"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I missed my meeting!"
"What meeting?"
She shoves notes into her bookbag, wrinkling them, rushed. "At the elementary school. We're raising money for the library and I'm in charge. Jesus! How could I let this happen? I never forget anything!"
I struggle to connect the pieces. She missed a meeting? To work on a school project? "I think you're being a little hard on yourself."
"No. I'm not. You don't sign up to do something and then bail on everyone. People are counting on me," she replies, voice laced with a mix of panic and anger.
Holy shit. Is she freaking out?
Jaden McEntyre is freaking out on me.
Over a meeting. How is this even possible? She does more at this school than anyone I've ever seen. I'm sure she's overlooked something before now. This can't be the first meeting she's missed—the first thing she's forgotten. No one is that perfect.
I check the clock on the wall above the door. And she has to get to the elementary school? There's no way. "Well there's no point going now. It'll be over by the time you get there."
"Thank you for conveying the obvious," she snaps.
Shit.
Did she just yell at me?
I take a deep breath, lean back in my seat, and try to rationalize with her. "Look, Jaden. It's one meeting. It's not the end of the world."
There's this saying: if looks could kill....
If looks could kill, I am dead. As of this moment. I have been cast into Hell—withering under icy green eyes like none I have ever seen. "Maybe not to you, but it's the end of my world. I don't miss meetings. I don't sign up to do something and not follow through. I'm better than that."
"Please keep your voice down," the librarian says.
"I am keeping my voice down," she hisses.
Shit.
Did she just yell at the librarian?
When she turns back to me, her eyes are glistening. Tears—angry tears—fill her eyes, her entire world falling apart.
Guilt jams my throat, forcing it closed.
I'm the one who wanted to meet. I'm the one who put that note in her locker. I wanted to see her.
I stand, moving closer. "Jaden," I beg.
"I have to go," she says, voice breaking between words. "We can do this tomorrow. At my house. I'll, um...I'm really sorry."
She hurries to the exit. Disappears. The door clicks shut behind her. I fight the urge, forcing myself to stay still—to not bolt after her. If I could convince her to let me drive, she might get to her meeting a little faster. If I could go back in time, I would've never....
I stand there, frozen, thinking a hundred things I could've said. That I should've said. Something that would've made a difference.
It's not my problem. Not really. She didn't forget her meeting because of me. Deep down, I know this. It's not my fault.
But every time I blink I see tear-filled eyes; the desperation in her voice rings between my ears.
Parker: Two.
Jaden: Three.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My phone vibrates against the coffee table. Callie's photo appears on the screen.
Shit.
Phone date.
"Hey, Cal. I was about to call," I lie.
"I thought you might've forgotten again."
I check the time on my laptop. It's twelve minutes past nine. "I was working on biology. The science teacher is ancient. I think he forgot to assign homework earlier this week, because he gave us two sets of questions tonight."
"I still don't understand why you have to do all of this work. I mean, you're not a real student. Why can't you just pretend?"
"The faculty doesn't know," I say. "The principal is the only one at the school who has any idea what I'm doing there."
"I get it, but if you're supposed to be this problem student, why would you even bother with homework? At the end of the day it doesn't matter. It's not real."
My pulse ratchets a degree.
It's not real? Of course it's real. I'm sitting in the classes. I'm taking the notes. I'm acing the quizzes and passing the tests. This proves that I have what it takes—that I could've been somebody. I could've gone to college, too. I could've done whatever the hell I wanted. Of course it's real. Of course it matters.
"It does matter. It matters to me," I reply.
"What's wrong with you?" she asks. "You're not acting like yourself."
I lean back on the couch, exhaling a frustrated breath. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'm sorry. It was just...one of those days."
As soon as I utter the words it's like I'm back at the library. Isn't that exactly what Jade said? One of those days. As if that explained everything. And then she forgot her meeting. And then she freaking cried.
If I would've known she had other plans I would've never asked to meet her.
But then, when does Jaden McEntyre not have plans?
"Christopher?" Callie's voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"I said we don't have to do this tonight. If you want to get back to work...." she trails off, hesitating.
Part of me knows I should say no. That it's fine—we can talk. Another part stares at that biology homework. And another part entirely is still stuck on Jaden, trying to figure out what the hell happened this afternoon.
"There are a lot of questions here," I reply, before I even realize what I'm saying.
I know this isn't what Callie wants to hear. I know that I'm doing everything wrong. I know that Jaden probably hates me after this afternoon. I hate myself and I don't even know why. I don't know why it matters—why it bothers me so much.
Parker Whalen shouldn't give a shit.
"Okay," she says. "We'll talk tomorrow. Try to get some sleep, okay? You sound tired."
"Okay."
"I love you."
"Love you, too," I reply—words uttered a thousand times over, on so many occasions that I'm not even sure what they mean anymore....
* * *
I'm up before the sun. Can't sleep. I hit the gym just as the sky begins to lighten. I'm on my bike and heading out of town earlier than usual. I'm one of the first in the school parking lot. One of the first inside the building. The first inside Ms. Tugwell's room. I wait. And wait. The seats fill. The bell rings. And I wait.
