Happenstance (4 page)
“Because my face has got to be bright red right now.”
I nudged him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Two weeks ago if someone
told me you’d be saying that to me, I would have thought they were legitimately
insane.”
“Would you have wanted me to kiss you two weeks ago?”
I could only manage a side glance; then my line of sight dropped
to my feet dangling from the tailgate. “No.”
“No?”
“For the same reason I don’t want you to kiss me now.”
His eyes lit up with realization. “Alder.”
“Yes,” I said, pressing my lips into a hard line. He nodded once,
conceding. “Is there something going on at the Diversion Dam tonight?” I asked,
desperate to change the subject.
Weston leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “I don’t
know, and I don’t care.”
I crawled up next to him, and while looking up at the stars, we
exchanged memories about grade school, how much we loathed Mrs. Turner, and
everything else in our world with the exception of Erin Alderman.
“Are you going to miss high school? I mean, you must,” I said,
shaking my head in amazement. “You’re like a god here.”
He laughed once; then his face crumbled. “The god of Hell is the
devil. Not really much of a compliment.”
“
Touché
.” I let my legs swing back and forth, feeling the
chilly spring breeze blow through the thin fabric of my pants. It was warm
enough that the bugs were chirping and buzzing in the grass. I listened to
their symphony, our own little private show.
We drank our pops, and Weston crunched them in his man hands and
tossed them behind us. He helped me down and walked around to my side, opening
the door. I climbed up and sat, and he looked up at me.
“You doing anything for Spring Break?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“My parents are going skiing with our church group. I was
supposed to go to South Padre with Alder and Brady and pretty much the whole
football team and cheer squad, but I’m going to back out.”
I frowned, confused.
Weston was clearly amused as he leaned his elbow on the bottom
compartment of the door, looking up at me with his perfect, sweet smile. “I’m
going to stay here.”
“Won’t your parents pitch a fit?”
“They’ll understand. Besides, I’m eighteen. Not really much they
can do.”
“Alder won’t understand.”
“I’m not worried about it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re going to leave me out of it, right?”
“Yes, Easter. I wouldn’t throw you under the bus like that.”
“I just feel like I should remind you that I’m moving away in a
few months. I’m not crazy enough to think you’re doing all of this for me, but
if even a small part of it . . .”
“What if I was? Doing all of this for you.”
“I would ask you why. Why all of a sudden are you so interested
in me?”
“Who says it’s all of a sudden?”
I tried not to smile. The only things that kept my face smooth were
my next words, and I said them with conviction. “Weston, you’re a nice guy. I’d
be lying if I said I didn’t like you. But I’m getting the hell out of here.”
He shut the door and walked slowly to the driver’s side. He stood
at his door for a full minute. When he finally sat in his seat and switched on
the ignition, he had to speak up over the roaring of the Chevy’s glass packs. “So
am I.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute? Like . . . not
through this window?” Weston was pleading with his big emerald eyes. He’d been
looking at me that way off and on for a week, in the hallway and in the classes
we shared. I knew he wanted to say something to me, but things had been awkward
between us since he dropped me off at my house several nights before.
I looked to Frankie. She pursed her lips and motioned for me to
go to the back door.
“Yeah . . . yeah, you can uh . . . meet me in the back.”
I turned on my heels and made my way to the back, every muscle in
my body tense from my face to my toes. I pushed open the door, and Weston
stepped inside. We stood alone in the storage room, with harsh fluorescent lighting
making me look as horrible as possible, surrounded by boxes of syrup and
toppings, and the weird smell from the drain wafting in the air. He didn’t say
anything at first, and my eyes drifted, targeting everything in the room except
him, while I waited for him to speak.
“I’m a dick,” he said, his eyebrows pulling in.
“What?”
“I’m worse than a dick. I’m a coward. I should have said
something a long time ago. When you stood up to Erin, it just … gave me my
balls back I guess. They’re so damn mean, and I didn’t want any of that
directed at me, but . . . they’re girls. They’re teenage girls, and I’m ashamed
that I’ve been too intimidated to say anything. Especially to Brady. What kind
of asshole lets an asshole like that speak to a woman the way he speaks to you?
I hated it. I’ve hated it for years, and I just tried to ignore it.”
I shook my head. Brady, Brendan, and the Erins had said a few
things to me that week, but nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn’t sure what had
Weston so riled up. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to . . .”
“I know you don’t. I’ve been thinking about this all week. All
month. I’m not going to let them, or anyone else, treat you like that anymore.”
I wasn’t sure what look I had on my face, but Weston suddenly seemed nervous. “What?”
“I don’t know . . . I mean . . . you still haven’t said why?”
He sighed. “I know. We’re two months away from grad, and they’ve
been torturing you since grade school. I can’t go back, but I can make it up to
you.”
“That’s it? That’s your reason? You suddenly grew a conscience?”
He winced. “Ouch.”
