Breakdown (Crash into Me) (12 page)

Imagine my surprise when a number I didn’t recognize sent me a text:

Unknown
:
Morning, Jumper. Got a case of the Monday blues?

Unknown
:
That was me being clever.

Instantly, the process of elimination narrowed down the people who knew my unwanted nickname and my phone number. But since I had already programmed Tabby’s number into my phone, I knew the unknown sender of the messages couldn’t have been her, and the memory of how William had stolen my phone number came back at me full bore.

I ignored him and switched my phone from vibrate to silent. It was appealing how he appeared to still care about my well-being even after the weekend, and if I wasn’t stuck in the middle of a lecture about supply and demand I might have even responded. The more I thought about it, however, the gladder I was to have a solid excuse not to reply. I didn’t want to be the recipient of someone’s pity party, no matter how desperate I was for a friend.

The rest of class was spent staring at the hands of the clock as they slowly ticked my options away. I could accept that William might have been trying to be my friend, though that seemed unlikely. Odds were that he just felt that sense of responsibility he had mentioned on the overpass. Quickly, I declared to myself that I didn’t want a friendship based on sympathy and guilt.

Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Since I knew I had to take a run at raising my self-esteem—at least if I wasn’t going to kill myself—then maybe I could use William as a stepping stone of sorts. Through him I could meet other people like Tabby, maybe even go to the races as a regular social event…

There were three more messages by the time we were dismissed and I walked out to the corridor. Stepping over to the side of the hallway where the traffic of grumbling students wasn’t too bad, I tried to steady myself. Even if I had wanted to delete the texts without looking, my hands wouldn’t let me, and I opened the thread before I could stop myself.

Unknown:
Hey, Jumper, what’s the best kinda pastry for a hangover?

Unknown:
I’ll assume you’re laughing too hard to respond
.

Unknown:
Are you still with us, Jumper?

Okay, so maybe I was laughing—a little. I was willing to admit that even as I ran through the list of recipes in my head and tried to remember one that helped with an upset stomach. When I failed, I walked to the end of the hall and plopped myself on a bench near the vending machines. I might have double and triple checked the spelling before I sent it, but I did end up responding.

Me:
Who is “us”? You have a mouse in your pocket?

Before I could even let myself hope, he sent me another message.

Unknown
:
No, but I feel like I have a hamster wheel in my head.

Damn him all to hell, but I laughed again. I added him into my contacts and waited

Do-gooder:
I heard you were at the promenade the other night.

Me:
Yeah.

Do-gooder:
So why didn’t you come over and say hi to me? I was waiting for you all night.

Me:
You were busy.

I was both hoping and not that it would be the end of the conversation. And when a couple of minutes went by without a response, I was afraid I had gotten my wish. But then the phone lit up in my hand, a reminder that I had set it from vibrate to silent.

At first I didn’t want to appear as lame as I felt, picking up it up on the first ring and essentially begging him to talk to me. Then, however, I remembered how we met and the messy state he had seen me in afterward. By comparison, picking up the phone right away wasn’t very high on the pathetic scale.

“I knew I’d regret you having my number.” I sounded more ornery than I felt, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t had an actual conversation on the phone since the summer after high school.

“Jumper!” His accent sounded even thicker over the phone, his voice still hard sounding but insanely happy. If there was any doubt that I did the right thing by answering the phone it was gone, and I leaned back into the bench, soaking up every syllable he gave me.

“You had me worried there for a minute, Jumper. I was about to start checking the obituaries.”

“Yeah, well,” I sighed and tried to sound casual. “You did ruin my plan the other night.”

His laugh sent my flying. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Jumper.”

“Not for you maybe. You got a free cupcake out of the deal.”

As usual, I had ruined the moment, giving our almost playful conversation a dark undertone that I didn’t know how to take back.

“You expect me to apologize?”

I smiled into the phone. “That would be the polite thing to do.”

I could hear him smiling back. “I’m not good at that.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“How are you anyway, Jumper? Keeping it together?”

The switch for smart-ass went on all by itself. “I have another class in five minutes, so no, not really. Whatever you want to bother me about you better make it fast.”

“Fair enough.” I could practically feel the shrug through the phone. “I just wanted to make sure you were still around. I swung by your house yesterday, but I didn’t know if I should come over or not.”

My heart caught in my throat, swollen and beating fast, and I thought it might suffocate me completely. How could the words of this person I had just met affect me so much? Was I really so lonely? So starved for attention that I would have accepted anyone in my life?

“Y-you don’t even know me.”

“I’m trying to, Jumper.” William laughed. “That’s kinda the point.” Like every second since I had met him, William knew exactly what to say. “Besides, just because you don’t know someone doesn’t mean you can’t care about them. In fact, just so you don’t forget that somebody cares, I’ll do my best to remind you.” William paused as if considering something. “At least once a day until you feel better.”

“Every day?” I did my best to keep the excitement out of my voice. “You do know stalking is illegal?”

