Happenstance 2 Page 8

  "I won't join a sorority," I said with certainty.

  She shrugged. "Then we'll sell it."

  "Maybe," I said.

  My phone lit. It was Weston. Again. It was always Weston. I put the phone back on the coffee table.

  Sam and Julianne traded glances, and then Sam lifted his arm, pointing the remote at the television and pressing the play button.

  On Monday I was in a strangely good mood, and I decided it was because I was scheduled to work. Weston had stopped trying to explain things to me days before, but he looked miserable. Just as I gathered my things in front of the mural and headed to my car--which was parked on the one end of the small group of cars parked in the lot, while Weston's truck was parked on the other end--Weston jogged up beside me.

  I tried to ignore him, but as I reached for the handle, he grabbed my hand, putting a folded note in my palm.

  I crinkled the notebook paper in my fist.

  "Please read it. I won't bother you anymore, if you just read it."

  With the tiniest movement, I nodded once and then opened my car door. The drive to the Dairy Queen from the mural was just a couple of minutes. I parked and walked into the small building, note in hand.

  "Hey, stranger," Frankie said, smiling. She was on the phone, and I could tell immediately that she was talking to her mother about her kids.

  I smiled at her, leaned against the counter, and fingered the paper in my hands. After several minutes I finally unfolded it, my face crumpling as I read the two simple sentences.

  I TOLD MY DAD ABOUT DALLAS. SEE YOU AT SIX ON PROM NIGHT.

  LOVE YOU,

  WESTON

  I crumpled the paper in my hand and held my fist to my chin, supporting my elbow by resting my other arm across my stomach.

  Frankie watched me warily. "I've gotta go, Mom. Kiss the kids for me." She hung up the phone and took a few steps toward me. "What's that?"

  "A note from Weston."

  "Is it bad?"

  "We aren't together anymore."

  "You're not?"

  "No. He...I found out he was planning to help Alder get me to prom so they could embarrass me."

  "What?" she shrieked. "No. Weston wouldn't do that."

  "It's in her journal. He didn't deny it. Brady knew about it."

  The color left her face. "There has to be an explanation. There has to be something else you don't know."

  "There is. I was stupid," I said, wiping the ridiculous tears falling down my cheeks.

  "But...she's dead. Why would he continue with the plan?"

  "He told her he would? I don't know. I knew there was more to it. I knew he wouldn't just suddenly have interest in me. I just...I wanted to believe it," I said, my voice breaking.

  "What's in the note?" she asked, horrified.

  I held it out to her, and she scrambled to read it. Then she looked up at me. "What does it mean?"

  "I promised him that if he told his dad he wanted to go to the Art Institute of Dallas instead of Duke, then I would go to prom with him."

  "You don't think he'd still go through with it. He's...Somewhere in the midst of all this, he had a change of heart, Erin. He fell for you, and now you know the awful truth, and he wants to fix it. He isn't the type of person to go through with something so cruel."

  I shrugged.

  "You don't have to go with him. If you're afraid of what will happen, don't go."

  I lifted my chin and wiped my cheeks once more. "I'm not afraid of them. I refuse. No matter what they do to me, I am in control of the way others make me feel. They can't hurt me if I don't let them."

  Frankie handed me the note, and I took it, folding the wrinkled paper into the same square it was in when Weston gave it to me. As I did so, the paper sliced my finger, and a small dot of blood pooled from the tiny cut. I shoved the note into the front pouch of my apron and wiped the blood on the closest napkin.

  "They can bring whatever they've got. The joke's on them," I said, opening the window when the first car slowed to a stop in front of the shop.

  Frankie watched me, shaking her head in awe. "You're so close to graduation. So close to being free."

  I turned to fill a cup with soft serve and dumped in bananas and caramel, holding the cup up to the mixer. "I am not Easter anymore. I won't hide."

  "You want to go with him."

  Her words hit me with such force, I crouched to my knees, barely holding the cup on the counter.

  "Is she all right?" the woman on the other side of the window said.

  Frankie rushed over to me, kneeling down.

