One Small Thing

by Erin Watt

  “Sounds good.” I try to be cheerful for Scar’s sake, but I don’t know how thrilled I am about her liking Jeff.

  When he was dating Rachel, I thought he was the greatest guy in the world. But truth is, I didn’t know him too well. Since he’s come back to Darling, I’ve gotten to know him better, particularly the night of the Lincoln party, and—I have to be honest again—the more I know of him, the less I like.

  But I can’t say that to Scarlett, because she looks so excited about this Friday night plan. Also, because Jeff is sauntering our way.

  “Hey, hotties,” he says with a wink.

  Jeff joins us, slings an arm around both of our shoulders. “Let’s skip out and go to Starbucks for a midmorning snack.”

  “We’re not supposed to leave campus unless it’s for lunch,” I remind him.

  “Today no one will care,” Jeff promises.

  “What a great idea, Jeff,” Scarlett says enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically for someone who’s agreed to spend too much money for a box lunch with three apple slices, eight grapes and a pita bread the size of your palm. But Scar’s beaming. True love never gets hungry. “Come with us.” She tugs on my arm.

  I give in again. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Okay. Meet me after Calc. I’m skipping.” He bends over with a hand to his stomach. “Stomach flu.”

  He scampers off to the nurse’s station, high-fiving Troy on the way.

  “Isn’t he funny?” Scar coos.

  True love doesn’t need a good sense of humor.

  “Hilarious,” I say and then hurry to the classroom before Scar’s crush requires more lies from me.

  We’re ten minutes into AP Calc when the classroom phone rings. Mrs. Russell throws down the dry-erase marker and stomps over to answer. She’s not happy with the interruption. Troy uses the time to throw wadded-up notebook paper at Chase’s back.

  “Mr. Donnelly. You need to go to the principal’s office. Your probation officer is on the phone.”

  Troy and his friends erupt in jeering laughter.

  My stomach drops. How does Chase stand it? My fingers curl into a fist, but I keep my eyes pinned to my desk because if I see even the smallest hint of pain in his face, I’m going to lose it.

  Chase leaves, his gait stiffer than normal but his head still high.

  “He’s tough,” Scarlett admits in a whisper. “I couldn’t stand this abuse.”

  I’m startled. Scarlett’s been pretty vocal with her anti-Chase sentiments—Jeff’s rubbing off on her, I guess. But she sounds genuinely sympathetic right now.

  “I wouldn’t be able to stand it, either,” I whisper back.

  Minutes elapse. Mrs. Russell scribbles a formula on the board. I jot it down carefully just in case Chase needs it later.

  Troy and his cronies are whispering about something. I try to tune them out, but Manson catches my attention. I lean back as nonchalantly as possible.

  “...catch him...kick out...finally.”

  Worried, I glance at the clock. It’s been nearly ten minutes. I raise my hand.

  “Yes, Ms. Jones?”

  “I need a bathroom pass.”

  “Come and get it.” The teacher nods to the key on the desk.

  Scarlett shoots me a questioning glance.

  I’ll tell you later, I mouth. Although what I’ll tell her, I haven’t decided.

  I grab the key and hurry down the hall. Halfway toward the principal’s office, I see Chase returning to the classroom.

  “Hey.” I give him a little wave. “What was that all about?”

  He shrugs and keeps walking.

  I fall in step beside him, wishing he’d say something. What did his probation officer want? Is he going to be taken away?

  My distress must be written on my face, because he lets out a quick breath and says, “You can chill, Beth. There was no probation officer, okay? The caller hung up the second I said hello.”

  I flash back to the chortling boys at the back of the classroom. “Probably Troy and his stupid crew.”

  “Probably. It’s no big deal.” Which I think means that he wants me to stop talking about it.

  I pause in the middle of the hall, shifting awkwardly. “Are you going to the game Friday night?”

  His incredulous expression tells me what a stupid question that was. Like he’d ever cheer for anything but for Troy to fall into a lake.

  I hope he doesn’t notice me blushing. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

  “Good call.” He starts walking again.

  I dash forward to keep up with him. “I gave my parents a contract where I promise to be good in exchange for them allowing me some freedom,” I blurt out.

  This time, he’s the one who halts. “And?” he says, looking interested.

  “And it worked. They agreed. I got my phone and my bedroom door back. And my car, but only to go to school and work.”

  “That’s great.” He sounds genuinely enthused for me.

  “I’m pretty happy. Plus, I’m wearing new lip gloss so today’s a good day.” I make a pretty pout with my lips.

  A small smile tugs at his lips. “Lip gloss is all it takes to make you happy, huh?”

  “You said to focus on one small thing at a time. Today it’s new lip gloss. It tastes like strawberries.” I nudge his arm with my shoulder. “What’s your thing today?”

  He gazes down at me. I swear his eyes linger on my lips. “I was thinking of how much I like the color rose.”

  I rub my lips together. His gaze tracks the movement. I remember how my mouth tingled when his lips were pressed against mine.

  “And how much I like strawberries,” he adds, and I swear I can see his pulse hammering in his throat.

  Is he going to kiss me?

  He inches a bit closer.

