Crushed

by Dawn Rae Miller

  Breathe, Fletch. You can do this. For Reid.

  “Calista!” I call.

  She turns toward me slowly, arms folded across her chest, like she’s prepared for battle.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I reply as I skate over to her. Give her a chance, Fletch. “How are you?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Fine.”

  Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun thing, and she’s wearing a striped shirt over pajama bottoms.

  “Rough night?” I ask.

  Calista rolls her shoulders. “No. Paige and I stayed in and watched movies. Very exciting.”

  A few kids walk past us. I know they’re not, but it seems like they’re staring and wondering what’s going on.

  “Sounds fun,” I say flatly. “Hey, speaking of Paige, Reid wanted me to ask you about her.”

  Calista chews on her cheek. “Can we go inside?” she asks, motioning to the other students. “I’m cold.”

  I don’t want to go inside with Calista. “Okay.”

  There’s no sign of the RA at the empty sign-in desk. Figures. Most of them like to sleep late on the weekends.

  Calista leads me down the hallway to her room. “Is Paige here?” I ask.

  She gives me an undecipherable look over her shoulder. “No.”

  Of course not. Fucking Reid and his inability to take care of his own shit. I make a point of keeping the door open when we enter her room.

  “Want a drink?” she asks.

  “Do you have Coke?”

  “Only diet.” She takes two cans from the mini-fridge and carries them back to the couch. I stay standing, ready to flee as soon as I get the answers I need.

  “Here.” She hands me a cold can.

  I pop the tab and take a long drink, hoping it will give me enough time to gather my thoughts. Being alone with Calista doesn’t usually work out well for me.

  “About Paige,” I say. “Reid wants to know if she—”

  “I lied to you.” And BAM. It’s out there. She just dove right in.

  I lower the can and say in my calmest voice, “I don’t want to do this, Cal. It’s too late.”

  She lowers her head so that her long lashes bat at me. “You have to listen to me, Fletch. Please.”

  Her cautious smile rips at my heart. I’ve never been able to say no to Calista. Not when she bats her eyes and smiles like this. And even though my brain screams, “Run, idiot, run,” I stay. For Reid.

  “Cal, look. What you said – you can’t just take it back. You killed me.”

  She curls onto the futon. Her shirt slips off her shoulder, just a little. “I didn’t want to get hurt again. Every time we hook up, you go off with some other girl. Maybe it didn’t seem like it, but it hurt. I spent so many nights crying over you. And this thing with Ellie – you were always with her. I knew as soon as we got back to Harker, you’d run off with her.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about that. I need to know if Paige is mad at Reid. He wants her to take him back.”

  Calista sets her can on the table. “No, she’s not mad. She’s hurt. And yes, if he asked, she’d get back together with him.”

  “Cool, thanks.”

  I’m about halfway across the room, feeling pretty good about escaping unscathed, when she says, “I would have been a good girlfriend. If you had really wanted it.”

  This is the crux of all our problems. I didn’t really want it, and she knew it. I wanted a girlfriend, but I wasn’t willing to give up my side projects. Not for her.

  I’m walking on a landmine. Any wrong move and my guts are going to end up splattered across Cal’s spotless room. Still, I can’t stop myself.

  “So a good girlfriend lies to you and doesn’t really like you?”

  I expect her to say something, anything, but she simply keeps her eyes trained on my face. My bravery grows with each word. “I don’t want to wake up one day like my parents, with a wife who puts up with my — quote — ‘shit’ for the money. I want a girlfriend who I don’t want to screw around on.”

  “Wait.” Calista tugs the elastic off her bun, and her curls spill over her shoulders. “Is this about us or your parents?”

  “Both,” I say. “My dad screws around on my mom.”

  Cal raises her eyebrows and snorts. “Everyone knows that, Fletch. It’s one of the perks of being a Colson, you can screw anything you want, and it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “Are you like that with Ellie?”

  I stare out the window. The sun streams through the trees and dapples the lawn.

