After Tuesday (24 page)

“Better. We’ve been talking a bit more.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you think that maybe…you two…you know?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. We still haven’t talked about it. I’m going to try and see if he’ll talk to me today. I don’t know though.”

Throughout the week, Brent and I have been talking more each day, but our conversations have been limited to English class. I want to talk about what happened. I need to tell him everything. I just hope he’s willing to listen. He deserves to know that I want to make it work.
Does he? I’m not so sure.
He hasn’t really given me any clues one way or the other. It might be a lost cause, but I know I need to at least try.

Lexi brings me out of my thoughts, nudging my shoulder.

“I think you should for sure,” she says.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Yeah. I saw him yesterday in the parking lot after practice. He asked if I was hanging out with you this weekend.”

“Stop. How come you didn’t tell me this last night? We
did
talk on the phone. Why were you holding out on me?”

“We were talking about homework, and I wasn’t sure you’d want to know.”

“Um, yeah, I want to know.” I make a face at her, telling her that should be obvious, as we enter the building.

Heading toward her locker, Lexi says, “Well, now, you do.” With a look of encouragement, she turns around to face me. “Have fun in English.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

I go to my locker, dump my bag, and head to class.

When I enter, I see Brent is already sitting in his usual spot. The seat next to him, where I have sat all week, is open and calling my name. I move through the aisle and sit down as the bell rings.

“Hi,” Brent says. A smile tugs at his mouth, almost reaching his green-gray eyes.

“Hi,” I reply, smiling nervously.  

After Mr. Clyde closes the door, he makes his way to the front of the room to address the class.

“This week, we’ve been looking at poems from Blake, Shakespeare, Yeats, and Hemingway. You’ve had some time to get an idea about how they shape their words for the reader’s interpretation. Today, we’re going to take what we’ve learned from them, and you’re going to write your own poems.”

The entire class groans at the assignment.

“You’ll be working in pairs,” he continues. “I’ll be giving each pair a word to base their poem around. You each need to write one poem. After you’re done, you and your partner will critique each other’s work. Next week, you will need to prepare a poem to present to the class, so make sure to use the critiques to your advantage. Find a partner, and I’ll come around with your words.” Turning back to his desk, he picks up a small fishbowl filled with scraps of papers.

The desks in the classroom begin to move around noisily.

“Ruby?” Brent asks. “Partner with me?”

“Yeah.” I scoot my desk over to his.

The initial tension between us from earlier in the week seems to have dissipated, but there’s still room for improvement.

“Brent. Ruby.” Mr. Clyde holds out the bowl for us to pick a word.

“Ladies first,” Brent says, motioning to the bowl.

I put my hand in and then pull out a piece of paper. As Mr. Clyde moves on to the next pair, I open up the folded paper and read the word
Forgiveness.
Really? C’mon.
I know Brent’s not going to want to do this assignment. I don’t even want to do it.

“So, what’d we get?” Brent leans over to get a better look, brushing his shoulder against mine.

I notice his contact acutely. I lay the paper on the desk, so he can get a better view. His eyes squint, reading the word.

“Ready?” I ask skeptically.

“No.” He laughs a little. “But let’s get started.”

We both pull out our notebooks and get to work. Brent is looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought, for some time. He must get an idea eventually because I see him scribbling furiously. I guess I better get to work, too.

Forgiveness. Damn, what a word.
This is exactly what I need from Brent. I need him to know the truth, so he can decide if he’s able to forgive me for what happened, for any lie he thinks I’ve told, and for letting him get in harm’s way.

There’s more than that though. I need to forgive my dad for what he has become. I need to forgive Brent for not wanting to understand. And I need to forgive myself for all my mistakes along the way. So, that’s what I do. I let it all go as I write my poem.

Beyond me and what I feel for thee,

Some things happen without responsibility.

I should have said more,

But my heart was so tore,

Pushing and resisting any sound.

Losing the best thing I ever found,

For you, my soul fell.

