Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by Celeste, B.

  That was the start of the end.

  The swelling in my fingers shifted upward to my arms, and I was bedridden for three days with Mama or Grandma bringing food to me or helping me in and out of the bathroom. I felt like nothing—incompetent and useless.

  I cried a lot during that period, wondering if Lo ever felt so helpless. She never cried. Mama would dote on her the best she could, but Logan hated it. She would tell Mama she was fine, and we always believed her.

  Because she could still climb trees.

  Because she could run around the yard.

  Because she could open doors.

  Lo was always the stronger one of us.

  No matter how bad I want to cry now, I won’t. The stress of Dad not understanding how much his words hurt, or how little he seems to care about my disease, can’t deter me from being strong. Lo would tell me to smile and then force me to do something fun to distract myself from Mama or anything that upset me.

  Now’s no different.

  I busy myself with school, homework, and books. A few times a week, I even leave and explore the different stores within walking distance. Most of them are café corporations instead of the homey, retro kind that I’m used to going to with Mama and Grandma. It took me walking into Starbucks once to realize I prefer the isolation of rural nowhere.

  Sometimes I miss Mama, but the old version of her. The one who loved smiling with her non-golden eyes. She was the person I looked up to, but I can’t find myself doing the same now. Not because I don’t love her, but because I can’t hate her like I wish I did. It would make the guilt go away faster.

  Being here makes it easier to forget about how Mama reacted. Dad acts like he doesn’t care, Kaiden doesn’t know, and Cam plays dumb. At first, I hated them for pretending everything is okay when I know it isn’t. The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s a blessing in disguise. I don’t have to be that girl—the sick one.

  I can be Emery.

  Book nerd.

  Teacher’s pet.

  Weird shoe lover.

  Realistically, though, I know it can’t last.

  It didn’t for Logan.

  Rachel joins me for lunch on Thursday. We spend most of the time not saying anything, just eating while people stare. Since Kaiden’s show of dominance, nobody dares even sit at the same table as me. Much to Rachel’s dismay, Kaiden pays us no attention from where he sits with his teammates which I’m sure is why she disobeyed his wishes to leave me alone.

  I want to ask her about herself, pretend to care. For some reason, I can’t muster the energy to. Usually, I can put on an act. Smile and play nice like Mama taught me. I don’t have to be that person here, so I don’t waste my time.

  Rachel doesn’t seem to mind.

  She rambled on about some fight between a few basketball players. I think it had to do with one of them getting caught with pot in their locker which ended in a game suspension, but I don’t know. I only half listen because I don’t want anyone to think I’m feeding into her game.

  She can use me to make Kaiden jealous, but it won’t work. At school, he and I have nothing to do with each other. At home, we only exchange a few small conversations here and there. There’s nothing she can gain from hanging around me.

  After lunch, Kaiden falls into step with me as I head to my next class. People catch notice and watch us, making me uncomfortable.

  “Have a good time with Rach?”

  “Jealous?”

  He laughs. “Definitely not.”

  Figured.

  I stop at my locker. “She has it in her mind that getting close to me will somehow cement your relationship.”

  He leans his shoulder against the neighboring locker. It makes the black t-shirt he’s wearing stretch across his taut muscles that some girls ogle in passing. “We’re not in a relationship. Never have been.”

  Grabbing my afternoon books, I turn to him with a raised brow. “You might want to let her know that.”

  “She knows.”

  I say nothing.

  Pushing himself off the locker, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Things at home have been weird. We should go to the cemetery after school.”

  Weird how? We go home and go our separate ways. Sometimes he’ll comment on English class or complain about the homework. Occasionally he’ll show up at my bedroom door and ask if I want to go to the tree. Nothing seems out of the ordinary or strange, save our parent’s façade of normalcy.

  I’m used to parents acting though. My parents could win an Oscar for most believable roles in the movie called life.

  “I can’t.”

  He waits for me to explain why.

