Pieces of Me

by Tich Brewster

  Mr. Green clears his throat. He is getting impatient with me. Until I take a seat, he cannot continue with class.

  Looking down at the empty desk, I’m not sure how long I have been standing here. Judging by the snickers around me, I would say I have been standing here like an idiot for quite a while. I drop my books on the desktop a little harder than I mean to. The sound echoes in the near-silent room.

  As I sit, I notice Eryc. In my panic, I hadn’t even seen him sitting there.

  “Hey, Makayla.” His eyes are kind and he smiles his genuine smile at me.

  I want to smile back but I can’t. I can’t even form a Hey, Hi, or Hello. All the whispering around me forces my lips into a tight line and my brows furrow. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he turns away and I’m instantly sorry for my rude behavior. It was not my intention to hurt his feelings. Eryc is the only one in this school that truly cares about me, well, other than my brother.

  I am nothing but a loser. A big fat loser with no hope for the future. No matter what I do, it is never right. At least, not anymore. Not since this summer.

  Just breathe, I tell myself.

  Ignoring the stares, I take my seat and smooth the syllabus out in front of me. I try to focus on the words written on the blue sheet of paper but my thoughts are elsewhere. I am wondering what the other kids are whispering about and what their notes say.

  My heart is pounding out of my chest because I know they are all talking about me. I can see it in their eyes and feel it in their stares.

  Through all the chaos in my head I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move, but for the life of me I can’t turn to face him. If I look at those gorgeous brown eyes of his and see condemnation, I will lose it.

  Eryc is the one person I cannot stand to receive judgement from. Are our lifestyles different? Yes, absolutely. He is a pastor’s kid and lives a clean and wholesome life where I party, drink, and occasionally smoke pot. But if he knew the truth about me, he would hate me and that would kill what little of myself that remains.

  The class seems to drag on forever. Mr. Green has gone over the syllabus and is discussing, in great detail, what literature books we will be reading throughout the school year. In addition to the stack of books we received this morning, we will also be reading Shakespeare. Yuck. Give me Nicholas Sparks any day but Shakespeare, no thank you.

  After the bell rings, I wait for all the other students to exit before I stand from my desk. Eryc is lingering by the door and I wish he would just walk on like the others so I can get out of this room in peace.

  His eyes search my face as I approach the door. “Makayla, are you feeling okay?”

  I refuse to look directly into his eyes so I stare at his hairline instead. “Um hum.”

  He reaches out to touch my arm and my whole body stiffens. My skin crawls where his fingers brush the flesh on my arm. Bile rises in the back of my throat and a high pitch ringing in my ears drowns out all noise.

  His arm falls away but he doesn’t move. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yep, fine.” I twist my body to squeeze past him. He doesn’t move an inch to give me the room I need so I use my shoulder to shove him out of my way. “See ya.” My footsteps are quick and his are just as quick. Is he following me? Why would he be following me? Doesn’t he have a class of his own to get to?

  I jog down the stairs and follow the hallway around a curve to my next class, Calculus. Eryc is fast on my heels and it irritates me that he refuses to give me what I need. Space. When I reach for the door, his hand comes up beside me to hold the door open.

  I glare at him over my shoulder. “Dangit, Eryc, just go away.”

  “Sorry, Makayla, no can do.” He nods his head for me to enter. “We have Calculus together.”

  “Perfect,” I mumble.

  He blows out a puff of air that hits the back of my neck. Judging by the humph that follows, he is upset with me. I wish things were different between the two of us but I can’t go back and change the past. Besides, once he has gotten wind of what I have done, he will surely hate me.

  When the truth comes out, I will be unredeemable in his eyes.

  This class surprisingly goes by fast. Coach Roberts wastes no time going over the syllabus and handing out our first assignment. Assignments on the first day are generally unwelcome but I’m thankful for the reprieve. It is keeping my mind busy and off the whispering going on around me.

