《Miss Me Not》


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    Chapter One


    Mitch Johnson died last night.


    He killed himself. I wasn''t sad or heartbroken when I heard. I was pissed. Stark raving pissed. I didn''t know Mitch well. He was like me, a shadow that floated down the hallways, unnoticed and seemingly nonexistent among the crowd. I knew my attitude seemed callous, but I didn''t care. Mitch stole my thunder.


    It should have been me.


    Mr. Wilson, our douche bag principal, decided to inform us of Mitch''s death between news of an upcoming carwash fundraiser and a threat to crack down on student littering. How he had reached the conclusion that this was the best spot for an announcement like this was beyond me. I was doodling in the margins of my World History book, trying to ignore the annoying squawk of the intercom, and the droning voice of Mr. Wilson, when he suddenly slid Mitch''s suicide in so quickly that I was momentarily confused by the words. I wasn''t even sure I''d heard him right until the entire female population of the class gasped at once. The rest of the announcements were quickly drowned out by an eruption of chatter throughout the room. It was glaringly obvious the news had just added excitement to a drab Tuesday morning. The reactions ran the gambit from feigned grief to jokes about how Mitch may have "offed himself."


    As for me, I was pissed and confused. Why do it on a Monday night? There was nothing significant about a Monday. My friend James, aka "suicide buddy," and I had given the subject a great deal of thought, and had decided that a Thursday was the best day. If you did it on the weekend, it would add drama to everyone''s Monday, giving them nonstop gossip for the entire week. Tuesday held the same risk. Wednesday was a little more desirable, but Thursday was ideal. The student body wouldn''t find out until Friday morning, and most of them would be too hyped up for the upcoming weekend to give a shit about the demise of a fellow student they never cared about in the first place.


    The squawking of the intercom cut off abruptly and was replaced by sobbing. I twisted around incredulously, searching for the person who Mitch had meant enough to that they''d break down in class. What I saw was disgusting. It wasn''t one individual, but three. "The three clones," as I liked to call them. Every school had their prestigious groups. They were the cheerleaders, the jocks and the charismatic kids everyone wanted to be. One of the criers was on our Squadets Team which was our school''s version of a pep squad. The student body got the privilege of watching the Squadet team shake their asses during pep rallies and any other event the school felt was ass-shaking worthy. Of course, now the normally perky, I-wish-it-was-legal-to-stab-them popular bunches were sobbing on each other''s shoulders as if they had just heard that The Vampire Diaries had been cancelled. What a bunch of phony assholes. Go figure they would use this opportunity to steal attention for themselves.


    I bet if asked at gunpoint they wouldn''t have been able to tell you what Mitch looked like, what kind of clothes he wore, what types of music he listened to¡ªnothing. Not that I knew anything about him either, but you didn''t see me with false tears running down my cheeks. Their over-the-top performance hit me hard and heavy, leaving me gasping for my own breath. Never in any of my contemplations about how I''d go about ending my own worthless existence did I ever consider my passing being a bonding moment for those who would step over anyone and everyone. I had expected gossip and speculation and the clucking of ignorant tongues, but not this crap.


    It was like a slap in the face. Ms. Jones handed out tissues to the sobbing girls and offered to send them to the counselors. All three gathered their belongings, excited at the idea of attending something as soul-searching as grief counseling. Once they made their grand exit, Ms. Jones closed up her lesson plan book.


    "Does anyone else need to see the counselors?" she asked compassionately, sitting on the edge of her desk and swinging her feet lightly.


    Of all my teachers, Ms. Jones was my least favorite. She was young, which equaled "still gave a shit" in teacher code. She was fresh out of school and convinced she could change the world. Five years from now she''d be jaded, bitching about us students to her peers any chance she got. I disliked her because she was convinced she could save me.


    If I had a sense of humor, I would have laughed. Save me from what? Perhaps from my parents who forgot they''d had a daughter almost from the moment I was born, or maybe from the students who whispered behind their hands about me, or maybe she thought she could save me from myself. All were laughable if I had a sense of humor, but I didn''t, so it wasn''t.


    No one responded to Ms. Jones'' offer, so she decided to make her own amateur attempt at counseling.


    "I know the death of a fellow student is rough," she said in a voice that seemed overly patronizing. "High school is a tough hormonal roller-coaster ride at times. It may become or seem unbearable," she added, looking at me directly.


    I looked down. How dare the whore cat draw attention to me. She didn''t know me. This was why I didn''t like her. I didn''t need her to save me. Mitch had unintentionally done that by taking his own life. Observing the aftermath of his death had left me shuddering at the gloried tear-fest I''d be providing for those who passed by my shadow each day.


    I didn''t want their tears.


    I didn''t want them to think of me.


    I wanted nothing from them.


    That asshole Mitch Johnson saved my life today. What a prick.


    Chapter Two


    James Isaac Garrison III, my best friend/suicide buddy, met me outside by the portables the school no longer needed. Tax money from hardworking taxpayers had finally allowed for the construction of our now rival high school, five miles away. We lost half the student body when the new school opened, along with the only decent teachers we had. Who could blame them for jumping ship? The new school had state-of-the-art equipment, brand spanking new classrooms and a teacher''s lounge that was any teacher''s wet dream. I''m sure when faced with staying behind in our shithole, with its endless sidewalks covered in fossilized gum, crappy air conditioning and smelly cafeteria, it was an all out race to see who could leave first.


    James, my best friend, my only friend, was perched on the slanted walkway of one of the abandoned portables studying a rusted-out hole roughly the size of a softball when I joined him. If it was possible for me to love anyone, I would have loved James. I was fascinated with his blemish-free, mocha-colored skin that seemed to be as smooth as satin. I had spent hours daydreaming what his skin felt like, but had never given in to the urge. I had a strict "do not touch" rule.


    I''ll always remember the last time I''d willingly touched someone with shocking clarity. I was thirteen, and it marked the end of my life as I had once known it. I didn''t have some bullshit paranormal anomaly that prevented human contact, although that might have been easier. I just didn''t like to be touched anymore, not since that day. I''m sure when I was little I must have felt differently, right? I mean, babies liked to be held and snuggled, so obviously, I must have liked it at one point, but no longer.


    "You heard?" James stated.


    "Yeah, it''s horseshit. Some of the Populars started crying. Can you believe that? They''re not supposed to mourn us. They''re not even supposed to think about us," I said, agitated as I paced up and down the metal ramp. "How can they miss something they never knew? They''ve effed up our plan," I said as the ramifications tore through me. In one swoop everything I had counted on had been pulled out from under me.


    "I know. A couple chicks in my physics class did the same thing. It doesn''t mean anything. We could still do it. We wouldn''t be around to see their reactions¡­" he started to say, but I was already shaking my head.


    "And give those drama-loving glory-hounds something to falsely mourn over?" I said, plopping down next to him. "We were supposed to disappear without a single ripple. I''ve given people enough reasons to talk about me. This was going to be my clean break," I said, fighting back the sudden moisture that had popped up in my eyes. We''d spent endless hours discussing disappearing from the land of the living, and now it felt like all that time was wasted.


    "I guess," James said, digging around in the rusted-out hole with a stick.


    "We could just leave," I said, looking for an alternate solution.


    "Yeah, because I''m sure we''d be the cream of the crop for any company looking to hire, with no high school diploma or work experience," James said sarcastically.


    "Truth," I sighed, lying back against the metal ramp. "I guess maybe I can make it to grad. Can you?"


    He shrugged. I didn''t push it. James''s demons were different than mine. Being gay in a household with a domineering, ex-jock father wasn''t easy. I''d seen the dark bruises James had to prove it. He could have turned his father in. Hell, I could have turned his father in, but we didn''t. Abuse came in all kinds of forms. The sad thing is that there was a time I would have envied the attention he got. That''s the sick kind of person I was. I mean, what kind of effed up person envied physical abuse as a form of desirable attention?


    Me. That''s who.


    When I was little, I''d hoped my actions would get the reaction I craved from my parents. My attention seeking first started when I was four. I was sick of being stuck in the church daycare every single night, so I showed my displeasure by biting everyone I could sink my teeth into. I think I was hoping my actions would get me booted out and I could stay with my parents, but instead it earned me a one-way ticket to solitary confinement. They fenced me off in the far corner of the room, like a shark that couldn''t be trusted with the other fish. My parents had been so unhappy with my sudden need to gnaw on other people that they even carried out the punishment at home by sending me to bed every night the moment we got home from church. Solitary confinement became my normal.


    Once I realized gnawing on humans wouldn''t get me the attention I yearned for, I tried my hand at destruction. Unfortunately, I underestimated the ramifications of flushing the heads of Barbie dolls down a toilet. At first, I enjoyed watching their heads circling the bowl, but instead of riding the circular wave to oblivion, they simply clogged the pipe and the water in the bowl proceeded to rise. In hindsight, I should have told my mom, but she was by the front door hollering that we were going to be late for, you guessed it, church. I guess in my five-year-old mind, I thought maybe the problem would somehow fix itself while we were away. That would be a resounding "hell no." We arrived home three hours later to a foot and half of water throughout the entire house. I got spanked for that one, and for a moment, I was almost happy, thinking they did actually care about me. My destructive nature was short-lived when everything in the house below the waist had to be replaced¡ªfurnishing, carpeting, drywall and all my toys. I didn''t miss my dolls with their freaky happy faces or my now decapitated Barbies, but I mourned the loss of my picture books that I would leaf through for hours at a time. Damn those fat Barbie heads. I blamed them for my loss, and to this day I can''t walk down the sickeningly pink Barbie aisle of any store.


    I moved right from destruction to a daredevil stage, by climbing anything and everything. I became an expert at scaling heights. My mom would find me perched on top of the fridge, the top shelf of my closet, and my all-time favorite, the roof of the house. The first time I climbed on top of the house she called the fire department to get me down. The kind fireman who scaled the roof plucked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me down. He lectured me on safety and the harm I could have come to. I soaked his words up like a sponge, and the next time I scaled the roof, I waited for one of the tragic events he''d claimed would occur, but after an hour had passed without a sudden fall resulting in multiple broken bones, I was highly disappointed. None of his prophecies came to pass, so I was once again plucked off the roof by another fireman. This one wasn''t so kind and told my mom to keep a better eye on me since their services were needed for real emergencies. I guess I should have expected bars on my window after that, but Mom solved the problem by limiting my time at home, which meant more time at church. So, in a way, she found the ultimate punishment. Church always won. It stole every hour I was supposed to have with my parents. I hated the thieving bastard.


    "So, what do you think?" James asked, breaking through my thoughts.


    "I''m sorry, what did you say?" I asked.


    "I said, do you want to hang after school? My dad''s working double shifts all week, so I''m free. Maybe we can hang at your house. You know, talk about ''it''."


    "It" was how we referred to our pact. We always avoided the word suicide, feeling once it was uttered someone would somehow find out and try to intervene. Who would have ever foreseen that the actions of one would be the very thing that would seal my fate? For four years I had done nothing but contemplate snuffing out my existence. No more judgments, no more glares and most of all, no more gossip surrounding things I had done. All of that was swiped away. In the end, they would still win. They always won.


    "Can''t, I have freaking tutoring," I said, finally answering his question as I grimaced at the idea of staying at school a minute longer than I wanted to.


    "Tutoring? I thought all your teachers had given up on you," he said, trying to hide his disappointment. He hated his house even when his father wasn''t home.


    "Not that bitch Ms. Jones. It''s either tutoring with some know-it-all, or she wants to schedule a meeting with my mom.


    "Would she even show?" he asked.


    "Probably not. You know her rules though¡ªeither I keep my nose clean here and my grades passing, or she''s sending me to that bullshit trade school for troubled teens in Jackson County."


    "I can tutor you," he said as a last-ditch attempt.


    "I told Whore Cat that, but she said either I used her approved tutor or it was conference time. I''ll try to duck out early and we can meet at my house. I''ll give you my key and you can head there to wait for me."


    "Nah, that''s okay. I can go to my house," he said reluctantly.


    "James, it''s fine. Hang at my house."


    "You sure?"


    "Sure. No one will be home. You''ll have the house to yourself until I get there."


    "Thanks, M," he said, looking almost happy at the rare solitude he''d have.


    In our own demented way, we were made for each other. He craved solitude while I felt solitude was a just punishment.


    "So, who''s your tutor?" he asked, laying back down next to me.


    "I''m not sure. Whore Cat was pretty much closemouthed about it. Knowing my luck, it''ll be some eager beaver freshman."

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    He nodded. "That sounds like something she''d do."


    "Strangle me now," I said sarcastically, wrapping my fingers around my throat to emphasize my point.


    "M, can I ask you a question?"


    "Um, yeah."


    "You think you''d still go through with it?" he asked.


    He didn''t need to clarify.


    "I want to. I mean, I just want to disappear, leave nothing behind, but today showed me that''s not possible. I don''t want anyone here to falsely mourn me. I don''t know. Maybe if I make it to grad, I can disappear and no one here will ever give me another thought once we walk out the doors the last day of class. What about you?"


    "I guess I feel the same as you," he said, sounding anything but sure.


    "At least we have each other. One day you''ll be away from your dickhead father and I''ll be away from my void of a life."


    "If I make it that long," he said, running the stick in his hands against the metal railing of the walkway.


    I didn''t comment. Our friendship was formed on non-probing. He didn''t ask about my lack of parental involvement or my inability to touch other people, and I didn''t ask about his father or his bruises. We weren''t typical friends. We were silent comforters. I felt his pain and he felt mine. We''d been friends since the start of freshman year when we both headed out to the portables during lunch to escape the crowds. It took almost six months for us to talk to each other the first time, and another six for us to actually hang out. He was the only friend I had and yet, there was still so much I didn''t know about him.


    The bell ending lunch interrupted any further conversation as we gathered our belongings.


    "See you in a few," I said, heading toward the math building. Out of all my classes, I minded math the least. The teacher, Mr. Carson, was pretty straightforward. He''d cover the day''s material for the first fifteen minutes of class and then give us the remaining thirty-two minutes to figure out the problems for the day''s assignment. I usually spent ten of those minutes blowing through the problems, really not caring how many I missed, and would spend the rest of the time doodling in my notebook. I would have preferred to read, but I''d learned long ago that when teachers saw that you liked to read they started to expect more from you, so I doodled. I was a terrible artist, but the monotony of drawing helped make the hours slide away and gave me the excuse of not having to look up. Not that I had to worry about anyone looking at me.


    When I first started freshman year, the stares of the other students followed me wherever I went. I could tell they already knew who I was. Maybe I should have been upset that my spotty reputation had followed me, but instead, it gave me the cloak of deception I yearned for. I was no longer the same person I''d been in junior high, but they didn''t need to know that. I was fine with their assumptions. I didn''t hang with anyone, and my appearance didn''t tie me to any particular group either. My never-changing dark wardrobe, sometimes color-streaked hair and tattooed wrist were nothing that you would consider flamboyant. I didn''t talk unless I had to, and I definitely didn''t participate in anything. The part of me that would have cared died a long time ago.


    Mr. Carson started the class off like every other teacher that day by bringing up Mitch''s untimely death. "Mr. Wilson wants us to remind each student that grief counseling is available if you need it," he said, sweeping his eyes over us. No one moved. After four class periods of the same exact announcement, we all knew grief counseling was available. It was as if they were waiting for someone to break. To lose their shit, but that wasn''t going to happen. No one really cared. Mitch wasn''t an athlete, he wasn''t a scholar, and he wasn''t a geek. He had been nothing but a shadow. A shadow like me. A shadow like James.


    The school didn''t lose a student, they lost a nobody.


    Chapter Three


    Sixth period sucked ass. Mrs. Harrison, my language arts teacher, decided that we should get our feelings about Mitch''s death down on paper. She assigned a five-hundred-word essay on what we thought about suicide. I stared at my blank page for more than twenty minutes before finally scrawling out "Suicide Equals No Peace" a hundred-and-twenty-five times. I was quite certain Mrs. Harrison had something else in mind for the assignment, but nothing summed it up better for me. I was now in the sound frame of mind that I would have to poke my eyes out if I heard the word "suicide" one more time. Months of thinking it was a viable option for me to disappear without a trace had melted away as quickly as ice on a hot summer day. There would be no escape for me.


    The bell rang, ending sixth period, and for the first time in my existence, I was actually relieved to be going to P.E. class. P.E. meant running laps. No essays, no group talk and no grief counseling. No talking. Just running shoes pounding the track.


    I placed my fraud of an essay upside down in the basket on Mrs. Harrison''s desk before shuffling out the door. I was the last to leave the room. The jostling of the students in the halls made my "no touch" policy tricky, so I waited against the walls of the hall until most of the students had scattered to their appropriate rooms. I would then sprint the distance to my next class, always sliding in just as the tardy bell would chime.


    P.E. was easier since we had five extra minutes to dress-out, but I would have gladly given up that five minutes in exchange for never having to dress-out again.


    I hated it. Whoever came up with the idea should be hooked to Times Square''s New Year''s Eve Ball in their underwear. It was criminal to make teenagers strip down in front of each other. Was it too much to ask for privacy booths? Nothing elaborate, but something that would at least help the students keep their sanity. As wrong as the teenage "striptease" seemed, the communal showers boarded on medieval torture. I was pretty sure I would have preferred ancient thumbscrew torture over showering with my classmates. If I was thankful about anything about my time in this institute they liked to call high school, it was the ability to switch our schedules around. I''d managed to manipulate my schedule, making P.E. my last class of the day. No public showers for me. I headed home every day in my sweaty gym clothes, feeling my damp clothes were a small price to pay to avoid the communal watering hole.


    Standing in front of my gym locker, I pulled my freshly laundered P.E. shorts out of my worn-out backpack. I had five pairs. Anal retentive yes, but I didn''t care. I liked pulling on fresh shorts every day. With my back to the wall, I stretched down the waistband of my plain black t-shirt so that it covered my ass, and then used the toe of each foot to remove my black Vans. Placing my shoes on the bench in front of me, I pulled off my black jeans in one fluid movement. Within seconds, and without looking around, I yanked on my generic P.E. shorts and straightened up. I was putting my Vans back on when a conversation five lockers down snagged my attention.


    "I heard they''re planning the memorial service for Friday. It would be some sweet shit if they let us out early for it. Nothing like starting our weekend off with a half-day." Obviously the grief counseling had worked wonders on Megan considering she was bawling her eyes out in first period.


    Ignoring her today was harder than it normally was for me. I wanted to knock her down on her skinny-iced-latte-drinking ass, but I fought the urge since it would most likely require me touching her. Instead, I kept my eyes down, and hurried out of the locker room before I did something stupid.


    Coach Clark was waiting by the track with clipboard in hand.


    "Madison, no gym shirt again?" he asked, shaking his head.


    I shook my head, not bothering to watch as he added a mark by my name. It was an automatic ten-point deduction off your grade if you didn''t dress out. I dressed out halfway so I lost five points. Not having to pull my shirt off in front of anyone in the locker room made the five point punishment totally worth it in my book. Even with the deduction I still got an A in P.E. every quarter. Coach Clark and I had an unspoken agreement. I would run laps the entire period without complaint, and he would allow me to skip out on any group activities he might have planned for the day. We''d reached this agreement when I flat-out refused to participate in basketball, volleyball or God forbid, field hockey. As punishment, Coach Clark would make me run laps, but I actually didn''t mind. Laps became my norm. I wasn''t a fast runner, but I could handle long-distance running without having to work at it. Running was the one thing I felt I could control. Coach Clark had tried to hit me up to join the track team when I was a sophomore. I shot him down before he could even get the words out. There was no way in hell was I going to join an organized sport. I shuddered at the forced camaraderie that would accompany it, like butt slapping, chest bumping and group huddles. The mere idea of it all made me want to hurl. Solitary is all I wanted. Solitary was what I deserved.


    P.E. passed in a blur for me as I circled the track over and over again, matching my breathing with my pace. The track belonged to me today. The rest of the class was divided up into teams that chased a black-and-white ball across the soccer field. I didn''t glance their way, continuing my way around the track as I processed the radical turn of events my life had taken in the span of a day. My future seemed uncertain and hazy as I contemplated making it through the rest of the school year, and then from there, the rest of my life. I had clutched at the idea of suicide being a viable out for so long that I felt shaky and strung out as the idea of actually living loomed in front of me. The class period ended, but even as I walked off the track the shakes persisted, following me like a dark cloud. I yearned to be home so I could curl up on my bed and put the awful day behind me, but I still had the tutoring session that Whore Cat had set up to attend first. I was stuck here.


    The locker room was loud and obnoxious as the end-of-day high teased us. Locker doors were slammed hastily and clothes were thrown in backpacks that were quickly slung on shoulders as everyone crowded out of the smelly room. I remained behind until the last girl was gone so I could change out of my shorts since I was sticking around after school. Checking between the rows of lockers to make sure I was alone, I finally changed out of my shorts and slid my jeans back on. My shirt was still damp and smelled of sweat, but I didn''t have much of a choice. Hopefully, the stench would bother the tutor enough that she''d cancel the session. A girl could dream anyway.


    The halls were quiet when I finally exited the locker room and headed to the school library where Ms. Jones had set up my torture session. The library door squeaked loudly, announcing my arrival and I grimaced as several heads turned my way.


    "Yes?" the librarian asked when I stopped in front of her desk.


    "Ms. Jones set up a tutoring session," I said, praying to any possible god that might help me that it had been cancelled.


    "Your tutor is waiting for you back in the media section," she said, pointing to the back of the room beyond the bookshelves.


    I headed in the direction she pointed and let out a sigh of relief when I saw the backside of a guy waiting for me. A male tutor had to be at least a little better than a girl. Maybe I could talk him into quitting early. I walked around the table and slid into the seat across from him, placing my backpack on the table before finally looking up.


    Fuck me. Seriously, out of the entire student body, Ms. Jones would pick him. As an obvious rule, I didn''t crush on anyone, but if I did, Dean Jackson would be worthy. Dean was everything I wasn''t, smart, funny, charismatic and all-around good guy. I wasn''t in the same league as him in academics, so we shared none of the same classes, but I''d seen him in the halls over the years. His easy laughter drew me in, and I couldn''t help looking for him sometimes in between classes. By all rights, I should have hated him. He was the very essence of those that hated me. He was possibly the king of the Populars, but I didn''t hate him. His laughter and easy going attitude entranced me. I wondered how it must feel to be so carefree.


    "Madison?" he asked, checking the slip of paper in his hand.


    I nodded, not sure if I could trust my voice to produce coherent speech. Something about him flustered me, making me lose the shield that I normally had in place.


    "Ms. Jones left me a note saying you were having problems with some of the material. Is there a particular section you''d like to work on?" he asked.


    I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly mortified that he was going to see my stupidity firsthand.


    "Hey, it''s normal to fall behind, especially with the stupid-ass grading module they''re using. They''ll do away with it in a year, but that won''t help us since we''ll be long gone by the time they decide to change it," he said, smiling at me. "Do you have your textbook?" he asked when I continued to look at him like a moron.


    "Uh, sure," I finally stuttered, pulling out my book from my backpack. "I need to be able to pass the summative exam on chapters five through eight," I managed to get out without wanting to strangle myself.


    "World War II," he said without having to open the book.


    I looked at him like he had sprouted an extra head. He laughed out loud.


    "You''re not the first person this term to have a problem with this section. The dates are a bitch, and it''s easy to mix up the timeline. I''ll show you a few things that I use that help me keep the dates straight," he said, pulling out a stack of index cards.


    I could have told him I didn''t need the help. That the only reason I bombed the test was because I didn''t care enough to study. I figured I''d study enough to retake the summative and squeak out my normal passing grade. While everyone else bitched about the new grading module, it actually suited my study habits. If I didn''t feel like studying right away, I could always just retake the test if I failed it. My plan had been working fine until Ms. Jones decided to throw a monkey wrench into my whole strategy by threatening me with a parent conference. I opened my mouth to tell him, but abruptly closed it. I could at least wait until we ended the current study session before I broke it to him.


    "First, you should know that sixty percent of the questions on each of the exams come from the subheadings in each section. That means those should be your priority. If you memorize those, you''re more than halfway to an A. The rest is a little trickier, but I''ve learned that dates are always a given. I always make a point to go through the chapter and write down all the dates. It''s a pain in the ass, but I think teachers like seeing us suffer," he said, shooting me a grin.


    If I could smile, it would be at a time like this. But I can''t, so I don''t. If things were different, I think I could have gotten lost in his smile or the twinkle in his eye. That pulled at me like there was an invisible string hooked to my abdomen. For a moment, I wished like I had never wished before that I was normal.

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    Instead, I did what I always did¡ªlook down, and let my hair fall across my cheek, blocking my face from view. Even with my head down, I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, after a moment, he started talking about notes again.


    "Ms. Jones gave me a new study guide," he said, pulling out a crisp sheet of paper from one of his folders. With anyone else I would have rolled my eyes at how ridiculously organized he was, but it seemed right with him.


    "Um, okay," I said, reaching out to grab the study guide, and feeling like a complete imbecile.


    "I figured we''d do it together," he said standing up.


    No, no, no, no, no, I thought, Panicking when he came around to my side of the table and sat in the chair next to me. Our shoulders bumped as he slid his chair back in, and I jerked away in response. Bumped shoulders definitely fell under the "do not touch" category.


    Without looking at him, I tried to move my chair over inconspicuously. I already had the reputation of being a social leper. I didn''t need to add paranoid or psychotic to the list. If Dean noticed my sudden desire to put a Gulf of Mexico-size distance between us, he didn''t comment. He situated the study guide on the table so we both could look at it.


    "Okay, so the first question is ''what was the initial trigger of World War II?''" he said, opening his book to the right section. "This is kind of a trick question. There are many things that triggered World War II, but they''re looking for the answer that brought the U.S. into the war, which would be when Pearl Harbor was attacked," he finished, looking up from the book.


    I''ve never really been the type to flush from embarrassment, but I was pretty sure I''d been staring at him with open fascination. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn''t stare at guys. I didn''t admire their features, and I definitely didn''t think about their lips. Especially all-American pretty boys who could spoil their reputations just by looking at me. I was an outcast, the wild child, the one that had tried everything at least once. I could deny it, but it was true. It''s amazing when you think of the things a person would do to get noticed by the ones they looked up to, but that was all ancient history now. I stopped trying to get attention years ago, and really, I didn''t care what anybody thought of me. But for a moment, as I studied Dean, I kind of did care what he thought. Had he heard all the rumors about me? Did he know what I had done in junior high that had ruined several people''s lives? Probably. Everyone knew. It was my cross to bear.


    "Do you want me to fill it in for you?" he asked, looking puzzled. This time I did blush. Nothing like making myself look like a moronic ass on top of everything else.


    "Uh, no, I got it," I said, moving the paper closer to me. At least my hair once again covered my flushed face from view, but just to be sure, I took my time jotting down the right answer.


    "All right, the next one is ''How many American civilians and soldiers were lost in the bombing of Pearl Harbor?''" he said as he turned the page in the text book. "Okay, since they want the overall number, it''s twenty-three hundred," he said, watching me write the correct answer.


    I kind of felt bad that he was doing all the legwork. I knew how to look up answers, but I liked hearing him talk. I''d always been fascinated with dialect and forms of speech. I was a sucker for accents, and had watched every Hugh Grant movie just because I liked his accent, but I would never admit that to anyone. Dean didn''t have any kind of accent, but he had a deep voice that could only be described as a radio voice. Maybe that was why he was so popular. His voice dragged you in, making you forget everything else. I think I even heard some guys ribbing him one time, calling it a "panty dropping" voice. As a girl, maybe that should have offended me, but actually, it was pretty dead-on, and I couldn''t help replaying the phrase over and over in my head. Not that I thought about that stuff anymore, but I did allow myself the luxury of labeling Dean as Panty Dropper after that.


    We worked together for the next hour until the librarian started switching off the lights, ready to head home for the day. I was amazed the hour had passed so quickly. Dean kept up a running commentary as we worked. I was surprised to discover that he had a wicked sense of humor, and that his sarcasm matched many of the thoughts I had. Several times my lips even threatened to curve up into a smile, but I held it back. I gathered together my books and the half-completed study guide as the librarian switched off the lights above our table. I shoved the items in my bag and stood up. "Thanks for the help," I mumbled, turning to leave.


    "Same time tomorrow?" he asked, catching up to me.


    "Uh, I thought Ms. Jones said this was just a onetime session," I stuttered out.


    "I''m free the whole rest of the week. Might as well help you pass the summative, so you can put World War II behind you," he said, smiling at me as we exited the library together.


    I wanted to tell him I didn''t need his help. That I could do it on my own, but the words died on my lips. Spending the last hour with him had been the best hour I''d had in¡ªI didn''t know how long. I didn''t deserve to be happy, but I found myself agreeing. "If you don''t mind," I said as he held the door open that led to the student parking lot.


    "It''s no problem," he answered, making my pulse race. For a moment, I was confused. I felt like I did the one time I tried crystal meth, jittery and excited at the same time. My palms even began to sweat. I wiped them hastily on my jeans.


    "Um, okay, well, I gotta go," I said, hurrying away before the telltale signs of the high I was feeling would give me away. My short experimental phase with drugs had left me feeling the same kind of high at first. The problem was that afterward, I would come crashing down and get violently sick, which pretty much ended that ride. Of course, that onetime drug foray had resulted in rumors of my supposed usage for almost two years. Moms and dads throughout our community glared at me with a mixture of contempt and pity, convinced I would corrupt their own children just by looking at them. I wondered if they ever figured out that their precious kids had done a pretty good job corrupting themselves without my help.


    "Hey, wait," Dean called after jogging over to join me. "I was going to offer you a ride," he said, indicating the used gunmetal-colored jeep behind him.


    "That''s okay. I like walking," I lied. I hated walking. Walking was slow and annoyed the hell out of me. Some days I left my backpack behind in my locker and opted to run the short two miles to my house. On days like today though, I was forced to carry the bane of my existence.


    "You sure?" he asked dubiously, looking at the bag on my back that was digging into my shoulders.


    "Yep," I said, scooting away before I caved to the silent voice that was taunting me to take his offer. Distance is what I needed right now. He''d already gotten under my defenses enough for the day. I turned back to look at him as I walked through the opening in the chain-link fence. Surprisingly, he was still standing there watching me. Not that he was watching because he was interested or anything. I know that. I was just an oddity. I didn''t conform to any social molds, and it had obviously sparked an interest in him. He''d lose interest soon enough though. There''s just nothing of substance to a shadow.


    Chapter four


    James was perched on my front door step, reading a book, by the time I finally made it home. "You could have gone in," I said as he handed me the key.


    "That''s okay. I didn''t mind waiting," he answered, trailing behind me through the house. "Besides, what if your mom would have come home?"


    "Did hell freeze over when I wasn''t looking?" I asked, tossing my backpack on the floral print couch that made me puke a little every time I looked at it.


    James laughed. That''s why I hung with him. He understood what I meant without even having to ask. "That couch is fucked up," James said, sitting on one of the barstools at the high counter in the kitchen.


    "Tell me about it. Hey, maybe if I hurled on it she wouldn''t have any choice but get rid of it."


    "It''d be an improvement," he said, taking a swig of the Coke I handed him.


    "Pizza?" I asked, pulling a coupon out of the drawer.


    "I don''t have any dough," he said, looking down. I wasn''t surprised. His father kept him on a short leash, never giving him cash or letting him get a job. He was a prick.


    "It''s on Donna," I said, referring to my mom as I picked up the house phone and dialed the number from memory. "What''s up, Al? Can I get a large pepperoni?" I asked, looking at James questioningly.


    He nodded his approval.


    "Sure thing, Madison. Give us about thirty minutes, okay?"


    "Sounds good," I said, hanging up the phone.


    "They should make you part owner by now," James teased as we headed back to the living room with our drinks.


    "It''s only three or four times a week," I said, shrugging like it was no big deal.


    "Seriously? I didn''t realize it was that much," he said, propping his feet up on the oval glass topped table in front of him.


    "It''s either that or frozen," I said, sitting on the other side of the couch.


    "You could learn to cook," he suggested as I flipped on the TV.


    "No way, I like ordering out."


    "At least you''d be eating better."


    "I''m fine. I like pizza," I said, not liking the direction our conversation was going. I knew my existence was dysfunctional, but it didn''t mean I wanted to talk about it.


    James dropped the subject. "How was tutoring?"


    "Bearable," I said, taking a long drink of my Coke.


    "Did you get stuck with a freshman?" he asked, focusing on the mindless sitcom I had turned on. Reruns of "Saved by the Bell" never seem to get old for some reason. Maybe it was the early nineties hairdos the cast was sporting, or A.C. Slater''s balloon pants, who knows.


    "Nah, a senior," I said, not wanting to fess up to who it was.


    "That''s cool at least," he said, already sucked into the TV show. He chuckled at something one of the characters said. At moments like this, I almost envied James. He could momentarily forget about his shit life and find enjoyment in small things, like some TV show. I couldn''t do that anymore, and maybe I never would again. I watched sitcoms so I could get a dose of what life could have been like. I didn''t enjoy them as much as I idolized what they stood for.


    One large pizza and three sitcoms later, James reluctantly stood up.


    "Time to go?" I asked.


    He nodded solemnly. He''d stopped laughing at the sitcoms by the time the third one rolled around and started fidgeting around as he continually checked the time on his watch.


    "Maybe you''ll fall asleep before he gets home," I said, following him to the front door.


    "Yeah, maybe," he said in a dead voice, making it clear the likelihood of that happening was zilch.


    "See you tomorrow," I said, watching his retreat down the sidewalk. I was at a loss on what to do. This was the relationship we had. When we had made our dual-suicide pact, this arrangement seemed fitting. Knowing we were now facing actually living, I felt inadequate as a friend. I stayed on the porch, studying his demeanor. His slumped shoulders and drooped head made him look like a death row prisoner heading to his execution. He never glanced back at me as he pulled the car out of the driveway and headed toward his house. God, life sucks sometimes¡ªmost of the time! I didn''t sign up for this. I was ill-equipped to give him what he needed. I was too broken to help him.


    I was still feeling pissy as I headed into the house. I straightened up the living room and then headed to the kitchen to throw away our trash. Once the kitchen looked like it did when June, our cleaning lady, tackled it, I opened up the freezer and pulled out an ice cream bar. I didn''t even acknowledge the endless stacks of frozen meals. The contents of our freezer never changed much. Frozen meals and ice cream bars that were replenished once a week when June did our shopping and cleaning. I knew without even opening the fridge what was inside. Milk, soda, ketchup and the Greek yogurts Donna couldn''t live without. The content of our pantry was even bleaker with spices and baking supplies left over from when my dad still lived with us. This was my life. It was a sham of a life, but I only had myself to blame for it.


    I snagged my ice cream bar and another soda from the fridge before heading down the hall to my room.


    All the tension from the day seeped away as I stepped into my sanctuary. I''d worked hard to create a space that reflected me. It was simple. No posters littered my walls. No knickknacks cluttered my bookshelves. My dresser, bookshelves and two end tables were painted a plain flat black. They used to be white, but three summers ago, I painstakingly stripped off the old paint and sanded everything down for hours until they were once again a blank canvas. I hung shelves on either side of my large bedroom window, and underneath the window, placed a cedar chest that I covered with a plum colored throw blanket, creating a mock window seat. My walls matched the deep plum color of my throw blanket. At first glance, they appeared almost black until you compared them with the large wrought iron bed frame, black furnishings and black satin sheets that adorned my bed. The TV perched on top of my dresser represents the only real pleasure I have. I love my TV more than I should, and I couldn''t help feeling guilty when I had splurged on it two years ago with my Christmas cash.


    Cash was how Donna and I did Christmas after my dad left. For the last four years, an envelope with cash sat on the kitchen counter waiting for me on Christmas morning. The arrangement worked fine with me since it ended all pretenses we had put up the previous years.


    Christmas had always been a weird holiday for me. I really could never figure out what all the hype was about. When I was little, it had more of a meaning as I sat sandwiched between Donna and my dad for Christmas Eve services listening to the sermon on the birth of Christ. The words were meaningless to me, but I was content to actually be allowed in the big people''s church instead of being shuttled to daycare. Happy to be sitting between both my parents on this rare occasion, I always fell asleep halfway through the service. The following morning I would receive presents from my parents. Santa Claus was a taboo subject. My parents were serious churchgoers, and never allowed anything that would spoil the sanctity of Christmas. After the gifts were unwrapped, we would head back to church for the Christmas Day sermon.


    I was six when I realized just how different our Christmases were from the other kids my age. I watched them from afar as they excitedly talked about Santa visiting their houses and the treats they''d leave out the night before. I remember being upset that I was somehow getting the shaft, and I confronted my parents, demanding to know why this jolly fat man never visited our house. Donna informed me that Santa was nothing but a made-up character that parents had been using as a crutch for years to get their kids to behave. "The idea of Santa is evil and takes away from the true meaning of Christmas," she''d informed me, making it clear that he was as bad as Satan himself.

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    I pondered her words that night, coming to the conclusion that maybe Santa was Satan after all since their names had the same letters. As a matter of fact, I was so convinced that the next morning before school I scrawled Santa=Satan on twenty-six slips of paper, one for each of the students in my class, and one for Ms. Price, my kindergarten teacher, in case she hadn''t been let in on the secret like me. Those twenty-six slips of paper earned me a one-way ticket to the office that day. When Donna picked me up from the principal''s office, she almost looked proud of me. Almost.


