Passing Notes (3 page)

Wait. No. Was that possible?

My heart began to race and painful chills
rain down my arms and legs. Two things had me terrified:

I might lose Bethany—
and
—those notes
weren’t coincidental. They were meant for me.

Whoever it was writing the notes had to be
someone really stealthy to be able to slip them into strategic
places for me to find and then return to make them disappear again.
Also, it was someone with a keen interest in my love life and how I
was conducting myself.

My friends at my table were busy with their
phones or gaming devices; no one was really talking much except to
say, “Look at this!” or the occasional cuss. I hadn’t even told any
of them about Bethany yet. Even though I’m sure they would cheer me
on, none of them had much experience with girls, certainly not
enough to give me advice that would be of any value. None of them,
as far as I knew, had ever written a love letter or even a poem
(that wasn’t required for some English assignment). Plus, none of
them were in my classes that morning. Who else would care about the
quality of my texts to Bethany?

The whole thing had a stalker feel to it.
That didn’t make a lick of sense to me, though. I’m not the kind of
guy that a girl stalks. I shot up over the summer last year, so I’m
not as short as I used to be. The five-year war I’d been fighting
with pimples was finally coming to an end. Mom keeps saying that my
shoulders are broad like my dad’s, but I’m not sure if that’s a
good thing or not. I’ve never thought of myself as one of the
good-looking guys, and the fact that Bethany even gave me a chance
seemed like a minor miracle. So, who on earth would be interested
in me to the point of stalking?

Or was it one of those girls like Sadie
Jones, who bought all the same clothes as Bethany and tried to
imitate her all the time? Girls like her creeped me out. I could
believe someone like her would send me weird notes like this to get
in the middle of what was going on between Bethany and me.

I almost convinced myself of that and found
myself scanning the cafeteria for Sadie to see where she was
sitting when another thought hit me. Nether Sadie, nor anyone else
for that matter, would have been able to read the texts I sent
Bethany. I had been in the back of the room when I sent them, and
odds were Bethany didn’t even have her phone out, let alone on,
during class. No one could have known what I wrote, and therefore
no one could tell me that I wrote the notes badly.

Everyone else in the cafeteria was busy
talking, eating, and cutting up with their friends. No one was
looking at me as far I could tell. But I felt like there were eyes
on me. Right over my shoulder. The feeling actually made my
shoulder tingle, like when someone is too close, and I shrugged
uncomfortably.

I couldn’t eat. I
threw my lunch away and headed to my next class where I barely
concentrated on the P.E. soccer game. All I could think about were
those creepy letters and my stupid cell phone, wondering if I get a
new message from either of them. I checked everything when I got
back to the locker room before I dressed. Not so much as an
emoticon from Bethany and no new notes. No 6
^th
period
this final semester of school had seemed awesome when I made my
schedule, but Bethany did have a full load, so I wouldn’t get to
say “hey” or anything to her before heading out to the parking lot.
All I could do was hope we’d talk on the phone later that
night.

3

After school I went straight to work. Hours
passed slowly as I roller-skated from car to car with burgers and
shakes recalling the late night right before Christmas when Bethany
showed up by herself just before closing.

I didn’t know it was her at first, because I
didn’t know that she drove a little, used Prius. All I knew was
that whoever drove in at a quarter to midnight turned off her motor
and all the lights. That was not normal for people who stopped in
the evenings, especially so close to us locking up. My manager,
Miguel, told me to let the driver know we were about to close but
to be careful, just in case it was a set up for a robbery.
Cautiously, I skated toward the car, kind of expecting the worst. I
steeled myself for some kind of assault, reminding myself that I
was going to be a soldier soon and could handle it.

Then this beautiful pale arm reached out of
the open window, her pointer finger aiming for the call button and
not quite reaching it. It looked like a petal dropping from a
flower, so delicate and graceful. I stopped, halfway between the
store and the car, frozen at the sight and suddenly unsure of what
to do. I peeked back over my shoulder at Miguel who was inside the
hub using both arms to wave me onward. I couldn’t hear him, but I
could read his lips shouting “Go!”

