Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,59
this moment. I could love this girl so easily. If only I could be normal and allow that to happen.
Hailey nuzzles her cheek against my shirt in silence for a moment, then gazes up at me as if she’s trying to read me with those intense gold-flecked eyes. “What else is wrong, Hank? I know there’s something. Talk to me, please?”
So here it is. My chance to tell Hailey everything. To let her, for real, into the chaos that is my life. She slips a warm hand into my sweaty one and squeezes. I squeeze back until I’m afraid I’ll crush her hand, and I let go.
“You’ve always had this evasive, mysterious thing about you that’s kind of sexy, but it’s different now,” she says. “To tell the truth, it’s scaring me a little.”
Oh, Hailey. It would be such a sweet relief to let her hold me and tell me it’ll be okay. But what am I supposed to say? That I’m a loser criminal who robbed and assaulted some guy in New York and maybe killed my sister in a car accident that was totally my fault? She’d probably run away screaming and be afraid of me forever. How can I possibly tell her who I really am or what I’ve done?
God, I’m tired. No more fight in me, no more strength. Hailey and music are the only good, pure things in my life right now. I can’t spoil them too. Everything will turn to shit soon enough.
“Look, these next few days are all about you and the music, Hailey. Let’s just enjoy them, okay? After that, we’ll talk and I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Okay?”
I’m not even sure what I mean by after that. Anything that might happen after the Battle of the Bands is a huge void. My future is as blank and formless as my past used to be. So I’m buying time, just a couple more days.
She nods reluctantly, and before she can speak, I give her a soft kiss, hoping she doesn’t notice my lips trembling.
“See you tomorrow, Hailey.” Then I get out of the car and gently shut the door.
It’s Thursday and I’m at the library shelving nonfiction on the second floor, breathing in that old book smell. I figured I might as well live these last days in Concord as normally as possible. Doing work makes me feel something like a normal person with some kind of normal purpose. It’s hard to stay focused, though. I have to re-shelve a whole pile of books I stuffed into the biography section, when actually they belong in history. Whatever.
One more day until the Battle of the Bands. And after Saturday night, I promised Thomas I would call my parents and face the truth about what happened in Naperville. Face the truth about New York City. Like, what about the crimes I committed? Will the police conclude I was acting in self-defense when I clobbered Simon with that brick? Of course I fled the scene of a crime, and that doesn’t look good. And I did take the guy’s money. Indirectly, but I still took it.
Even if they don’t throw me in jail, then what? It’s not like I’ll just be able to return to my old life. It’s impossible to imagine going home, sleeping in my old bed, going to my old school, and trying to reconnect with friends. Aside from all the bad stuff, I’ve missed a lot of school, so I doubt I can graduate with my class in May. Not that it matters.
My parents don’t know this yet, but I’m not going to college. The day the acceptance letter came from Northwestern University, I hid it in the back of my sock drawer and went out for a ten-mile run. I didn’t think of anything at all for the first five miles except my body moving and sneakers pounding on the asphalt. But finally my mind cleared enough to realize the cold, hard, honest truth: I don’t want to go to college. Not yet, anyway. A few days before the accident, I even called the college and told them I was delaying college for a year so I could figure out what I wanted to do. They were actually really nice about it. But my parents, no doubt about it, they’re going to be pissed.
God. My head is spinning. So much for normal.
When I finish shelving, I slump down in a chair next to Thomas, my long legs kicked out