Blue

by L. E. DeLano

  Blue

  Copyright © 2021 by L.E. DeLano

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  ISBN

  978-1-7364731-0-8 (print)

  978-1-7364731-1-5 (eBook)

  This book is dedicated to the Swoon Squad—

  the best, most supportive group of authors I’ve ever had the privilege of sharing an imprint with. I never would have survived publishing without you.

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  1

  Sometime around 350 BC, King Philip II of Macedon decided to invade Greece, and was mostly successful until he set his sights on the kingdom of Sparta. Philip decided to give the Spartans a chance to avoid bloodshed and lay down their arms before he conquered them, so he sent out a message that read: “You are advised to submit without further delay, for if I bring my army into your land I will destroy your farms, slay your people, and raze your city.”

  The Spartans replied with only one word.

  “If.”

  And based on the power and implied message of that one word (and the Spartans’ well-known reputations), Philip decided the Spartans weren’t worth the risk, and he left them alone.

  “If” is a word with the power to alter destiny. So many lives have been decided by two little letters.

  If only she’d taken that job instead of this one. If we just hadn’t decided to go out that day. If he’d only told her he loved her. If the baby had lived.

  If only my mother hadn’t named me Blue.

  She thought it was pretty, maybe even a little mystical. Instead, it turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. One little turn of events has completely demolished my life. One split second mistake has completely altered the trajectory of my world, and sent it tilting on its axis. I was born Blue and I’ll stay blue as I drown in it all. It’s so goddamn unfair.

  I draw back my fist and punch the side of the slide.

  “Ow! Dammit!”

  I cup my hand inside the other one, blowing on them both. They were stinging bad enough before I decided to punch a hard piece of frozen plastic. The backs of my knuckles look raw, but my whole hand is bright red so it’s kind of hard to tell how much damage has been done.

  I trace the line on the slide wall with my finger in disbelief. It’s definitely a crack. I cracked the slide when I punched it.

  “I cracked it? Are you kidding me?” I say, shaking my hand out. “Un-be-freaking-lievable.”

  “Not really. It’s simple physics.”

  I turn with a start and the movement jolts me free, sending me hurtling down the slide and right into the legs of the guy standing at the bottom. He jumps back, but not before I nail him in the knee with my boot.

  “Oof!”

  “Sorry!” I look up from my seat on the bottom of the slide, and he rubs his knee. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand. “Why are you spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was here first.” He smiles at me, even though I tagged his knee pretty hard. “And I came over because you looked like you hurt yourself.”

  I flex my fingers and look back up at the top of the slide. “Hurts like a bitch.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. What do you mean ‘you were here first?’” I glare at him. He’s still smiling at me, though.

  He gestures toward the other side of the playground. “I was just sitting under the big plastic frog canopy, minding my own business. Here, you dropped this.”

  He brushes the snow off my phone and holds it out. We both look down as it vibrates in his hand and three new notifications light up the screen.

  OMG Did you hear about Maya

  Maya’s back tomorrow

  Heads up – Maya’s coming back

  “Thanks,” I mumble, yanking it away.

  I shove the phone down in my pocket and try not to look like I want to throw up when I do. I really do. Why is he here? I didn’t come to the playground in the middle of winter so I could socialize. I wanted to be alone in my misery.

  He tilts his head to the slide. “Better get a move on before they arrest you for vandalism.”

  “Right.” I actually have gloves in my pocket that I wasn’t wearing because I stupidly can’t stop checking my phone. I pull the right one over my sore hand. “You live around here?”

  “You think I drive all over town in the freezing cold just to hang out at empty playgrounds? I live on Willow Court. On the cul-de-sac.”

  “I don’t know what you do. I don’t know you.” I’m aware I’m being bitchy. And he’s still smiling.

  “That’s because I’m new,” he says. He sticks his hand out at me, like we’re becoming best friends or something.

  “Devon Guthrie. Moved here from Florida in December. I think we might be going to the same school.”

  “I can’t shake your hand.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re sure it’s not broken?”

  I shrug. “And I don’t go to Upper Merion,” I say. “I go to a charter school—”

  “Audubon Academy,” he completes for me. “I think I saw you before Christmas break. We stopped by to get the paperwork. That’s why I walked over to you—I thought I recognized you. Are you a senior?”

  “Junior.”

  “Me, too.

  “Oh. Well, it’s a good school,” I say awkwardly, cramming my gloved hands in my pocket. “I have to go.”

  “Not without telling me a name, I hope. It’d be nice to scream it in the halls tomorrow instead of ‘Hey you.’”

  He smiles again, and his teeth look really white in the darkness of the winter night. He pulls his beanie down tighter over a mop of unruly blonde hair.

  “Blue.” I say, as he looks at me blankly. “My name is Blue.”

  “First or last?”

