The Truth About Letting Go (17 page)

“Can you pick it?” I whisper.

“Got to run back to the truck for tools. Stay here?”

I shrug and nod. There’s not much for me to do on this errand, and I don’t really want to stay in the dark, empty school alone. But I also don’t feel like creeping all the way back out to the truck just to do it all again.

He kisses me fast on the mouth then takes off in the direction we came, and soon it’s just me, sitting in the narrow, dim-lit hall in the quiet. Another minute passes, and I start to feel antsy. What am I doing here anyway? This is stupid. I walk back slowly to the front desk. I look on the counter where the school secretary sits, and I see a card about the new panther statue.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I walk over to the window facing front and there it is. Gleaming in the moonlight, a life-sized image of a panther walking forward, teeth bared, one foot curled up. Without thinking, I push on the front school door and then sharply inhale. I freeze, every muscle tensed, waiting for an alarm to blast.

It doesn’t, and I exhale, opening my eyes and looking around. It’s dark and quiet, nobody’s coming, no police sirens in the distance. The perks of living in Shadow Falls, where nothing ever happens. The spray paint is still in my jacket, and I pull it out, shaking the metal can as the ping-pong ball inside rattles back and forth. I walk to the front of the statue, studying it. The cat’s mouth is curled back in a teeth-baring growl, and I wonder how often panthers growl as they walk. Just like the reason I’m standing here, I don’t really know the answer.

After staring at it several moments, I pop the top off the can and point it at the statue. Two quick squirts, and he’s wearing a black handlebar mustache. I’m breathing fast now, and my heart’s beating hard. I’ve never defaced anything.

With a trembling hand, I bend down and spray on the marble base of the statue right in front, in large block letters,
Kiss Off ~ XXX ~ T.M.

Trevor Martin.

I stare at what I’ve done as if in a daze. Everything leading up to this point is pressing on my mind—the luau, my body pressed against Colt’s behind the bleachers as the students drink vodka-laced punch. Spiked communion wine, my body pressed against the seat of Colt’s truck as I struggle and fight. My brother giving me the book. My mother moving on with Eric James. Jordan telling me it’s about leaving things better than how we found them…

A loud
CRASH
! makes me jump two feet. The spray paint can slipped out of my hand and hit the pavement. Hands clasp mine, and I blink, looking around and into Colt’s eyes. I didn’t even hear him drive up.

“Get in the truck. Quick,” he hisses, scooping up the can and running to the vehicle.

I wake up and turn, running back to the truck. I’m in and slamming the door, and we’re driving away in seconds.

“I like the improv there at the end,” he says as we speed away from Creekside and back toward the neighborhood. “What now?”

I look down at my lap and my stomach feels like a ball of concrete. “I want to go home.”

“What?” He picks up the flask and tosses it to me. “Weren’t we up for something else. Involving less clothes?”

My body feels heavy. I take a long drink of burning liquid. My sinuses are opened, but exhaustion is pressing down on me. “Just take me home.”

Colt exhales loudly and doesn’t speak for a moment. Then he turns the wheel toward Shadow Creek. “Sure. We’ll catch up tomorrow night at the bonfire.”

I nod without even thinking about his words. I take another drink, but nothing’s fixing it. Nothing’s filling this hole. I want to find that switch again, that good feeling, but all I can think about is how I just dealt the final blow to the sudden-death expulsion of an unsuspecting kid. And I still care.

Chapter 14

The defacement of our school’s brand new mascot dominates the pre-school chatter when Mandy and I arrive in the student lot. I’m still in jeans and a dark tee, and today I’ve added dark sunglasses to help with my head, which is thick and painful from last night. Mandy doesn’t even bother commenting.

Once we’re out of her Beemer, she’s instantly swept up in the buzzing gossip. Half of the girls are wondering why Trevor did it. Why does he want to get expelled so badly? Is it really a cry for help?

Nobody suspects he wouldn’t be so dumb as to spray paint his own initials after an
F.U.
on the front of the school. Or I guess if he were mad enough, maybe he would.

But he didn’t.

