The Crush Collision (Southern Charmed)

by Danielle Ellison

  “Not even for Taco Bell?”

  Mm, Taco Bell. “We don’t have a Taco Bell. That’s a mean trick.”

  He laughs. “I can drive you to one, then take you home. It’s not that far out of the way.”

  Damn. He makes a great argument. “I don’t know where my phone is. Or my keys. What about my truck?”

  “We’ll come back tomorrow, Jake. Let’s go.”

  I nod slowly and stumble a little, so Jamie supports me. His truck is so tall off the ground. I can’t jump that high, but somehow I get inside.

  “I want to go back,” I say. I’ve got Taco Bell on my lap and I’m eating it, but I wanna go back to the party.

  Jamie shakes his head at me. “I get you Taco Bell, and you go home. That was the deal.”

  “I don’t remember that deal.”

  “You’re drunk, so your memory doesn’t matter.”

  “Why weren’t you at the party?” I ask him.

  He sighs and seems annoyed. “Heather. Had to say goodbye.”

  “Right,” I say between chewing some of the deliciousness. Doritos and a taco. Whoever thought of this is a genius. “Can we go back?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  I don’t like that answer. I want to go back. I reach over and jerk the wheel, trying to turn us around. I wanna go back to the party. Jamie is yelling at me, cussing me out, and he takes the wheel back.

  “Shit, Jake!” he yells. “Just sit there and eat your damn food!”

  I cross my arms. “Fine, whatever,” I say, but he’s still cussing me out. “Sorry!” I say. I take another bite of my taco.

  The next thing I know there are bright lights coming right at us, and the truck is flying through the air. There’s a loud crunch, glass shatters, there’s a thud, something pops against my face, and we hit the ground hard.

  And then it’s all dark.

  The trees are sideways.

  My hands are wet.

  My head hurts.

  “Jamie? What happened?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me. I touch my hand to my head, and it comes back wet and red. I’m bleeding. The truck is sideways. I look down at him; he’s not moving. He’s still in the seat, but the truck is smooshed. “Jamie!” I yell his name and try to shake him awake.

  I pull at the the seatbelt. Again and again. I can’t get it off. “Jamie!” I yell again. He won’t answer. He doesn’t answer me. I remember the pocket knife he keeps in the glovebox, and I get it open and saw away at the seatbelt, still calling Jamie’s name.

  “Are you dead?” I call out. “Please don’t be dead.”

  The seatbelt comes off. My head is spinning, it hurts so bad, and there’s blood everywhere. So much blood. I crawl out of the windshield and climb down the truck. It’s slow, and it hurts, and my brother is dead.

  I’m getting wet. It’s starting to rain. Fucking rain.

  I crawl down to where he is and touch him. I can’t tell if he has a pulse, so I put my finger under his nose to make sure he’s breathing. He is. “Don’t you die!” I yell. I need to call for help. I search the area for his phone, but I can’t find it. I know it’s here. I can’t find it.

  I try to pull him out, but he’s heavy and unconscious. His legs seem to be stuck. I can’t get him out. I can’t get him out.

  I have to stop because my head is pounding and my stomach is churning…I lean over behind the truck and puke. It splashes off the side.

  I take a second to breathe, and I look around. We’re in a cotton field. I know exactly where we are, between Culler and Laymont off the highway. Ten minutes from home. There’s a giant puddle of blood, rain, puke, glass, and debris soaking up the cotton field.

  It’s then I see his phone case, UGA logo on the back, and I pick it up, but it’s broken. It’s fucking broken. I throw it so it bounces off the tree, and I don’t know what else to do so I let out a scream.

  I turn around in the field, and the road isn’t that far. I can walk. I can find someone.

  “I’ll be back, Jamie,” I say. “I’ll be back.” I kiss his forehead. “Don’t die while I’m gone or I will fucking kill you.”

  So I walk. Each step hurts. Each step makes my head pound harder. Each step makes me want to vomit. The rain gets harder and harder. I watch as it mixes with the blood on me and drips to the ground. I don’t know how far I walk. I just go. I go until I see headlights, and they see me, because the car stops.

