by Zac Brewer
I sat back with a jerk, wondering if it had been a bird. After a few seconds, something hit it again. I couldn’t see it, but I could damn well hear it. Not hard enough to damage the glass, just enough to make a sound. I moved to the window and looked outside. Another storm had dwindled hours before, leaving puddles in the yard. Someone was standing in them, head tilted up toward my window. It was hard to make out exactly who it was due to the raindrops all over the glass, so I opened my screenless window and stuck my head out. Instantly, I recognized my middle-of-the-night visitor and was relieved that the distance and darkness would help to make me not look a total wreck. “Derek?”
His hair was wet, which made it all the more inviting. “I’m so glad I got the right window. I had no idea what I’d say if one of your parents answered.”
What a strange boy. And here he was, appearing just as I’d been about to give in and slice away my pain. “What are you doing here?”
He was wearing dark blue jeans, red Converse tennis shoes, and a black hoodie that was only halfway zipped up. It didn’t look like he was wearing a shirt under it. It made me wonder if he’d just jumped out of the shower and hastily thrown on some clothes before making his way here. “I know I missed a couple of days of school, and I didn’t text, but I was going to tonight. Then I thought Fuck it and came over. Because I wanted to see you.”
My heart fluttered. He wanted to see me—even though I was a broken mess. I glanced at my alarm clock. “It’s after midnight.”
“So? You’re awake. I’m awake. You coming down here or not?” Even from this distance, I could see the daring gleam in his eyes.
It brought a smile to my lips. “Depends.”
“On?”
“Are you still smoking?”
He held up a small rectangle of silver, a smile stretching across his lips. “Chewing gum.”
Without another word, I ducked back inside my room and slipped on my jean jacket—the one covered in buttons that Duckie and I found amusing—and my shoes. I cleaned up my face in the mirror and took a deep breath. This was crazy. What was I thinking? I didn’t even know this guy—not really. And if my parents caught me sneaking out, they’d lose their shit.
I climbed out the window and closed it most of the way behind me, leaving it cracked just a few inches so that I could return the same way. The roof shingles made a soft scraping noise beneath my feet as I moved down the low-pitched roof to the garage roof. When I reached the lowest point, I sat on my butt and carefully dropped to the ground, almost landing on my mom’s favorite spirea bush.
Derek nodded at my smooth navigation, impressed. “I didn’t realize you were an acrobat.”
“Please. I’ve been climbing in and out that way since I was eleven. It’s easier than it looks.” I led him down the road away from the house, so we’d be at a safe distance from my parents’ earshot. The windows were all dark, so I was pretty sure they were in bed and fast asleep by now.
When we both knew no one was around to listen, Derek said, “What adventures were you going on at eleven, exactly?”
“Mostly sneaking out to hang out with Duckie, just for the sake of sneaking out.” The night air was cooler than I’d thought it would be. I buttoned up my jacket halfway and said, “Though one or two times, we went on a midnight picnic in the graveyard.”
“You two seem close.”
“The closest. He’s my best friend.” Guilt filled me for leaving him downstairs alone with my parents the other night after I’d stormed out. We had yet to talk about it, he and I. It was like he was fully aware we were standing on a frozen pond and one wrong move would ruin everything. I made a mental note to apologize the next day. “What about you? Anybody you miss from the town you left to move here?”
“Not really.” He kicked a rock, and we both paused to watch it skip its way down the pavement before veering off into the gravel on the side of the road. “We move a lot, so I don’t usually bother making connections. I mean, why bother getting close to people if the relationships will just end up as the equivalent of an emotional handshake, y’know? I usually stay pretty quiet and wait for us to move again.”
My bullshit alarm was going off, big-time. “But you talk to me.”
“You’re worth talking to.” He shrugged and put his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was chilly. At least I was wearing a shirt under my jacket.
We walked along in silence for a few minutes before I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Is it important to have a destination?”