  “Ellie and me – we only kissed once. On my birthday. I—” The image of Ellie lying in her bed, hair spread out on the pillow burns in my mind. Not to mention the way I feel when she laughs. Or how I never want anything to hurt her.

  “I love her,” I sputter. And I realize it’s true. Maybe it was the stupid bet at first that kept me from touching her or hitting on her, but now I do it out of respect. Out of love.

  Calista grimaces. “Whatever. You used to love me. Remember? Or do I need to make you remember?”

  She reaches for my hand and moves her eyes down, before locking on her target — the front of my jeans. Calista glances back up to me, tilts her head, and parts her mouth slightly. It’s a look I’ve seen a million times. One that used to drive me crazy.

  I yank my hand away. “What are you doing? I just told you I love Ellie.”

  Calista leans back against the couch. She wraps a dark curl around her finger. “Whatever. One day, you’ll be back here. When you figure out I’m the only one who understands you.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” I say angrily.

  She laughs. “Oh, Fletch. For someone so smart, you are such a dumbass sometimes.”

  34

  Brady and Reid’s room reeks like a stale locker room. So frickin’ gross. We cover every free spot on the floor because no one wants to sit on Brady’s bed — we’re all afraid of what he’s done on it. It’s bad enough that I had to shove suspiciously crusty looking socks out of my way to sit down.

  We’re all here, even Paige, Calista…and Ellie. Since Reid and Paige got back together, Cal’s always around again. Smiling. Taunting. Waiting for me to fail and prove her right.

  Alex dangles a baggie between his fingers. “Who’s in?”

  Everyone. Except Ellie. No matter how often we ask, she always says no.

  Next to me, Paige rubs her hand over Reid’s stubbly head while Alex gets the pipe ready. “I’m happy it’s finally growing back. Gives me something to hold on to.”

  Brady sticks his finger down his throat. “I don’t want to hear about your sexcapades anymore.”

  I snort. “Dude, you should talk. All we heard in Cabo was about that girl in the shower. Oh, and the two you shared with Alex.”

  Across the room, Alex grins. “That was fucking awesome.”

  “That,” I sputter, “was nasty. Those girls looked like they’d had an arsenal of STDs ready to unleash on the world.”

  Ellie chokes on her soda. “Ewww. Fletch.”

  I duck from her slap. “What? They did. One of them was constantly scratching. Wasn’t she, Reid?”

  “Indeed, she was.”

  Despite Brady’s best efforts, Ellie refused to cancel her plans with Sarah and Libby and join us in Cabo. Just like I told him she would. Calista and Paige ended up not coming either, so Reid and I mostly hung out by the pool during the day, working off hangovers while Brady and Alex trolled the beach and clubs for girls.

  Alex takes the first hit on the pipe and closes his eyes. “Mmmm. Now that’s good.”

  It’s weird sitting here with everyone again. To Paige’s left, Cal sits cross-legged. She’s doing her practiced-indifference act toward me again. Like nothing I do bothers her. Maybe it doesn’t, but when she thinks no one will notice, she shoots daggers at Ellie. Whatever. I’ve given up trying to figure
her out.

  Alex passes the packed pipe to Brady. He exhales and sends a ring of smoke up around his head. The earthy smell of the pot masks some of the room’s odors, but not all.

  “So,” Reid says to me. “You won.”

  My mouth waters a little as I take the pipe and lighter from Brady. I clench the glass stem between my teeth and hold the lighter to the bowl. A deep draw. God, I love that burn.

  “Won what?” Paige asks.

  Brady dips his head toward Ellie like he just realized she was in the room. Huh. Brady doesn’t want to her to know.

  But Reid doesn’t seem to care. “Fletch hasn’t hooked up with Ellie. They’re still ‘just friends.’ He made it to Spring Break. Right, Ellie?”

  She rolls her can of Coke between her palms. “As far as I know.” She gives me a mischievous glance. “Or did you take advantage of me in my sleep?”

  “Wait a minute!” Brady exclaims. “You knew?”

  “Of course she did, you told her,” I say.

