Bright Stars, Broken Compass

Chapter Six: Abbey

Chapter Six

Abbey

The leaves were just beginning to turn as I walked away from the coffee shop, cutting straight across Main Street rather than using the crosswalks like I was supposed to. Rogue patches of red and gold peeked out every so often from a nest of otherwise green foliage. Full fall was months away still. This far south, it would be late October before I could feel the satisfying crunch of dead leaves underneath my boots. 

Which sucked, because I really wanted to have something to kick at. Inside I was singing, because Will clearly wanted to see me again, and that’s what I wanted, too.  I was mad at Brady, but also surprised because it wasn’t for the reasons I would have thought. I should have been furious about the way he grabbed me, and the horrible way he behaved. And I was, to a point. But I was more furious at the thought that he might have painted me in a bad light with Will. If Brady had somehow screwed up my chances with him, I was going to kill the cheating bastard. Slowly and painfully. 

Of course, I might not have to. When Amy found out, my ex was going to be in mortal peril. I smiled grimly at the thought. At least I could tell her I already slapped him. That might calm her down somewhat. It’s not something I took lightly, hitting someone. But he hadn’t been listening to me, and he wouldn’t let go. The memory of it settled in my stomach like a weight. I resolved to talk to Amy about it for real.

I shook off my dark thoughts.  I had better things to think about. Namely, one Charles William Parker, who’d managed to cross my path twice now in as many days. Which was totally fine with me. He was easy on the eyes with his hazel eyes and dark blond hair. There was a calmness about him, an alert stillness, that set me at ease almost immediately. Most guys my age carried an edge of discomfort when they talked to me, like getting to know girls was still some awkward task. But there was none of that with Will, and I found it refreshing.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I slipped it out to find another text from my mother. She was waiting in the parking lot outside of my apartment, since Amy wasn’t home and she didn’t have a key. She seemed impatient, which was usual for her, when dealing with me. I grimaced and walked faster. I’d really hoped to have time to change into something more appropriate than the wrong sized t-shirt and faded jeans, but Mom would just have to take me as I was. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too bitchy about it. 

My mother attacked life with a kind of observant precision that was as painful as it was effective. Every situation was analyzed and dissected, and then everyone around her would be routed into action until her plan was well under way. But she had grand ideals, and it was really cool to see the things she sometimes got accomplished. Truth be told, my urge to do charity work came from the deep sense of satisfaction some of her projects had instilled in me. Like her annual Christmas project, which worked to match homeless and underprivileged families in the community, with wealthier sponsors, who not only helped them with material items, but who actually invited them into their homes for the holiday, for dinner and conversation. 

I hopped on the shuttle and slid into a thinly padded plastic seat. The driver was overweight and sweating heavily. The air was on full blast, and my skin prickled with gooseflesh at the sudden onslaught of cold. Conversations faded in and out around me, creating a kind of word pattern in my head that was almost like a song.

“… Drop the class….”

“…because then she said…”

“… thirty minutes of cardio…”

“He’s a bastard, and she’s a bitch.”

I shook my head to clear it of the noise. My thoughts tended to scatter when I was nervous, and my mother certainly made me that way on a regular basis. The shuttle pulled into my apartment complex and I made my way carefully though the gauntlet of knees and backpacks. My mother’s Mercedes was parked right by my stairwell. Her blonde head was bowed over her tablet, her fingers flying across its surface.  She looked up when I tapped on the glass.