Crushed

by Dawn Rae Miller

  I look like shit.

  A few minutes after the bell, I drag myself into physics.

  “You’re late, Fletcher.”

  “Sorry.” Standing takes all the effort in the world, so I collapse into my chair.

  Sarah watches me, mouth wide open. “Are you okay? You look sick or something.”

  With a heavy arm, I pull the worksheet she’s set on the table toward me. “I’m not sick.”

  Sarah inspects our equipment. “Maybe Lilah Nittle gave you something.”

  “What?” The effort to spit out the word leaves me breathless.

  “Weren’t you with her last night? She’s running all over campus, telling anyone who will listen that she hooked up with you.”

  A sharp pain stabs at my temples. Maybe I am sick. My whole fucking body hurts.

  “Fletch, Sarah – is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Mr. Smits hops down the aisle and stops next to us.

  “I think Fletch is sick.”

  I can’t lift my head off the table. The pain is agonizing.

  Mr. Smits taps my back. “Fletcher, do you think you can make it to the nurse station by yourself?”

  I grunt. “Yes.” At least I think I do.

  A cool hand presses against my forehead. “He’s burning up. Sarah, Kyle, help him to the nurse’s office.”

  Arms lift me from the seat, and with one arm around Sarah and the other over Kyle’s shoulder, I shuffle forward. Each step aches. My joints burn. Oh. God. I hurt.

  There is no way I can make it to the nurse’s office. It’s on The Quad and so far away. So far.

  “C’mon Fletch. Move your feet. I don’t want to have to drag you,” Sarah orders.

  “We’re already dragging him,” Kyle points out.

  Their voices sound millions of miles away. A chill runs through me and then suddenly, I’m hot. Too hot. So hot, sweat runs down my face, and I can’t stop shaking.

  Someone lies me down on a cold, hard surface. There’s paper under me and disinfectant stings my nose. A bright light shines above me, and it makes my brain hurt, so I close my eyes.

  A hand on my cheek. So soft. The only light comes from the hallway beyond the cracked door.

  Calista stands over me, watching me, stroking my hair. “How are you?”

  Raw. Like someone scrubbed my insides with bleach. I reach for the cup of water on the side table, but Calista, seeing me stretch for it, grabs it first and curls my finger around it. I struggle to sit up. The aching’s gone, but I’m stiff.

  The water soothes my scratchy throat, and I take two huge gulps before handing the cup back to Cal.

  “Better,” I croak. “Not so achy.”

  She drags a plastic chair to the side of the bed. “You’ve been sick for a few days. I was beyond worried. The nurse wouldn’t let any of us in to see you until today.”

  “How many days?”

  Calista crosses her legs, giving me a glimpse of her thigh. “Four. You had the flu and an awful fever. My mom told me if you didn’t start to improve today, your parents wanted you transferred to the hospital.”

  I massage a sore spot on my neck. “It was that bad?”

  “Yeah.”

  She leans over me.. “Let me.”

  Cal kneads my neck, her fingers sliding over my skin, and I groan. It hurts, but in a good way.

  “I brought your books. I thought, maybe if you’re feeling better, you’d want to study. Finals are next week.”

  I lower myself back onto the bed and roll onto my side. “I didn’t turn in my paper for Lit.”

  Cal laughs. “Only you would worry about something like that.” She adjusts the blanket over me. “I think they’ll let you turn it in late.”

  My fingers circle her wrist and I lower my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Shhh. You need to rest.”

  ***

  The nurse, satisfied with my progress, releases me the next morning, but only after I swear to drink plenty of fluids and continue to rest.

  Rest, however, isn’t an option. I have finals. I have to study — especially after missing most of last week. In the pile of books Calista brought over yesterday, I found review guides from each of my teachers, which should help me catch up.

  Since Harker has a reading week before finals, I have no classes. Just endless hours to sleep, eat, and make sure I know my classes inside and out.

  In the middle of reviewing the Calc guide, someone knocks softly on my door – like they’re worried I might be asleep.

  “Come in,” I yell hoarsely.

