by Holly Ryan
More of the smell, I mean. Not more of him. Because this isn’t good. The last thing I need is this on top of everything I’m going through right now. Not to mention that as far as I’m concerned, I still have a boyfriend.
I mean, I do – right? Does it count as a breakup if you never hear from the guy again?
But Ethan Harrington is gorgeous. I’m using all of my remaining strength not to develop the biggest crush on the stereotypical hot new guy.
Schoolwork and healing, Avery. Schoolwork and healing. And maybe Cole, if he ever decides to apologize.
I made it past him. That was close. Now, as long as I can avoid it, I may never have to encounter him again. That would be good. That just might work. Suddenly, my intuition kicks in. A blaze of adrenaline rushes through me. Remember that thing I said about the sensation of eyes on you, and how I’m uber-great at it? Yeah, about that: someone’s looking at me. I can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of my head. I resist the temptation to turn around. I keep walking, just a little further until I slip away into Chemistry.
Ethan
“Ethan, if you don’t get out that door right now, I’m going to kick your ass.”
It’s my mother, yelling at me from somewhere deep inside the house. How she knows I haven’t left for school yet, I have no idea. That woman must have some kind of sixth sense.
She’s kidding, of course. She would never kick my ass. But I get her point. I’m just going this slowly because I didn’t sleep well last night, and right now I feel like acting like the stereotypical, hormonal teenager who hates school.
“I’m going,” I eventually call back.
And I am. I grab my things, making sure at the last minute that I have everything I need, and leave the house. As I make my way to school, I’m preparing myself mentally for another long day. I couldn’t believe my mother actually let me change schools, but it’s been done. That was four weeks ago, and in that time I haven’t really adjusted. But I know that things are better now than they’d be at my old school, because God knows I had my reasons for changing. I was too close to people there; my old school was where I’d grown up, from kindergarten through eleventh, and people knew me. Most importantly, they knew my dad. The risk of someone beating me up for the sins of my father was too great for me to take. And I think, secretly, my mother knew that, too.
Here at Westfield High, nobody knows who I am. They know my name. That’s it. Two simple meaningless words that give away nothing about my life. They’re words that I can try my best to hide behind. There’s still reason to worry – the name Harrington isn’t exactly Johnson or Smith, so I’m still at risk of standing out more than I’d like. But as long as I don’t tell anyone, or rather, admit to anyone the truth about my family, I should be in the clear.
I haven’t talked to my dad since the day of our jail visit, just like I told myself I wouldn’t. Because in my mind, if I can’t somehow change him, somehow force him to have some kind of life-altering event that magically makes him a new person and sorry for what he’s done, then I might as well not even try. You would have thought my little visit at the prison should have been just such a life-altering event, but apparently that wasn’t good enough. That’s his choice. And because of that choice, that’s what I’ve been doing, and what I’ll continue to do – not talk to my father, and never tell my secret to a single soul.
There’s one more class to go before lunchtime. The day is dragging on, as always, and I can’t wait to get home and do nothing except play some video games. The bell just rang. I have two minutes to run to my locker and grab the paper I forgot for next period. I hope it’s there. It should be there. If it’s not, I’m in trouble.
“Hey, Harrington.”
It’s Cole Ebbs. He’s one of the few people I talk to around here. I don’t want to come off as some kind of jackass, like I just want everyone in the world to leave me alone, but … well, I kind of do. For now, at least. Maybe later, when time has passed and I don’t have to worry about anybody reading about my father in the headlines and putting two and two together, I can branch out. But for now, this is fine. One friend. Maybe two.
As for Cole, he was the first person I met when I started here, and we instantly connected over sports. Or rather, I’d say he instantly connected with me over sports after learning I was one of the best football players at my last school.
“Cole,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“This Thursday. Six p.m. You down?”
Cole is the captain of the football team, and ever since he caught wind that I used to play he’s been bugging me to try out.
“Not gonna happen, Ebbs.”
Cole passes me. He holds out his hands, facing me while walking backwards. A girl tags along at his side. “Are you ever gonna give me the time of day?” he says.
“Not in this lifetime.”
And that’s how things are between me and one of my only friends in all of Westfield. That’s the kind of little, joking social interaction I allow myself, all out of this stupid fear.
I lean closer to my locker, moving things around. I’ve got to find that paper. It’s for a class I’ve transferred into, Chemistry 101, and I’ve heard the teacher can be a bit rough – if I’ve lost my syllabus already, I could be in for it. And I’d rather not be in for it any more than I need to be, given the circumstances. Pieces of paper fall to the ground around my feet. I see papers from English, Home Ec, and there’s even a permission slip from gym class somewhere in there. Must have forgotten about that one. Among all this junk, there’s no syllabus. I drop my hands and sigh, then stand back and examine the mess. How did I manage to trash this locker so quickly, anyway? Jeez, Ethan, I say to myself, laying on the sarcasm, with all this time you’ve had on your hands you’d think you’d have it more together than this. After a bit more searching, I give up. It’s not here. I must have left it at home or something.
“Hi, Ethan.”
