Strings Attached

Chapter Two

"Cody Gabrielle Walker, pay attention when I'm talking to you."

A French fry hits me square in the forehead. I end my search for Austin in the lunch room so I can glare at Isabel. She shrugs as is if she didn't just resort to flinging food—well, school food, which is still technically food—at me to get my attention.

Still glaring, I grumble, "I don't want to since you hit me with fried pseudo-food" at the table, not looking Isabel in the eyes.

I know I'm being a pathetic excuse of a human being right now, but I can't help but want to be anywhere but here right now. Isabel tracked me down after second hour with the intention of convincing me to have lunch with her and Ezra—she gave me plenty of space and now she was done with the silence because it made her helpless, and if there was one thing she can't stand, it's feeling helpless. Eating lunch with them meant talking about the past four months and I didn't want to go there. I haven't talked about it and I plan on keeping it that way. But the thing about Isabel Fuentes is that you can't say no to her. Don't let her large brown doe eyes, curves, pretty smile and short stature fool you; underneath her cute exterior, is the soul of the leader of a biker gang. Tough and not scared to get her hands dirty, Isabel can be the scariest person I know when she wants to be, and most the time, that's one of the things I love about her.

Being around people right now is just hard and I don't know why. It's like we're magnets repelling each other. Isabel and Ezra aren't simply people, though, they are my friends. It should make a difference, so why isn't it?

Isabel mutters something in Spanish under her breath, and I've been friends with her long enough to know it's not very complimentary. "Cody, what's going on with you?" she asks tiredly, drumming her fingers on the table absent-mindedly, drawing my attention to her dark purple nails. I wonder how many times she had to say that before I heard it.

"I was looking to make sure Austin was okay," I admit. "I'm sorry that I've such a bad friend lately. It's just that I've been able to keep an eye on my brothers pretty much all summer, and not having them around is giving me anxiety." The words fall out without my consent, and it seems like I'm developing a less than appreciated habit.

I stare down at my legs, counting the number of rips in my jeans over and over, so I don't have to look both Isabel and Ezra as they take in my words. Even though it's the truth, it makes me feel ashamed and weak. Any normal sister would be happy to get space from her brothers, yet here I am hating it. The past four months have turned me into a clingy little bastard. I don't want to know what my friends think of the person, or more accurately, the ghost of one, I've become.

They both stare at me for a moment. I'm not the confident and outspoken Cody they know, and they don't know how to handle the girl sitting in front of them. This Cody had bags under her eyes and lets her shoulders momentarily sag in defeat, and I hate it. I hate her for being so broken and weak; I hate her because of how she lets her fear control her and those around her; I hate her for not being the Cody everyone else wants; I hate her for not being the way I want to be. Normally, I would crack a joke, the quality of which is debatable, and act like it's no big deal. Getting me to talk about feelings is like pulling teeth, but I had to tell them something after ignoring them for so long.

"You know we're always here for you, right, Cody? You don't have to keep it all in—it's only going to hurt you more," Ezra says quietly, breaking the silence that has fallen over our table and speaking for the first time since we sat down.

I look up at him in surprise. He is a man of few words, but the ones he says always matters; I've always wondered if this is because of his bookish nature or that he simply doesn't feel the need to say every little thing that comes to mind. Maybe the writer in him pushes him to craft words into meaning instead of the white noise almost everyone else spews when they open up their mouths. Maybe that brain of his is light-years ahead of the rest of us.