Ask me and I will tell.

Forgiveness becomes me.

I’m so sorry.

When I’m finished writing, I glance up to see Brent looking at me.

“Done?” he asks.

“Yeah. Do you want to go first?”

“Sure.”

Blowing out a deep breath, he picks up his paper with shaky fingers.
Why is he so nervous?
Then, he begins to softly read his poem.

Blindly taking what I thought was mine,

Given under sweet divine.

Secrets kept,

Tears wept,

Kisses side swept.

Forget it all

For an ache calls

Within for some resolve.

What is he talking about?
When he’s finished, I can’t help but openly stare at him. His eyes stay on his page for a
really
long time. When he looks up, I see something in him—a yearning—that I’ve missed all week. Holding my stare, he swallows, blinks a few times, and then sets the poem on the desk.

“May I?” I ask, signaling to the paper in front of him.

He slides it over to me. Intentionally, he allows his fingers to graze my own, making my breath catch. I try to hide it, but it’s no use. I’m floored by what’s happening right now.

“So?” he inquires.

“Huh?”

“Are you going to critique it?”

“Yeah, um…give me a minute.”

I read it again, again, and again, trying to make sense of it all. My heart wants to read everything into it, but I’m scared to be that hopeful.

“Well?” he urges.

I don’t have the nerve to look at him while I interpret the words, so I concentrate intently on the page.

“This first line, I think, is good and refers to leaping toward what someone claims to be his or her own, maybe making it part of them. To me, ‘under sweet divine’ talks about how pure elation is in the claim. Then, the poem explores the reality of going beyond the divinity. I think, in the end, those things don’t matter because the heart still yearns despite it all. And the last line…” I sneak a peek at Brent, who has been expectantly watching me the whole time. “Refers to maybe regret over something? And hope to make amends or work it out?”

“Yeah, that was what I was going for,” he states confidently.

I close my eyes and put the paper on the desk. With my eyes still shut, holding in tears because this is making me a wreck, I begin to speak. “Brent. I…we…could we talk?”

“Ruby…”

Even with my eyes closed, I feel his body shift toward me.

“Yes.”

I open my eyes to see him smiling sadly at me.

“Brent,” Mr. Clyde interrupts, holding a pink slip in his hands, “you’re wanted in the office. The note says you have a phone call.”

“All right.” Brent groans, taking the slip.

“Take your things. Class will be over soon,” Mr. Clyde instructs.

“Right.” Brent picks up his things quickly. Turning to me, he says, “I do want to talk, for sure.”

As he begins to walk away, I get frantic.
We were so close, and I didn’t get to say anything.
“Wait. Brent?”

He turns around, standing in front of my desk.

I grab my poem and urgently write on the bottom:
I wrote this for you.
When I hand it over to him, he looks at it questionably, but I think he knows what it is. Brent then quietly walks out the door.

I feel so empty. My hope has been interrupted by a phone call. I look back down at his poem. Reading it again and again, I study every word. He meant this for me. I can see that clearly now. I don’t know what will happen next. Maybe nothing will come out of this, but he did say he wants to talk. This is exactly what I’ve been hoping for.
Is it possible to have something go right?

A few minutes later, the bell rings, and I head to my locker.

“Are you working tonight?” Liam asks me as he closes his locker door.

“Nope,” I tell him as I exchange out my books. “I’m working tomorrow. Morning shifts only for me.”

“Then, you should come over tonight. I’m having a few people over. My folks are out of town, taking Piper on some campus visit.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Maybe.” I’m not sure if I’m in the party mood, but being with friends isn’t a bad idea.
I’ll have to think about it.

“Brent’s not coming,” Liam says knowingly.

“Huh?” I close my locker door and turn to look at him.

“Well, I just thought you might not be sure about coming over tonight since you two aren’t together anymore.”

I didn’t think about that, but I was secretly wishing that Brent were going.

“Um, what? Why isn’t he?” All right, this might be a little too nosey since I’m not his girlfriend anymore.