I crossed my arms. “Frankie has a long line out there, so let’s
get to the point. You’re like a different person. You’ve turned against all of
your friends and are hanging out with me, who you’ve barely spoken to since
kindergarten. I think it’s fair for me to ask why.”
“I’ve talked to you as much as I could.”
“As you
could
?”
He coughed into the crook of his arm. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t need you to save me, Weston. I’ve handled things on my
own for a long time. I’m not a charity case.”
He frowned. “I never said you were.”
“We’d both probably be better off if you just returned to life as
normal, and left me alone.”
He winced, like my words had physically hurt him. “That’s
bullshit. You don’t really feel that way, do you?”
“I don’t know how I feel!”
“Neither do I!” he said, wheezing. He pulled his inhaler from his
pocket and took a puff. After a few moments, he began again, this time calmer. “I
don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life. And I feel like . . . I
feel like you’re the only person in the world that doesn’t expect me to. What I
do know is that I wasn’t happy about the direction my life was going until you
got into my truck that first night. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Erin.
I’m just . . . I’m winging it. I was kinda hoping you would wing it with me.”
Despite every negative thought running through my head, my lips curved
up.
He slowly pulled me against his chest and hugged me. His muscles
were both soft and hard. My head fit perfectly beneath his chin. We stood like
that for what seemed like a long while. He smelled like sweat, but the good
kind of sweat. He could have smelled like the weird stuff that was fermenting
in the floor drain, and I still would have liked it.
“I better get back up there,” I said, my cheek still against his
chest. He was a whole head taller than my five foot three inches, and I was
glaringly aware of his fingers on my back, wrapping around to the side of my
ribs. We had never been this close, even though I’d imagined what it must have
felt like many times before.
He pulled away. “I’ll see you later?”
“I have homework.”
“Bring it with you.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I guess I can do that. If you
leave me alone and let me finish.”
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
He pushed through the door, and when it slammed behind him, I ran
to the front, nearly smacking Frankie in the face with the swinging door.
Weston jogged to his truck, climbed in, and sped off, pausing for
only a moment before pulling out onto Main Street.
Frankie watched me expectantly.
I shrugged.
“So he’s your knight in shining armor, now?” she asked.
My face screwed up into disgust. “No. I told him I don’t need to
be saved. And you should already know that about me by now.”
She smirked. “But it’s kinda nice to be defended.”
I tried not to smile, but lately it was impossible not to.
“I like him,” Frankie said. “And so do you. But in a completely
different way.”
I made a face. “You have a vivid imagination.”
“You’re different since he started hangin’ around.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, rolling my eyes and
reaching for the closest rag.
“Well, you don’t hate him.”
I scrubbed the sink without actually paying attention to what I
was doing. “Not today.”
~*~
When we closed the Dairy Queen and walked out the back
door, the red pickup wasn’t parked in the back. It wasn’t anywhere.
“I thought y’all had plans?” Frankie asked.
I shrugged.
“Ride?”
I shook my head and walked home. My hand touched the handle on
our dirty screen door. I waited for the sound of his engine, but heard nothing.
Soul Asylum drifted through the walls, and I was glad. If I was going to be
stood up by Weston, I didn’t want to have to deal with Gina, too.
I pushed through the door and headed straight back to my room. It
felt lonelier than usual. A loud knocking came from the front door, and I rolled
my eyes, assuming it was one of Gina’s friends or her dealer, coming over to
party. A few seconds later, Gina appeared in my doorway, her heavy mascara was
smeared, the whites of her eyes bright red and glassy. She was still in her
supermarket apron and her name badge was hanging crooked from her white polo
shirt.
“It’s for you.” Her face mirrored my confusion.
I nodded and stood up, walking into the front room. I stopped in
the middle of the carpet. Weston was standing in the front doorway, his hands
in the pockets of his letterman jacket. The body of the coat was maroon-dyed
wool, and a big Chenille B was stitched to the left side, outlined in white.
Weston’s jacket was almost too busy with everything he’d lettered in during his
high school career, especially with the numerous patches on his leather
sleeves. I’d never wanted a letterman, and it was weird to see someone wearing
one in my living room.
Gina stood next to me, gawking at him. She scratched her arm and
nodded toward him. “Who is he?”
Weston held out his hand. “Weston Gates, ma’am. I’m a friend of
Erin’s.”
Gina hesitated, but she finally shook his hand then looked to me.
“Are you going somewhere?”
I nodded.
“Erin was going to help me with my homework.” He lied seamlessly,
as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
“Oh,” Gina said, satisfied. That probably made sense to her,
because she couldn’t fathom someone like Weston Gates wanting anything else
from me.
I rushed to my room to change and gathered my things. A minute
later, I was behind Weston, hurrying him outside. Once we got into his truck, I
sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t want you to see my house.”
“Why not?”
“It’s filthy. It smells.”
