Rumor Has It

Two | Ridgewood

Two | Ridgewood

My father was gone before I woke up, leaving scrambled eggs and a note in his absence. I dressed in my uniform quickly, pulling the skirt up my legs, and fixing the maroon tie.

Gazing in the mirror, I pinned my kinky hair into my usual messy bun. I was running a bit late, only having time to grab the money from the note and dash out the door. However, unlike any other school day, a deep blue battered truck occupied the curb in front of my house.

Now, the note my father left me did not indicate him sending a car for me. I knew he seemed to like the fact that I walked to school since he considered it to be exercising. And much to my displeasure, the window to the truck began to roll down revealing Reagan inside.

"C'mere," he said once I began to approach him. "I—um—didn't get your name yesterday."

"Then how did you know where I lived?" A logical question I'm glad I remembered to ask. However, in this small town, everyone almost knew everything about a person.

"Get in, I'll tell you on the way to school."

I stuffed my hands in my jacket pocket, watching him with a wary face. "But I don't know you."

He sighed in an aggressive manner. "You live down the street from me. Your face." He called out. "I remember your face."

Clearly, he was out of his element. Probably approaching me made him uncomfortable. "Fine." I obliged, pulling the door to his truck open. His whole body seemed to relax, every muscle uncoiling under his tight white thermal shirt.

He shifted gears immediately upon me getting inside. The truck emitted a loud cranking noise as it pulled away from the curb.

"Look, I knew you walked to school and I wanted to say thank you." He paused, clearing his throat. "Yunno, for yesterday."

"It's fine," I said, staring out the window. "I was just being—"

"Nice," he interjected accusingly. I wasn't sure if that was the right word to associate with what occurred between us yesterday. Because nice seemed too meaningless and unthoughtful.

An awkward silence fell over us, a hint of tension as well. It gave me time to look around. The interior of the truck appeared similar to the outside, with rips in the leather, dust and dirt coating every inch of it. Plain filthy & battered.

Reagan held the steering wheel with one hand extended, his face stoic.

"Today's the vigil for her." I heard him say softly. I realized then he had stopped the car and we were at the entrance of West Grove High. "I thought I could—"

He trailed off, shaking his head, glaring at the wheel. "Go inside, I'll see you tomorrow or something."

It came out as a command.

"You're not going to come?" I questioned, clutching the door handle. He remained silent. "Where are you going to go?"

"Somewhere," he answered. But he was becoming impatient. "Look, you're gonna be late—"

"Take me with you".

This had him twisting in his seat to face me. "What?"

"I want to go," I repeated. "I don't want to be here as much as you do."

He bit his lip, "Your dad is a fucking cop, what would he think if you skipped school?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. Because I didn't care about what my father thought or what he would think.