Later that night, I’m sitting at home making some dinner in my empty house.
My mother’s been so distant ever since that incident last year. She grows even more distant every time it happens. I know deep down she’s tired of how we’ve been forced to live because of me. She’s moved from mainly flying domestic and being home more regularly to doing more overseas and long-haul flights. She’s avoiding me, avoiding this life, avoiding the reasons why we had to move three times in the last year.
As I’m doing the dishes, the doorbell rings and I tense. It’s almost ten on a Saturday night; who’d be coming here?
He wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell if he found you, I reason with myself. Despite knowing this, I grab a metal baseball bat from the closet beside the front door.
Opening the door slowly and peeking out, I breathe a sigh of relief as the crisp autumn air greets me. Aiden’s standing there, his flat-black Dodge Challenger sitting in the driveway. He’s looking at me with a questioning expression, eyeing the baseball bat in my hand. I quickly lean it against the wall behind the door, out of his inquisitive gaze.
He raises his eyebrow. “Really? A baseball bat?”
“It’s a bad neighborhood,” I lie, mentally slapping myself for such a stupid excuse.
He looks around at my very suburban block at the two-story houses with beautifully landscaped lawns and expensive cars sitting in the driveways.
He looks back at me and smirks. “Yeah, you could probably get allergies from all the flowers.”
“What are you doing here?”
He holds a white phone out to me and I take it. “You found my phone?”
“Yeah, when I went back to Noah’s Friday night.”
“Why didn’t you give this to me earlier? Or at the hospital today?”
“I have more important things to do. Plus, I wasn’t going back downstairs to my car to get it.”
“Oh.”
“I noticed you only had one contact in your phone that wasn’t Charlotte, Annalisa, Chase, Mason, or Noah. And that was your mom.”
“You went through my phone?” I ask, getting mad. Why didn’t I set up my password?
“Yes,” he deadpans, not even looking guilty about it. “I thought you moved around a lot, so wouldn’t you have other contacts in there? All the people you’ve met from other schools?”
“I don’t believe in long-distance relationships,” I lie.
“I also noticed you don’t have any apps, photos, notes, or music.”
“It’s a new phone,” I lie again, gritting my teeth. “If you’re done interrogating me, I have dishes to wash.” I try to close the door.
“Wait,” he says, and I stop. “Friday night, I got mad at you—”
“I know. It’s okay. I know we were all worried about Noah, and angry about the situation, and you needed someone to blame. The way you reacted wasn’t nice, but I guess we all react in our own different ways.”
“I shouldn’t have blamed you,” he says, looking slightly awkward and uncomfortable.
“Is that an apology I hear?” I smile slightly.
“Don’t get used to it. It won’t happen again.”
Aiden is walking off the porch and onto the first step when I call his name. He turns back around, looking at me expectantly.
“Thanks for saving my ass … with Dave, I mean,” I say, and hold up the phone that he returned to me. “And for bringing me my phone.”
I know I said I didn’t need to thank him last night, and that I was handling it just fine, but even I can’t pull off a lie that big. Bring trained in jujitsu helped me escape Dave, but I wasn’t strong enough to take on four giant, hostile boys.
“I got there in time to see you knock that first guy to the floor,” he says. “I wasn’t going to step in because you handled it just fine, but when I saw the others, I had to get involved,” he admits in a quiet voice.
“I’m glad you did,” I say.
He looks like he’s about to continue down the rest of the steps, but says instead, “How did you learn to fight like that?”
“Basic self-defense classes,” I say, our moment of honesty replaced by my lies again. “Good night, and thanks again.”
I lean against the closed door and let out a breath when I hear his car rev and drive off.
Back in the kitchen, I open the contacts app on my phone to text Charlotte to say that I got my phone back, and freeze when I notice the new contact entry. At the top of my contact list, since it’s in alphabetical order, is Aiden’s name and number.
6
Monday morning the students are alive and buzzing about Noah’s party.
I’m sick of hearing about the fight. I’m sure if Noah was here he’d lap up the attention, wearing his signature goofy but charming smile. He’d probably even find a way to convince people that he meant to get a concussion so he could get out of his calculus test.
Which is today. And I am absolutely unprepared.
When it comes to calculus, I already need all the help I can get, but this weekend, with all the drama that happened, I didn’t have it in me to study. Now, sitting in my seat before the bell rings, I’m frantically flipping through the pages of my notebook, as if I can absorb all the information by glancing at it quickly. But really, I’m just flipping through pages.
Three minutes before the bell. Shove as much information into your brain as you can before class starts, Amelia. Never mind that it’s gibberish. Why wasn’t I blessed with a photographic memory? Still, even if I had memorized all this information, I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to do with it.
“I’m guessing you’re ready to ace this test.”
Aiden’s deep voice makes me jump.
“Clearly,” I say. “Can’t you tell by the frantic page flipping, sweaty palms, doodle examining, super planning, and erratic heartbeat that I’m confident in my ability to pass this test?”
He laughs and sits down behind me, while I return to my frantic page flipping as the bell rings. Somehow, my scattered mind seems to register that this is the first time Aiden initiated a conversation that wasn’t unfriendly (sort of). It’s also the first time he smiled at me (sort of), and the first time I heard him chuckle. I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. School comes first, think about boys later.
The teacher stands up. “Put away your books; I’m passing out the tests.”
Shit.
Fifty minutes, a freshly chewed through pencil and some unshed tears later, I hand in my partially blank test. Aiden’s right behind me, ready to hand in his, which is filled with his confident, bold handwriting, and not a single question skipped over. His answers look similar to the gibberish I was scanning through before the test.
Thinking about it now, Aiden didn’t even look worried when he walked in. Cool as a cucumber. I swear, if he’s hot and smart, I’m sending a very strongly worded email to whoever distributes this shit.
I grab my phone from the pile of phones in a basket near the door. Aiden and I walk out at the same time, and I can’t help but glare at him. Stupid Aiden and his stupid smarts and his stupid looks, he’s just soo—