Weathering the Storm by Brynn Paulin

Chapter One

~ Heller Lewis ~

Early May 2000

Five minutes late! Damn it!

I ran into my crappy apartment, threw my backpack on the metal folding chair near the door and practically sprinted toward the small TV that sat on milk crates in the corner of the living room. As a high school student who had aged out of the system, I didn’t have much, but this was mine, and I was working on improving my circumstances. I had to. My girl deserved it.

Not that she knew she was my girl.

Using plyers, I twisted the knob to turn on the television. Crap! The screen was all fuzzy. But I heard her voice. She was on-screen, but I could barely see her. For the fifteen-trillionth time, I wished I could afford cable. But other things were more important. Like…rent. And eating. And saving for the car I desperately needed.

Trying to keep my touch gentle, despite the urgency flowing through me, I reached over the top of the old color TV I’d scrounged off a curb. Careful… Careful… If I didn’t use a surgeon’s touch, the rabbit ear antenna would either adjust too far, making things worse, or fall off the unit completely.

To my absolute frustration, the picture cleared as soon as I touched one of the metal “ears”. The second I moved away, the static on the screen got worse.

So I knelt there, staring at the woman in the green dress, her sleek nearly black hair cut into a popular bob style that looked better on her than any other woman I’d seen it on. Becca St. Claire… Beautiful and entirely out of my reach.

I really needed to get a grip and drop this fantasy. I had one more month of high school, part of the summer then I was off to college on a full scholarship. My focus needed to be on that and nothing else. Because I would not be a deadbeat like my parents who’d OD’d on the same night when I was eight. I would never live on the edge of no power or eviction the way they always had. I’d get my pre-law degree then get into law school. I’d claw my way in if I had to.

My gaze returned to Becca. Females were a diversion I could never afford. But I needed to know the weather, right? I made deliveries on my bike most night, and I was only on a break between jobs right now. Thing was, by the time Becca stopped speaking, I had no idea what the weather would be. I’d zoned out, thinking of kissing her.

Geez, I was a complete stalker. The local weathergirl was twenty-seven to my eighteen. In a room alone together, she’d never even give me a glance.

When she came back on toward the end of the half hour, I paid more attention. Rain tomorrow. Crap. That would make for a muddy, uncomfortable day. My restaurant deliveries would stay dry in my bicycle’s saddlebags, made specifically for toting food orders, but I’d be soaked to the bone. Hopefully, I wouldn’t get sick—not that it would make a difference. I’d show up to my jobs anyway. I’d just be miserable while I was there.

Since the weather was finished, and Becca wouldn’t be back on until eleven, I shut off the TV, pulled out my school books and tossed them on the cushions by the wall. No couch for me. At least, I had an actual bed in the other room. It had been a castoff, but the mattress had been decent and I’d covered it with a mattress protector to make it seem less used.

Someday, everything would be better than this. Between all my jobs and being frugal, I’d saved almost enough to buy a decent car. I’d considered not getting one, but I’d wanted a way to haul all my things, few that they were, when I left for college in August.

Truthfully, I was considering a van. That way, no matter what happened, I’d always have a place to live even if it was on wheels. Plus I could fit my bike in it. A van would make the ramen-life tough. Where would I boil noodles?

Half-laughing to myself, I headed into the kitchen and pulled out the small pan I’d use to make my dinner—ramen, of course. Crossing my arms moments later, I looked around while I waited for the water to boil. I kept the place clean, but I definitely couldn’t have Becca here.

Shaking my head, I stared at the ceiling. I had to stop with this.

I had to stop fantasizing about a life where she was mine.

She was successful, gorgeous and way older than me. It would never happen and I had to get the idea of being with her out of my head. It was time to focus on my success plan and only my success plan.

That was my mantra all evening, while I studied then as I worked. And that night, the first one in over a year, I didn’t tune in to the eleven o’clock news.

* * * *

When I started my deliveries the next night, I was already exhausted. I’d been to school by seven this morning. And at work by two. I had study hall the last hour of my day, but the district’s administration knew about my situation, and I was allowed to leave for the day at one-forty-five. That’s when I headed to the garage where I worked one of my three jobs from two to six during the week. Directly after that, I was the night delivery guy for the restaurant a few doors down. Now, at almost eleven, I was ready to crash.

I’d only had a few runs tonight, but I’d spent nearly the whole time soggy and cold. At least, the restaurant manager insisted on feeding me and I was allowed to study between deliveries.

Getting warm from peddling through the heavy rain, in a super inadequate “all-weather” jacket, I cruised toward my final delivery. Afterward, I’d head home to a hot shower.

The apartment building loomed ahead, and I turned, making a beeline. Seconds later, a car whizzed past me, pretending as if I weren’t there and sending a tidal wave of water up my pantleg. Shaking my head, I pulled up to the building. It wasn’t one with outside security, so I opened the door and pulled my bike inside.

The landing was cement, as were the stairs, so I didn’t feel too bad dripping all over. With the hope that my bike was safe there, I retrieved the order from the saddlebag then headed up the first flight of steps. Of course, the customer was on the third floor.

Just make the delivery and you can go home, I chided myself when I grumbled inside. Don’t forget the big picture.

Hopefully, they’d feel sorry for me and give me a big tip, anyway.

On the third floor, there were four doors. I quickly located 304 and knocked, shivering as I waited. My teeth actually chattered from the cold May rain soaking my clothes.

But a moment later, everything was forgotten as the apartment door opened.