"So, that's it? You're just over it?"
"I don't want to hang on to it. You shouldn't either."
"You shouldn't forgive so easily." He frowned. "Me, most of all."
"For what?" I asked.
"For letting you go so long without knowing you were loved."
The door leading inside the house opened. Sam and Julianne stood there, wearing robes and worried expressions.
"She's home safe. It's all good," Weston called to them.
Sam waved. "You get home safe, too."
"Will do," he said, throwing two fingers and a thumb in the air. "Good night," he whispered in my ear. "If I'm lucky, I'll see you tomorrow."
"You're lucky," I said.
"Yes, ma'am, I am." He leaned down for a kiss entirely too intimate for Sam and Julianne to witness, and then he walked back out into the rain. He climbed into his truck, backed out of the drive, and then disappeared around the corner. The Gates' house was so close that I could hear his engine muffle and then turn off after he'd parked in the garage.
Sam went into the house, and Julianne moved to the side, holding out her arm. We walked inside and down the hallway together, and she followed me upstairs to my bedroom.
I sighed the moment I stepped into my room.
"How did it go?" She stood in the doorway with her head leaned against the doorjamb like I had done at Gina's.
"It was good. Weston called it closure."
"Is that what you call it?" she asked. There was a break in her voice.
She was afraid--afraid that she would lose me again. But it wouldn't be like Julianne to discourage me in any way to stay away from Gina. She would never ask me to sever ties even if she thought keeping a relationship with my former mother could be hurtful. It wasn't because Julianne wouldn't stand up for me, but because from the beginning, she had made it clear that she would support me in only the best way she knew how. I loved her most for that. She hadn't swept in, expecting to mother me. Her love for me was quiet and reserved but whole--the same way I loved her.
"Yes," I said.
Julianne's shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. With her mother's intuition, she could tell I didn't have more to say. "Okay, sweetheart. Sleep tight."
"Night." I waited until she shut the door before stripping off my clothes and walking into the clean bathroom with the shiny faucet that didn't drip.
The shower knob turned easily, and I stepped under the hot spray, relaxing as the room filled with steam. I couldn't change the years I'd spent alone, but they didn't matter anymore. I was surrounded by love. It followed me, worried about me, and waited up for me, and I would have it for the rest of my life.
Once I was washed, shaved, and lotioned, I combed the tangles from my wet hair and changed into a nightgown. The sheets smelled of fabric softener and the sophisticated soft scent that was unique to Sam and Julianne.
My cell phone illuminated, and I palmed it as I relaxed my head on the pillow.
I want to come over.
I smiled and then tapped out a reply.
You just left.
So?
You're crazy.
Just about you.
I set the phone on the nightstand and looked up at the stain-free ceiling, taking a deep breath. I was still unable to believe how my luck had completely changed.
The next morning, I went to school, feeling like a piece of me that had been broken was now put back together. In my heart and mind, I'd forgiven Gina, and she knew that I'd forgiven her. Every ending had made it that much easier to emerge myself into a beginning--one that had started with Weston.
He had arrived earlier than me, but he was waiting in his truck. I parked my car on the driver's side of his Chevy, and I tried to subdue a smile as I watched him eagerly jump out to greet me.
When I closed my door, he was there, wrapping his arms around me, and with a single kiss, he showed the entire school he loved me. "Good morning, quiet bee."
"Quiet...bee?"
"I've texted you, like, five times."
"I was driving."
"It took you half an hour to get to school?"
"No."
He thought about that for a minute, his eyes falling to the cement. The thin skin beneath them was purple.
"You look tired," I said.
"Probably because I had to follow my girlfriend late at night to make sure she was okay," he said, intertwining his long fingers in mine.
The morning air was already warm, and he must have left his letterman's jacket in his truck as he was wearing only a white T-shirt and jeans. He tugged me along, but I stopped him.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah," he said with a grin. He looked to his left and then yanked me toward him, away from the main drive.