    Convinced I had found what would finally make a space for me in her life, I decided to set the record straight on the whole Santa conspiracy. I was back in the office the next day when I bloodied Brad Mitchell''s nose after he informed me I was "stupid and ugly" for believing Santa was evil. Donna didn''t look quite as pleased this time when she picked me up, especially after the principal told her I would be suspended for the day if I didn''t let the subject drop. During the car ride home, Donna lectured me about how Santa wasn''t Satan because he wasn''t real. I was sent to bed without dinner that night to reflect on keeping my hands to myself in the future, but instead I plotted my revenge on Brad and the other kids who had laughed at me.


    The next morning, Brad pulled his spelling workbook out of his desk and I almost died laughing when he fell out of his chair from a squirming mass of worms that landed in his lap. The worms were courtesy of my dad, though their actual purpose was supposed to be for his upcoming annual fishing weekend. My punishment was doubled for that prank, but it didn''t deter me as I spent the rest of kindergarten exacting my revenge. I didn''t mind the punishments since Donna was forced to pick me up each time. She''d spend the drive lecturing me on my "atrocious" behavior. I''d tune out the actual words, just pleased that she was actually talking to me. Eventually though, she stopped lecturing and the drives were filled with angry tense silences until finally, I lost interest and stopped.


    Not wanting to think about the past anymore, I walked over to my stereo and docked my iPod. I selected the rock playlist and blasted the volume. The steady beat of the music throbbed through my room, drowning out the bothersome memories. I selected a book off my bookshelf and plopped down on my bed.


    I didn''t open the book though. Instead, I allowed the events of the day to run through my mind like a filmstrip. Mitch''s death played havoc with my mind as I morbidly wondered how he''d done it. I''d given suicide so much thought that I was convinced that an overdose was the only way to go. Donna would have had a fit if I would have made it messy, and I figured a clean death could be my last parting gift to her. Maybe then she''d finally forgive me for all my past sins. For a while, I''d entertained thoughts of doing it on the awful floral print sofa in the front room which would have been the ultimate exclamation point. Suddenly, it occurred to me that all my thoughts seemed to focus on how I would have done it, not how I was going to do it. The oddity of my thoughts truly puzzled me as I lied there contemplating it all. Strangely enough, what I think I felt was relief, but how is that possible? I was pissed this morning when Mitch ruined my plans, and now I''m relieved? Did that mean I never would have gone through with it? I was just a hack the whole time. A fraud.


    Chapter Five


    The next morning I still felt like a fraud. My epiphany didn''t suddenly change my life so that now there would be birds chirping happily outside my window. The sun beams didn''t beckon me to dance beneath them, and it certainly didn''t change the limited greeting Donna gave me as I entered the kitchen and grabbed my typical breakfast from the refrigerator.


    I returned her greeting with Coke in hand before sliding in my earbuds. The music drowned out all other noise, but I knew from past experience Donna had nothing else to say. I gathered up my backpack while Donna tossed away her empty yogurt container and placed her spoon in the dishwasher. We left the house together without a word and within a few minutes she pulled up in front of my school.


    "Bye," I said, stowing my earbuds and iPod in my backpack as I climbed out of the car.


    "Bye," she replied, picking up her phone as I closed the door. I watched her talking on the phone as she drove away. If I cared, I would have wondered who she talked to when she wasn''t with me. I would have wondered if she ever laughed or even smiled at a witty comment, but I didn''t care, so I didn''t wonder.


    First period was filled with note taking while we watched a movie on the reconstruction of Europe''s ravaged cities after World War II. I doodled on my page, listening with half an ear. It wasn''t just me. Most of the class whispered and texted each other throughout the movie. Mitch wasn''t mentioned in the whispers, and no one uttered the word suicide the entire period. I wasn''t surprised. People were fickle and attention spans were short. Today''s juicy nugget was how some junior named Pam had gone down on two jocks behind the bleachers in the gym. Gossip was a weird beast. Everyone always scoffed at being labeled a "gossip," but they had no qualms about passing damaging information along, which is the ironic part. All the whispering, glaring, pointing and judging makes them no better than whoever or whatever it is they''re gossiping about.


    Before I put my foot down and stopped going to church, I''d seen gossip rear its ugly head many times. Religious people were big on saying the "tongue is a mighty weapon, so use it wisely," and then forsaking this claim when the music director slept with the minister''s wife or when the youth minister did what he did. The plain and simple fact was everyone sinned. Either they were good at hiding their sins, or they weren''t. I fell in the latter category. My sins had been featured front and center, on display for everyone to judge.


    The rest of the morning passed much like first period had. No "Mitch" mentions, but tons of how wide Pam''s mouth is. James was waiting for me outside the cafeteria when I joined him.


    "Hey," I said, munching on the barbecue chips I''d bought from the vending machine.


    "Hey," he said in a lackluster voice.


    "Same old crap?" I asked, not needing to clarify.


    "Yeah," he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bruise in the shape of a handprint circling his wrist.


    "Bastard."


    He nodded, accepting the only form of sympathy I knew how to give.


    "Just till grad," I said, attempting to be reassuring.


    "I guess," he answered, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back down to cover the mark. He stared off at nothing, lost in thought.


    "You want to hang out after I get out of tutoring?"


    "I thought that was a one-day thing?"


    "Nah, Whore Cat is making me do it all week," I lied.


    "Oh," he said, still distracted. "I can''t come over anyway."


    "You sure?" I asked.


    "Too big of a risk. It''s better if I just go home."


    I didn''t pry. I knew from personal experience that the last thing he needed was me nosing into his business. We spent the rest of lunch in silence. After awhile, he seemed to relax a little, and his shoulders didn''t droop quite as much. Like I said, we were silent comforters.


    "See you tomorrow," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.


    "See ya," he said, heading toward the science building.


    My afternoon classes dragged after lunch, and I found myself watching the clock more than normal. It loathed me to admit that I was excited about tutoring. It was like someone had granted me an hour in Willy Wonka''s Chocolate factory. It was wrong to think of it like that, but for the brief hour, I was allowing my feelings a pardon from the tight lockdown I normally kept them under. For one hour, I was going to let myself talk to someone in something other than one-word answers. For one hour, I was going to enjoy myself. I was going to be normal.


    Dean was waiting for me at the same table as yesterday, only he was already sitting on the side we had shared.


    "Hey, ready for some more World War II?" he teased.


    "Uh, sure," I said with a mouth that felt like it was suddenly stuffed with peanut butter.


    I discreetly moved my chair over to put distance between us before sitting down. I pulled out my book and the crumbled study guide. I should have been embarrassed at its wrinkled state, but I kind of enjoyed seeing his reaction.


    "Okay, we left off on question twenty-nine," he said, smoothing out the paper.


    I looked down at the table wanting to smile more than I had in years. Something about his expression made me almost happy, and his obsessive-compulsive behavior was kind of cute.


    We spent the first half an hour of tutoring much like the previous day. Dean would read the question in his radio voice, and then provide the correct answer while I jotted it down. I never enjoyed schoolwork like I did at the moment. Maybe that''s where the school system had effed up. They should have hired radio personalities to teach the classes. Grades were bound to skyrocket.


    "So, what college are you going to?" Dean asked out of the blue after asking me which city suffered the most devastation after the war.


    "What?" I asked confused, forgetting the answer I was jotting down.


    "Got a college picked?" he repeated.


    "No," I answered shortly, looking back at the textbook for the right answer.


    "''No,'' you haven''t picked one, or ''no,'' you don''t know where you want to go?" he asked, pointing at the answer in the book.


    "No, as in no college in their right mind would be interested in a student like me," I said.


    "Sure they would," he said, looking at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.


    "It''s not like I have any interest in going to college anyway," I said sarcastically, pulling my shield firmly in place.


    "I''d help you. You know, tutoring and helping you study for exams."


    "What is this, save-a-loser day?" I asked, making it clear I wanted the conversation to be over.


    "You''re not a loser," he said, looking like I had offended him somehow.


    Someone at a nearby table shushed him.


    "I am, and guess what? I don''t give a shit. Got me? I''m a nobody. You don''t need to save me. No one does," I said.


    My tone took the wind out of his anger. "I can help you," he repeated calmly.


    "Look, scholar boy, I don''t need your help. I just don''t care about this stuff. Don''t take it personally."


    "Why?" he asked, looking down at the book.


    "Why, what?" I asked, trying to cover my impatient sigh.


    "Why don''t you care?"


    I eyed him, wondering if he was yanking my chain. "Seriously, either you''re trying to be an ass or you''re dumb as one," I said, tapping my pencil on the table in aggravation that we were even having this conversation.


    He raised his eyebrows at me before answering in short drawn out words. "I. Want. To. Help. You. Got me?"


    "Do I have ''charity case'' stamped on my forehead? Or wait, are you trying to punk me? Because seriously, I''ve seen all the movies. Pretend to befriend a social outcast and then just when she starts to trust you, throw pig''s blood or something equally as macabre on her in front of all your cronies. I''m not a fool," I said, dismissing him as I jotted down the next answer on my worksheet.


    He remained silent, and after a moment, I couldn''t resist chancing a discreet look at him beneath the veil of my hair. His eyes clashed with mine, and I swallowed the sudden uncomfortable lump in my throat from the hurt look on his face.


    I actually felt a little guilty which was a shock. I didn''t do guilt anymore. I may pay the price for my sins for the rest of my life, but I''d vowed I''d no longer get trapped into feeling guilty. I didn''t ask for anything. I didn''t owe anyone anything. Anger replaced the guilt that was making me feel emotions that were dead to me. Damn him. Why couldn''t he take pity on some stray animal or something? Wasn''t there a whale to save or some dolphin with a broken fin that needed attention?


    The silence between us stretched on uncomfortably, and I tried to ignore it as I continued to scratch the answers out on my paper. I waited for him to move on to the next question, but he remained stoically silent with his arms crossed over his chest. I knew this game. He could sit there like that until hell froze over for all I cared. I would not cave.


    And that''s pretty much how the rest of tutoring went. I searched for the answers while he sat silently next to me, never moving a muscle. When the hour ended, I stood up and gathered my things, preparing to leave without a word.


    "Same time tomorrow?" he said, leaving before I could.


    I stood there shell shocked. He didn''t really think I was coming back again? I''d pretty much chalked up the whole experience as a failed attempt at being normal.


    Dean was long gone by the time I finally shook myself out of my stupor and headed out of the library with the clearly aggravated librarian on my heals. I was tempted to tell her to get a grip. So she had to stay five extra minutes while I stood like a guppy with my mouth open. You didn''t see me bitching that I was forced to stay late at the bane of my existence. Shit happens. Get used to it.


    I wasn''t surprised when she left me on the sidewalk outside the front doors of the school without a word, hurrying off toward the lone car in the parking lot.


    People didn''t enjoy being sucked into the shadows that were my constant companion. They wanted perky, cheerful and butterflies out the ass as they danced beneath rainbows and singing birds. They didn''t want silence and darkness.


    The two-mile walk home went fast as I contemplated the disastrous tutoring session. I mentally kicked myself for even saying anything. I''d broken my code by opening my mouth. One thing was for sure, he could wait all afternoon for me, but I wouldn''t be there the next day. No way in hell.


    He was waiting for me the next day when I strolled in five minutes late. I wasn''t going to come. All day I told myself I was going to leave him high and dry. I didn''t need his psycho-analysis shit. I''d been heading out of the locker room, intending to head right home, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and here I was. I convinced myself it was because we had unfinished business. My plan was to basically tell him to eff-off and then I''d leave. Quick and clean. No harm no foul.


    My eff-off moment never came though because he threw me for a loop.


    "Hey, I''m really sorry about yesterday. I know I came across as do-gooder-asshole," he greeted me, raking a hand through his short dark hair. It stood up slightly from his touch, giving him a rumpled just-woke-up look. "I can be pushy sometimes. Forgive me?" he said, holding his hand out for me to shake.

 Page 5

    I stood there, looking at his outstretched hand, not sure what to say or do. I didn''t do touching, but for the first time in forever, I wanted to break my rules. My hesitation was blatant and after a moment he dropped his hand and stuffed it in the pocket of his low-cut jeans.


    "So, am I forgiven?" he asked, grinning at me.


    "Uh, sure. It''s no big deal," I said, confused that he was still hanging around. Years ago, I would have given a limb to have someone like him pay attention to me, but now it seemed off. I couldn''t help wondering if I really was being punked.


    "Sweet. Okay, here''s my plan. You''re basically done with the study guide, so I figured we could go outside to study. You know, enjoy the weather now that the humidity won''t suck the life force out of us," he said, still smiling.


    He had a point. Living in Florida seemed appealing to Northerners, but in reality, eight months out of the year was spent combating the hot, sticky, tropical temperatures that made you wish for a freak snowstorm. The small window of cooler weather was pretty much a joke compared to what winters were like up north, but as Floridians, we really didn''t know better. Thankfully, November was just a few days away and normally kicked off the "that''s right, we don''t live in hell" season, which usually started late November and lasted until February.


    "I guess that works," I said hesitantly, not sure I wanted our private tutoring sessions to be on display. Thursdays were a popular day for extracurricular activities, especially now that the weather was cooler. Ordinarily, sitting outside was no big deal. No one paid attention to me anyway, but being with Mr. Popularity would change that. I could just imagine their scrutiny. The scandalous gossip I was sure they wouldn''t be able to resist. Their golden boy being tainted by the "shadow" was sure to make several of them go scrambling for a paper bag to breathe into.


    "Ready?" Dean asked, waiting expectantly for me to finish the inner dilemma going on in my head.


    "I guess," I repeated a little more forcibly than I intended.


    He looked at me questioningly, but I returned his stare indifferently. It wasn''t my reputation on the line. I could handle the stares and snarky comments. The question is could he?


    If Dean thought my behavior was odd, he didn''t comment about it as we strolled down the hallway.


    "Are you going to the memorial service tomorrow?" he asked out of the blue.


    I shrugged my shoulders, focusing on the trophy case we were slowly passing. I was pretty sure our trophy case rivaled that of any other school, but I guess that was the point. "Go big or go home" seemed to be our school''s motto. I didn''t need to check the dates on the basketball trophies to know that Dean was responsible for two of them winding up behind the glass. I waited for him to admire and pimp his successes in front of me, but he didn''t even give the case a second look. I was shocked. Acknowledging the glory case was the highlight of any student who graced its shelves. Most of the Jockheads would camp out there in front of the case between classes, flexing their muscles as they pointed to their accolades. It was disgusting. The fact Dean didn''t even look did something odd to my stomach.


    "Are you?" he repeated.


    "Uh, yeah, I guess," I said, answering his question. "It beats finishing the day in study hall," I added. Principal Douche was giving the student body the option of attending the afternoon memorial service or spending the time in study hall. He had threatened detention to students who skipped both, which was laughable. It wasn''t like they''d be able to do attendance, and I was quite confident half the student body would be starting their weekend early. I had planned on going anyway. I needed to see the closure to Mitch''s actions. I had to make sure I''d made the right decision.


    "You?" I asked as he led me past all the typical outdoor hangouts.


    "Yeah, my folks feel it''s important, but I would have gone anyways," he said surprising me.


    I wanted to ask him why. Why would he trouble himself for someone who''d meant nothing to him? But I decided not to probe. What do I care if he goes or not?


    We were on the far outskirts of the campus when Dean finally tossed his backpack on the grass beneath a magnificent oak tree that I never realized was there. It seemed out of place, surrounded by all the Florida sand pines and palm trees that littered the school grounds. The grass beneath it was lush and thick. It was unlike the patches of sparse grass that were beat down by countless sneakered feet taking shortcuts to classes.


    I sank down on the ground and lay back against the cool grass, almost gasping in awe at the branches overhead. The sun was all but obstructed from view by the mighty branches covered in leaves the size of my hand. Shadows blended together, lurking beneath the branches that snaked out like long arms. I felt my heart swell slightly in my chest. This was my place. I had found a place where being a shadow didn''t matter. I fought back sudden tears. Dean had somehow given me a gift I never even knew I yearned for.


    "Pretty amazing, huh?" Dean asked, quietly lying next to me.


    All I could do was nod, my heart and mind locked in a silent battle. I was afraid if I talked, my tears would spill over. Emotions I had long forgotten stirred inside me. I should leave. I didn''t want to feel. Leaving would return me to the land of neutrality I had cloaked myself in the last four years. My head urged me to flee, to forget about this almost magical spot. To forget about the boy who had shared it with me. It was only a tree. My heart though, knew better. This tree was the home I never had. It was an escape from the world that had been pressing in on me for so long. I ached inside, knowing this haven had been right in front of me for the last four years and I was just now discovering it.


    To anyone else, it was just a tree.


    To me it was a sanctuary. A place where shadows no longer mattered as they all melded together.


    Chapter Six


    "How did you find it?" I asked after a few moments, trying to keep my voice sounding nonchalant. After all, just because this place felt like I''d stumbled into my own secret garden didn''t mean it held the same appeal for everyone else.


    He gave no indication that he thought my question was odd. "I found it freshman year. It''s a great place to study and get away from it all. This week has been a rough one, so I''ve used it as a refuge more than a few times in the last few days."


    I wonder what he could possibly want to get away from. What could have driven him to need a safe haven? He had it all, family, friends, grades, looks and popularity. Past sins didn''t follow him like an unwanted cloak. Dean was my polar opposite. He was the sun, while I was the darkness.


    "You don''t hold the market on the need for solitude," he gently chided me, somehow knowing my silent questions. Once again, I felt unsettled that he kept finding cracks in my armor. "Everyone has their secrets and skeletons in their closets they''d like to hide," he added as his face clouded over.


    "How do you do that?" I asked, trying to ignore the spasm of pain that had flitted across his face.


    "Do what?" he asked, smiling at me to break up the sudden shift our conversation had taken.


    I raised my eyebrow at him, making it clear I wasn''t buying his innocent act.


    "I hate to break it to you, but you''re not that hard to read."


    "I''m sure," I said sarcastically. "The question is, why bother? Did you take some bet from your Jockheads that you could score with the dark, brooding, ghost-like girl?" I sniped out.


    "Get a grip. You''re pricklier than a feral cat," he said, sitting up.


    "Too bad for you, I''m not in heat," I said, calming down.


    He laughed outright. "You say the funniest stuff sometimes."


    "You don''t get out much, do you?" I asked, unzipping my backpack to remove my crinkled study guide.


    "Why don''t you ever smile?" he asked, once again throwing me for a loop.


    "What makes you think I don''t?" I said, fighting the urge to bolt.


    "I''ve watched you for the last few years, and you always have the same look on your face."


    "How do you know I''m not like that actress they''re always mocking, the one whose expressions they claim never change? What''s her name? Kristen Stewart. Besides, what are you like some crazy stalker dude? Is this where you bind and gag me and drag me off to the woods to murder me?" I asked, indicating the woods that boarded the school property behind us.


    "There you go again. Man, do you have an imagination. Let me ask you, would you be here if you thought I was crazy like that?" he asked with sudden seriousness.


    "Probably," I answered, shrugging my shoulders. "Shouldn''t we be studying?" I added, holding up the paper.


    "Do you have some kind of death wish?" he asked, ignoring the study guide. "Or do you just like the attention?"


    "God, you''re an asshole," I said, scrambling to my feet as my anger boiled over. "Here''s the deal, Jockstrap. Unlike you and your cronies, I don''t feel the constant need for attention. If I did, you''d know it," I said, striding away. Who did he think he was? He didn''t know me, and if he did, he wouldn''t be so keen to spend time with me. The rumors that surrounded me were just the tip of the iceberg.


    "Hey, wait," he said, jogging up behind me and snagging my wrist in his hand.


    I stopped dead in my tracks at his touch. Panic clawed its way up through me as I looked down at his hand that encircled my slender wrist. Four years. It had been four years since anyone touched me. Gasping for air, I somehow forgot how to breathe. Darkness crept in slowly, obscuring my vision as I started to hyperventilate.


    "Madison?" Dean said in a voice that sounded like it was traveling through a cave. I swayed as the darkness closed in, completely obscuring Dean''s panicked expression from view. I felt his arms wrap around me as my legs liquefied beneath me. The irony of the situation wasn''t lost on me. I''d gone from being touched for the first time in forever to being wrapped in someone''s arms in the blink of an eye. The world faded away and I welcomed it. I''d broken my one rule.


    I awakened slowly as my body swayed back and forth. "What are you doing?" I gasped, suddenly realizing where I was as Dean repositioned me in his arms.


    "Carrying you to the nurse''s office. In case you missed it, you passed out back there," he answered, looking at me like I had suddenly sprouted an extra head.


    "Put me down," I demanded, squirming in his arms. "I don''t need to go to the clinic. I just forgot to breathe. It''s not the first time," I added, increasing my squirming until he was forced to set me down. Much to my dismay, he kept a hand firmly on my arm, making sure I had my footing.


    "Does that happen often?" he asked, still looking stressed.


    "No," I answered shortly, looking at his hand that still held me in place.


    "Are you pregnant?"


    "Pregnant? God no, that would require touching," I said pointedly, jerking my arm from his grasp. "I don''t do touching," I said, turning away from him. My sudden movement made my already foggy head start spinning. I took a staggering step forward, trying to keep my balance.


    Dean reached out and grasped my elbow to steady me.


    "What part of ''I don''t do touching'' do you not understand?" I asked sarcastically, trying to regain a shred of my dignity.


    He dropped his hand like it had been burned. "Sorry," he said, cramming the offender into his pocket. "Let me drive you home," he added.


    "Don''t worry about me, I''m good. I don''t need you."


    "Madison, please. I promise I won''t touch you again. It''s my fault you''re not feeling good. It''s the least I can do."


    "It was bound to happen. You''re off the hook. No harm, no foul, right?" I said, walking away. I was ready to put distance between us so I could process and categorize everything. Much to my dismay, Dean kept pace with me.


    "Seriously, I''m good," I said, trying to get rid of him.


    "Madison, come on," he pleaded.


    "Fine," I caved, exasperated at his persistence.


    I nearly groaned out loud when he smiled broadly at me. He looked like a puppy eagerly waiting for a treat.


    The walk to the student parking lot was long, and although I wouldn''t admit it to Dean, I was glad I''d accepted his offer. Passing out had made my head foggy, and left my legs shaky. It would have taken me forever to walk the two miles home.


    Dean''s jeep was parked next to an oversized muddy pickup truck with wheels twice as big as normal. I knew without even looking at the driver who the vehicle belonged to. Our school had no shortage of good old country boy, beer-guzzling, cow-tipping, loudmouthed rednecks. Needless to say, being a silent, pale-skinned, dark-haired freak made me stick out like a sore thumb.


    I kept my eyes averted from the driver as he sneered down at me. "Dean? Dude, you slumming?" he asked, tossing an empty beer bottle into the bed of his truck. His drinking clarified my suspicions that half the student body would be starting their weekend early.


    "Don''t be a dick, Kirk," Dean said, climbing into his jeep.


    I opened my door and climbed in too.


    "I guess Dean doesn''t mind sloppy seconds," I heard Kirk say snidely as I closed the door behind me.


    I didn''t need to look at Dean to know he''d heard the comment too. Neither of us acknowledged it as he threw the jeep in reverse and peeled out of the parking spot. I was thrown back against the seat as he gunned the engine and tore away. The speed was exhilarating. Donna was a speed limit queen, and most times went a couple miles below the limit just to be safe. I wouldn''t have pegged Dean as a speed demon, but I wasn''t arguing. When I was finally able to peel myself off the back of my seat, I glanced over at him. I expected to see an exhilarating smile on his face that matched the way I was feeling, but I was surprised to see that he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.


    I pondered what had set him off, but realized he was most likely pissed that Kirk had seen us together. I''m sure being reminded I was a "slut" hadn''t helped. I felt bad for him. He''d signed up to be a tutor, not to become a social leper.


    "I''m pretty sure Kirk was halfway plastered," I reassured him. "Turn right, here," I added, directing him to my house. "He''s an ass. By tomorrow he''ll forget he even saw us together."


    "You think I''m pissed because Kirk saw us together?" he asked incredulously, slamming on the brakes when I pointed out my house.


    I jerked forward only to be thrown back by the tightening of the seatbelt as it held me in place.

 Page 6

    "Mother F, are you trying to give me whiplash?" I demanded, glaring at him.


    "Shit, I''m sorry. Are you okay?" he asked, concern replacing his anger.


    "I''ll live," I said, rubbing my shoulder where the seatbelt had dug in.


    He lifted his right hand toward my shoulder only to stop halfway. "I''m sorry, that was a bonehead move. I shouldn''t have been driving like an idiot."


    "I didn''t mind the speed. Matter fact, it was kind of nice," I admitted. "I just need a little warning before you decide you want to see what I look like as a hood ornament."


    "I see. So, you''re a speed junkie," he joked.


    "I guess so. That''s my first taste of it."


    "What? Your parents never speed?"


    I shook my head, not wanting to delve into my funked up home life.


    "You must love roller coasters," he said as I unbuckled my seatbelt.


    "I wouldn''t know," I said, opening my door.


    "Are you serious? You''ve never gone on the Hulk?" he asked, looking at me like I''d just stepped off an alien mother ship.


    "Never been to a theme park," I said, stepping out of the vehicle.


    He was still sputtering in shock when I closed the door behind me.


    "Hey, I wanted to get your cell number," he asked, following me to my front door.


    "Why?"


    "You know, they have these new inventions called phones. I thought maybe I could call you on one, they''re supposed to be a real hoot."


    "Why?" I repeated like a two-year-old who was confused about why the sky was blue.


    "Come on, to talk," he said, leaning against the wall as I unlocked the door.


    The door swung open. "I don''t have one," I admitted.


    "You don''t?" he asked like he didn''t quite understand the concept. I couldn''t blame him. I was pretty sure I was the only teenager who didn''t have a cell phone. Until this moment, I never wanted one. "Okay then. Can I get your home number?" he asked, finally coming to terms with my lack of twenty-first century technology.


    "Uh, I guess," I said, rattling off the number for him. I waited while he plugged it into his cell and then stepped into the house. "Well, thanks for the ride," I said, shutting the door.


    He stopped it with his foot before it could fully close. "Just so you know, I wasn''t pissed Kirk saw us. I was pissed by his comment," he said, turning on his heel and heading down the sidewalk.


    "He was only speaking the truth," I said quietly, watching his retreating back.


    I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. My heart was reacting to his words in a strange way. Why would he care what Kirk said? Was it possible he was interested in me? "Not likely," I said to the empty living room. He obviously has some kind of hero complex and would probably snap out of it soon enough. None of it mattered anyway. I wasn''t about to get into any relationship, so it was time to nip the whole situation in the bud.


    I left the entryway feeling deprived. Spending time with Dean had a way of accentuating the emptiness of my house. I pulled a frozen meal out of the freezer and disposed of the carton. I hated these things, but had accepted them as my penance for driving my dad away. The humming of the microwave filled the silent house as I grabbed a soda out of the fridge. When the meal was finished cooking, I settled myself on a barstool at the kitchen counter. I sat eating for a few minutes, but the silence of the house seemed more oppressive than normal and began to wear on me. I stood up and dumped my unfinished meal in the trash. I wasn''t that hungry anyway. Maybe some music would clear my head. Dean''s attention today had opened a door I had bolted closed years ago. A door that belonged closed. Hell, it was a door I didn''t even need. I embraced my solitude. I loved being alone. I loved silence. I was a liar.


    Chapter Seven


    It was rainy and overcast when I woke the next morning. The bleak weather seemed fitting for Mitch''s service. Death was bleak after all. My life was bleak. I didn''t know anymore if I was just trying to convince myself of that fact, or if the actions of two completely different people had really allowed a small ray of light to peek into my existence. It wasn''t possible. Was it? Denial was a tough pill to swallow. No matter how hard I tried to crawl back into the comfortable dark cave I''d dwelled in for so many years, someone was slowly dragging me out. Dean. He was changing me. He was making me feel. I didn''t want to think of him, but he was always there like someone standing just outside your peripheral vision.


    Pulling my errant thoughts away, I began to dress for the day. The fact that I had to go to morning classes hampered my wardrobe choices. I eyed my closet critically, pushing the endless array of black t-shirt cluttered hangers to the side, hoping that the perfect outfit would suddenly appear. As a rule, I never wore dresses or skirts, preferring jeans and baggy t-shirts that I could hide behind. Finally, behind a few coats that had never seen the light of day because they were too heavy for our mild winters, I unearthed a long-forgotten dress. My grandma on my dad''s side of the family had sent me the dress for Christmas last year. I''d been shocked when the package arrived. My grandparents had been sending me ten dollars for every occasion for as long as I could remember. I''d only seen them a couple of times my entire life since they lived more than halfway across the country in Arizona. They were in their late forties when they had my dad and hated to travel. My mom disliked spending time with them, claiming that their atheist views were not the influence she wanted me around, so visits were sparse to say the least. If they weren''t so old, I felt I could relate to them. I envied their normal lives where church didn''t consume their every waking moment. Normal. Was anyone really ever normal? Probably not. Life was a sham. Smoke and mirrors hid the dysfunctional lives all of us lived.


    I pulled the shift-style dress out and held it up against my slender frame. It would be loose, but at least it would be presentable. Slipping it on over my head, I smoothed it down, liking that it wasn''t formfitting. I was far from flat chested, so loose went a long way on taking the focus off my chest. There was a time when I used them as my greatest assets to get what I wanted. At that time, my wardrobe consisted of tight low-cut tank tops and scooped neck shirts. My cleavage was legendary by the time I started seventh grade, and I loved the attention it used to draw. Now I hid it in shame.


    Stepping in front of my mirror that was attached to the back of my bedroom door, I studied my reflection critically. The dress didn''t look all that bad. It was tan, not black, but I guess I could deal with that for the day. My skin looked paler than normal, and I grimaced looking at it. I may as well be a ghost. That would work well for me. I dragged a brush through my long locks until all the snarls from sleeping were completely gone. Once my hair was tamed the best it was going to get, I added eyeliner and mascara to my eyes, making them stand out against my translucent complexion. A touch of gloss to my lips brought out their natural rosy color better than any cosmetic I could have ordered. Finally, I slipped my favorite beaded bracelets onto my right wrist, which were the only accessories I would wear. I looked in the mirror one last time to find a stranger staring back at me. It had been years since I''d put any kind of effort into my appearance. I knew I looked good, even without anyone telling me. Maybe even beautiful. I had to fight the urge to rip the dress off and scrub my face clean. Beauty was not a gift. Donna said beauty was evil and a powerful tool the devil liked to utilize. Past experience showed me she was right. It was a sin.


    "Morning," Donna greeted me, not looking up from the newspaper she was perusing while sipping her morning coffee.


    "Morning," I said, grabbing my own version of morning caffeine out of the fridge. I watched Donna for several moments as she turned the pages of her newspaper, looking for the arts and entertainment section. I fidgeted in my seat slightly, wondering how to broach the subject, deciding the best approach was to do it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid.


    "Donna," I said tentatively. The word felt foreign on my tongue. I''d lost track of how long it had been since I initiated a conversation. It seemed odd to address her by her given name. Like calling a stranger your "best friend" or a guy you''d never met your "boyfriend."


    "Yes, Madison," she said in the even tone I''d given up responding to.


    "I was wondering if you could add a cell phone to your account for me," I said, wiping my sweaty palms on the skirt of my dress.


    "Do you have money to purchase it?" she asked, folding the paper in half and setting it next to her empty coffee mug.


    "Yes," I answered, not surprised by her question. It was decided years ago that if I wanted to act like an adult, then I''d be treated like one. Any money I earned during my mindless summer jobs or that I received on birthdays or Christmas was added to an account set up in my name. Donna would add a deposit to it at the beginning of each school year so I could purchase school clothes and any supplies I might need. With the exception of new shirts, bras and panties, I hadn''t touched it. My original plan was to leave it behind when I was gone. It could be considered payment for sins that would never be forgiven.


    "Fine. I''ll contact my phone provider. You will be responsible for picking it up."


    "Okay," I said, taking a shaky breath. In the span of one short conversation we''d exchanged more words than we had all of the previous month.


    Donna fell silent after that as we finished our morning preparations. It was only as we were heading out the front door that she initiated yet another conversation.


    "Are you attending the funeral?" she asked, taking in my uncharacteristic attire.


    "I planned to. How did you find out?" I asked, feeling slightly confused. With the exception of making sure I maintained my C average, Donna steered clear of anything pertaining to my life.


    "Your principal sent out a mass email to all the parents encouraging us to make sure we know where our children should be this afternoon."


    "That sounds about right," I said, buckling my seatbelt.


    "Did you know this boy?" she asked, backing out of the driveway.


    "Not really. Does it matter?" I asked, wondering where this strange conversation between us could possibly be going.


    "It matters in God''s eyes," she said sternly, slowing down to let a car turn out in front of us.


    "In God''s eyes?" I asked incredulously.


    "Suicide is a sin. You know that. By committing this sin, you''re forsaking your soul to hell. It is a foolish out for weak people."


    "Is hell really any different than this?" I asked, climbing out of the car as soon as she pulled in front of my school.


    "If your so-called life is ''hell'' as you say, it is no fault but your own. You chose this life," she reminded me.


    "I was thirteen," I said, closing the door before she could say anything else. I walked up the main entrance of the school without looking back. The "cross" I had been carrying for the last four years suddenly felt too heavy for me to bear. My surroundings seemed insignificant, and I paid them no mind as I mulled over her words.


    "Hey, I was waiting for you," Dean said, startling me as he jumped down from the low wall by the school entrance.


    I jumped slightly at his sudden appearance by my side. No one ever walked beside me, let alone held a conversation.


    "You look nice," he added somberly. "Will you ride with me to the memorial service?" he asked, walking as close as he could beside me without touching. The other students stared at us in disbelief. I watched their faces as they tried to place me. My cloak of disguise had slipped and they were getting a glimpse of me for the first time in years. I knew it was only a matter of time before the rumors about me were once again unearthed. Would Dean be so willing to walk by my side if he knew the whole truth?


    "You''re seriously going to put a ding in your reputation by walking with me," I said, trying to give him an out.


    "Mads, I seriously don''t care what anyone says," he said, coming to a halt against one of the walls so he could face me. He used his body to run interference from anyone who might have jostled me as they hurried to class.


    "Mads?" I asked, raising my eyebrow questioningly.


    "I''ll tell you what it means some other time," he said, wagging his eyebrows at me.


    I placed my hands on my hips trying to bully him silently to tell me now.


    He laughed outright, but wouldn''t fess up. "So, will you go with me to the service?" he asked again.


    "Dean, it''s not a good idea," I said, darting my eyes around to indicate the other students who were studying us with morbid fascination.


    "Madison, I don''t care. Let them say what they want about us. It''s none of their business."


    "Um, hello, you have met the student body, right?" I asked, confused that we were even having the conversation.


    "Who cares?" he said, leaning in close.


    My breath hitched as he moved close to my lips. Panic seized me. It was wrong to yearn for the touch of his lips on mine. I didn''t want them. I blatantly lied to myself.


    "Let them look," he whispered a hair away from my ear. His breath fanned my hair and sent small shocks of awareness down my neck as they traveled throughout my body.


    I needed to tell him to step away. He should know he was invading my personal space. Any words I may have uttered were lost somewhere between my brain that urged me to be sensible and my heart that felt we had paid enough for our crimes.


    "Meet me in the student parking lot after third period," he said, disappearing down the hall before I could turn him down. Which really was my plan. Seriously.


    I watched him until the students hurrying to class swallowed him up before heading off to Whore Cat''s class myself. I slid into my seat just as the bell rang. Shoving my backpack under my seat, I tried to ignore the countless stares that bore into the back of my head. Ms. Jones was busy writing the day''s assignment on the board when a crumpled up piece of paper hit me in the head before falling harmlessly to the floor. I debated ignoring it. It had been almost four years since the last paper ball had hit me in the head. They always had some kind of inane derogatory comment written on them. Using my foot, I scooted the ball of paper closer to me and reached down to pick it up. I smoothed it out and saw a crude drawing of a girl hanging upside down in some cave-like thing. "Go back to your bat cave, freak" was scrawled beneath the drawing. I fought the urge to snort. It was a shame that four years later they were still as unimaginative as they had been at thirteen.

 Page 7

    Folding the paper in half, I slid it into my textbook so I could add it to all the rest. I was more than certain that it bordered on mentally deranged to keep all the "hate" notes I''d received over the years, but in truth, they kept me centered. It was almost comforting to get one now. I was forgetting all my unspoken promises. Dean was tempting me and the note in my book only highlighted that. I''d ride with him to the service today, but that was all. He didn''t have a place in my life, and God knows I didn''t have a place in his.


    Dean was waiting for me at the end of third period by the entrance to the student parking lot as promised. The rain was still steadily falling, so he was waiting for me off to the side under a small awning. He looked at me somberly when I joined him.


    "I didn''t bring an umbrella, so we''ll have to make a run for it," he said, looking at me for my input.


    "I like the rain," I said simply, stepping out from under the awning. The rain cascaded down on me as I dashed across the parking lot, headed for his jeep. Dean caught up easily and grasped my hand in his as I leaped over a puddle in one of the countless potholes that littered the student parking lot. I skidded to a stop after clearing the puddle and looked down at our joined hands before looking up at him. I should have protested the contact. He knew I didn''t like to be touched and yet that hadn''t stopped him. His eyes held mine. Neither of us flinched as he held my hand loosely in his. I could have pulled away. I could have stuck to my resolve earlier. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around his and held on like I never had before. He smiled slightly before pulling me toward his jeep with my hand safely enveloped in his.


