Page 16 of All the Ways You Save Me
Madeline. The afternoon rushes back to me and I feel my face flush.
“You totally did.” Jason laughs. “You’re so cheesy.”
“No, I didn’t.” I hesitate and then admit, “I did tell her about my parents.”
“What did she say?”
“She was sympathetic… and really sweet…” I sink back against the couch cushions, remembering how comfortable I felt opening up to Madeline, how I could have sat there on the overlook and talked to her forever.
“Dude, your face right now.” Jason shoves me in the arm. “Cheesy.”
With a laugh, I pick up a throw pillow and fling it in his direction.
“Did you guys discuss college and stuff?” Jason asks.
My smile fades. It’s the fall of our senior year. Applications, essay requirements, and safety schools are all anyone is talking about. Maple Ridge is an upper-middle-class town, and most kids go to college. Well, most kids in this part of town. Over on the east side of the river where I grew up, kids can’t even afford the application fee, let alone tuition. They’ll be doing what their parents did—working at Walmart, driving a truck, or if they’relucky, they’ll get one of the union jobs at the factory over in Britton.
My mom worked as a server at the local diner until she got sick, and my dad was a car mechanic. The wordcollegedidn’t come up in my house. Why would we talk about something so out of our realm? It would be like discussing our next trip to the moon. I recently landed a part-time job as an assistant at the shop where my dad worked, and I’m hoping to eventually learn to be a mechanic like he was. I like using my hands and coming home physically tired at the end of the day.
“Madeline and I didn’t really talk about college or what we’re doing after graduation,” I say.
Jason stubs out the remaining half of the joint on the top of an empty seltzer can, tosses it back in the baggie, and stuffs the whole thing into the coffee table drawer. I make a note to hide it better once he leaves. His parents give me privacy and rarely come down here, but it’s their house, and they have the right to go where they want.
He swivels on the couch cushion to look at me. “That’s good.”
“Why?” I ask, but I think I know where this is going.
The subject of college came up at the lunch table this past week. Like Jason, Madeline is applying to a dozen different schools. As the two of them discussed the rankings of Penn State versus Michigan versus the university of something-or-other, I made an excuse to get up and fill my water bottle. I hovered around the drink station, and I couldn’t help but hear snippets of animated conversation as Jason and Madeline chatted about seminars and professors and travel abroad opportunities at their dream programs.
“If you’re going to get serious about her, you might need to step it up a little.” Jason slowly enunciates each word, the pot he smoked a minute ago starting to kick in. “A girl like her is going to expect certain things. A guy with a plan and some prospects.”He eyes the hints of motor oil that seeped into the cracks in my knuckles and won’t come out no matter how much I scrub them.
I reflexively shove my hands in my pockets. I know he wouldn’t say these things so bluntly if he weren’t high, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. On the coffee table in front of us sits the biology assignment I’ve been struggling to finish for the past week. Until last year, I was busy taking care of my dad and trying to work enough to keep food on the table, and now I’m saddled with a C average that won’t budge. That would never get me scholarships to college, and I could never pay for it.
Jason is only putting words to the weight sitting on my chest.Am I good enough for Madeline?We’re only seventeen but I’m sure she thinks about the future. A girl like her would expect to end up with someone who will work in a well-paying field like law or business. A guy who will have a career, make good money, and be able to afford a house like this one. Or at least more than a trailer on the other side of the river. To me, car mechanic is a great job—stable with a decent salary—but I don’t know if Madeline would view it the same. Her mom has some sort of fancy career in medicine, her sister goes to Berkeley, and she’s applying to top university English departments.
I’m used to Jason’s future looking different than mine, and I never really compared them. But now I glance over at Jason’s perfect hair and expensive clothes, and I can’t help the doubts that creep in.
Maybe Madeline picked the wrong guy.
TEN
PRESENT DAY
Madeline
I park my car on the street in front of the brick warehouse where Jason works as the VP for a technology distribution company. It’s in an industrial part of town on a street mostly made up of buildings that a century ago housed factories that made baked goods and paper, but now they’ve been converted into offices and storage facilities. I enter a nondescript lobby area with a handful of upholstered chairs and a reception desk at the opposite end of the room. The desk is empty, which isn’t unusual. It’s a small company, and Layla, the administrative assistant, is often running errands or working in the warehouse side of the building.
Beyond the reception desk, a hallway leads to a suite of offices. I often stop by for lunch with Jason when I’m on school breaks, so I’m comfortable heading in that direction on my own. The door is closed, but I hear Jason’s voice inside, so I knock gently and peek inside the room. I immediately come face to face with Layla’s backside in a hip-hugging pencil skirt.
“Oh,” I say with an involuntary gasp. Layla is leaning overthe couch, one hand on the armrest, the other holding on to a seat cushion. She drops it and quickly shoves it into place before pulling her body upright. My gaze darts to Jason, who is at the other end of the couch, also shoving a cushion into place.
“Maddie!” he says, giving the cushion one more pat before moving across the room toward me. “I lost my favorite pen.” He gives a sharp laugh, gesturing behind him. “Layla was helping me look for it.”
My gaze slides from Jason to Layla, an unfamiliar feeling slowly building in my chest. Layla is close to my age and attractive, with long, dark hair and gentle curves peeking out from beneath her coral blouse. She’s always welcomed me when I’ve stopped by to see Jason before, and I’ve never had any reason to think they’re anything other than coworkers.
But I’ve never walked in on them straightening the couch cushions, either.
Layla holds up a pen, and I release the air from my lungs. If I’m honest, itdidlook like they were searching for something in the cushions, not making out on them. I silently scold myself for my sexism. Would I feel the slightest hint of suspicion if Layla were a middle-aged man instead of a pretty twenty-something with a good bra? I know I wouldn’t, and Jason has never given me any reason to doubt him. In fact, he pursued me for yearsduring our friendship before we started dating. If he wanted to sleep with Layla, he’d have had plenty of opportunities before we got together.
