by Kylie Scott
Grass and dirt beneath my feet and the heavens overhead doing the sparkling, twinkling thing. People jumped off the rock all summer long. It was almost like some rite of passage, to be stupid enough to jump off the cliff in the first place, and then to be a good enough swimmer to get back around to the beach. I'd never felt the need to complete that particular passage.
"Do you normally bring girls here?" I asked, following behind him up the trail. All those bouncy white bits of me were out of his sight with him in front. My hands still roved, covering my chest, holding back my belly, fumbling over my thighs. Stupid insecurities. Though seriously, what the ever-loving hell was I doing? The temptation to turn and run ate at me. No way could I imagine any of the cheerleaders and assorted others Hang had pointed out as being among John's special private-time friends going hiking in the middle of the night.
"No." Amusement filled his voice. "Anders and I come here sometimes, but that's it."
"You guys been friends a long time?"
"Since the first day of first grade."
Georgia and I had been the same; funny how fast forever could end. Thoughts of her caused the usual pain, but I pushed it aside. Adventuring with John being way more interesting than inner turmoil.
"Careful here." He turned back, held out his hand. His fingers were stronger than mine, the skin rougher. Together, we climbed the rocky trail to the top of the hill and stood at the edge. Hands disengaged and all returned to relative normal.
"How you wanna do this?" he asked. "You want me to go first?"
"It's pretty dark down there. I can't see the water properly." I pushed some pebbles off the edge with my toes. They scattered and fell, eventually splashing.
"Don't worry. It's there," he said.
Interestingly enough, I'd been too busy hauling ass to the top of the hill and fretting about the fall to worry about my body. John's gaze did a quick up and down; no expression of horror or anything crossed his face. We were friends, apparently. It was fine. Still, the thought of him in the water looking up, watching while I plummeted, didn't appeal. Nor did him catching the view from above, either.
"Do you want me to push you?" he asked.
"Don't you fucking dare!"
More laughter from the ass. "Relax, Edie. I wouldn't do that."
Eyes all squinty, I gave him a disgruntled look.
"Sorry. You can trust me, I swear."
"Whatever," I mumbled.
"So," he said eventually. "What are we doing?"
"Can we go together?"
"Sure."
I held out my hand and he took it, grip strong and sure.
"Count of three, on three," he said. "Ready?"
"Yep."
"One. Two. Three." And we jumped.
I screamed and he laughed, the lake rushing up to greet us. Adrenaline surged through me, making me feel more alive than I had in a long time, but it was over so fast. Then we were in the water, submerged in the dark. Of course, I had to let go of his hand to swim to the surface. Still alive, thank you baby Jesus, blood pounded behind my ears. My underwear had even managed to remain intact.
John treaded water, wet hair hanging in his face. "You good?"
"Yeah. That was great!"
"What else haven't you done before?"
"I don't know." I swirled my arms around in the water, keeping myself afloat. Talk about an embarrassing topic of conversation. I wouldn't lie to him, but I wasn't willing to be specific, either. "The usual."
"Ever smoked a joint?"
"No, I haven't." And I felt a little foolish admitting it, too. "Good girls don't do that sort of thing. We stay home and contemplate God and shit."
"You're a good girl?"
"No," I said, pondering my answer. "Not anymore. I think I might've changed religion recently."
A fleeting smile crossed his face. The understanding in his eyes that I couldn't get anywhere else.
"Yeah, me too," he said.
"Race you back to the beach?"
"You're on."
"Ready. Set. Go!"
With seemingly effortless strokes he cut through the water, leaving me and my dog-paddling way behind. Not that I actually tried.
"You win," I called out and heard laughter.
Sports weren't my strong suit. Any kind of marathon outside of shopping, TV, or reading and I'd be guaranteed to come in last. Never mind. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses. Each and every one of us was a special little sunflower.
Coming in last also provided me with a most excellent view of John walking up the beach. Sodden dark gray boxer briefs were plastered to his butt, and what a butt it was. Whoa. A photographic memory would be so great. Not that I was objectifying my new friend or anything, because that would be wrong. And foolish.