She slips inside the classroom during announcements.
My eyes follow her from the door to her chair. She doesn't look my way. Not once. Not during the whole period. And I know this because every other freaking second I'm glancing over at her. All I want is a smile. A nod. Some kind of acknowledgement.
I just want to know she's okay.
She ignores me the entire hour, then jumps out of her seat before the bell stops ringing—first out of the classroom. I watch the door close behind her.
But even though it's like she's trying to get as far away from me as possible, I keep running into her. In halls. Passing classrooms. I'm not even looking for her, and suddenly she's everywhere. It's the worst kind of nightmare, because as little as I should care, I can't help but find her in everything.
I spend half of my day pissed because there's no way she can blame me for missing her meeting.
I spend the other half wanting desperately to make it right.
And that's how I find myself standing on her front porch that afternoon. Because even though we never confirmed our plans to meet, she did invite me. And I might be making a massive mistake—operating on an assumption—but I have to see this girl.
I'm sorry about yesterday—about the note. I didn't mean to....
Jaden, I'm really sorry I made you miss....
Jade, it was never my intention to....
I just need to see her smile.
The door swings wide.
And, after twenty-four hours of questioning and wondering and worrying, she's two feet away from me, frowning, playing with the charm on her necklace, pulling it back and forth.
Nervous habit.
&
nbsp; My heart smashes against my ribs. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don't come. It doesn't matter, though, because before I can apologize...
"Look, I just want to say I'm sorry about yesterday," she says. "You know, um, leaving early."
...she apologizes to me. And her eyes—they're soft. Sincere. She never blamed me for making her miss that meeting. She thought I was mad at her for leaving.
She was expecting me.
I feel like a piece of shit. A relieved piece of shit.
"No big deal."
"Okay. Because I didn't want you to think I was bailing on you or being rude. I just...." And then she stops. She breaks our gaze, eyes traveling the length of my chest. When I glance down, my jacket's unzipped. She's eyeing my blue polo shirt. When our eyes meet again, she's studying me carefully, forehead crinkled.
And we're just...standing here. Not speaking. Not moving.
"Can I come in?" I finally ask.
She snaps back to present. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry."
Did I just render Jade McEntyre speechless? Maybe I should've pulled out the polo shirts earlier. And now that there's no reason for me to apologize: "Hey."
Her cheeks flush. "Hi."
Speechless.
We head for the kitchen. Jaden's mom is there; her nephew is sitting in his high chair. The kid smiles when he sees me. He slaps his tray, happy.
"You remember my mom," Jaden says. "And this is my soon-to-be-official sister-in-law, Sarah, and Joshua."
So Daniel and Sarah aren't married. And they still live here. With their son.
"Nice to meet you." I tell her.
She smiles. "Likewise."
"Soda?" Jaden asks.
I take the can from her. "Thanks."
Jaden grabs our snacks and heads back to the foyer. "We'll be upstairs if you need us," she calls.
I take my time as we climb the stairs, studying the family photos more closely, watching Jaden grow with every step. "This one is my favorite, I think." It's Jade in Jr. High, complete with bangs and frizzy hair and a mouth full of braces. Skinny. Cute, but in an awkward, ugly duckling kind of way.
A stage she has clearly outgrown.
"That was eighth grade," she explains. "It was a tough year for me."
I swallow back a laugh. "I can see that. I'm actually kind of sorry I missed it."
"Shut up." She turns back to the stairs.
I pass that trio of dates again and subtract the numbers in my head.
Still eighteen.
And again, she touches the Harvard sticker on the way into her bedroom.
"You did that last time I was here," I point out.
"Oh. I know. It's just this weird thing. I put this up after we moved in. For motivation. After I sent out my application, though, I started touching it every time I came in or left the room. Good vibes. You know. There's one in my locker, too," she says. But I know this already. I've seen it. She laughs, nervous. "I guess you could say I'm obsessed?"
"Apparently. So...what happens if you don't get in?"
"Why would you ask that?" Her face pales at the insinuation, eyebrows drawing together, like I know something she doesn't. And it dawns on me—two seconds too late—that if this girl can't handle a missed meeting, a Harvard rejection would devastate her.
"I'm not saying you're not, obviously," I clarify. "It was a hypothetical question."
She drags her fingers through her hair, then tucks it behind her ears, relaxing. "Oh. Well. In that case, it's not an option. I'm getting in. You know, it's strange," she continues, changing the subject. "We take a lot of the same classes, but we're not in any together."
"What's so strange about that? Wait. How do you know what classes I'm taking?" We've never talked about our schedules. It's never even come up.
"I, um, work in the office last hour and happened to see your schedule the other day," she mumbles, busying herself with snacks, opening bags, refusing to look at me.
I've dealt with enough criminals, watched enough interrogations, heard enough stories, to know this girl is keeping something from me. "You just happened to see my schedule? How did you manage that?" I press, grabbing a handful of chips.
"I just saw it, that's all."
