Awake in the World

by Jason Gurley

  I dropped the pen. I knew right then I’d never send this application, why I’d walked away from Vanessa in the library. It had nothing to do with my lack of honors or extracurriculars, or even our lack of money.

  If I left for school, I’d only make this home emptier. My family needed me; leaving would only hurt them. They needed me, and I needed them—more than I needed to prove anything to Vanessa or anybody else.

  I slid everything back into Vanessa’s envelope and dropped it into the trash can. Quietly, I washed the dishes and Vanessa’s container. I unfolded my blanket on the couch and tried to sleep. In a few hours, everything would begin again. It had always been this way. It always would be.

  And that was okay.

  * * *

  I woke into darkness, slick with sweat, my heart hammering.

  Derek said my name, and I rolled over on the sofa and pulled myself up. He was at the kitchen table, lacing his boots by the faint light of the oven lamp.

  “You okay?” he asked. “Bad dream?”

  I nodded.

  “Same,” he said. With a nod at the clock, he said, “It’s three. I couldn’t get back to sleep, might as well go in early.”

  “What was your dream?” I asked. My mouth felt clotted with dust.

  “Same as it ever is,” he said. He didn’t describe the dream again, but I knew it by heart. He dreamed of the explosion that killed Dad, except Derek was there, unable to save anyone. “Yours?”

  Water rising in the house, ankle deep, then waist deep. I slogged through it, shouting. The roof buckled; water poured in. I couldn’t find the girls or Mama or Derek. The house filled up, and I swam out through the hole in the ceiling of my old bedroom. I’d surfaced in the path of a ship and pinwheeled backward. Dad’s boat, steaming past under its own power for the first time. A stocky figure at the wheel, backlit by a red sun. I’d shouted for him, but he never turned back.

  “Yeah,” Derek said, and that was all he had to offer. He crumpled a paper napkin and aimed for the trash can. The sigh told me he’d missed. “You go back to sleep,” he whispered, and as I lay down once more, I heard him pick up the wadded napkin and put it in the trash.

  20

  Vanessa

  “You’re sworn to secrecy. I have to tell you everything.”

  Cece took a step backward. “I’m … not sure I want to know everything.”

  “Not like that.” I filled her in on everything that had happened. “—and he’s been ignoring me. For weeks, Cece. He literally ducked into the restroom this morning to avoid me.”

  “Maybe he had to pee.”

  “Cece.”

  “Okay, fine. Maybe he had to do number two.”

  “Cece.”

  “Nessa, you’re overthinking it.”

  “He didn’t come out.”

  Cece clapped her hands to her face. “Oh. My. Glob. What if he’s still in there?” She dropped the act. “So he came out after you left. So?”

  “That’s exactly what he did.”

  “Which you know,” she said, “because you hid. Of course you did.”

  “He peeked his head out, he didn’t see me, and then he came out.”

  “So you’re stalking him now.”

  “No. Yes. Just to see if he was avoiding me.”

  “And?”

  “He’s avoiding me.” I needed her help, and she was being obtuse. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. Tell me what I did wrong.”

  “Oh, you privileged pixie,” she clucked. “You do so know.” She patted my cheek, rather condescendingly. I swatted her hand away. She went on: “Remember in middle school when all the girls were wearing those fuzzy boots everywhere?”

  “Uggs?” I hadn’t thought about those in ages. I still had two or three pairs packed away in Aaron’s garage. “Ugh. Yes. Mom has this photo of me at Disneyland. It was ninety-five degrees, and there I was in capri pants and Uggs.”

  “Okay, okay, stop,” Cece said. “You’re just proving my point. You lived in SB then. Do you know how many people in Orilly wore them? Like, two. You know what we called them? Ugglies.”

  I didn’t like this. Usually Cece went all mama bear when I was distraught. This wasn’t that.

  “When you can’t afford the popular shit, you mock it,” she said. “While you were showing your boots off to Cinderella, I was trying not to tell my dad I’d outgrown the sneakers he bought me two years before.”