A car approached, and we moved over to the gravel on the side of the road. Its high beams almost blinded me. I squinted against the light and waited until it had passed before I responded. “Not really, I suppose. It’s just that the town of Eleos is pretty small. Easy to get caught if you’re two high schoolers wandering around in the middle of the night.”
“We could go back to the park.” He pulled the zipper on his hoodie up a little more. But not before I glimpsed his smooth, tan chest. “Unless you’d rather avoid it.”
“Why would I want to avoid it?”
“Because when we were there earlier, you looked at the bridge more than you looked at me.” I stopped moving, and he came to a rest beside me. Honestly, I hadn’t noticed that I’d been looking at the bridge any more than I’d been looking at him. He zipped his hoodie the rest of the way up, but before he did, I noticed tiny goose bumps over his bare chest. “Does it bother you? To see the bridge?”
“No.” Yes. Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I might not ever be. It wasn’t as if the bridge had chosen my place of attempted death. I’d chosen it. Couldn’t exactly blame the bridge. “It’s just that . . . well . . .”
He looked into my eyes and lowered his voice a notch. “You still think about jumping.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I folded my arms in front of me and looked down at my shoes. With a shrug, I replied, “Sometimes. If you must know.”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.” He started walking again, slowly, and I moved in concert with him. “Besides, I get it. Sometimes, like when I’m alone at night, I have to force myself not to pick up a knife. It’s not easy. And no one understands.”
My mind flipped to the razor hidden in my closet. The razor I’d almost used on myself tonight. “I do.”
Reaching out, he took my hand in his. Our fingers folded together naturally. It was almost as if we’d always held hands. Like our hands were made for each other.
He was looking forward, down the road, not at anything in particular that I could tell. And then, after swallowing hard, he said, “I like you, Brooke.”
A small smile found my lips. “I know.”
Derek threw his head back in laughter. “Oh man. I pour my heart out and she totally Han Solos me.”
“Pssht. That was pouring your heart out? Hardly.” My chest felt lighter than it had earlier. All of me did, really.
Derek stopped walking again and gave my hand a squeeze. His eyes reflected the moon. “The truth is, I was sitting at my house tonight, watching TV, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The truth is, you’re the first person I’ve ever really wanted to get to know. I know it may not seem like much, but liking you is a pretty big deal for me.”
It felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. Like when I’d jumped off the playground swings in the third grade and landed on my back, knocking the wind out of me. Only in an intensely good way. “I don’t know what to say.”
He took my other hand in his and leaned closer with softly spoken words. “Say how you feel about spearmint gum.”
The clouds that had covered the sky earlier were gone, revealing stars. Somewhere in the distance, frogs were singing. “I love spearmint gum.”
Our lips met in a kiss, and I was suddenly glad that the paper cranes were nowhere around to see it. Just for a moment, I wanted to revel in the tenderness of Derek’s touch and not think about Black River or any of t
he aftermath. For just a moment, I wanted to feel free.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“It’s so not fair.” Duckie picked a french fry from his lunch tray and stabbed it into a small heap of ketchup. He was pouting, but I couldn’t blame him for it. How many times had he imagined Tucker appearing at his window one night and whisking him away in the darkness? How many dream kisses had he shared with the guy he liked? Countless, I imagined.
I took a bite of my burger and set it back down on the tray. After I swallowed, I said, “What about this isn’t fair, exactly?”
“You’re sneaking out at night with Mr. Perfect while I’m staying at home watching reruns of The Golden Girls. That’s what isn’t fair.”
The noise of the lunchroom was really getting on my nerves. Why couldn’t people just sit quietly and eat in peace once in a while? “It’s not like I planned it. And not for nothing, but you being there would have totally killed the mood.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just . . .” He groaned and stuffed the fry into his mouth. As he chewed, he nodded to himself and said, “I have to ask Tucker to prom.”
Finally. It was about time. I’d only been nagging him since forever. “He’ll say yes.”
Serious, Duckie looked at me, his words hushed. “What if he doesn’t?”
