Beyond Vica (6 page)

****

Brody passed his driving test. He's on his way to pick me up. I slip my flip-flops off and curl my legs under me on the porch swing, unable to get Jamie's words out of my head. I didn't have a chance to talk to her after the meeting. She left so fast.

Brody turns into the drive with the top off of his Jeep. His music vibrates into the air. I slip on my pink flip-fIops and rush down the steps. Brody smiles at me under his shades. He has on a neon tank top, allowing his arms to show off the curves of his muscles. I have to remind myself to breathe at the sight of him.

“Hey, beautiful. Hop in!” He pats the passenger seat. Heat fills my cheeks. It's strange to hear him call me that. I like it. I'm just not used to it.

I pull my seatbelt across my pink tank and click it in place. “Your Jeep is amazing. You're lucky your dad has his own car lot.”

“It's not free. I have to work for it this summer at the dealership. I'm washing cars and whatever else he finds for me to do.” He looks sideways at me.

“This is so cool!” I feel grown up. No more feeling lame when mom drops me off at school while the older kids drive by in their own cars. Brody will pick me up for the last two weeks of school. In the fall, I'll drive myself. “I love this song!” I turn up the volume.

Brody strums his fingers on the steering wheel. We both belt out the words to “Cruise” by Florida Line and Nelly. I slip off my flip-flops and put my feet on the dash, something my mom never lets me do. The wind whips my hair around my face. Part of me feels guilty that I'm having fun and Sam can't experience this.

****

That night I lie in bed with my notebook and stare at the only two words I've managed to write in the last ten minutes:
Dear Sam
. Mr. Lang had asked the group to come with a letter written to our “loved one.” I decide to give the group thing another go next week.

I have a million things I want to say, yet I can't think of a single thing to write down. The words are stuck inside me. I'm not sure how to let them out.

There's a soft tap on my bedroom door before it's eased open. Mom walks in, her expression bleak. She sits on the side of my bed and takes my hand. “Sam's mom just called. His cancer is aggressive. They've upgraded it to Stage 4.”

My throat closes. I'm not surprised. I'd been feeling like this time was different. Hearing the words aloud, though, made it real. I'm afraid to ask it, but I have to. “How long?” The words are barely a whisper from my lips.

Mom strokes the side of my face; her eyes well up. “A week, maybe two.”

I feel like someone has just sucked the air from my lungs. My chest tightens.

“Oh, baby, I'm so sorry.” Mom pulls me to her chest. I lie against her and allow her to hold me, like she used to when I woke up screaming from bad dreams. Only this is a nightmare I can't wake up from.

Sleep eluded me the rest of the weekend. Hidden behind sunglasses, my eyes burn from lack of sleep and crying. My hair's still damp from my morning shower. It's pointless to put makeup on; I'd just wash it away with my tears.

Silence fills the air on our ride to school. Brody pulls into a student parking space with the sunrise in front of us. He removes his sunglasses and places them in the Jeep's console. Dark pools have formed under his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn down.

Our hand-in-hand stroll across the parking lot is met with curious glances. It could be people aren't used to Brody driving to school, but I know it's because we're holding hands. I have to resist the urge to give them all the finger. Who wouldn't be curious, though? Brody can have his pick of any girl in the school, and he's holding hands with me. Moody Gabby.

When we reach my locker, Brody kisses my forehead. “I'll see you at lunch.”

“Okay.” I nod. We don't have class together until English, which is after lunch. I wish we could stay together.

The morning was a blur. I've gone from hurting to feeling numb. Maybe it's my body's way of getting me through today. The news spread about Sam's condition. There's an awkward silence when anyone's near me. They're probably viewing me as a ticking time bomb after my outburst last week combined with the news that Sam's condition is bad.

Brody waves to me from a table with Rachel and some of the other girls. Rachel dabs her eyes with a napkin. I see Jamie's turquoise hair at the table behind them. She's sitting by herself.

“I'm going to sit over there. Save me a seat in English,” I say to Brody when I reach the table and bob my head toward Jamie.

He glances over at Jamie and then looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Okay.”

I take a deep breath and head to Jamie's table.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” I don't wait for an answer. I plop my tray across from Jamie and slide onto the bench.

