Knock.
I looked up.
Knock, knock.
The door cracked open. My dad's head appeared through the gap, and when he saw me sitting cross legged on my bed, he opened it a bit wider to stand against the frame. "How're you feeling?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "Better, I think."
"Enough to go back?"
"Mm," I grunted.
He chuckled.
I'd caught a cold that day. The rain had started up not long after he'd left, and as I stood there staring after his Camaro, I couldn't really find it in me to move when it started pouring around me. My hood offered some protection, but when I could finally feel my feet, I still had to retrace my steps back to the bleachers. Kale and Farrah had left, but my bag remained on the ground.
The walk back to my car felt like it'd taken an eternity. And with the rain pelting down, it somehow felt like it was the world's way of throwing rocks at me.
It'd been four days since then.
"You're gonna have to go back someday, kid."
I knew that. Even though I'd spent the entire weekend sick in bed, I'd still been out of school for the remaining two. My homework from my suspension as well as some assignments my mother had been kind enough to retrieve for me lay on the sheets before me, completed.
Never mind that, I did feel better. I could breathe through both nostrils now and my chest didn't feel like matches striking whenever I coughed.
But it was easier sitting within the walls of my room rather than thinking about what I'd face once I went backâor who I'd face.
"You still have an hour to get ready," my dad said. He began slowly closing the door behind him. "You can stay as long as you want, but you really should go. Get it out of the way."
It wasn't really possible to just get five days of school "out of the way," but I understood what he meant. His gaze held mine, and he gave a reassuring smile before the door shut.
My knuckle dug into the skin of my jaw as I contemplated my choices.
I could stay. My bedroom provided more than enough isolation, but the negative effects of that much social distancing left me alone with my thoughts too often. As the days went by, it was getting harder and harder to bottle up my emotions. But the upside? My dad's Twinkies hidden under my bed.
Or, I could go. Face the music. Odds in one, it would go by like any other day. No one had been at school to witness what had happened, so gossip shouldn't drift in and out of the halls as my video with Farrah had. The downside though, of course, was seeing him.
I closed my eyes and fell back onto my pillows.
Knock, knock.
My eyes went to the door.
I expected to see my dad again when it opened, but when my mom's face appeared instead, I sat back up.
I hadn't seen her a lot during my recovery. In fact, I hadn't really seen her at all since I'd come home the day I disappeared. I'd assumed she hadn't entirely forgiven me as easily as my father did, and while it might've been a little true, I knew there was no reason to feel so cautious around her. Even so, it was still a bit jarring to face her.
"You alright?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Katrina's here to see you."
My heart stuttered. Katrina? Deep inside, I cradled the name in my arms. I could let her in. I could finally find solace in someone. I could bear what I'd done and stop pushing my reality to the furthest part of my mind and face it with someone there to support me.
But then the name really settled in, and I felt those dreams blow away.
I swallowed. "I'm not here."
My mom's eyebrows furrowed. She glanced behind her through the door. It looked as if she shook her head, and a second later I heard what must have been my dad's footsteps descending the stairs.
I started picking at my nails. My mom moved into my room, the door closing behind her. The bed dipped a bit from her weight. "Your dad told me you and him had talked."
"We did."
"So why the long face?"
"What are you talking about?" I offered her a smile. "I'm fine."
She waited, her face blank.
I sighed, rubbing at my knuckles. "I'm just not in a good place right now."
"Katrina might not be either."
"Oh, I'm sure that's not true."
"What makes you say that?" my mother asked.
I met her eyes. "You said you and dad had talked, didn't you? He told you what she did?"
"Yes."
"No reason why she wouldn't be here to gloat," I said, crossing my arms as I leaned back. "You dodged a bullet, Carson. You deserve better."
My mom tilted her head, seeming to understand what I was talking about. Her eyes lowered. "Well..."
Panic suddenly ensnared me. Despite how cool I had been playing this, my body reacted on its own in response to the look on her face. "Don't say it, Mom," I whispered, my voice shaking. I couldn't hear it again. Not from her. "Don'tâ"
"Hey, hey, heyâ" my mom shushed me, raising a hand to caress my cheek. I shut my eyes tight. "What happened to you?"