  "I'm a high school senior who wants to go to prom. I've got one chance to see what that feels like. Screw 'em. Screw him. Screw 'em all."

  "Attagirl," Frankie said, holding her palm to my back. "To hell with 'em. And if he does anything to embarrass you, even so much as acts like a fool, God help him. Because your parents and me will nail him to the wall."

  I stood, holding the cup in both hands. "You won't have to worry about that. I am writing my own story. And in my story, I get a happy ending. No matter what happens, they can't touch me."

  I pulled my cell phone from the front pouch of my apron and texted Julianne.

  Do you have plans tomorrow?

  No. Did you have something in mind?

  I've been asked to prom. Kind of.

  Yay! Who?

  Weston.

  Are you sure?

  Not really. But I'm going.

  Okay, then. We'll discuss this turn of events later. But you're going to need a dress.

  Tuesday after school, Julianne met me at Frocks & Fashions downtown. I just sort of stood around while she looked at the dresses. She would show me one, and I'd shake my head.

  After several noes, she approached me. "What's your favorite color?" she asked.

  "All of them."

  "That's convenient." She chuckled.

  "What about this one?" she said, holding up a sea-green dress with a full skirt and a bunched bodice. I shook my head again.

  "What do you dislike about it?"

  "The big skirt. The color. The fact that it's strapless."

  She nodded. "Got it."

  A few minutes later, she held up another dress, her eyes animated. "Look at this one!" She took a closer look at the tag. "It's your size!"

  It was blush pink, the long skirt soft and flowing to the floor, with a thick, gathered empire waistline that sat below a transparent bodice. The see-through fabric went over both shoulders, and hundreds of small silver rhinestones grouped together to cover the breast area and then broke apart as they traveled up to the neckline.

  Julianne turned it around. The back was see-through like Alder's dress, but the rhinestones lined the outer edges instead of grouping at the bottom.

  "Do you hate it?"

  I shook my head. "No, it's kind of pretty, actually."

  "Yeah?" she said. "Why don't you try it on?"

  "I don't know. I feel like I'd be wasting your money if I don't go."

  "Phooey. Come on," she said, pulling open the curtain to one of the dressing areas.

  I took the dress from her hands and went inside, closing the curtain behind me. I pulled the dress from the plastic and stepped into it, pulling it up and slipping my arms through the holes.

  "I found the perfect shoes!" Julianne said.

  I tried zipping it up, but couldn't maneuver my hands far enough up my back. "I think I need help with the zipper."

  "Can I come in?" she asked.

  I pulled back the curtain, and she gasped. "Gracious," she said quietly, lowering the shoes in her hands.

  I looked down. "It's nice."

  She took me by the hand and cupped my shoulders, facing me toward the three-paneled mirror. She zipped the back up the rest of the way and handed me the shoes.

  "This is not nice," she said. "This is spectacular."

  I caught Weston watching me dozens of times the rest of the week, always seeming like he was on the edge of saying s
omething, but he never did. The green eyes that I used to long to connect with became a source of conflict, as I hoped to see them and dreaded seeing them at the same time. Finally, on Friday morning before class, he met me at my locker.

  "It's my last game tonight. You said you'd go."

  "We've both said a lot of things."

  He winced, and then he forced a nervous smile. "What...what does that mean? Are you really not going to go to prom after I told my dad about Dallas? It was a big deal. He yelled. Then he talked for hours about how much I'd grown up. After he accepted it, of course. I was scared outta my mind. But I did it."

  I kept my eyes on the back wall of my locker.

  "I enrolled online for Dallas yesterday."

  I still didn't speak.

  "Please come to my game. I'll make you a deal. Double or nothing. If we don't win tonight, you don't have to go to prom with me."

  I looked up at him. "Why? Is it really so important to you that you carry this out for Alder?"

  His brows pulled together, and he shook his head. "Nothing is more important to me than you. I don't know how to say I'm sorry. I would do anything to take back agreeing to Alder's plan. I wanted to go with you. I wanted to spend time with you. The rest could have been avoided."

