Every Little Piece - By Kate Ashton Page 0,34

and started packing.

I woke later feeling groggy, and my head pounded behind my eyes. I felt like I slept a week but my clock read 7:00 p.m. I wished to sink back into my pillow, but I grabbed a sweatshirt, Seth’s, and pulled it up over my nose. I breathed deep and smelled him. Eventually, day by day, the sweatshirt would lose his scent. I pushed it away and grabbed one of mine.

The corkboard was still up on my wall and plastered with all my memories. They stared back with their bright, happy colors. The faded pieces of paper laughed at me, their curling edges already hiding the memories. The ticket stubs, the photos, the written messages on scraps of paper all blurred together.

I left the room.

I didn’t go back for the rest of the night. My room was more like a museum. I understood Mom thought I was making a rash decision, but I wasn’t. It was hard to stay in the room with the echo of voices of everything I’d lost. I ate a quick dinner with my family and we watched a movie. I could be normal. Do normal stuff. When I saw their frown lines smooth out a bit and their secret smiles when they thought I wasn’t looking, I felt a sliver of happiness. Giving washed away some of the bad stuff rotting, festering on the insides.

Halfway through the movie, someone knocked at the door. I had no idea who was here or why. I swallowed down a lump as I realized this was something Brin did on a regular basis. My parents got used to it. When her mom was gone or being a mean drunk, she’d crash here. But no more.

I heard it again.

Dad threw off the blanket covering him and mom. “Are you home or not?”

He was so sure it was for me. I nodded. “Home.” Why the hell not?

He opened the door and their voices stayed muffled until he opened it further. Justine stuck her head into the hallway and her body followed. She glanced around, taking in our humble abode, and then found me. She sucked in a breath. God, I must’ve looked like crap for her to respond like that.

“Hi, Haley.” She gave a small wave and moved to the brink of our living room. “Um, can we talk?”

Mom patted my leg. “Go ahead, hon. We can finish this up tomorrow.” Mom was just happy for me to have social interaction. A strange creeper could come to the door and ask to take me out, and Mom would push me out the door.

I followed Justine outside, and we sat on the steps. Cars passed by at the slower speed limit, knowing this was a neighborhood with small children. They were being careful, responsible drivers. The words from Driver’s Ed came back to me. When it’s raining, drive at least five miles below the speed limit. Patches of water cause hydroplaning. Or it went something like that. I’d go back in and add to it, “so no one tries to speed through the rain to find their boyfriend who is driving drunk.”

Justine stayed quiet. I was happy to not say anything. She’d talk when ready. Her foot tapped on the cement step and her finger stuck in her hair, twirling it around her finger. She was nervous but I couldn’t imagine why. Finally, she cleared her throat and clasped her hands. I braced myself.

“My parents wanted me to attend Harvard, Dartmouth, Yale, one of those big schools. My dad wants me to follow in his shoes and enter the family business.” She paused and her knuckles were turning white. “But what I’ve never told him is that I don’t want to. And lately he finally had to admit that my grades or my GPA wouldn’t cut it. No matter how many strings he could pull with those schools, I’m just not smart enough.”

She puffed her cheeks, then let out a whoosh of air. For the first time in a long time, I was distracted. It was nice to listen to someone else’s problems instead of them waiting to hear about mine with that sad smile that said they understood. When really, they were just thankful it hadn’t happened to them.

“What my dad doesn’t like to admit is that I have an uncle who lives a couple towns over. He’s the complete rebel of the family, and he loves what he does. No regrets. He runs a seaside inn and diner.