by Kay, Hannah;
“He’s worried about you.”
My heart beat painfully once again.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucas
Back at the office, everything was wrong. Shadows danced on the walls, wilting the plant in the corner. Even the staff seemed sadder than normal. Maybe that’s just me, though. I’m sad enough for the whole office.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not at all surprised. I never really understood why Julie gave me a chance in the first place. I’m not exactly a handsome guy. I’m not even really a cool guy—or all that funny… The list could go on for days, but I’m merely avoiding the subject. I’m average and there she was, this perfect creature, letting me love her.
Things were going so well, though, that I guess I kind of forgot about all of that. Maybe she could look past the fact that I’m just the nerdy guy and learn to love me anyway. Obviously that wasn’t the case.
I kept turning her words over in my mind, trying to decide what to make of them. She’d said she ‘couldn’t be someone she wasn’t anymore’ repeatedly, but what did that mean? I’d never asked her to be anything she wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense.
Yet, engraved in my mind were her broken eyes and tear-stained face, just before she ran off. I couldn’t shake her image. It hurt worse than her words, than the idea that she wasn’t mine anymore. It was the idea that, without realizing it, I’d hurt her somehow. I wanted to know how so I could fix it.
Her dad told me she hadn’t been out of bed since she’d got home that night. Krista told me she wasn’t answering her calls or texts. I hadn’t tried to call her. I figured I should give her some time. Meanwhile, my heart felt like a black hole.
“Okay, man, we’re getting you out of here,” Mike announced when he walked in on me at my desk, staring at a wall. He lifted his hands and shook his head, making a beeline to Mr. Swift’s door.
I groaned, standing to hurry after him. “Mike, just go to the Diner, I’ll meet you there in half an hour,” I told him, but he shook his head, opening Mr. Swift’s door without so much as knocking. I, flabbergasted, shook my head. Well, goodbye internship. Nice knowing you.
“Excuse me, Mr. Swift, Alexander, can I call you Alex? I need to pull young Lucas out for mental health. He’s obviously depressed.” Mike gestured to me as if that made his case.
I shook my head. “Just ignore Mike, Mr. Swift. He forgot to take his medicine this morning,” I amended, grabbing Mike’s arm in an attempt to pull him from the room, but truth be told, I’m not all that strong.
“Alex, this boy needs some guy time. Help me out here!”
“Mike, I’m fine.”
“Shut up, Lucas. You need help.”
“I’m fine, Mike. This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous? You were just staring at a wall in there. You are far from fine.”
“Just go home, Mike.”
“I’m not going home without you, pouty.”
“Mike,” I cautioned, meeting his eyes for the first time during the argument.
“Lucas,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest firmly.
This was beyond embarrassing.
“Lucas, take the rest of the day off,” Mr. Swift suddenly interjected, and Mike grinned triumphantly.
“Thank you, sir!” he said and I laughed outright at his sudden politeness as he bounced—I wish that wasn’t a literal verb, I wish it with all my heart—from the office.
I turned to Mr. Swift. “I’m sorry about that.”
He looked tired. “Go on, Lucas. We can hold the fort here.”
“Thanks,” I responded, attempting to smile at him, but I don’t think it came off as sincere. I wasn’t okay. I really wasn’t, and I didn’t think I could hide it from him—if I even wanted to. I wasn’t happy. He didn’t need to think I was.
“Don’t mention it,” he answered, barely looking up from his papers. He didn’t like this, obviously. I wondered if he knew what was wrong, but then again, Julie didn’t act like she and her dad were particularly close. I merely nodded and followed after Mike.
He was waiting outside, leaned up against Hendleson. “Love you too, bro,” he said sarcastically, shoving off and looking at me. “So, I say we head out and get some pizza then just drive. Get out of here for a while.”
I exhaled. “Mike, I just can’t run away.”
