The Problem with Forever, Page 21

  I reached the kitchen door and then Mr. Henry was there, yelling and spitting. I couldn’t get any words out. He grabbed my arm, hauling me toward the living room. Flames crackled from the fireplace as he stopped in front of his recliner. Still holding on to my arm, he bent over, reaching behind it.

  This is just a dream. Just a dream. Wake up.

  Straightening, he clutched Velvet in his fist. I’d known that the doll was there. He’d taken her from my room three months ago because I hadn’t put the cap back on the milk tight, like he wanted. I’d known exactly where the stuffed doll was, but I also knew not to touch her.

  He shoved Velvet in my face as he let go of my arm. I stumbled, the back of my legs digging into the edge of the coffee table.

  Wake up. Wake up.

  Mr. Henry cursed. “Fucking sick of this shit. Got a little smart aleck and a damn retard I got to take care of.” Squeezing the doll in his fist, he stormed toward the fireplace.

  My eyes widened and—

  “Mallory!”

  I came awake, jackknifing up as I gulped in air. I wasn’t alone. Hands were on my arms. I screamed again, voice hoarse as I tore myself free.

  “It’s okay,” the voice came again, and I was slow to recognize that it was Carl. “It’s okay, Mallory. You were having a nightmare...again.”

  “Dark,” I managed, pushing back against the headboard. “It’s—” The bedside light flipped on, flooding the room in soft light, and there was Carl, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. His hair a disheveled mess, sleep clinging to his eyes and his white shirt wrinkled as he placed his hand on my forehead.

  My chest hurt.

  “It’s okay, Mallory.” Carl smoothed his hand over my damp hair. “It’s just a nightmare. Everything is okay. You are safe now.”

  Safe.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I was safe now, but the past...the past wasn’t. It never would be, and it would be haunting me forever.

  Carl left the bed and returned a few moments later with a chilled bottle of water. He handed it over. “I want you to drink it slowly.”

  With shaky fingers, I unscrewed the lid and raised the bottle to my lips. I took a small sip and then another, cooling the back of my parched throat.

  He waited until I lowered the bottle and said, “We’re worried, Mallory.”

  My breath caught. He didn’t mince words. Carl never had.

  “You haven’t had nightmares in almost two years, but you’ve been getting them quite regularly since you started school,” he said, eyeing me intently. “We’re worried.”

  “About?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “About you and school, about Rider being back in your life, and maybe it’s too much, Mallory. You—”

  “It’s not too much,” I interrupted. “It was just—”

  “You’re having nightmares again,” he continued as if I didn’t know this about myself. “We’re just concerned. We don’t want you overwhelmed.”

  Overwhelmed. Like I was this frail creature that would shatter under the stress. Anger sparked deep in my chest, and it was strange to feel that toward Carl. “I’m fine.” I forced the two words out. “I’m not overwhelmed. It was just a...nightmare. No big deal. And it has nothing to do with school or Rider.”

  “I’m going to have to disagree on the Rider part.” He held up his hand when I opened my mouth. “Only because it would make sense that his being back in your life would cause...” He drew in a deep breath. “Would cause a resurgence of old feelings, many of them scary.”

  What he said did make sense, but I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  Carl stared at me a moment and then he nodded with a sigh. “Okay.” He started to rise. “Don’t forget that if you ever need to talk, you come to us.”

  Talk about what? I had no idea, but I nodded. He studied me for a few more moments and then he stepped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. I’d told him I wasn’t overwhelmed and I was fine, but I knew Carl didn’t believe me.

  I wasn’t even sure if I was telling the truth.

  * * *

  Rider was a no-show Friday.

  Paige didn’t show up for class, either, and while I figured the two were together, little knots of unease still formed in my belly. With the exception of the start of the school year, he hadn’t missed school.

  When class ended, I gathered up my stuff as I eyed Hector’s back. Asking him about Rider would be the smartest, simplest thing to do. He would obviously know. The edges of my bag’s straps bit into my palm as I forced the words out. “Hector?”

  He turned in my direction, lips tipping up. “Yo.”

  I stepped around my desk. “Is Rider...okay? I mean, he’s not in class,” I said, stating the obvious. “I figure...he’s with Paige, but I just wanted to make...sure he’s okay.”

  The smile dropped a notch as his gaze flickered to the empty seat. “He’s not with Paige. Not today.” Those light green eyes landed on me. “At least, I don’t think he is.”

  “Oh.” I bit the inside of my lip.

  He looked over his shoulder and then sighed. “They got into it pretty hard-core last night, so I’m not surprised she’s out, too, but...”

