Wherever You Go

by Heather Davis

  She gave me a big hug. "Please, don't let this get to you. The worst thing you can do is to let something like this screw you up, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

  After Marisa left, I headed back into the kitchen and started dishing out the soup. Grandpa smiled as I set a bowl in front of him. Lena grabbed a handful of soda crackers and started crushing them in her fingers, letting the flakes snow down onto the steaming soup. I cooked the sandwiches in the skillet and sliced them into triangles, cheese oozing out the side. But I wasn't hungry anymore.

  "Can you keep an eye on Grandpa while he's eating?" I asked Lena as I set the plate of grilled cheese in the center of the table.

  She reached for two sandwich triangles, putting one on Grandpa's plate.

  And I went into the living room where it was quiet, my hand shaking as I dialed Jason's number.

  "I'm downstairs," Jason said, "parked out front. Can I come up?"

  "No," Holly said, her voice wavering a little on the phone.

  He didn't tell her he'd been sitting there for half an hour, debating whether or not he should even try to buzz her apartment, when he'd seen Marisa go up. "Well, can we talk?"

  "Yeah, of course. I'll come down for a minute. Stay there."

  A little while later, when she opened the glass lobby door, she looked pale and was in sweatpants and a hoodie. But even dressed down, she was cute.

  "Hey," she said, walking over to the bench in front of the building.

  "You didn't come to school. I was afraid that I had something to do with that," he said.

  "No, I didn't feel good this morning," Holly said, sitting down, making herself small.

  He smiled, relaxing. "Good. I mean, not good that you don't feel good—just that I wasn't the reason you stayed away." Jason sat down on the other end of the bench, turning his body to face hers. "Look, I'm sorry about what you must have heard. Mark is a complete jerk."

  "I'new" Jason save always known that."

  "Well, I'm just starting to figure that out after all these years. I don't know why he started talking shit. Come here," he said, holding out his hands.

  Holly didn't move from her spot. "Why did you tell him?" she said.

  "I didn't tell him anything," Jason said.

  "You did. You told him about Aldo's list," Holly said quietly. "And he told me you were just helping Aldo to get to me. That you were jealous of me and Rob. That you felt closer to Rob when you were with me."

  Jason's cheeks went red. "I didn't mean to tell him about the list. I was just explaining about the luau."

  "That list was between us. I didn't even tell my mom till a few days ago."

  "I'm sorry I told him, all right? I didn't know it was such a big deal."

  Holly leveled her gaze at him. "And about what he said—"

  "Obviously, none of that is true, and it didn't come from me," Jason said. "Mark wishes he had a girl as beautiful and real as you. He wishes we would break up, I'm sure."

  "No. The part about you feeling closer to Rob when you're with me—did you say that?"

  Jason bit the inside of his cheek. "No. It's not about that at all."

  Holly's lips were a firm line. "That first day, when you talked to me on the street, when you apologized for how everyone had been to me—was that real?"

  "Of course it was real, Holly—why wouldn't it have been real? All of this—the way I feel about you—is real." He could see the tears forming behind her eyes. He could see the doubts building. "Is what you feel for me real? Because if it is, then none of this crap matters—nothing matters but us."

  "They didn't like me when I was with Rob. Didn't like where I come from or how I dress or that I don't have a fancy car—or any car," she said with a laugh. "And they will never like me when I'm with you."

  "Not true. Faith likes you," Jason said. "She told me."

  "So, you're talking to Faith? That's perfect. She's the perfect girl for you."

  "No. It's not like that."

  "You did your duty," Holly said, standing up. "You took care of poor Holly. You took care of what Rob left behind. I'm fine. Okay? Me and my grandpa and my mom and my sister, we're all fine. So you can go. Your job is done."

  "You want me to go?"

  Holly eyes were fierce. "Yeah. Just go."

  Jason rose to his feet and headed toward the Audi. He looked once over his shoulder and saw Holly still sitting on the bench, now with her head in her hands. Before he started to lose it, he shut the car door and drove away. Leaving behind all he'd ever cared about.