  She was actually kind of mad.

  “Cece, I—”

  “Just … don’t. What are you doing with your face? Is that pity? No, fuck that, just stop. We’re fine. Right now, I get Zach a hell of a lot more than I get you.” Her eyes blazed like a welding torch; I wilted in that stare. “He’s mortified, Vanessa. You shined a light on all the bare spots in his life.”

  She was right. “Cece, I—”

  “I warned you,” she interrupted. “This isn’t some teen movie. He’s not your project. You be your own damn self, and let him be his.” She saw me try to speak again and put a hand up. “We’re fine. But I’m gonna need a few minutes of not watching you try to fix the rest of us.”

  She walked away and took my heart with her. First Zach, now Cece. All the people I cared about had reversed polarity; where we once clicked, now I was forcing them away.

  Every single thing I ever needed, I’d had.

  Except maybe a father. But now it seemed clear: Maybe it was my fault he’d left, too.

  What was wrong with me?

  PART TWO

  November 2012

  21

  Zach

  Days of dread. Dread, dread, dread.

  Most dreaded things, at present:

  1.  School, for two reasons:

  A.  Every minute spent in class was another dollar lost. No—less than that, but still.

  B.  Vanessa had become more and more difficult to avoid. She was getting sneaky.

  2.  Work. Tonight I’d ask Maddie for more hours. Again. And she’d say no. Again.

  Every time I asked her, I could feel her like me a little less. Because she’d have to say no, and I knew she didn’t like saying no. Didn’t want to. And that meant Maddie probably dreaded seeing me, too.

  When Derek was a kid, Dad was around. Derek played football, basketball, even attempted track. He didn’t work a job. He gave school every ounce of commitment he had.

  Then Dad died, and none of that mattered.

  We had an unspoken agreement to keep these things hidden from the girls. But they were smart. They knew things were hard. They were also young, though, and beginning to ask for things. Nothing frivolous, just reasonable things. Robin wanted to join a book club for young scientists; Rachael wanted to play softball. We wanted to give them everything.

  A few nights before, I’d come home from work to see our neighbor stuffing boxes into his car. When I’d asked where he was going, he pointed at his front door, twenty feet from our own. Taped there was a sheet of paper. I didn’t have to read it to know what it was. “Shitty landlord is throwing my ass out,” he’d said. “Between you and me, I think he’s going to sell the place. I bet you bunch are next.”

  I didn’t trust anyone who jacked their stereo up to eleven knowing there were children sleeping next door. But what if he was right? We’d have to find a new place to live, and there weren’t a lot of options. We’d need first month’s rent, last month’s rent, a security deposit. Where was that supposed to come from? That, on top of the girls and their book club and sports things. On top of the water bill, groceries. Derek’s truck was running on bald tires and needed a new alternator.

  Maybe the neighbor got the boot because he didn’t pay his rent. But we weren’t exactly ideal tenants. We’d missed a month here and there; it’s why I kept asking Maddie for hours. To catch us up. To climb back to the surface, out of this hole. But we were living on the edge of a cliff. One bad turn of luck, and it could push us over.

  But there was a solution.

  I did
the math. If I stopped hauling the mower around town and took a second job instead, on the weekend, and pulled full shifts both days … I could double what I earned from Maddie. That extra money could mean a full pantry. It was the book club subscription fee; it was cleats and a glove for Rachael. It meant I could leave Maddie alone. It meant the landlord’s back rent would be paid, and maybe he’d even fix the roof. (I doubted it, though. The neighbor had been right. Our landlord was a walking shit show.)

  In this scenario, everybody won.

  Except you, Derek would have said.

  In the spring, I’d graduate. After that, I could work full-time and keep my part-time hours at the market. Even if both jobs paid minimum wage only, I’d bring home enough money to cover rent. Rent, and all the bills. That meant we could get ahead. It meant money in that savings account. Meant a computer for the girls, internet for their homework. Home care for Mama.

