I sway and reach for something to grab on to, but unfortunately, I’m outside in the open. I plop down in the grass. Good. The ground is flat and stable. Not tilting like the rest of the world in front of me.
“Look, Cole,” I start but pause when he takes a whack with the ax. For such a good shooter, he has surprisingly bad aim with an ax. “I didn’t mean for anything to happen with Haley.”
“I told you she liked you.” Whack, whack, whack. Grass blades fly up everywhere.
“It helps if you aim for that big hunk of wood,” I suggest.
Cole glares at me, his long, skinny arms dangling from the weight of his chosen weapon. “She’s different than you thought, isn’t she? Not so shallow and superficial after all?”
Huh. Now this is surprising. I always imagined Cole to be infatuated with Haley Stevenson, Princess of Juniper Falls. It’s possible I may have underestimated him. “You’re right. She’s different than I thought.”
He takes another swing and makes contact with the tip of the tree branch.
“Good one,” I say.
Cole gives the wood a satisfied smirk. When he looks over at me, he’s much calmer now. “I’m glad you figured it out.”
“You are?” This is definitely surprising, considering the fact that it took some close personal interaction with his current crush for me to figure this out. Maybe Cole doesn’t know about those things. Surely, he suspects something happened between us.
“I am.” He nods. “But what if…”
“What?” I press.
Cole shakes his head, his gaze focused on the wood. “Never mind. You’ll think it’s pathetic.”
“Your axman skills are pathetic.” I roll my eyes. “But whatever you’re thinking isn’t.”
“I like Haley,” he says with a sigh. “She’s beautiful and just…so much. And obviously I’m too much of a kid for her…but Jesus Christ, don’t you think there’s someone else who wants her like I do, and what if…” He looks away from me, probably preparing for my judgmental or teasing side. “What if she’s too hung up on you to meet that person or whatever?”
“Cole, did you just say, ‘Jesus Christ’? I think that’s a new swear phrase for you.”
He drops the ax, shaking his head. “Forget it. I knew you would think it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” I groan and flop back into the grass. In fact, I think my fifteen-year-old cousin just displayed more maturity than me. Truth is, I don’t want this responsibility. I don’t want the power to affect or effectively ruin someone else’s life—someone outside of my family, anyway. I’ve managed to avoid putting myself in a position like this for a very long time. I allow these responsible thoughts in for a few seconds, and then I shut them down quickly, reverting back to my defensive mode. If I can make Cole believe me, maybe I can make myself believe me. “I wasn’t lying about what I said in Jamie’s truck.”
“You mean about not screwing her?” he says, and I flinch hearing my little cousin speak those words so bluntly. “And you’re not dating her? But you know she likes you, and you keep hanging around her, messing with her head…”
“I’m not messing—” I stop myself. It’s true that I wasn’t messing with her head in the beginning, but now, I fucking rushed off to the bathroom and then held her hair while she barfed.
“If you’re falling for her, then you should just tell her,” Cole says.
Falling for Haley? How is that possible? We haven’t done anything except make out. Twice. Of course, there’re all the times I wished we were kissing, wished we were doing more than kissing. And right now, we’ve been apart for twenty minutes and I already want to see her again.
Jesus Christ, I’m screwed.
“Fletch?” Cole says, leaning over me now. “You’re starting to turn a little bit blue, what does that mean, again? I can’t remember? Do I get the EpiPen?”
I tug my inhaler from my pocket and take a puff.
“I’m not mad at you,” Cole offers.
I nod like this is great news, though honestly, it’s kind of the least of my worries. Not that I don’t care about his feelings, but he’s supposed to be the only one with feelings.
“It’s not like you were trying to go after Haley because I like her, right?” Cole presses.
“No, definitely not,” I manage to say.
Some of the worry fades from his expression, which means I must be less blue. He sits down in the grass. “I’m not an idiot. I know Haley isn’t going to go out with me—assuming I’d ever have the balls to ask her out—I mean, I didn’t know that at first but after a while, I got it. So, you don’t have to, you know, pretend to help me or anything.”
He diverts his eyes from mine, embarrassed to admit all this, I’m sure. “Look, Cole, I only knew how this would play out because I’ve been there. I was into this older girl, Tia, when I first started working at Ricky’s. We even danced together sometimes, so of course I confused her performance feelings with real feelings and…” I stop, not wanting to relive that, especially now with all this other shit out in the open. “Anyway, I’m sure you can guess how it turned out.”
He’s quiet for a minute, absorbing this news, or maybe he doesn’t know what to say. “That actually sounds worse than me and Haley. Sounds like you put yourself out there. I did the opposite of that. Crushing on Haley from a distance was pretty damn safe, no risk at all.”
“When did you get so smart?” I stare at my younger cousin, scrutinizing him. It seems like only weeks ago that he was this twelve- or thirteen-year-old kid who I had to protect, had to hide details about my job from, and edit swear words out of everything I said. Now I can’t hide anything from him.
Cole beams with the compliment. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How you had everything figured out about me and Haley right away, and I had you and Haley pegged right away…”
Vixen comes barreling over, panting right in front of me. I think she is learning to sense distress on my end. I stroke her back trying to calm her, and then Cole’s declaration hits me. “Wait…what do you mean you had us pegged?”
