Happenstance 2 (Happenstance #2)(20)
Author: Jamie McGuire

Their positivity and smiles had my mind elsewhere, so when I turned the corner to see a devastated Weston standing at my locker, I was unprepared. I paused and then continued, determined to get through the combination lock quickly and exchange my English textbook for my Algebra II workbook.

He said nothing, just stood a few inches from me while I turned the black dial back and forth. I loaded my textbook onto the upper shelf and pulled out my flimsy algebra workbook. When I closed the long metal door and turned, Weston hooked his finger in my shirt.

“You read her journal from this year, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

“I know what you’re thinking. I understand that you hate me right now, and if I were you, I’d hate me too, but please let me explain. You can punch me or scream at me if you want, but just hear me out.”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see the redness that darkened my face from chin to hairline.

“Sam told you to stay away.”

“Even if we didn’t have two classes together, I can’t stay away from you.”

“Try,” I said, walking away. I didn’t look back.

Algebra didn’t keep me as busy as I’d hoped. The thought of Weston staring at the back of my head or trying to talk to me during health and art made me queasy. So much that I could barely eat the cheese fries I’d ordered at Sonic during lunch.

The carhops hustled in and out of the double glass doors like ants at the mouth of their hill. The cars were parked in their respective spots on each side of the drive-in restaurant. Trucks and sedans all had their windows rolled down, the drivers either waiting for their order or pushing the button on the small silver box beneath the menu sign and waiting their turn.

My red BMW was the only vehicle parked with the window rolled up; my thoughts could have steamed the windows. Scream and punch him? I felt like I’d been screaming underwater my entire life; it was comforting to keep my feelings just beneath the surface. Most people wouldn’t understand, but reactions were dangerous, like temptation or addiction. Letting someone affect me was giving away the only control I had, and even if it was Weston, letting go—even once—of the fortitude I’d kept for so long was a slippery slope I was too afraid to step on.

Slipping off course now wouldn’t achieve anything. Weston’s need to explain and make this right was about him, not me. Justice was not his, it was mine. I had been the one surviving since the fifth grade.

Spanish with Miss Alcorn was uneventful, but I spent the entire period worrying about the next one. Weston sat right behind me in health class, and I dreaded any snide remarks from Brady. Since the deaths of the Erins, he wasn’t quite as vocal, but he still had his moments.

As I walked to class, Weston appeared next to me. We walked together in silence, and I didn’t acknowledge him when I sat down. It seemed all the worrying I’d done the hour before was for nothing, until five minutes before the dismissal bell, when familiar fingers grazed my shirt.

“Erin,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Quit begging, Gates,” Brady said from the back of the class. “You’ve turned into such a pussy. She found out. Just give it up already.”

I kept my face pointed forward. Coach Morris looked up from grading papers. His eyes darted to Brady and then to Weston.

“Is there a problem?”

After a brief pause, Brady spoke up. “No problem. Weston just won’t leave Erin alone, even though she wants him to.”

Coach Morris’s eyes quickly moved to me. “Is that true?”

I swallowed and then shook my head. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Weston’s fingers touched me again, and I leaned forward.

Coach Morris noticed.

“Weston,” he began.

“It’s really nothing,” I said, begging him with my eyes not to call attention to me.

Coach considered my silent request and conceded, going back to his papers.

“I’d say Weston lying to you, pretending to like you, making you think he’s into you enough for you to say yes to prom so Alder could pour shit soup over your head in front of everyone is something,” Brady said.

A collective gasp echoed throughout the class, and then the whispering began.

I closed my eyes and then turned. I had to see the expression on Weston’s face for myself. I needed to hear him deny it.

His teeth were clenched. He was breathing through his nose, his nostrils flaring. He hung on to his desk as if his life depended on it, his knuckles red and then bright white.

I could feel tears burn in my eyes.

“Say it’s not true,” I whispered so softly that I practically breathed the words.

“It’s not true,” Weston said through his teeth.

“You’re a damn liar,” Brady said from the back, a smile in his voice. “I was there when they planned it.”

As if he knew what was about to happen, Coach Morris jumped over his desk at the exact moment Weston left his.

Weston wildly swiped and grabbed for Brady, held back just in time by the coach.

“You spoiled, repugnant, miserable piece of shit!” Weston screamed.

Brady sat back in his seat, watching Weston with wide eyes.

Coach Morris struggled with Weston all the way out of the classroom, and moments later the bell rang. The other students gathered their things and rushed out so they could see whatever scene was happening in the hall.

I sat in my desk, unmoving, feeling raw and exhausted. Brady was packing his backpack slowly. The anatomy posters and charts would be the only witnesses to whatever salt he was about to pour in my wound.

“Erin,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I’m a dick. I work pretty hard for the title. I’m also just low enough to know that the best way to get back at Gates is to go to prom with me.”

I froze. That wasn’t even the last thing I expected him to say. Asking me to prom wasn’t anywhere on the spectrum of things Brady Beck might say to me. I looked up at him, and for the first time, he wasn’t glaring at me with hatred or disdain.

“You…don’t have a date to prom?” I asked.

He tried somewhat of a smile, but it ended up being a small, indifferent shrug. “Not yet.”

After a long pause, I stood up, still meeting his eyes, even though he was a head taller than I. “Maybe that’s because everyone else thinks you’re a spoiled, repugnant, miserable piece of shit too.”

I walked away and didn’t look back.