by Celeste, B.
As weird as I find our lack of communication during school hours, I’ve gone along with it. If he doesn’t want to engage with me in the halls or before class, fine. It isn’t like we have much to say anyway.
He eyes my salad. “You should really eat something more than that. They’ve got other stuff to choose from.”
They have a buffet of inedible looking food choices, none which looked half as appetizing as the limp lettuce mix. At least I knew what the contents were, because the chicken they offered looked more like meatloaf.
“I like salad.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
I’ve barely eaten more than a few leaves of lettuce. Most of it rests untouched in the plastic container I bought it in. When I get headaches, the nausea makes my stomach churn. The smell of whatever they’re overcharging for doesn’t help.
“I’m just saying, you need to eat more.”
My teeth grind. “Stop telling me what to do. Just because everyone else at this school blindly follows you doesn’t mean I will.”
The tables around us get quiet. Biting the inside of my lip and glancing at the stares I warrant from the simple statement, I realize I just made a big mistake. People don’t say anything about what Kaiden does to people who talk back, because nobody is dumb enough to do it.
Shrinking down, I stare at my lunch.
“You know,” he replies casually, “the reason why people do what I say around here isn’t some power play. It’s all about tactic.”
My eyes lift to meet his. He reaches over and plucks a crouton from my salad, rolling it in his fingers before popping it in his mouth with a crunch to fill the short lived silence.
Wiping his hands, he crosses his arms on his chest. “They know I don’t come from a powerful family. My mother is just some love struck fool who married a man that, as far as I’m concerned, is more pathetic than any other human I know, and my father is a deadbeat who isn’t worth my time. The people here know who to follow because it benefits them. They want popularity? They make me happy. They want to be left alone? They stay out of my way. And you know something, Mouse?”
I’m silent.
“They do what I tell them to.” The threat is there, but my gut tells me it’s an empty one. I don’t believe he’d make them do anything to me. After all, it’s been a week since I arrived and not one person has bothered me. Though if they didn’t know about my involvement in their leader’s life, they probably do now. The possibility of their fake interest after this leaves me a little uneasy.
He grabs my salad and tosses it behind him, letting the contents scatter across the floor. My lips part in shock when I see my lunch laying wasted in between the tables of peers surrounding us.
I will not cry.
Locking my jaw to keep me from saying a word, I watch him reach into his pocket and throw five dollars down on the center of the table. He stands up and gives me a displeased once over before shaking his head.
Ignoring the mess he made, he turns around and calls out, “Go buy some fucking pizza,” before leaving the room.
Refusing to meet people’s stares, I stand up and leave the five-dollar bill behind before exiting through the glass side door. Maybe someone else could use it to buy lunch.
When the sun hits my face, I wish I had my sunglasses to protect my sensitive eyes. They’re in my backpack which is stuffed in my locker. Sitting in the shade beneath a sad looking oak tree in the courtyard, I listen the distant chatter of students who are probably talking about the little cafeteria showdown that just occurred.
Frowning, all I can think is, screw you, Kaiden Monroe.
Shortly before my diagnosis, I’d dropped twenty-five pounds without meaning to. Besides cheer, I didn’t do much else for exercise. Sometimes the squad ran the track at school or used the weight room, but I ate more than any of them. They always envied how tiny I stayed.
Weight has been a sore subject since. One of the doctors I went to made Mama step out of the room before telling me it was a safe space to admit what I was doing. He thought I wouldn’t say I had an eating disorder if she were around. He didn’t believe me, just like the string of other doctors that didn’t.
Mama wrapped me in her arms as soon as we had gotten home. She was worried and sad for me, and angry at the doctor. That was before she shut down, grieving for Lo too much to care about anyone else.
After being diagnosed with lupus, it was like Mama gave up on me because she thought there was nothing left to do. I suppose I gave up on her just as much, pushing her away on the rare occasion she did reach out. When Grandma calls and asks how I’m doing, I’ll always divert the conversation back to Mama.
Tell her I’m not dead yet is how I ended our last conversation when she told me Mama would come around in her own time.
Someone sits beside me on the ground and drops a five-dollar bill in my lap. Looking up expecting to see Kaiden glaring, I’m surprised by the long locks of chestnut brown hair instead.
Rachel isn’t looking at me. “I think we both know it isn’t a good idea to ignore him. At least pretend you bought something with it.”
I stare down at the crisp bill. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Because Kaiden’s an idiot.”
My eyes widen.
She sighs. “He only did that because Danny Walsh from the lacrosse team commented on how tiny you are and then got the guys talking about what they’d do to your body. One guy said he could wrap one hand around your waist while he screws you from behind.”
My cheeks prickle with heat as I look to the ground. “I don’t see why he felt the need to cause a scene like that all because boys were talking about me. That’s just…”
“It’s what Kaiden does.” She says it in an exasperated tone. “He threatened the guys in the locker room and then made a point in the cafeteria that he’s the only one allowed to mess with you.”
Am I supposed to be thankful?
She shakes her head. “He just gave you his protection. You should be glad.”
