Page 16 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Something rustled in the bushes behind the tent, and she jumped. "What was that?" she whispered.
"It's the crazy man from your wardrobe. He's gonna lick you, possum."
She screamed again, and I hugged her. "Stop it, Bran!"
Tears clung to the corners of Brandon’s eyes from how hard he was laughing. Part of me wanted to punch him for scaring her. Part of me wanted to thank him because I had my arms wrapped around her.
Poppy wiggled out of my hold and, placing her palms flat on Brandon’s chest, she pushed him over. He toppled to his side, cackling.
“It’s not funny, and now I need to go to the bathroom.” She glanced nervously at the flap of the tent.
I opened my mouth, ready to offer to walk her through the dark backyard and to the safety of the house.
Her gaze went right past me to Brandon. "Brandon, will you take me?”
Brandon’s laughter quieted.
I didn’t want him walking Poppy to the door. I wanted to be the knight in shining armor. “I will,” I blurted, but Brandon was already outside, holding the flap for her.
"No, offense, Con." Poppy crawled through the opening and glanced over her shoulder. “But Brandon makes me feel safe.” The flap fell at the same time I felt the slight smile on my face drop.
Why did Brandon get to scare her, and then be the one to walk her inside? And why did I even care? I snatched a Milkybar from the pile of snacks, tore off the wrapper, then crammed it into my mouth.
Brandon was mean to Poppy while I was nice. He was trouble. I went to church and prayed every day. Good girls were supposed to like good boys, at least that’s what Ma had always told me. But Poppy—I was pretty certain she liked Brandon more than me. I hated that almost as much as I hated that it made me angry at my best friend. At twelve years old, I didn’t understand why I wanted her to like me more than him. All I knew was that I did.
I tossed the crumpled up Milkybar wrapper to the ground, then tugged off my tie, and rubbed a furious hand over the top of my head until I was certain my hair had to actually look like more of a mess than Brandon’s.
Whatever it was about him that Poppy liked more, I’d figure it out.
8
Poppy
September 2001
Pretty soon, the memories of American highways and suburbs were replaced by rolling hills and afternoons spent darting between run-down caravans, playing hide and seek with Brandon and Connor. For two years, it had been just the three of us.
It didn’t matter that most of the girls teased me, or that the other boys made fun of Brandon and Connor for hanging out with a girl. All that mattered was that, no matter what, we were always there for one another.
The night before the first day of secondary school—middle school in America—I couldn’t sleep. My fingers constantly twiddled while my mind refused to go quiet. Tomorrow would be the first time the three of us had been in different classes. We’d be in a bigger school with a lot of people we didn’t know. And I hated that.
Exhaling, I rolled onto my side and forced my eyes shut for the hundredth time. Just when I reached the fuzzy, borderline realm between the conscious and unconscious, something tapped my window.
Once.
Twice.
Followed by a knock that forced me upright in bed. A scream threatened my throat when I saw a silhouette at my window, but I slapped a hand over my mouth when it was Brandon’s face plastered to the glass and not some stranger’s.
“Open up, poss.”
Swallowing hard, I crawled out of bed and quietly shut my door, then locked it before tiptoeing to the window. The worn springs creaked when I lifted it, and I prayed the noise didn’t wake my dad. The window was barely halfway open before Brandon threw one leg over the ledge, followed by the other.
A nervous heat washed throughout me when he hopped into my room, and I took an unsteady step back. Boys had no business in a girl’s room at night. I knew that, but it was Brandon.
The soft glow from my nightlight was just enough that I could make out the dried blood caked to his swollen lip. I knew that split lip was compliments of Mr. O’Kieffe. Tears welled in my eyes, and I spun around because I didn’t want the wounded to console the able.
Brandon tucked his chin to his chest while rubbing a hand over his arm. “Connor was already asleep…”