  I sigh. “I’ve got Book Club.”

  “Skip it.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s be honest,” he says, “the only reason people go to that is because of Nichols.”

  Refraining from rolling my eyes, I shake my head in disagreement. “Some of us like to read, Kaiden.”

  He knows my love for books because on the rare occasions he’s in a teasing mood, he’ll mention the book stack next to my bed. And if Dad can take notice to the so-called fairytales I escape into, there’s no doubt Kaiden acknowledges I’m in Book Club because it’s my only happy place.

  It’s my freedom here.

  When his lips tip into a crooked, devious grin, I know something bad is about to happen. “I know for a fact that isn’t true. I’ve seen the girls in that group, Mouse. Let me tell you a little secret—a reminder of an old conversation we’ve had. You can’t fuck Mr. Nichols.”

  A few giggles sound from around us, followed by a deep clearing throat. When I look off to the side, I see Mr. Nichols looking uncomfortable and shifting his weight from one foot to the other by the water fountain across the hall.

  Kaiden winks at me before strolling away to wherever Satan likes to hangout. Probably the boiler room downstairs.

  Not able to meet Mr. Nichols eyes when he calls my name, I quickly walk to my next class and try thinking about how I can get out of English. I could pretend I’m sick, it shouldn’t be hard to pull off. Then again, the chances of me needing actual sick days means I need to reserve my absences.

  Maybe I should have built a friendship with Ms. Gilly in the nurse’s office. She could have given me free passes out of pity. Too late now.

  Silently cursing Kaiden’s name, I force myself to pretend it never happened. In two periods, I’ll go to English and just play it off.

  But when last period comes around, sweat dots my brow. Keeping my head down as I walk into the room, I can feel a pair of eyes on me that I know belong to the teacher. I don’t look up, instead, I focus on preparing for class.

  Notebook.

  Pen.

  Book.

  He doesn’t call on me throughout the class, and I don’t offer any answers. It isn’t unusual for me to stay quiet, but never silent. Anyone could chalk it up to not having anything to say. Maybe they think I didn’t do the reading.

  Kaiden smirks when he catches my eye.

  I glare.

  After class, Mr. Nichols does what I should have known he would. He asks me to stay behind. What does surprise me is him asking Kaiden the same thing.

  We remain in our seats, Kaiden looking bored and me looking nervous. Mr. Nichols waits until the hallway is cleared enough before turning his attention on us.

  “I don’t like when students say things that could cause problems for me,” he says directly to Kaiden. I’ve never heard him sound stern before, but it seems like the perfect moment to be. “I am aware that my age puts me in a difficult spot with teenagers, but that doesn’t mean anybody should speak to their teachers, or peers for that matter, in the way you did earlier.”

  Kaiden doesn’t look the least bit guilty over being scolded. In fact, he smirks like he couldn’t care less. Me on the other hand? I gape. I’ve never heard a teacher talk to Kaiden like that, and I’m sure plenty have witnessed how he treats the other students. I
assumed it had to do with his spot on the lacrosse team because every school seems to give free passes to the boys who fill the trophy cases.

  Mr. Nichols leans back in his seat. “I want you to apologize to Emery.”

  Kaiden laughs abruptly. “I don’t apologize to anyone.”

  “Now’s a good time to start then.”

  I squirm. “Um, Mr. Nichols, I don’t—”

  Mr. Nichols puts his hand up. “Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Monroe. I was warned about you on my first day. While other teachers may be hesitant to say anything, I’m not. I want to see my students treat each other with respect. Given your circumstances with Ms. Matterson, one would think you’d want to treat her with more respect than anybody here.”

  Sinking into my chair, I let my hair shield my face. The headache I was glad to be rid of is coming back, taunting me. It’s the slightest drum of pain, a dull pound of a bass beat where my spine meets my skull. Stress induced, for sure.

  Part of me wants to cut in and tell them to forget about it. I don’t need this right now. I don’t think either would listen. Mr. Nichols seems intent on making a point, and Kaiden seems intent on ignoring it.

