The only thing left for me to do was help Jamie. I know that’ll lighten Haley’s worry load considerably.
Jamie chugs Red Bull and shakes his head. “I’m swimming in words. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have said that. But he’s a whiz with hockey plays, I’ve learned. He can memorize. He just needs it to feel like a necessity. “If you do what I’m telling you, you’ll have a high enough grade that you can take all zeroes for next week and head to Minnesota State.”
His eyes widen. “No way. Seriously?”
I nod. I emailed Mrs. Markson a bunch this weekend. She’s a stickler, but she did make Jamie a very fair offer. “It’s teacher approved. She’ll even put your final grade in early so you’ll have credit.”
“And my diploma?” He looks like I’ve just offered him a million dollars.
“Yes.” I smack the paper in front of him. “But shut up and pay attention. We’re down to fifty-five minutes.”
“In case I run out of here celebrating later without saying this,” Jamie says, “thanks, man.”
“Not yet,” I warn. “We’ve got work to do.”
Jamie nods and downs more Red Bull. This is the most serious I’ve ever seen him.
…
I’m trying to work through my own test—which is thirty percent of our grade in the class—while keeping an eye on Jamie a few rows over and Haley right in front of me. I answer a couple more questions before looking over at him again. Mrs. Markson is blocking my view now. She’s been pacing up the aisles, but has now stopped beside Jamie, looking over his work. She leans in and whispers something. I hold my breath. Is she telling him he’s missing too many points or…hell, I don’t know. I’ve never been in Jamie’s position before. I’ve never even gotten a B on anything.
Jamie nods along to what she’s saying. I take that as a good sign and turn back to my test. I flip to the final page. I’ve got eight more multiple-choice questions to go, and then I’m done.
In front of me, Haley is tapping her pen in an even more neurotic rhythm than usual. She shifts in her seat, her foot joining the tapping pen. My stomach twists in knots. I want to tell her to relax. Rub her shoulders, make her close her eyes and take a few deep breaths.
I lean over a few inches, just to see which question she’s on. Only one page of the five-page double-sided test is flipped over. She’s on number twelve. Fuck. She’s not gonna finish. There’s no way. She tugs at her shirt collar and wipes sweat from her forehead. Her cheeks are a scary shade of pale.
Before I can even whisper the words “are you okay,” Haley is out of her seat, rushing toward the classroom door.
Shit.
I glance around and see Jamie start to rise from his seat. I hop up and walk quickly down his aisle. I press the back of his head, forcing him to look at his test again.
“Don’t move,” I whisper.
Mrs. Markson is still staring at Haley’s retreating form. She snaps around to face me when I reach the front of the room. “Where are you going?”
“I’m just gonna…” I point to the door, hating that everyone is looking at me. “I mean…”
“I’m not an idiot,” she says, pressing a hand to my chest. “You can’t leave until you’re done with your test.”
Jesus Christ. My jaw clenches but I nod. “I’m done. You can take it.”
She releases me immediately, and I race out the door, looking around the hallway for signs of Haley. Two girls’ bathrooms are of equal distance from our classroom. I pick one, and I only have to crack the door before I hear sounds of someone puking. A younger girl, probably a soon-to-be freshman, is at the sink, applying lip gloss. She wrinkles her nose at the sounds of retching. I walk right into the first stall where Haley is leaned over the toilet. Long blond strands are falling out everywhere. I quickly sweep them off her neck and out of the line of fire. With the hair in a pile in my hand, it’s clear I didn’t get here soon enough. While Haley is clearing out the remains of her stomach, I grab some toilet paper and attempt to clean off her hair.
I wait for the heaving to stop and then reach up and flush the toilet. I’m still holding her hair in one hand as she leans against the stall door and lifts her T-shirt to her face to wipe it clean. Very ladylike.
“Fletch, what are you doing in the girls’ bathroom? You’re gonna get in trouble.” Her eyes are closed. She looks completely miserable. My stomach twists again.
