Happenstance 2

  Happenstance: A Novella Series (Part Two)

  Jamie McGuire

  Copyright (c) 2014 Jamie McGuire

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover designed by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com

  Interior designed by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  ALSO BY JAMIE MCGUIRE

  The Providence Series

  Beautiful Disaster

  Walking Disaster

  A Beautiful Wedding

  Red Hill

  Beautiful Oblivion

  For Kelly Barrows

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  EVEN THOUGH THE LIGHT WAS OUT AND THE DOOR WAS SHUT, something was drawing me to Alder's room. I had been living with my real parents three weeks, and I had never seen Alder's door open, but every time I passed by the white painted wood with the pastel wooden letters that spelled ERIN, something inside me told me to open it.

  I won't, I promised.

  My second evening at the Aldermans', Julianne had sat with me on my queen-sized bed and flipped through catalogs of comforters, wall decor, and clothing. She asked me to mark everything I liked and must have ordered it all, because the boxes were arriving nearly every day.

  The doorbell rang, and I trotted down the wooden stairs, trying not to make too much noise, even though I knew Sam and Julianne were awake and in the kitchen.

  After wading through boxes, I opened the door, grinning when I saw Weston jerk his head to the side to get his bangs out of his face. His hair was still wet, and his eyes were a bit puffy. We'd been up late on the phone the night before.

  "Smells like they're trying to lure you into the kitchen again," Weston said, leaning over to peck my lips.

  "Morning," I said when he pulled away.

  His eyes fell to the floor, scanning over the different-sized boxes. "More stuff?"

  "More stuff," I said, casting my eyes over the dusty cardboard in awe.

  "Weston!" Julianne called. "There is a plate piled with bacon in here!"

  He passed me, taking my hand on the way. We walked down a lightly colored hallway and turned to the right, under an arched doorway. Julianne was fond of pale colors and lots of natural light, which made sense, because she embodied sunshine. The entire house was decorated in mostly whites or shades of white, pale blues, and sheer curtains.

  On the stove was a pot full of white pepper gravy, and as promised, on the far side of the granite island was a serving dish full of crispy bacon.

  "Are you hungry?" Julianne asked, cheerful. She was wearing a yellow-and-blue plaid apron over her pink angora sweater and jeans. Her russet hair bounced and shined like it always did.

  Weston looked to me with his big, emerald eyes, because she wasn't speaking to him.

  "I'm sorry." I cringed. I hated disappointing her, but I'd never eaten breakfast that I could remember, and it felt weird to eat in the mornings. Gina hadn't cooked for me since I was old enough to make a sandwich, and sleep and the walk to school took priority over cooking eggs, even if Gina had ever bothered to stock the cabinets or fridge with breakfast foods, which she hadn't.

  Julianne shrugged, trying to make light of it. "Just take a couple of pieces on your way out, sweetie."

  "Did you make...biscuits and gravy?" Weston asked, lifting his chin as he took in the savory smells.

  "And sausage," Julianne said, her eyes bright again.

  Weston looked to me and then to his watch. "We've got time."

  I let my brand-new green backpack fall gently to the floor, and I took a stool at the bar that protruded out from the island. "Yes, we do."

  Julianne flipped around, scooped two biscuits off the aluminum sheet pan, and then cut them in half. With a small ladle, she smothered them with gravy.

  Weston swallowed, already salivating.

  "Doesn't your mom make breakfast?" I asked.

  "Sometimes," Weston said. "But she doesn't cook as well as Julianne. I don't know if anyone does."

  "Aw," Julianne said. "Flattery will get you everywhere in this house."

  I squirmed in my seat. It occurred to me that it wasn't the first time Weston had sat in Julianne's kitchen and eaten her food with her daughter. But it was a different daughter.

  "He's right, honey," Sam said. "You're a fantastic cook, and I'm a lucky man." He took a handful of bacon and kissed Julianne on the cheek. "If all goes well, I'll be home around eight. I have a late case."

