Not After Everything (13 page)

“I thought you said you weren't going to go all
Fight Club
.” Dr. Dave studies the new bruises that have appeared since I last saw him.

“I didn't start this one, Doc. Brett, I guess to save face after I beat the crap out of him, blindsided me on Monday. I merely defended myself. If I'd responded like I'd wanted, his face would look like this and mine would look the same as last week.”

I can tell from his look of utter disapproval that he totally buys this story.

“But I think I might have gained a friend thanks to that asshole. When Jordyn saw this”—I gesture to my face—“we sort of bonded.” I tell him how we're carpooling again, how I got fired from the dog shit job, and how Jordyn gave me all her weekday shifts and ditched school with me.

“So now you're friends with Jordyn?” Dr. Dave has completely abandoned his notebook. And his disapproval. He doesn't even call me out on ditching.

“Crazy, right? I mean, I totally thought she'd hate me even more for being some stupid Neanderthal football asshole and fighting again, but then she's ditching school to make sure I'm okay.”

“And there's a history there?”

“Yeah. I mean, we were friends until her parents divorced and she and her mom moved away. We tried to stay in touch at first but, well, you know how it goes.”

“Well, I think it's good you have someone to talk to. Just don't screw it up by trying to sleep with her.”

“Seriously? You think that little of me?”

He flips back in his little notebook. “You want I should show you my notes?”

I hold up my hands. “I know. But in all seriousness, she's too goth for me. I like girls who don't feel the need to hide behind layers and layers of makeup. And the thing is, she's actually a pretty girl without all that stuff. Maybe I should refer her to you.”

“Don't you think it's interesting how hiding behind layers bothers you, yet you hide behind your own shit?”

“Whatever.” And damn if I didn't walk right into that.

“So, no notebook. I take it you haven't been keeping up on my assignment.”

“Not really.”

“Okay. Well, do you think you can try to write in it a little this week? Not every day. Say, twice?”

“I'll try.” But I probably won't.

• • •

At school the next week, people have stopped blatantly staring at me. The bruising above my eye is at that in-between purple-slash-green phase, and I wear it proudly. My lips are practically healed. The cuts on the upper are gone and the lower is scabbed but not in an overly disgusting way. But my ribs still hurt like hell.

Jordyn and I have taken to leaving campus for lunch every day. Today we're at Wendy's, as I have insisted on treating and she understands my financial situation.

“You remember when our moms met here, like, every day? I'm only just getting over my Wendy's fatigue,” Jordyn says as we take our trays to the only free table in the whole place.

“You ever wonder why they lost touch? I mean, I thought they were pretty close, but maybe that's because my mom never had many friends.”

“Yeah. I think it's because when my mom met Henry, her life just became all about him. It's like she was missing part of herself and it was him. I've never seen her so happy. Honestly, I didn't know she was so miserable with my dad. She was pretty good at hiding it.”

“Right? I had no clue Mom was
that
depressed. I mean, she had depressive episodes from time to time, but it never seemed that bad, you know? She would just seem sadder than usual. It's not like she ever stopped eating or getting out of bed or any of those Lifetime movie symptoms. I wish she'd talked to me about everything. I wish I'd known, like, how much she was hurting. I still have no idea why she did what she did. I mean, I know it was because of Dad, but then why didn't she just leave him? And why now? Why not wait until I'm off at school? Did she just assume I was all set up for the future and that I'd be okay without her this year? Why would she leave me with that asshole? Did she think it would make him stop drinking? That he would get his shit together and be a decent human being? How could she think that, you know? He's a fucking monster. Always has been. Obviously she knew it or she wouldn't have done what she did. God, if she would have just left a goddamn note or something explaining—”

“Wait, wait, wait. She didn't leave a note?”

“Nope.” I take a bite of my chicken sandwich, not even tasting it.

“Nothing?”

I shake my head.

“That's seriously fucked up.”

“Right?” I take a sip of Coke. “I kind of wondered if my dad killed her and made it look like a suicide, but he was too far away to have been able to—”

She's stopped eating. “How do you know for sure? He could've—”

“I know because she was still warm when I found her.” Now I've also stopped eating.

“Shit. Tyler . . .”

“And now there are four people on the entire planet who know that, so . . .”

“I won't say a word. To anyone. You know I won't.”

And I do know.

“You think if our moms had kept in touch, we would have kept in touch?” I ask.

“I was thinking about that the other day. And yes. But I don't know if we would have been friends. You were just getting cool and it was pretty obvious I was never going to be cool.”

“But we're friends now.”

“But, well, I hate to break it to you, but . . . you're not cool anymore.” She dips her fry into my chocolate Frosty and pops it into her mouth.

“Hey.” I fling a fry at her.

She throws one back but I catch it.

“So, you still do that?”

“Dip my fries? Of course! I was wrong to ever have doubted you on that. It's awesome,” she says, dipping another fry.

“Then why didn't you get your own Frosty?” I dip the one I caught and pop it into my mouth.

