A Graveyard of Stars

Chapter Nine

HAPPY HALLOWS EVE MWAHAHAHA

--

"Gee, don't have an aneurysm," Craig mumbles, looking out the car window as he holds a damp napkin against his jaw.

I'm sitting next to him in the back seat clutching my stomach as I laugh so hard I can hardly breathe.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry. Abigail slapping that guy with her bag of cotton candy is on like, repeat in my brain," I choke out while wiping tears off my cheeks.

"What about when you jumped that guy?" Will chuckles from the driver seat.

After Craig punched Goon Number One, cracked his nose and caused it to gush crimson, Hades rose from beneath us. The tall jock and the short one came to defend their buddy. After Craig was knocked in the jaw by Goon Number One, I jumped the boy from behind with a death grip. I don't know what I was doing, honestly. I had no plan. But I do remember that out of my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of Abigail going complete ape shit on the tall jock, aka Goon Number Two, with her bag of cotton candy. He was so confused he had no choice but to take it.

Abigail's cotton candy was dropped and ruined during the assault, unfortunately.

RIP cotton candy.

It wasn't long before security was notified and we were all being excoriated out of the carnival. I'm not exactly sure what happened to Goon Number Three, because he was nowhere to be found. Frankly, I don't care where he went. Many people stopped and had their phones out, recording the scene, which is why I plan to become a YouTube sensation soon.

We're now driving down the road in Wills' Mustang, tending to Craig's bruised jaw.

"I've never been in a fight before, but I gotta tell you, it feels good fighting on the side of justice," Abigail tells us, glancing back at me with a contagious grin. "They owe me a bag of cotton candy though."

"Whose napkin idea was this? It's not working," Craig whines.

Retrieving a dry napkin I had sitting on my lap but had floated to the floor due to the breeze from the cracked window, I dampen it with the bottle of water sitting next to me.

"Quit your bitchin'," I tell him and he reluctantly takes the freshly damp napkin. "Can you believe that guy thought he was being funny?" I say, still astonished by the smirk on the kids face when he brought up Connor. There's a fire boiling in my stomach as I think about it.

"I can't believe people that heartless actually exist," Abigail admits, getting comfortable in her seat. I see Will give her a sideways glance before staring at the road again. Is he amazed by her amount of naiveté?

"Well, they do. There are millions of them," I tell her.

"Yeah. Those guys are....asswipes," Craig mutters. He throws the damp napkin down to replace it with the water bottle itself.

I push my hair out of my face and turn over the events of the night in my mind. Surprisingly enough, I'm glad Abigail suggested going and I'm glad I pushed myself to come. I wouldn't even change getting kicked out at the end. Beating the tar out of a few callous guys was a good stress reliever.

The breeze is soft on my skin as it ruffles my hair. It travels and swirls through the car, causing a relaxing breeze. Looking around, a sudden appreciation for the other passengers rushes over me. The girl with the ebullient personality and contagious smile that reminds me of a boy I used to know. The damaged guy sitting next to me who has lost far too much far too young. The good looking guy in the driver's seat who keeps glancing at me through the rear view mirror.

I guess I forgot what it feels like to have people actually tolerate me. It feels pretty damn good. Hopefully I don't screw it up, this whole friend thing.

And just like that, it hits me. That these people are, in fact, my friends. I've been referring to them as that all night but it's only just sunk in. As lame as it sounds, I can't remember the last time I was this happy. I wouldn't mind being in this car with this small group of people every day. And someday, sometime, when I'm knocking on deaths door, aren't these people and these memories going to be what really count? Maybe Connor was wrong. Maybe I've found somebody willing to try to understand me.

Maybe the going will finally stop being so tough.

•••

My Mother used to collect puzzles.

Not only the jigsaw kind though. I mean all kinds, like sudoku, crosswords, word searches, mazes. Anything that she could solve. That's what she loved. Whenever my Dad would leave on business trips, he'd always come home with a new puzzle for her. Something she'd love, because she could always solve them.

That stopped when he died. She hasn't bought a puzzle since and all the ones she already had disappeared. I don't know what she did with them. My Mom forgot about solving puzzles, and I'm beginning to think it's because she feels like she can't solve the biggest puzzle of them all: her life.

When Will drops me off a little after ten, she's exactly where I expect her to be. Quietly, I peak into the study. Every time I would do this to my Dad, he'd always catch me. Than he'd let me sit on his lap and we'd play computer games until dinner.

The study isn't a big room. All that's in it is a desk and a bookshelf. The only thing missing is the crisp smell of the cologne my Dad wore, which lingered a few weeks after he died. Sometimes, back when his smell was still fresh and my Mom wasn't home, I'd go in there just to close my eyes and pretend that nothing had changed. It was only a mirage though. It wasn't real. It was a lie I tricked myself into believing.

Since my Dad's death, my Mom has practically lived in the study. Working her ass off to a) avoid me, and b) not think about Dad. Tonight was no different. She's in there, typing a hundred words per minute like all the computers are going to disappear overnight.

How do you save someone who doesn't want to be saved? It's a question I reserved mainly for Connor, but it's time I realize he's not the only one who wore an excellent poker face. My Mom does as well, and even though she refuses to surrender, she's running out of cards. Soon, she's going to have to chuck it in.

I hope.