by S. E. Hall
We stumble a bit, laughing as we climb, until we reach Dane’s room. I keep one drawer in his dresser filled with my stuff, and dig her out a navy t-shirt. “You can change right there in the bathroom.”
“Thanks, Laney.”
When she’s in there, and I have the barrier of the shut door between us, I unload. “Hey, Whitley?” I say, a hair above a whisper, with my forehead braced against the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’m, uh, I’m really sorry I tackled you the other day. It was mean and I shouldn’t have done it.” Three times. No, it’s not just the alcohol talking. I really have felt bad about it for a while.
“It’s okay.” Her answer is as soft and hesitant as my apology. “You seem so different tonight, Whitley. More… Maybe I’ve misjudged you. I’m sorry for that too.”
“Me too.” The door opens and she peeks around it, her eyes watery. “I didn’t like you either, and I’ve antagonized you every chance I got. I shouldn’t have drawn attention to the tattoo. And I…” she bows her head and reaches up to wipe the now falling tears, “I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” I walk over and sit on Dane’s bed and pat the spot beside me, “let’s talk.”
She timidly walks over and sits as far away from me as possible. “Okay, so we’ve both been mean for no real reason. How about if we start over—clean slate?”
A deep, dramatic breath escapes her. “I would really, really like that, Laney.”
“Same.” I nod and smile. “Nice to meet you, I’m Laney Walker,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’m a standoffish, mouthy smartass, but once I have your back, I have it 200%.”
She shakes my hand and giggles. “Whitley Thompson, nice to meet you too. I’m not athletic, but I can take a hit, or three, like nobody else. And I’m a really good friend if you let me be.”
I’m not drunk enough to cry, hug her, or any other huge jump past a good start, but I do wear a big smile and my soul feels lighter. I start to stand up and head back when she lays a hand on my arm.
“Laney?” I turn back, giving her a curious look. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I concede, sitting back down.
“Are you gonna hate me again if I really try to go after something with Evan? I mean, we just made up, and I really want to be your friend, but I also really like him.”
It is at this exact moment that I truly understand how Evan has felt. Another girl will get to love Evan, with her heart, her soul…her body. She’ll get his visits to her window, his sweet “Good Morning” texts, and his movie snugglethons. Reality hits like a brick in the face, but only for a moment. And in perhaps the surest sign I’ll ever have of exactly how my love for Dane consumes me and how deep my friendship with Evan goes, the little cloud that passed over my mind and heart now disappears and I realize all the bullshit I’ve been feeding myself to make me feel better is true. I really do only want Evan to be happy, and whoever he chooses to do that better make damn sure she deserves him.
I can’t lie to myself, Whitley is a beautiful girl. She’s obviously very forgiving and shy with some hidden funky, yet still proper, refined, articulate…all the things I’m not. Evan seems very comfortable with her, and if this girl thinks she’s the one for him, who am I to stop her? I’ll tell you who I am—I’m the lucky girl who has Dane Kendrick, and the non-hypocritical good friend who’s about to put her money where her mouth is! That’s me.
“Not only am I not gonna hate you,” I square my shoulders and raise my chin, “I’m gonna help you. But Whitley, I’m warning you. It’s kinda like, ‘I can say whatever I want about my family, but you better not say a word?’ I may have hurt him, but if you do, I’ll come for you with a vengeance. Got it?”
“Y-Yes,” she visibly shivers, “got it.”
“Great! Now that we’ve got that settled, let me give you some pointers on Evan. Starting with that ridiculous outfit you put him in.”
She falls against the bed, giggling. “He’s gonna kill me! I thought it was going to be like a dinner party.”
“Whitley, anything I invite you to will never be a stuffy dinner party. If I’m there, he’s safe to wear his ball cap, got that too?”
“Got it.” She nods happily, biting back another snicker. “I bet he’s uncomfortable. I should call our driver and end his misery.”
“Yeah, it’s getting late,” I agree, moving to the door. “Come on, let’s go wrap it up.”
