by Jolene Perry
I lick my lips once before answering. “I turn it off.” I’ve turned a lot off. “Matthew thinks this is where my sarcasm comes from.” And my cold, cold heart, but I leave that out.
Hartman gives me a curt nod, which gives me exactly zero insight into what he’s thinking.
After a few moments he pauses. “You’re a puzzle.”
“Puzzle?” I ask.
“You and Bree spend a lot of time putting yourselves together.” He gestures to my little black dress and red lips. “But you really do give off the air that you don’t give a crap about anything.”
I’m not sure how to answer.
“Part of me wonders if it’s a mask.” He shoves his hands further in his pockets. “If all of it is. I’m being honest when I say that I’m totally putting on a mask everyday.”
“I care about things,” I say. “People, I mean.”
He scratches the back of his head before shoving his hand back in his pocket. He’s still watching his shoes. “I know. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk and say you didn’t care. That was bad phrasing or something. But you are…You’re a puzzle, you know.”
“I don’t mean to be.” Or maybe I do. My life is much simpler when I have just Bree and me and my family. Fewer people in my life means fewer chances for me to lose someone I’m close to.
When we reach the small gate near my house, he once again holds it open for me.
“I’m gonna head for home, I guess.”
“Thanks for the walk.”
“Don’t worry too much about Bree.” Hartman shrugs. “Just be her friend.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But people do stupid things when they like someone.” He stops next to his car and grabs the door handle.
“Like what?”
“Like…” He opens the driver’s side door and smiles. “Agree to drive an old hearse just to get a date.”
And then he’s in his car and driving away, and I’m left in the nearly empty parking lot feeling like firecrackers are pinging around inside me.
I jerk out my phone and text Bree.
I have news.
Flipping my phone over in my hands, I walk toward the back of the house and text her again.
This is one of those “call now” kind of news bits.
My cheeks hurt from grinning. I really need her to answer. She’ll be so proud of me for going to prom.
Bree?
Leaning against the rock wall that marks the edge of the cemetery, I stare at my phone. Silently will Bree to text back. Flip the phone over.
Nothing.
Chapter 16
Random mumbling conversations pass me in the halls as the school slowly fills up. My brain stumbles over thoughts from another night of too-little sleep. I stare at the inside of my locker, like that’ll somehow help me focus.
The more I think about Bree and Bryce, the more scared I am for her. Some things you can’t take back. She never answered my texts last night or this morning, and that’s just weird—especially since I told her I had news. Involving Hartman. Answering late is one thing. Not answering? I’m not even sure how to react.
I flick my locker shut and start for Bree’s.
“Gotcha!” Bree leaps onto my back from behind, and I shriek.
“Holy crap!” I spin, clutching my chest. “What was that about?”
“You’re it.” She snorts and I cough.
“What is that smell?”
Bree rolls her eyes and sets her hands on her hips. She’s in dark-wash designer jeans and a boring white tank top. This is not Bree. “What smell do you think you smell?” she asks.
“Toothpaste and…whiskey?”
Her eyes get wide, but they’re not really super focused either. “Wow. You’re good.”
“Are you drunk?” I hiss. “At school?”
She pinches her fingers in front of her and squints. “Maybe a little.”
I grit my teeth and step closer. Everything Hartman told me about relaxing and being a good friend evaporates, unlike the smell around my friend. “What the hell is wrong with you? I had big news last night, and you never wrote me back.” Friends share. Friends text back. She’s wanted me to be involved with someone, and now that I’m sort of stepping that way, she’s not even around for it because she’s drunk? Am I hurt? Mad? Confused?
Bree snorts and pushes my chest lightly. “Lighten up, Gabe. I was busy.”
I jerk back.
She waves her hand loosely in the air. “Not all of us have perfect parents and great lives and…”
“What are you talking about?”
Bree wobbles a little before leaning in again. “I was out too late, and the best cure for a hangover…” she sings.
Now is when I need to say it sucks that my feelings are being hurt by my best friend because she isn’t paying attention to me. Instead I say, “I’m just worried about you, because this Bryce thing is—”
“Oh!” Bree throws her hands in the air. “I’m so done with the same stupid conversation!”
I step back. “What?”
“Leave Bryce alone, Gabe. Why can’t you just be normal? This would be so much easier if you were more normal.”
Bree has never asked this of me. Ever. And I’m not that strange. We do the same things. We’re a team. Or we used to be. My throat swells, and I’m blinking over and over as liquid fills my eyes. “We’re…friends.”
She grabs my shoulders. “And you talk about dead people and past lives and families I don’t know, and you can’t lighten up enough to even allow me some fun.” If she makes another move, my blinks won’t be enough to keep tears from falling. “You don’t even get how good you have it. You just…you just don’t.”
“I’m just watching out for you,” I whisper. This conversation doesn’t feel like it could actually be happening. Bree and I are solid. We share things…I thought we did.
“Yeah. Well.” She stands up a little taller, dropping her hands. Her body wavers a bit from side to side. “I don’t need you to watch out for me. I stayed with Bryce last night. Do you know who noticed I never came home? No one.”
