What He Left Behind

Come morning, I’m awake and out of bed before the sun has risen. I throw on the first smart-casual outfit I can find, brush some dry shampoo through my unwashed hair and put on some light make-up, just enough to cover the dark circles under my steel blue eyes and the small blemishes on my chin. I wouldn’t describe myself as insecure about my appearance at all, but I like to look well-presented.

Once I hear my father’s car leave the driveway, I venture downstairs to make breakfast. As expected, my mom hasn’t made it out of bed yet and refuses to come downstairs to eat, instead insisting I leave the food in her room. Already I can guarantee I will come home from school this afternoon to find her tea stone cold and the food untouched, but what else can I do? I can’t force the woman to eat.

When I arrive at school, I meet Amber in the parking lot, as we agreed the day before. We make our way towards the building as she quizzes me on what it’s like in Detroit, asking if it’s really as bad as it’s made out to be.

It isn’t by the way. Sure, it’s pretty run-down in some areas and the school system is dismal and the crime rates are through the roof, but I didn’t have a gun pointed at my head on the daily like the horror stories lead you to believe. Then again, I lived on the outskirts of one of the ghettos so I was partially shielded from what went on. If the stories I got told are anything to go by, the centre of the ghetto is not somewhere I’d recommend you visit.

“Do you miss home?” Amber asks.

“Not really,” I answer, “There’s nothing for me to miss. My only family’s my parents and they came with me to California. I didn’t have many friends. That city’s full of shitty people. I’m glad to be rid of them.”

I like Amber. She’s soft-spoken and sweet, arguably the opposite of me, but she’s also quick-witted and has more functioning brain cells than most people in Detroit combined. It’s nice to be around someone I can have an intellectual conversation with. The girl’s got a sensible head on her shoulders and I think I’d be wise to befriend her.

As we walk past the tennis courts to get to the West Building entrance, a group of people in the distance catch my attention. I pause, realising that among the group are Charlie and Stan, along with one other guy and a girl. Charlie has a cigarette between his lips and an arm thrown casually around the girl’s shoulders.

“Is that Charlie’s band?” I query, my curiosity getting the better of me. Amber turns around, following my gaze until her eyes land on the group.

“Some of them,” she confirms, “The blonde guy with them is Mason the drummer. There are two other guys, Adam who I think plays guitar and Harvey on bass. They’re older though so they don’t go to school. Obviously you know Stan; he plays guitar aswell, and then Charlie’s the singer.”

“Of course Charlie’s the singer,” I muse, “Who’s the girl?”

“Oh that’s Tay. She’s always with them. She’s really nice.” I frown, finding it strange that someone nice would hang around with such a troublesome bunch. Then again, I like to consider myself as nice for the most part, and I’ve known some really troublesome people.

---

I have English literature second period. I don’t like English. There’s something about scrutinising a book’s language devices to death that sucks all the enjoyment out of reading it. I find the whole thing too subjective anyway. Maths is easy; the answer is either right or wrong. English is another matter.

When the bell rings, everyone scrambles to get the seat they want, as always happens on the first lesson of each class after the summer. I end up between Amber and a quiet mousy girl who Amber refers to as Cara.

The class fills up quickly but, no surprise, the last person to enter is Charlie. I get the impression punctuality is not his strongest point. He scans the room and notes my presence, his eyes lingering on me. He doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the teacher until the teacher addresses him.

“You’re late Mr. Hemmingway,” the teacher states.

“So?” he growls, scrunching up his face.

“So, I’ll have to write you up for tardiness again.”

“Knock yourself out,” Charlie mutters, walking towards where Cara is sitting. “Move,” he demands.
Cara looks up anxiously, gathering her things together. For a moment I’m left completely speechless by Charlie’s sheer lack of manners, but then Cara stands up and I snap out of it. I glance at the other people in the class but no one appears fazed; it’s like this is nothing out of the ordinary for them. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe Charlie always calls the shots in this place so they’re just used to it now. But I’m not, and I won’t stand for it for one second.

“Dude, what the fuck,” I utter, half-wondering if maybe it’s just some weird inside joke I’ve misunderstood. Surely no one can be that obnoxious and self-entitled.

“I want to sit here,” he says casually, as though I’m the stupid one for not understanding that everyone bows down to King Charlie.

“Cara sit down,” I instruct, before lightly pushing Charlie away, “Charlie, go and sit over there.”

“I just said I want to sit here,” he patronises, looking at me like I’m thick.

“Yeah but there’s already someone sitting here so you’re gonna have to sit somewhere else, aren’t you?” I patronise back.

