West

by Michele G Miller

  It’s why Jules accused me of not being friends with her, with our group, when we were in the hospital Friday night. She was right. I told her I never left, and I didn’t; but I wasn’t there anymore either.

  Jeff is the one person I’ve remained close with, although our friendship is maintained outside of school social circles.

  “You want to hang for a bit?” Jeff asks when we return to his house after the funerals. “I’m not going to Katie’s until later.”

  “What’s up with you two anyway?” Their relationship has been on and off forever and I’m more used to Jeff complaining about their arguments than this happy couple vibe they’ve been sending out the past few days.

  “It’s hard to fight when you’re so damn happy to be alive, you know?” He smiles halfheartedly, and I nod. “She’s having a hard time with Tanya’s death. You know the three of them have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten. I know you remember how close they were, but you’ve been out of the loop for a few years. Her death is tearing them apart, West. Both of them.”

  He says “both of them” as though he’s trying to tell me something. Jules, Katie, and Tanya—most people don’t speak of one of them without including the other two. Jeff is right, they’ve been the best of friends forever. Same as Jeff and I, probably closer, because they do—or did—everything together up until Friday night.

  “It sucks. I wish I could do something. You know I get it all too well.”

  “I know you do,” Jeff agrees. We throw ourselves into chairs in his living room. “Uh, I saw you holding Jules’ hand. I’m not going to ask you about it, not yet anyway.” His eyes pin on mine as he unbuttons his dress shirt collar. “Stuart’s my teammate, West.”

  “So, are you putting me on notice?”

  His face changes as though he’s not even sure what he was saying. He shrugs with a smirk. “Hell no. He’s my teammate, but you’re my best friend. Look, you know Jules and Katie and their history with Tanya. Daniels doesn’t get it, or he won’t.” He takes a moment, messing with his shirt and checking his cell before he says more.

  “I do have to deal with him, though, and while I have no idea what football is going to look like this year since we don’t have a school anymore, I do know that I need him to be on my side, man. So do things right, if you’re going to do anything.”

  We stare at each other a full minute. He’s encouraging me to go after Jules. I wonder if I have the guts to do it.

  Jeff cocks his head and gives me a strange look. “Why didn’t you drop me when you dropped everyone else?”

  “What?” He’s never asked me to explain myself to him before.

  “Answer the question and then we can do some manly shit, like watch Sports Center.” He laughs and grabs the television remote as proof of his intentions.

  “Uh . . . ”

  The truth is I might have stopped talking to him too, if he would have let me. He wouldn’t. His mother drove him to my house every day after my mom’s death. He would sit in the kitchen and simply be there, waiting for me whenever I came downstairs. Like a puppy, he followed me from room to room or sat on the floor in my bedroom as I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. He didn’t ask me questions or beg me to get up. He was simply there until one day I was able to ask him some random question about something that had nothing to do with my mom.

  “Don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard,” Jeff laughs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer me. I’m just curious. Sometimes I wonder if I could have said something to change the way things turned out.”

  “What things?” I ask. It’s not normal for Jeff and I to have these deep meaningful conversations. We’re high school guys; we talk sports, food, and girls.

  He diverts his gaze. “You. I’ve spent the last four years pretending my best friend isn’t my best friend, I’ve watched you come to every football game and sit in the shadows when you should have been on the field—”

  “Dude.”

  The television clicks on, the music and commentary of a commercial filling the room as Jeff groans. “I know, I know, take away my man card.”

  We share a good laugh as he flips the station to ESPN, then we sit in silence as we watch four commentators argue the individual merits of different baseball teams making it into the playoffs.

  “In the hospital the other night Jules asked me the same question,” I tell him during a commercial break. “Well, not the same, but she asked why I stopped being friends with her, and told me not to be a stranger anymore.”

  Jeff tips his head. “Good advice.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Jeff,” I say seriously. “You were my friend when I didn’t want one. You did enough. I have to live with my choices.”