    By the time we made it into his vehicle, I was soaking wet and shivering.


    "The heat will warm it up in here in a few seconds," Dean said, cupping my chilled hands in his. He blew on them gently while never taking his eyes from mine.


    "You know you''re seriously breaking my ''no touching'' rule," I stated.


    "I figured since I''d broken the rules yesterday, I was now exempt from them," he said balefully, finally releasing my fingers so he could put the jeep in reverse.


    I looked out my window, biting my lip so I couldn''t break yet another rule. Being around him and sticking to my resolve were becoming more and more difficult.


    We drove the rest of the way in silence. I was surprised and thankful he didn''t ask about the touching thing. He could have. I knew I was a freak of nature. People didn''t usually walk around with an invisible shield around them.


    "Are you warm yet?" he finally asked, pulling through the open iron gates at St. Frances Cemetery.


    "Yeah," I said, pulling a grey sweater out of my bag for the graveside service.


    "At least they have tents set up," he said, indicating the two oversized tents filled with white folding chairs that bracketed a smaller tent holding a closed casket that was resting on a stand in the center of the tent. Mourners were already filling the wooden chairs that sat on the sodden grass. A couple that looked to be my parents'' age sat in the front row, sandwiched between a set of elderly people who were obviously grandparents. The woman in the middle, most likely Mitch''s mom, sat sobbing as she gripped the hands of those beside her. It was Mitch''s father who hit me like a punch in the gut. His grief was evident as he sat with drooped shoulders beside the sobbing woman, tears coursing down his own cheeks. I had never seen a man cry before.


    I gulped silently, looking at the living proof of Mitch''s last decision in front of me. If Mitch hadn''t beaten me to the punch, this could have been me. It would have been me. The moment seemed so final. A box was all that remained of him.


    "You okay?" Dean asked.


    "Uh, yeah," I answered, realizing I had stopped in the rain ten feet or so from the enclosures.


    "You sure?" he asked, looking concerned.


    I nodded, heading for the last row of seats in the tent that sat to the left of the casket. Dean sat next to me and rested his arm along the back of my chair. I didn''t protest. Breaking the rules was suddenly the last thing I was worried about as I watched the grieving adults in front of me. Was this how my moment would have been? Would people have grieved for me? I''d always assumed I''d leave the Earth much the way I lived on it. Invisible. This went beyond the fake grief I''d observed in class three days ago. This went deeper to the core. Why did Mitch decide to end his life? It seemed evident his parents cared for him greatly. I knew my reasons, and I sort of knew James''s reasons, but what about Mitch?


    The seats around us filled up as people hurried under the dry enclosures to escape the rain that kept up its relentless flow. If I believed in God, I would have said that surely the angels must have been weeping over the lost soul. But I didn''t.


    Once the seats were all occupied, the minster stepped to the podium where a microphone was set up.


    "Today is a grievous day on both heaven and earth. Suicide is an epidemic. One out of every five teenagers has thought of committing suicide, and at least one out of every twelve has attempted it. Statistics like this scare me. For the failure is ours. As the family''s minister, I accept full blame for this tragic loss. Over the last few days, I''ve prayed about my part in this senseless tragedy. What if I would have engaged Mitch more often? What if I would have added teenage depression in my sermons? What if I would have set up family counseling at the sanctuary? But what ifs don''t change anything today. Mitch''s death is a tragedy that cannot be undone. All we can do is learn from the experience, pray for the soul that was lost to us all and accept God''s comfort."


    The rest of his words were lost on me as I mulled over what he said. Would anyone blame themselves for my death? Everything suddenly seemed so complicated.


    The family minster was replaced at the podium by Mitch''s father who wound up breaking down when he discussed the chasm between him and his son that had moved in over the years. After he was led back to his seat, Mitch''s grandfather took over the podium and talked about the summers Mitch would spend with him and his wife. Summers filled with fishing, working on old cars and learning to farm. He became choked up when he talked about summer nights on the porch, drinking lemonade from Mason jars and watching the fireflies together. The setting he described seemed to belong in a different era and endeared him. I wanted a summer filled with porch swings, lemonade and fireflies.


    The minster took the podium back again once Mitch''s grandfather had resumed his seat.


    "Our last speaker today will be Mitch''s best friend from grade school," he said, indicating someone in our section.


    I swallowed my gasp of surprise as Dean stood up beside me and made his way to the podium. He stopped on his way to shake Mitch''s dad''s hand and hug his mom who had stood to greet him. My mind was reeling as I watched Dean embrace her. How had I not known? Why didn''t he say anything? I recalled his words from yesterday when we were sitting under the tree he''d shown me about it being a tough week.


    After a moment, Dean released Mitch''s mom and stepped up to the microphone. He removed a folded up piece of paper from his wallet and slowly opened it, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Mitch and I became best friends in preschool," Dean said into the microphone, clearing his throat slightly. "Our friendship was forged over our passion for superheroes. The majority of our days were spent reenacting scenes from our favorite shows, much to the horror of those around us. We swore one day we''d grow up and become real-life heroes. We were inseparable all through grade school and knew everything about each other." Dean cleared his throat again and looked down.


    I felt a strange hiccup-like sensation in my heart as I realized he was fighting to hold back his own tears.


    After a moment, he continued. "When we entered junior high though, our superhero days were long forgotten and other activities took its place. Sports became my new passion, while Mitch drifted toward his own interests. Before we knew it, we were no longer hanging out. It''s been years since I''d talked to Mitch, and somewhere along the way, I no longer knew his secrets. I wish I could rewind time. Like Pastor John stated, I''m also filled with what ifs. What if I had known? Would I have been able to change his mind? I''m filled with sadness, and I''m deeply sorry I didn''t know that Mitch needed help," he finished with red eyes.


    My eyes were swimming in unshed tears as I watched him leave the podium and embrace a couple who were sitting in the second row. He talked briefly with them, wiping his eyes before nodding his head toward me. I looked down, letting my hair hide my face from the scrutiny of the couple who had to be his parents. After a moment, he once again claimed the seat next to me. I kept my head down, confused about the events that had just transpired. I wanted to leave.


    The rest of the service passed in a blur, and before I knew it they were lowering the casket into the ground. White daisies were passed around and the mourners lined up to pay their last respects by dropping their daisies on top of the casket. It seemed fitting that daisies were picked to send Mitch off. I''d always considered daisies a flower that represented the sun with its petals that stretched out much like sunbeams did. In my world that was filled with darkness and shadows, daisies represented the light I missed the most. I wonder if it had been the same for Mitch.


    Dean and I were separated as mourners from both tents crowded together. I held back on the fringes, taking my opportunity when I was sure no one was watching to leave the graveside and head for the main road outside the gates, still clutching the white daisy in my hand. Once I hit the sidewalk, I picked up my pace, anxious to put as much space as I could between me and the scene I had just fled. I was thankful that the rain had finally relented. Multiple puddles left my shoes and the hem of my dress soaking wet as I splashed along in my haste to get away. A block from the cemetery, a transit bus pulled up to a stop near me and I gratefully hopped on. I fed a couple dollar bills into the machine at the front and sank down in the seat behind the driver. My knees bounced anxiously up and down as I silently urged the bus to move faster. I had one destination in mind and I was antsy to get there.


    After a ten-minute ride, we finally arrived. I hurried down the bus steps and crossed the street without slowing down. My head was fuzzy and my chest pounded. My labored breathing became more and more erratic. I felt like a ticking time bomb on the verge of exploding. Finally reaching my destination, I sank down on the sodden grass, not caring about the back of my dress that was getting soaked through. I looked up at the branches of my tree, willing my breathing to return back to normal. The day''s events were a jumbled mess in my head. Dean''s sudden interest in me became crystal clear. He obviously felt a great deal of guilt over Mitch''s death and had decided to make me his pet project. I guess he felt he had failed his friend and could somehow make amends for that by saving me. What he didn''t realize was that Mitch had already done that.


    Mitch. If there really is a Heaven or hell, is he sitting there now, aware of the profound way he has suddenly affected my life? Did he believe as I did that he could leave this world without anyone caring, like a disappearing shadow? It''s cryptic, but I wish I could talk to him now to ask him if he could go back in time, would he do it again, knowing how much he was missed? I wondered now about my own legacy. Would I really be missed? Would Dean miss me? I looked down at the flower that was still clutched in my hand and began plucking off the petals. "Miss me, miss me not."


    I lost track of time in my sanctuary, watching the petals float away in the gentle breeze. My hair was fanned out on the cold wet ground beneath me, but I was too emotionally spent to move. I wished I hadn''t left my sweater on my chair at the cemetery, but I could deal with physical discomfort. I wasn''t surprised when I heard a set of footsteps on the sidewalk heading toward me. I had been expecting him. He already knew me well enough that I would seek out the refuge that was his. It was time to nip this in the bud. Once he realized he didn''t need to save me, he could walk away. Our relationship would fizzle out before it ever started. It would be better that way.


    Chapter Eight


    "Nice disappearing act," he said, sitting beside me on the damp grass.


    I sat up and studied him. His eyes were still red and slightly swollen. I could have offered comfort, but it would have defeated my plan.


    "Why didn''t you tell me?" I asked.


    He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess because I was ashamed to admit I let him down," he finally said.


    "It was his decision."


    "I could have changed his mind."


    "How? By reverting back to a friendship that died years ago?" I said harshly, needing him to understand that he didn''t hold the cards.


    He reared back at my words like I had sucker-punched him. "Maybe," he finally answered.


    "It wouldn''t have fixed the hole in him," I said, suddenly agitated as I stood up and started pacing back and forth.


    "How do you know? It might have helped. At least he would have had someone he could talk to," he said almost angrily, jumping to his feet also. "Having someone to lean on has to help."


    "Having someone to talk to doesn''t help the hole if you''re not the cause of it," I said, turning on him. "You can''t fix something you didn''t break!"


    "I can help," he pleaded.


    "I don''t need to be a pet project of yours," I said in a voice dripping with venom.


    He didn''t deny my accusation. All the wind was knocked out of my sails and I forgot to breath. I wanted to be wrong. I had actually hoped it was something else.


    Without another word, I turned and stalked away. He reached out and snagged my arm with his hand before I could move more than a few steps.


    "You''re not a project," he said through clenched teeth.


    "Really," I said sarcastically, trying to ignore the hurt that raced through me.


    He sighed, dropping his hand down so that he held my hand loosely in his. "It might have started that way. I''ve watched you over the last few years. I know you''re a loner like Mitch was. I made halfhearted attempts to include Mitch over the years. Halfhearted asshole attempts. I knew he didn''t fit in with my normal group, but I didn''t care enough to make the time for him. Everything else was so much more important. I hate myself for that. I''m the selfish jerk who couldn''t take the time to find common ground for an old friend until it was too late," he said earnestly, finally releasing my hand. "When you showed up for tutoring, I felt it was a sign. I could redeem myself. But with you, I didn''t need to search for common ground, you intrigued me from the moment you sat down."


    I stood like a rock, listening to his confession of guilt. I wanted to move, to be indifferent, but his words kept me anchored in place.

 Page 8

    "Please, I just want to be friends," he pleaded.


    "You don''t have to save me."


    "I know," he said quietly. "Friends?" he asked, holding out his hand so we could shake.


    "I''m not a good friend," I said, looking at his outstretched hand.


    "Obviously, neither am I," he said, shooting a sad smile my way. "We can learn together."


    "Your regular friends are going to give you shit for it," I said, thinking of the note from earlier.


    "Not if they''re my real friends."


    I snorted. "Do you go to the same school as me?"


    "I''ll handle my friends. Trust me, okay?" he said, moving his outstretched hand closer to me, waiting for me to be the one to make contact this time.


    "They''ll make our lives a living hell," I prophesied.


    "Are you scared?" he teased, knowing he''d won.


    "Nothing scares me," I lied. "It''s bound to crash and burn anyway," I added, knocking the smile off his face.


    "Willing to place a wager on it?" he asked.


    "It''s a sucker bet, but as long as you don''t mind being a sucker," I said, reaching out willingly to someone for the first time in years.


    "I''ll prove you wrong," he said, releasing my hand. "Come on, I''ll give you a lift home."


    "Actually, do you mind making a stop on the way?" I asked, deciding if I was jumping in, I should go for broke.


    "No problem."


    An hour later, I was the not-so-sure owner of my first cell phone, and two hundred dollars lighter.


    "All right. I''ve programmed my number in. Do you have anyone else you want me to add in?" Dean asked from his perch on the floral-disaster couch.


    "Nope," I answered, fiddling with the remote control. Now that I had committed to trying out the whole friendship thing, I was having serious second thoughts. Having him in my house was unsettling, especially since I knew I was breaking taboo rules. James being in my house didn''t count since obviously he ran for the opposing team. The last time I had someone over it had irreversibly changed my whole life.


    "What about your mom?" he asked, looking up from the phone.


    "Nope," I said again, waiting for the barrage of questions that were sure to come.


    "Okay-y-y," he said, dragging out the word. "Well, I guess you''re set. It''s just like your iPod Touch," he added, indicating the device on my lap. "Except now you can make calls."


    "Thanks," I said as he handed it over.


    "So, I guess I better head home for dinner," he said, standing up. "My mom will have my head if I miss meatloaf night.


    I nodded my head and glanced at my watch. I forgot from all my sitcom watching that normal people ate at a certain time every night. I''d never had a meatloaf night. Come to think of it, I wasn''t sure I''d ever had meatloaf. Maybe, I guess, when I was younger. Just maybe, Donna used to tie on an apron and bustle around the kitchen creating our very own meatloaf. I just couldn''t recall. Church always came first during the week. Mondays were bible study, Tuesday was worship practice, Wednesday was praise and worship service, Thursday was another round of worship practice and Friday was family fun night at the sanctuary. I stopped attending all of the above the year I turned twelve. My mom attended them all, including Friday family fun night. I wondered which family she had fun with. So, I guess maybe meatloaf night in my house was a myth.


    "Can I call you later?" he asked, breaking into my train of thought.


    "I guess," I answered, but I was pretty sure I''d be a complete dud on the phone.


    "Don''t sound so enthused," he said, smiling at me.


    "It''ll be your ear bleeding at my lackluster phone skills," I said, trailing him to the front door.


    "That''s a risk I''m willing to take," he said, heading toward his car.


    "Hey, Dean," I called after him.


    He turned to look at me.


    "I''m sorry about your friend," I said, quickly closing the door to stop any further conversation. For some reason, saying those five little words had been harder than anything I''d done in a while. Saying I was sorry made me feel like I was betraying all my previous thoughts on death. Death was supposed to equal relief, not sorry. It was supposed to be closure, not an open, ragged wound. Death was such an asshole for tricking me all these years.


    My dinner that night wasn''t meatloaf, although the package did boast the contents included a Salisbury steak. I would have to take Swanson''s word for it since I''d never had a regular Salisbury steak to compare it to. Maybe even the home-cooked version came out looking like mystery meat. I washed my dinner down with a soda and grabbed an ice cream bar from the fridge before heading to my room for the night.


    I was settled on my bed watching TV when my new cell phone rang, scaring the shit out of me.


    "Hey," I said, once I figured out how to answer.


    "Hey, yourself. What are you doing?"


    "Working on my voodoo doll collection. How about you?"


    He laughed. "That''s exactly what I needed to hear. I''m chilling out. It was a rough night. My parents and I spent some time with the Petersons this evening."


    "Oh," I said, lost for words. Comfort wasn''t my thing. Hell, talking on the phone wasn''t my thing.


    "So, do you have one of me?" he asked.


    "What?" I asked, confused by his question.


    "Do you have a voodoo doll of me? Because I swear I just felt a sharp pain in my scalp. Are you pulling my doll''s hair?"


    His words made me want to laugh. It bubbled up in my throat, but I clamped it down. I was already breaking the rules by being his friend.


    "Nah, but I stuck a pin in the ass. Did you feel that?"


    "Damn, that mofo hurts," he teased.


    "Okay, torment is over. I''ll put my toys away," I said, trying to sound reluctant.


    "So, what are you going to do now?" he asked.


    "Watch TV, I guess. How about you?"


    "That''s what I''m doing. It''s nice to watch something that doesn''t make my head hurt from overthinking."


    "Overthinking an issue for you?" I teased.


    "You''d be surprised. My brain needs an off switch for sure. What are you watching? Discovery Channel? Jersey Shore?"


    "Gah, I think I just puked a little. Just some sitcom."


    "What? I wouldn''t have pegged you as a sitcom watcher. Discovery Channel maybe, CNN, or I guess, ESPN."


    "Aw, so I see you''re trying out for your own comedy spot. Discovery Channel? No. I hate seeing animals hunt each other. CNN? Absolutely not. I need to see the suckage of the world like I need a bullet in the head. As for ESPN, I''m not sure that channel has ever seen the light of day on my TV," I said, pulling the throw blanket over me that was folded at the foot of my bed.


    "Hey, that''s blasphemy. SportsCenter is a national institution. What about the cooking channels? Please tell me you watch those," he begged.


    "I don''t cook. Are you telling me you do?"


    "Heck yeah. You''re talking to the reigning grill master here. My dad handed over the tongs in defeat to me this past summer."


    "Impressive. It''s been years since I''ve had anything grilled," I admitted without thinking.


    "Seriously? How is that possible? We live in the grilling state," he said incredulously.


    I bit my lip, hating that I let my guard slip. "It''s just not our thing, I guess."


    "Well, I''m making it my mission to prove to you it could be your thing. I make a mean burger," he boasted, making me uncomfortable with the things he was taking for granted.


    "Uh, Dean, you know we''re not dating?" I said, trying to make sure he knew where I stood.


    "Take a chill pill, Mads. Friends can hang out and grub on good food. It''s not my fault if you get all hot and bothered watching me dominate the grill."


    "Wow, ego much? I think I need to pull out your voodoo doll. I think a little dunking headfirst in a bowl of water will help clear out all the hot air floating around."


    "Hmm, maybe I''ll make my own voodoo doll of you and stick it in a bowl of sugar to suck up some of the vinegar in you. Turn you all nice and sweet."


    "I''ve never been sweet, and I''m never going to be," I said, tapping the screen to end the call. Hanging up was an easy out. I regretted my impulsiveness instantly. It shouldn''t matter that I may have scared him away. But it did.


    The phone rang insistently on the bed beside me. I snatched it up immediately and fought the urge not to answer it after the first ring. When I could stand it no longer, I pushed the button, but didn''t say anything.


    "So, what are you watching now?" he asked, doing a complete one-eighty.


    "Still sitcoms," I answered, relieved he''d called back and that he''d gotten the hint. "How about you?" I asked.


    "SportsCenter, baby."


    "Of course you are."


    "So, you are a sitcom junkie, huh? What''s your favorite show?" he asked.


    "That one on Wednesday. The family one, ''Modern Family.''"


    "Me too. What else?" he probed.


    His questions were never ending and we talked through all the shows. The questions should have bothered me. I hated opening up to anyone, but his questions were different. Maybe he was playing me by keeping things light. Time would tell. The hours bled away and before I knew it I was startled by the opening of the front door. Donna was home from Friday family night. I couldn''t remember the last time I''d been awake when she returned home from church.


    "I gotta go," I told Dean when our conversation had hit a lull.


    "Oh shit, I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to keep you on the phone so long," he apologized.


    "It''s all good," I said. "Besides, my ear is barely bleeding," I mocked.


    "I''ll try harder tomorrow. What''s a phone conversation without a good ear gusher?"


    "Night," I said, feeling the corners of my mouth rising slightly.


    "Night, Mads, I''ll talk to you tomorrow," he said, not asking for permission. He knew me well already. Tonight had been fun. It''d be wrong to do it again the next night. Maybe I just won''t answer the phone when he calls again. I am such a liar.


    Our call the next night went much the way the previous night had gone. We talked about our favorite shows, teachers that drove us nuts, places we wanted to go, which stumped me since I never thought I''d be around long enough to travel. We steered clear of the taboo subjects like suicide and my family life. I knew it was only a matter of time before he''d get sick of the fluff topics. I dreaded that moment.


    Sunday dragged for me. Dean had told me at the end of our conversation the previous night that he''d be out of touch all day Sunday. He had some family reunion in Flagler County to attend. It was insane to miss him. A week ago he wasn''t even a blip on my radar.


    Sick of waiting for a call that wasn''t coming, I threw myself into straightening up my room and cleaning out my school bag. As I was organizing my bag, the note from Friday slipped out of my world history book. I crouched down on my floor and extracted a wooden box that I had named "The Coffin," out from under my bed. It was covered in dust bunnies because I hadn''t taken it out in a while. I pulled the lid off to reveal the stack of notes inside. It had been almost four years since I added my last note to the box. I climbed back up on my bed with the wooden box cradled on my lap. As I slowly leafed through my hate mail, my sins from the past began to resurface, threatening to strangle me. I had no secrets from my peers. They knew everything. The crinkled papers in my lap proved that. Extracting the bottom one from the stack, I recalled with clarity the day I''d gotten it. It was the day after my father had fled our house, horrified and without a word of goodbye. After a weekend of screaming, tears and rants, his silent departure was observed with grief from me, and indifference from Donna. Their words had torn each other to shreds, leaving a tattered mess behind. I stood in the middle of their crossfire, completely to blame for the wedge that had popped up between them. I smoothed the paper in my lap, studying the one word that was scrawled in red across its surface:


    WHORE


    As insults went, it wasn''t very clever, and as the months following my parents'' separation slid by, the insults from my classmates became more imaginative. I became the queen of fading into the background, abandoning my flamboyant ways I''d adopted to get attention. I gave up the black and purple streaked hair I had sported all through junior high, and went back to my natural plain auburn locks. The eyebrow ring that had hurt like a bitch to have done was removed along with the bar in my tongue that I never liked. A tattoo on my right wrist was my final act of rebellion. I''d slipped the tattoo artist an extra hundred to ignore my age so he could use his tattoo gun to scrawl two words on my wrists. The words were used to remind me of the lives I''d ruined with one unforgivable act. I threw away all my provocative clothing, which even at thirteen had turned heads of men twice my age, and at times, three times my age. Loose jeans and even looser black t-shirts replaced them. I used my new change in appearance to fade into the background, and eventually the gossip died away. By freshman year, I was officially a shadow. The notes of hatred stopped and my peers ignored my existence. I kept the Coffin filled with the notes to remind me of the life I had lost.


    I sat on my bed reading through the notes for more than an hour. The despair I''d felt so many years ago began to fester inside me. This was why I contemplated taking my life. This was why I''d made the pact. I had no place on Earth. For years I''d believed I could leave the world the way I lived it¡ªsilently. In one week, Mitch''s death had changed everything for me. I would not leave a mess behind. Pulling a clean sheet of paper out of my binder, I scrawled out my own note to join those in the Coffin.


    We had a pact.


    Leave the world behind much as we lived it.


    No one would miss us. No harm, no foul.


    Our personal demons would be left behind once and for all.


    It was the only thing we could count on.


    It was all we had.


    Living is hell.


    Death would have been so much easier.


    It felt weird to see our pact written out. I felt a wrenching ache of sadness to be letting go of something that had kept me going for so long. I gathered the stack of notes together, placing mine on top and laid them gently in the Coffin. With one last look, I closed it back up before sliding it under my bed. It may be the death of me, but it was time to live.

 Page 9

    Chapter Nine


    Dean was waiting for me by Ms. Jones''s class when I arrived at school the next morning.


    "Hey," he said.


    "Hey, how was the reunion thingy?"


    "Crazy, hectic, mass chaos, overeating extravaganza. You get the idea," he said laughing. "I think there was close to sixty of us there all together," he added, all blas¨¦ like having sixty family members wasn''t a big deal.


    "Sixty?" I gasped.


    "Well, not everyone could make it. Usually, there''s closer to ninety of us," he boasted.


    "Ninety? Is your family part rabbit or something?"


    He sniggered. "Almost. Nah, my grandparents on my dad''s side had six kids, all boys, which translates into a shitload of aunts, uncles, cousins, stepcousins, blah, blah, blah."


    "That''s insane," I said, trying to wrap my brain around the idea of that much family when mine was barely hanging on by a thread. My grandparents on Donna''s side of the family had died six months apart the year before I was born. Like my dad, Donna had been an only child, which pretty much left me SOL in the relative category. Of course, the fact that Donna wanted to stab my dad''s mom made that relationship all but obsolete. I didn''t care. I was good all alone. Alone was simple. It didn''t require any baggage.


    "That''s one way to put it. Next time we get together, I''ll bring you with me."


    "Right, I''m sure they''d love it if you brought a complete stranger to a family gathering," I said sarcastically.


    "Are you kidding? My papaw is old school. His theory is pretty much ''the more the merrier.'' Someone always brings a friend. So see, it''s all set. Next time you''ll get to see the crazy, hectic, mass chaos, overeating extravaganza firsthand."


    "Uh, sure, maybe," I answered vaguely. The chances we''d still be friends by his next family reunion were slim to none anyway.


    "Sweet, I better head to class," he said, checking the time on his phone. "Meet me at our tree for lunch."


    The morning passed swiftly as I mulled over his demand. I should have been pissed that he didn''t give me a chance to argue. I''d be damned if I let some guy boss me around. If I wanted to eat lunch with him it''d be my decision, not because he all but demanded my attendance. I was pissed. Well, sort of. I''d meet him at our tree because the idea of having lunch in such a magical place appealed to me. Not because he told me to.


    I ran into James outside my fourth period class. "Hey, I''m studying in the library during lunch." My white lie slipped out on its own accord.


    "Really?" he asked, knowing my aversion to schoolwork.


    "Yeah, no reason to give Whore Cat a reason to call Donna," I said, looking down. I felt uncomfortable lying to him. I was sure he knew I was hiding something. I hated lying in general, and with him it just felt wrong. He was bound to find out, but at the moment, I just wanted to keep my new friendship private as long as I could. It was silly.


    "Right," he said, not probing. Our friendship was based on secrets we''d never divulge. "I''ll catch you later."


    "Truth," I said, heading down the opposite way before I could change my mind. Having lunch with James was the safe bet. I knew my existence was safe with him. Dean was a different story. I could already tell he expected more from our friendship than James ever had. He was bound to be disappointed. I disappointed everyone.


    I headed to the far side of the campus where "our" tree was located. The grass beneath the giant tree was empty. I plopped myself down, waiting for Dean to show up. After ten minutes had passed with still no Dean, I finally pulled out the bag of chips I''d bought from the vending machine after second period and began munching them to help calm my stomach that was twisting into tight knots with every second that passed. He wasn''t coming. I wasn''t surprised, I''d been expecting it. Really, I had.


    With five minutes of lunch to spare, I finally crumpled up my empty chip bag and stood up. No one was around to watch my walk of shame, but the pain was still staggering. I''d gone years closing my emotions off and within a week of meeting Dean I''d become a sniveling idiot. I should be grateful he''d given me the out I''d been looking for. Thanks to his no-show, I could now return back to the life I''d been living before he showed up.


    My resolve was set. I willed back the emotions bubbling up through my stomach. I was halfway to fifth period when my cell phone chirped in my book bag, but I waited until I sat down in class before checking. Only one person knew my number, so I wasn''t surprised when I saw a text from Dean.


    Hey sorry I was a no-show. Coach Smith was a complete asshole today. He made the whole basketball team run laps since a couple of guys from the team gave him lip. D


    What a relief. He didn''t stand me up. His excuse was legitimate. Coach Smith was notorious for his arrogant attitude. He''d played college ball as a third-string player, but liked to make it seem like he played for the NBA. I was lucky enough to escape his narcissism for the last four years, but had heard him plenty of times in the hallways. If bragging was an Olympic sport, he''d have a gold medal.


    I reread the text one more time, liking the way he ended his message with a simple D, like I wouldn''t know who the message was from. I stowed the phone back in my bag. Texting was still foreign to me, and I was pretty sure it''d take me a half an hour to figure out how to send a simple text. Maybe I''d call him when I got home. Probably not though, reaching out was not my forte.


    I was almost home when a familiar jeep pulled up beside me. "Can I give you a ride home?" Dean asked, leaning over the passenger seat.


    "My house is right there," I reminded him, pointing down the street at my house.


    "I can at least save you a few steps," he cajoled me.


    "Seriously?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him as he pushed the passenger door open.


    "Come on, please? I''m bummed we didn''t get to have lunch together."


    "What? Laps weren''t your idea of a fun lunch?" I asked, climbing into the front seat.


    "Ha, you''re a crack up. I''m thinking of quitting the team. Smith is such a pain."


    "Really, what will your parents say?" I asked, wondering about the dynamics of a regular family.


    "Oh, they''ll support me. My dad and Coach Smith have gotten into it over the last few years. There''s definitely no love lost between them," he said, chuckling as he parked his car in my driveway. "Besides, it stopped being fun after we left junior high. It''s not like I planned on going pro or anything. Is my jeep okay here?" he asked.


    "Sure," I answered through a sudden dry mouth. It was obvious he planned on coming inside.


    "Figured we could do some studying," he said, grabbing my book bag and trailing behind me as I made my way up the walkway.


    "No need. Thanks to you, I''m now squeaking out a passing grade in world history. Whore Cat''s happy and off my back, so it''s all good."


    "Whore Cat?" he asked, plopping down on the sofa.


    "Yeah, kind of a nickname. She''s always nosing into my business like a cat in heat that''s always sniffing all the other cats'' asses."


    He threw his head back laughing at my words. "You have a point," he finally said once he could talk again. "So what are some of the other teachers'' names?"


    "What makes you think I''ve nicknamed anyone else?"


    He raised his eyebrows at me knowingly.


    "Okay, maybe I do," I finally caved. "Uh, well, I call Mr. Fick, Fickhead, though it''s not very original. Principal Wilson is Douche Bag, for obvious reasons, Ms. Sommers is Smokefest, since she always seems to be jonesing for her next cigarette and Mr. Perry is PerryPervert, since he''s always messing with his junk when he calls us girls up to his desk to go over a paper or something else asinine.


    "Shut up, seriously? I''ve never had him, but that''s just wrong."


    "It''s gag-worthy for sure."


    "Is that it on the teachers'' nicknames?" he asked, leaning back against the sofa.


    "Yeah, pretty much."


    "What about the students?" he asked.


    "All your names bleed together. For the most part, everyone is just one big blob that I try to avoid."


    "Why?"


    I glared at him, hoping he''d get the point that I didn''t like to talk about this crap.


    He waited for me to answer, unfazed by my death glare.


    Sighing, I finally answered. "Look, Jockstrap, I don''t talk about this shit," I said, placing him back in his category so he''d know his place.


    "You''re not going to get me to shut up by labeling me," he said dryly. "Friends talk to each other, so spill it.


    "Gah, you''re a pain in the ass. I don''t talk about this shit, even with friends," I said, emphasizing the word like it had a bitter taste.


    "Well, there you go. Maybe that''s your problem. Maybe it''s time you start trusting someone," he answered flatly.


    "Trust gets you nowhere," I said stubbornly.


    "When was the last time you trusted someone? Or have you ever trusted anyone?" he fired back, seeing through me so acutely that panic clawed its way up my throat. How was he able to see through my shield?


    "You''ve got to stop trying to save me Sport-o. Just because you couldn''t save Mitch doesn''t mean you can save every person you meet," I said meanly.


    He flinched at my words. I looked down, trying to convince myself that I was glad. Maybe now he''d back off. I didn''t care that he looked hurt. Well, maybe I did. I knew my words were cruel. Surely he wouldn''t stick around for my verbal barbs. I didn''t apologize though. Instead, I kept my head down, waiting for the inevitable. Several minutes passed and he didn''t move. Finally, no longer able to resist, I looked up through my curtain of hair that obscured my face from view.


    "You might as well know, Mads, you''re not going to scare me away. So stop trying."


    "Why? What is about me that you find so goddamn appealing: my lack of fashion sense, my monk-like behavior or the fact that I''m a social leper? I mean, seriously. I''m a void. When are you going to realize that?" I asked in a raised voice.


    "I don''t think you''re a void," he said quietly.


    "Well, then you''re in the minority because everyone else does. They always have and always will."


    "They''re wrong. You''re anything but a void."


    "You don''t know me. Being a void is a small price to pay for all the bad things I''ve done."


    "What bad things?" he asked, leaning forward on the couch with his hands clasped together in his lap. His whole demeanor suggested interest in every word I uttered. The attention was unlike any I''d ever received and prickles of unease ran up my arms. He was slowly chipping away at the wall that surrounded me. A wall no one had ever bothered to scale before.


    "I''m sure you''ve heard them all," I finally answered, meeting his eyes.


    "Why don''t you tell me your version."


    "I can''t," I whispered.


    "Why not?"


    "Because, I don''t talk about my past. Ever."


    He sat back slowly on Donna''s awful couch and stared at me intently for a moment. "Okay, fair enough. Let''s study instead," he said, patting the spot next to him.


    "Gah, studying sucks ass," I griped as a ploy while I worked to control the emotions raging a silent battle inside me.


    "Nice try. I could tell last week during tutoring that you''re a lot smarter than you let on, so no excuses. I need to study anyway."


    "So, study at home then," I said.


    "I want to study with you, although the quietness of your house is a little unnerving. I''m used to chaos, courtesy of the Terrible Two."


    "Terrible Two?" I asked.


    "My twin sisters. They''re three and holy terrors," he said with obvious affection.


    "Twins?" I asked enviously. I would have loved one sibling, but two would have been amazing.


    "Yeah, the beauty of fertility drugs, which my parents thought I needed to know at the tender age of thirteen. Believe me, no thirteen-year-old boy wants to hear about fertility drugs, let alone his parents'' sex life. They''re lucky I didn''t need counseling."


    The corners of my mouth twitched, pulling up slightly at each side. Dean''s open attitude was unlike anybody I''d ever met. I couldn''t help responding. Thankfully, he was looking down at his backpack and missed my lapse.


    "What time do your parents get home?" he asked conversationally as he pulled out a chemistry textbook.


    "Why?" I asked sharply, suddenly aware of how alone we were. Maybe he was hoping to score as payment for paying attention to me. I knew girls put out for a whole lot less, so I wouldn''t have been surprised.


    "I need to know if my jeep is in the way," he said, looking puzzled at my sharp tone.


    "Oh," I said feeling like a complete dip. "My parents are separated, and you''ll be long gone by the time Donna gets home."


    "Donna? You call your mom by her first name?"


    "Uh, yeah, it was a sort of a compromise we made when I was thirteen."


    "Does she always work such late hours?"


    "She goes right to church from work every day," I said, reaching for my phone. "You want a snack? I can order a pizza," I asked.


    "Sure. I''m a guy, I''m always hungry," he said, patting his flat stomach.


    I nodded like I knew all about the appetites of the opposite sex, when in actuality I didn''t have a clue. My dad had been a stranger before he ever moved out. All my other experiences with the opposite sex hadn''t involved food.


    Pulling my thought away from the road I didn''t want to travel down, I dialed Al''s Pizza Palazooa.


    "Al''s Pizza," a familiar voice answered.


    "Hey Al, can I get a large pepperoni?"


    "Sure thing, Madison. Chuck just walked in, so your order will be the next to go out. Do you need me to send a couple cans of Coke?"


    "No, I have some. Thanks."


    "No problem, sugar."


    "Family?" Dean asked when I hung up the phone.


    "No, I''ve just been a loyal customer. I order from Al''s a lot."


    "So your mom really goes to church every night? That''s effed up," he said, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table.


    Foreign laughter bubbled up in my throat and erupted before I could cap it off. Hearing someone else justifying my feelings about Donna''s obsession with her church was gratifying. I clamped a hand over my mouth to cut off my laughter.

 Page 10

    Dean looked at me with an expression that was hard for me to discern. "You have an amazing laugh," he said softly.


    "You should really stop taking drugs. They''re seriously screwing with your brain cells," I retorted, unsure how to accept his compliment.


    "You know, it''s okay to accept a compliment every once in awhile," he chided. "Anyway, so why does your mom go to church so much?"


    "I don''t know. She always has. When my parents were still together they''d both go. I spent the majority of the evenings when I was little in some form of daycare. I put my foot down when I hit junior high. I flat-out refused to step foot in the church again. I''m pretty sure they were relieved. I guess you could say not being as devoted as the other members was a thorn in their side."


    "That''s whack. Any church that requires their members to attend every night borders on crazy."


    "Truth," I said, sitting on the floor beside him. He grinned at me before turning back to his book so he could work on some sample problems. Following suit, I opened my own math book. It''d been years since I''d actually done any homework. It didn''t count in the grading module the school district had adopted, so I took that as my excuse to bow out. Teachers still assigned homework to help prepare students for the summative testing, but they couldn''t force the issue. They pretty much relied on the parents to police the homework. Needless to say, Donna didn''t police anything I did.


    Dean and I worked in compatible silence until the pizza arrived.


    I grabbed a twenty from the kitchen drawer and headed for the front door. Dean was already there handing over his own twenty.


    "Hey, Chuck," I said, taking the pizza from the delivery guy.


    "Hey, Madison, see you in a couple days."


    "Count on it," I said, closing the door. "You don''t have to pay for the pizza. It''s on Donna," I said, trying to hand him the twenty that was clutched in my hand.


    "Nah, it''s good. I didn''t realize that I was eating your dinner though."


    "That''s why I ordered a large. I''m a two-slice kind of person," I said, setting the pizza on the coffee table. "I''m going to go get us a couple sodas. Is Coke okay?"


