Regret List Read online

  I moved closer to Asher and wrapped my hand around his. “They won’t let us die?”

  He shook his head. “Keep following,” he said.

  And so we did. We followed the howls of the coyotes for what seemed like hours, but eventually, we saw lights and stumbled back into town, exhausted. We parted ways and ran for our homes and when I finally leapt up the stairs and threw open my door, I found my mom in the kitchen, talking on the phone. She glanced at me and quickly told the person on the other line, “Never mind, she’s here.” And then she went into what I like to call “harpy-mode.”

  It was a strange mixture of screaming, crying, and hugging me all at once. She was in this crazy whirlwind of emotions with me at the center, doing my best to stay grounded. I occasionally managed to get a word in edgewise, trying to explain what had happened, how I had got us lost. She was angry that Asher’s parents let us go out alone, angry that I had been so careless, angry that Asher hadn’t taken care of me, but none of that is what made her disapprove of our friendship.

  It was when I tried to explain to her about the coyote story, how I knew we were safe after that, that’s when things changed.

  “What do you mean, you knew you were safe?” she asked with suspicion creeping into her voice. “What do stories have to do with anything?”

  I sighed. I felt amazing after everything that happened. I was happy, exhilarated that we had made it home safe after our long adventure and I felt a kinship with Asher that I had never experienced before. “Coyote helped us get home, Mom. He watched over us, after he decided he had tricked us enough.”

  “God helped you get home, Paige.” There was danger in her voice then, but I ignored it.

  “No, it was coyote,” I insisted. “You don’t get it. Asher’s the only one who understands because he was there. He’s the one that reminded me about coyote.”

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t the nicest thing to say after I scared my mom half to death, but I was angry that she wouldn’t believe me, didn’t understand what I had felt out there in the desert. Since my dad died, we had been going to church more often and I never felt God’s presence there, like my mom did. This was my first experience with actually believing there was a higher power looking out for me - and it wasn’t God.

  “Asher understands more than you ever will.” I was on a roll. “God never did anything for me. Coyote saved me and I know it.” I stormed off to my room without giving my mom a chance to reply, giving my door a hearty slam. It all seems so childish now, but well, I was a kid. After that, she started enrolling me in all kinds of stupid activities. Ballet, gymnastics, pottery, piano, soccer, everything. It wasn’t until I complained that I never had time to hang out with Asher that I realized what was going on. When I refused to go to any more after-school classes, she started trying to get me to invite my friends from school over.

  After a few weeks of that, I snapped. “Why won’t you let me hang out with Asher?” I yelled, in full-on tantrum mode.

  She sighed, playing the cool-and-collected mom. “I don’t mind if you play with Asher,” she replied. “I just want you to make other friends as well. It’s not good for you to pour all your time into just one person. What happens if he moves away or makes other friends?”

  The thought of Asher abandoning me drove me into a further rage. “You just hate him. You don’t want me to be happy.”

  She looked up at the ceiling, probably counting to ten in her head. “I don’t hate him, Paige. I just think you need to take some time apart.”

  “I knew it!” I jumped up from the table where we had been sitting, eating dinner. “You can’t tell me who my friends are. I don’t care what you think.”

  “Is this a romantic thing?” She sounded completely exasperated.

  I glared at her. Does it matter, I finger-spelled, then turned and ran for my room, slamming the door hard enough that it wedged itself halfway into my room and my mom had to yank it back into place so I could leave again. In the end, she didn’t dictate who I could hang out with and I just stopped telling her about Asher. That was around the time that we stopped really talking about life. So, that’s why I didn’t tell her about the book Asher and I were planning to write.

  On the first Friday of high school, Regret #2 was set into motion. Sammy and Kandice had approached our counter-half, the boy group, earlier in the day and invited them to eat lunch with us. To my surprise, Grace was even more apprehensive about it than I was. I ended up having to practically drag her to lunch, which honestly wasn’t all that difficult. She looked even skinnier and sicklier than when I first saw her on Monday.