  Ellie peaks around the corner. “Hey! How are you feeling?”

  My stomach flutters as she takes up residence on my desk chair. For once, I’m the one on the bed.

  “Better.”

  She tilts her head, like she doesn’t believe me. “You’re really pale.”

  I close my eyes and re-open them lazily, positive this makes me look sicker. “I’m fine. Just a little weak. Food services is delivering my meals for the next two days because I’m not supposed to exert myself.”

  She laughs. “Well, aren’t you spoiled?”

  This isn’t how I wanted to see Ellie. Not curled up on my bed like an invalid. Plus, if my memory’s right, Sarah heard about Lilah.

  Which means Ellie knows too.

  An uncomfortable lump forms in my throat.

  I swallow hard. “Guess so.” I push myself upright, an effort that leaves me gasping.

  “Are you okay?”

  I wave her off. “I’m fine. What are you up to?”

  “Study break.” She swings side-to-side in the chair. “Brady told me you were back. I thought I’d come by.” She sticks her hand in her pocket and pulls out a tiny, silver package. “Your Christmas present. It’s nothing fancy, but I thought you’d like it.”

  Panic nibbles at me. Am I supposed to give her a present? Is that what friends do? But I never buy gifts for my friends.

  She shakes the present at me. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re too weak to open a present.”

  “No.” I chuckle. “I hold out my hand, and she places it down softly without touching me. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t expect you to.” Ellie bounces on her toes. “C’mon. Open it.”

  I tear at the red wrapping paper. Inside is a plain white box about two-inches long. I have no idea what it is.

  “Fletch, the present is in the box, you know.”

  “Right.” I flip off the top.

  Inside, a giant red ‘s’ — Stanford’s logo — rests on a tuff of cotton. As I hold the keychain in my hand, the weight is suddenly more than I can bear, and my shoulders sag. Even though I’ve never told her, she knows it’s my dream school.

  “Do you like it?”

  More than you know. “It’s perfect.”

  24

  A light drizzle pelts Cal and me as we sprint from one store to the next. Despite the weather, tourists pack Union Square, and it makes our progress slower.

  “Can we stop in Barney’s?” Cal asks. “I want to buy a new scarf.”

  Mom insisted I drive Cal downtown. Just like last night, at the requisite viewing of the Nutcracker, the Desmaraises had to join us and Cal just had to sit next to me. Not that I mind too much. Things are finally as normal between us as they can. All it took was for me to end up in the infirmary.

  I duck beneath the shallow awning of Macy’s. “Sure. I need to find a gift for my mom.”

  Cal reaches for my hand, but I shove it in my pocket. She widens her eyes and sighs. “Stop being ridiculous. I don’t have cooties.”

  The light turns green, and I step into the rain, leaving Cal behind. All week, she’s guided me through groups of adults at the endless parties we have to attend. Answering for us. Prompting me. Playing the role of girlfriend.

  “You’re not my girlfriend,” I remind her when she catches up to me. I don’t want her or her mind games. Or the hot-cold routine. I do, however, wan
t to be friends.

  We navigate around the “Caution Wet Floor” sign toward the elevators at the back of the store.

  “Are you excited about Hawaii?” she asks brightly. It’s almost like we’re having two different conversations sometimes. I say one thing, and Cal steers it in a different direction.

  “It’s better than the rain.” My family never spends Christmas in San Francisco. It’s too damp and not festive enough in Mom’s opinion. Instead, after finishing our San Francisco social obligations, we spend the holiday in the winter wonderland known as Hawaii.

  I punch the elevator button, and we descend.

  “Mom said I could go to Tahoe with Haley and Claire for New Year’s. Will you be back by then? Maybe you could come up too?”

  I wait for her to exit. “I won’t be back until the Friday before school starts.”

  Cal plucks a hat from a display and plops it on her head. “What do you think? Is it me?” She strikes a model’s pose.

  Despite myself, I smile. She looks cute. “You should get it.”

  She checks the tag and tosses it onto the nearby counter – not the display from where she got it.

  “Here,” she says, tapping the glass display case. “Help me pick out a scarf.”

