Текст книги "The Redemption of Callie and Kayden"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
outside. It’s everywhere, white and crisp and completely innocent
looking as it shines under the sun. It’s a false innocence though,
because the icy roads here have caused many accidents and taken
many lives.
Seth slaps his hand down on the table and the ice in the
glass shakes as I jump, startled. “I knew it sounded familiar,” he
mutters. Shaking his head, he puts his phone down on the table. “I
know what the rubber bands are for.”
“What?” I sit up in my seat.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “It’s a
form of treatment used on cutters and people who self-mutilate.”
I already knew that Kayden might have hurt himself, but now
it seems real. I slip my hand out of Seth’s and fold my arms over
my stomach as I curl inward. “I don’t feel good.”
“Callie, it’ll be okay,” he reassures me and seeks my hand
again.
I recoil, shaking my head as I get to my feet. I feel the vile
burn in my stomach and it aches like a forming bruise. “I need to
use the restroom.” Before he can respond, I get up and run across
the café, bumping into one of the waitresses on my way there. I
knock her tray out of her hand and feel bad, but I don’t have time
to apologize.
As I run passed the counter, where Luke is sitting, I hear him
call out, “Callie… what’s wrong?”
I don’t respond. I need to get it out. Now. I need to get rid of
the vile feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I slam my hand against the door and fling it open. I run to
the nearest stall and collapse to my knees. I start to shove my
finger down my throat, when suddenly I see Kayden lying on the
floor. Helpless. He needs help. He needs someone who can help
him. It hits me hard, like a kick to the stomach, what I need to do.
Maybe I can change that wish I’m always dreaming about, the one
where I erase everything that happened to me on my twelfth
birthday. I might not be able to take away Kayden’s past pain, but
maybe I can help with his future pain. I just need to be strong. I
move my finger out from my mouth and it’s one of the hardest
things I’ve ever had to do. I’m shaking and sweating as I sit back
and lean against the wall, letting my head fall back. Then I just sit there. Not feeling better, but knowing it’s for the best.
Chapter 6
#35 Walk, don’t run
Callie
Seth and I have been spending a lot of time at the café,
partly because Seth thinks we need to eat pancakes all the time
and partly because we’re avoiding eating breakfast at my house as
a result of my mother and Seth’s first meeting. It was nothing but
awkward right from the very beginning.
“It’s nice to meet you, Seth.” My mom stuck her hand out
and Seth politely shook it. She was wearing a white apron over a
floral dress, looking very 1960-ish. The kitchen smelled like
cinnamon and the pans hissed on top of the oven.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Seth let go of her hand and took
in the excessive amount of Christmas lights strung around the top
of the walls and the Santa and reindeer figurines all over the
shelves and counters. “You like to decorate, huh?”
My mother flipped the eggs in the pan, then picked up a
mixing bowl from the counter and began to whisk the batter. “Oh
yes, I love the holidays. They’re so much fun. What about you?”
Seth raised his eyebrows at her as he pulled out a chair at
the table. “Do I like the holidays? No, not really” He sat down and I joined him, reading the text I got from Luke.
Luke: Did you hear from him?
Me: No… have you?
Luke: No, I stopped by his house, though.
Me: Is he okay?
Luke: I don’t know. His brother answered and said he
hadn’t seen him. I think he was drunk, though.
Me: I texted him a couple of times. He never texts back.
Luke: I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just working
through some stuff.
Working through some stuff? Alone. In that god-awful
house.
“Callie, did you hear me?”
I glanced up from my phone and my mother and Seth were
staring at me. “Huh?” I said.
Seth’s eyebrows dipped beneath the square-framed glasses
he was wearing, not to correct his vision but because they are
fashionable. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Who are you texting?” my mom asked, mixing the bowl with
a whisk.
I quickly locked the screen on my phone and set it down on
the table. “No one.”
My mother dropped the whisk on the counter and batter
splattered all over. “You were texting Kayden, weren’t you? I can’t
believe this, Callie. I told you I didn’t want you spending any time
with him after what happened—after what he did to Caleb.”
Seth looked at me with astonishment in his eyes and I
shrugged, shaking my head, trying not to cry. “It’s not Kayden,” I
told my mom again.
“Even if it was, I think Callie’s old enough to decide who she
wants to talk to,” Seth chimed in calmly. “In my opinion she is an
excellent judge of character.” He said it with an attitude and any
chance of my mother and him getting along fell apart right there.
