“What’d she say?” I ask Joshua as soon as he’s within earshot.
“You really want to know?”
“Duh. You can’t not tell me! I sent you over there!”
“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re crying a river of tears though.” Joshua stalls again.
“TELL ME!!!”
“Okay! Okay! She said you’re a liar, you jump to conclusions too quickly, and spread rumors.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah. And she said that her dad doesn’t abuse her. Her brother’s just really rough when he plays with her.”
“That can’t be the truth! Her brother is 16! He either has mental problems or is just plain dumb.”
“That’s another thing she said about you.”
“What?”
“Well, she didn’t say it straight out, but she basically implied that you’re a dumbbell.”
Wow. I think. Sooo offensive. Avery of all people (well, Joshua too) should know that I don’t care when people make fun of me or call me names. Ever since I was born I’ve been called a series names because of how ridiculously short and stick skinny I’ve been. Most of the bullying stopped the Summer before 6th grade when I met Joshua. I would spend hours at his house playing video games, chugging sodas, and stuffing my face with oreos. I’m still not the biggest kid on the planet, but at least I’m not only 70 lbs. anymore. Being Joshua’s best friend also upped my popularity. No one messes with me anymore, but always have a strong resistance to others opinions.
“She just seemed really upset. Maybe you should go talk to her.”
“What the heck, dude!?!? No way! I can’t!”
“Why? Seriously, Jackson, you know it’s the right thing to do.”
“Because I...I...stop acting like my mom! I told I just can’t! No! Nada! Impossible! Ain’t happening!”
“Fine, then. Some friend you are.”
Some friend you are. Joshua’s words keep repeating themselves over and over in my head as I make my way to Ms. Chevy’s clasroom. I know I did Avery wrong, but I was honestly, really truly trying to help her. I guess the part of the plan that failed was the plan. I kind of sort of didn’t have one. I usually do a great job when I wing it. My dad always tells me that’s a bad habit and I always say it’s never steered me wrong (‘cause -- I’m not kidding -- it never has). It’s coming back to get me.
I want to help Avery but at the same time, I don’t want to help her. I’ll get to her through an adult. Someone she trusts. But I can’t think of anyone…
“Please open up your social studies textbooks to page 94,” Ms. chevy announces as she scans the classroom. “Today we will be comparing and contrasting life during -- Jackson?”
My head pops up. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you by any chance know where Avery is?”
Bingo.
YOU ARE READING
Leave Me At the Doorstep
Teen Fiction12 year old Avery Lipton is physically abused by her dad. She longs for a friend because even her own brother, Julian, is scared to stand up for her. Avery continues to be hopeless, hurt, and heartbroken, until she meets Jackson...
