THE WEEKEND WENT BY too fast, and soon, I found myself again walking through the school hallways at the end of the day, my books to my chest as Cassie rambled on about the tit-for-tat drama that happened on the cheer team.
"She's just mad that I'm on varsity and she's not." She rolled her eyes like she always did when she was frustrated. "She thinks she deserves it just because she's pretty or something."
I looked at her. "If you hate it so much, why don't you just quit?"
She furrowed her eyebrows at me. "I don't hate it."
"You sure act like you do."
She sighed. "I don't hate it. I just...don't like it when the other girls' heads get too big."
I nodded. "Which is all the time, no?"
She chewed her cheek. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't. I could get a scholarship to go somewhere real nice."
Sometimes I forgot that Cassie even wanted to go to college. It seemed that she loved working in a bakery so much that she would've just opted to be a housewife, like everybody else. But that was what I admired about her: she never settled for the second-best option.
I, too, wanted to go to college, but I couldn't do any sport good enough to save my life, much less get a scholarship. That was why I stressed so much about work — you do the work, you get the good grades, you get the recognition, you get the scholarship. Easier said than done, though. As the years ticked by, I got more and more stressed that I wouldn't get recognized. I prayed to God for a miracle: a college recruiter stumbles into the diner one day or does a luck-of-the-draw pick for who gets to go to their university — anything.
Cassie and I eventually went our separate ways, her to the locker room to get ready for practice and I to the front steps to make my way home.
Ponyboy told me that morning that he was finishing a test after school, and Johnny didn't even go that day, so it was just me walking home.
It was the first day in almost a year that I'd walked home alone, and it felt weird. I would think of something to say for a split second only for the thought to fall dead when I remembered the only company I had was myself.
Anxiety crept up inside of me as I walked further and further from the school, the atmosphere slowly growing quieter and more eery. I couldn't help but feel eyes looking at me, persisting like an itch in the back of my head. It eventually became too much to bear and I quickly glanced behind me, only to see an empty sidewalk stretch for blocks.
I turned back and shook my head. I was being ridiculous: nobody would try anything in broad daylight in the middle of downtown.
I tried to shut off my thoughts, but every car that drove by made my eyes dart around anxiously. I could've sworn one car lingered behind me for almost a whole block, but I shrugged it off. I'm just paranoid, I thought, Jonathan's in prison, Cary. You can relax.
Over and over again, I told myself that. You can relax. It helped a bit, but not enough for the gut feeling to go away.
Another block down the road, and the car still lingered. Maybe I accidentally wandered into a slow zone where the roads were so bad you couldn't go above five miles an hour, but no. It was the same route I took home every day, with the same roads.
Finally, I glanced behind me: a hundred yards down the road was a beat-up black Mustang, slowly dragging down the road. I turned back towards the sidewalk, my heart racing. I wouldn't go home. I couldn't. Whoever they were, it was obvious they were following me. I racked my brain for places to go — other than the lot, there really wasn't any. Even there, I would be alone.
I could just walk around the neighborhood until Ponyboy got home, or until Soda got home from work...
Soda's work. The DX wasn't far from here, maybe a mile or so. Soda and Steve would be there, and I could use the phone in the office to call Linda.
I turned across the road early. The DX was only a few blocks away.
I hoped maybe the car would drive past me, but they didn't. They were far enough behind me to where they turned the corner by the time I was already half a block away, but they still persisted. I couldn't help but wonder if they thought they were being slick. Maybe they wanted me to know and were just trying to scare me. Maybe Two-Bit found an old car and decided to pull some sick prank on me. He wouldn't do that, though — he knew how I'd been ever since the whole Jonathan endeavor. Unless he was drunk, of course, but even then, he wouldn't have been able to keep the car moving so steadily.
I shifted the books in my arms and began to walk faster, keeping my eyes in front of me. I counted down the blocks until I should've reached the DX, and soon enough I had counted all the way up to five. Where on earth was it? It had to have been around here somewhere...
Another block down the road, and I caught a glimpse of Main Street. The DX was just across the street.
I again took a glance behind me, still seeing the car unchanging in its distant position. The sun's glare prevented me from seeing who was in the driver's seat, but the hand on the steering wheel was obviously a man's.
I panicked, as if all that I had feared had come true. I picked up my pace again, my eyes nervously scanning around me. Please, God, I pleaded, it hasn't even been a month, give me a break.
