Chapter Two: "don't worry"

Not too long after my life-changing decision, I realize I literally have no idea where to start. The determination that ignited my heart simmers down quickly as the rain drenches my clothes. Suddenly it feels icy, and the spring wind is biting.

Thinking about Spencer now brings a truckload of emotions: sadness because I miss him, anger at the police, betrayal because my best friend disappeared on me with no warning, and more anger towards myself for having the nerve to blame Spencer for whatever happened to him. It makes me numb and tired. Eventually I stop running, trudging along a cold, dark path with no destination. Feeling hopeless, I bring my hood over my head and try not to think about it.

Somehow I end up at Coco's - a tiny, homely diner squatting on a crowded street corner. The orange glow emanating from the windows calls to me much more than the storm has, so I walk up to the front door. The bell chimes as the door swings open, but before I step onto the checkered floors of the diner something catches my eye.

"Jarret?"

The tiny ball of a person turns his head in my direction. His smile seems out of place amongst his soggy curls and dirty clothes.

"Oh. Hey, Elliot," he greets.

Jarret brings himself closer to the wall of the diner, taking advantage of the cover that the overhanging roof provides from the rain. Seeing a child's body sitting against the dulled bricks creates a painful image.

"What are you doing out here?"

I let go of the door, joining Jarret on the damp sidewalk. He gives a self-deprecating chuckle and plays with his fingers. "I lost my keys again," he says, glancing away. His eyes follow the drops of rain in front of us as they descend towards the ground. "Mom works late on weekdays, so I'm waiting here until the end of her shift."

I frown. "In the rain?"

He shrugs. "I'd rather not loiter around inside if I'm not gonna buy anything."

His dark orbs are trained on a girl around his age, shuffling quickly towards the entrance of Coco's with her mother. The middle-aged woman gives us a puzzled look, but doesn't ask questions as she ushers her daughter into the warmth of the establishment.

Have people just been walking by this kid all evening?

I sigh, slipping off my jacket to wrap it around the younger boy. Although he's already wearing one of his own, he gratefully takes the extra article of clothing and clings it close to his body.

"Well, that's dumb," I say, retracting my hands. "You shouldn't be out in the rain like this. And you know you're always welcome at my house. I've told you that."

Jarret's head turns towards me. He studies me in a way that a boy his age usually wouldn't. "People say things like that all the time to us," he says. "But I think they only say them because it sounds nice."

I clench my jaw. The words were so depressing, and yet he said them as though he wasn't aware of the weight they held.

As the rain thumps against the roof of the diner and splashes over the tips of my Nikes, I realize that he's partially right. Mom, Dad, and I have been smuggled with countless proclamations of "I'm here for you" and assurances of "It'll get better", but the reality is that they're mostly fake promises and artificial slogans that are supposed to be said.

People have their own lives and their own problems.

It's honestly no surprise that Jarret has been exposed to the same thing. In this small town, everybody knows everybody, so it's common knowledge that Mrs Krynick struggles as a single mother to raise Jarett. When she woke up to Mr. Kyrnick's bellows of anger one foggy night, the rest of the town did too. I was about eleven when it happened, and Jarett was only a toddler. No one really knows why the burly man left, but it was obvious that he didn't plan on coming back.

I stand up, abruptly ending the silence that had settled between us. Jarret looks up at me and begins taking off my jacket, assuming that I'm ready to leave. His actions are jittery as he shivers and my chest aches. I stop him, extending my hand.

"Are you hungry?"

* * *

Music warbles quietly in the background as Jarett and I sit in a booth towards the back of Coco's. The heating feels heavenly compared to the chilling air outside. Jarret and I are soaked to the bone, but he seems content as he stuffs the burger I bought him into his mouth. A smile fights its way onto my lips.

"Woah, slow down," I laugh. His eyes meet mine and he grins bashfully.