“'Cause I knew you'd get one.”

If you had asked me two weeks ago if I would be hanging out with Jordyn Smith, I would have told you you were high. And now, it's like we've been friends all along. Life is strange.

Just as my bruise has managed to turn the color of piss, Jordyn and I get to assist Henry at a wedding shoot. He's even letting her take some of the photos.

I'm waiting for them out in front of this venue that looks like a massive Colorado craftsman mansion/castle. Henry had to replace a flash, and Jordyn had to run back to their house to grab a lens he took home, thus our carpool fell apart.

School has been bearable thanks to Jordyn. Sure, there are all kinds of rumors about us floating around, things involving me letting her drink my blood while we have sex and stuff, but we just laugh them off.

I've been able to replenish some of my emergency fund now that Henry's giving me more shifts. More shifts means more responsibilities, but nothing I can't handle. I've even done a few of the retouches from start to finish. Jordyn used to do all the final finishing touches, but she doesn't have to anymore. And when we have downtime, Henry shows me some of his work that doesn't revolve around people staring into the camera. Landscapes and candids of unsuspecting people at various locations who spark his interest. He explains what drew him to each subject and I'm starting to understand composition. Last week he gave me an old DSLR camera to experiment with. I'm still too afraid to show him any of my attempts, though. Most of them are of Captain and stuff around the house—nothing that would mean anything to anyone except me. I did bring the camera along tonight, so we'll see what I come across. Plus wearing it around my neck makes me feel a little more official.

Finally I spot Henry's car and meet him to get his gear. That's my job for the night. I get to follow Henry around with his bags and bags of stuff, just in case something doesn't work or he feels like swapping lenses. The ol' funeral suit is getting a lot of use these days. The belt has to be tightened a little more and the jacket's a little big now, but it's not too noticeable. I hope.

Jordyn pulls into the space next to him. When she steps out of her car wearing an elegant silk dress—and it's not even black, it's the rich dark blue of the sky just before it turns black—I stop dead. Not just because of the dress, but because she's made herself up to look like a normal almost-eighteen-year-old girl. Actually, she looks pretty damn beautiful.

“Shut up,” she warns before I have a chance to compliment her.

“Can you believe it?” Henry chuckles.

“I thought she was someone else,” I say.

“You guys are so funny.” She scowls as she takes a bag from the trunk.

“Allow me, m'lady.” I bow to her as I reach for the strap.

She smacks my hand away and shoves past me toward the front door.

Henry and I are both chuckling as we follow.

“I'm amazed she agreed not to wear all that shit on her face,” Henry says. “Wish she knew how beautiful she was without it.”

“Me too,” I say. Then I see Henry smile to himself with a certain gleam in his eye. What's with everyone jumping to conclusions about us? I have to set him straight. “I mean, it would make her life so much easier. The kids at school aren't very nice about it.”

“Yeah. I think that's why she does it. To keep everyone at a safe distance,” he says. “I'm just glad the two of you are gettin' on so well. It's about time she had a friend.”

He says “friend” but “boyfriend” is clearly implied. I'm about to correct him, when the father of the bride introduces himself.

After the most elaborate and expensive wedding ceremony I will ever attend, I follow Henry around so he can switch lenses at will. Right now he's in the middle of the dance floor shooting the couple.

I find myself watching Jordyn. She doesn't look like she's having fun. I have the sudden urge to put my camera to use, when a young guy who was in the wedding party sidles up to her. She's shooting pictures of the cake. I click off some shots as the guy flirts with her until she's finally smiling. I want to hug him for it. And I'm getting it on film! I have actual proof that she can smile! Then another guy, the first guy's friend, joins them. He's a little more ambitious with his flirting. He finds ways to touch her with the ol' “Can I see your camera?” trick.

Henry switches his lens once again and asks me to tell Jordyn to take a break.

I slowly move to where she's talking to the guys. She's still smiling, but I can tell the second guy's bugging the shit out of her.

Her face lights up when she sees me. “Hey.”

“I've been ordered to tell you to take a break,” I say.

“Great.” She hands me the camera and takes the first guy's hand, leading him onto the dance floor, leaving guy number two holding his dick.

“She your sister or something?” guy number two asks.

“Clearly,” I say.

“Oh. Cool. Well, your sister's totally hot.” He obviously doesn't get sarcasm, or that she's half Malaysian and I am unmistakably not.

I follow his gaze to where Jordyn's dancing and flirting and laughing. She really is beautiful. I hold up the camera she handed me and take a few candids of her and the guy dancing. Was she always this beautiful? I have to talk her into ditching the vampire look for good. She'd have guys lining up around the block. But then I'd have to really start bulking up again in order to ward off the assholes.

Henry waves me back over and, this time, he switches cameras
and
lenses. I wonder what the difference is.

Jordyn taps my shoulder.

“You want your camera back?” I offer her the bag on my shoulder with a grin, wondering when she'll see the shots I took of her.

“Sure, but, actually, do you want to get some air?”

