Bitter End Read online

  “That’s called a dream catcher,” he said. “It’s supposed to keep nightmares away.”

  He pulled the necklace out of the envelope, held it in midair to straighten it, and then carefully slipped it around my neck. It smelled oddly familiar to me—perfumey and alive, almost like a memory—and instinctively my fingers drifted to it.

  Right then, at eight years old, I knew. Just as I knew I’d never take the dream catcher necklace off, I knew that someday I’d get to Colorado, where Mom had been going.

  The therapist was wrong. The necklace didn’t give me closure. Instead, not knowing anything more than this about my mom made me feel like a piece of me was missing, and I almost felt as though, just like Dad, I could break if I didn’t fill in that piece. That there would always be a hole in my heart where Mom should have been, and if I didn’t fill it in, I could end up empty and dull, like him. That I might forget hearing about her brains on the street, just as he had.

  The next day as Zack and Bethany and I played on the woodpile behind Bethany’s house, I showed them the necklace and told them the whole story. My mom wasn’t just gone, and my dad wasn’t just quiet. I told them about the photos and about Mom going crazy and dying on her way to the mountains and about my plan to go where she was going. And just like that, the trip planning officially began.

  I needed to know that she was going toward something, not away from us. Not away from me. She loved me. I needed to know that she loved me.

  Whenever Aunt Jules or Bethany’s mom or someone else tried to tell me that my mom was an angel watching down on me from heaven, I never could envision it.

  To me, my mom was in the mountains, waiting for me to arrive.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Really, if you’re not gonna be some stick-up-the-butt English teacher, who gives a crap about direct objects, anyway?” Zack said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. His toothpick—Zack’s new signature look was a toothpick—rolled from one edge of his mouth to the other.

  I picked up his pencil and held it out to him. “You should, that’s who; because if you don’t pass this class, you don’t graduate.” It was only the second week of our senior year, and already Zack’s teachers were worried about his ability to stop goofing off long enough to earn the credits he needed to graduate.

  Zack shrugged. “And your point is?”

  I gave him a look. “I thought the point was pretty self-explanatory.” He rolled his eyes at me. The toothpick, which had made its way to the middle of his lips, was bumping up and down as if he was flicking the other end of it with his tongue. I sighed and put down the pencil. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t come crying to me when your mom takes away the crapmobile again. And don’t expect me to give you a ride anywhere, either.”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “So that’s how it is now? Been covering your ass since forever. Saved you more times than I can count. And you just leave me hanging out to dry. Hurts, my friend. Hurts.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m doing you a favor. Someday you’ll thank me.”

  “Now you sound like my mom. What’s next? You telling me this’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt me?”

  “Trust me, helping you can be pretty painful sometimes.” I cleared my throat and began writing in Zack’s notebook, which was spread out on the desk between us. “Okay, seriously. We’ve gotta get to work. Here, look at this sentence. What’s the direct object?”

  Zack uncrossed his arms. He leaned forward over the paper and studied the sentence I’d written. “God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered around his toothpick. “Good thing you put out. That?”

  I smacked his arm. “Close, but no. And you wish I put out, you perv. Okay, remember, to find the direct object, you…”

  “Alex?” Mrs. Moody, the tutor lab sponsor, called from the doorway, interrupting us. She waved me over.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Why don’t you write five random sentences, and when I get back we’ll find the direct objects together.”

  “Can I use any words I want?” he said, arching his eyebrows at me deviously.

  “Yes, such as ‘fail,’ ‘forever a senior,’ ‘degenerate,’ ‘grounded for life’? Go ahead.”

  He made a face at me and picked up his pencil. I pushed my chair out and headed to the door, where Mrs. Moody was still standing, half-in, half-out, talking to Amanda, one of the other tutors. Mrs. Moody was pointing over her shoulder with her thumb at Zack, and Amanda was nodding. I waited, half-wondering if I’d done something wrong. Maybe she’d heard Zack and me bantering and was firing me, which would totally suck because, without the tutoring lab seventh period, I’d probably get stuck in ceramics or some other art class, in which I would, without a doubt, be a complete failure. Plus, I liked tutoring. Especially tutoring Zack. Zack was a great stress-reliever, pervy jokes included.

