He’s standing in front of a toolshed disguised as a mausoleum and he smiles. It’s not an all-out smile; it’s the one you use when you want to make someone feel better and smiling is all you can do.
It makes me want to run over and kick him, but I don’t. Instead, I stare back until he tosses his cigarette to the ground and saunters inside the shed.
The funeral is over and my father is gone.
Grandma is gone.
Everyone is gone.
And still, even as I turn to follow my mother, I can’t see the grave. Try as I might, I can’t look down. Somewhere deep inside, I won’t let myself remember who is in the hole in the ground.
My thoughts turn to Luke. Is it him?
It can’t be him.
Why would my father return after years of absence to attend a funeral for my boyfriend? And my grandmother? It doesn’t fit.
>“What, you mean like telling on her?”
“In a way, yes,” I say.
“What if she gets in trouble?” he asks softly. Luke drains his coffee cup and I admire his profile.
“I don’t want that. But I want it to stop, and Jamie isn’t willing to listen to me. In fact, she’s not even speaking to me because I told her that I was worried.”
“That’s a tough one,” Luke says sincerely.
“I know. But I’ll figure it out. There’s got to be a way,” I say more to myself than to him.
“I’ll help you however I can,” he replies, even though I think he knows I was talking to myself, too.
Luke grabs my hand over the center compartment and squeezes it gently. The lot is nearly full now.
“We should go in,” he says, sounding disappointed.
“Guess so.”
He turns the key and the van is silent. I unbuckle my belt and yank my backpack off the floor in front of my feet. Opening the door, I feel a frigid blast of wind that’s in stark contrast to the warmth of the van. I hop out, slam the door, and shiver my way to the front of the car to meet Luke. He looks unfazed.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
“Not really,” he replies with a shrug. “This is no match for the Charles,” he adds, confusing me.
Luke grabs my hand and we walk quickly toward the building. His fingers are calloused, and I wonder if it’s from playing guitar.
Halfway through the lot, a car is pulling into one of the few vacant spots. It is a blue four-door sedan that someone’s mother might drive. Then I realize that Brad from math is driving it. I wave. He glares at me in return.
What I did to Brad to provoke such disdain, I have no idea. But right now, walking hand in hand with my perfect boyfriend on a sunny, crisp February morning, I don’t care about Brad from math.
I don’t care about anything at all, except Luke.
“Are you sure I can’t switch partners?” Jamie asks Ms. Garcia, none too discreetly. A few of our classmates are staring at me to gauge my reaction.
“Ms. Connor, as I’ve told you now a half-dozen times, the partner you chose at the beginning of the year is the partner you will have until the end. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
Ms. Garcia turns her back on Jamie and starts writing today’s class agenda on the whiteboard. Jamie rolls her eyes and trudges back to her desk, which she picks up and plunks down with a loud bang so that it’s facing mine.
“Whatever,” she mutters as she flops into her seat.