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Simon
I’m poisonous. Or it’s this thing, the scarlet A, the shitty circumstances that come along with being born a Wade in this town. The past and the actions of others are capable of ruining everything good.
Me and Charlotte? We haven’t even started and I feel it’s got the power to end us.
I don’t want it to. I want this girl sitting next to me to smile and be carefree. I want to be the one who makes her feel that way. I want to be unburdened and relaxed, like everyone else my age. But today was a shitty day.
Timmy’s using again. Maybe it started with painkillers prescribed by the prison infirmary, but prescribed or contraband doesn’t matter—he’s using. He was shifting in his seat and acting distant today, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, on alert, paranoid. His fragmented attempts at conversation were dominated by pie in the sky bullshit. Today it was some absurd “business plan” he came up with to open a bike shop. I have to hold back from smacking my own forehead when he asks my mother—dead serious—if she wants to be an investor.
I hate that fucking place. I hate every guard, I hate the warden I’ve never laid eyes on, I hate the governor, the president—I just exist in a state of hatred.
I don’t know how to compartmentalize this part of my life. I want to keep it from her, and I can’t help but feel angry when she pries. But I know the anger is because I feel so damn weak, so powerless to do anything about it. There is nothing I can do to help Timmy right now, and that makes me feel pathetic.
“There’snothingI can do.”
She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and eases one hand off the steering wheel, lowering it down onto the seat and covering my hand with her own.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
Her thumb drags back and forth over the top of my hand, soothing me. “It’s all right, Simon. I understand.”
And I know she does.
The air is still heavy between us when we pull up outside my place. Seeing my home through her eyes doesn’t do anything to get me out of my funk. Most people in our development keep their places tidy, but a few have given up. Being house proud in a trailer park is sort of ridiculous, I get it, but in that moment I want to hide the cinderblocks and discarded tires that litter the area in front of a neighboring unit. Then I take in the welcome mat, the flowery curtains and the wreath on our front door. The homey touches used to please me, but right now it looks like lipstick on a pig.
She pulls me out of it. “I’m excited to meet your mom.”
I smile at her because I know Charlotte is more nervous than excited, and she’s doing a shit job of hiding it. “My mom baked an apple pie in your honor.”
“Really?”
“Yup. This is monumental…I’ve never brought a girl home for dinner.”
She side-eyes me, grinning. “So I’m the first?”
“The first.” I’m dead serious but she laughs as she hops down out of the truck.
I guide her up the steps but then pull her back against me once we reach the landing. Before I open the front door, I rest my chin on her head and exhale. “Thank you for that…You make me feel better when all the bad shit starts weighing me down. I just don’t want you to have to bear that for me.” I turn her to face me. “I’ll do better.”
She shakes her head and swallows. “You saved my life, Simon, so please don’t ever apologize or think your troubles are some kind of burden.”
“I didn’t save your life.”
“You did” She leans over and kisses me softly. “That day and every day since.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte
Daisy is drifting away, and I’m a terrible person because I’ve barely given our disintegrating friendship a passing thought. I’ve officially becomethatgirl—the girl who drops her friends once a boy comes into the picture.
Sarah and Daisy practically had to scrape their jaws off the pavement that first Monday morning when Simon snuck up behind me and kissed my cheek in front of everyone. Everyone. My knees nearly gave out, but I somehow managed to keep it together, sucking in a breath as a smile stretched clear across my face.
She wanted to know. And while Sarah breathlessly asked question after question, Daisy said nothing, quietly studying me. When we were alone during our last period class, she stopped me when I started talking about a paper due the following week. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She looked more hurt than curious.
“He, um, kissed me at the party Friday night, and well, I’ve gotten to know him since I’ve been working at the diner and everything.”
“You looked…together.” Shaking her head, she said, “Like, it’s three days later and you’re a couple?” I didn’t answer. Didn’t like the line of questioning. “I mean, I always knew you had a thing for him, but,” Daisy met my eyes and smiled, “he looked like he was positively on cloud nine when he kissed your cheek this morning.”
