by Cecily Wolfe
I nearly jump when I hear Eli’s voice again, not far behind me as I reach the road, which is surrounded on both sides by trees.
It’s the worst part of my walk, especially when it’s dark and I can’t see well.
Anyone could come out of the trees with no warning, but he’s come up behind me just as stealthily.
“What?”
Once his words register in my mind, I’m unsure what he’s talking about.
He points to my head.
“The scarf. She wears hers like that.”
He nods and stuffs his hands as far into his jacket pockets as they can go.
They aren’t very deep, and his lips are a little blue.
“Seriously, you know you need a better coat. You can’t walk around outside like that for long.”
His shrug is carefully nonchalant, but he doesn’t deny what I’ve said.
We keep walking in silence and I wonder what he’s doing, why he’s coming along with me.
But I don’t ask.
If he wants to talk to me, I can wait.
My house is about a twenty minute walk, and I’m wrestling with the promise of physical warmth inside the house against the cold expectations of my mother.
My stomach growls as I reach a corner where I need to turn to get home, which is only a few doors down.
Is Eli actually going to follow me all the way there?
“I’m this way, the next street over.”
When I glance over at him, surprised at his revelation, he nods once.
His face is red, his lips purple.
But his tiny half smile is so self-assured I can’t help but smile back as he continues to walk away from me, and I watch him until my stomach reminds me the carrot sticks and single cookie I had for lunch was not entirely satisfying.
“I’m home,” I call out once the front door is closed behind me, a habit borrowed from Kayla, who expected me to run to greet her whenever I was already there.
My parents don’t, though, and it’s nothing new.
Once my boots and coat are tucked away in the hall closet, I set my backpack by the stairs and peek into the kitchen.
“You’re late, Mia. We’re about ready to sit down to eat, and I could have used your help setting the table.”
As if setting the table is a huge endeavor.
I smile as brightly as I can, but she isn’t looking at me as she takes a glass dish out of the oven.
“Is there anything else I can do?”
She nods at a wooden salad bowl full of vegetables on the counter, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
“Wash your hands first.”
The reminder is unnecessary, but I keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told before I follow her into the dining room, where my dad is waiting with a folded newspaper in his hands.
He pushes his glasses up onto his head and looks up at us, smiling.
“How was school, Mia? How’s the newspaper gig going?”
His interest in me is fleeting and far between, mainly because he takes a lot of business trips and is often gone at night for dinners with clients, too, so this is a nice surprise.
Once my mother and I are settled and dishes get passed around, I feel like I’ve pulled together an acceptable answer for him.
“It’s going well. We got a tip today that might lead to some investigative work, which is new.”
I know my mother is watching as I scoop a chicken breast out of the glass dish, adding a spoonful of something that smells like lemon garlic sauce over it.
It smells so delicious I take an extra sniff of it before I set it back onto the table, wishing I could eat more of it.
But not under her watch.
“Sounds interesting. Are you in charge of this investigation?”
There’s no official investigation, but he doesn’t have to know this.
I can make him proud of me for once without actually lying.
I think.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to seeing what I can find out.”
His newspaper rustles a bit as he tucks it under his placemat, and my mother purses her lips at the movement.
She’s never liked this habit of his, but she’s given up on asking him to leave the paper in the living room instead of bringing it to the table.
He doesn’t care if it bothers her or me, since he’ll do whatever he wants anyway.
“Keep me posted. I’m impressed you’re taking on a challenge like this, Mia. Good girl.”
My smile is almost painful.
Why do I want his approval so much, knowing what Kayla’s quest to make my parents happy did to her?
But I do want it, and I’m afraid of how happy his interest in me makes me feel right now.
“I will. Thanks, Dad.”
My mother sets a bowl of steamed broccoli before me, keeping the bowl of mashed potatoes on my father’s end of the table and out of my reach.
I don’t ask for it.
When I offer to help her with the dishes afterwards, after my father has gone into his study and closed the door behind him, she shakes her head.
“You should do your homework, and do some sit ups. Or something.”
I frown at her back.
When the weather’s clear, I like to take walks around our neighborhood, but I’m not going to do it in the snow and bitter cold.
And I’m not doing sit ups, no matter how many times she suggests it or tells me my stomach is too rounded.
When I get to my bedroom and take everything out of my backpack, arranging the books and notebooks on my desk, I look outside and find that the snow is falling again.
Does Eli have parents who are interested in him?
Do they want to know how he feels, or what he thinks about all day?
Or do they tell him how he should be, and remind him of what they don’t like about him?
Mine wouldn’t let me out of the house in a jacket like his, mostly because they wouldn’t want anyone to think they were bad parents.
Do his care even less about him than mine do?
Megan texts me with some newspaper questions, then reminds me about Friday night at Josh's.
Before I answer, I lean back in my small desk chair and tilt my head so I can balance my phone on my forehead, the weight of my ponytail fluttering behind me.