Like an oversized dog, he shook the water from his hair. I wrapped mine around a hand and wrung it dry, following him slowly, trying to catch my breath. My makeup had probably dripped halfway down my face, but whatever. Most of my nervous energy had been burnt up in the fall. From inside the car, he grabbed a lighter and a little baggie.
"Sit on the hood," he said, climbing on up and leaning back against the windshield.
"That won't hurt your car?"
"No. But it'll keep our asses warm and help us dry."
"Good call." I carefully climbed onboard, hoping the metal wouldn't start groaning or something beneath my weight. Probably, I should have just put the dress back on. That would have been the smart thing to do. But screw it.
Flames leapt and John lit the blunt, then held it my way. "Go hard, Edie."
"Shut it." My smile wavered from nerves.
Carefully, he handed it over, smiling back at me. Without too much hesitation, I put it to my lips and drew back slowly, taking it deep into my lungs, before letting it out. A puff of smoke floated out of my mouth and my eyes stung a little. Then I tried unsuccessfully to cough up a lung.
"You all right?" he asked.
Nodding, I coughed some more into my hand and passed the joint back. "Absolutely. I'm a rebel."
"You're badass. I'm actually a little afraid of you."
"Thanks."
"You've got to puff a bit gently," he said. "Weed burns hotter than tobacco."
We passed it back and forth, relaxing against the car, staring up at the stars. My body unraveled, all of my earthly worries and weight falling away. So my thighs were thick and my belly bulged. So what. I was alive and allowed to take up space.
"Fuck being unhappy," I said.
"Fuck being unhappy?" John repeated, giving me a curious look.
"Yes. Absolutely."
The side of his mouth curved upward, his gaze lingering on me. From my face to my chest and back again. In all likelihood, the boy was inwardly laughing at how red my eyes were or something. I crossed my arms over my breasts, feeling self-conscious.
A breeze blew in off the lake, cooler than before. He'd been spot-on about the benefits of sitting on top of a warm engine, and who knew muscles cars could be so comfortable?
"You don't look like a drug dealer," I said quietly.
"Probably a good thing. For the business, I mean. It's a hassle if the cops know straight away you're dealing."
"True." I crossed my feet at the ankles. "Think you'll start up again?"
"No, I'm done with that." He pushed his hair back from his face, saying nothing for a minute. "Dillon started the business; I kind of inherited part of it when he left high school. But the heavier stuff he moved on to selling, it wasn't good."
Mouth shut, I listened.
"You were right about the Drop Stop changing things. Part of me felt like looking at Chris was maybe like looking at what Dillon will be like before long. And then looking at Dillon made me wonder what I might be like before long." Again, he breathed the joint in deep, letting the smoke out slowly. "So yeah. I told Dillon I was finished and moved in with my uncle."
"You don't live with your parents?" One of the girls had mentioned as much. Still,
weird.
"Dad got a job up north," was all he said.
I nodded. It seemed like some response was required.
"Anyway, dealing pot's got no future. Need to figure something else out."
"Yeah, you're probably right," I said, studying the shadows on his face. The girls had wondered over his sudden interest in attending school and getting an education. Guess this answered why.
We didn't speak for a while, each busy in our own head. Funny, the lurking signs of adulthood showed in him more clearly. His height and build, the depth of his voice, and the knowledge in his eyes. He turned back to staring at the night sky. Despite the draw of him, I did likewise. It wouldn't do to get any stupid ideas, no matter how high I flew.
Midnight came and went, my curfew broken for the first time ever. With Mom at work, it wasn't like it much mattered. Still, the good girl would have been scared stiff of somehow getting busted. Her fears were small, stupid things. Nothing that actually mattered.
"It's such a beautiful night. Nature and stuff is great. This is my favorite thing, watching the moon and stars." I took my turn with the joint, not coughing quite so much this time. Talking to John came easier every moment. I don't know if it was our recent history, the jump, or the dope. But it felt good, letting the words flow with him listening. I happy sighed. "Along with books, they're my favorite. And cake and coffee and music and . . . movies and shopping. You're allowed as many favorites as you need."