  As it turns out, Eryc’s schedule mirrors mine. We have every single class together. If my life wasn’t so jaded I would be thankful to see his friendly face in every class. But, it so happens that my life is jaded. I’m the tarnished goods that nobody wants.

  I’m a nobody. A loser. Even my family would be better off without me.

  Thaddeus shuts off the motorcycle and I slide off the bike. Mom’s car is in the driveway. I wonder if she will actually be home for dinner tonight or if she will be heading back to the office. It seems like she is always at work, I guess that’s the way it is when your mom is the DA.

  The sound of a car door draws my attention next door, toward Eryc’s house. He looks at me over the top of his car but cuts his eyes away just as fast. Guilt washes over me because I know I treated him unfairly today and that is the reason behind his quick glance.

  Eryc used to be my best friend. We shared secrets, hung out and played video games. All of that changed when I decided that being popular was more important than our friendship. In the beginning we were still friends, just not good friends. Then I threw it all away and for what? Pain and heartache? That is what being popular got me.

  “Kids?” Mom’s singsong voice comes from the kitchen.

  Thaddeus grunts a, “Yeah,” as he ascends the stairs, two at a time.

  “Yes, mom. We’re home.” I set my travel mug on the end table. Mom heads down the hallway doing the moonwalk, her hosed feet glide easily on the hardwood floor. As she spins around, she lifts her arms and does some kind of weird Egyptian dance move. As crazy as my mother is, I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

  Mom smiles at me and it is the most beautiful thing in the world. She leans over and slips her high heels on, a sign that she is about to leave and head back to the office. Her arms wrap around me and she kisses my cheek then rubs the lipstick residue off. “Honey, I’ve got to run back to the office. I put money on the counter for dinner.”

  As usual, mom will be at work. My mom is the DA and unfortunately, that means grueling hours at the office and little to no time at home with us. Why couldn’t I just have a normal family? Instead, I got a dad who left us high and dry for his secretary and a mom who works overtime to keep our bills paid.

  Mom kisses my cheek one more time then walks out the front door with promises to see us before we go to bed.

  I step out on the front porch to watch her drive away. As I turn to walk back in the house I see Eryc gathering the mail. He is standing on the curb in his faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt that accentuates his bulging biceps.

  Nothing about him resembles a preacher’s kid. Those clothes and that messy hair, mixed with his muscular build, give him a bad boy Rockstar kind of look. He is sexy and all the girls fawn over him.

  Taking a step back, I duck inside the house before he can spot me.

  Chapter Four

  Eryc

  Brenda waves at me as she drives past. I hate that Makayla’s mom works so much. A girl needs her mother around, especially during her teenage years. The two of them should be bonding over clothes, coffee, and books. Brenda should be giving her daughter advice about dating and college.

  I’m not suggesting that Brenda is a bad mother, she is a great woman, but Thaddeus and Makayla have basically raised themselves since we were in fourth grade. I am sure their mother’s absence has taken a toll on them. It would have for me if I were in their shoes.

  Tossing the mail on the kitchen counter, I stare at the tray of cookies that my aunt left. There is way more than I will be able to
eat so I pull a Ziploc baggie from the drawer and start bagging cookies. Chocolate chip is Makayla’s favorite so I am hoping this little gift will get me back in her good graces.

  Something big is going on with her and I want her to know that I am here for her, no judgements. Whatever she is going through, we can go through it together just like we used to. Heck, I would walk through fire for that girl.

  Taking a bite of cookie, I wipe the chocolate from my lips and walk out the front door with my Ziploc bag of goodies. In a few long strides, I am standing in front of her house. The curtains are closed and I hear rap music blaring from the other side of their front door.

  I lift my hand to knock but the door swings open before my knuckles can reach the wood.

  A blonde-haired girl looks at me with shock. “Eryc? What are you doing here?” Her words were not spoken with attitude but it is clear she understands that I don’t fit in with their crowd.

