Paper Airplanes (5 page)

I’d read every article I could get my hands on, but I never had enough information to relive the experience, to feel what it was like while shots were being fired and students were being killed all around me. The doctors thought there was a good chance I would get my memories back, but it hadn’t happened yet. And a part of me felt that because of that I didn’t have the right to seek counseling and act as if I needed help, because what did I really need help with?

Okay, yes, I realized that I probably had some things I needed to work through, but I didn’t need therapy. I had a plan.

And sure, the feelings that emerged when I thought about Will or Aiden or the whole of the tragedy were raw and powerful and gut-wrenching, and at times they about leveled me, but I wasn’t about to go to group therapy with people I didn’t know and talk about how reading an old text from my dead boyfriend made me feel. I probably wouldn’t be able to explain any of it anyway. Most of the time I felt confused and conflicted and guilty simply for living. Fourteen people had died that day, and I wasn’t one of them. The guilt I felt was enormous. But I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

When my mother didn’t say what I knew she wanted to say, I changed the subject.

“I’m going to go to the grocery store today. Do you want me to get anything special?”

“
Can you get me some Greek yogurt?” she asked, and I could tell she wanted me to wait to go to the store so she could go with me, but she didn’t say anything. She knew I needed to go on my own.

She wasn’t a big f
an of me going out alone, but she also knew that she couldn’t protect me from everything. She had to let me live my life. We’d talked about it, and over the past few weeks I’d started going out more and more, going to crowded public places that made me jumpy for reasons I couldn’t explain. But I fought through the fear and forced myself not to cower and hide.

My parents knew how much I wanted my life back, so they promised they’d let me do what I needed to, in my own way, in my own time and without help
, if that was what I wanted. And a part of me hoped they were proud I was taking a step forward. I’d always been driven, so for them to see me like I had been for the past three months, I knew it had to be hard. But that was all about to change.

“
Greek yogurt. Got it. And, um, I think I’m going to get a job,” I said hesitantly, wondering if my mother would say no to that idea.

That was the biggest step I was taking and the
one that made me the most proud, but my parents had never wanted me to work. They’d always wanted me to study, get good grades and have a rich social life. I’d never wanted to work before, and I hadn’t needed to, because they gave me a hefty allowance each month as long as I kept my grades up, but now I almost felt like I needed to work. I needed to do something, and taking two classes wasn’t going to fill up enough time for me to feel productive.

My mom
looked back up and nodded, doing her best to mask the surprise in her eyes “I think that’s a good idea. Where are you going to apply?”

Wow. Not what I’d expected to hear.

“Dawson’s Grill. I actually already applied. I figure I can make good money, and Dawson’s always hires people for the summer since business picks up.”

“You don’t need money, Cassie,” s
he reminded me, as if I could have forgotten.

Their money was something my parents didn’t hide. Our house alone, not to me
ntion the landscaping, our cars and the vacations my parents took throughout the year were a clear indication of just how much money we had. She was right. I didn’t
need
money. But I needed my independence. Serving would give me that, and it would get me into the habit of socializing again.

My little trips to the grocery store or the mall alone got me part of the way there since I had to interact with sales people and the checkout clerks, but I didn’t have to have lasting conversations. At Dawson’s I’d work with other servers that I’d have to be friendly with. I’d have to talk to my customers and engage with them thr
oughout the time they were eating. It would definitely push me beyond my current comfort zone. And I knew doing that would get me one step closer to being able to go back to Coleman so I could move on with my life for real.

Ironically, social anxiety wasn’t ever something I’d dealt with before. I’d been a cheerleader, I’d been involved in Student Government,
I was in a sorority, and I’d had a million friends –friends at school who I’d cut ties with because I couldn’t bring myself to call them back and talk to them after what had happened. After a while, they’d just stopped calling. Everyone accept Marley and Reese, that is. I’d cut everyone else out.

I
also had high school friends who would be coming home for the summer and would want to hang out. They’d want to drink and be silly and enjoy their time off from school, and they’d want me to do it with them, but I wasn’t sure if I could. How could I go back to partying after what had happened? How could I just let go of Will and Aiden and the twelve other people that had fallen victim to the same fate. How could I move on when they couldn’t?

And
I knew hanging out with my old friends wouldn’t make things go back to normal. They all knew what had happened, so they’d inevitably treat me differently. And the last thing I wanted to do, the thing that had prompted me not to call any of my college friends back over the past three months, was talk about what had happened. No one knew what I was feeling, and I couldn’t explain it. And no one knew how to act around me. They either projected their sympathy or their pity, or they weren’t sure how to act, so they shot me these awkward looks that just made everything worse. It had been like that when I’d run into a few people I knew over the past three months. I would have liked for them all to treat me like normal, but it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen – at least with people who knew what had happened to me.

I was hoping I’d meet some people at Dawson’s who didn’t know me and in turn wouldn’t know about the shooting. It wa
s one of my only bright spots at that moment.

“I know I don’t need money, Mom, but I want this job. I think it’ll be fun.”

My mother smiled at me then, and I knew it was her way of holding her tongue and forcing herself to give me the freedom she knew I needed. “I think you’re right.”

I smiled. “Good, because I have an interview today.”

“Wow, that was fast.”

I shrugged. “The manager said
he needed people right away, so hopefully I can start soon.”

