Saving Me

by Sadie Allen

  “Tell me your number.”

  I rattled off my cell as his fingers flew over his phone screen, and then I heard a buzz sounding from the vicinity of my backpack.

  “That’s me. Now you have mine.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My first reaction was to squeal, but that would be embarrassing. Instead, we stared at each other for a beat before he leaned in. I felt his lips touch the top of my head and sucked in a sharp breath because the feel of his lips on my hair was a burn. I could feel its heat scorching from the point of contact all the way through the rest of my body.

  He pulled back, but brushed his nose along my hairline, making me shudder. Then he backed away, while my heart pounded a rapid staccato in my ears.

  “Pull your feet in, princess. I have to get to work.”

  I tried to regulate my breathing and not look like I was as shell-shocked as I was by his tender action. I figured I failed when I saw the smug look plastered on his face.

  Once I was fully in the car and belted in, he gripped the top of my door as he told me, “Drive safe. Send me a snap.” Then, dead serious, he winked and shut the door.

  I might have melted into a puddle in the seat.

  When I just sat there and stared at him through the window, he tapped the roof of the car twice. I shook myself out of my mini-stupor that was the power of Sterling’s wink and watched him step away before I faced forward and put the car in gear. Then I slowly drove toward the exit, looking in the rearview mirror and finding Sterling still standing where I had left him.

  For the first time in a long time, I looked forward to tomorrow.

  Yesterday, after getting home, I had gone into a temporary coma. Not really, but that was what it had felt like. I had come home, laid on top of the covers on my bed, still fully dressed, and hadn’t woken up until my mom shook me awake the next morning.

  After a hair-raising trip across town, I was still late when I pulled into my spot in the parking lot. I shut the car off and blew out a breath. No point in rushing now. I wondered if I could just hang here until it was time for second period. That was something I normally wouldn’t do, but honestly, the thought of rushing inside the building on crutches made me want to jab my eye with a pencil.

  It was amazing how different the world appeared in just a few days. I had been ready to end my life not even a week ago, couldn’t think about anything else, and now it was … promising. The sense of dread I had lived with for so many years, that twisted and churned inside my belly, had just disappeared. I could breathe easier … freer. My father’s absent oppressive presence and the exit of my former friends and boyfriend had changed my life for the better. For the first time in a while, maybe the first time ever, I felt like there was a net underneath the tightrope I had been walking.

  My mom had showed signs of actually being human and began acting like a mom. I took a leap and did something I had never thought to do, and was now starring opposite the boy who had intrigued me since the moment I had first seen him. Sterling had saved my life, and the relief I felt now at his interruption was indescribable.

  I looked around the lot and saw his car parked in its usual spot. I felt a thrill at just the sight of it. Somewhere in that school was the guy who had taken over most of my thoughts.

  He hadn’t texted me again yesterday, and I wondered if he had to work late or maybe he was waiting for me to make the next move. I hadn’t received any more texts from Laura or Miles either. It felt weird, yet oddly freeing not to be tethered to them anymore.

  To kill time, I picked up my phone and opened Snapchat. Should I make the next move?

  I clicked the icon that flipped the camera to my face and jumped. In my rush to get here, I had showered but hadn’t bothered to do my usual hair and makeup routine. I was fresh-faced, and my hair was in a messy bun on top of my head. Who was this person looking back at me?

  I decided it didn’t matter because most of these filters included eye makeup and made your skin look flawless. Who needed makeup when you had Snapchat?

  I quickly scrolled through today’s options and chose one that had ears and eyelashes. I posed, forgoing the popular finger to pouty lip and head tilt, and let a small smile play at my lips before I pressed the button. It wasn’t bad, so I hit the “send to” button and selected Sterling’s name. Then I paused, a feeling of self-consciousness creeping over me. Before it could fully take root, I tapped send and blew out a noisy breath, tapping my fingers against the doorframe.