  Mrs. Moody finished talking with the other tutor and put her hand on my shoulder. “Alex,” she said with a wide smile. Mrs. Moody always smiled, even if you were in trouble. Talking to her was like talking to a cloud. She was soft, graceful. She smelled like honeysuckle and vanilla, and her clothes always drifted around her like ribbons on a breeze, giving the illusion that she was moving faster than she actually was. When she spoke, she had this even, measured rhythm to her voice that made me automatically think of bedtime stories. She was easily my favorite teacher. Hell, she was easily everyone’s favorite teacher. “Come with me. I’ve got a new student for you.”

  She turned and headed down the short hallway to her office, her shirt and skirt billowing out behind her, and I followed.

  “He’s transferred over from Pine Gate,” she said over her shoulder. “Just needs to do some catching up so he can hit the ground running in senior English. I thought you’d be the best choice for him, being our expert writer and all.” She flashed me a smile as she paused at her office doorway, then stood to the side and ushered me through.

  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t even know we had a new student from Pine Gate. But then I stepped into the office and there he was, standing next to Mrs. Moody’s file cabinet, holding a little ceramic duck. He saw us come in and quickly set the duck back down on top of the cabinet, as if he was embarrassed to be caught holding it. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.” There was an awkward pause between us while Mrs. Moody grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door shut. “I guess I’m your new tutor.”

  “Totally unnecessary,” he said. “But Coach Dample disagrees, so…” He shrugged and then added, “Cole,” and he stuck out his hand to shake mine. When I put my hand in his, it felt warm and strong and comfortable. And kind of weird. Like we were business partners or something.

  Mrs. Moody took a seat behind her desk, and we both fell into place in chairs across from her. I sat on my hands, while Cole lounged comfortably in the chair next to mine, one foot tilted sideways and propped up on top of the other, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  “Um, what about Zack?” I asked. “He really needs help with his sentence diagramming.” Plus, I didn’t add, we were having fun in there.

  Mrs. Moody spoke up. “I’ve moved Zack over to Amanda for tutoring from here on out. She can handle sentence diagramming just fine. Cole, I’m sure you’ll find Alex to be just what you need to get caught up and secure that spot you’re looking for on the basketball team.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got a few minutes before the final bell. Why don’t you two go to the lab and get acquainted? You can start working on assignments tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cole said with a pleasant grin. He had a dimple, just one, on the left side. But the dimple was kind of cute. I didn’t even notice I was staring.

  “Do you have questions, Alex?” Mrs. Moody said, snapping me out of it. I jumped.

  “Uh, no. I’ll tell Zack to go with Amanda.”

  But Zack had already moved to Amanda’s room when I got back to the lab, leaving my room completely empty for me and Cole.

  I sa
t in the chair I’d been sitting in before, but Cole moved to the window and looked out, his hands on the sill in front of him. I gazed at the back of his letter jacket, which was so full of patches there was hardly any jacket showing.

  “Wow,” I said finally. “Pine Gate must really be missing you.”

  He turned. “Why do you say that?”

  I pointed at his jacket. “Looks like you’re a sports star.”

  He glanced down at the front of his jacket, where there were even more patches and a few medals. “Yeah. I did okay. I thought maybe you meant they were missing my sparkling personality and unforgettable good looks.”

  I blushed, hard, and looked down at my hands. “No, I didn’t mean…” I said, mentally kicking myself for sounding like such a dork.

  He laughed, crossed the room, turned around the chair Zack had been sitting in, and straddled it backward. “I’m kidding! Don’t worry about it. It was just a joke.”

  I peeked up at him, hoping my face wasn’t too red. He was looking right into my eyes, which made me feel more awkward. I missed Zack.

