Authors: Katie Klein
“Jade!” he calls as I cross
the parking lot.
My body gro
w
s
rigid,
muscles tensing.
Of course. Today. Of all days.
This
is the day he’d pick to corner me in the parking lot. Forget that he barely
says
a word to me half the time.
My jaw clenches
, teeth grinding
in frustration
.
I keep
moving,
feet striking the p
avement with purpose. If I can
just get inside . . . get to my locker, everything w
ill
be fine. My heart thump
s
in my ears.
“Jade!”
It’
s as if our r
oles reversed—we’ve
come full circle—
because
at one time, not too long ago, even, I was the one chasing
him
acr
oss the parking lot. I should laugh at this. It’
s funny.
His footsteps a
re quick—quicker than min
e—and in a matter of seconds he’
s behind me. “Jaden, wait.”
I ignore him and push
forward, brushing my hair away from my
face
.
“God!
W
hat is
wrong
with you?”
he asks,
voice clipped and
angry.
I wince
, swallowing back the nausea rising at the words
.
You can
’
t
cry, Jaden
.
Tears sti
ng
the corners of my eyes.
Don
’
t cry.
I can’t stop.
I ca
n’t look at him.
I ca
n’t cry because h
e’ll
k
now.
Everyone will know.
The entire world blurs
behind
salty tears, a swirling mix of
asphalt and
blue sk
ies and
a thousand shades of green
.
K
eep moving
.
He reaches out and grabs
my arm, spinning me arou
nd to face him. “Jaden,” he says
firmly.
H
is stony eyes search mine, hard,
his features
tight. Tears stain my vision.
I can barely focus. But I can see his expression soften.
I jerk my face away
from him
, unable to hide.
“What
happened
?”
His voice, lace
d with
fear and
worry: that’s all it takes
.
The tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I wipe
them away with the back of
my thumbs, but the more I swipe the harder they fa
ll.
I can
’
t stop.
I let out a sob in the middle of the parking lot. In front of Parker Whalen. With people watching.
He puts his hands on either side of my face, turning me back to him.
“What happ
ened?” he repeat
s
,
voice
anxious
. U
nhinged, even
.
“You
have
to tell me.”
The endless possibilities seem to play out in his eyes.
“I . . . I d-didn’t get in,” I stammer.
Admitting this out loud—
saying
the actual wo
rds—
it
cements the whol
e awful idea into reality. It’s official
: I’m not going to Harvard. I’m done.
I can
’
t tell if he
’
s relieved by the news, but everything relaxes
:
his eyes, his jaw.
His hands release me, falling to his sides.
I lean into him,
not wanting him to let go,
resting my head on
his chest, burying my face in
his cool, leather jacket.
He curses under his breath and
wrap
s
his arms around me,
squeezing, holding me
. “I am
so
sorry,” he
whi
spers
.
“I’m such a hack,” I mutter
, breathing in the
soft,
worn
leather
. T
he smell of Parker
. “No one is
gonna
take me seriously ever again.”
He pulls
away
. “J
ust because you didn’t get into your choice college, that doesn’t make you a hack. I mean, I know it can’t feel good . . .”
“What am I
gon
na
tell everyone?” I interrupt
, clumsy
tears s
treaming down my cheeks. I wipe
my runny nose across the cuff of my jacket sleeve.
“T
he truth.
They aren’t going to think any less of you.”
“I
—I
can’t.”
As hard as I
’ve
worked to become the Jaden who held
it all together. . . .
I’m
a pathe
tic, crying, blubbering mess. “
I
can’t go in there.”
I glance toward the building, the halls filling,
people
staring
at us
as they pass
.
He pauses
for a moment
, searching my eyes
. “Are you saying you want to
get out of here?” he
asks,
seeming uncertain if that
’
s what I really want, or if it
’
s the
stress talking.
Is that what I’m
saying?
I think so. “Yes
.”
“
Then give me your keys.”
I sniff
. “What?”
“Hand them to me.”
They jingle softly as I pass
them over.
He ta
k
es
my hand, locking h
is fingers with mine, and pulls
me across the park
ing lot. He moves quickly.
