Chapter 24—

A Car is Dangerous

"So wait a minute…?" Jake blinks his eyes, trying to take in everything that I've just told him. "This is for real? She's really pregnant?"

"It's for real." I nod my head.

He still looks completely shocked.

I lean my elbows on the side of the old bridge that we're currently hanging out at. I didn't even know that this thing existed, so I was really surprised when Jake brought me here.

"I guess…" Jake begins. "Eh… I don't even know what to say. This is really strange. Isn't she too old to have another kid?"

"My thoughts exactly." I furiously nod my head. "What if she dies, Jake? It happens a lot to women that age. I mean, I don't exactly get along with her, but it's not like I want her to die. Especially not while giving birth to… a… Baz's kid."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. If nothing else, she'll survive just to stick it to you."

I laugh a little at that statement.

"I don't think that's too far from the truth."

Jake fixes his blue eyes upon me. He seems to be searching my face for something—maybe like a clue or an idea as to what's going through my head. He seems like he's trying to figure it all out.

"What?" I finally just ask him.

"You just seem to be taking all this pretty well."

"I'm not taking it well," I counter. "I'm taking it horribly. I just don't think I have any energy anymore to do anything other than accept it as fact and try and move on."

"Listless acceptance," Jake says.

"I guess," I sigh.

He leans against the side of the bridge and looks out over the water.

He's totally silent and I'm left wondering why he isn't even making an attempt to say anything. I mean—what the hell? Here I am, going through a crisis… or… another crisis. But the point is, I could use a little advice or some kind of Jake insight.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" I snap at him.

He meets my eyes with confusion clouding his features.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know! Something! Anything. It doesn't make any difference."

"Okay, well…" He rubs the side of his head. "Uh—nice weather?"

I let out an outraged sigh before stomping away from him.

Not to say that I'm so irrational that I don't realize he hasn't done a single thing wrong. It's just—he's set this precedent almost. He's always been able to make me feel better and now that he can't come up with anything that will somewhat rectify the situation for me, I'm getting all put out and angry.

"Kat, where are you going?" Jake calls out after me.

I weave in and out of the shrubbery that surrounds the bridge, trying to find the way out to the main road. I have no clue what I'm going to do once out there. I wish to God that none of this crap was happening. I feel so totally out of control and, while I've always felt that way to a certain extent, it's been build up to the point where I'm ready to crack under the pressure.

This is why teenagers feel the need to rebel.

Our parents have a tendency to make us feel completely useless and unimportant when it comes to decision-making. They make us feel like we have no say over how we're going to live our lives.

And I mean, how would they feel if we suddenly took away their basic human rights? How would they feel if someone else was controlling their life and making decisions for them?

Teenage rebellion has been a staggering mystery for many parents throughout history. Why is it so hard to understand that kid who feels out of control equals rebellion? It's not the enigma that they make it out to be—so why does the cycle keep getting repeated with generation after generation?

I finally emerge into the open. I now find myself on the side of a highway. Cars are swooshing by every so often and I find myself almost transfixed watching them. A car can gain you freedom, you know. It can take you to places and get you away from all the horrible stuff that you don't want to deal with.

A car is dangerous.

I can hear Jake right behind me.

I twirl around to face him.

He's regarding me with a mix of confusion, interest, and worry.

"Jake, you've got the whole rebel without a cause thing going on."

He shrugs—not really committing to that claim one way or the other.

I continue, "So? What's the first thing I should do to be more like you?"

"More like me?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah—cigarettes? Should I start with those? Maybe get a couple of piercings? Tattoo? What… I mean, tell me what to do, Jake!"

"Kat, I don't think any of that is going to work for you."

"Why not?" I ask in utter frustration. "I have to do something. Something that will get her to realize what she's doing to me!"

"And so you think being someone who you aren't is going to do the trick?"

"Do you have a better suggestion."

He crosses his arms over his chest and takes a few steps towards me.

For some reason, his increased closeness just freaks me out. I suddenly want as much distance between the two of us as I can get. I don't even know why. It just scares the shit out of me for some inexplicable reason.

He seems to somewhat read my train of thought, as he doesn't advance any further and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. This gesture somewhat relaxes me a little.

"Kat, you're not like me," he insists. "You deal with and handle things much differently than I do. And that's what works for you."

"It hasn't worked out that great as of late," I sarcastically mutter. "Seriously Jake, it really hasn't. Being myself and reacting by way of essentially not reacting isn't helping me out any. Trying to put on a brave face and get through the rough patch isn't doing me any favors. All that accomplishes is people thinking that they can pile even more stuff on top of me. They think I'm dealing with it and that I won't have a problem with news… such as my mother being pregnant. I mean, obviously I'm not doing it right, because all I want is for it to stop and it just keeps flying at me!"

The tears suddenly arrive in over-flowing bucket-loads.

As Jake tries to come closer to me, I furiously wipe them away.

"Tell me what to do!" I yell at him.

"Just calm down, first of all…"

"And do what? Think about it? Talk about it? I've already done that, Jake! I've tried that approach and done it to death."

"So what exactly are you going to do then?" his voice takes on a harsh tone. "What? You're going to do something that will piss your mom off? Go throw rocks at police cars? Start stealing from department stores? Hell, since we're out here next to a damn highway, why don't you decide to get crazy," he says the last two words with utter disdain dripping from his every being, before continuing, "…and you can start dodging in between all the cars whirring past. You can put your life on the line just to prove a point. Go ahead, Kat. See what it accomplishes."

I stare at him with an open mouth.

He's so angry with me.

I've never seen Jake Robertson get so worked up about anything or anyone. Under different circumstances, I might take in the full meaning of this and stop to think about it.

Instead I decide to do exactly what he's just suggested.

I take a step out onto the busy highway and spread my arms out wide.

A car's headlights shine brightly in my eyes and I can hear the loud screeching of the horn—mixed in with Jake's screams. I close my eyes and think about the enormity of the situation.

I'm putting my life on the line.

I'm endangering myself.

But I'm also in control for the first time in ages.

I can decide when to jump away and save myself from the approaching car.

I can decide if I even want to save myself.

I open my eyes again—after only a split second—and jump towards the safety of the shoulder. The car comes whizzing past me, still honking its horn crazily.

I smile.

The rush of adrenaline is still coursing throughout my entire being as I feel Jake grab my arm harshly and yank me backwards away from the edge of the road. I struggle against him and try to worm free of his grasp, but he keeps holding on and pulling me further away from the highway and the cars.

He roughly makes me face him.

"What the hell was that about!" he yells at me.

His eyes seem so dark. His entire countenance is full of anger. He looks like he wants to kill me, but at the same time, just hug me and stop me from going anywhere. I don't understand how I can discern this, but I can.

"I was simply doing what you told me to," I reply with intense sarcasm.

"You know that I didn't mean for you to take me literally, Kat. You could have killed yourself!"

"Yeah. I know."

He throws his arms up in the air in frustration.

"This is ridiculous!" he declares. "So your life sucks. I have news for you, Kat—you aren't the only one in the world who has a screwed up home life. You aren't the only one who has trouble with your mother. Get over it!"

Again, I'm reduced to open-mouth staring.

I can't believe that he just—that he just… said that stuff.

Out of everyone in the world, I thought Jake understood. I never expected him to trivialize everything and make me feel like a silly little teenager for being upset over this. Jake isn't supposed to be like this.

Jake is supposed to understand.

"Look, I didn't mean…" he immediately starts to take it back.

But I'm not listening to him.

I eye the highway again.