Red at Night

  Stella’s head falls back in disappointment and I hate that I’ve somehow let her down. “This is not healthy.”

  “Healthy?” Not what I was expecting. “You don’t know anyone at the cemetery and yet you hang out there like it’s the mall. Out of the two of us, I’d say you’re the one with the bigger problems.”

  She arches her back like a pissed off cat and her eyes harden. Crap. Not what I intended to do.

  “Guess I’m a freak, right?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, it is.” She’s referring to Cooper and how he’s cracked snide comments here and there, particularly when she passes our table at lunch. Without a doubt it’s my fault. Cooper’s noticed my fascination with Stella and he’s asked repeatedly and loudly why I’m interested in the freak.

  She turns her back to me and I grow desperate. Stella’s the lone person I’ve been able to talk to, to be with, and through our time together, she’s becoming more and I like more. “Stella, wait.”

  But she doesn’t.

  I have to give her something. Something I’ve never given anyone. “Stella...I visit James Cohen because...because it’s my fault he died.”

  She pauses and I count my heartbeats until she slowly pivots to face me.

  “James Cohen died in a crossover car accident,” she says.

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about it.”

  “I didn’t, but sue me for being curious. I looked it up online. A car lost control. Went over the median. He died. It’s very tragic, but what I don’t get is why he matters to you.”

  Slack-mouthed, I stare at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

  “I figured you’d tell me what happened when you were ready.”

  When I was ready...but am I? I try to take in air, but my lungs constrict. “I was there. I watched it happen.”

  I was two car lengths behind him. He switched into the fast lane of the expressway and so did I to avoid trash and then it happened. No warning. No advance notification. A semi barreled over the grassy strip and hammered the car in front of me.

  My eyes dart everywhere, seeing the floor, the school’s painted cement wall, but all my mind captures is the way the glass in the back window of James Cohen’s car fractured like millions of spider webs. The deafening sound of the impact. The way my heart squeezed past my throat. The way my muscles locked as I slammed on the brakes and the desperate prayer I would survive.

  God answered my prayer but not James Cohen’s.

  My breaths get shaky and I blink as my eyes burn. I haven’t cried yet. Mom said I should cry.

  Stella’s careful with her steps toward me. Those gray eyes have softened, but I spot worry in them. “You aren’t related to him?”

  I shake my head, the panic inside of me halting my ability to speak.

  “You didn’t know him before the accident?”

  Another shake and I stare at the brown-speckled linoleum floor.

  Then she’s there—in front of me. The toes of her shoes bumping into mine. A delicate sweep of soft fingers against my cheek and I lean into her touch.

  Stella sidles closer, her small frame brushing against my body. The sweet scent of honeysuckle surrounds me like a blanket.

  “You’re the one,” she whispers. “The one they talked about on the news. The unnamed Good Samaritan.”

  The one the reporters are dying to talk to. The assumed hero who carried out a dying man’s wish. But I’m no hero. I’m a fraud.

  I’ve got to tell somebody. I have to release it. Otherwise my soul will join James Cohen in the ground. I’ll still be breathing, my heart will still be beating, but I won’t be fully alive...just the walking dead.

  “I couldn’t stop the bleeding.” My voice is hoarse, hardly sounding like my own. “I tried, but it was coming from so many places. He asked me to take his hand...”

  My entire body trembles and Stella wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly, holding me together, and I bury myself in her.

  “It’s okay,” she says strongly. “It’s okay.”

  If only that were true.

  Stella

  I hold Jonah’s hand as we walk down the hallway to the guidance counselor’s office and I’m more than aware that he’ll regret this moment by tomorrow morning. People gawk as we pass. The girl with the purple hair, the girl who pulled her lunch out of the garbage can in third grade because some stupid boy threw it in there not understanding that’s all she’d eat for the day, is clutching the hand of the guy everyone knows and likes.

  Jonah doesn’t notice the stares now. With his shoulders rolled forward and his hand gripping mine like I’m the sole thing keeping him from falling off a cliff, he’s lost in his own world. He blames himself for a death that couldn’t have been stopped.

  How can I judge him for being so messed up? How many of us honestly see death face to face? Jonah has and it’s changed him. I sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye. Yes, Rick’s right, people can possibly change. It sucks that it takes something so awful to make it happen.

  I expect Jonah to release me when we get to the office, but instead he joins me. The secretary’s eyes flicker between us, and Jonah says, “I need a few minutes alone before class.”

  “Okay,” she answers. “Your parents told us what happened. Why don’t you go into the sick room and lie down. I know Mrs. Collins would be willing to talk with you if you wanted.”

  He says nothing to her, but he squeezes my hand. Knowing that this will probably be the last time I’ll be so close to him, I squeeze back. Instead of the smile I was hoping to see in return, Jonah lets go of my fingers and cups my face with both hands.

  The heat from his skin radiates into mine and I swear his warmth rushes into my bloodstream. My heart stops as he angles my head to look at him. His thumbs sweep over my cheeks and the air around us crackles.

  Crap, I just got dizzy.