A mid-nineties Caprice rolled over the second speed bump without even a tap on the brakes.
We stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Students weren't watching where they were going while walking on each side of us because they were looking back at Weston and me for signs of conflict.
"How much better?" I asked, touching his jaw.
He looked around and took my hand away from his face, holding my knuckles against his chest. "Babe, I'm fine." When I didn't respond, he continued, "You're probably not going to trust me for a while when I say that, but I've had asthma for as long as I can remember. I've never let it hold me back, and I especially won't now that I've got so much to stick around for." He gently squeezed my fingers. "Don't you believe me?"
"Yes, and that's what worries me. I just want you to be careful. You've made me a lot of promises that I expect you to keep."
He pulled my hand to his mouth and spoke against my skin, "I plan on making you a few more." He chuckled and tugged on me again. "I'm really okay, Erin. C'mon, we're going to be late."
The moment I sat down in Biology, Brady and Brendan began whispering, and my walls immediately went up. As soon as the comments about Weston being a pussy floated from their table, it was almost easy to ignore them, but to my surprise, Sara flipped around and gripped the back of her chair.
"He could have died, you jerks! Shut up!"
Brady glared at her, incredulous.
He opened his mouth, but Lisa Kahle from one table over spoke first, "No, really. Shut up. It was serious, and you two using it to harass Erin is beyond low."
Brady's eyes shifted between the two girls. He was still planning to shoot off his mouth until Mrs. Merit walked in, breathless and tired.
"Okay, we've got a big chapter this week, and I'm sure you all want to finish up, so you won't have homework on prom weekend. Open your books to page three-oh-three."
I opened my book and glanced up at Sara. Her eyes met mine, and we both shared an appreciative small smile.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, except for the questions about Weston.
When I sat down in Health, Weston leaned forward over his desk, coming up off of his chair to hug me to him, my back pressing gently against my chair. He clasped his hands together at my chest and pecked my cheek.
"All right," Coach Morris said, looking up from his planner. "Have a seat, Gates."
The classroom erupted in chuckles, and Weston sat back in his chair. I turned to look at him, and he winked at me, trying to hold back his beaming grin.
Between each class, Weston would meet me at my locker, chattering like he'd had a gallon of coffee. I'd never seen him so carefree.
Before Art though, he was notably absent when I dialed my combination. When I opened the metal door, an oversized sticky note was stuck to the inside.
YOU'RE ALL THE BREATH I NEED.
LOVE ALWAYS,
WESTON
I pulled the sticky note away from the metal and held it in my palm. Tears burned my eyes, but I didn't think of the Dairy Queen stock or how many scoops of M&M's to put in a Blizzard to ward them off. Two teardrops fell down my cheeks, and I didn't even bother to wipe them away. For the first time, I was crying happy tears.
I slipped my arms through the straps of my backpack and walked to class. Weston was sitting in his usual stool at my desk. He hadn't moved it since the first time he sat there. That was back when we had tried to be just friends, and he'd wanted to show me his project--the project that had inspired the silver heart hanging from the matching chain around my neck.
At first sight of my wet cheeks, Weston's expression twisted into concern, but then I turned the sticky note for him to see. I threw my arms around him, and he hugged me back, squeezing that little bit extra that he always did, while gently pressing his cheek against my ear. When I pulled away, he used his thumbs to wipe away the moisture under my eyes.
"That was supposed to make you smile."
I laughed, wiping my eyes again. "I am smiling."
"You had me worried there for a second."
I leaned in, whispering, "I just love being loved by you. That's all."
"Get used to it," he said, pulling me to sit on the stool next to him.
MRS. CUP BREEZED IN. "Everyone's here?" she asked. Her eyes bounced around the room. "Where are Josh and Noah?"
Zack looked around. "They're already on their way."
She paused and smiled. "Oh, those boys." She nodded. "Okay then, we'll see them soon. Let's get going. Everyone has a ride? Yes?"