  Sammy was giddy with excitement when we finally arrived. The boys hadn’t shown up yet and she was looking in a little mirror, frantically applying make-up. Kandice had even put away her phone for once and was combing through her hair with her fingers. “There you are,” she said in irritation when she saw us. “You better get ready. The boys will be here any minute.”

  Grace and I grimaced at each other and honestly, I thought she looked slightly panicked. “I don’t have any makeup or anything to put on,” she said in almost a whisper.

  I rolled my eyes. “You don’t need anything. You look awesome, Grace.”

  She gave me a slight smile. “Yeah, right.”

  I pulled her down next to me and forced a sandwich into her hand. “Eat. You need food.”

  She shook her head and handed it back. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”

  I didn’t get a chance to refute her, because at that moment, the boys arrived. I glanced over their faces and my gaze rested on one, the only one wearing glasses, as the pieces fell into place. I shot to my feet. “You!” I shouted, looking into the face of Jason Stromsen. “You’re Jason?”

  He looked horrified as he recognized me and brought his hands up defensively, waving them at me. “No, wait!” he protested.

  “You tried to fix me up with him?” I knew all the boys and girls from both groups (along with probably everyone else in the hall) were staring at me. “I would never-“ I spluttered.

  Kandice elbowed me hard in the side, stopping my rant. “Would you shut it?” she hissed.

  “I am so sorry,” Jason managed to get in, speaking quickly. “I swear I wasn’t laughing at your friend. I was laughing at the teacher and it totally came out wrong.”

  I turned away, but it was enough to give me pause.

  “Well, uh, do you want to sit down?” Sammy asked the boys, laughing awkwardly. They did so, giving me a wide berth, except for Jason.

  “I wanted to talk to you sooner,” he explained. “I felt horrible about it all, but I’m not very good at talking to girls. Look, if you don’t want to go out with me, I totally understand.”

  I finally turned back to face him and sat down, arms crossed. He sank down across from me, looking terrified. Sighing, I shook my head. “I accept your apology, but I do not agree to go out with you.” His face fell and I realized how it would look – being the one guy to get turned down in his group. That wasn’t enough to change my mind, however. “I’ll still hang out with you guys, but we are not together together. And if I hear any rumors that we are going out, I won’t even do that.”

  He nodded quickly. “It’s okay. That’s fine.”

  Content that we had gotten that out of the way, I really looked at him for the first time. It’s true – he was cute, just like Sammy assured me. I had to give him that. His hair was darker than Asher’s and he had the faintest speckling of freckles across his nose. I wondered for a moment how I got matched up with him, anyway. Was he the leftover? Did we get matched up because we both wore glasses? Or did my friends honestly think we were a good match?

  Whatever the reason, I decided to make the best of it and half-heartedly tried to make small-talk with him while the minutes until the end of lunch slowly ticked away. I don’t even remember what we talked about. Classes probably. The only part I remember clearly is at the end of lunch, after the bell rang.

  “Hey, so we�
��re going bowling this weekend if you girls want to come,” one of the other boys said as we all picked up our backpacks and packed up our lunches. Everyone already knew the answer except for my response, so they all looked at me. I swung my bag over my shoulder and rubbed my forehead.

  “Yeah, sure,” I finally said, catching Jason’s smile as I turned away. “I’ll go.”

  At that point in time, I had no intention of ever really going out with Jason. Group dates (and I use the word date loosely) were one thing. Actually being his girlfriend? No way. Never. Except, I didn’t know the whole story yet. There was one little fact I learned during that bowling date that changed everything – something that completely changed the situation.

  Saturday night, Sammy’s mom picked us all up and drove us to the bowling alley. The car was cramped and I was smashed up against the door in the backseat, next to Grace. She was biting her fingernails until I swatted them out of her mouth.

  “Calm down,” I chided. “This is not a big deal.”

  She looked at me in disbelief. “Aren’t you nervous?” she asked.

