One Small Thing(50)
So I keep quiet and listen to the rest of Yvonne’s story.
“So Charlie was there hanging out with Maria—”
Is Maria the gorgeous girl who Jeff was rude to? I wonder. Suddenly I hope not, because the idea of Chase spending time with such a beautiful girl brings a spark of unwanted jealousy to my belly.
Argh. I have to stop this.
“—and he told her that he was at another party last weekend, he didn’t say where, and that he met a really cool girl there and—”
“What?” I exclaim. My cheeks begin to scorch. Chase brought me up to his friends? He said I was cool?
He might not have been talking about you, a voice in my head warns.
That triggers another jolt of jealousy.
“Seriously?” Scarlett says angrily. “He’s been out of jail for, what, a second, and he’s already making friends and hooking up and acting like he didn’t do anything wrong? He’s a killer!”
Her outburst sends several heads swinging in our direction.
“Sorry,” she whispers sheepishly.
“No, I’m with you,” Yvonne says. “I thought the same thing when I heard that. Also, according to Maria, Charlie used to be a player before he got arrested. He was always the life of the party, and he hooked up with a ton of girls and apparently he was a sweet-talker. Like super smooth.”
I have to stifle a laugh, because whatever Chase used to be back then, he sure as heck isn’t now. A sweet-talker? Hardly. He has no problem being painfully blunt and telling me things I don’t want to hear. Life of the party? Yeah, that’s why he’s always holed up in some corner at every party he’s at.
Being locked up obviously changed him. It turned him from a boy who wanted to hook up and have fun to a guy who’s now appreciative of everything he has. A guy who can find one small thing every day and be eternally grateful for it.
The Chase that Maria knew three years ago is gone. I didn’t know that Chase. I know the quiet Chase. The serious one. The one who smiles so rarely that when it happens, it’s like witnessing a solar eclipse. And it’s beautiful. I love it when he smiles. I—
Misery wells up in my throat. Argghhhhhhh. This. Needs. To. Stop.
“Are you okay?” Scarlett demands.
I bite my lip, wondering what on earth my expression is conveying that’s put so much urgency in Scar’s voice. “I’m fine,” I assure her. I take a breath. “But...you’re right...maybe I don’t like talking about him.”
“See,” Scarlett says, turning to glower at Yvonne. “I told you it’s a sensitive subject. We are not talking about that creep anymore.”
I pick up my milkshake and drain the rest of it, but the cold, sweet liquid can’t wash away the lump of unhappiness still lodged in my throat. Not talking about Chase is easy.
Not thinking about him? A whole other story.
20
I wake up the following morning with the biggest smile on my face. Last night, Dad knocked on my door—my door!—and informed me that he and Mom decided I could drive myself to the shelter today. In my own car.
I swear, my life is getting so much brighter I’m scared it might all be a dream. But I’m wide-awake as I get dressed, as I scarf down a quick breakfast, as I hop in my car—my car!—and plug my phone—my phone!—into the car charger to load some tunes.
Today is going to be a good day. I veered off course these last few months, but I finally feel like I’m back on track.
When I arrive at the shelter, however, I’m faced with a dose of disappointment. After hugging me tightly and saying how happy she is to have me back, Sandy informs me that I can’t interact with the animals today.
“No doggy love?” I say glumly. “Why not?”
“We have these new insurance and liability forms that all volunteers are required to sign. In your case, we need your parents’ signatures since you’re a minor. I would’ve emailed them to you when we got them last week, but—” she shrugs “—I didn’t think you were coming back. Your father was pretty firm on the phone that you wouldn’t be.”
“Luckily, he changed his mind,” I say with a happy smile. “And it’s fine—I’ll give everyone extra pats and kisses next weekend.” I tuck the set of papers inside my messenger bag. “I’ll bring these home and have my mom sign them.”
“Great. Then today you get to pick up dog poop.” Sandy grins. “Probably not how anyone would want to spend their weekends, huh? Especially in senior year.”
“Actually, it sounds awesome,” I tell Sandy. “I’ve decided I want to be a vet, so the more I’m around animals, the better. Even if it’s just picking up poop.”
A big grin spreads across her face. “Yeah, picking up dog poop for free is exactly how I spent my senior weekends, too. Every party ends up being the same, right? The same couples hooking up. The same fights breaking out. Everyone acting like high school is their last moment on earth.”
She could be talking about my empty life.
“Anyway, we’re building a new dog kennel in the back, but we need to clear the brush and get rid of all the trash and poop out there. Since you’re wearing pants and a sweatshirt, you should be well protected.”
I look down at my old leggings that are starting to pill after repeated washings and the oversize Darling High hoodie that’s faded so much it’s hard to make out half the letters. “Sounds like a plan.”