It’s during orchestra after lunch, when I’m surrounded by some of my favorite people who all share my greatest passion, that I realize what I want to do with my life. Music has always made me happy. It’s always been my biggest love—aside from Spencer—and it’s always been a great escape for me. I don’t know why I’ve never considered it as a career path, but the moment I think about possibly going to a musical college, I know I won’t be happy with anything else.
The rest of the day goes by slowly because I’m anxious to tell my idea to my guidance counselor. She’s been so worried about me since Spencer’s accident, and so patient with me, that I want to share the good news with her. I want her to see that I’m starting to get better, to really heal.
I ask Mr. Thatcher if I can cut out of class ten minutes early so that I can go see my guidance counselor. He writes me a pass without questioning me at all. When I get to the office ten minutes before the last bell, I greet Mrs. Rutherford with a smile that startles her. She quickly finds her own smile, though, and takes the pass in my hand. “Well, hello, Bailey. What can I do for you, sweetie?”
“Is Mrs. Schneider available?”
“I’m here!” Mrs. Schneider calls from her open office door. “Come on in!”
Mrs. Schneider is sitting at her desk filling out some kind of paperwork. I knock on the open door, and she looks up to greet me with a smile. “I thought you might stop by today.”
She gestures to one of the chairs in front of her desk and explains as I take a seat. “I got a call from the hospital asking if I had another student to place in the internship program because you’d quit.”
It’s not a question, but she’s waiting for an answer. Her smile is glued in place, but it looks brittle, like she’s trying not to let me see how disappointed she is.
“Yeah, I did.” I hand her my signed form. “My hours were complete, and as much as I appreciate you giving me the opportunity, the hospital just isn’t the right place for me.”
I hold up my hand to stop her when she tries to start lecturing me. “I know why you did it, Mrs. Schneider. I understand that I needed a push. I know I’ve been a living zombie for the last year.” She frowns at my terminology but doesn’t interrupt me. “You did the right thing. Sending me there helped me see that I need to be more active again. I’m not giving up; that just wasn’t the right activity for me. That internship should go to someone who would genuinely like to pursue the medical field.”
She watches me a moment, as if trying to decide the best way to proceed with me. Finally, she nods. “Okay. I can respect that. If you don’t enjoy the hospital, you shouldn’t have to continue on. But I worry about you not having any other activities planned. I know you’re only a junior now, but you really should start thinking about the future. I think having a goal to work toward and getting involved with something—anything—will help you get past the depression you’ve been struggling with.”
I nod. “I think so, too, and I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do. I was thinking I’d really love to major in music. I love the violin so much, and I’m really good at it. I know I might be a little behind with my grades and extra activities and stuff, but do you think there’s a chance I could still go to The Berkeley School of Music or something like that?”
To her credit, Mrs. Schneider tries to hide her shock. She really does. But she’s too excited by my change of heart to mask it completely. “Oh, Bailey! I think that would be a wonderful idea! Why don’t you let me do some research? I’ll look into a few possible schools and their requirements, and then we can sit down and take a look at your situation, and we’ll make a plan.”
Her enthusiasm is a little embarrassing, and I’m relieved when the bell sounds, signaling the end of the school day and giving me an excuse to leave. I offer her a tentative smile as I rise to my feet. “Thanks, Mrs. Schneider. A plan would be nice.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She’s still beaming as I exit her office. In fact, she gets up and watches me from the doorway as I leave the front office and head back out into the main hallway.
Julia is waiting for me at our car, like always, but I blink twice, certain I’m seeing things when I recognize the person waiting with her. She and Wes are chatting like they’re old friends. Well, Julia is chatting away. Wes is standing there listening to her prattle on with an amused smirk that suggests he thinks she’s as crazy as me but in a normal fourteen-year-old girl way and not a certified lunatic way.
“Hey, girl. How’d it go with the counselor?”
I turn to Charlotte. “Good, I guess. She’s going to help me look into music schools.”
“Awesome.” She nods her head toward my car. “What’s Wes doing here? I thought you said you guys had a huge falling out.”
“We did.” I shake my head, unable to fathom his sudden appearance.
