Regret List (6 page)

They had set up the game so it was boys against girls
and so far, the girls were losing terribly. I’m not a great bowler,
but at least I could knock down more than three pins, which was all
Jason managed. As I walked back to my seat, Kandice bumped my
shoulder as she got up to take her turn. “
Really
, Paige?”
she whispered.

I looked at her, confused for a moment, before she
rolled her eyes and floundered up with her ball, hauling it at the
pins and almost immediately getting a gutter ball. I narrowed my
eyes as I returned to my seat. They were deliberately losing
against the boys. Frustrated, I sank back down in the hard plastic
seat.

“So how’d you four meet?” Jason asked.

“School, I guess,” I said, thinking back. There was
no resounding moment when we became friends, like there was with
Asher. “Grace sat next to me in third grade and she was the only
one I recognized at lunchtime, so I sat next to her. She was
already friends with Sammy. Then Kandice joined our class a couple
years later and we adopted her into our group. And here we are.” I
shrugged.

It was our turn again and I bowled a split, but
managed to knock down all but one. There was no way we were
winning, but there was also no way I was going to look pathetic,
like the rest of the girls. I looked around at them. Sammy was
playfully trying to shove Robert out of his seat. Kandice had her
phone out and was entering in Matt’s number. Grace was slouching
down in her seat, still looking uncomfortable.

That’s when I decided to leave. It wasn’t Jason – he
was bearable – or my exasperation at the other girls’ sudden
inability to bowl. It was Grace. That Patrick guy just kept holding
her closer against her clear desire to get away from him, leaning
over and kissing the top of her head as her body stiffened. I had
become better at reading people’s body language over the years and
her eyes were begging someone, anyone, to rescue her.

I opened my mouth to make an excuse for us to leave
when Jason spoke first. “I like your hair.”

“Wait, what?” I furrowed my brow, my concentration
interrupted.

He flushed. “I’m sorry. I just, your hair is so
fiery-red.”

I felt my own cheeks grow warm and I turned away.
This was weird. Was he still trying to win me over? “Do you have
any siblings?” I asked, desperately trying to change the
subject.

“No. It’s just me and my dad,” he mumbled, seeming to
realize how awkward he had made the situation.

Still flustered, I wasn’t thinking straight. “What
about your mom?” The moment the words left my mouth, I winced and
remembered Sammy had mentioned that one of his parents had died.
How could I, of all people, forget something like that?

He shook his head. “My mom died back when I was a
little kid.”

Those words made me feel the slightest bit of an
attachment to him. Maybe Sammy wasn’t crazy for pairing us up. I’ll
let you in on something: I sometimes feel like my dad dying has
made me doubly lonely. I mean, not only has he never been around to
see me grow up, but I sometimes feel like no one my age really
knows what it’s like. Sure, some of them have divorced parents, or
a dad who skipped out on them, but it seems different somehow. I
don’t have a chance to try and track him down, have one last
conversation with him, or feel his arms around me. I can’t even
think about him without a thousand what-ifs flying through my head.
Sorry. I’ll get back to the conversation.

“I’m sorry.” I made a face. “I- I know how it is.”
This was the first time I ever volunteered that information.
Usually, I waited until the inevitable, “Hey, how come I’ve never
met your dad” question, then admitted that he had died when I was
much younger. None of my friends knew the whole story, not even
Asher. Fortunately, saying that he was dead was a bit of a
conversation killer.

“Really?” His eyes brightened a little. “Your
mom?”

I shook my head. “My dad. It happened when I was much
younger. I don’t even really remember him.” I know that makes it
sound like it happened much longer ago than it really did, but hey,
I wasn’t lying and I’ve learned over the years that for whatever
reason, making it sound like I was just a baby makes people feel
more at ease. Even though I felt more comfortable telling Jason
about it, I still wasn’t letting go of all my defenses.

But for some reason, Jason didn’t act like everyone
else. His forehead crinkled. “You don’t have any memories of him at
all?” I shook my head. “That sucks, Paige. That really sucks. Do
you know how he died?”