  ***

  "What the hell just happened?" You materialize in the kitchen at Aldo's side. "I go visit my peeps for a while and everything falls to crap?"

  "Easy," Aldo says. He dips his cheese sandwich into the soup on the table in front of him. "I'm not in charge of anything, kid."

  Holly comes into the kitchen, wiping tears away with the backs of her sleeves.

  "They were breaking up. That's not supposed to happen," you say, following her, wishing you could reach out and hug her, ease her sadness.

  "What's supposed to happen? Who the hell knows?" Aldo says.

  Holly glances over at him, noticing the mumbling in Italian. "Grandpa?"

  "What's Grandpa saying?" Lena says, frowning.

  Aldo's still ranting. "The only thing I do know from this whole experience is that no one, even the dead, knows anything."

  "They're supposed to be together," you say. "I just know that. I feel it. And I rarely feel anything these days, so it's got to be true. Seriously, Aldo, will you acknowledge Holly? She's still staring at you, dude."

  "I'm fine," Aldo says, mustering up the words.

  "This soup tastes different," Lena says as she reaches for another triangle of sandwich. "Not like your normal soup."

  "It's from a can, Lena. I didn't have time to make homemade bisque."

  "Oh. Well, I like your soup better." She dips the edge of her sandwich in her bowl.

  "Uh ... thanks?" Holly says, giving her a watery smile.

  "She's not supposed to be so unhappy," you say. "Can't you tell Holly that he loves her? That it doesn't matter about me? It's about them."

  "That's a mouthful," Aldo says.

  Holly quirks an eyebrow. "Grandpa?"

  "Just tell her. Tell her something to let her know he loves her."

  Aldo stares at you hard. "I told you, kid. I think this is getting harder."

  "Please try."

  "Grandpa?" Holly says, reaching out to pat him on the hand. "You're making me worried. Is it the Roberto thing again? Is he bothering you?"

  "Always."

  "Come on. Try," you say.

  "He ... loves you," Aldo says, looking Holly in the eyes.

  "Roberto loves me?"

  Aldo shakes his head with great effort. "The other boy," he says.

  "He means Jason," says Lena, wiping soup from her mouth with a paper towel. "I think Grandpa means Jason loves you."

  Holly's eyes water. "Thanks, Grandpa. That's nice."

  "He loves you," Aldo repeats, saying the words carefully, clearly.

  Holly picks up a spoon and stirs her soup. "Okay."

  You nearly jump up on the table in front of her. "She doesn't believe us," you say. "He screwed up, and she doesn't believe us."

  "She doesn't believe us because she doesn't believe in love anymore," Aldo says to you.

  His words nearly make you shiver. "No."

  "It's a hard thing to believe in once you've had it and lost it."

  "Love is the only thing to believe in," you say.

  "Hey, you finally learned something useful," Aldo says, giving you a little smile. "Way to go, kid."

  "Grandpa," Holly says, squeezing his hand. "Finish your soup before it gets cold."

  Aldo nods. "I need to go back to them. This talking-for-you business—it's not so easy."

  "Thank you," you say. "I don't know that it made a difference, but thank you. You rest up. I'll be back."

  "You'd better b
e," Aldo replies. "We have more things we need to tell her. Many more things."

  "I know."

  "You going, then?" Aldo asks.

  "Not just yet. I'll sit here awhile with you." You lean back in the chair and watch Holly and her family finish their dinner. It's almost like being there. Almost like being able to comfort her, which you realize you should have been doing all along.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Just give her some time," Faith said the next morning. "She needs to cool off, and then you can talk to hen">"Psize="5" cr again. Only stupid people believe what Mark says, anyway. It'll blow over."

  The library was nearly empty that morning before school, but Jason whispered anyway. "Yeah, but she dumped me. Everything's all screwed up."

  Faith shook her head. "You're just figuring things out. You didn't break up."

  "She won't take my calls."

  Faith rolled her eyes and focused back on her laptop, her fingers hitting the keys with precision. "Just chill. Don't be that crazy guy stalking her. No girl wants that."

