Seven

            For the first time in weeks, I got a drive home with Ray. Usually, I got dropped off at home by Dallas or Angela, because Ray always had something going on after school with his friends. He was just that popular.

            “I heard what Ethan did for you today,” Ray said, sounding completely nonchalant.

            I tried to keep my voice even. “Yeah, he stood up for me.” I paused, giving Ray an opportunity to reply, but I knew what he was waiting for me to say. “Okay, so he’s not that bad.”

            The corners of Ray’s lips pulled up to form a smirk. “So, I was right?”

            I sighed, annoyed. “Yes, Ray, you were right.”

            “Aah.” He seemed satisfied in my defeat. “If only I could get that in writing.”

            I smacked his arm playfully.

            “Hey! No hitting the driver!” he yelled, laughing and smacking me back. Then he reached forward and blasted the radio. “My favorite song,” was his explanation. He tapped his hands to beat of the music on the steering wheel.

            When we got home, I threw my coat in the entryway closet and rushed up to my room. I dropped my purse on the floor and set my biology textbook on my desk. Then I reached under my pillow and grabbed my poetry notebook, flinging it open to a new page. I began scribbling down words, hoping for them to turn into some sort of life-altering poem.

            Half an hour later, I read over my completed poem a few times. Based on what I’d written about, I’d decided to call it ‘The Wolf’. My poem was about Ethan, and his defending me, but it mostly reflected the night before, when�"for a short time�"I’d let my walls down and treated Ethan like a friend. He’d placed his hand on top of mine on the stick, and controlled the slow gliding motion of it, turning my simple dog into a fierce wolf. Him doing this had not only scratched an image in the dirt, but it had engraved that same image in my mind. How had he known that a wolf was my favorite animal?

            Around five, Ray called me down for dinner. He was an amazing cook�"he could cook just about anything and it would taste just as good as what you could get in a gourmet restaurant. He had a passion for food, and whether he’d admit it or not, I knew that he wanted to be a chef.

            As I entered the kitchen, the smell of a nice home-cooked meal filled my nostrils, causing my stomach to rumble.

            “Is mom eating with us?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

            “She’s in her office, says she’s right in the middle of something. I’ll bring some food to her anyways. I know she won’t remember to eat unless I do.”

            I let Ray put together a plate for my mom before I got my own. As he left the room, I filled my own plate with spicy ribs, fried potato slices, and steamed asparagus. My mouth was practically watering at the sight of it, after going so many nights eating takeout. I wished Ray would cook more, but he usually got home around dinner time, and would just grab some takeout on the way.

            After Ray returned from my mom’s office and got his own food, we sat down at the table together and said grace. It was always a tradition when my dad was alive, and Ray and I tried to keep it up as much as we could. We didn’t want to lose anything that had to do with our father.

            As we ate, we didn’t talk much. It seemed like there was nothing to say. The loneliness of eating alone with just us at the table was practically overwhelming. It was times like this when I would really feel the deep impact that my dad’s death had had on our lives.

My mother, burying herself in her work, neglecting her kids, forgetting to eat proper meals and drinking. My brother, spending as much time as possible away from home, always with his friends, coming home at all hours of the night with no explanation as to where he’s been. And then there was me�"constantly hiding away in my room, my face stuck in my poetry notebook, taking drives to places at random. I knew my mother was worse off. But between Ray and me, I couldn’t decide who was in more danger of destroying themselves. With my anti-social behavior, or Ray’s need to always have someone around him?

            To be honest, I was more worried about Ray than myself. He was always off with his friends and�"even though his friends seemed to be nice enough people�"I wasn’t sure what kinds of things they were into. Did they party? Drink too much? Were they into drugs? Sleeping around with girls?

            I was scared that if Ray’s friends were like that, it was possible they would rub off on him eventually. Of course, Ray wasn’t a follower�"he was for sure a leader. But the people you hang around always tend to have an affect on you, whether you realize it or not. And since my mom was never keeping an eye on us, who knew where he was going in the middle of the night and what he was doing?

            I tried to let myself trust his level of maturity and his good judgment, but I knew that sometimes that wasn’t enough.

            I also knew it was stupid of me to worry this way about him�"he was my brother, not my kid. Not to mention he was a year older than me. But my mom wasn’t doing her job, so I felt it was my responsibility to look out for Ray.

            I watched Ray’s face carefully as we ate our dinner, trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. His expression looked almost pained, and I knew that he was thinking about our dad.

            After I finished my meal, I stuck my dishes in the dishwasher and wrapped up the leftovers, placing them in the fridge.

