Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I beat the boys to the car this morning, waiting by the passenger door for them to stroll out of the house.
The sun is poking through the clouds, making today look slightly less gloomy than normal. A brisk breeze grazes my cheeks.
Jordy comes out first and scowls when he sees me.
“Good morning to you too,” I say.
His eyes land right on my pants, which happen to have paint stains on them. “At least we aren’t going to be late,” he says, passing me and getting into the car.
The stains aren’t that bad. There are only a few strokes of blue and purple, blending into the jeans themselves. Most of my clothes have paint on them by now, so it’s practically impossible to avoid.
I copy Jordy and get into the car.
The quiet is heavy, somehow becoming more uncomfortable than small talk. “So, did your parents like Star Trek?”
“Why?”
“Because of your name. There’s a character named Geordi on that show. It’s spelled differently but still.”
“I sure hope not.”
The driver’s door opens, revealing Caleb in his black jacket.
“Come on, it’s a good show. It’s a classic,” I say. “It would be a privilege.”
Caleb gets in and smiles at the two of us. “What show?”
“Star Trek. The older series.” I look him dead in the eyes. “You’ve seen it, right?”
He cringes as he reaches up to adjust his mirror.
I gasp. “No.”
“Sorry.”
“But it’s one of the best shows of all time. Have you been living under a rock?” This is utterly unacceptable. Everyone and their mother have seen this series. I realize it’s not something from this generation, but it’s a staple of TV. A must watch.
Caleb puts his hand on the back of my seat as he backs up the car. “Should we watch it?” he asks.
My gaze follows his hand and how close it is to me.
My shoulder is only inches away. The proximity sends goosebumps rippling up my arms. I slide farther to the side, but it’s not his fault.
I’m not a touchy person. I’ve never been someone that wanted to hug or cuddle my parents very much growing up. High fives are even a stretch.
“We? I think you should. I’ve seen it a million times.”
He twists back to the front and drives down our road. “Well, you owe me a date soon. We should do something tonight. It’s Friday after all, so you have all weekend to do your homework.”
Jordy gasps, lurching forward. “Date? With her? Have you lost your mind?”
My thoughts exactly . . .
Caleb blushes instantly. “That’s not—I didn’t say—”
Jordy starts to laugh. “You’re dead. Mom’s going to hate this.”
“You’re not going to tell her,” Caleb says.
Jordy opens his mouth to argue.
I wave my hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I know I'm not her favorite person, but still. That seems a little harsh.” I shoot daggers at Caleb with my eyes.
Jordy clears his throat and mumbles, “Well, failing school isn’t helping her like you.” He says it with a smirk and a tone that makes it sound like the reason should be obvious.
I suck in a breath too fast, making my lungs burn. “You told your mom I’m failing my classes?” My head starts to feel light, and the car is suddenly moving too fast.
Caleb looks at me and then at his brother through the rearview mirror, as if he’s trying to decide which fire to put out first. The redness in his face darkens by another shade.
“Mom was annoyed when she found out you were driving Becca to school. Can you imagine how mad she’d get if I texted her about you two dating?”
“We’re not dating!” I say at the same time that Caleb spews out, “Jordan, no, let’s make a deal.”
Jordy’s eyes perk up, and he tilts his head to the side. “I’m listening.”
Caleb’s eyes dart back and forth before turning the corner. “I’ll let you use my gaming controller for a week.”
“Is that the best you got? Because if that’s the case.” Jordy pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Mom right now.”
“Wait!” Caleb throws his hand into the air. “I’ll . . .” He snaps his finger. “I’ll drive you to the bookstore and let you pick whatever book you want.”
Jordy lowers the phone. “Three books.”
Caleb winces but looks over at me. “Okay. Deal.”
Wow, so in case anyone ever wants to know, I’m valued at one trip to the bookstore. I don’t know what I expected, but that seems like fairly low compensation for an entire person.
Jordy slides his phone back into his pocket and raises his eyebrows. “I hope dating her is worth it because I’m buying hardcovers.”
“Hey, just to clarify, yet again,” I say, projecting my voice to make sure both brothers hear me. “We”—my finger points back and forth between Caleb and me—“are not dating.”
Jordy shrugs. “As long as I get a trip to the bookstore, I don’t care what you’re doing.”
I slouch into my chair and pull my hoodie up over my head with a groan. “We’re not dating,” I whisper.
