Chapter eight

8.
“Great meal, Mr. and Mrs. Baskett.” R cleaned his plate off into the sink and waited in the kitchen for me to do the same.
“Oh, Rupert, you've been friends with Shane long enough to call us by our first names. That means I'm Alan and my wife is Casey,” my dad said with a smile.
“Okay. So am I camping out on the couch or what?”
“No way!” I protested. “You're sleeping in my room, just like any old sleepover. And there won't be anything else different about it, either!” I stuck my own dishes in the sink, and was ready to head upstairs when Mom interjected her opinion.
“Except for the fact that it's a school night. Right, boys?” She asked, very obviously pointing her eyebrows straight at me. I nodded.
“Sure, Mom. We're heading upstairs now. 'Night, thanks for dinner.”
Upstairs in my room R and I had a few laughs, mostly about Hannah Montana and events that had happened at school (not to us, but to other students – and teachers). But then when we had settled down in our pajamas, the mood turned more serious, and somber. I was the first to mention it, but I was hesitant – very hesitant.
“Um, R? ...Do you know what's wrong with your mom yet?”
He answered me right away, but his voice was husky. “No. The doctors were doing tests and stuff when I left. But she was having pains in her chest, I think. Maybe something with her heart.”
“Huh.”
I must have been feeling awful risky that night, because I dared to ask another question.
“Do you think... that... she'll be all right?”
That time there was a pause before his answer, and when I heard him, I was so glad that the lights were turned off, because his voice was riddled with tears.
“I don't know.”
I rolled over on my side, again glad for the darkness. I still heard his muffled cries, though, and felt his shaking since we were sleeping close together on my floor, in sleeping bags.
And I'm sure he heard my tears, also.
The next morning was somewhat awkward, what with the happenings last night and all, but we mostly just ignored it and went to school just like we always did. I could tell that R was nervous about his mom, though, especially since whenever a door opened or shut, he would jump, probably thinking someone was coming in to say there was a telephone call for him. I worried about my friend, and for my friend, and also that I would say something stupid and hurt his feelings, or that I just wouldn't know the right things to say. So when lunchtime came around, I was dreading the fact that we would be able to have an actual conversation, especially when I looked around and found R sitting with Sophia. I was just starting to approach them from across the courtyard when I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up, into someone's face.
“Hey, wanna grab some lunch with me?” Mike asked.
I stared into his face for a little while before I remembered he was a senior, and had his own car and everything. What could be cooler than going with him, me, a semi-lowly sophomore? But still, I looked over wistfully at R and Sophia. Could I really leave them? When I looked a little closer, I saw R leaning over her, his hand brushing hers, and he left it there. I felt a bubble of anger growing inside me, for whatever reason. Yes, I could leave them to themselves, since they looked oh-so-cozy.
“Sure. Where are we going?”
He smiled. “Not sure. I was thinking Taco Bell. It's my favorite, and I'm feeling like having some Mexican food.”
“Sounds great! My favorite, too, actually.”
Mike led to way to the parking lot where his sleek good-looking car was parked, and I could practically feel the eyes on my back. I knew that tons of people had to be looking at me, watching me get into the car with someone older, someone who had social standing. Someone considered “cool” by all the cliques, or at least almost all of them.
I grinned, but made sure not to turn and look at them. When I was buckled into the passenger's seat, though, I had to glance out the window, and saw bunches of teens- sophomores and freshmen, mostly- watching us drive away. I didn't even look to see if R and Sophia were joining them. I didn't care. But still, as we left the school grounds, a twinge of guilt struck me, straight in the heart.
It hurt, but going to Taco Bell didn't.
