Authors: Katie Klein
I laugh. “I can’t believe it. You were so anti-college!”
“I know!” she cries. “I even got a partial scholarship because of all the volunteer work I helped you with. Apparently that’s like, a huge deal to them.”
“Apparently.”
I’m happy to see my best friend
showing some initiative—
taking
responsibility for her life—
even
as a pang of jealousy stabs at my insides over the fact that, at this point, she’s further along in the process than me. I’ve been mapping and preparing
,
planning my future for the last four years. She filled out an application at the last minute, on a whim, and is already ahead.
“So what are you going to do? I mean, what are you going to study
?” I ask, forcing the negative feelings
away.
“I have no clue. But I mean, the first two years are like, basic education, right? I have plenty of time to decide.”
I stare at her for a moment, shaking my head in disbelief. As many conversations as we had about at least applying to the community college, and as many times as she’s blown me off, all it took was some guy to hand her an a
pplication and say: “Let’s
see what happens.”
“So you’re following Tony to college,” Ashley says, confirming my thoughts aloud.
Savannah smiles brightly. “I’m following Tony to college.”
WE NEED TO
TALK
. The words a
re written in
black
Sharpie
and smell fresh when I pull
the note card out of my locker just before last period.
Parker’s handwriting i
s
neat and calculated, and I spend
the next few moments
star
ing at the letters
,
trying to decode
their hidden meaning. I study
them
, overanalyzing every line and curve.
This could be good news. But it could be bad.
Worse.
When I’m absolutely certain I have no idea what his message means
—other t
han he wants to see me—I head
toward the office.
The hour drags
on. After finishing my typic
al errands for the office staff
and stuffing the day’s mail in the teacher
s’
boxe
s, one of the secretaries hands
me a newsletter—printed on the front and back—to make a
couple hundred copies. I wait until she walks
away before checking
the time on my cell phone
,
rolling my eyes.
W
hat
would it
feel like
to tell someone
no
for a change? T
o not do every little thing every time someone asked.
As I stand
a
t the copy machine, waiting
forever for
the letters to print, I watch
the trees on the front lawn of the school swa
y
in the breeze
,
the wind
picking up speed.
The g
ray
clouds have
moved in,
the sun vanished behind th
em. The entire atmosphere seems
whacked out—
intense—
like
the sky
i
s going to burst at any moment.
When the bell ri
ng
s
, ending the day,
the
copies still ar
en’t finished. According to
the digital screen, there a
re
more than forty left to print. I exh
ale loudly and check
the clock
for the thousandth time, watching as the copy machine slowly spit
s
out each page, one . . . by one . . . by one. I
pace
around the room,
looking for a distraction
,
palms sweaty. The
tap dancing
in
m
y stomach intensifies
with each
passing moment.
When the
machine finally stops
, I
grab
the stack—
still
warm—and
hurry to the
front
office. I do
n’t even bother changing out the
canary-colored
paper.
That’s going to piss someone
off, but I
’
m
not sure I care anymore.
The crowd has
thinned
by the time I
push
through the library door, the sounds and smells transporting me
straight
to the afternoons I
spent with Parker, talking, discussing, debating. Bec
oming . . . something. I hurry
past
the rows of bookshel
ves
,
searching the tables
.
They’re
empty. I stand
back for a moment, taking
it all
in.
Parker never mentioned where, exactly, he w
anted to meet me
. I
assume
d it would be the library. I ta
k
e
a deep breath, trying to suppress my racing thoughts.
Maybe he couldn’t wait anymore. Maybe he planned to meet me later—at my house, after midnight.
Maybe this is his way of making things right.
I move
towar
d the window, gazing across the
parking lot
.
A
few cars
and
clusters of
students
are
scattered
about
.
Pa
rker’s motorcycle i
s
parked at the far end, in his usual space.
He
waited.
My pulse quickens
.
My eyes dri
ft
a few spaces over, to
my Civic.
I smile and r
elief pours through my body.
There he i
s. Leaning against
my car. Wait
ing. I watch
him turn. Something
ca
t
ches
his attention
;
someone calls
out to him
.
Blake.
The blood
empties
from my
body,
spiraling downward, leaving
my head spinning.
My
pounding
heart reverberates
in my ears, like a hammer
wrapped in cloth.
I ca
n’t hear
anything above it
, not even the “Oh my God,”
I know
I
mutter
before bolting
across the library, running for the rear exit. Not the
crash of the metal bar
as
I collide
with the door, pushing through and
stumbling
onto the lawn.
Everything
moves
in
slow
, liquid
motion. L
ike one of those crazy, out-of-body experiences where I
ca
n’t control
my
own
actions. Though rubbery and w
obbly, somehow my legs
propel
me forward.
I ru
n beneath the Bradford Pears, the white petals
swirling
around me—a
pungent,
ephemeral
blizzard. Dodging students. Rushing
past a group of underclassmen.
“Stop!” I cry. But even the words fail, so all I can do i
s scream them over and over again in my head.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
My temples pound
in r
hythm with my feet as they stri
k
e
the pavement.
I fli
ng my
bag
and purse to the ground and thro
w myself at Parker, pushing him away. Protecting him.
“Stop!” I fina
lly manage
, gasping for air,
lungs
on fire
. I turn
as Blake,
jaw bruised and a cut bleeding
beneath his eye, moves toward us. I reach
out to hold him
back. “Blake, stop it!”
“What are you waiting for
,
asshole?” he yells
, loo
king around me at Parker. It ta
k
es
both of my hands and all of my strength to keep him from moving any closer.
“Blake, stop it!” I demand
, my strength crippling
, hands shaking
. “What .
. . w
hat are you doing?” I ask
, barely ab
le to form the words
,
my heart thundering
and
head spinning, as if the entire universe
is reeling
with me.
“Giving this asshole ex
actly what he deserves,” he says
, trying
to
maneuver around me.
“No!” I yell
, pushing him
back with all the force I can
muster.
And then there’s Tony, grabbing
Blake
by the arms
, wrenchi
ng him
away
, helping me.
“Stop.
”
Parker snatches
his motorcycle helmet from the ground, blood
spilling
from his nose, the
rusty drips
spattering the pavement.
I foll
ow
him, reaching
for his arm, but he shrugs
me away
,
fastening
th
e strap beneath his chin. I stan
d back
, watching
as h
e climbs
on his bike.
“Parker, wait,
”
I beg
.
“
No. I
’
m done
. Just keep
something
in mind
for me, okay
Jaden
? P
erfect people? They
’
re
always
hiding something.
”
I stare at him, blinking, trying to make sense of what he
’
s saying
,
lost.
He glances quickly at Blake.
“
Ask your boyfri
end where he was Saturday night,
”
he mutters.
In the next instant, the engine
ratchets, and he’
s off.
“I can’t believe you!” I yell
at Blake ov
er th
e roar of the motor, which fades
, even now
.
“
Me
? I can’t believe
you
, Jaden! You ditched school for him?”
Anger weaves
itself in
his features—the tension in his ne
ck
,
his flushed cheeks. There’
s something else, though. In his
gray
eyes. Like hurt.
I grab
my
bag
s
,
jaw tightening. “I
did. I’m not
gonna
lie.” I tear
through my pocketbook, searching for my keys.
“Wait,” he says
, moving closer,
eyes narrowing. “You’re not actually going after him.”
“I am, Blake. I’m
sorry.
I should’ve said something sooner.”
He steps
back,
mouth
gaping
. “Tell me you don’t have feelin
gs for that asshole
!” he yells
, pointing at the empty driveway.