Tell Me Something Real Read online

  “Hey, Evie.”

  She looks up from where she was staring at something on her phone, straightening to a stand when I pause in front of her. Our height difference is almost comical, her an entire twelve inches taller than me.

  “Hey, Lincoln. Got a second?”

  I nod, motioning to my locker. “I was just going to grab my books and then some food from the cafeteria. You want to come?”

  She nods, waiting for me while I pull out my morning books, finding the ones that still have the homework in them. I shove them into my backpack and stand, beginning to walk back toward the cafeteria. Evie falls into step next to me, neither of us speaking until we’re seated at a table, a bowl of fruit and some cereal in front of each of us.

  Pulling out my survival kit, I begin the tedious process of doing my ratios for carbs and such, taking my blood sugar level and preparing my insulin pen before lifting my shirt and injecting. Evie’s almost done with her breakfast by the time I even start mine.

  “That ever going to go away?”

  I look up from my cereal. “The diabetes?” I shake my head. “Unlike cancer or some other life altering disease, where treatment doesn’t always work, Type 1 is completely survivable with proper medicine—but the flip side is that there is no such thing as remission or miracles or freedom. Once diagnosed, I’m a diabetic forever.”

  She frowns. “That sucks.”

  “It absolutely does,” I say, and slurp the milk from my paper bowl. “But it’s not cancer, and sometimes, that’s what I have to remind myself.”

  Evie gives a half smile. “What, you don’t have cancer so life is good?”

  “Not everyone’s standards can be as high as yours, Evie girl.”

  It’s a shitty thing to say—especially since I call her the exact same thing Colt does, reminding her that she hurt my friend and I’m not okay with it. Even if I kind of understand why.

  Because she’s Evie, though, and she’s a good person at the core, she looks contrite, glancing down at the table and clearing her throat. “I’m, um, sorry.” She takes a quiet breath and raises her eyes to mine. “About that night at the party. What I said—the way I made it sound like I was judging Colt, judging you… I wasn’t.”

  “You were pretty upset about something that didn’t really affect you.”

  I’m not making it easy on her, but she doesn’t back down. Like me, Evie’s learned to be strong over the years. “Yeah…I think, that is, I know…” She clears her throat again, dropping her eyes to that spot on the table that seems to be anchoring her. “I think I was upset because I might…like Colt.”

  Her skin flames pink, and I can’t decide if it’s because she’s embarrassed to have a crush, or embarrassed that I’ll make fun of her. “I kind of figured that,” I tell her, and she freezes. I wait for her to look at me. “I mean, you don’t really like going to parties, and I had to wonder why you would bother. Then, I saw the way you reacted when Colt said hi and it clicked.”

  “Do you think he knows?”

  I shake my head. “No. Colt’s a boy. You didn’t throw yourself at him, bat your eyelashes, or begin taking off clothing when he was within range—all things he’s come to expect from any girl who wants something from him.”

  “Like Jacqueline Foster.”

  I nod. “Once. And Jasmyne Woo, and Heather Parker, and a whole slew of other girls you probably know.”

  Her expression is a little hurt, and I accept that. Hurt is okay—judgmental is not. “I don’t understand—he doesn’t even like those girls.”

  “Which is why it’s easy to hook up with them. Colt’s complicated, Evie,” I explain. “He’s… he’s got a lot of baggage, and so when a pretty girl offers him something as simple as a roll in the hay without any expectations, he takes it, because it feels good and it’s easy, and he doesn’t have a lot of easy in his life.” Or good, I think, but I won’t share that with her.

  “So, you think I’m wasting my time?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said that he has a past—one that includes random hook ups with girls you see every day. Girls that you don’t like, but if you like him, they’re girls you’re going to have to get over. He doesn’t deserve to have someone throw things in his face.” My voice is stern now, and she nods, swallowing. “And I won’t stand by and let you, even if he would. You either like him as he is, or you walk away and leave him alone.”

  She stays quiet for a minute, looking somewhere else and letting my words sink in. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re the closest to him. Should I be worried that I’m crushing on the love of your life?”

  I smile, shaking my head. “Colt’s my best friend, Evie. That’s not changing, but we’ve never been more than that. I’d be happy if you were the girl he chose,” I tell her.

  “You would?”

  “Duh. At least I like you—and I think Colt could, too, if you give him the chance.”

  “How do I do that? I mean, I’m me, and he has people like Jacqueline and Jasmyne stripping their clothes off. I’ve never even kissed a boy.” Her voice is a little terrified, and I can see the insecurity doing its best to eat her alive.

  “You’re not missing much,” I assure her, and she glares. “Okay, maybe you’re missing a little, but as far as giving Colt a chance, maybe start by talking to him. I can assure you that’s one thing no other girl he’s hung out with has done.”

  “When? We don’t have classes together, and it’s like you said, I don’t really like going to parties.”

  “Well, I like you and other than Colt, you’re my best friend at school.”

  “Really?”

  Now it’s my turn to be a little uncertain. “Yeah. Why? Is that weird?”

  “No. It’s nice. I…you’re kind of my best friend, too. I mean, I have teammates, but it’s not the same.”

