Riding With Brighton(2)
I woke up that morning convinced I was different, that I deserved more. And yet, I put on the exact same jeans, T-shirt, and basketball shoes as all these guys. Then I automatically walked into that circle, wrapping an arm around Sadie and dragging her with me because she was the piece that completed my jocktastic ensemble. And then I spewed out the exact same words all these guys were spewing out.
And that’s what got me.
I had nothing else to talk about. Sports, parties, and girls—that was pretty much the extent of my vocabulary. There wasn’t actually a unique and interesting person locked in some weird chamber inside of me trying to claw his way out. I was Jay Hall: quintessential popular jock asshole. Despite the fact that I knew there was one thing that separated me from these guys, it didn’t make me different from them. I had no right to even consider that I deserved to be anyone else.
Mind. Blown.
As the day went on, I couldn’t deny the fact that I was trapped, cocooned by a mass of kids living the exact same life as me. The roadblocks were clean-cut, attractive, and popular, and they were as deep as childhood and adolescence combined. And the road I was trying to go down was narrow, muddy, and filled with potholes anyway. So why did I even give a shit?
By third period I had given up the dream. And I was feeling claustrophobic.
When I woke up on Friday morning, I knew it was going to be the day I would finally change my life. I thought I’d had an epiphany. I thought I needed a divine, unexplainable act to finally give me the courage to do something.
But in the end it wasn’t divinity at all.
It was a simple piece of paper with a few numbers scratched on it. A piece of paper that ended up turning my life upside down and cracking me open in the process.
On Friday morning if you had told me that a damn piece of paper would, within twenty-four hours, cause my entire world to implode, I would have told you to shove it up your ass. Paper schmaper, I was working with a goddamn epiphany.
Chapter One
Jay
AMERICAN HISTORY is the only class I actually look forward to. Not because I give a crap about what happened leading up to my birth—which is just one more blow from the hard fist of reality that has decided to repeatedly sucker punch me today. I suddenly realize I’m completely self-involved. No, I don’t care about life pre-Jay; the reason I look forward to American history is because it’s the only class I have with Brighton Bello-Adler.
I know what you’re thinking. I can’t be that self-involved because, clearly, I care about this Brighton kid. But, au contraire, mon frère. Brighton is simply the end goal here, the living example of everything I want to be but that (a big F you to the higher, deceiving, powers) I will never, ever be.
Now, I’m dreading the moment he walks into the room because after the day I’ve had, the fact that he exists almost seems cruel. See, Jay—that’s what interesting looks like. There’s someone who actually has a life, and look… you’re nothing like him. Not even close. Ha, ha, ha, ha. The laughter’s totally sadistic and demeaning.
I can’t believe when I woke up this morning I was considering that it was even a possibility.
I mean, just his name is a hell of a lot more interesting than I’ll ever be. Brighton. You couldn’t pick a more perfect name for the kid. It’s like his parents knew he was gonna turn out to be the most magnetic and engrossing person that’s ever existed in this town. And for fuck’s sake, he’s got a hyphenated last name, which is unheard of in this small town, whose mentality is functioning off an early-fifties-model brain. So already, you just gotta assume that his family is way cooler than yours. And no, I’m not a stalker, but I am curious, so I know Bello is Spanish for beautiful and Adler is German for eagle. Which means his name means beautiful fucking eagle. And yeah, you can start picturing a great, majestic, free bird soaring through the sky on a perfect summer day while some anthem of hope plays in the background because that’s exactly what it feels like when the kid walks into a room.
Which he’s doing right now, five minutes late as usual because, no, rules don’t apply to bright, beautiful eagles. That would be ridiculous.
Ms. Case pauses, like she does every day, and waits for him to take his seat. “Sorry, Ms. C. I swear, I’m trying to get my ass here on time,” he tells her with an impish grin.
She smiles and nods and doesn’t comment on his use of the word ass, even though every girl in the room giggled at it.
Loudly, Brighton gets his history book pulled out of his torn up, Sharpie-markered, been-carried-around-since-seventh-grade backpack and throws it on his desk. As he’s leaned over facing me, scrounging around for the rest of his supplies, he looks up. “Hey, Jay,” he says with an easy smile. The kind that makes you smile back even though you’re in the middle of a mental breakdown.
I cock an eyebrow at him and chew on the bottom of my pen to keep from laughing. “You think you’re gonna make it out of there alive?”
He gives me a courtesy laugh. “With all the shit I got in here, you’d think a pen would be one of them. I don’t know when my backpack turned into a black hole.”
I pull the pen away from my teeth and hold it out to him.
“You sure?” he asks. “Looked like you were enjoying it.”
“I actually prefer Bics.” I shrug, opening the pen and pencil pocket of my backpack—because, yes, I have one, and I use it as it was intended—and pull out a Bic, relieved that my attempt at wit has a punchline. I look at Brighton, already chewing on my new pen, and the look on his face is a mix of amusement and disbelief.