  “Emery doesn’t mean anything to me just because we live under the same roof,” Kaiden states dryly, sparing me no look.

  His words sting. I wish they didn’t because it isn’t a surprise to me. He’s shown me indifference ninety percent of the time. It isn’t like he’s put in an effort that proves otherwise.

  Mr. Nichols reaches for something. “I suppose you’ll have time to consider how you treat people in detention tomorrow after school. If you miss that, you’ll go to in school suspension on Monday.”

  My lips part in shock.

  Kaiden’s jaw ticks. “Fine.”

  Mr. Nichols jots something down on a pad of paper before ripping a piece off and setting it on the edge of the desk. “You may be excused, Mr. Monroe.”

  Kaiden gets up and grabs the paper before heading out of the room. I toy with my notebook before finally meeting Mr. Nichols eyes.

  “Like I said, Emery. You and I are similar. However, as I get older, I realize how important it is to stand up for myself. You can’t let people walk over you like that.”

  How sad. My only true friend at Exeter High is my English teacher.

  The headache starts to worsen, burning my eyes, and I don’t have any Motrin in my backpack.

  “I’m not feeling well,” I tell him quietly. Standing up, I slip my belongings in my backpack before sliding the strap over my shoulder. “I think I’m going home.”

  “Emery—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Nichols.”

  Noticing Kaiden’s car missing in the lot, I start the walk home. By the time I make it to the front door, everything hurts.

  At least I can turn the knob this time.

  Chapter Ten

  On Saturday morning, I wake up to see a missed call from Mama. It jumpstarts my heart until I realize there’s no voicemail. She called at three in the morning.

  She found Lo at three in the morning.

  Today marks the official nine-year anniversary of Logan’s death. When realization hits, my heart plummets into the pit of my stomach like it’s made of cement. Mama reached out to me because of Lo.

  And I didn’t pick up.

  Why didn’t I hear it ring?

  It’s on silent.

  Feeling tears build in my eyes, I blink them away and rub the back of my wrists against my closed eyelids. I won’t cry. Mama could have left a message and told me to call her back. She could have texted me saying she loved me or that she missed Logan.

  She never once told me she missed her with words.

  Throwing the blankets off my overheated body, I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and my lips are chapped and bleeding. The girl in the glass looks pathetic, and I’m sick of looking at her.

  Sometimes I wish I could break the glass—put my fist right through it without risking cuts and infections. Maybe I’ll tack a sheet over it so I don’t have to see the reminder of who I’m forced to be.

  Jaw ticking, I turn away from the mirror and grab my hairbrush from where it sits on the counter. When I run it through my brittle hair, I don’t expect to see the mass of strands fall onto the countertop in front of me.

  My hairbrush stills.

  My hands shake.

  My breath stops.

  Slowly, I reach out and pick up the large chunk. Blowing out a rough breath, I force my gaze upwards to see a section of hair that’s thinner than ever.

  When I turn my head, I see my scalp. Burning hot tears well in my eyes as I stare. “Oh my God.”

  The brush drops onto the floor with a loud crash, the plastic clattering against the hard floor. I don’t care. Instead, I focus on my head and how thin my hair has gotten. I’ve noticed more and more meet my shower drain, but usually ignore it. Women lose around fifty to one hundred strands per day. I looked it up.

  I’ve had to unclog my drain once a week, to clean off my pillow with the countless strands that greet me in an unwelcome way every morning. I tell myself it’s no big deal.

  It’s just hair. But hair is everything. It’s a way to express myself, to hide, to feel pretty. Without it, who am I?

  Stepping away, I drop the hair onto the counter and carefully play with what remains on my head. My scalp hurts today. Usually it’s a dull pain that I can tolerate as long as I don’t play too much with it. Today is different, like I’ve slept with my hair in a tight ponytail all night. Eyes watering all over again, I try hiding the bald spot, but nothing I do seems to work.

