22. Josie

22

Josie

J osie : Do you think you might have time to talk tonight?

Van : All we have to do tonight is read and study for a quiz that's not even happening until next week, so I'm wide open.

Josie : I see what you're doing and it isn't going to work. Older sister/guardian of a teenager, remember?

Van : It was worth a shot. But yeah, I can talk. I'm meeting the guys back at the rink when we're done since our game against Woodcock is this weekend. But that's not until 10:00, so I've got time.

Josie : Thanks. I'll see you tonight.

I glance over the texts I exchanged with Van earlier today. I'm nervous, and I shouldn't be. Van will be here in five minutes to start his tutoring session, and, like he said, we have a light night. He's been listening to the audiobook, so we'll discuss what's happened in the latest chapters to get him ready for his quiz. And I've made some digital organizers for him, so hopefully that will help.

Did I spend hours on the internet today learning everything I could about functional illiteracy? Of course, I did. And what I learned was surprising. Van's not alone. The statistics are staggering. The number of people in the United States who fall into that category is way higher than I expected, and a lot of what I read matched up with Van's history. Literacy isn't as easy as many of us make it out to be. It feels basic to me, and it's something I take for granted. I don't remember a time when I couldn't read—or even a time when I couldn't read well. It's just something my brain knows how to do. So, I'm doing my best to learn ways to help Van's brain have an easier time with the reading and writing that he has to complete for these courses.

Thankfully, for someone like Van, the digital age has lots to offer. I never thought much of it, but looking back, it's obvious to me that he talks into his phone a lot more than he taps on it. He plays messages aloud that I would just read in my head. I chalked it up to personal preference, but now I'm realizing just how many adjustments he's had to make. I also found out that the school has access to some dictation software that could really save him some time and some stress.

Once we get through all of that, we should have plenty of time for me to come clean about things I should have explained years ago. He was brave enough to open up to me last night, so now it's my turn. Or, it will be in an hour or so.

Taking my seat in the familiar spot we've commandeered each night, I smile when I see him walk through the doors. But he's not alone.

"Hi, Josie," Van says, his smile a little tight as he drops his bag on the table and fishes out his laptop. "This is Jeff, the TA from my Medieval History course."

"Hi, Jeff," I say, smiling awkwardly and wondering why Van brought company. Jeff doesn't smile back. He can't be much older than Van and I are, but his navy blue tie, matching sport coat, khakis, and loafers give him an authoritative air.

"You're Ms. Reynolds, the tutor?" he asks, and I nod. Jeff looks at me skeptically for a moment and I begin to wonder if he's going to ask to see my license or Bainbridge ID. He must decide that my library nametag is sufficient, though, because he hands over an official-looking manila folder.

"Since the hockey team is leaving campus early tomorrow, Dr. Danforth would like Beckett to take his test tonight. These are confidential materials, and they are authorized for your eyes only." Jeff takes a quick look around the library as though he's scanning the premises for cheaters who are about to ambush me and steal these precious documents.

I want to laugh, but poor Jeff is taking his duty so seriously that I school my features while he issues detailed instructions about how to proctor the test. Finally satisfied with my assurances to monitor Van and keep the testing materials safe, Jeff leaves.

"And I thought I took my job seriously," I joke, offering a smile as I take the seat next to Van.

"Jeff's big on rules and procedures. Most profs let us make up tests when we get back, but Jeff and Dr. Danforth are hardasses when it comes to that kinda stuff."

"We studied for this on Tuesday, right?"

"Yeah," Van says, logging in and pulling up the course. "I should be good to go, but these tests take forever. Like Jeff said, you have to read all this stuff while I look at slides and pick the right answers. Plus, we need to read for Lit, and I have questions about chapter 20."

"Don't worry," I say. "We'll have plenty of time to get everything done."

But it turns out I was overly optimistic. After we get everything finished, my phone beeps, signaling the end of our session. Van looks a little tired, but I'm hoping we can still talk. He's got an away game this weekend and because Levi's flying out to L.A. tomorrow, I won't be back on campus until early Monday morning. I'm a little anxious about this conversation, but I'd rather have it now than wait until next week.

Van pushes back from the table and gathers his stuff. "So, do you still wanna?—"

He's interrupted by a commotion at the main desk. And by commotion, I mean half a dozen hockey players. Britt's working up front tonight and she must point the herd in our direction because they come barreling through the room.