  Kandice, who was sitting on her other side, elbowed her hard. “Shut up,” she hissed. “As far as Sammy’s mom knows, it’s just the four of us.”

  I had never met Sammy’s mom before, but she intimidated me. She was one of those very perfectly dressed, prim-and-proper women with deep red lipstick and lots of jewelry that clinked when she moved around. I could imagine how she would disapprove of a bunch of fourteen-year-olds going on a group date and I slunk down in my seat a little. Fortunately for us, she seemed to be paying more attention to her cell phone than our conversation.

  When we were dropped off at the bowling alley, I glanced around at the other girls, feeling self-conscious. They all seemed awfully dressed up to be going bowling and I looked disdainfully down at my own hoodie and jeans. I was a little glad Kandice had interrupted Grace in the car, because I didn’t want to admit that I was nervous. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing between Jason and me, but still. It was my first kind-of date and I was beginning to worry that I might be the ugly one of the group.

  I slunk in behind my friends as we walked into the alley and they spotted the boys, already changing their shoes. Sammy and Kandice immediately plopped down next to their dates, but Grace and I hung back, exchanging an anxious glance. I think I was almost more nervous for her than for myself. I had a creepy feeling about the guy she had been paired up with. He just seemed off. He was lanky, talked a little too loudly, and had a tendency to wear sunglasses all the time, even in a bowling alley at night. There’s just something I don’t trust about a guy who I can’t make eye contact with. For a moment, I was glad that I had been matched up with Jason, instead of this other guy.

  I urged Grace forward, then approached Jason. “Hello,” I said coldly.

  “Hey!” He grinned up at me and tilted his head toward the counter. “Go get your shoes. I’ll start entering in names.”

  When we returned from paying and getting our shoes, I noticed that he had spelled my name wrong up on the monitor. P-A-G-E. I thought of Asher and smiled a little, then forced him out of my mind in order to get through the night.

  “So how did you four meet?” I asked Jason as we waited for our turn.

  “I met Robert and Matt back in elementary school.” He gestured toward Sammy and Kandice’s dates. “I was really messed up back then and those two were the only ones who could calm me down and keep me out of trouble. We met Patrick only a couple years ago when he moved up from California.” He pointed at Grace’s date, who had enveloped her tiny frame in his arm and pulled her up close against him. She was looking down at her lap, her expression terrified. Looking at her like that, I wanted to go over to her, to do or say something, but Jason tugged on my arm. “C’mon Paige, we’re up.”

  They had set up the game so it was boys against girls and so far, the girls were losing terribly. I’m not a great bowler, but at least I could knock down more than three pins, which was all Jason managed. As I walked back to my seat, Kandice bumped my shoulder as she got up to take her turn. “Really, Paige?” she whispered.

  I looked at her, confused for a moment, before she rolled her eyes and floundered up with her ball, hauling it at the pins and almost immediately getting a gutter ball. I narrowed my eyes as I returned to my seat. They were deliberately losing against the boys. Frustrated, I sank back down in the hard plastic seat.

  “So how’d you four meet?” Jason asked.

  “School, I guess,” I said, thinking back. There was no resounding moment when we became friends, like there was with Asher. “Grace sat next to me in third grade and she was the only one I recognized at lunchtime, so I sat next to her. She was already friends with Sammy. Then Kandice joined our class a couple years later and we adopted her into our group. And here we are.” I shrugged.

  It was our turn again and I bowled a split, but managed to knock down all but one. There was no way we were winning, but there was also no way I was going to look pathetic, like the rest of the girls. I looked around at them. Sammy was playfully trying to shove Robert out of his seat. Kandice had her phone out and was entering in Matt’s number. Grace was slouching down in her seat, still looking uncomfortable.

  That’s when I decided to leave. It wasn’t Jason – he was bearable – or my exasperation at the other girls’ sudden inability to bowl. It was Grace. That Patrick guy just kept holding her closer against her clear desire to get away from him, leaning over and kissing the top of her head as her body stiffened. I had become better at reading people’s body language over the years and her eyes were begging someone, anyone, to rescue her.