    "Sure," he said, sitting back down on the floor.


    A few minutes later, I joined him with a couple of plates, napkins and the sodas. Dean asked me inane questions while we ate. I answered all of them, smiling slightly at the ridiculousness at some of them. I couldn''t remember a time I''d been as content as I was at that moment. If I didn''t know better, I would say I was happy. But that was impossible. Happiness wasn''t in my DNA makeup. Was it?


    We studied for a couple more hours after I cleaned up the remains of our dinner. I was slowly getting used to having him around and found myself wishing that time would slow down.


    "I guess I better head home," Dean finally said, stretching the kinks out from sitting on the floor so long.


    "Right," I said, trying to push my reluctance back so he wouldn''t see it.


    "Lunch tomorrow?" he asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.


    "I don''t know. Are you going to stand me up again?" I asked.


    "No, ma''am," he said, giving me a mock salute.


    "Fine, I guess."


    He laughed at my indifferent answer. "See you tomorrow, Mads."


    "Night," I said, closing the door behind him. The silence of the house enveloped me as I leaned back against the door. I fought the sudden prickling of tears. Being alone sucked.


    Chapter Ten


    The next few weeks traipsed along without incident. Dean actually showed up for lunch every day, and I tried my best to appear normal. Our tentative friendship was changing into something more. I tried to hold on to the "friend" fa?ade, but Dean kept changing the game up every time I turned around. He somehow got me like no other person had before. Every once in awhile he''d slip in a probing question, digging just a little deeper. His slower approach left me opening up more than I normally would have. His presence began to ebb away some of the darkness in my life, allowing a ray of light to dance on the outskirts. The only thing that marred my new friendship with Dean was my slowly unraveling friendship with James. Our lunches together had become few and far between, and I couldn''t help feeling guilty.


    "So, tonight I''m going to show you my own version of family fun night," Dean announced. His words hung between us as we gathered up the remains of our lunch.


    "What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, instantly apprehensive. His constant little pushes were breaking every rule I''d set as he continually redefined what our friendship was.


    "That''s for me to know and you to find out," he said, heading off toward the science building. I waited several minutes and then trailed behind him. As a rule, I wouldn''t let him walk me to class. I told him it was to cut back on the gossip. I was trying to keep his reputation in tact as much as I could. He was confident that I was overdramatizing the reaction of his friends if they knew we hung out together. He was so naive. My past would tarnish anyone''s reputation. Even one as strong as his.


    I was almost to class that day when I saw James ahead of me. I picked up my pace so I could talk to him.


    "Hey," I said, breathing a little heavily as I finally caught up to him.


    "Hey, how''s the studying?" he said, calling me out on the lame excuses I''d given a couple weeks ago.


    "Not bad. My tutor turned out to be halfway decent," I answered, coming clean, sort of. "We''ve been doing a lot of studying in the afternoons too."


    "Wow, you''re taking your classes pretty seriously lately," he said, eyeing me skeptically.


    "I figure if I''m going to do this whole living thing, I needed to fix a few things," I said quietly. Squeaking by had been fine when I thought it wouldn''t matter. Knowing that I was sticking around had changed my outlook. Well, that and Dean''s influence.


    "That''s great, Madison," he said, sounding anything but sincere.


    I knew I was letting him down, and in a weird way I felt bad. My changing was irrevocably changing our superficial friendship forever. Our combined darkness had given us a common bond. What would happen if I continued to change?


    "Why don''t you join us for lunch on Monday?" I said as sudden inspiration struck. "Dean found this cool tree on the edge of the campus. No one ever goes out there, so it''s a great place."


    "Dean Jackson is your tutor? All-American-I-Can-Do-No-Wrong Dean Jackson?"


    "The one and only," I answered, shooting him a small new-to-me smile.


    His eyes widened slightly at my smile, but he didn''t comment. "Sure, maybe," he said as the first bell rang. "I better go so I''m not late to class," he said, shuffling off down the hall.


    I watched his retreating back with a serious knot in the pit of my stomach. I knew he wouldn''t meet me for lunch. It was an unwritten rule that our friendship wasn''t designed to be shared.


    I was still bogged down with guilt over James when I met Dean after school by his jeep.


    "How was your afternoon?" he asked as I threw my backpack into the backseat.


    "Nauseating. PerryPervert called me up to go over my English essay. I had the pleasure of watching him jiggle his junk the whole time I stood there. It was like a train wreck. I didn''t want to look, but I couldn''t seem to help myself. I''m pretty sure I threw up a little."


    "What a dick," he said, putting the vehicle in reverse.


    "I think that''s the problem. Maybe he doesn''t have one and he keeps checking to see if something magically appears."


    Dean snorted.


    "So, what are we doing tonight?" I asked, letting some of my insecurities show.


    "You''ll see," he said in his mysterious cloak-and-dagger voice.


    "Really?" I asked sarcastically. The idea of a plan I had no knowledge of was enough to fill me with apprehension up to my neck. I was already pretty sure that I wasn''t going to like his plan. Especially since he''d thrown the words family around all willy-nilly. My fears were verified when five minutes later he pulled into a long curved driveway in front of a huge sprawling yellow ranch house. Everything about the house in front of me was inviting. The exterior of the bright sunny yellow house was adorned in multiple potted plants that carried an array of different kinds of flowers. Multiple well-trimmed trees broke up the long expansion of St. Augustine grass that filled the space between the house and the curved driveway. The large trees provided shaded areas that were occupied by tastefully arranged sitting areas for those who would like to watch the world go by. If I had stumbled on the house in the forest, I would have labeled it as enchanting. Even being smack-dab in a community full of other houses, it stood out, practically screaming hominess. I''d seen enough TV to know that in the suburbs this house would be classified as a dream home with outstanding curb appeal. Everything about it screamed hard work, love and something else I couldn''t quite put my finger on. One thing was abundantly clear. I did not belong here.


    "My house," Dean said, stating the obvious.


    "I see that. I''m not going in there," I said, shaking my head to emphasize my point. There was no way I was going in there to be paraded around to his family.


    "Come on, Mads, it''ll be fine. My parents are dying to meet you," he persuaded.


    "You''ve told your parents about me?" I screeched in an unnaturally high voice.


    "Mads, they figured something was going on since I''ve been MIA almost every afternoon for the last two weeks."


    "Well, sure, but don''t they just assume you''re hanging with friends or something?"


    He laughed. "My parents never assume anything. It used to drive my older sister Trish nuts."


    "You have an older sister?" I asked, momentarily distracted.


    "Yeah, she''s a junior up at FSU, majoring in art therapy. You''ll get to meet her next week when she comes down for Thanksgiving."


    I was already shaking my head negatively. "No. I''m not meeting anyone in your family," I said, folding my arms stubbornly across my chest. My multilayer of black bracelets clinked together.


    "Come on, Mads, don''t be a baby. They''re going to love you."


    I snorted, looking down at my appearance. My attire of black on black had suited me well the last four years, but at the moment, seemed plain and downright ugly. Not to mention my pale skin coupled with the written tattoos on my wrists. I was a parent''s worst nightmare. I definitely wasn''t the type of girl guys brought home to meet mommy and daddy.


    "You can do this," he said seriously, sensing my inner turmoil. "Unless of course, you''re chicken."


    "I hate you," I muttered, climbing out of the front seat. I''d do this, and when his parents hated me on sight, I''d have the satisfaction of being right. But the question was would it be a victory I really wanted?


    Dean walked around, joining me at the front of the jeep. "Piece of cake," he said, lacing his fingers through mine. I didn''t flinch from the contact. Over the last two weeks, Dean had slowly chipped away at my defenses. "You can stop looking like you''re about to step foot in a serial killer''s house," he teased, tugging me toward the front door.


    "I''d prefer that," I answered as he turned the knob and pushed the door open.


    Several things hit me at once as I stepped into his large sprawling house. First, the room we entered was huge. It ran the length of the front of the house, forming a perfect square. A large kitchen separated by long high-top counters sectioned it off from the living room and dining room which was visible from where we stood. Obviously, the builder had gone for an open floor plan. The delicious smell of spiced pumpkin permeated the interior of the house, and I couldn''t help sniffing it appreciatively. The smell was warm and welcoming as it enveloped your senses. The only thing my house had ever smelled like was the cleaning solutions June used when she cleaned our house each week. It was the decor in Dean''s house that drew me in the most. The walls were painted a warm taupe and adorned with numerous family pictures that were tastefully hung in rich wooden frames. Seeing them made me want to peruse each frame, dying to see actual family pictures.


    That idea was put on hold when two little girls came tearing through the kitchen and tackled Dean around the legs, screeching his name at decibels I was pretty sure dogs five miles away could hear.


    "Hey, Thing 1 and Thing 2," Dean said, ruffling their hair. "Have you two been driving Mom nuts today?" he chastised as a slightly flustered looking woman bustled out of the kitchen.


    "Ashley and Dora, get in your playroom and clean it now," she said, putting her hands on her hips.


    "But Dean''s home, and he bought a fend," one of them said with a cute lisp as she dropped her R''s. I had next to no experience with kids, but I had to admit, Dean''s sisters were pretty cute. Their hair was made up of platinum corkscrew curls that bounced every time they moved. Rounded cheeks and rosy lips gave them the appearance of cherubs you''d find in some Greek painting.


    "I see that. Room, now," she said, pointing beyond the kitchen.


    "Hi, I''m Dean''s mom, Sarah," she said, holding her hand for me to shake after the identical twins had torn away through the kitchen.


    "Madison," I said, holding out my hand, taking the plunge into actual contact. I waited with bated breath for her to judge me when she took in my tattooed wrist.


    "The writing on your tattoo is lovely," she said, surprising me as she flipped my hand over to study it more closely.


    "Thanks, it''s called Elegance," I said self-consciously.


    "What does ''forget'' mean?" she asked, finally releasing my hand that had grown clammy.


    "Um, it goes with this," I said, flipping my other wrist over to reveal the word "Me."


    "Oh, I see. Sometimes the past can be quite trying. I''m sure all of us would like to be forgotten at times," she said uncannily.


    I waited for her next comment. Surely, now would be the time she''d tell me in no uncertain terms about how great her son is and how he needs to stay focused so he can continue on to bigger and better things. I waited for her to tell me I didn''t belong in this house filled with its large comfortable furnishings, family pictures and welcoming pumpkin spice smell. She''d be right.


    "I baked some chocolate chip cookies and pumpkin bars if you two want to have a snack before dinner," she said, shocking me as she smiled warmly.


    "Heck yeah," Dean said, grasping my hand once again as he dragged me to the kitchen.

 Page 11

    "Yes, dear, I know you''re always hungry. That offer was actually directed at Madison," she said drily, following us into the kitchen.


    I paused uncertainly in the archway separating the family room and the kitchen. Black marble countertops sat atop dark cherry wood cabinets with frosted doors that wrapped around the oversized kitchen. Industrial-sized stainless-steel appliances sparkled and gleamed, while an array of pots and pans hung over an island in the middle of the kitchen. Artwork and pictures cluttered the refrigerator door held up by an array of whimsical magnets. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the majority of the magnets were from theme parks in the Orlando area.


    Dean laughed when he saw me studying them. "I guess you could say we''re theme park junkies. My parents let the twins pick out a new magnet every time we go. This one I picked out though," he said, pointing to a magnet adorned with an enraged Incredible Hulk and a roller coaster zooming around his head.


    "You seem a bit obsessed with that ride," I taunted.


    "Because it effing rocks," he said, plopping down on one of the tall barstools that separated the kitchen from the dining area.


    "Language," his mom said, pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven.


    "Eff is not a bad word, Mom," Dean said impishly, standing up so he could load up a plate with cookies and pumpkin bars.


    "It is when I don''t want the twins telling the kids at the playground to eff-off," she answered, using a spatula to move the hot cookies to the cool marble counter. "Madison, dear, would you like a glass of milk to go with your cookies?"


    "Uh, sure," I answered, unaccustomed to having someone cater to me.


    "I''ll take one too, Mom," Dean said, plopping the plate of baked goods on the counter in front of me.


    "I figured that, son," she said, pulling a jug of milk from the fridge. "So, Madison, Dean tells me you''re going to join us for our Friday night chaos," she added, placing the tall glass of milk in front of me.


    "Um, yeah, I guess, Mrs. Jackson," I said, shooting a look at Dean.


    "Call me Sarah," she said, leaning on the counter across from us. "I''m making a roast and potatoes if that''s okay."


    "My mom makes the best roast," Dean said, rolling his eyes with pleasure.


    "That sounds great," I said uncomfortably as they both watched me.


    "Lovely. Dinner will be ready in an hour-and-a-half when your father gets home," she said. "I''ll be in the twins'' room. Wish me luck," she added, heading out of the kitchen.


    Silence filled the kitchen following her departure. I struggled to take in my surroundings as Dean munched contently on the baked goods in front of us. I felt like I had fallen headfirst into one of the sitcoms I like to watch. Did people really live this way? Did they genuinely care what went on in each other''s lives? It seemed all so foreign to me. This world was the polar opposite of mine.


    "So, your mom is nice," I said, helping myself to a cookie.


    "Yeah, she''s pretty cool."


    "What does she know about me?" I finally asked the question that was burning a hole in my stomach.


    "What do you mean?" he asked with false vagueness.


    "Cut the shit," I said, making a move to get up.


    "They know what I know," he admitted, sighing. "Look, Mads, it''s just the relationship I have with my parents. They pretty much know everything about me. I wanted them to understand why I like you," he said, grasping my hand. "Trust me, okay?" he implored.


    "I''m just not used to this," I said quietly, sweeping my hands out to take in my homey surroundings. "I''m not used to people knowing everything about me.


    "We''ll wear you down, and before you know it you''ll be an open book," he teased.


    "I hope not," I thought, shuddering at the mere thought. His parents would shit a brick if they ever found out about my formative years. I should cut my losses now and head out before the warm smiles I''d been given were replaced with looks of disgust and concern for their son''s well-being.


    "How about a tour of the house?" Dean asked, draining the last of his milk.


    "I''m thinking maybe I should head home," I answered, edging toward the archway.


    "I don''t think so, slick," he said, reaching out to snag my hand.


    "Sheesh, you''re always manhandling me," I griped as he dragged me toward the hallway beyond the kitchen.


    "Well, if you weren''t always trying to dart off like some skittish rabbit, I wouldn''t have to. Come on, I want to show you something anyway."


    I grumbled under my breath about men and their hero complexes. My grumbles were cut short though as I took in the hallway walls.


    "This is our family tree hall," he said, proudly pointing to the walls that ran along the hallway.


    I gasped in awe, taking in the sight of the wall plastered in a sort of mock wallpaper that was comprised of hundreds and hundreds of pictures. Someone had obviously taken great care to cut and piece each of the pictures together into a gigantic collage that lined the entire length of the wall, creating the most unique wallpaper I''d ever seen. It was like a work of art. Starting at one end, I slowly walked down the space, taking in each of the photos. There were pictures of birthdays, births, weddings, graduations, holidays and everything in between. Each chronicled section was situated in its own space, divided by three sets of doors on each side of the hall. Adorable pictures showed the twins visiting the Magic Kingdom and being held by Mickey Mouse. I caught a glimpse of a much younger Dean happily straddling the frame of an obviously brand-new bike. Another picture showed Dean with his arms around a girl that I knew by just looking at her must be his sister Trish. As I continued my way down the hall, I found countless pictures of Dean as they chronicled his life from birth to present.


    Reaching the end of the hall, I turned around, making my way up the opposite wall. I''d never seen so many pictures in my life.


    "What do you think?" Dean asked, stepping up beside me as I reached the end.


    I shrugged, acting nonchalant, but the truth is, I had to swallow a large lump in my throat. I looked everywhere but his eyes.


    "I didn''t show you this to upset you," he said, once again seeing through me. "I wanted you to see what''s on the other side of the coin. Not everyone lives like your mom. You could become an adult, get married and one day display your own family on your own walls."


    It was as if he could see into my very soul. How did he know that I feared I would turn out like Donna? Death itself would be a welcome choice over turning out like her.


    "Life is what you make it," he said quietly.


    "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me," I replied to his shrewd analysis.


    "I''m not," he denied, looking hurt as he took a step closer to me.


    This was why I don''t do the whole friend thing. People began to expect things and we''re both bound to be disappointed.


    "I just always feel like you''re trying to save me," I said, trying to get past the anxiety I felt over his close proximity.


    "Not save you. I just want to share things with you. I like you, Mads, more than I can ever remember liking anyone," he said, stepping even closer.


    "You don''t know me. You''d hate me if you knew the real me."


    "I''m looking at the real you. Anything else was a facade. I don''t care about facades. I only care about you," he whispered a breath from me.


    My breath hitched. I knew he was going to kiss me. I needed to step away and break the trance that had gripped me. I couldn''t kiss him, it wasn''t allowed, but I couldn''t get the words out. I felt myself leaning in as if we were two magnets that were drawn together.


    "I can''t kiss you," I pleaded.


    "Okay," he said, placing his hands on my hips and dragging me even closer.


    Everything in me hummed. This was so wrong. I''d buried this part of myself years ago.


    "You don''t have to kiss me, but I''m going to kiss you," he said, eyeing my lips.


    All my excuses fled. I shouldn''t want this, but I did. My eyes fluttered closed, giving him my silent consent.


    A screeching yell shattered the moment as a small body barreled into us followed by another.


    "Whoa, slow down, Things," Dean said, stopping their forward motion with his long arms.


    "But Momma says we can have cookies," one of them wailed plaintively.


    "That''s fine, but no running. Got me?" he admonished.


    Both nodded their heads simultaneously before racing back down the hall.


    "And save some cookies for me," he called after them.


    "Were they running again?" his mom asked, stepping out from one of the doorways that lined the hallway. "I swear those girls only have one speed. So what do you think of my project. Is it too much?" she asked, indicating the walls.


    "It''s amazing," I answered truthfully before I could think about it. The words spilled out on their own accord. My social skills that had been stunted for so long were slowly emerging like a turtle would from his shell when he feels safe. What was it about these people? Why did I suddenly have the urge to trust them? Trust was a double-edged sword. It could give you hope, but it could cut you in an instant when it was broken.


    Chapter Eleven


    Dean and I were watching the Food Network in the family room when his dad got home an hour later.


    Taking in his appearance, I was slightly apprehensive at his intimidating stature. He was easily taller than six feet with broad shoulders. His hair was grey at the temples giving him a distinguished look. I would have labeled him stuffy if not for the laugh lines around his eyes.


    The twins came clamoring out of their playroom when they heard the front door open. They hit their father''s legs like mini torpedoes. "Daddy!" They squealed happily as he tossed one after another in the air before giving them a bear hug. My heart wept as I watched him squat down in front of both of them, asking each of them about their days. He kept an arm firmly around each one as they talked over each other, filling him in on their every activity. I waited for him to get bored with their endless chatter. I waited for his eyes to glaze over with indifference, but neither of these things happened as he listened to them both attentively until they eventually ran out of steam.


    "Where''s your mom?" he asked.


    "She''s in the kitcen finising dinner," one of them lisped out.


    "She is? It smells yummy. I''m thinking roast, right?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes as he finally turned toward us.


    "You must be Madison," he said, approaching the couch where Dean and I had been perched.


    "Yes, sir," I said self-consciously as he held his hand out to me. I''d grown accustomed to Dean''s touch and was able to shake his mother''s hand without much of a qualm, but touching another person of the opposite sex, especially one older than me made me break out in a cold sweat. The last time I''d let an older man touch me it had destroyed everything. My family, the church and my innocence were forever lost. My knees began to shake.


    "Dad, how was your day?" Dean asked, stepping in to cover up my lapse. He shook his father''s outstretched hand.


    "It was work," his father said chuckling. "It''s nice to meet you Madison," he added warmly.


    "You too, sir," I said, embarrassed about my social faux pas. I was a freaking mess.


    "Call me Tim. What''s on the marquee tonight?" he asked Dean.


    "I think the twins picked Toy Story 3 again, and Mom picked up the new bank heist movie for us once they go to bed."


    "Excellent. A good action movie is the perfect way to round out the week. Don''t you think, Madison?" he asked, winking at me.


    "Yes, sir," I stuttered out like a moron.


    "Tim," he reminded me as he headed for the kitchen.


    Sarah met him in the archway and I watched as they embraced like they hadn''t seen each other in a month. I glanced over at Dean to see if their affection was embarrassing him. I found his eyes on me instead of them. I felt myself flush at his look. Did he now understand why I didn''t fit in?


    He smiled at me reassuringly, lacing his fingers through mine. "You''re doing fine," he whispered as we trailed behind his parents toward the dining room.


    The twins were already seated at the table in their matching booster seats. Serving dishes loaded with food sat in the center of the table. The smell wafting from them was enticing and my mouth instantly started watering. On their best day, my frozen dinners never smelled half as good as the food resting on the table in front of me.


    The meal went beyond any expectations I''d ever imagined a family dinner to go. The food was unbelievably good and the conversations were loud and punctuated with frequent laughter as the twins entertained us with their constant chatter.


    Dean and I volunteered to clean the kitchen while his parents bathed the twins and put them in pajamas.


    "You did it," Dean said, rinsing the last glass before adding it to the full dishwasher.


    "Did you doubt I wouldn''t?" I asked, wiping down the table.


    "Not for a second," he answered, tossing the dirty dish towel into the laundry room that was located right off the kitchen. "Movie time," he said as the twins came skipping into the kitchen wearing pajamas with Disney''s newest heroine splashed across them.


    "Yay," they squealed, running for the living room.


    "Ready for part two of family fun night?" he asked.


    "Do I have a choice?"


    "Negator," he answered as we joined his family in the living room. Both his parents were already sitting on the love seat when we joined them. They looked content as his mom leaned against his dad''s chest so she''d have a good view of the television.


    Ashley and Dora waited until Dean and I were sitting next to each other and then piled in between us. Dean grinned at me and I couldn''t help but return a smile. I''m not sure which one it was, but one of the twins lifted my arm and snuggled underneath it while Tim started the movie and dimmed all the lights.


    I looked down at the small body snuggled up beside me, and for the second time that night, I fought sudden tears. One day, this could be me snuggled up on the couch with my own daughter. If I would have followed through with my plan, I wouldn''t be sitting here right now thinking about someday having my own family. The gift Mitch had given me made the knot in my throat swell. I had a future. I could someday get married and have my own family. For the first time since his death, I wanted to weep for his loss. I wasn''t his friend and I really never knew Mitch, but my heart ached for the family he would never have.

 Page 12

    Ashley and Dora both crashed halfway through the movie, but we continued to watch until the end. As my first experience with a Disney movie, I was impressed. Who knew animation could be so entertaining? Being a church daycare kid, my cartoon watching had centered on the same boring Christian videos over and over again in an endless loop. It got to the point that I would rather watch paint dry than see how Moses parted the Red Sea.


    "How about some cookies and pumpkin bars?" Dean asked as his parents each carried a twin to their room.


    "Sure," I said, standing and stretching. "But first I need to use the bathroom."


    "Down the hall, second door on the left," Dean said.


    "Okay," I said walking quietly down the hall so I wouldn''t disturb the twins. Movement in one of the rooms I passed grabbed my attention and I paused in the doorway. I watched as Dean''s parents carefully tucked each little girl into their bed, taking care not to wake them. Sweeping my eyes around the room, I took in the pretty pink walls, delicate furnishings and framed artwork that was obviously one of a kind. It was the kind of room I used to dream of having when I was little. It screamed of love and caring. Feeling like a stalker, I watched as Dean''s parents tenderly kissed the sleeping girls on the foreheads before I turned away. I moved from the door, anxious to get away. I closed the bathroom door behind me quietly and leaned against it, heavily. Who were these people? Did people really act like this? I felt like I was in some kind of utopian movie, where everything was picture perfect. I was a fraud for stepping into their utopian lives when I clearly belonged in a dystopian world.


    Once I finished using the toilet, I stood in front of the vanity washing my slightly shaking hands. I grimaced, taking in my reflection. My eyes looked larger than normal as they stood out against my pasty, clammy complexion. I needed to get a grip. I would finish my night in this alternate universe and then join my reality. I could do this, I thought as I left the bathroom.


    "Everything okay?" Dean asked when I joined him on the couch.


    "Yeah," I lied, scooting to the side of the couch to put some distance between us. It was time I kept our friendship real. No family dinners, no cozy nights on the couch and definitely no almost-kisses in dim hallways.


    I tried to ignore the confused and somewhat hurt look on Dean''s face. Instead, I pretended to be engrossed in the movie on the big television. The actual plot of the movie was lost on me as one action scene bled into the other, but my mind silently counted down the minutes and seconds until I could return to my worthless existence where I didn''t feel like the biggest imposter ever. After what seemed like the longest movie ever, the credits finally began to roll across the screen.


    "That was pretty good," Dean said around a yawn to his father as he stood up stretching.


    "I agree. Plus, that twist at the end snuck right up on me," Tim said, pulling Sarah to her feet.


    "Not me. I saw it coming about halfway in," Sarah said smugly, planting a kiss on Tim''s cheek.


    "Get out," Dean said, turning to me. "Did you have it figured out too?"


    Since I''d spent the majority of the movie in a fog, I had absolutely no idea what twist they were all talking about. "Uh, no, it completely took me by surprise," I mumbled, edging toward the door so Dean would get the point.


    "Madison, it was a pleasure to meet you," Sarah said, joining me at the door. "I hope we''ll get to see you soon," she said, pulling me in for a hug.


    Every cell in my body froze at her touch. My arms hung by my side and my back was stiff as a board. I tried not to think about the last time someone had held me in their arms.


    "You''re so beautiful, it makes my heart ache," he crooned, studying my cleavage that had recently come to life.


    "You think so?" I asked, toying with a lock of my hair, trying to hide my smile. I''d seen the way he''d checked me out when he saw me at church. He was just trying to play it cool, the way he continued to keep me at arm''s length, at least, until today. I knew he wanted me. I had been planning today for months. If this didn''t have the effect I yearned for, nothing would, so I''d lured him in with the excuse that my dad had some schedule changes for him.


    I had to hold back my giggle when his eyes nearly popped out of his head when I answered his knock at the door wearing a short revealing negligee I had snagged from Victoria Secret. My newfound chest was barely covered by the small slip of lace that made up the bodice. I watched as his eyes devoured every curve of my body while I led him into the house.


    "Where are you parents?" he had asked, noticeably nervous, even as he took a step toward me.


    "Not here," I said coyly, taking a drink of my Coke I had dosed with a healthy shot of rum. My dumbass nerves were being a pain in the ass. I could do this. It was just sex.


    Sarah dropped her arms after a moment, and I was able to push the memories back into their vault.


    That couldn''t have been more awkward, but thankfully, Sarah said nothing as Tim slid an arm across her shoulders.


    "Yes, you''re welcome any time," he said warmly.


    "Thanks," I stammered, anxious to leave before any other memories could resurface.


    "I''ll be back in a few," Dean said, grabbing his keys from the table by the door.


    "Drive carefully," Sarah said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.


    "Don''t forget to lock up when you get home," Tim said, giving him a one-armed hug.


    "Will do," Dean said, lacing his fingers through mine. "Did you have fun tonight?" he asked, opening the door of the jeep for me.


    "Sure," I answered, buckling my seatbelt. I really was telling the truth. I did have fun, all the way up until I realized that my presence would tarnish their happy lifestyle.


    Dean looked at me, obviously trying to get a gauge on if I was being sincere. After a moment, he finally started the vehicle and pulled out of the circular driveway.


    "My parents really liked you," he said conversationally, pulling onto the main road.


    "Right," I answered, looking out the window. He was wrong of course. Parents as a rule didn''t like people like me.


    "I''m serious," he insisted. "My mom told me while you were in the bathroom that you''re a sweet girl."


    I snorted at his words. "Sweet? She wouldn''t think that if she knew me," I said sarcastically before turning back to my window.


    "Mads, why are you so hard on yourself?" he asked exasperated as he pulled into my driveway.


    "Dean, stop acting dumb. Even if you don''t believe half the stories about me, you can''t deny the ones that do count. For God''s sake, I once made an entire church congregation split down the middle. I broke up a church. Is that something a sweet girl would do?"


    "Cut the shit, Madison. Churches split all the time. What makes you so certain yours split because of you?" Dean argued.


    "Because I had sex with the youth minster!" I spit out before opening my door.


    By the lack of shock on his face, I could tell he already knew. Of course he did. Everyone knew. The box of poison notes in the Coffin under my bed proved that. For an entire year, I had endured crumpled up papers filled with hatred being chucked at my head. Everyone knew most of my secrets, but they didn''t know all of them.


    "Do you want to talk about it?"


    "Not on your life," I said, climbing out of the jeep.


    Dean climbed out of the vehicle and trailed me to the front door. "When does your mom come home?" he asked.


    "I don''t know, eleven or so. She doesn''t have to get up early tomorrow, so Friday nights are always late. Why?" I asked, confused that he''d changed the subject so abruptly. It took a moment for it dawn on me. He was so disgusted by my adolescent actions he''d prefer to ignore them. I didn''t blame him, since that''s pretty much what I had been doing for the last four years.


    "I don''t like you being home alone at night," he said, taking my keys from me so he could walk through the door first.


    His concern was laughable.


    "Don''t be an ass. I''ve been home alone almost every night for the last four years," I said, trailing behind him.


    "Do you want me to hang out until she gets home?" he asked, worriedly scoping out my house to make sure no one was hiding in the shadows.


    Although I felt like I''d been put through the wringer tonight, I couldn''t help being touched at his protectiveness.


    "God, no. Donna would have a coronary. I''m not supposed to have friends over," I admitted.


    "For how long?" he asked, finally done checking the area where we were standing.


    "For as long as I live here. It''s never really been an issue since she''s never here to check. Anyway, with the exception of you and my friend James coming over a few times, it hasn''t been a hard rule to follow."


    "What is she: a warden or a mom?" he grumbled, heading down the hall.


    "Hey, where are you going?" I yelped.


    "I''m checking to make sure the rest of the house is clear before I leave you alone," he said through gritted teeth.


    "That''s pretty sweet of you, but seriously, Dean, you can''t come over every night to make sure my house is safe," I said.


    "Maybe not, but I''ll be damned if I''m going to drop you off in a dark house that anyone could have broken into while you were out."


    "You watch a lot of horror flicks, don''t you?" I said as he scoured the rest of the house.


    I held my breath when he entered my room. My sanctuary. The one place that no one else entered. Four years ago, I had ripped the room apart, trying to erase what I had done. It no longer resembled the room it once had, but as Dean slowly walked around the space, I felt as if he could see through the facade.


    "Nice," he said simply before heading out and back down the hall. "Looks all clear. Text me if you hear anything suspicious," he said.


    "I''m a big girl, Dean. You don''t need to swoop in and save the day."


    "Humor me, okay?" he said, standing by the front door.


    "Fine, but you''re being ridiculous."


    "If being ridiculous means you''re safe, it''s a good trade-off," he said, stepping close to me. Before I could wrap my brain around his motives, he planted a soft lingering kiss on my forehead, much like I had seen his parents do to his sisters when they tucked them in for the night.


    "Just so you know, everyone has regrets, but it''s fucked up to be continually punished for them," he said, giving me a searching look before he closed the front door behind him.


    My hands shook as I locked the door behind him, trying not to think of his parting statement. After being around his exuberant sisters and loving parents, my house seemed like a mockery. There was no laughter here, no joy and definitely no love. I went to the fridge and filled a glass halfway with Coke and headed off to my room. I closed my door firmly behind me and opened the bottom drawer in my dresser. Digging around under a pile of old clothes I never wore, I finally extracted a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. I wasn''t a heavy drinker, but I''d learned long ago to always keep a bottle on hand for times like this. I poured a generous amount into my glass before crawling onto my bed. The first gulp of the drink burned going down, but it had the desired effect, a warm buzz started to spread throughout me. A couple more drinks, and my senses began to dull. My empty life didn''t seem quite as bad once my glass was nearly empty. It no longer mattered that my parents never tucked me in at night or that any pictures we had of me were closed away in some drawer. It didn''t matter that my fears were confirmed. I didn''t care that Dean knew I had sex at thirteen. Really, I didn''t.


    Chapter Twelve


    I woke up the next morning to the ding of a text coming through on my phone. I grimaced at my extreme case of dry mouth and pounding headache. Jack may have dulled my pain at the time, but he sure was a bastard the day after. I took my time rising from my bed to make sure the room wouldn''t spin. Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I saw the text was a morning greeting from Dean. He was definitely tenacious. Once I knew that the only side effects of my liquor indulgence were the pounding headache and dry mouth, I set my phone back down and stowed the Jack Daniels back in my drawer before I staggered off to the bathroom to shower.


    Avoiding the mirror, I slathered toothpaste on my toothbrush and scrubbed my teeth and tongue until they were begging for mercy. Feeling a little more human, I climbed into the shower and let the hot water cascade over me. I mulled over my near panic attack from the night before. In the light of day, things didn''t look quite as extreme. Dean''s words ran through my head on an endless track. He made it all seem so easy. Was it possible to forgive my previous sins? Maybe the world and I really could move on.


    Energized with sudden inspiration, I finished up my shower in record time, and toweled off just as quickly. I threw on my normal attire and trotted out to the kitchen with my plan at the ready.


    Donna was already at the kitchen counter, eating her morning yogurt.


    "Morning," she said, not looking up from her paper.


    "Morning," I replied, leaning on the counter across from her. Second thoughts began to creep in as she ignored me, continuing to peruse her paper. I finally decided to plunge right in. "Um, Donna?" I said tentatively.


    "Yes?" she asked, lowering the paper slightly.


    "Uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get some lunch, and maybe do a little shopping," I stuttered out, feeling like a complete fool.


    "I have other plans," she said dismissively, washing her spoon off and throwing her container away. "


    "Oh, I was hoping to get some new clothes," I said, hating myself for sounding so plaintive. I was breaking the rules here. We could coexist as long as I didn''t need her for anything besides shelter and food.


    She looked at me critically, obviously trying to analyze my sudden desire to do something together. "I''m meeting the women from my bible group for lunch, and then we''re catching an early movie. If you need new clothes, you''re going to have to take the bus, or I can drop you off at the mall tomorrow after church," she said, scooping up her purse off the counter. "Or just order them online like you have been. It''s not like your wardrobe ever deviates," she said, heading for the front door, leaving me behind with a cloud of her Estee Lauder perfume still hanging in the air.


    I waited until I heard the front door close before sinking down to the floor. Talk about taking the freaking wind out of my sails. I was an idiot. Possibly the stupidest person on Earth. What had I been thinking? Just because I was slowly changing didn''t mean she was.

 Page 13

    All my energy from before drifted away and I slowly made it to my room, feeling dejected and depressed. I eyed my dresser where Jack was stored. I could numb everything again. Forget about her rejection and the hurt I felt. I took a step toward my dresser when I heard my cell phone ding again.


    Sinking down on my bed, I scooped up my phone from my table and saw I had missed several texts from Dean. I scrolled through them until I got to the first one.


    Hey do you have plans today? D


    Are you there? D


    I have an idea for today. You game? D


    If I don''t hear from you in the next few minutes I''m going to assume you''re in. D


    Okay time''s up. I''ll be at your house in thirty minutes. Wear comfortable shoes. D


    What a goof. My depression magically lifted as I read through his messages. The idea of getting out of the house for the day seemed ideal.


    K. I texted. I still sucked at the whole texting thing.


    Sweet. I was afraid I''d show up and you''d be snoozing. D


    Nope. I''m up. I answered, tossing my phone on my comforter so I could finish getting ready.


    My phone dinged again as I was pulling on socks. Glancing down, I was confused over his message.


    ;) D


    ;)? I texted back, figuring it was a mistake.


    Boy you''re texting illiterate. It''s a winky face. D


    Flipping my phone to the side, I tried to make out his "winky" face.


    Where''s the nose? I texted.


    Got eaten by shark attack. D


    Nice. This looks more like a winky face to me ;o) I pointed out.


    Well, you''ll have to let the honchos over at Facebook know. They have a whole line of smiley emoticons missing their noses. D


    That''s despicable. And they call themselves a cutting-edge company. I texted, smiling. I could see myself getting used to the whole texting thing.


    Funny. I''ll be there in five minutes. D


    K. I texted before stowing my phone in the oversized front pocket of my hoodie.


    I was waiting on the front steps of our porch when he pulled into our driveway a few minutes later.


    "Good, I was going to tell you to wear a jacket," he said, taking in my hoodie. "We''ll be outside the majority of the day."


    "Where are we going?" I asked, climbing into the front seat.


    "One of my favorite places, baby," he said, putting the jeep in reverse.


    "Seriously?" I asked, knowing exactly where we were headed.


    "It''s time to broaden your horizons," he grinned at me.


    I returned his grin. Smiling still felt awkward, but I was slowly getting used to it. The hour-and-a-half drive passed quickly as we talked about the movies from the night before. I wound up coming clean about zoning out during the action movie, so he spent the majority of the drive going over the plot. I sat back with my head against the seat listening to him. His warm radio voice washed over me as he walked me through the entire plot in his typical animated way. He was a born commentator.


    I actually began to feel butterflies in my stomach from the excitement as he pulled off the highway, following the signs leading us to our destination.


    "Here, my ticket''s in there," he said, handing me a worn leather wallet. "We get free parking with the preferred tickets my parents buy," he explained as I handed over his ticket while he pulled up to the parking booth.


    "Would you like preferred parking?" the attendant asked.


