Chapter 10
Callie
“Romeo and Juliet are fucking morons,” Donovan complains, crumpling up what looks like his practice paper from English.
“Please tell me that was your thesis statement,” Nolan laughs, earning a glare.
It’s lunchtime and despite the sky being an ink wash of dark clouds, we’ve all chosen to congregate under our tree versus sitting inside, or at least at the patio tables. The swirling cold cuts right through my sweater, and I huddle deeper between Donovan and Connor, attempting to absorb some of their body heat as well as shield myself from the wind. Of course, none of them seemed bothered by the cold.
Noticing that I’m starting to become one with his arm, Connor takes off his jacket to wrap around my shoulders. It’s blissfully warm and has the scent of the forest, a mixture of the sharp tang of pine and other green things.
“Thank you,” I murmur, grateful but also slightly annoyed that he looks as comfortable in his Henley as he did in his jacket.
Connor gives me a sharp nod in answer. His brows raise and head tilts like he’s remembered something. He digs through his backpack, then hands me my travel mug that I left on the floor next to my locker this morning.
Releasing a breathy laugh, I murmur another ‘thank you” and shove it into my bag.
“I’m serious,” Donovan grunts, throwing the crumpled ball at Nolan. “Even if they succeeded, they were fucked. Two teenage rich kids running away to do what? Become farmers? They had servants that did everything for them. They wouldn’t have lasted a week.”
Kaleb sighs from the other side of Connor. “That’s not the point of the play. It’s a commentary on values and what you have to lose when you let petty things get in the way of what truly matters, your family and loved ones.”
“The whole thing is bullshit,” Donovan continues, not done with his tirade over one of Shakespeare's most famous plays. “Romeo was all about this Rosaline chick, then he sees Juliet and it’s ‘Rosaline who?’”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, as Kaleb responds like this isn’t the first time he’s said it, “Rosaline didn’t return Romeo’s feelings. She was an unattainable infatuation, whereas Juliet reciprocated Romeo’s advances, therefore turning into something real.”
“All I’m saying is a guy that flips that fast is a player,” he replies. “Hell, the daughter of his family’s arch rival? He was an asshole after forbidden fruit.”
Nolan snorts. “Hello, Pot. Have you met Kettle?”
“Fuck you, Kettle,” Donovan snaps back with a one finger salute. “One, I don’t go after anyone. They come to me. And two, anyone I’m with knows exactly what they’re getting into. I don’t do relationships. No point.”
“Aww, you’re such a romantic,” Felix sniggers, earning an eye roll.
I pick up the crumpled paper ball that bounced off of Nolan’s chest and attempt to smooth out the pages. The first line of Donovan’s paper reads:
Romeo and Juliet were doomed to failure from the beginning, because regardless of whether they succeeded in escaping their families, neither had the skills necessary to survive on their own.
At the top of the paper is a scribbled note:
Though accurate that the two lovers were destined to an unhappy ending, your thesis fails to address the themes of the play. Please see me if you would like assistance in reworking your thesis statement.
Everyone looks at me expectantly as I read quietly, Donovan’s expression guarded and masked under feigned indifference. I press my lips tightly together to keep an amused smile from spreading across my face. His statement is a window into how his mind works-- focusing on the logistics and concrete details necessary for survival, holding little reverence for why he needs to figure out these details in the first place.
I fold the paper neatly in half and return it to Donovan.
“You’re not going to tell us what he wrote?” Felix asks, while Donovan stuffs the paper into his backpack-- ensuring it will be a crumpled mess under his books.
“Nope,” I answer, the end of the word popping off my lips, then I look to Donovan and offer, “If you want, I can help you with your paper after school. I’m writing mine on how Romeo was essentially the worst thing to happen to Juliet, and in the end her suicide has as much to do with the precarious and limiting options Romeo left her in, than any grand gesture of undying love.”
They’re all silent for a moment. Each has varying expressions ranging from Donovan’s smug vindication to Felix’s outright surprise. I shrink more into Connor’s jacket, hiding my hands within the sleeves, and fear I’ve had another one of those moments where I’ve said too much… revealed too much of the truly twisted parts inside me. Like Donovan’s thesis, does this show that I focus more on how ones that are supposed to love us only hurt us in the end, than I do that unconditional love is real?
