Where the Road Takes Me
Page 32

   Blake Hunter—he was my change.
 
   “I saw you at school today,” he said, coming out of the food-prep room. I had my back turned; leaning my elbows on the counter, I was looking out at the lanes, trying to act cool, as if being around him didn’t set my heart racing.
   “I know. I caught you,” I joked, straightening up and spinning around.
   “You think it’ll be busy tonight?”
   “I doubt it. There was only one person here on Monday, and I’m pretty sure he only stayed for the hot dogs.”
   He laughed.
   “What?” I asked, leaning my back against the counter.
   “Chloe, he didn’t stay for the hot dogs. He stayed for your tits.”
   “What!”
   He chuckled lightly, moving in closer to nudge me with his elbow, only he didn’t shift back. He just stayed there. Far enough from me that we weren’t touching, but close enough that I knew he wanted to.
   “Well, he’s not here now, so I guess they weren’t worthy of his return.”
   “I beg to differ.”
   I leaned back slightly, trying to see his face. “Are you being a pig?”
   “Yes,” he admitted freely.
 
   A single swipe of the broom, and the lights were off.
   “Skate time, you little punks!” Josh hollered.
   We didn’t waste any time. When his hands weren’t on me, his eyes were.
   “You staring at her like that doesn’t make her yours,” I heard Josh tell him.
   “Shut up, asshole.”
   That made Josh laugh.
   “Shit. I gotta go.” I tried to brake on the board but couldn’t, so I just jumped off, letting the board hit the wall in front of me. “Oops.”
   Blake got up from his seat and picked it up. “I’ll walk you out.”
 
   “So I guess I’ll pretend to not be seeing you at school tomorrow?”
   I smiled as I threw my bag onto the passenger seat. “That would be perfect.”
   I tugged on his shirt until he stepped forward. I threw my arms around his waist, and he drew me closer to him, with his hand on the back of my head.
   “Good night, Blake.”
   He kissed the top of my head. “Good night, Not Abby.” I started to pull back, but his hold on me tightened. “Do you want me to follow you home? Make sure you get there safe?”
   I laughed into his chest and attempted to remove myself. He let me this time. “You’re always trying to save me.”
   “Yeah, well, you’ve already saved me.”
 
   You look extra beautiful today.
   That was what the note in my locker said. Red ink on torn white paper. I read it again for the millionth time, and each time it left me with the same feeling. A change was coming.
   But it wasn’t the change I expected.
   When my teacher stopped next to me in class and told me I had to go to the principal’s office, I knew something was wrong.
   And when the uniformed officers just outside the principal’s door came into view, I knew it was bad.
   Classes were in progress. The halls were empty. Each step toward them got harder, heavier. My heart thumped faster, louder in my ears. “Miss Thompson?” one of them asked.
   I used the wall behind me to keep me upright. “Yes?” I think I said. The walls closed in, and everything else disappeared.
   “Would you like to talk somewhere more private?”
   I shook my head. It felt as heavy as my feet only minutes ago. Or was it seconds? I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell.
   “It’s about Mr. Clayton Wells.”
   The bile rose; I swallowed it down. My eyes stung. “Shut up!” My head pounded. I covered my ears with my hands. “Don’t say it.” I pressed them firmer. I didn’t want to hear another fucking word.
   “We’re so sorry for your loss, Miss Thompson.”
   Blake
   I walked down the empty halls, with a stupid smile on my face, remembering how she had felt in my arms when we’d said good-bye last night.
   But just like that, my smile was gone.
   “No,” she gasped, her hands pressed against her ears.
   She slid down the wall. I wasn’t aware how I got to her. Or that I was even there. Not until she looked up with tears streaming down her face. “Blake?”
   I was on my knees, holding her while she cried into her hands. “It’s okay,” I whispered to her, then louder to the cops, “What happened?”
   Before they had a chance to answer, the bell rang. “Take me home,” she cried.
   I got her to my car as fast as I could.
 
   She cried hysterically the entire way to her house. Each sob had the same effect as a vise surrounding my heart. I didn’t bother to ask her what had happened. I just gripped her hand tight as it rested on her lap.
   The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop in her driveway before she was out the door, up the porch steps, and in the house.
   I followed.
   “Did you know?” She was yelling at a wide-eyed Mary, sitting in the living room with Sammy. He had a paintbrush in his hand with an art smock on. His hand was frozen midstroke on the paper in front of him. He looked scared. Hell, I was scared. “Did you?” she yelled again.
   Mary’s eyes narrowed, but they didn’t move away from her. “Sweetheart,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
   “Clayton! Did you know that he was depressed again? Did you know he’d gone back to using?”
   “What?” Mary asked, the shock clear on her face. “I didn’t.” She took a comforting step toward Chloe. “Honey, you have to tell me what happened.”
   “He killed himself, okay?” she screamed, her face scarlet. “He fucking killed himself!”
   Fuck.
   Silence.
   The only sounds in the room were heavy breaths and the ticking of the clock coming from the kitchen.
   Tick.
   Tock.
   Tick.
   Tock.
   Then Sammy’s little voice. “What?” His face contorted. A cry escaped. “What’s that mean?”
   I turned to Chloe, but she was gone, her feet thudding up the stairs so fast there was no sound separating her steps.