Authors: Katie Klein
I
deserve
this much, at least—to have
a
real pi
cture of him. The drawer clicks as it latches
shut.
I study
the photograph, Parker’s
stoic expression
,
the boy who
pitched my life upside down.
I’ve
found myself in a vast amount of trouble these last few month
s for something that didn’t
work out.
Still, there’
s a reason fate
p
artnered us
together for our English project. There
’
s a reason we became friends
. That we kissed. T
hat what happened
happened
.
Because I just ca
n’t go on believing that it was all for nothing.
And so
I tuck
the photo safely away, sliding it
into the back pocket of my jeans.
*
*
*
“Looks like he already stopped by,” Savannah says, nodding toward my car. “He’s early
, today
.”
I refus
e to look, moving instead to
the picnic table that
has
, in the last few weeks, bec
o
me ours.
“It’s red. So it’s probably another rose,” she
continues
,
shielding her eyes
,
squinting at the parking lot
as we sit down at the picnic table.
I kick off my sandals
and feel the cool
blades of grass pricking
at
my toes, ignoring her.
“Y
ou’re going to talk to him, right?” Ashley asks.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, shrugging as
I open my lunch bag
and pull
out my sandwich and Sun Chips.
“
You should, Jaden.
I mean, the guy was just doing his job,” Savannah reminds me. A
balmy
breeze
wafts
between us, tousling my hair. I close my eyes,
gazing toward the sun,
face
tingling as it warms
. “So yeah, you got a gun t
o your head and banged up a bit,” she goes on.
“T
he dude is totally into you.
And I’m sorry, but an undercover cop? Do you even realize how sexy that is?
You are
officially
stuck between the pages
of a trashy romance novel.
”
Ashley laughs
, covering her hand with her mouth, snorting
. “I can totally see Jaden sprawled across the cover, wrapped in his arms, assets glaring back at us.”
“Officer W
halen, no! Please don’t arrest
me,” Savannah purrs, voice high. “I’ll do anything.”
“
Anything
?” Ashley replies in a low, male tenor
.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” I say,
struggling
to conceal my smile
.
“Jaden, come on,” Savannah whines
.
She pulls her blonde hair back in a ponytail, securing it with an elastic.
“It’s obvious you’re in love with him. You’ve been miserable since that day.”
“I walked into the middle of a drug bust, Savannah. There were
guns
.”
“I’m not talking about
that
day. I’m talking about the
day after you talked to Parker. When he said
you
two
couldn’t be together. You aren’t upset about w
hat happened, or with him being a cop. That’s
not what bothered you: the idea that you were in love with him, but he didn’t love you back?
That’s
what hurt you. An
d instead of being relieved
it was a ruse you’r
e moping around here like your
best f
riend died. Dude. I am totally
here. And P
arker obviously still wants you
or he wouldn’t be going through all this trouble.”
“I don’t know what you guys expect me to do.”
“We want you to
t
alk
to him, Jaden,” Ashley says, mouth full, potato chip
bag crinkling as she digs inside
.
“Call him. Leave him a note. Tell him you forgive him.
It’s not difficult.
”
I sit up straighter.
“I did forgive him. I told him I forgave him that day at the hospital.”
“Then you told him to leave
you alone
,”
Savannah reminds me.
“Which lasted al
l of
three
week
s
,” Ashley points out.
“If that.”
“Seriously. I don’t see how you can forgive him for luring you into a death trap, and I mean
,
we are talking total hostage crisis, but not forgive him for the little
white
lies he told because of his job. He wasn’t just lying to you. He was lying to
everyone
,” Savannah says.
“It’s not that easy. I
don’t know who he is anymore,” I mumble, peeling my sandwich
crust off
and t
ossing
it
for the birds.
It lands in a pile of thick, green clover. I brush the crumbs off my hands.
“So get to know him!
” Savannah
growls,
eyes wide,
voice growing louder.
“
God, Jaden! You are going to screw yourself into a corner if you don’t talk to him.
This is like, a crossroads. Y
ou’re always going to look back and wonder if things could’ve been different, and this
love
story is going to turn into
a
tragedy.
