Rejects | | a.u

2.8

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

10 days before

March 8th, 2015

  The question of “what are you going to do after high school?” has been nailed into my brain for as long as I can remember. My parents always thought so highly of Josh and I getting the highest level of education possible. There was no way in hell a nine year old could tell you what they planned on taking in university. Yeah, I could have told you I wanted to write stories about princess and princes falling in love and defeating the dragon. I could have very well said I wanted to be a famous dancer.

  My parents would have laughed at the second one.

  Sitting in a busy classroom with the question in front of me on the board isn’t making it any easier. I don’t know what I want to do for a living. If I could just write out my plan minus the whole schooling thing on the half of piece of loose-leaf in front of me it would sound something like this;

  Live a long happy life with the dingus named Luke beside me, waking up to him and a cup of hot chocolate every morning with the New York sunrise shining through the curtains. Maybe getting married in the small church down the street from Janet’s. Having kids whenever the time is right, having a decent paying job and waking up with a smile on my face. Having lame movie nights with Luke, Asami and Michael every Friday, babysitting my niece or nephew when Cassie and Ashton need sometime.

   I sigh as I balance my chin in the palm of my hand. Luke leans his head on my shoulder, causing me to look at him.

  “What are you gonna put?” he asks curiously.

  “Can I just write ‘be happy’?”

  “I don’t think that’s a major.”

  “It could be an elective.”

  “Maybe if you’re a carebear.”

  “Do they even have electives in college?”

  “I don’t have a sweet clue dear Beth.”

  “What do you wanna do?”

  “I wanna be a fireman.” He says in a childish voice.

  “No seriously, what do you want to do?”

  “Well, if the fireman thing doesn’t work out,” he pauses and laughs, I roll my eyes. “I want to study music or something. I kind of miss it. Maybe teach dysfunctional kids to play music.”

  “So a music teacher?”

  “Something like that. “

  I try to picture Luke as a music teacher. I can imagine him teaching a little boy, maybe six or seven how to play the chords by balancing him on his lap with the guitar sitting on his knee. I can picture it being his son. Luke’s wide smile and bright eyes, soft laughter and the strumming of guitar filling the room.

  “You’re thinking about something.”

  “No I’m not.” I lie.

  “Bethan, you never stop thinking.”

  “I know Luke, I know.” I smile.

-

  I kick my feet up on the coffee table and hold a bowl of grapes on my knee. Asami babbles on about something Michael said earlier and how she’s going to kill him someday. I try my hardest to listen but my mind keeps wandering to the thought of the anniversary of my parents and brothers death in ten days.