The Missing Piece

by Jessica Baxter

  I saw Brenda and her clan today; I think she got a nose job. She acts like we’re the best of friends whenever I pass her in the hall, but I’m not falling for it.

  Crap! Is that the time? Your mom hired me to watch Sammy after school so she can rest (stop freaking out no sign of ‘c’ coming back.) I better get going though. I don’t want to keep her waiting.

  Mads

  P.S. I heard they’re holding auditions for ‘Who Will Marry Harry?’ in the Big Apple, think I have a shot?

  PHTMFB. Prince Harry that Mighty Fine Boy. Nice one, Mads. Mads is 5’11” slender and beautiful. Her short, black pixie hair cut is always adorned with Hello Kitty barrettes. She wears thick-rimmed glasses, just because. She has twenty-twenty vision, and an unhealthy obsession with the Royal family, especially Prince Harry and she’s an acronym fiend. She loves making up completely random acronyms. That usually makes no sense and leaves me to guess the meaning.

  However, Mads new obsession must be taking over my family. I cannot believe Mom hired her to watch Sammy, and that she agreed. I mean, of course, she’s the best choice, we used to babysit Sammy together all the time, but if things are bad enough that my mom had to hire Mads, what am I still doing here? Shouldn’t I be the one at home watching Sammy and taking care of my mom? What’s Mads going to do next, start writing Mason?

  Speaking of, it’s been five days since I’ve heard from him. He’s probably still adjusting to the time difference, but couldn’t he at least reply to my emails?

  I wish I could just call and talk to him, but I doubt my father would allow me to make international calls, even if it is to Mason. And, if we could talk on the phone, I doubt we’d actually be able to reach each other without waking the other up. I glance at my Mickey Mouse clock on the wall, his little white gloves show that it’s 6 P.M. meaning it’s almost 2 A.M. in Nigeria. I’d only be able to call him on weekends unless I started skipping school, which isn’t very likely.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to write Mason long, sappy emails and have him respond seconds later, but it just isn’t the same as being able to talk face to face. I can’t stop worrying about our relationship. I feel like a dog chasing its tail. I can see it, but I can never catch it and get the satisfaction I seek. The gears in my mind keep churning spewing out questions after question.

  We haven’t been dating that long, just a little over a year. We started dating during junior year, right after mom was diagnosed, but this is the first time we’ve really been separated and I’m terrified of what this distance will do to us.

  Just because you’ve known someone all of your life, doesn’t necessarily mean you know them. There are so many different quirks and habits that make me who I am, some of which I don’t even fully understand. Like, why in the world do I collect Starburst wrappers? Is it because they’re colorful? Is it because I really like candy? I’m not sure. It’s just something I do.

  How can I expect Mason to know me when I don’t even know myself?

  And, what if something happens to our relationship before we ever really get the chance to know each other? Can you ever truly know someone, completely?

  I bury my head in my hands and sigh. Will our relationship just be this constant circle of worry until Mason comes home?

  I refresh my inbox—just in case—but my laptop doesn’t make the familiar ‘do-da’ indicating I have a new email and my heart sinks. I decide to email Mads back, instead to take my mind off of Mason. I tell her about my new sort-of friends, the ridiculous size of the campus, downtown Los Angeles and the man dressed as Spider-man that nearly chased me down to be his Mary Jane. I can’t resist the urge to describe Ian; I tell her about his accent and his gorgeous smile and how I ran into him the other night.

  I also tell Mads how Mrs. Merrill humiliated me in front of the whole class by pointing out that I’m the only upperclassman taking Life Skills. Then I remind her where my mom’s medication is, when Sammy’s bedtime is and how although he always begs to watch Batman Returns it gives him nightmares.

  It’s almost 7 P.M. when I finish emailing Mads and I don’t want to brave the throng of students in the cafeteria, so I hole up in my room and read while stuffing my face with Oreos dipped in peanut butter. The sun dips behind a cloud, darkening my room, so I put down John Green’s Looking for Alaska and turn on the light. My phone beeps, informing me I have a new notification; the top of the screen flashes ‘Curfew’ in big, bold letters. I shake my head in disbelief.

