Blue

by L. E. DeLano

  We sign in at the office under the stern eye of Mrs. Johnson, who is stapling a stack of papers together.

  “Here you are,” she says, offering the stack to someone over my shoulder. She glances down at me. “Blue, don’t you have Mrs. Linza for this block?”

  I look up from the sign-in sheet. “Uh-huh, AP Literature.”

  “Would you mind escorting Devon? He’s new at Audubon this semester.”

  I hear him chuckle as I turn around. Guess I missed him sitting there since we were in such a rush.

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Okay.”

  Like I need this. One more excuse for people to stare at me when I walk in with the new guy. Jules gives me a look over her shoulder as she starts off to her first block, and I gesture towards the 300 Hall as Devon holds the door for me.

  “Were you late just for me?” he asks, giving me a flirty smile as he falls into step beside me. I stop in the middle of the hall.

  “Look, Devon—I’m kind of not looking for a boyfriend right now. I have this—thing—with this one guy and it’s whatever, but I just don’t want you wasting your time.”

  “Meeting someone new is never a waste of time,” he says. “And if you have a thing that’s whatever, I can respect that. Sorry if it feels like I’m stalking you.”

  His smile doesn’t fade a bit as he talks, and I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or not.

  “No, it’s fine. Sorry. I’m just having a day.”

  “The day just started.”

  “Tell me about it.” I roll my eyes, and we keep walking. “Linza’s class is up here on the left, room 301. My brother had her and he says she’s cool.”

  “What grade is your brother?” Devon asks, and my hand clenches tighter around the strap of my backpack.

  “He’s out.” I grab the door handle and yank it open, a little too hard since it would have bounced off the wall if Devon hadn’t grabbed it. He gives me a curious look and then he dutifully hands Mrs. Linza his paperwork. After she introduces him, he takes a seat two away from me in the same row.

  I manage to do a credible job of pretending to pay attention, even though Maya’s best friend Haylee is staring daggers at me—they’re like pinpricks on the back of my neck. She’s probably texting about me right now, too. The temptation is strong to break out my phone and see if anything’s been posted anywhere, but I’m second row from the front so I don’t dare. Probably better, anyway. I keep telling people to leave it alone but I’m finding it hard to take my own advice.

  I suck it up, answer a few questions and try to look attentive, all while glancing around every so often in what I hope is a subtle way to make sure they’re not all watching me to see if I’m worried about them watching me. Finally, Mrs. Linza hands out our first reading assignment: Fahrenheit 451.

  Astronomy is next, and it’s only around the corner in the 200 Hall. People file out, and I try to tell myself they’re not looking back at me even though Haylee already gave me a side-eye as she moved past and everyone else watched her do it, too.

  A finger taps my shoulder.

  “Hey—you okay?” Devon says it quietly, but I see Mrs. Linza’s sympathetic look and it makes me even saltier about the whole situation. I barely glance at him as I shrug into my backpack.

  “I’m fine.”

  He nods, but the smile seems more cautious now. “Well, see ya around,” he says, and he’s out the door, too.

  “See ya,” I mumble.

  One block down, one to go, and then lunch.

  Lunch at the same time as Maya, since we both have the same Poly Sci class, and your third block determines your lunch.

  Good. We’ll get it over with before we’re stuck in a classroom together. She’ll probably be too busy at lunch catching up with everyone, anyway. I’m making more out of this than I need to.

  Yes, I definitely am. I am going to get through this day. And then I am going to inhale a bag of Cheetos while watching bad reality shows on Netflix with a dog on my lap and a charcoal mask on my face and tomorrow will be easier. Today is easier already, with one block down.

  Do I sound like a plucky optimist? Of course, I don’t. I’m a realist, and time is a finite thing. There’s only so much of it to devote to this stuff. People get over things. People move on.

  I hope.