“See, Callie agrees with me,” Donovan finally bursts the silence, which I appreciate; though I fear our shared cynicism might not be a good thing. “Romeo was an asshole.”
“Wow, pretty girl,” Felix murmurs. “It looks like we have two romantics in the group.”
“Make that three,” Nolan admits, coming to my rescue. “How Juliet fell for those lame lines is sad. Honestly, I bet he used those same lines on Rosaline.”
“She was thirteen,” Kaleb groans, coming back to life. “Romeo was probably the first boy to show any real interest in her as a person. Whether you believe Romeo’s intentions were genuine, to Juliet they were and understandably so.”
Connor has been his normal silent self, his expressions ranging from amused to thoughtful, but not really revealing his own opinion on that matter.
I elbow him gently. “What do you think? Epic romance of the ages or Juliet was royally gypped?”
“She deserved better,” he answers, his voice low and smooth.
“Why do I feel like I’m playing devil’s advocate?” Kaleb mutters to the overhanging branches, then rubs at his face. “Again, whether Romeo was the best match for Juliet is irrelevant. To Juliet the love was real, and at the very least, Romeo believed his feelings were real. Whether their love would’ve lasted had they survived we can’t know, because they never had the chance to find out. The rivalry between their families kept them from being able to have a normal courtship. I also would argue that despite his fallacies, Romeo was a better option than Paris.”
“I’ll give you that.” I shiver. “He was gross and creepy.”
There’s a round of nodding agreements.
Kaleb hesitates, indecision playing across his features, before adding, “And though I don’t agree with their actions, there’s something to be said for experiencing the feeling of being wholly in love and the surety that you’re loved in return. We can pick apart the legitimacy of their relationship, but to them it was real. They believed it wholeheartedly and not everyone gets the opportunity to feel something like that.”
I still think the play is dumb, but my heart feels full and soft over Kaleb’s words. He brushes against that seed of hope that lies within the cold darkness inside me-- the one that’s been growing with each day I spend with the guys. Despite sometimes feeling unworthy of their friendship, they’ve accepted me-- at least for now. Who knows how they’ll feel when they learn the truth of my past.
“And I think I’m going to hurl,” Donovan states, breaking any form of lingering sentimentality. “Can we please talk about anything else? I’m sorry I brought up that shitty play in the first place.”
Kaleb rolls his eyes, outwardly appearing unfazed, but I notice his shoulders droop and his gaze shifts to the grass.
I want to defend Kaleb’s statement. I can almost feel the words build on my tongue, but they freeze in my throat. The feelings they conjure are too close to painful truths that I can’t face-- merely thinking of them creates fissures in the walls that hold me together each day.
I’ll do better next time-- I hope.
Instead, I change the subject, and look pointedly at Nolan. “So, Cheater McCheaterstein, how was your test?”
He looks completely unrepentant as he pops some type of gourmet baked chip into his mouth. Even his junk food is fancy. “It was a quiz, and it went great.”
“It was too easy,” Felix laments, flopping down on the ground between Nolan and Kaleb. “I miss math. I was going to take Trigonometry and Pre-Calculus this year.”
“Both?” I gasp, dumbfounded. “You were going to take both?”
He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “I like math. I want to… wanted to be a robotics engineer someday.”
“Told you. Math genius,” Nolan boasts. “He was in the gifted program and everything, so what you see as cheating, I see as helping a friend stay engaged in one of his passions.”
“Uh huh,” I reply with a raised brow. “Your ability to twist logic and find ways to support questionable actions is astounding.”
“Thank you,” he says with a smug grin, before popping the last of the chips into his mouth.
“Not a compliment,” I groan.
“It was the talented and gifted program,” Felix jokingly corrects. “And I wasn’t the only one. TAG was how Kaleb and I became friends.”
A warm smile spreads across Kaleb’s face, while he packs away the remnants of his lunch. As per usual, the guys went through their food in record timing. I, on the other hand, have only finished my sandwich and still have a yogurt, carrots and grapes to get through. I need to remember to get some type of chocolate from the vending machine. This level of healthiness in a school lunch is just wrong.
“I remember how much we hated it,” Kaleb chuckles.
