Stand by Me

“Okay,” Chris says. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes,” I answer, and if he asks one more time I will not hesitate to punch him in the throat. “You’re going to be late for work if you keep nagging me.”

“Shut up,” he says, but the usual bite isn’t there. “I called the school and told them ‒”

“You called them?” I say, enraged. “I can’t believe you. I told you not to.”

“All I did was remind them of the situation and request that they take it easy on you for a little while,” Chris says huffily.

“I don’t need them to take it easy on me,” I say shortly. “I’m fine. And I’m also going to be late, so good-bye.” It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning and I’m already hot in my school uniform. It’s no wonder, considering I’ve got a blouse, blazer, and tie on, along with a skirt, knee-high socks, and saddle shoes. I’m practically dripping.

He gives me a glare, but then surprises me by running a hand down my head, smoothing down my hair. I can’t remember the last time he’s done that, or if he’s ever done that, period. “Call me if you need me,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, and my throat starts to get tight, so I quickly turn and leave. I wait for a few minutes at the bus stop before it comes and picks me up. There’s an empty seat in the front, so I quickly claim it, putting my bag next to me so no one can sit there. I put my headphones in and listen to music for the remainder of the ride.

After 20 minutes, the bus pulls up at Crosswell Academy, one of the most prestigious prep schools in the state. Almost every student there goes on to some amazing Ivy League-type school (if not the Ivy Leagues themselves) or some high-paying career. The tuition is ridiculously expensive, even if you’re here on scholarship, like me.

I get off the bus and stare up at the building, all old, crumbling brick and tangly vines. There’s an empty space beside me where Kristina should be, tugging at her tie and rolling up her skirt and griping about how much she really doesn’t want to be here and suggesting we skip because come on, it’s the first day of our senior year. What better way to celebrate than to not actually show up?

Instead, I enter alone and instantly feel every pair of eyes on me. A few people smile at me, but I don’t return it. I don’t care if I’m being rude. It serves all of them right.

I find my homeroom and sit in the very back of the class. Most people avert their eyes as soon as they look at me, but others prefer to blatantly stare. I stare right back, hoping that maybe the force of my glare will turn into a laser beam and vaporize them on the spot. Nothing happens.

The bell rings and my teacher, a twenty-something social studies teacher named Ms. Alves, starts to go through the attendance. I know I’ll be at the beginning of the list since my last name is Beckett. All I have to do is wait.

Sure enough, the third name she calls out is, “Reagan Beckett?” I raise my hand and everyone turns and stares again. Ms. Alves, however, merely marks my name down and continues on.

She gives us a few forms for our parents to sign before giving out locker numbers and combinations. I go find mine, #1335, and dial the combination. The inside is bare and cold. I was never one for decorating my locker, since I only use it to drop my books off and pick them back up, but Kristina was the opposite. She filled every inch of locker space with photos, a mirror, and even a small whiteboard to write on. She was so into things like that. I shut my locker.

I go back to homeroom and try to sit back down, but Ms. Alves stops me. “Reagan, Mrs. Graff wants to see you in her office.” She says it quietly, but everyone still hears it.

I nod, but secretly I’m pissed off. As I walk down the hallway, I send a quick fuck you text to Chris. I told him not to call the school, told him dozens and dozens of times, and he still didn’t listen. If they ask me to talk to the guidance counselor I might actually flip a table.

I go into the office and the secretary takes one look at me before waving me towards Mrs. Graff’s office. “Go right in.”

So I knock on the principal’s door and she calls, “Come in.” I go inside and see Mrs. Graff sitting at her desk, and a boy is sitting across from her.

My first thought is that this boy is kind of cute. My next thought is Why the fuck am I here, and why is he here with me?

“Hi, Reagan,” Mrs. Graff greets me warmly. “How was your summer?” When I merely stare at her, she realizes her mistake and quickly moves on. “Please, have a seat.” The only one available is next to the attractive boy, so reluctantly I sit down next to him.

“This is Adam Tanner,” Mrs. Graff says, gesturing to the boy next to me. “Adam, this is Reagan Beckett.”

I finally turn and look at him head-on. He’s not bad-looking, but his eyes startle me. They’re dark and angry, like he’s got a whole lifetime of pain inside of him. “Hey,” I say stiffly.

“Hey,” he answers, more interested in tugging at his tie.