We share a glance and then make our way to my car together. Wes stands up straight when he sees us approach. He looks nervous, and it puts me on edge. I don’t know what to say, so I wait for him to speak. His skateboard is leaning against the grill of my car, and he grabs both straps of the backpack on his back. He looks as wary as me when he softly says, “Can we talk?”
An array of emotions bombards me. I’m angry. I’m scared. I feel sorry and guilty. I’m heartsick. And I’m hopeful. That’s the one that startles me. I’d told myself I was finished with him, but the second I saw him, my heart started to race. The softness and sincerity in his voice creates a longing in me that is impossible to ignore. Why does he do this to me? How does he have so much control over me? I love it and I hate it at the same time.
“Is it just going to be another fight?” I ask, struggling to sound calm and confident even though I’m anything but.
His brow creases, and he lifts a shoulder into a shrug. “I hope not.”
I want to say no. I’m tired of this game. Tired of hurting because of him. But I know I’m going to hear him out—whatever is on his mind.
“Ride home with me today?” Charlotte asks Julia.
My sister is eager to accept, and for once it’s not because Charlotte is older and popular and has a fancy car. They both give me small good luck smiles and disappear, leaving Wes and me alone.
Awkwardness fills the air around us. It’s stifling despite the cool fall breeze nipping at our noses. “Are you going to the hospital?” I ask, grasping for any way to push us into motion so we aren’t just standing there staring at each other. When he nods, I gesture toward the car. “Hop in. I’ll drive you.”
Wes sags in relief at my indirect acceptance of our coming conversation and heads for the passenger door. As I fish for my keys, Trisha walks past us with Liz, Jake, and Chase. She scoffs loudly as she passes by on Wes’s side of the car. “Good to see you, Wes.”
She doesn’t sound like she’s happy at all, but Wes mutters a semi-polite “Hey” anyway.
She turns a cruel smirk in my direction. “Want to tell me again that there’s nothing going on between you?”
I open my mouth to deny it, same as always, but Wes snaps at her before I can. “What business is it of yours if there is?”
Trisha rears back, snapping her mouth shut. I’m as taken aback as she is. What did he mean by that? Why didn’t he just tell her the truth? That there is nothing going on between us, and there never was.
The rest of my old friends watch on with shock and fascination. They don’t care if Wes and I are together. Liz and Jake are just interested in witnessing the drama and having new, juicy gossip to spread around. Only Chase looks upset, and his frown is one of disappointment, not anger. I don’t know what Trisha’s problem is.
Trisha recovers from her surprise and sneers in disgust. “I saw you guys together in Jake’s parents’ room the night Spencer died. I saw—”
“You saw me kiss Bailey. I kissed her. It was one kiss that she immediately told Spencer about. Spencer forgave her that night. He never even blamed her. It’s my fault Spencer died. Not Bailey’s. She loved Spencer and would never have hurt him on purpose.”
He takes a breath as if finished with his rant but then rakes his hands over his head and shouts, “Why do you even care? You didn’t even like Spencer!”
“I—”
“Just back the hell off, Trisha; stop spreading lies about us, and stay the hell out of our business!”
Wes’s outburst throws the entire student parking lot into silence. Stunned just doesn’t seem to cover it. Once Trisha breaks out of her stupor, she glances around, taking note of all the kids now gaping our direction. Her face flushes from humiliation. She has no argument, so she settles for glaring at us both and stomps off with a haughty huff.
Wes shakes his head and mutters a single word under his breath as he opens his door. I don’t hear it, but I bet I can guess it. It’s probably the same word that runs through my head every time I have to deal with her.
He’s still glaring at Trisha as we exit the parking lot. She’s resorted to pacing back and forth in front of her car, ranting to Liz with wild hand gestures. “I seriously can’t stand her,” he grumbles.
I suppress a smile. I’ve never really liked her much, either. I’m not sure why I stayed friends with her for so long. It’s actually kind of nice to be on the outs with her. Lunch with my orchestra friends had been a fun, refreshing change of pace that I’ve decided to make a permanent arrangement. Wes is seething right now, but I just can’t seem to drum up any anger. I guess I’m really over Trisha and her clique. That’s a freeing realization.
