Part 18 (2/2)
”It's a small town, Breanna. You've heard the rumors about me. Some of which are true.”
Breanna sits up, then regards the old abandoned trestle. It's not the first time today she's studied it with curiosity. ”Do you ever go on the trestle?”
I nod.
”Is it safe?”
Evidently not for trains. I stand and extend my open palm to Breanna. She's eager to explore and I like seeing her smile. Breanna slides her fingers into mine and our eyes meet. We stay that way, staring, our hands twined together. I've never held a girl's hand before. Not in a way that means something.
Her skin is soft. Very soft, and I begin thinking thoughts that would cause Breanna to demand a restraining order-like how the skin of her stomach might also be this soft.
The pressure of her delicate fingers is heavier than most weights I've lifted. It's like holding on to a promise and it causes me to be nervous. Me nervous. About what? About kissing her? About touching her? I've done things with girls a million times over, but not with Breanna.
I gently pull and she hops to her feet. Breanna didn't need my help, and as I attempt to release her, she squeezes my hand and offers a shy smile. Something within me s.h.i.+fts.
No, I don't get nervous, but Breanna transports me to all sorts of new places. It's not her physical proximity getting to me, it's the fact that she makes me feel.
We let go of one another, but we walk close through the tall gra.s.s. The sound of the rus.h.i.+ng water grows as we approach the bridge. Her hand b.u.mps into mine, and I consider reclaiming her fingers, but I have no clue if she sees me in the ways I'm beginning to see her.
Breanna inhales, then pushes out a question. ”I heard you failed fifth grade. Is that true?”
”I was held back.” We reach the foot of the bridge and I shove my hands into my pockets.
She toes the wood of the track and a.s.sesses the rusting iron. ”You're smart. A h.e.l.l of a lot smarter than most. Definitely smarter than what-”
She cuts herself off and I finish for her. ”Than what everyone at school thinks.”
Her frown is an admission and an apology.
”I know the rumors. Stupid Razor. Only kid who repeated fifth grade.”
”As I said, you're smart,” she responds. ”So why did you repeat?”
Because of the steep incline, the river is a cla.s.s-three rapid. We've had a steady amount of rain and the water roars and splashes against the sharp rocks about thirty feet below.
I remember the first time I stood near the edge. The sun was setting and the sky was bleeding pinks and reds. I gauged the distance, the spiked rocks and the racing current. Back then, I had considered jumping.
”I missed too many days of school.” Admitting this feels strange. There are too many rumors, too many lies surrounding me and my mother, so it's been pointless to speak the truth. Somehow, Breanna's the person to say these words to.
A breeze cuts through the trees and Breanna's hair soars. She raises her face to the sky and it's like the wind dies off at her command. Breanna seems powerful enough to control nature. She gets me to talk. That in itself is amazing.
Multiple wheels spin in that brilliant brain and her hazel eyes flash with understanding.
”Go ahead and ask,” I say. She's the one person on this earth besides my father I'd allow this question, and I can guarantee that, at least with her, there won't be shouting.
”Was that the year your mother died?”
I flinch and Breanna notices. ”Yeah. I was too messed up to go to school at first and then Dad had a hard time getting me there. By the time the club stepped in to help, the damage had been done. Too much time missed. Too far behind in cla.s.s.”
”I'm sorry. About your mom and about how people talk about you.”
Me, too. ”I'm sorry they talk about you, too.”
A cloud sweeps over Breanna's face, but she forces her lips up like that will remove the sting from my words. ”The gossip from the first week has blown over.”
”I wasn't referring to earlier this year.”
Breanna sighs so heavily that she seems to shrink. ”It's going to get better, right?”
There's a dip inside me because it's the same prayer I say at night.
”Like when we graduate, all this stupidity will go away, because I am so tired of pretending to be something I'm not. If I act like who I really am, I'm crucified. If I hide, I feel like I've chained myself inside of a one-foot box and I'm dying to break free.”
Breanna strokes her hands over her arms as if she could wrench her metaphorical chains off her body. ”Everyone says it doesn't matter what anyone thinks, but you know what? It does. Yeah, I walk into school with the att.i.tude of screw them. I'm going to answer every question. I'm going to show the world who I am, and I'm not going to apologize for it, and then...”
She fades off. ”And then people stare at you as they cover their mouth with their hand, lean over and whisper. Then people whisper back, all while staring, and they laugh. Then that rare burst of confidence-shatters.”
A strong gust rips through the trees and I don't like how near to the edge she is. She's a small thing and another surge of wind could cause her to tumble to the swirling water below.
”I can handle the whispering,” she says. ”But it's the people who like a show that make it unbearable. The people who get a kick out of making me into a spectacle. The jerks that stand in front of everyone, call me names, and then when I do say something back, I'm the one that doesn't know how to take a joke. When my face turns red and my neck gets hot and tears form in my eyes, I'm the one that's too sensitive. I'm the freak.”
Her cheeks do turn red and then she pulls her hair off her neck as if heat does curl along her skin. A pulse of anger runs through me when I see tears forming in her eyes. I'm going to kill the next person who gives Breanna any type of c.r.a.p.
She drops her hair and wipes her eyes. ”Maybe I am too sensitive. Maybe I'll never belong anywhere. Maybe this is how life is supposed to be forever.”
I'm desperate to find a way to soothe her pain. ”At least you have a big family. Your brother came at me hard the night of orientation.”
”I'm even the oddball in that group. My older siblings never talk to me. My younger siblings act like I'm their mother. Because I'm not their actual mom, I just get the hate part. Joshua's married to the football team. Liam wors.h.i.+ps Clara, so that means he and I will never be close, and Clara...there is not a word strong enough to describe the hate Clara has for me.”
She's told me about her older sister. ”Clara's a raging b.i.t.c.h.”
”Clara can't find a way to calm the chaos in her brain. It's hard turning it off. Finding peace is even harder. She's like me, but honestly better. She remembers things and she's a whiz with math, but she struggles with the constant noise. It's like neither of us can win for losing. Clara was picked on for not being able to focus. People a.s.sumed it meant she was stupid and then I came along. I could process everything I remembered. I could find a way to keep my mind in check. Because of that, my parents used to show me off as a parlor trick with the moronic capitals, and if I was Clara-” Breanna chokes on her words ”-I'd hate me, too.”
She rubs both her hands over her face as if she can scrub away the hurt. Those nights I've spent in scalding showers prove neither of us can wash away the misery.
”Want to cross?” I ask. We both need the distraction. ”The bridge. We can cross it.”
She surveys the wooden planks across the metal rails. Huge fat gaps exist between the planks and there's a narrow strip of metal off to one side of the bridge that's barely wide enough to balance on. There's no railing on either side.
Breanna leans over the edge, no doubt making a mental note of the rus.h.i.+ng, raging water and mammoth rocks. ”Will you go with me?”
I shouldn't do it. I should tell her we've completed our project and we're done for the day, but instead I offer her my hand again and tempt her to hang with the devil.
She closes the s.p.a.ce between us, and the moment she lays her palm in mine, I grasp her hand and lead her onto the bridge.
Breanna chooses the narrow strip of metal and I tempt fate on the aging wooden planks. The wood cracks under my weight and Breanna holds on to me like she could keep me from falling through into the river. ”Walk on the metal.”
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