  Still not wanting to go in, I pulled my backpack over from the passenger seat and got my script out, which was a teal book with a silhouette of a couple in a convertible against the backdrop of a full moon. Sterling and I had been the only ones to receive the actual book.

  I hit play on the car’s CD player, and the musical filled the car. I had popped the CD in on my way home from school yesterday.

  I flipped through the pages, noting it wasn’t exactly like the movie. We also had the school version of the script, so it was going to be different from the original musical, as well.

  My phone sounded, and I looked to see that Sterling was typing, then it buzzed with a Snapchat conversation alert.

  Sterling: Where r u?

  Me: Parking lot.

  His Bitmoji peeked at me from behind the text screen, and I smiled.

  Sterling: Why?

  Me: Late. I overslept. *Sleeping emoji with zzz*

  Sterling: *Emoji with hands to face and screaming*

  I held the phone for a minute and waited for his Bitmoji to come back, but it never did, so I opened the script book and resumed reading.

  I was halfway through it when I glanced up at the clock and noted it was time to go. I stuffed everything back into my backpack then carted it over to my lap as I opened the car door and got out.

  I was halfway up the walk when the bell rang for second period, and by the time the tardy bell rang, I was seated in Mrs. Jones’ AP English.

  Mrs. Jones was a small woman with steel gray hair that rose from her head like a cotton ball. It looked like you could just pick her up and scrub your pots and pans with her hair. She wore no makeup, and her skin hung from her face, making her eyes slit and her lips look like a permanent scowl.

  I actually liked her. She was stern but fair, and her love for literature leaked through into her lessons. Right now, she was lecturing on The Grapes of Wrath and the symbolism that could be found within its pages.

  I heard a scrape of metal against my desk and glanced down to the side. A well-manicured hand with pink polish and rings on her fingers quickly moved her hand away, leaving a folded piece of paper behind my bent elbow. I kept my eyes to the whiteboard as I reached with my other hand under my arm and grabbed it, bringing it down to my lap. I then unfolded it and spread it out against my thigh.

  Did you and Miles break up? Did he break up with you?

  I looked at Sarah, who studiously kept her eyes up front, and wondered what her damage was. I mean, really? After posting that video on Instagram, she had the balls to ask me that, let alone talk to me? She could get bent. I wanted to text her exactly that, but cell phones were prohibited in Mrs. Jones’ classroom. You had to take them out of your backpack and put them in a slot on a plastic shoe rack she hung by her desk.

  I pulled the note up and wrote my reply. Then I reached out to drop it back on Sarah’s desk, when it was snatched out of my hand.

  My eyes shot up, finding Mrs. Jones next to my desk with the folded paper in her hand. I was sure my eyes were rounded in horror, because I never passed notes, knowing what would happen.

  “You know the rules.”

  Yeah, I knew the rules.

  She unfolded the note, saying, “I’m surprised, Allison … and Sarah—I’d recognize that scrawl anywhere.” She peeked up over the note, her gaze lasered in on the girl next to me. “Let’s see what was important enough to interrupt John Steinbeck.”

  Her eyes darted across the page, and then she read Sarah’s questions aloud befo
re reading my reply. “Seriously? This is none of your business, but since you spread—I’m going to skip this part, ladies—you might think it is. Before you get it twisted and start spreading lies, I’ll tell you. Miles and I did break up. Happy? We both decided we were better at being friends. Now you can go tell Laura like the lapdog you are, and then get bent.”

  As the classroom erupted into whispers and laughter, my cheeks grew hot.

  “Now, maybe you’ll think twice before passing notes in this room again.” That said, Mrs. Jones strode back to the front of the classroom and picked up where she had left off.

  “Bitch. Miles is better off without you. You’re nothing now that you aren’t Daddy’s little track star,” Sarah hissed in my direction.

  I didn’t spare a glance in her direction. I focused on the little, gray-headed literary general. However, I did make sure to scratch the side of my nose with my middle finger. I was completely done with Sarah Burns.