I place my free hand under her arm and pull her to her feet again. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Haley shuffles out the stall door but freezes when she spots the girl at the sink. The freshman goes all wide-eyed at the sight of Haley then practically runs out the door.
Haley swears under her breath. “Great. I hope you’re prepared to be pregnant with my baby by tomorrow.” She leans over the sink and turns the water on.
I release her hair and move to the other sink. “I don’t think I’d look good in maternity clothes.”
Haley splashes water on her face and in her mouth, then she lifts her head. “I meant I’m pregnant with your baby.”
A girl from our class appears in the doorway of the bathroom just as Haley says this. She goes completely deer-in-headlights. “Uh…Mrs. Markson told me to bring you these.”
She drops Haley’s purse and backpack by her feet and takes off.
“Fucking hell,” Haley groans. She tosses more water on her face and then sighs. “At least I have my toothbrush now.”
I wait for her to find the travel-size toothbrush and toothpaste she’d had at my house before I turn the faucet on to wash my own hands. The second I look down at my hands, currently under the stream of water, my heart jumps up to my throat. Hives. On my hands, maybe my neck.
God, I’m an idiot. A fucking idiot.
I dump a pile of soap on my hands, frantically, but not so much that Haley notices. The last thing she needs right now is another Fletcher-is-dying-and-it’s-all-your-fault episode. It’s not her fault.
“I was bombing that test, Fletch,” Haley says, her mouth full of toothpaste. “I kept reading the same question over and over again, and I couldn’t—” She shakes her head. “I studied. I really studied.”
My chest is tightening, but it’s not full-blown anaphylaxis yet. Wheat. It’s probably wheat. Or maybe dairy. I just need to help her get out of here and then take some Benadryl.
Haley rinses her mouth and then catches sight of the tips of her hair. “Oh God, that’s nasty.” She looks down at her shirt and groans even louder. She’s got the shirt off in a second, a purple bra back flashing in my line of sight, and then she digs in her backpack, pulling out her Otter cheer tank.
I tug at my shirt collar, scratching my neck hard. I can ask Jamie for a ride home after I triple dose on antihistamines. I reach behind me until my fingers land on the pouch that holds my two EpiPens.
Haley sticks the ends of her hair under the faucet and attempts to reach the soap dispenser, but it’s too far. “Great.”
On instinct, I jump in to help, putting a pile of soap in my palm. I lay my other hand on her back. I don’t know what I can say that’s worthwhile, but I want to do something. To be something. “Haley, I’ll talk to Mrs. Markson for you. I bet I can get her to let you take the test over.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. To repeat that experience.” She takes a glob of soap from my hand and lathers up her hair, but she keeps the hair a distance from me. “Be careful, you probably shouldn’t—”
She bolts upright, her eyes wide. “You already touched me, didn’t you?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
I’m not fine. I’m not dying, either. But my throat is closing. I need my inhaler. And the Benadryl.
“Jesus.” She carefully ties her hair up, scrubs her hands again, and then turns to me. “What do you need?”
I stick my hands behind my back, but Haley reaches for them. She pushes me until I’m walking backward and
eventually plopping down on the bench underneath the window. I’m working so hard at staying calm, keeping all the breathing difficulties not emotionally or panic driven so I can assess how bad this is.
Haley shoves the window open and then squats down in front of me. “You can breathe?”
I nod.
“Swear to God?”
I nod again, making a big show of inhaling. A breeze from outside swoops in, and fresh air fills my lungs. I close my eyes for a second and feel Haley’s small fingers behind my back. She unzips the pouch and grabs my EpiPens. “You hold one, I’ll hold the other, and I’ll go get your bag, okay?”
I grab her shirt to stop her. “You aren’t going to…I mean what are you gonna tell—”
She rolls her eyes. “Give me a little credit.”
The second she’s out of the bathroom, I pull the cap off the EpiPen and hold it above my thigh. I recite my action plan going through each system in my head. I didn’t eat anything. It’s skin contact only. Though I could have inhaled particles.
