Happenstance 1

  Lightning from the north sky flashed in his eyes, and we both gasped.

  "That was a good one," he said. "Too bad it's going to miss us."

  "Good. Bad. It's all the same."

  "What does that mean?" he said, smiling.

  "There's an old Chinese proverb Mrs. Pyles told me once about an old Taoist farmer. I think about it a lot."

  "Tell me," he said, nudging me.

  "I don't remember it verbatim."

  "Paraphrase then."

  I took a breath. "One day, the only horse the farmer owned died. It was the only way he could plow his fields. Everyone in the village came to offer their condolences for his bad luck. The farmer said, 'We'll see.' A week later, his son came across a heard of wild horses and managed to bring home two. The village was amazed at their good fortune. The farmer said, 'We'll see.' While the son was trying to break one of the horses, he fell off and fractured both of his legs. The village doctor said he would never walk again. Villagers came to console the farmer, because this was his only son. The farmer said, 'We'll see.' Soon after, war ravaged the land. All of the able-bodied sons of the village were collected for the draft. The farmer's son was the only one left behind. None of the boys who went to war returned."

  "Wow."

  "Yeah. She told me that in ninth grade. It's always stuck with me."

  "I like it. It's . . . applicable."

  I arched an eyebrow.

  He chuckled, and I did, too. Thunder rolled, grumbling all around us, and the wind picked up.

  Weston lifted his chin. "Smells like rain." His cell phone chirped. He took one look at it and stuffed it back into the front pouch of his hoodie.

  I took a sip of my Mountain Dew. "Erin?"

  "Yep."

  "You've never seemed like . . ."

  "Her type?"

  "No," I said, chuckling and shaking my head. "Not at all."

  "I guess I'm not. My parents sure like the idea of it."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. They like the idea of a lot of things." He leaned back, using his arm as a pillow as he looked up at the sky.

  I did the same, noticing that the only patch of clear sky was directly above us. "Will they want you home any time soon?"

  "Nope. Do you need to be?"

  "Nope."

  Weston took a deep breath, and we just lay there for the longest time. Neither of us felt the need to fill the silence as we watched the storm clouds slowly close in on the stars above.

  Chapter Four

  Walking into third period gave me pause. A familiar face with kind blue eyes and perfectly glossed lips looked up at me. "Hi, there. Come on in."

  Julianne Alderman stood behind Mr. Barrows's desk, nervously shuffling papers. "Oh, my. I'm not very good at this."

  I just watched her as the other students filled the desks. They barely noticed her and were talking and laughing loudly.

  "What the . . . what are you doing here?" Alder said, frozen in the doorway. Her eyes were wide.

  Julianne smiled. "Obviously they were very desperate for a substitute."

  Alder rolled her eyes and scampered to her seat, ducking down. "This is so freaking embarrassing, Mother. Jesus."

  "Erin," Julianne warned, although there wasn't even a glimmer of anger in her eyes. Gina would have climbed over the desk at me by then.

  Julianne's shiny brown hair bounced as she walked around the classroom, passing out papers. As a child, I fantasized about what it would be like to grow up with a mother like her. Alder always showed up to school on Halloween in a gorgeous, homemade princess costume, complete with a pink pointy hat and ribbon flowing from the top. Sam and Julianne were always at the games that Alder cheered at to support her, wearing buttons on their jackets featuring her cheer picture. For her sixteenth birthday, they bought her a shiny new Honda Accord, which she hated. She didn't know she was lucky to take those things for granted, that everyone didn't get the same love and attention that she did, so I didn't really hold it against her. Even though I wanted to.

  Julianne sat in Mr. Barrows's chair and grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. We had similar coloring, the same heart-shaped face, similar dark hair and blue eyes, so I hoped I still looked as young and beautiful as she did when I was her age.

  Alder groaned. "What is this?"

  "It's your assignment," Julianne said. "Mr. Barrows said you would know what to do, so get to it, guys. You have to finish before the end of the period. No one can take this home."

  Everyone but me grumbled, and Julianne blinked, clearly unhappy at being unpopular.

