Crushed (21 page)

Reid runs his palm over the short bristles. “I tried putting red streaks in but it looked like shit. So I just got a razor and shaved it off.”

“You did that yourself?” I ask in disbelief.

He smiles weakly. “Just me and Mr. Gillette.”

“It’s not that bad,” I lie.

“Paige hated it.”

Those three words bring all conversation to a halt. Brady, Alex, and I exchange unsure looks. None of us know exactly what happened between the two of them, but it must have been bad for Reid to dump Paige.

“Fuck her.” Alex slams his fork against the table. “She’s just a girl. Plenty of them.”

Reid’s lip quivers, which I find odd since he broke up with her. Shouldn’t he be the one okay with the whole thing?

“Unless you’re going celibate like Fletch and only being friends with girls,” Alex continues.

“Fletch isn’t celibate. He screwed Cal over Break.” Brady thumps me on the back. Normally, I’d grin and feed the guys a line or two. But now, now I want nothing more than to run away. 

Alex glares at me, but Reid’s mouth hangs open as if he’s suddenly realizing my behavior may have something to do with Paige’s outburst. 

“Shut up,” I hiss. I don’t need everyone in the world to know what I did. We did.

Brady recoils. “What? You did.” He squints at me. “What’s the big deal? You said she’s not your girlfriend.”

“She’s a bitch,” I mumble unconvincingly as I glance toward Ellie’s table, toward my life preserver. As usual, Sarah and Libby surround her like protective parents. They’re engrossed in conversation, their heads tilted toward each other.

My eyes flit from Ellie to Calista, who sits a few tables over. Even though Calista is the one I sought comfort from, it’s Ellie who understands me. It’s Ellie who is my friend, no matter what.

Calista brushes her hair off her forehead, and it’s a familiar gesture. But I don’t understand her. How can I know her so well and know nothing about her at the same time? How could she do this to me?

“So?” Brady nudges my arm.

I turn my head toward him. “What?”

He laughs. “See, he can’t keep his eyes off Ellie. She totally has to come with us.”

“Come with us where?” I ask.

“Spring Break. Since Paige and Cal aren’t going anymore, why not ask Ellie?”

“You want Ellie to come with us on Spring Break?” I repeat. Over the summer, after trading ridiculously long emails, we — Brady, Alex, Reid, the girls, and me — decided on Cabo for our week of hedonism. I had Mom book the place for us, and we bought our plane tickets months ago. Brady, of course, begged to fly on Dad’s private jet, but I didn’t ask. I wanted the full Spring Break experience of crappy hotel rooms, coach seating, and waking up on the beach or in strange girls’ beds. 

But now, a week of drunken sex doesn’t seem all that fun.

“Yeah, she and Sarah should come instead.” There’s anger in Alex’s words. “That would be the real test for Fletch.”

A cold sweat dampens my hairline. After everything that’s happened the past couple of days, I’m happy I never told Ellie how I felt. How shitty would that be? Hey, I like you and guess what? I slept with Cal again because I have zero self-control.

God, I’m such a loser.

Alex waves his hand in front of my face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Across from me, Reid stares off into space. Apparently, I’m not the only one who isn’t paying attention. I glance at Ellie again. “I don’t think she’ll come without both Sarah and Libby.”

Brady wiggles his eyebrows. “Let me work on that.”

There’s no point in pretending to eat. The food tastes like crap, and I don’t have an appetite. I shove away from the table. “I have to go. I’ll see you guys later.” I dump my garbage and head for the Quad. 

Crisp winter air stings my face, and it’s better than the rain from earlier. Anything – even fog – is better than rain. 

“Fletch! Hey, wait up.”

Reid races across the Quad. 

“I had to get out of there,” he says. Dark circles ring his bloodshot eyes. “You look like you got hit by a truck.” 

“That makes two of us.”

We walk to the far end of the Quad, to the stone bench he likes to hang out at before class, and each take a corner. It occurs to me that for the first time in ages, Reid’s not stoned. He’s totally lucid.

My stomach rolls. “Why’d you break up with Paige?”

Reid folds his legs under him. “Look at me. What do you see?”

“A scrawny guy with a bad skinhead haircut.”

He shakes his head. “Wrong. I’m the half-Japanese kid who can’t speak enough Japanese to have a conversation with my grandparents. I’m not white enough to be white. I’m not Japanese enough either. What the fuck am I?”

