For Ever by C. J. Valles

Trig. Does anybody want to
tell me what I did wrong on my Algebra homework before Bellarmine
flunks me?” I ask, trying to change subjects.
    Marcus frowns.
    “Hey, how come you’re not in Trig this
year?”
    I shrug.
    “Mathematical impairment. It’s a recessive
gene on my mom’s side.”
    “You forgot a minus sign on that one,” Josh
says from behind me.
    I glance to my right and then flinch as he
leans over and rests his hand next to mine.
    “Thanks,” I mumble.
    This is exactly what I was hoping wouldn’t
happen. Erasing the problem, I try to think up a covert way of
forcing Josh to register that Taylor has a huge crush on him—before
she assassinates me with poison darts. Besides, something tells me
that Josh and I would get along just fine if he would give up
whatever skewed romantic ideal of the new girl that he’s made up in
his head. But my own double standard makes me frown. Wouldn’t I be better off if I took my own advice—and ignored my
alternating fascination and aggravation with Ever Casey?
    As I walk to the bus stop after sixth period,
the sky still looks like it’s about to unleash, but I’ve already
turned down Josh’s umpteenth offer of a ride. I can’t in good
conscience accept when I know that he lives in the opposite
direction from my house. Debating for a second, I put on my
headphones and walk past the bus stop, feeling a sudden thrill in
doing something different. I haven’t gone running or done any real
exercise since the move, and I could use some.
    Walking briskly, I estimate that it should
take forty-five minutes—an hour tops—to get home. Walking such a
distance for transportation purposes in L.A. would be considered
grounds for institutionalization, but Oregonians don’t seem as
opposed to bipedal transportation.
    When I’m about halfway home, a crack of
thunder crashes above me. I look up, and a huge drop smacks me on
the forehead. Within a few seconds it’s pouring, even harder than
it did over the weekend. I pull up my hood and cinch it as tight as
possible, reducing my peripheral vision to zero. I reason that at
least my head will stay dry.
    My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know
without looking that it’s my mom. She’s working the evening shift,
having always preferred nights to early mornings, even if it means
she sometimes gets home long after I’ve gone to sleep. I miss her,
but there’s no point in making her feel any guiltier than she
already does about the move.
    “Hey, Mom. How’s work?”
    She sighs.
    “Oh, you know. The usual. Craziness. Two
readmits. One guy is refusing to take his meds. Another walked into
the local convenience store in his underwear and a ball cap.
Alzheimer’s. So sad. The family was worried sick. Lots of
paperwork.”
    “Wow. Sounds like you’ve got your hands
full.”
    My mom thrives on drama and dysfunction, even
if she won’t admit to it. Honestly, though, I don’t know how well
she would handle it if I suddenly became an out-of-control
teenager. She likes fixing other people’s problems, which makes
sense. Other people’s issues are much less daunting.
    “What’s that noise?” she asks.
    I laugh.
    “That would be water pouring from the
sky.”
    There’s a long pause, and I hear a chair
rolling.
    “You’re walking ? In this? Wren, could
you have picked a worse day?”
    Laughing, I stop on the curb and watch the
blinking red hand from the traffic light.
    “I needed some exercise. Plus, my feet are
dry,” I say optimistically.
    I wiggle my toes. I’m actually not sure how
much longer my new boots are going to withstand the downpour.
Either way, I’m going to need ten showers just to defrost. When she
speaks, my mom’s voice is muffled, and I can tell she’s not talking
to me.
    “Call Dr. Carson in radiology.” To me, she
says, “Are you going to be all right on your own tonight?”
    “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. And if I
get really bored, there’s always laundry.”
    “I just feel bad leaving