Free Claire's Song by Ashley King Page A

asks again.
                I shake my head.
                “Fine. Just don’t let anyone get close enough to him to smell that reeking breath. Let’s get out of here,” she waves us to our cars and I can almost see her shiver at what we’ve stepped into.
                Ryder stumbles and falters to my car, all the while not looking at me. He slides inside and he looks so natural there in that spot that Jamie held all those years.
                “I’m not drunk,” he says, his elbow propped on his knee.
                “Whatever, Ryder. We don’t even have to talk,” I mumble. Despite the anger, I can’t get the image of his mom out of my brain. She looked like a white trash skeleton and I didn’t miss the way Ryder called her Shelly instead of Mom. As we pull out of the trailer park, I sneak a look at him. His cuts are horrible and are more like gashes. Maybe he needs stitches? 
                We don't speak until we pull into the school parking lot. The entire drive I've stressed out about his bleeding gashes, knowing full well he didn't crash into a glass table. My stomach churns as I think the worse and deep in my gut I know his mother is responsible. She didn't even look human. And she was amped. Majorly. I don't do drugs but even I could tell that.
                Mrs. Weathersby rushes to the car to help Ryder get out. He's more in control of his faculties now and I wonder if the ride actually sobered him up a little. He finally looks at me and his eyes are a little clearer.
                "We’ll take him in the side door," Mrs. Weathersby directs as she digs in her purse. She finds a tissue and hands it over to Ryder who just looks confused. With a huff, I take it out of his hands and immediately start wiping at the blood as we walk.
                "I like your tattoo," he says.
                I freeze, my mind instantly going to Jamie. I got the tattoo on the week anniversary of his death. I needed some way to keep him with me forever. I wanted to be able to tell my future husband, my kids about him. But most importantly, I wanted a piece of him with me always. Just looking at my wrist can make me feel a little better although lately I've been ignoring those initials, because rather than the sweet reminder it was intended to be, Lindy has turned it into guilt and nasty nicknames. But now Ryder is focusing on it and Mrs. Weathersby has even stopped, her head turned to the side to examine the cursive letters.
                "For Jamie?" she barely whispers.
                I nod. Ryder reaches out and touches the letters, softly tracing their curves and scrolls, his eyes on me and then back on my wrist. His path leaves warmth and gives me stupid butterflies. Once his hand drops we continue walking and I keep dabbing the blood on his forehead, trying to hide how affected I am by his touch.
                "You're really pretty, too, you know that right, Claire?"
                Mrs. Weathersby laughs and then takes Ryder by the shoulders, "Okay, I think that's my cue to get him to the counselor's office before he embarrasses himself more than he already has. Thank you so much Claire. You're a really good friend to him."
                Ryder turns around as he's being led away; the look in his eyes shreds my heart. I want to go after him, but I don't. I never do. Instead, I carry the bloody tissue with me into the school, ready to face more of the same.
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    RYDER
     
                My head is starting to clear. Having Claire and Mrs. Weathersby show up at my crappy trailer really killed my buzz. Everything feels heavier now, especially sitting in the counselor's office. I know I was a jerk to Claire. I saw the hurt in her eyes. Good. Maybe she'll stay away now. Then I think of the stupid mess I said to her. I've always noticed her