List of Ten

by Halli Gomez

  Sometime between slobbery kisses and blue earrings, the conversation turned to what movie we’d rent at Rainn’s house. But based on the titles being thrown out, guys for action, girls for comedy, I figured we’d end up sitting on the couch staring at one another for two hours.

  We tossed our garbage, got our coats on, and walked out.

  “Where’s your car, Jay?” Khory asked.

  “What? Oh, it’s in the shop. No heat. Guess we’re walking.”

  Khory wrapped her coat around her and looked toward Rainn.

  “It’s fine,” Rainn said. “We can call my mom.”

  Khory shook her head. “No. Let’s walk. Taco Bell and walking home from the mall without parental supervision. Two things I’ve never been able to do.”

  Rainn lived in the neighborhood across the street, a ten-minute walk for them. I tried to keep up, counted the steps, and stared at the sky. But this was a new sidewalk. It was probably like every other one in the city, but what if this was the one that felt different? I bent all the way down. My fingertips touched the sidewalk and slid across the hard, pitted concrete. It was the same, but it felt good.

  Not a surprise, I fell behind the group. What a way to ensure your place as an outsider. Khory slowed down and stayed at my pace. Just like she did at school.

  “I don’t know why we picked Taco Bell,” she said. “The food is disgusting.”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of like school food,” I said in between bend-downs. “Nothing against the cafeteria workers, but they aren’t gourmet chefs.”

  She laughed. “You’re right. So why do we insist on eating it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to spite our parents by eating complete garbage with no redeeming nutritional value?”

  She laughed. I couldn’t believe we were having a conversation about food that I actually ate at a restaurant. I wanted to punch the air and jump up and down.

  “Oh, I was supposed to call my parents when we left the mall.” She pulled out her phone and pressed a number from her recent call list. “We’re almost at Rainn’s house . . . . to watch a movie. . . . I told you, five of us. . . . Ok. I love you too.”

  She hung up and shoved her phone in her pocket. “I don’t get to go out much like this. They’re overprotective. Because of my sister. Mostly we just hang out at Rainn’s house or mine.”

  Even in the dark I could see the shadow coming. It wasn’t just her eyes but the way she frowned and tilted her head down. I hated that look, so I said the first thing I could think of. “I don’t go out much either.” And, because I couldn’t stop myself, I added, “This was my first dinner out in about three years.”

  As soon as the words crossed my lips, I knew it was the biggest social mistake ever. Telling the girl you like that you’re a social outcast, even if she could guess it herself, was like showing up on the first day of high school in SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas. Just brilliant. I bent down to avoid her eyes and let the coarse ground satisfy my fingertips.

  “Sometimes it’s easier to hide at home, isn’t it?” she asked. “That way you don’t have to worry about strangers.”

  I stood up straight and nodded. Not only did she get me to go way outside my comfort zone, but she was also the first person to understand what was in my head.

  . . . . . . . . . .

  We were only five minutes behind everyone else. Not bad, considering my track record, but this was the one time I wished it were twenty. Being alone with Khory felt comfortable. And I was never comfortable around other people. Part of it was the darkness that hid my neck twitches and face scrunches, but also the connection we seemed to make. We had something in common. Okay, hiding at home, but I wasn’t one to question.

  I followed Khory into the house and was immediately assaulted by bright colors. Blues, yellows, and of course greens. The front door was like a portal to a tropical island. It warmed me after being outside in the cold. We went through the dining room to the kitchen where she introduced me to Mrs. Levine, Rainn’s mom.

  “Very nice to meet you, Troy.” She inspected me from head to toe. Didn’t I already go through this with her daughter? My neck twitched. My face scrunched up. “I may have something for you to help you relax. We’ll talk sometime, I’ll do an analysis.”

  I nodded to be polite, but I was pretty sure I had just agreed to have my aura read.

  “Khory, I heard they caught the man. I am so relieved.” Mrs. Levine pulled her into her arms and squeezed.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Levine,” Khory said gently pushing away. “We’re going to find Rainn.”