I walk slowly to my building and go inside. Jordan’s not at his locker, but I’m too distracted to wonder why. I simply open mine, grab my chem book and binder and head to class.

Announcements done, pledge said, we’re all turned sideways in our seats when the daily student newscast starts up. Only this time, instead of perky high schoolers in trendy outfits smiling and giving us tips on how to start a community recycling program, loud music and screams blast from the TVs, accompanied by blonde college-aged bimbos doing belly shots and flashing their boobs.

It takes a whole two seconds for everyone to register what’s happening, and instantly the mustachioed mascot is out the window. The school bursts into simultaneous screams from the girls and hoots from the guys at the coeds onscreen kissing each other and pulling up their skirts. Clearly no one wears panties in college.

I get up and walk out, casting one glance back at Mr. Perkins, who’s flailing in a desperate attempt to throw his blazer over the television suspended from the ceiling while ordering a fellow classmate to get him a chair to stand on.

School is such a disaster right now, I have to give it up for Colt. He gave me my wish. Definitely an epic prank. As I walk down the hall, I realize I couldn’t find him if I wanted to. I don’t even know what class he has first period. Our relationship is strictly pranks and drinking and getting off. The new me. A frown plays at the corner of my lips, but I don’t give in to it.

The front office is no less chaotic, as female shrieks and male cheers echo up and down the halls. Ms. Sarita, the school secretary, is panicked because the student news DVD player is locked in Patty’s office, and he’s across campus addressing a maintenance issue. She’s screaming at Lucas Johnson, her student worker, to get him at once as she searches for a way to cut the power, but Lucas is snorting with laughter, watching the show.

Just then, rising above it all, I hear the sound of Coach Taylor’s hoarse voice yelling Trevor Martin’s name. I’m standing at the front desk when a furious Mr. Patel drags him in from the gym. Sudden-death expulsion. He releases Trevor’s collar while he races to his office to unlock the door and shut off the offending video.

Trevor doesn’t look at me, or anyone for that matter. He stands calmly in front of the counter and studies the papers lying there. I study him. He’s wearing an old white tee and jeans, he’s skinny and he slouches, but he isn’t cowed. Thin, straight brown hair frames pale cheeks and huge brown eyes. They cut to mine for a moment, and I don’t look away.

He smiles. “Triple
X
,” he whispers, nodding toward the TV screen that’s now black.

I don’t answer, and he turns back to the counter. He picks up the pen lying there, and I watch him draw a mustache on the panther logo topping an announcement sheet. My eyebrows pull together. Is that the way it goes when you quit caring? Whatever they throw at you, you roll with it? He glances at me again, and I try to understand.

Large spots of red are on his face, but he’s defiant. He likes the prank, so he’ll take the blame for it, not that it would matter if he fought. I turn and walk out the door. I wonder how long it’ll take before I stop caring. It’s Friday, and I’ve got the whole weekend to figure it out.

* * *

School is effectively shut down following the media explosion and the subsequent Trevor fallout. As far as I can tell, no one even noticed I left, and after arriving at my empty house, I don’t even bother taking off my clothes. I simply kick off my boots and shove my body between the blankets to sleep off last night and my involvement in today.

I open my eyes again and it’s dark. My phone’s vibrating on the side table, and I pick it up to see several missed texts. The first five are from Colt.

Partner in crime MIA
, says the first one.

U get a kiss for today. Epic.

At home? Hung over
?

Still on for tonight
?

The last one reads,
PU at 7; Kumbaya kids start early
.

I glance at the clock. It’s only six. I lie back and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes wondering if I even want to get out of bed. Ever. Then I think of Jordan and the bonfire. My heart tugs, and I can’t lie. I really want to see him again. I roll onto my side and hug my pillow hard into my chest. Closing my eyes, I can almost remember kissing him. What’s wrong with me? I blink. I only feel this way because I can’t have him. I have to believe that.

My phone buzzes and I lift it to see the face. Jordan. I sit straight up in bed.

Hope to CU tonight. Sick
?

I quickly text him back.
Headache. Chaos at school made it worse.

Sorry. Tonight at 7
?

CU there
!

I stop short of adding a smiley at the end. What am I thinking?