“More than most people, who seem to miss the mark all the time.”
She didn’t fully understand the depth of his words, but his
snippy tone was enough for her to decide she didn’t like him,
something she told me later when she pulled me aside.
“He’s rude,” she said. “Does he talk to his own mother that
way?”
“He doesn’t talk to his mother,” I’d said and that was another
strike against him.
After that, I decided it’d be better to keep them separated,
because Seth wouldn’t keep quiet if my mother said something
ridiculous and my mother would never stop saying ridiculous
things.
* * *
I’ve been home for almost a week. Time seems to move in
slow motion. Each hour feels like days, and days like months.
Christmas is only four days away and my mom keeps trying to
make me spend time shopping and wrapping presents with her. I
do as much as I can, but every time she brings up Caleb, I bail. I
even took off during our trip to the mall and had to call Luke to
come pick me up.
“I’m not sure if I’m even hungry,” I tell Seth as I pour syrup
on the stack of pancakes in front of me. We’re in the café again,
enjoying the same light chitchat after a very uncomfortable
morning with my mom. “Six days in a row is putting me on
pancake overload.”
He butters his toast and then adds some strawberry jelly.
He’s wearing a blue shirt with a logo on the pocket and his hair is
still a little damp from the shower he took right before we left the
house. “Well, you don’t have to order pancakes every time,” he
says and sets the butter knife down on the table.
“Or maybe you should order me something different,” I
reply, grabbing some sugar packets from the bowl. Seth had taken
it upon himself to order for me while I was in the restroom, and I
wasn’t planning on ordering pancakes.
“I think we should eat pancakes every morning that we’re on
break.” He takes a bite of his toast. Crumbs fall to the front of his shirt and he dusts them off with a sweep of his hand. “It’ll be fun.”
I stare down at my pancakes buried in a puddle of syrup.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m always sure when I say something aloud.” He sets the
toast down on the smaller of the two plates.
I seal my lips and try not to laugh at him because Seth is
never sure of things, just like I’m not, just like most of the world
isn’t. “All right, we can try to eat pancakes everyday over break. But if I end up puking you have to promise to hold my hair back.”
“I promise.” He smiles and raises his hand in front of himself.
I slam my palm against his, giving him a high-five. For a moment
it’s just he and I in the café, maybe even in the world. But the bell on the door dings and my eyes instinctually wander over to it.
Suddenly, I remember that there are a lot more people in the
world who need to eat a lot of pancakes over Christmas break.
Kayden walks into the café and the few people at the tables
promptly look up at him. There have been rumors going around
about him throughout the small town, ones that are horrible. I
struggle not to hit every single person looking at him.
He has a coat on and there are snowflakes stuck in his wet
hair. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans with holes in them and black
boots on his feet. The Christmas lights that trim the windows
reflect in his eyes and make them look red instead of green. His
gaze sweeps the room but misses me, and then he walks up to the
counter where one of the older waitresses with gray hair and a
hairnet greets him at the register.
“Callie, what are you staring at?” Seth’s tracks my gaze and
then his eyes bulge. “Oh.”
It’s like my feet don’t belong to me as I bend my knees and
stand up from the booth. As soon as I’m on my feet, Kayden’s eyes
lock on me. We stare at each other from across the café and the
tables and chairs and people blur away. He crosses his arms over
his chest and presses his lips together before shaking his head. He
looks away as the waitress hands him a plastic to-go bag. I’m not
sure what it means, but I need to talk to him.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and start to step away as Kayden
pays the waitress.
Seth catches my sleeve and draws me back a little bit. “Be
careful, Callie.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure if he means to be careful for
Kayden or myself. He releases my sleeve and I weave around the
tables, tucking my elbows in. Kayden is putting his wallet into his
back pocket when I reach him and the plastic bag is hooked over
his hand. His jaw tenses as he grabs some napkins from the
metallic dispenser near the register without looking up at me.
“Hi,” I say, and again I’m frustrated with myself for such a silly
start.
“Hey,” he mutters, shoving the napkins into the sack.
“I just… I just wanted to come over and see how you’re
doing.” I take a breath because I’m nervous and forgetting to
breathe.
His eyes rise up to me and I’m taken back at the coldness in
them. “I’m fine.”
“That’s good.” My throat is shrinking, reducing airflow, and I
don’t know how to react. He starts to head for the door and I
follow him. “Kayden, wait.”