Mrs. Graff beams. To Adam, she says, “We lost Reagan’s friend Kristina recently.” The mention of her name makes me flinch. Privately, I think, she’s not lost. I know exactly where she is: dead. To me, Graff says, “Adam’s friend Gabriel also passed away back in June.”

He speaks up. “He didn’t ‘pass away.’ He killed himself.” Graff looks startled by his response, and now I’m wishing I corrected her too.

“Yes,” Graff says finally. “Right. Adam is new here, so I’ve assigned you to be his buddy, Reagan. You’ll walk him to his classes and pick him up at the end of them, show him around school, and make him feel comfortable. I already let all of your teachers know that you’ll be excused from class early. I think the two of you will greatly benefit from getting to know each other.”

I want to object, but being a “buddy” means I get to leave class five minutes early to go get this kid and bring him to his next period. So I just nod. Adam looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, Mrs. Graff beams again and says, “Great! Here’s a copy of Adam’s schedule so you know where he needs to be. You’ll have just enough time to get him to first period before the bell rings.” Before she dismisses us for good, she says, “I know both of you are having a tough time, so please, feel free to talk to any one of us here if you are feeling alone. We want to help you.”

It’s bullshit, and from the look on Adam’s face he knows it too. So we both just get up and exit her office. We walk down the empty hallway together, not speaking, until he finally turns to me and says, “Look, you seem nice, but this isn’t necessary. I’ll find my way.”

“You don’t have a map,” I point out. “You’ll get lost.”

“It can’t be that hard.”

“It is.” I’m getting frustrated. “Just let me walk you today and tomorrow and then we’ll be done.”

“I don’t need or want your help, quite frankly, but thanks anyway.”

I should be offended, but I’m not. Truth be told, I just don’t care anymore. “Fine. Have fun trying to find your way around.” I turn around and am halfway down the hall as the bell for first period rings. The hallway is instantly flooded with kids. I look back over my shoulder in time to watch him get swallowed by the masses. It makes me grin for the first time in a long time. I instinctively reach for my phone, but then I remember that there’s no one to text and tell about this.

My first period is AP Calculus, which just happens to be my least favorite subject. The teacher, Mr. Williams, stops by my desk while he’s handing out papers and whispers, “Reagan, will you see me after class?”

“Sorry but I have to go show this new kid to his class. I think Mrs. Graff emailed you about it,” I lie.

He nods. “Okay, well, maybe before you have to go.” I can see that there’s no way to avoid this, so I just nod.

A few minutes before class ends, I wearily approach his desk. He turns to me with a sympathetic smile. “How are you doing, Reagan?”

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.

He nods like he doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me, either. “I know these past few weeks have been hard for you. I was very sorry to hear about Kristina’s passing.” I don’t know how to respond, so I just wait for him to continue. “If there’s anything you need, even if it’s to just talk, please feel free to come to me.”

“Okay,” I say, even though I know I won’t be talking to anyone. “Thanks, but I really have to go now.”

“Sure,” he says kindly. “See you tomorrow.”

I shoulder my bag and leave. I’m alone in the hallway, but I still feel like I have dozens of eyes on me, whispering There she goes, that’s the dead girl’s best friend, can you believe she didn’t know, can you believe she didn’t see the signs?

Second period hasn’t even started yet, but everything already feels too much. I go into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall. A voice that suspiciously sounds familiar reminds me how dirty these toilets are to be sitting on, but I don’t care.

The bell rings, and I can hear people walking around and talking outside as they move from class to class. A few girls come in the bathroom, pee, fix their hair, take selfies, and talk, but within minutes they’re all gone and I’m alone again.

I wait a few more minutes before I finally come out, dampen a paper towel, and pat at my face, which is flushed, my eyes puffy from all of the crying I didn’t do. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to recognize myself, before I decide I should probably go to class.

I go outside and the first thing I see is someone sitting down in front of the lockers, their legs drawn up to their chest, burying their face in their knees. It’s that kid Adam. I hesitate, wondering if I should say something.

“Hey,” I say at last. He doesn’t look up, but his shoulders, which are shaking, still. “Are you lost?” He still doesn’t answer. This is going to be difficult, I can tell. I cautiously make my way over to where he is. Crouching down, I try to take a peek at his schedule.

“Physics next with Mr. Tait. He’s not bad, I had him for study hall my sophomore year. He let us listen to our iPods and stuff even though we’re technically not allowed to have headphones in school. His room’s not far, I can show you if –”

“Just leave me alone!” Adam screams suddenly. He picks his head up and now I can see his face; it’s red and his eyes are swollen and glassy. He’s been crying. “I don’t want your fucking help, so just stay away!”

