For Ever (9 page)

Returning the way I came, I follow the signs
to the bathroom, where I splash my face with water and reapply my
lip balm. I check the time again when people begin pouring into the
bathroom. By the time I reach the lobby a minute later, there are
people everywhere. Eventually my eyes land on a large group that
looks my age. One of the guys turns toward me, and I flinch. It’s
Jeff Summers. He waves, but he’s far enough away that I hope maybe
it wasn’t me he was waving to. Still unable to find Ashley and the
others, I head to the exit, hoping that they’re waiting for me
outside. I’m almost to the doors when a hand comes down on my
shoulder.

“Told you I’d see you here,” a voice says
from behind me.

I turn and try to keep my features impassive
as I look up at Jeff the Jerk. My mouth twitches at the
alliteration.

“Hi.”

“Where are your friends?” Jeff asks
mockingly, looking around.

He’s thinking that I came to the movies by
myself hoping I would run into him. I frown. I’m really starting
not to like him.

“They’re in the bathroom,” I lie.

“So, we’re going for pizza. You should come
with. I’ll give you a ride.”

Across the lobby, I see a tall girl watching
us with a look of unmistakable scorn painted on her features. She
whispers something to the girl next to her and then laughs.

“Come on,” he prods.

He throws an arm around my shoulder and
begins steering me across the lobby, but my lack of enthusiasm
slows his progress. Catching sight of Ashley, I wave furiously at
her. She rushes up before screeching to a halt when she sees my
company. Shrugging out from under Jeff’s grasp, I begin to hurry
toward her. Behind my back, I hear Jeff mutter something
indecipherable but obviously nasty. Charming when he gets what he
wants, a cretin when he doesn’t. No surprise there.

“I was afraid you guys left,” I sigh.

“Where’d you go? We’ve been looking all
over.”

I nod over my shoulder.

“Sorry. I couldn’t take any more blood and
guts.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a gross out. But what
were you doing with
him
? I mean, you know he’s going out
with Emily, right?”

I nod, even though I’m pretty sure Emily
dumped Jeff, and I’m starting to think he deserved it. That, or
they deserve each other.

“He’s in my Chem class.”

“And? What did he want?”

“He asked if I needed a ride.”

Ashley snorts.

“Good thing I found you.”

Lindsay and Taylor join us, both of them
gasping.

“Oh … my …
god
! You guys missed it!”
Lindsay says breathlessly.

“Missed what?” Ashley says, motioning for
them to spit it out.

Taylor points outside, eyes wide. “Ever
Casey.”

“Weird, huh?” Lindsay says, raising an
eyebrow. “He was just standing out in the parking lot.”

“It looked like he was waiting for someone,”
Taylor muses. “I’ve never seen him outside school before.”

I catch Taylor’s eye, and my heart stutters
when I see a blurry image of him leaning against a black car.
Trailing behind the others, I can’t help feeling a surge of
anticipation that makes my stomach tighten. But there’s no sign of
him outside—only Josh and Marcus waiting for us at the curb.

“Ash, can I get a ride home?” I whisper as we
approach them.

She nods, and when everyone splits up, I
follow her, still preoccupied by the hazy image of my strange
classmate. I try to match it with the form I saw in the parking lot
before the end of the movie, but it’s hopeless. Pausing as Ashley
unlocks the car, I try to think of how to pose my question without
sounding like a stalker. Then I exhale and settle for sounding like
an obsessive crazy person.

“Has anyone heard anything about
why
Ever Casey is so … you know?”

“Out there?”

“I mean, is he on medication or something?
Jeff Summers said he was in,” I pause, horrified that I’m taking
any stock in information from Jeff, “a mental hospital.”

Ashley shakes her head and rolls her
eyes.

“Don’t listen to him. Jeff’s had a thing
against him for months, even before Emily tried hooking up with
Ever.”

My eyes bug out of my head, and I can’t help
laughing.

“Seriously?”

She nods and giggles.