The fast-food place was crowded, with adults and small children, but also upperclassmen, seniors, like Mike, and juniors. Not very many sophomores or freshmen. I wasn't very surprised. It felt strange to stand up there in the middle of the crowd and place my order, though, especially since Mike insisted on paying for me. It almost felt like we weren't friends, but he was babysitting me. I shoved that thought far to the back of my mind, so far I could barely see it. It was better that way. I needed to focus most of my attention on not sounding like a dork when I talked, and not looking like a dork, trying to scarf down my tacos. I should have ordered a burrito, I mused afterward, They're so much easier to eat! And then I almost laughed out loud at myself. I was sounding so much like a girl, an especially paranoid one. But I caught myself just in time. Still, Mike gave me a strange look. I just smiled, and he turned his eyes back to the road. The short drive back to school was cut even shorter by Mike's perilously fast speeds, but even so, most of the students were back in their classrooms by the time we were gathering our books at our lockers. Before we parted ways, I had to say something.
“Uh, thanks for lunch. That was cool.”
“Yeah it was. Maybe we can do it sometime again. Well, see you around, Shane.” He headed on his way to one of my classes, and I hurried, so I wouldn't be late to mine. As I walked away, though, that funny feeling like he was my babysitter crossed through my mind again, and I could have sworn he should have rumpled my hair before leaving me. But that was just ridiculous. I mean, he was only two years older than me. Still, for some reason, on that day, two years felt like an eternity.
After school I wasn't quite sure what I should do. Should I seek out R and see if he was coming home with me? If so, I would definitely be late for my session with Mr. Quirk, and then we would have to spend at least half of the time talking about punctuality and stuff like that. Or should I just go straight to my counseling session? Mr. Quirk would be happy with me, but R would be very unhappy with me, and my parents might not be all that glad either. Luckily I didn't have to muddle over it for very long, because R appeared behind me on his own will.
“Shane.” I jumped, whirling around, and then sighing with relief when I saw it was him.
“Oh, I was going to look for you.”
“No matter. So, I got a call from your mom, she said that Bryn went back and needs someone to talk to, but she refuses to talk to my dad.” R gave a sigh, and I could see something in his eyes, something that looked like pain, but I couldn't really tell for sure. “Anyway, your mom is coming to pick me up and take me to the hospital to see my sister. She told me to tell you that she'll wait for you and take you home after your counseling whatever.”
R looked me straight on, then, and I could tell what it was in his eyes.
Sadness. It was sadness, mixed with pain.
I swallowed the lump that was threatening to build up in my throat, and nodded.
“Um, well, good luck, with talking to Bryn, I mean. And I hope your mom is okay.”
He nodded, too, and I also heard him swallow loudly. He turned briskly, and walked as fast as he could out of the building. I wished so badly I could do the same, but instead I had to turn the opposite direction and make my way further into the building. Do I really have to do this, day after day? And when will it end?? I made up my mind, bound and determined to ask the principal those questions. My counseling couldn't go on indefinitely. Or maybe I would ask my dad to call the principal. Yes, that would be easier... I entered the door, familiar to me by then, nodded to the receptionist who's name I had found out to be Miss Germain, and simply walked right into Mr. Quirk's office. He looked up, startled, probably because I was about 10 minutes late.
“Sorry,” I said before he could say anything. He smiled, and waved his hand, motioning for me to sit down.
I was right, we did talk about punctuality. But since I was only 10 minutes late and not 15, we only talked about it for almost half the 60 minutes of alloted time we had. He noticed that something was troubling me and tried to get me to talk about it, but I wouldn't. R's life was not mine. His was not the one underneath a microscope, and I wouldn't embarrass him in front of someone he didn't even know. So I just shook my head firmly each time he asked a question pertaining to R and what was the matter, so eventually he gave up and went on. The hour dragged by as slowly as usual, and I was glad when he looked at his watch, and said, sounding rather defeated (probably because he still hadn't managed to get what he wanted out of me),
“That's all our time for today. Have a nice night.”
“You too,” I replied, and walked out of the room, forcing myself not to hurry until I was past the door. Then I almost ran until I reached the sidewalk and bounded into Mom's waiting Sedan. The look of glee on my face was automatically paled in comparison to the grim one on hers. A shadow immediately passed over my features.