Whatever Happens Read online

  I roll my eyes. “Lydia, if he thought you were a kid he wouldn’t have given you his number.”

  She assesses my words. “That’s true.” A wistful smile touches her lips. “Who knows where it will go, then.”

  I pick a grape from the baggy positioned precariously on my leg and pop it in my mouth. I don’t want to eat, but I know I have to. I find when I’m sad I don’t have an appetite. After Luna’s death it felt like I didn’t eat for a solid month. I know that’s not true, but I could barely stomach anything and ate very little.

  The fact that I can see Finn, speak to him, but he’s not mine, not anymore, is painful. Losing Luna, and the boy I’ve fallen for, all in less than a year feels like some sort of cruel Greek tragedy.

  Maybe that’s my teen melodramatics coming out, but I think losing Luna has left me raw and vulnerable in ways and places I’m only beginning to fathom, and having Finn walk away from me has exposed them.

  “It’s okay to be sad, you know.” Lydia’s stare cuts through me. “You don’t have to keep it all inside.”

  “It’s easier that way.” I grab another grape, roll it around in my fingers, before tossing it like a mini-basketball in the trash can across the way. It bounces off the lip and rolls away down the hall and out of sight.

  “Well, I’m here if you need me.”

  She wads up her now empty paper bag, stands and brushes her butt free of dust and debris on the school floor, and throws her trash away before, just like the grape, she’s gone.

  * * *

  Finn stands two feet in front of me.

  In reality he’s right there. I can touch him. See him. Smell him. Feel him.

  But he’s not mine.

  He runs his lines and mine leave my mouth on autopilot. I know the play backwards and forwards now, especially with us not talking. It’s all I really have to focus on.

  As much as I try to suppress my thoughts when we’re rehearsing, it’s more difficult at times. Today, I want nothing more than to beat his chest with my fists, begging for him to explain what I did, why he left me just like Luna did.

  I guess that’s the root of my problem, though.

  I’ve never admitted to anyone, not even myself, how betrayed I’ve felt by Luna’s suicide. She abandoned me to live in a world without her, when she was one of the best things in it. Finn helped fill that void, not completely, but there wasn’t a black hole inside me anymore threatening to swallow me. It isn’t because Finn’s autistic like she was, though some might would think that’s the reason, it’s just him. There’s something in his being, his DNA, that calls to me. It’s unexplainable, and having him act like we’re strangers is killing me.

  I don’t know how he manages to recite his lines and perform as if nothing is wrong between us when everything is.

  “Excellent!” Mr. Rochester’s voice booms from below where he sits in the front row, his trusty clipboard for notes perched on his knee. “Let’s move on to the scene of Beast in the bathtub.”

  Finn turns away from me, ready to begin his next scene, and with a hefty exhale I bleed away and exit stage right. I find a place to sit on the stairs, out of sight and in the semi-dark. Resting my head against the wall I try to control my emotions, but it’s useless, and soon tears are falling down my face. I brush them away as fast as I can, but they keep coming.

  I feel pathetic crying over a boy, but I guess that’s the thing, I’m not just crying over him. It’s him, it’s Luna, it’s moving here, it’s saying goodbye to the person I used to be.

  “Whatever happens, you’ll get through this,” I whisper to myself, gripping the stair railing in my right hand and pulling myself up.

  Turning around, I wipe my wet cheeks with the backs of my hands. Thank God I wore waterproof mascara or it would be smeared all the way down my face by now.

  A small gasp passes through my lips when I see Finn standing at the top of the stairs.

  His eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds, and before he can run away from me, I blurt, “You broke my heart.”

  His head bows, shoulders drawn, and for a second I think I see shame spread over his face.

  Then, like always, he’s gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Merry Christmas!” The cries from my parents scare me, and I jump back, banging the heel of my foot into the bottom stair. The pain stings all the way up my leg, but I don’t let it show.

  “Merry Christmas.” My response is soft, reserved.

  I don’t feel much like celebrating.

  It has nothing to do with Finn and everything to do with Luna.

  She loved Christmas. If she were here, she’d be dressed in holiday pajamas and dragged me out of bed long before now. Usually she woke up around five in the morning on Christmas. I used to gripe about it. I wouldn’t now.

  I guess that’s what hindsight is for, to show us that sometimes things we might find irritating are actually moments of comfort. If you change your view of things, it changes your whole outlook on how you feel.

  I don’t want my sadness to put a damper on today, so I force a smile on my face and follow them into the family room. Over night gifts have appeared under the tree.

  I wonder if any are from Santa this year. Even though I stopped believing long ago, Luna hadn’t, so there were always presents from Santa. I hope there are, it’ll feel like Luna is here in some small way.

  “Do you want to start opening them?” My mom asks with a hopeful smile.

  “Or eat first?” My dad interjects. “We’ll do whatever you want.”

  We always used to open presents first. The excitement overrode hunger.

  “Presents,” I reply, and this time when I smile it’s genuine.

  I know my parents are doing the best they can. They’re hurting too, but they’re trying to be strong for me.

