by Lily Foster
“You’re a good son.”
Her praise makes me uncomfortable, because a good son wouldn’t be deserting his mother, leaving her here to deal with everything alone. Come August, I’ll be doing just that.
She nudges my knee with hers. “So I’ll see you at school on Monday?”
“Meet me by my locker before first period?” She looks surprised. Does she think I’m planning on hiding this, hiding her? “Hey,” I pull her in closer, “I can’t just drop by your house, or even walk down the street in your neighborhood holding your hand. When I can be with you, I’m going to be.”
She nods, looking at me with those big brown eyes. “I’ll be there.”
She’s the one who leans in first and kisses me. I’m the one who breaks the kiss a minute later, holding her to me, breathing in as I nestle into her hair. “Charlotte.” I say it just because I love the sound of her name.
We stay like that for a minute, just holding on, before I go around to her side of the truck and help her out. “I’ll follow you home.”
“Don’t be silly.” She’s grinning and so am I. We probably look like two lovesick fools to anyone passing by, but I couldn’t care less. “I’ll see you Monday,” she says, getting into her car.
I already know I won’t be able to wait that long.
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte
I sit in my driveway, reading through several texts from Daisy. Do I want to go to the mall later? It’s later already. Much later. And BTW, Sarah’s coming too. Thank the Lord for Sarah. We’re getting burgers at The Ground, meet us. Nope, still full from the burger and cheese fries I had before. Sienna and Skylar are here. All the seniors are here. No, not all the seniors. Simon isn’t there. Simon’s been with me. And then I get to the best text, the one from Simon that just came in:
I should be back by four. Can I see you tomorrow?
I type back yes without hesitation.
Maybe I should be playing this whole thing with Simon smarter, but the truth is that I don’t know how to play. I don’t know the best angle, don’t know how to play hard to get, don’t know how to make him fall at my feet. I know nothing except that I want to spend every minute with him. And when I’m not with him I’m thinking about him.
I should be wary. We’ve gone from avoiding and dancing around one another for months, to diving right in head first. I don’t know much about relationships—correction, I know nothing—but I’m afraid that moving at this breakneck pace has crash and burn written all over it.
But I can’t stop what’s already started. I don’t want to stop it, or slow it down for that matter.
And I don’t want to think about how this will end.
I smile my way through the Sunday morning shift. And I don’t even care that the living room is filled to capacity when I get home, Wes among the crowd. I bring my change of clothes into the bathroom, lock the door and ignore the people who are knocking, too lazy to use the bathroom on the other side of the house. I take my time in the shower, blow my hair smooth and straight, dress in my favorite jeans and a snug tee, and put on some lip gloss.
I’m at the end of your street. Which house is yours?
I figured I’d be meeting him someplace neutral again, hiding. But no, Simon came here, right into enemy territory. I drag in a breath, scared for the both of us, but at the same time I’m on cloud nine. He’s fearless and I love it.
I’ll be right there.
I’m excited and breathless and happy when I see him smiling at me from inside of his truck. “Were you about to knock on my front door?”
“I was taking my lead from you.”
“Today? Maybe not such a good idea.”
“The whole gang’s there?”
“Afraid so.”
“Want to hang out at my house?”
“Um, sure.”
“My mother’s making lasagna.”
“You think she’ll be good with—”
“I told her about you,” he says, taking my hand as soon as I click my seatbelt into place.
“You did?” I can’t mask my surprise. If he told his mom about me, then he likes me. Like, for real likes me.
“Yeah, you goof.”
“How did it go today?”
He shifts his attention back to the road. “You don’t want to know.”
“You don’t have to leave me in the dark. I really do want to know.”
I was feeling brave when I said the words, but the ensuing silence and the hard set of his jaw seems to suck the air from small space we’re sharing. He scares me when his mood shifts. I can’t think of anything to say, and I hate the chill in the air as much as I hate my own insecurity. I feel small next to him.
A minute passes before he slows at the intersection and turns to me. “I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s no way to put a positive spin on it. He’s got his arm in a sling one time, eye swollen shut the next. That place is hell on earth.”
“Can you—”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Simon
I’m poisonous. Or it’s this thing, the scarlet A, the shitty circumstances that come along with being born a Wade in this town. The past and the actions of others are capable of ruining everything good.
Me and Charlotte? We haven’t even started and I feel it’s got the power to end us.
I don’t want it to. I want this girl sitting next to me to smile and be carefree. I want to be the one who makes her feel that way. I want to be unburdened and relaxed, like everyone else my age. But today was a shitty day.
Timmy’s using again. Maybe it started with painkillers prescribed by the prison infirmary, but prescribed or contraband doesn’t matter—he’s using. He was shifting in his seat and acting distant today, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, on alert, paranoid. His fragmented attempts at conversation were dominated by pie in the sky bullshit. Today it was some absurd “business plan” he came up with to open a bike shop. I have to hold back from smacking my own forehead when he asks my mother—dead serious—if she wants to be an investor.