  "You want," I glared up at him. "It never stops being about what you want, does it?"

  "I guess so. I don't want regrets. I want to hold the girl I love in my arms during the last dance. I want her watching my last baseball game. I want those last memories of high school, but I want them with you. But that's all I want. I swear it."

  I shut my locker.

  "Come to the game. If we lose, I'll take back my tux and cancel your wrist corsage."

  "You ordered me a wrist corsage?" I said, dubious.

  "And a white limo," he said, his eyes hopeful.

  I took my biology book and left Weston standing at my locker alone. As I walked to class, something close to nausea set in while I choked back the debilitating mix of emotions swirling inside me.

  THE TONE BUZZED ONCE AND THEN AGAIN. My hand felt sweaty against the cell phone in my hand as the BMW made its way to the baseball field.

  "Hi, sweetie," Julianne said when she answered.

  "I'm...I'm driving to the baseball field. Weston's last game is tonight."

  "Oh?" she said without judgment.

  Her lack of surprise surprised me. "He asked me to come. He also reminded me that I promised to go to prom with him."

  "This is beginning to make more sense," she said, trying to sound positive. "As a mother, I'm not sure I'm okay with coercion."

  "Tell me to come home."

  "You don't want to go to the game?"

  "No. But yes. But no."

  Her breath blew into the phone. "Can I come?"

  "To the game?"

  "Yes. Your Sam is here. I bet he'd like to go to Weston's last game too."

  "Um...yes. Yes. Please come." At least I would have someone to sit with.

  "On our way in ten," she said. "See you soon."

  I set the phone in the cup holder and turned the wheel to the right, into the baseball field's parking lot. It was already full, with vehicles overflowing into the grass belonging to the fairgrounds to the north. A white, newer, high school bus that read CHISOLM LONGHORNS was parked on the south end of the parking lot, empty. People were still filing in to the gate, but by the scoreboard, I could see that the game had already started.

  When I walked in, Weston just happened to be walking from somewhere near the dugout to home plate with a bat in his hand and a maroon helmet on his head. He looked up into the stands for a moment and then looked down to his cleats, tapping the bat against his left foot.

  He took a step and glanced back one more time, seeing me walk in. He jogged to the fence, sticking his fingers through the holes and hanging on with a wide smile and relief in his eyes.

  "Erin!"

  I pulled my mouth to the side, my emotions torn between being embarrassed by the attention and being flattered by his reaction.

  "Get going, Gates!" Coach Langdon barked.

  He looked back to his coach, to me, and then jogged to his position. I watched him as I climbed the steps. He let the first ball go by.

  "Strike!" the umpire called, holding his fist in the air. The crowd booed.

  Weston leaned forward and twisted his hands around the grip of the bat. The pitcher hurled the ball at him, and Weston swung. The ball met the bat with a crack and then launched, low and straight, right past the shortstop, and bounced into left field, sending the outfielders sprinting.

  The crowd cheered while Weston ran to and reached first base. He kissed his index and middle finger and held it in my direction.

  "Erin!" Veronica called with a smile. She waved me over, and I sat with her on the fourth row, to the left of home plate.

  Julianne and Sam joined us less than an inning later, sitting on each side of me. None of them had a clue how much was riding on this game, and I began to feel guilty about putting that extra pressure on Weston.

  The first two innings, the Blackwell Maroons were up, but the next two were plagued with mistakes, and we were four runs down. I could see the frustration on Weston's face, and he began yelling cheers and jeers to his teammates from the dugout and the pitcher's mound.

  Once he pitched the ball, and it came straight back at him. He ducked, and it went straight into the second baseman's mitt. The crowd let out a collective ooh.

  "Lord, that was close," Veronica said, putting her hand on her chest.

  "The pitchers should really have to wear helmets too," Sam said.

  Weston coughed into his elbow and waited for the catcher. He shook his head twice and then nodded. He reared back, hiked his leg, and launched the ball at the batter.

  "Someone's lit a fire under his ass today," Peter said after Weston threw three consecutive strikes.