He shrugs, stands, and grabs the ax again. “In the hallway after that first day of summer school…you didn’t see how she was looking at you? And I could tell she’d pissed you off, which meant there was a chance.”
“A chance for what?” Where the hell is this coming from? No way did Cole see all of that after two minutes in the hallway.
“A chance that she could shake you up a little.” He turns red at that and focuses on swinging the ax instead of looking at me. “You have patterns when it comes to girls. You just needed someone to force you to change those patterns.”
“What books have you been reading? Or are you watching General Hospital again?”
Cole ignores this jab. “I mean, I didn’t want it to be Haley. At first, anyway. But I wanted it to be someone.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes. “You’ve told me your feelings about hookups without relationship. I get it.”
“Not just that.” He finally holds the ax still and looks at me. “It’s really cool having you at practices. I just thought maybe if you went out with someone from town, then we could hang out more together, like with the team or just people from school. After you played at state, I was sure things would change, but you’re on the team now and things sort of haven’t changed, and that sucks…for me at least.”
I don’t know what to say. Or how Cole kept all of that stuff inside his head. Until now. Never in a million years would I have guessed that he’d want something like that from me. Maybe because I can’t imagine myself as someone hanging out in Juniper Falls on Friday or Saturday nights.
“What did you think would happen?” I ask Cole. “That we would suddenly start spending weekends loitering at Benny’s wearing our varsity jerseys, flirting with cheerleaders? First off, Benny’s uses peanut oil in their fryer. I can’t step foot near that place.”
“I know that,” Cole says. “But didn’t you have a party her
e? With Jamie and Leo and Haley? If you just explained stuff to people, they’d understand.”
“Some of them,” I agree, thinking of Haley. She really was a rock star today, coming to my rescue. “But not all of them. How am I supposed to know who to trust? Plus, do you know what people say about my dad? About Braden? My mom? And then there’s Grandma Scott…”
“No one ever talks about any of that,” Cole argues.
“Yeah, not now. But my mom moved out of town, and the rest of us stay out here in the middle of nowhere most of the time. But if things changed—”
“Things have changed. You’re just not ready to accept any of it.” Cole drops the ax, clearly disappointed. “I guess you figured out what to do about Haley?”
My forehead scrunches. “I have?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
With that, he scoops up the ax and heads for the barn, probably to put it away. And all I can do is just sit here, frozen in place. Because he’s right. I’m not willing to change all of the things he mentioned. Being in a relationship with someone like Haley—a town socialite—is impossible without being under the microscope. Look how fast the pregnancy rumors spread through the summer-school crowd today. And would any girlfriend be okay with her boyfriend spending Saturday nights smashed against other women? For money?
Cole’s right. The only thing I can do about these newly discovered feelings for Haley is, well, nothing.
The answer I’d been digging for makes my chest ache. I never thought doing nothing could hurt so much.
Chapter Thirty
–Haley–
I tap my foot impatiently while Mrs. Markson flips through my test. It’s after three in the afternoon. I’ve been in this classroom since nine this morning. I’m so ready to be out of here, but I couldn’t not take advantage of her giving me as long as I needed on the test. Somehow that gave me this sharp tunnel vision I rarely have when it comes to school stuff.
I glance at my cell phone and nearly scream out loud when I read the first of the slew of text messages I’ve gotten during the day.
LESLIE: u had sex in the girls bathroom??? During summer school? Hope you took the bathroom pass! U drop a whole letter grade for ditching 1 day
KAYLA: I’m confused…did u hook up with Jamie or the mystery guy in the bathroom? Or was it Mira Sylveski? Someone said they saw her taking ur stuff in the bathroom.
AMANDA: U would tell me if ur gay right? I’m cool with that, btw
BAILEY: Mira is kinda hot. Just sayin
Jesus Christ, what is wrong with these people? And mystery guy? That has to be Fletcher. I guess the girl who saw him didn’t know his name. Well, at least one good thing came out of that mess. I check on Mrs. Markson—still grading—and then with a heavy sigh I type a heated text to Leslie. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite me in the ass.
ME: Truth—I got test anxiety, ran to the bathroom to barf, Mrs. Markson asked Mira to bring my stuff, and then Jamie came in to check on me. That’s it. I’m a little busy trying to save my grade so can you just be my best friend and fix this asap?? You know I would do it for you.
So yeah, I left Fletcher out, but it’s still the truth. Mostly. I wait the longest thirty seconds of my life for her reply and then sigh with relief when I see it.
LESLIE: Of course. I’m on it *hugs*
I stuff my phone way down in the bottom of my bag so I won’t be tempted to check for more updates. Finally, Mrs. Markson flips back to page one of my test and scribbles a score on the front—a score I can’t see from my seat. I’m in the desk right across from hers, so there’s really no excuse to stand and peek yet.
“The PowerPoint you and Fletcher turned in over the weekend,” she says, her impassive teacher face plastered on. “How much of that was your effort? Be honest, I’ve already logged the grade, so it doesn’t make a difference either way. I’m aware that Jamie Isaacs did none of his assignment.”