    "Sure," Dean said, handing over a five and waiting for his change.


    "Turn your hazards on and follow the signs for the preferred parking," the attendant said, handing over a ticket. "Have a nice day."


    "You too," Dean said, switching on his hazards as he followed the signs leading us to the preferred parking.


    "I thought you just said you get free parking?" I questioned.


    "We do, but you can pay the three dollar difference for preferred parking and get even closer."


    Trying to act cool, I tried to control my gawking as he drove up the ramp leading into the parking garage. Signs from different movies designated the parking areas. Keeping his hazards on, Dean followed the parking attendants who were directing traffic into the Spider-Man section.


    "Ready?" he asked, switching off his hazard lights and placing the parking slip on the dashboard.


    "Absolutely," I said, opening my door.


    We walked hand in hand, following the crowds of people as they boarded the escalator-style moving walkways. I tried to pull us in the direction of the nonmoving sidewalk that ran parallel with the moving walkway.


    "Whoa," Dean said like I''d grown an extra head. "Trust me, you take the free ride when it''s offered," he said pointedly, hopping onto the moving walkway. I shook my head and walked on the sidewalk beside him. I''d grown accustomed to walking.


    Several moving walkways later, we entered City Walk, which was the hub connecting the two theme parks together, the original Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure.


    The place was enormous. We stopped for a moment so I could take in the spectacle of it all. There was a giant two-story movie theater, a crazy-looking alien-themed miniature golf course and stores and restaurants everywhere. I could see Margaritaville, Bubba Gump''s and The Hard Rock Orlando. Music blasted out of speakers, making it feel like we were in one big party."Come on," Dean laughed, dragging me along by the hand. "We''re going to get you a hopper pass, so we''ll be doing both parks, but first, we''re going to hit Islands," Dean explained as we strolled along.


    I nodded, overwhelmed by the crowds and jostling bodies as everyone hurried to their destinations. Two weeks ago, I would have freaked at the constant bumps and accidental touches as the large crowd bottlenecked near the entrance to Islands of Adventure.


    Dean stepped up to the will-call booth and pulled out a credit card from his wallet.


    "Hey, you don''t have to buy my ticket," I protested, pulling out my small change purse.


    "I didn''t, although I would have. When my parents heard you''d never been to a theme park, they all but demanded I take you, claiming it was a travesty or something. It''s their treat."


    "What?" I asked, shocked at their generosity.


    "They said to consider it an early birthday present."


    "My birthday is in May," I squeaked out.


    "Well then, consider it an early Christmas present, although I''m quite confident they''ll get you something then too."


    "That''s ridiculous. They don''t even know me."


    "They do know you. They know you through me. Plus, they met you last night," he chastised me as we had our tickets and thumbs scanned to get in.


    "But¡­" I said, letting my voice trail off as a noise as loud as a freight train rumbled through the space we had just entered. Awestruck, I looked up at the massive green track that looped over a small body of water. I watched in fascination as another roller-coaster car shot out of the chute like a cannon, barreling around the track. Its speed was exhilarating to watch.


    "The Hulk?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the green monster in front of me.


    "Yep, The Hulk," Dean crowed. "Ready?"


    "Hell yeah," I said, letting him drag me toward the entrance.


    The line inside was shorter than I expected and I could see them boarding passengers up ahead.


    "It''s kind of off-season right now, so the lines aren''t that bad," Dean said, reading my mind. "During the summer, the line would be all the way outside," he added.


    "Seriously?" I asked, thinking of the long trek through the maze of bars we had walked through to get here.


    "Yeah, usually we buy the skip-the-lines passes during peak session. That way, you get on quicker."


    "That''s crazy. I bet people are stuck in line forever."


    He laughed. "I once waited two hours to ride this," he said proudly.


    "You''re insane."


    "We''ll see what you say after you ride it," he said knowingly as we edged closer.


    "How many?" a bored ride attendant asked.


    "Two," Dean said.


    "Row two," the attendant said, pointing us toward the big number "2" stenciled on the ground.


    The ground beneath our feet rumbled as a new car pulled up to our holding corrals. Excitement hummed through me as we boarded the car and pulled our shoulder restraints down until they locked into place. I gripped the metal handrails on my shoulder restraints and looked over at Dean.


    His excitement matched mine as he reached over and patted my knee. "You ready?" he asked as the car slowly pulled away from the loading platform.


    "Hell ye¡­" I started to say as my words were ripped from me when our car took off like a jet. Our green Hulk car barreled down the tracks making my teeth knock together as we were flipped upside down in one of the big loops and then another shortly after that. Everyone was screaming, and the wind blew against my face. I had never felt so alive. Before I knew it, the ride was slowing down and we were back at the start.


    "Holy crap balls, let''s do it again," I said, climbing out of the vehicle with my legs shaking when the ride finally jerked to a stop.


    "Ha, I knew you were an adrenaline junkie," Dean said, pulling me in for a quick hug.


    I really tried not to tense. Seriously I did, but as soon as his arms encircled me, everything in me froze. He dropped his arms instantly.


    "Shit, I''m sorry Mads," he said, looking contrite as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.


    "Because I''m some freak who totally turns into the ice queen any time I''m touched? It''s not you, it''s me. I shouldn''t be allowed out in public," I said, stalking away in embarrassment.


    Dean jogged up beside "Come on, freak, let''s ride again," he teased in a soft voice. His eyes held mine, and the disgust I was so sure I would find wasn''t there.


    "We''re like some after-school special, ''The Freak and the Jock,''" I finally said.


    "Oh, I''m pretty sure I''d get top billing, so it''d be ''The Jock and the Freak,''" he quipped.


    Yeah, it had Hollywood written all over it. If not Hollywood, then definitely some teenie-bopper, feel-good novel. Of course, both would have to write in a happily ever after since that wasn''t in my life script. Live. That''s the best I could do.


    "Relax, it''s almost like holding hands, but better," Dean murmured in my ear.


    "Friends, remember?" I pointed out.


    "Friends do this all the time," he reassured me.


    "Right, I''m calling bullshit on that one," I said, allowing myself to relax slightly.


    Our second round on The Hulk was as exciting as the first. I wanted to go again, but Dean convinced me the other rides in the park were good too. He was almost right. A half-a-dozen rides later, I was still convinced The Hulk was the best, but I had to admit, the other rides were pretty cool too.


    "What do you think?" Dean asked as we finally sat down to eat after riding the dragon roller coaster in Harry Potter World.


    "It''s amazing," I admitted, taking a big drink of my butterbeer. "I guess I can see the whole ''theme park junkie'' thing now."


    "I can''t believe you''ve never been to one," he said, taking a bite of his chicken.


    "It''s just not Donna''s kind of thing," I said, swallowing my bite of food.


    "What else isn''t her thing?" he asked innocently, taking another bite of food.


    Sighing, I debated answering. I could see his ploy. He was slowly unraveling my life like it was layers of an onion. "Holidays, movies, dinners at home. Basically anything that isn''t church-related."


    "Holidays?" he asked.


    "Yeah. She doesn''t do holidays. Well, holidays with me anyway. Christmas and my birthday are envelopes of cash. Thanksgiving, she spends at the church in their soup kitchen, which is a worthy cause, so who am I to bitch. Easter is spent at the church, and I think one of the families from church, but I''m not really sure," I said, taking a bite of my seasoned potatoes. "I''ve never asked," I admitted once I swallowed my bite of food.


    "Doesn''t she ever insist you go with her?" he asked, no longer eating.


    "Not for a very long time," I answered. "Look, Sport-o, don''t get your jockstrap in a bunch. Trust me, it really doesn''t bug me. If I never step another foot in a church, I''d die a happy person. It''s not my thing," I said, shrugging my shoulders as if I really didn''t care.


    "Yeah, but, she''s your mom. It''s her duty or whatever to include you in holidays and everything else in between. Do you at least get to spend the holidays with your dad?" he asked hopefully.


    I shook my head. Suddenly, my own appetite was fleeing. "I haven''t heard from him since he moved out. Look, can we talk about something else?" I asked as my stomach twisted in knots.


    He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the look on my face stopped him. "Sure," he said as he resumed eating.


    Our conversation was stilted after that, and I was pissed at myself for sharing so much. My family screamed dysfunctional, but actually laying it out for someone made it so much worse.


    We hit Seuss Landing after lunch and some of the fun from before resurfaced as we rode the whimsical rides, including the carousel, which had appalled Dean to learn that it was my first ride on one. He insisted we needed to ride it three times to make up for lost time.


    Dean surprised me by buying me a set of Incredible Hulk dog tags before we headed to the next park.


    "To remind you of the day," he said, sliding them over my head, letting his hand linger on my neck for a moment.


    His touch was intimate and confusing. The contact was enticing, and I yearned to rest my cheek against his knuckles at the same time that I fought the urge to shake it off, knowing the pain a man''s touch could cause. My breath whistled out in shallow gasps. I struggled to remind myself that his touch was different. His eyes never strayed from mine.


    "I''m not going to hurt you," he whispered softly, proving his point by running his hand down the length of my neck, over my narrow shoulder and down my arm in a soft caress, until eventually, he gently gripped my hand in his. "Trust me, okay?"


    I nodded, unable to find the words. I wanted to trust him. I hated the demons that made me frightened by the touch of someone I was slowly beginning to feel something for.


    I was still pondering my mixed up feelings when we made it to the other park.


    "You''re rocking those glasses," Dean teased as we sat down for Shrek''s 4D Adventure.


    "Right, nothing offsets these classy green spectacles like pale, pasty, washed-out skin," I said, poking fun at myself.

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    "Porcelain," he said as the theater lights went down.


    "What?" I asked, getting hushed by the overzealous tourist sitting on my other side.


    "Your skin is like porcelain," he whispered, earning us another shushing.


    Shooting her a glare, I turned back to Dean, only to see he was engrossed in the action of the show.


    Fifteen minutes later, we were depositing our glasses in the recycling receptacle. I was getting bumped and pushed by tourists who acted like they were going to spontaneously combust if they didn''t put their glasses in the container at the exact moment as us.


    Dean led me through the herd, keeping a protective arm over my shoulders as if he was responsible for shielding me.


    "Well, that was craptastic," I said, trying to calm my sudden claustrophobia.


    "Yeah, the crowds can suck ass, but this is nothing. You should see it during their peak time," he said, shuddering to prove his point. "You up for more rides?" he added.


    "Lead the way," I said, taking in his hopeful expression. If I was going to do this whole living thing, I was going to need to start acting normal and less like someone with serious obsessive compulsive issues.


    Dean swung our hands slightly as we walked. I was most certain that ¡°friends¡± didn''t hold hands, but his touch was becoming oddly addicting. I could have done without the whole preteen hand swinging, but I tolerated it even though the whole clich¨¦ of it made me want to cringe. It could have been worse. He could have insisted we walk with our hands in each other''s back pockets. Just the idea made me want to puke a little.


    Chapter Thirteen


    The week following our trip to Universal Studios was wrought with firsts for me. Dean somehow roped, cajoled, conned, pretty much tricked me into agreeing to have Thanksgiving with his family. I balked at the mere suggestion of it, but over the two days we spent at school the week of Thanksgiving, he made it his personal mission to wear me down until I finally gave up in exasperation. The moment I agreed, I instantly wished I could retract my words. Family dinners were bad enough, but holiday family dinners were equivalent to Chinese water torture as far as I was concerned. Meeting new people, making polite chit-chat and acting like I was normal just seemed way too daunting for me.


    As a last-ditch attempt to weasel out of it, I finally confessed two nights before Thanksgiving that I had nothing to wear that was presentable.


    "You''re always presentable," Dean lied kindly.


    "Right," I snorted, glaring at the iPhone in my hand. Even though he couldn''t see me, I still rolled my eyes dramatically. Of course, the fact that he couldn''t see me made the whole thing lose some of its luster.


    "So, I''ll take you shopping tomorrow," he said in his typical Mr. Fix-It way.


    "No way," I balked. Just the idea of Dean following me around from store to store while I tried on one outfit after another in the whole shopping ritual was enough to make me pray for Armageddon. That''s if I was a prayer.


    "What about your mom? Can she take you?"


    "Um, maybe, if hell has frozen over," I bit out unkindly, not forgetting her rejection from the past weekend.


    "Hmmm, we''ll figure something out," he finally said vaguely.


    I''d done it. My excuse was laid. I knew he wouldn''t force me to go if he thought I was self-conscious about my wardrobe. I smiled bitterly. This is what I had wanted.


    We talked for a few more minutes when Dean abruptly cut off our conversation, throwing out the excuse that his mom needed him for something. Without even being able to see his face, I knew he was lying to me. Maybe my freakiness was finally too much for him.


    I went to bed that night with my guts hanging out. I tried to convince myself I didn''t care. Three weeks of a friendship was nothing. I could go back to the way my life had been before he entered it. Several hours later, I was still tossing and turning, and I could no longer tamper down my despair. For the first time ever, I almost felt like a typical girl. I was on the verge of texting him under some false pretense just so I could see if he would respond. I had the message typed out and was about to send it when my actions finally broke through my fog. What was I doing? Clingy, needy, please don''t leave me? This wasn''t me. I deleted the words one at a time until they were all completely erased and tossed my phone on the far side of the bed, not caring that it slid off the bed and landed on the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. I flipped on my TV and turned the volume down so it was barely audible. I needed something to take my mind off my thoughts so I could drift off to sleep.


    The bleeping of a text message woke me from my restless slumber the next morning. I lay there for a moment, deciding if I should ignore it. Who was I kidding? I''d have to turn it off to ignore it. Knowing Dean, he''d just show up here if I did that anyway, so I rolled over to the far side of my bed so I could scoop my phone up off the floor.


    The text was short and terse.


    Get dressed. I have plans for us today. D


    Ordinarily, I''d have been pissed at his demanding tone. Did he think he was the boss of me? Truth is, I actually felt relief. I guess freaky me still hadn''t scared him away after all.


    Jumping from my bed, I dressed in record time and was waiting in the living room like some obedient dog when I heard his jeep pull up in the driveway. I was still aggravated at the way I acted for him sometimes, and I opened the door, ready to lay him out for his bossiness.


    My words of reproach died a quick death in my throat when I gasped in surprise at the visitor on my doorstep.


    "Mrs. Jackson?" I squawked out, confused.


    "Madison," she said, enveloping me in a warm hug that ended before I could even think about stiffening up. "I understand I have you to thank for this. I can''t tell you how nice a girls¡¯ day out sounds. Don''t get me wrong, I love the twins, but no whining, demands for food or constant potty trips sounds like bliss," she gushed, stepping around me into the house.


    Frick, this was mortifying. Hell no. I could not believe Dean had stooped that low. Forcing his mom into taking his pitiful friend/girlfriend, or whatever the hell I was, shopping was just plain wrong. It took me several moments to finally unlock the words that were somehow stuck between my esophagus and larynx.


    "Um, Mrs. Jackson, I¡­"


    "Sarah," she gently interrupted me.


    "Um, okay, Sarah, it''s really nice of you to volunteer, but I wouldn''t dream of asking you to give up the day before the holiday to take me shopping," I finally stuttered out.


    "Oh, you sweet girl, it''s you who would be doing me a favor. Do you know the last time the guys volunteered to watch the girls for the entire day? You wouldn''t deny a middle-aged woman the joy of shopping without two three-year-olds tagging along, would you?" she said, looking me straight in the eye.


    "Uh, I guess not," I answered, still not quite believing her.


    "Excellent," she said, clapping her hands excitedly. "Do you need to grab anything?"


    "Just my wallet. I''ll be right back," I said, heading down the hall to grab my wallet from my backpack. Apprehension crept in like a perverted stalker as I thought of the charade I would have to go through to appear normal. How would I hide my inner freak for an entire day? Panic clawed though me like a ravenous beast as I grabbed my wallet from my backpack and snatched up my phone off my bed where I had left it.


    Flipping my phone over, I saw I had missed a text from Dean. The text message was brief, but it gave me the confidence I needed to at least try.


    You can do this, Mads. I believe in you. D


    That jerk. I could not fathom how he always knew exactly what to say, or how he knew me so acutely, but it nevertheless sent a strange thrill racing though me.


    Taking a calming breath, I headed back out to the living room.


    "All set?" Sarah asked.


    "Yeah," I said, trailing behind her as she headed out to the minivan parked in our driveway. I paused long enough to lock the door behind me.


    The minivan was much as I always imagined a regular family vehicle to be. Crushed Cheerios littered the floor in front of the two booster seats in the second row, while sticky fingerprint marks marred the glass and the door handles.


    "God, don''t look back there," Sarah said, laughing as she saw me eyeing the backseat. "The girls are a walking disaster," she added affectionately, cringing as she took in the backseat. "I definitely need to have Tim clean the van this weekend," she mused, backing out of my driveway.


    "I think it''s kind of nice," I admitted, self-consciously.


    "Me too," she said, winking at me. "Makes it real. We tried for years to have the twins, so now I think we''re blessed with them. None of their mess bothers me."


    Her words pierced me like a sword. I detested the word "bless" in any form. "Bless," "blessed," "blessing," they were nothing but a crutch that people used when things were going their way, or when they wanted something. "Please bless me, lord." "We were so blessed by the sermon." "It''s a blessing that everyone survived." Their tunes would change when they didn''t get the form of blessing they''d wished for. Sometimes, they were given a curse that they would ignore, criticize and wish for something else. I wasn''t a blessing. I was the curse.


    "So, Dean tells me you''re going to be joining us for Thanksgiving," Sarah said, breaking into my thoughts.


    "Um, yeah, if that''s okay?" I said, not sure how they felt about a stranger attending a family holiday.


    "Absolutely," she answered. It didn''t escape my notice that she didn''t ask about my parents minding, which made it obvious that Dean had clued his parents into my dysfunctional family.


    Sarah peppered me with questions on the drive to the mall. The questions were superficial and light, but went a long way toward putting me at ease. By the time she was pulling into a parking spot in front of Dillard''s, she knew my favorite color, favorite band, least favorite class and the food that made me want to hurl. I couldn''t remember a time when someone had taken an active interest in me, besides Dean, let alone, took the time to ask me silly questions. A strange warmth spread through me and I couldn''t help the smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth.


    "Okay, so I thought we would hit the junior''s section here and pick up a few things. After that, we can hit the smaller stores like Aeropostale, Pac Sun and Hollister. I''m thinking maybe we''ll steer clear of Hot Topic this time around," she said, taking in my black clothing. "How does that sound?"


    "Good," I said, not entirely sure. I wanted new clothes, but I also didn''t want to come out looking like a Popular decked out in all trendy brands, and I definitely didn''t want anything pink.


    "Don''t worry. We''ll stay away from any clothes that are a walking endorsement for the store. Anything that we get will have the store''s name discreetly hidden on the tag, where it should be," she said, linking her arm through mine.


    Looking down at our linked arms, I thought about pulling away. She was obviously invading my personal space, my free zone. But I didn''t pull away. Because somewhere deep down in a space I thought I''d buried, she had found one of my most secret desires. Sure, I''d always dreamed that it would be Donna who would want to walk arm and arm with me through a store, but for the moment, I almost felt normal. Almost.


    Sarah released my arm once we reached the junior''s section as she began to pull clothes from multiple racks that she claimed I would look gorgeous in. I felt she was being generous with her compliments, but I was relieved that she was selecting items that were in dark shades of plum, grey and brown.


    "Before I get to out of control, do you have a certain budget you want to stay in? I, of course, plan on getting you a couple of things too," she said, turning to me with her arms loaded down.


    "No," I said in a higher voice than I intended, horrified at the thought of her buying me anything. "Really, I don''t have a budget. I have more than four years of Christmas and birthday money sitting in my checking account," I added calmly. "But thanks for the offer," I said, going for what I hoped was a normal voice.


    "Honey, buying things is what I do. Much to Tim''s dismay," she said with a mischievous smile. "Why don''t you go try these on and we''ll supplement what we''re missing?"


    I looked down, shocked by the armload of clothes she was holding. Supplement what we were missing? It looked like she was carrying half the store in her arms.


    She laughed at my expression. "I''m a born shopper," she clarified.


    "I guess so," I said, shouldering the stack she handed me. "Um, I''ll be back in a while," I added, taking in the overwhelming pile.


    "Oh, I was hoping you would be willing to model them for me. Dean won''t let me go shopping with him anymore, and when I take the twins, it''s all I can do to wrestle them into an actual outfit, let alone take the time to admire them in it," she said, looking at me hopefully. "Really, it would be a treat," she added.


    I was trapped. I looked around at the handful of girls my age, mingling through the clearance racks near the dressing room. Coming out for my own mock fashion show seemed as appealing as plucking my eyes out with a spoon.


    "I was thinking I could sit here," she said, indicating a chair just inside the dressing area. "Go ahead," she said, excitedly patting her knees.


    I finally relented when I realized she unwittingly had given me a chance at some privacy from prying eyes. "Okay," I said, closing the door behind me.


    I set the pile of clothes on the long bench that ran the perimeter of the dressing room and slowly stripped down to my bra and panties. Avoiding the mirror, I removed a long plum-colored skirt that felt soft against my skin. Pulling it on, I smoothed out the folds, enjoying the way it felt against my legs. I shrugged into the ivory shirt Sarah had paired the skirt with and fastened the small pearl-like buttons down the front. Finally working up the nerve, I looked in the mirror. My heart beat erratically as I studied my reflection. Sarah definitely had a gift at finding the right size because the clothes fit me to perfection. Too perfectly. Gone was the drab shapeless black clothing that washed out my skin and hid my body from sight. They were replaced by colors that seemed to enhance my complexion and figure. The girl staring back at me wasn''t anyone I recognized. Even when I''d worn formfitting clothes before my life went to hell in a hand basket, I''d never looked like this. Of course, my clothing choices at the time had run more toward the provocative, which really translated to slutty. I looked normal, and maybe, just maybe, pretty.


    I took a deep breath, realizing the significance of the moment. Once I stepped out of the dressing room, I could never go back to being a shadow. That life would be over. Pushing the lever down, I stepped into the hallway of the dressing area. I watched as Sarah''s eyes grew wide as she observed me from her perch at the end of the hall. I could see her approval shining brightly in her eyes.

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    "Madison, you look lovely," she said, standing up in front of me. She walked around me, taking in the outfit from all angles. "You look beautiful," she added, stopping in front of me triumphantly and clapping her hands happily. "Go try on the rest," she demanded gleefully before dropping back in her seat.


    Forty minutes later, we walked out of Dillard''s with my checking account a great deal lighter. The salesgirl had stashed my four bags filled with clothes behind the counter for us so we wouldn''t have to drag them along with us as we continued to shop the mall. With the help of Sarah, I loaded up on thin long-sleeved shirts and jeans at Aeropostale. It felt weird buying jeans that were actually my size, and not black, but I had to admit, I liked the way they fit. Pac Sun proved to be the ideal place to find a new jacket. I picked out one in hunter green that overlapped in the front and buttoned off center. Sarah claimed it made my eyes stand out. I also picked up a couple pairs of Vans and two pairs of sandals for the warmer Florida winter days. I smiled weakly at Sarah as I leaned against the counter. I was whipped, both physically and mentally. Who knew shopping could be so exhausting.


    "I say a good lunch is in order," she said, smiling at me as I drooped against the counter while the girl swiped my credit card, which should have been smoking from overuse by now.


    "Sounds good to me," I said, ready to give my aching feet a chance to recuperate. "I really appreciate you taking me today," I added, not looking at her as the salesgirl handed me my slip to sign.


    "Nonsense, it should be me thanking you. I can''t remember the last time I had such a productive shopping day."


    "But you haven''t bought a thing," I said, appalled at my selfishness. We''d been so focused on buying a warehouse of clothing for me. "I''m sorry," I added, feeling terrible.


    "Don''t be silly, dear. I can shop for me anytime. It''s been nice to see you find so many lovely clothes," she said, grabbing one of the bags the salesclerk handed over.


    I nodded my head in agreement. I felt all the credit went to her though. She had an excellent eye for picking out clothes that weren''t only attractive, but extremely flattering.


    "How about there?" Sarah said, pointing to a sit down restaurant that was separate from the food court.


    "Sure," I said, not wanting to admit how long it had been since I''d eaten at a sit down restaurant. I could name the restaurant, the day and the exact time my parents had last taken me out to eat. It was May twenty-fifth, two thousand eight, the day I turned thirteen. Donna and my dad had decided to commemorate my journey into my teens by taking me to their favorite restaurant, J.R''s Steakhouse. We were sitting down, eating our dinner at five ''o''clock on the nose, since church still trumped my day. My parents planned on attending their bible study at six, so I was told not to dawdle over eating if I wanted time to eat dessert before they dropped me off at home. I didn''t care about their mockery of a family dinner, I had other plans that night that didn''t include them, but did include a high school party I''d gotten wind of. My plans were to smoke some of the weed I''d bought off a senior, and drink my way through as much alcohol I could get my hands on. It would be months later that I would finally regret the fact that I didn''t enjoy the meal more, since it was the last time we were all together as a family. It was the last time Donna would look at me without contempt or indifference. It was the last time I felt normal. A week later, my life was in shreds.


    "Madison, are you okay?" Sarah asked, grabbing my arm.


    "Uh, sure," I stuttered out, not sure how long I had been standing in front of the restaurant, staring at it like a goon. "I just felt a little dizzy. I guess I''m hungrier than I thought," I lied.


    "How many?" the bored looking hostess asked.


    "Two," Sarah answered, still holding on to my arm lightly. I could have pulled it free easily enough, but I didn''t. The memories from long ago had left me feeling shaky and alone. Her touch felt oddly comforting.


    "What''s good here?" I asked, aiming for normalcy.


    "I''m a fan of the cheddar bacon potato soup and the burger sliders."


    "Sounds good," I said, closing my menu. The idea of perusing the menu to find something I would like seemed too daunting. I figured burgers and soup were a safe bet.


    "Hi, I''m Katie, and I''ll be your waitress today," a chipper voice said.


    Looking up, I nearly groaned out loud when I saw Katie Nelson standing at the end of our table. I watched with some satisfaction as her jaw dropped when she recognized me. Katie Nelson fell into the Populars group with her bubbly personality, designer clothes and don''t-screw-with-me attitude. We''d been friends years ago when we were paired as partners in the youth group mission we took to Mexico the week after Christmas when we were twelve. We were two peas in a pod during that mission trip as we broke as many rules as we could. Together, we''d snuck out to hook up with two boys we''d met from the nearby village. We both experienced second base that night with those boys, and probably would have slid into third if Marcie, our youth leader, hadn''t dragged us back to the camp, threatening to call our parents if we ever did that again. Later, we''d giggled together, not caring about her reprimands as we both discovered we had our very first hickeys. Once we got home, our friendship continued to blossom as we moved from one risky adventure to the next. We smoked our first joint together, holed up in my room while our parents were at church one evening. We had giggled uncontrollably as we dipped our fingers into the jar of peanut butter I had snagged from the kitchen. We polished off the entire jar as we gossiped about the kids we went to school with. Katie was my best friend, my only friend. Because of her, I got to sit at the Populars¡¯ table and attend all the parties she was invited to. The five months following our mission trip were the happiest months of my life. If only I could have been happy with things the way they were. If only I could have lived with being ignored by my parents. Maybe everything would have been different. Hindsight is a mocking bitch for sure. Katie and I were no longer friends after I turned thirteen. She became the ringleader of my torment as she led the brigade of hate notes tossed at me all through seventh grade. I didn''t care though. Really I didn''t. It meant nothing that more than half the notes I saved were in her writing.


    Chapter Fourteen


    "What can I get you?" Katie finally asked, looking away from me.


    "I''ll take the lunch special with the burger sliders and soup," Sarah said, handing over her menu. "Oh, and I''d like a Diet Coke.


    "I''ll have the same," I said, meeting Katie''s eyes. "Except with a Coke," I added, pretty convinced she''d most likely spit in it.


    "I''ll put your order in and be back in a sec with your drinks," Katie said, obviously in a hurry to be done with us.


    "Can we get some chips and salsa too?" Sarah asked before Katie could escape.


    "Sure, I''ll bring them out with your sodas."


    "She looks familiar," Sarah mused after Katie walked away. She looked at me questioningly, waiting for me to fill in the missing puzzle piece.


    "She''s a Popular," I finally answered, expecting that to clear everything up.


    "Popular?"


    "Yeah, you know, jocks, cheerleaders, class presidents, class clown, etc."


    "Ah, I see. You mean The Goldens," she said.


    "The Goldens? Why Golden?" I asked intrigued.


    "We called them that because everything they touched seemed to be golden."


    "Were you a Golden?" I asked.


    She laughed. "Hell no. I was too much of a troublemaker. I was always getting into something that would set my parents¡¯ perfectly straight teeth on edge," she said, still laughing.


    Katie returned with our drinks and chips before I could say anything. I waited until she was gone before asking my question. "Do you get along with your parents now?" I asked, fiddling with my silverware and wishing I could retract the question before she could read too much into it.


    "We have a love-hate relationship," she said, smiling at me knowingly. "It''s a relationship that we have to continue to work on. We''ll never have the easy camaraderie that Tim has with his family, but we''ve learned to at least coexist. So, there''s hope," she added.


    "I''m pretty sure that doesn''t apply to my family," I admitted. "We don''t have any kind of relationship, and really never have."


    "Madison, Dean has filled me in on your home life, and I hope you don''t mind when I say that sometimes parents are just assholes," she said, shocking me.


    I choked back a rare laugh. I couldn''t ever imagine Donna swearing, let alone ridiculing another adult. Growing up, it had always been shoved down my throat that adults are always right. Having Sarah on my side kind of empowered me. Of course, she has no idea what I had done to make Donna the way she is. She''d be looking at me a whole lot different if she had all the facts. Matter of fact, I was quite certain she would bolt from the table quicker than you could say ¡°scandal¡± if she knew.


    "Donna has her reasons," I said, feeling guilty for misleading her family.


    "Just the fact that she has you calling her Donna is wrong, sweetie. Nothing a child ever does justifies being ignored and crucified," Sarah retorted with fire in her eyes.


    Any further conversation was put on hold as Katie returned, juggling our burgers and soups on a tray.


    "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, pointedly ignoring me by only looking at Sarah.


    "Just a refill on our drinks?" Sarah said, indicating our almost empty cups.


    "Yes, ma''am," Katie said, scurrying off with our glasses.


    "I''m guessing you two aren''t BFFs," Sarah said blandly, not missing Katie''s snub.


    "You could say that," I grimaced, not used to being around someone so observant.


    "Don''t mind me. Tim says I''m a Nosy Rosie," she said, digging into her soup.


    The rest of our lunch was filled with lighter conversation as Sarah filled me in on the child Dean had been. I wasn''t surprised in the slightest when she told me he was always dragging stray animals home when he was younger. After all, wasn''t that what I was? Saving just seemed to be a part of his DNA makeup.


    "I hope you don''t mind, but I set up an appointment to get our hair and nails done this afternoon," Sarah said after paying our lunch bill. She''d flat-out refused to let me pay for my own meal. "This afternoon is my treat," she said, linking her arm through mine.


    "Gah, no. It''s bad enough you paid for lunch," I said, balking at the idea of her paying for something else.


    "Nonsense. This is my idea, so it''s my treat. Now, no arguing with your elders," she admonished. Her smile totally ruined the effect of her reprimand. "Just consider it a thank you for letting an old lady tag along on your shopping spree," she added.


    I tried arguing, but she wouldn''t listen to any of my excuses as she dragged me to the salon adjacent to the mall. Before I knew it, I was encased in a smock and staring at my reflection in the long mirrors that lined the wall in front of me.


    "You have beautiful hair," the hairstylist said, running her hands through my dry locks.


    I fought the urge to bolt from the chair at her touch, willing myself to stay seated.


    "Who normally cuts it?" she asked, running a comb through my hair so she could look at the ends.


    "Um, me," I admitted, squaring my shoulders defiantly when a flash of dismay crossed her face. Sure, the fact that I usually gathered my hair into a ponytail and then hacked the ends off all at once wasn''t the best idea, but I sure as hell wasn''t going to apologize to someone I had just met for my amateur hairstyling.


    "I see," she said, smoothing her hand down my back so she could get a better look at my jagged ends. I tried to take my mind off her hands on my back as I silently recited lines from my favorite song in my head.


    "Are you looking for more volume and less weight?" she asked, interrupting my silent reciting.


    I shrugged my shoulders. I had absolutely no freaking idea what I wanted. My hair had been nothing but something I could hide behind as I allowed it to veil my face from sight. "I really haven''t thought about it. I guess whatever you think will look decent," I admitted. "I don''t like short hair though," I added, afraid she''d go batshit crazy on my hair and give me a bad pixie cut or something.


    "No, your face is too lean for a short style, but I think if I give you some layers it will help enhance some of these breathtaking highlights," she mused, petting my hair almost lovingly. "Okay, let''s get you shampooed up, and then we''ll breathe some life into this," she said, raking her fingers up beneath my hair so it cascaded back down my back.


    This chick had a serious love affair going on with my hair. I wondered if I should offer to leave her alone with it. Seriously, if she started rubbing her face against it, I was out. Trailing behind her, I apprehensively eyed the chair in front of the sink where she indicated I should sit. I would have to sit powerless in the chair with my neck kinked back while she would be washing my hair for me. Considering the way she was just practically making love to my hair a moment ago, I was freaking.


    The stylist, whose name I''d forgotten in my I-hate-to-be-touched anxiety attack, wrapped a small white towel around my neck and tucked the ends into the smock I wore. Placing her hand on my forehead, she gently pushed my head back until my neck was flush against the cold porcelain of the sink. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to relax. Obviously, my ¡°no touching¡± rule had been blown to hell the moment I met Dean, and at the moment, I wished he was here, so I could chuck something at him for making me go through this. I could do this, I could do this, I could do this, I silently chanted to myself as she leaned over, obnoxiously close, to wash my hair. I tried not to think about her forearm that was resting against my shoulder, or how her stomach was pressed against my arm on the armrest of the chair. I wished I would have had the foresight to clasp my arms together across my chest, keeping them in a touch-free zone. After what seemed like an eternity, Ginnifer with a G, yes, I finally remembered her name, finished washing my hair. I swear, if she would have put one more product in my hair, I wouldn''t have been responsible for my actions.


    Ginnifer moved me back to her stylist chair and wasted no time getting down to business. It was as if she sensed I had bolting on my agenda. I kept my eyes down, not daring to look in the mirror as she snipped away with her scissors. I tried to ignore the chunks of my long hair falling to the floor around me, convinced that Ginnifer had heard my inner monologue and was now punishing me by hacking off all my hair. Finally, when I thought I couldn''t handle another snip of the scissors, she stepped in front of me and studied my hair appraisingly before picking up her hair dryer and styling it for me.

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    "Wow, you look amazing," she squeaked, switching off the hair dryer and running her hands through my hair while admiring her handiwork. "What do you think?" she asked, turning my chair so I was facing the mirror.


    I hesitantly lifted my eyes, studying my reflection. Who the hell was that? The pinched, drawn expression I had grown accustomed to over the years was gone. With the snip of her scissors, Ginnifer had somehow softened my facial features, making my face appear less haggard and more approachable. I couldn''t quite discern how I felt about the change. Did I really want people to suddenly think I was approachable? Being normal was beginning to feel like a kick in the ass.


    "Madison, you look amazing," Sarah said, coming up to stand behind my chair. "Your hair looks and feels like silk," she added, running her hands over my hair. I kept my grimace to myself at being petted again for the second time in the last few minutes.


    "Thanks," I answered, uncomfortable from the attention. I was acutely missing my shadow life at the moment.


    "Her hair is absolutely breathtaking," Sarah said, beaming at Ginnifer like she had just found the cure for hair loss or something. "Okay, let''s go prettify our toes and fingers," Sarah said, picking up my bags off the floor where they had been resting.


    I didn''t see the use in arguing so I followed behind Sarah as she led me to the far side of the salon where they had a specific section set aside just for pedicures and manicures. Forty-five minutes later, both my fingers and toes were lacquered in a deep purple color that almost looked black. I was pretty convinced both were a waste on me, but they made Sarah happy, so I went along with it. I wasn''t sure if I had ever made anyone happy before.


    "So, Mom says your day together went great," Dean said later that night as we talked on the phone.


    "Yeah, it did. No thanks to your meddling though. I wanted to seriously hurt you this morning when I opened the door and saw her standing there."


    He chuckled in my ear.


    "Not funny, dickhead," I said, shooting the phone in my hand a dirty look. "You''re lucky I was able to control my inner freak for the day."


    "You''re not a freak," he said, no longer laughing. "I really wish you''d stop putting yourself down."


    "Just keeping it real."


    "Well, your reality of yourself doesn''t match mine. And I don''t like you putting down the girl I like," he said, seriously blurring our friendship line.


    "Like as a friend," I reminded him.


    He sighed loudly in my ear. "Yes, like as a friend. I''ll be there early tomorrow to pick you up," he said, changing the subject.


    "Don''t you eat in the afternoon?" I asked, confused.


    "Thanksgiving with my family is an all-day event. There''s going to be football, gorging on food, games, complaining about how much food you''ve consumed, then more gorging. You get the point. The Jackson clan makes Thanksgiving their beeotch," he said sniggering.


    "And you''re sure I need to be there for all that? Wouldn''t it be better if I was just there for the meal?" I asked hopefully.


    "Hell to the no. You''re presence is requested for the entire day."


