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 new 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.
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
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.
One drag and I remember why I quit.
I cough into my fist, throat burning.
"Hey, man. Can I bum one?"
A guy steps out of the shadows—my age, maybe a year or two older. Medium build. Dark features. "Help yourself." I toss him the pack and the lighter. He can keep them if he wants.
He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, hands the rest back to me. "Thanks."
"No problem."
He inhales, visibly relaxing, runs fingers through his greasy hair. Could be a loner. Maybe a third wheel.
"You at the college?" I ask.
"Nah, man. That shit's not for me."
I force a laugh. "I hear you."
"Haven't seen you around here before. You live nearby?"
"Bedford by way of Michigan."
He nods, smiling, exhaling smoke. "That wasn't a shock."
"I know, right? My dad sucks. This party sucks. The whole fucking week sucks." Another draw of smoke.
"Hey, Vinny!" A guy pokes his head out the side door. "They're looking for you."
Vinny lifts the cigarette. "Two seconds." Then, turning back to me: "Get used to it, man. It doesn't get any better." He takes a final drag, then tosses what's left into the cold, wet grass.
"You need another?" I ask.
"I'm good. But thanks."
"No problem."
He crosses the porch, disappears inside the
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 new 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.
C HAPTER F IFTEEN
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.
One drag and I remember why I quit.
I cough into my fist, throat burning.
"Hey, man. Can I bum one?"
A guy steps out of the shadows—my age, maybe a year or two older. Medium build. Dark features. "Help yourself." I toss him the pack and the lighter. He can keep them if he wants.
He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, hands the rest back to me. "Thanks."
"No problem."
He inhales, visibly relaxing, runs fingers through his greasy hair. Could be a loner. Maybe a third wheel.
"You at the college?" I ask.
"Nah, man. That shit's not for me."
I force a laugh. "I hear you."
"Haven't seen you around here before. You live nearby?"
"Bedford by way of Michigan."
He nods, smiling, exhaling smoke. "That wasn't a shock."
"I know, right? My dad sucks. This party sucks. The whole fucking week sucks." Another draw of smoke.
"Hey, Vinny!" A guy pokes his head out the side door. "They're looking for you."
Vinny lifts the cigarette. "Two seconds." Then, turning back to me: "Get used to it, man. It doesn't get any better." He takes a final drag, then tosses what's left into the cold, wet grass.
"You need another?" I ask.
"I'm good. But thanks."
"No problem."
He crosses the porch, disappears inside the
Similar Books
