This Ordinary Life (16 page)

“You mean there's more than this?”

“Very funny. Yes, there's more. So was this a bad enough time for you?”

“It was cool,” I say as we walk back to the gate. “But I figure it can only go up from here.”

He beeps the car alarm to unlock the doors and gives me a wry smile. “You say that now,” he says. “But you don't know where we're going next.”

I
'M NOT SURE
what could possibly top the garbage trip, but Wes chuckles as he drives to our next destination. When he pulls into Heaven's Doorway Cemetery (Where All Your Dreams Live On), I actually feel my eyes widen and my mouth drop open.

“Um, Wes. I'm all for the jokes, but I don't think I can hang out in a graveyard, even if it is the middle of the afternoon.”

“Come on, Sunny. Live a little.” he grins, waiting. “See what I did there…
Live
a little?”

I groan.

“Trust me.” He pulls the car to the side of the driveway between the gravestone section and the mausoleum section. “I know it's creepy, but I have a plan.”

“A plan? Seems you really took my not if you were the last living guy on earth thing pretty seriously, huh?” I joke.

“Desperate times,” he answers as he pulls a large tote and his backpack from the car.

I follow him to a clearing under a big tree. He pulls a blanket from the tote and I help him unfold it. I'm happy this spot at least seems reserved for visitors, instead of us actually sitting on top of someone's grave. But still, being the only two living people around thousands of dead? It's freaky.

I sit square in the middle of the blanket with my back to the mausoleums. All around me, graves and statues make up the landscape as far as I can see. I focus on Wes instead, as he pulls item after item from his backpack.

“What is all this?” I pick up a container and peer through the plastic. It's filled with various cheeses

“Snacks,” he says as he lays items out on the blanket. “I followed your rules. No meals, you said. So we'll have snacks. Here, help me open these up.”

I open the cheese and a box of crackers while Wes lays out grapes and popcorn and even pita chips with guacamole.

“Wow. You really thought of everything.”

Wes's smile stretches wide. “And there's drinks, too.” He drags the tote closer to the blanket, and pulls out a small cooler, opening it to reveal a bunch of choices: water, iced tea, soda, juice. “I wasn't sure what you liked.” He takes off his Life Is Good hat and scratches the back of his head, making his messy hair even more chaotic.

What I like? Many things I probably shouldn't. Like him. The thought pokes from the recesses of my mind, from some corner where I've apparently tried to hide it. And it's true, even if I only admit it to myself and even if my heart is terrified of liking another boy after Sebastian. I can't help it. I like Wesley McEnroe. Definitely more than I should.

But I simply pull a bottle of water from the cooler and smile.

After we've stuffed ourselves with snacks, Wes folds a paper towel into a floppy airplane. He tosses it at me, but it flops onto the blanket without taking flight. He shrugs and lies down on the blanket, dropping his hat over his eyes.

“So, Sunny Torres. Tell me something about you I don't know.”

“Like what?” I ask. “What you see is what you get, really.”

He tips his hat back and opens one eye to look at me. “Why do I not believe that?”

I toss his paper towel airplane at him, hitting him square in the stomach. Leaning back on my elbows, I cross my legs at the ankles. “My life is a chaotic mess? Not that that's a big secret.”

“Did you ever talk to your mom about the other night?”

“Nope. And you know what? I don't even think she knows what she did. She is clueless. I did pour out almost a whole bottle of her vodka though. And filled it back up with water.”

Wes rolls onto his side, his eyes squinting with laughter. “You didn't!”

“Hell yeah I did.” I polish my nails on my shirt. “Let this be a warning. Don't mess with me.”

“Noted.”

“Whatever with her, anyway. This week is going to be crazy busy with radio stuff. Plus, next week, I have my city trip for the Get up and Go interview. I don't even have time to worry about my stupid mother. As long as I can keep Danny safe, that's all I care about.”