He doesn’t, pressing his hand to the door and shoving it
open. I know I should back off, but I can’t convince my feet to stop
moving. I hurry out the door after him, wrapping my arms around
myself as the wind hits my bare arms.
“Maybe we could talk?” I suggest as he opens the door to his
mother’s black Mercedes.
He pauses, shaking his head, and then he looks over the roof
at me. “Callie, I have to go. I’ve got stuff to do today.”
I walk through the slush and the puddles and around the
back of his car, not ready to give up. “You’re staying at your
house?”
He tosses the bag of food across the center console and
onto the passenger seat. “Yeah, where else would I go?”
The water is seeping through my shoes and it’s cold. “You
could come stay with me.”
His eyes focus on me. “And what? You’re mother’s just going
to welcome me there?”
I hesitate and it’s the wrong thing to do, but I can’t think of
anything to say. “I don’t care about my mother.”
He shakes his head and ducks over to climb into the car.
“Callie, I can’t stay at your house, not after everything that’s
happened.”
Why does it feel like he’s not referring to my mother
anymore but to our relationship? “Please don’t run away,” I sputter.
I’m no longer thinking rationally. I run around the front of the car
and open the door to the passenger side, prepared to make him
feel better. Somehow. I just need to find out how. The inside of the
car smells like him and I breathe in the scent as I move the food
bag out of the way, climb in, and close the door. “I don’t want you
going back there.”
Shaking his head, he slams the door and adjusts the seat
back, giving himself more room. He meets my eyes and there’s a
hollowness in them. “Callie, I never really left there. Just escaped
for a little while.” He turns the key in the ignition and the engine
roars to life. “My father isn’t there anymore.”
I shake my head. “Where is he?”
He shrugs, biting his lip, staring out the window at the
surplus warehouse next door. “On a business trip I guess.”
I want to ask him—want to know if he had any part of it.
“Kayden, did he—”
“Look, Callie,” he cuts me off and his gaze slices into me. “I
have to go. I got shit to do.”
I swallow hard and my insides tremble. “Please talk to me,” I
whisper, sucking back the tears.
He inhales through his nose and his solid chest puffs out and
then descends as he releases the breath. His hand is turning pallid
as he clutches onto the steering wheel and I swear I can hear his
heart beating. “I…” His breathing quickens as he struggles to
speak.
I prop my elbow on the console and place my hand on his
cheek. He flinches but stays motionless, looking at me. My heart is
racing passionately and pumping adrenaline through my body. I
don’t know what I’m doing or if it’s wrong or right. All I can do is
hope I’ll get to him. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll understand.” He swallows hard as I brush a shaky finger under his
cheek. He still looks like he hasn’t shaved. His skin is rough under
my touch. “Please.”
He shakes his head. “I-I can’t.”
“Yes, yes, you can.” I lean over the console, needing to get
close to him. “I’ll help you.” Like you helped me.
His warm breath feathers against my cheeks and his
breathing quickens as his gaze flicks to my lips. “Callie, I…” He
drifts toward me and then his mouth crushes urgently against
mine. I instantly part my lips and allow his tongue to slip inside as I release a pent-up breath. I’ve missed this—him—more than I let
myself admit. I need him. So much.
I grip the front of his shirt as he cups the back of my neck,
pulling me closer, kissing me and exploring my mouth with his
tongue in rough, almost desperate movements. His other hand
moves around and frantically grabs at my hip. The console is
jabbing into my stomach but I don’t care. I just want to keep
kissing him forever. I never want to let him go or have him let me
go. I need him.
But then he’s pulling away, breathing profusely, with his jaw
clenched shut. When he looks at me, his eyes are cold. “You need
to go… I’m sorry, Callie.” He looks like he might cry. “I can’t be with you.”
I try to tell myself that it’s because he’s hurting but suddenly
I’m back in high school, back to being no one, back to being the
invisible girl filled with shame.
“Freak,” Daisy said as I walk down the hall with my head
hung low. “Nobody wants you around.”
I hurried down the hall, clutching my books as I ran outside. I
kept running and running until I was safely underneath the
bleachers near the football field where no one could see me. I
shoved my finger down my throat and forced my lunch out of my
stomach. Then I sat down in the dirt and through the cracks in the
seats watched the football team practice, wishing I could stay there
forever.
My breath falters as I climb out of the car, into the snow and
the wintry air. As soon as I slam the door, the tires spin in the slush as he peels away without looking back. Even though I feel like
chasing after him, I turn around and walk back inside with my head
hung low.