    "Fine," I grumbled, not wanting to admit how intimidated I was. I would rather swim with a tank full of sharks than be thrust in a family holiday. How I had gotten roped into it was beyond me. I was slowly beginning to realize that Dean was like my kryptonite. I just couldn''t say no to him.


    "I''ll be there at nine," he said, chuckling softly at my response.


    I responded by hanging up. Just because I caved didn''t mean I had to go with my tail between my legs.


    My phone beeped with a message.


    Sweet dreams. D


    Not likely, I texted back, still ticked.


    You''ll have fun. Trust me and stop frowning. D


    Right. Almost as fun as sitting in a Justin Bieber concert.


    LOL it''s good to see you''re looking at the positive. See you in the morning. D


    Unless I don''t answer the door, I threatened.


    Chapter fifteen


    Donna had already left for the church soup kitchen by the time I woke up the next morning. Thanksgiving was of course a busy day for the church, and I knew from past experiences that Donna would be in her element, running around setting tables, cooking food and taking care of those in need. Thanksgiving was a churchgoer like Donna''s, feel-good day of the entire year. Sure, she''d give to Toys for Tots and spend hours at the church, making up hundreds of shoeboxes to send overseas to less fortunate children, who I''m sure just loved the mini boxes of crayons and twenty-page coloring books, versus a warm meal in their bellies, but who was I to judge? At least they were trying. Maybe, just maybe, if things had been different, if I had been different, I would be amongst them, making up goody boxes and patting myself on the back. I often did this. I would play the "what if" game in my head almost as a punishment. What if I had been different as a little girl and didn''t resent all the time spent at church? What if I had embraced the lifestyle, integrating myself in all the activities the church offered? How different would my life have turned out? Would I be happier? Of course, like every "what if" game, we''d never know the truth. That was the point. I had chosen my destiny years ago, and now I had to live with it.


    By the time Dean showed up, I''d pretty much convinced myself that maybe a day with Donna would have been better than spending the day with the clan of Jackson relatives I was about to meet.


    "Wow, you look incredible," Dean said admiringly as he took in my new clothes. He let out a low whistle.


    "Thanks," I answered, flushing slightly. I didn''t want to admit to him how close I had come to chickening out. My pulse had raced uncontrollably when I left my shapeless, comforting, black clothes in the closet and instead pulled out a pair of my new jeans and one of the sweaters Sarah helped me pick out. I couldn''t help grimacing when I studied my reflection in my bedroom mirror. The jeans seemed tighter than I remember them being the previous day, and I know for a fact that the deep plum-colored sweater hadn''t hugged my curves quite as much the day before. I missed my safe clothes. My you-can''t-see me clothes.


    "Okay, time to pop your eyes back in, Sport-o," I said sarcastically as Dean continued to stare at me with open admiration.


    "I can''t help it. You''re a freaking knockout. Now I''m wondering how I''ll keep all my cousins from hitting on you today."


    "Right, because I''m sure that will be a huge issue," I said.


    A look flashed across his face, but he let the subject drop. "Ready?" he asked instead.


    "As ready as I''ll ever be."


    "It''s going to be fun. You''ll just be facing my family, not a firing squad," he said chuckling as he opened the vehicle door for me.


    "At least a firing squad would be less painful," I retorted as he closed my door behind me. I could hear him chuckling as he rounded the jeep. Not finding the situation nearly as funny as him, I fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs.


    "Chuckle it up there, Sport-o. It''s all fun and games until your grandparents chase me off their property with a shotgun for corrupting their grandson."


    "Isn''t that supposed to be a guy''s line?" he asked, laughing at my expression. "Trust me, Mads, everyone is going to love you. Besides, there''s going to be so many people there today, I''m sure Papaw won''t even be able to find his shotgun," he teased.


    "Ha-ha, you''re a freaking crackup. You should consider taking your comedy show on the road," I said drily.


    "So, my mom really had a lot of fun yesterday," he said, changing the subject.


    "Really?" I asked, hating the vulnerability in my voice. It shouldn¡¯t matter to me if she had a good time.


    "Yeah, she hasn''t given herself much alone time since the twins were born. My dad has been encouraging her to get out with her friends. You know, the whole girls¡¯ night thing you chicks like to do."


    I shrugged my shoulders. Anything girl-related was foreign to me.


    "Right. Well, anyway, he''s been after her to get out of the house and hang out with her friends for months now, but she keeps putting him off, claiming she''s not ready to leave the twins yet."


    "Great, now I feel bad for keeping her out so long yesterday," I said, feeling like a complete ass.


    "Nah, that¡¯s my point. She not only jumped at the opportunity to go out with you, but it was her idea. She did a complete one-eighty from every other time an outing without the twins was suggested. My dad was as happy as a kid in a McDonald''s Play Place that she stayed out all day with you and came home with her nails and hair done. You''re like his new hero now."


    "Really, it wasn¡¯t me," I said, uncomfortable with taking the credit. "All of it was your mom''s idea."


    "Well, you must''ve done something right. She was practically glowing when she got home. So learn to take a compliment," he said, reaching over to lace his fingers through mine.


    I mulled his words over in my head. Compliment. Is that what compliments sounded and felt like? I always figured compliments were supposed to make you flush with pride and were a coveted treat to be enjoyed and pimped. Maybe like everything else, I was a failure at receiving them. I wasn''t flushed with pride. Instead, my stomach had an uncomfortable pinch, like it was being tugged on by an invisible string. Only one other person had ever really complimented me, but I didn''t allow myself to think about his compliments. At the time, they hadn''t filled me with pride or the pinching sensation I was experiencing now, they had made me feel powerful, but I was wrong. He had proved me wrong.


    "Are you still nervous?" Dean asked thirty minutes later, breaking up the silence that had filled the car.


    I shrugged my shoulders, not really sure how I felt. "I''ve pretty much resigned myself that there''s no turning back now," I said truthfully.


    "Mads, I''m not going to let anyone say or do anything that will upset you. I promise. I feel like a complete asshole dragging you here, knowing how uncomfortable you are. I just had this crazy plan to show you what a real Thanksgiving feels and looks like. I don''t want you to be miserable though."


    "Hello, have we met? Misery is my best friend. We hang out all the time. You know, painting each other''s nails and fixing each other''s hair," I joked. "Don''t worry about me, Sport-o. It''s not your fault I''m socially stunted."


    His jaw tightened at my words, but he let the subject drop.


    "Where does your Papaw live again?" I asked, feigning interest. It was time to throw him a bone. Even if the day sucked as much as it was destined to, I would rather walk down the halls at school buck naked than ruin his day. I could pretend, fool him or hoodwink him, whatever you wanted to call it. After all, I was the master of disguise.


    "His house is on the outskirts of Flagler County. The property his house sits on has been in our family for generations. My Uncle John and Aunt Cindy have a house on the property, and so do my Uncle Mark and Aunt Linda. There are a few houses that are sitting empty right now that the rest of us use when we are staying overnight. My parents and the twins headed down last night so the girls would fall asleep in the car."


    "Really?¡± I asked with genuine interest this time. "Your papaw''s property must be pretty big."


    "It''s huge. I think it''s something like forty or fifty acres. We all drive golf carts to get around while we''re there," he said, once again smiling at me.


    His smile strengthened my resolve. I could do this for him. I would chalk it up as my ultimate test in acting like a human.


    The next hour passed with Dean regaling me with stories of summers he spent at his papaw and nana''s house. I couldn''t help chuckling with him as he talked about his first and only lemonade stand.


    "I guess in my ten-year-old brain I never considered the fact that if I set the stand up smack dab in the middle of the property, my only customers would be my cousins, who all claimed they didn''t have to pay for it since they were family. Needless to say, the stand lost its luster awfully quickly, with me sitting in the hot sun, serving my cousins, while they ran around acting like ninjas, and I was stuck working," he said chuckling.


    "So, your first business endeavor was a bust. I''d leave that off your college applications," I teased.


    "Oh, it wasn''t a bust. I set up shop again later that evening when everyone showed up for one of Papaw''s barbecues. I sold more than a hundred glasses that night," he said smugly.


    "I bet your cousins were singing a different tune after that."


    "Yeah, they were pretty jealous, but I turned out to be their hero when I bought the new Spider-Man game we were all dying to play," Dean said, turning off the main road.


    It didn''t surprise me that he shared his earnings with his cousins. That''s the kind of person he was. Just an all-around good guy. I destroyed lives while he built them up. Together, we were literally a cosmic joke.


    "My papaw''s property started back there as soon as I turned off the main road," Dean said conversationally, driving slowly over the ruts in the unpaved road.


    I took in our surroundings as he navigated his small vehicle over the uneven road. I was enthralled with the large trees and bushes that encroached on the road from both sides. The road forked off several times as we approached a couple of large houses.


    "That''s where my Uncle John and Aunt Cindy live," Dean said, stopping in the middle of the dirt lane and pointing to one of the houses. "And across the way there is my parents¡¯ house. We use it when we come down here for vacations," he added, pointing toward a two-story wooden house painted a buttery yellow off to my left. "It was built back in nineteen twenty and still has the original hardwood floors. My dad and I renovated it this last summer, updating the electrical wiring and plumbing. We changed out the appliances, but tried to keep the house as authentic as we could," he boasted passionately.


    "Sounds like you really enjoyed it," I said.


    "I better. That''s what I plan on majoring in next year," he said laughing. "My dream is to be able to restore houses back to their former glory. Next summer, I''m tackling one of the other houses on the property all by myself. I''m going to live there while I work on it before I head off to college in the fall."


    "Sounds like you have it all mapped out," I said enviously. My long-term goals were zilch. For so long, long-term goals weren''t even in the cards. I really hadn''t given much thought to where I would go when I graduated. Past comments by Donna pretty much made it clear that she expected me to move out after graduation, leaving me without a whole lot of time to decide what I wanted do with my life. I knew I should start making plans and thinking ahead, but the task up until now seemed so daunting, and quite frankly, pointless. Listening to Dean''s long-term plans made me feel like I''d been doused in cold water. It was time for me to man up and start making my own plans.

 Page 17

    "Would you like to see inside the house?" he asked, pulling into the narrow driveway.


    "Do we have time?"


    "Sure, it''ll only take a few minutes," he said, putting the jeep in park.


    Climbing out, I stretched my cramped legs, pausing to admire the picturesque scene around me. Large trees stood tall and straight around the house, like soldiers, while every other type of Florida vegetation seemed to peek in just beyond the clearing where the house sat. Unique-looking, handmade benches sat around an oversized iron firepit in the middle of the yard. A tire swing hung from the large gnarly branch of an old oak tree off to the left of the firepit, while two swings hung from the branches of another tree. The overall appeal of the yard was every bit as magical as our tree at school. I loved everything about it from the large trees that surrounded us all the way down to the old tire swing that I yearned to try out at least once. I wanted to stay here and never leave.


    "It''s breathtaking," I said, turning to him with bright eyes as he joined me on my side of the vehicle.


    "Yes, it is," he answered, never taking his eyes off mine as he stepped closer to me.


    I had the distinct impression he wasn''t talking about our surroundings like I was. My breath quickened as he gently placed his hands on my hips.


    "Friends," I reminded him softly, trying not to freak at his close proximity.


    "Friends do this," he teased lightly, stepping closer.


    "Um, we''re not friends with benefits," I said, attempting to take a step back. His hands on my hips detoured my retreat as they anchored me in place.


    "You look so beautiful. Did I tell you that already? Like you belong here," he said huskily, never taking his eyes from mine. "You make this place even more special."


    "I thought The Hulk ride was your special place on Earth," I teased, trying to make light of the moment.


    "One of my special places. This is my home though. The place where my heart belongs. One day, I''ll live here permanently," he said, dipping his head close to mine.


    Mixed emotions raced through me like a runaway freight train. I couldn''t handle this level of intimacy. It brought up too many bad memories and yet, I wanted to see if his lips would feel differently. I wanted to see if they could erase all the memories that never ceased to haunt me.


    Dean''s lips did not claim mine though. Instead, he placed them lightly on my cheek. His breath warmed my skin, sending sparks of awareness shooting through my body. Pulling back, he looked at me intently, gauging my reaction before stepping back and strutting toward the house.


    Watching his retreating back, I suddenly understood his ploy. He was slowly accustoming my body to his touch, much like how he had accustomed my mind to his subtle probing questions over the last three weeks. He was earning my trust an inch at a time.


    "Ready," he said, beckoning me to join him on the wooden porch that lined the front of the house.


    "Sure," I answered, still reeling from my revelation. Friends my ass. He''d been playing me all along. I should be pissed that he was blatantly ignoring my demands for a platonic relationship. I wasn''t angry though, I was sad. I had nothing to give in a real relationship, and he was bound to get hurt when he realized it. The kind and humane thing to do would be for me to step off the runaway train now before it was too late, but everyone knows, I''m neither kind nor humane.


    Chapter sixteen


    I trailed behind Dean through the house as he showed me the fruits of his labor. I didn''t know much about restoration, but I could see the beauty of their work, from the wainscoting walls that had been painstakingly stripped and revarnished, to the hardwood floors that shone brightly beneath our feet. Dean led me through the rest of the house, pointing out fixtures they had replaced with antiques that coincided with the era that the house was built.


    "This is my favorite room," he said, leading me through a swinging door at the back end of the house. It led into a bright kitchen, done in all yellows and whites. Long counters circled the entire space, broken up only by appliances. Low cabinets with cooking-related antiques on top of them ran the perimeter of the room. In the center of the kitchen was a large butcher-block table with six high-back chairs pushed in around it. My pulse quickened when I spotted a vase of dried daisies sitting in the center of the table. Daisies, my sunshine, sitting in the middle of the old-fashioned kitchen seemed so fitting. Stepping closer, I looked at the dried flowers, wondering if they were a sign, or a weak attempt on my behalf to convince myself I wasn''t being selfish for sticking around.


    "What do you think?" Dean asked, stepping up behind me and placing his hands on my arms.


    "It''s amazing," I answered, trying to ignore his breath, which was tickling the back of my neck. "You have some serious mad restoration skills."


    "Well, my dad helped," he answered modestly.


    "All it''s missing is someone standing in here, making something like fried chicken or meatloaf," I joked, stepping away from him so I could focus.


    "Now that you mention it, my mom cooked up a mean meatloaf the last time we were here," he said, accepting my retreat with a smile. "We better head over to my papaw''s before they send out the armed services."


    "Right," I said, wishing I could hide out here for the day while he celebrated the holiday with his family. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I knew he''d shoot down my suggestion, so I didn''t even make the effort.


    The drive to the "main house," as he referred to it seemed insanely short. The dirt road we were on ended at a wide open clearing with the largest house I had ever seen smack-dab in the middle of it. Unlike the house we had just left that was seamless in its structure, the one in front of me looked like a patchwork quilt with its multiple additions. What it lacked in curb appeal, it made up for in warmth. Flowering pots sat beneath each windowsill, filled with every wild flower imaginable. One whole addition was covered in ivy that crept up the wall, giving it the illusion that the house was being eaten by greenery. It was the yard in front of the house that rendered me speechless though. Three long rows of tables lined the yard with what looked like a million chairs around them, rested in the middle of the lawn. People young and old milled around the yard, talking and laughing, while young children ran around the adults playing tag. Their laughter could be heard through the jeep''s windows as Dean pulled the vehicle in between two pickup trucks that were covered in mud.


    "My cousins like to go mudding," Dean said when he caught me eyeing the oversized vehicles.


    "I gathered that," I answered, wrinkling up my nose distastefully.


    "Hey, don''t knock it until you try it," he said, climbing out of the vehicle.


    "Mud, bugs and rowdy boys, no thanks," I said, reluctantly climbing from the vehicle.


    Dean came around the side of the jeep and grabbed my hand. "So, I thought, I um, should give you the heads-up. My family members are huggers," Dean admitted as the throng of people on the front yard all turned at our approach.


    "What?" I hissed under my breath. Surely, I''d heard him wrong. He had the nerve to bring me? Me, who hates to be touched, to a get-together with a bunch of touchers? I was going to kill him, and when I did, I would make it excruciatingly painful, so he could feel my pain. Fire ants and honey would definitely be used.


    Dean''s too late "I''m an asshole" warning proved to be accurate as I was immediately enveloped in a hug by an elderly woman who claimed I was the spitting image of her late sister who had passed away many years ago. My arms remained at my side as I was passed from one set of arms to the next. I willed my mind to remain numb as I focused on keeping my breathing normal. I sure as hell didn''t want to further embarrass myself by passing out like I had the day Dean had touched me for the first time.


    Yep, I was definitely going to kill him, I thought to myself as the hugs and greetings continued to come at me from all sides. I was in hell.


    "Okay, I think Madison has been mauled enough," Dean said when a guy roughly our age stepped in to give me a second hug. "Nice try, asswipe," I heard Dean mutter to him under his breath before punching him in the arm.


    "What?" the multiple offender said with mock innocence.


    "Don''t be a douche, Travis. I saw you give Madison a hug twenty relatives ago," Dean said, tapping Travis in the arm again to emphasize his point.


    "Hey, it was worth a shot, especially since you seemed so keen on sharing her," Travis said, darting out of the way as Dean stalked him, calling him several names.


    I stood rooted in the spot where Dean had left me, silently cursing him out for leaving me behind. Forget the fire ants. A pond full of alligators was a much more fitting death for him.


    "Madison, I''m so glad you made it," Sarah said, coming up beside me.


    I was momentarily confused until I realized she didn''t mean "made it through the hug assembly line," but "made it for the holiday."


    "Thanks for inviting me," I said, finally looking up. I was relieved to see I was no longer the center of attention as everyone resumed their previous conversations. Dean gave up on chasing his cousin around the yard and was headed back my way.


    "We''re all pleased you''re here. Holidays are a special time," she said, sliding her arm across my shoulders and giving me a one-armed hug before walking away.


    "Hey," Dean said, stopping in front of me.


    "Hey yourself, Jock Prick," I said, still pissed.


    "I''m sorry," he said sheepishly.


    "For which part? Conveniently forgetting to tell me that your family is like an episode of some kid''s show with their need to hug everyone in sight, or sorry you left me standing here like an idiot so you could play tag with your cousin?"


    "All of the above," he said, stepping closer. "I really am sorry. I just wanted you to come today."


    "No more surprises. Got me, Sport-o?" I finally consented.


    "No more surprises," he promised. "Now come meet my cousins and sister," he added, grabbing my hand in his.


    His cousins were on the far side of the house, roughhousing with a football in hand. Several girls were standing off to the side talking when we approached.


    "Madison, this is my sister Trish," Dean said, stopping in front of the small group.


    "Madison, it''s a pleasure to meet you," a tall brunette that I recognized from the family tree wall said, stepping away from the group to give me my millionth hug of the day. I tried not to focus on how drop-dead gorgeous she was, and how intimidated I suddenly felt being in the presence of people my own age. Could they tell I didn''t belong here? Surely, it vibrated off of me like some sonic signal.


    "I feel like I''ve known you for years as much as D has talked about you," Trish joked, releasing me.


    "Same here," I said truthfully. It had become clear after the first few days of being Dean''s friend, that he shared a close relationship with his sister. Even with her away at college, he still made sure that he talked or texted her at least once a day.


    "Great, Dean has a girlfriend. Can we move on so we can play some ball?" one of his cousins said snidely.


    I studied him for a moment. For some reason, maybe it was his shorter, slimmer appearance, he reminded me of Perry Pervert. He just looked like a slimy weasel.


    "Keep your shirt on, Pete," Dean said, shooting the guy a glare.


    "Yeah, don''t be a dick, Pete," Trish said, rolling her eyes at me. "He can be such an idiot," she whispered, linking her arm through mine. "I really am glad to meet you. I haven''t ever seen D this happy. Try not to hurt him, okay?" she added as we joined the others.


    Her words made my stomach drop like someone had poured a gallon of cement down my throat. Did she really just warn me? Her warning was too late of course. It was inevitable I would hurt him.


    "Ready for some fun," Dean said, joining us.


    "Uh, I think I''d rather watch," I said, realizing they wanted me to join in on their game.


    "Nice try," one of the other girls said, smiling at me. "I tried that excuse the last time John brought me to one of these get-togethers," she went on, indicating a taller guy off to our left with a mess of golden locks that fell across his forehead. "I''m Courtney, by the way," she said, holding out her hand.


    I shook it, grateful she wasn''t a hugger. "Nice to meet you. Seriously, though, I know absolutely nothing about football."


    "That excuse won''t fly here. Believe me, I tried it. All you need to remember is, if anyone hands the ball to you, run for the end zone as fast as you can," she said, pointing to the far end of the field.


    "Seriously?" I asked.


    "Don''t worry, you''ll be fine. Plus, don''t tell John, but it''s actually a lot of fun."


    "Madison, no fraternizing with the enemy," Trish said, coming over to drag me to the team I had obviously been drafted to. "You''re going down boyee," she said to Courtney in an over-the-top gangsta voice.


    "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Trishy. They don''t call me lucky for nothing," Courtney called after us.


    After joining my team, I was dismayed to learn that Dean was on the opposing team. I started to fume when I looked over at him for help and he merely winked at me. Mother of F, it was bad enough I had to play a game I knew nothing about, but being on my own sucked major ass, I thought to myself as I decided the alligators for torture were still a viable option.


    I forced myself to pay attention in our huddle so I wouldn''t commit some football faux pas, but all I got out of it was to run if you had the ball and block the other players if you didn''t. The first play was relatively painless since Dean''s team had the ball first. A couple of guys on my team tackled Dean before he had run more than a few yards with the ball he had caught. The next play was a complete disaster when I failed to tackle him, allowing him to dance into the end zone.


    My teammates booed and hissed at Dean''s maneuver.


    "Nice, you knew I wouldn''t tackle you," I hissed at Dean as he jogged over to me triumphantly.


    "Have to take any advantage I can get," he said chuckling before brushing a soft kiss across my cheek.


    Before I could think to respond, he was back with his teammates who all high-fived him in celebration.


    "Madison, you need to make those tackles," Pete griped when I joined my team.


    I merely nodded, gritting my teeth. Whatever, ass hat. I thought as I resisted the urge to give him the one-finger salute. If he wants someone tackled, he could do it himself.

 Page 18

    "Boys suck," Trish whispered when he turned away.


    "Truth," I said, grateful for her support.


    We weren''t as successful at scoring as the opposing team, thankfully through no fault of mine at least. Dean''s team scored again on their next handoff. This time it was Travis who scored. Pete was practically foaming at the mouth as he barked out orders to us.


    "Take a chill pill, Pete," Dean said as we lined up at the line of scrimmage.


    "Worry about your own team, dickwad," Pete retorted, obviously taking the game way more seriously than needed.


    I watched as Trish and Dean exchanged a look, making it clear I wasn''t the only one who thought he was acting like an asshole.


    Our team continued to falter as the game progressed. For the most part, the rest of my team didn''t care as they horsed around. Pete''s mood, on the other hand, continued to deteriorate as we fell further behind. My earlier assumption of him proved to be accurate as he tried to embellish the rules as the game progressed. He griped about penalties, even though it was just for fun, and claimed to be farther down the field than he actually was whenever he got tackled. The mean person in me was secretly pleased that we were losing since his condescending tone was enough to set me teeth on edge.


    "It''s about time to eat, guys," a petite round woman called from the front of the house.


    "One more play, Mom," one of the guys on my team yelled back.


    "This is it. We can''t win, but we can come out of this without looking like complete pussies," Pete said when we were huddled together. "I think we should hand the ball off to Madison. They won''t expect her to have it since she''s done nothing but stand around the whole game," he said sarcastically.


    How ''bout I just kick you in the face? I thought. It probably wouldn''t be the best thing to knock his teeth down his throat in front of so many witnesses. Trish, though, didn''t have the same qualms as me as she reached over and socked him hard in the arm.


    "You''re a prick, Pete," she said after she hit him.


    "And you''re a bitch," he shot back, glaring at her as he rubbed the spot where she had punched him.


    "All right, can we get along for one more play," the guy from earlier said. "Even though he has as much tact as a jackass, Pete''s got a point. If we hand the ball off to Madison, we might have a chance of scoring a touchdown. You up for that?" he asked.


    "Sure, it''s at least worth a try," I lied.


    "All right then, let''s go out as the losers who didn''t give up," he said, slapping me on the back.


    Gnashing my teeth together, I didn''t allow myself to react to his touch. They were the touchiest freaking people I''d ever met. Was it too much to ask for a germaphobe in the group?


    Lining back up at the line of scrimmage for the last time, I immediately saw that our plan would be a bust when Dean lined up directly across from me. He grinned knowingly.


    I arched my eyebrows at him, returning his taunt. His eyes never left mine, making my heart thump just a little faster in my chest. I could hear Pete counting down the play off to my left, but the words were more of a nuisance as Dean''s eyes continued to suck me in.


    I was jerked back to the game when a ball was thrust in my hands and Pete was hissing in my ear to run. Darting around Dean, I took off running with the ball tucked tightly against my chest. Seeing the end zone free of defensive players, I ran full out as exhilaration shot through me. Victory was mine for the taking as I crossed into the end zone.


    My triumph was cut short when I was tackled from behind by Dean. Together we crashed to the ground. Dean kept his arms around me to cushion the fall, but the air was still knocked out of me as we landed in a heap.


    "You okay?" Dean asked concerned as I gasped slightly for air.


    I nodded as air finally made its way into my chest.


    "Sorry, Mads. I didn''t mean to knock you down so hard. You were going a little faster than I thought," he said, reaching out to softly stroke my cheek. Concentrating on breathing became even more difficult as I realized that he was sprawled on top of me. For the briefest moment, it felt good to feel the weight of his body on mine as I studied his lips, silently wishing they would touch mine. Seeing the acceptance in my eyes, he leaned in closer, letting all his weight rest on me. Then suddenly, with a flip of some kind of inner switch, his weight no longer felt good as it pinned me against the ground, making it impossible to move. I panicked, pushing and shoving at him to try and dislodge his weight from mine. My ears were filled with a weird whining noise that only added to my hysteria.


    Confusion clouded Dean''s eyes as he lifted himself off me. I wanted to tell him I was okay. I needed to tell him it wasn''t him, it was me. Any words I could have uttered were drowned out by the strange sound ricocheting through my ears. I tried to remember if I hit my head when we had crashed to the ground.


    "Madison, it''s okay," he said, kneeling beside me.


    I wondered if he was hearing the buzzing noise also.


    "Madison, it''s okay," he repeated, looking panic stricken over his shoulder.


    Understanding slowly dawned on me. The strange noise was coming from my own throat. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I stifled the noise with the palm of my hand. Instantly, the buzzing in my ears ceased.


    "Is she okay, D?" I heard Trish ask as she came up behind Dean.


    Oh, here we go, I thought. This was when my inner freak would shine through.


    "Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of her," Dean answered, covering for me. "Go ahead and wash up. We''ll be inside in a minute."


    "Way to go, dip," Trish chastised him. "Good job, Madison," she added, beaming down at me.


    I nodded, not trusting myself to try actual speech yet.


    "You okay?" Dean asked for the third time after she walked away.


    "Just trying to give your family the full freak show," I mumbled, slowly sitting up.


    "Here, let me help you," he said, reaching out a hand to pull me to my feet. "What happened?" he finally asked when I was standing in front of him.


    "I don''t know, Sport-o. Could it be that you knocked the air out of me, and then proceeded to crush my lungs with your weight?" I retorted, going for the defensive as anger swirled up inside me. I had nothing to apologize for. He was the one that was changing the rules midway in. It wasn''t my fault.


    "Cut the shit," he said, grabbing my shoulders so I couldn''t walk away. "What. Happened?" he asked, emphasizing his words.


    All fight went out of me as my shoulders drooped underneath his hands. "I don''t know," I answered honestly. I didn''t understand my panic. I thought I was adjusting to his touch, at least enough where I didn''t freak if his skin touched mine.


    "What happened to you?" he asked quietly, stepping closer to me.


    "It''s not what happened to me, it''s what I did," I said, pulling away from him.


    "Madison, are you okay, dear?" Sarah asked, coming around the house to join us.


    "Yeah, I just go the air knocked out of me," I answered, not looking at Dean.


    "You poor thing. That''s the worst feeling ever," she said, putting an arm around my shoulder. "I''m sure my son is to blame," she said knowingly.


    I nodded as she led me around the house.


    "Men, they always like to use brute force," she ridiculed, glaring at her son.


    "Hey, it was an accident," Dean defended himself.


    Chapter seventeen


    So far, Thanksgiving with the Jackson clan was different than anything I had ever experienced, and dinner was no exception. It was every bit as loud and chaotic as Dean had predicted, but I couldn''t help responding to it like a flower in the sun. All of the laughter, cheer and obviously genuine love had me forgetting my anxiety from earlier.


    Dozens of conversations went on at the same time around me as I soaked it all in. The food was mouthwatering, and I was surprised to learn that Dean was responsible for the deep fried turkeys that made up the main course. He was a guy of many talents.


    "What do you think?" Dean asked, leaning over so I could hear him over the noise.


    "It''s crazy," I said, relieved he was willing to forget about my meltdown. "But in a good way," I added. "There''s so many conversations going on, I feel like my head is spinning."


    "Yep, this is us. For the most part, we all get along and enjoy spending time together, with the exception of a few," he said.


    "Pete?" I asked, smiling at him.


    "Yeah. Every family''s got one. Pete definitely pushes the limits of ''blood is thicker than water.'' As my papaw would say, ''the apple doesn''t fall far from the tree.'' With Pete, that''s dead-on, his mom is a piece of work too. No get-together is complete until she adds a dose of her drama to it. Needless to say, we were all glad when she ran off with her trainer, including my uncle Phil, who had been looking for an out for years. Pete''s had a chip on his shoulder since she left, which is why we all cut him a little slack, even though I know my Papaw is itching to take a switch to him like he used to when we were younger."


    I couldn''t help laughing at the mental picture of the tiny old man at the head of our long table chasing Pete around to give him a beat down. "I think your Papaw would have a tough time with that."


    "Oh, don''t be fooled by his stature. Papaw is a tough old bird. I heard he brought a man a quarter of his age to the ground when he ran his grocery cart into the back of my Nana''s legs, knocking her down. According to my uncle John, who had to pick Papaw up at the police station after the incident, Papaw knocked the guy down by pegging him in the head with a can of green beans. Knocked the guy out flat."


    "What?" I gasped, looking down the table at the innocent-looking old man who was regaling everyone at his end of the table with some story. Everyone was listening to him with rapt attention. Watching his animated face while he talked, I couldn''t believe he''d hurt a fly, let alone peg someone with a canned good.


    "Yep, I guess after the guy knocked Nana down to her knees, he kept walking like it was no big deal, even though my Papaw yelled after him. The guy flipped him the bird and kept walking, so Papaw grabbed a can of beans out of their cart and chucked it right at the back of the guy''s head. They say he dropped like a sniper had taken him out," Dean said, chuckling.


    "Did the guy press charges?" I asked worriedly.


    "Nah, he was too embarrassed that a man three times his age took him out. Plus, there were tons of witnesses who saw him knock my nana down. Uncle John said if Papaw wouldn''t have taken him out, several bag boys and the assistant manager were more than willing to step in and do it. My grandparents are quite popular in this area. I guess that''s what happens when your family practically started the town. Papaw says even if he would have wound up in jail, it would have still been worth it. He says no one messes with his family, especially his lady," Dean said, looking toward his grandparents affectionately.


    "That''s freaking hilarious. Your papaw is old-school," I said smiling. "It''s got to be an amazing feeling to have someone stand up for you without a thought about the consequences."


    "That''s family, Mads. Everyone here would have done the same. They''d do the same for you."


    "They don''t even know me," I said, feeling uncomfortable at being included in his analogy.


    "Yeah, but they know you''re important to me," he said as he took a bite of his sweet potato casserole.


    Questions bubbled up inside of me. How did they know I was so "important" to him, as he put it? Why did I intrigue him so much? Let''s face it. Any girl at our school would die to be sitting where I was at the moment.


    "You sure take your friend status seriously," I finally said, making light of his comment.


    "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mads," he replied, eating another forkful of food.


    I ignored his dig and concentrated on eating my own meal as Dean started up a conversation with Travis on his other side. I scanned the table while I ate, soaking in the multiple conversations around me. My eyes met Trish''s, who was sitting directly across from me. She was studying me intently and I couldn''t help wondering if she''d heard our exchange. It seemed impossible with the noise level surrounding us, but I couldn''t shake the feeling that I was being scrutinized. Dropping my eyes back to my plate, I focused on eating.


    The rest of the meal passed uneventfully and when everyone was done they all pitched in to clean. One of the rows of tables was folded up and stored away in the barn behind the house. All the mismatched chairs were dragged into groups where the adults could sit and chat while the kids played on the lawn. Someone wheeled a large TV out to the porch while others carried chairs up to the porch and set them up in rows.


    "Football," Dean said as an explanation when he saw me looking confused.


    "Like on TV?" I asked.


    "Of course, the Detroit Lions and the Dallas Cowboys always play on Thanksgiving Day. It''s a tradition for all of us to watch the game together. Papaw''s living room isn''t big enough for all of us, so all my uncles pitched in a couple years ago and purchased the TV and stand. They made sure the stand had wheels so we could wheel it out."


    "Yeah, but we live in Florida. I don''t know a lot about football, but aren''t you supposed to support your home team?"


    "I''ve been a Cowboys fan since birth," Dean boasted. "Besides, the Florida teams suck," he said loudly.


    "How about I give you a whipped cream face mask for that blasphemous statement," one of his uncles growled, making a move toward Dean.


    "You and what army, old man," Dean mocked, dancing out of reach. Not looking where he was going, he put himself within reaching distance of one of his other uncles who grabbed Dean''s arms from behind, holding him captive.


    "Give him the pie," Travis hooted, helping his uncle hold Dean in place. All the rest of the relatives joined in Travis''s hooting and chanting.


    "What''s going on?" I asked Trish as she came over to stand next to me, laughing.


    "First person to criticize Uncle John''s favorite team gets a whipped cream pie in the face. Dean must have said something," she said laughing as we watched Dean break away and make a run for it. He was detoured when Travis took a dive and grabbed him around the ankles.


    Travis and John manhandled Dean back to his feet as he kicked and thrashed trying to get loose again. Entranced by the spectacle in front of me, I watched with fascination as his sweet, innocent-looking nana came out of the house carrying a pie pan towered high with whipped cream. The pie looked like something you would find on a cooking contest. The edges of the whipped cream were browned to a golden brown while a cherry sat perfectly on the top. It looked way too pretty to be going in someone''s face. I couldn''t help wondering why his nana was in charge of the pie until I looked at Dean and saw that all fight had gone out of him as his nana approached.

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    I grinned. It was all crystal clear. They sent the elderly woman in to do the dirty work because they knew the captive wouldn''t kick out at his grandmother. It was ingenious. The noise level around me increased to a fever pitch as his nana stopped a foot from him. "What did you say again?" she asked wickedly.


    "I said, Florida football teams suck!" Dean hollered, owning his statement proudly just before the pie landed smack dab in his face.


    Everyone started cheering and I couldn''t resist joining in. They were a family unlike any I had ever seen. Their affection was contagious as they all took turns slapping Dean on the back while whipped cream fell from his face in big old globs. Watching them made me envision my own future. By choosing to live, I had given myself the chance to have a family like this someday. We could start our own traditions, stand up for each other and above all else, forgive each other for our faults. I wanted this future. At that moment, I couldn''t help thinking about James. Would a future like this even be possible for people like us?


    The sun had set by the time the football game ended on the big TV. The atmosphere had mellowed out as the younger children were carted off to bed. Most the men were snoring in their chairs, obviously full from desert. Trish and I spent the majority of the football game chatting and getting to know each other. I enjoyed the conversation more than I thought I would. It had been years since I had talked to a girl around my age that didn''t look at me with disdain. It was nice.


    "How''s it going?" Dean asked, coming up beside me.


    "Good," I said honestly. With the exception of the initial hugs and my freak out after his tackle, it had been possibly the best day of my life. Any of the apprehension I had felt about sticking out like a sore thumb had never surfaced. His family had accepted me as one of their own without a qualm.


    "I''m glad," he said sincerely, tucking a lock of my windblown hair around behind my ear.


    "I better go see if Mom needs help getting the twins down," Trish said, standing up. "Madison, it was really nice to meet you. Don''t forget our lunch date when I come home for winter break."


    "I won''t. Thanks for keeping me company this afternoon."


    "Absolutely."


    "So, what would you like to do now?" Dean asked, checking his phone for the time. "We still have a few hours before we need to head home."


    "Truthfully?" I asked.


    "Yeah, truthfully. The sky''s the limit."


    "Well, I''d really like to take a turn on the tire swing by your parents'' house," I said self-consciously.


    "I can do that," he said, leaning in to brush a quick kiss across my forehead.


    My pulse did its normal racing when his lips hovered so close to mine. He grinned down at me confidently before reaching down to help me up. He was playing me like an instrument. Making me accustomed to his touch. Making me hyperaware of his every movement.


    "Let''s go say our goodbyes so we can head out."


    "Will there be hugging involved?"


    "Without a doubt," he answered.


    "Bring it on," I said, resigning myself to the multiple hugs.


    Much to my surprise, the farewell hugs didn''t feel nearly as oppressive as the greetings had. In one short day, I had come to know almost everyone at the get-together. They had all taken a moment to chat with me at least once throughout the day. Some had chatted longer, making me feel included.