  "God, this is so embarrassing!" Alder seethed.

  Julianne managed a sweet but wounded smile. "Sorry, honey. They just needed my help."

  By fifth hour, Alder was particularly cranky. The guys were giving her crap about how hot her mom was, and the girls were bugging her about why she was working as a substitute. Julianne had been a stay-at-home mom since a week before the three of us Erins were born. Before that she was a PA for Dr. Shuart's clinic, but she left Alder in daycare once and couldn't do it again. Or that was the story, anyway. Sam was Blackwell's general surgeon, and they lived in a six-bedroom home around the corner and down the street from Weston.

  "What is that smell?" Sonny said loudly from the back of health class.

  They had been on that subject all day, starting in first hour when Brady implied that the rancid chemical smell coming from some of Mrs. Merit's new supplies was coming from my vagina. After that, he made a show every time he passed me in the hall, and others caught on.

  The thought of having them all in Health might have broken me, but for some reason, their taunts weren't fazing me like usual.

  "Ugh," Brady said. "Again? What the hell is that? I've been smelling it all day!"

  "Maybe it's you?" Weston said, turning around in his desk.

  I kept facing forward.

  Coach Morris turned from the chalkboard. "Is there a problem?"

  Everyone shook their heads.

  A muffled gagging noise came from the back, and then another. Coach turned around again.

  "Sorry, Coach, but do you not smell that?" Sonny asked.

  "No," he said, looking around, confused. "Smell what?" he sniffed, and everyone broke into laughter. The coach was not amused. "Either pay attention to the lesson or get out!" he shouted, pointing to the door. Everyone silenced.

  "Yeah, dicks," Weston whispered.

  Coach flipped around and his eyes targeted Weston. "What did you say, Gates?"

  Weston swallowed. "I said, 'Yeah, dicks.'"

  Coach Morris shifted his weight, preparing to lay into Weston. "And who are the dicks you're referring to?"

  "That would be Brady, Sir, and anyone else complaining of a nonexistent smell."

  Coach hesitated then turned back around.

  "Fuck you, punk," Brady said under his breath.

  "Suck my cock, Beck!" Weston said, standing up.

  "All right, enough!" Coach Morris's voice boomed.

  Mrs. Pyles walked in, her eyes wide. "Is everything okay in here?"

  Coach glared at Brady and Weston. "Get out of my classroom. Both of you. Now."

  Weston grabbed his backpack and stormed out.

  Brady held up his hands. "I didn't do anything? Why are you throwing me out?"

  "Get out, Brady!"

  "But I didn't do anything! This is crap! Ask anyone!"

  Coach Morris looked over at Mrs. Pyles. "Mrs. Pyles, would you please escort Mr. Beck out of my classroom before I lose my temper?"

  Mrs. Pyles stared at him for a moment then walked toward Brady. "All right, Brady, let's go."

  "Don't fucking touch me!" Brady said, his voice almost a whine.

  "Brady Beck, get out of that chair, or so help me, I will assist Coach Morris in physically removing you from this classroom! Get up! Now!"

  Brady leaned back against his seat as Mrs. Pyles leaned toward him. She was angrier than I'd ever seen her. After a moment of shock, Brady scrambled
for his things and scurried from the classroom.

  "You'll be hearing from my parents!"

  "Oh, goody. Can't wait," Coach Morris deadpanned. "Now, back to the facial muscles."

  I scooted down in my seat, feeling the ten pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head.

  During seventh period, I kept glancing at Weston's empty seat and sighing. I didn't need him to save me, and it was causing him grief. I wasn't sure why he'd suddenly decided to take me on as a cause, but it was clearly dangerous for both of us.

  As I walked to the front of the school at the end of the day, I could see Brady, Brendan, Andrew, and the Erins standing on the corner that I usually crossed, next to their parallel-parked vehicles. Not once since they got their licenses had they congregated there, and I knew the Erins were already late for cheer practice. They were waiting for me.

  I refused to take a different route to the Dairy Queen and lifted my chin as I approached, keeping my eyes forward.