Kayla’s friend Cassidy used to do this all the time, and for some reason, it made me laugh.
I wonder if she still does this, and the thought makes me long for winter break, when both she and Sarah, my sister’s best friends, have promised to come visit me.
The phone buzzes and I jump, making it fall to the carpeted floor.
I laugh at myself now, hoping that wherever Kayla is, she can see how goofy I am.
“Hi, Josh.”
My voice is breathless, and he notices.
“Is everything okay?”
His concern, as always, is sweet, although it’s begun to feel kind of clingy.
I shake my head as if he can see me, both to answer the question and to shake off my ungrateful thoughts.
“Sure, just doing homework. What are you up to?”
My pen rolls a bit on my desk and I pick it up, tapping it against my open math book as I listen to him share a discussion with his parents about Christmas and a ski trip they’re planning to take when our school break starts.
“So do you think you’ll be allowed to come?”
The pen hits the floor by my foot without a sound, and I sit up straight.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He laughs, and I’m glad he’s not offended by my apparent lack of attention.
But I was listening, and somehow didn’t catch where he was going with what he was telling me.
“Can you come with us on our ski trip? We’re only going to Pennsylvania, so we won’t be far, and it’s just for a week.”
Absolutely not, I want to say, but I keep my lips pressed together tightly as I take a slow, deep breath before answering.
; “Josh, we need to talk.”
“Hey,” he starts as soon as I stop speaking, probably not realizing I want to keep talking. “We’ll have separate bedrooms, I promise. I’m not pressuring you or anything, I’m not even thinking about stuff like that.”
He clears his throat awkwardly.
“I mean, it’s not like I don’t think about stuff like that when I’m with you. You’re so beautiful, and sweet, and . . .”
As his voice trails off, I allow myself to sigh audibly.
“No, it isn’t that. We need to talk, seriously.”
Chapter Five
Josh assures me we’ll have some private time to discuss whatever is on my mind on Friday, and I’m glad he doesn’t push me to explain while we're on the phone, since I think telling him I just want to be friends needs to be done face to face.
Maybe he’ll be glad I’m being honest with him.
He also wants me to go on a trip with him and his family, so maybe not.
When I go to sleep, wrapped in a flannel nightgown speckled with cardinals, the red birds another nod to my sister, I’m not thinking of Josh and my lack of romantic interest in him.
I’m thinking of a boy walking around cold in the dark, his black jacket and blue-green eyes stark in the moonlight.
Mr. Carl returns Krystal’s eager smile in class the next day in a way that makes my whole body tense up.
I hope I’m not reading anything into this interaction because of yesterday’s note, but the more she gushes over him and the more he pays attention to her, the more I want to rush home and take a shower in bleach.
But she won’t listen to me, and nearly bites my head off during lunch a few hours later.
“Seriously, can’t I look at him at all? Just because he doesn’t do it for you doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t dream.”
Dream of what?
If he’s the teacher mentioned in that note, whatever she’s dreaming of will end in a nightmare.
What reason would a female student have to be in a male teacher’s car in the first place, when I’m sure that’s against school rules?
And crying?
I smush my lips together to keep myself from responding, or worse, telling her about the note.
Bethany just raises her eyebrows a lot as Krystal tells me off, then waves before heading into the lunch line for her usual collection of snack foods.
“Hey, are you tired?”
Josh appears beside me with a cookie in his hand, and I shake my head, both at his question and his offering.
I’m not hungry today, probably because I’m worried about Friday, and I don’t even have my usual carrots with me.
What tempts me are the cans of root beer in the vending machine, and as if on cue, I catch a glimpse of Eli behind Josh, pacing by the cafeteria doors as he sips on a can of exactly what I want.
Josh turns to follow my gaze.
“Are you looking at him or the pop?”
He knows me well enough to recognize my interest in the root beer, so it’s easy for me to smile and assure him, with a little laugh, that it’s definitely the pop.
I haven’t had breakfast and I’m not eating now, so it shouldn’t be a problem to have just one can.
But my pleasure is dulled by guilt as I watch Josh head over to the vending machine and buy me one, his smile never faltering as he returns and cracks it open before offering it to me.
“Here you go. Take it easy or you’ll get the hiccups.”
That happened exactly once before, but I don’t argue with his teasing as I take it from him.
The sound of bubbles fizzing makes my stomach gurgle, and the first sip is, as always, absolutely delicious.
“Glad to see you defying your mom for a change, Mia.”
Krystal nudges me just enough to get my attention, and I’m relieved she seems to have forgiven me.
She’s right, and it feels good to do what I want without worrying about how my mother would react.
“Have you thought about what movie you want to watch on Friday?”
I’m taking a long swallow of the root beer when Josh asks, and I close my eyes against the urge to sputter.
I want to enjoy this sweet escape for a moment, and thankfully, he waits until I’m finished.
