First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

“I’m sorry,” she says.

  I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You’ve done that too much for him.”

  Walking down the hall to my room I feel a sense of satisfaction, relief, and release, like I’ve let go of something that was weighing me down.

  It isn’t over. I know. I’ll talk to my dad again. But next time it will be on my terms.

  15

  Charlotte

  “What about this one? Did I get it right?” Grayson asks, sliding me his paper Tuesday evening as we work on our homework, side-by-side, in his room, just the two of us.

  I compare my answer with his. “Yeah. You got it.” When I smile up at him, I make sure to lean in, hoping he’ll smell me. I sprayed on some of Mom’s perfume before coming over to his house.

  He beams. “I feel so much smarter when I hang out with you.”

  The thin layer of blush I applied is likely darkening right now.

  “Hey, you think we can do this one more time? I just want to be sure I’m ready for the next test.”

  We can do this a hundred more times. “Sure.” I nod.

  He sighs. “I’m so glad I decided to call you.”

  “Me too.”

  “I think I would seriously fail this class if it weren’t for you.”

  “Nah,” I say dismissively, even though it feels really good. “You’d be fine.”

  “No way. I’m not joking. If my mom didn’t make me call you—”

  “Your mom made you call me?” I choke out.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, but like I said, I’m glad she did.”

  I’m not so sure how I feel about this. I smile timidly. “Want to move on to the next problem?”

  He nods.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. He’s mulling over the problem; I’m mulling over what he said. It’s a trivial issue. I mean, just because his mom told him to call me doesn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it himself. Maybe it was just the push he needed to talk to me. I shouldn’t dwell. It’s not a big deal. He asked me to study with him more than once, so that has to count for something, right? A ringing sound interrupts my thoughts.

  Before I know what’s happening Grayson is reaching his arm out in front of me.

  “It’s my phone,” he says. “It’s in the drawer.” He points to a drawer on the far left of the desk. When I open it, I see his phone and a girl’s face flashing on the screen.

  “Oh.” He smiles. “It’s Amy, my girlfriend.”

  The room spins around me at a sickening pace, like I’m buckled into a centrifuge. “Girlfriend?” A wave of nausea comes over me.

  He answers the phone, talks for a few moments, hangs up, and says, “Sorry. I haven’t talked to her all day. We’re trying to make plans for this weekend.”

  “That was your girlfriend?” I say again, just to be sure I wasn’t making up things in my head.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does she go to Radcliffe?” I ask.

  “No. She attends a private school,” Grayson says. “We met last year at this camp we both went to.”

  All I can do is nod.

  “Charlotte?” Grayson says after I’ve been nodding a while.

  “Yeah?” I say, snapping out of it.

  “Can you hand me the calculator? It’s in the same drawer my phone was in.”

  The limp hand attached to my numb body pulls it out and slides it over.

  “Thanks.” He scratches his head and claps his hands. “Okay,” he says, looking back at his workbook. “Where were we?”

  I stare at my book. The problems blend before me into a giant ball of confusion. “I don’t remember,” I answer.

  Miles

  “He has a girlfriend.”

  My hair stands up on end when I hear Charlotte’s voice behind me. I wasn’t expecting her. When I finally turn around, she’s leaning against the doorframe of my room. Her breathing is labored, as if she may have been running. Her coat is hanging off her shoulders, like she barely put it on. Her hair is windblown, and there’s a smudge of something black underneath her eyes.

  Shaking her head, she enters the room and closes the door. “Grayson has a girlfriend,” she repeats. “His mom made him call me to study with him.” She crashes into a chair and covers her face with her hands. “I’m so humiliated,” she cries. “I was wearing all this makeup because I thought he liked it.” She yanks on a strand of hair. “This took me forty-five minutes to style every morning, and I thought all those times he talked to me in class that there was something there, but apparently I was reading into everything the entire time.” She throws up her hands. “I’m hopeless.I’m done,” she says adamantly. I’ve never seen her this upset. “Seriously,” she says, “I’m done thinking that there is anyone out there who would give me the time of day.”

  Seeing her sitting there, distraught and emotional, forces the adrenaline and emotion of the past couple days to boil to the surface, and I hear myself saying, “You’re wrong. There is someone.”

  “Yeah?” She looks at me and laughs like I just told a joke.

  I nod.

  “Is that person by chance blind?” she wonders, sinking further into the chair.

  “No.”

  “Incapacitated?” she guesses, covering her face again.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “Actually, you know him.” Without giving it another thought, I stand up and stride across the room. When I’m standing in front of her, she moves her hand.

  Creases form along her brow. Her eyebrows angle down. “What—” she starts to say as I pull her up and into me and press my lips onto hers. Holding her, I feel her body tense. She’s paralyzed in my arms.

  When I pull away, I see the intense confusion in her eyes. I only get out one word, “Charlotte,” before she grabs me by the shoulders, pulls me toward her, and kisses me back.

  Charlotte

  It feels like the most unnatural, natural thing I’ve ever done, if that makes any sense whatsoever. I can’t believe I’m kissing Miles. I wrap my arms around him, breathe him in. He feels good, like he fits just right. He feels like...Something in my brain clicks. Reality floods in.