I lift my head. It’s Julia. Okay, so there’s a few other people I’ve talked to so far. And she’s one.
“Hey,” I say.
Julia is pretty. She’s tall, with long blonde hair that’s always done up just as perfectly as her heavy makeup. Her body is dressed to equal perfection, and today she’s wearing yoga pants with a tight tank top. She’s stopped here, by my locker, in the middle of the bustle of people rushing to get to class, and she’s leaning against the wall of neighboring lockers, looking at me with her arms wrapped around her books.
“How’s it going?” I say, not wanting to be rude.
“You lose something?” she says. She’s batting her thick-rimmed eyes at me like I don’t know what she’s trying to do.
“I did. Syllabus for Mr. Miller. Chemistry.”
She grimaces. “Oh, that’s not good. I had him last semester, and I might still have it somewhere around here. You can copy it, if you want. Come on.”
“Great. You saved me.” I glance at my watch. “Can we do this in two minutes? If you just give me the paper, I can return it tomorrow.”
She smirks, “Of course.”
I slam my locker shut. I pick up the few fallen papers and crumple them up. I can’t stand littering, so I’ll throw them away when we get to class. I follow her to our classroom, and just as Julia’s about to say something more, someone passes us. A girl, who slides by so quickly that I only have a chance to see the back of her, but whose presence gives me strange chills of recognition.
Avery
I recognize him the second he walks in, a few minutes late and after everyone else had already taken their seats. He’s walking with confidence and looks damn fine in that T-shirt of his. His jeans are perfectly fitted and threatening to give me bad thoughts. Before I know it, my eyes are drifting from his shirt downwards towards them…
Must. Stop.
Isn’t it just my luck that he’d join my Chemistry class?
The door closes with a thud behind him. He seems so careless and relaxed, like he thinks he’s invisible
and so why should he care what anyone thinks of him. Like he knows that no matter what happens, no one can touch him. And that’s what really gets me with envy.
“Mr. Harrington,” says Mr. Miller, our teacher, in a singsong tone.
Mr. Miller is a short man, balding but with dark brown poofs of hair above his ears, and every single day he wears a button-up shirt. Also every day, it’s buttoned up to the very top. Today his button-up is white with blue stripes, and together with his khakis, I can’t help but see the funny resemblance to Forrest Gump.
“Thank you for joining us.”
Mr. Miller has already begun his lesson and holds out a piece of chalk in one hand and an assignment in the other, staring at Ethan.
“You’re welcome,” says Ethan.
Some of the students snicker and Mr. Miller glares at Ethan over the top of his paper, waiting for the interruption to pass, and I know he’s this close to telling Ethan to watch it. Ethan, however, doesn’t notice, because he’s too busy scanning the room with his eyes, choosing a seat.
Don’t sit next to me. Don’t sit next to me. If you sit next to me, I might fall in love with you. Please, don’t sit next to me.
I look around. There are only three open seats in the entire classroom, one of which just so happens to be right next to me. After some brief mental debate on his part, he chooses the one farthest from me. He sits and slides his backpack off his shoulder, then takes out a pencil and a notebook and sits straight ahead, now well-behaved.
He hasn’t glanced my way. Not even when he was making his decision. He never took one look at the open seat next to me, or at me. Well, good. Now I won’t fall in love with you, Ethan Harrington. I let out a soundless sigh and cross my arms, glad to feel just as invisible as he does.
“Honey.” My mom enters my room.
It’s after school and I’m sitting at my desk trying to get some homework done. We’ve already eaten dinner, and the whole time I could tell something was on her mind. There was a look in her eyes, a tension and a silence about her that’s unmistakable. I was expecting this, and now she’s here. Ready to dish.
“What is it?” I say without looking up.
She walks over to my closet and opens the doors with both arms. She pulls out a hanger and fits a sweater onto it.
“I bought you this,” she says.
She sticks the hanger back in with the others, not bothering to really show me what, exactly, she bought. That’s okay. She’s confident because she knows what I like; and I’m also sure she knows as soon as she leaves I’ll be sure to take a peek.
“Thanks.”
She takes a seat on my bed. See, I knew this was coming.
“How’s school been going?” she asks.
I continue writing. “It’s been okay.”
“Your friends still being nice to you?”
Ah, the good old friend talk. It is important to make sure I’m not being ostracized from the community due to everything that happened. She’s going about this delicately. I don’t blame her.
“Yep.”
Out of the corner of my eye, she’s absentmindedly adjusting my covers back into place.
“I miss Mara,” she says. “You should have her over more. She’s a sweet girl.”
“That’s one word for her.” Anyone who knows Mara gets the gist of that joke.
I set my pen down and turn in her direction. I know this is what she wants, to have my full attention.
“She’s great,” I say. “Of course. I love Mara.”
The sinews of her neck cringe as she swallows in preparation for her next question. “Have you run into Cole at all?”
So this isn’t about friends, it’s about Cole. I should have known that’s where this was going. I turn back around and pretend to focus on my homework again.
“No.”
“Avery, turn around. Please.”
I do, but only because she’s giving me no choice.
She looks me in the eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re being smart –”
“I am smart, Mom.”