  His mouth drops open. “I didn’t. I —”

  “Got extremely drunk at Parents’ Weekend and told me all about it,” Ellie finishes.

  I blow smoke in Brady’s face. “I’m glad you enjoyed Cabo. It’s you and your right hand for the rest of the year.”

  “Fuuuck.”

  Calista raises her eyebrows, and I remember I told her Ellie and I kissed. My pulse speeds up, and I wonder if she’s going to tell. “So, does this mean you two are going out now?” she asks.

  Her voice is pure honey, but I know better. Her shoulders are too tense. But I’m not worried about that. My eyes meet Ellie’s, and for a second, there’s no one else in the room but her — until Brady clear his throat.

  “No,” Ellie says softly. “Fletch and I aren’t going out.”

  35

  The last week of March ushers in a whole new level of neurosis to the Harker Campus. College admission letters began turning up in our normally barren mailboxes. Pretty much the entire senior class — with the exception of Kyle Bennett, who, as it turns out, is going to the Naval Academy — spends every free minute stalking the mailroom staff between classes.

  I lounge against the wall, waiting for everyone to show up. So far, the mailroom staff haven’t put anything in my box, but there’s still a stack of envelopes behind them.

  “There he is! Mr. Valedictorian!” Brady beams at me from the doorway. He lunges forward and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Congratulations, man. You earned it.”

  “Thanks. You’ll make a great salutatorian,” I say. Rankings came out this afternoon, and I haven’t seen Brady since getting the news.

  “I will, won’t I?” He raises a pretend glass. “Salut! I mean c’mon. How perfect is that?”

  “Perfect. But I think it’s salud.”

  “Whatever.” Brady bends and squints into his box, only to confirm that it is, in fact, empty. “I’m going to die if I have to wait until next week. Why can’t they put the list online early?”

  “Because they get off on torturing thousands of kids.”

  “Smartass.”

  The mail clerk stops in the middle section, near Brady’s box. She holds a fat envelope in her hands. Brady nearly jumps across the hall until the clerk walks to the end of the row and slips it into another box.

  He slumps back against the wall and groans in agony. “This sucks.”

  I nod. Out of my five choices, only Stanford and Princeton notify this week. They’re the only two that matter. The rest send out letters after April First.

  Lucy Newton races to the mailbox and yanks out the envelope the clerk just placed in there.

  “It’s fat! It’s fat!” she screams while jumping up and down. Since I’ve been standing here – for at least twenty minutes – this has happened exactly five times. There have also been six students who retrieved thin envelopes and slinked away to read the contents in private.

  Lucy tears right into the envelope and screams some more. “Occidental! My first choice!”

  Brady nudges me. “I bet her panties are so wet right now.”

  “And you’ll never know. Being celibate and all.”

  “You know, this isn’t really working for me.” He grabs his crotch. “My balls are so blue, it’s ridiculous.”

  I shift my weight and reposition myself against the wall. “Masturbation is your friend.”

  He winces. “Do you think I haven’t tried that? C’mon.”

  “Dude. It’s only been a week. You’ll live.”

  “Yeah, well, having sore balls for a week sucks. And not in the way that makes me moan either.”

  I’m beginning to think the mail clerks are messing with us. The way they stop before a box, double check the name and move to the opposite end of the mailboxes is maddening.

  “Like I said, Mr. Righty is your friend.” I keep my eyes trained on the mail bin and only half-listen to Brady’s response. The clerk just put a fat envelope in my box.

  “Brady.” I nudge him. “Look.”

  He pushes me forward. “Go get it.”

  Please let it be Stanford. Please. My legs shake as I take the three steps across the hall. I say one more prayer before extracting the letter from my box.

  Stanford. A fat, fucking envelope from Stanford. I turn around and hold it up so Brady can see the logo, and notice he’s holding a similar envelope, only his is already open.

  His grin could swallow up his face. Mine could probably swallow the world.

  Suddenly, Brady starts jumping down the hallway, whooping at the top of his lungs. I chase after him, into the courtyard.

