Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (10 page)

Kevin steps over to where I’m leaning against the brick wall. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he waits until I find his eyes.

“You know I’ve never accepted an offer, right?”

“Well. No. But I do now.”

“Steph...”

“Kevin. You’re a human being. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that human beings can do some pretty rotten shit and know they’re doing pretty rotten shit and still go on with their daily lives.”

“Well I haven’t paid. And I won’t.” He cracks a smile. “There are so many better ways to get laid.”

I stare at him dumbfounded and shake my head. “Not funny, Matouse.”

He nods again, reaching for my arm, and I pull away.

“Just give me a minute?”

I’m still reeling from the revelation. I keep my hand on the wall, attaching me to something firm.

How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?
I wonder.
I’m so fucking done with this. So fucking
done with never escaping.

And I want out. Desperately. Normally, I can take information and categorize it for another day. If it’s something I can’t handle, I take the thought and place it in a box far out of reach. Out of sight, out of mind. But this? It’s different. I can’t figure out how to categorize it and I’m trying to breathe through the dizziness and I can’t help but wonder if there’s some sort of connection, some sort of inner workings with Sam Tiller’s name on it. It’s just...too much of a coincidence. I check the clock on the wall and realize we’re running short on time. Looking at Kevin, I attempt a smile.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

“It’s going to be a long day,” I say, allowing my head to rest on his shoulder for a second before we run into a freshman, wide eyed and timid and totally freaking out over the mass of hormonally charged students surrounding her. She pushes up her glasses with the palm of her hand and I can’t help but notice the smudge left behind on her lenses.
That would drive me absolutely insane,
I think to myself, fighting the urge to wipe them clean for her.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers through a strikingly pronounced lisp, “I must have been looking everywhere but in front of me.” She rearranges her backpack and checks her watch. Cursing under her breath, she takes off running. Our near-collision completely forgotten, her shoelaces trail behind her feet in dangerous circular motions, I half expect to see her trip. The warning bell rings and Kevin smiles and squeezes my hand.

“What’s the symbol for Meter?” He asks.

“Lowercase m.”

“ampere?”

I look at him and wink. “Uppercase A” I answer, more confident. “I’m going to do well on this test today,” I grin and lean forward and give him a kiss. “I had a great tutor.”

“No flattery.” He senses my confidence and offers a question that gave me problems while studying at breakfast. “What about the symbol for pascal?”

I scrunch my nose and step aside to avoid the herd of boys waddling to class wearing pants with waistlines around their knees. Kevin grazes my forearm with his finger to get my attention.

“P-a?” I answer, hesitantly. He grins his approval.

“Relax.” He kisses my forehead and makes his way to the exit across the hall.

God I wish I had first period off, too.

And just as I snake into the classroom before the final bell rings, I hear him calling behind me,

“You're going to kick that test’s ass!” I smile and glance around to see if anyone noticed him hollering, but everyone is too busy cramming or making tiny cheat sheets out of torn paper to pay attention to the person next to them. As I make my way to my seat I can’t help but think of Dante’s warning —
abandon
hope all ye who enter here!—
and how Mr. White could accurately hang that sign above his door because, well...let’s face it. His class is hell. My hands are already sweating and my pen is already tapping a nervous beat against the desk as the tests make their way through the rows. I look at the white paper filled with equations and multiple choice questions and close my eyes.
Mind on physics, Steph. Mind on
physics. The other stuff comes later, focus on passing.

“Out of sight. Out of mind.” I whisper and open my eyes in enough time to see Mr. White looking my way as I give myself a little pep talk. I smile and shrug my shoulders, “I’m a little nervous.”

He just continues to sit at his desk and stare - the smell of burnt coffee radiating from his cup that’s obviously been through its fair share of beverages without a rinse. I fight the compulsion to gag at the scent radiating from the mug and try to focus once again on the questions in front of me. With a quick look at the clock on the wall, I straighten my back and get to work, thoughts of newtons and coulombs and Planck’s constant swirling around my head like balls lost in a pinball machine.