  4

  Seeing Maya was surprisingly uneventful. We passed each other in the hallway just after second block. Of course, her posse was whispering in her ear and giving me death glares as they all moved by, and my girls–Jules, Lauren, and Other Julia were behind me doing the same stuff. It kind of makes me wonder if Maya is as tired of it all as I am.

  Anyway, Maya was no big deal. She didn’t even look mad. She just looked straight through me, and if that’s how she wants to play it, that works for me. Honestly, it’s pretty damn gracious of her and I’m very grateful. She’s obviously trying to move past all this. And I want that for her. I'm not loving the idea of being a walking reminder of what she’s lost. I imagine it’s like someone spraying salt on the gaping wound in her chest every time she sees me.

  Looking at her today made me feel like I was carrying Jack’s full one hundred and sixty-five pounds on my shoulders, and that just lightened considerably.

  I walk into the cafeteria on rubbery legs, relief flooding my body. It’s going to be okay.

  Grabbing my lunch, I remember there’s nobody to eat with. Jules and my other friends have second lunch. I’m in first lunch, and the only one I know well enough to eat with is Austin.

  I wasn’t kidding when I said he and I were whatever. That pretty much defines it. We dated in tenth grade and we were intense at first—expected when he’s the guy who took my v-card, but then he ghosted me. That sucked a lot, but I got over it and dated a few other people until he suddenly remembered me at the end of last semester. He said things ‘slipped away’ with him concentrating on football and college. He’s a senior and hoping for a scholarship so he’s got a lot going on. We started hanging again, mostly because I was lonely and he didn’t want the hassle of finding somebody new. That’s how it feels most of the time, anyway.

  I mean, if you really like someone, you open your mouth and explain that shit instead of ghosting them and expecting to just pick up where you left off. Which is what we’re kind of doing, so, yeah, I don’t take my own advice. He was really busy over Christmas break so we pretty much only texted. But it’s fine because we can catch up in person right now, if I even want to. He’s got to make the first move, though. I’m not panting after him.

  I throw my coat over a chair, slide down into it, and pull out my phone. My eyes casually scan the cafeteria, looking for Austin’s favorite red hoodie. I stare down at my phone again and frown at Haylee’s latest pic—her and Maya by the lockers with a caption about having fun in spite of “the stank in the halls.” Nice.

  I look up and spot Devon over at the cashier. We make eye contact, but I don’t really acknowledge him and look back down at my phone. This time, I check Maya’s pics, and suck in an audible breath before I cover it and force a calm look on my face.

  “ Lunch ” she wrote, right under a pic that had to have been taken moments ago here in the cafeteria, judging by the bank of windows to the side and the poster for the spring musical on the wall behind her. And sitting next to her, in a new blue hoodie he must’ve gotten for Christmas, wearing a smile as Maya’s lips intersect his cheek—is Austin.

  What???

  How???

  He doesn’t even know Maya! Does he?

  Well, obviously he does.

  I stuff the phone in my pocket, and consider leaving, but like hell I’m going to let them know I’m bothered. Not that I am. I mean, Austin and I aren’t really together. Definitely not now. I turn my head toward the cashier.

  “Devon!” I call out with a wave.

  His perpet
ual grin widens as he walks over, drops his tray on the table and slides into the chair across from me.

  “Changed your mind, huh? I can sit with you now?”

  “I thought you might have questions, since it’s your first day,” I make my lips curve into a smile as my hand curls into a fist under the table.

  “And you thought your whatever boyfriend should see you sitting with the new guy,” he says matter-of-factly. He has an orange on his tray, and he peels it as he talks. I start to protest but he chuckles and keeps peeling. “No, it’s okay. Glad to be of service. Is that him in the pic with the girl you’re supposed to fight?”

  “Jesus.” I say under my breath. “News travels fast around here.”

  “Turns out I have your friend for second block. Julia.”

  “Which one?”

  “Huh?”