"Sorry. School lunch is terrible."  His nose scrunches as he exaggerates the last word and I laugh again. I tap my fingers on the table as he reaches for his smoothie and sucks it dry. The way he clutches his head from the brain-freeze suddenly reminds me of how Spencer does -- did -- the exact same thing, and I quickly glance away.

Jarret is silent as he finishes his meal. When he's done, a waitress swoops in and collects his plate. Her ginger hair is vibrant, pulled into a long ponytail cascading down her back. There's a familiarity in her face and mannerisms, but I can't place it.

She sends Jarret a friendly smile. "Would you like a refill, sweetheart?"

"Oh." Jarett fumbles with his fingers again. He looks up at her reluctantly. "Um...does that cost more money?"

"Don't worry about that," I cut in. Jarret hesitates, so I go ahead and turn to the waitress. "He'd like a refill, please." Her smile is sympathetic as she takes his cup.

Jarret opens his mouth when she's gone, looking guilty, but I cut him off. "So, how old are you now? Eleven, right?"

His face is blank for a second, but then a smile slowly splits his lips. "Actually, my birthday was the day before yesterday. I'm twelve now."

I smile back, glad that I was able to change the subject. His spirit is so pure it hurts. "Really?" I ask.

The boy nods excitedly, his dark curls still wet and sticking to his forehead. "Yep. I'll be a teenager soon."

I laugh at that. "You should've told me, I feel bad now."

He shrugs. "It's really no big deal. This is the best present I could ever ask for." His eyes suddenly trail downwards towards the table. "Aren't you hungry?"

I blink stupidly before looking down and realizing I haven't touched my food. I ordered a BLT and fries. The glorious sandwich remains untouched, the baked brown fries still stacked the way they were when the waitress placed them in front of me. It was a good looking meal.

And Spencer's favorite thing to order.

I guess I thought it would make me feel better, but just looking at it makes me loose my appetite. Everything reminds me of him, and it only hurts. I don't know why I thought imitating him would help. All it does is smother me in more sadness, suffocating me until I can barely breath. My shoulders sag and I shake my head.

"I . . . I guess not."

The waitress comes back with Jarret's smoothie. "Can I get you guys anything else?" I start to shake my head, but then change my mind.

"Actually, can I get an order identical to this one in a to-go box? And a takeout box for this one as well, please."

When she's gone I turn to Jarett. "You're coming back to my house until your mom finishes her shift. You should shower and get some rest. You look exhausted."

He looks shocked. "Elliot, that's okay-"

"It's fine, Jarret, really." I force a smile. "Sometimes it's okay to accept some help."

Once the waitress returns, I quickly pay the bill. It feels good having money in my pocket, and suddenly I'm glad Mom made me go get a job after she found me sulking in Spencer's room one day.

Outside, the rain has let up, so the walk back to my place isn't nearly as miserable. When we reach the house, Mom shows Jarett how to work the shower before trapping me in the living room.

"Elliot, what you did today was uncalled for and immature," she says, hands on her hips. Her eyes are narrowed into slits as she glares at me. I sigh, guilt eating my insides. While my mom was mourning the loss of her son, I left her to throw a tantrum. I look at the floor.

"I know, Mom," I whisper. Meeting her eyes seems impossible, but she lifts my chin with her finger and forces me to. "I'm sorry," I say.

Her eyes soften. "I know, mijo. But what you did only gave me another thing to worry about. I was concerned."

"Don't worry about me, Mom."

She looks so sad. "I can't help that."

Mom eventually retreats upstairs to her bedroom. Once I've gotten Jarret settled in my bed wearing some of my old clothes, I go to the kitchen to put the leftovers from the diner in the fridge. I planned on giving them to Jarett for him and his mom, but my stomach growls, so I open one of them to nab a fry.

But when I do, something bright distracts me. On the inside of the foam lid, a slip of neon blue paper is taped down. It's covered in writing that seems familiar. Suddenly my heart begins to palpitate, and my eyes drop to the bottom of the note to read the signature there.

~ Spencer

Holy crap.