  The bell rang, and class emptied. I waited, watching the clock. When the late bell rang a few minutes later, I slipped into the empty hallway. No Vanessa in sight. But as I jogged to class, I glanced down each wing as I passed and realized I was hoping to see her there.

  Then why are you avoiding her?

  I don’t know. Because.

  That’s no reason. You want to see her.

  I do.

  So?

  I can’t.

  Idiot. You’re just going to hide for the next seven months?

  If I have to.

  You don’t have to.

  Right now I need to.

  But why?

  Because.

  She was everything I couldn’t permit myself to want. She had it all, and I didn’t. Anything she didn’t have, she could get, and I couldn’t. It wasn’t about her anymore. It was about me. I wanted her to have anything she desired—that was true. But I couldn’t watch her get it. Not without some small piece of me raging against the unfairness of it.

  Still: I was lying to myself if I thought it wasn’t about her. Because it was, at least a little. Before Vanessa, I’d kept to myself. Most people avoided me, citing my diseased luck. But not her. She made me laugh. Hell, even if we were just friends, that would be enough. Wouldn’t it?

  It wouldn’t.

  It would.

  No. You’re doing that thing. Preemptively throwing something away so it won’t hurt when it rejects you.

  It’s not that way. She likes me, too.

  Not like that. Don’t be stupid.

  Did it matter what I wanted? After graduation, I’d get that full-time job. But Vanessa would fly away east. She had the good rockets, the ones that would take her anywhere. And me: I was like the manager of a ball club. This is a rebuilding year, I’d tell her. I have to invest in the future. And the future wasn’t me or what I wanted. It was the girls and what they deserved.

  You’re still thinking about her.

  I am.

  Stop it.

  * * *

  I asked Maddie for more hours. Instead of saying no, she closed her office door. “Zach,” she said, her tone changed. “Is your brother responsible? You’re carrying an awful heavy load for a kid your age.”

  I’d gotten my answer. I stood up. “I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to be a problem.”

  “Zach, you aren’t a problem,” she said. “Sit. Please.”

  I didn’t want to. But I did. I couldn’t look at her.

  “I’m sympathetic,” she said. “In this town, nothing surprises me. I’m just asking: Is there something else going on?”

  “No,” I said as firmly as I could manage. I could feel my jaw quiver and tried to hide it. “I just need to help. I’m just trying to help.”

  On the floor, I dipped my head when I passed the registers. Pat, the sole cashier, watched me curiously. My eyes had started to burn, and I turned down the canned-food aisle. I made it halfway before the tears came, hot with shame.

  22

  Vanessa

  The windows of Maddie’s Market were spritzed with fake snow and Christmas messages. I watched as the store went dark. I could see Zach inside, peeling off his apron, and a few minutes later he emerged with two other people. An older man broke away, waved, and headed for an ancient, dented Ford Festiva. The other was his boss, Maddie. She asked if he wanted a ride; Zach declined; Maddie pointed at the cloud cover. Then they both saw me.

  “Oh,” Maddie said. “I see.”

  “Good night, Maddie,” Zach said. After she left, he looked one way, then the other, as if searching for an escape route.

  “You’ve been dodging me,” I said.

  He didn’t answer. He squinted up at the clouds, then raised his hood. For the first time, I spotted the Bernaco Oil logo on the hoodie. Bernaco—not DepthKor, like the sticker on his brother’s truck.

  “And Cece’s all wrapped up with Ada these days,” I added. “Which leaves me all alone.” He still didn’t respond. “Not that I’m not fine being alone. But, you know. A girl likes to know her friends are still her friends.”

  He scraped the heel of one shoe against the curb.

  Okay. The more direct approach, then. “Cece says I embarrassed you.”

  Zach shoved his hands into his pockets, then started walking homeward. Well, that answered that, I guessed. I watched him go, and at the end of the parking lot he paused and looked back. “You coming?”