That’s not completely true. His partner, Trinity, asked him to make up a really old person’s name, and he said, “Harold.”
“I have no clue what the conclusion says,” I admit. “But I do know that Barbie isn’t in it.”
She shakes her head, confused probably. “But the rest?”
“I helped with all the rest. I mean, Fletcher is the one who knows how to outline, and I got caught up on the individual sections, and he made sure we had all the pieces at the end…”
“Give me an overview of your project, then,” she says.
Even though I’m dying to know my test grade, I attempt to explain the project in as much detail as possible. We won’t present it until tomorrow, but we had to turn in the hardcover for a grade by Sunday night.
Basically, our PowerPoint was a timeline of voting progression from the signing of the Constitution to present day. Who voted then—the demographics like ages, marital status, gender, race—and now. And then we included each amendment to the Constitution and how that affected voting demographics.
“Okay.” She nods like I’ve managed to satisfy her with my response. “I gave you two a hundred and four percent on the written part. Now I can sleep at night knowing you didn’t bribe my best student into doing it for you.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I protest. Is that so hard to believe? I may have sought out a brainy partner so that I could actually learn something, in addition to getting a good grade. And I did. Learn something. Organization of thoughts never comes easy to me. Fletcher gave me a basic template to use for any project in this realm.
“I’m sure you’ll do well presenting the material. You’ve got a knack for public speaking.” She finally hands me my test. A big red 90 percent is written across the top.
I look up at her, my mouth hanging open. “For real?”
“I checked it twice.” She opens a desk drawer and removes a folder with my name on it. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been leaving questions blank on all your tests and quizzes.”
I take a deep breath and nod. Oh man, is she gonna dock me points for having all this extra time compared to everyone else? It would make sense. It should be the same circumstances for all students. “I almost never finish tests in time. Same thing happened to me on the ACT. I left a bunch blank on each section.”
“So, this is a continuing problem for you?”
I nod, hoping I haven’t opened an ugly can of worms. I don’t have the best grades in the world, but I’d rather they didn’t get any worse because Mrs. Markson looked into my files a bit too carefully.
“Well, unlike the teen-pregnancy workshop I skipped out on, I did attend the test-anxiety workshop,” she says, flipping the folder open. “If you can get a diagnosis from an approved professional, the school and possibly even the ACT board will allow you to have extra time.”
I sink back into my seat. “What kind of diagnosis?”
“Have you had any trouble reading? Or been diagnosed with dyslexia?”
Does having an unread pile of novels in my room count as reading troubles? I shake my head.
“Are you sure? You’d be surprised how many dyslexic kids go undiagnosed,” she says.
“Guess I don’t know for sure. But I know I could read really well in preschool, and no one else could,” I explain. “I got picked all the time by the teachers to show off my skills. I think it gave me a complex.”
Mrs. Markson cracks a smile. “Probably not a reading issue slowing you down.”
“I do have to reread the questions a lot,” I admit. “What else is grounds for extra time?”
“Mood and anxiety disorders, like OCD, autism spectrum, ADHD,” she recites. “Any learning disability may qualify with proper documentation.”
“ADHD?” I wasn’t expecting that. “People get extra time for being hyper?”
“I believe so,” she says. “Mr. Smuttley can give you more specifics and tell you what’s required as far as documentation. Definitely talk to him.”
“Okay.” I nod even though I’
d been poised to deny any ADHD labels.
“But right now…” She drops a quiz from two weeks ago onto my desk. “Answer those last three questions for me.”
I stare at her, not sure if she’s serious. But when she doesn’t stop me, I flip to the last page and read the first blank question. My adrenaline is still pumping from all this grade drama, so I get through it quickly. Mrs. Markson takes the paper, gives two questions a red check mark and one a red X. Then, on the front of the test, she changes my 76 percent to an 83 percent.
I open my mouth to respond, but she drops our first exam onto my desk. “You left seven blank on this one. Want to take a stab?”
“I’m not sure—” I start to say, my cheeks warming. Maybe Fletcher waved his magic perfect-student wand and bribed her. As much as I want to take the advantage, I’m not sure it’s right. “I mean, isn’t this cheating?”
“No,” she says, and when I still look doubtful, she explains, “Haley, what do you think the purpose of a high school class is? Try to push through the hazy mixed signals we like to send around here.”
“To get a good grade,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Try again.”
“To pass?” I suggest, less sure.
“Uh-uh.” She flips test one to the page with all the blank answers. “The purpose is to be proficient in the material presented. Mastery. All the grade and test mumbo jumbo is because we teachers have to provide proof of that proficiency or, in some cases, not. And the proof often isn’t an accurate portrayal of proficiency. Are you following me?”
My forehead wrinkles. “Sort of.”
“I take my course material very seriously,” Mrs. Markson says. “God forbid any of you students walk away from my class claiming God as the founder of our country.”
I laugh. “Or the first lady as successor to the vice president.”
“Or that.” She nods. “We haven’t even finished our class, and already those are two mistakes you will no longer make, correct?”