“Come on. We’ll be back before the fireworks. I refuse to have a depressed best friend for the Fourth.” Mike’s favorite holiday was the Fourth of July, even when he was a kid—something I always thought was strange. Most kids like Christmas because of all the presents, but no, Mike liked the Fourth of July. Why? To the best of my evaluation, the food.
I sighed. “Okay,” I answered, figuring it was best to humor him.
He grinned. “Great! Let’s go then.” Then he hopped in the cab of my truck.
* * * *
We ordered two large pepperoni pizzas to eat at Al’s and two large pepperonis for the road and filled our large plastic cups to the brim with Coke before slumping over one of the tables with our trays.
Mike seemed pleased that this should bring me out of my funk. He forgets I’m not him sometimes, though. I took three slices of pizza and piled them on my plate before stabbing my straw against the table to pop it from its cover. “Better already, right?” Mike questioned, wolfing down one of his five claimed slices before washing it down with a mouthful of Coke.
I just chuckled halfheartedly, eating my pizza and trying to push Julie’s crying image from my mind. “I guess.” My reply must have been too halfhearted.
“Man, you’re going to have to accept this. People break up. It happens,” Mike said and I think he heard his own statement, because he retracted it within seconds, but not soon enough for it not to have stung. “I’m sorry, Lucas. That wasn’t cool. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What else could that mean?” I asked him, shoving a slice of pizza in my mouth to attempt to stop the dull throbbing that suddenly filled my chest at his words. Fun fact—it didn’t help.
Mike let out a long breath, chewing more slowly now to gather his thoughts. “I just mean… I mean, you know how me and Krista fight and break up and get back together. You don’t have to take this so seriously, man.”
I frowned at him. “You didn’t see her, Mike. She was crying.”
“Krista cries,” Mike answered quickly but I knew he knew it wasn’t the same.
I sighed, looking down at my now-empty plate and grabbing three more pieces. Why not drown my problems in food? “I just want to know what I did,” I admitted, starting in on slice number four as Mike slurped down the rest of his Coke.
He let out a long, labored breath, because he knew that this wasn’t just going to go away with four boxes of pizza and a couple of burgers each on the road. “I know, man. I wish I could tell you.” He stood to go refill his drink then looked down at the pizza. “I want cheesy bread.”
Chapter Seventeen
Julie
I am a vegetable.
I was keenly aware of the passing of time. I was aware that I hadn’t so much as showered in three days. I was aware that I was living off toast—the only thing my father could make. None of this mattered to me, though.
The walls closed in on me every moment, slowly inching toward claustrophobia. My limbs itched to move, to run, to thrive, but I felt terrible. My entire chest was hollow and my body ached. I missed him. Against every thought, I missed him. That was clear.
“Okay, mopey.” The voice came from the doorway but my eyes were plastered to the window. She sighed loudly, crossing the room in five quick steps to stoop into my line of vision. There was Krista, dressed in a pair of pale pink cotton short shorts and a white T-shirt, hair tied up from cheer practice with a skinny pink bow. Her face glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, but she looked beautiful, as always. “We’re having a sleepover,” she announced with the finality of a judge’s final ruling.
I groaned, recoiling from her perfect, p
rying eyes and slumping over against the wall. I didn’t speak. Instead, I drew the blankets over my head lamely.
She exhaled sharply, dragging the comforter back to grin at me. “Come on. You need a girls’ night.” She winked playfully. “It’ll be really fun, Jules!”
“Fun,” I mumbled, rolling back over into my covers and flipping over to face the wall. “I don’t feel like having fun.”
She sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Well, that sucks, because you’re going to have some fun today.” She paused. “Well, tonight.”
I exhaled, looking over my shoulder to lift a tired eyebrow at her. “You aren’t going to stop, are you?”
She grinned. She knew she’d won. “Nope.”
I let out a sigh, but sat up, slowly unburrowing myself from my blankets. “Okay, fine.”
She clapped excitedly in response. “Okay, now go take a shower and I’ll get things ready.”
