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I haven’t beento a high school party since sophomore year, and I don’t know what to expect.
The last time I went to a party was the same reason I left it and haven’t gone to another one since.
Landon Atwater.
We were twelve when his mom died.
I remember it happening because it was the oddest thing. It was weekend, a Saturday. I didn’tknowLandon other than being in his class. We weren’t friends or anything, but I remember feeling all day like something horrible was about to happen. I didn’t know what it was or why I felt that way. There was no discernible reason for my dread, but it followed me all day long.
We found out on Sunday about the accident. Mom and I were at the grocery store picking up ingredients for dinner and we ran into another parent. She asked Mom if she heard about what had happened to Sally Atwater, and before she said another word, I felt chills all over my body.
Mom and I were a bit numb walking away from the conversation. We didn’t know the Atwaters, but we didn’t need to be close to them to feel the horror of what had happened.
A member of our community went out on a boat with her son, and he had to come back without her.
I felt sick all night thinking about it. I couldn’t sleep. I cried for him. I could not fathom how I would live without my mom, and I imagined he must feel the same about his.
When I gave up on sleep, I went into Mom’s bedroom and asked her if she would get up and help me make something for Landon. Mom was always a smidge overprotective and didn’t want me using the oven without supervision. She said it was common for people to cook for a family when they had suffered a loss like this, so we whipped up a batch of my best friend’s famous banana nut muffins.
I knew that no quantity of muffins would make him feel any better, but I wanted to dosomethingfor him.Mom warned me that he probably wouldn’t even beat school that day, but I wanted to have them ready just in case.
I felt like I was doing a good thing when I marched into middle school that morning with a container full of delicious breakfast muffins.
My heart ached when I walked into homeroom and saw Landon sitting alone at his desk.
Landon was never alone. He was one of the popular kids, so he and his friends were usually gathered around someone’s desk goofing off until the teacher told them all to take their seats.
Maybe his friends had already talked to him, or maybe they had no clue what to say, but he looked so alone and so sad, tears stung my eyes. I could feel his pain, and I wanted to ease it.
I unloaded my stuff at my desk and cleared away my own sadness figuring he didn’t need any more. I wanted to be strong and supportive, to let him know that even if we weren’t friends, I was there if he ever needed to talk.
So, I gathered up my courage and grabbed the muffins off my desk. I shook off the impression that Landon was too cool to approach and ignored people glancing at me, wondering what I was thinking as I pierced his bubble of beautiful popularity with my awkwardness and my braces.
He looked up, and the moment his wounded green eyes met mine, my heart melted into a puddle of goo that slowly dripped down into my stomach.
My voice shook awkwardly, and my heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I had the perfect thing to say—I had rehearsed it all morning while I got ready for school—but I couldn’t summon a single word with him looking at me.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Understandable that he was confused. I was just standing there like a totem of awkwardness.
I cleared my throat and tried to retrieve any scrap of the speech I had prepared. “Um… I heard about your mom,” I said softly. “I just wanted to tell you I’m so, so sorry. I can’t even imagine…”
His jaw tightened. Anger flashed in his stormy green gaze. My stomach hollowed out, warning me that I should turn back before the waters got choppier, but I stayed my course.
“I thought you might—I mean, my mom said—I mean…” I thrust the container of muffins toward him. “I made you some muffins.”
Scowling, he looked at the container, then back up at me. “You made me muffins,” he reiterated flatly.
I nodded. “Banana muffins. They’re really good.”
His eyebrows rose. “Yeah? Good enough to make me forget my mom’s dead and it’s my fucking fault?”
My heart dropped. My face fell. The muffins would have, too, but the top of his desk caught them.
“That’s not true,” I said on impulse.
His gaze filled with hate. It wasn’t really me he was mad at, but in that moment he needed to punish someone, and I was standing in front of him looking like the perfect target.
