Happenstance: Part Two (Happenstance #2) (4 page)

Just as I began to drift off to sleep, I heard Sam’s deep voice murmuring to Julianne in their bedroom downstairs. Within minutes I heard quiet footsteps up the stairs, and then my door opened. I lifted my head to see them both looking at me.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered. “Just checking on ya. Habit.”

“It’s okay,” I said, laying my head back on the pillow as the door creaked closed. I lay there, thinking about how many nights they’d peeked through the door that no longer had the pastel letters hanging from it, and how strange it must be for them to open this one to check on a different girl.

A peculiar sensation came over me, a strong feeling that I didn’t belong in that house. For the first time since I’d left Gina’s, I missed the ugly, matted shag carpet and the lopsided fan in my bedroom. The walls in this room weren’t scuffed or peeling, and the carpet was too clean. The fixtures in the bathroom weren’t dripping or caked with some kind of scum, and the dresser drawers didn’t whine when I opened them. It smelled like Downy dryer sheets and a clean, sophisticated smell unique to Sam and Julianne. The bed was too comfortable. The sheets too soft.

I didn’t belong with Gina, and I didn’t fit into Alder’s life. There wasn’t enough time to try. The hot chocolate suddenly sounded fantastic, but I didn’t want to wake the other two people who lived in the house. A fleeting thought crossed my mind that I sort of wished they drank too much or got high so I could walk around in the middle of the night if I wanted, but then I felt so guilty for it, I could barely stand to be in my own skin.

“WHAT IS THAT?”
Weston asked as we walked toward the Chevy.

I turned to see him pointing at my backside. Like a dog chasing its tail, I made a three-sixty in the the front yard, trying to see what he was pointing at.

He chuckled and stopped me, pulling the smartphone from my back pocket.

“This.”

“Oh. Julianne gave it to me last night.”

“It’s a phone.”

“I know.”

“Does it work?”

“I think so. I haven’t turned it on.”

He handed it back to me with a smirk on his face. “You haven’t turned it on? Why not?”

I shrugged and proceeded to the truck. “I didn’t have time to read the directions. I don’t know how.”

After Weston and I settled into our seats and buckled our seat belts, he held out his hand. I took it. Then he held out his other hand.

I frowned. “Are we making a secret handshake?”

His amusement turned into a full-blown cackle. “The phone, Erin! Give me your phone so I can give you the crash course.”

I handed it over, and he instructed me on how to turn it on, add contacts, and send text messages. He even added a couple of songs and showed me how to listen to them.

“The most important thing during school is this,” he said, flipping a tiny switch on the side with the little bit of thumbnail he had. “It makes your ringer silent. You can change your ring tone if you want. I can show you that later.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something people do to make it their own. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you should definitely keep it on silent. If your ringer goes off during class, you might get your phone taken away.”

“Who’s going to call me during school?”

“I might text you if I knew your number.” He tapped the screen twice and then grabbed his phone, punching in more numbers. “Never mind. Got it.”

I took back the phone. “Maybe I didn’t want you to have it,” I teased, but then realization dawned on me, and I felt a little sad. “You’re probably the only person who’ll use it.” The phone buzzed in my hand, and I looked down. It was a text message.

Weston leaned over and showed me how to open it.

It’s Sam (Dad). Don’t forget about dinner. See you tonight. Have a good day at school.

Will do,
I typed back, and let the phone fall in my lap. The corners of my mouth curled up.

“Who was it?” Weston asked, clearly unhappy about the look on my face.

“Sam,” I said. “He was reminding me about dinner tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, his brows still furrowed. He drove away from our neighborhood toward the school. He seemed lost in thought, using his signal and going the speed limit like he’d done a hundred times before. But he didn’t say anything else until we parked in the student lot and walked inside.

This time he didn’t try to hold my hand. He put his arm around me, walked me to my locker, and kissed my hair.

“See you after class,” he said, walking away. The juniors and sophomores who had lockers along the same unit stared at me, surprised at the unusual show of affection.

I put my backpack in my locker, grabbed my bio textbook, and headed to class. My table was empty when I arrived, but then so were several others. I was early, so it was a good time to put my homework on Mrs. Merit’s desk. Thinking ahead and doing things in a way that would draw the least amount of attention was a part of me. It would probably always be.

Just as I returned to my chair, Brady Beck strolled in and sat in Sara Glenn’s seat across from me. Instinct had me recoiling, and then I was immediately embarrassed that I did so.

He seemed to enjoy it. “Did you ask him?”

“Ask who what?”

“Weston. Why he’s so interested in you all of a sudden.”

“We’ve already talked about all of that.”

“Then he didn’t tell you the truth.”

“Why don’t you just say what you want me to hear, and we can be through with it?”

Brady’s eyes sparkled with the many things playing out behind them. He was considering his options, what he wanted to say, and whether the outcome would be what he wanted.

“Nah,” he said, pushing back the chair and standing up. He sat down in his own chair, still staring at me. “You can take the girl out of the trailer park…”

I looked down at my phone and pressed the button Weston showed me to push. His name was on the screen, and I smiled, knowing he’d put his number into my contacts. It was nice to have a short conversation with him to keep me distracted while the class filled with sleepy students.

“Did the Aldermans get you that?” Brady asked.

The dozen or so students who had filtered in and sat down all turned to look at me.

I didn’t look up.

“What does it feel like to benefit from the death of someone else?”