  I hurried after him.

  “Your brother was nice,” I said. “Your house is cozy.”

  “Cozy. That’s a real estate–agent word.”

  “What’s a real estate–agent word?”

  “A pretty lie. Mama was in real estate once, for about five minutes when I was in middle school. They dress up the words to make a place sound better than it is. Cozy means it’s cramped. They say alluring a lot, because nobody can prove it isn’t.”

  “I had no idea that was a thing.”

  “Nestled. That’s another.”

  “Shame on them for corrupting all the nice words.”

  A hint of a smile. I didn’t want to take advantage of him, and it occurred to me, as we walked, that he might think I was inviting myself to his house. Again. “I have to be home soon. Is it okay if I walk with you first?”

  “It’s a free country.” The smile was gone, if it had ever really been there.

  “Boy,” I said. “I really did a number on you.”

  He looked at me. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “Cece said—”

  “Everybody has things they’re ashamed of.” He shrugged. “So what? It’s not your job to tell me what they are. You probably have those things, too. I could make you feel bad without even knowing I’d done it.”

  I said, “My teeth.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like my teeth.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Your teeth are perfect.”

  I stopped walking and bared my smile. “See this one?” I touched my left canine. “Baby tooth.”

  “Huh. I never noticed.”

  “It just never came out.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about your adult tooth?”

  “I’ve had X-rays. There isn’t one.”

  “So if your baby tooth comes out…”

  “Then I get my first denture,” I said. “Can you call a single tooth a denture?”

  “An impostor.”

  I laughed. “Speaking of X-rays: Have you ever seen a child’s mouth? It’s horrifying. All these cute, small teeth, and then stacked up above them are all these gnarly grown-up teeth. They look like little shark people, or something out of a horror flick.”

  We waited at an intersection for the light to turn. When it did, Zach took my hand—without thinking—as if it were the most natural thing. As if our hands just belonged together. My chest filled up with warmth. When we reached the other side, he noticed my strange expression.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re, um, holding my hand.”

  H
e looked aghast and dropped my hand as if it were a hot coal.

  “No, I—I liked it. You just surprised me.” He looked unconvinced, so I reached for his hand and threaded my fingers through his. “I want to hold your hand.”

  He swallowed. “Okay,” he croaked.

  “I’m sorry, you know,” I said. “For the library. I … I like you. You can’t have missed that.” He didn’t look at me, and I just rambled on. “It seems cliché to say we’re from two worlds. But—I just like you.”

  My face was hot. I wanted to crack a joke about something, anything. But I couldn’t think of anything funny.

  I wanted to kiss him.

  I counted the steps until he said something. Forty-four. That seemed like a lot.

  Finally, he said: “Cece and me, we grew up here. We aren’t really friends—not really, I guess—but we’re the same.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. We were the same. Maybe her family’s doing better. Sometimes, though, I think we exist only to work.”

  “Um,” I said. “I was wrong. Work does count on college applications. It kind of counts for a lot, actually.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Zach—” I stopped, remembering Cece’s tirade. I let him speak.

  “I don’t think my dad ever had a dream. Every man in our family just … worked. Worked until…” He left that thought incomplete. “I don’t know how to—” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking.”

  I squeezed his hand. You can talk to me.

  One hundred steps until he spoke again. He had things to say. He’d just never said them to anyone. So I let the quiet ride for as long as he needed. When he did speak, it just came tumbling out.

  “My mama’s sick,” he said, worry like a current beneath his words. “They don’t know what’s wrong. She just lies there, most days, staring at nothing. I don’t even know if she hears me.”

  I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I had to ask. I had a bad feeling. “And your dad?”

  He didn’t look at me. “Everybody knows. I figured you did, too.” Twenty-eight steps. “He’s gone.” Twenty-two steps. “You know about the rest. The bad-luck thing. People treat me like I’ve got malaria. Or they’re too cheerful, or too delicate.”