“Who else is gonna make sure you’re still breathing?”

He did have a point.

I sighed and tapped my fingers against the vending machine next to me. “I’ll get a restraining order.”

“Those things are overrated. They hand them out like candy and nobody takes them seriously.”

“I’ll change my number.”

“Then I’ll just come to your house.”

I swore to myself but failed not to smile. “Damn.”

Resigning myself to losing, I listened to William laugh for exactly six seconds before he chuckled and sighed. “I’ll let you get to class, Jumper. But remember, I’ll be talking to you soon.”

“I wonder how much it would cost to change my name…”

He only laughed harder. “Stay safe, Jumper. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled before I could stop myself. “See you.”

Even over my best attempts to pay attention in organic chemistry, I ended up thinking about racing, cars, and the smell of burning rubber, though less about William than I might have predicted. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, I gave up on trying to take notes altogether, resigning myself to my new obsession and the growing hope that I might be invited to another race.

Home by the early evening, I was glad to both see and smell the charcoal grill just outside of the patio—an obvious sign that Dad was home.

“Hey, Kiddo” Seeing me round the corner, Dad waved at me with the end of the basting brush before pointing to his apron. The apron that said
PETA: people eating tasty animals
was an old joke between us—his passive aggressive way of making Mom angry, and my way of knowing we were going to have something for dinner that wasn’t organic, vegetarian, and entirely fat free.

“Hey, Dad” No longer able to ignore how heavy my backpack felt, I plopped it to the ground and watched it shake the potted poinsettias. “What’s for grub?”

Dad rotated something on the grill and stood back as it sizzled. “I’ve got chicken on now. Maybe when that’s done I’ll throw some of those brats on there.”

“That sounds good.” I slung myself on the porch swing and sighed.

Dad laughed like I had said something funny—a salesmen’s trait if there ever was one. “I was thinking we could throw some of that cheddar cheese and leftover bacon on top of them.” He smiled devilishly. “I bought some chips on the way home.”

“Chips are
technically
a vegetable,” I joked.

He looked off as if considering something serious. “Just because they stared out as a potato doesn’t necessary mean they still are one.”

I nodded seriously. “I remember the epic debate over pizza.”

“Congress calls it a vegetable!” he said with his hands to the air. “What’s the issue?”

I humored Dad by smiling, watching while he whistled impatiently over the chicken and waved to passing neighbors and delivery men. Loved, or liked at a minimum, everyone waved back, shouting their greetings and well wishes—yet another salesmen’s trait. For as long as I could remember, socializing had been an easy thing for Dad, or at least he made it look easy. Maybe if I knew how to socialize the way he did, the way Tabby did, then life would be easier for me too.

“Hey Dad?”

He looked at me with eyes about as wide as a little kid. “Yeah?”

“What, ah, what do you know about cars?”

It turned out Dad knew little more about cars than I did, struggling to explain to me how to change the oil in my Subaru with words like “Thing-a-
ma-jigger” and “what-cha-ma-doodle”.
Still, I listened while I made us a salad and Dad talked with his hands in a theatrical fashion. Faintly, in the back of my mind, I had a hard time trying not to picture if he would still be okay today if William hadn’t shown up on Friday night.

It was only when we heard the soft click of Mom’s garage door opener that we each disbanded in our separate ways, Dad and I each exchanging the silent nods like soldiers before the troops dispersed. Knowing him, he would bury himself in the paperwork that I had learned during my summer internship at his office he could have easily done during working hours—either that or online chess or sports center. I, on the other hand, would attempt to do homework while watching any kind of reality show that involved cooking. Occasionally I would substitute this for a science fiction novel, though even those were pretty far and few in-between.

In my family, our evenings were spent separate and distant from one another. Even when it was just Dad and I, our lack of ability to have more than a two minute conversation with each other usually meant awkwardness between us after three minutes, unless Sherlock or something equally awesome was on.

I spent some time when my depression first found me trying to remember a time when it had been different, when my childhood had been happier, and we had been one big happy family. Yet the truth of it was that it had never been much different from our current situation. I had simply been too young to be aware of how unhappy my parents were.

Scattering up to my room like I had so many times before, however, I had something to think about other than cooking shows and whether or not my ceiling fan would hold my dead weight. My fingers couldn’t type fast enough as I worked my crummy keyboard, grateful now that alcohol and drugs didn’t do it for me so I could remember nearly everything about Bloody Mary that William told me. I looked up his car, the latest in tricked out engines, and the different street racing laws for each country. Before I downloaded multiple movies featuring racing, I taught myself the difference between drifting and touge racing, made a list of video games to look into, and questions to ask William again if he made his promise about keeping in touch.

Somehow, I knew he would.

Sure enough, I heard from him again in the late morning. Though admittedly staying up half the night watching Steve McQueen and the Speed Channel had me so tired I didn’t even feel the phone vibrate the first time, I jolted awake only when the girl next to me nudged me with her elbow to alert me to the sound.