#GoodGirlBadBoy

by Yesenia Vargas

  “My daughter took me to see Mr. Roberts just yesterday,” she confessed. “He asked about Emerson, but I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t want to worry him, so I just said he was busy with schoolwork, but that we were all thinking of him.”

  I exhaled, blinking back tears. “Aw, I miss Mr. Roberts.” And I missed Emerson too. “I’m going to go see him today if I can. And I’m going to try to track down Emerson too.”

  “I don’t blame him,” she said, wiping at her nose. “It’s not an easy thing, realizing your loved ones can be gone, just like that.”

  Her lip trembled, and I took her hand. I couldn’t imagine how hard this was for her. She’d lost her husband, and now another dear friend of hers was in danger of leaving us all too soon.

  I left the nursing home and pulled out my phone. I found Emerson’s name and pressed the call button. Once again, no answer.

  I sent a message instead, pleading with him to come back to school. Surely the teachers would understand and let him make up the exams. But he couldn’t give up, not now.

  I told him how much I missed him. That I was there for him, that everything would be okay.

  Then I stared at my screen, hoping he would say something back. Anything. But a message never came.

  Instead of going home, I texted my mom, asking if she could pick me up. Ms. Nancy said Mr. Roberts was finally out of intensive care, which meant he could handle more visitors, at least for a few minutes.

  She picked me up, and we went by the store. I knew how depressing hospital rooms could be, so I picked out a few bright balloons, a get well card, and some nice flowers.

  Then she drove us to the hospital.

  When we got there, she said, “Are you sure you want to do this, honey? I want to warn you. Mr. Roberts might not look like his usual self.”

  I nodded and thought about what she meant. But I had to do this. It was the least I could do. “Let’s go.”

  Mr. Roberts was on the fourth floor, on the cardiac wing. My mom led us straight there.

  We stopped in front of his room, and she looked at me. “Want me to go in there with you? Or I can wait out here?” she asked.

  I smiled. “It’s okay. I won’t be long.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be right over there.”

  Slowly opening the door, I walked in.

  Mr. Roberts wasn’t alone.

  A familiar face turned toward me.

  “Emerson,” I said, the balloons I carried still in my hands.

  He looked away.

  Mr. Roberts was asleep, a thin white blanket up to his chest. A couple of balloons already hung around his room, and I added mine to the mix. Then I carefully walked around his bed and placed the flowers on the nightstand near his bed.

  I turned to Emerson. “Have you been here long?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not too long, I guess.”

  I walked over and sat down next to him. His chair was pulled up right next to Mr. Roberts. “It’s good that you came.”

  He sighed, and I could see how hard this was for him.

  I wanted to reach for his hand, but I wasn’t sure if that was what Emerson wanted. He felt different, sad and still closed off. Like he didn’t want to give away how he was really feeling.

  A plate of cookies sat on the nightstand next to Emerson. I recognized the container with the red lid, like the one his sister had packed the dessert in when Emerson had come over for dinner.

  “Did you bring him those?” I asked quietly.

  He glanced at the cookies and then at me before going back to staring at Mr. Roberts. “Oatmeal raisin. They’re his favorite.”

  “That’s really sweet of you,” I said. “Ms. Ellie said he was asking about you the other day. He’s going to be really glad that you came.”

  Emerson bit his lip and cleared his throat. Tears welled up in my eyes just watching how hard he was holding his own back.

  Emerson sniffed. “I heard the doctor say his chances aren’t good,” he whispered. “His heart…”

  I took his hand, and he held on tight. “All we can do is be here for him and hope he gets better. Mr. Roberts…he’s a fighter,” I said.

  Emerson nodded, and then he slipped his hand out of mine.

  “He’s going to be okay,” I said, seeing how distraught he looked.

  He shook his head. “You don’t know that. No one knows if he’s going to be okay, if he’s going to be able to go back—”

  He stood up, and I did the same. Grabbing his jacket, he moved to the door.

  “Emerson, wait,” I began. “You can’t just keep disappearing.”

  He paused for a second. “This was all a big mistake.”

  Then he opened the door and left. I went after him, not wanting him to just leave again and not hear from him for days.

  A mistake? What did he mean? Summer school? Trying so hard? Us?

  All of it?

  I shut the door silently behind me and searched for him. He was already halfway down the hall.

  Speeding after him, I dodged nurses and people with carts. It was going to be impossible to catch up to him at this rate.

  Already, the tears were back. I just wanted him to not run away this time.

  A hand grabbed my arm, and I spun around.

  It was my mom. “Let him go, sweetie.”

  My face fell, and she pulled me in toward her. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “It’s okay,” she said into my hair. “Some people just need time alone to process things. But don’t worry. He’ll come around.”

  Emerson’s final words to me still rang in my head. Would he?

  Twenty-One

  That weekend, my mom came home, and I could tell right away from the tired and sad expression on her face that something was wrong.

  I dropped the magazine I’d been reading, my hands covering my mouth.