Wes drops his hat over his face again. “Yeah, I get that. But it shouldn't have to be like that. You know?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Seriously, I'm sure if—”

“Can you not? Please? My home life, my mom… it's all beyond repair right now. It's not like I haven't tried.”

“But—”

“Please, Wes. Don't ruin this by talking about her. She doesn't get to intrude on this.”

He tips his hat back and gives me another of my favorite grins. I breathe deeply, hoping this means the family topic is dropped.

“Fair enough,” he says. He flips the hat in the air and catches it. “So this internship is a really huge thing, huh?”

“Um, yeah! It's the Get Up and Go show, right? On WYN60? It's a summer internship working there at the station doing whatever interns do. But, not only would it be a dream come true for me to spend my summer there, my teacher said it would look really good for my college stuff, especially since I need to get a scholarship if I have any hope of going to school. I don't want to go anywhere super expensive or anything. Hopefully a commuter state school, so I can live at home and be close to Danny. All I need is a good communications program and a radio station, but even still, I need this experience.”

“I'm sure you'll get it,” Wes says, propped up on one elbow. “You're awesome on the radio.”

“Yeah, probably me and everyone else going for it.”

“Is there a lot of competition?”

“From what I hear, there were hundreds of applicants, maybe thousands, but it's already been narrowed down to a handful. None from my school applied, thankfully. Our radio program is pretty small and other than me, no one is too serious about it at our school. That's why I get so much airtime as a junior. But there are some schools around here with some kick ass station presence, like Chester High and the infamous Big D, who is a serious pain in my ass at beating me out on stuff. God I hope she's not a finalist. Not to mention any high school DJs in the city. Let's face it, my chances are probably pretty slim.”

“I still think you're better than you realize. At least you know what you want to do. Your mom must be happy about that.”

I snort.
“My
mom? You're kidding, right?”

“Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just, my mom is always pressuring me about colleges. It's driving me crazy. She has college tour after tour lined up, some crazy good schools too, that are really hard to get into.”

“Yeah but you're in AP classes, I bet you have perfect grades.”

“Nearly perfect. Like me.”

“Dork.” I toss another of his paper towel airplanes at his face and miss.

“Seriously, school has always been really easy for me. But that doesn't mean I like it.”

“So why don't you tell her? Your mom seems cool.”

“She's cool, but the pressure is crazy. I'm an only child and she likes everything to be perfect. Including my future. She has it all mapped out in her mind. My choice of colleges, my major, even a list of places where I'll possibly work after I graduate.”

Wow. That's intense.

“But what do
you
want?”

He shrugs. “I have no idea. But I don't want to know yet, you know? I want to, like, take a year off or something, before I figure it out. I'm seriously sick of school and the idea of working in an office for the rest of my life sounds like pure torture. What's the point of college unless I'm willing to sell my soul to do something I hate? I just want some time to figure it out, before I go.”

Wes's phone starts playing some really loud, really angry heavy metal music.

“What is that?” A giggle bursts out of me as he pulls the phone from his pocket and the music gets louder, but I'm full on laughing when he stands up and starts dancing and head banging and air guitar movements. He hops up on the bench and mimes
crowd diving, hands out as if he's going to fall right on top of our picnic.

I laugh harder, arms wrapped around my stomach, which is starting to ache from flexing my out-of-practice laughing muscles.

“Just a reminder I set. Be right back.” Wes holds up a finger as he continues to thrash and dance toward the car. The music fades as he crosses the lane and opens the passenger door.

I hiccup one last laugh, but every time I picture him, with long hair smashing a guitar or something, I start laughing again.

I stare out at the headstones all around us, remembering suddenly, exactly where we are. I'm not sure what it says about Wes or myself, but it's like I'd forgotten we were sitting in the middle of a cemetery all this time. I toss his hat between my hands, my favorite bangles jingling on my wrist. Propping the hat on my head, I breathe in the scent of him and kind of like the way his familiar accessory feels on me.

After a few minutes, he's still in his car. He's sitting in the passenger seat, looking down, his face very serious. Or… wait.