I still didn’t respond.

“I can’t believe they’re just letting you take over her life like that, as if she never existed.”

I pressed different buttons on my phone, anything to distract myself.

“Julianne has never been that smart—”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” The words pushed from my throat before I could stop them. My ribs were pressed against the table, my palms flat against the many inscriptions that past and present students had carved into the black, slate surface.

Brady sat back with smug satisfaction unlike anything I’d seen on his face before. He knew now how to get to me. I’d exposed my weakness, and he would undoubtedly exploit it every chance he got.

Sara’s eyes drifted behind me, and I turned around. Mrs. Merit had heard my vulgar outburst, and I awaited punishment.

“Open your books to page two hundred and eighty-three,” she said, walking behind her desk.

During the break between second and third periods, Weston came to my locker with a very different look on his face than he had that morning on the way to school. His cheeks were red, and he was breathing fast.

“What did Brady say to you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters. I heard he said you were happy that Alder died, and that you were benefiting from her death, and that he also mouthed off about Julianne, and you freaked out in class. Is any of that true?”

“Close enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, a little hurt.

“Are you upset?”

“No, I’m pissed off. I’m bordering on rage.”

“That’s why.”

He shifted. “Why let him get away with it, Erin? Why keep letting him treat you that way? He should get a fist in the face, his ass kicked, trip and fall face-first…
something
. People like that don’t just get to treat people like trash and go on with their life with no repercussions.”

“Didn’t you say the other day to feel sorry for them?”

“Brady makes it really hard to feel anything toward him but extreme loathing. It’s not just you. What about that impression he does of Annie Black every time she motors by in her wheelchair? What about Jenny Squires?”

“What about her?”

“She was the boys’ basketball manager just one season, because every night after an away game, she had to wash Brady’s snot out of her hair. He’d sit behind her, no matter where she was on the bus, and hock loogies in her hair. As many as he could clear out of his throat until we pulled into the school parking lot.”

“If you knew about it, why didn’t you say anything?”

Weston looked wounded. “You’re right. I should have done something. A lot of somethings. Especially for you.”

“You did.”

“Ten years too late. Just like Frankie said.”

“Better than never. You can’t save the world. I’m just curious, if you saw it and were so against it, why did you let it go on?”

He looked down. “Maybe I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward.”

“Maybe I was until now.”

Brady walked by and whistled his disapproval. “Still slummin’ it, Gates.”

Weston grabbed Brady by the T-shirt and turned, slamming his back against the locker next to mine.

I flinched and stepped back. Brady’s eyes grew wide, and in that split second, it was like we were both wondering the same thing: what Weston would do next.

“If Karma won’t kick your ass, I will,” Weston seethed, with a tiny hint of a wheeze.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brady yelled.

I touched Weston’s arm, taking a quick glance to see if any teachers were coming.

“Weston?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Weston. Let him go.”

Weston’s wild eyes slowly relaxed, and he released the two fistfuls of T-shirt in his hands.

“If and when his behavior catches up with him, that’s his Karma. How we react is ours.”

Weston’s breathing slowed, and his shoulders relaxed.

Brady walked off quickly, straightening his shirt and rocking his neck from side to side, as if he would or even could retaliate. All he had were his words, and even he knew it. That was why he used them so viciously.

Students had only paused for a moment, thinking a fight was about to break out, but it had ended so quickly, no one had time to congregate and draw more attention. Like nothing had ever happened, everyone walked to class, passing one another like two opposing rivers, taking the same path every day without knowing why.

“Sorry,” he said. “Lost my temper.”

The wheezing that had been barely audible before was more prominent. Weston worked a little harder to pull in a breath.

“Do you have your inhaler?” I asked.

He nodded, pulled it from his pocket, shook the palm-sized container, and squeezed, taking a puff. He kissed my forehead and then walked away without uttering anything more, except for a cough halfway down the hall.

Through the glass surrounding the library, I saw a few students staring at me. I shook my head and made my way to class. Within the walls of our high school were the weak, the sad, the pompous, and the proud, all flying down the same road at a hundred miles an hour to an end for which we weren’t ready. Students who were barely able to remember to bring their coats home from school were waiting to be unleashed into the world as adults.

Part of me was glad that I’d had to fend for myself for so long. Without their mothers nearby, most of my classmates had no clue how to balance their checkbook or even how much Tylenol to take and how often. In school we were babied, scolded, and told when to eat. We even had to raise our hands for permission to go to the bathroom. In just a few short weeks we would be free to rack up credit cards and student loans, or to sign contracts for an apartment we might not be able to afford, because we were taught how to learn, but not how to live.

That was one small thing I could always appreciate about my upbringing, and yet I still wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. I would never get my childhood back. In many ways I had always been the adult, and it was hard to adjust to having parents and now a boyfriend who wanted so much to take care of me.

My thoughts faded away as the posters taped to the wall drew my attention. Decorated in glitter, the posters had letters that spelled out things like
FIRE AND ICE BALL
and
TICKETS ON SALE!
By the excited chatter in the halls, it was obvious that prom was quickly approaching, as was graduation and summer. The energy in the hallways was nearing its peak.

Settling into my desk, I thought about Weston and the sound he made when he tried to breathe. I didn’t know a lot about asthma, but Weston didn’t make a big deal out of it either.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, looked up my messages, and clicked on his name. That seemed like the easiest way to go about it.