  “Oh, sure. They’re in the basement.”

  I followed Khory down a set of stairs off the kitchen to what was clearly the entertainment center of the house. A humongous flat-screen TV decorated one wall, with a media cabinet underneath overflowing with movies, video-game systems, and games to go with them. Across from electronic heaven was a cream leather couch and two matching recliner chairs. It’s like I died and heaven was a man cave.

  Jay had already claimed a recliner, Rainn and Diego cuddled in one corner of the couch, and Khory flopped in the other. That left either the recliner farthest away from Khory or the middle of the couch. The middle had too many opportunities to reach out and touch someone, and in this case, one side would end with a beating and the other with humiliation.

  The happy alternative was a denim-blue beanbag that I pulled to the corner of the couch by Khory. I leaned against it and stretched my legs out. My butt would be asleep in ten minutes, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

  Jay grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV. “We decided on Hunger Games. Since you guys were late, you didn’t get to vote.”

  Seemed like a good compromise. The girls could watch Liam Hemsworth, and the guys liked the action. Of course, Jennifer Lawrence wasn’t bad either.

  Diego turned the lights off, and the movie started. I sank into the beanbag, and pain stung the left side of my neck and down to my shoulder blade. I hadn’t realized how much my neck twitched on the walk here, but with the pain being close to a seventy-five, it must have been out of control. I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders back when I exhaled. Another useless Hardly Qualified tip: deep breathing with the shoulder roll. Maybe I should have had Rainn or her mom teach me their techniques.

  I focused on the movie, Katniss talking to Gale, catching dinner for her family, and then the line that made everyone want to be a kickass kind of person, or at least pretend they were: “I volunteer as tribute.”

  Khory leaned down to me, her breath warm with a hint of mild salsa. “I’m going to be like her. She doesn’t hide. She makes things happen. I know it’s just a character, but doesn’t her bravery inspire you to do something great with your life?”

  Yes, and that’s what I was doing. Just like Katniss, I would make things happen. Ten things.

  FEBRUARY 14

  My idea of fun apparently consisted of burping up tacos and having a sore butt from sitting on a hard floor. That’s what I did last night, and it was one of the best nights of my life. I don’t know what the rest of the group thought, but at some point, I felt less like a math tutor and more like someone who belonged there.

  I took a deep breath, hoping to catch even a tiny whiff of coconut that lingered on last night’s clothes. It may have been my imagination, but I smelled it. The connection Khory and I made last night wasn’t an illusion. At least not for me. She got me. Understood my need to stay home and made me forget I had to hold my tics in.

  The only things she couldn’t do were take away the pain and stay. Just like Jude, she would have a life and wouldn’t have time to wait for me to catch up. I’d be left by myself, ready to snap a ligament, break a bone, or bleed.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. I went to my closet and gazed at the box where I kept Mom’s cards. A blue Nike box high up on the top shelf. My neck twitched. I squeezed my hands together. My face scrunched up. Repeat. I counted six sets of ten and hadn’t even pulled the bo
x down.

  The first card from Mom was for my elementary school graduation, three months after she left, and the last for my eleventh birthday. That one came with an autographed picture of Tim Howard, the soccer player with Tourette syndrome. Was that supposed to mean something to me? Was a picture supposed to replace her?

  I’d kept them close the first few years, because they reminded me of her and what I thought was our happy family. I was sure she’d come back. She needed me. Back then I believed there were no other people like us.

  Mom had a neck twitch like I did. And she mumbled. “Can you speak louder?” people asked, because they assumed she actually had something to say. Sometimes she’d repeat it, no matter how unintelligible, or sometimes she’d scream.

  At home she lined up her shoes by the front door, each one touching the next. A complete contradiction to my obsession to separate things. My needs consumed me, and when she left the room, I’d spend the next few minutes moving them apart. Close enough so she’d think they touched, but far enough that I almost saw the air swirling between them. We should have kept them in our rooms like Dad asked, but that wouldn’t have solved the problem with cereal boxes, cans, and books.