“He said he was going out of town with his folks on some kind of trip for his little brother’s birthday. I guess they’re heading to Chicago for the weekend.”

“Oh, well…that’s not why I wouldn’t want to go. So, your house? When?”

“Ruby,” Lexi says from behind me. She moves to stand between Liam and me. “I know you don’t have anything going on. You
are
coming,” she says with an insistent stare.

“Okay!” I fake shout. I turn to Liam. “It looks like I’ll be there.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’s almost eight o’clock, and I haven’t seen my dad since he was in bed this morning. I assume he went to work sometime after I left. Out of habit, I leave him a note to let him know what I’m doing.

Went to a friend’s house. Work in the morning.

—Tuesday

Hopefully, he’s at a meeting or talking to Peter, his sponsor. Now, it’s just a waiting game to see what he does next. I’m trying not to worry about it too much. It is what it is. I’ve always known that.

I hear a car honk outside.
That must be Lexi.
I pick up my bag and head out the door.

***

We’re driving down the street toward Liam’s house and the sky is almost pitch black. I’m vacantly watching the headlights from the car illuminate the mailboxes as we pass them when Lexi lowers the volume on the radio.

“You know,” Lexi says, “you should just stay the night. My parents won’t care.”

I turn in my seat to face her as she watches the road.

“I know, but I have to work in the morning. Plus, I didn’t drive.”

“I don’t mind.” She glances in my direction, shaking her head minutely. “I’ll take you home in the morning. That way, we can stay over here later. You can borrow some of my clothes, too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” She nods her head in exaggeration.

“Thanks.”

There’s a long stretch of silence before Lexi turns off the radio completely.

“Don’t you get lonely being in that house by yourself so much?” she wonders aloud.

I shrug my shoulders. “Not really. I’m used to it. Winter track practice and meets start soon, so that’ll help.”

“Hmmm, I think I would hate it.” Her lips pucker to the side.

“Well, you might, but I don’t know any different. Only-child syndrome, I guess.”

My head turns to look out the windshield.

“Yeah, maybe. I hated when my brother went off to college though. The house just isn’t the same anymore.”

“See, I don’t know what I would do if people were always around. I have no idea what it would be like to have a brother or sister. Aren’t they annoying or something?”

“Yeah, my brother is annoying as shit, but I can’t live without him. I never realized how much I like him until he wasn’t around as much.”

Now, there’s a statement I can relate to.

***

When we arrive at Liam’s house, Casey, Autumn, and Callum are already hanging out in the living room. I’ve never been here before, so I look around while Liam leads us into the kitchen. Liam’s house is nice. It’s a lot like Lexi’s house but a bit bigger.

“Beer’s in the fridge,” Liam says, before heading into the living room.

“Thanks.” Lexi opens the refrigerator and gets out two beers, one for each of us. “Crap. I didn’t even think about it. Sorry. Do you even want one?”

I know what she’s talking about. I get it, and I appreciate her concern.

“Not really but give it to me. I’ll just hold it.”

“Are you sure?” she asks like she doesn’t believe me.

“Lexi, I’m fine. This isn’t my first party. Don’t start getting all freaky on me. My dad has the problem, remember? Not me. It’s just easier this way. No one else will offer me a drink for the rest of the night.” This is a little trick I learned a year ago at one of Jas’s parties. I might sip on it a little, but I’m not looking to get buzzed.

She hands me the beer, and we join the others in the living room. We talk for a little bit, mostly about school and a little about soccer. Casey and Autumn go on about something that happened at lunch, but I don’t pay much attention. They’re laughing so much between themselves that it seems more like an inside joke than something to share with a group.

When there’s a pause in all the giggling, Owen asks Liam, “Did your folks close the pool?”

“Not yet. Next weekend, I think,” Liam responds. He plops down on the couch next to Autumn, sitting across from Owen and Lexi. “It’s too cold to swim though. The heater’s off.”