Haley returns so quickly I have to look up to make sure it’s her and that she has my bag. She does. But she throws it to the ground right away and goes back to the sink, scrubbing her hands hard again. She frantically scrubs between her fingers and under her nails, then she squeezes her eyes shut and scrubs her entire face with soap.
Shit. I’ve made her OCD now.
“Haley, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”
She’s drying off with paper towels now. “Yes, I do.” She plunges a hand into my backpack and emerges with a bottle of Benadryl. She squints at the bottle’s label, trying to read the dosage.
“Just give me four,” I say. “Maybe five.”
She dumps the pills into her palm and holds them out for me to take. It occurs to me that her hands are probably cleaner than mine. I tug her closer and put the pills right into my mouth from her hand. I head over to the sink again, take a drink from the stream to wash the medicine down, and give my hands and arms another scrub.
“New shirt?” Haley says, holding up a folded T-shirt from my bag. Obviously, sports participation has provided an advantage for both of us today.
I’m shaking my hands dry while Haley brings my T-shirt over my head. She tosses the dirty one as far across the bathroom as she can, then steps back to look me over. “Maybe just go without one.”
I sit back down and laugh. Haley hands over my inhaler, and I take a few puffs. My lungs open up immediately. Okay, this is a good sign.
“Better?” she asks.
I nod, counting to five in my head before exhaling.
“Your lips aren’t blue,” she says, leaning in to look me over. “Or like big and swollen.”
I turn my hands over. “The hives aren’t too bad. Was it eggs?”
“Muffins.” She wrinkles her nose, her face heating up like she’s humiliated by this whole event.
“Hey…” I rest a hand on her shoulder. “I’m the one having an asthma attack in the girls’ bathroom.”
“Well, they can’t really blame you, can they?” She bats her long eyelashes. “I mean, you just found out you’re going to be a father.”
I drop my face into my hands and start laughing. This is seriously the nightmare I’ve protected myself against for years, and now I’m laughing about it. Oxygen deprivation is a bitch.
Seconds later, Haley is sitting on the floor laughing harder than me, tears forming in her eyes. “On my God,” she says, her shoulders shaking. “We are so screwed.”
“It’s summer school,” I point out. “Gossip has to move slower in summer school, right? Only five percent of the student body is here.”
“You sound better already,” she says. “If you had just left me alone and stayed in your seat…”
“I’m fine, I swear.”
From outside the door, the sounds of students walking the hall get louder, indicating classes are out. A high-pitched voice says the word “baby” loud and clear. I look at Haley, and we both start laughing again.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Jamie bounces in, his fist in the air. “Guess who is fucking done with this place!”
Haley looks up at him and grins. It’s only then that I notice she’s still pale and sick looking.
Jamie skids to a stop and takes in both of us. “What the hell is going on?”
“Fletcher’s pregnant,” Haley says, straight-faced.
I nod. “I am.”
“I thought I heard something about that.” Jamie walks back to the door, sticks his head out, and shouts, “It’s my fucking baby!” Haley slaps a hand over her face, and I start cracking up again. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Markson.”
“Shit,” Haley mutters.
I kick her foot. “Look sick.”
Our teacher comes in, heels clicking against the tile floor. She holds both hands up. “Please tell me no one is pregnant.”
“Fletcher is,” Jamie says, closing the door and coming back inside.
“No one is pregnant,” Haley answers.
“Thank God,” Mrs. Markson says. “Because I skipped the special workshop we had on dealing with those situations.”
“Haley needs a retest,” I say immediately. Our teacher’s eyes grow to double the size, and I quickly realize my mistake. “A retake of the Civics test. Maybe a less time-pressured retest.”
“Go finish now,” she tells Haley. “I’m here until five. Is that long enough?”
Haley’s face goes from pale to bright red, but she scrambles to her feet. “Thank you so much. I swear, I studied, I just—”
Mrs. Markson waves a hand. “Go. Before I change my mind.”
“Haley,” I say, catching her hand. “You know that stuff. I drilled you on Friday, and you were ready. One question at a time, okay?”