  He shakes his head. “You act like you killed a man.”

  I don’t reply. Thinking about how I handled my mom’s death has crept up on me, before the tornado and Jules I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. I spent the summer having fun, being chill. Now every time there’s a moment of silence I’m bombarded by the past.

  I might as well have killed a man. I feel as though that burden would be no heavier than those caused by the thoughts of my mother—which is a completely ridiculous thought.

  Jeff slaps the arm rests of his chair, jumping to his feet. “Want to shoot some hoops?” he asks in an extra deep, manly kind of tone.

  “Hell yes,” I agree, leaping up and following him to the backyard where we strip off our dress shirts and engage in a testosterone-boosting, manly game of hoops until we’re both too exhausted to speak of this conversation again.

  Twelve

  I wake up Wednesday determined to talk with Jules. Something from Friday night insists on replaying in my mind and it is time to get answers. Slipping on dark pants and a navy button up, I slick back my hair before heading out.

  Today’s funeral is for a sophomore. Quinton. I didn’t know him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care. It seems as though the entire student body of Hillsdale cares. A good deal of them have made it a point to attend the student funerals thus far and I expect them to be at the others. Eight funerals. Eight students lost. Two were seniors, Mike Brown—whose private funeral was Tuesday—and Tanya. Tanya is the only one of the eight I knew on a more personal level.

  Locating Jules in the crowd takes longer today. She’s not with Katie and Jeff, nor do I find her among the other cheerleaders and jocks. She is on the outskirts of the burial site, standing among faces I don’t readily recognize.

  I work my way between the students until I’m behind her, watching her intently the entire time. Her gaze is fixed on the awning-covered seats beside the gravesite where the family sits and I follow her stare. The outward expressions of grief on Quinton’s parents’ and grandmother’s faces turn my head away; I feel as though I’m intruding on a personal moment.

  When Jules’ attention returns to the front, I make my move, reaching forward and sliding my hand into hers. Today she doesn’t move. She doesn’t turn back to verify it’s me; she simply squeezes my hand back.

  As the service ends, my body twitches, ready to take flight, but I shake it off. Today I’m staying. I’m talking to her. Jules remains still while the people around us send sad eyes and smiles as they walk away. Curious glances take note of our hands, but I don’t let go and neither does she. I’m waiting for her to make the next move.

  “Jules.” Katie waves a hand as she weaves her way through the throng of mourners with Jeff at her side. I loosen my hold on Jules’ hand, fully expecting her to move away as Katie comes in for a hug. “Sorry we lost you in the crowd on the way to the site.”

  Instead of releasing me, Jules hugs her back with one arm. Katie’s jaw drops open as they separate and she spies our hands. I haven’t spoken to her since the night of the storm so I smile as she turns and shocks me by hugging me as well.

  “Hey, West.”

  When she lets me go, I stand beside Jules for the first time, instead of behind
her, and exchange a slap on the back with Jeff. He nods, his eyes smile knowingly in silent approval. I want to punch the smug look off his face.

  I comb my fingers through my hair as the four of us stand in silence long enough for it to become awkward before Katie speaks again. “You ready to go? Jeff’s parents invited me and Mom over for dinner, but we can drop you off at home on our way,” she offers.

  Shit. I stare at Jules, waiting for her to say goodbye to me.

  “Ummm.” Jules’ teeth scrape at her lower lip as she looks at the grass.

  Step up, West. Now. My brain screams and I shift closer gaining her attention. “I was actually hoping we could talk. I’ll take you home, if you want.” My gut churns as I wait for her answer.

  “Oh,” she nods, but it’s not a yes. It’s this confused nod; it tells me she heard me and she understands me, but she looks as though she has no idea what in the hell she wants to say.

  Both Jeff and Katie study us as though we’re something curious they’ve found. A social experiment of massive proportions—the loner and the cheerleader. I prepare myself to let Jules off the hook.