  “It’s my first name.” I wave off his confused look. “My mom was in her crystals and aromatherapy stage back then. The last name is Mancini.”

  “Blue.” He repeats. “I like it.” He points off to the parking lot by the playground, to an old-model powder-blue Volkswagen Bug. “I can give you a ride. I would imagine your butt is frozen into a semi-circle shape after forty minutes of laying on a slide in single-digit temps.”

  “Wait—you were watching me that whole time?”

  “No. I was doing some thinking of my own. But I did notice when you showed up because you almost walked off the top of the platform up there looking at your phone. Whatever you saw must have you pretty upset.”

  I close my eyes, mortified. Did he see me crying? Cursing? Talking to myself? I’m not about to get into the whole shitfest that is my life with a guy who hangs out at playgrounds.

  “Sorry.” He raises his hands, palms out. “I don’t need to know your business.”

  “It’s
just—” I don’t want him to know my business. But if he’s going to Audubon, he’ll hear it all tomorrow morning. “I’ve kind of got a life situation going on. Sorry if I’m not at my friendliest.”

  “Life.” He lets out a sigh. “Sucks sometimes. Still better than the alternative.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  For a moment, we just stand there in the quiet, with the snow falling down, looking at the ground and lost in our own thoughts. Finally, he speaks.

  “So . . . you want that ride?”

  “I’ll walk. Thanks anyway.”

  He nods, readjusts his hat, and starts walking toward his car. “Sorry if I ruined your alone time,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I wasn’t creeping on you.”

  “It’s okay,” I call back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  I stuff my hands in my pockets and start walking, out the gate of the playground and onto the sidewalk. The phone vibrates again and I pull it out to look at the newest text.

  Maya’s coming back tomorrow

  What are u gonna do

  What am I gonna do? How about call out sick until graduation? Hide under a desk? I want to laugh but I also want to throw my phone as hard as I can. And some weird part of me wants to get in Devon’s car and tell him to drive until we’re a hundred miles from here.

  I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s not following me, and he’s not. He’s just standing there by his car, arms folded, looking at me and yup—still smiling.

  I don’t smile back. I walk home alone in the cold, knowing I have to face tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get lucky and everyone will fixate on the new guy.

  A girl can hope, can’t she?

  2

  I'm just going to ignore her.

  What if she won’t ignore me? What if she screams at me—or worse, cries? What if she tries to hit me or something? If she gets up in my face . . .

  Who am I kidding? Like I’m going to say anything. Like I can say anything without looking like an asshole for saying it. Besides, she doesn’t want to be in the same hemisphere with me. Why would she want to talk to me? She probably won’t even talk to me.

  But everyone else will. They’ll all be lined up, wanting to hear anything we have to say about each other.

  My stomach tightens so hard I feel like I’m going to puke. I glance at my phone again, and the texts from last night are still there.

  Maya’s back at school

  my mom saw her mom at Target

  Maya is back

  did u see her pic on IG

  Did you hear about Maya

  I shove the phone back down in the pocket of my coat and blow on my fingers to get them warm. I should have remembered my gloves but the whole morning is a blur and now I’m sitting in my car in the cold and I can’t bring myself to turn the key in the ignition.

  The phone comes out again. I have got to get a grip on myself. I know better, but I open up Instagram and find her picture. She looks good. Well, better than the last time I saw her, which wasn’t a great time for her. Or me.

  Last night, I stayed up trying not to obsess about this and nursing a throbbing hand—which makes me tired this morning and wishing more than anything I could go back to bed and forget the rest of this semester. I’m going to be late for school if I don’t get it together. The phone drops from my hand when a fist slams repeatedly into my window, scaring the hell out of me.

  “Jules!” I shriek. “What the—”

  “Got tired of waiting,” she says, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. “You better get moving or we’ve got another unexcused tardy.”

  I suppose it’s a good thing she lives four houses down, but right now I wish she lived in a neighboring town and took the bus.

  “Let’s go.” I stuff my phone down into my coat pocket, trying to ignore the way it’s vibrating again. Jules’s eyes drop down, having heard it.

  “So is everybody all up in your business?”

  “Oh God,” I moan. “All day yesterday and still going this morning. This is such a non-event. It really is.”

  “Did you see the pic she posted?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think that was meant for me.”

  Jules raises her brows. “You don’t?”

  “Nah,” I say with what I hope is a careless shrug.

  “Back at Audubon and nobody’s gonna get me down,” Jules reads aloud while looking at her phone. Obviously, she had the picture open. Maya, in her bedroom, wearing a blue hoodie and smiling, both thumbs up. Her hair is longer now and she looks really pretty.

  “I think she means more like, the world in general isn’t going to get her down,” I tell her.

  “I guess,” Jules agrees, only she doesn’t sound like she agrees even a little bit. “Lauren says Maya’s got Poly Sci third block with Jones.”