Whitley follows me back down to the game, talking on her phone as we go. I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but I can’t help hear the panic in her voice. “Cancelled, what do you mean cancelled? Check again, please, we’ve used your company for years.”
Evan’s eyes catch mine as we enter the room, and they tell me he’s been panicking every second I was alone with Whitley.
“Come here,” I mouth, beckoning him with a back tilt of my head, to which he rushes over. “Something’s wrong, she’s freaking out,” I tell him under my breath.
He lays a hand on her shoulder. “Whit, what’s wrong?” His voice is all things Evan, tender and concerned.
“Well, can I just pay you for this one time when you get here?” she begs into the phone. “All right, thank you anyway,” her voice quivers back after a slight pause. She hangs up, turning her confused and pained face to Evan and I. “That was the car service company. They say our service is cancelled. How weird is that?”
“Not that weird, Whit,” Evan scoffs with an easy smile, “lots of people don’t have car services. Come on, we only played two rounds, and there was wasn’t much in my cup. I’ll drive us home in an hour or so, no biggie.”
“Y’all just stay here,” I offer, “there’s more than enough room.
Seriously,” I plead with both my voice and eyes.
“I’m okay with that plan if you are.” Whitley turns to him and I back away, feeling like an intruder in their personal, private conversation.
I see him nod his head and pull her by the hand back to the game.
Guess they’re staying.
REUBENS AND FRIES
“So you’re sure you don’t want to come? Last chance…” I try to tempt Zach and Avery one more time to join us for Spring Break.
“You don’t know how bad we wish we could, right, babe?” Zach frowns and gives Avery’s ponytail a tug.
“Yes,” she answers in a whiny drawl, “but the minute Coach announced Mrs. Coach got put on bedrest and we actually got a Spring Break, we made plans with Kirby. I can’t trust her to go on Spring Break alone; God only knows what would happen to her. You guys have fun, though. And just think,” she smiles now, her voice more cheery, “when you get back, you’ll be Zach’s roommate!”
I can’t even begin to tell you how happy that makes me. My roommate is a douche, and the few times I’ve actually been in the room at the same time as him were too many. Did I mention he’s a “naturalist”? Whatever the fuck that actually means I’m not sure, but I define it as “dude who doesn’t wear deodorant and whatever he eats makes his ass smell like…well, ass.” Zach’s roommate, apparently also a douche, had gotten himself suspended, and voila! After a little sweet talking from Whitley to Student Housing and I’m coming back from Spring Break as Zach’s new roomie!
“Yeah, that’ll be great. Okay then, if you’re sure you can’t—”
“Hold up!” Sawyer’s yell interrupts me as he comes jogging towards us. “I’m in,” he announces, throwing his bag in the back of my truck.
“How’d you get off work?”
He’d originally declined the invitation because of his shifts at The K, so I was curious how he pulled it off.
“Dane’s in Hawaii, meaning Tate’s in charge. And since he’s my man, he made some new guy pick up my shifts! Sucka! So here I am! Now drive me to drunken co-ed paradise!”
I just shake my head and chuckle at him.
“Why are you shaking your head? Whitley said there was hot ass and parties everywhere, right?”
“Yes, S
awyer.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not down to be a third wheel unless I’m getting laid.”
“It’s not like that. No third wheel to it.”
“Uh huh, whatever.”
Sometimes he exhausts me. “Just get in the truck.”
We wave goodbye to Zach and Avery, climb in my truck, and head to Whitley’s to pick her up. She’s invited us to stay at her family’s beach house on Hilton Head, about an hour and a half from school, for the whole week and damn if I’m not excited. Yes, Laney’s in Hawaii with Dane. I did a shot of the hard stuff the first time I heard. I slammed the door the second time it was mentioned. But now…now all I want to do is get to MY Spring Break, lay back in the sun, take in the salty smell of the ocean and relax.
Whitley’s not ready when we get there—shocker. She’s ticking things off on her fingers and talking to herself. I sure as hell can’t understand the muffled feline rumblings, so I hope her list has nothing to do with me.