This really wasn’t like any other conversation I had
ever had. Normally it took
years
of knowing someone before
they would ask that question. Still, I gave him the answer I gave
everyone. “He killed himself,” I said. “Pills.” That stopped any
further questions, even with Jason. “What about your mom?”

He grimaced, seeming a little taken aback at my
abrupt answer. “I was sick that day, so I stayed home from school.
I was whining about being bored, so she took me for a walk around
the neighborhood. I remember her hand was suddenly ripped away from
mine and I saw a car on the sidewalk. I didn’t understand what had
happened and I couldn’t find her anywhere. Turns out she was under
the car, dead on impact.” He met my eyes and I could still see the
anger burning. “What kind of idiot gets drunk at 10 in the morning
and drives 40mph through a neighborhood?”

My heart was racing and I felt physically sick, like
I might throw up. No, no, no. How could I have forgotten the kid,
the little eight-year-old boy who had his mother taken from him?
This wasn’t a big town. We only had one high school. Of course I
would run into him eventually. How did I keep over-looking these
things? I was terrified that he knew already, knew I was the one
responsible. Now, you might be saying, “Oh Paige, you aren’t
responsible for what your dad did,” which is what I had been
telling myself for seven years, but no matter what your brain tells
you is true, the heart usually wins the argument.

My heart began a little chant the day my dad died,
which said:
How could you have let this happen? What could you
have done to stop this? Shouldn’t you have known it would end up
this way?
It didn’t matter that I was just a little kid and it
didn’t matter that there was no way I could have known or had any
way to stop it; there was no escaping the guilt. That’s what I
mean, when I said that the what-ifs took over when I thought about
him. He was in my blood, he created me. I should have been enough
to stop him.

Jason shook his head, looking embarrassed, the fire
fading from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that.
It’s not a big deal. It happened ages ago. Forget it.”

But it was too late. There was no way to forget it
now and my heart began a new chant:
You have to fix
this.

And that is why, as my head screamed no, I leaned
forward and kissed Jason Stromsen.

Let me make one thing clear before we get any
farther: guilt is a terrible basis for a relationship. I probably
could have told you that even back then, but I also had this idea
that it was a good idea to sacrifice my own happiness to help
others. I have this theory that there are a lot of different types
of people in the world. One of these types is like me: we have an
overwhelming need to take on the burdens of the world, because we
can’t bear to watch people suffer. We probably don’t make sense to
all those other people and we usually end up crushed under the
weight of the world, but that’s just how we are. Back then, I
thought I could handle it.

I didn’t end up leaving early that night at bowling
and in fact, I was the only one who kissed my “date.” By the end of
the night, we had all agreed to go to the homecoming dance with the
boys and had exchanged numbers with them. By the time I got home,
my mom still wasn’t home, but I noticed that I had missed a text
from Asher, asking me if I could bring him the notebook. A little
pang of guilt pierced me then as I remembered that I was supposed
to be working on the book that day. We had finally laid out the
plot and he had given me the honor of writing the first few pages.
With a sigh, I glanced at the clock and decided I had enough time
to bike over and drop it off before 10pm, when my mom had a
tendency to return. It was the least I could do after slacking off
all day.

It was a clear night and the temperature had dropped
down into the 30s. I pedaled hard to stay warm and let the full
moon light my way. I thought about the book as I rode, hoping he
wasn’t too irritated that I hadn’t written anything all day. We had
decided to have two main characters: a girl who worked as a
bodyguard for an evil wizard who had saved her life and a boy who
was trying to bring down the wizard to escape his tyranny. I was
supposed to write from the girl’s perspective and Asher had
promised to write from the boy’s.

As I pulled up in front of his house, I jumped off my
bike and let it fall down into the dirt. I leapt up his front steps
and let myself in the front door. His brothers were playing video
games in the living room and only gave me a quick hello in between
hollering at each other. Laughing at them, I walked upstairs and
entered Asher’s room, slipping my backpack off my shoulders.

“Hey,” I said as he looked up from the glow of his
computer. He sighed at me and tapped his watch. “Yeah, yeah, I know
it’s late.” I grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t get anything done today,
but I think I know how to start.”

