Happenstance 2 (Happenstance #2)(13)
Author: Jamie McGuire

Peter and Veronica came outside, both with surprised but happy expressions.

“That’s quite a car you’ve got there!” Peter said.

I shrugged and shook my head. “I know. They are too good to me.”

“Nonsense,” Veronica said. She put her arm around me and squeezed. “You need a car, silly girl.”

Weston opened the passenger door. “All right, you’ve seen the car. We have to get to school.”

His parents waved to us as I nervously pulled away. Weston chatted about baseball practice and our test in health, not seeming the least bit worried about my driving skills. I had driven his truck a few times, but this felt very different.

I pulled into the parking lot, and the students walking to class stopped and stared. Blackwell was such a tiny school, everyone knew who drove what.

“They’re staring,” I said with dread.

“They’re going to.”

“They’re going to say I’m taking advantage of Sam and Julianne.”

“I’ll set them straight.”

I parked and pressed the button to turn off the ignition. Shannon LaBlue from art class didn’t hesitate to walk up to me.

“Is that yours?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual.

I looked to Weston and then spoke. “Yes.”

“Her parents just bought it for her,” Weston said. “Cool, huh?”

That answer didn’t occur to me, but I loved the way it sounded: my parents. Sam and Julianne were mine.

“A BMW, Easter? That’s incredible!”

I nodded, unable to say thanks. For whatever reason, saying thank you felt awkward. More people came over to get a closer look. I pressed the lock button on my remote, and then Weston led me into the building by the hand.

By the time I’d reached bio, the entire school had already heard about the car. Sara and a few of the other kids in class asked me about it the moment I sat down. Brady eyed me but didn’t say anything.

When I got to Mr. Barrows’s class, I stopped in the doorway to see that instead of Mr. Barrows, Julianne was standing behind his desk, shuffling papers around, looking nervous. When our eyes met, her face twisted to an apologetic half smile, half frown.

“It was last-minute. I’m sorry if this embarrasses you.”

Other students shouldered past me to their seats. I walked over to her and hugged her. She paused for a moment, shocked at my unusual display of affection.

“Thank you again for the car,” I whispered. “Everyone thinks it’s amazing.”

Julianne hugged me back. “I tried to get out of subbing,” she said softly into my ear.

I pulled away. “It’s kind of cool to see you in the middle of the day,” I said with a smile, and then continued to my desk. When I sat, Julianne’s expression was undeterminable. She was lost in thought, but then a grin touched her lips, and she continued greeting the students still straggling into class.

Chapter 6

DRIVING TO THE MURAL WITH SEVERAL REGRETS IN TOW, I pulled into the old pizza place next to Weston’s Chevy. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a shallow shadow along the stretch of concrete where the other students were standing with paintbrushes in hand. Mrs. Cup glanced over her shoulder, noting my arrival with a small nod.

“What took you so long?” Weston asked. “You should have been right behind me.”

“I got caught at a red light. And I drive slowly.”

“A snail could have beat you here.”

“I’m not ashamed,” I said, walking toward the brick wall.

I dipped my paintbrush in a small tub of green paint and began filling in places where the old paint was chipped. Weston did the same with a different color.

“What are you doing after work?” he asked.

“I…think I need to have a talk with Julianne.”

“Oh? That sounds a little serious.”

“It is. I hope not. Maybe.”

“What about?”

“Something I did.”

He hesitated, making a few strokes with his paintbrush. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I…It’s bad.”

“Did you wreck the car?”

“No.”

“Did you steal from her?”

I craned my neck at him. “What?”

He turned and shrugged, seeming shocked at himself. “I don’t know why I said that. My mind is racing, wondering what serious thing you need to talk to her about. I don’t think you’d steal from her. Or anyone.”

I nodded, satisfied, but the smug expression faded. “It’s almost as bad.”

“Jesus, Erin, just tell me.”

“I…went into Alder’s room.”

His eyebrows shot up. I looked at the cement under my shoes and puffed out a breath of air.

“I saw her prom dress. It’s beautiful.”

He nodded. “White. She told me about it.”

“She has dozens of journals in a tub in the back of her closet.”

“You read them?” he asked, suddenly worried.

I nodded, my cheeks catching fire.

He began painting again, but didn’t respond.

I waited, and when the silence threatened my sanity, I turned to him. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That it’s wrong.”

“What did they say?” he asked. “When was the last entry?” He kept his eyes on the wall, but his questions were tinged with concern.

“I didn’t read much. Just a couple of entries. I feel bad enough reading them. I’d feel worse if I told you what she wrote.”

“Anything about me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. They were vague.”

“I don’t have to tell you that it’s wrong, Erin. It’s all over your face. Just…don’t. Don’t read them.”

He was right. Arguing was useless. But from my peripheral, I saw him fidgeting, and that made me curious.

“She has some really old ones. Maybe she wrote about why she and Sonny stop talking to me.”

“They stopped talking to you because they were bitches,” he snapped. “Even in grade school.”

“Did Alder ever talk to you about it?”

He dropped his brush. He tried to jump back, but green paint splattered his jeans and shoes.

“Dammit!” he growled, holding his hands up.