Her mouth is open, ready to take a bite of her sandwich, and she pauses to eye me. She keeps a straight face. “Looks like I don't have a choice.” She takes a bite without taking her eyes off of me. They're such a deep blue, like pictures I've seen of the Indian Ocean on the
Travel Channel
.

I sip my milk. “What you shared in group on Saturday was beautiful. You're a good writer.” I don't waver under her intense eyes, matching her gaze.

“Thanks.” She picks up a bottle of water and tilts it to her mouth.

I clear my throat and continue. “The way you talked about your soul being connected to…”

“My brother.” She finishes the sentence for me.

“It sounded so much like what I've been feeling with my best friend.” I look down at my fork and twirl it through my mac and cheese. “I can feel him slipping away, deep down inside. I felt it before we even found out that he's now in the last stage of cancer and isn't going to make it.”

“Gabby, isn't it?” Her face has softened.

I feel kind of stupid. I sat down and poured out all of this to her and I haven't even told her my name. “Yeah. And you're Jamie, right?”

She nods. “Why aren't you sitting with the plastics, like your friend?” She gestures toward Rachel's table with her water bottle before placing it on the table.

Her reference to the movie
Mean Girls
brings a chuckle out of me. I like this girl already. “I wanted to talk to you. I looked for you after the meeting on Saturday, but you were already gone.”

She thinks for a long minute. “I knew the moment my brother died in a car crash. I'll never forget that moment. I was listening to music on my bed. I got a feeling I can't explain, like something inside me was gone. I remember looking at my alarm clock on the stand; it said 8:55 p.m. I found out later that the time of his crash was eight fifty-five that night.”

What can you say to something like that? I wait in silence for her to continue.

“I did an Internet search about it, trying to find out if anything like that ever happened to anyone else. It turns out I'm not alone. There were lots of stories like mine. Some people have bonds so tight, it's like they're connected in spirit.” She shoves her tray aside and rests her elbows in its place. I notice the black lettering of a tattoo on her forearm.

“I get that.” I sigh. “I'm glad I got to talk with you, even though I'm probably missing out on more important things like the latest social scandals of the freshman class.” I wave my thumb in the direction of Rachel's table and smile.

Jamie returns my smile. We talk for the last fifteen minutes of the lunch period. I've never felt that comfortable talking with anyone besides Sam and Brody. I learned that her brother, Jarod, was her twin. They were raised by their grandmother who passed away last year, which is why she's here. She came to Dublin to live with her great-aunt. She never met her dad, and nobody knows where her mom is. Her mom left Jamie and her brother when they were little to run off with some drug dealer she was supposedly in love with.

I would say I feel sorry for her, but just from the little time I've spent with her, I think she would take that as an insult. The tattoo on her forearm reads I'm the Hero of My Story.

“You go to English next, right?” I glance at Jamie as we walk out of the lunch room.

“Yep. My favorite class.”

“Mine, too. Sit with me today. I want you to meet my…friend.” I hesitate because I'm not sure if Brody's now my boyfriend. We haven't even talked about it yet.

“Brody?” She smiles sideways at me. “Everyone knows Brody.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes and grin.

Mrs. Smith glances up from grading papers when we walk into the classroom. A smile spreads across her face. “Just the young ladies I wanted to see.”

Jamie and I exchange glances and stop in front of Mrs. Smith's desk. “I have something I'd like you to think about over the summer. You are both talented writers. I'd like to start a school e-magazine as a place for teens to publish their work. I'd like you both to be regular contributors to the publication. The first issue will launch in the fall, with your work featured. I'd like you to meet with me sometime over the summer to go over details, if you're interested.”

“Yeah, we'll talk about it.” Jamie gives me an encouraging smile.

“Brody, this is Jamie. Jamie, Brody.” I say, slipping in the desk seat behind Brody and patting the empty desk next to mine.

“What's up?” Brody shifts sideways so his arm rests on my desk. His eyes follow Jamie, who takes the seat next to me.

“Not much. Counting down the days to freedom. Nine to go.” She holds up nine fingers.

“I hear ya.” Brody grins and raises his eyebrows in my direction.

“Gabby, sweetheart. You need to get up if you're going to group this morning.” Mom's voice coaxes me awake. Her nails feel good across my shoulders.