  “So,” he said, “Mrs. Moody says you’re a writer. What do you write?”

  I waved his question away. “She exaggerates,” I said. “I’m not great or anything. Some poetry. Some short stories. Nothing major.”

  “If you can do it, I say it’s major. Writing’s a lot harder than dribbling a basketball or catching a football.”

  I chuckled. “You haven’t seen me try to catch a football. It’s not pretty. But I get what you’re saying. I won a contest last year with a poem I wrote for lit class.”

  “Really? That’s cool. I’d like to see it sometime,” he said.

  I glanced at him. He was still looking directly into my eyes. How did he do that? I could feel his gaze all the way down to my toes. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Mrs. Moody says you’re really good. I think you’re her sports star.”

  “Well, you know,” I said. “Must be my sparkling personality and unforgettable good looks.”

  His eyes widened, and he pointed at me. “Good one!” We both smiled.

  We were silent for a few seconds, and I busied my fingers, picking ripped pieces of paper out of my spiral notebook. He leaned back and started casually drumming against the desk with his thumbs. “It must suck,” I said after a while. “You know, to move to a new school your senior year. Especially to leave your team. I’d hate it.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not really a big deal. My dad got a new job, and we got a bigger house. It’s a chance to start over.” His eyes drifted back to the window and held for a second, like he was seeing his old school out there. Then he leaned forward across the desk again. “Plus,” he said, “I get to share my sparkling personality and unforgettable good looks with more of the world. A humanitarian effort.”

  This time I pointed at him, and we both laughed without me saying a word. The bell rang. We stood up, and I began gathering my books, still spread out from reviewing direct objects with Zack. Cole didn’t have any books, so he reached down and picked up my backpack off the floor. He held it open for me while I stuffed my homework into it.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I can honestly say that’s something Zack never did.” Zack was much more likely to spend most of our tutoring session trying to bounce cheese balls off my forehead.

  “No problem,” he said. “Same time tomorrow?”

  I zipped the backpack and shouldered it, nodding, but he was already at the door. He slapped the doorjamb with his palm, looking out into the sea of students filling the hallway. He waved at someone. Was it possible that he already had friends?

  I opened my mouth to tell him good-bye, but he had already plunged out into the hallway and disappeared. Instead, I straightened the chair he’d been sitting in, then shuffled to the door, hoping I could catch up with Bethany outside the band room.

  But just as I was reaching to turn out the light, he popped back in the doorway, almost bumping into me. He was slightly out of breath, as if he’d run back to the classroom.

  “Hey,” he said. “And don’t forget to bring that poem, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, but he was already gone again before I could get the word all the way out.

  After I turned off the light, I stood in the shadowy classroom and grinned until the hallway was empty and the sounds of cars leaving the parking lot filled my ringing ears. He wasn’t Zack, but something about Cole felt kind of nice.

  I had a really good feeling about this new arrangement.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I took a sip of my iced tea and hoisted my feet up into the chair across from me. I tipped my head back, turning my face to the sun, and took a deep breath, then let it out in one big half-gust, half-yawn.

  Bethany’s fingers were tapping her laptop keys, stopping every so often while she sipped her Dr Pepper. Intermittently, she made little “hmmm” noises over what she was reading, as if Colorado was the most fascinating subject on the planet.

  “So, check it,” she said, just as I was dozing off. “We could totally pool our money and rent an RV. We’ll get my dad to do the driving, and we could do stuff like play games, watch movies, eat. It’d be like a party bus.”

  “Your dad? No way. No dads. Besides, it sounds expensive,” I said, keeping my eyes closed. I’d rolled up my Bread Bowl uniform pants as far as they would go, and I could feel the September sun baking into my shins. After an early Saturday morning shift working the register and filling drink orders, the sun felt delicious. “I’m not made of money, you know. An RV sounds like a whole lotta early shifts.” I yawned.