I hate that fucking place. I hate every guard, I hate the warden I’ve never laid eyes on, I hate the governor, the president—I just exist in a state of hatred.
I don’t know how to compartmentalize this part of my life. I want to keep it from her, and I can’t help but feel angry when she pries. But I know the anger is because I feel so damn weak, so powerless to do anything about it. There is nothing I can do to help Timmy right now, and that makes me feel pathetic.
“There’s nothing I can do.”
She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and eases one hand off the steering wheel, lowering it down onto the seat and covering my hand with her own.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
Her thumb drags back and forth over the top of my hand, soothing me. “It’s all right, Simon. I understand.”
And I know she does.
The air is still heavy between us when we pull up outside my place. Seeing my home through her eyes doesn’t do anything to get me out of my funk. Most people in our development keep their places tidy, but a few have given up. Being house proud in a trailer park is sort of ridiculous, I get it, but in that moment I want to hide the cinderblocks and discarded tires that litter the area in front of a neighboring unit. Then I take in the welcome mat, the flowery curtains and the wreath on our front door. The homey touches used to please me, but right now it looks like lipstick on a pig.
She pulls me out of it. “I’m excited to meet your mom.”
I smile at her because I know Charlotte is more nervous than excited, and she’s doing a shit job of hiding it. “My mom baked an apple pie in your honor.”
“Really?”
“Yup. This is monumental…I’ve never brought a girl home for dinner.”
She side-eyes me, grinning. “So I’m the first?”
“The first.” I’m dead serious but she laughs as she hops down out of the
truck.
I guide her up the steps but then pull her back against me once we reach the landing. Before I open the front door, I rest my chin on her head and exhale. “Thank you for that…You make me feel better when all the bad shit starts weighing me down. I just don’t want you to have to bear that for me.” I turn her to face me. “I’ll do better.”
She shakes her head and swallows. “You saved my life, Simon, so please don’t ever apologize or think your troubles are some kind of burden.”
“I didn’t save your life.”
“You did” She leans over and kisses me softly. “That day and every day since.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte
Daisy is drifting away, and I’m a terrible person because I’ve barely given our disintegrating friendship a passing thought. I’ve officially become that girl—the girl who drops her friends once a boy comes into the picture.
Sarah and Daisy practically had to scrape their jaws off the pavement that first Monday morning when Simon snuck up behind me and kissed my cheek in front of everyone. Everyone. My knees nearly gave out, but I somehow managed to keep it together, sucking in a breath as a smile stretched clear across my face.
She wanted to know. And while Sarah breathlessly asked question after question, Daisy said nothing, quietly studying me. When we were alone during our last period class, she stopped me when I started talking about a paper due the following week. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She looked more hurt than curious.
“He, um, kissed me at the party Friday night, and well, I’ve gotten to know him since I’ve been working at the diner and everything.”
“You looked…together.” Shaking her head, she said, “Like, it’s three days later and you’re a couple?” I didn’t answer. Didn’t like the line of questioning. “I mean, I always knew you had a thing for him, but,” Daisy met my eyes and smiled, “he looked like he was positively on cloud nine when he kissed your cheek this morning.”
I let out a breath, thankful that she wasn’t looking to challenge me or question the very idea of Simon being into me. I was doing enough of that myself. What does he see in me? Does he really think I’m beautiful? Is any of this even real? I was self-doubt central, so I certainly didn’t need anyone else chiming in with more skepticism
“What is it like?”
“What is what like?”
“What is it like when Simon kisses you?”
I told her inconsequential things, let her in a little but not much. And Daisy was easily entertained because she knew nothing of boys. I used some generic word like amazing, selling it by whispering the word as I moved in close so that no one else could hear. But I didn’t tell her what it really feels like. That was mine, something I wanted to lock in a special box and hold close to my heart. And how can you explain the feeling anyway? It sounds crazy and dreamlike because it feels that way too. A feeling in your chest, a tingling sensation that extends out to the farthest point of every limb and beyond. Light, like your body is hovering above ground. Weightless, carefree and…happy. How can you explain it to someone who’s never been there herself? You just can’t. After that first kiss I was older than Daisy, years older. And we could never go back.
I floated away from Daisy and Sarah. I sat at the same lunch table but couldn’t focus on the conversation. One day Sarah called me out for smiling while she was talking about the very real possibility of her failing Spanish. I’d been in my own head yet again, thinking of the person responsible for making me smile more than I ever had.
In the weeks that followed, we spent nearly every free moment we had together. I was Simon Wade’s from the moment his lips first touched mine, and from that moment on, no one else mattered.
“Are you sure you’re not disappointed?” He looks pained and I don’t want him to be. “You know I’d take you if I could.”