  Just as I’m getting comfortable, I push away.

  He’s staring down at me, smiling.

  “What about Lani?” I remind him, fearing what he’s about to say.

  “What about Lani?” he says, confused, which makes me confused, because Miles isn’t the kind of guy to hurt someone’s feelings. At least, I never thought he was.

  “She’s our best friend,” I say.

  He nods. “I know.”

  It’s like he doesn’t even care about what happens to her. I shake my head. This isn’t the way it should be. “I can’t.” It’s the last thing I say before running out of Miles’s room.

  Hurrying home, I dig my hands into my jacket pockets, and pull my hood over my head.

  Miles kissed me.

  My fingers lift to touch the truth left tingling on my lips.

  And I kissed Miles.

  My hand falls to cover my chest where the excitement and confusion and guilt is whirling around.

  I’m such an asshole. What kind of a friend kisses their best friend’s boyfriend? A flicker of a late summer breeze brushes my cheeks. Not only that, less than an hour ago I was sure I liked Grayson. What does that say about me? I force myself to think of something else. My mind drifts back and finds its way into the past, when I was in fourth grade.

  It was late winter. I fell ill that month with the chicken pox. It was making the rounds at school. I was one of the last kids who caught it. Some of the kids, like Miles, had been miraculously spared. I’d already been home sick from school for three days. My blisters were starting to burst. My entire body burned and itched. The acetaminophen and oatmeal bath did little to soothe my pain. Mom tried to keep me comfortable with calamine lotion and cold compresses, but it didn’t help. She tried to keep me distracted by propping me up on the couch in front of the television, letting me watch my favorite shows and movies
, but after the second day of sitting in front of the television it started to get old. I was stir-crazy. So when Mom came in and told me I had a visitor, I was not only ecstatic but shocked. Who would come to visit me while I was like that? I didn’t care so much about what I looked like, but I did care about infecting someone with the virus. Mom had told me that I was highly contagious. “Who is it?” I asked her. “I don’t want to get anyone sick.”

  “It’s Miles,” she told me. I opened my mouth to object and she stopped me. “Don’t worry,” she said. “He’s already had it, so he should be fine.” Miles popped out from behind my mom and smiled at me. After she left us alone, he came to sit by me on the couch.

  “Want to play connect-the-dots?” he joked, pulling a pen out of his pocket.

  “Very funny.” I tilted my head. “Hey, I didn’t know you were sick, too. Mom said you had the chicken pox?”

  He immediately held a finger up to his lips. “Shh,” he said, glancing back to see if anyone else was around. “Don’t say anything, but I only told your mom I had the chicken pox so she’d let me in. I haven’t had them yet.”

  I gawked at him “Miles! Are you serious? Why would you do that? You could get really sick.”

  He shrugged. “I know. But I decided I didn’t care. We’re best friends, so if you have the chicken pox, then I want the chicken pox, too.”

  I laughed at him. “That’s crazy.”

  He smiled. “I know. You’re welcome.”

  He stayed with me for two hours that day. We watched a movie and drank Kool-Aid, and sure enough, two weeks to the day, Miles was covered in chicken pox blisters from head to toe.

  I thought he was the kind of guy who could never hurt anyone.

  How could I be so wrong?

  Miles

  “Are you hungry?” Mom asks, giving me a gentle smile as she dishes out a bowl of pasta.

  “No,” I say, sitting down at the table and resting my chin in my hand.

  “Charlotte ran out of here in a hurry.” Mom sets a bowl of pasta in front of me anyway.

  “Yeah,” I say, twirling the spaghetti on a fork.

  “Was she upset?” Mom asks, sitting down next to me and spinning up a bite.

  I’m not sure how to respond. “I don’t think she’ll want to talk to me for a while,” is all I can say.

  “Just like that?”

  I shrug.

  “She’s your best friend,” Mom says, sounding a little concerned.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Mom rests her fork in the bowl and sits back in the chair. “I see.” She waits a minute and then adds, “I’m not sure if you know this, but I watch you play basketball sometimes.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “I know.”

  She nods. “Well, then you probably also know I’ve seen you miss a lot of shots.” Leaning closer she says, “It always amazes me how many shots you take while you’re out there.”

  This is great. “Mom, I hope you’re not trying to make me feel better by telling me how amazingly terrible I am at basketball.”

  “I’m not saying that at all,” she exclaims. “I’m saying that what impresses me the most is not how many times you miss, but that no matter how many times you do, you always get out there and take another shot.”

  16

  Charlotte

  Early Wednesday morning, while I’m curled up in bed, Mom sits next to me, one hand on my forehead, the other takes the thermometer out of my mouth. “You don’t have a fever. Where does it hurt?”

  “Everywhere.”

  Mom shrugs. “Well, I’m not going to argue with you. If you’re feeling that bad, you don’t have to go to school.” She tucks the thermometer back into its case. “I’m calling out too. I want to make sure I’m here if you need me.”