  Then her eyes brighten, as though she’s made a decision and she’s happy with it. My pulse quickens. “Yeah, sure. I can hang around.” Sweet relief, I think as the pressure leaves my chest. To Katie she asks, “You good with that?”

  Katie laughs, then slaps her hand over her mouth as the sound carries. Her face is beet red as we glance around. Thankfully, no one is near enough to have heard her. The best friends hug again, and I notice Katie whispering into Jules’ ear.

  “Yes ma’am.” She grins at her best friend as they stare at one another.

  Next, Katie stands in front of me and stretches up, kissing my cheek. “I still haven’t thanked you for that night.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know how.”

  Tears gather in Jules’ eyes at Katie’s comment and I release her hand, hauling her best friend into a hug. “You don’t need to. Ever.”

  I fix my eyes on Jules, willing her to hear my words because they’re meant for her too. There’s no reason to thank me for what I did Friday. Or for what they think I did. It was nothing. I ran, they followed. End of story.

  Setting my hands on Katie’s shoulders, I bend forward so we’re eye to eye. “Okay?”

  “’Kay,” she sniffs, a tear running down her cheek.

  I pass Jeff his emotional girlfriend with a nod and watch as they leave. Beside me Jules tugs on her dress and I run my hands through my hair again before stuffing them in my pockets. We’re alone, now what?

  “How are you?” I ask, kicking at a weed with the toe of my boot.

  “I’m good.” Her eyes look past me as she waves to a group of girls from school as they pass by. “I mean—well, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Geez, this is awkward. Everything about this girl makes me lose my mind, my thoughts. Her strappy sundress shows off her smooth shoulders to perfection, my lips ache to kiss them. My fingers itch to tangle in her thick hair, to pull her face to mine. I want to get lost in her eyes, her lips, her scent.

  Working hard to suppress my lust, I turn her way. “You ready to leave this place?”

  Her face falls. “You mean, go home?” I grin at her disappointment as an idea takes root.

  “No, I’m not taking you home. I said I wanted to talk, didn’t I?” I look around the cemetery and attempt to tell her how I feel. “I’d just like to get away from all this—this death for a bit.”

  We hold eye contact for longer than necessary before I reach out my hand. “You game, Buffy?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I don’t realize my mistake until we reach the parking lot. “Uh, I didn’t really plan this,” I admit as we come to a stop in front of the motorcycle I rode here.

  Jules steps back, holding her hands in the air. “Oh, no. I can’t ride that.”

  “Sure you can. Come on. I promise I’ll go slowly,” I coax. I’ve got the chance to get her alone, I’m not letting her out of this now.

  “West? I’m wearing a dress. Freaking A, you’re serious, huh?” she shakes her head, horrified.

  Hell yeah, I’m serious, Jules Blacklin, I grin as I hand her a black helmet without a word and slide onto the bike. I don’t allow her time to think, I merely twist around, pat the seat behind me, and silently dare her to get on.

  Buckling the strap under her chin, Jules steps closer. “You really are Spike,” she groans, eyeing the bike warily.

  Her use of the nickname drives me equal parts crazy and physically insane. Her thinking I’m the bad boy can be infuriating, but every time she says it my heart rate jumps in a good way.

  She settles behind me and I avert my gaze as her dress rides up; as much as I want a peak, I was raised to be a gentleman. Once she’s situated and covered properly, I point out the pegs for her to set her feet on.

  “Hold on tight, cheerleader.”

  “Where?” Her lips press against my ear as she shouts over the rev of the motor.

  I find immense pleasure in shifting her hands from where she’s set them on my hips to around my waist. I tug her forward until her chest presses against my back. I cover her hands with mine, pausing for a moment, breathing deeply before I let go, kick the stand up, and take off.

  Riding clears my head. It’s the reason I didn’t balk when Austin asked to borrow my Jeep. I would prefer to ride the cycle everywhere. I love the feeling of flying.