Weston and I walked out to the parking lot together. On our way to the mural, Weston followed me even though I was trailing behind everyone else, certainly slower than he liked to drive. He pulled up next to me at a stoplight and rolled down his window. His radio was blaring, and his head was bobbing to the music. He winked at me.
"Hey, beautiful. Nice ride."
I shook my head and laughed.
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"Prom."
"Oh, yeah? Do you have a date?"
"I sure do."
"Wanna go with me instead?"
"You're awfully cute, but I'm going with my boyfriend."
"He must be dang amazing to have snagged you."
I shot him a look. "Are you complimenting yourself or me?"
He threw his head back and howled with laughter. The light turned green, and I pushed on the accelerator. He sped up and pulled into my lane just before we reached the pizza place.
With an arched eyebrow, Mrs. Cup watched us amble over to the brick wall. "Why are you two always last to get here?"
Weston pointed at me. "It's her fault."
My mouth fell open.
He was leaned over, holding his knees, his whole body shuddering with laughter.
Mrs. Cup waited for an answer.
"I just started driving. I'm nervous...and slow."
She glared at Weston and then looked back to me before walking over to her supplies and handing us each a paintbrush. Weston followed me to our spot before dipping his brush into a bucket labeled Saddle Soap Brown.
Weston began chuckling again, and I craned my neck at him.
"What is up with you? You have dark circles under your eyes, and you act like you're huffing Mountain Dew."
"I'm in a good mood. I was also prescribed a new bronchodilator. That probably has something to do with it. Are you working tonight?"
"Yep," I said, swirling my brush in the paint and standing to wait for what he might say next.
"So, if I do this"--he karate-chopped the air with his paintbrush, sending brown paint splattering down my front--"everyone will think it's chocolate?"
I flinched. Wet spatters of paint had speckled my face, and when I looked down, I saw the haphazard spots of paint that had made a perfect line from my neck to my jeans.
"Weston Gates!" Mrs. Cup yelled.
Instinctively, I dipped my brush into the bucket and flicked it at Weston, creating an identical line of Saddle Soap down his front.
"Erin Eas--Alderman!" Mrs. Cup shrieked.
The entire class erupted in laughter, shrill screams, and low yells as a paint fight broke out.
"No! Stop! Stop!" Mrs. Cup yelled, waving her hands in the air.
Chasing one another, we slapped the air with our brushes, slinging paint, and we mixed the different colors as we dipped our brushes in whatever bucket was closest.
"Not the mural! Stay away from the mural!" Mrs. Cup cried, standing between the brick wall and us.
We kept the battle in the parking lot, away from the mural, but then Mrs. Cup's eyes widened, and she ran to the other side, holding up her arms.
"Not the cars! Stay away from the vehicles! Stop! Stop this!"
We all paused, breathing heavily and smiling, looking like melted bags of Skittles.
"Detention! All of you!" Mrs. Cup said, heaving out each word. She let her hands fall to her sides. "How are you all even going to get back into your vehicles without making a mess?"
"I can't go to detention. I have to work." I looked to Weston.
He only offered an apologetic shrug.
"You're all walking back to school. Go. Now." Mrs. Cup pointed south, and we all let out a deflated sigh.
We were only a quarter of the way back when the after-school traffic began to whiz by. Mrs. Cup followed the class, making sure we stayed together and went straight to the school. Once our classmates recognized us, an opus of honking and playful taunts commenced.
Beads of sweat formed along Weston's hairline, and his cheeks flushed.
"You okay?" I said quietly.
"Yeah," he said in a dismissive tone. The spark that had lit his eyes all day was gone.
"Weston--"
"I'm getting tired, but I'm good. I swear."
I nodded, taking his hand in mine. Even though he was a head taller, I could feel him leaning on me for support. "This is stupid. You shouldn't exhaust yourself."
"Erin--"
"No," I said, pulling out my phone. I sent a text to Julianne, explaining the situation and Weston's appearance.
She immediately sent a message back, saying she would be right there.
"Mrs. Cup?" I said, turning to face her.
