Chapter Twenty-Four Dead Parents
twenty-four
Dead Parents
When morning comes, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.
I board the school bus with my cousins, pulling my hoodie tight around me, hoping no one looks my way.
I’m taking my seat when I spot a guy a few seats ahead of me wearing a black jacket with my father’s mug shot printed on the back.
It’s that Trevor kid. Proud member of the Gabriel Thorn fan club.
I shrink down, trying to disappear. I’m so tired of keeping this secret. So tired of lying to everyone about everything all the time.
I’ve gotten so good at it that I probably wouldn’t even know the truth if it stopped me on the street and said hello.
Maybe that’s what happened to my father. The deception snowballed. One small lie led to another until he was living a double life. He held on as long as he could, but eventually those two halves blurred, until he couldn’t tell where the normal father ended and the demented killer began.
When we finally arrive at school, I feel like I’m about to be sick. I stumble off the bus and make my way to my locker, my mind so numb I barely notice where I’m going until I slam directly into Chase Hedlund’s broad chest.
“Just causing destruction everywhere you go, eh, Shipley?”
I snap out of my doom spiral. “Sorry,” I mutter, brushing past him.
To my dismay, he stays on my heels.
I tamp down my aggravation when he follows me to my locker. “What is it now, Chase? Have I done something new to offend your BFF Everett?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Have you?”
This conversation is about as frustrating as everything else about him.
I let out a tired breath, closing my locker with a soft thud. “Look, I didn’t mean to hurt him. Truly. Things just got…complicated.”
“Complicated? You played him. Led him on, then tossed him aside.”
“Why do you even care?” I shoot back. “He’s your best friend, fine, but you don’t have to go around policing his love life.”
Chase’s jaw tightens.
“And how are you even best friends?” I push. “How did the golden boy and the delinquent get so close? Make it make sense.”
He snorts derisively. “What, someone like Everett can’t associate with someone like me?”
“You gotta admit, it breaks all the social rules…” When he doesn’t respond, I shrug. “Okay, cool. Don’t tell me.”
“We’ve had each other’s backs since we were kids.” His tone is grudging, as if he’d rather pry out his own teeth than utter any of this to me. “Might look like an odd friendship to everyone else, but we understand each other.”
“What do you even have in common?”
“Dead parents,” Chase says roughly. “His mom died when he was seven. My dad died of cancer when I was five.”
I have two dead parents. Can I be in the club too?
I silence the sarcastic voice in my head.
“We got assigned some project together in the second grade, right after his mom was killed. I don’t remember what it was, but I had to go over to his place a few times. His dad was a mess. His sister was six and kept asking when Mommy was coming home.”
These are more words than Chase has spoken to me since I’ve known him. I stay quiet because I want him to keep talking.
“We bonded, I guess. Even if we don’t hang out much at school, we’re still tight.”
I swallow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your dad.”
Our gazes lock, and it’s as if those gray eyes are scouring me, digging deeper and deeper to my soul. I can’t take it, but I also can’t look away.
“Mr. Hedlund! Ms. Shipley!” scolds a sharp female voice.
I hear the heels that can only belong to a teacher clip-clopping furiously down the hallway.
I break from my trance and stare at the woman in the severe bun.
It’s not a teacher—it’s the principal. Even with the heels, Principal Healey is shorter than me, so she makes up for her lack of height with a voice that sounds as loud as gunfire and just as frightening
“The first bell rang five minutes ago. Why aren’t you in homeroom?”
The bell rang? Whoa. I was so engrossed with Chase Hedlund, of all people, that I didn’t even notice it.
“I, uh…” I trail off, trying to think of a good excuse.
“We felt like chatting instead” is Chase’s insolent reply, because of course it is.
“One day’s detention,” Healey snaps. “Today after school. Both of you.”
“But—” I start to protest.
“Get to homeroom before that becomes two days’ detention,” she interrupts, and we both start walking.
“What do you mean, you have detention? We were supposed to go shopping!” Jasmine whines later, watching as I shove everything but my calc textbook into my locker. I figure I’ll make use of detention and actually do my homework.
“Take it up with Principal Healey,” I say with a shrug.
“Ugh. I hate that woman. She’s always ruining my day.”
Jazzy’s main character syndrome flaring up again, I see.
