Juliana Stone - Boys Like You

His cell dinged, for the twentieth time, and I snapped. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Nathan grabbed his phone and glanced down at it.

I assumed it was his girlfriend, his “at the moment girlfriend,” and I looked away in disgust, my eyes falling upon a cotton candy stand. A little boy who looked to be six or seven was in line for a stick, smiling up at his dad as the two of them waited. When the lady handed him his prize, the vibrant pink color caught my attention.

For a few moments, it was all I saw. Pink. Fluffy. The little boy.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and I lifted a heavy chunk of hair and pulled it forward over my shoulder. I couldn’t take my eyes off the treat, and when the little boy dug in, his mouth grabbing for the biggest piece he could get, I wanted to yell at him.

Be careful. You’ll get that crap in your hair, and then your mother will be mad, and then I’ll have to…

“Monroe, are you all right?”

“What?” I shook my head and exhaled a long, shaky breath. I thought of my bed. Of the pills I no longer had. And I glanced down at my wrist, at the single, solitary scar that was there. It wasn’t big and it wasn’t flashy. Kind of like me.

It was a testament to the real me. The weak part. The part that couldn’t do anything right.

“Monroe?”

“I hate it here,” I said quietly.

Nathan glanced at his cell one more time, his long fingers running over the screen. “If I ask you to take me somewhere, will you?”

“You’re not some kind of criminal, are you?” I thought of his suspension and realized I didn’t know much of anything about him.

“Nope,” he answered. “Not the kind you need to be afraid of, anyway.”

My gaze returned to the little boy whose face was all but swallowed by the large stick of cotton candy, and I knew if I stayed, I would be sick.

“Sure,” I said and took a step forward, “as long as you promise there aren’t any rides, games, or peaches.”

Or kids.

“I promise,” he said as he fell in step beside me.

For the first time today, I relaxed a bit. “So, where are we going?”

We were almost to the parking lot when he answered, his voice not only subdued and maybe distracted but definitely sad.

“The hospital.”

Wait. What?

That wasn’t what I had expected to hear. A party maybe. Or an underage club—if they had them out here in the boonies—but the hospital?

And yet, the sea of happy that existed here at the Peach Festival was so thick I felt like I was drowning. Even though I hated hospitals, I couldn’t deny that, at the moment, they were more my speed.

Anyplace other than here was where I wanted to be. “Okay,” I answered. “Let’s go.”

Nathan

I stared at the text again, my heart pounding so hard I was sure Monroe heard it. They’re gone for now. Can you make it?

Did I want to? Did I want to make it?

“Turn left at the lights.”

We passed Sheriff Bellafonte’s car parked next to the bus stop and I looked away, glad that Monroe’s lead foot was relaxing a bit. Up ahead, I saw the hospital, and I told Monroe where to park for free, on Fraser Street just to the right. She pulled in along the sidewalk, and I pretended not to notice when she bumped the curb.

Foo Fighters were playing on the radio, and the air that blew from the vents was colder than I liked. Guess the northern girl wasn’t used to our steamy summers, but I liked the heat.

I blew out a long, hot breath, my foot tapping an insane beat on the floor. I was nervous, and I felt like my head was going to explode, but I kept it cool. I had to.

“Are you going to be long?” Monroe asked.

She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel, and when she turned to look at me, for one second—for one perfect second—I thought she had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.

“Nathan?” she asked.

“Call me Nate,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

“What?”

“Nate,” I said again and opened the door. “It’s what my friends call me. Nathan is saved for the parents and everyone else.”

I rounded the car and stared down at her.

“So we’re friends now?” she said, her fingers still tapping the steering wheel, tap, tap, tap, in rapid succession.

“Are you coming?” I asked instead, moving back so she could open the door. She hadn’t even asked why I was here or what I was going to do, which I found interesting. I wondered if it was because she was afraid to ask, but then I decided it was more that she didn’t give a crap. She wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type, and I guess that was another thing that I kinda sorta liked about her.

She wasn’t clingy or needy or begging me for something that I couldn’t give her. It was nice to be with someone who had no expectations.

Just last week, Rachel had gotten all heavy on me, afraid that I was mad at her about something and that I was going to break up with her. She begged me to tell her that everything was going to be all right, and I gave in.

But the lie still stuck in my throat, and when I thought about it, I felt sick.

Monroe glanced behind me, toward the hospital. I’m sure she thought I was a freak. Hell, I probably was. What kind of guy brings a girl to the hospital? A girl he hardly knows? And yet, I needed her. I needed someone, and I guess it sucked for Monroe that she was the only person around.

“Come on,” I repeated, my hand held out.

I could pour on the charm. Smile a certain way and lean against the car. Stare into her eyes like she was the most important girl in the world. I knew what girls liked, and I also knew what I could get away with. But I didn’t think any of that would work with this particular girl. Her bullshit meter seemed to be sharp.

So I waited. And I hoped she couldn’t tell that I was basically shitting my pants at the thought of going in there by myself.

“You’re weird,” she said softly.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” I smirked.

She shook her head, but there was a slight smile around the corner of her mouth, and for some reason, it felt good to know I’d put it there.

I stepped back, and she opened her door.