“It was pretty hilarious. She and Jeff were
still technically going out, and then one day she just walked right
up to Ever in the cafeteria. He totally ignored her, and everyone
saw it. She was speechless. And that’s how everybody found out
something wasn’t right, because he just sat there, didn’t even look
at her. People just assumed he wasn’t all there. Know what I mean?
Wicked hot, but nobody home upstairs.”

She taps her forehead.

“But you said he got perfect grades,
right?”

Her brow furrows.

“Yeah. … Oh, who knows? But when he caught
you in the cafeteria, I just about died. It was the first time I
saw him do anything normal. Well, not
normal
-normal, but you
know what I mean. I still can’t believe you
talked
to
him!”

“Yeah. Once.”

Stepping out of my own little bubble for a
second, I suddenly remember that Ashley sat next to Marcus during
the movie. When I ask her about it, her eyes light up, and that
conversation takes us all the way to my house.

The next morning, I open my eyes to an
increasingly familiar grayness seeping through the blinds. Looking
out the window, I watch the rainwater sheeting on the glass. I
gather up laundry and put a load in the washer before getting
ready. When I’m dressed, I try to calculate how much housework I
can do before losing my mind. Without sunshine or transportation,
Saturdays have become a little monotonous—something I never thought
I would say. I love weekends.

Rummaging around for breakfast, I find the
half-gallon of milk suspiciously light and discover that we’re also
out of bread, eggs, cereal, fruit—pretty much anything else
resembling breakfast food. I scribble down a grocery list, and
armed with a renewed sense of purpose, I head upstairs and tap on
my mom’s door. Her response is muffled and incomprehensible.

“I’m going to take your car to go grocery
shopping, all right?” I say, cracking open her door.

She sits up and eyes me warily. Last year I
got into an accident on a blind turn in Topanga—just two weeks
after I got my license. No one was hurt, and my Mustang barely got
a scratch. But the other guy’s brand new pickup truck had a
crumpled front bumper that cost an entire summer of paychecks to
replace. This is something my mom hasn’t—and may never—let me live
down.

“Just be careful. It’s raining,” she
says.

It’s pouring, actually, but I’m not about to
correct her.

“I will. Do you have cash?”

“On the dresser. If I’m not up, drag me out
of bed when you get back.”

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Even better.” She smiles and rolls over.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of a car feels
strangely foreign after several weeks of not operating a motor
vehicle. But at least, unlike my old Mustang, my mom’s car doesn’t
smell like used motor oil. Plus, the Z shifts into reverse with
ease. The Mustang was ten years older than I am now and made an
awful grinding noise every time I shifted into first or reverse.
Ours was a love-hate relationship. The Mustang had a lot of
character, but even more mileage. I’m hoping for an automatic the
next time around, though I’m glad I learned stick.

Leaving the safety of the driveway, I clench
the steering wheel when the tires spin on the slick asphalt. I had
forgotten about driving a stick shift in the rain. The wheels feel
more like ice skates, which for me, means dangerously unstable.
After every stop sign, just taking my foot off the clutch and
pressing the gas causes the Z’s back end to fishtail, forcing me to
grip the wheel and make a face like a cartoon character who’s about
to fall over a cliff.

The closest grocery store that I can get to
without getting lost is the one I see every day from the bus on the
way home from school. When I get to the parking lot, I loosen my
grip on the wheel and shake my hands to get some feeling back into
my fingers. A few short months ago, I easily drove up and down
Topanga’s crazy two-lane canyon boulevard with a sheer cliff on one
side and a mountain on the other. Now I’m white-knuckling the
steering wheel like my grandmother.

I jog across the parking lot of the shopping
center, which also houses a tattoo parlor, sports bar, tanning
salon, drycleaner, and a few fast food places. I’m even less
impressed by the inside of the grocery store, which is smaller than
I expected. I grab a cart and start making my way up and down the
unfamiliar aisles. The produce section is surprisingly decent, but
after an hour, there are at least ten things I can’t find, or that
the store doesn’t carry.