  “Hello, Heather. Is Makayla home?”

  “Yeah,” she looks around the door, probably at Thaddeus. They have been dating for almost a year now.

  He waltzes into view. “Eryc.” Taking Heather’s hand, he leads her out, toward his bike. “Makayla’s in the kitchen,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Thanks.” He doesn’t say anything but nods an acknowledgement before starting his motorcycle and taking off.

  The rap music gets louder the closer I get to the kitchen. I’m not familiar with the song blasting through the speakers. My rap playlist is pretty limited. Classic Rock N’ Roll and the newer country, like Sam Hunt and Luke Bryan are what take up my playlist.

  Makayla is sitting on a barstool, her elbows on the island, and her head resting in her hands. The soft shaking of her shoulders signals that she is either giggling over something or crying. Judging by her slumped form and choice of music, I would say she is crying.

  I’m not quite sure how to approach her. Is there a right or wrong way to approach a crying girl? Should I just back away and go home? She didn’t seem too thrilled about seeing me at school today. Will she even want me to ask her what’s wrong? My feet remain rooted to the floor where the hardwood meets the tile of the kitchen.

  A sniffle reaches my ears and I can’t stand it any longer. I rap my knuckles on the wall to gain her attention. Immediately, her back stiffens and she tries to discreetly wipe her nose on the collar of her shirt. A second later I hear rattling. It almost sounds like a bottle of pills. Maybe she is taking medication for something.

  Swiping her arm over the countertop in front of her, she sweeps the contents of whatever made the rattling noise into her purse. Turning on her barstool, she meets my gaze. “Eryc?”

  I nod like an idiot because my brain turns to mush when I see her tear-stained face.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, sounding shocked to see me standing in her house.

  Why is it that my tongue has suddenly forgotten how to function? Seriously, I am an eighteen-year-old living on my own, and I can’t even form a single word. Instead, I continue to look like a fool and just lift the bag of cookies I hold in my hand, as if cookies are the solution to her troubles.

  Her gaze travels to the bag of treats and a small smile curves her lips. It’s a smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. My best friend, the girl I have loved since the beginning of our friendship, is in pain. Not I-scraped-my-knee kind of pain but heart-wrenching pain. Wiping at the remaining tears, she nods to the bag and asks, “Chocolate chip?”

  Since my brain still is not functioning, I nod my head. She must think I am a complete idiot by now. How could she not? But seeing those tear streaks on her cheeks and those puffy red eyes, her pain is breaking my heart. I wish more than anything that I could take away whatever is making her so sad and replace it with happiness.

  Zipping her purse, she sets it aside and crosses the distance. Peering at the bag, she holds out her hand. I pull the top open and place a cookie in her waiting palm. If I had to guess, I would say that it has been a while since Makayla has had a freshly baked cookie. Her eyes sparkle and she inhales the chocolaty scent before biting into the sweet, chewy goodness.

  Chocolate stains the corner of her mouth so I reach out to wipe it away and she immediately takes a step back, her shoulders are stiff and her jaw is clenched. What did I do that was so wrong?

  All I wanted to do was wipe away the chocolate residue. “Makayla?”

  “I’m sorry.” She takes another bite then goes to the coffee pot to brew a cup of java. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure.” I really don’t feel like drinking coffee this late in the day but if it will buy me some time with her, I will drink it. While she brews our coffee, I slip onto a barstool and set the bag of cookies on the countertop.

  The Keurig only takes seconds to spit a cup of coffee out. By the time I have myself situated, she is setting a cup in front of me and digging another cookie out of the bag, dipping it in her hot java.

  “Mmm, these are so good.” Licking her lips, she asks, “Did Rene make these?”

  “Yes.” Following her example, I take a cookie and dip it in my cup. This is not something I do with my cookies, I’m more of a milk dipper but when that soft cookie crumbles into millions of mushy pieces when my lips close around it, I let out a satisfied moan. Now I understand her obsession with coffee and cookies. These are good. It’s the perfect mix of both sweet and bitter.