“Mmm. I'm not going,” I say into my pillow. My notebook rests on the bed beside me, and the open page has the words
Dear Sam
across the top. One week. I had one whole week to write the letter and still couldn't find the words.

“Are you sure? It might be a good idea with all that's going on right now.”

“What I want to do is see Sam.” My words bring a sigh from my mother.

“Gabby, we've talked about this. Marie and I both think it would be best that your last memory of Sam not be like this. He's not alert most of the time. They're keeping him comfortable. Be assured he's not in pain, honey. He wouldn't even know you were there if you did visit.” Mom runs her fingers across my back.

She's wrong. He'd know I was there. We have something special—we're connected in a way no one else understands, except Jamie. After a minute of silence, I feel Mom rise from my bed and hear the click of the door being shut.

I send Jamie a text telling her I won't be at group this morning and that I'll keep her updated on Sam. She texted last night asking about him.

****

I'm determined to get this letter done. Armed with my notebook and a bag of Hershey's Miniatures, I set out on the porch swing to write. Ten empty candy-bar wrappers later, I still don't have it done. I need to shoot hoops.

I pound the ball. I pull my arms back, aim for the basket, and let the ball fly from my fingers. Swoosh! The vibration of a stereo, followed by the hum of an engine, grabs my attention. Brody's black Jeep pulls to a stop just short of the square of concrete I'm dribbling on. He jumps out and holds his hands up. I throw him the ball. He dribbles around me while I swat unsuccessfully at the ball. He easily lays the ball in the basket.

“Let's play a game of pig. It's been forever since we played that.” Brody bounces the ball between his legs. I steal it away, pivot and shoot. Swish!

“That's because you know I'll kick your butt,” I tease.

“Oh, yeah? Let's see what you got.” His grin pops his dimples. This time I don't hold back. I walk right up to him, stand on my tiptoes, and run my finger along the dip in his cheek before I kiss it.

He looks at me with wide eyes, followed by a playful smile. He hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me to his chest. Then he cuts off my giggles with his mouth. We stand in the driveway, under the basketball hoop, kissing for a good minute. He pulls away, grabs the basketball, and puts the ball in the basket with a hook shot. “Your turn,” he says.

Twenty minutes later, Brody has the letters P and I, and my miss has just earned me a G. “Are we dotting the I?” I ask in an attempt to survive the game.

“Why not? It's not going to save you, though.” He drains another basket. “Did you hear we're all wearing blue on Monday in honor of Sam?”

I drop my arms from shooting position and tuck the ball under my arm. “Who's wearing blue?”

“The freshmen. Rachel thought it would be nice, since blue is Sam's favorite color.”

“How does she know it's Sam's favorite color?” I snap.

Brody's eyebrows narrow, then he shrugs. “Sam probably told her.”

I snicker. “Yeah, right. She doesn't even talk to Sam.”

“What's your problem, Gabby? Anytime somebody asks about Sam or wants to do something nice, you get a frickin' attitude.” His eyes penetrate mine, like he's searching inside me, trying to figure me out.

I feel anger rise up in me. “Whatever! Rachel and her minions don't care about him. They just want to look good by pretending they do.”

“You don't even know what you're talking about. Rachel and Sam have English together. They're peer-revision partners for writing. They've talked a lot this year.”

I didn't know that, and it bothers me that Brody did. “Well, I didn't know your little girlfriend was so close to Sam. Excuse me!” The hurt look on Brody's face makes me immediately regret my words.

“How can you say she's my girlfriend? I thought…” I don't let him finish.

“I'm sorry, Brody,” I say, fighting back tears.

“We all get that you and Sam are close. We all respect that, but you're not the only one who's allowed to care about him. I've seen you push people away from him and was glad you didn't do that to me, but now…” He shakes his head, not finishing his sentence.

There's no fighting the tears. They're streaking down my face. I wipe them with the back of my hand. “Brody, I…” I don't even know what to say. What do you say when someone has hit you right between the eyes with the truth about yourself?

“I'll talk to you later. I need to go.” He heads to his Jeep.

“Brody, wait!” I yell after him but he doesn't even turn around. I watch, helpless to stop him pulling out of the drive.