  By the time lunch came around, I was conflicted on what I should do. Should I go into the cafetorium and eat by myself? Or maybe I could try to eat in the locker room? I didn’t want to just assume Sterling would save me a seat.

  As I hobbled my way down the hall, past the locker area, I felt someone close in on me from the side. I turned to look at the person who was so close I could feel their body heat against my left side and started at the sight of Sterling smiling at me.

  “Why don’t you eat lunch with us today?”

  I just stared at him as he led us through the double doors and into the busy cafetorium.

  “So, do you feel like”—he squinted at the standing dry erase board that stood behind Ms. Velma, the cafeteria lady who ran the register—“chicken fried steak in line one, or Salisbury steak in line two?”

  “I’m not really that hungry.”

  Chicken fried steak was not an approved food. I usually packed my lunch, but with being late, that was something that hadn’t happened this morning.

  “Come on, princess. Let’s go get a subpar chicken fried steak and find a place to sit.”

  I balked as a voice inside my head screamed, “How many calories are in that?” It sounded a lot like Derek Everly.

  When Sterling placed his hand on my lower back, I felt it like a brand. As long as he was touching me, I was helpless against him moving me toward the first line.

  Going through the line—a first for me—I then followed him to the steps of the stage where all the theater kids were seated. He carried my tray since I was still on the crutches.

  I could feel every eye in the room on me as I tried to take careful steps. The last thing I wanted was to faceplant in front of the entire school. Sweat beaded down my back and along my hairline, but I did my best to act like it wasn’t.

  You would think I would be used to having attention on me since, for several years now, I had been nominated to every Homecoming Court, student group, and ran track in front of large groups of people. For some reason, though, this all felt different. I felt like people weren’t just watching, but judging me.

  Sterling went up the steps to the very top and deposited our trays. Then he rushed back down just as I set the crutches against the side of the stage and started shrugging off my backpack. He took the bag from me before I had it all the way off and ran it up to where the other kids had piled theirs next to the pillar. Then he was on my injured side and helping me climb the steps.

  Once I was settled at the top with my feet stretched out in front of me, he placed the tray in my lap and asked, “You want me to get you a Coke?”

  I felt my eyes get large again and stuttered, “Um, no, thank you … I, uh … can’t have those.” A blush crept up my neck and deepened on my cheeks. I had the urge to fan my face, because I was still sweating and now my cheeks were hot.

  “Why?”

  I opened my mouth to repeat the evils of sodas that my dad had ingrained in me from the time I knew what they were, but then snapped my mouth shut. Why couldn’t I have a Coke? I wasn’t training anymore, and he wasn’t here to see me drink one.

  I shook my head. “Never mind. Yeah, I’d like one.”

  As Sterling’s smile brightened, I had a feeling he knew what was going on in my head.

  He jogged down and around the corner to where the vending machines were located as I looked down at the food on my tray and checked a lip curl.

  I felt a tingle on the back of my neck and scanned the area, finding a pair of burning blue eyes glaring at me. At the bottom of the steps, surrounded by a group of girls I didn’t know, sat Raven, and if looks could kill, I would be dead on the floor.

  “She’s just jealous,” said a familiar, feminine voice.

  I turned my head and watched as Elodie took the spot next to me, while Blake moved to my other side but a step down, looking up at me.

  “She and Sterling had a thing,” he stated bluntly.

  I knew it!

  I looked at Elodie, who was rolling her eyes.

  Before I could ask either of them about it, Sterling was back and handing me my drink.

  “Thanks.”

  “Raven the Maven is being salty AF, burning holes through your girl,” Blake informed him.

  Sterling scowled, but he didn’t bother to look in Raven’s direction. He just shrugged and opened his own drink.

  “You know—”

  “Don’t,” Elodie cut Blake off as my eyes came to him.

  “Whaaaa?”

  “You know,” Elodie muttered.

  “So …”

  Elodie blew out a sigh of resignation.

  I shifted to look at her, and she cast me a commiserating look.

