She said that—”

He looks up at me and shakes his head, as if he’s completely uninterested in the pus-infected lug-nut ear-piercing story.

“TMI, huh?” I say.

He nods.

Okay, so I guess Jake’s oozing ear probably isn’t the best conversation starter. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Carson leans forward on his elbows. “Listen, Willow, I’ve got to be honest with you. I probably won’t be as good of a neighbor as Yates, so don’t go having high expectations.”

“Why not?”

“Well. Like you noticed, I don’t talk much.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell him. “I can talk for the both of us until you’re ready to, you know, reciprocate.”

He picks up a stick and tosses it into the fire. “I may never reciprocate.”

I pick up a stick and toss it in the fire, too. “You need to talk to people, Carson. You might not know it yet, but you will.”

“What I need is money. Lots of it.”

“For what?”

He looks up at me again, the yellow fire flickering in his green eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”

“I’m curious by nature,” I say proudly.

He gives a cynical laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”

We sit for a while. Carson stares into the fire while I study his face. I don’t think he realizes how good-looking he is. I can’t pinpoint his best feature. He’s got a straight nose, a strong jawline, and eyes that are so piercing he could probably attract any girl he wants. I can’t look at them for too long
or else I get all tingly inside. I’ve never seen him smile, but I’d bet that if he did it would brighten up whatever room he’s in.

I’m about to tell him I was chosen to be the head debater on the debate team at school when he looks up and asks, “How did your dad lose his arm?”

I don’t really think about it much, although I guess it’s obvious to the rest of the world that my dad only has one arm. He doesn’t walk around with a prosthetic limb or anything … he said it’s no use trying to hide or be ashamed of it. It’s been three years since he came back from the Middle East. At first I couldn’t stop staring at the place where his arm should be, and I was afraid to hug him. Eventually it became a nonissue, and now I don’t even remember what he was like before. “The army. He was serving in Iraq and he kind of ran into an explosive.”

“That sucks.”

“He’s alive. That’s really all that matters.”

“You always look at the positive side of everything?” Carson asks.

I think about it for a second before answering. “Yeah, I do. I just don’t see any use looking at things in a negative way. It’ll only make you sad. Why be sad if you don’t have to be?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It seems to be the theme of my life lately.”

“Well, you need to change that.”

He laughs. Not a small, polite laugh designed to make me feel good. It’s a real laugh, the first one I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. It’s so genuine it makes me smile just hearing it. “I don’t know if anyone can change, Willow. Especially not me.”

“Everyone can change, Carson,” I say. “
Even
you.”

I’m building wooden pallets from scrap wood when Willow walks past me on her way home from school. She’s got her backpack slung over one shoulder and her eyes locked on the sky above. Willow isn’t a classic beauty, but she’s definitely got something about her that makes you look her way. It could be her long red hair and the headband that she always wears, showing off a freckled face that looks so innocent you wonder if she’s for real.

“Yo, Willow. Talk to me.”

It amuses me that she doesn’t hesitate. She’s not cautious and skeptical, like me. In fact, she’s the exact opposite.

“Need help?”

“Maybe. Want to help me make these pallets?”

“Okay, but first you have to tell me what a pallet is.”

With hurried steps, Willow comes over and hangs her backpack on one of the thick low-lying branches of the only tree on my lot.

The first time I met Willow, I thought she was the most annoying girl I’d ever met. I mean, seriously, the girl cannot keep her mouth shut for an entire five minutes. If she did, she might instantaneously combust. And she’s got this annoying habit of being upbeat and optimistic about everything and anything.

Every instinct in my body tells me to run and hide whenever I see or hear her. Instead, I find myself being strangely amused by my red-haired neighbor. I’ve gotten used to her hanging around.

“This is a pallet,” I say, showing her the square structure I’ve nailed together with wooden slats. “I sell ’em to companies for nine bucks apiece. It’s not much, but I make enough to pay for this place.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Truth is, I really don’t need her to do anything. I can practically build these pallets blindfolded, but I figure hearing Willow and her crazy stories will stop me from thinking too much. I need to stop thinking.

“Set up the wood pieces in a square pattern and I’ll come around and nail them down.”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take long before Willow and I get into a rhythm and we’ve got a pretty good assembly line going. Maybe I was wrong and I do need her to help me so I can finish faster. Forty-five minutes later, Willow announces that we’re out of scrap lumber and we’re done. We finished a stack of ten pallets in record time.

“I owe you dinner,” I tell her.

She smiles shyly. “No, you don’t. You owe me a
favor
.”