  Cam calls my name from outside my bedroom. Did I lock my door? I never do. Will she come in? She never has.

  The knob turns.

  “Emery?” Cam says again.

  Do I pretend I’m not here? I swallow my pain and brush away my tears and take a deep breath. “B-bathroom.”

  I’m not sure why I say it. Maybe if I said nothing she would have walked out. Part of me needs her though.

  Needs a maternal figure.

  Because mine didn’t leave a message on the anniversary of my sister’s death.

  Cam’s knuckles wrap against the open door before she peeks her head in. Her eyes note the hairbrush on the floor, which she bends down and picks up before seeing the hair on the counter.

  “Emery?” Her voice is quiet.

  I meet her gaze with tear-filled eyes.

  “Oh, sweetie.” She reaches out and takes my hand, brushing her thumb against my skin. I don’t pull away or wince, because I need her warmth and comfort right now.

  “I don’t know how to fix it…” My voice cracks when I turn and show her what I mean. She gently brushes hair over the spot before realizing what I’ve already concluded.

  She gives me a soft smile. “How about you and I go to my favorite salon? The girls there can try giving us advice on how to cover it. Maybe you could do a new style.”

  Us not me.

  Cam wants to do this together.

  It causes a tear to slip through the blockade I try trapping it behind. She wipes it away with her thumb and pulls me in for a gentle hug, rubbing my back in circular motions.

  When I was little, Mama used to run her fingers through my hair. It soothed me anytime I had a fever or cold and needed Mama’s touch. My body would ease into hers as she sang to me. She wouldn’t stop playing with my hair until I fell asleep, and she wouldn’t move an inch even when I was sure her arms had gone numb.

  I want that Mama back.

  I want someone to play with my hair without it hurting or falling out.

  But for now, I’ve got Cam.

  At least I have that.

  “Okay,” I whisper, sniffing back tears and pulling away.

  She squeezes my upper arm. “I know things have been tough for you, especially since moving here, but I want you to know that I’ll be there for you in any way I can. There are reasons your fat
her hasn’t told Kaiden about his past, and it’s not because he’s ashamed.”

  “Then why?”

  “How about we talk about it later?”

  Her eyes go to the door, as if she’s afraid of who might hear. So, I nod and silently hold her to it. I know better than to pry in people’s past, but if she’s offering answers that Kaiden won’t, I won’t turn down the information.

  She lets me finish getting ready while she makes a call to the salon. I slide into a pair of bootcut jeans and a plain white tee, then shrug on a yellow zip up hoodie and slide into my favorite pair of pineapple Toms. I used to get teased at my old school for my weird style. Whereas most people preferred tighter, shorter outfits, I liked baggier ones. When your skin is so sensitive and it’s practically paper thin, any piece of clothing that hugs it feels like sandpaper in comparison. Nobody understands that a single touch can hurt, that cashmere is brutal, or that my so-called weird style is more necessity than personal choice. My shoes were always out of the ordinary, but the only things I could really choose for myself for their style, and I owned way more yellow than most other humans, but it always reminds me of sunshine and Logan and how happy she was.

  Heading out to the kitchen, I’m surprised when I see Kaiden and Dad eating breakfast.

  “The girls can see you in an hour,” Cam tells me happily. “I think we should make a day of it. We can get breakfast on the way if you’d like, and maybe do some shopping at the mall afterwards. It’ll be fun.”

  I haven’t had a girl’s day in a long time. Grandma took me with her shortly before I moved to pick out some new clothes, but I only left with a new pair of shoes and some books. It was more about spending time with her than getting anything, and I know she didn’t have a lot of money to spare since starting to help Mama pay the bills.

  I smile and tell Cam I’d like that. It’s not a lie, either. Knowing that Dad talked to Cam about his past, about us, makes me like her a little more than after the blowout. She’s done nothing but show me kindness, so there’s no reason not to like her.