  I opened my mouth to make an excuse for us to leave when Jason spoke first. “I like your hair.”

  “Wait, what?” I furrowed my brow, my concentration interrupted.

  He flushed. “I’m sorry. I just, your hair is so fiery-red.”

  I felt my own cheeks grow warm and I turned away. This was weird. Was he still trying to win me over? “Do you have any siblings?” I asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

  “No. It’s just me and my dad,” he mumbled, seeming to realize how awkward he had made the situation.

  Still flustered, I wasn’t thinking straight. “What about your mom?” The moment the words left my mouth, I winced and remembered Sammy had mentioned that one of his parents had died. How could I, of all people, forget something like that?

  He shook his head. “My mom died back when I was a little kid.”

  Those words made me feel the slightest bit of an attachment to him. Maybe Sammy wasn’t crazy for pairing us up. I’ll let you in on something: I sometimes feel like my dad dying has made me doubly lonely. I mean, not only has he never been around to see me grow up, but I sometimes feel like no one my age really knows what it’s like. Sure, some of them have divorced parents, or a dad who skipped out on them, but it seems different somehow. I don’t have a chance to try and track him down, have one last conversation with him, or feel his arms around me. I can’t even think about him without a thousand what-ifs flying through my head. Sorry. I’ll get back to the conversation.

  “I’m sorry.” I made a face. “I- I know how it is.” This was the first time I ever volunteered that information. Usually, I waited until the inevitable, “Hey, how come I’ve never met your dad” question, then admitted that he had died when I was much younger. None of my friends knew the whole story, not even Asher. Fortunately, saying that he was dead was a bit of a conversation killer.

  “Really?” His eyes brightened a little. “Your mom?”

  I shook my head. “My dad. It happened when I was much younger. I don’t even really remember him.” I know that makes it sound like it happened much longer ago than it really did, but hey, I wasn’t lying and I’ve learned over the years that for whatever reason, making it sound like I was just a baby makes people feel more at ease. Even though I felt more comfortable telling Jason about it, I still wasn’t letting go of
all my defenses.

  But for some reason, Jason didn’t act like everyone else. His forehead crinkled. “You don’t have any memories of him at all?” I shook my head. “That sucks, Paige. That really sucks. Do you know how he died?”

  This really wasn’t like any other conversation I had ever had. Normally it took years of knowing someone before they would ask that question. Still, I gave him the answer I gave everyone. “He killed himself,” I said. “Pills.” That stopped any further questions, even with Jason. “What about your mom?”

  He grimaced, seeming a little taken aback at my abrupt answer. “I was sick that day, so I stayed home from school. I was whining about being bored, so she took me for a walk around the neighborhood. I remember her hand was suddenly ripped away from mine and I saw a car on the sidewalk. I didn’t understand what had happened and I couldn’t find her anywhere. Turns out she was under the car, dead on impact.” He met my eyes and I could still see the anger burning. “What kind of idiot gets drunk at 10 in the morning and drives 40mph through a neighborhood?”

  My heart was racing and I felt physically sick, like I might throw up. No, no, no. How could I have forgotten the kid, the little eight-year-old boy who had his mother taken from him? This wasn’t a big town. We only had one high school. Of course I would run into him eventually. How did I keep over-looking these things? I was terrified that he knew already, knew I was the one responsible. Now, you might be saying, “Oh Paige, you aren’t responsible for what your dad did,” which is what I had been telling myself for seven years, but no matter what your brain tells you is true, the heart usually wins the argument.

  My heart began a little chant the day my dad died, which said: How could you have let this happen? What could you have done to stop this? Shouldn’t you have known it would end up this way? It didn’t matter that I was just a little kid and it didn’t matter that there was no way I could have known or had any way to stop it; there was no escaping the guilt. That’s what I mean, when I said that the what-ifs took over when I thought about him. He was in my blood, he created me. I should have been enough to stop him.