She pointed for me to continue. "Keep walking, Erin."
"I understand you're upset, and you're right. We all deserve detention. But Weston was hospitalized this weekend, and he's not feeling well. I don't think he should walk all the way back to school."
Mrs. Cup stiffened. "Oh, Lord, that's right. I'm sorry, Weston." She looked around.
"The Dairy Queen is right there," I said. "I work there. I can get him cooled off. I texted my mom. She's coming."
Mrs. Cup nodded. "Just...be careful crossing the street."
I nodded and pulled Weston along. The sun glared on the blacktop of the Dairy Queen parking lot. Frankie was standing in the window, and she turned on her heels. She met us in the back, holding the door open.
"I'll be greased Jesus. What happened to him?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"He got too hot, I think," I said. I tossed Frankie my phone. "Text Julianne. Tell her where we are."
Frankie nodded, shutting the door behind her.
"You are making way too big of a deal out of this," Weston said.
"Who cares?" I said, dipping a rag in ice-cold water and wiping his face.
He recoiled at the freezing cloth against his skin.
"I'll make you an extra-tall cherry dip cone, and then you can forgive me," I said with a cheesy grin.
Weston managed a tired chuckle.
"That's not a bad idea. Maybe his sugar is low," Frankie said, already holding a cone under the soft-serve machine. She dipped a tower of vanilla, complete with a perfect curl on top, into the vat of cherry dip-cone sauce, and she handed it to Weston.
He chomped off the top and hummed his satisfaction. "Way better than detention," he said with a mouthful.
By the time Julianne walked in, Weston's color had already returned.
"Hey, guys," she said, grabbing Weston's wrist. She stared down at her watch and then smiled up at him half a minute later. "Pulse is good."
"Erin forced me to eat ice cream and rest instead
of going to detention," Weston said, seeming sleepy. "I should break up with her."
"Does detention have anything to do with the fact that you're covered in paint?" Julianne asked, leaning her head a bit as she focused on Weston's pupils.
Frankie crossed her arms. "I was going to ask about that."
The drive-through speaker beeped, and Frankie stood next to the window, greeting the customer while still watching us.
I winced under Julianne's expectant eyes. "We sort of started a paint fight at the mural."
"You did?" Julianne asked, her voice going up an octave.
"I did," Weston said, holding his dip cone high in the air. "She just retaliated."
Julianne covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. She smoothed her features and then stood tall. "All right, Weston, I'm taking you to Dr. Briggs's office to get you checked out. Your mom is going to meet us there." She turned to me. "Are you working or going to detention?"
I looked at Frankie.
"Just come after," she said.
"Thanks," I said. "I'm afraid if I don't go, Mrs. Cup might go to more extreme measures. I don't want to end up getting suspended."
"Come on," Julianne said, leading us outside.
"I really don't need to go to the doctor," Weston said, seeming disgusted at the thought.
"Tell your mom that," Julianne said.
She took me to my car, still parked at the mural. Lethargic and unhappy, Weston gave me a peck on the cheek before he drove away with Julianne.
When I walked into detention, Mrs. Cup stood. "How's Weston?"
"Jul--my mom took him to see Dr. Briggs just to make sure he's okay."
Mrs. Cup nodded, sitting back down at her desk. She sank back into her chair as if the guilt would sneak up and swallow her at any moment.
After another half an hour, Mrs. Cup released us, and I rushed out to my car. I drove a few miles per hour faster than usual to get to work.
Frankie was swamped when I got there, and I quickly tied on my apron and opened my window.
"You look a little silly, wearing an apron when you're covered in paint," Frankie said, chomping on a wad of gum.
"Probably," I said before taking an order from the small boy at my window.
Once the rush died down, Frankie began the task of cleaning up the mess we'd made. I grabbed a rag and helped. We scrubbed down the chocolate syrup and strawberry sauce and then wiped the candies away. A strange, unfamiliar feeling came over me, like I had been dropped into a dream I'd once had.