"Right."
"Your turn."
"Hmm." He took his go doing the illegal drug thing. "Skateboarding."
"Yep." I waited. "And?"
He frowned as he thought. Apparently he had fewer words to let flow. "Shooting hoops with Anders."
Thus he had his body and I had my body, and never the two shall meet. Sad but true. "Things besides sports?"
"Movies are okay. Action, horror, stuff like that."
"Yes, agreed. What else?"
Quiet descended while he thought. Bugs, night birds, and the breeze shaking the trees took over. Finally, he gave a long sigh. "Honestly, I spent most of my time selling weed."
And hooking up with cheerleaders, I silently added, because jealous bitch, etcetera. "You need a new non-illegal hobby."
"Yeah." His eyes narrowed on the heavens. "Bet that clerk from the tech college had plans. There were hundreds of people at his funeral. I saw his girlfriend; she was devastated."
"You went to the funeral?"
He nodded. "Seemed like the right thing to do."
"I was taking it easy with cracked ribs and stuff." I frowned, unsure I'd have had the courage to go even if I'd been able.
Overhead, the moon did nothing. It was dependable in that way, circling the sky all nonjudgmental like, just doing its thing. Me and the moon were great friends, especially now. It kept me company during the long, awful nights. The moon kept my secrets, telling no one how many times I woke up in a panic, covered in a cold sweat.
"What are your nightmares like?" I asked.
He turned to me, eyes dark. He didn't speak.
"I don't want to sleep anymore."
A nod.
"Think of all the time we lose sleeping anyway," I said. "It's a waste. I mean, I love my bed, but I could do without the dreams."
Nothing from him.
"Thanks for tonight," I said, keeping my voice low. "This is nice."
He smiled. "Yeah, it is."
"We should be friends."
Brows arched, he gave me an amused look. He had nice lips. "We are, you goose."
And John Cole teasing me, that felt damn good too. Another feeling, however, suddenly came front and center. "God, I'm hungry."
We went to In-and-Out Burger before he dropped me home. Even without the high, talking to him now after everything felt easy, soothing. He understood because he'd lived through it too. Was still living through it. I even got to sleep without too much tossing and turning. Best night of my life.
Sunday night . . .
Me: You awake?
My cell buzzed a minute later. "Hello?"
"Hey," he said in a low voice. "How you doing?"
"Good. How about you? What are you up to?"
"Just give me a second." In the background, a girl asked John who he was talking to. Guess that answered that question. He mumbled something and I heard rustling, followed by the closing of a door. Eventually, he sighed. "Sorry 'bout that."
"No problem." I'd interrupted his Netflix and sex session. Awesome. Go, me.
"What'd you do today?"
"Ah, I hung out with my mom. Tried to do some studying, the usual. What about you?"
"Did some work on my car. Read Catcher in the Rye."
I snorted. "What'd you think of it?"
"Thought you were a bit harsh about it, to be honest."
"Maybe," I said. "Though the heart of my loud, embarrassing, and irrational rant was more fear over what idiots have done in the book's name."
"Can't really blame the book for that."
"I suppose not." I hummed. "Apparently, it's a trigger book for me. Because I have triggers now . . ."
"Probably to be expected."
Silence.
"Bad dreams again?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"The one where you're flying, but can't get high enough to get out of trouble? Or the one where you die instead of Isaac?"
Crap. "I told you too much last Friday."
A soft chuckle. "You're safe with me. I get it, okay?"
"Yeah," I said, more to be polite than anything. Exposing what a hot mess I was to this cool, beautiful boy. How much more insane could I get?
A pause. "I keep waking up, hearing the gunshot, thinking the bullet's got me in the chest this time instead of just winging me."
"God. That's horrible."
Silence.
"I keep smelling blood, even when there is none," I said.