She nods and then passes by Jamie, who smacks her on the ass. “Go, Stevenson! You got this!”
“Hands in your pockets. Now.” Mrs. Markson points a finger at him and then turns to me. “Are you all right, Fletcher? You’ve got hives. You didn’t have hives when you left my classroom. And where is your shirt?”
“She really is ready for that test,” I say on Haley’s behalf. I have good clout with the teachers, and I feel like I should take advantage of it. I reach for the T-shirt on the floor and pull it over my head. “And I’m fine. I took Benadryl.”
“Okay. Do you need a ride home? Should I call your father?”
“I got it covered,” Jamie says. “That’s my man over there.”
Okay, this is weird. Whatever. As long as I can get out of this girls’ bathroom sometime soon, I’ll be fine.
“I just have one last thing to do,” Mrs. Markson says, then she turns to face Jamie and holds out her hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Isaacs, you are now a high school graduate.”
Jamie’s usual goofy expression falls, and he stands up a bit straighter before shaking our teacher’s hand.
“Good luck in college,” she says before sweeping out of the room.
Jamie takes a breath of the fresh air Haley allowed in. “I always wanted to graduate in a girls’ bathroom.”
I snort back a laugh. “Check the hallway, will you? See if anyone’s out there.”
Jamie pokes his head through the door. “It’s just Clooney.”
“Shit, Cole needs a ride, too.”
“Yeah, I figured. Little wingman’s probably got a lot of questions for you.” Jamie lifts an eyebrow, and my stomach sinks again.
But the Benadryl has caused a calm feeling to wash over me. My limbs are like Jell-O. I manage to make it out to Jamie’s truck without too many balance checks. The Russian judges would have probably deducted points, but whatever. Cole sits between us, and I lay my cheek against the cool window.
Jamie’s down the road, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, matching the beat on the radio, when he says, “You may have heard some rumors…”
Cole’s mouth falls open, but he snaps it shut again, sinking back against the seat.
Okay, he’s not happy.
“But just so you know, Fletcher is not pregnant. It was a straight-up blue line. All three tests.”
Cole’s gaze bounces between the two of us, his face tense. “It’s not funny,” he mumbles.
“It’s a little bit funny,” Jamie says. “At least the first time, and that was the first time for you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing away the sleeping cloud floating in front of me. “No one is pregnant.”
“So, you and Haley are…” Cole stops, his voice cracking.
I open my eyes. “We’re not anything.”
Jamie clears his throat, obviously disagreeing. Then he coughs the word “bullshit.”
“It’s fine. Whatever,” Cole says, staring straight ahead.
“Cole, seriously, I’m not…”
“Better finish that sentence before you pass out,” Jamie says. “You’re not what? Screwing her?”
“Nope,” I say.
“Dating her?”
“Nope.”
“Becoming her new BFF?”
I think about trying to sit beside Haley and watch the video on her phone. I didn’t last five seconds before I began the imaginary make-out session inside my head. Definitely not best-friend behavior. But friends, maybe? “Nope, not BFFs.”
“What else is left?” Jamie says. “Are you thinking about her naked? Wait…I do that sometimes, so it can’t count for anything.”
Cole shakes his head. “I don’t care.”
Even tactless Jamie has the sense to put an end to this conversation, and Cole and I are forced to listen to him tap the same beat against the steering wheel all the way to my house. I stumble out of the car, and Cole pushes past me and heads for the back, where Grandpa Scott is using the ax again. I’m sure he’ll give Cole an education in anger management.
“Have fun with that, man,” Jamie says, sympathy on his face. “Little dude over there is a romantic. What can you fucking do?”
Yeah, what can I fucking do? I was a romantic at Cole’s age, too. It was a very short-lived state of mind for me, one I can hardly recall.
Even though I’d love nothing more than to fall into my bed and give myself over to the sleep cloud hovering over me, I walk carefully down the driveway and into the back. Grandpa’s got his know-it-all look on. He stares at me for a long moment—maybe an attempt to transfer his advice silently—and then he hands the ax to Cole and stalks over to the barn.