My eyes opened, focusing on my English textbook in front of me with enough focus to burn a hole through it. "It feels like," I started, my throat feeling full. "Like everyone is saying that I did the right thing, but why doesn't it feel right?"
Her hand fell onto mine, easing my own away from the damage I was doing to the skin of my fingers. She looked at me squarely. "Maybe it isn't."
"But what if I'm wrong?"
"So what if you are?"
I rolled my eyes at that. "There's not a lot to gain from being wrong."
"No. But there's a lot more to lose from being right and not doing something about it." She tucked a strand of dark hair behind my ear. "You do deserve better, Carson. I think you deserve the world. But in truth, it's not up to anyone to tell you that. That's up for you to decide. And if you feel like something isn't right, then dig deeper. Trust yourself more."
Silence fell over the room like a warm blanket on a cold day. Her hand wrapped tighter around mine, and after a second, I returned the pressure.
* * *
By the time I got to school, the halls were empty.
I hesitated outside the door of my first class. Ms. C's voice drifted out through the edges of the doorframe, already in the middle of the lesson.
Despite the confidence I'd felt after talking to my mom, showing up to class in the middle of the hour was about as appealing as stepping on an upraised screw. If I would have paid more attention to the time, I would have taken a detour during the drive over. And to make matters worse, this wasn't just any class. If stepping on an upraised screw was better than showing up late, then toppling onto a pack of them was better than walking in late to face him.
I glanced down the hall. Was it too late to hide out in the restroom for the hour to end?
The door swinging open served as my answer.
A boy was walking out, bathroom pass in hand. He paused for a second, coming to a halt at the sight of me standing there blocking the doorway. His indecision caused Ms. C's voice to falter inside, and she glanced around him from her desk, looking over to me.
How much trouble would I be in if I just made a run for it?
The boy who'd first opened the door cleared his throat, angling his body sideways to squeeze past me. I offered him enough space to walk by, but in doing so, granted Ms. C a better view of me. I could see the first row of desks from where I stood, and all eyes were on me.
"You just getting in?" Ms. C asked, smiling encouragingly. She waved me inside. "You were out sick, weren't you?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, stepping in. I fought down the urge to look around.
"Well, I hope you're feeling better. Have a seat. We were just discussing literary devices."
His desk was empty.
I felt myself sag, all the tense nerves in my body sizzling out at the sight. The walk to my desk felt lighter. I slid into my seat, letting my bag drop to the floor beside me as Ms. C shut the classroom door and easily picked up where she left off. A couple of eyes naturally lingered on me for interrupting the lesson, but they quickly fell away, uninterested.
I made sure to take note of that. Did that mean...?
Despite my own efforts to remain focused on anything else, I still turned, glancing behind me.
I wanted to feel grateful for his absence, but the empty desk he should've been sitting at seemed to scream at me for it. It only served as a reminder that even though news of what happened hadn't appeared to leak into the conversations of the people around me, nothing was back to normal.
I couldn't help but wonder if it ever would be.
* * *
"You're ignoring me?"
I heard it as soon as I exited the classroom.
A few students were grouped around the door, leaning up against lockers and walls, laughing with each other. I ignored the fact that I recognized the voice and brushed it off, convincing myself that its target belonged to someone else.
But as I walked, I could hear small, rushed footsteps behind me. "Carson. Give me a second, would you?"
My teeth grated. I turned my head over my shoulder slightly to let her know I'd heard her, but kept walking, taking long strides to my next class.
"Please?"
I would have kept going had it not been for one of her hands shooting out to grasp at my bag. The grip caused me to stumble to a stop. I looked at her incredulously. "What do you want?"
A look of unease flitted over Katrina's face, but it was quickly replaced. She almost looked worried. "I went by your house to see you."
"Yeah," I shot back, even though her tone was anything but aggressive. "And I had you sent away."
She faltered. "I know. I got that feeling."
"So?" I waved a hand to her, my face expectant.
"I just wanted to see if you were okay," she said.
A scoff left my mouth. I turned back around and started walking again. "I've never felt better."
"If that were true, you wouldn't be running from me."