            “I’m going to work in half an hour,” I said as I leaned against the fridge, facing Ray. “What are you up to tonight?”

            “I’m going to try and get some studying done. Exams are coming up soon,” he answered, shoving a piece of asparagus into his mouth.

            Ray had really good grades in school, which surprised me since he was hardly ever home. I assumed he tried so hard so that he could get into university, and get away from home. He didn’t want to settle for college, either. He wanted to have good enough grades to make it into the university of his choice.

            “Okay, I’ll see you when my shift’s over,” I said, leaving the kitchen and going up to my room to get ready for work.

            I worked at the small town’s only club, called Steam. I was a few years too young to be working there, but it was the best paying part-time job in town, and I had connections.

My dad’s best friend�"Danny�"owned the club. After my dad’s death, Danny offered me a job�"as a janitor. I was stuck cleaning the washrooms, the puke from the drunks around the bar, etcetera. I was hardly making any money at all being a janitor at the club, so I constantly begged Danny to give me a promotion.

            Eventually, he gave in and I was promoted to bartender. Sometimes it got creepy, when drunken men were hitting on me and trying to buy me drinks. But Danny also worked at the bar, so he always scared them off, even if that meant him losing money. He knew that, if my dad was still alive, he wouldn’t have approved of me working as a bartender, so Danny did everything in his power to look out for me and keep me safe.

            I slipped on a pair of tight, dark wash jeans, and yanked a black laced tank top over my head. I went into my bathroom and drew my eyeliner on thicker in the mirror. I had to make myself look older than I actually was, so I didn’t get in trouble for working there.

            I grabbed my purse off my bedroom floor, and bounded down the stairs. I went into the entryway closet and picked out my long black jacket, which reached down to the middle of my thigh. Then I grabbed a pair of my mom’s high-heeled leather boots, and slipped them on, knowing she wouldn’t notice they were missing.

I took a quick look at myself in the full length mirror before opening the door, and gave a satisfied smile. With my golden brown hair falling straight around my face, my thick eyeliner and my almost all-black clothing, I looked probably four years older than I actually was.

 

{   -   -   -   }

 

            My shift at Steam felt long. Usually I loved the whole club scene, but working until eleven on a Monday night was not the best feeling. The music was loud, vibrating the walls. The people were drunk, screaming at me for more top-ups. And the girls were… revolting; grinding on older men and acting like they owned the place.

            During the week, the club stayed open until one in the morning, but Danny always let me off early because he knew I had school to wake up early for.

            As soon as I got home, I collapsed on the couch. I had a brutal headache and I was beyond exhausted. I fell asleep before I even got the chance to take off my shoes.

            When I woke up the next morning, my back and neck were stiff, and I was shivering. It was 7:12am. I felt instant relief that I hadn’t woken up late.

I went upstairs, knocked on Ray’s door to wake him, then hopped into the shower.

            The heat and steam from the water helped calm my shivers and relax my sore neck and back. I stood under the water for ten minutes, dreading school again. I knew that Brent would be so pissed, since Ethan showed him up in front of most of the school. I was scared to know what stunt Brent would try pulling today.

            As I shut off the shower and grabbed a towel, I told myself that I would warn Ethan to watch is back. Who knew what Brent was planning.

            When I got to school, I met up with Dallas and Angela straight away. I leaned against the wall, hardly listening to what they were saying, as I searched the crowds for Ethan.

            “Heidi?” Angela’s voice broke through my distracted haze.

            “What?” I replied, snapping back to reality.

            “I asked you a question… But�"what were you looking at?”

            “I wasn’t looking at anything. Just,” �"I hesitated, trying to think of something�"“keeping an eye out for Brent. I really don’t want to run into him again.”

            “Don’t worry,” Dallas said confidently. “If he has the guts to come near you again, I’ll take care of him.”

            I scoffed at him. “Okay, Dallas,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

            First bell rang then, and the three of us headed off to English. I hadn’t seen Ethan all morning, and I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. I was worried that Brent and his friends had caught up with Ethan, maybe even when he was alone. My stomach tightened in fear. If anything happened to Ethan, it would be my fault.

            At lunchtime, I went over to Ray’s table and asked him, “Is Ethan here today? I didn’t see him this morning.”

             “Yeah. He’s in the washroom I’m pretty sure. He was late for school this morning. He usually is, actually.”

            “Do you know why?”

            Ray shook his head.  “He missed first period, though.”

            “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I said, hurrying out to the hallway, my stomach in knots. I got to the boy’s washroom and sat down outside the door, determined to wait for Ethan and make sure he was okay.