“For the one hundredth time, Simon, I am not disappointed. I’d much rather be hanging out with you at the river tonight than cooped up in that sweaty gym for prom.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
There’s a lot we aren’t saying. For one, I get the feeling Simon would love to be driving towards the school gym right now instead of in the opposite direction. These past few weeks it’s as if brooding, serious Simon has changed places with a new and improved, lighthearted version of himself. He jokes around more, smiles, and wants to spend time with his friends with me tagging along. Nearly every night they met up, and Simon will ease me onto his lap whenever we sit around a bonfire out in the woods or in the field behind Tyler’s place. The closer he gets to graduation, the more a sense of nostalgia takes hold. Garth will sometimes pass a wisecrack, something along the lines of me casting a voodoo spell over Simon. I know that’s his way of saying he thinks I’m good for Simon, and I hope he’s right.
He should be there with his friends tonight. I want that for him, and I want to be dressed up for him, standing right beside him. Offering to loan him the money had crossed my mind but I knew better than to voice that proposal. And how would I have pulled it off, anyway? This is a relatively small town. Charlotte Mason shopping for formalwear and showing up on Simon Wade’s arm would have gotten back to my family somehow, and that had disaster written all over it. I envision my brother storming the gym with shotgun in hand.
As it stands now, far as I can tell, Christian is oblivious to my newfound happiness. He goes on ignoring my very existence, same as always, and I’m glad for it. I just want to keep on existing in this bubble with Simon, even though I’m acutely aware that we are on borrowed time. There are barriers that stand between us and the things we want, but in my mind this is only a temporary situation.
Simon has plans, but so do I.
In my version of Simon loves Charlotte, our love will grow stronger with each passing day, distance be damned. We will speak on the phone every day and write letters like those first ones—letters where we bare our innermost thoughts and dreams. I’m already hatching plans to sneak away to visit him every few months. Not exactly clear on how I’m going to manage that, but I’m floating some ideas along the lines of class trips, dance team competitions and college tours. I’ve been forging my own absence notes and permission slips since the fourth grade anyway, so it doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. And then I’d finally graduate, accepting the full ride offered to me by the very same university Simon attends. I even had a fully furnished image of the tiny but cozy one-bedroom apartment we’ll share off campus. There’s a small round table tucked into a nook off the kitchen. Our books are spread across the surface, the two of us studying late into the night after a dinner of ramen noodles or the leftovers I take home from my job at the diner near campus. Life isn’t easy in my fantasyland, but I am blissfully happy. We both handle a full course load and work part-time jobs, struggling to make the rent each month. But in this life, in our bed that is a simple mattress on the bedroom floor, Simon curls up next to me every night and holds me close.
Sixteen and in love, you couldn’t tell me there was no such thing as forever.
Part Two : Plan B
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte
The brown paper bag taunts me from across the room. Perched on the dresser next to a picture of my mother, it’s staring me down. It’s been sitting there for weeks.
A parting gift from Simon.
A cold, impersonal fuck off is what it feels like.
Just yesterday I stood in the family planning aisle, shaking as I looked over my shoulder every two seconds, praying I wouldn’t be spotted in a pharmacy twenty miles away from home. I quickly filled my basket with nonsense to obscure the pregnancy test I’d buried at the bottom. Shampoo, dental floss, nail polish—yep, just another day, nothing to see here, folks. My eyes took in the water stained ceiling tiles, the candy display, the headlines on the tabloids—anything to avoid the eyes of the twenty-something year-old guy ringing up my purchases. I might have read more into his tone when he handed me my ch
ange and asked, Is there anything else I can help you with? But I’m pretty sure a knowing, sympathetic look accompanied those words.
Take within 72-hours after unprotected sex to prevent unwanted pregnancy.
That ship had sailed.
I took the bag from Simon that morning, still half asleep and confused. Why was he banging on the door so early, and when exactly had he slipped out? He fell asleep curled around me last night, the two of us crowded into my twin bed. I didn’t care that all hell would have broken loose if my dad or brother caught him in my room, didn’t care about the risks. He needed me last night and I was there for him.
Simon wouldn’t look me in the eye. “You need to take this.” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my free hand. “Promise me.”
When I looked up, his eyes were fixed over my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I assured him, “my brother’s not home.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Christian.” When I flinched, he pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose and looked off to the side as he let out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
Look at me, I begged silently. Say my name. But when he did finally look at me a chill ran through my body. I knew what this was, knew what he was doing before he even said it.
“I’m leaving today.”
I coughed like I’d taken a direct hit to the chest, as if the air had physically been knocked out of me. “Today?”
He nodded. “We’re heading up to Somerset and I’m leaving straight from there.”
“I can go. I’ll drive your mom home.”
“No. Henry’s coming. We’re good.”
“But I want to—”
“What?” he barked.
All I could do was shake my head in stunned disbelief. Last night I was his world. It was me he came running to. I gave him comfort when he was suffering. Now, just a few hours later, he was speaking to me as if I was no more than a needy child testing his patience.