"That's because it isn't." I swung around as I spoke, my voice hushed but still laced with the same anger that was there before. "But why should you care? Why are you even here right now?"
She fidgeted with her hands, looking down. "I heard what happened. With Jesse."
That caused me to straighten up in surprise. Had I been wrong? I shot a quick glance around at the people walking by to their next class and tried to hear for his name in the chatter. When I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, I looked back at Katrina, my eyes narrowed. "How?"
"It was..." she fumbled. "It was justâ"
"Farrah?"
Her head shot up. "You know her?" And then she sighed right after, shaking her head. "Of course, you do. The video."
I waited, my face set.
Katrina met my eyes. "But how did you know?"
"You didn't recognize where we were?" I asked. I watched as the scene played back in her eyes, but I answered myself before she could put two and two together. "I heard you guys talking in the hall. I know she told you to stay away from me, and you listened to her."
She didn't know what to say to that. Her mouth opened and closed, different words hanging there but drawing back.
"Maybe she was right, though. It was probably for the best." I turned, walking away.
"It isn't what it looked like," Katrina said, soft enough that the bustling of the hallway almost drowned her out.
"It looked pretty clear to me." But despite those words, the conversation I'd had with my mom hung over me. I felt like I should have had questions, but my pride kept winning out every time I talked. It was a state of wanting to look cool and collected, but also wanting to drop the act to unravel why I felt the way I did.
"I'm sorry, Carson."
"It's an awfully convenient time to be sorry, don't you think?"
"I know how stupid it looks right now, but I did it for you!" I could see the door of my class. I would've reached it easily and escaped inside, but I came to yet another stop before I could, finding myself a little surprised at how the volume of Katrina's voice raised as she spoke.
I looked at her questioningly. "You ignored me for someone you don't even know. We were supposed to be friends. What? Am I supposed to thank you?"
"No!" Her face looked tight. Indecision seeped into my body and I suddenly didn't know what I'd do if she started crying. "I just didn't want him to hurt you."
"Jesse?" The name sent a splash of acid down my throat. It didn't feel like a name I had any right to say anymore. And I didn't. With a grimace, I wondered why I'd said it all when it should've been obvious. There was no one else she could've meant.
"She told me what he did to you at his party."
My head tilted. "And you actually took her side?"
"Well, yeah?" Katrina looked confused. "I overheard them talking. I thought something was seriously wrong, but they told me that you and Jesse had fought. He took some drugs and went to hook up with some random girl while you watched."
"They? What are you talking aboutâ?"
The sound of the bell resounded in the hall. I glanced around as a few remaining students rushed into their classrooms.
"The otherâhe said he would take care of you," Katrina said, but anything else she wanted to say was cut off when she looked behind her. The anxiety was clear in her posture; she was going to be very late. If I remembered correctly, her class was across the school.
"Did you say he?" I asked, hanging onto the pronoun with a bad taste in my mouth. "What was his name?"
"He never told me."
I sighed in annoyance. "Well then, what did he look like?"
"He hadâ"
"Ladies," a deep voice cut her off. We both turned to one of the school's security officers standing down the hall, gesturing at us with the wave of his hand.
"But, Iâ" Katrina started.
"Get a move on. Now. Unless you want to continue your conversation in the principal's office."
I looked at him, not really fazed by the threat. If anything, he would have been doing us a favor.
But Katrina had always been the levelheaded one between the two of us. "Okay," she said loudly enough for the officer to hear. She started backing away, but not before looking back at me. "I'll text you, alright?"
I watched her leave, my thoughts swirling with possible explanations to everything she had just said.
The officer cleared his throat loudly.
I reluctantly turned, heading to class.
* * *
It was a couple hours later in my Bio class when my phone rumbled lightly in my pocket.
My eyes had been on the window to my side. The view didn't consist of much of anything aside from the teacher's parking lot, but I found the cars safer to stare at. Making eye contact with the teacher during the lesson made me a prime target for her questions, and I was in no mindset to answer.
Another vibration drew my attention away from the highway in the distance.
I sank back in my seat, bringing my phone out of my pocket.
He might've been a senior, was Katrina's first message.
My eyes slowly rose back to the window when the second one loaded.
Blond hair. Smelled like an ashtray.