  “I’m so sorry, Harper,” she said, sitting down beside me. “He didn’t make it.” She put her arms around me. “Mr. Roberts passed away early this morning.”

  I sobbed into her shoulder, wondering how Emerson, Ms. Ellie, and everyone else had to be taking the bad news.

  “His family was with him the whole time,” she said. “He didn’t feel a thing. It happened in his sleep.”

  I nodded. It was the best we could have asked for, given the circumstances. Mr. Roberts had survived a war, had a family, and lived a long life.

  But somehow, it still didn’t feel fair.

  My mom kissed my head after a few minutes. “I’m going to make us something to eat. Warm chicken noodle soup will help. I promise. And I was thinking maybe we could take some to the nursing home today?”

  I put my arm around her. “That would be great, Mom. Thank you. Maybe I can make some cookies. Emerson said oatmeal raisin was Mr. Roberts’s favorite.”

  She smiled, resting her hand on my cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Harper. Never forget that.”

  We got to work cooking and baking, and my mind went to Emerson. I could hardly focus on the directions for the cookies.

  I wondered if he even knew.

  Telling my mom I was going to the bathroom, I headed to the living room and grabbed my phone.

  There was a new email from Ms. Moreau to both of us, letting us know what had happened.

  So he probably did know.

  Even so, I typed out a new message to him, letting him know what had happened and that I’d be there for him no matter what. That Mr. Roberts would want us to celebrate his life, not be sad over the fact that he was gone.

  I remembered the pictures we took the afternoon we had all danced together at the nursing home not too long ago. The one of Ms. Ellie and Mr. Roberts had me tearing up again, but I selected it and sent it to Emerson.

  My messages to him immediately changed from delivered to read. Which was more than he had done the past several days.

  Three dots showed up, and I waited for him to say something, but then they went away.

  Nothing. />
  I sent him a simple heart emoji and put my phone away.

  I couldn’t imagine what he was going through right now. After spending all summer with sweet Mr. Roberts, Emerson had to be devastated. I tried to imagine losing Ms. Ellie, and it just made me cry again.

  Poor Ms. Ellie. I remembered the dance she’d had with Mr. Roberts, the bright smiles on both their faces that day.

  As sad as I was, I was also really grateful to have known Mr. Roberts and to have ended up in the nursing home this summer.

  Ms. Ellie had quickly become special to me, and I could tell Mr. Roberts had been like that for Emerson.

  My heart grieved for the death of the kind old vet and Emerson’s loss.

  I just hoped Emerson would come back to school, to the nursing home, and to me.

  Two days before the dollar dance, the nursing home was almost back to normal. As sad as everyone still was, we were excited for the event coming up. The ladies had their outfits picked out, and I’d already promised to do everyone’s makeup.

  Ms. Ellie and I had everything just about ready.

  We were only missing our DJ and partner in crime: Emerson.

  He still wasn’t back. Not at the nursing home or school.

  His grades had to be plummeting, but no matter how many times I tried to call or text him, he wouldn’t reply. The few times I’d gone to the park looking for him, he hadn’t been there, and I hoped he was okay.

  One day during lunch I headed to Ms. Moreau’s office to see if she had any news.

  “I’m afraid this isn’t a first for him,” she said. “I’m having trouble tracking him down too.”

  I bit my lip, wishing there was something we could do for him.

  Like she was reading my mind, Ms. Moreau said, “All we can do is be there for him. Support him as much as possible. And keep trying to get him to come back to school.”

  I wondered what good that would be, though. Summer school ended in a few more days, and he’d already missed the last week.

  Would our teachers let him make up all the work he’d missed? Would there even be enough time for him to do that?

  I tried to remember where he said he lived, and I took the bus there after school.

  When I got off the bus, I pulled out my phone, texting my mom that I’d be downtown grabbing a bite to eat and doing some window shopping. I walked until I found the street he’d mentioned. My phone said I was in the right spot, but I had no idea which house was his.

  I made my way down the street, sweat dripping down my forehead and neck from the hot afternoon sun, wondering if I’d run into him or one of his brothers. I remembered what one of them looked like from last semester, but I didn’t see any of them around.

  After a while, it was clear that I had no clue what I was doing or where I was going. And I probably looked like a sweaty mess.

  My eyes landed on a house with blue shutters and old paint. There was a single car in the driveway, but what stood out to me was the young woman in the garden out front.

  Were those daisies? The woman had the same dark hair as Emerson and his brothers, and I wondered if this could be their older sister? A little boy ran up to her, and she turned to hug him.

  Running up to the house, I called out, “Hi!”

  Taking her little boy’s hand in hers, she got up and faced me. She seemed to relax once she saw me.

  “Sorry,” I said with a smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering…Is this Emerson’s house? Are you his sister?”

  She blinked a couple times before responding. “Yeah, I’m Yasmin. Who are you?”

  Her little boy bent down to play in the dirt at her feet.

  I came a little closer. “I’m Harper, a friend of Emerson’s from school? We’ve been worried about him. We haven’t seen him in a few days, and he’s missing a lot class. If he doesn’t come back, he won’t earn his credits and be able to graduate on time.”

