Pushing Send (26 page)

“I’m gonna hurt you.”

“Not unless you push me away and stop being my friend.”

“You’re going to hurt me,” I say, immediately regretting it. Why, oh, why do I speak? Ugh!

“No, Hadley Asher. No, I won’t.” I open my eyes to find him scowling. “Regardless of what you think, I never want to hurt you or see you hurt.”

“Pax…” I shake my head. “I’ve had a really bad day, and—”

“Talk to me; tell me all about it. I want to know everything.”

I don’t want him to know everything. I don’t want to hurt him. I want him to go away, but I want him to stay.

“I got my period today.”

His jaw drops; he closes his eyes tight; and then he shakes his head. “Okay….” he says then starts laughing out loud, really loud.

As I slap my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, his eyes pop open, and he laughs again.

“It’s not that funny, Pax. Jesus.”

“Why the hell did you tell me that?” He laughs softer now.

I shrug.

“Did you think it would make me leave?”

I scowl. “Maybe.”

“Didn’t work. Try again.”

“I cried about it.”

“I’ve seen you cry. It doesn’t push me away; it makes me want to comfort you,” he says smugly.

“I cried because my mother would have loved to be here when it—”

“Oh, my God, was it your first peri—”

I smack my hand over his mouth again. “Shut it, Pax.”

He pulls it away, “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“How would I know?” My voice squeaks.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and I look to see what he’s doing. He’s Googling periods!

I snatch the phone out of his hand, “Cut it out.”

“You started it. You were trying to push me away. I’m a better guy than that, Hadley Asher.”

“Or you’re just crazy, Paxton Jamison.”

“Could be that, too.” He lies back down and sighs. “Do you need me to go to the store and get—” I smack his stomach, making him chuckle as he holds my hand firmly in place. “I had to when Lana got hers. Sondra was a freak show.” He looks over at me. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m so sorry she’s gone. I—”

“I know, Hads. Me, too. And I’m even sorrier I pressured you to continue being her friend when she was a little snot to you.”

“It’s a girl thing,” I say, as I relax.

His hand links in mine again, and then he raises our hands to look at his watch. “Two minutes to midnight.”

“Then it won’t be an eve thing anymore,” I say on a yawn.

He rolls over on his side again. “I’ll leave right after if you want.”

I shrug. “If I didn’t scare you away or scar you a few minutes ago, you deserve to stay.”

He smiles. “Would she really have liked it?” His nose scrunches up.

“She kept my baby teeth.” I smile, and he smiles back. “She loved being a mom. She couldn’t wait to see the little human grow up.”

“She did one hell of a job with you.”

“I think yours did, too.” I watch as he licks his lips. They are shaped like bows, big, beautiful bows.

“Aw, damn, thank you. She thanks you, too, I’m sure.”

He looks back at his watch. “Ten, nine, eight, seven”—he pulls me up, and my breath catches when he pulls me closer as he stands—“four, three, two, one. Happy New Year, Hadley Asher.”

He leans in slowly, and I close my eyes as his lips touch my forehead, resting there as he takes in a deep breath, “Let’s make this a good year, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” I say as I feel him press his lips more firmly against my forehead.

“Do you have my number still?” he asks as he pulls away. I shake my head. “That’s a problem. Do you have a phone?”

“Yes, but I don’t use it,” I answer, still feeling dizzy.

“That’s gotta change. I won’t push, but if you need me, Bee has it, okay?” I nod. “I’m serious.”

And I’m dizzy
, I think to myself. “Okay.”

He lets go of me and grabs his coat, then puts on his boots.

“Half an hour with you and I feel like I can take on the world,” he says, as he steps out of the window.

As he is climbing down the roof, I lean out. “Pax?”

He stops his descent. “Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to be a doctor, what do you want to be?” He pauses, smiles, and then laughs. “Shh,” I scold, but can’t help laughing, too.

“You just made my year.”

“Are you gonna answer my question?” I smile.

“Someday.” He smiles back. “Keep smiling, Hadley Asher, regardless of what happens. And by the way, you are truly beautiful inside and out.”

I look at him curiously.

“Truly, Hads. See you soon.” He slips down.

I hear a thud, then see him run across the backyard.

I wish I had his number.

chapter twenty

Facing Judgment…

The night before school starts, I sleep like crap, waking up continuously, and feeling like I’m going to get hurt. Instinct, I guess. That and fear.

When I wake up, I throw some folders and binders—all empty—into my backpack, then walk downstairs.

Mrs. Cruz is sitting on a wooden stool at the granite topped kitchen island.

“Hadley, would you like some breakfast?” she asks me.

“Sure,” I respond blankly.

“Eat some fiber.” She hands me two granola bars and an apple, and I take them, then shove them in the bag.

Bee comes out of the bathroom and walks past me without saying a word. It’s very unlike her and makes me feel even more nervous.

While she grabs an orange out of the fruit bowl and takes a granola ba as well, I watch her, shocked I hadn’t noticed that she looks so much different now. Her deep brown hair fades into blonde at the tips in an
ombre
style. Her glasses seem to be the only thing that stayed the same about her. She’s a lot taller, five-nine I would guess. She seems to have ditched the book “fandoms” for “bandoms” since she’s wearing a black Fall Out Boy T-shirt. They weren’t very popular when I was sent away, but they must be now. Her thick rubber, pink bracelet reads ‘P!ATD’ in black letters. She’s wearing high-waist denim jeans and black high top Converse. To top it off, her keen brown eyes seem to stare into my soul at every glance.

