Becoming Brett

39. Autumn Leaves

Wes hasn't left the piano since we got home, a range of melodies ringing out from within the house. I've been reading the history channel subtitles in between finishing up some homework before everyone comes over to hang out.

My phone buzzes beside me, James' name on the screen and as I lean back into the couch to respond to him, movement in the driveway distracts me.

I'm surprised to see that it's Laurel's car. She's been MIA since Wes called me to pick him up. Going so far as to avoid us all at school.

Pocketing my phone and James' text I shove myself off the couch and say "Laurel's here" over the piano.

Wes tics his shoulder, it travels down the length of his arm, muscles tensing pulling his hand from the keys. He misses a note.

"I don't want to see her." He lets out a frustrated sigh beforehand.

I'm not surprised even though I think he should.

"Do you care if I go talk to her?" I ask.

He doesn't shift his focus from the piano before him. Shrugging his shoulders indifferently, he tics and then starts to play again.

I start for the door, having my answer when Wes mumbles out "do what you want".

I've come to the conclusion, that he's holding onto this so fiercely because I'm right and he does love Laurel. And being betrayed by someone you love cuts deep.

But I'm talking to her anyway.

So I step out of the house, meeting Laurel on the porch.

"Hey Laurel, Wes is playing." It's an excuse and we both know it is.

She scoffs, shaking her head before her blue eyes meet mine and she asks "Why is he so mad at me?".

There's a lot of things I'm sure Wes hasn't told Laurel. A lot of things that would have probably made her reconsider her actions that day with Sawyer. But that's Wes, trying to not bring attention to himself.

I have to give Laurel some reference, some context so she can draw her own answer.

"When we were like 11-12 Wes's Tourette's peaked I guess you'd say. So much so that his mom actually pulled him from school."

I remember it all vividly. How violent and constant they were. There were times when he had to wear a soft neck brace because the neck jerking was so constant. He even had a helmet for a minute when the head banging developed. His tics were near constant, interrupting him, pulling at him incessantly until he couldn't do much of anything.

It didn't help that during his increase in tics, his OCD started to become hindering. There was an incident in particular where Wes' sister Harper had gotten into a minor accident. No serious injuries but Wes pre accident didn't need to adjust the dials on a car, making sure each one was set appropriately. Somehow he had come up with a list of acceptable settings for each dial and so began post accident Wes. There was even a point where he wouldn't get in a car.

"Wes has worked really hard to redirect his violent tics so he could come back to school and..." I have to clear my throat because a memory of Wes floods my mind. Of watching Wes escalate into a fit, crying out in between tics how he hated it. "To control them in public."

"I don't understand." Laurel says.

So I tell her. I tell her Wes used to hit himself in the head far more frequently than he does now. He spent hours in therapy, working to cope with his OCD and redirect his tics to something less painful.

"So every time he touches his nose he actually wants to hit himself?" I can practically see the gears turning in her head, placing the information I've given her and connecting it to all the times she's seen Wes tic.

I shrug, I've always tried to not bring attention to anything related to his tic. "I guess I don't know for sure. I've never really asked if it just became its own tic or not."

She falls silent, her eyes shifting from me to the window that sits at the front of Wes' house. If she stepped a little to the side she could see him at the piano but she doesn't. Instead she stares at the window with a mix of emotions I can't quite place.

"Listen, I'm just saying, I get what you were trying to do. Sawyer's a jerk and it's not fair to Wes what he does. But Wes really hates tic-ing especially like that in public. People think he's on drugs or crazy. But it hurts him too, obviously hitting his head but the muscle jerks too."

Tic-ing has plenty of residual effects. Something I've learned that a lot of people don't know.

I think Laurel's caught the picture, that she gets why Wes is mad. But just incase I decide to lay it out, as gently as possible. "You kind of betrayed his trust, ya know? Manipulated him a little."

Tears instantly fill her eyes and she buries her head in her hands, her long hair shielding her face. "Oh my god I'm so awful."

The wind blows gently through the trees, shaking the little amount of leaves that remain until they tumble through the air to the ground. They're beautiful, orange and red hues blanketing the grass but like all beautiful things, they're fragile and only growing more so as they dry out only to become crumbs. My eyes track a particularly bright red leaf as it dances on the wind, landing at Laurel's feet as she cries and I realize this girl before me is an autumn leaf. And she's crumbling.

"You're not awful." I wrap my arms around her, her head buried in her hands in my chest.

"Yes I am." She mumbles through sobs.

But she's wrong, she's not awful. She stood up for someone she cared about, fearlessly. That's more than I can say. I can't stand up for anything. Not for my best friend. Not for a boy I love. Not even for myself.

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Alright here's your first clue toward book 3. What ya think?