High schoolers shouldn’t need protection from each other. Then again, look at Riley. Nobody has said anything more about her since Kaiden told me what happened, so I wonder if their silence was another royal decree.
I extend my legs out in front of me. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me any of this. What’s in it for you?”
Her laugh is airy. “I know everyone thinks I’m a total moron, but you know what? It’s easier to be a fly on the wall when people don’t think you’re capable of listening in.”
I blink in surprise.
She grins at me. “I like Kaiden. He and I have been on and off for a long time. The more popular he gets the more girls want him. But he keeps me around.”
“He insults you.”
“He’s Kaiden.”
If that’s supposed to justify how he talks to her, I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know Rachel, but anyone deserves better than that. Even if he has his own methods of keeping control of people, it isn’t right.
“Anyway,” she disregards, “I don’t have to worry about those girls. He isn’t interested in them. And, frankly, I’d like to think he isn’t into you, but I can’t be too sure.”
I gape at her. “Our parents are married.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you get it? If anyone gets what they want no matter the situation, it’s Kaiden. He could feed you to the sharks if he wants to, but he hasn’t yet.”
Yet. Wonderful.
“So, I’ll play nice. For now.” She shrugs casually, like there’s no threat behind her words. I’m not sure what she’d do if she thought I was somehow in her way.
“I don’t like Kaiden,” I state firmly.
She stands up and glances down at me with a smile painted on her face. “I believe you, Emery. However, Kaiden has a way of getting under people’s skin one way or another. And, unfortunately, he’s willing to take on an entire sports team for you.”
“So?”
She f
lips her hair over her shoulder. “I guess we’ll just see how long it takes before things change. He wouldn’t even sleep with me when I came over the other day. I was bored out of my mind.” Pointing toward the money next to me, she adds, “You might want to go to the vending machine or something. He won’t care if it’s not pizza you get as long as you eat.”
When she starts walking away, I call out her name. “You never really said why you’re talking to me. I get that you like Kaiden, but if he wants everyone to leave me alone, then why warn me about him?”
She adjusts her purse on her arm. “If Kaiden likes you that means you’re competition.”
It won’t matter what I say to her about what I am to him. She already thinks I’m someone to look out for because of him standing up for me. If it means having enemies over, I’ll be sure to tell him to throw me to the sharks. I’d rather go down on my own terms anyway.
Rachel leaves without another word, and from the hallway window, I see Kaiden staring. He doesn’t look angry. He looks…amused. I’m afraid to find out what’s so funny.
When I meet him at his car at the end of the day, I get in, buckle up, and drop the five-dollar bill onto his lap.
He stares at me.
“I wanted my salad.”
Chapter Seven
Thursday Book Club is small and intimate, a circle of upholstered armchairs setup in the quiet section of the library. Most of the seats are occupied by girls, and when I see them ogling an oblivious Mr. Nichols, I shake my head and take one of the last chairs.
At three-thirty, Mr. Nichols welcomes all of us and explains the general idea behind the afterschool club. It’s seems obvious that reading and discussing books is the reason we’re here, but then I’m reminded by the Little Mermaid wannabe next to me that’s not true when she asks silly questions to get Nichols’ attention.
For the duration of the meeting, we talk about selecting different novels for the year. I’m interested when he pulls out a glass bowl, small pieces of paper, and a handful of pens from his bag. He tells us we’ll each write a book down on the paper, fold it, and put it in the bowl. He’ll write down the order of books we’ll read and discuss throughout the term as they’re pulled out by us.
I’m eager to write down mine but can tell the others aren’t as interested. A brown-haired girl with pretty caramel highlights raises her hand and calls Nichols over, asking him questions about how to choose a book. He’s nice in his reply, as any teacher should be, but I can tell even he is exasperated by their lack of understanding of something simple.
I stifle a giggle when I see him shake his head on the way back to his own seat. My eyes widen when he looks up knowingly at me, giving me a soft smile as if he gets my humor.
Maybe he’s not oblivious after all.
It takes the girls fifteen minutes to write a title down, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Twilight pops up more than once. I saw the blonde with huge eyes glancing at the shelf next to her like she was just going to write down the first title she saw. Then again, half the books are ones I haven’t read yet so I wouldn’t mind.
Mr. Nichols mixes up the folded papers before passing me the bowl. “Choose one, Emery.”
I reach in and pluck one out, reading it off so he can jot down the title and author into his notebook. Admittingly, I’ve never heard of the book before.
As we go around the room, I struggle to keep quiet when Twilight pops up twice. Mr. Nichols suggests us choosing a different book in replace of one of them, but nobody speaks up.
Until Nichols calls on me. “Emery, why don’t you think of something? I know you’ve got an arsenal of ideas.”
Little Mermaid glances at me with a scrunched nose before turning to Nichols. “How come she gets to choose?”
“Nobody else spoke up, Aria.”
Aria. Ariel. Same difference.
Clearing my throat, I shift until I’m angled toward the girls. “If you want something similar to Twilight, we can read a John Green book. He writes young adult literature.”
The blonde tilts her head. “Isn’t he the one who wrote about the dying chick? I think I saw the movie with my ex-boyfriend.”
