7. Sydney
“Ugh, shoot.” I curse under my breath as the stack of papers from my English folder scatters to the ground, with a few stray pieces floating to land all the way on the other side of the hallway. Footsteps fade away as all the other students rush to their classrooms, leaving me alone as I struggle to get my act together.
Just as I bend to reach for one of the papers, my heavy biology book slips out of my arms and slams to the floor with a loud thud.
Come on.
My head feels frazzled and foggy as I frantically grab at papers. Since when have I become such a walking disaster?
When everything started happening with Mom, I made a point to not let what was happening at home affect my schoolwork so I can still graduate on time…but I don’t think I’m doing a very good job at that anymore. The last several days have been harder to get a grasp on.
“Need help?” a soft, deep voice says out of nowhere behind me, causing me to jump. I twist my neck enough to look up and see a guy who looks vaguely familiar.
Graham’s football teammate?
Wait…that’s right. And the mayor’s son.
This school is small enough to be aware of pretty much everyone, at least on the surface, but he and I definitely don’t run in the same circle. I can’t recall a single other fact about him.
My gaze snags on a subtle seriousness behind his stare as he holds mine. A quiet, mysterious vibe to the nonchalant way he stands there, completely unbothered by being late for his own class.
He bends to pick up one of my papers, and I realize I haven’t answered him yet.
“Uh, thanks,” I say, regaining my composure. “Cole, right?”
I take a few steps to grab the farthest stray paper, and then we rise to stand at the same time. He stretches a hand out to give me the stack of papers, but keeps my biology book under the crook of his arm.
“Yup.” The corner of his mouth tilts up in the slightest of ways, but he doesn’t ask me anything in return. He simply stares at me with an intensity that somehow leaves me almost lightheaded.
“Sydney Peterson,” I offer, never shy about meeting new people, no matter what emotional state I’m in. He nods in a way that tells me he might have already known that bit of information.
“Going this way?” he asks, pointing down the now empty hall.
“Yeah,” I say, falling into step next to him. “I’m late for biology. I can’t seem to get my crap together today.”
“Happens to the best of us.” He dips his head, a crooked smile breaking through his hard exterior. A hint of warmth soothes my stomach at the way something visibly eases inside of him. I get the feeling perhaps his smiles are hard-earned.
“Where are you off to?” I try not to make my perusal of him obvious as I note the lack of his own books in his hands.
“Study hall,” he answers simply. Nothing more.
Alright, then. He’s definitely a guy of few words.
“My class is right up here. You don’t have to walk me if you don’t want to.” I point to my book he’s still carrying.
He simply shrugs, again completely unbothered. “I don’t mind.”
Something about his quiet confidence draws me in as I study him as nonchalantly as I can, wondering what his story is. The rest of the walk is silent, nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoing in the air. I slow to a stop as we reach my classroom.
“Well, thank you,” I say, holding a hand out for my textbook.
“No problem.” He places it in my hand and holds my eyes for a beat longer than normal before dipping his head. As if stuck in a trance, I watch him walk back in the direction we came from before I slip inside the classroom.
“Dang it, Jimmy!” Laura shouts, clutching at her chest as if she’s just seen a ghost.
A laugh escapes me as I shove him back into the line of trees he just jumped out of, breathing through the sudden spike in my own heart rate.
He howls a cheer with a fist pump in the air, clearly proud of his clever antics to scare us.
“That was unnecessary.” I fix a glare on him as he falls into step beside us.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He shrugs menacingly. “You guys are late. I got bored.”
“We’re not late. The sun just went down,” Laura points out.
It’s a well-known fact for the entirety of our senior class that sunset is the unofficial start time for the standing Friday night field party at Rayna Phillips’s family farm.
“I’ve been here for thirty minutes already,” he complains.
“Hanging out in the woods, huh? Looking for a repeat make-out sesh with a certain brunette, I presume?” I wag my brows. “Eager much?”
“Hey, I’m not above desperation.” He smirks.
Stray sticks crunch under my feet as we follow the sound of voices. Just past the edge of the treeline, a clearing opens up to where a large campfire is already roaring to life. Groups of people are standing around the fire while a line of pickup trucks are backed up around the outskirts of it, tailgates down with coolers resting on top.
It’s a typical Friday evening setting for us in Baudette—one I’ve been looking forward to all week. The persistent heaviness that’s been weighing me down in an overwhelming way has me picking up the pace, making a beeline straight for Jimmy’s truck.
“Beer?” I hop onto the tailgate, fishing a cold can out of the cooler. I hand it to Laura before cracking one open myself.
“I’d love one, thank you,” Jimmy mimics, retrieving one for himself.
I flash him a wide-mouthed smile, trying to reach the part of me that is able to joke and be playful, but it’s too far out of reach. I take a long chug, focusing on how the ice-cold liquid travels down my throat, hoping it’ll drown out the heaviness in my chest. With a deep exhale, I pause to let the first numbing tingles from the alcohol start to rush through me. I relish it—the way it softens the edges of the sharpness I’m feeling inside.
