Just Like Fate

by Cat Patrick

  Joel grabs the hem of my sweater and pulls it up over my head; I let him do it because there’s a tank top underneath and I’ve lost a layer or two with him before. But then he pulls me down onto the bed: not our usual make-out spot.

  Joel kisses me on my mouth, my neck, and the top of my chest where skin’s visible above my tank top. I close my eyes and lose myself in the moment and the music. He pushes up the bottom of my shirt so my stomach’s showing; with his warm palm on my ribs, he kisses to the right of my belly button, then his mouth is on my jaw and my ear and my lips again. We kiss more recklessly than usual, and when I feel his fingers working the top button of my jeans, I don’t think about it at all.

  There’s a girl somewhere inside me, telling me that I don’t really want to do this right now. But there’s duct tape over her lips. I’m not listening, because I feel young and powerful and possessed by the song and the kisses and somehow I don’t care that I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  Lots of people have done it, I think when Joel pauses and raises his eyebrows in question just before it happens. He and Lauren have done it. I’m not sure who I am when I nod. Yes.

  But then, when he’s lying flat on top of me, when his face is smashed into the pillow, when he’s breathing hard and whispering how much he loves me, he really does, tears slide down my cheeks into my hair. I wipe them away before he sees, knowing it would make him feel bad.

  Would it?

  When he goes to get water from downstairs, I fake a call from home and claim to be in trouble for missing dinner. He doesn’t even question it, even though it’s barely five o’clock.

  Then I practically run out the front door, regret already creeping through my veins. I know it; I know it before I even get home. I let Joel take too much—and as I think about it, I don’t even know why. I’m not in love with Joel Ryder. In this moment, I’m not even sure I know the real him at all.

  Back in my own room, the one with my own playlist, the duct tape’s off and the girl in my head is screaming No! at me. I want to scream too, but I’m too busy crying instead. I pace in front of my dresser, wishing I had a time machine. I want a jump-back button on my life. I want to blast myself back twenty minutes and say “stop.” I want to gather up my things and go, sure of myself and who I am. I want my virginity back. I want my me back.

  I pause and turn to my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My face is red and blotchy, and there’s a mark low on my neck from where Joel was kissing me. But when I get to my eyes, I don’t recognize the girl I see in the mirror.

  I can’t look at her anymore, so I turn out the light.

  FIFTEEN

  GO

  I haven’t spoken to my brother since seeing him on campus, and as I walk through the halls at school, I’m convinced I’ve been transported to bizarro-land. People are staring at me, covering their mouths to whisper as I pass. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I murmur, trying to pretend not to notice. I have to try pretty damn hard.

  I slide into my seat for homeroom and stare at a blank notebook page. That’s when I can hear the conversations around me. Aaron and Tricia broke up in dramatic fashion over the weekend.

  Aaron stays silent behind me, but Tricia is noticeably absent. I wonder how bad their split was.

  “I heard it was because of the new girl.”

  My breath catches, but I try not to react to the comment. I’m pretty sure I’m not the new girl they could be talking about; there’s no way I’m involved in this. Whether it was him or his friends who liked me, I told Aaron that I had a boyfriend. The girl behind me whispers something that I can’t hear, and then there’s a giggle.

  Freaking hell.

  I gnaw on my thumbnail as my heart pounds. Mr. Powell finally takes attendance and then squeaks his marker across the board. It’s like a hundred sets of eyes are watching me—and all I want is for the fire alarm to go off so I can make a grand escape.

  I turn to look out the window as some of the last of the orange and yellow leaves fall from the trees to the frosty school lawn. I remember when the colors first started changing in September. Gram and I went for a drive in the country, something she said she’d never get tired of doing. We stopped to buy a half gallon of cider from a vendor on the side of the road and then went home to start a fire—even though it wasn’t cold. Gram said it was all about the atmosphere. Gram was the atmosphere.

  The trickle of a tear running down my cheek startles me, and I sniffle hard and wipe it away. It seems like all of my happy memories with her have been drowned out by my guilty ones, but this is nice. It’s nice to remember how beautiful my life once was.