A gust of wind made me shiver, as if God himself was answering my short prayer. What it meant, I didn't know, but as the sound of the car behind me got closer, my pleading turned to begging.
After the third time of me looking at them, I think that they finally realized that I was onto them, as they finally slowed to a stop and parked by the sidewalk. I looked up to the sky as if thanking the Lord for saving me, but I had counted my chickens too early.
I saw the DX up ahead, and the soft figure of Steve with his rolled-up sleeves in the distance pumping gas into a car made me sigh a breath of relief. If anything happened now, at least he would see it.
I glanced behind me one more time, but the car hadn't moved. The only thing that had changed was the two guys that were now walking on the sidewalk, now too far behind for me to see any distinguishable features. All I knew was that one of them had hair as red as hot fire, and the way he trudged along next to his buddy told me his temper wasn't much different.
I didn't think anything of it. We were on the edge of the rough part of town; everyone was mad for some reason.
Finally, I reached Main Street and hurried across, not bothering to use the crosswalk. There weren't any cars, anyways.
Steve turned from the gas pump just as I stepped foot onto the curb. Upon seeing me, he drew his head back in surprise. "Well, lookie here," he said snoodily, "'s not often I find you around these parts."
I glanced behind me one more time, ignoring his comment. Luckily, the car hadn't moved any, but the two guys I saw were walking towards us. As they got closer, paranoia swelled up inside of me — I could've sworn I'd seen them before.
I pushed it away and looked back to Steve. "Just came to get a Coke," I replied matter-of-factly, stepping past him.
"Where's Johnnycakes and Pony?" He asked, as if suddenly aware of their absence.
"Busy." I said simply.
He stayed silent for a few moments before yelling, "Ain't you supposed to be at work?"
I was at the door by the time he said anything, so I let it close behind me and pretended I didn't hear him. Was that mean? Probably. But it was just Steve, he could handle it.
The bell rang to the door as I walked in, the scent of car oil and coffee hitting me instantly. I heard a wrench clang in the garage, followed by a slew of curses and Soda groaning in pain.
I hurried to the back, hoping he hadn't done another rush-job and burned himself on a not-yet-cool-engine.
"Soda?" I called as I stepped into the garage.
He looked up, gripping the palm of his hand while he sat on the floor. Despite the scene, his voice was nonchalant. "Oh, hey Cary."
"What happened?"
"Stupid wrench pinched me!" He exclaimed, nodding towards the wrench at my feet. He stood up to walk towards me. "Thing's been acting up for a while now. Ain't the first time it's happened."
I reached out for his hand, and despite his hesitation, he held it up to me.
"I'll be fine, Cary. It's just a little pinch, ain't nothin'." He winced as I opened up his fingers. "Hurts like a bugger, though."
"Probably because you're bleeding, Einstein." I said sarcastically, dragging him over to the sink in the corner of the room.
He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, Cary. It's just a little blood."
I looked from him to his hand back to him sassily. "You have a skin laceration and at least twenty burst blood vessels. You work in a garage, Soda. It may be a little cut, but just one drop of motor oil or grease, and you got yourself an infection."
I was being a bit dramatic, but I wasn't wrong: it wasn't necessarily a laceration, more like a small cut, and blood vessels could be something as small as a capillary. I just knew that if I used smart words that he'd be scared enough to listen to me. He's stubborn sometimes, believe it or not.
"Well, uh," he stuttered, "guess I don't want that."
I chuckled as I helped clean his hand. "Nope."
After I bandaged him up and he tested his range of motion, he turned to me with a bashful grin. "Thanks, Cary. What a convenient time for you to walk in, eh?"
I laughed.
His face fell suddenly, his eyebrows creasing. "Speaking of which," he paused, looking me up and down, as if just now realizing I shouldn't have been there, "ain't you supposed to be at work?"
I shifted my feet uncomfortably. How do I explain? I'm probably just being paranoid. He's gonna think I'm crazy.
"Do you have a phone in here? In the office maybe?" I looked at him pleadingly, his eyebrow cocked in a strange pity. I wasn't fooling him.
"Yeah...why?"
"I just, uh..." I stuttered, looking at the oil-spotted concrete floor. "I just need to call Linda."
His gaze turned concerned. "You sick or something?"
I nodded my head, lying. I was scared to tell him about the two guys. What if they weren't following me? What if I was just going crazy, paranoid after what happened?
