Jamie McGuire - Happenstance

I sat at my desk and waited. It was Friday, so Coach Morris didn’t make us do much. He usually had us do a word find or let us read to ourselves. When we didn’t have much work to do though, the Erins made themselves busy with me. It would be easy to ignore them if Weston didn’t sit right behind me. But for whatever reason, when he was around, their jabs felt more humiliating.

“All right, hoodlums. Pull out a book and read. TGIF.”

Ten minutes hadn’t yet passed when I heard someone whisper my name—possibly my name. A few seconds later, it was louder, and I recognized the voice as Sonny’s. She was trying to get my attention. I didn’t dare turn around. Any hope of comprehending the words on the page in front of me was lost. I just stared at one word and hoped Sonny wouldn’t catch the coach’s attention.

Coach Morris perked up and nodded to the back of the class. “Yes?”

Sonny lowered her hand and sat tall in her seat with a smug expression. “I was just wondering what the school policy is on the AIDS virus.”

“What do you mean?” Coach asked.

“If one of the students has tested positive for AIDS, what does the school do to protect the rest of the students?”

“Why do you ask?” The curious light in the coach’s eyes had extinguished, and it was obvious that he knew Erin was up to something.

“I just heard today that one of our students has it, and everyone is nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s contagious, and no one wants to die just because some skank wants to punish everyone else for her loose ways.”

“Loose ways,” Coach Morris deadpanned. “I can explain the school policy with you in detail after seventh period if you’d like.”

“I have cheer,” Erin said, annoyed that her plan didn’t work. “I’m sure the entire class would feel better hearing what you have to say.”

Coach sighed. “I think it’s more likely that you’re helping to spread a cruel rumor.”

A collective tittering made its way through the classroom.

“That’s offensive,” Sonny said. “What are you again? A karmologist?”

Coach chuckled. “Kinesiologist.”

“That’s what I said. You’d think a graduate of health science would typically consider my concern valid.”

Coach didn’t hesitate. “Common sense disagrees. Read your book. No more talking.”

His perceptive remark saved me from further ridicule for now, but the senior meeting after school was going to be considerably less fun.

“What are you reading?” A deep voice asked.

I barely acknowledged Weston’s question, holding up the cover of my book high enough for him to see.

He nodded, waiting for me to speak. When I didn’t, he offered a small smile, and sat back.

“What are you reading?” I asked.

Weston immediately leaned toward me, holding up his cover the way I had.

“Piers Anthony?”

Weston cleared his throat to stifle a cough then smiled. “I like his stuff.”

I nodded. “I approve.”

“Good,” Weston whispered. “I was worried.” After a short pause, he leaned into my ear again. “Why don’t you ever talk to me in Art class?”

We had seventh period Art together, the class I looked forward to all day. Weston was in it, but more important, people like the Erins and Brady weren’t. We were serious about our work, and it was the one place during the school day that I could be myself.

“I guess I was just busy.”

“Are you going to be busy today?”

“Probably.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll take a break.”

I turned around to hide my grin, but not before glancing back and seeing the familiar look of hatred in Alder’s eyes.

Whore, she mouthed, glaring at me.

~*~

After seventh period, I put my books in my locker and walked slowly to the east hall, the fifty-minute-long high I’d been on with Weston during Art quickly faded with each step. I dreaded seeing everyone’s reaction when I walked through the door.

Brady and Brendan were sitting on top of desks, some students were looking at their phones, texting or checking social media, and the Erins were sitting at desks that were turned around to face everyone else. Mrs. Hunter, English IV teacher and senior class adviser, wasn’t there yet. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Alder said. I didn’t answer, but that never deterred the Erins. “No one wants your opinion.”

I took a seat in the back near the door and hoped Mrs. Hunter wouldn’t be much longer.

Sonny feigned sympathy. “You can leave. No one gives a shit what you have to say, anyway.”

“It’s mandatory,” I said simply. “I’m not leaving.”

Sonny stood up. “You will if I make you.”

“Sit down,” I said.