  Relief blows through me, and I smile at her. “Well, best friend, now’s as good a time as any, right?”

  “For what?”

  “Talking to Colt,” I tell her, raising my hand and smiling as the man of the hour walks over, jeans, boots, T-shirt, and baseball cap on. “Hey, take my seat. I have to go ask Mrs. Wright about an English assignment she gave us over the summer.”

  Colt sets his own large portion of breakfast on the table, opting for the hot breakfast that kind of makes my stomach heave at the smell of thick, gravy-smothered biscuits. “You did your summer homework?” He sounds incredulous.

  “No, dingus, that’s why I have to go see Evie’s mom and beg her for help before class. See you guys at lunch?”

  Evie freezes, but Colt nods, like this is the most normal thing in the world. As I get up, he asks her, “How’s the team look this year, Evie girl? Spandex ready to roll?”

  I don’t hear her answer when I walk away, but I do look back one more time, pleased when I see him laughing as she reaches over to slug him. But her face is alight with color, and her own lips are curved. Colt… he needs someone like Evie. Someone whole, someone who can maybe show him that not all of life hurts.

  I turn, and Ford is walking through the doors with Jacqueline. She’s holding onto him, but his hands remain on the straps of his backpack while he looks around. When he spots me, I offer a wry smile, and he nods in return.

  That’s it. Nothing more before he goes toward the cafeteria, and I go toward Mrs. Wright’s classroom. But something tells me that Ford’s a lot like his cousin, and, in this instance, I’m Evie, wondering how I deal with my growing feelings for someone I’m not sure would ever see me the way I’m starting to see him.

  “Need a ride?”

  I look up from my phone to see Lincoln staring at me. “You offering?” She nods, and then makes a show of looking around, over her shoulder and behind me. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure Jacqueline isn’t hiding somewhere, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and attack me so she can feed off my soul wh
ile you distract me with the Orphan Annie look.”

  My brow wings up. “Orphan Annie?”

  “Rich boy without an anchor?”

  “Jesus,” I mumble, and straighten my shoulders.

  Her laugh is full of sadistic amusement when she leans over and pushes open the passenger door to her beat-as-hell Dodge Neon. “Come on, Rich Boy, you don’t look like someone who does a lot of walking.”

  She’s right; since getting Colt’s text that something came up and he had to bail on practice and giving me a ride home, I’d been staring at my phone, wondering if I should call Jacqueline at work and ask for a ride, even though she made it clear she wouldn’t be giving any kind of ride in the near future without more effort on my part. My only other option was to pray this town actually had Ubers.

  Walking home never even crossed my mind.

  Lincoln’s smirk tells me she knows that. Grabbing the handle, I yank the door the rest of the way open, pausing at the horrific sound it emits, like metal on metal.

  “Is this thing safe?”

  Lincoln shows no embarrassment at the state of the rusted heap with a primer colored back end, and seats that are barely holding in the stuffing. “Guess you’re about to find out.”

  I shove my bag into the backseat and lower myself into the passenger side, eating my knees in the process. “Dare I try scooting the seat back?”

  “You can try, but even Colt can’t get it to move—hence the reason he refuses to drive with me unless I let him do the driving.”

  “Can I do the driving?”

  She shakes her head and bullets out of the gravel parking lot behind the gym, letting me know her shocks are as useless as the broken stereo. “According to my research, you do not have a valid license.”

  My shoulders tense, and then the rest of my body, and it has nothing to do with hitting the world’s largest pothole at twenty miles an hour. “Stalking again?”

  “Settle down. Like I said, it was research, and it wasn’t me who found it. Colt,” she explains. “Something about a crashed Porsche. He was more worried about the car than your girlfriend who was in it with you, by the way.”

  I don’t say anything, just grind my teeth together and look out the window. “Gonna tell me what happened?”

  “Seems like you know everything already,” I spit out.

  “Not everything. Like why you would crash a car that cost a hundred thousand dollars. Or why you would be driving so fast on roads that you had no connection to—like you sought them out.”

  Lincoln glances at me, but I don’t look at her. The urge to yell is strong—the need to rage and pound on something even stronger.

  When she turns away from the farm, and onto a dirt road that leads out to one of the fields and the barn where we stacked hay during the summer, I give in. “Are you kidnapping me now?”

  “You got into my car willingly, Rich Boy. It’s just a detour.”

  “Craving some more manual labor?”

  She rolls her eyes and stops the car, getting out before I can ask why we’re here.

  I wait and watch, but she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get back in the car and leave. Then, because it’s either sit here and wonder, while I silently suffocate to death (no way am I trying to roll down a window in this car), I get out, too, and follow her around to the back where she’s hopped up onto her trunk. Her bare legs dangle over the sad looking little spoiler, feet angling toward the bumper they don’t quite reach.

  It’s crazy how small she is—slim and short. I got used to working with her the last weeks of summer, of watching her jump up into a tractor, or wield a broom in one of the barns, and she was so capable that I began to ignore her size. But now, sitting like she is, I’m reminded that she’s a good foot shorter than I am, and at least eighty pounds lighter.

