Never Said
Page 9
My throat squeezes. Will they get divorced?
Mom’s awake and close to Annie, who sips hot chocolate. From here I can see the marshmallows floating in the cup. She looks at me over the top of the mug.
I pretend Dad didn’t leave.
“Are you okay?” I keep my voice low in case Mom doesn’t know what happened.
“I told her,” Annie says. “About everything. We’re talking to Dad after the party.”
“Annie’s choice,” Mom says, and her eyes fill with tears.
“No more crying,” Annie says. “It’s all right. Sarah took care of it yesterday.”
I sit at the table, in my place, next to my sister and across from the French doors. The days are getting longer. There’s a world outside the glass, not just a hint of the sun. And my mother is freaking out over me.
And being nice.
“Sarah,” Mom says at long last, and the tears spill. “Thank you for defending your sister.”
“Breakfast?” Annie asks and she’s up to make me something. Hot chocolate to start. She pours the drink from the pan. I bet she used a chocolate bar, half and half, real vanilla bean, and sugar.
“Sure, Mom,” I say.
“I know it was hard for you. I know I’ve been hard on you.”
I’m not sure what to say.
Annie gives me the hot chocolate, then she hugs me, tight. Her sweater, the color of new roses, is soft on my face. In the glass of the doors, we’re ghosts. But we’re both smiling.
“You gonna survive Dad’s event?” she asks.
My smile dissolves. I don’t want to think of it. These get-togethers are hell to me. Hell decorated to the hilt, with the splashes of lights and colors and people. So many people. The performance, whether I want it or not.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
Mom and Annie are dressed already. I need to get moving. I think that, but I’m still, frozen by the thought of a stupid party. If I can talk to Ms. Cleland, can’t I wander in my own house filled with strangers for a few hours?
We’ve had parties with so many people that strangers have walked in thinking we wouldn’t notice. This one won’t be as large. There’s the merger to consider.
I sip the hot chocolate, grateful Annie and I are doing a piece we’ve played before. One I know by heart so I can close my eyes and not think of anyone watching me.
“You all right?” she asks.
I nod.
If I don’t think about it, I’ll be okay.
annie
I watch Sarah.
Feel the guilt
in my veins.
I knew she was shy
knew she hated this public life
but never cared
because I was a professional
entertainer.
So I make breakfast for her,
like that will help.
Pour milk over steamy
oatmeal
add sugar
and fresh berries.
Mom is consumed with a list,
pushing back her hair with one hand,
writing with the other.
She doesn’t see
my sister.
Not now that she’s thinking of the
party of the year
and the problem with Tommy Jones
is over
as far as she is concerned.
Sarah sits at the table
taking slow,
deep breaths.
What was it like for her yesterday?
To approach the vice principal?
Something pinches at my heart.
How did I let Sarah
get to this place
and stay there
alone
when she was so willing to help me?
sarah
Instead of enjoying the breakfast Annie makes, I worry about Dad’s party. Blush at the idea of standing in front of everyone. All those eyes. People holding drinks. Wandering in from wherever they’ve been at the house. Coming to stand where Annie and I will be. Me, in front of the piano with my violin, the way I have to be. Annie announcing the piece.
“Don’t borrow trouble,” Mom has told me. And she means, don’t think about it. Don’t fret.
But I know me.
Even if I don’t think of Saturday night, it will be there. At the edges of my mind. When I take the sign language test. The Chemistry make up. When I walk to class. When I’m sad about Garret. Angry about Tommy. Wondering about Annie. It will be there, in the periphery. Waiting for me.
annie
The truth is I helped.
I swallow at my guilt.
I helped Sarah
feel crappy
when I let Melanie tease her
when I saw she was afraid and laughed
when I knew someone tormented her in middle school
and said nothing.
“Here you go.
Made with love,” I say
handing over the oatmeal,
and my voice
cracks.
annie
No emotions will show
at the party
and
I’ll keep Sarah
by my side.
Keep us both safe.
sarah
When we were little—before the fear, before the crowns, before the comparisons, before the failures, before Before—Annie and I were the same person.
I remember that as she pushes the oatmeal over to me. Like she used to do when we were younger. “Thank you,” I say. Maybe I can perform with her. I’ve done big things lately. Maybe, if Annie and I are headed where we used to be Before, I can do it.
Are we becoming the same again?
At school I keep my mind where it should be. On studies. In the classroom, I try not to think if Tommy will be in Sign. I don’t look ahead at what waits on Saturday. I don’t look behind at a boy who didn’t choose me in the end.