    Just when I thought I had the hugging thing down pat, Pete ruined it by holding me too tightly and allowing his hand to cup my ass before he released me. Glaring at him, I jerked back and shoved him away.


    It took every bit of strength I had in me to resist knocking the smug look off his sleazy freaking face. I looked around for Dean, suddenly very anxious to leave.


    "It''s all good, Madison. We''re cousins, so we share everything," he taunted, emphasizing the word while he reached out a finger to stroke my wrist.


    "Really? How about another hug then?" I said, inviting him closer.


    He stepped toward me with his arms open as I thrusted my knee into his crotch, sending him to the ground in a heap.


    Stepping closer to him, I went in for the kill. "You ever touch me like that again and you''re fucking dead. Got me?" I said, flicking him on the ear, just to emphasize my point. I turned away from him in disgust.


    "Bravo," Travis said, sliding up beside me. "I''m pretty sure you got your point across. Of course, I think I might need to add in my two cents."


    "You all right, cous? You gotta be more careful watching where you walk," Travis said, reaching a hand down to help him up. Pete''s eyes widened in pain as Travis obviously squeezed his hand. "We don''t share everything. Got me, dipshit?" he said, before strutting away and leaving a shell-shocked Pete in his wake.


    "What was all that about?" Dean asked, joining me.


    "He fell," I lied.


    "Pete? What a doof. Pete, do we need to get you some kneepads or something?" Dean teased, unwittingly adding more insult to Pete''s injury.


    "You ready?" he asked, turning back to me.


    "Sure," I answered, looking back at the lit-up patchwork house one last time. Despite Pete''s groping hand, I was sad to leave. Facing my silent existence in my own house seemed cruel after spending a day with them. Death would almost be more welcoming than being alone, even for a second. Someday, I would have a life like the one I had experienced today. A life where I wouldn''t give death a second thought as I actually lived.


    "Will your parents mind that we''re out here?" I asked Dean when he pulled into the dirt drive in front of his parents'' house a few minutes later.


    "Not at all. As long as we don''t run around screaming like a bunch of loons and keeping the twins up," he added, climbing from the jeep.


    I followed behind him, trying not to trip in the dark. The beams from the porch light didn''t quite reach the area where we were walking. Dean reached over and grabbed my hand to help guide me over the tree roots that had broken through the soil.


    Reaching the tire swing, I cautiously climbed on, waiting for Dean to join me.


    "Hang on," he said, pulling the tire swing all the way back until the ropes wouldn''t stretch any farther. Finally releasing the tension, he allowed gravity to take over.


    I laughed in exhilaration as the cool breeze tickled my neck and my hair blew around me in the night sky. I swayed back and forth with Dean shoving the tire each time I passed to aid my momentum.


    Finally, he grabbed the rope, jerking me to a stop."That was great," I said, looking up.


    "You want me to do it again?"


    "Yes, please," I answered eagerly.


    I lost track of how many times Dean swung me back and forth. Eventually, he let the swing come to a halt and we sat facing each other. The excitement of the ride dissipated inside me as something new took hold. I knew without a shadow of a doubt he was going to kiss me. I was ready for it now. Somewhere along the way, he had earned my trust. I knew he wouldn''t hurt me.


    Whether he saw the eagerness in my eyes, or was feeling the same pull, he moved his hands up to cup my face, holding me gently in place. My eyes held his as he gently brushed his thumb across my lower lip making it tremble in response.


    "I''m not going to hurt you," he whispered, leaning in close.


    "I know," I said with a slight shake in my voice.


    "You are so beautiful," he said, placing his lips lightly on my cheek. Leaving a trail of light kisses along my cheek and chin, he slowly approached my lips. Everything inside me seemed to quiver.


    "Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked, placing his lips softly at the corner of my mouth.


    I nodded.


    "I need you to say the words, babe. I want you to want this as much as me," he said, pulling back slightly.


    I knew what he wanted. He needed me to confirm that I wouldn''t freak out again. He wouldn''t force himself on me. Knowing this set me free in a way no words ever could. He wasn''t going to hurt me like I was hurt before. He was waiting for me to make the next move.


    "Dean, will you please kiss me?" I whispered, my voice no longer shaking. I was ready.


    "Yes, I will," Dean answered, pulling me close and capturing my lips with his. The feel of his lips on mine was filled with sweet ecstasy as he gently discovered my mouth. After a moment, he gently probed my lips open and the tips of our tongues met, turning the sweetness into a smoldering hot, spine-tingling inferno. He pulled me even closer so our bodies pressed against each other. His hands kept my face anchored in place as the kiss went on. I sighed against his lips, never wanting them to leave mine. There was no darkness around me, only light that was spreading through me like wildfire. He broke away after a moment and looked down at me, smiling slightly. Maneuvering his legs through the hole in the tire until they touched the ground, he slowly backed the swing up until he was almost standing with me cradled against his chest.


    "Ready?" he asked.


    Nodding mutely, my eyes never left his as he claimed my lips once again just as he lifted his feet, letting gravity swing us back the other way.


    Chapter eighteen


    Dean and I were inseparable through the rest of Thanksgiving break. On Friday, we spent the day fighting the Black Friday shoppers as we went from one store to the next, looking for Christmas gifts. It was my first experience really shopping for presents on my own, and I embraced it head-on, buying the twins multiple gifts until Dean finally reigned me in. He laughed when I stuck out my tongue at him before placing the dolls that I was convinced they needed back on the shelf. Shopping for the girls had turned around my distaste for the pink Barbie aisle as I fought the temptation to buy them more.


    Picking out perfect gifts for his parents was harder since I wanted to get them something special. Finally, after dragging him into several stores, I found exactly what I was looking for at Things Remembered. With the help of Dean, I filled in the details on the order form for the engraving.


    Pleased with my success, I set my sights on helping Dean with his own shopping.


    "Are we done?" I asked as we left a bath store with a bag filled with goodies.


    "Not yet," Dean said with a smile as he dragged me to the center of the mall where a line of kids waited impatiently.


    "What are we doing?" I asked confused, taking in the children around me, decked out in fancy Christmas outfits.


    "Seeing Santa, of course," he said, grinning at me.


    "Come on," I said, peering at the kids in line, all anxiously waiting for their turn to sit on Santa''s lap. I was touched that Dean remembered me mentioning the fact that I had never visited Santa.


    "Won''t I look silly?" I asked, gnawing slightly on my lip.


    "Who cares," Dean said, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. "Will it make you happy?"


    I nodded my head.


    "Then it''s settled, we''re seeing Santa," he said as the line slowly inched along.


    I kept my eyes peeled on the jolly guy in front of us. Obviously, I didn''t believe in Santa, but this guy definitely looked the part. I couldn''t help the excitement that raced through me as we moved closer and closer. Even the workers, or should I say, Santa''s elves, treated us no different than the younger children in line. Finally, after about twenty minutes, it was our turn.


    "You go first and talk to him, and then we''ll get our picture done," Dean said, nudging me slightly.


    I felt silly as I walked toward the mall Santa who looked pretty legit. I mean, the gold stitching matched the gold buttons on his coat, and he wore real boots, not the fake covers with the straps that barely covered the actor''s sneakers underneath that you typically saw on a mall Santa.


    "And how are you today, young lady?" he said with a twinkle in his eye as he patted his knee for me to perch on.


    Not wanting to crush him, I perched on the edge of his knee, keeping the majority of my weight on my legs. "Good. I''ve never done this before," I answered, feeling dumb.


    "I know, but that doesn''t mean I haven''t been watching to see if you''ve been bad or good," he said, staying in character.


    I knew it was ridiculous, but my heart raced at his words. I couldn''t help wondering what the statute of limitations was for being bad.


    "Your beard looks real," I said, studying him closely and reminding myself he was just an actor.


    "It''s a good thing, because it is real," he said, smiling broadly at me. "Now, why don''t you tell me what you want for Christmas," he said kindly, as if he already knew what I wanted.


    "Can it be anything?" I asked, not sure what the rules were.


    "Absolutely."


    The whole idea of asking him for anything was childish, but I couldn''t help gnawing on my lip.


    "Why don''t you whisper your wish," he said gently, understanding me better than he should.


    I leaned over and self-consciously whispered into his ear. His eyes widened with compassion, and he patted me on the back.


    "I think that can be done, my dear," he answered, beckoning Dean over to join us so they could snap our picture.


    "Did you tell him what you want for Christmas, Mads?" Dean asked, having no problem perching on Santa''s other knee while a girl dressed like an elf snapped our picture.


    "Yep," I said, feeling lighthearted as I smiled for the camera.


    The elf snapped our picture and beckoned for the next kid in line to replace my spot.


    I held out my hand in front of me before we left. "Thank you," I said as Santa''s gloved hand enveloped mine.


    "It was my pleasure, Madison," he said with serious eyes. "Your wish is in your heart, you just have to release it," he added, giving my hand a slight squeeze before releasing me.


    "How do you think he knew my name?" I asked Dean as he paid for our picture package.


    "Santa knows everything," he replied, stowing his wallet in his back pocket.


    "Very funny," I said, looking back at the jolly man, who caught my eye once again, giving me a wink.


    "Probably because I called you ''Mads.'' He probably took a shot in the dark, even though I''d like to believe my first answer. So what did you wish for?"


    "If I tell you, it won''t come true," I answered, adjusting the shopping bags in my hand. It was too embarrassing to tell him the secret that only Santa and I shared. All I wanted for Christmas was the one gift that would set me free, and allow me to finally move on¡ªforgiveness.


    The rest of the weekend was spent at Dean''s house with his family as we decorated their house for Christmas. Dean and his father dragged countless tubs from the attic, all filled with decorations. Trish, Sarah and I sat in the middle of the living room floor, sorting through everything. The sheer mass of it was overwhelming. I couldn''t help lingering over each decoration as Sarah and Trish regaled me with stories about each one. One in particular made my entire heart move to my throat. It was a rack that held four ceramic plates with each of the kids'' handprints in the center. Each plate had been made when all of them had been the same exact age.

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    "How did you find the same plates for the twins that you used for Dean and Trish?" I asked, intrigued at the matching series.


    "Tim," Sarah said, looking up from her own tub that she was emptying. "He searched high and low on the Internet until he found two with the original pattern. I was hormonal at the time, so I wound up bursting into tears. Poor Tim, he thought I hated them," she added laughing.


    "They''re cool," I said, running my finger over the tiny handprints. Did Donna have stuff stored away with my handprints? I doubted it. Clutter wasn''t her thing. We had some decorations from years ago, but neither of us had dragged them out over the last four years. For all I knew, they could be in some trash pile somewhere.


    Digging more through the tubs, I was intrigued when I stumbled across a Christmas village that was completely miniaturized. Unwrapping each house, I placed them on the floor around me. Each house was individualized with different types of structures and painting setting them apart from one another. Once all the houses, fifty in all, were unpacked and sitting on the floor around me, Sarah had Tim drag in a large plywood board from the garage to set up the village on. The board had been painstakingly painted with small roads and ponds that looked frozen. Multiple holes had been drilled through the board in sporadic locations to run the cords through. Sarah put the twins and me in charge of setting up the village, which we took to heart. We spent hours setting the houses and trees up so they resembled the perfect Christmas village. Once all the houses were in place, we used the fake snow Sarah had bought to add a whimsical touch to the entire thing.


    "It woks good," Ashley said, clapping her hands with delight.


    "What do you think, Dora?" I asked as she studied the board critically.


    She smiled broadly. "It''s bootiful," she said, clapping her hands too.


    The twins grabbed the rest of the family so they could come see our handiwork. I stood up, working the kinks out of my neck from sitting hunched over on the floor so long.


    "It looks great," Dean said, coming up behind me.


    "It does, doesn''t it?" I said, admiring the lit-up village in front of me. "It''s beautiful," I added.


    "Almost as beautiful as you," Dean said huskily, placing a quick kiss on my neck before his family joined us.


    "You''re insane," I whispered, stepping out of his embrace as the girls pointed out each of the houses we had set up.


    Sarah and Tim insisted I eat dinner with the family that night. They wound up ordering pizzas that we ate on the living room floor while we watched Christmas cartoons with the girls.


    "I had a lot of fun this weekend," I told Dean when he drove me home Sunday evening.


    "I did too," Dean said pulling into my driveway. "My family really likes you."


    "I feel the same about them," I said truthfully as we got out of the jeep. I didn''t try to argue with him as he did his normal walk-through of my house, making sure it was safe.


    "No boogeyman hiding?" I asked when he finally joined me in the living room.


    "No boogeyman, though I still hate dropping you off at night like this."


    "Donna should be home soon," I said, glancing at the old grandfather clock on the far side of the room.


    "Well, in that case, I better head out," he said, pulling me close for a kiss. He kept the kiss simple with his hands in the safe zone. "I''m picking you up tomorrow morning," he said, breaking the kiss to look at me sternly."


    "What if I want to walk?" I said, not sure I was ready to flaunt our relationship in front of everyone.


    "Then I''ll drive over and walk to school with you," he said, placing a finger on my lips as I started to argue. "I like you, Madison, a lot, and I want everyone to know it. I know you have some preconceived notion about how everyone will react, but you have to trust me when I say, I won''t allow it. They either accept you for who you are, or they''re no friend of mine."


    "Isn''t it supposed to be ''dudes before boobs'' or something like that?" I asked. "Is it fair to throw away years of friendships over some girl you''ve just started dating?" I added, making it clear that I didn''t expect him to choose me.


    He laughed. "I''m not sure if that''s exactly how the saying goes, but it doesn''t apply to me anyway. I won''t have to choose," he said, placing his lips back on mine.


    I sighed slightly as he parted my lips with his tongue. My own tongue tentatively touched his before I became bolder. A key being inserted into the front door interrupted us, and I froze. Dean stepped away from me just as Donna opened the door.


    "Madison?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Dean.


    "Dean was just dropping me off," I said with dread, wishing Dean would leave before she said something that I didn''t want him to know.


    "I''m Dean," he said, sticking out his hand for her to shake.


    Donna studied him for a moment before replying.


    "Donna," she said, shaking his hand limply. "Madison isn''t allowed to have company over when I''m not home," she added, shooting a look in my direction.


    "Oh, yes ma''am. I just came in to search the house since I don''t feel comfortable dropping her off in a house at night, all by herself," Dean said, emphasizing the alone part.


    "I see," Donna said, making it clear she didn''t care about his excuse as she headed off to her room without another word.


    "Sorry," I said, walking Dean to the door. "It''s not you, it''s me," I said, trying to explain her behavior.


    "No, actually it''s not you, it''s her," he answered, looking troubled.


    "She has her reasons," I said, defending her.


    "No reason justifies that," he said, placing a kiss on my lips. "I''ll be here in the morning," he said, stepping outside. I knew he would be waiting for me to lock the door behind him.


    Chapter nineteen


    Dean showed up as promised to pick me up the next morning with homemade biscuit sandwiches. "My mom sent me bearing gifts," he said, holding the napkin-wrapped sandwich for me. "So are we walking or driving?" he asked, shouldering my backpack for me.


    "Driving," I answered, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Mmm, this is good," I said, taking a bigger bite.


    "They''re my favorite, for sure," he said, pulling into a parking spot in the student lot.


    "Can''t we walk in together tomorrow?" I asked in a last-ditch attempt as I watched our classmates pile out of their vehicles.


    "Not a chance. I let you keep our friendship secret over the last few weeks. Now that were dating, I want people to know."


    "They''re going to hate it. Your reputation will be in tatters."


    "You''re wrong, but I don¡¯t care," he said, taking my hand as we left his vehicle behind.


    Conversations stopped as we made our way down the halls, hand in hand. I could hear snide remarks and incredulous comments as Dean first walked me to my locker. I kept my eyes averted from his. I may have foreseen this kind of reaction, but it didn¡¯t make it any easier.


    Twirling the dial on my locker, I finally looked up at Dean as I reached for my backpack that he still carried. My eyes meet his, and I wanted to hurt someone when I saw the pain reflected in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, and I could see his knuckles were white where he gripped my backpack strap. Anger welled up inside of me. Hurting me was one thing, but hurting someone as decent as Dean was just wrong.


    "Fuck them," I said, smoothing my hand over his tense jaw. Whether it was my statement or my rare touch, the tension seemed to evaporate inside him.


    "Fuck them," he repeated, dropping his lips to mine for a quick possessive kiss. If there was any shadow of a doubt in anyone''s mind that we were together, the kiss we shared made our relationship abundantly clear.


    "Let''s get you to Whore Cat''s class before the tardy bell rings," Dean said with a grin. All my worries drifted away at his smile. Who cared what everyone said? I''d ridden the wave of gossip before, I could ride it again.


    "I''ll see you at lunch," Dean said, dropping a last kiss on my lips.


    I nodded before heading into the room and claiming my seat.


    The whispers from the hallway followed me into the room, although the octave level of them seemed to have risen.


    "Once a slut, always a slut," floated toward me. I kept my eyes down, not giving anyone the satisfaction of responding.


    "Wonder how many lives she''ll ruin this time?" a distinctive voice asked from the back of the room.


    I didn¡¯t cringe and I didn¡¯t turn to look at the voice that belonged to my friend from long ago. As a rule, I hadn¡¯t acknowledged Katie''s presence since I discovered we were both in the same world history class. I never looked at her or showed any sign that I knew she was there. I knew my indifference drove her nuts, which is why she had chosen to ignore me the last four years. The note thrown at my head a few weeks ago was unmistakably her handiwork.


    Ms. Jones started the class as soon as the bell rang.


    "We only have three weeks before Christmas break begins to cover the material for the next grading module. All of your projects will be due on the twentieth and will count for eighty percent of your grade," she droned on, writing the criteria on the whiteboard for all of us to see.


    I was not enthused about the end-of-term project. Projects blew. For one thing, they were way too time-consuming, and the fact that you had to present them in front of the class was like being thrown in a field with a bunch of starving zombies. I had opted out of projects that had been assigned since I entered high school. I always took the much lesser grade by opting to write a paper instead.


    Listening to Whore Cat with half an ear, I considered actually participating in this one. I''d bet my life on the fact that Dean was a pro at projects, and I was pretty sure he''d have no problem helping me with mine.


    I was in the middle of jotting down the criteria for the project when the first crumpled up ball hit me in the head. I watched as it rolled to a rest by my foot, taunting me to pick it up. I wanted to see what insults were being thrown at me now that their golden boy was mine. I could practically hear the rolled-up ball calling my name, but I resisted picking it up. It was time to let the past go. I didn¡¯t need to see what the note said. It no longer mattered. Dean was interested in me, despite it all.


    Resuming my note taking, I wasn¡¯t surprised when another paper ball hit me in the head. This time I didn¡¯t even look up.


    I could hear snickering behind me as a third and fourth paper ball hit me in the head in quick sequence. Obviously, everyone was enjoying the show that seemed oblivious to Ms. Jones as she continued to write out the instructions for our big project on the board.


    "Dean must be a glutton for punishment," I heard Katie say loudly. "Obviously, he must not care about catching any diseases," she added to whoever would listen.


    I wanted to continue to ignore her, but something inside me snapped. Years of abuse at her hands had never made anger boil up inside me like it did at that moment. Maybe it was just the idea that my mind was done with it all, but I knew it was actually my heart that spurred my reaction.


    Without even considering my actions, I seized my heavy world history book in my hand and threw it at Katie without missing a beat. The distance between us slowed the book down, but it still hit her square in the face. Blood spurted out of her nose and spattered across her desk and down her shirt.


    Crying out in pain, she cupped her nose, looking at me with hatred. "You bitch, you broke my nose," she shrieked, standing up and advancing on me.


    "Next time, I''ll break your fucking face if you ever talk about him like that again! You got me? I''ll put up with your shit, but it''ll be a cold day in hell before I allow you to trash him!" I said, stepping close to her so she wouldn''t mistake the seriousness on my face.


    "What is going on in here?" Whore Cat asked, stepping between us. "Madison, you can''t throw a textbook at people," she said, clearly shocked at my actions. "Go to the office," she added, clearly shaken over my outburst.


    "Right, because textbooks hurt," I said, making a point of looking at the crumpled up notes on the floor.


    "Jill, will you take Katie to the clinic while I call the office?" I heard her say as I stalked out of the room with my bag.


    I was more than halfway to the office when the ramifications of my actions dawned on me. My pace slowed and I closed my eyes briefly in dismay. I was bound to be suspended, which meant a call to Donna, which meant trade school for me. I was screwed.


    The principal''s secretary was expecting me when I arrived. "He''s waiting for you in his office," she said unsympathetically.


    Keeping my chin up, I made my way to Douche Bag''s office and knocked on the door.


    "Come in."


    Opening the door, I stepped into the one room of the school that I had hoped to avoid.


    He was sitting behind his desk with his fingers stapled together on a folder atop his desk.


    "Ms. Hanson, am I to understand you initiated a fight in the middle of first period?"


    Words of denial sprang forward to attempt to save me, but I held them back. This was all just a formality. I had already been found guilty and convicted. Nothing I could say would change anything. They saw what they wanted to see. Believed what they wanted to believe. So, I sat there, in stoic silence.


    "Remaining silent will not help your situation, young lady," he said in the condescending tone that had earned him the nickname I had deemed him with. "I want to know why you would think you could get away with initiating a fight in one of my classes with an innocent student."


    I literally bit my tongue at his words, so I wouldn¡¯t give him the satisfaction of an answer. I could taste the copper of my blood in my mouth, but I remained silent.


    "Fine, we can play your silent game, but you will not leave my office until I know why you threw a book at a fellow student," he said in a clearly aggravated voice.


    I balked at his words. Spending the day in his office was as enticing as wrapping myself in barbed wire. I could say anything. Take my punishment, and then I would at least be free of this god-awful place. Looking at his smug face, though, kept me silent as I sat there with my arms folded across my chest.


    The minutes slowly ticked by as we sat there in silence. Eventually, he stopped glaring at me and went on with his work. I kept my eyes on him, unwilling to show my weakness by looking down. First period ended with the ringing of the bell and still I sat. My butt eventually went numb at the end of second period and yet, I didn¡¯t move. I remained rigid, not showing any sign of giving in.

 Page 21

    By the time fourth period ended, I was in agony. My legs and back ached from my stationary posture while all feeling had left my ass hours ago.


    Douche Bag''s lunch was delivered to him at the end of fourth period, and my eyes never strayed from his as he slowly unwrapped his deli sandwich.


    The sudden buzz of his intercom startled me, making me jump slightly.


    "Yes?" he said, holding the button down on his phone.


    "Ms. Jones is here to see you."


    "I''m in a meeting," he said, looking at me.


    "She says she has something urgent to discuss with you."


    "Fine. I''ll meet her in the conference room," he said, clearly aggravated as he stood up from behind his desk. "I''ll be right across the hall," he warned, exiting his office, but leaving the door open.


    Once he was out of sight, I slumped in my seat, trying to appease my aches. What the hell was I doing? I couldn¡¯t help thinking. I was only delaying the inevitable.


    I could hear their muted voices from across the hall, but I couldn¡¯t make out what they were saying.


    A few minutes later, the door across the hall was thrown open and Douche Bag stalked back into his office, seething. Whore Cat followed behind him, smiling at me slightly before closing the door behind her.


    Studying me critically, Douche Bag sat back down behind his desk, clutching a stack of crumpled papers in his hand. "Ms. Hanson, it has come to my attention that perhaps, though your actions were wrong, you may have been provoked. Do you recognize these notes in my hand?" he asked, holding them up.


    Not sure where he was going with his new strategy of questioning, I looked at Whore Cat for clarification.


    "It''s okay, Madison, you can tell us," she said with kindness that had been absent before.


    I wasn''t sure what they expected from me, but I took a deep breath and finally answered him. "Yeah, they were meant for me."


    "Do you know who they were from?" he asked.


    "Yes, I have a box filled with them at home," I answered, relieved to be finally telling someone one of my biggest secrets. I didn¡¯t even care that it was them who I told. It was just a relief to get it out.


    "I see. Well, this changes things significantly. Throwing textbooks is obviously not allowed, but neither is bullying. Ms. Jones has pointed out to me that although your grades are not stellar, your behavior over the last four years has been. She also pointed out that sometimes, faced with continuous torment, eventually anyone would snap."


    I looked at him confused as a small ray of hope unfurled inside of me. Was it possible that they wouldn¡¯t suspend me, and that Donna would never know?


    "Do you know what these notes say?" he asked, indicating the stack again.


    "I have a rough idea. They all pretty much say the same thing," I answered.


    "I will admit I am appalled at what is written on these sheets of paper. It gives me no pleasure knowing students at my school behave like this," he said, slamming his fist down on the notes. "Bullying will not be tolerated."


    I watched his sudden passion in amazement. Where was the guy that had earned the name Douche? The man sitting in front of me almost seemed human.


    "I am going to let you off with a warning. As unacceptable as bullying is, violence is also unacceptable. If you are a victim, we need to know, so we can take the appropriate measures."


    I could have laughed at his ignorance, but didn''t want to push it.


    "So, I''m free to go?" I finally asked.


    "Yes, but no more flying books," he chastised.


    "Yes, sir," I said, standing up.


    "And Madison, I''m going to send a recommendation to your parents. I believe counseling will help the situation."


    I bit back a groan at his words. That would definitely be a letter I would have to intercept.


    "I will also be talking with the young lady who started today''s altercation," he said, picking up his phone in dismissal.


    Ms. Jones trailed behind me. "Madison, I''m sorry I wasn¡¯t paying more attention. Maybe I could have alleviated the situation," she said compassionately.


    "No biggie," I replied, anxious to get away. The fact that she had just saved my ass made it impossible for me to continue with her nickname. If I stood here any longer, I ran the risk of actually liking her.


    "My door is always open," she called after me as I hurried down the hall back out to the reception area.


    I skidded to a stop when I saw Dean sitting on one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area.


    "What are you doing here?" I asked as he leapt to his feet.


    "Looking for you," he answered, looking harried. "There''s a ridiculous rumor floating around about you," he added, grabbing my hand.


    "Uh, how ridiculous?" I hedged, not sure what his reaction would be. After all, I had assaulted another student. The fact that I got off on a technicality didn¡¯t it make it any less of a crime.


    "That you threw a book at Katie and broke her nose," he said, looking at me critically. "Did you throw a book at Katie?" he asked.


    "Um, yeah, I guess," I said, suddenly not proud of my actions at all.


    "Why?" he asked, pulling me out of the office. "Are you suspended? Is she going to press charges against you?" he said in rapid succession.


    I couldn¡¯t tell if he was pissed or not.


    "No, I''m not suspended, and I don¡¯t think she''ll be pressing charges. Douc¡­ I mean, Mr. Wilson, is going to call her parents. He has evidence that shows I was provoked."


    "What kind of evidence?" he said in a calmer tone, sounding relieved.


    I debated telling him. The notes were my secret. They were the things that were supposed to keep me centered, but suddenly everyone was finding out about them. "She said some shit and was throwing stuff at me."


    "What kind of stuff?" he said in an even tone that I recognized as his pissed-off one.


    "Just some stupid crumpled up notes. It''s nothing that hasn¡¯t happened before. I was more pissed off at the crap she was saying about you. I really didn¡¯t think about it before I threw the book. I just knew I wanted her to shut up."


    "Madison, what did she say?" he said, halting my steps and dragging me into an empty classroom.


    "Just stupid stuff. What does it matter? I told you I would ruin your reputation," I said miserably. "It''s one thing for them to say crap about me, but it''s a whole other thing for them to drag you down too."


    "So, let me get this straight, you threw a book at Katie because she was trashing me?" he asked, placing his hands on my shoulders to still the pacing I wasn¡¯t even aware I was doing.


    I nodded, not meeting his eyes.


    "I''m glad," he said, lifting my chin with his fingers so I could see his eyes. "Not because you did it for me, but because the bitch deserved it for tormenting you. Was this the first time?"


    I laughed sarcastically. "Not even close. I have a stack of notes at home, courtesy of her," I said without thinking.


    His eyes narrowed at my words. "Please tell me you really broke her nose?" he finally said, exhaling.


    "Um, it was definitely sitting on her face differently," I answered, cracking a smile.


    "Good girl," he said, dropping a kiss on my upturned lips. "And you''re sure you''re not in trouble?"


    "Positive. I was convinced I was doomed until Ms. Jones sailed in and saved the day. I guess I owe her, big time."


    "It''d probably be a nice step if we didn¡¯t refer to her by your nickname anymore," he said, smiling down at me.


    "Truth," I said as he pulled me in for a more appropriate celebratory kiss.


    Chapter twenty


    My textbook-throwing incident was the main topic of conversation at school for days afterward. Katie returned to school with her nose in some kind of splint and both her eyes black and blue. She glared daggers at me, but kept her mouth closed. Her cronies sympathized with her, but I noticed they gave me plenty of space. I was no longer invisible or a shadow. Now I was the crazy, book-throwing freak, which turned out not to be all that bad when I realized that half the student body now seemed afraid of provoking me. I could have reassured them they were safe, that it had taken four long years to break me, so they were at least safe for another four years, but I enjoyed their silence, so I let them continue thinking I was one comment from throwing a book at them. Dean enjoyed my new reputation and often called me "Rocky." I wasn''t a fan of sports movies, so I didn''t have a clue what he meant, until he made me sit down with him one Saturday afternoon and watch all the films back to back. The movie marathon torture taught me one thing. I hated sports movies for a reason.


    The three weeks leading up to Christmas break seemed almost dull in light of my book incident. My days with Dean flowed along, seeped in normalcy as we spent as many waking hours as we could together. Most days, he picked me up for school in the morning, and didn¡¯t drop me off until late in the evening. Dinners at my house became obsolete as I dined with the Jackson family every evening. Luckily for me, they seemed to enjoy my company. Sarah would sit talking with me for hours at a time. Her conversations were always insightful, and always left me pondering them hours afterward.


    The days would have been classified as picture perfect if they weren¡¯t marred by the loss of my friendship with James. A couple of weeks following my outburst in class, I told Dean I couldn¡¯t meet him for lunch because I needed to make sure James was okay. It had been weeks since I had talked to him, and the guilt was slowly eating me from the inside out.


    I sought James out at our normal meeting spot a few days before winter break. "Hey," I said, joining him at the metal ramp that had been our refuge for so long. It felt different sitting here now. My days on the ramp had been filled with despair and plans of escape, now it seemed lonely and depressing.


    James only acknowledged me with a brief flickering of his eyes.


    "So, long time no see," I said, trying to ignore the uncomfortable awkwardness.


    He remained still, not even looking up.


    The silence felt oppressive and suffocating, so I filled it with chatter that was completely out of character for me. I didn¡¯t know if I was trying to make up my absence to him or justify it. I let everything I had been up to for the last seven weeks pour out of me. I held nothing back as I told him about my feelings for Dean, the kindness his family had shown me and how liberated I felt after smashing Katie''s nose in. As uncharacteristic as my new chattiness was, it didn''t seem to faze him. I wasn''t sure where my sudden desire to fill him in on all the details I used to keep bottled up came from. Maybe I was trying to show him there was hope, not only for me, but for both of us.


    The bell rang, ending lunch as I finally ran out of steam. James plucked his bag up and walked away without saying anything.


    "James, I''ll be here same time tomorrow," I called after him. He didn¡¯t look back, and I wasn¡¯t even sure if he heard me, but I would keep my promise. I would slowly drag him into the new life I had discovered.


    My promise unraveled into a nightmare before it could ever be fulfilled.


    I had just sat down at my desk in Ms. Jones¡¯s class the following morning when Mr. Wilson came over the intercom with a single morning announcement. Another student had committed suicide. He was saddened to inform us that James Isaac Garrison III had taken his life at approximately five p.m. the night before. I sat in shock, trying to digest his words. D¨¦j¨¤ vu swept through me. Seven weeks ago, he''d announced the death of a student that would forever change my life. This morning, he made an announcement that threatened to destroy it.


    Without a word, I walked out of class and didn¡¯t look back.


    I didn¡¯t acknowledge Ms. Jones calling after me, asking if I was okay.


    This was my fault.


    Death had trumped me.


    He was the ultimate bastard, stealing from me without a backward glance.


    Chapter twenty one


    I walked home completely numb, not thinking, not feeling. I reached my house and pulled out my key, realizing that I had left my backpack in Ms. Jones''s class. Closing the door behind me, I walked up to my room and pulled out my bottle of Jack.


    With each sip I took, I reminded myself that this was my fault. I had abandoned James when he needed me the most. I had left him alone with our pact. I didn''t cry. I couldn''t. I was too numb. I just wanted Jack to make me forget, to rewind time.


    Fogginess filled my head as I drained the last of the bottle. I vaguely heard pounding on our front door, but ignored it as I dropped the empty bottle on the floor and curled up in a ball on my bed. I fell into an alcohol-induced sleep and the pain momentarily slipped away.


    My sleep was interrupted by the insistent ringing of the phone. I dragged the pillows over my head, blocking it out. The day passed in a sleepy haze as I drifted in and out. Each time I woke, I was acutely aware that I was to blame.


    Darkness fell and I never moved from my bed. Having slept the day away, I was now unable to rest. Even after I heard Donna come in for the night, I remained awake. I wished I had another bottle of Jack so I could escape my demons, but instead, I lay there, playing every conversation James and I had ever had through my head over and over again. It was an endless loop that I couldn¡¯t turn off. By the time morning rolled around, I felt like the walking dead.


    At least Christmas break had started and I wouldn¡¯t have to face anyone. I spent the day moving my room completely around. Once all my furniture was situated in new spots, I decided I didn¡¯t like it and moved it all back to where it originally sat.


    Dean tried to get a hold of me throughout the day, but I stayed closed up in my room, ignoring his countless calls and knocks on my front door. The passing hours felt meaningless from moving furniture and my unsuccessful attempt at sleep the night before. I forced myself to stay awake long enough to shower and Google the time for James''s memorial service the following day.


    The bright shining sun woke me the next morning, which somehow seemed fitting. James had lived in darkness for so long, he deserved the light. I was dressed hours before the service, anxious that I would be seeing Dean soon. I wasn''t prepared with what I would say. What could I say, that I was a murderer? I may not have actually done the deed, but I sure as hell didn¡¯t do anything to stop it. I was the one who had come up with the pact in the first place. I was the one who had discussed it for hours and then abandoned it in the blink of an eye. This was all on me.


    I waited until Donna had left for work before I made my way down the hall and opened the front door. The air was brisk as I stepped outside and saw the vehicle in my driveway. I wasn¡¯t surprised. I knew he would be here, just like he knew I would leave the house today.

 Page 22

    He didn¡¯t say a word as he opened my door and helped me into the jeep. I was relieved at his silence. Silence meant I could pretend nothing had changed. Of course, the hole in my chest contradicted my fantasy. Everything had changed.


    The cemetery that James''s family had picked for the service was on the other side of town from where they had held Mitch''s, and the attendance was only half as much.


    The proceedings were also different than Mitch''s in many aspects. The minister was longwinded and didn¡¯t ask if anyone had anything to say. He talked about sins and damnation, and used the passing of my friend for his own agenda. I sat in my seat stoically, trying not to glare at James''s dad, who I was seeing for the first time in all the years I had known James. He was bigger than I had pictured him, and I hated him even more, knowing how he had used his girth and size against his son. As the minister continued on about the selfishness of James''s act, I wanted to stand up and scream at him in frustration. I wanted to punch his dad. I wanted to yell that none of this was James''s fault. I did none of this though, because deep down, I knew that as guilty as his dad probably was, I was equally guilty. I had failed.


    Dean held my hand throughout the service, never speaking. I was thankful for his presence no matter how short lived it was going to be.


    We left as they were lowering my friend down in the ground. I couldn''t watch as dirt was thrown on his casket. It hurt too much. Everything I had ever believed about death was wrong. There was no closure, no ending, just endless pain.


    Dean didn¡¯t drive me home. Instead, he drove to a park not far from my house. We sat in his jeep in silence for hours. He held my hand the entire time, stroking small comforting circles around the tattoo on my wrist. I knew I needed to tell him. I needed to make a clean break, but I remained silent, soaking in his comfort and wishing I could cry.


    Finally, as the sun was setting, Dean broke the silence. "I''m driving to Flagler tomorrow to join my parents for the weekend. Do you want to go with me?" he asked quietly.


    "I can''t," I answered as a small piece of my heart broke off.


    "Why?"


    "Because I don¡¯t think we should see each other anymore."


    "Madison, I know you feel guilty, believe me, I know how you feel, but it''s not your fault. You didn¡¯t do this."


    His words pierced me like a knife. He was so very wrong. It was all my fault.


    "I need to go home," I said, wanting to get it over with before my heart shattered completely into a million pieces.


    Looking at me intently, he looked like he had more to say, but thought better of it. Five minutes later, we were back at my house.


    Dean cut the engine off and unbuckled his seatbelt before turning to me. "I''m not going to lose you over this," he said, reaching a hand up to stroke my face.


    "You already have," I whispered in a broken voice.


    Anguish filled his face before he crushed his lips to mine. "No, I haven¡¯t," he said raggedly against my lips like he was convincing me to change my mind.


    It took all my willpower to pull away, which was ironic. Eight weeks ago, I cringed from his touch, and now I wanted to burrow in it. Irony was a bitch.


    I opened my door and climbed out, grabbing my backpack he had the foresight to bring me.


    Dean jumped down from his side of the vehicle and followed me to my front door.