Kayden
I’m officially the world’s biggest asshole as I pull out of that
parking lot. I’ve snubbed the world’s saddest girl not once but
twice, and on top of that, I kissed her. I’m a fucking prick. I can see her watching the car as I peel out onto the road, her head hung
low, and she probably feels like shit.
But it’s for her own good; that’s what I have to keep telling
myself. One day she’ll look back at all of this and be glad she
didn’t have to deal with it her entire life. My burdens and problems
should be mine and mine alone.
Still… kissing her again has made it a huge problem. I’m
driving away from the café, the slush on the roads whipping up
against the windshield as I fly down the main road in my mom’s
car. My heart is acting stupid, flying about as fast as the car is and my lips are burning from the feel of hers. The inside of the car
smells like her too and I can’t stop thinking about how good she
smells when I’m close to her and how it feels to touch her.
I should have never left the house. My mom was wasted,
though, and wanted something to eat. I didn’t want her driving
drunk so I offered to go. But being out in public wasn’t a good
idea. Too many people I know, and too much judgment. And then
Callie… being there… seeing her…
Tears threatened to come out of my eyes as I leave her
behind at the café and the pain and sadness is making me want to
pull over. I can’t let the feelings surface, not when I have no way to turn them off. I’ll have to deal with them and I can’t. But my eyes
keep pooling with water and it’s become harder than hell to see.
Everything looks white and sloshy and I can’t focus on the road. I
need to stop the tight knot in my chest from tightening anymore.
Holding onto the steering wheel, I reach across the console
for the glove compartment, hoping my mom will have a
screwdriver or something sharp inside there. I just need a quick fix
to temporarily turn it off. I keep glancing up at the road as I dig
through the glove box. There’s a stack of papers, a tube of lipstick, and a packet of air fresheners. “Fuck!” There’s nothing sharp. I slam the console and sit up just in time to see a small blue car stopped
in the middle of the road with the exhaust huffing a cloud of dark
smoke into the air.
I slam my foot down on the pedal and my car screeches to a
halt. Snow and slush flip up into the air as the back end of the car
loses control and glides to the side. It stops sideways about a foot
before ramming the other car.
I slam my hands against the wheel as the car inches forward
and angles to the side. I’m losing control over everything—over
how I feel, and it’s going to end up killing me.
The thing is I’m not sure if I’m terrified about that or relieved.
Chapter 7
#2 Don’t overthink so many things
Kayden
It’s been a little over a week and a half since I got released
and I’m fucking pissed. And shocked. And a whole lot of other stuff
I can’t sort through. The last time I saw Callie was when I left her at the café. She’s tried to call and text me a few times since I ran away from her, but I never respond.
Being stuck in the house is tough, though, and kind of
depressing, especially since Christmas day was yesterday and it
went unnoticed. But it’s always kind of been like that I guess. My
mother has cleaned out the knives and razors and every sharp
object in the house. Whether it’s for my dad’s benefit or my own,
I’m not sure. My oldest brother, Tyler, is still hanging out. I guess he lost his job and house, so now he’s crashing in the downstairs
room we used to hide out in when we were kids. He’s also drinking
about as much as my mother. My father hasn’t been home since I
came back. My mother says he’s on a business trip but I secretly
wonder if he’s hiding until they can be sure I’m not going to talk
about what happened that night.
“Good news,” my mom says when I enter the kitchen. It’s
early in the morning, but she’s dressed up, her hair’s done, and
she’s already got her makeup on. She’s sitting at the table sipping
coffee with a magazine in front of her and a half-empty wine
bottle.
I head for the cupboard. “Oh yeah.”
She picks up the coffee mug. “Yes, if you consider not going
to jail good news.” She takes a sip of the coffee and then puts the
cup back down on the table. “I think Caleb and your father have
come to an agreement. We’ll give him ten thousand dollars and in
exchange he won’t press charges.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Does it matter if it is?”
I open the cupboard and take out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Kind
of… And besides, how do you know he won’t just take the money
and still press charges. He’s not a good, honest guy.”
“No, he’s the guy you beat up.” She picks up the creamer
and pours some into her coffee. “Now quit arguing. This is how
your father’s handling it. And be grateful that he’s handling it.”
I unintentionally snort a laugh. “Be grateful.” I gesture at my
side, which is starting to scar over. “For what? For this?”
She raises the cup to her mouth and scowls at me over the
brim. “What? The injuries you put there yourself?”