  Over his shoulder, I saw Mr. Santos turn in our direction. “But what?”

  “But he got tore up last night.” Hector slung his bag over his shoulder. “There was no way he was getting up this morning.”

  “Tore up?” I repeated dumbly, and then it hit me. Tore up as in drunk.

  “I’ve got to get going. Have to head to work,” Hector said. “See you later, bebé?”

  Dazed, I nodded and didn’t move for a long moment as Hector walked off. Rider had fought with Paige last night and then gotten drunk. Stomach churning, I started toward the front of the class.

  “Mallory, can I talk to you for a second?” Mr. Santos called out. I stopped as he met me by the door. “How does Wednesday sound to give your speech?”

  Mind a million miles away, I nodded.

  “Great.” He patted my arm. “Looking forward to it.”

  Dismissed, I left the class and made a stop by my locker so I could grab books needed for the weekend. I wasn’t really focused on the walk to my car. That burn in my stomach felt a lot like guilt.

  Friday night I spent an indecent amount of time staring at my cell phone, my fingers hesitating over the screen. I’d chatted with Ainsley earlier and she’d told me to just text Rider before she made me promise that I’d see her tomorrow.

  Just text Rider.

  As if it were simple.

  It was simple. Who was I kidding?

  But it also seemed like a big step, because I’d never initiated contact with him or any guy before. And I was overthinking it as usual, because Rider was my friend and checking in on him was normal.

  Frustration washed over my skin, making me hot and uncomfortable. My eyes narrowed on the phone and I tapped on Rider’s name, opening up the texts.

  Are you okay?

  I paused and then deleted that. Then I typed out:

  Is everything okay?

  That sounded less dramatic, so I clicked Send. Then I threw my phone to the foot of the bed.

  It was close to ten when Rider responded.

  Yes. I’ll see you Monday.

  Relief hit me hard, but my head was in a thousand places and it had been tough to fall asleep. At least I didn’t have another nightmare, because the last thing I needed was Carl and Rosa freaking out and yanking me from school.

  If they thought it was the right thing to do, they would do it.

  * * *

  Homecoming banners appeared over the weekend in the halls of Lands High. They were everywhere. Posters on the walls. Covering the lockers. As I walked to second period, I eyed the dates. Homecoming would be held during the last weekend of October, two weeks from now.

  I couldn’t believe that I’d been at school for almost two months. Time moved fast even when it felt like it was taking forever.
r />   Rider returned to school on Monday, as did Paige. He’d met me outside class and had walked with me to speech. I hadn’t asked about what happened between him and Paige or about what Hector had told me. He hadn’t brought it up. I did notice that Paige came to class seconds shy from the tardy bell ringing. She’d looked in Rider’s direction, but he didn’t look in hers. I didn’t know what was going on there.

  It was then, in speech class, my thoughts switched to something far more important. It was when the first speech was given that it hit me that this was really happening. Everyone in class was going to give their speech and come Wednesday, I’d give mine during lunch.

  Panic grew like a noxious weed, surging in my veins. Everyone was going to know that I...I couldn’t do it like them. Listening to the other students stand up and give their speeches, I focused on what I could control and remembered what Rider had said in the library.

  People were going to be jerks and that wasn’t on me.

  All I could do was make sure I gave my speech to Mr. Santos, so I threw myself into practicing the speech every chance I got, using Carl and Rosa when I wasn’t going over it by myself. I realized that Rider still hadn’t written his speech. He didn’t seem at all fazed by his lack of progress, and whenever I brought it up, he flipped the conversation and said, “Once you ace the speech, I’ll take you to the garage.”

  I’d eyed him wryly, but I was curious about the garage thing. I wanted to see some of his work. Despite how wrong it was, I wanted to see him. But I wasn’t a gerbil that needed a reward.

  Unless the reward was homemade queso dip. Then yes, reward me.

  Homecoming was the topic of conversation at lunch on Tuesday. Seemed like half of the school was interested in attending. The other half couldn’t care less. The table I sat with fell into the first group. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought of Homecoming until I saw the banners and stuff this morning. It hadn’t even come on my radar. Not because I was too cool or that high school dances weren’t my thing. It just wasn’t something I had the chance to consider, and now that I did, there was a part of me that thought it would be fun. It would be an experience.

  But I didn’t have a dress.

  Or a date.

  “When do you have to do your speech?” Keira asked at lunch. She was scheduled to go on Wednesday, during class, like a normal person.