  The umpire called the out, and the players jogged into the dugout. The Chisolm players put on their mitts and ran to their positions on the field.

  In the sixth inning, we were batting, down by one. I could hear coughing from the dugout.

  "Is that Weston?" Veronica said. "He has his inhaler, right?"

  "He always does," Peter said, trying to sound casual, but I caught a hint of worry in his voice.

  "He's been having a lot of flare-ups with his asthma lately," Veronica told Julianne.

  A commotion drew our attention to Blackwell's dugout, and then Coach Langdon stepped out and yelled. The paramedics standing by rushed to the coach, and players began to hop out, walking backward as they watched in astonishment at whatever we couldn't see. Peter stood, taking two steps at a time down the bleachers. Veronica took the cement steps.

  "Oh God," I said.

  My parents stood too, and I followed them down the stairs and through the gate.

  "Let's go!" Julianne commanded.

  "Weston?" Veronica cried.

  Peter was holding her shoulders as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

  One of the paramedics ran to the ambulance and came back with a gurney and supplies, quickly loading Weston onto the stretcher. That was the first time I got a good look at him. He was pale, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead. His eyes were rolled back into his head as he gasped for air. His inhaler fell out of his hand to the ground.

  "Go! Go!" Sam barked, helping Julianne and the paramedics push the stretcher's wheels across the dirt and grass to the sidewalk, and then to the ambulance.

  The entire crowd was silent. The players all took a knee, holding their hats over their hearts.

  "No, no, no," I whispered, watching helplessly.

  The ambulance sped off with full lights and sirens down Coolidge Street toward the hospital, and Peter and Veronica ran to their cars.

  "Erin! Erin! Come on!" Julianne called to me from the parking lot.

  I ran with her to her G-Wagon. The door slammed behind me, and I watched her twist the ignition and yank the gear into rev
erse and then into drive.

  "Where's Sam?"

  "In the ambulance. Weston's had asthma attacks before. Not in a long time, but he will be okay. He will."

  "You promise?" I said, my entire body trembling.

  Julianne's lips pressed together, making a hard line. "He can't do this again. He wouldn't."

  "Who?"

  "God."

  I blinked and then looked out the window, watching the houses pass by.

  Julianne pulled into the back lot of the hospital where the ambulance bay was located. The ambulance was already parked, its back door hanging wide open.

  Julianne held my hand, and I kept her quick pace as we walked inside to the waiting room.

  Mothers holding feverish babies and an elderly couple, one of them with a deep cough, took up the few chairs available--not that we needed them.

  I wrapped my arms around my middle, and after twenty grueling minutes, Sam appeared. He looked worried.

  "They're stabilizing him," he said, but he put his hand on the small of Julianne's back and led her into the hallway.

  They spoke softly, having an intense conversation. Julianne looked back at me once and covered her mouth with her hand.

  I couldn't find a comfortable place to put my hands, so I finally resorted to crossing them across my stomach again.

  Sam and Julianne returned, taking me in both of their arms.

  "He's going to be okay," Sam said.

  "You're sure?" I asked.

  "They're working on it." He handed me a five-dollar bill. "Why don't you get us some waters from the vending machine down the hall?"

  I nodded, taking the bill and leaving the waiting room, turning right. I could see the vending machine. It was close to the end of the hall, near the front entrance. On my way, a woman in scrubs rushed past me, pushing a square-shaped piece of equipment with an arm and a camera-like contraption on the end. It looked like a portable X-ray machine, and I imagined she was heading for Weston's room.

  The vending machine took Sam's five-dollar bill. I pressed the button for a bottle of water, collected the change that fell into a bin at the bottom, and then repeated the process two more times. The waters felt good against my skin as I carried them back to the waiting room.

  Sam and Julianne were standing next to Coach Langdon and stopped talking when I approached. They took their waters but didn't open them.

  Sam hugged me to him, and we waited. When I couldn't wait any longer, I stood by the door, watching the clouds roll by, and witnessed the sky turning dark. One by one the players and the coaches stopped by and ambled around the waiting room like we did.