  "Yeah, maybe you're right."

  "I know I'm right. She has to come talk to you on her terms. She's hurt, and somehow, even though Mark started this, it made her doubt you."

  "I'd never do anything to hurt her."

  "I know that," Faith said, her eyes finding his. "You're a good guy. Maybe not so smooth, but you're a good guy."

  "Thanks a lot," Jason said, shoving her elbow playfully.

  "I'm glad you called me," she said.

  "Well, I don't have anywhere else to go for advice on this kind of stuff."

  Faith smiled. "It's still cool that I'm coming to your party on Friday, right?"

  "I don't even feel like having a party anymore."

  "Come on. Your mom is probably superexcited about having your friends over to the house," Faith said. "She'll be disappointed if you don't at least let her buy you some cupcakes. Eighteen's big, anyway."

  "Yeah."

  "And things will be better with Holly by then, right? You've got a couple days."

  Jason gave Faith a grateful smile. "Thanks."

  "Hey, I'm here for you," she said.

  "I'm glad we're friends," Jason said, giving her a hug and meaning it.

  Faith hugged him back. "Me too. Maybe this was all for the better, you know? I've never been friends with an ex."

  "Me neither."

  "I hope it works out with Holly," Faith said. "Really. Just give her some space."

  ***

  I couldn't put it off any longer. I waited until nearly the last bell and then walked briskly through the doors of school, heaof excitedded toward my locker. Marisa caught up with me in Hallway B.

  "Hey, I don't think it's, well, as bad as I thought yesterday," she said.

  But as we turned the corner near the lunchroom, a group of sophomore girls stopped talking, staring as we walked past.

  "Awesome," I muttered.

  "Everyone knows it's a lie," Marisa said.

  "Sure." I gave her a smile as lame as I felt. I didn't want to tell her about Jason coming over the day before. About how I'd told him to leave.

  "I'm glad you came today. I was afraid you'd hide out at home all week," she said, giving me an encouraging pat on the back.

  "No. I'm not going to hide. I think you're right. It only makes things worse."

  Marisa stopped in her tracks as we passed the glass doors of the library. "Oh."

  I glanced in to see what she was gaping at.

  "No, don't look!" she said.

  But it was too late. I saw Jason hugging Faith at one of the work tables. "Ohmigod."

  Marisa tugged on my hands. "Come on. Let's go."

  My heart shriveled down in my chest, along with whatever so-called love I had for Jason. Or maybe it was just the realization that everything he'd said he felt about me couldn't be true.

  "Let's go," repeated Marisa.

  "Yeah. I'm going home."

  "No, just walk away."

  I let her pull me away from the glass and down the hall to my locker. I worked the lock and then opened it up. Inside, where the picture of Rob used to be, there was a snapshot of me and Jason he'd taken on the sailboat that day. We were smiling, with Lena and Aldo in the background. He'd taken the picture himself, stretching his arms way out in front of us to capture the scene.

  Marisa took the photo from my hands. "As much as you want to rip up this picture, don't. I'll just keep it for you," she said.

  "Fine." I snatched my books from the shelf and shoved them into my bag.

  The bell rang and I slammed the locker shut, said goodbye to Marisa. I stood outside the door of chem, watching the stream of kids going inside. Jason came toward me down the hallway, and I could hardly look at him, couldn't meet his eyes.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "You Holiday Mullen?" a skinny guy in a Seahawks jersey asked.

  "Yeah," I said, wincing at the sound of my real name.

  "Mr. Croft wants to see you," he said, stuffing a note into my hands.

  "Great." So the rumors about me and Jason and Mark had reached the counselor's office. Awesome. I turned away from Jason, who had a tentative smile on his face, and followed the office TA down the hall.

  Mr. Croft's office smelled like coffee and mouthwash. He was at his desk, sleeves already rolled up like he'd had a long day, even though it was only eight o'clock. "Good morning, Holly." He shuffled around some files on his desk, finally pulling mine from the bottom of a thick stack. "So, do you know why you're here?"

  I lowered myself into the chair in front of his desk. "I don't know—rumors, insinuations?"