  “Miss Cabot? Is there a problem?” Mr. Powell calls.

  “What?” I ask, glancing over. The room is watching me, pencils poised as if they’ve been taking notes while I was staring out the window, daydreaming. “Sorry,” I say. I reach quickly to grab a pen from my backpack as whispers start again behind me.

  “Told you,” the same voice who blamed me for the breakup says. I shoot a look at the girl, and she makes a face as if disgusted that I would dare acknowledge that she’s gossiping about me. Without meaning to, my eyes find Aaron’s and he mouths, “Sorry,” like I should know what he’s talking about.

  I spin back around, my cheeks burning from a shame I don’t even deserve, and count down the minutes to lunch. What could that idiot have possibly said to make the entire school think I was involved in his breakup? Who are these people?

  I start copying down the new bell schedule from the board and hope that Tricia doesn’t come wandering in. Because right now her being absent seems to be the only thing keeping this day from getting completely out of control.

  To which the universe answers by letting her walk in the door.

  After class ends, I’m halfway down the hall when someone grabs my elbow. I turn, afraid that I’m about to be harassed right here in front of everyone.

  “Sorry,” Aaron says, his smile broadening when I meet his eyes. I yank my arm from his grip, glancing around cautiously as the stares of other students zero in on us. “I just wanted to talk to you for second.”

  “So not a good idea,” I say, and start to walk off.

  “Caroline,” he calls quickly. “The rumors … they’re not my fault. I don’t want you to think—”

  “No offense, Aaron,” I say, lowering my voice as I move back toward him. “But I don’t even know you. And I’m not really looking to. So can we just agree to stay away from each other or something?” Okay, that might have sounded a bit harsh. He winces as if to prove the point.

  “Trish and I broke up,” he says. “And I know it’s not right to—”

  I groan. He’s just not getting it. I’m not interested in Aaron, and it has nothing to do with whether or not he has a girlfriend. With another explanation seeming pointless, I slip away, keeping my head down to block out the prying eyes, the whispers.

  I walk straight to the girls’ bathroom, where I can escape for at least a few minutes. It’s like there’s a pressure building, and I don’t know how to stop it. I go to stand at the white porcelain sink and check my reflection. I stare, willing myself not to look away. But even now, even after all this time, I still can’t meet my own eyes. I’m starting to wonder if I ever will.

  “Well, don’t you look just lost?”

  I spin around and see Tricia standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a high bun. Next to her is another girl—short and stocky and wearing a pair of tan work boots. My heart nearly leaps from my chest.

  “Look, I—”

  Tricia holds up her hand as if telling me to save it, then she starts in my direction, stopping at the sink next to me as if she’s just in here to wash her hands. Her friend continues to eye me from the doorway. I get the sick sense that she’s blocking it. I let my backpack fall to my feet and turn to Tricia.

  “I didn’t steal your boyfriend,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “So if that’s what everyone’s saying, it’s
not true.”

  Tricia arches an eyebrow at her reflection as she pumps some soap into her palm. She runs her hands under the water as if she isn’t intimidating me practically into tears.

  “Aaron said you were cute,” she says. “Actually, the word he used was adorable.” She looks sideways at me. “You are, aren’t you?”

  I have no idea what she wants me to say, but I’m starting to get pissed. “Look, I’m sorry that he said that—the feeling isn’t mutual. But I don’t want to be involved in your—”

  “Caroline,” she says abruptly. “That’s your name, right? Well, it’s too late for your lies. Aaron and I are over, and I think we both know why.”

  I widen my eyes. “No. I don’t actually.”

  She scoffs. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I haven’t seen the two of you talking? I haven’t liked you from the first second you walked through those doors, Caroline.” She leans toward me, lowering her voice. “And I don’t need a reason to hate you. I just do. So maybe you should run back to whatever hick town you came from.”