  “Are you Miss Vaughn?” says a female voice behind me.

  Jonah lowers his hands and I slam my fingers onto the counter so that I don’t drop to the floor. Um, am I? “Yes.” That sounded correct.

  When I have the slightest control over my voluntary motor functions again, I glance behind me and spot—all blonde and all professional—Mrs. Collins, our school’s in-house social worker. She assesses me, then Jonah. “Are you okay, Jonah?”

  He nods. “Just need a few minutes.”

  “Of course.” She flashes a friendly grin. “I don’t believe there’s anyone in the sick room. We can talk later if you’d like.”

  I hear Jonah’s footsteps retreat, but I keep my sights locked on Mrs. Collins. I don’t trust social workers.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks.

  My teeth click together. Nope, not having this. “My appointment is with Mrs. Branch.”

  She doesn’t blink or even halfway frown at my comment. “I asked Mrs. Branch if I could take this meeting with you.”

  “Well, then un-ask.”

  “Why would I do that?” There’s a spark in her eye I don’t care for. “If I did then I couldn’t admire the rainbow on your hand.”

  I glare at her and she simply motions in the direction of her office. With an on-purpose eye roll, I stomp the few steps in and dramatically collapse into the seat across from her desk. Toddleresque, I know, but I’d prefer that she not “ask” for me again.

  Her office is a nightmare, as in she should seriously be considered for some type of hoarders show. Paper—everywhere. Then there are these cutesy sayings framed on the wall. Do people actually believe that inspirational bull?

  Mrs. Collins closes the door behind her and settles into the seat at her desk. “So is Jonah your boyfriend?”

  “No.” I haven’t really had one of those. I’ve
kissed a few boys, but there’s been no one who’s knocked my socks off. Plus witnessing Joss and my dad being all dysfunctional is a major deterrent to relationships.

  But if I were going to have one, Jonah would be the guy. I worry over a thread on the hem of my shirt. I wish I knew how to help him.

  “He needs friends,” she states.

  My eyes snap to hers. “What?”

  “Jonah,” she continues. “I can tell you’re worried about him. He and I haven’t talked, but knowing what I do about what he’s been through, he needs good friends to talk to. I’m glad he has you.”

  Jonah said he felt like a fraud. I cross my ankles and try to hide in the chair. “I’m not good at that—the whole friend thing.”

  She smiles and it’s the type that makes you think that happily-ever-afters do exist. “I have a feeling you’re perfect for the job. All it takes is someone willing to listen.”

  Not loving this conversation, I squirm. “Jonah has plenty of friends.”

  “I’m sure he does, but does he have someone who will listen, and not just to the words that come out of his mouth?”

  Our eyes meet and it’s like she can read my insecure thoughts.

  “Do you know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here to listen, Stella?”

  “I don’t have anything to say.” And the room grows smaller.

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  Neither do I. Even though Dad’s called Joss twice, he hasn’t returned home and there’s a sinking feeling inside me that says this is it. This is forever. Joss accidently told Dad that I turned eighteen and his response was that I officially became old enough to fend for myself.

  “There’s a reason I came here,” I say. “And it’s not over this.”

  “Okay then.” She peruses the guidance counselor meeting request form I filled out as if she hasn’t seen it before. Which, since she asked for me, we both know isn’t the case.

  “I’m growing old.”

  “Yes, you are. Which is why I asked to see you. We’ve been contacted by the Fantastic Footwear Foundation.”

  Mrs. Collins waits for a reaction and she gets one. Being our school’s social worker, she’d know this foundation and I share a past, and why that would stop all games on my part. They contact social service agencies to discover which kids need the help and every year since the program’s been in existence, I’ve made that list.

  I push my hair behind my ear and scoot to the edge of my seat. “I’m too old for them now.”

  “Yes and no. They’ll help you again this year, but it will be your last. I was wondering if you’d be willing to give back. They’re short on volunteers for an event at an elementary school today and if you’d like to help out, I’ll excuse you from school this afternoon.”

  “Yeah,” I answer without hesitating. “Sign me up.”

  There are few things that touch a piece of my heart and soul at the same time and this organization is one of them. They’re loosely based off of a foundation that was established in Las Vegas by Nikki Berti. The program provides correctly sized footwear for underprivileged children from newborns to those aged twenty-one. And it’s not just that the program supplies shoes that fit; they actually let the participants select their own shoes.

  Very rarely in my life have I felt empowered. When that trailer rolled into my neighborhood and they let me pick which pair of shoes I wanted, I felt in control of my destiny.

  I stare at the canvas sneakers I got last year. Shoes are one of a handful of things that make me feel like I fit in with everyone else. Somewhere in Las Vegas there’s an awesome woman who inspired someone in Kentucky to create the same type of program. I wonder if she knows what she does on a daily basis for girls like me.

  “I thought the program in Kentucky could only provide shoes up to age seventeen.”