            After a few seconds, I could hear yelling coming from the bathroom. I recognized Brent’s loud, angry voice, and I knew the calm, confident voice was Ethan’s. Soon, the yelling ended and there was nothing but grunting noises, bustling around, bone-on bone-cracking, and I heard someone shout in pain. There were protests from voices I couldn’t name, and more fighting sounds. I heard the stall doors being hit by something heavy.

            My fear took over, and I was about to barge into the boy’s washroom when the door swung open. Ethan seemed startled, seeing me standing there.        

            “Heidi? What are you doing?” he asked, sounding surprised.

            I ignored him and looked past him into the bathroom, seeing Brent and three of his friends on the ground, one with a bloody nose. They were all groaning in pain.

            I let out an exasperated laugh, sounding insane. “You took on all of them?” I asked, laughing again. I knew Brent was the type of guy to outnumber someone in a fight, so that he’d have the advantage. It was completely unfair, but Brent was a coward and didn’t seem to care.

            “They cornered me,” Ethan replied defensively. “I didn’t have a choice.”

            “I’m not blaming you. I just can’t believe you kicked all their butts!” I couldn’t help from laughing a third time, and Ethan gave me a weird look. “Damn, you must be strong.”

            He frowned, as if I’d offended him, then asked, “So why were you standing outside the boy’s washroom?”

            “I was going to warn you to keep an eye out for Brent, because I knew he was planning something like this, but it looks like I’m a little late.”

            He laughed without feeling. “Yeah, really. I have to get some ice for this,” he said, showing me the red and swollen knuckles on his right hand.

            “I’ll come with you.”

            As we walked through the halls towards the teacher’s lounge, I peeked at Ethan’s face. He looked angry, not pleased with himself like Brent always was after he won a fight. My excitement dissolved into guilt.

            “I’m sorry, Ethan. This is my fault,” I said, finally breaking the silence.

            He stopped walking and looked at me, sincerely surprised. “What? Heidi, this isn’t your fault. I knew what I was doing when I stood up for you, but I didn’t care. He had no right to do what he did to you, and he needs to know that. Hopefully I knocked some sense into him.”

            I shook my head slowly. “Probably not. He’s pretty dense.”

            We both laughed for a moment, then settle back into silence as we continued walking.

            “Are you okay?” I asked carefully. “You look really angry.”

            “I am really angry. At myself.”

            “Why?”

            He sighed. “I hate fighting. I don’t like violence. I really disagree with it. And I hate being out of control of myself.”

            “I know what you mean,” I replied, shuddering slightly.

It seemed like lately whenever I was around Ethan, my walls would just come down, and I wouldn’t even realize it. I was unconsciously opening myself up to him, and I could no longer think of a reason not to. He wasn’t Brent. I was sure of that, after he stood up for me. I just didn’t know what to make of him.

Ethan was still a mystery to me, holding in secrets that I was sure I didn’t want to know about. And that sense of danger I had whenever I was around him hadn’t disappeared, but I’d just been looking past it. In a way, he was both danger and safety within itself�"I just didn’t know which one was more overpowering.

            After we went to the teacher’s lounge and got a pack of ice for Ethan’s hand, we went back to the cafeteria, even though lunch was almost over.

            “You know, if Brent or his friends tell, you’ll get suspended. Maybe even expelled,” I said as I opened the cafeteria doors and we stepped inside.

            Ethan just shrugged. “I don’t think they’ll tell. That would be too embarrassing for them, to admit that all four of them got beat up by one guy.”

            “That’s very true,” I agreed. “Well I better go find Dallas and Angela before they think I was kidnapped or something.”

            I left and found my usual seat before Ethan could say anything else, but I didn’t miss the loud sigh that escaped his lips as I walked away. He was probably frustrated that I was going back and forth with being distant and guarded, to open and friendly. I was just as frustrated with myself. I was trying my best to stay guarded around Ethan, but I found I couldn’t keep up the act all the time. Being open around him just seemed to come naturally.

            I sat down across from Dallas and Angela.

            “Where did you go?” Angela asked, sounding exasperated. “You just ran off!”

            “I know, I’m sorry,” I began. I continued by telling them what happened in the boy’s washroom with Ethan.

            “Wow, Mr. Tough guy, eh?” Dallas said sarcastically.

            I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s Brent you should hate, not Ethan.”

            “I don’t like either of them,” he argued, sounding final, as if no one was ever going to change his opinion.

            Angela and I gave each other a knowing look, then I reached forward and yanked Dallas’s hood down over his face. Angela burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but smile triumphantly.