  I lean closer and peer at the brightly colored pieces of silk. They’re all the same to me. “That one’s nice.” I point to one that has peacock eyes on it.

  “Ugh. No. It’s too busy.” The saleswoman waits patiently for Calista to make up her mind. “Those.” She points to a row of scarves. “I like those. Can you box them up separately?”

  No please. Just orders.

  “All of them?” the clerk asks.

  Cal rolls her eyes. “Yes, all of them. They’re Christmas presents.”

  The woman removes the row, takes Cal’s credit card, and disappears with the scarves.

  When she’s gone, Cal puts the hat on again. “So, about tonight. What time are you coming by?”

  As she adjusts the hat, I realize the past couple of months were just an interlude. A road bump. Nothing has changed between us. I’m Fletch, she’s Calista. And this is our life. Now and probably forever.

  I don’t want this.

  ***

  Since Leticia flew in a few days earlier to get the house ready, she meets us at the airport. Mom, Dad, and I pile into the car, and the driver navigates the winding road leading away from Kona airport and toward Honokaope Bay. The entire time, Dad works on his laptop, fingers tap, tap, tapping while Mom and Leticia go over guest lists, food orders, and more boring stuff. I crank up the volume on my iPod and watch the scenery pass.

  When we pull up to the house, Ellie and Sarah’s surprised faces when they first saw the Napa house flit through my mind. I can only imagine what they’d think of this: my parents’ private tropical, oceanfront retreat. With the exception of San Francisco, this house is smaller than our other homes even though it spreads out over three acres and has six bedrooms, two sleeping porches, a workout room, a media room, private office for Dad, a pool and spa, as well as a tennis court for Mom. Basically, it’s a resort owned by the Colson family.

  As we turn onto our street, Leticia flips open her phone and whispers, “We’re pulling up now.”

  Sure enough, the staff stands at attention, waiting for us. Dad jumps out of the car, gives a curt nod, and disappears into the house. Off to work, I guess.

  Mom makes a big deal out of greeting everyone by name, asking about their families and what not. I just hang back, waiting.

  When she’s satisfied she’s remembered every important detail of her employees’ lives, Mom enters the house and surveys the scene. She won’t say anything in front of the others, but if she finds one thing not to her liking, Leticia will get an earful later.

  “Hey, Mom? I’m gonna go to my room, okay?”

  She waves me away like I’m the help. Fantastic.

  My bag is already in my room. Since I don’t like people unpacking my stuff, Mom ordered the staff to not touch my things. They used to unpack for me, but now they just leave it. Which means everything stays in my bag.

  I guess most kids would love to vacation in Hawaii. Not me. It’s like forced confinement. None of my friends are here. My parents are around sometimes. Mostly, it’s just me and Leticia. Actually, it’s pretty much always just me and Leticia.

  A knock on the door. “Hi Honey, Daddy and I are going to the Club to meet with the Beckermans, and Daddy wants you to come. Mr. Beckerman went to Princeton with Daddy.”

  We haven’t even been here for two hours and already it’s go, go, go. “Sure.”

  Anything, even lunch with my parents’ friends, is better than hanging around an oversized house by myself.

  “Sporty casual, Fletch. No t-shirts,” Mom says. “We’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.”

  Shit. I don’t know if I packed a polo or not. I dig through the bag, tossing my clothes on the floor. I find a pair of plaid shorts and a pink polo tucked into the bottom. They’re new, which means Leticia probably bought and packed them for me.

  I hold up the pink polo. Why the hell not? I’m secure in my masculinity.

  Lunch is a non-event. Mrs. Beckerman and Mom talk about their causes (Mom’s into Save the Music; Mrs. Beckerman wants to make sure inner-city kids can read) while Dad and Mr. Beckerman relive their college days in agonizing detail.

  Lucky for me, Mr. Beckerman heads up one of Princeton’s Alumni Schools Committees.

  “Did you get your application in yet, Fletcher?” Mr. Beckerman is a large man. Not fat, just large. He’s broad and tall, and dwarfs the straight back dining room chair he sits on.