  Blake pointed at his own face then twirled his finger in large circles. “You should follow my Insta. Fix your face.” He then dug into his own steak like he hadn’t just delivered that comment.

  My mouth dropped open, and my face probably turned ten shades of red.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Blake!” Sterling barked.

  “Not cool,” Elodie commented.

  “I don’t lie.” Blake stuck out his chin and tilted his head as he defended himself.

  I knew I looked rough. No makeup, hair on top of my head, and I was wearing track pants, a tee, and my trainers.

  I examined what Blake was wearing—tight skinny jeans that were folded up way past his ankles, and a white tee with the sleeves rolled up. Over that was a leather vest that looked like the front of a motorcycle jacket, and on his feet were neon yellow canvas shoes. His hair was styled and combed over to one side in a fashionable style that contradicted his edgy look. I loved it.

  When I didn’t say anything, because an idea was beginning to form, Elodie replied, “Yeah, we all know, but that doesn’t mean you have to say any and everything that comes to mind.”

  My scrutiny turned to Elodie, who was dressed in cuffed blue jean short overalls with a black, stretchy-looking, wide-necked tee that was on her shoulders now, but could hang down to the tops of her biceps if she was feeling flirty. She also had a navy and white flannel with hints of red tied around her hips, and white Docs.

  “Can y’all help me shop for some new clothes?” I blurted.

  Elodie’s eyes widened, while a squeal from my left had my eyes and many others’ darting in Blake’s direction. He reminded me of Mrs. Cook in that moment as he clapped his hands together excitedly.

  “Dude,” Sterling grunted.

  “Makeover!” he cried, both hands raised in the air in glee, ignoring Sterling’s admonishment. Then he brought his hands down in a “wait” gesture like inspiration had struck before he declared, “Leather leggings.”

  “No,” Elodie stated.

  “That could work.” That surprisingly came from Sterling.

  My gaze shot to him incredulously.

  “What? I’m a guy. Leather pants are hot,” he explained as he chewed a bite of something from his plate.

  “Literally,” Elodie muttered.

  I giggled.


  Sterling swallowed, and I watched his throat work. How could someone look so good just eating. He then smiled his half-grin at me, and I fought the urge to sigh dreamily.

  “She needs an edge.”

  I tore my eyes from Sterling and to Blake, who was defending his leather legging declaration. Then my eyes moved to Elodie, who was inspecting me out of the corner of her eye.

  “Yeah, she could rock an edgier look. Her usual clothes are sweet, but they look more like a uniform.”

  They felt like a uniform. If Elodie could sense that, I wondered what else she perceived when she looked at me.

  As a knot formed in my gut at the thought, any chance of eating went down the toilet.

  “She needs a newly-single-and-looking-to-mingle wardrobe.”

  Sterling glowered in Blake’s direction.

  “Hey! You think Miles—”

  “Don’t,” Elodie stated firmly, cutting Blake off again.

  “Ellie! I was just—”

  Elodie shook her head. “I know what you were going to ask.”

  “He could secretly play for the other team!” Blake exclaimed.

  Oh, gah! Laughter bubbled out of me at the thought of Miles, pro-vagina Miles, switching teams. Never gonna happen.

  I chuckled. “I hate to kill the dream, Blake, but that will probably never happen.”

  My eyes were drawn to the spot I had been sitting at just last week to see Miles there with his buddies, but no Laura and her squad. Our gazes caught, and he looked dumbstruck. When I gave him a close-lipped smile, his face blanked before he turned to Gage, who evidently had been speaking to him during our silent exchange, and said something in reply.

  Laura not sitting at their table surprised me. Even Ariel wasn’t sitting with her boyfriend. Scanning the room, I found them in the corner closest to the gym. Laura looked her usual unflappable self, but Ariel looked … depressed? I had to be imagining that. Sarah mimicked Laura’s look, and as I watched their interactions, it looked as if Sarah was shadowing everything Laura was doing, which was straight-up weird, as always.