  We turn out of the cemetery and head away from Tyler. The farther we go, the less the landscape resembles an apocalypse movie and the more it becomes the small southern town it is. There are no high rises this way, no stoplights or shopping centers. This is country; farms as far as the eye can see. The stress of the last week eases away as Jules’ hands cling to my waist and her thighs press against mine.

  We’re not far from our destination when Jules’ grip alters subtly. She tenses behind me, her arms tightening as her forehead lowers to my shoulder.

  “Everything okay?” I shout over the road noise, brushing her forearm to gain her attention. She doesn’t answer. Another few minutes and I lean to the right, turning off the street and into a parking lot. “Jules?” I pat her arm again as I kick the stand down and twist in my seat. “Hey. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

  She loosens her grip and shakes out her arms. Her expression is closed off as she attempts to scoot back and climb off the bike. Her act doesn’t fool me. She’s trying to be nonchalant, but I tug on the hem of her dress and stop her.

  “Did I drive too fast? What’s wrong? Tell me, please,” I beg.

  The face shield on her helmet is driving me mad so I reach up and unbuckle the chin strap. My fingers brush her jaw line and linger before I remove the helmet so nothing is between us as we speak. I hate the way she looks right now, something spooked her.

  “No, nothing like that—” she looks at the ground. I push her helmet-head hair back, tucking a piece behind her ear. “Um, it was the wind.”

  “The wind?” The wind. Damn, it never occurred to me. “Shoot, I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry.”

  How could I not have considered it? I know why, because the wind and feeling of freedom has always comforted me. Angry with myself, I take a moment to turn and hang the helmet on the handlebars. As I do, Jules climbs off the bike. She flips her head over and messes with her hair. My mouth goes dry as my eyes follow her movements.

  “Seriously, Jules—”

  “That’s the second time in under two minutes that you’ve used my real name today.” She sends me a smirk as she continues to comb her fingers through her mass of hair.

  The return of her humor helps alleviate a portion of my guilt and I swing my leg over the bike. Standing, I catch Jules’ hand as she continues to primp. “Don’t get too used to it, Buffy. You look great, come on.” I tug her into motion.

  Her eyes go wide, as though she’s just now bothering to look at her surroundings, as recognition dawns on her face. “South Berry Farm? Why are we here?
”

  I jerk my head in the direction of the field and lead her into a maze of cornstalks. We walk deep into the field until we see nothing but greenish-brown rows of stalks in every direction. I go a few more yards then veer down a wider path made for the farmers to drive through the crops.

  Releasing her hand, I untuck my dress shirt. Jules’ curious stare turns confused and I chuckle when she steps back as I unbutton my shirt. She smooths her skirt nervously as her eyes go wide. She looks as though she’s afraid I’m planning on attacking her.

  I continue, saying nothing as her eyes follow my fingers with each button I pop. I catch sight of her tongue as it darts out and wets her lips and now I’m the one who has to step back. Oh, what this girl does to me. I’d feel guilty about the dirty thoughts I’m having if it weren’t for the disappointment I see flash across her face when she realizes I have a tee-shirt underneath the one I’m taking off. I’m apparently not the only one struggling to contain their thoughts today. I’m not here to maul her, though, as pleasurable as it would be. We need to talk. We need to straighten out our feelings and discuss the things we’ve said and done over the past week.

  If I’d planned this better I would have brought a blanket, but since I didn’t I do the next best thing and I lean down and spread out my dress shirt in the middle of the dirt path.

  “Have a seat, Buffy.” I bow in a flourish to the shirt before I sink to the ground.

  Jules eyes me, then the shirt, before she takes her time sitting in her dress. Once settled, she looks at me with an expectant smile. “Now what?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Her answer comes without missing a beat. “Of course.”

  “Lay down. Stretch your legs out and lay on my shirt.”

  “Ooooo-kay.”

  Her hesitation has me reconsidering this whole thing. I wonder if she’s going to think I’m crazy, but when she scoots down and situates herself with her head on my shirt and her dress tucked between her thighs, I forge ahead. Joining her, I move to lay close enough for our shoulders to touch.