***

After the test, it feels as if my brain’s been replaced with a wad of cotton. I walk out of Mr.

White’s classroom disgruntled and sleepy and highly irritated over the additional homework he gave us for tomorrow’s lesson. Two nights of no rest has done me in and I feel a migraine coming, slowly crawling up the back of my neck.
Dammit, I forgot to take my medicine,
I realize, massaging my temples with my forefingers. I curl my lips in disgust at a couple nearly copulating in the hallway and make my way to my locker to stash my backpack before English. I open the door and smile. Kevin left me a note, attached to a 20 oz Monster drink.

Sorry for keeping you up so late

thinking of you - you’re my beauty in a dark place

Love, me

I blush and look around, but no one notices my red face. I take out my cell phone to send him a thank you text before grabbing the drink and popping the cap. I take my first sip and smile.

Now I can make it through another one of Peabody’s lectures on whether Shakespeare really
wrote all of his plays.
I think. Passing by the couple still searching for each other’s tonsils (among other things), I bump the girl with my shoulder. She looks at from under her dark eyeliner and starts cussing me out; I smile sweetly and wink at her boyfriend, which just infuriates her even more. I walk away, her threats still reverberating off of the walls. Looking behind me one more time, I wave and mouth, “Sorry!”

and put on a sincere face.

You can thank me later for saving you the embarrassment of losing your virginity in the school
hallways,
I smile and take another sip of my energy drink and walk into English class.

“Stephanie! How wonderful to see you this morning!” Mrs. Peabody interrupts my mental

dialogue with Tonsil Hockey Girl as I walk in the door. I stop and look around at the few students already seated.

“Was I not supposed to be here?” I ask, confused by her overtly happy and welcoming manner.

Mrs. Peabody is probably the most eccentric teacher I have, but she’s never been
perky.
And right now, that’s the only word I can use to describe her, and it’s kind of annoying. Her smile gets wider and I notice for the first time just how white her teeth are—they shine.

“Why yes, of course dear. I just am excited to see your face is all.” She reaches for my hand and gave it a squeeze, “I loved your latest essay about the price of untested virtue in
Measure for Measure.

Your writing showed such maturity!” She walks toward me, her long jumper covering her bright yellow Crocs, a staple in her wardrobe. I wince at the fashion mishap and focus again on her teeth. At least her teeth won’t make me bite my lip to fight back images of
What Not to Wear
episodes.

I set my drink down on a desk and pull my bag off my shoulders before sitting down. “Um, thanks Mrs. Peabody.” I look at her and smile and rub my finger against my Moleskine resting on the desk. “I worked really hard on that paper.”

“Well, I most certainly noticed, and it isn’t the first time you have excelled in your assignments.

So. I took it upon myself to contact a few colleges heavy in the arts and I received a call back from USC.

Stephanie, they are incredibly interested in you coming and pursuing a creative writing degree! They even spoke of scholarships available.”

I stare at her lips, but am not sure what to think of the words coming out of her mouth. USC is in California. And expensive. My mind wanders to the possibility of scholarships and I can’t help but maybe feel a pinch of excitement in my bones. Creative Writing. I begin building images in my mind for a moment of mornings spent writing on the beach or allowing the sun to warm my blood. It seemed nice.

Too nice. I politely listen and refuse to allow myself the comfort of building hope—not for this. Not now.

Wait. The conversation with Kevin at breakfast rushes through my mind and I pause. USC. That’s where he wants to go. I’ve never allowed myself the ability to think about us after graduation. I’ve never really considered what could or would happen between us. I certainly never thought we could end up at the same school.

Mrs. Peabody touches my arm and I blink back into focus.

“Here’s their number. I went ahead and gave them your contact information. They mentioned they will be contacting you soon. I hope you pursue this. You are such a gifted writer. You write with a depth not many are able to achieve. I bet you have words in you the world needs to read. Write them. Share them.” She places her hand on my shoulder for a split second and moves on to greet the other students walking into the classroom. I slump into my chair, her words echoing in my head, and the only thing I can think is that I hope the admissions people don’t call when my dad is home.

