Wherever You Go (31 page)

Faith smiled. "It's still cool that I'm coming to your party on Friday, right?"

"I don't even feel like having a party anymore."

"Come on. Your mom is probably superexcited about having your friends over to the house," Faith said. "She'll be disappointed if you don't at least let her buy you some cupcakes. Eighteen's big, anyway."

"Yeah."

"And things will be better with Holly by then, right? You've got a couple days."

Jason gave Faith a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"Hey, I'm here for you," she said.

"I'm glad we're friends," Jason said, giving her a hug and meaning it.

Faith hugged him back. "Me too. Maybe this was all for the better, you know? I've never been friends with an ex."

"Me neither."

"I hope it works out with Holly," Faith said. "Really. Just give her some space."

***

I couldn't put it off any longer. I waited until nearly the last bell and then walked briskly through the doors of school, heaof excitedded toward my locker. Marisa caught up with me in Hallway B.

"Hey, I don't think it's, well, as bad as I thought yesterday," she said.

But as we turned the corner near the lunchroom, a group of sophomore girls stopped talking, staring as we walked past.

"Awesome," I muttered.

"Everyone knows it's a lie," Marisa said.

"Sure." I gave her a smile as lame as I felt. I didn't want to tell her about Jason coming over the day before. About how I'd told him to leave.

"I'm glad you came today. I was afraid you'd hide out at home all week," she said, giving me an encouraging pat on the back.

"No. I'm not going to hide. I think you're right. It only makes things worse."

Marisa stopped in her tracks as we passed the glass doors of the library. "Oh."

I glanced in to see what she was gaping at.

"No, don't look!" she said.

But it was too late. I saw Jason hugging Faith at one of the work tables. "Ohmigod."

Marisa tugged on my hands. "Come on. Let's go."

My heart shriveled down in my chest, along with whatever so-called love I had for Jason. Or maybe it was just the realization that everything he'd said he felt about me couldn't be true.

"Let's go," repeated Marisa.

"Yeah. I'm going home."

"No, just walk away."

I let her pull me away from the glass and down the hall to my locker. I worked the lock and then opened it up. Inside, where the picture of Rob used to be, there was a snapshot of me and Jason he'd taken on the sailboat that day. We were smiling, with Lena and Aldo in the background. He'd taken the picture himself, stretching his arms way out in front of us to capture the scene.

Marisa took the photo from my hands. "As much as you want to rip up this picture, don't. I'll just keep it for you," she said.

"Fine." I snatched my books from the shelf and shoved them into my bag.

The bell rang and I slammed the locker shut, said goodbye to Marisa. I stood outside the door of chem, watching the stream of kids going inside. Jason came toward me down the hallway, and I could hardly look at him, couldn't meet his eyes.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "You Holiday Mullen?" a skinny guy in a Seahawks jersey asked.

"Yeah," I said, wincing at the sound of my real name.

"Mr. Croft wants to see you," he said, stuffing a note into my hands.

"Great." So the rumors about me and Jason and Mark had reached the counselor's office. Awesome. I turned away from Jason, who had a tentative smile on his face, and followed the office TA down the hall.

Mr. Croft's office smelled like coffee and mouthwash. He was at his desk, sleeves already rolled up like he'd had a long day, even though it was only eight o'clock. "Good morning, Holly." He shuffled around some files on his desk, finally pulling mine from the bottom of a thick stack. "So, do you know why you're here?"

I lowered myself into the chair in front of his desk. "I don't know—rumors, insinuations?"

"No." Mr. Croft wrinkled his nose at me. "Remember the question I asked during our last visit?"

"Uh..."

"About what you wanted to do? Come on—it wasn't that long ago."

Although I was relieved I wasn't there to talk about the stupid rumor, I was really not in the mood for any of this future talk. I sat there picking fuzzies off the arm of the chair, studying the picture of Mr. Croft with his family on the corner of his desk. Him, his wife, a toddler girl with bright red hair.

"Anyway, I wanted to check in with you about your plans." He gave me a hopeful look, which made me feel a little sorry for him. He really was trying to help.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Croft. It's been a real shitty week," I said. "I mean, a bad one."

"I know all about shitty weeks. Trust me." He cracked a smile.

"Okay, well, it doesn't get much worse than mine."

He took a sip of coffee. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"More problems with your family?"

"Guys, too," I said, picking at my fingernails.

"Admittedly, most high school guys lack emotional intelligence. They develop it later in life."

I smiled. "Are you telling me guys are dumb?"

"About girls, yeah," he said with a laugh. "They get more adept at handling their emotions over time. So, let's get back to you..."

"Mr. Croft, I don't know what I'm going to do after high school's over. Like I said before, I haven't really had time to think about it."

He leaned back in his chair, in wasteepling his fingers. "I'll make it really simple. And just humor me. Okay? I find it all comes down to one thing—what are you good at?"

"You've got my file—what does it say?"

"It's incomplete," Mr. Croft said. "It's just a batch of numbers and anecdotal evidence collected by other people. It doesn't say anything about you and what you are or who you want to be. That's what we're doing here, trying to figure it out."

"You know, it's like you're a mental health professional or something," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're really trying to counsel me."

He laughed again. "You've got a good sense of humor."

"Thanks." I scooched down farther in my seat.

"Now really, when you close your eyes and picture the things you like to do..." Mr. Croft waited for me. "Come on, close your eyes."

"I'm not closing them," I said.