I slam the cupboard and it makes her jump. “You know that’s
not true… and I wish… I wish…” I wish for once she’d just admit
that she knows but doesn’t care. It’d be better than her pretending
that none of this exists.
She lowers the cup to the table and flips a page of her
magazine, shrugging nonchalantly. “All I know is that you cut
yourself and that your father wasn’t even here that night.”
“Mom, you are so full of—”
She smacks her hand down on the table and her body is
shaking. “Kayden Owens, we’re not going to talk about this
anymore. It’s being taken care of and we’re moving on because
that’s what we do.”
I lean back against the corner, bend my arms behind my
back, and grip the countertop. “Why are you always protecting
him? You should be protecting your kids… but you won’t even
admit the stuff that’s going on.”
She shoves back from the table, grabs her magazine and
coffee, and hurries toward the doorway. “Do you know what it’s
like growing up so poor that your mother has to sell herself on the
corner all so you can have a used pair of shoes from the local
surplus store?”
My mother has never really talked about her childhood or
her mother, so I’m stunned. “No… but I’d rather grow up without
good shoes than grow up getting my ass kicked every day.”
She swings her arm back and throws the cup at me. It zips
past my head and shatters against the wall. Sharp fragments
sprinkle all over the floor and get stuck in the cracks of the tile.
“You ungrateful little shit. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
She’s shaking from her anger and her eyes are bulging.
I glance from her to the shards on the floor and then back at
her with my mouth hanging open. She’s never been this upset
before. She’s usually subdued. But as quickly as the wildfire came,
it’s gone and the flames and rage in her eyes dissipates. She runs
her hands down her hair, combing it back into place before she
walks out of the room and leaves me to clean up the mess.
I get a broom from the closet and sweep it up, watching the
broken pieces fall into the garbage can as I empty out the dust
pan. I notice some travel itinerary to Paris and also Puerto Rico in
the garbage and wonder if that’s where my dad went. These places
seem more like a vacation, though, than a business trip.
As I put the broom away, I get lost in that night, the
uncontrollable anger in my father’s eyes, and the feeling of not
knowing surfaces in my chest. What is going to happen to me?
How do I make myself fit back into life when I thought I’d fallen
into death? And will I even ever have a life to fit back into again?
My mom can pretend all she wants that this is going to go
perfectly—that they’ll pay off Caleb and he’ll keep his mouth
shut—but I have my doubts and I won’t be the least bit surprised if
he takes the money and still presses charges.
I continue to analyze my plans as I go down to the room in
the basement and sit in the quiet. I take my phone out of my
pocket and stare at the screen with my finger hovering over the
TALK button. I want to call Callie so fucking bad. Because it feels
like she could help me, let me know some of the answers, give me
a reason to revive again.
“Hey, man.” Tyler stumbles into the room and slams the door
shut with his elbow. He’s got a brown paper bag in his hand and
he tips his head back and takes a swig from whatever is inside and
then wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt and directs the bag
at me.
I shake my head and put my phone away, taking Tyler’s
interruption as a sign not to call Callie. “No thanks, man.”
He shrugs and takes another gulp before flopping down in
the leather sofa across from mine. He looks more like he’s in his
late thirties than his twenties and his clothes are ragged and worn.
He’s missing one of his teeth, which he says is from a fight, but I
wonder if he’s a crack addict or something by all the sores on his
face. His brown hair is cropped and it’s thinning out and he reeks
of smoke and booze.
“How long are you staying here?” He kicks his feet up on the
table and there’s a hole in the bottom of his shoe.
“I have no idea.” I pick up the remote from the coffee table
and aim it at the television screen. “I guess it depends on what
happens with this Caleb thing.”
He removes the paper bag from the bottle of vodka and puts
the tip of the bottle up to his mouth. “Yeah, what was that about?”
He knocks a shot back and then slams the bottle down on the
table. There’s a red ring around his mouth from pressing the bottle
against it and I wonder if it hurt or if he even felt it.
I turn on the TV and begin flipping through the channels. I
don’t want to talk to him when he’s so trashed that he won’t
remember a word. Even though it’s probably wrong, I still have
bitter feelings toward him for bailing on me when I was a kid so he
could turn into this. “It’s called life.”
He laughs incredulously. “Life’s called beating the shit out of
someone?”
“It was our life for a while,” I say and he fidgets
uncomfortably. I crack my knuckles and my neck, resisting the urge
to ram my fist into the table in front of me. “I didn’t beat the shit out of him. I broke his nose, knocked out a few teeth, and bruised
the shit out of his face. That’s it.”