  I find an empty spot on the floor to sit and they join me, passing me gifts they want me to unwrap in a certain order. It’s mostly clothes, but I also get a new music speaker and hair straightener. My mom passes me the last present and my heart lurches when I see To Violet, From Santa.

  I unwrap it, finding a book on the solar system.

  My mom reaches out, tucking a piece of dark hair behind my ear. “I know Finn isn’t talking to you now, but he will, I know it, and in the meantime I thought you could learn more about what he loves.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I swallow past the lump in my throat and reach out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I mean, Santa.” A small giggle bubbles out of my throat. I don’t know how she knows about this, but mom’s just seem to have that magical ability.

  “I still think you should let me give him a piece of my mind,” my dad grumbles. “Leaving you like that in the snow wasn’t nice of him.”

  I shake my head and smile at my dad. “That’s not necessary.”

  He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like all boys are idiots.

  “I have a present for you guys,” I announce, and hop up. “Let me grab it.”

  I run upstairs and dig out the small box from my dresser. I used every dollar I’ve saved for years doing odd jobs, plus stooped to asking my grandparents for help covering the rest. But I wanted to do something special for my parents, and since I opted to be in the play that meant not getting a job to have spending money.

  I hurry down the stairs, truly feeling elated to give them their gift.

  “Open it together.” I hold out the slender box, the size one might find a necklace in, wrapped in paper with cheerful snowmen on it. “Grams and Papaw helped me, but…” I trail off, giving a small shrug.

  They rip off the paper and open the lid.

  Their jaws drop as they look at each other and then swing their gazes to me with twin expressions of surprise. “I bought the tickets. Grams and Papaw paid for the hotel costs.”

  “Vi,” my mom breathes, placing her hand over her mouth. “I … wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  I shrug like it’s no big
deal, because it’s not, not to me anyway. They deserve this after everything. A chance to get away, just the two of them.

  She clutches the plane tickets to Seattle to her chest and tears fall down her cheeks. My dad still hasn’t said a word. I think from his expression he’s in shock, but confused as well.

  “You guys have always talked about going to Seattle,” I chatter to fill the silence. “Now you can.”

  My mom pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. “Violet, my beautiful, thoughtful, one-of-a-kind, daughter—you are the best parts of me and your father. Don’t ever doubt how bright your soul shines and the kindness in your heart. Everyone can see it, feel it.”

  She lets me go and my dad, finally able to function, hugs me as well.

  “I love you, Vi.” He kisses the side of my forehead.

  “Love you, too, Dad.” I squeeze him in a hug.

  My mom wipes her tears away, stands, and begins to gather the trash up.

  I help and my dad heads into the kitchen to start on breakfast. Every Christmas he makes his “world famous” crepes. I don’t tell him that I’m pretty sure only he thinks they’re famous and the French would probably be ashamed to see what he calls crepes. I always eat them with the biggest smile, though.

  She ties the full trash bag and holds it out to me. “Mind running this out to the cans?”

  “Not a problem.” I take it from her, and since it’s full of mostly wrapping paper it’s not too heavy.

  Sliding my feet into my slippers I open the garage door and head out into the cold. I don’t bother with a coat, which is probably dumb, but I only need to dispose of the bag in the can beside the house.

  I round the house and noise startles me. Dropping the bag I turn around and spot Finn walking out of the side of his house, like me carrying a trash bag.

  My heart pitter patters a wild beat and I silently tell it to cut it out, that it has to stop feeling this way for Finn, but of course it doesn’t listen. It never does. Hearts are wild loose cannons we have no control over.

  Finn pauses beside the trashcan. He doesn’t quite look at me, but he isn’t not looking either. Despite my lack of outerwear I’m hot all over. I’m surprised the snow isn’t melting beneath my feet.

  The moment stretches out and I watch him closely.

  His ticks.

  The way his fingers on his left hand tap against his thigh. How his right hand tightens around the white plastic bag. The wiggle of his nose as he tries to stop his glasses from sliding down. His lips twitch the slightest bit like he wants to say something, but thinks he shouldn’t.

  Finally, he murmurs, “Merry Christmas,” opens the trashcan and shoves the bag in it before hurrying back inside.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Merry Christmas, Finn.”

  I pick up the trash, throw it away, and paste a smile on my face as I go back in the house.

  It’s easier to pretend, than to admit to myself that I’m breaking all over again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  New Year’s Eve.

  The day we say goodbye to one year and hello to another. It’s a chapter closed, another opened. It’s a fresh page in a new book. A blank slate.

  Three-hundred and sixty-five days to create a whole new you.

  Few of us ever actually accomplish that feat, even if we try.

  As much as we like the idea of becoming new, there’s no such thing. We might change and grow through the years, but we keep pieces of our past selves with our new selves.

  There’s a lot from this past year that I know I’ll carry over into the next—probably for the rest of my life. There’s something about the loss of a loved one that changes our fundamental beings. First love changes us too. I’ve been so wrapped up in how I felt with Finn, the high of falling in love with him, that I didn’t consider first loves don’t always equal lasts.