  “Eighteen now. They were given another grant. Maybe someday they’ll be as big as the one in Vegas.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I release a relieved rush of air. Good. I’ve got one more year. But I snap out of it. If I actually get down to business, I’ll have a decent job and I’ll be able to buy my own shoes. “I need to switch course tracks.”

  Mrs. Collins leans back in her seat and it slightly reclines with her. “Why?”

  “Because I have a job waiting for me after graduation if I join the co-op track now.” This would mean finishing out my requirements for graduation in the mornings and filling my electives by working a job in the afternoons.

  “I saw that,” she says, unimpressed.

  “I’ll be a receptionist at Dave’s Automall.”

  Nothing from her.

  “It’s a decent job.”

  Still nothing.

  “Lots of people would be happy to have it.”

  “Yes, I agree with that. There are plenty of people who would be happy to have the job and would actually love it,” the lady finally speaks. “But will you be happy working there?”

  Now she’s lost me. “What’s happy got to do with it? I won’t be on welfare. Isn’t that your job description? Graduate people so they stay off the government dime?”

  I catch the slight tilt of her lips before she hides it. “No, that’s not my job. I’m honestly concerned with your well-being.”

  “Sure you are. So are you going to change my track or am I going to have to miss more class because I have to reschedule with Mrs. Branch?”

  Mrs. Collins straightens and laces her fingers together on top of her desk. “You have admirable ACT scores.”

  “It was a fluke. Like winning the lottery.”

  “Three times?”

  “Lightning does strike the same place more than once. When I was five, the apartment above mine caught fire twice. Seriously sucked. I had to spend the night at the shelter both times.”

  She totally ignores me. “You’ve made the honor roll all three years you’ve been here.”

  “I cheat.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  I throw my arms out to either side. “What does it matter?”

  “Stella, you’re college material. You elected the college prep track when you enrolled here and you’ve stuck with it. Surely the thought of going to college has crossed your mind a few times.”

  More than a few, but Joss is right. There’s no such thing as more, and Joss is giving me the best possible opportunity for a future. “I can’t afford it.”

  “There are scholarships—”

  “But I won’t win,” I cut her off. “And you’re assuming some school will admit me. Look, I’ve been working odd jobs since I was fourteen and before you give me that work-experience-will-look-great-on-a-scholarship-application bull, I’ve worked mostly under the table. Because of that, I haven’t joined one school club or one athletic team or even attended a stinking game. This is the end of the line for me and I’ve got a great shot at a decent job. Don’t screw this up for me because you have a quota to meet.”

  “Give the classes you have a month and see if you change your mind.”

  I stand so quickly that a few papers fall from her desk. “Are you for real?”

  “Listen.” She holds up her palms as if she’s pleading with me for something important, like food. “It’ll take me some time to confirm this job. They’re not on our approved company list to begin with. Let me work on this and while I do, you mull over why you’re making this decision. Don’t abandon going to college without at least trying to see if you can make it work.”

  This lady is everything Joss has warned me about. What happens when I hope for more, possibly get into a school, and then figure out there’s no way I can pay for it unless I become an overpriced whore?

  “Know what, if it’ll keep you off my back, you do what you need to do and I’ll do what I need to
do. Until then, stay away from me.”

  Jonah

  In the kitchen area behind the lunch line, someone drops enough plates and silverware to wake the dead at the cemetery. It shuts most everyone in the cafeteria up, including the guys at my table. After a few beats, conversation begins again.

  Over a plate of chicken strips and tater tots, I watch Stella. She picks at her food today and doesn’t read from one of her paperbacks. Something’s wrong and I crave to know what. She helped me this morning and I want to help her in return. The urge is to push away from the table, cross the room and ask what’s bothering her, but Stella’s made it clear that she expects distance between us at school.

  If I’m honest, my life is easier with our relationship on the down low.

  Friendship.

  Friendship, not a relationship.

  But she let me hold her hand in the hallway this morning.

  Stella stands, taking her tray with her. She’s never left the cafeteria early before. There’s something majorly wrong. Cooper eyes her and I don’t like it.

  “What a freak. Look at her hand—she’s drawing on herself.” He raises his voice. “Try paper!”

  Several guys laugh and I glance over at Stella. Sure enough, she’s drawn a rainbow on her hand. It’s like she can’t stop sticking out from the crowd. Stella assesses us out of the corner of her eye and I can’t meet her gaze. She hears the laughter and, what’s worse, she knows I’m with them.

  “Cut it out,” I say, but Cooper’s not paying attention to me. He’s nodding his chin to some guy that called his name from across the room.

  “Be back.” Then he’s out of his chair.

  I scan the cafeteria for Stella, but she’s gone. Hell. She left thinking that I made fun of her. A wave of panic and guilt burns through my veins, but it’s the panic that makes it harder to breathe. Stella’s the only person who helps me through the day—the only person who keeps the nightmares away.

  Martha steps into the cafeteria in that blue sundress. She does a sweep of the room and lights up like a firefly when she spots what she’s searching for. I’m not shocked when I follow her line of sight to Cooper. He’s still talking with the guy from the other table. One of these days, this unrequited crush better get old for her because it’s beyond old for me.