“Things?” I asked, but she just laughed.
So, I guess it had been a long time since I’d attended a sleepover, because when I emerged after my shower, our living room had been transformed into another place entirely. The couch had been pushed back against the back wall and there were about fifty blankets on the floor with matching pillows. The coffee table was a smorgasbord of junk food. There were three bowls—one giant green one full of popcorn, one smaller one that was pink and full of assorted chocolate candy then another smaller one full of just random candy—anything from Nerds to Laffy Taffy. It looked like she’d robbed some little kid’s Halloween candy. To the side of the food was a stack of what looked like ten movies. I couldn’t tell what they were from the doorway, but I was sure it would be an interesting night.
Krista was nowhere to be found.
“Krista?” I called, turning slowly to look for her and laughing when I saw her head pop out from around the corner in the kitchen. She was decked out in a pair of bright pink pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, golden hair pulled up into a messy top knot, and I don’t know why that was funny. It just was.
“She’s alive!” she joked, winking and stepping back inside. “I ordered Chinese,” she called just as I stepped into the kitchen.
I lifted an eyebrow. “From where?” There was no ‘ordering in’ in Carltonville. It was just too small.
She laughed. “I have my ways,” she answered simply, pulling the coffee pot up and pouring me a huge mug. “It’s not as great as the Diner’s, but it’ll help.” She offered a little smile. I wished I could return it. Instead I took a long drag from the mug.
“Glad you aren’t a coffee hater like your boyfriend,” I answered, and she laughed.
“He doesn’t hate coffee. He just has a respectful agreement with it that he won’t drink it.” She grinned and it reminded me of the warmth of the sun.
I nodded, sitting at the table and adjusting my black T-shirt and white shorts and nibbling my bottom lip. The coffee cup in my hands warmed me and I exhaled happily. Suddenly, I felt more alive. Maybe tonight would be a good thing.
Halfway through the first romantic comedy—why that was a good choice, I’ll never know—the doorbell rang. Krista instantly grinned, popping up. “That’ll be the delivery guy.”
I sighed as she excitedly hopped from her spot to answer the door. There was something about the twinkle in her eyes that I didn’t trust. So, naturally, I rose from where I’d been leaning back against the couch and followed her, careful to be absolutely silent.
Once in the hallway there was no hiding my presence, but it wasn’t really necessary. The delivery guy was Mike, wearing a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. In his hands was a pizza box—Al’s, of course—and a white plastic bag full of white cartons of Chinese food. He was smirking down at her as she retrieved the bags.
“Nice PJs,” he taunted, tugging on the sleeve of her shirt.
She sneered back, setting the bags on the table by the door. “Thank you,” she told him, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
He nodded, flashing a grin her way and gently pushing her shoulder. “’Course, beautiful.” He pecked her forehead, smiling. “How’s she doing?”
Krista exhaled sharply. “She’s up and moving,” she answered quietly, and I could almost hear her biting her lip.
He suddenly noticed me and coughed awkwardly. “Julie!” he greeted, looking to Krista, who was frowning. “How’re you doing?” His voice was slightly tense but I couldn’t blame him.
I shrugged. “I’m all right.” It was such a lie that it was laughable.
“Really? Because you look like hell.” His eyes shone with his joke, or rather… Let’s go with joke.
I managed a laugh for his benefit and it felt good. “Thanks, Mike,” I answered, smiling his way before strolling over to grab the food. “Now we’re trying to have a girls’ night, and last time I checked, you aren’t a girl.”
He thought for a minute, a slow grin spreading across his lips. “You checked?” He paused, weighing my reaction before continuing. “How drunk was I?” He wailed with laughter, but Krista just rolled her eyes, gently prodding him out the door. “All right, all right, I’ll go peacefully, but just know neither of you will be getting a discount on Girl Scout cookies!” With that, Krista closed the door in his face.