  And beautiful.

  I don’t know if I purposely didn’t acknowledge this when we first met, or if I just always saw her as some hick girl with a dumb hick boyfriend who wasn’t worth my time, but it never registered just how striking Lincoln is. Not until the day I saw her at school during the summer, when she was standing there with her mother, ignoring the stares and the gossip, staying strong under her mother’s obvious desire to crush her.

  I noticed her then—like I’m noticing her now in the quiet, with her bright hair and eyes, smooth skin, and just enough muscle to keep her from appearing fragile.

  Of all the people I’ve come into contact with in my life, Lincoln Brewer is the least fragile girl I’ve ever met, and I can’t decide if I’m terrified or amazed by how well she handles her life every day. It’s been nearly three weeks since school started, and while I’ve been welcomed with open arms, it’s become clear that, even in a place as close to the poverty line as Albany, Oregon, there are still social circles, and a class system. Lincoln falls into the wrong category to be welcomed by most of the population. Those looks and snide remarks she dealt with the day of registration were just the tip of the iceberg, but I’ve never seen her stand down. And I’ve never seen her crumble.

  Maybe that’s why I’m waiting, already looking forward to a time when I can step in and be there for her. Shit.

  “I love it here this time of year. Fall—when the fields are bare and burned, starting to get green again from the random rain showers, and the sun works to stay out at night.” She’s looking out away from the highways, toward the hills in the west that cradle that fighting sun, and I follow her gaze, not saying anything.

  “Colt didn’t mean anything by looking up the story about how you crashed your car. And I shouldn’t have said what I did, the way I did, about your girlfriend. That was careless.”

  Her voice is kind, and it puts me on edge when thoughts like the ones I just had are floating around in my head. “Defending your boyfriend again?”

  She sighs. “Best friend. And not defending, just explaining why he did it.”

  “I guess that’s better than the way everyone else avoids giving me any kind of truth.”

  She raises a brow. “Beau and Maggie not talking to you?”

  I shrug, hopping up on the trunk next to her. The car sinks dangerously low, and she reaches out to steady herself at the same time I reach for her. Our hands clash, and for a second, we both grip the other’s fingers.

  Lincoln gives a nervous laugh, releasing me and settling her hands against the chipped paint instead.

  “What happened? Between my dad and Colt’s?”

  She looks out at those hills again, the bare skin of her legs and arms turned a dusky gold in this light. My mouth goes dry looking at her profile, and I need desperately to swallow, but I don’t for fear of giving myself away. Instead, I watch her while the sun loses its battle with the dusk and falls.

  “I don’t know the whole thing,” she says.

  “Something is more than nothing.”

  She nods, pressing those hands tighter against the car. “Colt’s dad is a year younger than yours. More like ten months.”

  “Way to go, Beau.” My voice is dry, and she smiles.

  “They were never really close—too different, according to some people. Your dad was always really driven, focused, smart. Colt’s dad… he was the opposite in a lot of ways. More volatile. More emotional. A little darker.”

  I try to picture it—my dad when he was my age, adding in Beau and Maggie, a version of Colt. The image comes a little too easily, and it’s similar to the one I’m living right now: silence, hard work, heavy expectations with no communication. Feelings that have nowhere to go, shifting around inside until someone explodes.

  “When they got to high school, there was a girl,” Lincoln continues, and I pause. “They both loved her, both wanted her, but only one got her.”

  She looks at me, and I raise my brows. “My dad?”

  She nods. “She was his age—they graduated, and, when he left to go to the Airforce Academy, she left with him. Colt’s dad never really recovered. Speculation is
, he tried to talk her out of it, made the grand gesture and everything, and she rejected him—no one knows for sure though.

  “What they do know is that she left, and he got another girl pregnant their senior year. Married her right after graduation.”

  “God, why? They were so young.”

  Lincoln shrugs, but even after I ask it, I can already guess at the answer. Small town, lots of opinions and even smaller minds to which a pregnant girl means only one thing: marriage.

  “When he graduated, he went into the military, did some tours, and got her pregnant again a few years later—this time with Colt. Then, he got released from his time in the military and couldn’t make it work.” She swallows, looking down. “A few years later, he took his own life, and left his wife with two boys, and a broken heart.”

  My eyes fly to hers. “Colt’s dad is dead?” She nods. Then, I remember that first night she fell through my window. “You said his mom was released. Does that mean she was in prison?” She nods again. “Why?”

  When she hesitates, I roll my eyes. “I can Google it, like you two assholes did, or you can respect that I’m asking you face-to-face and tell me.”

  Lincoln sighs. “Possession and her third DUI, same as always. She got ninety days, and mandatory counseling and work crew, but it won’t stop her. She’ll get picked up again.”

  “Do you think that’s why Colt wasn’t at practice today?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. Or it could be because he was visiting his brother in Salem. He’s in the penitentiary for the next twenty years for trafficking.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Among other things. Girls,” she says, and I start to feel ill, not just at the idea, but for Colt. “His brother is almost five years older. He remembers his dad a lot more than Colt does… and Cash, well, he was a lot more like his dad than his mom.”