“Uhhh…” I’m unsure what to say. “You’re Reid?”

“Reid Yamashita. Yamashita. I’m Japanese.”

Great. He’s having some sort of identity crisis. “That why you’re dressing like some confused Asian hipster and listening to Japanese pop music? Because your last name is Yamashita?”

He clenches his jaw. “Whatever. I thought maybe you, out of all of them, would get it. I thought maybe you’d understand what it’s like to not know who you are.”

“I know who I am.” 

He smirks. “Really? Cuz all I see is a guy who does whatever his friends or his dad wants.”

“That’s not true. I—”

“You do exactly what they want you to do.” Reid waves his hand toward the dining hall. “I’ve watched you lust after Cal for years, but you never asked her out because Brady wouldn’t let you. And now, this stupid bet about Ellie. What’s that? You like her. Who cares about a bet?”

He chased me out here to yell at me? About girls? What the hell? “You know, Reid, my life isn’t exactly easy. My dad’s breathing down my back about Princeton and…” 

“And you want to go to Stanford. Not Princeton. Why don’t you just tell your dad? Huh? Stand up for yourself?”

“I…I don’t know.” My limbs freeze up, ice where there once was flesh. He’s right. I do what’s expected of me. What everyone wants me to do. I don’t know who I am.

He snorts. “You have such a hard life, Fletch. Should I pick Cal or Ellie? Should I go to Stanford or Princeton? Fucking hard. You know what’s hard?” Reid’s voice barely rises, but there’s an angry tremor running through it. “Over break, I hung out with some of my old friends. You know what they told me?” When I shrug, he says, “I’m never going to fit in anywhere. And they’re right.”

“You fit in here.” 

“I’m Japanese, and I can’t speak the language. I’ve only dated white girls – like my mom. Do you know what it’s like to always have people ask you what you are? Oh, and do you like Asian girls too?”

“So you dumped Paige because she’s not Japanese? That’s fucked up. That’s—” I struggle with the next word. “Racist. You’re a fucking racist.”

“Whatever. I shouldn’t expect you to understand, Mr. I’m-so-white-it-hurts.”

Screw this. “You know what Reid? Why don’t you go hang out with Asoka Juno?” I shout the name of the first Japanese Harker student I think of. “Obviously, I’m too white to get your angst.”

“You’re not too white. You’re too God damn self-centered. That’s your problem. You only think about yourself.”

30

It’s been eighteen days since Mom told me the truth, and every one of them has sucked. Which is why it doesn’t surprise me that Mrs. Campos is standing over my desk waving a pink slip in my face. I grab the paper from her and shove it into my pocket.

“Now, Fletcher. Mr. Tolst wants to see you now.” She raps her pencil on my desk twice for emphasis. 

Beside me, Brady whispers, “What’d you do?”

I have no idea what horrible slight of protocol I broke, and I doubt I’d get called into the office for wearing my Converse instead of the uniform shoes. 

Since my books are still in my bag, I sling my backpack over my shoulder. Behind me, Ellie and Brady whisper. I give them my best ‘I-don’t-know’ look before slinking out the door. 

Early afternoon sun bathes the school in this weird, cold light. You’d think sun – any sun – would be warm. But no. Even the sun is cold at Harker.

Just like my heart.

A shallow basin of mud blocks my path, and I shift my weight back before leaping. When I was little, Leticia would let me play in mud puddles when Mom and Dad were out of town. Never when they were home. They would have freaked. Germs and all. 

The Admin building sits on top of twenty stone steps like a monument, and Mr. Tolst’s office faces out, overlooking the Quad, like a giant eye-in-the-sky. 

The last time I was here, Dad showed up.

Bile rises in my throat, and I brace myself against the nearest wall. 

It’s suddenly clear why Mr. Tolst wants to see me. I haven’t answered my parents’ emails or returned their phone calls.

When I reach his office, I’m pretty sure my lunch is going to make a grand reappearance, but before I can run away, Mr. Tolst bellows, “There you are, Fletcher. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I force myself to swallow the bitter acid burning my esophagus and enter the minuscule office.. It’s the same as last time – the furniture, the dust, the wrinkled face across from me – but I am different. Less confident. 

“Is there a reason you are avoiding your parents?” Mr. Tolst asks, oblivious to what a hugely loaded question it is. “Your mother called. She’s concerned for your well-being.”