Is he okay? I squint, trying to make sure he actually is looking down and not passed out… or something worse.

Worry twists the pit of my stomach and I jump up from the blanket to get a better look across the road. He's not moving. My nails dig into my palms, my shoulders aching with tension.

Please no. Please.

I'm halfway to the car when Wes looks up at me with a broad smile that stops me right in the middle of the road. But it's relief that makes my heart and breathing stutter all over each other like they're in a three-legged race.

He's okay, Jasmine. He's as safe and healthy as he ever is.

But even with the proof right in front of me, my mind won't slow down enough for me to fully believe it. Or be okay with the possibility of what could have happened. Wes is healthy, he
hasn't had a seizure in years. But have I relied too much on that fact? Could the very real possibility of having someone else in my life with seizures be too much for me to handle? I can barely handle the weight of worry strapped to me because of Danny. What if I did get closer to Wes and something terrible happened to him? I can't handle worrying this much about someone else.

God, I'm a horrible person. A horrible, insensitive person.

“Miss me?” He slides out of the car and closes the door, moving to the trunk to drop something into a small duffle bag.

I raise a brow, still trying to calm myself down. I have to play it cool though. The last thing I need is him seeing through me to what I was thinking. So I laugh instead. “What are you up to over here? Was the heavy metal alarm something I should be concerned about?”

Wes zips the duffel and slams the back door. He tilts his head. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were suspicious of me, Ms. Torres.”

I roll my eyes and turn back toward our picnic. “Oh fine,” I say. “Keep your secrets, then.”

My heart is still stuttering, and not just with worry. Unease ripples through me as I think about his words. After what Sebastian pulled, I do have some trust issues. I hate that he's done that to me, made me wary and untrusting. But I don't think I have to feel that way with Wes. And that scares me.

A lot of things about Wes scare me.

I kneel on the blanket and start to gather all our garbage into one of the plastic shopping bags.

“It was my meds,” Wes says quietly. “The song was the dumb alarm to remind me. It's a safety net alarm since I almost never forget to take them. But I should have had them at four o'clock, and I didn't, so this is always set to remind me, just in case. What can I say, DJ Sunny. You distracted me to the point of self harm.” He grins his wide grin, but it doesn't reach his eyes this
time. He shifts on the blanket, his body only inches from mine. I can feel the heat of him when I lean forward to clear away more crumbs.

I look down at my hands as they wipe the blanket. Wes stills my hand with one of his, threading our fingers together. “Hey, don't look so scared, Sunny. I'm fine.”

“I know,” I whisper, looking at the way our fingers twine together. He seems so strong, so healthy. But the fact that he
could
have a seizure is just below the surface of all that. I take a shaky breath. I don't want it to matter, but I can't help it, it does.

“I'm a worrier, what can I say?”

“Seriously, stop worrying so much. Don't be a middle-aged teenager.”

I pull my hand from his and sit up, hands on hips. “Middle aged? If that's your idea of a pickup line, you really need some help.”

“Pickup line, huh? What do I need one of those for?”

“Oh shut up,” I wave him away, my cheeks burning. “You know what I mean!” I turn to my bag and look through it for some imaginary item to keep me from making eye contact. When I finally look up, he's chewing a pretzel rod and grinning.

“Shut up,” I say again.

He moves his eyebrows up and down and plucks the pretzel from his mouth, pretending to knock ashes off it, cigar-style.

My smile spreads slowly, like a flower opening, my cheeks aching with how wide it is.

“So, we should probably go before it gets dark and too creepy for even me,” Wes says. “But, I have to ask, was it a bad enough time for you? I mean, I wanted it to be as non-date awful as possible.”

“The truth?” I say. I decide, right then, to be honest, real.

Wes chews on his thumbnail and pretends to contemplate the question. “Nah, lie to me.”

I roll my eyes. “Graveyard or not, this is kind of perfect. Even without the heavy metal dancing, which, not gonna lie, was one of the best parts.”