“Whit? What can I help you with?” I ask for the third time, and when she still doesn’t stop buzzing around to answer me, I dust her face with the flower I’d snagged her on the way in, finally getting her attention. “Chill out, woman. It’s all gonna be fine. Anything we forget, we obviously don’t really need or we can run to the store to pick up. Now hand me and Sawyer the stuff to load and let’s go.”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. Get the pile by the door and I’ll grab the stuff in my room, then I think we’re ready. And thank you for the flower.” She sniffs it again. “This is the first yellow one.”
“She’s a busy lil thing, ain’t she?” Sawyer shakes his head with a smirk when she leaves. “She’s gonna spin herself in the ground.”
“Let’s not let her. We gotta make sure she has fun.”
“Oh, I think that’s your department, stud.”
I roll my eyes at him and throw him some bags. “Shut up and help me load this stuff.”
Ten minutes later, all the gear is packed and Whitley’s in the truck after she’d jumped out once to double-check that she locked her door. I let out a chuckle when I think of my current situation. Could you pack three more different people into the cab of a truck and send them on vacation together? No, no, you couldn’t, and yet, I’m as at peace as I remember being in quite a while.
My contentment turns into full-blown happiness when I pick it up over the sound of the wind rushing in through my open window. Whitley’s humming “On the Road Again,” the old Willie Nelson song. And before I know I did it, I lean over and kiss the top of her head. She’s just so cute sometimes, I can’t help it. I recover quickly and stare out in front of me, nothing more fascinating now than the two yellow lines on the road. But I see her, out of the corner of my eye, blush and smile. And about that blush…now I wanna do it again.
Her hair was soft and smelt like clean and strawberries, clean strawberries. And I noticed because…
“How long ‘til we’re there?” Sawyer asks.
“About thirty more minutes or so,” Whitley answers him sweetly. “I’m so glad you came, Sawyer.” She pats his leg companionably. “I brought the stuff to make your favorite—Reubens and fries. Maybe I’ll make it tonight.”
Sawyer’s mouth drops open and his lip curls, his brows completely vanishing into his hairline. I watch him out of one eye, hating that I have to keep the other on the road and may miss what comes next. “How’d you know that was my favorite?” he asks in a shocked, but tender, voice.
“You said it one time. You and I were sitting around with Dane and Tate, eating pizza one night, and you said, ‘I’m so sick of pizza all the time. I’d kiss you boys square on the ass for a Reuben and some homemade fries.’”
I’m about to wreck I’m laughing so hard, because when she quoted him in that story, she did it in her best deep Sawyer voice. Classic.
And big ol’ Sawyer, crude, rude and socially unacceptable, takes a minute to respond. When he does, it’s in a voice I’ve never heard him use, and it’s so quiet, I hardly hear it now. “I remember that, and you remembering it… Well,” hear his gulp vibrates off the inside of the cab, “ah, come ‘ere, you sweet lil’ thing.” He pulls her in and bear hugs her, kissing the top of her head.
Hey! That’s my move.
“Sound good?” she asks him, pulling subtly away from him and shifting back to me, a little closer this time it seems.
“Hell yeah it does! You hear that, Evan? Whitley’s gonna make us a feast tonight!”
Of course I heard it, I’m sitting two feet from you and not paying near enough attention to the road because I’m watching your interactions like a hawk.
“Yeah,” I laugh, “I heard.” I dip my head to her and take one last, quick sniff of her hair. “I’ll peel the potatoes for ya,” I whisper.
The three of us are laughing when we pull up to the beach house, Whitley having treated us to a game of Name That Tune the rest of the ride. She may be better at it than anyone else I know, and yes I mean Laney. And Sawyer? Well he doesn’t know the right words to a single song, no matter the year, the genre…the tune even, which is why we’re laughing so hard. Seriously? Who doesn’t know the words to “Rockstar” by Nickelback? Sawyer Beckett, that’s who. In Sawyer’s world, they play dirty Pictionary and drive filthy cars.