  Someone rushes out. A man, I think, and a woman.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My brother,” is all I can say, and then I can’t say anything. The world is heavy, and so I let go and give in to darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Haley

  Jake Lexington is asleep on my couch again. The sight of him there—one leg sprawled over the back and the other over the side, arms tucked across his eyes—takes me by surprise. Not him, I reckon. He’s here so much, it might as well be his couch. It’s the look of him, the way he has this power to make me blush without even being conscious. I can still feel his breath on my neck at the party. Stop it, Haley.

  I avert my eyes as I rush past him toward the kitchen.

  It’s better for everyone if I don’t look at him too long. Even when he’s asleep. Maybe especially when he’s asleep, because then there’s no risk of him noticing that I’m staring and I can look as long as I want. Looking too long makes me want him. Jake Lexington is off-limits.

  I stop in the doorway and glance back. He shifts on the couch, a move that makes his long hair dangle in front of his face. He even sleep-sighs, and it makes me smile. He’s so cute laying there. I’d take a picture of him right now if it wouldn’t be considered ten kinds of creepy.

  Lord, I’m hopeless.

  Belles meeting at 10! Don’t be late or else. Dress SBA.

  Oh shoot, I knew I forgot something.

  Abby texts me again as I start the teakettle. Good morning bestie!

  Is it?

  It’s Belles day, so YES.

  The first meeting after a whole month off, the start of a new “season” where the Southern Belles welcome some freshmen. It’s not really SBA. Abby is a lot more than the Belles—but you’d never know it unless you got to know her and not just what she shows everyone.

  “Morning,” Chris mumbles over my shoulder. He’s half asleep, blond hair sticking up everywhere. “Coffee?”

  “Momma didn’t leave any.” I don’t drink that stuff, but Chris does sometimes. I think it’s what fuels him.

  “Damn,” he says. I take my tea and blueberry muffin—Momma always leaves us breakfast in the mornings before she goes to work—and sit at the bar. I watch my brother as he makes coffee with eyes mostly closed, like a zombie seeking out brains. Coach has been running them ragged lately.

  “Did you hear him come in?” he asks me, nodding toward the living room.

  “No, I thought he was out with you.”

  “Nah, I didn’t even know he was here.”

  I look through the door out toward the couch, but I can only see his legs from here. Jake is not only asleep on the couch, he’s probably going to be grouchy and hungover. “Don’t y’all have practice today?”

  Chris sighs. “Yeah, we do.”

  “You sure he didn’t secretly get a key made to our house?”

  Chris chuckles. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Why are you up so early?”

  “Got to get on that school schedule for tomorrow,” he tells me. “I also need to read all of The Catcher in the Rye by second period.”

  “You’ll be fine, I’m sure,” I tell him. Chris is practically a straight-A student, he’s the captain of the football team, he’s even done a school musical. There’s not much he can’t do. Everyone loves him—it’s like the first thing I get when they hear my last name. “Oh, you’re Chris Howell’s sister?” And when I tell them I’m his twin they expect me to be equally as great. That’s not really the case.

  “I think you took all the talents in
utero and left me to flounder.”

  Chris laughs, and the coffeepot makes a brewing slurping sound as my brother reaches over to take some of my muffin. I knew he’d do it. We have a rhythm together, even unspoken, and there’s not much we can hide from each other. That’s part of why successfully keeping my crush on Jake has been a shock; it’s maybe the one thing he doesn’t know about me already. I blame the freaky twin thing.

  “You’re not floundering, Hals. You’re pretty damn awesome. Everyone knows you’re the nice, innocent one and—”

  “Oh gee, I love being the nice, innocent one. What a dream. Colleges are going to fight tooth and nail to claim someone of my stature.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says, and I know he’s annoyed at me because of the crinkle in his forehead. “You will find your thing.”

  I shrug. Easy for him to say. He’s used to the spotlight, the adventure, the challenge. I’m used to getting by unnoticed. It’s cozy in the background.