  I scowl, offended that she’s trash talking my town. Angry that she thinks it’s okay to just hate and threaten me for no reason. Who does that? I put my hand on my hip and stare her down. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a complete bitch?” I ask.

  I don’t have time to react before Tricia’s wet hand is knotted in my hair, her fist trying to find my face. I scream, grabbing for her hair, but the bun prevents me from getting any leverage. We crash back into the tiled wall, and it knocks the air out of my lungs. In that moment of vulnerability, Tricia’s knuckles connect with my cheek—sending me sideways toward the toilets.

  I try to fight back, even have the consciousness to attempt some of the shots that Chris taught me. But when I feel a heavy boot kick the back of my knee, I go down. And then all that’s left to do is curl up and cover my head.

  I try not to cry. I’m sitting in a blue-upholstered chair in the principal’s office, looking on as she fills out a form before sliding it in a manila folder with my name on it. My body hitches each time I take a breath, tears ready to spill over at any second. I’m embarrassed that I got jumped. I’m sorry that I didn’t get in even one decent punch. And I’m mad as hell that someone would do this for no good reason. I hate school. I hate this school.

  “Miss Cabot,” the principal says, her eyes suspicious behind her glasses. “I don’t understand. The other girls say that you started this. You called Miss Allen a bitch.”

  I point to my face, the spot where my cheek is throbbing—the skin raised and turning black and blue. “Last I checked,” I say, “I’m the only one with bruises. Did it occur to you that they cornered me in the bathroom?”

  “Yes, it occurred to me,” she says, seeming moved by my shaky voice. She reaches to pluck out a tissue and then hands it to me over the desk. When I take it, she presses her lips together in a show of sympathy. “Regardless of how it started, it’s district policy to suspend all parties involved.”

  “What?” I snap. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “I’m sorry, Caroline. The other girls have already been escorted off campus, and they’ll be out until next Monday. The length of time is at my discretion, so how about you return on Thursday?”

  “Are you asking or telling me?” I say, ready to run out and never come back. I can’t believe this is my life.

  The principal exhales. “Telling.”

  I nod, grabbing my backpack from the floor and wincing at the weight. There’s probably a boot-size bruise on my shoulder and another on my thigh, but I refuse to let it stop me from escaping this madhouse. I walk through the empty halls on my way out the front door and into the rain. And the minute I’m inside my car, I cover my face and cry.

  I don’t text Chris or Simone about the fight. I’m not sure why—I guess I’m ashamed, even though I shouldn’t be. Instead I drive back to my hick town, looking for something. Comfort that I know is no longer there.

  I pull to the curb in front of Gram’s house, bumping it with my tire. I whimper when I see the SOLD sign on her front lawn, struck with the thought that it’s all over now. She’s really gone. I miss her so much—I’m not sure how I’ll ever survive it.

  “I need you,” I say, looking up at the ceiling of my car. “I can’t do this without you.” I wait there a long time, wishing away the pain in my face, the pain in my heart. “I didn’t tell you enough,” I say quietly, letting the tears streak down my bruised cheeks, “but I love you, Gram. I love you more than anyone. And if I could do it all over again, I would have stayed.”

  I plan to sit there all afternoon, but after only a few minutes my phone buzzes and startles me. I see my dad’s cell phone number on the caller ID.

  “Hi.” My voice is thick with tears, my lips raw from crying.

  “Caroline,” he says. “My God, where are you? The school called and said you got in a fight. Are you okay?”

  I’m quiet. I don’t want to alarm him or ask for sympathy. I have no desire to talk about the fight or relive what it was like to be helpless on the floor while two people kick your ass. So when he says my name again, I answer as simply as I can. “No. I’m not okay.”

  SIXTEEN

  STAY

  There’s no way I’m getting out of bed.

  Rain pounds against my window like the sky is crying with me. I go over it again and again, the ten minutes … no, two minutes that changed me forever. Regret tries to eat me alive. He said he loves me, I think. Does that make it all right? I laugh bitterly at myself, thinking of all the times I said casually to Simone, “I love Joel.” Beautiful Joel. But it was a crush. It wasn’t love. And his words yesterday—they were just words, too. I didn’t feel them. I should have never—

  My phone buzzes.

