by Zac Brewer
Unfortunately for Claire Simpson, there were no other chairs left open but the one to my left. She sighed heavily as she took her seat. I laid my head on my desk, using my folded arms as a pillow, willing the class to pass quickly. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing I knew, the bell rang, signifying the end of class. I sat up, wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and hating Mr. Rober even more for having let me sleep the whole time, where everyone could see. But then, I went out of my way to find reasons to hate Mr. Rober. The guy was a jerk.
As if sensing my hatred, Mr. Rober said, “Miss Danvers. A moment, if you will.”
Begrudgingly, I picked up my backpack and walked over to his desk. “Yeah?”
His eyebrows were so thick and twisted that they looked like two very angry caterpillars had taken residence on his face. When he raised them, the caterpillars looked even angrier. “Here is the packet of classwork and homework that you missed during your absence. I expect it completed within two weeks.”
He handed me a stack of papers and I stuffed them inside my bag. Two weeks. Right. That was totally going to happen. (Insert sarcasm here.) “Okay.”
Once I left Mr. Rober and his angry caterpillars behind, I moved down the hall, ignoring the whispers and stares. Most came from the kids in Mr. Rober’s class, but too many didn’t. Let them talk. Let them gossip. Let them judge. It made no difference.
My next class was a Shakespeare elective with Mrs. Carnes. She was a nice-enough teacher, so I wasn’t dreading her class too much. She didn’t put up with rudeness and insisted that everyone only engage in class discussions if we were comfortable. I moved to the back of the room and sat, waiting for class to begin and finish as quickly as possible. The bell rang again and Mrs. Carnes walked in, dressed in a pretty yellow dress that swished around her calves when she turned. “Good morning, everyone.”
Several people returned her greeting. Most just sat and stared at the front of the room, likely willing the school day to hurry up and end already. I was right there with them.
Mrs. Carnes looked at me and smiled gently. “Brooke, could I see you up here for a minute, please?”
All eyes were on me as I approached her desk. I didn’t see them, but I could sense them.
“I didn’t get a chance to swing by during visitors’ hours, but Karen and I got you a gift to wish you well on your recovery. I hope you don’t mind.” Karen was Mrs. Carnes’s wife. Everybody in the school knew and most people didn’t care. I’d once met Karen at the mall. She looked like Mrs. Carnes’s polar opposite: tall, tan, short hair. But they were a nice couple. When they got married a few months ago, Duckie and I gave them a congratulations card. Them getting me a gift was thoughtful, and I appreciated it before I even knew what it was. She handed me a journal that looked like an old suitcase covered in travel labels on the outside.
I smiled and said, “Thank you. And thank Karen for me too.”
The air felt a tad lighter as I returned to my desk, but any lightness that I felt was erased the moment I spied the new graffiti that had been written on my notebook while I’d been at the front of the room. In bold, black Sharpie, it read “RIP.”
I stared at it a moment before taking my seat again, wondering which one of these assholes was responsible for it. Was it the same person who’d written it on my locker? The rest of the class blurred into the background, with only one point of clarity—the graffiti on my notebook.
They would never let me forget. But the joke was on them, because cruel pranks—as far as I knew—didn’t follow you into oblivion. I was untouchable.
After the bell rang, I shoved my stuff inside my backpack. The cranes scurried away from the notebook, not wanting to go anywhere near it. I couldn’t blame them.
Duckie was waiting for me outside the lunchroom. I decided not to tell him about the new graffiti. He’d just want to fix it by hunting down whoever did it and turning them in. But that wouldn’t help. It couldn’t be helped.
After I stepped up to him, I straightened his bow tie. “You’re crooked.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up in a small smirk. “Well, I’m certainly not straight.”
I smoothed out the fabric of his bow tie with my fingers, marveling at Duckie’s original sense of style. I always aimed for comfort. He always aimed for unique. “You hungry?”
“Extremely. A shame we have to eat here. I don’t care what the cafeteria lady says. Whatever they’re serving on trays in the cafeteria doesn’t qualify as food.” As we made our way to our usual table, he said, “How’s today been so far?”
I could hear the whispers around us and wondered if they were about me. Maybe I was just being paranoid. And even if they were gossiping about me, what difference did it make to tell them to stop? People would talk. It’s what people did.
I dropped my backpack on the floor beside the table and sank into my seat, shrugging and wondering if my dad had anything in the garage that would serve my life-ending purposes. Had they been that thorough? “Kinda quiet, I guess. Better than I expected.”
Duckie gauged my eyes for several seconds, as if reading me, looking closely for any sign that I might not be telling the truth. After a moment, he said, “Wait here. I’ll grab your food. You save my spot.”
He wedged his way into the middle of the lunch line. If it had been anyone but Tucker standing there, he wouldn’t have had a chance at cutting in. But I had a feeling that Tucker was as into Duckie as Duckie was into him. If only Duckie could see it. But then, Duckie was a gay boy in a small town. His options here were limited, and his experiences had made him more than a little gun shy.
I wanted Duckie to find happiness. No. I needed him to. Because I was never getting out of this darkness, and I just had to know that when it was over, when I was gone, at least one of us would find a life worth living.