  Julianne nodded and leaned in, offering her cheek to his lips.

  Sam walked over to me, leaned over, and kissed my hair. "Have a good day, kiddo." He paused. "Do you have to work tonight?"

  I nodded. "I usually work every evening, four to eight."

  "That's a lot," Julianne said, unhappy.

  Sam nodded to Weston. "Are you picking her up?"

  Weston bobbed his head.

  "Can I pick you up from work tomorrow?" Sam pushed up his glasses, looking at me expectantly with his naturally puffy eyes.

  I glanced at Weston and then nodded.

  Sam shrugged. "I'd like to take you out for ice cream."

  Everyone in the room gave him a look.

  "I'm kidding," he said with a chuckle. "I thought maybe we could have a late dinner?" He looked to his wife for approval.

  "Sure," I said, taken a little off guard.

  He squeezed my shoulder and then grabbed his jacket, rushing down the hall toward the back door that led to the garage.

  "Sam?" Julianne called. "Your purse!" She winked at me.

  Sam jogged in and picked up a brown leather bag. "It's not a purse!" he said, exasperated. He disappeared again. Seconds later the back door slammed behind him.

  A low hum sounded, signaling the garage door.

  Julianne shook her bangs from her eyes. "I have got to get a haircut. It's driving me bananas." She looked at me with excitement in her eyes. "Do you want to come?"

  I looked down at my hair, the color nearly identical to Julianne's russet tresses, minus her highlights. I'd braided it because it was still a little moist from my shower the night before. Most of the time I kept it in a bun or ponytail because it just got in the way. Gina had cut it a few times when I was in grade school. The one time I tried to cut it on my own was in the ninth grade, and that was an epic failure, so I had just let it grow. Now, the ends hung right at the middle of my back.

  Weston looked to me.

  "Uh, sure," I said.

  "How short?" Weston asked with a frown.

  "As short as she wants," Julianne said, only half kidding.

  "Just asking," Weston said, holding up his hands.

  "I'll call and make an appointment. When is a good time?"

  I shrugged. "Saturday morning?"

  "I'll make it happen," she said, rinsing off a skillet.

  Weston scooped the last bite of biscuit into his mouth. "Thanks, Julianne. But we better get going too."

  "Of course. I'll unpack your things
, Erin. You can put them where you want tonight."

  "Okay. Thanks," I said, sliding my arms through the straps of my backpack. "See you later."

  "I...Have a good day, sweetie."

  "You too," I said, following Weston to the front door.

  His enormous red Chevy truck was parked by the curb in front of the house, still running. The paint looked freshly waxed, the tires shiny.

  "Did you spend some time on the truck yesterday?"

  "I've been bored since you moved here. Sharing you is harder than it sounds."

  "What did you do before me?" I asked.

  I was teasing, but Weston made a strange face. He had spent his time with Alder and their friends. He didn't have to stay away to respect Sam and Julianne's need to get to know their daughter. Now that Alder was gone and he didn't hang out with the same friends, he probably felt a little lost when I was with Sam and Julianne.

  Weston opened the passenger-side door for me. "Pretty much the same thing. Wishing I was spending time with you."

  I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. He didn't smile.

  I climbed in, and Weston ran around to the driver's seat. As soon as he settled in behind the wheel, he held his hand out for mine. When I took it, he tugged on my fingers.

  "What?" I asked.

  "C'mere," he said, gesturing for me to sit next to him.

  I scooted over and buckled the lap belt. He pulled his seat belt across his chest. It clicked, and he put the gear into drive. With his arm resting on the top of the seat behind me, he drove to the high school with one hand. He'd probably driven with one hand a lot when he was with Alder.

  Internally, I cringed. Those thoughts had to stop, or I was going to make myself miserable.