He touched the back of his hand to my forehead. "You feel fine to me..."
"M-my stomach," I stumbled over my words stupidly, "my stomach hurts."
He eyed me suspiciously. "Why didn't you just go home and call her there?"
I looked at him, then back to the floor. I didn't know how to answer. I didn't know how to tell him that I had spent the last thirty minutes scared out of my mind because I was getting in my stupid head.
My gut churned as we sat in silence, and suddenly I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed past him and walked out of the garage. The office was only a few paces away, and I found it easily.
"Cary!" Soda called. "What's wrong with you?"
The office was empty, meaning their boss was either out buying more cigars or didn't come in today entirely. I didn't care though, and sat in the chair behind the desk, picking up the pale beige phone receiver.
The dead tone on the line as I turned the dial brought me a strange form of anxiety; I made sure to press every number quickly. It turned to a ring, but only a few times did I hear it before I heard Linda's familiar voice. "Jackson Creek Dinery, Linda speaking."
"Hey, Linda, it's me."
"Cary, where on earth are you? You're never late. About scared me half to death." Her voice sounded exasperated and slightly panicked, like a mother worrying about her lost child.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry." I paused, feeling Soda looking at me from the doorway. "Listen, something came up and...I don't know when I'll make it into work."
I had hoped to calm her down some, but it clearly didn't help any. "Are you alright? Where are you right now? Are you sick?"
"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm at the DX with Soda right now. There's just something that came up. I'll do my best to make it in later, I promise."
I heard her sigh on the end of the line. "Alright, well, as long as you're okay."
I smiled. She reminded me so much of my mother when she was like this. "Thank you, Linda. Yes, I'm okay."
"Just come in when you can, dear. We're not incredibly busy today, anyways."
"Thank you, Linda. Buh-bye."
And with that, I hung the receiver back in its place, turning to get out of the chair.
Soda stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and his face worried. "Are you going to explain to me what's going on?" His tone was different, a combination of frustrated and concerned.
I swallowed. "Listen, I—"
At that moment, the front bell rang, and Steve called out for Soda.
He looked over his shoulder, yelled back, "Give me a second!" before looking back to me. His eyes were worried, but he didn't say anything, just stood in the doorway, chewing his cheek. The way he looked at me made me sick: it was the same way he looked at me whenever he would ask about a bruise back in the day and I would play it off as, "Oh, it's nothing."
He quickly turned away without a word, stepping towards the front. I followed after a few moments, but was surprised to see nobody in the store except for him. He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a green soda bottle, handing it to me as I walked over. I looked at the label: Canada Dry Ginger Ale.
"For your stomach," he said with a smile.
I smiled as I took it out of his hand. "Thank you."
I examined the bottle as if it was foreign to me, but that was far from the truth. It encapsulated my whole childhood of being sick, as Mom always gave us ginger ale for stomach aches. "I don't know what it is," she would say as she placed a straw in the top, "but something about that little ginger zing always makes it go away." She would place it on the bedside table before leaning over and giving me a gentle kiss on the head, telling me to sleep well before leaving the room and closing the door quietly.
I heard Steve talking with a few guys outside, so I decided to sit at one of the tables in the corner to place my books and sip my ginger ale, even if my stomach wasn't necessarily hurting. Someone had left a few '63 beauty magazines on one of the chairs, Audrey Hepburn staring solemnly on the cover. I wasn't much for looking at models, but I didn't have anything better to do. I couldn't just go home. Not with those guys still around.
As if on queue, the door swung open and the bell dinged, and two guys walked inside. Soda engaged in habitual, one-sided conversation for a few moments, receiving only a few disgruntled greetings as they made their way through the store. I paid no attention to them until I heard their voices as they traveled by the candy aisle.
"Just pick one, you idiot. We gotta head out."
I looked up from the magazine, peering over the edge to see the two guys: a brunette in a jean jacket and the other with hair as fire-red hair.
My throat swelled as my eyes widened. Was it them? Surely it was. I was safe, though. Soda and Steve were there.
Still, I pulled the magazine up past my face in a vile attempt to conceal my identity. They lingered for less than a minute, picking something off the shelf and tossing it on the counter in front of Soda to pay. Again, I peered over the top of the magazine, Marya Mannes' eyes following mine as she gazed longingly on her new work on the top of the page. The redhead flicked a nickel on the counter as Soda thanked them and tossed it in the drawer. I sighed a silent breath of relief as they opened the door, thankful they were finally leaving.