“I know you’re smart –”
“You really think I wasn’t being smart? Like it was my fault, or something? I’m not dumb.” I’m losing my cool. I shouldn’t be talking to her like this, but I really wish she hadn’t used that word.
“Now, Avery, you know that’s not true. Just because I want you to be smart about things doesn’t mean you’re dumb. All I meant was I know how you are with that boy, and I’ve been trying to tell you he’s not good for you. Right? I’ve been telling you that from the beginning.”
“Well, good,” I say almost under my breath. I know she’s right. She always is. “Because I’m not dumb.”
“Avery,” she says, her voice more soothing this time. She pats the area next to her. “Come here.”
I rise from my seat and go to her. She’s probably going to wrap her arm around me, just like Mara. That would be so her, and just what I need right now.
“I know you’ve been through a lot,” she says. Her arm doesn’t move. “But we need to get something straight. I don’t want any more boys –”
I start to interrupt her but she stops me.
“– unless you bring them to meet me first. After everything that’s happened to you, that’s the way it’s got to be around here. Deal?”
I open my mouth again, and once more she holds her hand up.
“No more arguing. This is the way it’s going to be. I wish I’d had this talk with you sooner.” She brings her hand to her eyes.
I still can’t understand why she keeps connecting Cole to my attack in such a way, but I force her arm away from her face. I place my hand on hers. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I understand how she must be feeling, and I know what she wants from me. And seeing her like this makes me realize I’ll do anything if it’ll make her feel better. I’ll do anything just to get that look off her face. I lean in to her, resting my head on her shoulder.
“Okay. Don’t worry, Mom.”
And I really do mean it. Because I want more than anything for her to be able to not worry for once. Not about me, at least. She shouldn’t have to.
She hugs me, bringing me in closer and smashing her face against mine. “I love you, dear. You know I do.” She gets up. “Now, get back to work on your homework.” She pauses before she leaves, turning back to me before closing the door. “I’m making some of your favorite brownies.”
I smile weakly. “The ones with the chunks of chocolate?” Way to go, Mom. Way to bring back the comforting nostalgia of childhood just when I need it the most.
She nods. “They’ll be ready in a few.”
“Thanks, Mom.” This time, I hope she can sense the sincerity in my voice.
She shuts the door and I listen as her footsteps fade down the stairs.
I collapse backwards onto the bed. I lean over toward my nightstand, again taking my flower into my hands. I haven’t told anyone this, but I like to think it was left there by an angel, and that maybe, just maybe, that means that despite what happened to me, someone’s looking out for me after all.
It’s a week later, and I’ve kept my promise to my mom. I haven’t run into Cole, but what would really make her proud is that I haven’t even been looking for him. And that’s a step in the right direction. With every day that passes he’s closer to leaving my mind.
I’m heading to fourth period – Chemistry. I pray that Ethan will stay in his seat and not magically appear next to me, as if I could flatter myself anymore by thinking such a thing. But Mr. Miller doesn’t assign seats, so hey … it could happen.
So far, Mara’s right; every time I’ve seen him, he’s kept to himself, not speaking to a soul. At first I thought it couldn’t be true, someone that good looking just had to be popular, but it looks like it’s actually true. He’s a loner. The only time I’ve seen him socialize is with that preppy girl in the hallway. Julia Crane, I think her name is. But does that even count? What guy wouldn’t sociali
ze with Julia Crane? Her looks place her that Irresistible category, and that comes with conditions. Such as, the majority of guys getting up in your business.
This time, it’s me who’s running late to Chemistry. I had to stop off at the office to deliver a note from my doctor excusing me from gym class for the next few weeks, a note that we’ve been trying to get for quite some time; I swear I never heard the bell ring from deep inside that office, and before I knew it, I’m late.
I’m hurrying into class, shuffling my books around in my arms, hoping I haven’t dropped anything in my rush, when I reach out to pull the door open. This is going to be embarrassing. I can’t easily brush mistakes like this off. I’ll be thinking back on this moment and cringing for the next several days, so now I’ve got that to look forward to.
I reach the knob and push it down, pull it toward me, but just as I do so, my pen falls. My only pen at the moment, which just so happens to also be my favorite pen. (Everyone has a favorite pen, right?) Damn it. I bend to pick it up, and just as I do, my face somehow meets with the door.
Wait, that shouldn’t have happened. I stay where I am, slightly stunned. How did that just happen?
“Oh!” says a voice, booming above me.
I look up. It’s John, from the front row. John and I briefly worked on a group project together last week. He reaches down and grabs my hand to help me up.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. His face is stoic and he’s genuinely concerned.
Good. I hope he feels bad. That hurt, although I admit it: it hurt emotionally more than physically.
With the aid of his hand, I start to rise to my feet. When I’m half way there and clumsily trying to collect my balance, I glance up and catch a clear view of inside the classroom. My worst fears are confirmed. Everyone’s watching us. Watching me, more specifically. Including Ethan. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it seems like he’s watching the most out of everyone. The look on his face is one of pure concern, so much so that I half expect him to leap out of his seat and come to my rescue.