She nodded. “Sounds great. Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” I said, and she leaned over and kissed my forehead like she used to do when I was a little girl. “Have a great day, sweetie.”

As soon as she closed my door behind her,
I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. There were two cracks that converged to make the letter ‘Y’, and I wondered if I should be worried that the ceiling could cave in. I hoped not.

I took a deep breath and decided to heave myself out of bed
. I needed to get moving. I’d been up since seven, had already done thirty minutes on the elliptical and had coffee and showered. Since I didn’t have a social life, I went to bed relatively early and got up early. I never used to do that, but it was my pattern now.

Walking over to my closet, I selected one of my favorite sundresses and laid it on the bed. I’d bought it the summer before when my moth
er and I had gone shopping in Chicago. It was bright green with white stripes, and it flattered my blond curls and tan complexion. It was preppy enough for a job interview, but it still showed off enough leg to be young and cute. I was meeting with the manager of Dawson’s Grill later in the morning, so I wanted to look right for the job.

When I’d initially spoken to him on Monday, he’d been skeptical since I didn’t have any work experience at all, let alone waitressing
experience. He said I’d be better suited for a hostess position, but I disagreed. Fortunately for me, I grew up in a house with two parents who were lawyers, who loved to argue and who often won arguments, so I’d picked up a few tricks along the way. I could be very persuasive when I wanted to be, and I’d persuaded the manager to let me come in and show him that I wasn’t completely inept. And he’d agreed.

I had to meet with him at
ten before the restaurant opened. Then I needed to stop by the bookstore on campus and buy the books for the classes I was taking that summer – Chemistry and Introduction to Psychology.  I’d go grocery shopping in the afternoon.

Damn,
what a fun-filled day I had planned.

But I also had at least an hour before I had to leave, so
after I was dressed, I settled back onto my bed with my book to read just a little more.

* * *

“Cassandra, right?” Rick, the manager at Dawson’s Grill, asked when he approached me.

I’d already been sitting
on a bench in the entrance for close to thirty minutes, trying to look both professional and competent while I was secretly uber-annoyed that he was making me wait.

I stood up to greet him, sticking out my hand for him to shake. “
Cassie,” I said confidently.

No one but my father called me Cassandra
, and that was only when he was upset with me. I wasn’t a huge fan of the name and had always gone by Cassie or Cass – or Witter, as Will had like to call me. Just thinking of him made a lump form in my throat that I swallowed back. I wasn’t going to cry in front of who I hoped would be my new boss.

“Right,” Rick
said, taking my hand in his damp one. He started to open his mouth to say more but was interrupted almost immediately.

“Rick!” a shrill female voice
shrieked from the kitchen.

“What?” he yelled back, and I jumped a little at the timber of his voice.

“Justin cut his hand!”

“Oh
Christ,” Rick mumbled before he turned back to me. “Give me fifteen minutes?”

“Sure,” I said p
olitely as I sank back down, dreading the extended wait.

The door behind me suddenly opened, and I was surprised to see Hale Foster wearing khaki shorts and the short-sleeved
black Dawson’s Grill t-shirt the wait staff all wore. He didn’t see me at first, and then he stopped, cocked his head to the side as if he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things before a wide smile broke out over his face.

“
Cassie Witter?”

“Hey Hale.”

“Damn, girl, I haven’t seen you in forever,” he said, as I stood to give him the obligatory hug I’d give any old friend. It shouldn’t have felt odd, but it did. I hadn’t hugged anyone but my parents in a long time.

Hale and I had run in the same circles all throughout high school. He was tall and tan with
brown hair, broad shoulders and full lips that were sort of attractive. He’d dated my friend Jacqueline for three years. We knew each other well, but we hadn’t really kept in touch post-high school.

H
e squeezed me tight, and I breathed through it, inhaling the faint scent of his aftershave.

“Wha
t are you doing here?” he asked when he pulled back.

“I’m interviewing for a job,” I said, smiling awkwardly.

He gave me a funny look. “Really?”

Hale didn’t come from money, and he’d been working since he’d turned sixteen. I’d never had to work and lived in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in town. His question was justified.

I nodded. “Yeah, I needed something to do this summer.”

“Right. I heard you were home. You doing okay?”

Crap.
Of course he’d heard about the shooting.

I smiled good-naturedly, because it was a surefire way to move past this awkward conversation topic I so didn’t want
to entertain and said, “I’m good. Thanks for asking. How’s life at LSU? Still playing baseball?”

Nothing like a solid subject change.

He grinned. “Yeah, we had good season this year. It was pretty great.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“It’s cool that you’re going to work here,” he said then. “You’ll make fat tips and the crew is pretty awesome.”

I returned his smile
. “Sounds great.”

I wanted to groan at how forced our conversation felt, but I just wasn’t as good at talking
to people as I used to be. That fact equally unnerved me and pissed me off. I didn’t want to be different. I wanted to be me – the me I used to be. I knew I was going to have to work on my interpersonal skills if I wanted to avoid people at the restaurant thinking I was an awkward spaz.

“
Well, I gotta go clock-in,” Hale said then, rescuing us both from the uncomfortable silence that had descended on us. “Gotta get set up before we open. Good luck with the job. I’ll put in a good word with Rick for you.”

“Thanks, Hale. I appreciate it
.”

He
shrugged. “No prob.”

I’d just settled back down when the door opened again and two guys walked in having a heated discussion about something.