Chapter 30
Istood at the bus stop Wednesday morning with my backpack high on my shoulders, letting out a breath that fogged in the air. Jaden didn’t stand beside me this morning—Mom texted his mom last night that they wouldn’t need him walking me to the bus stop anymore. That I would be walking myself.
It was small, me walking the block on my own, but it left me feeling wide awake despite the early time.
Then again, I had a few things that made me feel like I’d had two entire energy drinks.
Wind brushed past me, tickling my neck where it was exposed above the collar of my jacket. I reached up and readjusted the fabric, and as I did so, my knuckles brushed against the feathery ends of my hair.
Yesterday, after school—or, more specifically, after I got out of detention—I went straight to Serious Style and made a walk-in appointment with Kim, Mom’s hairdresser.
She had a client coming in twenty minutes from when Mom and I stepped into the salon, but her expression when I told her what I wanted was like a kid on Christmas, lighting up with as much excitement as I’d ever seen on an adult.
“You want your hair cut!” she had exclaimed, winding her arm around my waist and ushering me toward the chair. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this day! Big step for us, huh, Mom?”
Mom had clutched her purse tightly against her side, almost like she was using it for emotional support as she watched us. “Big step,” she had agreed.
As Kim had draped the black cape over me, I thought back to the day I’d been in here with Mom.
There had been a little girl getting her hair cut then, with her mother tearfully watching.
In that moment, I’d been so angry. I was angry that I couldn’t have that, that Mom would never get to a place to let me have that.
But there she was, standing behind me, watching as Kim had sectioned off my hair. She had looked like crying, for sure—and she did end up letting the waterworks loose—but she never stepped in, never interrupted. She had let Kim snip away.
Big steps, indeed.
I threaded my fingers through my shoulder-length hair now, still in awe every time I touched it at how light it felt. Waking up and not needing to have it braided was almost like a dream. It had a little wave to it from how I slept, but it was so pretty.
It was so me.
Bus 32 pulled up to the curb right on time, and Mrs. Savion started smiling even before she opened the door. “Good morning, Gemma. No Jaden today?”
“I think his parents are driving him,” I replied, climbing on with a little hop to my step. My hair swished with the movement, tickling my skin.
“Oh, your hair!” Mrs. Savion followed my movement in her large rearview mirror, finding my gaze. “You look so mature. I bet it feels so much lighter.”
I beamed at her, reaching up and touching the ends once more.
When we turned into the Vista Villas lot, I kept my face practically plastered against the dusty glass, breath fogging up the reflection.
I checked in with Principal Oliphant after school yesterday and before detention, and she said that she contacted Hudson’s dad and told him that the truth about the situation came to light, and that Hudson was allowed to return to school.
Mrs. Savion turning down Vista Villas proved that she’d spoken the truth, because we were on our way to Hudson’s bus stop.
I closed my eyes a little, mentally preparing myself for seeing him.
We hadn’t left each other in the best place, and I had no idea how he’d react upon seeing me.
Seeing my hair. I’d taken the jump off the edge, but I knew I needed to wait for him to make his choice.
Just like how he wanted me to kiss him first, he had to want to fight for himself.
And I really, really wanted him to.
But as Mrs. Savion pulled up to the designated bus stop, my heart fell.
Hudson was nowhere in sight, and the cable box he usually leaned against was empty.
Mrs. Savion glanced around as if waiting for Hudson to suddenly appear, but he never did.
After a moment of waiting, she shut the doors and eased off the brake, letting the bus roll forward, kicking up dust in its wake.
Did he already go through the process of enrolling in another school? Did he say to hell with Brentwood and all the problems that were in its walls? Maybe he was just sick today. Maybe he’d be waiting at the bus stop tomorrow. Maybe it wasn’t fully over.
I pulled out my cell, but the last text that sat between Hudson and me was the one where I told him I’d be going to the bridge. It read like the final page in a book, a last line that left the reader feeling bittersweet.
I pocketed my phone, swallowing hard.
Superintendent Filmore stood greeting the students like he normally did, but he didn’t even look at me, almost like I wasn’t there.
Which was fine—I was totally content with pretending he didn’t exist either.