  Is it really already almost 10?

  I grab my pink Disney princess tote, holding my toiletries and drag myself down the hall to the bathroom. Why can’t my room have its own shower? It’s not like my father isn’t paying a ridiculous amount of money to keep me here.

  Even this close to curfew (which is at 11 PM) there is still a line. I take my place in line, cross my arms and wait. There are two bathrooms on each floor equipped with three shower stalls and three toilets. I’ve never been overly obsessed with my appearance; my father’s genes blessed me with a fair complexion and my mother taught me that a dab of mascara will do the trick. One quick glance at my peers waiting in line tells this isn’t the norm.

  The girls surrounding me look like they’ve just stepped off of the set for a L'Oréal Paris ad. I play with the zipper on my bag, tear my gaze from these model-like faces and stare at my feet. Two girls walk up behind me, joining the line.

  “Can you believe those pajamas?” A high-pitched, nasally voice I recognize as Chelsea asks her friend.

  “Seriously? Footie pajamas. What are you like five?” Her friend snickers back.

  My face turns red. My Batman cape swishes as I turn to face them. I open my mouth, ready to spit back a snarky retort, but for some reason, my brain doesn’t receive the memo. My jaw quickly snaps shut.

  I drum my fingers against my bag, stand on my tiptoes and pretend that I’ve been looking for someone standing behind them this whole time. I turn around and move forward which only makes Chelsea and her friend snicker harder.

  A tingling sensation runs up my spine as someone lightly touches the cape to my pajamas. I’m just about to turn around and finally give Chelsea a piece of my mind when Ian’s voice whispers in my ear, soft and husky. “So, Batman, eh?”

  I cross my arms tightly to my chest. I am so not in the mood for this.

  He starts humming the Batman theme song under his breath. When I don’t respond he starts singing, “Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, Batman!”

  I whirl around and face him. “If you must know my little brother insisted we get a matching pair.”

  “Sounds like the little man has good taste,” Ian says, smiling broadly at me. He grabs my cape once more, running it through his fingers and then heads down the hall to Danielle’s room.

  Chelsea clears her throat as soon as Ian is gone. I turn around, what now?

  She’s glaring at me, her lips tightly pursed. “You know, he has a girlfriend.”

  I tug on my hoodie sleeve. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just friends.”

  Chelsea leans towards me, her face inches from mine. “There’s no such thing as ‘just friends.’ It’s impossible. Stay away from Ian or I’ll make you wish you had.”

  I stare back at her, too scared to avert my gaze. She rams into my shoulder as she cuts me in line and waltzes into the bathroom.

  Am I ever going to fit in here?

  Chapter Six

  It’s Friday afternoon. Mr. Allen stands at the front of the classroom holding a well-worn copy of Frank Miller’s Batman: Year One and Homer’s The Odyssey. I find a yellow bean bag chair and sit down. Mr. Allen stands the books up on the podium and the ceiling lights reflect off the covers making them glare.

  “Does anyone want to tell me what these two books have in common?”

  I pull out my notebook and write Batman: Year One and The Odyssey at the top of the page. A boy wearing a navy blue cardigan over a collared shirt raises his hand. M
r. Allen nods his head.

  “The Odyssey has nothing in common with a comic book,” the boy says.

  Mr. Allen’s eyebrows furrow. “Why do you say that Austin?”

  “Well, one is a comic book read for fun.” Austin glances around the room, pulling on his shirt sleeve. “The other is a classic read for learning and growth.”

  “So there’s nothing valuable to be learned from Batman then?” Mr. Allen asks, perching on his desk and staring out at the class.

  I timidly raise my hand. Sammy would kill me if I didn’t defend his favorite superhero.

