Chapter 12 #2
I skid to a stop, facing him. “Then, what?”
“I haven’t seen you get excited about something in a long time.” He opens the car door for me, leaning on it. “I like seeing this side of you.”
I tug at my sleeves, unsure how to respond. It would've been way easier if he had just called me a nerd and moved on. I could’ve rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. Instead, I’m stuck with a blank mind.
“Are you going to get in?”
I blink a couple of times, readjusting to the moment. “Oh, yeah.” I get into the car.
Caleb closes the door and heads around the front of the car. The whole time, my mind is plagued by his sentence—I like seeing this side of you.
What did he mean by that?
The car slows to a stop in front of his house.
“So how was it?” he asks.
“How was what?”
He turns the car off, letting the engine fade. “All of it. Me? The food? The place? I thought you’d like it there because it was quiet. I know you don’t like loud places.”
I narrow my eyes. “How did you know that?”
He laughs, his cheeks turning pink. “For starters, you hate when I play the drums.”
“I wouldn’t hate them if you played them quieter.”
“They’re drums. They’re going to be loud.”
My face falls into a deadpan stare.
He shrugs. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
I gather my purse and double-check to make sure I have my phone.
“So? You didn’t answer my question.”
My palms are clammy and heat rises to my cheeks. I hate being put on the spot, especially in awkward situations. “It was okay.”
He laughs again. “Just okay? Come on, you had fun. You had free dinner with someone that let you talk about Star Trek for a solid half hour without interrupting.”
My eyes widen, and I scoff. “There’s no way I talked about Star Trek that long.”
He sucks in a breath and nods. “Yeah, you did.”
I cover my face to hide its red hue. “You should’ve stopped me.”
“I didn’t want to. You were having fun.”
“But a half hour?”
He nods again.
I’m mortified. How in the world did he get me to talk that much? I never do that. I don’t even do that with Sadie. I’m always the quiet one who prefers to listen to everyone else.
“I really didn’t mind. You can talk about it anytime you want,” he says.
I reach for the handle. “I still can’t believe you haven’t seen the classics.”
“Hey, nobody’s perfect.”
The door unlatches. As I start to get out, he says, “Oh, you left your headphones in the car earlier. They’re inside the house now. I’ll go get them for you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I follow Caleb through the driveway and up the steps. “You can come in if you want to. It’ll just be a second.”
He opens the door, and I freeze.
Jordy stands at the other end of the hallway. His face is puffy and red. He shakes with tears streaming down his face. He’s ripping a paper into small pieces.
His mother is on her knees next to him. She reaches for his shoulders.
He jerks away almost violently. “Don’t touch me!”
Caleb rushes toward them. “Jordy, what happened?”
Jordy’s head whips back and forth, and he throws the rest of the paper in the air.
Caleb reaches out to him.
Jordy staggers back, gripping the fabric by his chest until his back runs into the wall. He sinks, hyperventilating. His eyes are overflowing with terror and pain.
Mrs. Park turns to Caleb. “Get the ice.”
I shouldn’t be here, seeing this, but for some reason I can’t move.
Caleb runs into the kitchen, returning seconds later. He forces Jordy to open his hand and places an ice cube in his palm. He folds Jordy’s hands over it. “Jordy, look at me, and take a deep breath.”
Jordy’s head is down with his eyes slammed shut, so Caleb tilts his head up. “Focus on me. What am I wearing?” Jordy’s chest heaves as he continues to shake. “What color is my shirt?” Caleb asks. His voice is calm and patient.
Jordy pries one eye open. “Blue,” he mumbles in between sobs.
“What’s in your hand?”
“Ice.”
Caleb nods. “What do you hear?”
Jordy swallows his tears, taking in a deep breath. “The dishwasher.”
“Good. Keep taking slow breaths.”
Jordy’s shaking slows. He brings his knees to his chest, resting his head on them while Caleb rubs his back.
I take a step backward, trying to slip away without being seen, but Mrs. Park’s eyes meet mine.
“Becca?” she asks.
“Sorry, I’m just—I’m going.”
“Wait,” Caleb says. “Your headphones are on the counter over here.”
“Right,” I say as I stumble forward. I wrestle with my shoes to get them off, knowing I’m not supposed to wear them inside.
I pass Mrs. Park as her shoulders sag, and she rubs her forehead. As soon as I grasp my headphones, I spin around and hurry back toward the open door. “Sorry, again.”
I close the door, but before I’m out of earshot, I hear Mrs. Park say, “What was Becca doing here? I thought I told you she was a bad influence.”
Her words whack me in the chest like a pile of bricks. I stagger away, not wanting to hear anything else.
I know I’m not the most responsible person on the planet, but it's a bit of a stretch to say I’m a bad influence.
I don’t drink or do drugs. I definitely don’t go to any of the parties that kids throw when their parents are gone.
I’m an angel compared to some of the kids I go to school with.
Sure, I have a bit of an attitude, but so does half the population. At least I’m not high at the same time.
Who is she to say I can’t spend time with Caleb?
I stomp the rest of the way back to my house, but I pause at the door.
My parent’s voices are passing through our poorly insulated walls clear as day.
“Don’t pour it down the drain!” Dad yells.
“I’m done!” Mom yells back.
I put on my headphones to muffle their voices and book it through the door. I jog straight upstairs to avoid being seen. As soon as I step into my room, I close my door, locking it behind me.
Tears prick at my eyes, and my stomach turns.
My parents never used to argue. Well, they did, but it was about silly things like Dad misplacing the car key or Mom leaving dishes in the living room.
Now, the only time they communicate is when they’re screaming at each other.
I tug at my sleeves and sit on my bed, falling into my pillows. I pull one against my chest, hugging it as if it’s the only thing keeping me together. My heart is pounding, and I take a slow breath to try and calm my nerves.
Only a few more months of this, and then I’m done. Once I’m on the other side of the country, I won’t have to think about my parent’s crumbling marriage or be reminded of Ethan. I’ll be free.
I blink away my tears as my attention is pulled to the window when Caleb’s bedroom light turns on. Is he okay after what happened with Jordy? He seemed relaxed on the outside, but there’s no way that’s how he really felt.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and set it in front of me. Would it be weird to text him? Isn’t that what a normal person would do after something like that? A nice person?
I chew at my lip, peering at the window again.
Would he take it the wrong way? Would he think I like him? Because that’s not what this is. I’m just concerned. It’s different.
His light turns off.
Is he going to bed already? It's not even eight o’clock. That’s not a good sign . . .
I take a deep breath and pick up my phone. One little text couldn’t hurt, right?
Me:
Are you okay?
I chuck my phone back down onto the bed and cover my face with a pillow.
A minute passes, but my phone screen stays black.
Another goes by.
And another.
Gingerly, I pick up the phone and unlock it. Below my message, it shows as read. I jolt in surprise.
Why didn’t he text me back? Was my message weird? Maybe I shouldn’t have sent it. He’s probably wondering why I’m texting him when I made it very clear I didn’t want him to.
My phone rings.
Caleb’s contact fills the screen, and my phone slips through my fingers as panic floods over me.
Caleb is calling me.