I know the whole class is staring at me wide-eyed and in shock – God forbid someone question the orders of thee Charlie Hemmingway – but all I can see is Charlie’s chocolate brown eyes burning with rage as he tries unsuccessfully to stare me down.

“Charlie, sit over there please,” the teacher says, finally looking up from the paperwork he was previously engrossed in. Charlie stares at me for a second longer and I hold his gaze, refusing to cave. Eventually, he gives in, muttering something under his breath before going to sit in the seat I told him to.

For the remainder of the class, I find myself preoccupied, reeling from my altercation with Charlie. I can’t figure him out at all. Does he honestly think he possesses some kind of superiority that means he’s more entitled than everyone else? Did his parents forget to teach him how to not be an asshole? Was he dropped on his head at birth? Who knows? All I know for sure is that I definitely will not be tolerating any of his shit.

When class finishes, I gather my things and leave the room quickly, although I’m still beaten by Charlie who is already stood leaning against the lockers opposite the classroom when I get into the hall. His eyes fall on me and without even having to ask, I know he’s waiting for me.

“A word,” he demands, walking a couple of paces down the hall and opening the door to an empty classroom, motioning for me to go inside. I hesitate but go inside without argument, dropping my bag to one of the desks and perching on another. Charlie shuts the door before turning to me expectantly.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not gonna get one. I’ll tell you that now,” I assure.

“Trust me,” he scoffs, “I know better than to expect an apology.”

“You do?” I ask irately.

“You’re a woman,” he says plainly. I roll my eyes, not at all surprised that his underdeveloped brain thinks like that.

“Well you’re an immature jerk with an attitude problem and too much eyeliner.”

“You’re a whingy cow with too much to prove.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard,” he says bluntly, before smirking a little and adding with a wink, “Why don’t you just admit how much you fancy me already and we can move on?”

“Get over yourself,” I mutter, feeling my body tense as anger starts to build inside me. If he thinks he never loses a fight, then he has definitely just met his match. “You’re so conceited. If you genuinely believe I could ever be interested in someone as obnoxious as you then you’re even stupider than I thought.”

“Come on, we both know you’ve got the hots for me. Why deny it?” he continues, successfully winding me up further. After that, all it takes is one glimpse of his stupid teasing grin before I lose it, lashing out for him.

Although shocked, Charlie reacts quickly and grabs my wrist before I can hit him. Still, he’s not smart enough to grab both so I use my free hand to try and loosen his hold. When it fails, I knee him in the groin. He curses, momentarily thrown off, before snatching my arms again and pinning them behind my back.

“Go on, hit me back then!” I dare him. “If you want a fight, I’ll give you one, asshole.”

My face is flushed red with anger and my heart is pounding and my breathing is erratic. All I can see is red as I try to pull an arm free from Charlie’s grasp so I can punch him in the face like he fucking deserves. He’s stronger than me though and simply tightens his grip, restraining me against the wall with such ease it only makes me angrier.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Charlie says slowly and firmly, his voice devoid of the usual arrogance and teasing tone. “Calm down.”

I press my forehead against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut and then opening them again. I force myself to breathe slowly until Charlie releases his grip, allowing me to turn to face him. My vision is still blurred but I’m able to find Charlie’s hard eyes which are trained on me, burning holes into my brain.

For a few seconds, I hold his gaze, taking more careful breaths until my vision is back in focus. Once I’m breathing almost normally again, Charlie takes a few steps away from me and leans against a desk, his facial features twisted into an expression of deep concentration.

“Like I thought,” he says so quietly I only just catch it. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean but I’m also not sure I can handle hearing his stupid voice any more than I have to so I don’t question it.

I sit down at the nearest desk and drop my head in my hands, stressed. I’ve never been good at keeping my temper in check. I was determined to get it under control now that I’ve got the chance to start over but Charlie pushes all the wrong buttons, I swear. The worst thing is, he does it on purpose. He was smirking through all of it, like he got a kick out of seeing me so riled up. Some clueless teacher back home told me I need to stop letting people get to me but I’d like to see her remain composed when she’s being antagonised by such an asshole.

“Can you leave?” I demand rather than ask. I know there’s no way I’ll calm down when Charlie’s in here. His mere presence is infuriating.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he questions, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. I scoff under my breath. Like he cares. His stupid question doesn’t warrant a response and Charlie doesn’t spend long waiting for one. After a few seconds of silence, he leaves the room, shutting the door roughly behind him.