  “Have you ever driven across Kansas?” she said, her fingers tapping again. She turned the computer around, a photo of a field pulled up on the screen. “You’d work round the clock to get an RV—it’s that boring. Imagine how annoying Zack can be in an enclosed backseat, with eight hours of soy fields being his only distraction.”

  “Says the girl whose parents are paying for her trip. I’ll be lucky to afford the gas to ride in Zack’s crapmobile. Besides, never underestimate his ability to be annoying in the back of an RV. Or in a hotel, or on a gigantic mountain for that matter.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, holding her palms up, surrender-style. “The money thing. I get it. But I’m going to check out RVs anyway. If I find something really cheap, will you at least consider it?”

  “No,” I mumbled. The sun felt so good that I didn’t even want to move my lips anymore.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Your open-mindedness is staggering. You should work for the UN someday.” We both snorted. “I’ll let you know what I decide to rent.” That was Beth—she knew exactly when and how hard she could push me and still get her way.

  She scooted her chair back, the metal legs making a scraping noise on the patio. It was the midafternoon lull at The Bread Bowl, and we were the only two outside. She kicked her legs up onto the chair mine were resting on, and our ankles bumped against each other. I opened one eye and then closed it again. We rested there for a while, our legs pressed together, the sun on our faces, as Bethany rattled off various bits of news and gossip she’d heard over the week.

  “Omigod,” she said. “There’s this new kid in my government class. Gor-to-the-geous.”

  “Really?” I asked. “What’s his name?”

  “I just know him as Hot Guy. But I think I heard Mr. Clairfield call him Mr. Cousin or something,” she said. “He’s from Pine Gate, I think. Let me tell you, girl, if that guy’s any indication, they have some fine men at Pine Gate.”

  I opened my eyes and turned to her, fully awake now.

  “What?” she said, looking around self-consciously. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, her eyes widening. “Is it a bee?”

  I shook my head. “Cozen? Cole Cozen? He’s the new guy I’m tutoring.”

  “Get out!” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re tutoring Hot Guy?”

  I nodded. “Just started, like, two weeks a
go. He’s trying to get on the basketball team.”

  She leaned across the table conspiratorially. “Is he stupid? I knew it. Someone that hot has to have some flaw.”

  I shook my head. “No, he seems smart enough.”

  “Then he must have a girlfriend,” she said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. It didn’t come up. He’s really nice. But kind of old-fashioned or something. He, like, shook my hand and called Mrs. Moody ‘ma’am,’ and if he’s already in the lab when I get there, he stands up until I sit down. So different from the other cavemen at our school, you know? When I come into a room that Zack is in, instead of standing up, he always goes, ‘Thought I smelled you coming.’ ”

  Bethany giggled. “At least he doesn’t call you Cowboy Ugly, like he does me. Wear cowboy boots to school one day in sixth grade, and Zack will never let it go.”

  I giggled, too, turning my arms over so my forearms could get some sun. “Well, Cole would never call you Cowboy Ugly. He’s not a Neanderthal like Zack.”

  Bethany narrowed her eyes at me. “You totally have a crush on Hot Guy.”

  I felt my face flush. Sometimes I hated the way Bethany and Zack could see through me. “No, I don’t. I was just telling you how different he is from Zack. And his name is Cole.”

  She picked up her Dr Pepper, studying me. She pointed at me while she sucked down some soda, her wooden beaded bracelet clicking, and then said, “You do too. I can tell. You’re into him.”

  My face was practically burning now. “I just met him two weeks ago.”

  “Not a denial,” she singsonged. “Alex is in lo-o-ove!”

  “Very mature,” I said, kicking at her foot. But I couldn’t help smiling. True, I’d found myself thinking about Cole a couple times when we weren’t together. About his dimple and the way he joked with me and the way he held my backpack for me and how I was both nervous and excited at the thought of letting him see my poem, which I still hadn’t shown him. But none of that meant anything. “I’m just tutoring the guy,” I said, pushing my sunglasses back up onto my face, closing my eyes, and tilting my head back again. “He’s nice is all.”