“Oh man,” Felix groans. “Being in first grade and having to stay after school three days a week to do more math homework was brutal.”
“How did you all become friends?” I ask, then take a bite of my yogurt. Mmm blueberry.
“Well, it all started when Felix and I dated in kindergarten,” Nolan answers theatrically, causing me to choke on my yogurt.
“I didn’t know what it meant,” Felix whines, pulling his legs up to his chest so that he can wrap his arms around his knees.
“You didn’t know what dating meant?” I cough out. Note to self: Don’t try to breathe yogurt.
He dips his head and mumbles, “I didn’t know what boyfriend meant. I thought it was a boy that was your friend.”
Nolan sits up straight, clearly enjoying the idea of sharing this story. “So, one day at recess, Anastasia Fisher decided that she was my girlfriend and tried to kiss me.” Nolan taps his fingers lightly against his lips, one side of his mouth pulling into an impish grin. “But before she could chase me down, I ran towards the swings, which was where Felix was playing. Watching me run in circles, while Anastasia shouted that boys were supposed to kiss their girlfriends, he figured out what was going on. So he got off the swing and informed her that he was my boyfriend and said it wasn’t nice to try and kiss someone that didn’t want to be kissed.” He looks over at Felix, his eyes dancing with a mixture of fondness and mischief. “He was a regular shining knight in light up sneakers.”
“I remember those shoes,” Felix comments wistfully. “My mom was so mad when I tried to take them apart, so I could figure out how they lit up. It’s amazing what a four year old can accomplish with a flat head screwdriver.”
“Wait, you were four years old in kindergarten?” I ask surprised.
“Yup,” he answers with another shrug. “I started a year early. My birthday is in June so I was always the youngest.”
That means Felix is sixteen now-- and he died a month after his birthday. I swallow heavily, and my heart aches painfully in my chest.
“Then second grade rolled around,” Nolan continues, fortunately oblivious to my painful realization, “and that’s when Donovan and Connor joined our class. At eight, they were the ‘older kids’,” he adds finger quotes, “and were just as intimidating then, as they are now-- at least to everyone else.”
“What he means to say was Donovan scared the crap out of everyone, because he was even surlier than now,” Felix adds, earning a Donovan one finger salute of his own, but he simply grins back. “Like that, only as an eight year old.”
Kaleb makes a laugh/groan/sigh combination type noise, then says, “And the way Mrs. Smedley’s eyes would bug-out every time Donovan shared his expansive collection of curse words, we were all sure one day they’d fall out of her head.”
“Alright. Alright. I was a little shit. Move on,” Donovan grunts.
“Then there was Connor, who drove Mrs. Smedley crazy in a completely different way,” Nolan chuckles, “because he spoke even less then than he does now.”
I glance up at Connor surprised, and he shrugs his shoulders. Amusement dances in his eyes, illustrating that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Not that it mattered,” Donovan comments. “Nolan fucking talked enough for both of them.”
“I had a lot to say as a child,” he replies, causing Donovan, Felix, and Kaleb to snort.
“You say that like it’s changed,” Kaleb chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.
Nolan looks aghast with a hand to his chest. “Oh no, the personified encyclopedia doesn’t get to accuse me of talking too much.”
“A well thought out and articulated answer is never too much,” he fires back, looking entertained by the characterization.
“Bullshit,” Donovan fake coughs into his fist.
A smile creeps across my lips as I listen to the guys tease and bicker with each other, and I feel a shared comradery with Connor-- who like me, appears to be enjoying the show. The tension from this morning seems to drain out of me, and despite the dreariness of the outside, I feel warm and safe tucked in this circle of friends. Without realizing it, my body relaxes into Connor’s, my head resting against his arm.
In response, he uses his right hand to pat me on the head, which I interpret to mean he doesn’t mind.
My lack of sleep is catching up with me. I cover my mouth as I yawn out, “Why were you two older than the other kids? Start school late?”
“Were there any words in that sentence?” Felix teases, his head skewed to the side to mimic me leaning.
I stick my tongue out at him, because I’m extremely mature.
“Held back a grade,” Connor answers to the top of my head, apparently having no trouble understanding my question.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Donovan square his shoulders and there’s a hard glint to his gaze, the only warning sign he seems to have right before he says something shocking in the most blunt way possible.