  "No." Mr. Croft wrinkled his nose at me. "Remember the question I asked during our last visit?"

  "Uh..."

  "About what you wanted to do? Come on—it wasn't that long ago."

  Although I was relieved I wasn't there to talk about the stupid rumor, I was really not in the mood for any of this future talk. I sat there picking fuzzies off the arm of the chair, studying the picture of Mr. Croft with his family on the corner of his desk. Him, his wife, a toddler girl with bright red hair.

  "Anyway, I wanted to check in with you about your plans." He gave me a hopeful look, which made me feel a little sorry for him. He really was trying to help.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Croft. It's been a real shitty week," I said. "I mean, a bad one."

  "I know all about shitty weeks. Trust me." He cracked a smile.

  "Okay, well, it doesn't get much worse than mine."

  He took a sip of coffee. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  "More problems with your family?"

  "Guys, too," I said, picking at my fingernails.

  "Admittedly, most high school guys lack emotional intelligence. They develop it later in life."

  I smiled. "Are you telling me guys are dumb?"

  "About girls, yeah," he said with a laugh. "They get more adept at handling their emotions over time. So, let's get back to you..."

  "Mr. Croft, I don't know what I'm going to do after high school's over. Like I said before, I haven't really had time to think about it."

  He leaned back in his chair, in wasteepling his fingers. "I'll make it really simple. And just humor me. Okay? I find it all comes down to one thing—what are you good at?"

  "You've got my file—what does it say?"

  "It's incomplete," Mr. Croft said. "It's just a batch of numbers and anecdotal evidence collected by other people. It doesn't say anything about you and what you are or who you want to be. That's what we're doing here, trying to figure it out."

  "You know, it's like you're a mental health professional or something," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're really trying to counsel me."

  He laughed again. "You've got a good sense of humor."

  "Thanks." I scooched down farther in my seat.

  "Now really, when you close your eyes and picture the things you like to do..." Mr. Croft waited for me. "Come on, close your eyes."

  "I'm not
closing them," I said.

  "Fine, but imagine you have some time away from school. What are you doing? What is fun in your life?"

  "Nothing."

  Mr. Croft sighed. "Really? Everything is terrible? What do you do to relax?"

  Reluctantly, I closed my eyes, picturing myself relaxing. I saw myself in the kitchen at home. I thought about all the dinners I'd cooked, the countless trays of gooey brownies, the look on Lena's face when she realized I was fixing her favorite strawberry crepes. I thought about the comfort I found in mixing things as an experiment, following a recipe I'd found in my grandma's old recipe box, or even the simple act of chopping things up, putting them in order before I started cooking. It was relaxing because I didn't have to talk to anyone when I was cooking. It was just me and the ingredients.

  "Well, I like to cook," I said, opening my eyes. "Someone just said I should be a chef."

  "Well, maybe we're onto something," Mr. Croft said as he made some notes in my folder.

  "I mean, I cook for my family, but that's my job—well, one of them—around the house."

  "But you like it," Mr. Croft said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "And you're good at it?"

  "Yeah," I said slowly.

  "This is terrific," he said, a broad smile spreading across his face.

  "It's just what I do at home," I explained again. "I wouldn't say it's terrific."

  "Don't you see? Culinary school," he said. "It didn't come to my mind before because you were so focused on a traditional college track before Rob's accident. You are perfect for culinary school."

  "For real?"

  "Sure. Why not? There are a couple of schools right in the city." He held up a hand and swiveled around to his computer. "Wait a second," he said, typing. "Here we go—there's a great program at the community college, which would be more affordable, even. What do you think? It's a great career if food is what you love."

  I let out a deep breath. "Let me think about it."

  "Sure. Mull it over, talk to your mom. If you decide you want to go for it, next time we meet I'll help you get the papers together—and we'll apply for some financial aid," Mr. Croft said. "See? Sometimes you need to focus in on what you want—not what others want for you."

  "Yeah, you said that last time."

  "Worth repeating. I'm proud of you for putting yourself first this time. It's a great first step."