I moved forward again, coming up to the side
of the car just before she stretched far enough. She was leaning
pretty far out the window; her entire arm to her shoulder was out.
I could see her lovely brunette hair, and then I knew who she was.
The girl I’d had a crush on since 7
^th
grade.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Oh.” It was a quiet sound. I’d startled but
not scared her. And I think she was a touch embarrassed, for she
quickly lowered her face and let her curls hide it. That move
wasn’t fast enough to prevent me from seeing the mascara smeared
down her cheeks.

“Um, we’re about to close. Can I get you
something?”

“I just want a chocolate shake and fries. Is
it too late for that?”

“No. I’ll get right on it.”

“Oh, and Mark?” She raised her head. I caught
my breath, amazed that she said my name. I mean, I knew she knew
who I was, but she didn’t have to acknowledge me. She was Bethany
Rivers, one of the smartest, most beautiful girls in school. I was
a dumb guy working in fast food. We didn’t exactly hang in the same
circles.

“Yes?”

“Could you bring me a couple napkins?”

I gave her my best sympathetic smile and
said, “Sure.”

I dashed back to the hub and got her shake
and fries myself, along with a stack of napkins and a cup of water.
I was back to her window in a flash.

“That was fast,” she said, taking her food.
“It’s usually slower here.”

“Well, you’ve never had me serve you
before.”

“No,” she said, offering a weak smile. “I
guess being here at closing helps too, huh?”

“Yeah, a little.” I refused to take her money
and told her it was on me. “You look like you could use a
treat.”

“Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Hey look, we’re going to shut down the
lights and everything, so...”

“I’ll head out in a minute,” she said. “I
promise.”

I went back to help clean up and close the
joint. Five minutes later I came back out to find she was still
there, car still off, lights still out. The whole lot was dark now.
I had left my skates inside, and now I just walked up to her. “You
okay?”

“Not really. No.”

I saw that she’d cleaned up her face, but her
cheeks were still ruddy. “Do you need me to call someone?”

“No. All my friends are at the party still,
and I just need to go home. My mom’ll ask me a million questions if
I get home earlier than I said, so is it okay if I just sit here a
little longer?”

“I guess so.”

I saw Miguel and my other two co-workers
walking to their cars in the grocery store parking lot. The store
was closed, too. Everything was dark.

“I kind of don’t feel right leaving you here
like this,” I told her. “It’s not safe.”

“Do you want to sit with me?”

Did I? I couldn’t believe she even asked me.
Before I could answer, she unlocked the doors to her car and nodded
her head toward the passenger seat. I saw her slide her purse to
the floor. I jogged around the car and got in. The car smelled like
her perfume, and I saw that she was wearing a pretty Christmas
dress of red and white velvet. A large purple stain marred the
front of it. I tried not to look too long, because it was her chest
area and I didn’t want to seem rude.

“I know, I’m a mess,” she said, wiping at her
dress with a napkin. “It’s wine. I got a glass of wine tossed at
me. Can you believe it? My mom’s going to be so pissed. This was
her dress.”

“Who in the world would throw wine at you?”
The idea that someone could be angry with her just didn’t
compute.

“Lance.”

Her boyfriend. I’d known him my whole life,
too. We played roller hockey together as boys and used to be
friends. About five years ago, when my grandmother moved into my
house, our finances got really tight, and my parents cut out all my
extra-curricular stuff. That included being on the roller hockey
team. Lance kept on playing with the other guys, and they never
acted like they missed me. Now they play ice hockey together on the
school team. I could’ve been in his crowd, but I’m not. I think I’m
okay with that—most days.