In the checkout line, the man ahead of me,
dressed in a worn hoodie and stained jeans, is waiting for the
checker to retrieve a pack of cigarettes from the locked case. His
only other purchase is an energy drink, and he already smells
heavily of tobacco. I try to keep my distance as I load my
groceries onto the conveyer belt. By the time she gets to me, the
checker, a tired-looking woman in her forties, gives me a sharp
look when I set down my mom’s reusable bags. Paying quickly, I
hurry outside, where I find the man who was ahead of me in line
reclined against the brick exterior of the store. He exhales a puff
of smoke as I pass him. When I’m almost to my mom’s car, I click
the remote for the trunk release.

Nothing. No chirp, no lights. I click it
again. Same thing. Grumbling, I open the trunk manually and load
the bags before rushing to the driver’s side and unlocking the car
with the key. Slamming the door after me, I’m eager to get the
heater going. I turn the key in the ignition. The gut-wrenching
screech startles me. The engine sputters for a second before going
silent. Counting to ten, I try again. This time, I get nothing at
all, which I interpret to mean one thing: a dead battery.

Looking down at the console, I reach up and
smack my forehead with my palm. I left the headlights on. I lean
forward and rest my head on the steering wheel, praying for a
miracle from the car gods. The last thing I need is to call a tow
service and put a dent in my car fund. Just the thought of it is
making me nauseous. I’m only mildly comforted that in current
weather conditions it might take a couple of days for the ice cream
in the trunk to thaw.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter when
I reach into my purse.

No cell phone. Still grumbling under my
breath, I pull the hood release and climb out. I’m not even sure
why I’m bothering. It’s not like I’m going to fix anything. I look
out across the mostly empty parking lot, searching for a phone
booth. No luck. Next I look for someone who might have jumper
cables—and would know how to use them, since I don’t. The few
parked cars across the lot are deserted.

Finally, my eyes land on the guy in the
hooded sweatshirt. I watch as he stubs out his cigarette and
unpeels himself from the brick wall. When he starts walking across
the parking lot, I duck behind the hood and try to look like I know
what I’m doing. After catching a brief glimpse of what was going on
in his head, I don’t want to be stuck alone in parking lot with
him.

“Would you mind if I have a look?”

Spinning around, I land butt first on the
front bumper, my heart racing like I just did a hundred-meter
sprint on the track.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I gasp,
still clutching my chest.

Ever Casey is standing in front of me,
looking like some kind of obnoxiously perfect hallucination.

“You’re young. I think you’ll live,” he says
mildly.

Registering his apparently habitual sarcasm,
I glare at him, unwilling to let his chilly emerald-green gaze
unnerve me.

“Thanks for the health update, doctor.”

He gestures to the car again, and I
reluctantly slide out of the way. I take the opportunity to peek
past the raised hood. The man who had been making his way in my
direction has slinked back to his perch in front of the store. I
let out a nervous breath. The sound of Ever’s voice makes me squeak
in surprise.

“Try the engine, please.”

“Really?”

He nods and then looks at me like I’m totally
out of it. Still skeptical, I sit down in the driver’s seat and
turn the key. The engine comes to life instantly, and I flinch when
the hood comes down with a thud. Leaving the engine running, I get
out and stare in a combination of gratitude and amazement.

“How did you do that? I mean, the
battery—”

“Your spark plugs were loose,” he says,
cutting me off. “You should have the car serviced more often.”

His high-handed tone makes my cheeks
redden.

“It’s my mom’s car,” I say.

I scowl at how petulant I sound. It’s even
worse when he doesn’t respond. Instead, he just stands there and
watches me in a way that makes me fidget. The rain is pelting us,
but he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. I think about what
Ashley said the night before about him being not quite there.
There’s no denying that he’s strange, but definitely not detached
from reality. Maybe not overly interested in it, I consider. I’m
about to ask what he’s doing hanging out in an empty parking lot
when I remember the man loitering at the entrance.

“Well, thanks for—”

When he makes a walking motion with his
fingers, I stare at him.
Who does that?
I think in irritated
amazement. Again, he gestures toward the car door and then watches
as I get back into the driver’s seat and release the parking brake.
Furious with him and myself, I back out carefully. What I really
feel like doing is gunning the engine and watching him jump out of
the way. But when I look in the rearview mirror, he’s nowhere in
sight.