  When we parked in the student lot and walked together into the south side of the building, fewer people stared than the week before. I still didn't feel comfortable holding hands during school, but sometimes Weston got carried away.

  First period was quiet as far as anyone harassing me, which had become the new normal. Brady still shot glances my way, but he was more curious than angry.

  Mrs. Merit began the lesson as soon as the bell rang and had gotten through most of her slides on the Smart Board by the time Sara Glenn leaned over.

  "What's up with the necklace?" she asked.

  "Girls tend to wear jewelry on occasion," I said.

  She wasn't deterred. "Weston must have given it to you. You've worn it every day for almost a month."

  I ignored her. Answering didn't feel necessary.

  "Chrissy North said you moved into Alder's room. Is it haunted?"

  "No, and no."

  "Brendan said Weston said you've already had sex in her bed."

  I narrowed my eyes at her. "Weston wouldn't say that."

  "So is it true?"

  "That's disgusting."

  Her eyebrow arched. "Sex with Weston is disgusting?"

  My chest pressed against the table when I leaned toward her. "Don't you get tired of listening to and spreading gossip, Sara? Isn't it exhausting, or is that really all you have to feel important?"

  "Ladies?" Mrs. Merit said.

  I sat back in my chair and looked down at my book, putting my hands in my lap so Sara couldn't see them trembling. A heavy disappointment came over me for engaging her. What was wrong with me? I was above that. That couldn't change too.

  Mrs. Merit read the assignment, and I got to work on the twenty-two questions at the end of the chapter. Sara didn't speak to me again, and I made sure my things were packed ten seconds before the bell rang so I could leave in a hurry.

  Weston met me at my locker. He sensed something was wrong. "Did Brady say something to you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Brendan? Micah? It was Andrew, wasn't it? That little shit stain..."

  "No. No one said anything," I said, shoving my bio book into my locker and getting my textbook for next period.

  Weston took my chin gently in his hand and turned me to face him. "Tell me."

  I closed my eyes. "They're saying awful things." I shook my head. "Awful."

  "Like what?" His hand left my chin, and his eyebrows pulled together.

  "I don't want to say. I can't...it's awful."

  "That we had sex in Alder's bed?" he asked.

  I looked up at him. "You've heard?"

  "Last week. I'm actually surprised this is the first you've heard of it."

  "I'm so sorry. I'm--"

  Weston's cheeks flushed with anger, but it wasn't directed at me. "Don't apologize for them, Erin. Feel sorry for them. That's such a twisted and..." His words trailed off. "Whoever had that thought and was sick enough to pass it on to someone else has more problems than gossip. You can't help what they think or say."

  "I know. I don't care what they think of me. But that is just...I don't want that to get around to Sam or Julianne."

  "I've already told them. They know we would never disrespect them like that."

  My mouth fell open. "You've told them? How could you say that to them?"

  "It's a small town, Erin. I'd rather they hear it from us, wouldn't you?"

  "But they didn't hear it from us. They heard it from you. Why didn't you tell me?"

  The more agitated I became, the more nervous Weston was. He swallowed, and his face fell. "You've been through enough."

  "Please don't look at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "That oh-you-poor-thing look. I get it enough as it is."

  "Erin," Weston began, but the bell rang.

  "Shit!" I said. I grabbed my things and slammed my locker, half walking, half running to my next class.

  Second and third period were a blur. The look on Julianne's face when Weston told her the latest rumor was the only thing my mind could think about. Weston met me at my locker between classes, waiting for me to speak first. When I didn't, he let me walk away.

  He was at my locker again before lunch, but I went straight to the cafeteria and ate alone. The other students watched my every bite. I couldn't win. They stared at me when Weston and I were together and when we weren't. The attention was significantly less negative than before the accident, more of just curiosity, but it was still attention I didn't want.

  By the time I got to health class, the heaviness was too much, and my emotions were getting the better of me.

