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Chapter Part 31

Tyler Emery 

Charlie's dad pulled their van into the driveway, humming some old classic rock song under his breath and tapping on his steering wheel. I sat in the back, absolutely fuming as I pressed myself as close to the window as physically possible. Ric the Sicko sat beside me, fiddling with his phone and anxiously tugging at the sleeves of his hoody. I felt like I was getting punished, like Charlie was still annoyed from last night when I wriggled her toe while she was trying to sleep. It was like when you were in elementary school and had to go sit in the corner because you were caught eating paste or saying one of daddy and mommy's "special words," only my corner was a seat next to one of the grossest people on the planet Earth.

Mr. O'Brien turned the car off, and Charlie and Ric opened their doors simultaneously. I leapt over Ric's lap, springing like a bull frog out of the car, and landed in a roll on the cement of Charlotte's driveway, half-expecting to hear the skidding of my jeans against the cement or feel my hands burn with road rash, but I felt absolutely nothing. I was like a boy in a bubble. But the anger that was bubbling up inside me was one hundred percent real and as harmful as any road burn. I didn't trust Ric to treat Charlie like a human, let alone the way she deserved, and through his actions he had proven to me that I was completely right in my mistrust. I was already thinking Drew's name and beginning to build up the energy I would need if something did happen, and I needed to react quickly.

Charlie and Ric got out of the car, their actions much more sensible and unhurried, both of them shouldering their backpacks and immediately heading towards the house. I screamed at Charlie, begging her to see reason, to please listen to me for once, but she kept right on walking, ignoring me completely. Ric scurried after her like a puppy, letting the blind girl lead him into the house, and part of me considered just staying outside and letting it be, because she obviously didn't care for my presence right now. But I knew, no matter how annoyed I was at her, there was no way that I could let Charlie and the talking object out of my sight.

Earlier that day, Charlie and I had been sitting at the lunch table, me in an actual chair on her left, and she was trying to guess my birthday by listing the months, then waiting for me to tap her wrist once or twice. She had established that my birthday was in August, and was about to start listing numbers when Ric unceremoniously dropped into the seat on her other side. He had asked her who she was talking to, his bushy eyebrows pulled low in confusion, and she had stammered out that she was reciting rhymes for her chemistry test that day. She had dropped her wrist into her lap, and I had leaned back in response, leveling an angry glare at Ric for ruining our moment. Ric had called her a nerd, and they had gone back and forth like friends do, referencing old inside jokes and memories. I had stopped paying attention until I heard him ask if he could get a ride home with her today, because he had some stuff that he really wanted to discuss with her. That's when I had leaned forward, listening intently to get any clue about what they were going to talk about later, but only hearing a discussion about Ric's sister and a cross country player.

Now, I reluctantly trailed them into the house, hanging my head and shuffling my feet in the process. They dropped their bookbags next to the door and proceeded to the kitchen, Ric keeping a hand on Charlie's shoulder as if she didn't live here and know the place better than him, as if she was dependent on someone for guidance. For any other person looking in on the situation, it probably looked like just a gesture of friendship and camaraderie. Other people, like Charlotte's parents, probably saw Ric as a lovable dork that said some weird things sometimes, but who they genuinely liked and trusted around their daughter. I couldn't help wondering if maybe my anger at him was misplaced. Maybe I was jealous that he actually got to interact with Charlie on a daily basis, that her parents acknowledged him and joked around with him like a son, that he could touch Charlie for as long as he wanted to without the world going fuzzy and feeling like he was a dead battery. But one look at the way his hands were tightening on Charlotte's shoulders and how close he held her hardened my resolve and drove out any positive thoughts about him.