Reaching across the table, I gestured for him to come closer. When he did, I straightened his bow tie and said, “Then he doesn’t deserve a second thought from you.”
At the table next to us were a gaggle (or is it a giggle?) of fashion-focused girls and their boyfriends. One of the guys was loudly telling one of the most disgusting jokes I’d ever heard. I didn’t recognize any of them. Must’ve been freshmen.
Duckie picked up another fry, looking thoughtful. “Is it stupid that I’m scared of him?”
I smiled and took a sip of my soda. “Not at all. It’s actually kinda sweet.”
The Giggle and its cohorts were all roaring with laughter. My head began to throb.
Duckie wiped his fingers and mouth clean. “Did you see they posted the parts for Romeo and Juliet?”
I glanced around the lunchroom for about the zillionth time, wondering where Derek was today. I was hoping to see him again and get a read on whether or not he’d meant what he’d said last night about liking me. It was hard to imagine why someone would like me. I was broken.
“No. What did you get?”
Duckie grinned. “Only Mercutio.”
“Duckie! That’s amazing!” The likely underclassmen occupants of the table next to ours glared at my outburst, as if I was interrupting their nice, quiet lunch instead of the other way around.
“Guess who’s playing Romeo?”
He’d hoped to be the lead role our senior year, but it wasn’t working out that way. “It doesn’t matter who got Romeo. You’re going to be an excellent Mercutio. The part suits you perfectly.”
“Oh, it matters, Brooke. It matters big-time.” He held up his chocolate milk carton in a toasting gesture. “Tucker is Romeo.”
“Whoa. Best friends with homoerotic undertones. Nice.” I laughed, and he blushed. I hadn’t seen Duckie blush in a very long time.
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking.” He turned his head, finding Tucker in the crowd.
Placing my hand over his, I squeezed until he looked me in the eye. “Ask him to prom, Duckie. Seriously. Do it. It’s senior year. When else are you going to have this opportunity?”
He pressed his lips tightly together and then glanced at Tucker, who was sitting on the other side of the cafeteria. As if sensing he was being looked at, Tucker turned his head toward Duckie and smiled. I wasn’t sure if Duckie saw it or not. He was a bit preoccupied with fidgeting. “I was thinking about asking him tonight. They’re handing out scripts and schedules, as well as running through expectations from everyone at seven. Are you coming?”
“Do I have to?” Of course I didn’t. Duckie knew I wanted to skip the play this year. He’d never ask me to—
“Yes.”
It was like a needle was ripped off a record in my mind. “Why?”
Duckie leaned closer and, in a loud whisper, said, “Because you still owe me for not telling Scott Kreiger you had a crush on him in the third grade.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously? Scott Kreiger moved away in the sixth grade. You’re calling that favor in now?”
“You said you’d owe me a favor. And I totally could’ve said something. I mean, he asked me if you liked him. But I kept my mouth shut.” He raised one eyebrow. It was so obvious that he was holding back his laughter at the ridiculousness of this conversation. “So, are you coming? Or are you a big, fat liar?”
Sighing with an air of reluctance, I said, “Apparently I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Duckman. But this doesn’t mean I’m working on the play. Oh, and if Tucker breaks your heart, I’m gonna hurt him.”
“Same goes for Derek.” He glanced behind me. “Speaking of which, here comes Mr. Wonderful.”
Finally. I couldn’t help but smile. “I thought he was Mr. Perfect?”
Duckie gasped in an overdramatic fashion. “Can’t he be both?”
Derek approached the table, lunch tray in hand. He was wearing jeans and a V-neck sweater today. The sweater was dark gray and looked soft to the touch. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and a white T-shirt peeked out from the V of the sweater. Something in his expression told me he was navigating unusual waters. It was like he thought we’d reject him or something. “Hey. Is it okay if I sit with you two?”
I pulled the chair out next to me. “Totally.”