  “Stanfooord,” he shouts and punches the air over his head. “Stanford!”

  I’m laughing so hard, I don’t notice Ellie standing at the far end of the Quad watching us until Brady finger guns her. When I hold up my letter like a freakin’ winning lottery ticket, she closes the distance quickly and launches herself into my arms.

  Best. Moment. Ever. Standing in the Quad with my Stanford acceptance, hugging Ellie Jacobs. Feeling her warm breath on my cheek and hearing her whisper congratulations in my ear. Knowing she means it.

  And her lips reaching up for mine. Touching mine. Kissing mine.

  ***

  I ignore the phone on my desk. Calling Dad is the last thing I want to do. Maybe I can get away with an email?

  On each side of me sits a fat envelope– Stanford and Princeton.

  With a sinking sensation in my gut, I turn the phone over in my hand and roll my shoulders a little. I haven’t actually spoken to Dad since Christmas break, but after Mr. Tolst called me in to his office, I’ve sent short responses to my parents’ emails, if only to get Tolst off my back.

  What if Dad’s not alone? What if he’s with one of his whores?

  My fingers twitch as I select “Dad’s Cell” from the favorites list.

  He picks up so quickly, it’s like he was waiting for me. It gives me no time to prepare myself and my stomach cartwheels when he says, “Hey, buddy? Calling with good news?”

  The excitement in his voice fills me with dread.

  Deep breath. “Hey, Dad. Yeah.” My words rush out of me. “I got into Stanford.”

  Silence.

  “Dad?” I hold the phone away from my face to see if the call dropped.

  “That’s great, Fletch.” Dad says, as I put the phone back to my ear. “Stanford’s a great back up school. I’m proud of you.” He pauses. “Have you heard from Princeton?”

  Back up school. I unclench my jaw. “Yeah. I got in.”

  Dad lets out a loud, “Yes!” I can almost see the capital letters through the phone. “What’d I tell, you? Huh? I knew you were a Princeton man.”

  He’s gushing.

  And I’m so not.

  A ringing noise fills my ears, and my brain feels like it’s stuck in a hurricane. I can’t make out what he’s saying.

  “I want to go to Stanford,” I blurt out over his enthusiastic rambling.

  While I wait fo
r him to say something, I walk to the balcony and throw the door open. The cool air floods my room.

  “Stanford isn’t Princeton, Fletch. Besides, it will be good for you to get out of California. You need to go away from home.”

  On the Beach, a few lonely souls trek through the twilight and disappear into dorms. I’d rather be one of them right now.

  “I’ve been away from home since I was fourteen.”

  “You know what I mean,” he replies. “Just give it a try. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  I kick at the railing, resignation seeping into my body.

  “But I want to go to Stanford. Brady’s going and—”

  “If you want to go to Stanford, you can pay for it yourself. How does that sound?” All the joy from earlier has left his voice. He’s in business mode now. Explaining my options, pushing me into a corner.

  I’m not going to Stanford. He won’t even consider it.

  “I have to go,” I whisper, meaning Stanford.

  “All right. Go celebrate. You deserve it.”

  I squish my eyes together and force out, “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Go Tigers!” he yells as I hang up.

  36

  “Guess who got into Reed? And by Reed, I mean the college, not the boy.” Ellie’s hands cover my eyes.

  Our friends laugh at her joke.

  “Congrats, Elle,” I say as she drops her hands. Other than the kiss in The Quad last week, Ellie and I haven’t touched each other or discussed what’s going on between us. “Want to sit down?” I push my chair back and offer it to her. The dining hall is crowded.

  “No thanks. I just wanted to tell you.” She leans over me, brushes her arm against mine, and steals a few fries off my plate.

  Two touches in ten seconds.

  “I’m still waiting on Brown and Dartmouth.” Ellie wants to go to Brown about as badly as I want to go to Stanford. The wait is killing her.

  “You’ll get in. You’ve got great grades. And hey, you even took beginning violin. No school can resist a violinist with your capabilities.”