My eyes slip to my Moleskine sitting resolutely on the top of my textbooks. I grab it and hug it to my chest.
I need to spend some time writing,
I think.
Maybe I’ll hit up the coffee shop on my way to
Emma’s, hole up in a corner somewhere and let loose on one of these empty pages.

And with that, my mind has completely left the classroom and is in a different world—one of peace and comfort and protection and mornings spent on beaches writing and watching the sun rise.

Chapter Nine

I get to Emma’s around six, completely spent emotionally from pouring everything I have onto pieces of paper. My hand is still cramping from writing my heart and tears on countless pages. I open the front door and collapse on one of her couches, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the beginning of the story I started to write may stick. I start to close my eyes before I hear his voice down the hallway.

“I’m telling you...you just need to be careful.” Jude’s voice is abrupt and matter-of-fact. I’m still reeling over the other voice, though. At first I think I may have been hearing things, but I hear him again, countering Jude’s warning.

“I’m fine, I promise. But we should probably look into it more is all I’m saying.”

What is Kevin doing here?
I crane my neck to look down the hallway and see Emma leave Benjamin’s room. I close my eyes again to collect my thoughts and rub my temples in a circular motion—

hoping for some kind of relief.

“Hey, you look like death.”

I crack open one of my eyes and half-heartedly wave in Emma’s direction. “Hey yourself. I had a long night—and, no I don’t want to talk about it. I just spent the past two hours writing at The Caffeine Drip. I’m on a severe crash from an espresso overdose and I have no emotions left over.”

Emma places her hands on her hips. “So...if I told you Jude has Benjamin tonight for one of their bonding rituals as menfolk, you wouldn’t be interested in going shopping with me?”

She has my attention now. If Jude has Benjamin, why did I just hear him talking with Kevin, and why was she coming out of Benjamin’s room? I look at her.

“Guys night? Is Kevin in on this?”

She snorts. “Kevin? What does Kevin have to do with guys’ night?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Am I crazy or did I hear him talking with Jude a minute ago?”

Emma turns toward the hallway and then turns to face me, red blotches crawling up her neck.

She’s nervous? She only turns red when she’s nervous.
I chew the inside of my thumb, waiting for her to answer. She smiles.

“You did. Kevin called Jude earlier about some questions with his government and economics homework. He’s been talking with him for the last thirty minutes about due processes and stock markets.”

“Are they on speaker or something? Why did I hear Kevin’s voice if they’re on the phone?” I move to get off the couch and walk down the hallway and she plops beside me and sets her hand on my leg.

“I know. Tutoring via speaker phone. Whatever. Boring. But...that doesn’t matter. What
does
matter is this shopping trip. You coming?” She rests her head on the back of the couch and sighs.

I haven’t been shopping, even
window
shopping, in forever. I mean this literally. Most of my clothes are hand-me-downs from my mother and they don’t fit correctly. I’ve never been shopping just for fun. Fashion is one of my secret indulgences. I love looking at the magazines stashed in the check out lines of grocery stores, imagining what I would wear if I could just buy whatever I want.

I sit up, slowly, and rub my eyes. “Okay. Shopping. Let’s do this. Can we stop and get something to perk me up? Food perhaps? I haven’t eaten since Cloud Nine this morning.”

Emma laughs and jumps off the couch, grabbing her purse off the ledge by the door. “Come on.”

I walk past her and out the door, hearing her chuckle behind me. I hear the click on the Jeep and I open the door to get in from the cold. Emma isn’t too far behind. As soon as she climbs into her seat and starts the engine, she looks at me and asks. “So what’s this about USC?”

I stare at her. “Seriously? How do you know about this? Were you in on it?”

She smiles. “Mrs. Peabody isn’t as flighty as you think. She knows we’re close and so when she found out they were interested in you she immediately e-mailed me letting me know. It’s not that big of a deal, Steph —me knowing. But. You having an opportunity for USC
is
a big deal. Have you thought much about it today?”