  "Hey," Sonny said. "We need to talk."

  "I have nothing to say to you," I said, gripping the black, nylon straps of my backpack so tight my fingers hurt.

  Alder smirked. "Maybe not, but we have a lot to say to you."

  Brady grabbed my arm and flipped me around. "Don't be a fucking cunt. Let her speak."

  I yanked my arm away, and just as the Erins were approaching me, a big, red truck pulled in next to us, the front tires climbing the curb with ease.

  The driver's side door slammed, and Weston ran around the front, wedging his shoulder between Brady's hand and my arm.

  "What are you doing, man?" Weston said.

  Brady's expression turned severe. "What am I doing? What's wrong with you? Why are you busting my balls over this skank?"

  "Just leave her alone, man," Weston said, trying to keep his voice calm.

  "Weston," Alder said, reaching for his fingers. She looked like a beautiful, poisonous snake as she lithely crawled up Weston's side, rising on the balls of her feet. She kissed the corner of his mouth softly.

  I had to fight a sudden bout of nausea.

  Weston pulled away from her. "Go, Easter," he said quietly over his shoulder.

  I turned on my heels and kept walking, refusing to look back. For the next five blocks, I tried to push the revolting image of Erin's toxic lips touching Weston. It was common knowledge that they were each other's firsts, but I tried not to think about it, and had successfully read all signs of oncoming PDA between the two for the last five years.

  I slipped into the back door of the Dairy Queen, tying on my apron as I walked to the front.

  "Hey chickiedoo! How was your day?" Frankie said, closing the window after her latest customer walked away.

  "Weston got kicked out of class for taking up for me. The Erins and some of the guys were waiting for me after school."

  "Aw! Wait . . . what?"

  "You heard me," I said, crossing my arms and leaning my butt against the counter.

  A minivan pulled into the parking lot, and several kids filed out. The mom came to my window, already looking worn. I took each of their orders, three of them changing while I was making them, and sent them on their way. After that, the lines formed and people kept adding to them until dark, so we didn't have much time to talk. When baseball practice let out, Weston's truck took off down Main Street, without stopping at the DQ. None of the players did..

  We cleaned up, closed the shop, and walked outside. "Ride?" Frankie asked, but then stopped, mid-step.

  Right outside the back door was Weston's red Chevy, towering over us. He was smiling down at me from the driver's seat. "Wanna take a drive?"

  Frankie looked back at me, pleading with her eyes for me to say yes.

  I nodded, and Weston disappeared, leaning over to pull the lever of the passenger door and pushing it open. I walked around the truck, but not without noticing Frankie's cheesy grin. I climbed up into the seat, and shut the door.

  "I'm sorry about earlier," I said. "I just kind of left you there to deal with them alone."

  "Stop. Don't you dare apologize to me."

  When I didn't respond, he pulled the truck into gear and pulled away, down my street and past my house, straight out of town. I knew where we were going, and I was glad. It felt better than going home, or to school, or even the Dairy Queen. It had become the one place where I could relax and be at peace.

  The Chevy's engine turned off, letting the silence of the night surround us. Weston opened the door and walked directly to the tailgate, pulling it down. This time he waited for me and held out his hand.

  I stared at his fingers. They were long, and the nails had been bitten down to the quick. "I'm not . . . helpless."

  "Oh, I know. I just think you're due for a little special treatment."

  I looked at his outstretched hand.

  He shrugged. "Just let me be nice to you."

  I let him help me to the tailgate and watched as he climbed up and sat next to me.

  "Oh," he said, leaning back and opening the cooler. He handed me a Fanta Orange, and he ended up with a Cherry Coke.

  "Thank you," I said, taking a sip. "What did your parents say? About today?"

  "They don't know."

  "What do you mean? Didn't the school call them?"

  "They didn't call Brady's, so they didn't call mine."

  I sighed. "Well, I'm glad. I guess they didn't give you detention, either?"

  "Nope."

  I nodded. "Why did I even ask?"

  He laughed once, without humor.

  "When I got home, after practice, my dad had an acceptance letter in his hand. He was smiling from ear to ear. I wanted to puke."

