Chapter 18: Grayson

“Okay, tell me what I did wrong now.” I cross my arms and stand behind Isabelle.

Her head is buried in her locker, and she’s mumbling incoherently. “The list of what you didn’t do is shorter.” She straightens and turns around.

I laugh, but she doesn’t so much as crack a smile. I sigh. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She shoves her books in her bag and zips it closed before hefting it over her shoulder. “I have to get home.”

When she attempts to walk past me, I move in front of her. “There’s something going on.”

She averts her gaze, and her bottom lip trembles. I study her face, and the glint of tears in her eyes punches the breath from my lungs. All right, there’s definitely something going on, and I’m not letting her leave here alone until I know she’s going to be okay.

“Come with me.” I take her elbow and guide her into the band room, which is currently empty. We sit on the carpeted stairs that line the far end of the room. I lace our fingers and hold our hands in my lap. “What’s going on, Belle?”

She shakes her head, keeping it down.

Gently, I lift her head and peer into her eyes. They’re not as vibrant as they normally are, and there’s a permanent frown pulling at her mouth. I hate seeing her like this. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No.” Her shoulders slump. “I promise it’s not you.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, dropping my hand from her face. “Is there anything I can do?”

She shakes her head again. “Not unless you have a time machine and can go back to the first day of school. Before my life started to fall apart.”

“Before I arrived, you mean?” I scoot away, putting as much distance between us as I can on the narrow step.

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She stands. “And don’t you dare put words in my mouth.” Isabelle storms out the door, and I rush after her.

“Hey!” I catch up to her just as she pushes out the side door that leads to the student parking lot. “I’m sorry.”

“Look, it’s not you, okay?” She hitches the strap of her backpack higher on her shoulder. “My life is just…complicated right now. Everything is a mess and falling apart.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me. It is.” She pulls out her keys and glances at her car.

“Why? Because things aren’t going exactly as you want them to?” A hint of a smile tugs at my lips, but I don’t let it form when I see how not funny she thinks this whole thing is.

“Are you seriously making fun of me right now?” She narrows her eyes, and her jaw clenches.

“No…” Jeez, she really is upset. What happened to make her so angry?

“Just because I had a plan for my life doesn’t make me a bad person. It makes me smart.” She points at her chest, and her cheeks turn several shades of red. “Not all of us can just go through life doing whatever we want and have things work out perfectly. Some of us have to be responsible and make plans and think ahead, Grayson.”

“Whoa.” I hold up my hands in a show of surrender. “Easy.”

“No.” She slices her hand through the air. “I’m tired of everyone telling me what I should be doing. What I should or shouldn’t say. How I’m supposed to act and feel and think.”

“Then stop listening to everyone else,” I say.

She opens her mouth to say something and then snaps her jaw closed.

“Seriously, Belle. If people telling you what to do is making you so unhappy, just stop listening to them. Me included.” I grin. “What’s the point of being alive if you’re not going to enjoy life? I mean, we’re not in this world long enough to be miserable all the time, right?”

Isabelle tilts her head and stares at me. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

I shove my hands into my pockets. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I really gotta go.”

“Well, if you want someone to talk to who won’t tell you what to do or say or think or feel, you know how to get ahold of me.” I turn and walk toward my motorcycle. I walk slowly, hoping she’ll call my name or ask me to stop. But she doesn’t.

I take the long way home, wondering the whole time what’s up with Isabelle. Besides the whole Cam and Andrea situation, what can possibly be so terrible in her life? Is it something at home, with her parents? Hannah wasn’t at lunch today—are the two of them fighting?

When I get home, I find Dad in the kitchen. His injured hand is poised over the sink. A blood-soaked towel is wrapped around his palm, and he’s cursing like a sailor.

“Dad! What happened?” I rush over to him. “Are you okay?”

“I think I popped my stitches.” He winces.

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” The amount of blood dripping from the towel makes me nauseous. The metal tang fills the room.

“No. Get me a clean towel, would ya?” He unwraps the bloodied one, and I have to look away.

I grab a clean towel from the drawer and hand it to him. He rewraps his hand, leaving the soiled towel in the sink. “You’re probably going to have to drive me to the hospital.”

“Yeah, okay.” I nod.

With his good hand, he digs his keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. We get to the hospital and check in at the emergency room. Dad’s been so busy since we moved here that he hasn’t had time to find either of us a regular doctor. So, until he does, we’re stuck using the hospital for all our medical needs.