I looked at her. “And you’re dating him?” It was a weak joke, but a joke still.
She laughed quietly, wrapping one arm around my neck and steering me toward the living room. “Yes, somehow I love him.”
I’d never heard her say she loved him before and as I fell into the mountain of blankets, everything changed. My smile faded, everything went cold again. My blood ran as ice.
Oblivious, she started the movie once again and the characters went along with their lives, yet suddenly everyone was holding hands or kissing or saying they were in love and my entire body shook. I could hear his voice in my head, echoing endlessly those three words that set my entire body aflame with doubt.
I’m not sure when I started crying into my fried rice or when Krista pulled me into a hug or when the TV screen scrolled past the credits and blared blue. My body shook, wracked with pent-up sobs.
Eventually my sobs became shallower, the heaving in my chest narrower and I relaxed against the couch, teeth chattering along with my sharp releases of breath. Krista, in a near silent voice, whispered my name. My eyes cut up to meet hers, but I knew the question she would ask. “What happened?”
There was suddenly an earth-shattering sound, the loud bang of thunder without its faithful partner lighting, a shudder in the night sky. My breath came out in a rush, tears all gone but body still wracked as I lifted my eyes to Krista’s. “What day is it?”
She sighed, abandoning her question for a moment to answer me. “It’s the Fourth of July.” To affirm her statement, another blow to the sky.
I shuddered. The last day I remembered was June twenty-sixth.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucas
Sweat striped my face and plastered my shirt to my chest on Fourth of July night. The chubby guy on the news prophesized that it was the hottest day of the year, and he wasn’t wrong. Of course, I hadn’t been outside much all summer, so an hour into the Fourth festivities, I was already soaked to the bone.
Mike, on the other hand, had been on the court all summer, fine-tuning his basketball skills—because being the star of the football team wasn’t enough—so he was used to the blaring sun. He was stretched out on the sand with his back against a cooler of root beer in jeans and a white T-shirt, looking incredibly cool for the heat index. On his lap was a plate piled high with food—cheeseburgers, hot dogs, beans, chips, cookies, brownies, macaroni and cheese, French fries and so much more—that he was shoveling into his mouth without pause.
My plate was less extensive, with just a cheeseburger and a couple of hot dogs, neither of which I’d touched. It was resting on the sand beside me, but I was cradling a bottle of root beer.
“You realize that isn’t really alcohol,
right?” Mike asked through a full mouth.
I took another drag anyway. “For the soul.”
He chuckled, swigging his own. “You’re too poetic, dude.” I couldn’t tell if it was a joke.
“Yeah.” The response was short but I didn’t care.
He groaned, chucking a chip at me. I ducked. “Man, snap out of it.”
I shrugged.
He sighed. “It’s going to be a long night.”
* * * *
Hours passed. The fireworks wouldn’t start for another hour and my head was pounding. “Man, I think you had a few too many root beers,” Mike joked, shoving my shoulder.
I sneered back. “You’re so funny.”
He chuckled before exhaling. “Seriously, though, Lucas… You’re looking a little green.”
“Thanks,” I answered sarcastically.
He sighed. “Come on, man.” He patted my back encouragingly. “Cheer up.”
“I’m fine,” I answered, crossing my arms and flopping onto the sand.
“You aren’t fine—” Mike began but cut short. “Um, Clara, what are you doing?”
My eyes snapped up. “Clara?” My little sister was stumbling down the beach, root beer clutched between her fingers in one of her signature skimpy bikinis. Her hair was wild and her eyes shone with alcohol. “Clara!” I yelled, jumping to my feet.
Her eyes turned to meet mine. “Lucas!” She giggled, grinning and stumbling to where Mike and I now stood. “Having a good time?” Her words slurred.
“Clara, you’re drunk,” I exclaimed as she took my arm, grinning.
“Oh, come on, Lucas! I’m just having a bit of fun. It’s just root beer,” she countered, leaning against me.