In design class, I glance out the window, where winter tries to invade the room. Alex asks me to help him come up with a limerick about the football team, and we laugh at everything that rhymes with jock. At one point he says, “Maybe we can get dinner some time,” and I say, “That would be fun,” and my heart clenches because I’m doing what my sister said. I’m moving on.
But when the thought comes of a house full of people, of men and women drinking, and laughing, growing louder, more insistent, telling jokes, demanding I pull out my violin, I feel myself fold up, get smaller, and there’s a moment I hope I can breathe.
This weather strangles me sometimes too, when there’s no place to escape. No house to run to. No place to hike or walk or run away.
And yet in the morning, before anyone has awakened, I can peer out the back window, over the darkened fields, and the world seems so huge and empty. A place someone could get lost in. Nothing but snow and stars and air so cold you’d freeze and not even care.
sarah
Outside of Chemistry (I’m sure I passed the make-up exam), Garret stands waiting. He has on a black sweatshirt and his hair looks so blond. Should it be fair that he has such blond hair in the winter?
“Garret,” I say. I don’t even mean to. His name falls out of my mouth and he smiles. Gosh, he has the best smile. Those white teeth.
“Hi, Sarah.”
I’ve stopped in the classroom doorway and people shove past. Alex comes up behind Garret and raises his eyebrows at me.
“Hey,” Alex says. He’s smiling as well.
“Hi.”
“Move,” someone says, pushing me, and I say, “Sorry.”
Oh. Oh. This is . . . Why am I embarrassed? As though I’ve done something wrong.
Lockers slam. I can hear a teacher hollering about no homework for the weekend and yes, you’re welcome, thank you very much. Annie walks toward me and someone screams down the hall. The intercom comes on with a crackle.
Close behind my sister is her old best friend.
annie
I won’t list adjectives that fill my brain
want to leap from my tongue.
Sarah leaves,
sliding a little on a wet part of the floor. I’m stabbed to the center.
I pass a classroom window
and for a moment
see myself as I was —
Yes, the hair has changed
and the make
up
but
the window is a trick mirror
and I am thin again.
I look
See myself
Before.
A sudden, desperate feeling goes through me.
I want to be that
girl again.
I want to be thin.
I
was
like Melanie.
I
was Melanie.
But I can make me new.
Not take back all the old.
Be there for my sister.
Right?
sarah
You worried about the party?” Annie asks. She’s found me in ASL class. Miss Saunders stands at the front of the room, saying hello as we walk in, waiting for the bell to ring.
“Can’t talk about it without wanting to puke,” I say. Throwing up once in the school parking lot is enough for me.
Corny as it is, I’m grinning because my sister came to see me. She knew I needed her. “What?” Annie asks, and she smiles too.
“You’re going to be late,” I say, but I link my arm through hers.
“Sisters?” Miss Saunders signs.
I nod. “Twins,” I sign back.
“I see that. Same nose. Same smile. Both pretty.”
Miss Saunders turns her attention to other people entering the classroom. There will be no Tommy today. Because of me.
No. Because of me.
Nervousness crawls through me.
We have three minutes to whisper before the first bell rings. For a class where no one is to use their voice, it’s pretty loud in here. If your teacher can’t hear you, well, you can get away with a lot.
Annie looks around the room. I feel her flinch. She turns to me. “Stay away from the guys in this class,” she says.
“Who else?” I ask. Who?
But Miss Saunders is saying it’s time to begin. “Go!” she says in sign language. “Tell your sister she needs to vamoose.”
Annie understands. She doesn’t even wait for me to translate. Just leaves.
annie
I didn’t know Jared Parker
and
Ben Adams were in this class.
Yes, I knew about Tommy.
But the jerks who held me
that day
stopped me, allowed Tommy Jones to rub
up against me and
put his filthy mouth on mine?
They’re here.
Jared sees me. Looks surprised.
Glances away.
He stumbles getting to his chair.
He apologized after
The Incident.
Called me. Said he wasn’t thinking,
said he would never
never
do anything like that to anyone again.
That he would never
never
treat a girl
like that again.
But Ben. Looking at him now
I can see he’s mad — that Tommy’s gone?
Why else?
A
smile
crawls onto his face
filled with anger.
Did he write the notes too?
Even with a promise of expulsion?
Who knows.
Who cares.
I turn my back to him
whisper to my sister
and
go.
annie
encounters with Tommy
those first few times.