“After you.”

The grounds are landscaped to perfection. The focal point is the pergola that I'm sure is used in the outdoor ceremonies. Off to the side is a little man-made waterfall with stone benches surrounding it.

“Why'd you stop dancing with that guy? You looked like you were having fun,” I say.

“Did I? I'm not even sure I know what that looks like myself.”

“Yeah. You were, like, smiling and everything. It was scary.” I sit on the wall next to the waterfall.

She shoves me playfully, sitting herself. “Mike's pretty cool, we used to kind of hang out or whatever but . . .” She kicks her feet out and in, out and in. They don't quite touch the ground. It's adorable.

“But?”

“He always asked me not to look how I normally look when we did stuff where he might run into his friends.”

“Henry thinks you do that to keep from getting close to people.”

She stares at me, her expression unreadable. Is she going to hit me? Scream at me?

“Well, then why the hell didn't it work on you?” she says with an intensity that cuts me.

“I'm not trying to be a dick,” I say. “I'd just really like to understand you.”

She takes a deep breath. Stares at her still-kicking feet for a long second. “Okay, fine. It started when I came back from summer break between sixth and seventh grade with boobs. I'd always been happy being a wallflower, but suddenly some of the boys started talking to me. Flirting, even, not that I really knew how to interpret it. Some of the popular girls, one in particular, Jenna McCoy, did not like it. She spread rumors about how I was easy, as if a twelve-year-old could be easy. She and some of the other girls would corner me in the hallways and write ‘slut' on my clothes or sometimes on my skin with permanent marker—I'm pretty sure Sheila got the idea for my jacket from someone who went to my middle school.”

“Shit.” That makes what Sheila did so much worse.

“Yeah. My mom tried to talk to the teachers and the principal about it, but they didn't do much. And Jenna didn't let up until everyone hated me, or feared her too much not to at least pretend to hate me. It was brutal.

“Then one day at lunch, I found myself staring at the goth kids and I thought they looked like they just didn't give a shit, you know? So I went out and bought some makeup and a billowy black shirt that covered my boobs and tried it out the next day. Something else came with the makeup and the clothes, something I didn't expect.” She smiles. “Balls.”

I laugh. “Balls, huh?”

“Yep.” Then her face goes serious again. “When Jenna finally realized I was me one day at lunch, it was more slut-shaming humiliation. But this time I didn't let her get away with it. I threw my tray down, shoved her up against the wall, and got right in her face, swearing I would kill her if she didn't leave me the fuck alone. I think she believed me too, because she did.”

Jordyn's quiet. I wait.

“I thought about ditching the look when high school started,” she says, “because Jenna was going to a different school and I wouldn't have to worry about her anymore, but . . . I don't know. Maybe I do use it as a way to keep people at arm's length. It's worked pretty well, until you.”

I smile and roll my eyes. “I'm really sorry we lost touch. I would have set them all straight. Even that Jenna McCoy.”

She bumps my shoulder with hers.

When I turn to smile at her, I notice she's covered in goose bumps. “Shit. I'm such a dick. Here.” I pull off my jacket. I think she'll say no because she's such an I-can-take-care-of-myself kind of girl, but instead she pulls it tightly around her shoulders.

“Thanks.” We're quiet again awhile after that. Then she says, “I read this study that said twenty percent of all suicides don't leave a note.”

I nod. “I know the one. My shrink brings it up constantly.”

“That's really messed up.”

“What, that I have a shrink?”

She swats at me. “The twenty percent thing, asshole.” She's smiling again.

“Yes, yes it is. It would have been nice to have some kind of explanation, since it basically came out of nowhere.”

“She really didn't give any indication at all?”

“Not a goddamn thing. She didn't even seem depressed that day. She used to be depressed when I was younger. She thought she hid it from me, telling me she was sick, but I figured it out by about junior high. Though it was never so bad that I thought she'd resort to suicide. And with all the good things that were happening for me last year, she'd been happier than I'd ever seen. We had a lot of fun those months leading up. And she was business as usual right up until I left for practice that morning.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.” Now her feet have stopped kicking. I'm such an idiot. I should have realized she was cold. “Should we head back in? I'm sure Henry probably needs to switch lenses for the thousandth time tonight.”

She gets up and takes my jacket from her shoulders.

“You really look beautiful tonight, you know.” I take my jacket from her hands.

She stands there, not looking me in the eyes for more than a second at a time.

“What? It's true. I'm being completely sincere. I, Tyler Blackwell, think you, Jordyn Smith, look quite beautiful without all that shit on your face. But if you feel like you still need it, I promise I won't bring it up again. Shall we?” I hold out my elbow in a gentlemanly fashion, bracing myself for her to slap it away, but she surprises me and takes it.

I glance down at her to be met with a somewhat reluctant and embarrassed smile.

“I'll take your opinion under advisement,” she mumbles.

As we walk back into the reception, I smile to myself. Maybe I've managed to get through to her. But I doubt it.