But before they walked out, the redhead's eyes turned towards mine, blue and cold as ice. They held a warning, and as he narrowed them in my direction, I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, my face growing pale. I remembered him. The whole time they had been following me, I had a nagging feeling I knew who they were, but couldn't place them. Now, sitting there, locked eyes with one of them, I knew for sure: they were the guys from the diner after Jonathan's trial, the ones who persistently stared at me like I was a meal. I had shaken it off at first as just paranoia, but now I know it was far deeper than that.
They finally walked out after what felt like forever, and as the door closed, Soda gave another habitual goodbye before turning to me, his smile fading as he saw my face.
"What's wrong?"
I peeked out of the window next to me, watching as they crossed the street.
"They were following me, Soda," I muttered.
"Huh?"
I turned to face him and raised my voice to a tone he could hear, the color still gone from my skin. "I think they were following me."
He looked out the window, following my eyes as they walked past the trees into the following neighborhood. He watched them for a few seconds until they disappeared, then turned back to me.
"So that's why you're here."
I looked up from the magazine sheepishly, nodding.
He looked back out of the window again, although they had already disappeared, before walking over to me. He put a hand on my shoulder and lowered his voice, his tone a confusing mix of warning and concern. "Call off work today. I'm walking you home."
"But Soda, I–"
"You think I'm gonna let you walk alone after that? With them still around? No." He interrupted. "And I can't take off."
"And you think I can?" I defended.
"Linda will understand. She already worries about you walking home alone as it is, no?" He looked at me, his eyes stern yet caring.
I chewed my cheek. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. If anybody could get off work in this family, it was me. Not only did I have the most easy-going boss, but I had the lowest salary. Although Soda and Darry didn't make much more, a buck an hour wasn't very hard to beat.
"Fine." I huffed, standing up from my chair to again call Linda.
As I made my way to the office, I thought about what I was going to say. What was I going to tell her? I couldn't tell her about the guys, then she'd never let me walk home alone. Yeah, that may be safer, but I'd take my chances. It wasn't like it was everyday I was being followed. You can't expect total safety when you live in a neighborhood like ours, and her middle-class mind just couldn't understand that, as much as she tried.
I sat in the chair behind the phone, picked up the receiver, and again dialed the diner number. The phone rang once, twice, three times before her voice again came on the other side.
"Jackson Creek Dinery."
"Hey Linda, it's me again." I said quietly, as if ashamed to let Soda hear.
"Oh, hey Cary," her voice was concerned, "are you gonna be able to come in today?"
I paused, sighing. "Yeah, um, about that..."
I heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. "Ah, well, I figured it."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
"Somethin' in your voice told me you'd make another call soon, but I held on to hope. I know you're a tough cookie and will work when you can."
My heart sank at her slight tone of disappointment. "I'm really sorry, Linda. There's just—" I paused, unable to tell her the full story, "I just can't come in today. I'm really sorry."
I heard her voice curl into a smile. "Don't worry about it, dear. Like I said, I know you'll come in whenever you can. I trust you, darling."
I smiled to myself stupidly, relieved but also slightly nervous for some reason. "Thank you, Linda. You're the best."
"Aw, don't mention it, honey. Buh-bye. Be safe." And with that, the line went dead.
Be safe. A pit formed in my stomach as I walked back to the store, where Soda was cleaning off the counter. He gave me a grin that could make anyone smile as I made my way back to the table.
"How's it feel to have the day off?" He spun the spray bottle of all-purpose cleaning product around his finger like a gun, smirking victoriously.
I couldn't help but smile. "Liberating," I said sarcastically.
"Ah, big word. You and your big words." He laughed as he tossed the bottle and rag under the counter.
I couldn't help but laugh. I never could figure out what it was about Soda that could cheer anyone up, but I never questioned it.
He went back to the shop and I pulled my books out from under the chair. If I was going to be stuck here for hours, I might as well get something done.
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I am SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRY!!!!!!!!!
It has been over two months since I've updated, but so much has happened lately y'all don't even know. 😭😭😭😭
Thank you for being so patient, ilysm you're the best.
Hopefully I'll update within a couple weeks, but no promises, you know how life be. 😭😭😭😭
Love y'all. Stay gold.