“Before Kaleb gets a chance to pussy foot around it,” Donovan opens as expected, and Kaleb drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, “my family died in a house fire, and I was sent to live with Kaleb’s family-- his parents were good friends of mine back in the day. I was homeschooled before that, and when I moved here, school said I didn’t know everything a third grader was supposed to, so they put me in second. There, story over.”
He looks at me with challenge, waiting for me to pity him, because that’s what people do when they learn your childhood is fucked up. I meet his gaze, and instead of offering platitudes, I say, “So it took you what-- a week to catch up?”
His whole body relaxes with my response. He smirks as he admits, “A month. I was a little shit that didn’t want to read. Hard to catch up that way.”
I nod, bits of my hair clinging to Connor’s shirt. It’s only when I sense the deep stillness inside Connor and the guarded concern from the others that I realize I may have shed light on a part of me that I wanted to stay hidden. Because only those that have experienced real trauma are unsurprised when they hear it from another. Do I have sympathy for his loss? Of course, I do-- but my understanding comes from a hard and jaded place where only pride keeps you moving.
Great job, Callie. Two awkward silences in less than fifteen minutes.
Pretending I don’t notice, I ask with forced brightness, “And that was it? Best friends forever?”
“Sort of,” Nolan continues the story, though not quite as theatrically. “Felix hung out with me and Connor at lunch and recess, then he’d hang out with Kaleb and Donovan after school.”
“It was video games that brought us all together,” Felix announces. “My parents bought me a Wii for Christmas, which had all of these multiplayer games-- so I invited everyone over to play.”
“At Christmas?” I ask.
“Yup,” he replies. “It was always the more the merrier with my parents-- probably because I was an only child and only Aunt Gertie could make it to any holiday celebrations. Anyway, everyone came over, parents included and we ate food and played games all day. It was awesome.”
“Sounds like it.” I do my best to hide the wistful, bittersweet feeling that grows inside me.
Christmas for me growing up was always a stack of presents that the bastard’s assistant picked out, and the bastard himself passed out in his office with an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.
Add no idea how to properly celebrate major holidays to the list.
Before I can downward spiral deeper into my ineptitude, the bell rings announcing the end of lunch. I pack up what I have left of my lunch and stuff the paper bag back into my backpack.
While I get up and attempt to wipe the dirt from my butt, Connor picks up my backpack as well as his. He did this yesterday as well when we walked to Study Hall after lunch, so I decide to simply appreciate the gesture.
“My place after school?” Nolan asks me, while he throws his messenger bag over his shoulder.
“Sure, as long as you’re not driving,” I answer, gathering what little trash I have.
“I’m an excellent driver,” Nolan pouts.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree there, Casanova,” I mutter, bemused.
“Donovan and I can give you a ride,” Kaleb offers. “There’s a backseat in the truck.”
“Works for me.” I shrug.
Nolan, Connor and I split ways with the rest of the guys, Felix deciding to follow Kaleb to class because he promised to let him do some of the problems out of his trig book. To each their own.
As we walk to class, Nolan on one side of me and Connor on the other, Nolan inquires, “So am I Casanova or Cheater McCheaterstein?”
I laugh. “Both, obviously.”
“I think I prefer Casanova,” he states, as if he has a choice in the matter.
“Then don’t be a Cheater McCheaterstein,” I advise, with a smug upward tilt of my nose.
“Well, in that case, it sounds like you’ll want to do your own US History homework,” he ribs, poking me in the side.
After I squeak, which they both laugh at-- god damn, that’s going to get old-- I merely look at him with blank innocence and reply, “Maybe, you’re right, and you can tell Donovan why he now has to do the stupid huge Pre Cal homework on top of his other work. I’m sure he’ll understand how you convinced me it was wrong to share homework.”
Connor busts up laughing, startling nearby students, and I feel extremely pleased with myself. His full laugh is beautiful, low and deep and rolls over me like melted caramel-- made all the sweeter by its rarity.
Nolan grins, then with an over the top sigh, he admits defeat. “Fine. I’ll do the US History homework.”
I offer up a wicked grin of my own. “Good boy.”