“How’d you do it?” I ask, nodding at his hand. This towel isn’t as soaked as the last one, which is a good sign. Maybe it’s not as bad as I originally thought.

“I was trying to unclog the drain in the upstairs bathroom.”

I shake my head. “You know you’re not supposed to do any manual labor until the stitches are out.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles.

The waiting room is packed, so I pull out my cell phone and settle in for a long wait. I send Isabelle a message. are you okay? I’ve never seen her as upset as she was today, not even when she cried in the hallway.

After a three hour wait, Dad’s finally called back into a room. Isabelle still hasn’t replied to my message. It takes another two hours to see a doctor, have Dad’s palm re-stitched, and get a prescription for pain meds. By the time we leave, I still don’t have any messages from Isabelle. She can’t possibly be mad at me, can she?

“Let’s hit the drive through on the way home,” Dad says as soon as we’re back in the truck. “I’m starving.”

I start the truck. We’re silent as I drive through town and pull into the first fast food parking lot I see. We order, and I find an empty spot to park so we can eat. The engine rumbles, and the cab fills with heat. I unwrap Dad’s food and hand it to him. The last thing either of us needs is another trip to the ER tonight.

“So, how’s school going?” he asks around a mouthful of fries.

“Good. I’m making friends, and I like all my classes.”

He nods and takes a drink of his soda. “Have you met with your guidance counselor yet?”

I refrain from groaning. “I have an appointment next week.” That’s not true, but I’ll make the appointment tomorrow, and Dad won’t know the difference.

“You’re running out of time, Grays.”

“I know, Dad.” When I got home from church on Sunday, I was in such a rotten mood, I refused to look at colleges with Dad. I knew he was disappointed, but he didn't push the issue. Guess my reprieve is over.

“And what’s with that girl I met?”

My stomach sinks at the mention of Isabelle. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have stopped talking about how great she is and how much I like her. But now? Now I’m not sure she even likes me anymore.

“We’re friends.” I shove several fries into my mouth, hoping he’ll drop the subject.

“I was thinking…” He swallows another bite of food. “Maybe we could drive up north this weekend. Find a campground somewhere and hang out. Do some fishing and hiking.”

I glance at his hand. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, should you be pitching tents and yanking on fishing poles?”

“You can do all that. I’m a better supervisor anyway.” He winks.

Getting away from everything and everyone for a couple of days does sound like fun, and I can’t remember the last time Dad and I did anything like camping. But I already sorta made plans. “Actually, my friend Vick is having a Labor Day party. He invited us.”

Dad raises a brow. “Us?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a big thing. His parents will be there. So will other parents and some of my friends.” I finish my cheeseburger, wad up the wrapper, and toss it in the bag. “You’re always telling me I need to socialize and make friends.” I pat his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you take your own advice?”

He grins and shakes his head. “You’re too smart for your own good, kid.”

I shove a few fries into my mouth and wash them down with a large gulp of soda.

“Is that what you want to do? Go to your friend’s house?”

I nod. I still don’t know if Isabelle will be there, but I don’t want to go away for the weekend and then find out I could have spent time with her. But then it hits me—I never even told her about the party. Vick asked me to, but every time I’ve talked to Isabelle, something more pressing comes up. Shoot. I’ll have to text her when I get home. Hopefully, she’ll answer me this time.

“Grayson?” Dad’s voice yanks me from my thoughts.

“Oh. Um. Yeah, I do. Vick’s a great guy. I have a feeling you’ll like his family.” Not that I’ve met them yet. They could turn out to be horrible.

“Okay, then we’ll go to your friend’s party,” Dad says.

We finish eating in silence. Dad pops a couple of his pain pills and swallows them with a mouthful of soda. After tossing our trash in the garbage can, I drive home. Dad’s asleep by the time I pull into the driveway. I gently shake him awake and watch him stumble out of the truck. Can he walk inside, or should I help him? He makes it to the front door without incident, and I follow him inside.

“Night,” he mumbles.

“Night, Dad.” But he’s already in his bedroom. I make sure the house is locked up and then retreat to my room. I send Isabelle another message, apologizing for earlier and telling her about Vick’s party. An hour later, I still don’t have a response from Isabelle. Dear God, please let Isabelle be okay.