Wes asked if we could talk, but the drive to the hospital is silent. I know his shift for the internship doesn’t start for half an hour, and since hearing his rant to Trisha, there’s something I really need to get off my chest, so I park instead of dropping him off. I’d rather not be trapped in the car—there’s so much tension between us that it’s starting to feel claustrophobic—so I kill the engine and get out. The fresh air is an immediate relief.
Wes catches up to me when I wander over to what I’m starting to consider our bench.
“Wes—”
“Bailey—”
We don’t laugh when we start at the same time, but the tension does ease a little. I don’t give him the chance to speak first. I need to say something. “It wasn’t your fault, Wes.” He scowls, but I ignore it. “He asked me to drive him home that night,” I blurt suddenly. “He tried to give me the keys.”
It’s a secret I’ve been carrying for a year. The single biggest regret of my entire life. I could have prevented Spencer’s accident. I could have saved his life without ever knowing it was in danger. He could still be here.
“Why didn’t you?” Wes asks softly. There’s no accusation in his voice, but I feel the guilt all the same.
“I wasn’t sixteen yet. I didn’t have a license, didn’t know how to drive. I’d never even been behind the wheel of a car before. I was scared. I was going to call someone to come get us, but Spencer said his parents would kill him for getting drunk. When he said never mind and started to climb into the driver’s seat, I told him I wasn’t going to get in the car with him. I thought that would make him stop, but he was still mad because of the kiss, and he took off anyway. I should have just driven him home. I should have taken his keys when he offered them to me.”
I cut myself off when a sob bubbles up in my chest. Wes surprises me by climbing to his feet and offering me a hand. Warily, I wipe away the few tears that have escaped and let him pull me to my feet. He doesn’t let me go once I’m standing. He laces our fingers together and starts walking us toward the main road where there’s a small park area with grass, trees, and a few picnic tables.
“He got drunk that night because of me, Bailey.”
I shake my head. “Again, that was my fault. I told him about our kiss.”
Wes pulls me to a stop and stares me down with intensity. “Did you tell him everything else? Did you tell him why I kissed you? Did you tell him what I almost did? What you saved me from?”
My heart drops into my stomach. I’ll never forget wandering into Jake’s parents’ room looking for Spencer and instead finding Wes, alone, sitting on the bed, bedside table drawer open, Wes staring into the barrel of Jake’s dad’s pistol.
“No.” I can barely choke out the reply. Watching him flip the loaded chamber shut and lifting the gun to his head still plays in slow motion in my nightmares. “I’ve never told anyone about that. Even though I wanted to, and I was terrified you’d just try again later when there was no one to stop you. But I promised you I wouldn’t, so I didn’t. Not even Spencer.”
Wes squeezes my hand and pulls me to the nearest picnic table. “My fight with Spencer was about more than just that kiss. A lot more. It was something that had been between us for years. Since we were kids. Since we made that dumb time capsule.”
“Will you tell me?”
I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. My heart starts pounding in my chest. I can’t get a grip on my emotions. There are too many thoughts swirling around in my head. What happened between him and Spencer? What was in that stupid time capsule? And how did it have anything to do with Wes nearly killing himself the night Spencer died? I can’t see how any of this is related, but I know it is, because it’s Spencer’s unfinished business.
When Wes looks away from me without answering, I become desperate. “Please,” I beg.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I need to understand.”
I jump to my feet, unable to hold still anymore because I feel like I’m about to explode. And then I do. Wes frowns up at me from the picnic table, and I just lose it. Maybe he’s not frowning in anger, maybe he’s just confused or even surprised by my desperation, but I can’t help myself. All of the bitterness I’ve been burying since this whole mess started explodes from me. “He was my boyfriend! I loved him more than anything in the world. My life has fallen apart since he died, and he came back to help you.”
Wes’s face pales. He stands up and tries to take my hand, but I yank myself away from him. I need some space. “I haven’t been able to even breathe since he died, and he showed up asking me to help you. Me. Who you never even liked! Me, who you hated for loving him! Who you wanted out of his life!”
Wes scrubs his face and then drags his hands over his head. “I didn’t want you out of his life, Bailey,” he shouts, suddenly as out of control as me. “I wanted you out of the relationship because I was in love with you! I wanted you for myself.”