  “I did. Right before I got sick. Didn’t want to miss the suggested deadline.”

  He gives Dad a knowing glance. Next to Mr. Beckerman, Dad appears emaciated instead of the hundred-and-ninety pounds I know he is. We’re built the same – tall and lanky, but he has more muscle.

  I’m guessing, from the way Mr. Beckerman kisses his ass, Dad’s bank account has a few more zeros in it.

  “Then there’s no reason we can’t do a little interview.” An interview. Shit. I’m so not prepared. “Nothing to worry about, Fletch. It’s just a conversation. That’s all.”

  My head bobs along in agreement.

  We’ve finished our main courses, and the waiter has brought out the aperitif menu. Dad says, “Why don’t we leave Fletch and Dano alone, and take our drinks in the bar?”

  He pulls out Mrs. Beckerman’s chair, then Mom’s, and the three of them leave me alone with the oversized man.

  Well, fuck me. Dad could have at least given me a heads up.

  “Tell me Fletch, how’s life at Harker? Are your courses challenging?”

  I’m not sure what to say. ‘Yes’ makes it sound like I can’t handle the work. ‘No’ may seem like Harker isn’t rigorous enough. “Ummm…I’m taking mainly AP classes this year. They’re tough, but I’m doing well in all of them.”

  “That’s good to hear.” His huge hand wraps around his drink, dwarfing the glass.

  Mr. Beckerman asks me questions for another half hour or so. Most questions are about my plans for the future: do I see myself following my dad into the tech field; what are my favorite subjects; and what sports do I play? I half expect him to ask me about my sex life. Like, are you man enough to come to Princeton?

  When he’s done, Mr. Beckerman pushes his chair away from the table, signaling the end of our discussion, “Let’s go find the rest of our party.”

  They’re in the bar. Mom’s laughing a little too loud, a sure sign she’s buzzed.

  “What do you want, Fletch?” Dad asks.

  “Do they have beer on tap?”

  “Guinness.” Dad and I have the same taste in beer. Probably because I learned to drink from him. He always leaves the bottom of his beer and when I was younger, I’d pick up his empties and drain them. “You’re not at school. Have something more appropriate.”

  By appropriate, he doesn�
��t mean those brightly colored frozen drinks with an umbrella. He means a real drink.

  “Whiskey,” I say, more like a question.

  Dad flags the waitress. “A Glenfiddich 30. Neat.”

  Mr. Beckerman swirls his drink in his hand. No one questions the fact that Dad just ordered a forty-five dollar drink for his underage son.

  I sip the amber liquid, enjoying the warmth spreading through my body, and zone out. The liquor and jet lag are getting to me, but I keep smiling and nodding when required, which isn’t very often. Mr. Beckerman and Dad are too busy discussing some merger or something.

  Finally, after what seems like hours, Dad and Mr. Beckerman shake hands. Mom and Mrs. Beckerman air kiss each other, and I thank Mr. Beckerman for his time and tell Mrs. Beckerman it was a pleasure to meet her.

  Just like I’m supposed to.

  When they’re gone, Dad hits me on the back. “You did well, Fletch. We’re going to make a Princeton man out of you.”

  I smile, because that sounds nice. I want to make Dad happy.

  We stumble outside and Dad says the fresh Hawaiian air will sober us up. He dismisses our driver, and we walk back to the house. It’s about a mile. We’re walking up this little hill when Mom kicks off her shoes and starts running in her sundress. She’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Dad chases after her, pretending she’s too fast for him. When he catches her, he scoops her up in his arms and kisses her.

  Behind them, I stop to pick up Mom’s shoes. They’re Louboutins. She’d be pissed if she lost them.

  The sun’s setting behind them, all pink and orange and purple. My parents kind of look like one of those cheesy romantic pictures. Dad whispers into Mom’s ear, and she throws her head back and giggles.

  Two things occur to me. First, my parents truly love each other. They’ve been together since they were sixteen years old — had me when they were both barely twenty-one — and they still love each other; still want to spend all their free time together.

  The other thing I realize: they’ve forgotten all about me.