  Not speaking to him sucks.

  Not seeing my sister every day sucks.

  Not understanding what I did wrong with Finn sucks.

  Not being able to go back and change things so my sister is still alive sucks.

  So much suckage, and yet life moves on and you either have to move with it or get mowed over.

  It’s a little bit above freezing, but it doesn’t stop me from bundling up and sitting on the roof outside my bedroom window. If my mom saw me she’d either yell at me about catching a cold or be afraid I might fall.

  I won’t fall. I don’t want to. I want to fly instead.

  The sky is dark and I hear fireworks in the distance, ringing in midnight.

  January first.

  The start of something new, but a continuation all the same.

  Some of the fireworks are high enough for me to see them barely peek over the tops of the trees. I lean back, watching them, ignoring the cold searing my ass through my sweatpants.

  I feel eyes on me and I know, know instinctively deep in my soul, that Finn is watching me. I don’t look for his eyes in the dark. It’ll hurt too much when he finds me looking and invariably runs from me, even though I’m on the roof and hardly in a position to corner him easily.

  I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

  Only he knows why he won’t talk to me.

  I keep replaying the night in the diner over and over, trying to think about my actions and words, how anything I said or did might’ve scared him.

  I’m coming up empty, but the fact remains, something did happen.

  I stay outside on the roof until the fireworks end. It can’t be more than five minutes. Before I crawl back in, my eye catches Finn’s tall form by the backdoor of his house. He’s leaning against the siding like he’s trying to blend in.

  It wasn’t too long ago when we were meeting every night in the field behind our homes, finding solace in the stars and solar system above us. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  I inhale a shaky breath and let it out, my breath fogging the night air.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  I know he can’t hear my apology, but I hope he feels it.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  School starts up and it’s back to the regular grind immediately, and before I know it, it’s the middle of January.

  With senior year months away from coming to a close, most classes are beyond boring with basically no work. Except Mr. Rochester’s of course. I appreciate having to put hard work in. The rest of the classes are now boring and seem like a pointless waste of time.

  I walk the halls, waiting for them to clear until I have to head to the auditorium for practice. The sets and costumes are almost completely done, but even with all the behind the scenes stuff shaping up nicely, there’s still work to be done on performances.

  Mainly, mine.

  My heart isn’t in like it was, and while I was initially good at faking my scenes with Finn, it’s acting after all, now my irritation and sadness is bleeding into it. Anger too. Some days I just want to smack my fists against Finn’s chest to get out my frustrations with him. I never do, and I wouldn’t, so instead I’ve taken to walking the halls as they empty out for the day. There’s something peaceful about seeing the school empty of bodies at the end of the day, the calm and quiet that settles over the normally raucous halls.

  I trail my fingers against the walls.

  “Page!” I jump at the sound of my name being yelled behind me. I turn around rapidly. Mr. Rochester stands at the end of the hall. “Auditorium is that way.”

  “I know. I was just walking.”

  His eyes narrow. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been different lately.”

  He walks down the hall, closing the distance between us. His brows are narrowed, but his eyes are concerned.

  “You’ve got me worried, Violet.” He pauses in front of me, tipping his head to the side.

  I shrug. “It’s nothing important. Typical teenage angst.”

  He harrumphs. “I might believe that with other kids, not you. You don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine
, but I’m here if you ever need to talk.” He lifts a finger in warning. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t want to listen to the rest of these fuckers blabber about their petty problems.”

  I let out a small, genuine laugh. “It’s a secret.”

  “I have to grab stuff from my classroom and then I’ll be there. Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.”

  He heads one way and I go the other, hands shoved in my pockets. I walk a little faster, knowing there will be hell to pay if Mr. Rochester beats me to the auditorium.

  Opening the heavy doors, I walk down the aisle and backstage. I pass by Finn sitting on the floor looking at a script with Jack beside him.

  He raises his head, but I don’t acknowledge him in any way. Clearly he’s not going to talk to me, and I need to just let it go and move on, so that means doing my best to pretend he’s not there.

  That he doesn’t affect me.

  It’s easier said than done.

  I find Lydia on the opposite side, working on a costume for Mrs. Potts, a pin stuck between her teeth.

  I pull out a stool and sit down beside her. “Already getting to work I see.” I crack a smile at her as she focus on placing the pin.

  “Figured I might as well before the tyrant arrives.” She sticks out her tongue.

  “I heard that.” Mr. Rochester’s shoes thump against the stairs up to backstage. Papers are clasped in his right hand and he bypasses us, heading over to the student, Jacob, playing Lumiere.

  We can’t hear what he says, but from the way he hands Jacob the papers and begins gesturing madly I assume it’s notes on what he thinks needs to be approved on for the role.

  “I honestly don’t know why he doesn’t direct plays for an actual theater,” Lydia grumbles, glancing over at him, “instead of torturing us.”

  The girl playing Mrs. Potts, Samantha, snorts. “It’s because no one would put up with his shit. We have no choice.”

  “Except to quit,” I point out.