“All I smelled was weed. Your mom is baked,” he said, amused.
When he realized I wasn’t, he reached over for my forearm. “Hey. It’s a house,
Erin. It’s not a big deal. I don’t care where you live.”
“It’s just humiliating,” I said, wiping a tear away. “I didn’t
want you to see that.”
Weston pulled away from the curb, his jaw working under his skin.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Erin, I’m sorry. I thought it was nicer than
picking you up from the DQ. I thought I’d introduce myself to your mom.”
“She’s not my mom,” I said staring out the window.
“Huh?”
“Her name is Gina.”
“Are you adopted?”
“No. But,” I looked over at him, “do you ever get the feeling
that you belong somewhere else?”
“All the time,” he said, sounding exhausted.
“I’ve never felt like her daughter. Not even when I was little.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s the way she is? She doesn’t seem like
the mom type.”
“She’s not.”
“Then it makes sense that you would feel that way.”
We weren’t driving out of town like we usually did. Instead, we
were driving to the south side, where many of the doctors and attorneys lived.
Weston’s parents built a huge house on a lot there when we were in middle
school. He pulled into his driveway and under the arch that attached the house
to one of the garages. The spot was enclosed by garage doors, the side of the
house, and a gate to the backyard.
When he turned off the engine, I shook my head. “I’m not going in
there.”
“Oh, quit it,” Weston said, pressing the garage door opener. Hopping
down, he slammed his door and then jogged around to my side, opening my door
with a wide grin. When I didn’t budge, his face fell. “Don’t be such a baby.”
I slowly climbed down and followed him into the garage and
through a door. The house was dark, but a television was on somewhere. The dim
blue light grew brighter as we approached the kitchen.
“Weston?” a woman called.
“I’m home, Mom!” he called back. He slipped my backpack off my
shoulders and set it on the counter.
“Weston, what are you doing?” I said through my teeth, getting
angrier by the second.
His mother walked into the kitchen, her highlighted hair and oval
face accentuating her amazing green eyes. It was clear who Weston favored. She
stopped, surprised to see me. I wanted to crawl under the counter.
“Who’s this?” she said, with fake cheerfulness in her voice.
“Erin Easter.” He looked at me. “This is my mom, Veronica.”
“Nice to meet you,” I choked out.
She gave me a once over, visibly unimpressed with my appearance.
Her eyes critically assessed me like I was a parasite that had infiltrated her
home and needed to be exterminated. Weston didn’t seem to notice. He opened the
pantry, grabbed a bag of chips, a jar of salsa, and two bananas then pulled a
couple of cold cans of Cherry Coke from the fridge.
“We’re going downstairs,” he said.
“Weston Allen,” Veronica began.
“Night, Mom,” he said, guiding me in front of him toward a door
down the hall. I grabbed my backpack and walked slowly, unsure of where to go.
“This one,” Weston said.
I opened it, and he walked past, using his elbow to flip on the
light, revealing a flight of stairs leading to a lower level. When we reached
the bottom, we walked into a vast room with couches, a couple of televisions, a
gaming system, a wet bar, exercise equipment, a pool table, and an air hockey
table.
That one room was bigger than my entire house.
“Whoa,” I said quietly, letting Weston lead me to the couch.
“This is my space. They won’t bug us down here.” He unscrewed the
lid of the salsa, and the bag of tortilla chips crackled as he unrolled it. “You
hungry?”
“I’ll take that banana,” I said, pointing.
He tossed it to me. “I’ll wait.”
“For what?”
“Until you finish your homework. I’m going to find us a movie to
watch.”
I watched him while he pushed buttons on the remote without
looking at them, turning on the DVR and browsing the movies on demand. I pulled
out my textbook. A piece of notebook paper stuck out from the page I needed,
and I worked on the nine questions I had left to answer. It took only about
fifteen minutes to finish, and Weston remained quiet, keeping his word.
Once I closed my book and packed away my things, he excitedly
returned his focus to me. “Do you want to watch
Triple Thunder
, or
The
Dark House
on the
Hill
?”
“Both sound equally . . . entertaining.”
“
Triple Thunder
it is.” He pushed a button on the remote,
and the screen turned black for a moment. He chose a few more options; then the
movie began, opening with a sweaty guy running for his life in a desert.
Halfway through the movie, Weston leaned back against the couch
cushion, his size twelves crossed at the ankle on top of the ottoman that
doubled as a coffee table. I had a more difficult time relaxing.
Weston looked over at me, back at the television, and then back
at me.
“What?”
“You’re so uptight. Do you want me to take you home?”
“I just . . . I don’t think your mom likes that I’m here. And I .
. .”
Weston’s phone chirped. Alder’s name lit up the display. He read
the text in less than a second, then shot one back.
“What if your mom mentions to Alder that I was here?”
“She won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“She doesn’t want Alder to be mad at me. She’s already
envisioning Gates-Alderman grandchildren.”