  I cringe. “That’s not necessary.” I’m not really sick, which is to say that I don’t have a cold or the flu or a disease of some kind. Said “bug” is actually guilt plaguing my soul. I can’t face Lani. I’m sick over what happened. I mean, what kind of a friend am I?

  “Shh.” Mom puts a finger to my lips. “You just stay in bed. I’ll make you some toast for breakfast and heat up chicken soup for lunch. We’ll see if we can’t get this bug out of your system.”

  When she exits the room and shuts the door, I flip over onto my stomach and shove my head face-first into the pillow.

  Miles

  Charlotte isn’t on the bus Wednesday morning. She doesn’t show up in the cafeteria at lunch either. Before last period I hover near her locker to see if she shows up there. There’s no sign of her anywhere all day at school. Lani isn’t able to reach her either. She’s tried a dozen times.

  I attempt to call her myself when I get home. I have to know that she’s okay and, more important, that we’re okay. I hope I didn’t permanently screw things up.

  Her mom answers. “Hello?”

  “Is Charlotte there?”

  “Charlotte’s in bed. She’s not feeling well.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is this Miles?” she asks.

  “Hi, Mrs. Hubbard.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You know, I was just thinking the other day about calling your mother. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. How’s she doing?”

  Why do all parents think we want to talk to them? “She’s good.”

  “Will you tell her I said hi and we should get together real soon?”

  “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll tell her.”

  “You are so sweet,” she says. “You know, I’m always telling Charlotte what a sweet boy you are.”

  Brutal.

  “In fact, hold on one second. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you. Let me see if she’s up.”

  She sets the phone down. Palpitations start in my chest.

  Charlotte

  Footsteps drum along the hall floor. The handle of my bedroom door jiggles. Reacting quickly, I close my eyes and roll onto my side. I open my mouth just enough to make it look like I’m sleeping. The door creaks open.

  “Charlotte?” my mom whispers. “Miles is on the phone, sweetie. Are you awake?”

  I remain dead still.

  “Charlotte?” Mom whispers again. I hold my breath. “Hmm.” With another creak, the door clicks closed. After waiting a few seconds, I open my eyes.

  Miles

  There’s a scuffling noise when someone returns and picks up the phone. I hold my breath, hoping it’s Charlotte.

  “Miles?”

  “She’s out cold.” It’s her mom. “I couldn’t wake her. Do you want me to give her a message?”

  “No,” I say with a sigh. “No message.”

  17

  Charlotte

  I avoid them as much as possible. Which is not easy. I have to ask my uncle Paul to give me a ride to school Thursday and Friday, which he is more than happy to do, but I still feel bad having to ask him. Once I’m in school, I’m quick to grab all the books I need out of my locker for the day and stuff them in my backpack. The ones I can’t fit, I carry around. There has to be over fifty pounds of books resting on my shoulders and arms. I’ve never sweated so much in between classes. I’m reminded of how much I hate working out. At lunch, I sit in a stairwell and pretend I’m studying. Then at the end of the day, I wait until the buses are gone, put all of my books away, make a beeline for the back entrance, and hoof it four miles home. In two days, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost five pounds.

  Friday, as I turn the corner and approach the walkway to my house after my long trek, I realize my luck has run out. I have a visitor. Lani’s sitting on the steps leading up to the front porch.

  “You know,” she says as I get closer, “people don’t disappear just because you ignore them.”

  “I wasn’t ignoring you,” I say sheepishly.

  She grunts. “And the pope doesn’t pray.”

  I hang my head. “I couldn’t face you, Lani.”

  Standing up, she cocks h
er head and puts her hands on her hips. “Seriously? Are you that embarrassed to tell me you kissed Miles?”

  My head lifts like it’s been shot from a catapult.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I know. You aren’t the only one who talks to him.”

  Tears well in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry? This is great!” She beams.

  Huh? I’m fairly certain I’m staring at her cross-eyed. “You aren’t mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Well, because you two...I thought that you guys...” I just come out with it. “Aren’t you with Miles?”

  Lani’s laughter almost shakes the ground under my feet. “High-lare-e-us. Seriously. That’s a good one.”

  “So you aren’t?”

  “No! What gave you that idea?”

  “I thought I saw you kiss him in the lunchroom.”

  “Whoa!” Her hands fly up. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you most definitely did not see us doing any of that funny stuff.”

  “So...?”

  “So, no, Miles and I are not together. The boy likes you! He’s seriously gaga too. He’s loved you since, like, third grade or something. Told me he tried to give you a Valentine’s card to let you know and totally screwed the whole thing up.”

  I’m completely bug-eyed. I remember that.

  “You know,” Lani continues, “that boy is one of the smartest guys I know. Like, total genius, but when it comes to you there’s just dead air goin’ on up there,” she says, waving her hand. “He can’t even function.”

  “Really?” It’s difficult to imagine anyone feeling that way about me.

  “For shiz.” She nods.

  “Miles likes me?”

  Lani nods again. “Yep.”

  I shake my head. “What do I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  I haven’t had enough time to think about it. This is weird. I mean, it’s Miles.

  Miles.