"Hey, Josie," Pete says warmly, offering me a hug. When we met as part of the Legacy Scholars group freshman year, I had no idea Pete was roommates with the guy I'd just met. And after Van and I broke up, I was sure Pete would keep his distance when we saw each other at meetings and events, but he didn't. We've been friends for the past few years and I'm glad. He's a big teddy bear of a guy. I'm sure he looks intimidating on the ice, but I know what a softie he can be. Right now, though, he and Van are having an entire conversation with just their eyes. I laugh to myself because Mel and I do the exact same thing.

"Come on, man," Ollie says. "Norris is waiting for us."

Van's not moving. "I thought we were starting in an hour?"

"The rink's free now," another guy says, and he's so excited about it that he's practically bouncing up and down.

"Mikalski, did you take your meds today?" Ollie asks the tall, lean bouncy guy.

"Nah, man. I play better without them."

I hear Pete curse and I bite back a smile. Wrangling these guys must be a full-time job.

"Grab your stuff, Vandaele," Ollie says. "We need to get ready to kick some Bushtit ass this weekend."

Van stands next to me, seemingly frozen into the worn burgundy carpet.

"You should go," I say, just as he shakes his head and says, "We're not finished yet. You guys can start without me."

His teammates don't bother to hide their shock, but Pete's not having it. He clears his throat before announcing, "This is your captain speaking. Let's go."

They file out, leaving Van and me alone. We just sort of stare at each other, but the moment is broken when bouncy guy—Mikalski—pokes his head back in the room. "Seriously—how long will you be?"

Before Van can answer, somebody yanks Mikalski by his hood and drags him off.

"Sorry about that," Van says, threading his hands through his hair.

I'm shaking my head. "No apology necessary. And if you need to?—"

"You said you wanted to talk?" he asks, cutting me off.

"Yeah," I answer, looking around the room. It's not crowded, but there are a few people milling around the stacks and a couple study groups at the tables. "Should we go upstairs and see if the comfy chairs on the third floor are free?"

He agrees and we make our way back up to the far corner of the reference section. It's occupied, but I'm undeterred. One of the perks of working here is that I know all the best spots. I lead Van to an alcove in the far corner of the room. There's only one chair, but it's more of a mini-couch. There's plenty of room for two and even though it feels more intimate than it should, I guess it's really no different than us sitting next to each other on my bed yesterday. Besides, there aren't many other options and time is ticking. So I set my worries aside and dump my backpack on the floor. Van does the same, and now we're facing each other just like we were downstairs.

It's awkward, and I'm trying to decide where to start when Van begins to talk.

"It's funny, Jos," he tells me, a smile playing on his lips. "For weeks, I tried to get you to talk to me. I used to go home grumpy every night after tutoring because you made us stick to the rules. But now that we're about to talk, I'm kinda nervous."

He's not alone. I can feel pink patches blooming on my neck and face, a tell-tale sign of my anxiety. My fingers are busy fidgeting with a loose button on my cardigan, but that does little to keep my nerves at bay. "Me, too. But you were honest with me, so I owe you nothing less. I probably—no, I definitely—should have said this a lot sooner. I'm sorry, Van. I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you. I had my reasons, but it wasn't fair."

Van's shaking his head. "You don't owe me anything, Jos. I see that now. I was nineteen and dumb. Impulsive. I had this idea of what a relationship should be and when you didn't fit into that stupid mold, I lost my shit. Hell, I accused you of cheating on me," he says, wincing. "I was way out of line, and I'm sorry for that."

I turn my body to face him. "But I hadn't told you anything, so I can't really blame you for jumping to conclusions. There's so much I should have said—so much you shouldn't have had to find out about from my best friend at a party."

Van shrugs. "Maybe if I hadn't been an asshole that night, you'd have told me."

"It had nothing to do with you," I assure him. "I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, at least not actively. But how would that have even worked? I mean, I remember when you and Pete saw Mel and me at the fountain. We'd met a couple nights before, and of course, I'd told Mel about the hot guy who hung out in my room while his friend was getting…friendly with one of my neighbors. I never thought I'd see you again, or if I did, that you wouldn't remember me. But then you and Pete walked up, smiling. You had this look on your face like you were so happy to see me."

