Chapter 25
EVERETT
The parking lot is a stark contrast to the hustle that welcomed us when we got here. In the—almost—hour since we’ve been inside, every car has left but two.
I’ve never seen this place so empty, which might be why I hadn’t noticed the bright yellow block letters that paint the cement until now. The name Rogers stakes claim to the car closest to the building.
Of course he has his own parking spot.
When metal hinges grate behind me, breaking the silence, I’m met face-to-face with the owner of said vehicle.
“Nice vest,” I say first.
Brian looks down as if it hadn’t crossed his mind he still had it on. “Everyone’s trying to use up their PTO days before the end of the school year.” He feeds me his lame excuse, pulling at the lining like the lapels of a suit jacket.
“Sounds like something they have a right to do.” My response is honest. Something I could have kept to myself maybe, but he’s the one who stepped out here when I’m not in the best place for small talk.
Brian folds his arms. A sinister smile slithers across his face. “Having fun pretending?”
My amused gaze drops to his costume. “I’m not the one pretending.” Does he really think he’s fooling people with this kind crossing guard act?
He strips the vest and tosses it against the closest brick wall, proving me right. He doesn’t care about doing good around here. The whole thing is for show. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“This little game of house you’re playing with Summer… it won’t last, you know.”
I’ve got two guesses where he came up with that. He read the Celeb article or saw the three of us walking in here today and assumed. Either way, he’s the one who let her go. He has to live with his insecurities over that.
“Why, because yours didn’t?”
He rolls his shoulders back and circles me, feeding me his response like a lion stalking their prey, slow until the bite. “No… because she doesn’t want to have kids… and judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that.”
The only stunned part of my expression is that he never realized she does.
He plants his feet in front of me, waiting for me to react. Good. I want to look him in the eyes when I say this. “You sure it wasn’t that she didn’t want to have kids with you?”
He barks out a laugh. It comes off a little too strong.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says over his shoulder.
I got under his skin, and he’s walking away because of it.
“Stick around long enough and you’ll see what I mean,” he adds.
I’m counting on it. Because little does he know that Summer already had this conversation, it just wasn’t with him.
He swipes the vest off the pavement before he gets blasted by the door of his precious school.
“Watch it,” Brian hollers at a kid who barrels out of the building. “No skateboards on school premises.”
The kid leans back, front wheels lifting off the ground as the board comes to a stop.
It’s a shock he listened after that kind of exit. He tucks his board under his arm, spinning his hat backward.
Blake.
Pain and anger build in equal measure just looking at the back of his head. He walks to the farthest bench from me, sits down, and pulls out his phone.
“Practice is over,” he says to the person on the other end of the call he just made. There’s a brief pause where he spreads his legs out wide, taking up as much space as he wants. The opposite of how he made Quinn feel minutes ago, shrinking to fit into the insignificant box his label put her in.
“Please, I don’t want to walk all that way,” he pleads.
We’re the only two people out here, and Summer drove. I don’t have her keys. Not eavesdropping on this conversation is impossible.
“Come on,” he whispers when he pulls his phone away from his mouth. His elbow sinks into his knee as he leans on it, pinching his forehead and temple between his thumb and middle finger.
“Yes, I have my skateboard, but it’s… Fine. Got it. Yeah, you too.” He hangs up, sighs, and stands.
“Hey,” I call out.
I don’t have a plan for what I’m going to say, but I’m not letting him leave here without clearing the air. As pissed as I am about his comment, he’s a kid who has a lot to learn. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.
“Yeah, no skateboards on the premises, I know,” he repeats, tucking the board under his arm.
I move closer to him. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
He waits for me to continue.
“You picked on someone smaller than you in there,” I remind him.
A flippant I’m sorry follows that statement. “She can color the grass whatever she wants.”
“This isn’t about what color she chose, Blake. You called her stupid. I know you’re the oldest one here, but imagine if you weren’t. Pretend you’re the youngest one and a bunch of middle school kids embarrassed you in front of everyone. How would that make you feel?”
“I said I was sorry,” Blake repeats.
“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to.” Yes, his name-calling dredged up some of my own shit I try to keep buried, but that’s not his fault. This is about Quinn.
“I said sorry to her. You weren’t in there.”
Thank you for the reminder.
“There’s a difference between saying it and meaning it. Quinn wants to fit in just as much as you do.”
I eye his graffitied skateboard and his backward hat and the wad of bubblegum wedged between his molars. Looking cool matters to him whether he’ll admit it or not.
He studies me for a second. Makes me believe my words are sinking in. Then he flips his hat forward, turns, and walks away.
“On the phone… was that your mom?” I stop him.
He glances over his shoulder, the bill of his hat shading his eyes from me. “Kind of nosey, don’t you think?”
“I think you sound like a kid who could use a ride. Where do you live?”
“A few miles from here.”
I’m inferring based on the limited information I gathered that he has troubles at home. It’s no excuse for his behavior, but he deserves someone who will make sure he’s okay too. Like I should have done with Quinn.