As I walk to detention, I send my aunt a text telling her where I am and that I’ll take the late bus home. Of course she asks what I did to deserve it, and when I explain I triggered Healey’s ire by being five minutes late for homeroom, her response makes me snort out loud.
Maggie: Lordy! Janice Healey is just the worst, isn’t she?
Chase is already there when I walk in, holed up in the back of the room scrolling on his phone. Six other students take up residence at their desks, either on their phones or whispering with each other. I guess I was the only sucker who thought to bring homework.
At the front of the room sits a bored-looking male teacher I’ve never seen before who doesn’t seem at all concerned about enforcing the no-phones-in-class policy.
Despite my better judgment, I take the seat next to Chase. He nods in greeting.
I don’t open my calculus textbook. Instead, I study Chase, tracking the movement of his long fingers gripping the phone. I like his hands. I think they’d be nice to photograph.
“What’s your deal, Ryan?”
His sudden query catches me off guard. “My deal?” I echo, amused.
“You’ve been in town for months now and nobody knows shit about you. About your life in Switzerland.”
I offer a casual shrug. “My family knows.”
“Okay, fine. But everyone else doesn’t.”
“Because it’s none of their business. I’m a private person.”
“Private. Right.”
“Oh, lay off it, Mr. Mysterious. Nobody knows much about you either. From the way you’re always skipping class, I can only assume you’re up to some nefarious shit.”
“Or…I have a job,” Chase says, rolling his eyes.
I falter. “You do?”
“I apprentice for the mechanic in town. And I don’t skip class—I have permission from the school to miss calculus sometimes so I can make it for my afternoon shifts, as long as I see the tutor twice a week and complete some extra credit.
” He lets out an irritated breath. “My mom didn’t want me working my senior year, but money’s been tight, so I wanted to help out at home.
She was starting to take on extra shifts and I didn’t like it.
Mom already works too much. She’s a nurse. ”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Really?”
My mom was a nurse too, I want to blurt out. I want him to see we have something in common. That I’m not this callous heartbreaker who showed up in town and hurt his best friend.
“Yeah. She’s been busting her ass ever since my dad died, takes as many shifts as she can. She’s tough.”
“Oh.”
“What,” he says sarcastically. “You assumed I came from some messed-up family?”
“What? No, I—”
“Because I ride a motorcycle and hook up at parties? Obviously, that means my dad’s a deadbeat and my mom’s a drunk, right?”
His words hit harder than they should, mostly because there’s truth in them. I did make assumptions.
A wave of guilt washes over me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to judge you like that.”
He shoots me a sideways glance, his features softening a little. “Whatever. I’m used to it.”
I chew on my bottom lip, unsure of what else to say. I guess I take too long to decide, because he lowers his gaze to his phone and proceeds to ignore me for the rest of the hour.
When we’re leaving detention, he surprises me by tipping his head toward me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You want a ride home? My vehicle of death is right outside.”
“Tempting. But I’d rather take the late bus.”
“Suit yourself,” Chase says, then saunters down the hall, his boots echoing long after he’s disappeared from my sight.
The next afternoon, I walk into the kitchen and find Maggie at the stove, stirring a pot of marinara sauce. I feel her eyes on me as I pour myself a glass of water.
“Ryan,” she says, her tone careful. “Do I need to worry about anything?”
I almost drop my glass in the sink. “What do you mean? Why would you worry?”
“Jazzy. She’s been acting weird all day. Keeps babbling on about this girls’ night at Gillian’s.”
Of course. Jasmine and her total inability to play it cool. She’s the one determined to go to the lumberyard tonight. You’d think she’d be able to be more chill about it and not raise Maggie’s suspicions.
I force my face to stay neutral. “Why is that weird?”
“Last time she went on and on about some event, it’s because she was covering up that she was going to meet some forty-year-old off the internet.”
“Oh, right. Connor told me about that.” I offer a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. As far as I know, she is not meeting some gross middle-aged man tonight, considering I’m going to Gillian’s with her.”
Maggie gives me a look that feels too perceptive for comfort. “So you’re both going?”
I nod.
She stares at me, her gaze softening, but her fingers drum against the counter in a way that makes it clear she isn’t convinced. “You’d tell me if she were up to anything dangerous, right?”
Despite the guilt nearly choking me, I somehow keep my voice steady. “Of course.”