Ben and Jared with him.
laughing as
he stopped me in the hall
(before the weight)
grabbed my arm
asked
for services someone had rumored I gave.
As I walk from the ASL class
room
back
straight
this deaf teacher
looks me in the eyes
sees my soul
then glances at Sarah
and motions for me to
Go!
Go!
Go!
annie
I’m so humiliated.
annie
still
sarah
I see the change in her face. Miss Saunders is talking, talking, and I run after Annie. Someone tips too far in a chair and almost falls. People laugh.
“Hey, Sarah,” Miss Saunders signs to me, stepping to the door. Watching me.
My sister. That’s all I sign.
Miss Saunders nods once.
Annie’s moving fast. I have to jog to keep up.
“What happened? Annie?”
“I’m leaving,” she says. The hall is cleared out. Her backpack hangs from her arm. Slaps at her leg. Weak light falls through the skylights. So weak it can’t even splash on the floor.
I stop, watch her walk away. Hesitate. And then . . .
“Wait,” I say, before she goes through the door to snowflakes that look like they might change their minds and go back heavenward. “I’m coming with you.”
Back into my classroom. A quick apology to the teacher. Grab my books. And run to Annie, who doesn’t even check out of school.
These last few days . . .
They’ve felt like an eternity.
They’ve gone on forever.
They have weighed more than the whole school year before as the story has unfolded and I’ve seen more about my sister.
We’re finding each other. That’s almost as scary as the other stuff. Because what if I fail her somehow? Or fail me?
“I’m coming.” A thought crowds my brain, pushing at me. Is Tommy Jones the reason Annie must protect herself with weight?
“Where to?” Annie says when I run up to her. She stands on the sidewalk and I’m worried we’re gonna get called back inside, get a call from the truant officer.
A few flakes of snow fall. Slowing down. Maybe it’s too cold for them too.
“You decide,” I say. And we’re off to the car, my heart pounding, and Annie’s telling me about Jared and Ben. The apology. The hate.
“Oh,” I say, again and again.
We drive around town until Annie stops shaking. Till she can tell how she felt that day in an empty hallway. How she felt when Jared apologized. How she’s known that Ben is still bent out of shape because her actions messed with his college possibilities.
“But the notes.” I’m picking at my nails. Have pulled one off too low. “It shows he doesn’t care.”
“Right,” she says.
We drive on. Pass Dad’s office.
“I hate that place,” my sister says.
Pass the high school twice, like a dare.
“I hate that place too.”
Pass the community center where Annie participated in a few pageants when she was younger. This is the venue that asked her to be a guest judge. “That place,” she says, her voice as slow motion as those few snowflakes. “That place I don’t mind.”
After a bit Annie says, “Sarah. Maybe I’m starting a diet. You know. A diet of healthy eating.”
“What?” I sit up straight in my seat. Nurse my finger.
“Sure. I think I’ve decided to. Don’t tell Mom. I don’t want her crawling all over me.”
The car is warm and I think this Tommy Jones thing is over. It’s over. I laugh. Happy to be in on the secret. “Are you serious? Why? I thought you wanted . . .” I pause.
“I know. To be this way.” Annie’s quiet. “It’s time to do the hard things and face what’s happened. And why not?” Ann
ie says. She doesn’t look me in the eye.
“Of course. Why not?”
And then, “I am so glad, Annie. Glad this is what you want.”
She changes lanes without signaling. “Let’s get doughnuts as a sendoff. My treat.”
The road is full of traffic. The whole town looks dirty because of the old snow, the lifeless looking trees, the sky like an upside-down pot of scrubbed steel.
So this is what Springfield looks like when we’re in school. I never really thought about how life goes on when I’m not there. How Dad goes into the office. How Mom stays at home.
We park the car and go into the Krispy Kreme store that smells so yeasty and sweet my mouth waters. Order tea and three doughnuts (each!) and eat one standing at the counter.
“Now where?” Annie says. “We’re killing time. We don’t have to do anything unless we want to.”
“I know.” I lick glaze from my fingers. Peek in the bag at the remaining doughnuts. Hesitate before I speak. “It’s like Before. Or before Before. You know, when we were friends.”
Annie hugs me. Not a one-armed hug, but a tight, close-to-her embrace. “I don’t know how it happened,” she says, “but I’ve missed this, this being with you.”
“Me too.”
My sister kisses my face, pushes my hair back. “Let’s get out of here.”
I grab her hand and we slip and slide outside, all the way to the car.
annie
Here’s what I think. What I know.
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