Sonny’s expression morphed from annoyance to shock to rage. “What did you say to me?”

I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m staying. Sit down.”

Weston’s gaze bounced from the Erins, to me, and back. Sonny took a step toward me, and Weston stood. By the look on his face, even he was surprised at his reaction.

Sonny looked at him with utter disgust. “What are you doing, Wes?”

Weston cocked his head for a moment. He took a breath and blinked a few times, clearly unhappy about being in the middle of things. “It’s a mandatory meeting. No point in making her miserable over it. She probably doesn’t want to be here.”

“Weston!” Alder said, astonished.

Weston took a puff from his inhaler, staring his girlfriend in the eye. “Leave her alone.”

Just as both Erins’ mouths fell open, Mrs. Hunter breezed through the door and headed to the front of the class. “What did I miss?”

Weston sat down, and so did Sonny.

“Nothin,” Sonny grumbled.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Mrs. Hunter said, winded. “Who wants to be in charge of the senior assembly?”

The relief that washed over me made me emotional, more than I’d been in quite a while, but I kept the tears inside, refusing to let my classmates see me cry. They would just have to be disappointed for the day.

“Bitches!” Frankie said, as she watched soft serve feed out of the machine. “I can’t believe she bowed up on you like that. What was she going to do? That’s right! Nothing!”

“Are you even talking to me right now?” I asked, amused.

“I would love to talk to the twaterati about it. Love!”

I laughed once and shook my head, letting the mixer blades make love to the M&M Blizzard I was making. When Frankie trained me, she said it looked a lot like giving a guy a hand job. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was like, but I would make someone very happy one day.

Frankie was ten customers deep when I finally arrived after the senior class meeting, and we hadn’t had a break in four hours. Friday nights were always hectic, but that didn’t stop Frankie from ranting about my confrontation with Sonny.

She put her hand on her hip, and all of her weight on one leg. “I am so proud of you. For real. I think it’s the first time you’ve ever stood up for yourself, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t really standing up for myself. I just told her that I was staying.”

“And to sit her bitch ass down.” She wrinkled her nose. “That part’s my favorite.”

Just as the sun began to set, the pace eased up a bit. The last car left the parking lot, and I began scrubbing the huge mess we’d made when we didn’t have time to clean up after ourselves—or be careful—before the next rush.

A truck pulled in quickly, and I knew instantly who it was. Weston Gates was the only person in town with a lift kit and Rock Star rims on a cherry red Chevy. He hopped down and jogged over to my window. He was sweaty, still in his baseball cleats, and alone.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, glancing over to Frankie. “What can I get for you?”

Weston watched me for a moment.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Are you?”

I shrugged. “I’m fine. Can I make you something?”

“Just a . . . whatever.”

I made him a Hawaiian Blizzard and he paid, still with that expectant look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. About today.”

I shook my head dismissively.

“I should have said something sooner.”

“Yeah, like ten years ago,” Frankie shot back.

He nodded and then walked back to his truck, but he was hesitant, as if he were leaving something unsaid.

Frankie sighed. “I shouldn’t have snapped at him. He seems like a good kid.”

“He is,” I said, unable to stop staring as Weston climbed up into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

“That was . . . weird.”

“Yeah, I wonder what that was about?” As I watched his truck pull onto Main Street, a wide grin stretched across my face.

“I think he likes you.”

The smile vanished. “What about that bizarre exchange brought you to that conclusion?”

She shrugged. “I was in high school once.”

Frankie and I finished up our shift, and then closed the shop. She offered me a ride and I refused then walked home. I kept mostly to the yards of the houses along the way, to keep from being mowed down by the traffic traveling toward Main Street. That was the main drag, and on Friday nights everyone congregated at the ball fields that were straight across from the Dairy Queen.

A block from my house, a familiar engine revved from the other side of the street. I looked over to see Weston’s red Chevy. His window was rolled down, and the truck was crawling along next to me. He was alone again.

“Hey,” he said, his elbow poking out as he rested it on the driver’s side door.