Shaking my head, I rest the can on the table in front of me, settling a fingertip on the cold metal.
“Thanks for that. I haven’t had root beer in forever.”
Bethany returns with her hands full of plastic-wrapped snacks, leaning over the table between Josh and me.
“Or actual food, for that matter.”
I stare at her blankly, then smile as insincerely as I can manage.
“We’ll get pizza on Friday, whatever you like. Alex and I were talking about movie options, and I’m sure Megan has an opinion . . .”
His voice drifts on, as I nod.
Megan always has an opinion.
A rustle of plastic announces Bethany is digging into her Nutty Bars and Zebra Cakes, and Josh smiles gently at me.
“I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek before turning around and disappearing into a group of kids who are staring at each other’s phones and giggling.
Nothing new there.
But when I start to turn back to Bethany and Krystal, a familiar pair of ratty black Converse appears when I look down.
He was probably wearing those while we were walking home yesterday.
If he didn’t have a winter coat, what were the odds he had boots?
Instead of saying anything to me, which I expect as he gets closer, he stops at the end of the table and lifts his chin in Bethany’s direction.
“They got any Zebra Cakes left?”
She sits up straight and nods quickly, her mouth full of chocolate and peanut butter wafers.
Eli taps his fist on the table lightly a couple of times, then his eyes slide to mine, his long eyelashes flickering the smallest bit.
His smile is barely noticeable, a tiny flash of movement before he walks away, heading in the opposite direction from Josh.
“If nothing else, he’s cute.”
Krystal snorts at Bethany’s observation.
“High school boys.”
She sighs dramatically, and Bethany frowns down at her half-eaten Nutty Bar before licking the chocolate from her fingers.
I take another long drink of my root beer while my stomach growls, as the sight of her enjoying the treat makes my body betray my growing hunger much too loudly.
The rest of the day passes without incident, but Eli’s expression sticks in my mind.
He’s so sure of himself, even when he knows he’s breaking rules and headed for more trouble.
Doesn’t he care what anyone thinks of him?
Doesn’t he care about his future, and how his actions now can mess up his chances for a successful one?
Megan is waiting for me in the newspaper office, perched on a tall stool the kids who like to work on yearbook layouts usually use.
“So what do you have for us?”
Before I settle into my usual spot, Dante crosses the room and stands beside her, his focus on me expectant.
I smile, certain I look as insecure as I feel.
“Well, I haven’t checked emails yet, so give me a minute. But . . .”
When they both tilt their heads and lean closer, almost comically in alignment with each other, I bite my lip before continuing.
“I have an idea who the teacher is, but I don’t have proof.”
Before they can ask the obvious question, I shake my head firmly and open the laptop in front of me, tapping on the keys to login and check the newspaper general email box as I always do.
I scroll through the new correspondence, the usual expected information as well as some suggestions for feature articles and a complaint about the smell in the gym locker rooms.
Again, nothing new.
“They didn’t reach out to us yet.
Should we put something else in tomorrow’s edition?”
They look at each other thoughtfully, and Megan crosses her arms over her chest.
Dante imitates her.
“The same as today, or something new?”
Megan’s question makes me consider that anything new would have to come from me, and I’m not sure what to say.
What would make them contact us to tell us more?
It has to be vague enough not to be obvious, but definite enough they’ll know we’re talking to them about the note.
And what they saw.
“Let me think about it while I work, okay? I’ll let you know in a bit.”
They seem satisfied with my answer, and head off in different directions to check on others.
As I sort through the email, I wonder what would make me come forward.
If I’d initiated the contact in the first place and wanted help, wouldn’t I be looking for some indication it was received and the other party was interested?
I blow out an exasperated breath over an hour later, after I’ve sorted and forwarded emails and dropped text and graphics into templates.
Megan wanders over again.
“Well?”
When I shrug, her forehead creases, but I start talking before she thinks I haven’t come up with anything.
Even if it seems lame.
I hand her a sticky note I’ve scribbled on, and she stares at it for a moment as I wait for her to tell me it’s dumb.
“Not bad. Go ahead and place it where you have today’s message, and maybe if they saw that and are looking for another attempt by us to reach them, they’ll see this. And if they didn’t catch today’s, they might see this tomorrow.”
She shrugs and presses the note down on the table in front of me.
“I think we’re due for a short story any time now, Mia.”
Her smirk reminds me of how excited I was to see my creative work featured in the paper over a few issues in the fall, and how she liked my stories and poems so much she kept asking for more.
But some of it is private, a way for me to unload my feelings . . . mostly about Kayla.
A way for me to get what is in my head and heart out.
At least it’s anonymous, so no one, especially my parents, can find out I write anything at all.
I roll my pen between my palms before setting it aside to start typing.
CAR TROUBLE? DON’T CRY. WE’RE LISTENING.
