The Senior Project

Chapter Thirteen | Breaking Pieces

CHAPTER THIRTEEN~

BREAKING PIECES

"What were you guys doing?" Mrs. Wilson asked when James was done greeting Callie.

"Ice cream sundae competition," I answered, keeping a steady voice.

"Really?" She sounded extremely shocked as she turned to a stiff James.

I thought my answer was innocent and harmless. After all, I was being honest. Unfortunately, sometimes the simplest of things are the things that impact a person the most. I would know that. Ice cream sundae competitions must have held more meaning to James than I originally thought. Maybe that's why he trailed off so abruptly while he was getting the ingredients.

"James? You haven't had one of those since you were in the program with Holly-" she cut off abruptly when she saw the expression on his face.

Even I was shocked at the positively cold, shuttered expression he had. There was absolutely no trace of the kind, friendly teen who was greeting his sister enthusiastically moments earlier. I'd always scoffed at the female leads in books that described the male lead as a whole new person when he was pissed. How could someone resemble someone else entirely? Yet in this moment, I could see why, I would even venture as far to say that James looked like a different person. Well, at least he didn't look like the James I had come to know.

And what program was Ms. Wilson talking about? Who was Holly? I opened my mouth to ask but it clamped shut on its own at the scene before me.

James was staring intently at his mother, having a silent conversation with her. From across the room, even Callie understood enough to stay uncharacteristically quiet. I followed her lead, ducking my head and letting my gaze rest on my socked feet. I knew I should not feel any guilt because my words were not directed to intentionally cause James pain. Ultimately, my words had caused damage and brought up an unpleasant topic.

A minute ticked by, with the whole room plunged into the kind of deadly silence that gave you goosebumps and a desire to run away.

"James!" Mrs. Wilson called.

There was a flurry of feet ascending the stairs in a rush. I raised my head in time to catch sight of James retreating upstairs.

"Mom?" Callie whispered, her face was pale and worried. Compared to her youthful personality, her expression held a jaded quality to it, as if she'd seen far too much in her nine years.

Mrs. Wilson hurried to pull her daughter close to comfort the young girl. Feeling invasive, I turned around and let my feet guide me to the fireplace to examine the pictures.

There were pictures of James during various stages of life. They had replaced all but one of the baby pictures with more recent photos. Pictures of trips to the beach, of birthdays, of middle school graduations and of award ceremonies. My gaze lingered on the old, weathered photo in the center. Baby James was very cute dressed in a blue onesie. A dark haired woman, Mrs. Wilson without her caramel streaks, I assumed, sat with her back to the camera, playing with James.

When I was done examining the photos, I turned to the mother and daughter who were still cuddled together and cleared my throat. "Ummm, where's James' room?" I asked, almost stumbling over the twisty words.

"Oh! Sorry, yes, he's the second door to the left," Mrs. Wilson answered, giving me a sad smile.

I nodded and offered one last apologetic look before slipping out of the living room.