  It was the first time I was asked that question. I didn’t want to answer, but that would be weird and I was weird enough without adding to it. “Tomorrow,” I said, staring at my plate. “Tomorrow...during lunch.”

  Keira didn’t immediately respond, and I dared a quick peek at her. Her dark brows knitted. “So you just have to give your speech to Mr. Santos, then?”

  I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t think what Paige had.

  “Cool,” she said, picking up her napkin as Jo and Anna sat across from us. “I get super nervous when I have to do the public speaking thing.”

  “Really?” My brows rose.

  “Yep.”

  “God, I hope you don’t hurl,” Jo said, plopping her chin in her hand. “Have you seen Pitch Perfect?”

  I nodded.

  “She totally pulled an Aubrey two years ago, when she had to give her first presentation in science class,” Jo continued.

  Keira scowled. “I made it to the bathroom.”

  “It was still aca-gross,” Jo quipped as she stabbed her sauce-smothered noodles.

  I didn’t get it. “But you’re...a cheerleader.”

  Looking around the table, Keira’s gaze finally settled on me. “So?”

  My cheeks warmed. “You...you get up in front of people all the time and...cheer.”

  “Yeah, but I’m with a group of people doing it with me,” she said as she brushed tight curls over her shoulder. “It’s easier when you’re not alone and it’s totally not the same thing as getting up in front of the class and talking out of your butt about something you barely understand.”

  “True,” murmured Anna, who was staring at her cast.

  I couldn’t believe it as I stared at Keira. She was nervous. Her food was untouched, like mine, but she talked all the time and she didn’t stutter. She was still nervous.

  “Did you really h-hurl?” I asked.

  Jo burst into deep, infectious laughter that drew the attention of those around us. “Hurling would be an understatement.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Keira insisted, shooting Jo a dark look. “Anyway,” she continued, looking at me. “I get nervous, too, so let’s both make a pact.”

  “A pact?” I whispered. At once, I was so very grateful for Keira and her friends—my friends. I’d been so incredibly wrong about them. Not like I hadn’t realized that during the last couple of weeks, but I should feel embarrassed at how easily I believed the cheerleader stereotype.

  She nodded. “If I start to look like I’m gonna hurl, you’ll grab the basket for me, and if you get sick while doing your speech with Mr. Santos, you can tell me and I promise not to laugh.”

  My lips parted.

  “Deal?” she asked.

  I laughed without meaning to, but I couldn’t stop it. It was probably the most bizarre deal I’d ever made. “Deal.”

  * * *

  I woke up Wednesday morning, the day of my speech, with my stomach in knots, a burning lump in my throat and a headache.

  Rosa was waiting in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal I couldn’t even begin to touch sitting on the counter. She didn’t say anything as I grabbed a glass of milk from the fridge. She didn’t push it when I was unable to touch the cereal. All she did, before I left for school, was hug me close and say, “You are going to do an amazing job, Mallory.”

  I held those words close to my heart all day.

  Clutching my notebook, I made my way down the hall toward speech, ignoring the way my heart pounded. I rounded the corner and drew up short.

  Rider pushed away from the wall when he spotted me. A half grin formed as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey, Mouse.”

  “What...are you doing here?” I asked. “You have class.”

  That lopsided grin spread and the dimple appeared. “And that matters because...?”

  I stopped in front of him, raising a brow.

  He tipped his head to the side. “I had to be here. I had to let you know that you got this.”

  My heart swelled in my chest so fast and quickly that I thought I’d float right to the ceiling. He had to be here for me. That wasn’t out of some need to protect. It was because he was my friend and he cared. I wanted to hug him.

  My gaze dropped to those full lips.

  How would they feel— I cut those thoughts off. I needed to focus. Those three words were a reminder that dropped steel down my spine. He was right. I got this.

  I smiled at him and then turned, opening the door. Mr. Santos was at his desk. A paper bag was open. The scent of tomato soup was strong. Brushing his hands, he rose as I closed the door behind me.

  “Excuse me, I was sneaking in some lunch.” He smiled as he pushed his chair back. “I’m sure you’re hungry yourself, so get started whenever you’re ready.”

  Placing my bag on the seat of an empty chair, I walked to the podium with my notebook. My stomach churned. There would be no lunch for me.

  Mr. Santos sat in one of the seats, folding his hands on the desk. “Take as much time as you like.”

  Could I take forever?

  Hands shaking, I opened my notebook to where I’d shoved the printed-out speech. The paper was crisp and pristine. All the words blurred. My knees shook. It was just one person I was standing in front of. Not an entire class. Should’ve been an entire class, but