  Chris grabs another muffin out of Momma’s basket and tears the top off before passing it to me. “Replacement.”

  “I didn’t say anything about it.”

  “You didn’t have to, little sister.”

  “By three minutes.”

  “Still makes me older. And wiser.”

  I laugh at this ridiculous face he makes, and then Jake’s deep, very southern voice comes from the doorway. “You’re smart but you’re not that wise.”

  Chris nods toward him, and I completely freeze. It’s like my lungs forget to breathe at the sight of him. I can almost still feel him touching my cheek at the BS party. The warmth of his rough fingers against my cheek, and the way he looked at me, almost like he was seeing me.

  “I’m smarter than you,” my brother says.

  “Doesn’t count. You’re smarter than all of us,” Jake adds. He goes straight to the coffee and pours himself a cup. He will fill it up halfway with coffee, then the rest with milk, and he’ll use four spoons of sugar and drink about half of the cup. That’s what he does.

  “When did you get here?”

  “Your dad let me in.”

  Daddy is a surgeon and he goes to work early, all the time, at different hours. It’s hard to know when we will see him and when we won’t, besides Friday night football. I usually sit with him and Momma in the stands, even some of my friends will join us sometimes. It’s the one time I always know I will see him.

  Chris shakes his head toward Jake.

  Jake nods, and I slide a muffin toward him. My fingers brush against his arm. It sets my whole body on full alert. Aware of how he breathes. Of what he says. Of the look on his face and the way his hair falls down. Jake only takes a bite of it, crumbs tumbling down to the counter, and when he sits at the bar, his knee is touching my leg.

  Haley, you are hopeless.

  “All right, well, I’m gonna go read,” Chris says, eyes focused on Jake.

  “I should go home, I guess. First day of school tomorrow and all.”

  When he slides off the seat, his leg obviously goes with him, and I wish it had been there longer. God. This is ridiculous. It’s too early in the morning to be this sprung on him. But when I get up, too, there sits his coffee in the sink, the perfect creamy color and half full, like I knew it would be.

  I really am hopeless.

  “The Southern Belles are an honored institution, one that is not entered into lightly. To all the new young women joining us, welcome,” Mrs. Monroe says with a big smile. A small group of five girls giggle excitedly. The next generation. They’re already dressed head-to-toe in SBA attire. The rest of us stand on the other side, Abby eyeing the new recruits already. I’m sure she has plans for them. “To the rest of my ladies, who are almost done on your journey here, only seven months away from Cotillion and your official welcome to society—but I digress. To you ladies, I encourage you to act as leaders to your younger sisters as they begin their journey.”

  Mrs. Monroe looks toward Abby. “Abigail, if you will.”

  Georgia Ann smiles at me and Lyla. We all know this is Abby’s favorite part. At the front, her face is a big grin. Her hands fold together in front of her waist, and the rest of us follow as she recites the Southern Belle pledge.

  “It is our pledge as Southern Belles to value honor, dignity, respect, and generosity. To be committed to be a sophisticated, well-rounded woman of poise, kindness, and intelligence, and to uphold the traditions of our ancestors in a modern world—and above all, to love the South with all her heart.”

  When it’s over, Abby unfolds her hands, and Mrs. Monroe dabs her eyes. “Thank you, dear.”

  Georgia Ann rolls her eyes at Lyla and me. Lyla laughs, but I don’t, because while the Belles isn’t the best use of my time, it’s a good place to come. I like learning proper ways to make tea and how to ballroom dance. My favorite place is volunteering at the children’s rehab center, where I go on Saturdays to help sick kids. I love seeing their faces, and I even take some things we do at the Belles to the center.

  “Now, on to business. Our first big undertaking this year is going to be the Culler Homecoming! While my senior ladies will be busy prepping for Cotillion, Jo and I will be teaching our new members the basics. However, all of you will be participating in the Homecoming. I expect each of you,” she says to my group, “to lead one part of the festivities. Jo will brief you on the plans.”

