“You think so?” I asked, stopping in front of the office.
“Absolutely.” She winked at me and opened the door.
The secretary, Mrs. Bookout, popped up from her seat. She was barely taller than the partition that separated her desk area from the rest of the office lobby.
“I’ll just tell them you’re here,” she said.
When she reappeared, she gestured for me to go in.
“Are you coming?” I asked Mrs. Pyles.
“I have to use the copy machine and get a few things together for next period.”
With that, she walked behind the partition and down the hall to the back offices, and I walked into Mr. Bringham’s office. He sat behind his desk with a kind smile, his fingers intertwined in front of him. Mrs. Rogers sat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, equally happy. This time the vice principal, Mr. Mann, sat in on the meeting as well. His reddish, thinning hair and square glasses matched his rust sweater.
“I hope you’re not nervous, Erin. We just wanted to check in with you. How are things going at the new place? Getting along well with Sam and Julianne?”
“They’ve been incredible. They told me the other day that they’re taking care of my college expenses.”
Mrs. Rogers beamed. “That is fantastic news, Erin. It truly is. We’re very happy for you. Looks like you’re getting settled.”
“I’m happy for me too.”
Mr. Mann crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Your grades are still looking good. We’re very impressed with how you’ve handled all of this.”
“Thank you.”
“How are things with Gina?” Mrs. Rogers asked quietly.
“Nonexistent.”
She nodded, clearly not sure how to react. “Everyone reacts differently. This must be hard for her too.”
“Actually, I think she’s relieved.”
“Oh,” Mr. Mann said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re a great young lady, Erin. We just want you to know that we’re here. We’re rooting for you. Things like this…Sometimes reality hits when we’re not prepared, and if you find yourself lost, we’d like for you to let us find you some resources to help you wrap your head around all of this. Because it’s a lot.”
They all stared at me, as if they were waiting for me to break down.
“It hasn’t been totally smooth. It’s a lot to take in. But we’re taking it one day at a time.”
“So nice to hear you say we,” Mrs. Rogers said. “It’s important to have support at home.”
“I agree. I was just thinking today how much it’s helped.”
They looked at each other, relieved and satisfied with our chat. After we had touched base on my grades, college plans, and how impressed with me they were, they released me from class, but not before Mr. Bringham offered a chair anytime I needed to talk. I thanked him and headed for my locker.
Their positivity and smiles had my mind elsewhere, so when I turned the corner to see a devastated Weston standing at my locker, I was unprepared. I paused and then continued, determined to get through the combination lock quickly and exchange my English textbook for my Algebra II workbook.
He said nothing, just stood a few inches from me while I turned the black dial back and forth. I loaded my textbook onto the upper shelf and pulled out my flimsy algebra workbook. When I closed the long metal door and turned, Weston hooked his finger in my shirt.
“You read her journal from this year, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I know what you’re thinking. I understand that you hate me right now, and if I were you, I’d hate me too, but please let me explain. You can punch me or scream at me if you want, but just hear me out.”
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see the redness that darkened my face from chin to hairline.
“Sam told you to stay away.”
“Even if we didn’t have two classes together, I can’t stay away from you.”
“Try,” I said, walking away. I didn’t look back.
Algebra didn’t keep me as busy as I’d hoped. The thought of Weston staring at the back of my head or trying to talk to me during health and art made me queasy. So much that I could barely eat the cheese fries I’d ordered at Sonic during lunch.
The carhops hustled in and out of the double glass doors like ants at the mouth of their hill. The cars were parked in their respective spots on each side of the drive-in restaurant. Trucks and sedans all had their windows rolled down, the drivers either waiting for their order or pushing the button on the small silver box beneath the menu sign and waiting their turn.
My red BMW was the only vehicle parked with the window rolled up; my thoughts could have steamed the windows. Scream and punch him? I felt like I’d been screaming underwater my entire life; it was comforting to keep my feelings just beneath the surface. Most people wouldn’t understand, but reactions were dangerous, like temptation or addiction. Letting someone affect me was giving away the only control I had, and even if it was Weston, letting go—even once—of the fortitude I’d kept for so long was a slippery slope I was too afraid to step on.
Slipping off course now wouldn’t achieve anything. Weston’s need to explain and make this right was about him, not me. Justice was not his, it was mine. I had been the one surviving since the fifth grade.
Spanish with Miss Alcorn was uneventful, but I spent the entire period worrying about the next one. Weston sat right behind me in health class, and I dreaded any snide remarks from Brady. Since the deaths of the Erins, he wasn’t quite as vocal, but he still had his moments.
As I walked to class, Weston appeared next to me. We walked together in silence, and I didn’t acknowledge him when I sat down. It seemed all the worrying I’d done the hour before was for nothing, until five minutes before the dismissal bell, when familiar fingers grazed my shirt.
“Erin,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Quit begging, Gates,” Brady said from the back of the class. “You’ve turned into such a pussy. She found out. Just give it up already.”
I kept my face pointed forward. Coach Morris looked up from grading papers. His eyes darted to Brady and then to Weston.
“Is there a problem?”
After a brief pause, Brady spoke up. “No problem. Weston just won’t leave Erin alone, even though she wants him to.”