Oh, she’s concerned now, is she? After what she told me? I snort.

“Do tell, what’s so amusing?” Mr. Tolst folds his hands on the wooden desk and stares me down.

“Nothing.”

Unless you count the daily emails from Mom pleading for me to write back. Then there’s two very angry voicemails Dad left me. They won’t let me forget. Every day, I have to relive Mom’s drunken confession. Just like everyday, I have to see Calista. I have to watch her cross the Quad, eat her lunch, talk to my friends. Watch her watch me.

Every day, I wake up and remember my dad is a cheater, and my mom lets him do it. She has no self-respect. 

It’s all bullshit. Like Calista, Mom only wants to cover her ass. Find out how much I told everyone else. Mom’s worried I’ll tell the world. Cal’s worried I’ll tell our friends.

But neither should worry. Who wants that kind of humiliation?

Mr. Tolst lifts the phone off the receiver and hands it to me. “I think you owe your mother a phone call.”

For a second, I almost do it. Push the buttons. 

I slam the phone back into the cradle. “I’m not calling her.” The chair tips over when I stand. “Why don’t you just tell her I’m alive, because I’m definitely not fine.” Mr. Tolst gapes at me, obviously confused about what’s going on. “Tell her that when she grows a pair of balls and tells my dad to keep his pants zipped, then we can talk. Until then, I have nothing to say to either of them.”

Before Mr. Tolst can respond or give me more detention, I bolt. 

The world passes by in slow motion, a blur of buildings, trees, and concrete. I stop in the middle of the Quad. There’s no one here. Just me.

I throw my head back and scream with everything I have. The noise explodes from deep inside me and echoes off the stucco buildings, attacking me from all sides. 

“This is my life,” I shout, pounding on my chest. “Mine.” 

And it’s a mess. 

But it doesn’t have to be. 

No one said I had to do what they say. No one told me I had to walk in Dad’s shadow or stay friends with Calista. I can make my own choices.

And I choose to stop playing the victim.

I rub my palms against my pants and straighten my sweater. I feel almost good. Like the screaming purged all the crap I’ve been keeping inside. Maybe I should do that more?

I jump up and down to get the adrenaline surging through my body before heading back to class. There must be at least twenty minutes left. 

If I’m going to Stanford, I need to be in class.

And I’m going to Stanford.

***

Mrs. Campos rings the attention bell. She holds a stack of blue books in her hands – our final exams from last semester. In all my angst, I forgot report cards come out tomorrow. 

“When I call your name, come get your exam.” She recites names alphabetically. Mine is the third one called.

I walk to the front, take the book, and immediately open to the first page. There’s no grade, so I flip to the back. A ninety-nine. What the fuck? One point off? For what? I sit down and leaf through, page after page, searching for where I lost a point. Nothing. Just comments like “Nice conclusion!” and “Strong argument.”

“I’ll give you a few moments to review your exams. If you have questions, make an appointment after class to see me.”

My eyes wander over to Ellie and Brady. Brady narrows his eyes. “Whatchya get?” 

“Ninety-nine. You?”

He tosses his bluebook into his bag. “The same.”

Perfect. Just perfect. Who knows when we will find out who’s earned valedictorian? The one thing I’ve busted my ass for since freshman year, and that could have improved my mood.

Ellie shoves her booklet into her folder. “For being friends, you guys are so competitive.”

Brady shrugs. “If I have to lose, I’m happy to lose to Fletch. He’s good competition.”

Hearing him say that makes me feel awful. I don’t want to lose. I want to win – at his expense.

“What’d you get, Ellie?” I ask.

She wears the shell necklace I gave her under her tie and plays with it absent-mindedly. “Eighty-seven. Not bad considering I barely studied.”

Mrs. Campos rings her bell again, signaling we’re to be quiet.

After class, Brady and I wait for Ellie in the hallway. She’s always so slow packing up her stuff. 

“What did Tolst want?” Brady asks.

Instead of scowling or shutting down, I say, “He wanted me to call my parents, but instead, I slammed the phone down and stormed out.”

“You did what?” His eyes are huge. “You’re going to have detention for the rest of the year, dumbass.”

I grin. “Doubt it. He probably thinks I’m scarred enough – you know, with my dad cheating on my mom and all.”

Brady doesn’t say anything, just kind of looks at me funny.

“What?” I ask.