  And with that, our two groups separate to the sound of Mrs. Monroe loudly expressing her dismay at the speed and poise the newbies have shown at gathering, which is not in a straight line.

  “That was us once,” Abby says to me. “Hard to believe how far we’ve come.”

  I nod, but part of me feels like I’m still a newbie, trying to understand what I’m doing and how I’m supposed to make it happen.

  We sit, legs straight or crossed only and backs straight, in dresses and heels, while Jo explains the various aspects of Homecoming. Each of us is taking charge of one major area: the Town Parade and Festival or Court. Abby, of course, chooses Court. Shelby Kramer does, too, which makes Abby break her SBA facade with a quick frown. Lyla, Georgia Ann, and I will be working on the parade and festival.

  Georgia Ann leans in toward us. “This may actually be fun.”

  Lyla agrees, and so do I.

  Chapter Five

  Jake

  By fourth period, I’m already behind on classes. I plop down into the chair in History with a sigh. Mr. Fretzel stands at the front of the class, setting up the smart board. He looks up and across the room at me, as if he feels me watching, and he scowls.

  After last year’s incident with Mr. Desala, he’s not the first teacher today to frown at me. I know that I was wrong, and I’ve apologized. Coach has been the only one to listen to me. It was rough last year. I was grieving over Jamie, stressed out, feeling guilty, and had just started drinking. I don’t even remember coming to school that day. Even though I apologized, I don’t entirely remember how it all happened. It didn’t matter that before the incident I was always on time, polite, did my homework, everything I was supposed to. No one forgets, and even less than that, forgive. They don’t care about the reason, only the outcome.

  It’s the same way when we lose a game. The why or the way we played doesn’t matter, only the score. Sometimes I think Mom had the right idea with running away from this town like she did.

  I lower my head to the desk.

  “Rough first day already?” Other Howell asks.

  I look left as she takes the seat next to me. I didn’t expect her to be in this class with me. I haven’t been this close to her since the BS party. She was something else that night.

  “It’s only the first day?” I ask.

  She chuckles a little. “Yeah, we have too many more between us and graduation.”

  Graduation. A word I try not to think about. “Let’s not bring that up right now. I’m not ready,” I say.

  “Me either,” she says.

  “Fretzel hates me,” I say to h
er when he starts staring at us again. His face is in a scowl.

  She waves him off. “He loves me, so you’ll be okay.”

  “He’s not the only one,” I say. “And to think teachers used to love me.”

  “Well, that was before you were notorious.”

  “Notorious?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says. “Now you have community service for threatening a teacher.”

  “Actually, I got it for coming to school drunk.”

  Haley rolls her eyes at me. “Okay, that doesn’t make it better. Any idea what you’ll be doing for that?”

  “I start Saturday. Eight mornings at a soup kitchen.”

  She starts to say something else, but before she can, Mr. Fretzel clears his throat to start class.

  Outside the house, the wheelchair ramp is loose from the front porch. I told Dad we need to build this shit in, but he won’t do it. Right now we still have one of those plastic ramps, temporary. The way he hopes all this is. Jamie and I both know it isn’t, but we can’t tell him anything. He never listens to us anyway. I scoot the thing so it latches back into place.

  Thud.

  The sound echoes through to the outside of the house, and my heart starts pounding as I rush up the porch ramp and jam my key into the hole.

  “Jamie!” I call out. Everything replays in my head, shattering, twisting, too fast to scream, blood. Lights flash in front of my eyes. I expect to see the car again, smooshed and crushed, blood everywhere, to feel the rain on my cheeks. Even though I don’t, I have to tell myself to breathe. Worst case scenario, always.

  I hear Nanette and Jamie talking, then there’s laughter. I want to be sick, but everything is okay. I push all the fear down into my throat, and call out, “Hey bro.”

  “Jake! Come in here.”

  I clench my fist for a second before I make the short walk into the study. Well, the former study. It’s Jamie’s room now. I stop in the doorway, pushing the empty wheelchair back inside, and look around the room to the new-addition poster of Selena Gomez in barely a swimsuit. It’s more and more his every day.