Hesitantly, I take it.
“Sebastian loves this stuff,” she explains, leaning her hip against the island. “I blame his father for the sugar addiction he has. If he isn’t inhaling soda, it’s those God-awful Sour Patch Kids.”
Her nose crinkles at the thought of them, and I wonder why. I’ve seen them in stores but never had one.
I shift the cold can from one hand to another, studying it. I’m embarrassed when I admit, “My parents don’t let me have sugar.”
“Never?”
I shake my head, eyes focused on the soda.
“What about Halloween?” she questions.
I give her a shy smile. “Mama takes me out, but Daddy doesn’t let me keep the candy I get. Sometimes, Mama gives me a handful to hide in my room.”
I shrug, trying to make her think it doesn’t bother me, but it does. While all the other kids get to go out and eat their candy, I get see mine go straight into the garbage. Mama tries telling me to just stay in, so I don’t have to watch it happen. But I like dressing up because it’s what normal kids do.
Mrs. Everly looks at me with sympathy dwelling in her chocolate eyes. “How about we keep this our little secret then?”
Hope flutters in my chest. “Thank you, Mrs. Everly. I appreciate it.”
She waves her hand. “It’s Linda, dear. Mrs. Everly sounds so formal. Anyway, I think kids should enjoy being kids while they’re young. I’m sure Sebastian won’t mind sharing some of his candy around here if you’d like to stay.”
I look out the small window of the kitchen, the one pointing toward my house. If I’m not back before supper, Mama won’t be happy.
“I shouldn’t,” I murmur, putting the soda back on the counter.
“Is everything okay, Opal?”
“I need to help with supper.”
Mrs. Everly, Linda, nods in understanding. She puts the soda back in the fridge and turns to face me.
Before she can say anything, a boy not much taller than me walks into the kitchen. His dark brown hair is long and disheveled curled around his ears, and a frown is set on his face, making his brown eyes—ones that are just like Linda’s—seep with sadness.
“Sebastian, perfect timing!” Linda chirps, putting her hands on his shoulders. “This is your new neighbor Opal. Her family made us a casserole. Isn’t that nice?”
He looks at me, but only for a microsecond, before his eyes trail to the floor.
Linda gives me a reassuring smile.
“Hi,” I greet quietly, my voice no more than a whisper. “I-I’m Opal.”
His eyes snap up to mine, eyebrows furrowed down. “I know. My mom just said that.”
Linda puts her hands on her hips. “Sebastian John Everly! What did I say about being nice to people?” She looks at me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. He isn’t happy about the move.”
“It’s Bash, Mom.”
“It’ll always be Sebastian to me, mister.”
His cheeks burn red, but he doesn’t say anything.
I back away. “I should be going. So, uh, it was nice to meet you.” My eyes slowly make their way back to where Bash’s sulking body stands.
He glances up at me, a less angry expression plastered on his face. “I’ll see you at school?”
Hope blossoms in my chest. Linda seems happy over his simple statement, like it means more than it really does.
I nod. “Monday? Do you ride the bus?”
Linda answers, “I drive him. Would you like a ride? We’ll be there earlier than you normally would be, so we can fill out some last-minute paperwork. I wouldn’t mind taking you as long as your parents don’t.”
My chest tightens, knowing what Daddy will say. But instead of telling them no, I reply, “I’ll ask them tonight.”
Linda smiles. “Tell your mother thank you for the casserole. It smells delicious.”
I think it smells bad, but maybe she’s just the type of nice person who lies because it makes people feel better. Either way I give her a small smile and walk down the hall, feeling a pair of brown eyes on me until the door clicks behind me.
Fresh air is exactly what I needed after a long day of unpacking, something I’ve been doing all day. I’ve been stuck inside since I first came back to Clinton, only taking an hour break to visit Mom across town. I didn’t realize how much junk I owned until I had to find room for it all and couldn’t figure out how Mom made moving look so easy when I was a kid.
Sitting on the park bench of one of my favorite hangouts as a kid, I soak in the bright sunny August weather. Usually, if it’s not blistering hot, it’s downpouring, so this in-between temperature is perfect.
My eyes close as I look up at the sky, remembering all the times I used to come out here and lay in the grass, staring at the stars at twilight when I should have been in bed.
That is, when I wasn’t sneaking off to Opal’s house.
Opal used to love coming out here, even though she always asked why we bothered staring at the sky, blanketed by millions of stars. Nonetheless, she would mimic the way I laid on my back, watching the little dots dance in the sky, just as mesmerized by the simple beauty as I was.
There were times when she would tell me it’s too cold, even though I’d remind her to bring a sweatshirt. She knew I’d give her mine every single time, loving the sight of her petite frame engulfed in my clothes. She’d snuggle into my shirt, watching the night sky with interest.
The first time we went out here, she asked me why I liked looking at the sky, seeming content with following me blindly, not knowing why I was so consumed in the stars. To her, she saw orbs of light, but me?
I liked telling the stars my secrets.
And when I told her that, she surprised me by taking my hand and squeezing it, something she rarely did unless I made the move first.