It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound being the tires on the pavement. Then, like clockwork, Caleb clears his throat. “Bec?”
“Hmm.” My hoodie is loose, covering my eyes, and my arms are crossed. I’m not sure how much clearer I can make it that I don’t want to talk anymore.
“I didn’t tell her.”
That’s right. I was on my way to being upset when Jordy changed the subject. “Then who did? Because I sure didn’t.”
He shifts in his seat and repositions his hands on the steering wheel. “Uh . . . well . . .”
“Spit it out.”
“Your mom started going to the same therapy group as mine.”
“What?” I jump up, my hoodie sliding back down to my shoulders.
Shivers run up my palms, and I grit my teeth.
Mom is talking about me behind my back, telling people things I don’t want everyone to know.
My stomach flops just picturing her in a circle of chairs, making sure every single person knows that her perfect son died, and she’s left with a failure of a daughter.
Tears sting at the corner of my eyes. I refuse to let them fall.
How could she do this to me?
“Our mom has been going to this group for years since my dad . . . you know.” His voice lowers at the end.
I’ve never asked him about his dad, not even back then.
I think part of me is worried that he might get emotional if I do.
What if he cries? There are people in the world that know the perfect things to do and say to comfort someone.
I’m not that person. If anything, I’m the exact opposite.
I’m the type to accidentally make a joke at a funeral.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I figured you knew about the therapy group.”
It’s not like Mom doesn’t talk to me about her therapy group, but I have a bad habit of not listening. Most of the time, she starts her stories with the intent of asking me to go with her, so I clock out as soon as she starts talking.
“It’s fine,” I huff. “I don’t need your mom to like me anyway. I just can’t believe my mom is talking about me behind my back like that.”
“I don’t think she meant for it to be that way,” he says.
“Oh, sure. As if you know what goes on in a group like that.”
“Actually, I do.”
My eyebrows meet in the middle. “Really?”
He’s so put together and calm. I would’ve never guessed he went to therapy. And to admit it so easily, I don’t get that. Doesn’t he worry about how it’ll make him seem? People that go to therapy are people that need fixing—they’re broken.
He nods. “I went for a couple of years, but I haven’t been in a while. It helped me feel like I wasn’t alone because other people were going through the same thing I was.”
“Didn’t it feel weird?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Maybe a little at first, but not for long. The group I went to was for teens. If you wanted, I could take you there one day.”
I scoff. “Talk to strangers about my feelings? No, thank you. I’d rather be hit by a train.”
“Well, if you don’t want to talk to strangers, you could always talk to me instead,” he says.
I shake my head, shifting my focus to stare out the window. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I wish people would stop trying to force this on me. I can’t even talk to my best friend right now, so how in the world would I be able to talk to anyone else?
The day drags on. By fifth period, my brain officially turns off and every word coming from my teachers flies over my head. I have to fight my heavy eyelids to stay awake, and when the final bell rings, the last thing I want to do is go to the library and tutor Sadie.
I sit on one of the hard plastic chairs, waiting at the table tucked away in the farthest corner. My math book lies out in front of me, and I tap my pencil against the cover.
She should be here by now, shouldn’t she? It’s been ten minutes since school ended.
I huff, pulling out my phone to check if she’s messaged me. There’s a notification, but not from her.
Mom:
What time do you need to be picked up? I want to take you shopping after you finish tutoring.
I roll my eyes. There’s no way I’m going to do that. I need a nap, not a new shirt.
“Hey, Becca,” Sadie says, smiling as she comes around the corner.
The top half of her hair is in space buns, and she went a little overboard with the glitter on her eyes.
She drapes Ethan’s jacket on the back of the chair next to her and plops down across from me.
“Thanks for agreeing to this. Math and I aren’t exactly on the best terms.” She pulls her book out of her bag and lets it fall onto the table with a thud.
Then, she leans in, like she’s telling me her best-kept secret.
“Who decided we need to find invisible numbers anyway? Aren’t there enough real-world problems to solve?
Like, someone suggested we solve world hunger, and someone else said, ‘No, invisible numbers are more important.’ I’m at the point where I think I could find world peace before finding some of these answers. ”
A smile tugs at me, and my heart aches a little. Sometimes, I really do miss Sadie and the way she lights up any room she’s in. Maybe this won’t be that bad. She hasn’t mentioned Ethan yet, and as long as she doesn’t, we should be fine. It’ll almost be like old times.