---

The first week of school drags, as school always does. With a stroke of luck, I manage to bag myself a tutoring job; college isn’t going to pay for itself. It’s four nights a week after school and pays decent money. I’d definitely prefer that to some kind of shitty waitressing job where you get paid minimum wage only to be shouted at the entire shift by stuck up rich families.

I spend a lot of time with Amber and her friends, and I throw myself into my studies, which provides a welcome distraction from everything else that’s going on. I find myself falling into a routine of getting up, going for a run three mornings a week, caring for mom, going to school, going to work, doing homework, caring for mom some more and then going to bed. It’s bland and monotonous, but that’s pretty much the way my life has been for a while now. I should be more grateful, I know; I have my health and a roof over my head and I get to eat decent food and go to school, which is so much more than some. But I just feel like something’s lacking. I was once told I need to ‘find something that makes me want to get up in the morning’. I haven’t found that yet.

---

It’s not until the following Monday after school, as I’m waiting under the shelter preparing to brave a rainstorm heavy enough to rival the ones back home, that I encounter Sac High’s most notorious troublemaker (or in my opinion, biggest asshole) again.

“Hey sweetie, do you need a ride?”

My breath hitches in my throat when I turn around to see Charlie a few steps behind me with a cigarette between his lips and a hand in the pocket of his bomber jacket, trying to pull off the effortlessly handsome look. I can’t lie; he’s not half-bad at it.

“Trying to earn some brownie points I see. That’s a smart idea; you need them,” I shout over the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the shelter.

“I need them?” he asks incredulously, “I was nice to you on your first day and then calmed you down when you went berserk on me. That’s two points already.”

“But you were an asshole in English the other day, which is minus one point. Plus, it was your fault I lost it in the first place so that brings you down to zero.”

“Which is still one more than you.”

“How do you work that out?”

“You lost a point for physically assaulting me. I’ve seen some crazy chicks before but Jesus, I’ve never been attacked by one.”

“You were asking for it,” I retaliate monotonously.

“Do you want a ride home or not?”

I glance across the parking lot which is full of screaming kids rushing to their cars to avoid the rain. The clouds are dark and angry so I doubt the rain is easing up any time soon, and I’m not organised enough to have brought an umbrella.

“Sure,” I concede, realising I don’t have any better alternative. “Are you gonna give me your jacket then?” I ask, noting that I’ll get soaked even on the short walk it is to the car. He frowns, putting his tongue between his teeth in the corner of his mouth, mentally debating if I’m being serious. I’m not. I’m just testing him. Nevertheless, he pleasantly surprises me by taking off his jacket and passing it to me.

“Anything else?” he asks sarcastically. I shake my head. He touches his hand to the small of my back, ready to guide me in the direction of his car, but me being as stubborn as I am, shrugs him off.

“Fine, have it your way,” he says, “Follow me.”

We jog towards a battered old van with chipped black paint and a dented bumper. Charlie opens up the passenger door for me and I get in, shaking droplets of rain from his jacket.

Charlie gets into the driver’s seat and glances in his mirror, somewhat more soaked than I am.

“Hope you didn’t get too wet or anything,” I remark.

“Nope, I’m absolutely fine Noelle, don’t you worry yourself,” he replies with a tight-lipped grin.

“I won’t.”

Charlie starts to drive and I direct him to my house which is about a fifteen minute drive with the dismal school traffic. The rain doesn’t relent and, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of grateful for Charlie. Not that I’ll be announcing that out loud anytime soon.

“You know,” I begin, with a ghost of a smile playing on my lips, “You’re lucky I’m not being a whingy cow today or you’d have just got a slap round the face for calling me crazy.”

“You’re lucky I’m not being an immature jerk today or you’d be walking home.”

“Touché.”

“In fact, to show you what a nice guy I am, how would you a complimentary ticket to see an awesome new band called The Ransom this weekend?”

“That band wouldn’t happen to be your band would it?”

“Maybe,” he answers, “We’re good though.”

I weigh up my options in my head. On the one hand, Charlie’s irritating and rude. Despite having met him for the first time only a week ago, he seems to have already figured out exactly how to wind me up. To add to that, he’s conceited and full of himself as it is; if I agree to go he’ll think he’s got me like putty in his hands.

Then again, he’s interesting and mysterious. He’s like a puzzle that no one has solved yet. You know those brain teasers that make you yell and swear and grit your teeth in frustration but they’re so addicting that you refuse to leave them alone until you’ve got it figured out. My curious nature makes me all the more compelled to get to know him better. Plus, I want to see if his band is really as good as he claims.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”