This place is amazing—at least three stories with white pillars and a balcony at the highest window. You can see the ocean right behind it from the driveway and the tropical plants and trees planted around the front certainly give it the “beach” look. It’s magnificent, marred only by the sign in the yard. I look to Whitley, whose face is pale. Her eyes are filled with pain, telling me she, too, has spotted it.
Sawyer gets out and comes up behind us, first following Whitley’s stare to the glaring red word, “Foreclosure,” then looking over her head to me with “shit, what do we do?” eyes.
“Whitley, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.” I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her to me. I have no idea where else we can go, but it’s all I can come up with, since asking if she’s sure we’re at the right house seems as dumb as it was the minute it crossed my mind.
I lean my head down to look at her when she remains silent and see the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Hey, shh…” I murmur, tucking her head into my chest as she wraps her arms around my waist. “Sawyer, we’ll be back in a bit. We’re gonna take a walk.”
He just nods and I take Whitley’s hand, leading her around the side of the house, down to the beach. There’s a low rock wall that starts off the sides of the patio, leading down to the water, creating a barrier between their beach backyard and the neighbor’s, which appears to be about a mile away. Pretentious? Probably, but handy now as I guide her to sit down on it and take a seat beside her, rubbing her back.
We sit in silence for a long while just listening to the waves crashing on the shore. I give her time, walking down a few steps to break off a stalk of the eye-catching orange and purple plant I spotted as we sat and hand it to her with a sympathetic smile. Her tears finally start slowing, and as I look at her in concern, I force my lip not to curl at my thoughts—she even cries with class and elegance. No snorting, no snot sucking…just beautiful agony.
“I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing. I didn’t know,” she says sweetly, her shoulders shaking with a sarcastic chortle. “They don’t tell me the important stuff, you know. Just how to eat, walk, dress and keep up the act that we’re perfect. The fact that they’re obviously in financial trouble and losing my favorite place in the whole world? Well, that slipped their mind.”
“It’s not your fault, Whit, don’t even apologize. I’m just sorry this happened to you. Do you wanna call your parents or something?”
“No,” she shakes her head adamantly, “they’d be angry I came without telling them and found out. They’ll tell me when they want me to know, I guess.”
“I can tell you really love this place.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “I can see why; it’s
great.”
Well shit, that probably wasn’t smart. No sense rubbing it in her face. I see now why my dad is so quiet and rarely in trouble with my mother. Noted.
“We’d come here every summer for two whole weeks. Most of the time with Dane and his parents, and in the beginning, when we were real young, Tate, too. Our dads wouldn’t work while we were here, and no meetings meant they’d play in the water with us all day. My mom would always make red, white, and blue cake for the fourth and all the boys would set off fireworks for hours.” She sighs deeply and turns her head into my shirt, her voice muffled and pained. “It was the only time of year when nothing came before being a family. I was allowed to be a little kid and play outside with other kids. My mother never noticed or yelled if I got dirty.” She sighs. “This place represents everything I loved about my childhood.”
I sneak a finger under her chin and lift her face, searching her eyes, as blue as the ocean beside us, for acceptance. “Whitley, I—”
“Y’all get lost?” Sawyer’s voice startles us both and I drop my hand, standing quickly.
“Nah, we were just heading back.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he sniggers. “So, Whitley, I took the dark blue room. That cool?”
Whitley has now walked over to us and stands beside me, every bit as dumbfounded as I am. It’s like one half of my brain knows exactly what he’s saying, and why, but the other half is screaming “oh surely not!” She’s thinking the same thing, one hand raised to her mouth, her eyes wide.
“So, my key still worked?” Her big grin is forced, as though begging him to answer correctly. She and I both know the dreaded response coming, though.
“Fuck no,” he replies with a shrug, “guess they already changed the locks. No worries, though, the side door to the garage had a window and the interior door was flimsy as shit. Presto! Minimal damage, maximum entrance.”
My head drops on its own, shaking, and I reach up to rub my eyes. I hear Whitley’s sharp intake of breath right before she speaks.
“Sawyer…are you telling me you broke into my parents’ foreclosed beach house?” She laughs, or chokes, it could go either way. “That’s not what you’re saying, is it?”