  When she blinked, I blinked harder. She begged for quiet; I stood outside her door and shrieked. I shouldn’t have been surprised she left. I drove her crazy. But she was the adult and should have sucked it up, stayed, and taught me how to survive. Instead she taught me how to give up, and as soon as I found her, I’d tell her that. Then I’d say goodbye. The other thing she didn’t do.

  I took the box down and collapsed on my bed. I meant to throw the cards away, but every time I got close, I wondered if one day she’d come back and ask about them. I pulled out the autographed picture and stared at the soccer player in action. I’d heard he was a good guy, cared about kids and other people with TS, so I didn’t want it to go to waste. Someone would appreciate it, and I thought of just the right person. I tucked the picture inside an empty folder and wrote David Isenhour on the front. I’d give it to his parents at the next TS support group meeting, then check another item off my list.

  Back to the box. I sorted, shuffled, and studied the cards and envelopes. Maybe I missed something back then. Postmarks: July 28, September 16, April 1. All of them from New York City. No return addresses. Nothing new. Just the same pile of wasted paper.

  I went to my desk and opened my laptop. “Google, please find Jennifer Hayes in New York City,” I said as I typed.

  Barely two seconds later the results popped up. Turns out there were a lot of Jennifer Hayes’s living in New York City. Over eighty-five thousand results according to the number under the search bar. Of course, there were a lot of duplicates and random people thrown in, like Eddie and Charles Hayes, whoever they were, and the actress Jennifer Hudson.

  This wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. I had fifty-two days left to complete nine more items and would spend half that time searching the records. I sighed. That left Dad.

  I hoped to enlist Dad’s help only after I’d found her, for a plane ticket, but I didn’t have a choice. Good thing it was family dinner night. I needed Terri on my side.

  She wasn’t my real mother, but she tried her best. She bought my school clothes and took me to more doctor’s appointments than Dad. Twenty-five to four, I counted. Of course she was the one home during the day, but I know she cared.

  I walked into the kitchen and smelled stuffing. Unfortunately there would be chicken or pork to go with it. Jude was in his high chair, hands washed, and ready to eat with Dad next to him.

  “Troy, help me with these,” Terri said.

  We carried the plates from the kitchen to the table. I sat across from her and cut my chicken into bite-size pieces, separated them into ten groups, then added peas and stuffing. Should I just say it? Dad, where’s Mom? Or should I wait for an opening like, hey your mom called today. Although he never said that, so I could be waiting a long time.

  My neck twitched ten times. My face scrunched up. Repeat. I squeezed my hand around the fork, and the peas rolled off. Why couldn’t we have vegetables you could stab with a fork? I scooped up the peas again and made it to my mouth this time.

  “Terri, pass me a napkin. Jude stuck his hand in the yogurt.” Dad moved the yogurt and spoon from the high-chair tray. “Terri, napkin please.”

  I glanced at her. She stared at me, her eyebrows scrunched together. I wanted to scrunch mine too but settled for whole face scrunches. And neck twitches and hand squeezes.

  Without taking her eyes off me, Terri passed Dad a stack of napkins. “Is something bothering you, Troy?”

  To people who understood Tourette, a major increase in tics was a dead giveaway for stress and nerves, and based on the shooting pain down my back, that’s what gave me away. It sucked to be so transparent, but on the bright side, this was the opening I needed.

  “I want to find Mom. It’s been six years since I’ve talked to her. The last cards she sent were five years ago from New York City, and I googled her name, but there were way too many to search through. Eight-five thousand results.” I took a breath.

  Dad froze, napkin halfway to Jude’s face. He turned toward me, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, then closed it. I probably should have mentioned the part about duplicates and celebrities.

  “Troy, your dad doesn’t know where she is,” Terri said.