I swept my eyes across the lunchroom, feeling like an alien who’d only just recently landed here on Earth. As usual, Jake Taylor was entertaining the other kids on the robotics team with jokes about sex—not that he had any personal experience in that department, from what I’d heard. Sarah Emberson and Kristah Neil were tossing french fries from where they sat over at quiet, mousy, not-always-clean Milly Sims, who was too immersed in her paperback to even notice. Sarah glanced my way and declared a cease-fire as she whispered something into Kristah’s ear, eliciting a burst of laughter. Scott Melbur was wandering the cafeteria with his camera, snapping random photos for the yearbook. It was nice to see the once most-reviled person in our entire school find his niche and stop being the butt of nearly everyone’s jokes. Various cliques gathered together at separate tables, and those who weren’t in any particular clique filled in the blanks of the room. For the moment, it was business as usual at Eleos High. All around me was a sea of familiar faces . . . but for one.
He wore blue-black jeans and a faded gray V-neck T-shirt. The short chain around his neck was dull silver, and the heavy black boots on his feet said he rode a motorcycle. Or at least that he looked like he did. His eyes were aqua blue and reminded me of the pictures my mom and dad had brought back from their vacation to the Caribbean last fall. His eyes were like the ocean. Warm, but cool. Dangerous, but appealing. I found it difficult not to look at them. At him.
His hair was dirty blond and disheveled, but short. There was a slight natural curl to it, and I couldn’t help but think what it might feel like to run my fingers through it.
As the thought passed through my mind, he lifted his gaze to mine. Our eyes met, and I wondered if he could tell by my expression what I had been thinking about him.
Maybe I should have smiled at him, or nodded, or waved like a normal person. But instead, I just stared at him awkwardly until he looked away again. I couldn’t help it. It just kind of happened that way. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered now but my plan and the fact that my time here was ticking away.
“It’s green.” Duckie set his tray beside mine and sighed in exasperat
ion.
What he was referring to, of course, was the weird rectangular cut of pizza that sat on each of our lunch trays. I looked at it and shrugged. “It’s always green. Maybe they grind up broccoli or kale or something and mix it with the cheese in an effort to force us into a healthier diet.”
Duckie rolled his eyes and reached for a reliable french fry. “Puh-lease. It’s mold. This pizza is older than me.”
I cracked open my tiny pint carton of chocolate milk and took a swig, flicking my eyes toward the newcomer and trying hard to sound blasé. “Who’s he, anyway?”
Duckie glanced over his shoulder at the boy in the biker boots. When he turned back to me, a playful smile was dancing on his lips. “Why do you wanna know?”
Why did I want to know? Maybe because he seemed interesting. Or maybe it was because of the way my chest had tightened slightly at the sight of him. But I wouldn’t say. Not even to Duckie. “I just wanna know, okay?”
Duckie’s left eyebrow was raised sharply. He didn’t believe me. Not even one bit. “Just curious, eh? Nothing to do with the fact that he’s rock ’n’ roll gorgeous?”
“Duckie,” I pleaded, hoping he wouldn’t push me today.
After a moment, Duckie sighed. “He moved here about three weeks ago. His name is Derek Holloway. He’s a senior. And he is straight.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. My eyes drifted back to Derek before returning to Duckie. “How can you tell?”
“I just can.” He shrugged. “He’s single too. You interested?”
Inside my backpack, the paper cranes whispered before shaking their tiny heads at me collectively. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”
Duckie reached out and cupped his hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. As afraid as I was that he might see my intentions lurking in my eyes, I met his gaze. Duckie wasn’t smiling. Duckie wasn’t putting on his charm. Duckie was, in one of his rarer moments, being completely sincere. I both loved him and hated him for it. “Honey, you just went through hell. All you have is time right now. If you let yourself.”
We sat there like that for a while, until I finally slipped my hand slowly out from under his. I picked up the apple from my lunch tray and stood, slinging my backpack over one shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Duckie stood up without hesitation. “Where do you wanna go?”
I shook my head. I had no answers. “Anywhere. Just . . . away.”
“Library?”
“Library.” On our way out of the lunchroom, I set the apple I was holding on the table in front of the new guy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I just wanted to show him that not everyone in the world is the kind of person to write “RIP” on someone’s locker. Maybe I just felt like being nice to someone on a day when it felt like very few people had been nice to me.
He looked up at me, his ocean eyes rolling over me in waves. He opened his mouth to say something, but I turned and walked away before he had the chance.
As I exited the room with Duckie in tow, I let the new guy’s name turn over gently in my mind. Derek.
What a nice name.
CHAPTER FOUR
As expected, Ms. Quinn was really overwhelmed and happy to have some help reorganizing the library that afternoon. While she filled out paperwork, Duckie and I got to work moving the chairs and tables around. She put us on shelf-moving duty after that—which sucked, but removing books and relocating the shelves before putting the books back in their rightful place seemed a hell of a lot better than facing the rest of the day’s classes. Besides, since it was just we three, she let us put music on while we worked.
Ms. Quinn was, without doubt, the coolest person on staff at Eleas High. She didn’t let anybody give anybody else any crap in her library. And if you needed a hall pass or a break from class for a good reason, she really understood.