  “Which Julia?” I ask absently, trying to look casual as my eyes slide again toward the corner where Maya and Austin are sitting.

  “How many Julia’s do you hang with?” He asks.

  “There’s Jules—that’s Julia Franklin. And then there’s Julia Rosenberg. We call her Other Julia because Jules is really Julia, too and both nicknames sort-of evolved over time.”

  I try to look like I’m not staring as I talk. Austin is saying something and Maya is laughing like he’s God’s gift to comedy.

  “The Julia in the office this morning,” Devon supplies. “She sits right next to me in Graphic Design. Thanks to her, I think I’m up to speed on everything with you now.”

  My eyes swing back to him and narrow. “Is that so?”

  “Don’t be pissed at your friend. I just wanted to know what book you had inside you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Fahrenheit 451,” he says with an off-handed wave. “I guess you haven’t read it yet.”

  “We just got it today,” I remind him.

  “Well, it’s a classic. Ray Bradbury is a master. It’s set in a futuristic society where books are outlawed and burned if they’re found. There’s this underground movement to preserve them, so each person memorizes their favorite book. It becomes their story to tell. And I was wondering about your story, is all.”

  “No one wants a book about me,” I say glumly. But I definitely could write one right now. Except I’m not the hero, or the villain. Who writes a book about an innocent bystander? I’m the girl at the intersection, who gets splashed by the mud puddle as the cars go by. Right now, Maya is flinging more mud my way. And Jules is apparently holding a garden hose and making sure there’s mud for everybody. Worst of all, I have to stand here and let it swamp me. It’s not like I can call her out without looking like a colossal bitch, considering the circumstances.

  “Jules had no right to talk about me,” I grumble.

  “She was doing you a favor,” Devon says. I raise my brows silently, but he presses on. “C’mon, you have to know everyone is talking about you today. I was bound to hear it all. Wouldn’t you rather I hear your story from someone who really knows you?”

  “I’d rather everybody just shut the hell up.” I look down at my cold slice of pizza and start picking cheese from the edge of it. “So, what did Jules tell you?”

  “That your brother was drunk and coming home from a party and crashed into Maya’s dad—who was texting. Maya’s dad died, your brother got off easy, and now Maya blames you for it all.”

  “Jack wasn’t legally drunk,” I defend, inwardly fuming at Julia. “The officer at the scene had a broken breathalyzer, so he gave Jack a field sobriety test. He only failed it because he has ADHD and his meds can affect his balance. They blood tested him at the hospital later and he was below the legal limit.”

  That was the defense my parent’s ten-thousand-dollar retainer-so-far of a lawyer planned to give to the judge. An argument could be made that Jack fell below the legal limit because it took nearly ninety minutes for him to get to the hospital due to his lack of life-threatening injuries, very backed-up traffic and the fact that their crash site was right on the line between two ambulance companies, so both came out and had to figure out who was going where. By the time his blood was drawn at the hospital, Jack was just barely under the limit.

  But that argument was never made, because of the plea agreement. And of course, Jack was a bright young man with no previous record, a hockey scholarship and a good future ahead of him who, while underage, was technically not drunk enough to be classified as legally drunk.

  All of that means less than nothing to Maya—and I guess to Jules and the rest of the school, too. And even though the gossip might be tinged with truth, Jack is still my brother. And Maya’s Dad was probably texting while driving. The circumstances did show reasonable doubt as to who was ultimately at fault in that courtroom, but not so much in the court of public opinion, where I’m guilty by association if I dare try to defend my brother.

  “Sorry,” Devon says, lifting his hands in apology.

  “People love to write their own stories,” I ever-so-slightly tilt my head in Maya’s direction. “Even when they’re not entirely supported by the facts.”

  “That’s why I’m talking to you,” Devon says. “You don’t have to tell me all of it. I’m only interested in the parts that affect you.”

  “It all affects me. I swear to God, my mom named me Blue so I would be perpetually miserable.”