We headed up Fraser to the corner and waited for the light to change. When it did, I grabbed her hand—an automatic thing—and was surprised that she let me.

I was also really surprised at how small and soft her hand was. She didn’t have those fake four-inch things that Rachel and a lot of her girlfriends had. Shit, you could poke a guy’s eyes out if you weren’t careful. And I didn’t want to think about how many times I’d had to listen to Rachel and her friends bitch about breaking one of them.

In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t care about something as stupid as fake nails, and I was willing to bet most of my buddies didn’t either.

But her hand didn’t stay in mine for long, and by the time we reached the entrance, I reluctantly gave in to her gentle tugs and released her.

She followed me to the elevators, and I punched the fifth floor as if I had every right to. As if I’d done it a thousand times before, when I’d only been up there once and that had been a disaster.

Monroe didn’t say anything, she just followed me inside the elevator, and I wished her hand was still in mine because honestly, the urge to bolt was bad.

I thought of Rachel and how she had refused to come with me that first time, three months ago. She’d pulled out the big guns, had cried until her mascara made raccoon tracks down her cheeks, and she’d managed to make me feel worse than I already did. So I went without her, and it had turned out pretty much the way she thought it would.

It had sucked. If she knew I was here now, I’m sure she’d hit me in the shoulder and call me a loser.

But she wasn’t. I glanced down at my empty hand, and I was still staring down when the elevator doors slid open.

The first thing I saw was the nurse’s station. The second? Taylor’s fierce scowl and her wild, blond hair.

“Who the hell is that?” she pointed at Monroe.

“You don’t need to be such a bitch, Taylor. This is Monroe. She’s just a…a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “So she’s your ride?” I knew she was thinking about Rachel, and judging by the nasty look she gave Monroe, she thought there was a whole lot more going on between us.

“Yeah,” I answered, a little pissed at her attitude. “What else would she be?”

Monroe muttered something under her breath, and I guess I was glad I didn’t hear it, because I had the feeling it wasn’t nice. “I’ll be waiting over there,” she pointed toward a tired-looking lounge just past the nurse’s station. “You know, when you need your ride home.”

Shit. She was pissed too. Seemed as if I was on a roll.

“Monroe,” I said softly.

“Forget it, Nathan. Go and do whatever it is you need to do, but I’m not sticking around all night.”

I watched her cross over to the lounge. Watched her sit on the sofa, a faded brown one that looked like it was leather but I knew was cold, slippery vinyl. She ignored me, grabbed a magazine, and turned the other way, making me feel like an even bigger shit.

“Are you coming?” Taylor grabbed my arm. “They’ll be back soon, and if you get caught, my ass will be toast, and I don’t even want to know what he’ll do to yours.”

Taylor led me down the hall even though she didn’t need to. I remembered the way. I saw it in my nightmares.

He was still in the same room, and as we walked by the nurse’s station, Taylor waved to them, which was a good thing, because I was pretty sure they wouldn’t let me in on my own.

When we reached 514, Taylor paused and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. She looked tired, and the heavy black crap she put around her eyes didn’t do much to help. A year younger than Trevor and I, she was like a kid sister to me.

“I’ll let you,” she mumbled and glanced down the hall before clearing her throat, “have some time.”

I followed her gaze and caught Monroe looking our way. She stared at me for a few seconds and then flicked open her magazine again and disappeared behind it.

“Taylor, thanks.”

When she looked back to me, her brown eyes were filled with tears, and something inside me broke. I did this to her. I thought of her family. I did this to all of them.

“You don’t have long. They went for dinner at the Warehouse, and their reservation was for seven.” She cleared her throat. “It’s seven-thirty now, so that gives you about an hour before Mom and Dad will be back, ’cuz you know, we live at the freaking hospital now, so…”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

She didn’t say anything. She just turned and leaned against the wall, her raccoon eyes closed, her breathing heavy.

The door slid open and I slipped inside, exhaling through my mouth because I hated the smell so much. The sick, stale, antiseptic smell that Trevor and his family lived with every single damn day.

The lights were low, and I turned toward the bed. Toward the machines and tubes and IV. Toward the big gray one that forced air into Trevor’s lungs and then sucked it back out. The one that allowed him to breathe. The one that allowed him to live.

I swallowed hard and stared at the machine that allowed Trevor to exist in some weird, in-between place. I wondered if he knew I was there. Was he hanging out, levitating below the ceiling, staring down at the idiot who had put him here?

Carefully I made my way over to him, one foot in front of the other as if I was creeping across the foyer in my house after a night of partying.

It was stupid, really. What was I afraid of? That Trevor would wake up? No, that’s what we all wanted. It was the stuff that came after that had me tied up in knots.

What if he told me to go screw myself and never come back? What if he told me that he hated me?

Or even worse, what if he woke up and couldn’t say the things I knew were inside his head?

I paused at the edge of his bed. I took a moment to just look down at my best friend, and what I saw made my gut churn. It churned so badly that for a second I thought I was going to be sick, and it took everything I had to push the nausea away.

He’d lost a lot of weight and his hair was still shaved from when they’d cut into his skull to relieve the pressure because his brain had swelled a few days after the accident.