For a second I almost obey him. But then I get angry. “I lost someone too, okay? You think I wanna be here? Because I don’t. But you don’t see me sitting on the side of the hallway blubbering my fucking eyes out.”

“Oh really?” he spits. “I saw you go into the bathroom before. You were in there for fifteen minutes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please. You act like you’re so tough but you’re not.”

“Fuck you.”

Before he can answer, the door to a nearby classroom opens and a teacher sticks her head out. “What is going on out here? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Adam and I say at the same time. He stands up immediately and runs a hand over his face, discreetly wiping the tears away.

“I was just showing him to his class,” I explain. When she doesn’t look convinced, I fish the pass Mrs. Graff gave me out of my pocket and show it to her. As soon as she reads the names, her eyes get wide with recognition. She nods once before leaving us with a, “Just keep it down. And get to class.”

As soon as she’s gone, Adam is walking away from me instantly. “Don’t get lost,” I call after him.

“Stay away from me,” he snaps. Well, that won’t be hard.

The rest of the school day goes pretty much like that. Teachers call me up and tell me how sorry they are and to let me know if I need anything. And every time I nod and smile and thank them, but deep down both of us know I won’t do shit.

Usually, when the final bell rings, it feels like I’m coming up for a breath of fresh air. School is over for now. But this time, nothing happens. I’m still drowning.

Chris is waiting for me when I get home. “What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m still mad at him for talking to Mrs. Graff.

“I left early,” he says. “So you wouldn’t be alone when you got here.” He picks up my bag from where I threw it on the floor and places it on the couch. “How was your day?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, thanks to you,” I snap. “All of my teachers threw a big pity party for me and I got called into the principal’s office because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

“They all knew about it anyway whether I called them or not,” Chris answers, his voice annoyingly calm. “And I wasn’t just going to let you go to school without asking them to take it easy on you, Reagan. Kristina only died three weeks ago.”

The sound of her name makes me flinch. I don’t respond. “Your principal emailed me,” he continues. “Apparently you got paired with some new kid today? Adam? She said his friend died recently too.”

“Fuck him,” I say. I try to move past Chris and go to my room, but he blocks me.

“What? Why?”

“Can you just leave me alone?” I say loudly. “I liked it better when you didn’t care about me.”

His face instantly hardens. “Stop it.”

I can see I’ve hit a nerve, so I keep going. “It’s true, though. You didn’t give a single shit about me until she died, and now you’re trying to make up for it because you think I’ll do the same thing.”

“Reagan, that’s enough.”

“Look at you,” I say with a laugh that doesn’t sound like my own. “Face it. You don’t even know how to be a dad, so why start pretending that you care now? I don’t need it. I don’t need you.”

“I said that’s enough!” Chris raises his voice. I haven’t heard him yell like that in so long that it actually does scare me into silence. He looks surprised, too. “Go to your room,” he says in a much quieter voice.

I scoff. He’s never sent me to my room before. “Are you kidding me? Am I four?”

“You’re sure acting like it. I’ll call you down when it’s time for dinner.”

“No you won’t, because I’m not going.” Chris has spent my entire life doing his best to pretend that I don’t exist. Listening to him trying to be authoritative is like watching a kid dress up as a CEO.

“Reagan Nicole, I said go to your room!” Chris shouts. Instead of obeying, I snatch my backpack off the couch, turn on my heel, and leave. I hurry down the porch, jumping over the last two steps, and take off at a jog. I can hear Chris behind me, yelling, “Reagan! Get back here right now!” but I ignore him.

Once I’m positive he won’t come after me I slow down. Then I realize I have nowhere to go. Usually, whenever Chris was being a dick and I wasn’t in the mood to deal, I would just go to Kristina’s, or she would come outside and we’d find someplace to hang out for a few hours. Now I have nothing.

I decide to just walk. I put my headphones in and put the music on shuffle before looking around. It’s only about two-thirty, so I have a while before it gets dark. I’m not hungry, either.

The only place I can think to go is the park. I haven’t been there in years, but Chris probably won’t think to look for me there. That is, if he even tries looking for me.

After a few minutes, I can see the swing set and the jungle gym looming in the distance. The park is empty except for one person. My stomach drops as I realize it's that Adam kid, still wearing his school uniform like me. He's idly swinging back and forth, kicking up dirt with his shoes. He’s got his headphones in and his head down, rolling what looks like a joint. He doesn’t notice me.