“Ready for school, Hadley?” Bee asks.

“Yeah, sure,” I say blankly

“C’mon, then.” She gestures for me to follow her out the front door.

We hop into the black Chevy car that must be hers.

“How’re you doing?” she asks, as we start down the series of back roads that lead to the school.

“Still crappy.”

“That sucks. It’s been a while; everyone has moved on.”

“Sure,” I remark.

“The Jamisons moved, and the hype died down. They live about twenty miles from here now. They can’t sell the house. No one wants to buy it.”

“I don’t even want to go in that house. I don’t know how anyone could live there.”

She nods, and then we drive the rest of the way to the hell hole of a school in silence. When we pull into the west parking lot, I hop out with the black backpack at my side. Then I walk in the heavy metal doors again, hoping for a better start.

I head straight to the guidance counselor’s office to pick up my schedule from the secretary. She looks me up and down with the permanent grim smile she always carries in the back pocket of her ugly pantsuits.

“Hello, Hadley.” She whips out another. She must have a couple of pockets today.

I nod toward her, then exit the office.

First period, calculus; second period, history; third period, English; fourth period, science; fifth period, study hall; sixth period, lunch; seventh period, home economics; eighth period, general music; ninth period, Spanish; and tenth period, home-room. Great.

I walk to calculus alone, then sit through forty-two minutes of pure torture. We have to read pages fifty-seven through sixty-nine and solve the basic equations on page seventy.

As I leave the class, I notice Sky walking through the halls alone, wearing a pink sweater over an ombre crop-top with light pink and light orange, a denim skirt, and white Vans. At least her style hasn’t changed, but the rest of her has. How did people grow that much over almost two years? She’s taller, like possibly five-foot-ten; her hair is less curly and wavier now, and her eyes are a mocha shade.

Deciding not to approach her, I shake my head and walk to history. This class isn’t as bad. I sit alone in the back and follow along in the textbook. Ancient Greece has interested me since I read
PJO
—
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
—but class is still hard. Still, it’s better than calculus.

I leave when the bell rings, thinking about the homework assigned: thirty-two pages of the ancient Greece textbook we are reading.

English is fine, I guess. Not very fun, but better than lunch is going to be. I used to like English, but I have no idea what I was thinking back then. It seemed to take a while, but it was okay. Homework: the first twenty-four pages in
Hamlet.

Science, as always, is like an instant death. The forty-two minutes seems to take forty-two hours, and the teacher is evil with a capital E. He seems to be stretching the class out even more than it already feels. By the end, three guys in football jackets get detention for falling asleep. Most of the girls snicker, and the other two guys in the room with the same jackets laugh openly and loudly.

It’s odd. I don’t seem to remember any of these people. Even odder, no one is whispering behind my back.

When the bell rings, everyone leaves the room briskly. It’s as if they have some deep fear that they are going to have to stay in that class the whole day if they don’t leave right then.

Study hall is fine. I manage to do all of my reading and even take notes.

Lunch is scary. I don’t eat anything as I sit next to Bee. I know Bee has friends, but I must be like a bug repellent to them. I now finally see people point and whisper about me. I must be some urban legend around here: “The girl who killed her neighbor” or a Dementor of sorts when I’m really just an innocent Gryffindor. Or a public service lesson—“Don’t bully or this can happen like it did with that girl.” It sucks. Every time I notice someone pointing, Bee asks me a question or does something to distract me. I know she is trying to help; however, it only makes me feel bad for her.

The forty-two minutes seem to drag on forever, almost longer than science. When the bell rings, I get up and leave for home economics. Lovely. Cooking, cleaning, and sewing. So much fun. We are teamed up with a partner to bake cookies today for “fun” and an easy A.

When it’s announced that we have to be in partners, all the girls instantly give each-other “that look.” Miranda, one of Claire’s old friends, shoots Bee a glance, but Bee doesn’t respond at all. More guilt.

“You and me, Hadley.” Bee links arms with me.

We make cookies in silence until she asks me the forever dreaded question: “What was it like in there?”

My eyes start to water.

Two cups of flour, two cups of flour, two cups of flour
, I repeat in my head over and over, not responding.

When the bell rings, I just leave. I don’t care anymore.

General music is good. I don’t have to sit with anyone, and we don’t partner up. We merely sit and listen to classical music, taking notes for an upcoming project. It’s good. It’s really good.

The bell rings as soon as the piece finishes, and I leave right then.

Spanish is boring, or I should say,
El español era tan aburrido como un saco de patatas en una noche de mediados de veranos
.

We learn about Spanish history and all that “good stuff.” As soon as the bell rings, I glance at my schedule, realizing I have the Spanish teacher for homeroom as well. God, I hope she doesn’t hate me, too.

As everyone settles in, I realize Bee isn’t in this homeroom. She’s only in my home economics and my lunch.

“Good afternoon class. Please take your seats. Members of the female select choir, baseball players, and anyone else who must leave during this period, please make sure you come and check in with me before you leave. If you aren’t leaving, please begin your work sessions,” Ms. Rivera says.

I read my calculus and finish the problems. No homework left at all. Good.

After the final bell, I walk to Bee’s car and hop in the passenger seat. She’s already in the driver’s seat, and we don’t talk at all.

When we pull into her driveway, I hop out of the car with my bag and go to my—no,
the
room. I fall on the bed like I used to at ho—no, the house in town—deciding to read ahead in
Hamlet
.