true. I mean, I thought life was pretty damn awesome before I got stuck with Bob. Chloe and I spent last summer on a calorie counting diet and both shed ten pounds, plus I got accepted to Harvard and really wanted to go. There's only one thing I'll regret but no one knows about it. Not even Chloe. Something I have to do before I die, if I get the chance.
The cafe is quiet. Chloe and I take a table outside in the shade and both order burgers with everything and fries . I even splurge on a chocolate milkshake. I stopped counting the calories after Bob moved in. Fitting into that bikini just doesn't seem so important anymore.
“Your Mom is going to flip out when she realizes you've gone again,” Chloe pulls a band aid out of her bag and sticks it on her knee.
“She'll get over it. She might as well start letting go now.”
“I don't think that's how it works. I think she just wants to spend as much time with you as she can.”
“I get that, I really do but she's smothering me. I don't want to spend my last few months with her hanging onto me like a toddler. You know those leashes they put on little kids so they don't run away? That's what it feels like she has on me and every day it gets shorter and shorter.”
Chloe shifts uncomfortably in her chair. I know she feels bad for my Mom and I do too but I can't do anything about dying and leaving her alone. That's just the way it's going to be. Somehow I'm the one who managed to pass right through the stages of grief with flying colors but she's stuck somewhere between denial and bargaining. As in, if I eat the crap she wants to feed me then maybe I'll be cured by the miracle of organic food. I'm pretty sure Bob has other ideas but if she thinks she can kill him with healthy food, I don't see why I can't drown him in fat. After all, fat is far worse. I'm sure he's not too keen on it clogging up his blood supply.
I have half the burger stuffed in my mouth when Chloe shoves me in the arm.
“Hey, watch it,” I say, as mayonnaise slides down my chin and onto my shirt.
“Look,” she whispers. “Over there.”
She points to a group of kids from our school that has just arrived. The boys are holding skateboards, the girls clutching their cell phones. They're the group everyone wants to be in. The ones who have all the cool parties that people talk about for weeks. Usually I just flatten myself against the lockers when they come down the hall. I'm so glad I won't have to do that anymore.
“You know,” I say, “I was so looking forward to Harvard. I'm pretty sure you don't have to be super athletic or fake beautiful to be in a cool group there.”
“That's not why I was pointing at them,” Chloe says under her breath. “It's Ethan, I swear he was totally checking you out.”
“Swim team Ethan?” I squint against the sun, trying to see.
“Yes. Hot, captain of the swim team Ethan was checking you out. I swear.”
I stare at the group, the people who've made my life a living hell for the last four years. I wonder if I'll get to hang around after I die and torture them by moving stuff around or writing on the walls in blood. That would be cool. Having cute Ethan check me out in front of everyone? Not so much.
“He wasn't checking me out.” I say. “He was probably just wondering if we were nearly finished so they could have this table.”
“You're probably right,” Chloe sighs. “But it really looked like he was staring at you.”
“Well he can stare all he wants. I don't care.”
But as Chloe goes back to her fries, I steal another glance. Ethan is sitting down on his skateboard, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a well-muscled back. I can just make out the jagged scar I know so well, the one I've seen every time I watched him compete at the pool. Rumor has it he got that scar when his foster Dad beat him with a broken beer bottle. Of course there are other rumors too but I don't believe any of them. Despite the group he hangs with, Ethan has never done
editor Elizabeth Benedict