She’d whispered, you can tell me your secrets too.
And from that day on, I did.
There’s a tug on my pant leg that snaps me from my thoughts, and my eyes travel to a little girl staring at me.
I blink. “Um … hi?”
Her dark brown hair is tied in pigtails, and when she tilts her head to the side, they fall off her shoulders, hanging down her back.
“Who are you?” she asks.
My brows draw in as I look around, trying to figure out who she belongs to. She can’t be more than five, so why is she out all by herself where anyone can take her?
Finally, my eyes go back to hers. There’s something familiar in their off-grey color, not quite grey, but tinted with blue. She blinks, and I’m forced to quit staring like a fucking creep.
“Where is your dad?” I ask her next.
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Great. “Where’s your mom?” I press slowly.
“At work,” she answers. She twirls around in her blue dress, which has some blonde-braided princess on it. She seems content, and I’m fairly certain she shouldn’t be. Don’t parents ever teach their kids not to talk to strangers?
Swiping my hand down my face, I slide forward, so I’m perched at the edge of the bench. “What’s your name?”
“I asked you first,” she pouts, sticking out her little lip.
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but she’s too cute to be rude to. Just as I’m about to answer her, a man starts calling out from across the park.
“Addison?” he yells, eyes frantically darting around the playground set up by the old willow tree.
“That’s me!” the little girl chirps.
I stand up, gesturing toward the man. We’re far enough away I can’t see who it is, but when he sees me waving, he starts jogging toward us.
I’m startled when the little girl, Addison, wraps her tiny hand around my fingers. I stare down at her in awe, unsure of what she’s doing and why my heart is racing in my chest by such a small action.
With Addison holding my hand, I walk to meet her worried dad half way. His eyes immediately widen when he sees me, recognition simultaneously w
ashing over both our faces.
“Noah Fuller?” He was a grade above me, so we never crossed paths much. For a short time, we were on the same basketball team.
“Hey,” he greets, eyeing Addison. He drops down to her level, a stern expression on his face. “You can never run off like that again. Do you understand? I was worried sick.”
She pokes out her bottom lip again. “Sorry.”
He lets out a heavy, relieved breath. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I wanted to swing,” she explains. “But I needed somebody to push me.” She points to me with her free hand.
I pull my hand away from hers, realizing she’s still holding it. “Sorry, Noah. She just came up to me when I was sitting over there.”
Noah stands up, his height a solid few inches taller than my six-one. “Don’t worry about it, man.”
“I didn’t know you were a father,” I remark, eyes going to Addison. They don’t look much alike, so I assume she takes after her mother. His hair is more blond than brown, and his eyes are brown to her mixed hues.
Addison giggles. “He’s not my daddy.”
My brows go up as Noah takes her hand.
“My daddy is a prince!” she tells me.
I crack a smile. “A prince, huh?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Mommy says he travels to far away kingdoms, and that’s why he’s never around.”
My heart breaks a little for the kid. No father? I knew what that was like too well. I stopped caring about my father leaving us for another women. He didn’t reach out to me, not even when I made a name for myself. Still, I wanted him around when I was younger, missing the small moments we shared together.
My eyes go to Noah, who’s studying me. I can see something in his eyes, but can’t figure out what. Contempt? Irritation? Sadness? I think back to high school, but don’t remember anything I could have done to him. We rarely talked, but when we did we seemed to get along.
“You on babysitting duty?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood. It seems to work, his tight expression loosening.
“Not exactly,” he replies, which leaves me to believe that he’s probably with whoever Addison’s mother is.
I shove my hands in my jean’s pockets. “So, you been good? I know we never talked much back in school.”
He nods. “Yeah. Things have been good.”
There’s a lull of silence.
I clear my throat. “Well … good.” I wince at the redundancy. I gesture behind me. “I should really get going. Still have some unpacking to do.”
“Yeah I heard you were back in town.”
I bob my head up and down, unsure of what more to say. “Well … see you around.”
He shoots me a genuine smile. “Yeah, man.”
I start backing away, seeing Addison waving at me as Noah pulls them the other direction. I shoot her a wave back before turning away.
On my short walk home, I eye the brick café on the corner of the street, a sudden craving for a black cup of coffee that I could easily make on my own at home.
Do it.
The closer I walk to Coyote Café, the stronger my resilience builds in my body. My steps become heavier, and when I look through the large window on the front of the store, my heart about stops in my chest.
Opal is serving an older couple, her dark red hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and an apron tied around her small waist. I watch her from across the street like a total creeper. When she smiles, my heart hammers in my chest until it physically hurts.
That smile.
I walked away from that smile.
I broke that smile.
When she left that day, right out that café, that smile shattered into tiny pieces. The last image of her I had before leaving everything behind was those full lips quivering as she stared at me.
Remembering her glassy eyes and short breath, I turn around and walk home.
***
My freshly brewed coffee sits steaming on the table next to the last taped box that Mom brought over from my old bedroom. The others had my baseball card collections, old CDs, and assorted comic books.