He gestured toward his bed. “Want to get started
then?”

I shifted anxiously from foot to foot. “Alright, but
not for long. I have to get home soon, before my mom does.”

He nodded and went back to work on his computer. I
lay down on my stomach and pulled out the notebook, scribbling
furiously. After what seemed like only a few minutes, my phone
interrupted me, buzzing under my thigh. Irritated, I rolled over
and pulled it out of my pocket, gasping as I saw the time.

“Asher, it’s nearly 10:30!” I yelled.

He grinned a little. “You were working so hard. I
didn’t want to bother you.”

“Well now my mom is calling me. Thanks a lot.” I
flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

“Paige, where
are
you?”

“I’m at a friend’s house. Sorry Mom, I lost track of
time. I’m heading home now.” I was already up off the bed, tossing
the notebook at Asher and zipping up my bag.

“Well it’s too late to be riding your bike around,”
she replied. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

I grimaced. “I’m at Asher’s house. We were working on
homework.”

There was an awkward silence and I glared harder at
Asher, who was snickering quietly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,”
she said finally and hung up.

I sank down on the floor and stuffed my phone back in
my pocket. “She’s going to kill me,” I groaned.

“So I hear you’re going to homecoming with Jason
Stromsen,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

My mouth dropped open. “How did you hear that?” I
hissed.

He turned his computer monitor toward me and I saw a
deluge of instant messaging windows blinking. “Jason is friends
with Matthew who is friends with a couple of my friends, who felt
the need to tell me right away.” He turned the monitor back and
fitted me with another accusatory look.

“It’s complicated,” I said. “It’s just something that
I have to do.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t
have
to go with
anyone. You go with someone because you want to go.”

I rose to my feet. “Like I said, it’s complicated.
I’ve got to go, my mom’s going be here any minute.”

“Okay, I’ll text you tomorrow, probably.”

I heard him typing quickly as I left the room and
headed back outside to wait for my mom. As I sat in the dirt next
to my bike, I wondered why news had spread so quickly. Why it had
spread to Asher. When my mom finally pulled up, I hauled my bike
into the backseat of the car and then slipped in next to her. For
the first few minutes, we didn’t talk. Then without a word, she
pulled the car off the road and turned off the engine.

I looked around, confused, thinking there was
something wrong with the car. Well, until I saw my mom’s face,
illuminated solely by the overhead light. She was staring at me,
studying me. “What?” I asked.

“Are you sexually active, Paige?”

Okay, this is a question that most teen girls get to
hear at least once from their mom. Even though I knew she must be
panicking inside, praying to God that her little girl wasn’t trying
to grow up too fast, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. I
doubled over, smashing my head on the dashboard by accident which
must have knocked some sense back into me, because I straightened
up and tried to answer without giggling.

“No Mom, I’m not
sexually active
.” I tried to
mimic her serious tone as my mouth twitched. “Seriously? I’ve been
in high school for one week and you think I’m already out having
sex with all the boys?”

She didn’t seem to share my amusement. “No, not
all the boys
,” she mimicked me right back. “I’m worried
about one in particular.”

I started to wonder who had told her about Jason when
I realized who she meant. “Asher?” I asked incredulously. “You
think- me and
Asher
?”

Her lips tightened at my answer. “I see.”

“Seriously Mom, there is nothing between us. I just
had to return a notebook to him.”

“At 10:30 at night.”

I shrugged. “I forgot to do it earlier and he really
needed it. Look, I’m sorry. I thought I’d be home sooner.”

Silent, she re-started the car and we continued the
drive home, which seemed to take about a hundred times longer than
normal. I slipped upstairs as soon as we got home and texted Asher.
My mom just asked if we were having sex.
Snickering again, I
figured he would get a kick out of it and was a little disappointed
when he didn’t reply. Just as I was falling asleep, I heard my
phone go off. Pulling it off the headboard, I looked blearily at
the screen.
In your dreams. :p
Hoping that was not a literal
answer, I finally drifted off to sleep.