I shuffled inside with the flow of students, keeping my head down, looking at my leggings.
They were a deep maroon print with faint abstract shapes, and it went perfectly with my cream-colored oversized sweater.
Rosie would be proud of the outfit, I thought—I knew I was.
It was strange not wearing a skirt, weird to feel fabric touching my skin so tightly, but for one of the first times in my life, I felt fashionable.
I felt like me.
I’d gotten a little ways down the sophomore hallway before I lifted my gaze, stumbling to a halt.
A boy sat on the ground in front of my locker with his legs bent at the knees in front of him.
The denim was a light wash, not a tear in sight, and his sneakers were navy Converse, not a boot.
The cotton candy-colored sweatshirt he wore had the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing his forearms where he rested them on his knees.
And when I got to his face, I found blond hair tucked over the boy’s ears, exposing the black arm of thick glasses frames.
As if sensing me, he turned his head and met my gaping gaze, and for a long moment, neither of us moved. Students passed by me, but I barely registered anyone but him.
Bridge Boy.
Hudson Bishop.
He hurried to get to his feet as I forced my feet to move toward him, and he dusted his palms along his jeans, straightening his sweatshirt.
No one paid any attention to him in the hallway, not looking close enough to realize he was the Grim Reaper, not caring about the boy in the light-colored sweatshirt. I cared, though. So much.
“Your hair,” Hudson said when I got close, eyes widening at the blunt ends. He gave a disbelieving blink. “It’s short.”
I smiled a little at the obvious statement, reaching up and fanning my fingers through it. “It’s been a pretty crazy past twenty-four hours.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “This guy I really like made me realize how much I needed to fight for what I want.”
Hudson’s lips twitched, too, but in a way that made him look more uncertain. “How’d he do that?”
“I knew I couldn’t be with him unless I did fight for it. The choice was easy.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, nudging his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. “When she called yesterday, Principal Oliphant said that you took the blame for the knife.”
“Because it’s my fault. I’d do it again.”
“Even though I told you I didn’t mind doing it.”
“My entire life, everyone’s made my decisions for me.” My voice was level, firm, even though my pulse fluttered unevenly in my throat. It was easy to bask in the confidence of the choice now, and the relief that came hot on its heels. “I wasn’t going to let you make this choice for me.”
His lips turned up at the corners more, but the smile looked more sheepish than anything. Students were beginning to gather more now, and I had to step out of someone’s way as they asked to get into their locker.
“Come with me,” I told him, and without waiting for him to reply, I reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand, fitting our palms together and winding his fingers with mine.
I almost expected him to pull away, but he didn’t.
He didn’t squeeze my hand back, but he did let me pull him through the hall.
It was strange, walking hand-in-hand down the hallway with Hudson Bishop.
No one even looked twice. It made me realize then how identifiable Hudson had been by his dark clothes.
That people would see him from the corner of their eye but never really look closely.
It was how I’d been that very first day on the bridge—he’d looked like someone I knew more than like the Grim Reaper himself. And now, no one really looked twice.
Ms. Murphy was in her office when I knocked on her open door, and she looked up from her desk. “Do you mind if we talk in here for a second?” I asked her, refusing to let Hudson’s hand go.
“Oh, sure, sure!” She got to her feet and picked up something from her desk. “I need to make copies of something anyway. So…take your time.”
I could’ve hugged her for how easily she gave us space, no questions asked. Maybe she knew the entire situation and knew how much we needed to hash everything out. At least, hash out as much as we could before first period started in ten minutes.
Hudson moved into the seat on the opposite side of Ms. Murphy’s desk, but I didn’t sit in the open space beside him. “What happened Monday in the office?” I asked him, leaning on the edge of Ms. Murphy’s desk. “Did they say you were the one who had the knife?”
“Not right away.” Hudson tipped his head to the side, grimacing as he recalled.
“I actually had to wait in Principal Oliphant’s office until my dad came, like I was arrested and I needed a lawyer before I could talk.
Superintendent Filmore was in there, fuming in the way he does, but no one really said anything until my dad walked in… with your mom.”
“My mom?” I tried to picture it. “She came in with your dad?”