There's no way she's getting off this easily. "I got that part. I'm just trying to figure out how, exactly, you managed to see it."
She exhales a frustrated sigh. "Your file, okay? There's a copy of your schedule in your student file. That's how I know what you're taking. Are you happy now?"
I bite into a Sun Chip, unable to hide my smile. So Jaden McEntyre has been doing a bit of reconnaissance of her own. On me. "I thought student files were off limits."
"Not for me," she says, collapsing on the bed.
"Apparently."
"It was just this stupid thing. I was curious. I mean, I saw you in English and at lunch, but that was it. I didn't know anything about you, so yes. I looked in your student file."
Jaden McEntyre is curious about me.
And like that photograph—that date—on the wall, I'm not sure what to do with this information now that I have it. "You know that's illegal, right?"
She pulls back, tucks her hair behind her ears. "You're not going to report me, are you?"
"I'll have to think about it. So, we're in the same classes?"
"AP Chemistry, Biology, Spanish III. You know, you could be Harvard Med."
"What, you saw my grades, too?" I ask.
"What makes you think I saw your grades?"
"It's just that you must think I'm doing pretty well if I could hack it at Harvard."
Another sigh. "Yes. I saw your grades. And yes, believe it or not, I'm not the only one in this room who could be headed to an Ivy League school."
Ivy League? Like polo-playing, cardigan-wearing, future Congressman Ivy League? What the hell? The only reason I'm taking advanced classes is because I've already passed the basic ones. I mean, if you have to repeat senior year, why not expand the repertoire? And it's not like I did all that great the first time around.
Ivy League.
Further proof this girl is not my kind—on multiple levels.
"Nah." I grab my notebook, ready to work.
"Why not?" she pushes. "Your grades are stellar. You're in AP classes. You could probably get into any college you want."
"College is not on my agenda." College was never on my agenda. Even when I was a real senior—even when my friends were comparing campuses, when Callie was applying for her associates.... College wasn't for me.
"Really?" she asks. "Why not?"
"That's kind of a personal question, isn't it?"
"Maybe, but why wouldn't you want to? Going to college is the fastest way to get out of this town."
"Maybe I like it here," I suggest, leafing through pages, searching for my Ethan Frome notes.
She watches me carefully, skeptical. She's not buying it. "No offense, but you don't really seem like the type of guy who'd want to stick around after graduation."
My eyes travel to hers, our gazes locking. "None taken. And you're right. I'm gone the moment my diploma is in my hand."
"The very moment? Like, you're headed out in your cap and gown?" she says, teasing.
"The very moment."
Sooner, if the timing is right—when I have a solid enough case built to take the dealer down. I could disappear tomorrow. But then, if I did that, where would that leave us? Jaden and me. Our project, I mean.
She clears her throat. "Where are you going?"
When I'm done in Bedford? Back to Hamilton. To working the street. Hell, by fall I'll probably be in some other school in some other town, doing the same thing I'm doing here. But Jaden can't know this.
I have a problem with authority.
I am unfocused and undisciplined.
"Don't know. Somewhere...anywhere but here."
She sits quietly, desperately wanting me to go on. I'm a new level of mystifying. Impenetrable. Every question I answer raises three n
ew questions. And it kills her—not knowing, not understanding.
"Does this have anything to do with your dad?" she finally asks.
I could've predicted this was coming. I force a laugh. "I guess my student file mentioned there's trouble at home."
"Vaguely."
I reach inside my jacket pocket and remove a pen. "Well, believe me, I'm not the problem," I say, playing along.
It's easy, lying to strangers—to people who don't matter.
This—lying to Jaden—it doesn't feel right. Not at all.
"You should at least apply to Northwestern State," she says. "It's not too far away, and they've got awesome programs."
I shrug. "Yeah. Whatever."
Jaden drops the subject and we throw ourselves back into Ethan and Mattie and Starkfield—that miserable town full of miserable people. I think of the two of them, home alone while Zeena is away. How happy Ethan is having Mattie to himself. How, for a moment, she almost seems to ease into the role of loving wife.
For a moment, she's his.
And, for that moment, he experiences a new kind of forever. He sees how life could be.
The next day, when I arrive to English, there's a bag of Sun Chips and a soda on my desk, waiting for me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The bass thumps, pounding, my entire body thudding with the beat.
I know this place. I dropped in not too long ago—just passing through. I figure it deserves a second look.
It's too hot in here, too smoky, the rooms too packed with people. In another lifetime I lived for places like this. Weekend parties. Erik, Callie, the whole game. We'd sneak into our bedrooms late at night—buzzed out of our minds—wake up hung over the next morning.
I cross the kitchen and head out the side door.
It's not much quieter on the porch, the party inside spilling over to the lawn despite the frigid midnight air. A single spotlight brightens the yard, a few groups scattered throughout—a guy and girl making out in a dark corner, others sitting on railings, convening on the grass. I exhale a breath, already blowing smoke.
Smoke.
I reach inside my coat pocket, remove a pack of cigarettes and my lighter.