Chapter 2 Good thing

you'll thank me for this, Will. I know it doesn't seem right now, but one day you'll realize I'm doing what's best for both of us." She turns to leave and I yell, "What's best for you, Vaughn! You're doing what's best for you!" As soon as the door closes behind her, I lose control. I run to my room, slam the door, turn around and punch it repeatedly, each time harder. When I can no longer feel my hand, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead against the door. I've had to take in so much in the last two weeks-I don't know how to deal with this either. What the hell has happened to my life? After a while, I go back to bed and sit with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. My mom and dad are smiling and watching me, trapped in the glass picture frame on the nightstand. Watching everything that's happened in the last two weeks slowly tear me apart. Why weren't they more prepared for something like this? Why would they risk leaving me with all these responsibilities? Their lack of preparation cost me my scholarship, the love of my life, and now, most likely, my entire future. I grab the picture frame and place my thumbs over the top of the picture. Using all my strength, I press until the glass cracks between my fingertips. After it shatters-and so does my life-I throw myself backward and throw the picture frame at the wall in front of me as hard as I can. The frame shatters in half as it hits the wall, shards of glass scattering across the carpet. Just as I turn to turn off the lamp, the bedroom door opens again. "Just leave, Vaughn. Please." I look up and see Caulder standing in the doorway, crying. He looks terrified. It's the same look I've seen so often since our parents died. It's the same look I saw when I hugged him goodbye at the hospital, forcing him to go with our grandparents. It's the same look that breaks my heart every time I see it. It's the look that instantly brings me back to control. I wipe my eyes and motion for him to come closer. When he does, I wrap my arms around him and pull him into my lap, holding him close as he cries softly into my shirt. I rock him back and forth and smooth his hair. I kiss his forehead and pull him closer. "Want to sleep with me again, buddy?" 2. The Honeymoon "Wow," Lake says in disbelief. "Such a selfish bitch." "Yeah. Good thing," I say. I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling, mimicking Lake's position in bed. "Funny how history almost repeated itself." "What do you mean?" "Think about it. Vaughn broke up with me because he didn't want to be with me just because he felt sorry for me. You broke up with me because you thought I was with you out of pity." "I didn't break up with you," she says defensively. I laugh and sit up in bed. "Like hell I didn't! Her exact words were, 'I don't care if it takes days, weeks, or months.' That's breaking up." "It's not. I was giving you time to think." "Time I didn't need." I lie back down on the pillow and turn to her. "It felt more like a breakup." - Well - she says, looking at me. - Sometimes two people need to be apart to realize how much they need to be together. I take her hand, place it between us, and then stroke it with my thumb. - We're not going to be apart again - I whisper. She looks me in the eyes. - Never. There's a certain vulnerability in the way she looks at me silently. Her eyes scan my face, and her mouth forms a shy smile. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to. In those moments, when it's just me and her and nothing else, I know she truly loves me, from the bottom of her soul. - How was it the first time you saw me? - she asks. - What did you see in me that made you ask me out? And tell me everything, even the bad thoughts. I laugh. - You didn't have any bad thoughts. Nasty thoughts, maybe. But not bad ones. She smiles. - Then you can tell me those too. the introduction I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder and finish buttoning my shirt. - I promise, Grandma - I say into the phone. "I'm going straight from work on Friday. We were supposed to be there at five, but we're running late now. I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow." She says goodbye, and I hang up the phone. Caulder walks around the room with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a green plastic helmet on his head, like a soldier. He always tries to bring random accessories to school. Last week when I dropped him off, he got out of the car before I realized he had a holster on. I reach over and pull the helmet off his head and toss it on the couch. "Caulder, get in the car. I need to get my stuff." Caulder leaves the house, and I grab all the papers that are scattered on the counter. I've been up until after midnight grading. I've only been teaching for eight weeks, but I'm starting to understand why there are so few teachers. I put the stack of papers in the folder, put them in my bag, and leave the house. "Great," I mutter as I see the U-Haul moving truck backing up across the street. This is the third family to move into the house in less than a year. I'm not about to help anyone with boxes again, especially after only getting four hours of sleep. I hope they unload everything before I get home tonight, or I'll feel like I have to be a helper. I turn around, lock the door, and walk quickly to the car. When I open the door, I see that Caulder isn't inside. I groan and throw my things on the seat. He always picks the worst times to play hide-and-seek; we're already ten minutes late. I glance at the backseat, hoping he's hiding in the ground again, but I see him down the street. He's laughing and playing with another little boy who looks about his age. That's good. If he has a neighbor to play with, he might leave me alone more often. I yell his name, and the U-Haul catches my attention once more. The girl driving it can't be older than me, and yet she's backing the U-Haul up with confidence, without any help. I lean against the car and decide to watch her attempt to get the thing between the lawn sprites. It's going to be interesting. I quickly realize I'm wrong, because she's quickly pulling into the driveway. Instead of jumping out of the truck to see how she got there, she turns off the engine, rolls down the window, and rests her leg on the dashboard. I don't know why these little gestures seem strange to me. Or even intriguing. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, then reaches up and pulls her hair, releasing the ponytail. It spills over her shoulders, and she massages her head, shaking the strands. Holy crap. Her gaze drifts to the boys playing in the street between us, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Could she be his sister? His mother? She doesn't look old enough to be that boy's mother,