Your
tragedy.
You two deserve a chance to
be
happy together, and the only thing
keeping you apart right now is
you
.”
I lean back, blinking at her, dazed.
“
God.
When di
d you get so
. . .
insightful?” I mutter, brows furrowed.
“And harsh.
”
Her shoulders relax, and she sighs. “I’m working on it.
The point is, he still love
s
you, Jaden
,” she says, quieter.
“
And whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, you love him. He’s
ready. He’s just
waiting
o
n
you
.”
I sigh
,
feeling the exhaustion in my arms and legs
,
the headache t
hrobbing behind my eyes. That’
s the ironic thing
about
sleep: the nights I need it
most, I barely doze
. I
roll
out
of bed just as my clock switches
to 7:17.
In the morning. On a Saturday. But not just any Saturday: Wedding Day.
I study
my reflection in the mirror
above my dresser
, checking for any unexpected,
pre-wedding breakouts
, examining my s
car, which almost disappears
with the right
concealer
.
In the bathroom, I
grasp
the
little wrench
perched on the edge of my
porcelain sink.
I fix
it around the thin
,
copper pipe
. Thre
e full turns, and water splashes
into the basin.
After emerging from the shower, clothed and warm,
towel wrapped around my wet hair, I
venture
downstairs. Mom
is
in the kitchen, trying
not to make noise as she removes
the frying pan from one of the bottom cabinets.
“Couldn’t sleep
?” I ask
,
pulling out a chair
from
the kitchen table.
“Not
today
,
I couldn’t,” she replies
. “I thought I’d put on some eggs and bacon. Maybe pancakes for everyone.”
“Pancakes sound good.”
I’d be
happy with a bowl of Cheerios, but
for Mom
it’
s
no
t about the food.
I
t’
s
a distracti
on. S
omething to keep her busy
. She
’
s whisk
ing
the batter whe
n: “Knock Knock!” a voice calls
through the side door.
I jump
out of
the chair and
rush to
open
it
.
“Rise and shine!
” Melissa
burst
s
inside,
lugg
ing her David’s Bridal dress bag and . . .
“Is that a carry-on?” I ask
.
“
Yep. I have everyth
ing you could possibly need on
wedding day: soaps, cleansers, facial scrubs, nail polish, nail polish remover, shampoo, conditioner, blow dryers, hair brushes, make-up, a sewing kit including needles and white thread—though I
really
hope we don’t have to break that out—duct tape, Advil . . .”
“Oh my Go
d. Wait a minute,” I interrupt
. “Did you say blow
dryers
? Like plural?”
“That’s exactly what I said. Besides, you look like you could use a h
air dryer right now.” She nods
toward my towel-wrapped head.
I
reach
up and touch
the damp cotton
. “Right.”
“I’m
making
pancakes
,
Melissa,” Mom says
. “Are you interested?”
“If you are offering I am very inter
ested,” she replies
.
“Has a
nyone seen the bri
de to be?”
“Not yet,” I answer
.
“Let her sle
ep as long as she can,” Mom says
.
“If sh
e even slept at all,” I mutter
. “
I barely did and I’m not
even
getting married.
You got the
mixer
wrapped, right?”
“Yes,” Melissa says
. “
We’re good
.
”
“Pancakes!” Phillip cries
, entering the kitchen
. “You are my favorite m
om in the whole world.”
“She’s your only m
om
in the whole world,” I remind
him, rolling my eyes.
“How
many do you want?
”
she
asks
.
“Six.” Phillip si
t
s
down at the table bet
ween Melissa and me. Mom brings
him a plate stacked high with pancake
s. “Can I get some OJ?” he asks
.
I
give him a sisterly
punch
him in the arm. “Get it yourself, loser.”
“
Ow
!” He rubs
it for a moment, then
cocks
his arm to strike
me back.
I flinch,
pulling away,
then
watch as it fal
ls back to his side, like he has
second thoughts. “Whatever,” he grumbles.
He barely even teases me anymore.
It’s like everyone is afraid they’re going to break me.
When are things going to be normal again?