  “Well then,” I force a smile as I start the car. “I guess we’ll find out if my theory is right.”

  “She better not think she can start something.”

  “Jules.” I give her a look. “Drop it, okay? I mean, she and I barely know each other.”

  “I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

  “No, it’s still true.” I reverse out of the driveway so fast, Jules rocks sideways in her seat.

  “Whoa! Don’t go psycho on me! I’m just sayin’!”

  “And I’m just saying; drop it. I’ve got enough of a feeding frenzy going on around me without you hopping on the boat, too.”

  “You really don’t think that pic was meant for you?”

  I whip my head around to glare at her. “You honestly think I’m trying to keep Maya down? Like I don’t want her to succeed? In spite of—in spite of everything?”

  Jules holds up her hands, finally realizing, I guess, that my nerves are a jangling, dangling mess.

  “I’m not busting on you. I’m on your side, remember?”

  “There aren’t any sides here,” I remind her with a sigh. “Not for her, or for me. Neither one of us had a thing to do with it.”

  “Yeah, but dude—your brother killed her Dad.”

  I put the car in gear and drive.

  3

  Love is a verb. My mom says that. I think she and Dad heard it in a marriage counseling session once. Love is a verb. An active choice.

  Except when it’s not. Like when you’re supposed to love somebody, maybe even did love somebody—and probably still love somebody, only you just don’t feel it right now. That doesn’t mean you won’t feel like loving them again someday, eventually. Or maybe even forever. You’re just sort-of overwhelmed right now. You’re too upset or too pissed or too busy dealing with all the stuff flying at you that was kicked up by their drama.

  And maybe it’s drama you had no part in creating, but got sucked into anyway.

  So I think you’ve got a right to move that word—love—from verb to noun status if it’s not an action you can comfortably take right now. It’s just a thing in the background, like a table or a lamp. You know it’s there, and it’s not going anywhere, but until you need to use it, it’s not getting put into motion.

  So yeah, I love my brother. But somebody died and we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.

  My brother isn’t some gun-waving lunatic. He didn’t rob Maya’s dad and shoot him down in cold blood, or anything. Jack graduated with honors and was co-captain of the hockey team. He had a big scholarship to Northeastern University in Boston and a 4.2 weighted GPA. Then he miscalculated his speed on a curve, and his blood test showed alcohol just under the legal limit. One little mistake added to another little mistake, a man’s life ended, and Maya doesn’t have a dad anymore.

  Maya’s dad may have been texting while he drove, but that couldn’t be conclusively proven since the text stopped mid-sentence and was never sent�
��therefore no time stamp. My brother’s skid marks showed him over-correcting into the opposite lane and that could have sent the other car off the steep embankment. The car flipped multiple times, and Maya’s father suffered a traumatic brain injury upon impact, level three on the Glasgow Coma Scale.

  I remember that part from the trial, because the prosecutor must have brought it up a half-dozen times. There were diagrams of the accident scene, diagrams of the head injury—and worse, pictures. There were charts and doctor’s reports and EMT reports and police reports. And in the end, it didn’t mean much because my parents have a really, really, good lawyer and he knew what he was doing. When we broke for lunch, Maya’s mother agreed to a plea bargain, reducing Jack’s sentence and the case was settled.

  Jack lost his license for ninety days for underage drinking and is currently serving a six-month sentence in a special boot camp program. He also has to complete a couple of alcohol awareness courses while he’s there, and when all that’s done, his scholarship will still be waiting and he goes on with his life.

  Me? I get to go to school with the fallout from this mess. I get to face Maya in the halls and wonder if she’s going to scream at me the way she screamed at Jack outside the courtroom that day. I get to worry that her mom will pick her up from school and I’ll see her, too. I get to deal with everyone running their mouths to my face and behind my back.

  Jack, you’re an asshole.

  So Maya’s back to school at Audubon Academy after nearly a year of being home schooled. Why? We’ve only got a semester before the end of the year—she couldn’t have let it ride? I want to know what changed her mind but like hell I’m going to ask her.

  It’s completely unreasonable to think she’s doing it to get at me, but it feels that way. And I know, I know . . . I’m a horribly selfish person for making it all about me. After all, I’m not the girl who tragically lost her father.

  I’m just the sister of the guy that killed him, or so my best friend tells me. Honestly, Jules is lousy at being a sympathetic friend sometimes. I don’t need her to kick anyone’s ass. I just need her and everyone to leave it all alone. For Maya’s sake, and for mine.

  Jules wants to stop by Dunkin Donuts drive-thru on the way in. Might as well, we’re already late. We’re not going to be any less tardy with five more minutes on the clock. And that also pretty much guarantees nobody will be in the halls to talk about me—or scream in my face—since the bell will have already rung.