“Are you good?” Laura asks softly, hopping onto the tailgate next to me.
“Yeah,” I lie. We’ve hashed out every possible scenario about my mom together over the past couple days, and I’ve opened up about my fears with her, but the last thing I feel like doing tonight is talking.
Tonight, I want to forget the fact that, when I go home, my own mother might not be lucid enough to remember me.
Dramatic, I know. But her episodes seem to be getting worse and more frequent. To be honest, I don’t think I’m doing a good job of handling it.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to.
“Let me know if you want to bail, go somewhere quiet,” she offers with an elbow nudge.
“I’m okay, really,” I say with as big of a smile as I can muster before taking another swig.
“Did you hear that Theo was running his mouth today?” Jimmy asks us, coming closer to the truck. Laura and I both shake our heads. “Apparently he’s looking for a rematch with Dylan tonight.”
“One fist fight isn’t enough for those idiots?” I grumble, recalling the pathetic brawl they took part in last week that looked more like an ego-stroking display than anything else.
“Apparently not.”
“Oh, there’s Ricky,” Laura exclaims, a grin taking over her face as she spots him across the fire. She glances at me to gauge my reaction, her way of asking permission, which I appreciate.
“Yeah, yeah, see you later.” I push her off the truck bed, and she blows us a kiss while rushing away.
“Pathetic sap,” Jimmy mutters in his teasing tone, although he and I both know he eats up every little bit of our romantic drama as much as we do.
“Says Mr. Desperate,” I tease, elbowing him.
He rolls his eyes dramatically but doesn’t respond. Instead, we fall into a quiet silence as we watch the crowd grow larger.
I consider opening up and telling him about our concerns for my mom, which I haven’t done yet. I even open my mouth a couple times to do so, but I just can’t find the steam to push it out. Again, no part of me feels like acknowledging it right now.
The blaze-orange glow from the now roaring fire becomes more vibrant as the sky completely darkens, offering a black backdrop that surrounds us.
“Well, you’re a ball of fun tonight, but I think I’m going to mingle.” Jimmy crushes his can and grabs a fresh one before walking backward, pointing a finger at me.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises.
I wave him off just as I did Laura and zone out, my eyes fixed on the smoke coming from the top of the fire.
Without anyone left to distract me, my mind hyperfocuses on Mom and how in the world I might be able to get time to speed up so I can leave for college already. A part of me feels like I need to get some space in order to be able to process this all in the right way.
“You again,” comes a deep, steady voice on my right. A quick tilt of my head, and I find Cole leaning against the side of the truck. Without a word, I watch him for a second, taking in his solid stature and the bulky red sweatshirt he’s wearing, even though it’s been an unseasonably warm spring.
“Two times in one week,” I chide. “Are you following me?”
A hint of a smile cracks his serious face, and the sight of it brings the same out of me.
“That’s a weird way to say, ‘Thank you, Cole, for your help,’ but I’ll take it,” he says softly.
The subtle gleam in his eye holds my attention, and the intensity of it sends a trill down my spine. Add in the numbing effect of the alcohol, and the sensation feels good. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m feeling something other than apprehension that feels good.
Either way, I welcome it.
“Aren’t you supposed to be over there?” I tip my head over to the other side of the fire where some of his teammates are tossing the football. Others have their arms slung around doting cheerleaders, happily staking their claim for the night.
Something tells me Cole doesn’t quite fit in with that crowd.
“Nah.” He shrugs.
“Most guys on the team follow each other around, proudly touting their letterman jackets as their way of announcing their inclusion in the ‘cool kids’ club,” I mutter, perhaps letting my bad mood shine through. “Yet, here you are, lurking in the dark—sans jacket too.”
Another hint of a smirk. “Football isn’t my life like it is a lot of theirs.”
“You just enjoy playing the game?”
“It’s just something to do.” He shrugs.
I take another swig, intrigued by his answer. He hasn’t given me much to go on, so I find myself wanting to know every little detail about him. What makes him tick? What does he do for fun that isn’t just something to occupy his time?
“You’re one to talk. Why are you over here all by yourself?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to meet mine. Again, I feel a flush from it unlike anything I’ve ever felt before by simply making eye contact with someone.
It’s my turn to shrug. “Don’t feel like socializing tonight.”
He nods. Something in his expression tells me he empathizes with that, which intrigues me even more.
“Anyway, I gotta run. See ya around,” he says, holding my gaze for just long enough to steal the breath from my lungs before disappearing into the night.
I can’t help but keep my eyes on where he stood, intrigued by the mystery of him. Wondering why I feel this yearning to peel back his layers one by one. Wondering why I would even try with everything else I have going on in my life at the moment.
After a deep sigh, I take another sip, turning my attention back to the crackling fire.