  YOU WERE EPIC.

  My stomach lurches and I roll to my side, curling my legs up to my chest. I am so disappointed by him. I want him to instinctively know how badly I need to talk about what happened instead of just calling it epic and moving on to FREAKSHOW IN ONE WEEK! STOKED?

  I type back SURE and wonder if he’ll get it. If he’ll hear me. Ask me what’s wrong. Ask me how I’m feeling. Ask me anything about me so I will know that you care, so I’ll know that I’m wrong to feel like I gave myself to someone … unworthy.

  Instead what buzzes through is GOTTA GO. SEE YOU IN CLASS.

  The simple words sit heavy on my chest, and I lie still, almost like I’m not breathing at all, until Mom comes in a few minutes later, telling me I’m going to be late for school. I can’t help but wonder whether I look different to her. Because I feel different. And definitely not in a good way.

  When I walk into school, the halls are nearly empty—I’m late. Almost to my locker, I smell lavender from somewhere. It’s faint and then it’s gone, but it reminds me of Gram.

  It’s been over a month since she died, and I’m starting to forget things about her. I can’t picture her face as well. Hear her voice as well. If I could, I think, looking for any excuse, maybe I’d know how to make better choices.

  I swap out the books from home for my English binder, but when I consider sitting through class with Joel, my chest feels like it’s caving in. So, snap decision made, I toss the binder back in my locker and go to the library to hide in the stacks. The librarian will give me a pass—I’ll tell her I’m researching a paper. It’ll be fine.

  I spend the morning ignoring Joel or writing back one word answers to his texts. When ONE MORE DANCE? comes through, thankfully I’m already in Simone’s car or I might run to the auditorium and punch him.

  “Ugh.” I sigh aloud.

  “What?” Simone asks. I haven’t told her about last night. Despite being positive that she’ll be supportive, I’m too ashamed. So, I have a secret—but I’m not keeping it to hold it close. I’m keeping it to bury it.

  “Just my mom,” I lie. Thankfully, her favorite pop princess comes on the radio to distract her from asking more.

  I eat
nothing at the diner: Food is disgusting. And after lunch, when Simone and I part in the hallway, supposedly headed for class, I turn toward the main doors instead.

  For the first time in my life, without even giving it much thought, I ditch school.

  Later I’m lying in bed, staring at the white sky outside my window, when my mother comes in. “Caroline,” she says, her brow furrowed. I have a quick worry that she found out about my skipping school, but then she keeps talking. “Teddy just called,” she says. “He asked if you’d come to dinner at your father’s tonight.”

  I haven’t seen my father since Halloween, even though I promised to come back soon. I can’t even remember the last time I saw my brother. Hell, even Natalie is a shadow. It occurs to me that I’m avoiding everyone.

  “I don’t feel like it,” I say. It strikes me that I don’t feel like anything. I’m a shell of a person.

  “Are you sick?” my mom asks, looking concerned.

  “No,” I say. “I just don’t want to drive all the way to Clinton.” I don’t want to move.

  “I understand,” Mom says, “but it’s good to go now so that you can spend Thanksgiving with us. Your aunt Claudia is coming back.” She pauses. “It’s our first holiday without Mom and, well, I’m going to need you by my side, Caroline.”

  My unfocused eyes find hers. Suddenly I’m so sick of hearing about how she needs me that leaving is the only option. Running is the answer.

  “Fine,” I say, lugging myself from the mattress. I walk over to my closet to yank a Clinton sweatshirt off the hanger. As I’m working my knotted hair back into a ponytail, my mother continues talking, saying how my sister is going to be on the dean’s list this year. I walk past her and out into the hall. I don’t even say good-bye before leaving.

  I drive to Clinton, and when I stop in front of my father’s house, I think of driving away. Of ditching dinner, too. But then I notice my stepmother peeking out of the living room window. I’ve been spotted.