As Derek took his seat, I watched Duckie stare dreamily at Tucker, who had left his table to throw something away. I shouted to him, “Hey, Tucker! Come sit with us.”
Tucker looked over, obviously surprised by my invitation. But he didn’t shake his head or say no or anything.
Duckie turned wide-eyed to me. “You are so dead.”
Under my breath, I said, “Bring it, Mercutio.”
Once Tucker took a seat across from Duckie, I took the liberty of introducing him and Derek. Duckie just sat there frozen, looking absolutely terrified. Oh yeah. This was going to go really well, I could already tell.
“You heading up makeup crew again, Brooke?” Tucker stuffed a couple of fries into his mouth and chewed. In direct contrast to Duckie, who was sitting there frozen and silent, he seemed extremely relaxed and comfortable.
“I wasn’t even going to attend rehearsal this year. But Duckie had a pretty convincing argument. So . . . I’m coming tonight. We’ll see. No promises.” That gave Duckie a small smile. Until today, he hadn’t been pushing me about the play, but I knew he wanted us to be in it together. After all, it was what we did, and this was our last year of high school to do it. He knew I was going to give in and take charge of makeup. And on some level, so did I. Damn him. “By the way, I hear congrats are in order. Romeo Montague. Nothing like getting one of the lead parts senior year. Who’s playing Juliet?”
Tucker beamed with pride. A slight blush colored his cheeks. “Thanks. I’m pretty excited. Teegan’s playing Juliet.”
Duckie deflated a little, but I was the only one who noticed. Teegan Keller had been in theater just as long as Duckie and I. She was a great actor, a fantastic singer, super pretty, smart, and one of the nicest people on the planet. Just about everyone in our school who was even remotely interested in girls wanted to date her, and with good reason.
I could already read Duckie’s thoughts. What if Tucker was into girls? What if he and Teegan practiced the romance offstage and things got a bit too real? What if Duckie was about to be totally rejected by the one boy he’d ever seemed to have a real chance with?
I forced a smile, hoping Duckie would unfreeze and find his voice soon. He and Derek were both being so quiet. It was weird. “She’ll be great, I’m sure. I mean, she always is, but, y’know, Juliet. It’s like the part was written for her.”
“Yeah, I think we’ll work well t
ogether.” Tucker gave Duckie’s shoulder a light slap, turning his attention to him. “Hey, Duck, I saw that you’re Mercutio. I’ve gotta say, man, he’s seriously my favorite character in the entire play.”
Duckie’s ice façade immediately melted, and he smiled warmly at Tucker. No wonder he was into acting. He was good at it. I was the only one at the table who could tell that he was shaking on the inside. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Tucker shrugged. “He’s funny and sassy and a total smartass. What’s not to love?”
Without even realizing it—or maybe he had—Tucker had just perfectly described my best friend.
Derek hadn’t said much since sitting down, so I turned my attention to him. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I didn’t really want him sitting with us or that he didn’t fit in. If anyone fit in anywhere, it was with theater geeks. “What about you, Derek? Ever think about working on a play? We could always use more help backstage.”
We. Dammit. I was already leaning toward participation.
Derek leaned closer to me and swept a strand of pink hair behind my left ear. “Thanks, but it’s not exactly my scene. If you know what I mean.”
It sounded like a dig, but that couldn’t be right. Though, by the looks on Tucker and Duckie’s faces, they thought it had sounded like a dig as well.
The lunch bell rang and we dumped our trays before shuffling out of the cafeteria. Derek walked me to my locker with his hand around my waist. I’d never felt so safe.
Some guy was standing at my locker as we approached, black Sharpie in hand. In big, bold, black, familiar letters, “RIP” was once more written on my locker door. Derek stepped away from me, toward the graffiti artist, and yelled, “Hey!”
The guy turned to him in surprise, and I recognized Eric Squires. Back in the day, Eric and I used to play in the sandbox during recess in the first grade. Now he was reminding me that I’d tried to commit suicide. What a tool.
