Finding Ford

chapter two

"Oh, and they come unstuck." -Riptide, Vance Joy

THERE ARE SMALL TOWNS, AND THEN THERE ARE towns that shouldn't even be classified as towns. Cailbridge is very much the second one; a deadbeat, pointless dot on the map that people may pass by on the way to their cottage and wonder, who the hell actually lives here?

The six hundred people making up Cailbridge, I guess. There's Northside and there's Southside, and although there really shouldn't be much of a difference, there really is. Northside- where I come from- is still small, but at least has some people living in it. There are neighbourhoods, most plazas are there, and the movie theatre is too. Southside, however, where James and Ford come from, where houses are spread out far and wide, roads are practically unmanageable and the closest store is a corner store, ten minutes of a drive away.

I don't go to Southside often- no one does unless they live there- but the one time I had to had ended up in me running out of gas. I had been parked outside a house, completely unable to even start the car, when the one and only Ford Wilson had come out of his house, a laugh on his lips and a container of gas in the other. I didn't ask many questions- just thanked him repeatedly, listened as he explained that I wasn't the first one to come around with a broken down car, and then I had left.

Ford and I don't really talk about that day. It's never really come up in any of our conversations- not that we have many conversations- and I've never really gotten around to telling anyone about it. So it's kind of always just stayed between Ford and I. Every time we see each other in the halls, we might smile to each other, and I'll see the amused grin on his face when he came running out of the house, and he'll probably see my blonde hair tied up in a messy ponytail and the coffee that I had ended up placing on the roof of my car as he filled my car, but we'd just continue smiling and walk away without a single word.

Today was supposed to be like that. Everything has been the same- almost routine- between us since freshman year. When we pass each other in the hall at the end of the day as the school rush is high to get home, I smile as him, as usually. But Ford doesn't smile back. His expression is panicked- almost desperate- as he shoves people aside to get to me, his big hand reaching for my arm to wrap around it and getting me to stop.

"Hey, Wilson," I say, not bothering to hide the confusion in my voice. "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you," he says.

Upon the realization that we're blocking people's ways, I pull Ford into the emptying science room, ignoring the weird looks some of the students shoot our way. Once we're alone, I turn to Ford, taking in Ford and his white sweater, dark hair and grey eyes. "What is it?" I ask, feeling slight anxiety build up from the slightly panicked look on Ford's face.

"You took wood shop last year, right?"

I give him a weird look. "Sure, yeah. Why?"

Ford's voice drops to a whisper even though we're the only ones in the room. "I need your help." He heaves a deep breath and launches into speech, "I have this project due, well, tomorrow, and I'm not even close to finished. Mr. Stevens says I can stay, as long as I have someone who can stay with me and help with the equipment, who, obviously, knows what they're doing. The half of the class that I actually can stand are busy, and the other half makes me want to vomit."

I blink. "What?"

"Will you stay with me while I finish my project in the wood shop room? You're the only other person I know who I can stand and has done wood shop. Plus, Mr. Stevens loves you, so he might improve my mark. Who knows. Point is, if I don't have this done for tomorrow, I get a zero, and it's kind of worth twenty percent of my mark."