a hand on a beach

"So ..." Jessica says. She's barely able to look at me. "Do you want to come?"

I don't look up from my untouched plate of lasagna, and it's probably for the best that I don't. I already know how they're staring at me, and I don't feel like actually witnessing it today. So I simply stare at a particularly runny part of the meal, and say, "No."

"Oh." Even though she tries to hide it, I can hear that she's relieved. "Well, okay then."

She falls into regular chit-chat with Kim and Lissa, making sure to exclude me from the conversation. I'm not mad about it. If anything, I'm grateful that she's a good enough friend to know when to completely ignore my existence. Her inviting me along to Eric's house for a Nightmare on Elm Street marathon was just decent behavior, something that just had to be asked. She knew I would decline, just like she knows I won't show up for cheerleading practice after school today.

I stand up from the table, murmur a soft goodbye, and turn to leave. Jessica meets my eye, and asks, "See you in gym?" her voice tentative.

I shrug. "Sure." And then I leave the cafeteria.

But she won't see me in gym. I don't even bother going to my locker before I leave the school and walk across the parking lot to my car. The first snow arrived yesterday, and my breath fogs in front of me as I walk, and the frost makes everything crackle around me.

I reach into my pocket, only to remember that my keys are in my locker. I curse, and lean my body against the car, not caring about the cold as I close my eyes and rest my cheek against the roof.

I could freeze stuck, I think. Become one with the car and not have a care in the world. What I wouldn't give to be a car.

"Hey, you okay?"

I open my eyes, peering at the freckled face of Rodney Lee. He really does appear dirty, just like everyone says. Part from his dark and dominant freckles, his face is covered with zits and red-spots. His skin is pale, and when he blinks, his eyelids almost seem translucent.

He looks nervous, hands in the pockets of his over-sized jacket and head slightly bowed. Though he's looking at me, his eyes don't quite meet mine, and his gaze wanders between me and the ground.

"I don't have my car keys," I say, straightening up, brushing some hair out of my face. "So I can't get in."

Rodney looks to the car, as if expecting to see the keychain dangling from the lock. He swallows. "You're going home?" he asks, and I nod. "But it's only eleven forty."

"I know that," I say.

He's silent for a moment, gnawing on his already swollen bottom lip. Finally he says, "I can take you if you want."

I can feel my chest tighten, but ignore it.

"Sure," I say and walk to his car.

We're silent, at first. Every time I glance at Rodney's hands I see that his knuckles are white from how hard he's holding on to the steering wheel. He keep licking his lips and smacking loudly and swallowing, his mouth dry.

Briefly, his gaze meets mine, before he looks back to the road.

"I..." he says, but no more words follow.

"A hand on a beach," I tell him after a while. "That was all it was to him, you know. A hand on a beach. He didn't know better, so when it was offered ... he took it. Because it was nothing more than just a hand on a beach."

Rodney doesn't say anything. His lips are pressed together, and his eyes are tearing up. We sit in silence for a while longer.

"I hate him," Rodney says suddenly, his voice strained, heavy tears running down his cheeks now. "I hate him so much."

He's speaking about the devil, and I don't want to listen. I turn my head around, and stare out the window, but Rodney doesn't stop talking.

"I keep trying to think of ways to not make him my dad, but it's impossible, you know." His voice break, and the car jerks as his foot slips off the clutch. He doesn't even seem to notice.

"No matter what I do or want, he'll always be related to me," he continues. "And he will always be the one who ... He will always have done this to you, to your family, and I don't know what to do anymore. It's like I can't breathe. All I see is him, and ..."

He trails off, and I turn my head around, looking at him. He looks even more horrible now; his face puffy and wet and ugly.

We've reached my house, but he doesn't enter the driveway. Just parks at the curb.

"Sometimes I think about killing myself," he says quietly, meeting my eyes, really looking at me this time. I can tell that he wants me to comfort him. He's pleading with me, to forgive him for something he didn't do.

But I can't do that.

"You look like him," I say, and he sniffles so violently a string of snot escapes his nose.

He is crying so hard now his eyes are barely open anymore, and his hands slide off the steering wheel, falling lamely to his lap. As I open the car door and step out, Rodney leans over the steering wheel, his body slack. I can hear his crying all the way to my porch.

When I step through my front door, the house is as black as always. The only light is a dull one, the flicker of the TV in the living room. I don't take off my jacket as I walk up to the doorframe and lean against it, watching the back of my mother's head poking up behind the couch's backrest.

Sebastian is on TV again. That same picture as always; him smiling stupidly as he proudly exhibits his Lego collection to the camera. I was the one who took that picture. It had been a great day, and I'd loved that picture so much I'd even hung it up above my desk.

Now, I hate it more than anything.

When Sebastian's picture is replaced by one of the devil, I turn around and walk up to my bedroom.

He's on my bed again, bobbing up and down, making silly faces. I smile, and stick my tongue out to him. Shrugging out of the jacket, I kick my shoes off and climb into bed with him. He jumps into my arms and I hug him so close to me that I fear I might break him.

He smells like kids' bath bubbles.

We lay down together, and I whisper in his ear. "You're such a brat, Sebastian."

He giggles at that, and pinch my arm in that way he always does.

As I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, I try not to think about how he won't be here when I wake up.