  “Emily.” Mr. Allen smiles. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I haven’t read any Batman graphic novels before, but my little brother Sammy is obsessed with Batman. I’ve seen like every single Batman cartoon and movie and there is actually a lot to learn from Batman. He’s taught my little brother to be fearless and brave.” I take a deep breath. “I’ve seen the animated movie of Batman: Year One. The grief and suffering Bruce faces after his parents’ death is unbearable, but the hope he gains as he grows up and learns he can make a difference in the world is just as amazing, too.”

  “Thank you for sharing that.” Mr. Allen walks towards the blackboard. “There is a lot to be learned from The Odyssey and yes, Austin, there is a lot we can learn from Batman graphic novels as well."

  Mr. Allen scans the room. “Can anyone tell me what odyssey means?”

  “It means an epic journey," the girl sitting next to me says.

  “Exactly.” Mr. Allen pulls a white piece of paper off the blackboard, revealing the words epic journey.

  “The Odyssey is about a guy trying to get home alive while showing great bouts of heroism and loyalty. Sound like anyone else?” Mr. Allen asks pointing to the graphic novel. “I want you to read The Odyssey and Batman: Year One. Then write a 5-page paper comparing the similarities and differences between these books.”

  Mr. Allen dismisses the class. I head back to Cyprus Hall, grateful it’s the weekend. The rest of my classes are great, although geology would be even duller if I didn’t have Ian to keep me company. Mr. Miller talks in a monotone and tries to collect assignments he never assigned in the first place. Despite this, I am looking forward to our field trip in a couple of weeks, it’ll be nice to get out and see more of Los Angeles.

  Later that night I’m sitting on my bed reading Batman: Year One. My notebook lies on the pillow next to me with my notes from the first few chapters of The Odyssey. I have a yellow highlighter in hand ready to highlight anything that deals with heroism or shows loyalty. My phone vibrates on the pillow next to me. It’s a text from my father:

  Sammy wants to know if you have time to Skype.

  I put down my phone and smile. This first week of school has been crazy and I haven’t called home yet. I miss my mom and Sammy, even my father, which is a little odd. I mean, I love him, it’s just we’ve never really had that good of a relationship. I wish we were closer, but I don’t know—it just seems like he doesn’t really care like he’s only in our lives to keep up appearances.

  My mom got pregnant while she was still in high school. My father comes from a deeply religious family who believes in doing things the proper way, so they were married straight after graduation and my father’s dreams of being an NFL player were placed on the back burner. He loves my mom, I know he does . . . but part of me thinks he holds me responsible for his dreams being shattered.

  As if it’s my fault.

  It doesn’t take long for my computer to start playing the familiar “bo-ba-bo” sound indicating I have an incoming call. My father and brother’s faces fill the screen.

  “Hey.” I smile as soon as I see Sammy.

  Has he grown? Surely he hasn’t grown?

  It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve left home. I scan the room. My palms start to get sweaty. “Where’s mom?”

  “She’s upstairs resting. Her doctor gave her a stronger dosage of chemotherapy to keep her cancer from coming back.” My father glances down at his watch. “I don’t think we’ll be able to chat for too long. I have work to do.”

  “Um, okay.” My voice feels small and my eyes sting.Why did he even bother calling?

  My father wasn’t always this big of a douche and he didn’t always make me feel like the unwanted FedEx child. He used to be cheerful and carefree, but that was before mom was diagnosed. Since then he’s become cold and bitter and completely absorbed in his work. I know he’s probably just trying to deal, but it sucks.

  “How are your classes going?” He asks, refusing to tear his eyes from his phone. “How are you liking Los Angeles?”

  “School is awesome. I really like my Young Adult Literature class. Mr. Allen just assigned us a Batman graphic novel to read.” I glance at Sammy to see if he’s listening, but he’s distracted playing the lava game (where the floor is lava and you have to avoid it at all costs).

  “Comics?” My father glances up from his phone for the first time. “That can hardly be counted as reading material! What does he think he’s doing filling your head with that nonsense? You should be studying the greats: Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, not looking at a picture book.”

  My hands ball into fists. I’m certain my father has never picked up a book in his life, he just likes people to believe he has. “I’m in AP English too, dad. We’re reading Romeo & Juliet right now.”