As I come a little closer, it occurs to me how easy it would be to kill him right now. And as soon as that thought pops into my head, I realize how fucked up it is to think something like that.

I shake my head a little and keep walking. Honestly, the only person who would remotely understand this is Kristina. I can picture her walking next to me, cracking up. “Dude, I was thinking the same thing. We could use one of these sticks or something. God, how fucking weird are we? That’s some Ted Bundy shit.”

In spite of everything, I find myself laughing a little. It’s still so easy to imagine her next to me, so easy to pretend like she's just on vacation for the week or something. I don’t know how to picture myself without her because then I’m nothing. If there’s no Kristina, there’s no Reagan.

So yeah, she’s on vacation. An extended vacation. Thinking about it like that makes everything easier almost instantly, and as long as I stay like this, waiting for her to come back, I’ll be okay.

After a while, I double back to the swings and find them deserted. Adam is nowhere to be seen, which is fine by me. I spend the rest of the afternoon sitting and swinging, listening to an old Spotify playlist Kristina made once. Her profile is still up, which is weird but oddly comforting. The playlist is really old, like from freshman year, and it’s got all these angsty pop-punk songs on it from bands like The Maine, You Blew It!, Tigers Jaw, The Wonder Years, The Story So Far, etc., back when we were fifteen and angry at the entire universe.

The park gets creepy as the sun sets, so I stroll around town for a while until a cop pulls up beside me. “Are you lost, ma’am?” he asks. He tries to sound kind, but his message is clear.

“No sir,” I say flatly. “Just heading home.” He nods and drives off, and I figure that I should go back anyway, just in case Chris starts looking for me.

The lights are all on at my house, and when I walk through the door I can see Chris in the kitchen, pacing around and talking on the phone. “I know, I just thought that . . . well, she’s not, so I figured . . .” He looks over his shoulder and sees me. His eyes widen. “Nevermind, she’s home. Nevermind. Yeah, yeah, she just walked in. Nevermind. Thanks, Elizabeth. Bye.”

He hangs up and is in front of me in about two strides. “Do you know what time it is?” he demands.

“Um, no.”

“It’s seven o’clock. You’ve been gone for over four hours. Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Chris looks relieved at first, but it quickly gives way to anger. “I oughta fucking beat you,” he snarls. “Don’t you ever go running off like that ever again, do you understand me?”

When I don’t answer, determinedly staring at my feet, he raises his arm and I flinch, waiting for a backhand. The only time Chris has ever truly laid a hand on me was when I was six and tried to drink bleach from under the sink, but I’ve learned not to hold him to high standards.

But he doesn’t hit me. After a moment of silence, he lowers his hand. “I know things aren’t easy,” he says quietly. “But you can’t just go AWOL for hours without telling me. Are we clear?”

This time, I mumble, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. “Do you want dinner? Did you eat already?”

“No, I didn’t.” I’m not hungry anyway, but I’ll humor him. I sit at the table while he makes me a grilled cheese, his idea of a good meal. While I wait, I ask, “Who were you on the phone with?”

“Mrs. Brennan,” he answers after only a second of hesitation.

Surprised, I say, “Why?”

“I thought you might’ve gone to her house, or her . . . I dunno. I was just trying to figure out where you were.” He doesn’t say grave, but I can fill in the blanks just fine on my own.

“Well, I didn’t,” I say coolly, untying my shoes. I’ve been walking around in them all day, and now my feet are killing me.

“So where’d you go then?”

Instead of answering, I say, “I’m going to go change.” I’m still in my uniform, and I feel sweaty and gross and uncomfortable. Before he can argue, I stand and go up to my room. My room used to be filled with pictures and posters and drawings, but when Kristina died, I took them all down. I just didn’t see the point in having them anymore.

I lie on my bed and stare at my blank, white walls. The box Kristina left me is currently sitting under my bed. I haven’t opened it since the day I cleaned out her room, and I don’t plan on it. I know she’d want me to put the pictures and posters on my wall, but I just can’t bring myself to.

Chris knocks on the door after a while. “Are you going to come down and eat your dinner?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, Reagan. I made this for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

I hear him sigh before he finally leaves, going back downstairs. I open the door a crack and find that he’s left the grilled cheese on a plate in front of my room. It’s slightly burnt. I shut my door.