  My own pulse careens wildly. If he kisses me, I don’t know what I’d do. Probably push him away.

  Chase’s calloused hand cups my cheek, and I don’t push him away.

  “Such a bad idea,” he whispers as his mouth dips closer.

  “Terrible idea,” I whisper back.

  My breath gets stuck in my lungs. His lips are soft and warm as they brush mine in a kiss that lasts barely a second, because the screech of a fire alarm has us jumping away from each other.

  Just in time, too, because without warning, students start bursting out into the hallway.

  Scarlett comes running and grabs my arm. She doesn’t even notice Chase; she’s too excited. “It’s a fire alarm!” she squeals. “Let’s go get Jeff. Starbucks, here we come.”

  I try hard not to look at him. Don’t look, don’t look. If I do, my expression will give something away. Scarlett will know something just went down between us. Hell, I’m surprised she can’t hear my deafening heartbeat over the fire alarm.

  Don’t look, I order as Scarlett starts dragging me away.

  I can’t help it—I take one quick peek over my shoulder. Chase’s blue eyes convey understanding as they lock with mine. In fact, his lips even quirk in a smile, as if to say what can ya do?

  Not kiss my sister’s killer in the middle of the hallway at school—that’s what I can do.

  I’m breathing hard by the time we make it outside, and it’s not just from the trek it took to get out here. Chase’s kiss stole the oxygen from my body, along with my common sense. I can still taste him on my lips.

  Jeff’s waiting on the curb when we reach the front doors. Scarlett flies down the stairs, laughing. She looks like she wants to jump into Jeff’s arms.

  “Hurry or we’ll have to wait in line,” she urges.

  As I notice other students stream across the street, I see we’re not the only ones with the bright idea to sneak in a caffeine fix.

  “Not to worry.” Jeff brandishes his phone. “I a
lready ordered using the app.”

  “Oh, you’re so prepared!” Scarlett gushes.

  Almost too prepared...

  Suspicion builds inside me, but I try to ignore it as we head over to the Starbucks. I ignore it when we’re standing at the counter to get our drinks, and I ignore it as we leave the coffeehouse.

  I’m just being paranoid. So what if Jeff was already outside and all prepped with a coffee order for us, as if he’d known we’d be running out of the school at that exact moment? So what if—

  “Did you pull the fire alarm?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.

  Scarlett gasps midsip of her Frappuccino.

  Unfazed, Jeff licks the whipped frothing off the top of his drink. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

  I gape at him. “Why would you ever—” The demand dies in my throat when we near the school.

  There are two cop cars and a fire truck parked out front.

  “Oh no,” Scarlett says, clutching the sleeve of Jeff’s navy-and-white-striped shirt. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

  “No, I won’t.” His handsome face sports a smug grin. “I’m not the criminal in school.”

  And sure enough, the crowd parts and two men in blue uniforms lead a familiar figure to the back of the last cop car.

  I thrust my cup in Scarlett’s direction and start running.

  22

  “Beth! Are you nuts? Come back here!”

  I’ve made it only ten or so yards before Scarlett catches up to me and yanks me backward. She’s on the school track team, so she’s fast when she wants to be. And right now she’s determined to keep me from racing to Chase’s rescue.

  “What are you doing?” she demands. “The cops are dealing with him. You’ll just get in their way.”

  Wait, she doesn’t think I want to help him. She thinks I want to help the cops.

  All around us, the kids waiting out the fire alarm whisper and gossip among themselves. Pointing at Chase, snickering behind their hands, spreading a wave of poison through the crowd.

  “Of course it was him.”

  “He was the first one I thought of when I heard it was a fake alarm.”

  “I hope he’s gone after this. He’s ruining this school.”

  “I knew he pulled the alarm the moment I heard it. I have a sixth sense about these things.” This is from Macy, who rushes up to me and Scarlett with Yvonne in tow.

  Her stupid comment has me whirling on her. “Seriously, Mace? You believed that a blind person could drive as long as a seeing-eye dog was in the car at the time.”

  She gasps. “Yvonne swore it was true. Why wouldn’t I believe my best friend?” She crosses her arms over her chest in indignation.

  “Macy’s gullible, but it doesn’t mean she’s a bad judge of character,” Yvonne chimes in.

  “Yeah, what she said.”

  The two of them stand in solidarity against me. Actually, make that the four of them, because Jeff marches up to join the group. He thrusts Scarlett’s Frappuccino in her hand, while white-knuckling his own drink.

  “Why were you running over there?” Jeff asks in a low voice.

  “Because he didn’t do it and somebody needs to tell the cops that,” I announce frostily.

  A stunned silence falls.

  Then they all attack.

  “You’re standing up for him?” Scarlett, incredulous.

  “Are you fucking stupid?” Jeff, repulsed.

  “Why are you standing up for him?” Macy, horrified.

  “He killed your sister.” Yvonne, disappointed.

  None of them are being quiet about it, which means everyone around us can hear what’s being said. And my other classmates have no problems voicing their unwanted opinions, too, until all I hear are whispers and accusations again.

  “You’re sick,” says another student.