There's that dimple again. "I was. I, um…I told Pete all about you when I got back to the room that night. I remembered everything—the fact that your closet was piled high with books, that you had the prettiest brown eyes I'd ever seen. But I forgot the most important part—your name." His cheeks heat with that admission. "I figured I had no chance of finding you again. Pete agreed. Apparently, there are a lot of pretty girls with brown hair who are a foot shorter than me," he says, smiling. "But then he came home the next day and said we should buy lottery tickets. I looked at him like he was crazy, and that's when he said he found my Toasty Pocket girl at his first scholarship club meeting. So, I booked my ass to the fountain, Pete followed, and there you were."

"You walked right up to us and asked me out," I say, remembering the scene so well. "The sky was a brilliant blue and I could feel the warmth of the September sun on my back. There were people all over the quad, but you were looking right at me and asking me to go to the movies. So, of course I said yes. And what should I have done? Stopped you there and said I had residual trauma from the premature deaths of my parents? You can't just weave that into conversation. But then we started dating and there was never a good time to just blurt out, ‘Hey, this really awful thing happened to my family and now I'm the stand-in mom for my brothers and sisters.' Please believe me, Van. I wanted to tell you. I tried to, at the party, but then I got selfish."

Van's been soaking up every word. His eyes haven't left mine since I started explaining, but now he pulls back. "Selfish?"

"We were talking to your friends, and you had your hands wrapped around my shoulders. It felt so good to just be normal. When I was with you, I didn't feel like the girl whose parents died. Or the one who was raising a baby, two preschoolers, and a twelve-year-old. I come from a small town and everybody meant well, but their attention was suffocating. I'd be in the grocery store shopping for diapers and fruit snacks and I could feel eyes on me. They were never mean, just nosy and a bit judgmental. So, when I was here, in Bainbridge, with you, it felt so good to just be a girl whose boyfriend adored her. And that sounds so bad, because I love my siblings so much. And I don't regret the decision Levi and I made, not one bit. But I was nineteen, too. And trips home were complicated. I missed my mom and dad terribly. They were gone without warning. Plus, my weekends and Wednesdays were filled with laundry and orthodontist appointments and meltdowns because I cut Milo's sandwich in triangles when he asked me to cut it into rectangles. It was awful and wonderful, all at the same time, but it was overwhelming. And then I'd come here and see you, and all you wanted to do was be with me and make me feel good. I was young and in lust and selfish. I let you be what I needed, but I never once thought about how you'd feel when you found out."

My last words come out in a rush and a stream of tears follows. I've been holding them back, but I'm powerless to stop them now. I mumble my thanks when Van ducks over to a table and grabs a wad of tissues for me. Soon enough, he's back in my space, impossible to ignore. He reaches for me, and his words draw me close.

"Let me hold you, Josie. Please."

I melt into his embrace, knowing it's foolish. I let his touch comfort me. I shouldn't, but I do.

The tears keep coming as he holds me tight. They're tears for my parents—you'd think after five years I'd be over crying jags, but that's just not true. They're tears for the mistakes I've made, for what I lost, and for all the ways I wish I'd handled things differently with Van that night. "I'm not good at fighting," I confess, my cheeks wet. "That's obvious, right? I hate it. I avoid it. I'm working on that now, but back then? You were mad and you had every right to be, but it's like I was frozen,or maybe in slow motion. I couldn't find the right words. I couldn't get them out fast enough."

Van leans back and tips my chin up. "And I was a cocky kid who felt like he was being rejected. I lashed out when I should have shut the hell up and listened. I'm working on that, too. For what it's worth, Jos, I'm sorry for all of it—the fight, freezing you out, and for all you went through. I should have been there for you. I could have listened, at least. Maybe even helped? Hell, I don't know. I just hate that you went through all of that and instead of making your life easier, I made it much harder."

We sit together for a while and I begin to wonder if I'm the only one who's been shedding tears. Being a crier sucks sometimes—my face gets splotchy, my nose runs, and a lot of people just don't know what to do with someone else's tears. But crying is cathartic, too. Despite my protests over the last few weeks, I can admit that Van was right. We needed to talk. But where do we go from here?

My anxiety doesn't even get started on that question, because his phone starts lighting up, and mine does, too.

"Let me guess. That's a message from your teammates?"

He laughs. "More like twenty, but yeah. Is Levi checking in on you?"

I nod, tapping out the familiar text. "I should get home, not only so he won't worry, but also because it's late and I have a busy day tomorrow."

Van agrees, but we both stay still for a moment. It's like we know that once we stand up and start moving, real life will resume around us. And this little bubble is nice. I hate to leave it behind, but we can't stay here forever.