“Yeah, but what did Caleb Miller do to you?” he presses. “The
last time I was here, he seemed like an okay guy.”
I pop my knuckles again, pushing on them as hard as I can,
until the skin feels like it’s going to split open. “He’s a fucking prick who got away with something he should be in jail for. What I did
to him was minor compared to what should be done to him.” I get
up because I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
He turns around in the chair, following me with his
bloodshot eyes. “Didn’t you beat him unconscious?”
I shake my head as I jerk open the door. “Nope.” I thought I
did, but it turned out he was just playing it up. Yeah, his face
looked like a fucking lumpy blueberry, but by the time the police
put me in the back of the car, he was up and milking it for all it was worth.
I walk outside, done with the conversation. I don’t have a
coat on, just a hoodie, but I welcome the cold as I hike across the
icy front yard, tromping through the snow, with my arms at my
sides. Both cars are gone from the driveway, but the motorcycle is
in the garage with the key in it. I run my hand along the leather
seat, thinking about the last time I rode it and how I wrecked it
trying to jump it over a hill. It’s black, sleek, and not made for
jumping, but I was showing off for a bunch of girls and ended up
skidding into the dirt and giving myself killer road rash. It was
minor compared to some of the things my father’s done to me and
even some of the things I’ve done to myself.
Rolling my wrist and feeling a slight pain inside the muscle
from my cuts, I swing my leg over the seat, turn the key, and floor
the throttle while I hold down the brake. The engine and exhaust
huffs to life and for a split second I feel alive. I pick up my feet, release the brake, and fly out of the garage onto the road. It’s
colder than hell, but it could be worse. It’s actually a warm day for Afton and the roads are clear. I can deal with it as long as I drive
slowly. I just need to go somewhere.
Anywhere, but here.
Callie
It’s been a little less than a week since I saw Kayden at the
café. I’ve texted and called him a couple of times and always end
up crying because he won’t answer. I can’t stop thinking about the
emptiness in his eyes and the anger in them when he pulled away.
Seth’s texted him a few times, but it always goes unanswered. It
kills me that there’s been no contact with him and that he’s up in
that house, alone with his terrible family, keeping silent about his
life. Silence. Silence. Why is it always about silence? I wish both of us could tell the world and be free from the chains we drag
around.
Seth and I have been spending a lot of time away from my
house, hanging out at the café, eating too many pancakes, and
driving the roads aimlessly, anything that will keep me away from
my mother. It’s not like she’s been terrible, but she keeps
reminding me about my obligation to my brother and Caleb, since
they’re a “package deal.” But yesterday was Christmas, and she
forced us to hang out at the house all day. It didn’t go very well
and we ended up getting into an argument when she pulled me
away and told me she thinks I shouldn’t hang out with Seth
anymore.
“He has quite a mouth on him,” she’d said. “And I don’t like
his attitude.”
“You don’t have to like it, mom,” I’d replied. “But he’s my
friend and he’s going to stay my friend.”
That didn’t go over very well and she started lecturing me
about the little girl she lost, the one who didn’t sass off.
“What are you thinking about?” Seth asks. We’re up in the
room above the garage. It’s a fairly nice day, the sunlight spilling
all over the snow and ice and melting it. I’ve been analyzing it for a while, watching it reflect against the ice, looking so perfect, yet I know if I step outside, the cold and slipperiness won’t hold up the
perfection. “You have this strange look on your face… like you’re
thinking about killing someone.”
I’m standing next to the windowsill kicking a punching bag
with my bare foot. My dad hauled it up into the room a few days
ago, after my mom gave it to him for Christmas as a way to “get
into shape.”
“I’m just thinking about stuff.”
He flips a page of the magazine he’s looking through as he
lays on his stomach on the bed. “Like what?”
I shake my head and ram my fist into the bag, barely
budging it. Sweat beads down the back of my neck and my
ponytail is slipping loose from the elastic. “Nothing. It’s nothing…
just the weather.”
He cocks an eyebrow as he peers up from the magazine. He’s
got on a pair of jeans and a striped shirt and this leather string
necklace around his neck. “The weather?”
I shrug, pivot my hip to the side, and then spring my knee
up, flattening my foot against the bag one more time. Breathless, I
pad over to the bed, the concrete floor cold against my bare feet,
and I hurry and hop onto the mattress. “Yeah, sometimes I like to