  “Nope.” Devon takes a drink of his lemonade. “Blue is beautiful. Like the sky. Like the wide-open sky.”

  I give him a sour look for trying to make light of all this. “Whatever,” I say.

  “So, I’m a whatever now? Don’t you already have one of those?” He pops the last segment of orange in his mouth.

  I glance at Austin, who—dammit—is looking at me now. “Apparently not.” I say as I wad up my napkin and drop it on my pizza. “It’s fine. He was a waste of time, anyway. You done?”

  He shakes his head with a mouthful of orange.

  I stand up, shoving my chair back. “I need to get something from my car.”

  He tries valiantly to chew and say something, but I’m gone before he can clear his mouth. I want to look to the right to see if Maya or Austin notice me leaving, but I manage to keep my eyes on the door. Then I’m in the hallway and through the doors, running until I’m out in the bitter, gray January cold without my coat. And of course, my car keys are in my coat pocket, back in the cafeteria.

  I lean back against the cold brick wall, and refuse to let myself cry. I need a minute. Just one undisturbed minute with no one giving me scathing or sympathetic looks, with no one whispering or posting pictures or cuddling up to the guy I thought I liked or telling other people what they think is my life story. Just one freaking minute so I can breathe.

  I don’t even get that. Just as the traitorous tears spill over, the door next to me opens and Devon rushes out. He stops, looks around, and then jumps when he finally sees me.

  “Whoa!” He exclaims. “Sorry—did I hit you with the door?”

  “I’m fine.” I rub at my cheeks with the back of my frozen hands. “I just need this day to be over with.”

  His eyes soften, and yet another look of sympathy makes me clench my teeth.

  “It’ll be over with soon enough,” he says. “You’re halfway there. Here—you forgot your stuff.” He sets my backpack on the ground and holds my coat out to me. With a grateful nod, I slide my arms into it, zipping it up tight.

  “You should go back inside.”

  “You, too. Don’t want your book to end with you becoming a Popsicle.”

  “My book ends when my miserable life ends,” I say darkly. “After several more decades of torture.”

  “Don’t say that!” He blurts out. “Your life isn’t miserable. It just feels that way right now. It’s all about perspective. What you do to move forward.”

  I choke on a sarcastic laugh. “No on
e is going to let me move forward.”

  “Sure they will. They’ll get bored eventually. You just keep busy until they do. Focus on the good things.”

  Great. Just what I need—sunshine and unicorns. I know he’s trying to help but I am not in the mood.

  “Thanks,” I say, but I don’t mean it and he knows it. I grab my backpack, pull the door open and he falls into step beside me as we walk down the hall.

  “Cheer up.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “You’ve done a good deed today by helping me. That’s a positive.”

  “I walked you to your English class,” I remind him. “That’s not exactly Nobel prize material.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” he goes on. “You made my first day at a new school a complete non-event. Nobody’s even noticed me with all the drama swirling around you.”

  I’m not grateful to be reminded of that. “Why—is your inner book not interesting enough?”

  Something flashes for a moment in his eyes. “No one gets to read my book,” he says, and his smile fades slightly. “Not until I kill the villain.”

  He saunters off, hands in his pockets.

  5

  "We're going to see Jack on Sunday,” Mom says as she nudges the bowl of roasted kale towards me. My hand stops it before it can get too near. I hate kale. And I hate when Mom and I eat dinner by ourselves because that means her focus is entirely on me.

  I take the smallest possible portion of chicken I can get away with, and carve it up on my plate. The sooner it goes down, the sooner I’m back in my room.

  “Well?” Mom asks.

  I look up at her with a mouthful of chicken. “Well what?’

  “I said we’re going to see Jack,” she repeats, “and I’d like us to go as a family.”

  “Like the way we eat dinner as a family?” My chin points to the empty chair at the head of the dining room table. “Why do we even bother? We should just get take-out and sit on the couch when Dad works late.”