  "Why?"

  "Because it was from his alma mater. Duke University. Don't get me wrong, it's a good school. My sister loves it there."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "Another acceptance was in his other hand, from the Art Institute of Dallas." I waited while he took a sip of his Cherry Coke. "He didn't know I'd applied, and I tried to beat him home every day to check the mail so he wouldn't find out what I'd done."

  "But today you didn't beat him, because you were standing on the corner with me."

  "It's not your fault. He didn't even mention it. He didn't even care. He was too amped about the football scholarship, and even if I didn't get one, his mind was made up. It didn't even matter that I applied behind his back."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Weston pulled a wadded-up piece of paper from his letter jacket pocket. "I fished it out of the trash can."

  I felt my eyes light up. "You're going to go?"

  He stared at the paper. "I worked my ass off getting that application together."

  "You're avoiding the question."

  He looked at me. "What do you think? My parents won't help me with the tuition, much less an apartment."

  "So you work and go to school. You're not the first student in the world to do that."

  "I'm not scared of doing that. I'm just . . . that's a pretty big slap in the face to my parents. It's a big deal."

  "It's your life." Those words were simple and overused, but that was always true of the truth. "What would your thirty-year-old self say?

  "If he's sitting in an office pushing legal paperwork, he's probably cussing me."

  I shrugged and looked up at the sky. "Sounds to me like you know the answer."

  "It's a difference between want and should, isn't it?"

  "Yes. You should do what you want."

  He looked over at me and smiled, and I met his eyes. He watched me for a moment, and then his gaze fell to my lips. "You smell like ice cream."

  My breath caught. "So?"

  "I'm just kind of wondering if you taste like it."

  After a short pause, I choked then burst out in howling laughter.

  He grinned. "What? What's funny?"

  I couldn't stop the ugly cackling bubbling up from deep inside of me, like it had been waiting there my entire life to be
set free. My eyes watered. Weston quietly chuckled, too.

  "Man," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm glad it's dark."

  "Why's that?" I asked, wiping my eyes.

  "Because my face has got to be bright red right now."

  I nudged him. "Don't be embarrassed. Two weeks ago if someone told me you'd be saying that to me, I would have thought they were legitimately insane."

  "Would you have wanted me to kiss you two weeks ago?"

  I could only manage a side glance; then my line of sight dropped to my feet dangling from the tailgate. "No."

  "No?"

  "For the same reason I don't want you to kiss me now."

  His eyes lit up with realization. "Alder."

  "Yes," I said, pressing my lips into a hard line. He nodded once, conceding. "Is there something going on at the Diversion Dam tonight?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.

  Weston leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "I don't know, and I don't care."

  I crawled up next to him, and while looking up at the stars, we exchanged memories about grade school, how much we loathed Mrs. Turner, and everything else in our world with the exception of Erin Alderman.

  "Are you going to miss high school? I mean, you must," I said, shaking my head in amazement. "You're like a god here."

  He laughed once; then his face crumbled. "The god of Hell is the devil. Not really much of a compliment."

  "Touche." I let my legs swing back and forth, feeling the chilly spring breeze blow through the thin fabric of my pants. It was warm enough that the bugs were chirping and buzzing in the grass. I listened to their symphony, our own little private show.

  We drank our pops, and Weston crunched them in his man hands and tossed them behind us. He helped me down and walked around to my side, opening the door. I climbed up and sat, and he looked up at me.

  "You doing anything for Spring Break?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "My parents are going skiing with our church group. I was supposed to go to South Padre with Alder and Brady and pretty much the whole football team and cheer squad, but I'm going to back out."

  I frowned, confused.

  Weston was clearly amused as he leaned his elbow on the bottom compartment of the door, looking up at me with his perfect, sweet smile. "I'm going to stay here."

  "Won't your parents pitch a fit?"

  "They'll understand. Besides, I'm eighteen. Not really much they can do."

  "Alder won't understand."

  "I'm not worried about it."

  I narrowed my eyes. "You're going to leave me out of it, right?"