“What kind of
favor
?”

She stands in front of me with furrowed eyebrows. “I don’t get people to owe me favors much, so I better save this one for a rainy day. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”

“You’re not like any other girl I’ve ever known.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asks, but then holds her hand up. “Wait, don’t answer that question.”

“Why?”

“Because my mom once told me never to ask questions I don’t want to know the answer to.”

I nod. “I wish I’d gotten that advice from my mom.”

“What’s the best advice she ever gave you?” she asks.

“She didn’t.” I look off into the distance, because the truth still stings after all these years. “My mom left when I was nine years old. She visited every couple of years, but I haven’t seen her in a while. I guess you could say my mom wasn’t a
permanent fixture after she moved on. She was more of an acquaintance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. No need to dwell on it now.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” she asks, then backs up and puts her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I know I ask too many questions. Just forget I asked that last one.”

She reaches up to slide her backpack off of the branch, but I put my hand over hers to stop her. “You don’t have to leave.” I look into her eyes and tell her the truth. Not because she’s prying, but because I want to. “I don’t blame her for bailing. I would have left if I was her, too.”

Willow leans forward and wraps her arms around me. “Thanks,” she murmurs into my chest.

“For what?”

She keeps her arms around me but looks up, her big brown eyes showing nothing but empathy. “Being real.”

I hug her back. “Thank
you
, Willow.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be real.”

I have a crush. A big one.

I didn’t mean to fall for Carson. Maybe it was the way he laughed when I told him to always be positive. Or maybe it was the way he hugged me two days ago, after I helped him make the pallets. I could always blame my crush on his eyes—those bright green, fire-reflecting eyes.

But deep down I know it’s not his eyes.

A loud banging noise outside interrupts my thoughts. I push our curtains aside and peek out the window. Carson is standing in front of his RV, making pallets. His muscles bunch up as he manipulates the pieces of wood and nails them together.

I watch him for a while, stupidly staring as if I’m watching the most captivating home improvement show known to man. When he wipes sweat off his face with his shirt and glances in my direction, I snap out of my trance and quickly let go of the curtain.

Show over.

Just as I’m vowing not to stare out the window at Carson and admire everything about him ever again, there’s a knock at the door.

Oh no.

Maybe I should ignore it and hope he goes away so I don’t have to explain why I was spying on him.

I wince as I slowly open the door, ready to apologize to my neighbor for spying on him. But it’s not Carson standing in the doorway. It’s my friend Katie.

“Hey, Willow!” Katie says. Her curly blond hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing shorts so short they ride up her butt. I know this because her locker is next to mine and I always catch her picking her shorts out of her crack between classes. “Umm … is that your new neighbor with his shirt off?”

“Yes,” I say slowly.

Katie flips her hair back and says enthusiastically, “Wow. He’s even hotter than what you described.” She glances at Carson. “Invite him to the lake with us.”

“Carson!” I yell out. “Want to come to the lake with us?”

“Maybe later,” he says.

I’m ashamed to say that I wish he’d simply said no, for
the mere fact that I like spending time with Carson alone. I know it’s weird, but when I’m with him I feel like we have this connection. If other people are with us, I’m afraid the connection will disappear. Or maybe I don’t want him to come to the lake because I don’t want to share him with anyone else.

I’m so selfish.

I head to the lake with Katie and give a short wave when we pass Carson.

“Have fun,” he says.

“We will,” I call out.

At the lake, our friend Dex is leaning back on his elbows, his face pointing toward the sun. Dex’s best friend, Tyler, is skipping stones near the water’s edge.

I sit on the bench next to Dex. We talk for a while … about school, life, and how sports is the center of the universe—that’s according to Dex.

“Katie tells me you’ve got a boyfriend,” Dex says.

“I do not have a boyfriend,” I tell him.

“She’s got a major crush,” Katie chimes in while Tyler is teaching her how to skip stones. “He’s not her official boyfriend … yet.”

I can feel my face getting red-hot just thinking about the prospect of Carson being my boyfriend. It’s a fantasy, not reality. “He doesn’t even know I like him,” I tell them. “Besides, we’re just friends.”

“With benefits?” Dex asks.

“No, it’s not like that.”

When Tyler and Katie challenge each other to jump in the lake fully clothed, Dex turns to me. “Is that
the boyfriend
?”

I look to where his attention is focused. My mouth goes dry when I see Carson walking over to us. “Shh, don’t embarrass me,” I tell Tyler in a hushed whisper.

Carson stops right in front of me and smiles. “Hey.”