Were his parents going to let him ride miles by himself?
In a suburb, yeah, I can see it. But this school is touching two of the busiest intersections.
Downtown traffic stops for no one. Drivers don’t look for pedestrians either.
The memory of El strapped to a dozen different tubes keeping her alive invades my thoughts.
The odds of this kid making it home are not something I’m willing to risk.
I stall. “You’re pretty good on that thing.”
Blake smirks, tucking his board closer to his armpit. “You saw me ride two feet.”
“Well, I couldn’t even make it that far.” That’s an understatement. “Wanna show me a thing or two?” The parking lot is no skate park, but something tells me he doesn’t need one to impress me.
His gaze sweeps the school perimeter.
“I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
He shoots me a lopsided grin. “All right.” Then he drops the skateboard on its wheels and plants his back foot on the tail, his other foot hanging slightly off the front end.
In one swift motion, he leans his weight on his back foot and pops his board in the air.
It does a full rotation before he lands on it.
I’m intrigued and he hasn’t even left the sidewalk yet.
There’s a rail touching a ramp for wheelchair access to the bus drop-off lane a few feet away.
He rolls over to it. With his hand hanging on to the underside of his board, he jumps up and slides down the metal, shooting off the end and racing in an arc around the concrete lot.
He kicks the back end and picks it up, stopping in front of me.
“Impressive. How long have you been skating for?”
“A couple years or something. It’s faster to get home that way.”
Six cars pile into the pick-up lane. A momentary distraction. By the time I look back at Blake, he’s already headed home.
I jog the impressive number of paces he took to catch up to him. “Hold up. Do you ride home a lot?”
He shrugs. “Most days, yeah.”
And yet he still called that person for a ride. Something tells me he was hoping he wouldn’t have to.
“Does your mom work late or something?”
“My dad does.”
“Is that why you did the play?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
I’m just trying to figure this kid out. See if he was forced into being here.
Strapping a reason to his behavior. Blaming his actions on resentment rather than bullying.
There’s no excuse for how he acted. But the first option—indignation—is redeemable in my eyes.
I can work with that. His avoidance of my question tells me I’m right.
“I’m kind of nosey like that.”
That makes him smile for a second. Then he drops his head to stare at his Vans. “I don’t like… being home alone.” Vulnerability oozes from that delayed admission. He’s about as good at opening up as me.
A blast of chatter bursts through the front doors of the school. Everyone from practice funnels out.
“Come on.” I wave him in the opposite direction he’s still walking in.
“Why?”
I shuffle backward. “Our ride is here.”
I don’t wait to see if he follows me. My attention magnetizes to the slumped shoulders of my daughter. She’s walking toward the car holding Summer’s hand.
She’s okay, Summer mouths to me when we make eye contact. This feels anything but. When I get to Quinn, I drop to a squat and squeeze her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Her bottom lip quivers. “Da-eee, stay.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Here I was giving Blake a lecture about how he treated her, and I’m no better. I left her when she needed me.
I brush the hair out of her face. “I know. I’m sorry.” I want to be able to stay for you.
How do I tell a four-year-old that my own trauma surfaced?
That I wasn’t going to be able to comfort her until the anxiety attack calmed.
She won’t understand any of that. All I can do is show her how much she means to me.
I wrap my arms around her little body. She melts against my chest, tucking her head under my chin.
“I thought your dad was picking you up early?” Summer asks Blake.
I stand with Quinn in my arms and turn around. Blake dodges eye contact with every parent and kid walking by us who overheard that.
“I—”
“He’s riding home with us,” I whisper to Summer. “You coming?” I ask Blake.
Without a word, he follows us to Summer’s car and climbs into the back seat. After I’ve buckled Quinn in, she peels the ladybug sticker off my shirt and holds it out to him
“He ya doe!”
“Oh, he gets the lucky sticker now?” I tease.
A hesitant arm reaches for it. He smiles at her. “Cool. Thanks.”
She watches him flip his skateboard over and stick it on the veneer artwork sketching the bottom.
Then she gives him my favorite closed-lips, you-pleased-me smile.
And just like that, she’s forgiven him. Why is it never that easy for adults?
I ponder that question all forty city blocks it takes to get to the two-story home with navy blue shutters.
The driveway is empty. No signs of life in the dark windows either.
“This is it,” Blake confirms, shouldering his backpack.
“You good?” I ask, knowing he won’t let us stay. Worried how long he’ll be alone for.
“Yeah. Thanks again for the sticker, Quinn. I love it.”
The best apology if I ever heard one. Maybe he did learn a thing or two. She feeds him another smile.
A gold key glints in the palm of his hand as I watch him round the car. When he summits the final step on his porch, I call out his name through a rolled-down window.
“Yeah?”
“That thing you did on the sidewalk…” I do a little swirl with my pointer finger. “You should do that. For the talent show.”
A dimple sinks into his cheek with his tipped-up smile. “It’s called a heelflip, Rhett Dawson.”
Of course it is. An ego check from a fifth grader. Nothing puts you in your place quite like it.