His laughter sounded entirely without joy. "I was never great with blood. Now . . . it fucks me up a little."
"How long do you think it takes to get past this sort of thing?"
"I don't know if you do." He sounded down and a little lost. A lot like how I felt. There came a click, followed by him breathing in and out real deep. Smoking. "Can't imagine forgetting it."
"Guess it just becomes a part of you. You get used to it."
I lay on my back on the bed, staring out at the night sky. Deep thoughts. Deep, pointless middle-of-the-night thoughts of life and death and pain and dismemberment. "I forgot to say, thanks for turning up to school Monday morning. You really did me a solid."
"How's that?"
"You took the attention off me being the new girl."
"Ha. You're welcome," he said.
"I owe you one. If you run into trouble with any English assignments, I'll help, okay?"
For a moment there was no reply, and I wasn't sure if he was still there.
"John?"
"Okay, deal." His voice sounded cautious. "Math, I'm fine. But if they start in on poetry or shit like that . . ."
"Understood." I laughed. "You get numbers? I've never known what to do with them. Numbers and I are not friends."
"We'll trade." Another heavy exhale. "I'm serious, Edie."
"Okay." I smiled and then stopped. "Oh. Under the weird requests category, I was wondering, would you visit the guys' graves with me sometime? You don't have to. It was just a thought."
"Yeah, that's . . . we can do that. Tomorrow night work for you?"
"That would be great."
"I got to get home," he said. "You okay to try and sleep now?"
"Yes. Thanks for talking to me."
"Anytime."
Beneath my ribs, my heart stuttered. "'Night, John."
"'Night, Edie."
I brought two bunches of flowers with me. John brought a six-pack of beer. Both seemed apt in their own way.
We wandered through the cemetery, moonlight shining off of burial stones and winged statues of angels. N
ever would I have had the guts to do this in the dark by myself. The whole place made me nervous. He'd had work after school, so we couldn't go until later in the evening. This worked for me, because I didn't have to mention anything to Mom about the Drop Stop or why I felt the need to go visiting dead people. Both would have worried her and I was sick of being the cause of Mom's high stress levels.
Luckily, John knew the way, leading me through the graveyard without any hesitation. He smelled different tonight. Spicy, like he'd put on aftershave. And God forgive me for noticing such details in a place like this. I was headed straight for hell's barbecue, and that was the truth.
"Where do you work?" I asked, watching the ground so I didn't trip over anything.
"Landscaping business my uncle owns," he said. "Just started a few weeks back. I've gone from selling grass to cutting it. Ironic, huh?"
"Ha." I grinned, even though he had his back to me. "I have to get a job. That's next on the list."
"You don't get an allowance or something?"
"Not anymore with my behavioral problems."
"Another first?"
"Yes, it will be. My very first job. Does that make me sound like a spoiled, bitchy private school girl?"
"Nuh. You're not mean enough."
"I could be," I said, looking down my nose at him with my very best judgy glare. "Though really, who has the energy?"
He stopped. "Here we are."
A mixture of fresh and fading flowers covered the ground in front of a dark gravestone. I tried to remember the boy behind the counter, the clerk. The details of his face and the startled look he'd given me when I put my basket full of junk food on the counter. Details of that night were either scarily pristine, ingrained on my memory, or hazy and on the verge of being lost. Any moment now they might fade off into the recesses of my mind, gone for good.
"I can't remember his face," I said, adding my flowers to the rest. "Why can't I remember his face?"
John placed a beer by the headstone, then passed me an open bottle before taking one for himself. "He'd worked there a while, didn't mind me dealing there. Used to buy from me sometimes. Always seemed nice enough."
I gulped down the cold liquid, ignoring the taste of the yeast and hops. Beer would never be my thing. Especially now that it was linked to that night, sitting on the floor bleeding, listening to John trying to keep Chris from losing it completely and killing us all. But I wouldn't let bad memories stop me, not even in this case.
"He was a student working night shift at a crappy job and he died for no good reason." I blinked, fighting back the threat of tears. Useless things, they never helped.