I jog
to keep up with him as we dodge
cars.
When we reach my white Civic, he presses
the keyless entr
y remote
and the doors unlock
.
“You know you could get in trouble for this, right?”
I nod
.
“And you still want to do it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?” He watches
my face for
signs of
hesitation
.
I waver
, but only for a moment, before nodding
again
.
It’s perilously easy for me to make this choice
:
to step out into this world,
to leave
everything else
behind.
“Yeah.”
He opens
the driver’s side door. “Then we’re gone.”
On
ce we hit the highway
I reach
for my purse
, digging for
my cell phone. I push
t
he power button until it trills, shutting off. I do
n’t need anyone trying to f
ind me. N
ot right now. I open my glove box
and pull
out the
small package of tissues I keep tucked away
for emergencies
. I blo
w my nose, then reac
h for the visor and lift the mirror. My eyes a
re red, but tearless, and the only remnants of my hugely
public emotional breakdown are
the little black flakes of mascara s
prinkled below my lashes. I rub beneath them with my fingers, working
to make them disappear.
“
You okay?” Parker asks
.
I take
a deep breath, my lun
gs shuddering. “Yeah,” I reply
.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? For what?”
His brows furrow
.
“For that. Back there.”
He glances
over at me. “Y
ou don’t have to apologize. You have every right to be upset.”
“Jaden
McEntyre
doesn’t get upset. Not in front of people
, anyway
,
”
I mumble
.
“
Apparently she does.”
I frown
, the fields and pine trees and telephone lines blurring past.
“It’s not a bad thing, you know,
” he goes
on. “It’s okay to cry
. T
o let people know you’re hurting.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the one who’s supposed to keep it together.”
“No. You’re not. The only person who expects that is you.
”
I bite into my lower lip.
“Still.”
“No. Not still.” He pauses
for a beat. “Anyway. I
t doesn’t change anything
.
You’re still the same, boring Jade.”
I glance over at him, feeling the smile tugging at the corners of my lips
, and our eyes m
e
et.
“
If anything,
” he goes
on,
“i
t makes you more real.”
We
continue
driving
unt
il the Hamilton skyline appears
in the distance.
“Wow. W
hen you get away, you rea
lly get away
,
don’t you?” I muse
, gazing at the wide expanse of buildings.
Parker smiles. “Well, I figure
if you’re
gonna
screw things up by skipping school, the day
better be worth it.” He glances over his shoulder and changes
lanes, picking up speed.
“So
you’re saying you’re a pro
. At skipping school, I mean.”
“Something like that. The difference is that skipping school to get trashed leaves you with a mad hangover and feeling worse at the end of the day—and nothing to sho
w for it on top of everything else
.”
I sigh
. “I wouldn’t know a thing about that.”
“Yeah, well, I do. That
’
s why
today will be different.”
“
I’m all f
or getting trashed,” I confess
.
“I’m sure you are, except I’ll clue you in on a little something: when it’s over, your problems still exist.”
“Al
l
right. What do you suggest?”
“The zoo,” he states
, matter of fact.
I turn
my head,
eyeing
him strangely,
wondering if I misheard,
if he’
s speaking in some sor
t of weird boy code. When he does
n’t
explain
or elaborate, I clear
my throat. “The zoo?”
“Yeah,” he r
ep
lies
, glancing over at me,
eyes meeting mine. “That’s okay, right? I mean, you aren’t allergic to chinchillas or anything
,
are you?”
“No,” I reply
, laughing.
He turns
his attention back to the road
, smiling wryly
. “See? It’s working already. It’s impossible to have a bad day when you’re at the zoo.”
It’s no surprise, when we pull
into the parking lot of t
he Hamilton City Zoo,
that it
’
s nearly empty
. A few school buses a
re parked at the front, and two vans from a retireme
nt village, but other than that
the
place is deserted
. T
he
morning sun shines
brightly overhead;
a cool
,
spring
breeze blo
w
s
past, tousling my hair
. I zip
my jacket to my ne
ck as we climb
out of the car.