But this box was too light. There were no markings on the sides that indicated the contents like the others had. It makes my skin itch and palms sweaty just wondering what could be inside.
I take a pair of scissors and cut the tape on the top, peeling back the flaps. I peer inside, jaw locking when I see the contents.
Slowly setting the scissors back on the table, I reach in and retrieve the items one by one from the box. The first is a picture of Opal and I from middle school, one that my mother must have taken without our knowing. We were sitting on the front lawn of my old house, laughing at some unknown thing. We did that a lot, laughed.
Placing the photo down, I grab the next item. It’s the iPod I bought Opal, probably still containing the same playlists I downloaded for her. I put the songs that reminded of us on it, and she would listen to it every night, falling asleep to the lulling selections.
Running my thumb across the scratched screen I let out a heavy sigh. Dropping it on the picture, I grab the next thing. My heart stops momentary when I see the tiny black box that has the promise ring in it.
A promise I didn’t keep.
Opening the box, my lips twitch at the worn silver. The tips of my fingers swipe across the material, eyes closing and brain thumbing through all the times she wore it.
“What’s this?” Opal whispers at the wrapped gift in my palm.
“A promise to you,” I answer, leaning my forehead against hers.
She stares at the box.
“I love you, Opal,” I tell her. “I really do.”
She takes the box and unwraps it, looking at the ring in the holder of the velvet interior.
Her eyes widen as they snap to mine. “Bash?”
“It’s a promise ring,” I whisper. “Until I can get you the real deal someday.”
I snap the box closed and slam it on the table, running my hands through my hair. I really know how to fuck things up.
Back then, I meant every word. I loved Opal. I was planning on getting her a real ring, because in my mind there was always going to be a someday.
But that someday … well it didn’t work out like I wanted it to.
Swiping a hand down my face, I down my cup of coffee and stare into the box of random memorabilia. Pictures of Opal’s and my friendship, CDs we both loved listening to, the guitar pic necklace I gave her. Everything I left behind for her to remember me by, she gave back.
She gave back our memories.
Can’t say I blame her.
Closing the box before searching through the rest of the items, I sit back on the couch with my legs sprawled open.
Picking up the ring box, I study it.
It’s someday, Opal.
Age 11
The lunchroom is packed during B period, with limited seating left to pick from. My usual table by the window is already claimed by a group of upperclassmen, and the other tables are full of laughing peers.
I grip my bagged lunch in my hands tightly, weaving through the kids as my eye catches sight of an empty table in the middle of the room. When I set my lunch on it, four trays suddenly appear in my line of sight.
I look up seeing four sneering faces looking back at me. When my eyes catch a fifth face, my heart drops. Not because Bash is looking at me like Rachel and her posse, but because he’s with her to begin with.
He’s been here for a month. In that month, he said hi to me once. After that, Rachel swooped in and stole him as her own. She always takes the new kids under her wing, turning them into her zombie slaves. They do whatever she wants, say whatever she does, and treat others just like her.
I can tell he wants to say more to me, but it seems like any chance he can, Rachel is there pulling him away.
“This is our table,” Rachel informs me snidely, sitting down on the bench with her minions sitting around the other sides. They set
their backpacks on the free spots, so there’s no other areas to sit. Except one for Bash right next to Rachel.
“Sit here, Sebastian,” Rachel cooes, patting the spot to her right eagerly.
I can see Bash flinch when she calls him that. Why doesn’t he tell her he hates being called his full name? Does she care?
Bash meets my eyes, his lips weighing down into a frown. He’s fighting what to do. Listen to Rachel, or take pity on me. Because that’s all it is. Pity.
I pick up my lunch. “There’s nowhere else to sit,” I tell Rachel. “You have spots here if you move your bags.”
She scoffs. “You can’t sit here, freak. Go run off to Daddy if you don’t like it.”
Her minions giggle, and I just look down to the floor. I miss the days when Rachel and I could share secrets and jokes. Now all she does is throw insults at me, making me feel ten times worse than I already do. That’s what happens when you grow up I guess, you lose people that you used to trust.
“What are you, stupid?” she snaps, causing me to look up at her. She never used to be this mean. She’s just trying too hard to push me away. “Nobody wants you here, Opal. Go annoy somebody else.”
I can’t help but look at Bash for help, but he’s staring at the floor, quiet as a mouse.
When I realize he isn’t going to say anything, I nod and walk away. Passing the garbage, I throw away the paper bag with my lunch in it. My appetite is suddenly gone.
With Rachel around, I’ll never be able to make friends like Daddy wants. Bash was my last hope, and he made his choice clear.
I hear what the kids say about me. I’m the weird girl who calls her parents Mama and Daddy. They deem that babyish. Formal. But it’s what I’m told to call them.
I make my way to the computer lab, which is always abandoned during B period. On my way down the hallway, I hear footsteps coming up fast behind me. Before I know it, a hand wraps around my arm, stopping me.
Turning around, surprise paints my face when I see Bash standing there.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” he tells me, trying to catch his breath.
I pull my arm away from him.
The Choices We Make (Relentless Book 4) Page 2