  “She’s right.” Dad rested his hands on the table. “I don’t know. She hasn’t contacted me in five years.”

  When she sent me a birthday card and the picture of Tim Howard.

  My neck twitched. I counted to ten.

  “Listen, I would never say anything bad about your mom, but she had a lot of problems. If she wants us to know where she is, she’ll call or send a letter.” Dad turned away from me. Was it because I had the same problems?

  I pushed my plate away. “I get that, but I still need to find her.”

  “What’s so important that you need her now? We have a happy family here. If you have questions about girls or, um, health, we can help you. Terri may not be your biological mom, but she loves you.”

  “He’s right. You can talk to me about anything. If you didn’t already know that, I’m telling you now.”

  Yeah, anything except the one thing I need to know about. What did I expect? Dad still thought things were “great.” I sighed, pulled my plate back, and dug into my dinner.

  “I think you should focus on the life you have now,” Dad said.

  The life full of pain, anxiety, and the damn number ten? No thank you.

  “Please. She’s my mom. I know you have access to all kinds of super-secret-privacy-invading databases. Just a quick search.”

  “I can’t do that.” He turned to Terri. “Neither of us can.”

  . . . . . . . . . .

  Technically, Dad didn’t forbid me from searching for Mom, he just said they wouldn’t help. Fine. I’d do it the old-fashioned way. Back to the internet.

  “Hey, Troy, can we talk for a minute?”

  Terri stepped into my room without knocking or being invited and closed the door behind her. Her eyebrows were scrunched together again. She pulled out my desk chair and sat down with her hands in her lap. That meant serious business. I backed away and leaned against the closet.

  “Your dad’s giving Jude a bath, so we have a few minutes. I don’t know if he would be happy with me sharing this, but I think you need to understand his side. With your mom.”

  My chest tightened. “I don’t need to know why she left. I just need to know where she is now.”

  “It must have been painful, tragic, when she left. I can’t even imagine. And I’m sure you have questions, but try to see this from your dad’s point of view. Your mom didn’t just leave you, she left him, too.” Terri rolled the chair closer to me. “He lost his wife. A woman he was madly in love with.”

  What? If we had been outside, a bug could have flown into my mouth. She was talking about another woman her hus
band loved.

  “Don’t look so surprised. I knew he had a family before I met him. And he was honest with me. He told me about her, the Tourette, and what happened right before she left. One day he had a wonderful family, and the next he was a single man with a child he wasn’t sure how to raise.”

  That day came back like a tornado. Dad met me after school instead of Mom. He never picked me up. His eyes were red and puffy, and I didn’t get it at first. I was ten and more concerned with video games, superheroes, and using all my energy to keep myself together at school. I completely missed his grief.

  After we got home and I’d let out the tics I’d been holding in all day, he’d told me.

  “Mom left. She loves you more than anything in this world,” Dad said. “But she thought it would be best if I raised you.”

  I was one hundred percent sure he’d say she was dead. But she chose to leave. My tics came back full force. The neck twitch, hand squeezing, wrist twisting. At one point, I bent my finger back so far it should have broken. I wanted it to break. And what I remember most about that day was learning that Mom wasn’t dead but wishing that she was.

  “Raising kids is tough, especially one with special needs.” Terri’s voice brought me back to the present. “He is doing the best he can. And about your mom . . .”

  I stood up straight. Yes?

  “I honestly believe he doesn’t know where she is.”

  “But—”

  “He’s moved on, and trying to keep in touch with someone who wants to remain hidden is just too painful for him.” She stood up and crossed the room. “You should think about that, too. I would love if you could focus on the family you have now. I will never be a substitute for your mom, but I’m always here if you need me.”

  I nodded, squeezed my hands together, then stared at the floor.

  Terri put her hand on my arm and let it rest there for a minute. Her hand felt heavy, and my arm tingled where she touched. I wasn’t sure if that was the Tourette talking.

  “Thanks,” I said.