  We eat in silence, her music still blaring from the speakers hanging on the wall. There is no normalcy to our strange visit. Part of me wonders if she is mad at me for something or if her heart has hardened toward me from the distance she put between us during our high school years. If there was a way to read her mind, I would. Unfortunately, I don’t possess such a power.

  When the last of the cookies have been eaten, I drink the remaining cookie-crumb infested coffee and stand. “Thanks.” She doesn’t say anything, just carries our cups to the sink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” Her back is still to me and her shoulders are starting to slump again. I want to reach out to her. It is killing me to stand here and watch her look so defeated. “Goodnight, Eryc.”

  And just like that, I have been dismissed.

  Conversation over.

  Go home, Eryc.

  Chapter Five

  Makayla

  I’m not sure what time I finally fell asleep. After reading and watching television in bed, I finally shut off the lights around two in morning. Insomnia, the story of my life. I have a difficult time falling asleep and once my brain finally does settle down, it is usually a restless couple of hours before I am back up again.

  That is where I’m at now, the restless part of sleep. Every whistle from the wind blowing outside, every creak of the floorboards in the hallway, the neighbor’s dog that barks at anything that moves, including leaves blowing in the wind—every noise stirs my consciousness and I crack my eyes open, toss around, close my eyes and go back to sleep only to repeat it a few minutes later.

  That darn dog starts barking again as soon as my mind settles into sleep and I open my eyes to glance at the clock, then roll over and stare at the ceiling. It wouldn’t matter if I slept in a soundproof room, my mind will not shut off and give me peaceful rest.

  The sound of a floorboard creaking outside my bedroom door pulls my attention toward the door. Leaning up, I wait to see if my bedroom door will open, to see if mom is finally home. She was supposed to be home before we went to bed but she never came. I wait, anxiously, to see if she is out there, waiting for her to come in and check on me.

  She doesn’t.

  Figuring its Thaddeus walking around, I lay back down and pull the covers up to my neck.

  A couple seconds pass and the door cracks opens. The light from the hallway spills into the room illuminating my visitor. Like I suspected, it’s not mom, it’s Thaddeus. But why is he standing in my doorway? He should be in bed or on his way back to bed.

  “Makayla?” he whispers. I don
’t say anything, I just lay here and watch him as he stands in the doorway raking his hand through his hair. Almost a minute goes by before he speaks again, this time his voice is a little louder. “Dangit, sis, wake up.”

  I don’t tell him that I was already awake. Instead, I say, “I’m up.” I prop myself up on my elbow and tilt the clock to see the time. It’s just after four. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  Pushing the door open further, he steps fully into the room, hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. This is odd behavior for Thaddeus. Words are not something the boy lacks and awkwardness is not something he is familiar with.

  My pulse quickens and goosebumps form on my arms. His awkward behavior is a telltale sign of bad news. “Thaddeus?” Closing the distance to the bed, he sits down on the edge of the mattress. Silence hangs in the air and I worry if maybe he has found out my secret. “Thad?”

  His sad eyes meet mine. “Sis, I need you to come downstairs. Like, right now.”

  Oh, God, he knows. That has to be why he is in here demanding I go downstairs. Did he tell mom? She is going to kill me.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why do you need me downstairs at four in the morning?”

  “Just get your butt out of bed and come downstairs.” He stands and walks to the door. Resting a hand on the doorframe, he glances back at me. “Rene and Eryc are here.”

  Why is Eryc and his aunt here? I love Rene. Over these last few years, she has done what my own mother should have been doing. She has taken me shopping, given me the sex talk, helped me with homework, lectured me, and offered her motherly advice. But none of that explains why she is in my house at four in the morning.

  Before I can ask why they are here, Thaddeus is gone. The air in the room seems to chill about ten degrees, or maybe it’s the blood draining from my face and fear that causes my body to freeze.