Bethany told me about how Lance got really
drunk at the Christmas party. She’d been holding a glass of wine to
make it look like she was drinking but not actually drinking any of
it. She said she hated it when she was at parties and people made
fun of her for not getting drunk, so she got in the habit of always
holding a drink to keep the teasing at bay. Lance knew her trick,
though, and he started giving her a really hard time about it. He
tried to force her to put the glass to her mouth and wound up
dumping all of it on her. She told him he was a jerk and broke up
with him in front of everyone at the party and then left. None of
her friends followed her. Her girlfriends, Lissy and Kat, even
texted her to say that she was over-reacting and should come back
to the party.

Bethany then told me all about how she was
tired of dating “dolts” and wanted someone “eloquent” like “Darcy.”
I didn’t know those words or who she was talking about. I was
pretty sure she wasn’t talking about someone like me, though. I
mostly just listened to her, letting her do all the talking. Her
voice was musical, and I understood why she did so well in those
speech-making classes she took.

She shared her thoughts with me for over an
hour that night until she said it was time for her to go home so
her mom didn’t worry about her. Right before I got out of the car
she leaned over and kissed me. For real. On the lips. I thought
she’d pull back and say something about being sorry and how she
shouldn’t have done that, but she didn’t. Bethany Rivers let me
kiss her back. Gently. But taking my time.

She drove me over to my car and thanked me
for being so nice. Then she waited until I got in my car and turned
it on before driving away.

Over the two-week Winter Break, we mostly
communicated through texts and emails. She teased me constantly
about my spelling and grammar. We went out once, to see a movie
based on some Young Adult novel she’d read. I liked it all right,
but she spent most of the time on the ride home telling me about
all the parts of the book that were missing. I have to admit she
made me feel kind of dumb for enjoying a movie with so many holes
in the plot, but she was so expressive about it all that it was
mostly just fun watching her go on and on about it. When I dropped
her off at her house, she ran inside, got her copy of the book and
brought it back out to me.

“I don’t loan books to anyone, so take care
of it, okay? But please, please read it. Don’t let that movie be
your only impression of this story.”

Bethany was nuts, but I adored her.

I thought we were really hitting it off. I
thought I was finally going to have a girlfriend. I’d sit with her
at lunch. We’d wave at each other at school and sneak a kiss in the
hallways between classes. People would pat me on the back for being
so lucky. She’d blush when I sent her cute notes on her phone.

Our romance was so new still. Why did she
seem to be backing off right when I wanted it to really get going?
I wasn’t allowed to keep my phone on me at work, but between each
order I went to the back room to check it. Not a single message all
evening. Bethany was completely shutting me out.

Exhausted and depressed, I drove home that
night, ready to hide in my room. Unfortunately, my mom was still up
with Grandma in the living room watching TV.

“Why is she still up?” I asked.

“New meds,” my mom answered. “They are
helping her memory a little, but she can’t sleep. Your dad hasn’t
come home from his seminar yet.”

I nodded, understanding the question Mom
hadn’t asked. Getting Grandma to bed was a two-person job. “I’ll
help you.”

We rolled Grandma away from the TV in her
wheelchair, and I lifted her into her bed once we got into her
room. Mom went to get a glass of water while I made Grandma
comfortable. As I tucked the sheets around her, Grandma reached out
and grabbed my arm. She brought my left hand close to her face.

“Oh my.”

“What?”

“On your hand,” she said.

I forgot about the heart I’d drawn on there
that morning. Embarrassed, I tried to tug my hand away from her,
but I couldn’t. Her grasp was too strong.

“I remember that. Written on everything. He
wrote such beautiful letters.”

“Who?” I asked.

Her eyes glassed over, and she got a faraway
look I’d seen many times before. Sometimes she would see things
that weren’t really there, or she’d forget who we were. “You, my
darling,” she said in a sweet, chiding voice, like I was playing a
game with her. “You wrote me so many beautiful letters before...
Before...”

Her voice trailed off, and a tear ran down
her face. Then recognition came back with a sharp breath as she
remembered where she was and who I was. She patted my hand, but
didn’t say another word. Her sad eyes closed, and she relaxed into
her pillow. A moment later her breath became even and deep.