I’m thinking I need to shower and wash my hair, my face, everything. I’m mentally flipping through my closet trying to decide what I should wear. Denim skirt, navy, no white blouse. White’s kind of a pure color, right?

What the hell? I don’t care about being pure. I don’t care about seeing Jordan. I’m arguing with the energy surging through my body as I step into the shower. The warm water pours down my face and my mind floods with images of his blue eyes.

* * *

Colt’s not smiling when I climb into his truck. “You never answer my texts,” he says.

I pull the seatbelt across me. “Sorry. I wasn’t feeling great. And I said I was going tonight, right?”

He leans across and catches my neck for a kiss, then he glances down at my shirt. “I thought you only wore red to church?”

“It’s not really church.” I flinch as a thick bolt of lightening flashes a crooked yellow line across the sky. Several minutes pass before the thunder rolls after it.

“This probably won’t even happen,” he looks up through the windshield as we turn and head north, away from Glennville and toward the wooded area outside Shadow Falls.

Birdford State Park is on a lake and popular with scout groups, campers, and RVers. A few kids from school have summer jobs as lifeguards on Birdford Lake, but it’s far enough away that I prefer the Shadow Creek club pool. Dad used to talk about taking us camping here, but it’s too close to feel like a true getaway. And Mom’s never been into camping. So this is the first time I’ve even stepped foot into the forested area.

Once we’re through the guard’s hut and have our parking tag, we drive past several small cabins that form a wide circle around a larger meeting hall. About a quarter-mile down the hill in an open area we see where the Young Life group has erected the tall bonfire. It’s after seven when we pull into a space under the trees, and the fire is just starting to blaze.

“We really doing this?” Colt says, propping his forearms on the steering wheel and watching kids squealing and running back and forth in front of the fire.

“You’re the one who jumped in and said we were coming.”

His eyes slide over to me and then he grins. “We’ll make some trouble and then take off.”

I do a little smile back and pull the door handle. Trouble’s not really why I came tonight. My feet touch the slippery, brown pine straw when I step out of the truck, and I tug the bottom of my skirt, thinking of the last time I wore it. I try to think of a good excuse for why I am here. It’s completely against my new philosophy, and Colt would’ve agreed to do something else if I’d said I didn’t want to come.

But I did want to come. And I know why.

Acoustic guitar chords float to me, and the air is heavy with moisture from the growing storm. I can smell the rain mixed with the piney scent of the trees. Colt’s waiting on the other side of the truck when I walk around. He puts his hand on my waist and slips a finger through my belt loop as we walk to the fire. A sharp breeze whips down through the clearing, and one of the logs drops sending a rain of orange sparks flying into the thick, black air. Some of the girls squeal and then laugh. I catch sight of Jordan on the other side of the pyre holding a cup and talking to an underclassman. She has chin-length brown hair and is a bit taller than me. I recognize her, but we’re not friends or anything. She isn’t a cheerleader or a Shadow Creek resident.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter who he talks to. I don’t care. But when she smiles and playfully punches him in the side, I know it’s a lie.

Colt leans down and whispers in my ear. “I have an idea.”

He kisses my head and takes off, but I can’t stop watching Jordan laughing and teasing with the brown-haired girl. Then, as if he feels my eyes on him, he turns and looks right at me. His expression changes, and he says something to her before moving in my direction. Smug satisfaction fills my chest. Which is ridiculous. I’m here with Colt, who is supremely hot and who I can do what I want with. No worries about corruption.

“You made it. I thought you were sick,” Jordan says, and I do not fixate on the bright tone in his voice.

“School was crazy, and I had a migraine. That’s all.”

“This morning was nuts. Trevor became a legend.”

Swallowing my guilt at hearing Trevor’s name, I quickly deflect, making an expression of pretend-disapproval.

“Did you watch?”

“It was sort of unavoidable.”

“Something new to think about?”

“It was really kind of sad.” Then he points to my hand. “Coke? Pepsi? Root beer?”

“Real beer?”

“Come on, Ashley, it’s Young Life.”

I do a little laugh. “I think Colt’s getting us something.”