Page 3 of The Design of Goodbye
Speaking of the boy, I needed to check on him. That was the right and legal thing to do. From where I was parked in the middle of the street, I couldn’t see him. Was he okay? What if he wasn’t? Was he passed out on the cold ground? Would I have to call an ambulance and admit I’d hit someone?
I hadn’t hit him that hard...had I?
No. I definitely hadn’t. It’d been more like a light tap.
Stalling, I rubbed my sweaty palms over my jeans and adjusted my blazer before getting out of my car. On trembling legs, I stood on uneven gravel and peered around the front of my car.
There he was.
Alive.
The boy was in the street between the front right tire of my car and sidewalk picking up papers that were getting blown around by the wind.
He didn’t notice me.
That was until I yelled, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Why was I blaming him? Was I trying to feign confidence because I didn’t want him to know how terrified I was at what I’d done? He turned around. I instantly recognized him. School outcast, Liam Strom.
“Me?” he said. “You’re the one who hit me!”
“I didn’t hit you!” I walked closer and almost stepped on his hand. “It was a light tap.”
His mouth fell open. “A light tap?”
I nodded.
He let out a long breath. “You’re lucky I saw you speeding through that turn like a maniac and slammed on my brakes.”
“I wasn’t going that fast!”
“Right.”
A gust of wind blew, and I wished I would’ve put my coat on. “Next time, don’t ride your bike in this weird lane,” I advised, pointing to the lane we were standing in. “Bike on the sidewalk, like a normal person.”
“This weird lane is thebikelane.” He grabbed the rest of his papers and stood. His helmet was crooked, and his jeans were caked with dirt—all because of me. “For future reference,” he continued, “this conversation would’ve gone a whole lot better if you would’ve started it with an ‘Are you okay?’ or ‘I’m sorry.’”
My stomach clenched. Those two words brought back those painful July memories I tried so hard to forget. I’dneversay those words again.
I dramatically rolled my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No.”
He righted his bike, which had fallen partially on the sidewalk. I shivered. Had he made himself fall to prevent fully colliding with my car? It sure looked like it.
“While this has been fun,” he said, hopping on his bike, “I have to get to class.”
He sped off. I crossed my arms and glared at his retreating form. He wasn’t going to turn around, but the action sure made me feel better. Which I needed. Even if he didn’t know it, I felt terrible. I’d hit him. I could’ve really hurt him.
Another gust of wind blew, and one of Liam’s papers flew up against the nearby stop sign. I picked it up and turned it over.
It was beautiful.
* * *
My high school counselor was obsessed withStar Trek. Every inch of her office wall space was covered inStar Trek-themed art, and her two bookcases were crammed with figurines, spaceships, and books. The sheer amount of stuff always made me halt in her doorway because it wasthatoverwhelming.