“Hey, Brooke, would you mind clearing off the bulletin board and hanging up the papers in that stack on the counter? It looks like it’s getting pretty crowded. I’ve gotta run these to the office real quick,” she said, knowing I’d be fine with it, and stepped out the door with an armload of freshly printed fliers before I could answer.
The bulletin board was just inside the library doors, right next to the front desk. School clubs posted stuff there about meetings. School functions were advertised there. Anyone could use it, and they did.
Anyone. Including whoever had apparently posted a poorly designed invitation to my funeral.
I reached up to take it down, my chest heavy and hollow. But before the tips of my fingers could make contact with the page, Duckie ripped it from the board and said, “What the hell?! Who does shit like this?”
No words formed on my tongue. Because I was past wondering, past caring.
Duckie’s face was flushed with anger. He shredded the invitation into bits and threw them on the ground before grabbing me by the arm. “Come on. I don’t care what your mom and dad said. We’re getting you out of here now.”
I didn’t argue. I just grabbed my backpack and followed.
Sneaking out of Eleos High wasn’t exactly like breaking out of prison—even though it felt that way. Miller should have been keeping an eye on the front door, but as usual, he was hitting on the young blond office assistant whose name I could never remember. So while Miller was working on getting some, Duckie and I just slid out the front door and made our way to the Beast as quickly and as nonchalantly as we could. So much for school security.
But then, people were kidding themselves if they thought that resource officers were the answer to all the violence in schools. They were merely placeholders. They were there to make parents and the administration smile and nod and pat themselves on the back for doing something.
The fact was, no one really survived high school. Sure, most people live on after graduation—but something in them stays behind in its jaws. Like bits of meat trapped between the teeth of a hungry animal. I’d seen it in my dad’s eyes whenever the subject turned to his days in school. High school took a bite out of your soul.
My seat belt was barely buckled when the Beast’s engine sputtered to life. Dropping my backpack to the floor between my feet, I could tell the paper cranes inside were sighing in relief at granting ourselves an early dismissal. Duckie pulled out of the parking lot and headed west. I knew exactly where he was going without him having to say a word. We rolled the windows down, and the warm breeze blew through the car, knocking Duckie’s fedora into the backseat and blowing my hair from my face. When we reached Washburn Road he turned left, taking us farther out into the country. On the corner was a sign that read “Spencer—6.5 miles.” But we weren’t going to Spencer. We were going to a place that I was pretty sure only Duckie and I ever visited—somewhere we could be alone.
Closing my eyes, I let myself enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. Duckie popped a cassette into the tape deck. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the song. It was “Lovesong” by The Cure. Duckie had discovered a shoe box full of cassettes in the trunk when he’d bought the Beast. Most were crap. But The Cure was definitely a keeper, and the tape was one we listened to often.
I let the music take me away for a while, losing myself in the light and sweetness of spring as Duckie drove us down a crumbling paved road and then turned onto a dirt one. He drove about a mile before he pulled into an overgrown, mostly forgotten parking lot connected to an old elementary school. Weeds had filled the cracks in the pavement, and rain and sun had washed and bleached away the painted lines. The building still stood, but most of the windows had been boarded up. The outside was home to spray-painted words. Apparently someone named Jesse had been here at one point—the graffiti said so in big, red letters—and I had a feeling I knew which Jesse it was. But the building didn’t matter. It wasn’t our destination. Where we were going was behind the old elementary school, to the place where Duckie and I first met.
The playground looked pretty much like it had back in kindergarten. Only there were more
weeds now and the equipment was rusting away. At the center of the playground stood the massive metal climbing dome. Behind that were the teeter-totters and the basketball court. To the left were the swings and the slide that Duckie had fallen off in the third grade. He’d broken his arm and cried harder than I’d ever seen him cry before or since. I’d signed his cast “I-L-Y —B.” Last I knew, he still had the cast.
Duckie sat on one of the swings and pushed back with his feet, swinging forward. The chains creaked under his weight, but held. He said, “Come on. Let’s swing.”
Doubtful about the equipment’s ability to remain in one piece under the strain of two teenagers, I slowly sank into the swing beside him and looked at the back of the school. “Do you remember when they built the new elementary school on the other side of town? We were so mad. You staged a protest.”
He smiled in remembrance. “I was a pissed-off fourth grader. You don’t mess with routine at that age.”
I offered a halfhearted shrug. “The new school wasn’t so bad. I mean, it was okay.”
“Not great, though. Not like this one.” He was right, and we both knew it. The last time I could remember being truly happy was when we were attending this school, swinging on these swings, not caring about tomorrow or the years to come. All we had back in those days were songs by Queen, games of tag, and arguing over the last chocolate-peanut-butter treat in the cafeteria. Life was simple then. Just Pokémon, building forts, and wishing on stars.
I looked at the main building, at the boarded-up windows. Someone had spray-painted a Nazi symbol on one of the boards. What an asshole. “You were the best part of this school for me.”
The wind blew gently, and a large, white cloud moved overhead, casting a shadow on us before moving along and leaving us in the sunshine again.
