Finding Ford

chapter seven

I don't sign my message. I don't want anyone knowing I was the one who wrote it, after all. Even though it's on a giant page anyone can read, the message I wrote feels kind of... intimate. Like if Ford were to read it, I can imagine the small smile creep on his face at the mention of the cookie, grey eyes sparkling with intelligence and this deepness I've never been able to really understand.

Until lately, that is. It's weird; Ford's been gone a month, and only now do I find myself kind of starting to understand him. The way he always complained about our town- maybe he wanted to leave this whole time. Or the way he always brushed off hi mother's death- he didn't like talking about his feelings, so he never opened up to anyone about running away. Those are just theories, though, but I still feel like they're something. 

"Come on," Jas sighs. "Let's get to class."

I nod and put down the pen. Jas doesn't read my note, but James does, not walking away to catch up to us until he's done. His jaw is kind of clenched when he joins us, but I guess I understand- this hasn't been easy on any of us. 

x

I come home with a heavy feeling in my stomach. There hasn't been one night that I've cried since Ford has... left, but as I drop my bags on the floor, I can't help but feel a few tears prick my eyes. I wipe them hastily.

A month just seems so... official. It's just the beginning. More time is going to pass, month after month, year after year, and Ford will turn into another story, unfinished, just like The Mystery of Edwin Drood. People are going have to create fake endings, but it will never- ever- be satisfactory, because it won't be Ford, the one who made the story what it is in the first place. 

I lay down on my bed, refusing to let the tears fall. Tears aren't going to bring Ford back. After a month, I'll admit, I've sort of made my peace. I've acknowledged that me being angry and sad isn't going to make him appear in english class. I know that. And although I have to remind myself of that every now and then, I'm pretty good with the face. I've always been a realist; Jas has, too, so being surrounded by that has brought me back to reality. 

An hour later, there's a knock on my door. "Ava?"

"Yeah, come in."

My mom slowly pushes open the door, head sticking through the crack. Her blonde hair, similar to mind, is stuck up in a bun, strands falling out in random places. "Sweetheart, dinner's ready. What would you like?"

"Pasta's good. I'll help."

I follow my mother downstairs into the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. Besides being occupied, my thoughts still manage to drift to Ford. His dad has seemed really... passive about the whole thing. He hasn't spoken up about it, and whenever I came over to help out Molly (who is now back in University) he would stay locked up in his room. The one time I did see him in the grocery story, though, he hadn't been wearing the worry lines Molly had; he appeared as if nothing happened. Maybe I'm just over thinking it, but I still can't help but feel like something's off about that. It makes me slightly sick.

My mother pulls me out of my thoughts, only to bring me back to the same topic. "So, it's been a month."

I exhale. "Yeah. It has."

"Newspaper published an article on him, don't know if you've seen it."

I pause a bit in my process of putting peppers, but then continue, asking, "What'd they say?"

"Theories," my mother shrug. "Some are saying..."

"Saying what?"

My mother's voice is quiet. "It has something to do with the murder of his mom."

I drop my knife so abruptly my mother jumps. We turn to face each other. "They can't do that!" I say. "They can't just turn him into a story! He's more than that, he's a human, he's... He's more than just for their amusement to create 'some drama in this town'. We don't need drama if it costs people's lives!"

I finish with, "I need a minute."

Forgetting the vegetables, I run upstairs to my room, where my phone is laying on my bed. For the first in a month, I open the conversation with Ford.

Ava: I can't stand it anymore

Ava: I don't freaking know what to do

Ava: I'm not going to lie and say I know you as well as Lucas, or Molly, but god damn it Ford Wilson I miss you like you were my brother. No, not brother. Best friend. I don't know why, because they're right, I BARELY KNOW YOU. but you're killing me with every single day you're gone because i just want to know where you are and what you're doing and if you're safe and if maybe it's my fault because i could have just held you that day you were crying, asked what was wrong and maybe, ford fucking wilson, maybe i'd be telling you this in person but

Ava: I feel like I've known you for my whole life. And in a way that's more than just a best friend.

x

The next day when I get to school, people are crowded in the front foyer again, but there's a thicker tension in the air. I push past people once I realize they're huddled around Ford's memorial, elbowing my way through to try and see what the commotion's about.

In giant red letters, written on top of all yesterday's message, someone has wrote, HOME IS WHERE FORD'S DEAD HEART LIES.

Well, that was intense :)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, pleeeease be sure to COMMENT AND VOTE, because if you do, i'll be so so happy c: The support on this story is quite astonishing, I must admit, but if you could just have the comments match up with the votes, I'd be so so happy!

Love you all so much c: xoxo