"Fine, but imagine you have some time away from school. What are you doing? What is fun in your life?"

"Nothing."

Mr. Croft sighed. "Really? Everything is terrible? What do you do to relax?"

Reluctantly, I closed my eyes, picturing myself relaxing. I saw myself in the kitchen at home. I thought about all the dinners I'd cooked, the countless trays of gooey brownies, the look on Lena's face when she realized I was fixing her favorite strawberry crepes. I thought about the comfort I found in mixing things as an experiment, following a recipe I'd found in my grandma's old recipe box, or even the simple act of chopping things up, putting them in order before I started cooking. It was relaxing because I didn't have to talk to anyone when I was cooking. It was just me and the ingredients.

"Well, I like to cook," I said, opening my eyes. "Someone just said I should be a chef."

"Well, maybe we're onto something," Mr. Croft said as he made some notes in my folder.

"I mean, I cook for my family, but that's my job—well, one of them—around the house."

"But you like it," Mr. Croft said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "And you're good at it?"

"Yeah," I said slowly.

"This is terrific," he said, a broad smile spreading across his face.

"It's just what I do at home," I explained again. "I wouldn't say it's terrific."

"Don't you see? Culinary school," he said. "It didn't come to my mind before because you were so focused on a traditional college track before Rob's accident. You are perfect for culinary school."

"For real?"

"Sure. Why not? There are a couple of schools right in the city." He held up a hand and swiveled around to his computer. "Wait a second," he said, typing. "Here we go—there's a great program at the community college, which would be more affordable, even. What do you think? It's a great career if food is what you love."

I let out a deep breath. "Let me think about it."

"Sure. Mull it over, talk to your mom. If you decide you want to go for it, next time we meet I'll help you get the papers together—and we'll apply for some financial aid," Mr. Croft said. "See? Sometimes you need to focus in on what you want—not what others want for you."

"Yeah, you said that last time."

"Worth repeating. I'm proud of you for putting yourself first this time. It's a great first step."

I felt a little embarrassed. "It's not a step. I'm just thinking about it, remember?"

Mr. Croft smiled again and stood up from his desk to walk me to the door. "When you make a choice, the universe conspires to help you. Have you heard that before?"

I shook my head. "Is that like 'Things happen for a reason'?"

"No. It's like 'You only have to decide what you want and the world conspires to make it so.' The hard part is making the decision."

I left his office and headed back toward chem just in time for the bell to ring. I'd have to stop in and get the homework later. I passed Jason in the hallway, but I didn't look at him. I felt like Mr. Croft had actually helped—he'd given me a little more to focus on, maybe a little hope that had nothing to do with Jason, or other boys, for that matter. There could be something just for me. Something I decided to want just for myself.

That glimpse of hope helped me get through the rest of the day. Helped me ignore the stares and whispers of the idiots passing along rumors. And it saw me home to my family, whistling as I walked.

***

You feel a sense of urgency now. The senior center bus has just dropped Aldo off, and you're waiting with him on the bench for Holly. You've spent all day with Aldo, keeping him company through the lunch of turkey sandwiches and weak chili, through the game of Go Fish he tried to play with a nice guy named Milton. As Aldo faded in and out, Milton reminded Aldo to check his hand, remember what he's trying to match up. You'd been tempted to whisper help to Aldo to keep the game going, but you didn't want him to lose focus. More and more, you see him struggle to pay attention. The last thing he needs is to spend his time at the center talking to you.

You've seen a couple of other people there losing it. Sitting on a bench alone or parked in a wheelchair, they're having their own conversations with the air, but you don't see any ghost sto want juts by their side. In fact, except for brief glances where you can't be completely sure, they don't seem to notice you standing by Aldo. Or maybe they accept you as another hallucination.

"Thank you for the game, my friend," Milton had said after the last pairs were matched.

Aldo had smiled at him. "Nice day," he'd said, turning his gaze toward the bank of windows.

Milton had been unfazed by the change of topic. "It's a beaut, all right." He'd collected the cards calmly and then helped Aldo to his feet. Together, the men had walked out to the garden, and a contented look had filled Aldo's eyes as he heard the birds singing.

Right now, he's resting on the bench outside the apartment, his eyes closed, and you can tell he's feeling the sun on his cheeks. It's early May now, and the Seattle weather is just starting to improve. If you were alive, you'd be figuring out prom night with Holly, or maybe not with Holly. If you'd stuck around, you're not sure that you would still be together. Maybe that night would have ended your relationship ... There's no way to tell now.

But here she comes up the sidewalk, and though there's the edge of sadness she always carries with her, she's got the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Grandpa," she says.

"Hello," he says opening his eyes.

"Hey." She takes a seat next to him on the bench.

"Aldo," you say. "Can you tell her she's pretty?"

"
Bellissima,
" he says.

Holly's surprised grin makes you smile too.

"Do you think we should talk to her?" you say slowly. "Do you think we should—"

But Holly's grin has faded, and she reaches for Aldo's hand. "Did you ever have a worst and best day?" she says. "It was like that today, Grandpa. I couldn't wait to get back home."

You don't need to wonder if she's still mad at Jason. You can see the hurt in her eyes now. Something happened at school to make it worse. There's got to be a way to tell her to give him another chance. To tell her everything so you both can be free.

Aldo's face has relaxed. He's fading back out.

"Stay with her," you coax. "Squeeze her hand so she knows you are listening."

He reaches for her hand. "Careful, kid. I'm not some puppet here," Aldo mutters.