Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

Grant eyes me down. He knows a little about the necklace. He knows what it looks like and that it’s from a girl I used to know, but that’s it. I shoot him another look that says drop it . And I think it works because he quickly goes back to eatin’ his hamburger.

Just then, Grant’s cousin sits down next to me. For as long as I’ve known Grant, I’ve known Carrie.

“Hi, guys,” Carrie says, attempting to open her milk.

“Hey,” I say, grabbin’ the milk carton out of her hands. Watchin’ Carrie open a milk carton is like watchin’ a cat try to squeeze into a shoe. And I’ve actually seen a cat get into a shoe; I’ve never seen Carrie get into a milk carton.

She gives me a challengin’ smile as I open the carton and set it back onto her tray. It’s not too long and the challengin’ smile turns thankful. Then I take another bite of my burger before I catch Amy eyin’ Carrie.

“Oh, yeah, Amy, this is Carrie, Grant’s cousin,” I say.

“Hi,” Amy says bashfully but without hesitation.

Carrie looks excited. I’d think somethin’ was wrong with the world if I didn’t already know that Carrie was just as scared as we all were about startin’ high school. I think she’d befriend a skunk if it meant she didn’t have to walk the halls alone. Though, it’s not like Amy’s a skunk or there’s anything wrong with her or anything — that I can tell. In fact, Amy seems really sweet. And she’s pretty hot. But Carrie has always been a little overprotective of her cousin, and I don’t really know what her deal is with me. No girl has ever been good enough for either of us. And I’d think there was somethin’ to that except Carrie has made it pretty clear that she only dates “older men”—whatever the hell that means. I don’t even think she’s really ever dated anyone in the first place. But needless to say, Carrie’s pool of acceptable girlfriends is pretty exclusive.

Carrie looks past me to Amy. “What’s your next class?”

Amy shifts her weight on the bench and pulls out that wrinkled piece of paper from her back pocket again and examines her schedule.

“P.E.” She almost says it as if she’s not too thrilled about it. I’d be thrilled about it. I wish P.E. were my next class.

“Perfect,” Carrie almost screams, as I use my hand to cover my ear closest to her. “That’s mine too! We can pretend like we’re running together. I can do this thing where it really looks as if I’m running, but I’m really just barely walking.”

Excitement pours out of Carrie’s ears. Amy just laughs. I think they just became friends. That’s the fastest friend Carrie’s ever made. I guess a mutual fear will do that to ya. I go back to eating my lunch. I stuff some fries into my mouth and feel the necklace catch a little on the inside of my tee shirt. I wish Brooke were here. Hearing Amy laugh makes me miss Brooke’s laugh. It’s been almost a year since I last heard from her. I rack my brain every day tryin’ to figure out another way to find her. I refuse to believe I’ve lost her for good. And I know she’s tryin’ to find me too. I’ve convinced myself somethin’ must have happened to her letter. But I still check the mail for it. And I’d still check my old mailbox too — or have Tim check it — if they hadn’t torn it down with the house just recently. When we left, we took what we wanted and sold the rest with the buildings and the land. Now, it’s all just pasture and fields. Nothin’s left of the way it used to be — except for that old creek. But I guess that old creek is enough for me. I still go down to it every once in a while and replay some of those invisible memories I always used to see Mrs. Catcher playin’ back to herself. For now, those are all I’ve got — until I find her again.

I take a swig of my milk, and I catch Amy smilin’ at me. Sears County Amy has got a pretty smile; I’ll give her that. In fact, it’s probably too damn pretty for her own good. Grant’s already set his sights on her; I can tell. He hasn’t stopped stealin’ glances since she sat down. And there’s about thirty more Grants around here that’ll be dreamin’ about her tonight. Hell, I bet she has a boyfriend by the end of this week. And to her credit, he’ll be one hell of a lucky guy.

“Dude, what’s high school like?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not too different.”

“Come on, man.” Tim throws a Nerf football at me. It’s a wild throw. I just barely manage to catch it.

“Are the girls hot? Are the teachers hot?”

I send him a disgusted look thinkin’ about the teachers that way. Most of them taught my dad. “No,” I say. “No, definitely not.”

“What?” He looks at me with a stupid grin. “The girls or the teachers?”

“The teachers. No, on the teachers,” I say.

“The girls then?” he asks.

I push my lips to one side. “There’s a few girls from, you know, those other schools.”

“They hot?” For the first time, I notice him sittin’ on the edge of his chair, hangin’ onto my every word like his grandma does every Sunday to the Gospel.

I just laugh and throw the ball back at him. He doesn’t catch it. It ends up hittin’ his arm and bouncin’ to the living room floor. “But, yeah,” I say, eventually. “They’re not bad.”

“Well, you got a girlfriend yet? And does she have a hot friend?”

“A girlfriend?” I ask.

He just stares at me. I get the idea he’s seriously waitin’ for my answer. “In a day? I’m supposed to have a girlfriend in a day?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, givin’ me a funny face, “it’s high school. How am I supposed to know how it all works there?”

I lower my head. “No,” I say, “no girlfriend.” Then I sit back in the couch. “And I’m not lookin’ either.”

“What? What do you mean you aren’t lookin’?” he asks.

“I’m not lookin’,” I say again.

“Like you already found one?” he asks.

I think about his question before noddin’ my head. “Yeah,” I say. “Like I already found one.”

“I knew it!” he shouts, giving me a rascally grin. “Who is she? What’s she look like? Where’s she from? But really, what’s she look like?”

“Whoa, settle down there, grasshopper,” I say, startin’ to laugh.

Tim sits back in his chair and just stares at me.

“You already know her,” I say.

I watch as my words hit his ears, then get tossed around in that little brain of his. And then, all of a sudden, he starts shakin’ his head. “I knew it. It’s Carrie,” he says. “It’s Carrie, isn’t it?”

“What?” I look at him like he’s crazier than shit. “No, it’s not Carrie.”

“Man, I always thought she had a thing for you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not Carrie.”

“Wait,” he says. And I know now he’s got it. “It’s still her. It’s still her, isn’t it?”

I don’t say anything for a few beats, but then I nod my head. “Yeah,” I whisper.

He pushes out a long sigh and then goes to gnawing on his bottom lip. He chews on his lip like I do sometimes, but he does it only when he’s thinkin’ real hard.

“She comes to me sometimes,” I say.

He looks up at me, and I realize I need to explain myself — fast.

“At night. In dreams, I guess.”

“Man, she really got to you, didn’t she?”

I just look at him. I don’t know what to say.

“Dude, it’s your mind playin’ tricks on ya, that’s all,” he says, shakin’ his head.

“I know,” I breathe out.

What I don’t tell him is what she always says in those dreams. She wears those little jean shorts and a little top. And she never has shoes on. She’s always barefoot, and she’s always exactly how I remember her — even down to the colorful bands she wore around her wrist and her pretty laugh. It’s all so real. And we’re talkin’—just as if she had never left. And right before I wake up, she whispers into my ear: I’ll find you . Every time, she whispers: I’ll find you.