  He grunts. “Good.”

  Sammy leaps off the couch and shouts, “I’m Batman!”

  My father almost smiles, but looks at me and transforms back into a Cyborg. Sammy lifts off the couch again and my father snaps. Sammy’s face crumples while my dad tells him off. I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

  I wish my mom was awake.

  Sammy starts crying that he wants me to come home and why did I have to go away. My chest feels so tight, I think I might die. He falls onto the couch and crosses his arms. His face forms the cutest scowl I’ve ever seen and I have to do everything I can to keep from laughing.

  “Sammy, I’ll be home for Thanksgiving. That’s not too far away.”

  His face lights up. “Is that before or after Christmas?”

  “Before.” Oh, I sure do miss him. “And, I’ll be home for Christmas too.”

  “Really?”

  Sammy leaves to get ready for bed, leaving me alone to talk to my father. He grunts and picks up his newspaper. “So, what have you done since you’ve been in LA?”

  “Nothing, really. School has been pretty demanding.”

  He shakes the newspaper and it crinkles. “It is one of the top schools in the country, so I would expect nothing less. Have you gone out to see the city? The Williamsburg’s live just past Anaheim. They donate a lot to keep your school running. You should stop by and see them.”

  Right, I’ll put that at the top of my To-Do list.

  Johnny Williamsburg is one of my father’s closest friends from high school, but I haven't seen him since I was eight and I don't plan on stopping by anytime soon. Unless my father is persistent.

  “Right, well duty calls,” my dad says, looking at me apologetically. As if he hasn’t been counting down the seconds for our call to end. “Go out and see the city. I didn’t send you all the way to Los Angeles just for you to hole up and read.”

  And, then he hangs up before I even get a chance to say goodbye.

  I decide to write Mason instead of going out. Danielle and the others probably already have plans and I’m sure they don’t want me to intrude.

  Besides, it’s not like my father will ever know.

  A few days ago Danielle took me to one of the Walmart stores in Los Angeles. It must be nice having so many stores to choose from, back home we have one Walmart and that’s thirty minutes away. I bought a few things so I could start writing letters back and forth with Mason and not just email.

  I go to my closet and pull out the Walmart bags full of goodies to send to Mason. I sit down at my desk and start writing Mason’s letter, bu
t halfway through I realize how awesome it would be to cut his letter up into puzzle pieces and make him have to assemble it.

  After we started dating, when my mom was first diagnosed, Mason would sit in the hospital waiting room with me. We’d put together the different puzzles that the staff had left for the patients and their families to do. We ended up making a game out of it, trying to see who could get their puzzle done first. Hopefully, this makes him smile.

  I dash across the room and start digging through my closet until I find my bag of sharpies and then get to work. To make the puzzle letter, a little easier for Mason to assemble, I use a different colored sharpie for each page of the letter.

  Dear Mas,

  How are you? How’s Africa? I still can’t believe you’re in Nigeria!

  Baldwin Hill is glamorous compared to Cedar Heights High. The campus is a five-minute walk from my dorm room, and it can be pretty scary! On Wednesday two homeless guys followed me around until my new friend, Ian, saw me and walked up to me.

  As soon as I write Ian’s name I scribble it out. I want to tell Mason about all of my new friends, but I know he won’t like me hanging out with another boy, even if we’re nothing more than friends.

  And, the first time I rode the subway I got off at the wrong stop and ended up in a super shady part of Los Angeles. Luckily, the tram going back towards school arrived before anything scary could happen. I was pretty shaken when I got to school. It took twenty minutes for my friends to calm me down.

  The school is really nice though. The campus is pretty big for a high school, even if it is a boarding school. The cafeteria is huge! The school hired chefs to prepare all of the meals. I feel like I’m eating in a five-star restaurant all the time. All of my teachers are super nice but my favorite teacher is my English teacher, Mr. Allen. He’s been assigning Young Adult novels as homework. I’m in heaven.