I wonder if she threw in the ex for Mr. Nichols as if he’s supposed to care. “Um, sort of. He has other books that aren’t as well-known as that one.”
“Who wants to read about dying kids?” The brunette scoffs. “That sounds depressing.”
“She finds love,” the blonde defends.
Nichols intervenes. “It can be a group decision for next time. Until then, we’ve got the title to our first book, which we’ll discuss starting next week. Be sure to have a copy before then.”
After he dismisses us, I gather my things and get ready to go before Nichols calls my name. A few girls glance back at us, whispering amongst themselves, before turning around and heading out of the library.
“You were quiet,” he notes, packing up his own belongings. “Those girls aren’t exactly here to have deep conversations about literature. I have a feeling you’ll pull a bulk of the load.”
My lips twitch. “You don’t say?”
He chuckles, zipping his messenger bag and draping it over his shoulder. “This club has the potential if we have the right people in it.”
“And you think that’s me?”
“And Annabel.”
Annabel…
“She was the other quiet one,” he muses.
Oh. There was a black-haired girl he called Anna. I vaguely remember her from one of my classes—Global Studies, not English. I think she suggested we read Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Someone mentioned how morbid that was, and Anna didn’t say a word. I should have told her I was excited to read it.
He gestures toward the doors, so I follow him out of the library. “I’ve always been interested in literature. I love reading it, talking about it, everything. You remind me of me.”
My brows raise as we walk side by side toward the spiral staircase that leads toward the front doors of the school. “Because we like books?”
He lets me go down the staircase first because of the narrow structure. “Because we like them more than reality. It’s easier to lose yourself in fiction, right?”
We stop at the end of the stairs. There’s noise coming from the high school gym down the hall—practice for some sport maybe. It helps lessen the awkwardness of standing here next to my English teacher while he waits for my response.
He smiles at me. “We all have something we want to escape from. That doesn’t mean some of us aren’t still in tune with reality even when it’s…”
“Shitty,” I murmur. My eyes widen over what I said, shooting up at his amused features. I’ve never sworn in front of a teacher. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nichols—”
He laughs. “School is over, Emery. I can’t hold you accountable for what you say. I also can’t say I agree with you.” Readjusting the strap of his bag, he tips his head and begins walking away. “Can’t say I disagree with you either.”
Waving goodbye, he tells me he’ll see me tomorrow and then leaves. I stand there for a minute before genuinely smiling. Gripping my bag and slipping it on my back, I turn to head to the side exit.
Kaiden told me he wouldn’t wait for me. I didn’t want to complain, so I just nodded. There’s a late bus that boards by the loading dock off the middle school wing at five. I can wait another thirty minutes.
After fifteen, I go outside and sit on the brick half wall. My legs dangle over and the sun hits my face mixed with a gentle breeze. There’s a book in my backpack I want to read, and I’m about to pull it out when a car pulls up.
Not just any car.
“Want to go to the sycamore?”
Kaiden.
I wet my lips. I should tell him no…
“Sure.”
I tell Kaiden about the song—our song. Mama’s, Logan’s, and mine. He stares at me blankly as I admit how many times I listen to it a day. It plays in my head on repeat, a tune that never ge
ts old.
He tells me it’s stupid. But his eyes tell an entirely different story. In the depths of their jaded tone, there’s an understanding.
What’s your song, Kaiden?
“She wasn’t just my sister.” My voice is quiet as I pick blades of grass out of the ground and examine them in my hand. “She was my twin, my other half.”
My better half, I don’t add.
Where she was outgoing and confident, I was an introvert and self-conscious. She loved to be part of everything while I watched from the sidelines. The only things we did together since we were little were cheer and dance, and that was only because she begged me to. I liked it … until I couldn’t do it anymore. Not just because I wasn’t physically able to, but because everything I did reminded me of her.
“Lo was better than me in every way.”
“Doubt that,” he murmurs.
I look over at him. He’s watching me, his gaze intent on studying my distant features. I want to believe that opening up to him will somehow make him reciprocate. He’s angry, I just don’t know at who.
Who am I angry at?
“You didn’t know Lo,” I argue. “You would have liked her way more than me. Everybody did. Mama always said she loved us equally, and I think she meant it. But there was this…I don’t know, glow about Logan.”
I used to think there was two of us because one wasn’t made right. Never once did I think the faulty edition was Lo, but me.
He’s quiet for a minute. “Technically, I wouldn’t have ever met either of you if she hadn’t died.”
Sucking in a breath, I let his blunt statement soak into my chest. He either doesn’t know how to use his filter or doesn’t care. I think it’s the latter.
Sighing, he shifts slightly. “That was fucked up even for me.”
I shrug. “Not untrue, though.”
“Tell me about your mom,” he prods.
My brows shoot up. “What?”
He remains quiet.
“Uh…” I shake off my surprise and hug my knees to my chest. “She was a great person, a loving mother to Lo and me. When we were little, she used to let us help her cook dinner almost every night even though we were in her way more times than not. She’d find reasons to laugh when we messed up simple recipes, but it was fun.”