  Coach Morris handed out a word find and sat at his desk, putting his feet up. I got to work, acutely aware that Weston was staring at the back of my head. I could hear him rummaging through his bag and then taking a puff from his inhaler. His desk creaked a few times when he made several attempts to get comfortable.

  His warm fingers touched my back between my shoulder blades, so gently I thought maybe I'd imagined it.

  He choked out a whisper. "Please talk to me."

  I turned my head toward my shoulder, but didn't turn around. "I don't know what to say."

  "Say I'm a jerk for talking to your parents without talking to you first, and then say you don't hate me."

  "I don't hate you."

  His fingers left my shirt, and I heard him exhale.

  I glanced up from under my brow, seeing Coach Morris trying not to stare. After a hasty scan of my peripheral, it was evident that Coach wasn't the only one who had noticed the quiet exchange between Weston and me.

  I felt the pull in my chest. It had been weeks since I'd had to fight the urge to cry, but the walls lifted like old friends, and I turned my thoughts to how many scoops of coconut to put in a Hawaiian Blizzard, and how many boxes of cups, spoons, or napkins we would have to stock once the supply truck came. I imagined folding worn, white rags and counting them as I did so. Being inside the Dairy Queen had always been comforting to me. Not only did the work keep my mind occupied, but it's also where I spent time with my closest friend, Frankie. And no matter how many people I came face-to-face with, the screen and window were always between us.

  The bell rang, but I was lost inside the walls of the DQ. Wes
ton stood and stopped at my desk, but when I didn't look up, he kept walking. Soon I was the only person left in the room, or so I thought.

  "Hey," a voice said.

  I looked up. It was Brady Beck. "Are you really living with the Aldermans now?"

  I gathered my things and stood, but Brady stepped in my way. "I bet they worry all the time what you're stealing. You might be blood, but you were raised by a druggie."

  I just stared at him, refusing to answer.

  He gave me a once-over, smug superiority still in his eyes. "Has Weston admitted why he's suddenly so interested in you?"

  I remained silent.

  "Maybe you should ask him." He walked away.

  The fake white marbling in the red tile of the hallway looked like tiny albino snakes slithering in different directions, mostly toward the large glass windows that lined the south wall of the commons area. The chairs bordering the dozen-and-a-half lunch tables that filled the commons were empty, and as I passed the round, glass sphere in the center of the high school that was the library, I decided to forgo my locker and go straight to Spanish, my next class.

  Miss Alcorn greeted me when I walked in. I was the first student in the classroom, and likely the only one without my textbook.

  "I forgot it at home," I told her, trying to avoid answering later in front of everyone.

  "Be sure to bring it tomorrow. You'll definitely need it."

  I dipped my head once and then tried rubbing out the knots in my neck. Barely ten minutes into class, Micah Norton tore off a tiny piece of notebook paper and threw it onto my bare desk.

  "Did Weston dump you already? He's been attached to your hip, and I haven't seen you together all day."

  I didn't turn around.

  "Easter," he whispered.

  It was the first time someone had called me that since word got out that I wasn't Gina's daughter. It felt derogatory. It always had.

  I still didn't turn around. Micah didn't have his friends there to encourage him to harass me, so if I ignored him, he usually gave up. There were three types of bullies: those like Sara, who were more passive-aggressive than anything, and usually only when they were having a bad day. Others, like Micah or Andrew, only gave me grief when there were other people to join in, and then there were bullies like Brady and Brendan, who didn't care who was around. When they decided to target someone, the torment wouldn't stop until they had somehow broken their prey.

  I had read a handful of books and articles on bullying, and how girls usually targeted one another, but in my school, it was the boys who were the worst. They relished the power that came with intimidation. Many times the level and length of cruelty depended on how many others would join in the attack. No one was safe. It was random and always sudden and ruthless. The best protection was to befriend the bullies and join in. The cycle was vicious and predictable, the only cure being graduation, and I knew I was just one of many desperate for the last day of school.