    Taking a deep breath, I finally turned to him. "James''s death was my fault," I said, holding my hand up as he started to argue. "Let me finish," I said, silencing him. "It was my fault because it was my idea. We made a pact. We were going to do it together," I said, opening my front door and stepping inside. I closed the door behind me, but not before I saw the horrified look on his face.


    Leaning against the door, I closed my eyes, shaking with regret.


    "Where have you been?" a quiet voice asked from the living room, startling me.


    Jumping slightly, I turned to face Donna who was sitting on her sofa. The sofa she had bought four years ago to replace the one I had defiled. "I was at a funeral," I answered, wondering about her sudden interest. "A student at my school committed suicide," I added, waiting for her judgment.


    "Another one?" she asked with her lip curling up slightly in disdain.


    "Yes," I answered.


    "Ignorance," she said with disgust.


    "No, just forsaken," I said, meeting her eyes in challenge. "Sometimes when you have no one you can count on, you turn to the only viable option."


    "Forsaken? So, you''ve considered this?" she asked with sarcasm lacing her every word. "Haven''t you ruined enough lives?" she asked, casting her judgment without waiting for me to admit anything.


    "I haven''t done anything wrong," I lied.


    "Right. I''ve heard those lies before. ¡®I didn''t mean to do it. I didn''t think it would go so far,¡¯" she said, mimicking my arguments from long ago. ¡°I didn''t clean up your mess so you could spend eternity in hell," she said, standing up to leave the room.


    "I never asked you to clean up my mess, and aren''t I going to hell anyway?" I mocked, sick of all the blame she had placed on my shoulders over the years. I was sick of paying for everyone''s sins. Shouldering the blame for James was all I could handle at the moment.


    "You may not have uttered the words, but your actions gave me no choice. You forced me to compromise everything I believe in. I will never forgive you for that," she said, stalking from the room.


    Everything inside me deflated like a balloon that had been popped. No matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to leave the past behind. Despair began its familiar journey up my body until I was practically choking on it. My sins seemed to saturate the house, making it bear down on me. Tears that I had been unable to shed over the last few days finally came as if a dam inside me had burst. Hot tears burned their way down my cheeks. I needed to get away, to escape the oppressiveness that was threatening to bury me alive. I couldn''t do this any longer. Why did living have to be so hard? Death beckoned me. It would be so easy.


    Choking on broken sobs, I did the only thing I could.


    Chapter twenty two


    Dean picked up his cell on the first ring. Unable to talk, all I could do was sob into the phone. "Madison, are you hurt?" he asked frantically as I heard his jeep start up over the phone.


    I wanted to answer him, but no words came out as I continued to cry. Tears I was unable to shed for four years ran unchecked down my cheeks as I disconnected the call. I knew he was on his way. I knew, despite my earlier confession, he would come. He was coming to save me. It was ironic since that was the biggest lie I had told him, but just like everything else, he could see right through me. I''d claimed I didn''t need to be saved, but in reality, I did.


    Several minutes later, his jeep screeched to a stop beside me. Without saying a word, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to his vehicle. He opened my door and gently sat me inside and closed the door behind me. I knew I should tell him I was okay. I knew I needed to stop crying, to push the emotions back where they belonged, but they no longer fit in the place I had stored them. Dean kept his hand on my knee as he drove, offering the only comfort he could. Eventually, the tears dried up and I drifted off to sleep in exhaustion.


    I jerked awake when the vehicle finally stopped. Trying to peer through the sandpaper my eyeballs had become, I finally was able to make out the two-story house in front of me. He''d brought me to his parents.


    Dean leaped from the vehicle, coming to my side to help me out. Without saying a word, he pulled me into his arms, hugging me tightly to his chest. For the first time ever, I truly embraced him back, clinging to him as a new wave of tears poured down my cheeks. I soaked in his comfort. After a moment, he stepped back and tucked my hair behind my ears before placing a gentle kiss on my cheek.


    "I called my mom," he said quietly, leading me toward the house as the front door opened.


    Sarah embraced me without a qualm. Not minding that I was on her doorstep in the middle of the night, interrupting her weekend.


    "I put on some tea," she said to Dean as she led me into the house. "I thought we could talk in the kitchen," she added, looking at me.


    I nodded. I knew from the moment I called Dean that I wouldn''t keep my secrets any longer. I was so sick of being a closed vault.


    Sarah bustled around the kitchen, preparing the tea. Dean held my hand while I studied the daisies in the center of the table. I couldn''t help wondering if he would continue being so supportive once he knew the rest of my secrets.


    The tea kettle whistled a few minutes later and Sarah filled three cups for us. I wasn¡¯t much of a tea drinker, but at the moment, it seemed oddly comforting. Once our tea was doctored up to our individual preferences, and there was nothing else to do but listen, they turned to me, waiting.


    I took a deep breath and finally began talking. They listened intently as I explained my life as a child, how I was shuttled from regular daycare in the morning to church daycare in the evening, each and every day. I told them how I went to great lengths to get my parents¡¯ attention. They smiled over my Barbie-killer phase and every other one of my exploits up until junior high. Then it became tougher to talk. The easy flow of words stalled out as I contemplated how I could possibly move on. Their looks of compassion were sure to change, and then I would be truly alone.


    "Madison, it''s only normal for you to seek attention. You had absentee parents at their worst, they were there, but they weren''t really there. I''m sure as you got older and dealt with changing from a child into a young adult, your need for attention became more acute," Sarah said, sensing my struggle.


    That was putting it mildly. Nodding, I made a point to not look at Dean. I was afraid I would lose my nerve. "The year I turned twelve, I began to develop," I said, flushing slightly, but keeping my eyes only on Sarah. "I suddenly no longer looked like a child, as in, almost overnight. I developed curves and my face lost any baby fat it had carried. I immediately noticed a change in people. Guys twice my age looked at me when I walked by, and girls glared at me with envy. I liked the attention I was getting. I began to dress to show off my assets. I dyed my hair black, and pierced my eyebrow and tongue. I knew the changes made me look older, more exotic and wild. I liked it and so did guys. Suddenly, I was getting asked out and invited to high school parties. I should have been happy. I was finally getting the attention I craved," I said in a shaky voice.


    "But it wasn''t the attention of your parents," Sarah said kindly.


    I shook my head as Dean stood up. Thinking he was disgusted with my desperation for attention, I was surprised when he returned with a box of tissues and slid them in front of me before grabbing my hand. I wasn''t even aware I was crying.


    Taking a shaky breath, I stared at the daisies, wishing I didn''t have to continue. I hadn''t talked about my actions in years.


    "So, you were hanging out with an older crowd?" Sarah gently probed.


    "Yeah," I answered. "Around this time, my parents forced me to go on a church retreat to Mexico. That''s when I met Katie Nelson. We hit it off from the very start and became inseparable. We both liked hanging out with the older crowd, and for the most part, they were nice enough, wild, but nice. They were the ones to give us our first drink of Jack Daniels, and our first hit on a joint. It was at one of their parties that I tried crystal meth for the first and only time. It made me ferociously sick, so I stayed away from the hard stuff after that. My parents didn''t care. They never asked where I was, who I was with or what I was wearing. During the few months leading up to my thirteenth birthday, I was hit on and propositioned many times, but I held out," I said quietly.


    Dean and Sarah waited intently for me to continue.


    "See, I had this idea that if I seduced someone from their church, they would finally notice me. They would have to step in. I had the whole idea worked out. In the few times that they dragged me to one of their church functions, I noticed the men there, who were supposedly outstanding Christian men, still checked me out when I walked in. I knew they liked my chest in the small baby doll t-shirts I wore. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked by. One in particular never seemed to be able to stop looking. I decided he would be my target. I didn''t consider any of the ramifications. I just knew he wanted me and he would be a means to an end. It only sweetened the deal that he was a friend of my dad¡¯s," I said in a monotone voice as memories from long ago surfaced. "I tricked him into coming over to my house, claiming my dad had a schedule change for an upcoming event at the church. When Jim showed up that evening, I was a little drunk to get my nerves up and I dressed in skimpy lingerie I had stolen from Victoria¡¯s Secret. In my eyes, it was the perfect crime. I was convinced that dressed like I was, drinking, wearing a stolen item and seducing the youth minster of their church would finally put me on their radar," I said, twisting the tissue in my hand. The tears fell hot and fast down my cheeks. I finally looked at Dean, unsure if I could continue.


    His face was tense and I saw that his fist was clenched. He was angry. Of course he was angry. What I had done was horrific. He knew from the rumors that I had succeeded in the seduction, but what he didn''t know was that I had chickened out.


    I looked back at Sarah who gave me a reassuring look. There was no turning back now.


    "Jim showed up a half an hour before my parents were due home from work. I had it all planned out, or so I thought. Just looking at him I knew my ploy was going to work. His eyes practically jumped out of his head when he looked at me. At first, it was nice, just like I imagined it would be. He came up behind me while I was taking a drink of my Jack and Coke, and kissed me on my neck and it felt good. The kisses after that were just as good as he slowly backed me up to the couch. Before I knew it, he was on top of me, kissing me harder and more insistently. Our clothes disappeared quicker than I could have ever imagined," I said with shallow gasps. "It became difficult to breathe with all his weight on me, so I tried pushing at him to get him to lift off of me so I could breathe a little. I also wanted to slow down, so it wouldn''t be quite so scary. Finally, all I could think about was how much it hurt." I stalled out as the words got harder for me.


    "You wanted him to stop?" Sarah asked, grabbing one of my hands. I nodded my head, ashamed. Dean startled me by jumping to his feet. I looked at him as he paced the kitchen. Anger radiated off him in great waves. I didn''t blame him, I was poison. I ruined everything.


    "Dean?" Sarah said, standing up to stop his pacing.


    "I want to kill them," Dean said, slamming a closed fist on the counter, making me jump.

 Page 23

    "I know, son, but Madison needs you to be strong," she said, pushing him toward me.


    Their exchange confused me. He was angry at someone else? Maybe he missed something in my story. Didn''t he realize this was my fault?


    Giving in to his mom''s insistence, Dean dropped back down in the chair next to me and gently grabbed my hand.


    I felt like I needed to clarify things, that I didn''t deserve his kindness.


    "It was my fault. I started the whole thing and then froze up. It was wrong."


    "Sweetie, the only thing wrong is that he touched you in the first place. As adults, we live by a moral code. As a religious man, his moral code should have been even stronger," Sarah said, disgusted.


    "But it was my fault. I seduced him. I was wearing a skimpy outfit. I was drunk. It was all my fault," I said, repeating the words Donna had thrown at me.


    "He was the adult. He should have walked away," Dean said in a voice trembling with anger.


    "Madison, what did he do when you wanted to stop?" Sarah finally asked.


    "He said it was too late, that I asked for it. He said that a man can''t stop once he starts, so I stopped trying to push him off me and I let him finish. My parents walked in as he was finishing. Jim was instantly defensive as he pulled on his clothes. He called me a slut and told them I had seduced him. I wasn''t aware I was crying until my dad turned to me, looking for an explanation. In that instant, I no longer wanted their attention. My dad looked at me and at the evidence of my virginity on the couch and went ballistic. He punched Jim out. He was shaking with rage. It was awful," I whispered.


    "What about your mom?" Sarah probed gently.


    "She was pissed, too, but not at Jim, at me. She knew I had seduced him. She and my dad argued about it after Jim staggered out. My dad claimed it was her fault. That she''d never shown any of the motherly influence that I obviously needed. Their screaming went on all night. I eventually showered, trying to wash Jim''s touch from me, but no matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn''t erase the memories. Somewhere around two a.m., the thought of a possible pregnancy came up. Horrified at the idea of having a thirteen-year-old pregnant daughter, my mom drove me to the hospital and told them I had been raped. I had to go through a rape screening, fill out a report and then they gave me the day after pill. I was so relieved to take that pill. Never in all my scheming had I ever considered pregnancy. My mom sat sternly by me during it all, and on the way home, she laid down the new rules. If I was going to act like an adult, I would be treated like one. I was not allowed to call her ¡®Mom¡¯ anymore, and she would only provide my basic needs. That drive home marked the last time she and I would ever really talk again. My dad moved out the next day and I haven''t seen or spoken to him since. The police went to the church and arrested Jim for statuary rape. The church was up in arms over the scandal. Some felt that Jim should have known better, but there were plenty who knew about my wild ways, and blamed me completely. It split the church down the middle, and it really never recovered. Katie spread it around school, and my fate was sealed," I finished, sinking back in my chair, weary and drained.


    Dean and Sarah were silent for several minutes as they digested my story. Finally, after a few minutes, Sarah broke the silence.


    "Why was your mom so mad after your trip to the hospital?" she gently probed.


    "She was angry because I had forced her to turn against her beliefs. By asking the hospital for the day after pill, she was agreeing to terminate a possible pregnancy. She felt it was no different than an abortion, and she hated me for that."


    "That''s ridiculous, you had just turned thirteen," Sarah said, sounding agitated.


    "That didn''t matter. I had made adult decisions. I destroyed many lives that night, so I made it my goal to slip into the shadows, to fade away. As the year went by, everyone finally stopped noticing me and talking about me, until eventually no one acknowledged me again. Donna and I learned to coexist and life went on. The tomb-like silence in my house reminded me daily of my sins, always sitting heavily on me. I began to dream about disappearing from the Earth once and for all. That''s when I met James. James had his own demons like me, although we never shared them. We learned to lean on each other without getting personal, if that makes sense. That''s really where the pact came from. We would leave Earth much like we lived on it. No fuss, no muss. But Mitch''s death changed everything. People who didn''t even know him used his death as a platform to get attention. I didn''t want that. The pact was no longer an option for me. Life seemed bleak, knowing I could no longer count on death¡ªand then, I met Dean," I said, meeting his eyes as he laced his fingers with mine. "He changed everything."


    "I didn''t know," Dean said, sounding choked up.


    "I know," I whispered. "I told you, you didn''t need to save me, but you and Mitch did just that. But I wasn''t able to save James. I left him behind," I cried as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down my cheeks.


    Dean pulled me in his arms, letting me weep for my lost friend and my lost youth. Eventually, my tears did dry up. Mentally exhausted, I leaned heavily on Dean, marveling that he wasn''t disgusted or horrified with my story.


    My eyes felt like someone had dumped a handful of sand in them as I finally looked at Sarah.


    "Sweetie, I''m sorry you''ve carried this around for so many years, but you need to listen to me. None of this was your fault. Do you understand me? I''m all for accountability, but where was your support system? Who is accountable for that?" she said, bending down to give me a tight hug.


    I returned her hug, unsure what I had done to deserve her acceptance.


    "I made the guest room up for Madison. Do you want to show her where it is?" she asked Dean.


    "Yeah," he said around a yawn, helping me to my feet. "Are you going back to bed?"


    "Not right now. I''m going to wait a little while longer, and then give Madison''s mom a call to let her know she''s here."


    I looked blurry eyed at the old-fashioned clock on the far wall. I was surprised to see it was almost five a.m. It had taken me almost three hours to get my story completely out. No wonder I felt like I had been dragged behind a pickup truck. It had been a long couple days with no sleep.


    "Sarah, I''m so sorry to have kept you up like this. You don''t have to call her. I can do it," I said, already grateful enough for their understanding and compassion.


    "Honey, you don''t need to apologize. I''m just happy that we are able to be here for you. And no, I think it''s best if I make the call," she said in an even tone that made Dean grin.


    "What?" I asked as he led me up the stairs wondering what I had missed.


    "My mom obviously has an agenda I strongly agree with," he said, stopping at an open doorway right off the top of the steps.


    "Donna won''t care," I said flatly. I knew my mom well. She felt she was the victim here. I had ruined her life.


    "You''d be surprised what my mom can accomplish," he said, leaning against the door frame as he stroked a hand up my arm.


    "How are you two not running from me screaming?" I finally asked the question that was burning through me.


    "The last thing I want to do at the moment is run screaming from you. Truthfully, I want to do the exact opposite. I''m seriously fighting the urge to drag you away, caveman-style, to protect you from future harm. I want to hunt that Jim guy down and do what your dad did. I want to wring Katie''s scrawny neck for spreading the rumors around, but most of all, I want to throw your mom in the middle of a pack of wolves and see how she feels being all alone."


    "There are two sides to every story. I''m sure hers is different than mine," I said, wondering if I had unconsciously sugarcoated my story.


    "There is no excuse for anything she did. Even if I heard her version of the story, I would still see that she abandoned her hurt daughter," he said, dropping a soft kiss on my forehead. I swayed slightly as exhaustion from the endless day weighed me down. It seemed hard to believe that less than twenty four hours ago, I had said my final goodbyes to my friend. It had been a long day.


    Seeing my exhaustion, Dean led me into the room and pulled back the quilt so I could climb in the bed. He tucked the blanket around me before dropping a featherlight kiss on my lips.


    I closed my heavy eyelids. My last thoughts before slumber pulled me under was where I would go from here. Life was beckoning me. I could feel its insistence and enticement. At the moment, death was nowhere to be found.


    Chapter twenty three


    I slept until late the next afternoon. I didn''t jump up immediately, but lay there, taking stock of my life. The unbearable weight I had been carrying for years was gone. The saying "the truth will set you free" took on a whole new meaning for me. James''s death will forever remain in my heart. Deep down, I knew I should have been there for him, but carrying that guilt would not bring him back. Instead, I needed to live, for both of us.


    The house was quiet as I slowly made my way down the steps.


    "Hey," Dean said, looking up from the book he was reading. "You look better," he added.


    "I feel better," I said, feeling self-conscious just standing there in my rumpled clothing and bed head. "Where is everyone?" I asked.


    "My dad and the twins went to hang out with my papaw and nana. Mom and Trish went out to get some clothes for you," he said, patting the couch next to him.


    "Gah, they didn''t have to do that," I said, sinking down next to him.


    "I think my mom needed an outlet. I''m gathering things didn''t go all that well with your mom," he admitted.


    "Do I need to call her?" I asked, dreading the thought.


    "No, Mom said they''d worked out some kind of compromise where you get to stay with us for a few days," he said, avoiding my eyes.


    "Otherwise translated, I''m not welcome at home," I said, seeing through his lie.


    "Um, pretty much. Needless to say, there was a lot of swearing on Mom''s end after the call ended. But trust me when I tell you my parents wanted you to stay with us for a few days anyway. Your mom just thinks it was her idea."


    "That sounds like her. Hopefully, in a couple days, she''ll calm down enough that I''ll be able to talk to her," I stated, trying to sound confident while I ignored my panic over the idea of being homeless at seventeen, that just sounded bad.


    "Don''t worry, we''ll work it out. My mom has a plan," Dean said, patting my leg reassuringly. "Trish laid out a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt for you if you want to take a quick shower, and then maybe we can go for a walk."


    "That sounds perfect," I said, pushing my fears to the side for the moment.


    "There''s an extra toothbrush in the cabinet in the bathroom," Dean said as I made my way back up the stairs.


    A half an hour later, I felt more human. The yoga pants Trish laid out for me were long in the legs since she was taller than me, but fit snugly across my butt since I had more curves than her. I pulled the hem of the sweatshirt down self-consciously as I made my way down the stairs. Dean looked at me appraisingly in my borrowed outfit and a small spike of pleasure shot through me. Despite everything, he was still here looking at me like I belonged here.


    "Ready?" he asked, taking my hand.


    "Sure," I answered, slipping on my shoes.


    The air was crisp from a cold front that had obviously moved in while I was sleeping.


    "Swing?" Dean asked, pointing to the tire swing.


    "Yes," I answered, strolling that way.


    "How are you feeling?" Dean asked as he held the tire still for me so I could climb on.


    "Fine," I lied, falling back on my old secret-keeping habits.


    "Madison?" he said, seeing through me.


    I sighed. "Aren''t you sick of all my drama yet?" I asked.


    "Madison, nothing about you is drama. You''re so much more. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."


    "And how is that?" I said as he swung me lightly back and forth.


    "Smart, beautiful, stubborn, loyal," he answered. "Snippy for sure, but in a cute way," he added.


    "Lay off the drugs. I think they''re messing with your brain cells," I said uncomfortably.


    "My brain is in perfect working order, and it knows what it likes," he said, tugging me over so that my back was nestled up against his chest. His arms encircled me, keeping me in place as I sat on the now stationary swing. Eventually, he asked me questions about my childhood, stuff I had glossed over the night before. With no more secrets between us, I opened up to him, answering each question honestly, even when it hurt. Despite their understanding, there was no denying that I had been a brat as a child, and a pain in the ass as preteen.


    We were still on the swing an hour later when Sarah and Trish pulled into the driveway. Dean and I joined them by the car to help carry stuff in.


    Sarah gave me a hard hug. "How are you doing?" she asked, looking at me with concern.


    "Weird," I answered honestly. "I feel better that it''s out there, but I feel weird that I just let it all pour out. I kind of feel like I betrayed someone''s trust, even though it was my secrets that came out," I added in a rush.


    She pulled me in for another hug. Her warmth spread through me, and I brought my arms up around her, returning the hug. "Thank you for listening," I said quietly, fighting tears.


    "I''m honored you trusted me," she said, finally pulling back to look at me with bright eyes.


    Trish gave me a hug next. I could tell Sarah had filled her in, but it didn''t bug me. I had no more secrets to hide.


    Trish released me so she could reach into the minivan and hand several grocery bags to Dean. She handed the lighter ones from the mall to me and Sarah. We headed up the porch steps into the house with our arms loaded.


    "What''s for dinner?" Dean asked, placing the bags on the kitchen table and peeking inside. "Sweeeet, snack night," he crowed, pulling out an odd assortment of items.


    "Snack night?" I asked, feeling like I was missing something.


    "Mom and I like to call it ''comfort food,''" Trish said, unpacking the grocery bags. "Basically, it means junk food galore with no guilt," she said, laughing as she pointed out several gallons of ice cream, hot fudge and whipped cream.


    "Comfort food sounds perfect," I said, eyeing the box of chocolate brownie mix she pulled from the bag.


    Sarah laughed at my comment. "Yes, comfort food is just what you need," she said, handing several bags to me. "This should keep you clothed while we keep you kidnapped here," she said, winking at me.

 Page 24

    "You didn''t have to," I said, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. I seriously needed to get a grip. Just because I had cried the night before didn''t give me the green light to cry at the drop of a hat.


    "It was my pleasure," she said, giving me a nudge toward the doorway. "Go try them on," she urged me.


    The clothes Sarah and Trish had picked out for me were both tasteful and comfortable, and were perfect for spending a couple days on his grandfather''s property. I donned a pair of the jeans they had gotten me and a cream-colored cable knit sweater before joining them back downstairs.


    The evening was everything the night before wasn''t. Laughter filled the house as the twins put on a mock puppet show they had worked on that afternoon with their papaw. Once we had consumed enough comfort food to feed a small army, we sat around the comfortable family room and watched a Christmas movie that would never have been allowed in my house when I was little. I nestled next to Dean, soaking in every second. Every once in a while, James''s death would drift through my mind like the ticker at the bottom of the news stations, reminding me of my loss.


    The twins were put to bed once the movie was over. While his parents were laying them down, Dean pulled out several board games that he and Trish wound up arguing over about which one we should play.


    Dean grudgingly gave in when I confided that I had always wanted to play Monopoly.


    "Fine, but I''m the banker," he said, shooting Trish a warning look.


    "Well, goodie for you. I didn''t want to be banker anyway," she gripped, pulling a stack of orange cards out and placing them face down on the board.


    I couldn''t help smiling over their bickering.


    "Oh, thank God, did we miss the banker fight?" Sarah asked, sitting on the floor next to me.


    "Yep, Dean won," I answered, resisting the uncharacteristic urge to lean against her. Something about her drew me in. Maybe it was her acceptance of me.


    The game was loud and rowdy as Trish and Dean got brutal, trying to destroy each other by placing multiple hotels on their properties. It wasn''t long before Sarah, Tim and I were all bankrupt.


    Sarah and I sat on the couch, watching Dean and Trish battle it out while Tim read a book on the recliner on the far side of the room.


    "Dean says the call with Donna didn''t go very well," I finally said, knowing I couldn''t hide from it forever.


    Sarah let out a long sigh. "Your mom is definitely not an easy person to talk to. Her unwillingness to understand her parental responsibilities makes me want to scream. I actually decided to go around her," she added, looking at me apprehensively.


    "What do you mean?" I asked.


    "I called your dad," she admitted.


    "What? How did you get his number?"


    "I was able to get it out of Donna before she hung up."


    "What did he say?" I asked, trying not to focus on the sudden silence that filled the room.


    "He''d like to come see you."


    "Really?" I asked, not sure how I felt.


    "Yes, really. By the way he talked, I get the impression he''s wanted to see you for a while."


    "Then why hasn''t he called her?" Dean asked, abandoning the game to sit beside me on the couch.


    "I don''t know, son. That''s something only he can answer. The important thing is how Madison feels," she said, turning to me. "Do you want to see your father?" she asked.


    I wasn''t even sure how to answer that. I did want to see him. More than I liked to admit, but I questioned whether he would be able to move past what I had done, and the part I had played in their divorce.


    "Madison, you don''t have to," Dean said, ignoring the look his mom shot him.


    "No, I should. I need to talk to him," I said with resolve. "When?" I asked.


    "If it was okay with you, he''s going to drive over tomorrow morning."


    I nodded my head. I knew deep down, it was best to get it over with. Clean slate.


    Dean and I stayed in the living room watching TV after his family turned in for the night. We had the TV on the Food Network, but the volume was low enough that we could still talk quietly.


    "You sure you''re okay about tomorrow?" Dean asked.


    "I have to face him sooner or later. I¡¯d rather it be here with you," I admitted.


    "I wouldn''t have it any other way," he said, tucking his arm around me to pull me close.


    "You make me want to never leave," I whispered.


    He gave a sinister laugh. "Ah, my plan has worked," he said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.


    "You''re a nut. Aren''t you supposed to be sick of me? I thought most guys liked their space," I said, elbowing him lightly.


    "Not on your life. I''ve waited for this for a long time," he said, dropping a kiss on my head.


    "You mean in the whole eight weeks we''ve been hanging out," I teased.


    "No, I mean in the whole ¡®I''ve liked you for a lot longer than that¡¯ way," he said, obviously gauging my reaction.


    "What do you mean? I wasn''t even a blip on your radar," I said, pulling back slightly so I could look at his face.


    "I let you believe that because you were so intent on believing no one ever saw you. I can''t speak for the rest of the school population, but you were never a shadow to me. I just never had the guts to approach you. I figured you¡¯d leave any attempts I made in shreds. That''s why I call you Mads. I''ve kinda been ¡®mad¡¯ about you for a long time," he admitted.


    "But you acted like you didn''t know me. You had my name written down," I said, recalling our first tutoring session that seemed eons ago.


    "I had your name written down because I couldn''t believe my luck. I may not go to church or anything, but I kinda felt divine intervention was at work. Like, it was a sign from Mitch," he said sheepishly. "Ridiculous, I know, but it just felt that way."


    His words floored me. All along I thought I was invisible, a shadow that would always remain hidden without a chance of attention. He was my sun before I ever knew it.


    "Are you mad?" he asked as I realigned things in my head.


    "No. I still can''t wrap my head around the fact that someone like you could like me."


    "Like you. I kind of think it goes beyond that," he said, watching me carefully.


    "It''s only been eight weeks," I said, frightened of where the conversation was going.


    "Eight weeks is enough to know how I feel. I''m not going to say it now because I know your emotions have gone through the wringer, but I wanted you to know where I stand. You are very important to me," he said, dragging me in close so he could kiss me.


    I opened my mouth, letting his tongue sweep in. His kisses filled me with a liquid heat that started at my toes and slowly traveled up my body. They evoked feelings and wants in me that had been absent.


    I lost track of how long we kissed, but my lips felt swollen by the time Dean reluctantly pulled away and walked me upstairs.


    "I''ll see you in the morning," he said, dropping one last lingering kiss on my lips before turning to head to his own room.


    "Dean," I said softly, almost wishing he wouldn''t heed my call.


    He turned to look back at me in the dim light of the hall.


    "I feel the same about you," I said, gnawing on my lower lip. "I''m not sure when I''m going to be able to say the actual word, but I wanted you to know you''re not alone."


    His face lit up at my words as he strode to my side and dropped a hard kiss on my lips. "That''s all I needed to know. We can figure out the rest as we go," he said, running a hand over the side of my face one last time before heading to bed.


    My stomach was in knots when I woke the next morning. In just a few hours, I would be reunited with my father. There were so many unanswered questions that would be answered.


    The Jackson family was waiting for me in the large sunny kitchen by the time I made it down the stairs. Delicious smells assaulted me as I pushed through the swinging door.


    "Madison," the twins screeched, tackling my legs like they hadn''t seen me in years instead of just the night before. I grabbed the counter to steady myself. Once I was sure I wasn''t going to fall over, I rustled their corkscrew-tossed bed heads.


    "Girls, let her breathe," Dean chastised, scooping Ashley up and tossing her over his shoulder while Tim did the same to Dora. Both girls squealed with giggles as their bellies were tickled.


    The knots in my stomach untwisted as I watched the family in front of me. They were all so freaking normal that it made everything seem just a little more bearable. Normal was good. I wanted normal in my life.


    "How did you sleep, sweetie?" Sarah asked, giving me a one-armed hug that I didn''t stiffen under at all. Progress.


    "Not too bad," I said, not admitting the endless tossing and turning I had done or the tangled mess of sheets I woke up to.


    "It''s going to be okay," she said, giving my shoulders a squeeze. "I wasn''t sure what you like for breakfast, so I made a little of everything," she added, pointing to the loaded table with every breakfast food imaginable.


    "You didn''t have to do that," I mumbled, wondering if there was no end to their kindness. They were like a clone of a perfect family, but in a good way.


    "Hey," Dean said as I sat next to him.


    "Hey," I said, flushing slightly as I thought about his words from last night. He didn''t say it, but he''d made it pretty clear for me. Love. It was such a simple word, but so foreign to me, I didn''t even know how to react to it.


    "Bacon?" he asked, handing over a platter with the crispy bacon.


    "Sure," I replied, grateful he was acting the same.


    Like every meal I had shared with the Jackson family, the noise level bordered on a fever pitch as the twins excitedly talked about the new Christmas movie they were going to see that day with their grandparents. Dean and Trish kept up a running commentary about the cooking show they were both into that was some kind of cook off. I was grateful for their chatter as the minutes flew by.


    Before I knew it, the kitchen was clean and the twins were being shuttled off with their papaw and nana for the day. Once they were gone, the house seemed unnaturally silent as I nervously sat on the couch next to Dean, wringing my hands in my lap. At ten o''clock on the nose, a car pulled into the gravel driveway. Sudden panic gripped me. What if seeing him brought all the bad memories crashing back, or worse, what if he looked at me with disdain like Donna did?


    "You ready?" Dean asked, gripping my clasped hands.


    "Yes. No. I don''t know," I said, feeling helpless.


    "I''ll be right here by you," he said, helping me to my feet.


    "I know, which is the only reason I''m not hiding," I admitted as he placed a gentle kiss on my temple.


    "I love you," he said so lightly I almost thought I''d imagined it.


    I nodded. I loved him too. I couldn''t say the words yet, but it was because of the love we shared I was able to walk out onto the front porch.


    Sarah, Tim and Trish trailed behind us, providing a united front as we watched my dad climb from his car.


    He looked older, was the first thought that popped in my head as I took in his appearance. Grey hair was sprinkled throughout his dark head giving him a more distinguished look.


    "Madison," he said, looking at me uncertainly, stopping just short of the front porch.


    "Dad," I said, cautiously descending the stairs slowly, stopping in front of him.


    "You''re all grown up and beautiful," he said, shooting me a watery smile as I threw myself in his arms. "I''m so sorry," he said, stroking my head as I sobbed against his shoulder. Years of guilt drifted away in an instant as his tears mingled with mine.


    Epilogue


    "Ready?" Trish asked, zipping up my robe for me.


    "Yep, I''m ready to blow this Cracker Jack box," I joked as she placed my graduation cap on my head.


    "You look so scholarly," she teased.


    "Shhh, don''t say that too loudly, they might take my robe back," I teased.


    "Not on your life. It''s a huge deal that you ended your senior year on the honor role," she chastised me.


    "Too little, too late, but I''ll take it," I said, smiling at her.


    "You''re a twit, but I love you," she said, giving me a long hug.


    "I love you too," I said, blowing her kisses as I lined up with the rest of the H''s in my graduating class.


    Standing on tiptoes, I looked around behind me until my eyes found Dean''s. "I love you," he mouthed.


    "I love you too," I said out loud, making those around me laugh.


    Turning back around, I didn''t try to fight the wide grin that spread across my face. The amazing thing about love was that when you didn''t have it, the word seemed impossible to use, but when you were surrounded by it, it was as easy to say as breathing. The last six months had been a nonstop initiation into love for me. Dean''s family showered me with it, tucking me into the embrace of their family like I belonged there all along. When Donna kicked me out officially, a week after Christmas, his family gave me the option to move in with them, but my dad stepped in, asking if I would give living with him a chance. I went from thinking I had nowhere to go, to suddenly having options. I turned the Jackson family down, not wanting to ruin my relationship with Dean by moving in with him and his family. It still amazed me that they accepted me so unconditionally. By all rights, they should hate me. I had hooked and trapped their son, or maybe it was the other way around. I couldn''t help thinking about my petal plucking daisy I had gotten at Mitch''s funeral. My world was suddenly filled with people who were the petals of the daisy that would miss me.


    The first few weeks of living with my dad were awkward, and I had found myself spending more time at Dean''s house than at my dad''s, but eventually we started to adjust. I think we both understood that it would come slowly. I credited a big part of it to my weekly counseling sessions with Beth.


    Beth was another unexpected petal of my ¡®miss me¡¯ daisy. I had balked at the idea of going to counseling, but Sarah had eventually worn me down and I was forever grateful she did. Beth was amazing. She was tough, kind, compassionate, intuitive and the sounding board I never knew I wanted. She listened and questioned and continually reminded me that the past wasn''t my fault. Together, we found long forgotten emotions I thought I had buried long ago. We flushed them out, exposing everything until it was raw, so they could heal once and for all. Beth encouraged my dad to join us for a few of my counseling sessions so he could get some insight into everything I had kept hidden for so long. Through our counseling together, I got to see the rage he still felt for what Jim had done to me, to his anguish for not being able to protect me, and finally, his shame that had kept him from reaching out to me. It was a long agonizing road at times, and we were far from normal, but we were slowly learning how to let the past go. I was slowly learning to forgive him for leaving me behind to clean up the mess.

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    Donna refused to attend counseling with us, which wasn''t a surprise. I had accepted the fact that she would never forgive me.


    The line of students slowly began to move as we walked down the middle aisle of the arena where our graduation was being held. Scanning the crowds, I found who I was looking for immediately. Sarah. She waved frantically after spotting me and blew me a kiss. She wasn''t my mom, but her easy acceptance and kindness made my heart ache with love for her. Sarah had been my rock over the last six months as I learned to adjust to a life with my dad. She lent an ear when things were uncomfortable between us and gave me insight to helping the adjustment. She was never too busy for me and always found time to spend time with me. She taught me about love and gave me the confidence to share my love with Dean.


    Dean. Just thinking his name made me feel all gooey and sappy. If Sarah was my rock, Dean was my foundation. His constant caring and love kept me grounded. With his help, I was able to get into the community college near UCF where he would be attending so we could be close to each other. We''d decided to spend the summer on his grandparents¡¯ property, working together on the house he planned on restoring. Our relationship hadn''t taken the intimate step yet, but I foresaw it happening soon. I knew I was ready. He evoked feelings inside me I never thought possible, and made me want more. He made me feel cherished and for that, I gave him my heart.


    Glancing back up at the Jackson clan, I smiled when I saw the twins jumping up and down with excitement as Sarah pointed out my and Dean''s locations to them. Sweeping my eyes past them, my eyes met my dad''s as he smiled proudly at me. His girlfriend, Andrea sat by his side, also smiling at me. I liked Andrea, she was good to my dad, and that''s all that mattered to me. Through our joint counseling, I had gotten a glimpse into how miserable my dad''s life had been with Donna. Church at the time had been an escape for him. A place where he could ignore the bleakness of being married to a woman he didn''t love. Seeing him happy now made me happy.


    Mr. Wilson snagged my attention as he began his speech at the podium. My heart pinched when he announced a moment of silence for the two students we had lost that year. A picture of Mitch flashed across the screen behind him. I studied the face of the boy who had started my long journey to recovery. I owed him my life. Tears leaked down my cheeks as a picture of James filled the screen next. Not a day went by that I didn''t think about him. Beth was helping me to forgive myself for letting him slip away. She and I talked about suicide a lot. She made me fill out weekly journal entries, reminding myself of everything I had to live for. She warned me that she would not let me become a statistic. I tried to tell her death was the furthest thing from my head now, but she said she''d rather be safe than sorry. For that, I loved her.


    Mr. Wilson ended his speech, and before I knew it, the rows in front of me emptied one at a time as the diplomas were handed out. Rising to my feet when my row was signaled, I slowly followed the students to the far side of the stage.


    Nervous energy coursed through me as the name of the girl in front of me was called, and then it was my turn.


    "Madison Hanson," Mr. Wilson announced, smiling broadly at me. I returned his smile as I accepted my diploma. Maybe he wasn''t a douche bag after all.


    Walking off the stage, I waited on the side for Dean. My eyes met his moments before his own name was called. He winked at me and flashed a victory sign. If you can believe it, I had made it to graduation. I had survived. Death had nothing on me.