That’s it. Bree isn’t the problem. It’s Bryce. And he’s almost always in the same place before school. There are no words for Bree in my head, but I have a lot of things I’d like to unleash on Bryce.
I leave Bree and run through the halls, across the gym, and out the doors next to the field. I’m not losing my best friend to stupid Bryce Johnson.
Bryce laughs, tossing the ball into the air, and the bell rings. I don’t know if I’m tardy or if that was our warning bell. I don’t care.
“Leave my friend alone!” I yell. “Getting her drunk before school? Are you stupid on top of being an asshole? She can’t afford to be in trouble! Her parents will come take her back! Her grammy will send her away!”
Bryce’s smile falls. “Hey.” He takes a step closer to me. “I was trying to help. Her dad’s being an ass over her grammy and the kid he’s having with his girlfriend, and I wanted her to be able to forget about all that for a while. And don’t for a minute think either of her parents will come running back here to take her away. Her grammy isn’t with it enough to call them anyway.”
I’m stunned still for a second because I don’t know about Bree’s dad or her grammy. How is this possible? Confusion twists in my chest and then turns to anger the second I realize Bree’s told him things she hasn’t told me. What on earth has happened to her common sense since she started dating this guy? When did she so fully let go of me? “Do you seriously think that getting her drunk before school is going to help anything?”
“No!” he shouts back. “I don’t! But, unlike you, I don’t try dictate what she does or doesn’t do!”
“You just gave her a place to do it!” I yell back.
And the thought hits me in a rush—she didn’t ask me to be her safe place. She didn’t tell me about her grammy, not really. I didn’t know about her dad having another kid.
Bryce�
��s voice lowers. “Damn right I did.”
“This isn’t like her!” I shout, gesturing wildly back toward the school.
He leans back, folds his arms, and smirks. “She seemed to be all her last night at my house.”
I don’t think, just swing. Pain shoots through my palm and up my arm. I jerk my hand back into my chest, but if it hurt me, it had to have hurt him. I lunge forward and swing again. A large hand grabs me from behind, and I yell, flailing my arms until I hear Coach shout the f-word.
Stumbling a few more steps, I stop and lean against the gym doors, gasping for air as the world comes back into focus. I’ve wanted to hit Bryce for so long. So many years, months, weeks of humiliation were stored up for that punch.
“You.” Coach points at me. “I saw that. You’re coming with me.”
“She attacked me!” Bryce points out.
He’s totally unscarred. Like, doesn’t even look like…anything happened to him.
Damn.
“Look at me!” I yell as I hold up my swelling wrist. “I’m half your size!”
“Enough!” Coach yells. “Both of you with me. Principal’s office! Now!”
It hits me about halfway there that someone from the office will be calling one of my parents. I further know that there are services around lunchtime today, so when Mom or Dad comes to the school to collect me, they’ll be dressed exactly like the school assumes they dress every day.
Also. My wrist really freaking hurts.
I’m ushered into Mr. Conner’s office, and he frowns as I step inside.
“Ms. Osborn.”
Coach steps forward. “She came running outside from the gym, yelled at Bryce Johnson, and then slapped him on the face. Two or three times.”
I sit across from the principal and try every trick I know to keep myself calm. Pressing my hands on my thighs, I take three deep breaths—that should work even though my heart’s speeding on the verge of panic. I’m fairly certain that if I let myself really take in my surroundings, I might lose my composure, and that doesn’t feel like an option with Bryce here. “I was trying to punch him, but…but I’ve never hit anyone before, so I guess it could have been a slap.”
Mr. Conner blinks a few times. “Thanks, Coach. Take Bryce to the bench outside. I’ll take it from here.”
The door closes behind Coach and Bryce, and I feel like I’m in a movie where suddenly the door feels like a bank vault and all the furniture in the room has grown, leaving me shrunken and tiny.
“So, Gabriella,” he says. “Can I get your version of the story?”
I want to tell him that this guy brought my best friend to school drunk, but then she’ll be in trouble too. “I think Coach was pretty close. I don’t like Bryce. He’s dating my best friend, and he’s terrible for her. I confronted him. He was a jerk. I hit him.”
He deserves so much worse.
Mr. Conner lets out a long breath before tugging his tie from his neck. “I’m going to have to suspend you.”
Heat begins to creep up the back of my neck. “I figured,” I mumble.
“We’ll have your parents come collect you. Two days suspension.”
“Fair enough.”
“Did Bryce provoke you in any other way?” he asks.
“I’d check his blood-alcohol level,” I say, and leave it at that. Now I just hope he was drinking with Bree earlier.
The principal nods once. “And will you please refrain from hitting or attempting to punch students at this school when you return?”
I fold my hands in my lap and rub my lips together. The answer I’d like to give him is that if Bryce is removed from the school, my promise would be easy. Instead I just say, “Yep.”
He runs a hand down his blue-and-red tie. “I’m letting you off easy because your record here is clean.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes go from his tie to me.
“Nothing else going on?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Very well.” He starts typing into his computer, marking my clean record. “You can wait in the hallway outside my office for your parents.”
Crap.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Bryce throws me a dirty look when I step into the hallway, and I grin when I see that his right cheek is a little pink. My swelling wrist was totally worth it.