  Yasmin nodded. “I’ve been getting phone calls every day from that counselor. I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. Emerson is having a tough time right now. I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen. He’s gone all day. I’ve hardly seen him myself. I have an eighteen-month-old to take care of and a job. I wish I had the time to track him down, but he’s almost eighteen. I can’t make him go back to school, you know?”

  I bit my lip. She was right. “I just wish there was something I could do…”

  There was silence, and I wondered if I should just go home and give up on Emerson altogether.

  But then Yasmin said something else. “You’re the girl he’s been seeing, right?”

  I looked up at her. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You’re the first girl he’s ever talked about, Harper. It’s hard to tell with Emerson, but I can tell you mean a lot to him.”

  I gave her a small smile. “Thanks. Your dessert that you made, by the way. It was really good. My mom is still raving about it.”

  “Thanks,” she said, lighting up. “Glad to know someone appreciates my cooking.”

  There was more silence, and I got ready to say goodbye.

  But once again, she beat me to it. “I’m guessing he hasn’t told you, but Emerson was really close to our grandpa when he was little. All of us were, before he passed away. I’m guessing that’s why all of this has been especially hard on him, you know? Brings back all those memories.”

  I nodded. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  Everything made so much more sense now.

  I hadn’t been old enough to know my grandparents before they died, but he had. With what I’d heard about the absence of his parents, his grandparents must have been like the parents he’d never had.

  My mom was the only real family I had. I didn’t know what I’d do if I ever lost her.

  My stomach sank. I couldn’t imagine the pain Emerson was going through right now.

  Twenty-Two

  I took the bus back to town, my head resting on the window the entire time.

  The rumble of the bus down the road felt like the swirl of emotions going on inside me.

  Would I see Emerson again? Surely, I’d see him when school started in the fall, but what about the rest of summer? What about us? It felt like we were over, even though it had just begun.

  I supposed that answered my question about Emerson and I being in a relationship.

  I had crushed on him ever since the first time I’d seen him in the cafeteria when I’d moved here. It had been months of just seeing him from afar and wondering what his voice sounded like, admiring his hair and his confidence, and wondering what went on behind those dark eyes.

  Then this summer he’d finally talked to me. We’d become friends. Laughed together. Spent time together.

  And become something more.

  Only for it all to be gone in an instant.

  No closure.

  Was it really over? I had to know.

  I had to know if he was okay, if there was any way I could be there for him.

  The bus came to a stop in front of the park, and I remembered that night with him. Learning how to skateboard and holding on to him so I wouldn’t fall.

  He’d assured me that he’d never let that happen, that he’d hold on to me.

  I wanted to tell him that he had let me fall. Hard. And he wasn’t even there to help me back up.

  Staring out the window, I noticed a lone figure sitting behind a tree. I could see his long legs.

  And a familiar skateboard at his side.

  The bus rumbled to life again, and I jumped up.

  Running toward the front of the bus, I shouted, “Wait!”

  The handful of people on the bus looked up at me. The bus driver looked annoyed, but he pressed on the brakes.

  Almost tumbling to the ground, I somehow made it to the double doors and stepped off, shouting a quick thanks behind me. Then I looked toward that tree.

  He was still there, a couple hundred feet away. It almost didn’t feel real,
Emerson so close after not seeing him for so long.

  Would he run off as soon as he saw me? Would he even talk to me?

  Only one way to find out.

  I carefully made my way to that tree. When I was just a few feet away, in the shade of the tree, Emerson turned his head slightly toward me.

  I opened my mouth, wondering what was the right thing to say. “Hey,” I said.

  Nothing. Emerson only looked down, and his fingers tugged at the grass beside him.

  “I missed you,” I said, creeping a little closer. I kept going until I was beside him.

  I kneeled down and sat on the grass, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. Like when I was little, and I’d come upon a deer in the backyard, and I just wanted to get closer without it running away. I never could get close enough.

  I could have asked him if he was okay, but I knew he wasn’t.

  Once again, I felt like I didn’t know the right thing to say.

  His hand was right there, just inches away, and I wanted to take it so bad.

  But I knew there was a good chance he’d pull it away, and I didn’t want to touch him if that wasn’t what he wanted.

  His voice startled me. “What are you doing here?” He still wouldn’t look at me.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I said softly. “I’ve been worried. I saw you, and I just wanted to see how you were.”

  He exhaled. “Well, you’ve seen me. You can go. I can’t do this right now.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you, no matter what, Emerson. I’m here. I know—”

  He sat up, his back no longer resting on the tree. He finally looked at me, and those dark eyes were full of anger and hurt and something else. “I just want to be alone. Why doesn’t everybody get that? I’m not interested in school or grades or any of it. I’m not going back. Not now and not in the fall. So just go.”

  His words, the anger in them, stung, and I bit my lip to keep from crying.

  Nodding my head, I said, “Okay. Maybe with a little more time—”