  “I heard she never even cried at her sister’s funeral.”

  “Cried? I swear, she was laughing.”

  The insults start flying. My friends don’t defend me.

  “So it’s going to be like this,” I say to them, shaking my head.

  I don’t wait for an answer. Chase needs my help, and I’ll be damned if I let him get punished for something he didn’t do.

  I push through the crowd, ignoring the jeers.

  “Stop. Stop.” I wave my hands toward the cops. “I’m a witness,” I call out. “He didn’t do it.”

  “Beth, don’t,” Chase murmurs. His hands are shackled behind his back. There’s a dull flush highlighting the tops of his cheekbones.

  One of the cops has a hand around Chase’s upper arm. The other is opening the back of the police cruiser. I catch a glimpse of a dirty interior and the cage separating the front seats from the back.

  Ignoring Chase, I turn to the officer nearest me, a stocky guy with a thick middle and a round face.

  “Sir. Please. Chase—Charlie didn’t do it. He was with me when the alarm went off.” He was kissing me. Oh God, what if I have to say that out loud, in front of everyone? I ignore the queasy knot in my gut and insist, “He couldn’t have pulled it.”

  “Did you see him not pull the alarm?”

  I pause, not quite understanding the question.

  “Go to class,” Chase says in a voice that is more tired than confrontational.

  “You heard your boyfriend. Go back inside.” The officer jerks his head toward the brick building. “Kids these days. No sense at all,” he mutters to his coworker. “Come on. In you go.” He jerks Chase forward.

  I try to intervene and am met with a hard arm.

  “Go inside,” the cop orders.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. And I’m telling you the truth. He didn’t do this.”

  “You can make a statement at the station.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t” is Chase’s urgent whisper.

  The look of pain on his face wounds me. Without another word, I spin on my heel and run in the opposite direction toward the school. Screw this. The cops obviously don’t want to hear what I have to say. Chase doesn’t even want me to say what I have to say.

  But there’s no way I’m letting this happen.

  There are more whispers as I sprint past groups of students. Words pelting me like sharp sleet.

  “Isn’t that Beth Jones?”

  “What was she doing with him?”

  “You’d think she had better taste.”

  I burst into the principal’s office to find it thick with adults. I search for Principal Geary, standing up on my tiptoes to see over the heads of people crowded in the administration hallway. I give up and arrow to the front desk.

  “Where’s Principal Geary?” I ask our receptionist.

  “He’s busy, dear.” She barely looks up from her computer.

  “I know, but—” I spot him out of the corner of my eye, huddling with a few other teachers. “Mr. Geary!”

  “Beth—” the receptionist intervenes.

  I ignore her. “Mr. Geary.” I wave my hand in the air.

  He walks over. “What is it, Elizabeth?”

  “It’s about Chase—I mean, Charlie. Donnelly. It’s about him. I know—I saw—He’s not.” I can’t get the words straight.

  “It’s all right.” He pats me on the shoulder. “This should be enough to get him expelled.”

  “But he didn’t do it,” I cry, throwing up my hands in frustration.

  “You don’t need to stand up for him. It’s admirable that you want him to get a fair shot here and we gave him one. Now it’s time for him to get his education in a place that doesn’t disrupt the rest of you.” Geary smiles with encouragement and turns away.

  I could scream. No one is listening to me. Absolutely no one. I feel the tears coming and I blink through th
e stinging sensation. I don’t care how mad I am right now. I cannot cry. Everyone is already not taking me seriously. Tears will just make me look hysterical.

  I scan the room frantically, looking for someone—anyone who will take me seriously.

  When I spot my guidance counselor, I hustle over and tug on her sleeve. “Ms. Tannenhauf, please listen to me.”

  “What is it?” she asks, turning in my direction.

  I launch into my defense. “Charlie didn’t do it. I was with him—um, walking right beside him when the alarm sounded. He got called to the principal’s office because his probation officer was on the phone, but the probation officer wasn’t on the line. You can call the officer. There have to be records, right?”

  Ms. T squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll check all those details out at the station.”

  Will they? Why would they? They have their target, and I’m afraid Chase won’t speak up for himself. He doesn’t want to cause trouble.

  “Take me there,” I beg.

  “Where?” She smiles, not comprehending my request at all.

  “To the station. I need to go there. Nobody is listening to me here.”

  Enlightenment dawns, and with it a frown of disapproval. “You should go back to class, Beth.”

  That’s when I lose it. With a dark glare, I plant my hands on my hips and face off with the guidance counselor. “All my life you teachers have said that we need to stand up and do the right thing. That if we see someone being bullied, we need to say something. If there’s something bad going down, we don’t turn away. That it takes one voice to make a difference. Well, I’m that voice.” I jab my thumb in my chest.

  Around me the room has fallen silent. The teachers and administrators are staring at me. I might’ve been shouting, but I force myself to lift my chin and not avert my eyes. I’m doing the right thing here. I’m not going to be embarrassed.

  “Please.” I direct one last plea in my guidance counselor’s direction.

  She sighs, but nods. “Okay. I’ll take you down.”

  “Emma, do you think that’s wise?” Mr. Geary interjects.