I clutch my backpack in my lap as Dad drives us home. His brown hair is swinging weirdly over his forehead, making me wonder how many times his hand ran through it on his way to get me.
“I don’t get it,” Dad says as he rakes a hand through his hair again. At least we’re in the family car instead of the hearse, but he is very predictably in a black suit and tie. He’s so old school.
Dad is someone I might actually be able to tell about Bree’s drinking and how much I think Bryce is influencing her. Or even about her grammy being so much more forgetful. But if Bree gets in trouble and is sent out of her grammy’s house, she’ll never forgive me. She’d end up with her mother in LA or her father in Nebraska.
“And this guy is Bree’s boyfriend, right?” Dad asks.
I nod again as I watch the houses and light posts and palm trees pass by. Home is so close. It’s stupid they made my dad come pick me up.
“That has to be causing some friction with you and Bree.” His voice is low, slow, and even—his very best sympathy voice.
I keep my eyes focused out the window. “A little.”
“I’m sorry, hon. If I can do anything to help, let me know.”
“Make her parents not act like selfish assholes?” I suggest.
“Language, Gabby.”
“Gabe,” I correct automatically. I want to ask if Dad somehow knows about Bree’s dad getting his girlfriend knocked up. No wonder he isn’t sending checks—he has another kid to save up for.
Dad eyes me as we pull into the parking lot in front of the funeral home. “You’re so grown-up.”
I’m never sure what to say when my parents get sentimental, but I’d really like out of the car if Dad wants to talk.
“And does this guy…Hartman…Does he get along with Bree?” Dad asks.
I shrug. “I don’t think they’ve talked much.” She’s been busy with Bryce.
“He seems like…a character,” Dad says with a partial smile. Dad’s a big fan of characters.
“I asked him to prom. Sort of.” And I should maybe make sure I can go. Like, ask my parents.
“And so you are…” Dad stammers. “I mean, are you…Do you…”
I shake my head at Dad. “We’re just going to prom. It’s no big deal. I’ll be home whenever you say. I mean, if you’re okay with me going after…today.”
“I don’t approve of your actions, but I can partially understand. You will do all the boring, stupid jobs you hate while you’re home for the next two days, including watching your sister after school, but if the school says you can go to prom, I think it’s fine.”
There’s actual relief that I can go, which is weird, because I didn’t even want to go to prom. Though, after today, I obviously need to stick close to Bree. We climb out of the car together, and Dad stares at me over the hood of the car. His mouth opens, and I wait for another partial lecture or question about my day, but then his face changes from sadness to something harsher.
“You can start your suspension by inventorying the snack closet, organizing the snack closet, and making a Costco list. You and your mom can head to Costco when she’s ready.”
I feel the groan fighting its way up my throat. But my day could have been a million times worse with a parent a million times more pissed off.
“Okay,” I manage. “Sounds great.”
Chapter 17
Mom and I pull into the driveway from the special hell that is Costco to find Hartman sitting on the hood of his car near the front door of the funeral home. He’s in a blue corduroy sport coat, skinny jeans, and another pair of old-man shoes. I look down at my Pride and Prejudice T-shirt, a pair of w
orn Vans, and my faded gray jeans. Costco isn’t worth a nice outfit, but Hartman might be.
“You’re sure you two aren’t dating?” Mom asks as we pull to a stop.
“I think you’re dating,” Mickey says from the backseat. “I mean, he’s here all the time.”
I spin to face her. “Why don’t you keep that to yourself since we were nice enough to get you from school early. And anyway, what would you know about dating?”
“I watch TV, and Great-Aunt Liza said that—” She snaps her mouth shut as soon as Mom’s head whips around.
“I’m sure we’re not dating,” I say, already feeling exhausted from my time out of school. “We’ve ridden in the car a few times. That’s all. Riding together isn’t a date.”
“Gabe,” Mom says. “You’re going to prom with him. He’s been here a lot. He’s…cute in an interesting way. I don’t know. Your get-togethers seem like dates.”
“Told you,” Mickey says, and I shoot her a narrow-eyed look to keep her quiet.
“Dad said he was a character,” I say as I watch Hartman chew on his nails.
He isn’t looking at our Subaru. Maybe because we’re in the driveway to the house instead of in the parking lot.
“He is that,” Mom says.
We get out of the car and Hartman waves. My heart stumbles. That’s kind of a weird reaction seeing as we’re friends.
“I’m…” Mom frowns. “I think you should be in trouble. I don’t think your boyfriend should be able to come over on a day when you were suspended from school.”
“Mom!” I whisper-hiss-yell. “He is not my boyfriend.”
Mickey giggles, which really doesn’t help my case.
I grit my teeth as I push a smile on my face. “I’ll let you sleep in my room if you stop it already.”
Instead of answering, Mickey runs into the house. She probably thinks that by me offering for her to crash with me, she gets to go hang out in there now. I try to quickly catalog anything I might have left out, but it’s not like I really have anything to hide, so I should be good.
Hartman slides off the hood and walks toward us. “I wasn’t sure if it was okay that I’m here, or if…” His long fingers gesture back and forth between Mom and me.
