by J. J. Howard
For some reason, this whole New Year’s thing was really bothering me. I guess because I had just landed in my home state, so instead of new, today I was going back to old. And I had messed things up so badly in the old place, and, apparently, so had my dad, that I wasn’t really sure how much I wanted to go there. My room, my home, weren’t there anymore, and I was facing an uncertain future with a rather flaky mom.
Happy New Year.
When we left the airport, Callie gave the cab driver an address near our old neighborhood. “I found us a sublet,” she said, smiling tentatively at me.
It was a sunny two-bedroom walk-up, fully furnished but uncluttered. After we got our bags inside, Callie and I walked to the diner she always used to take me to.
“You nervous about school Monday?” she asked me as we ate.
Somewhere in the diner, “Scar Tissue” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers was playing. Seemed appropriate for the moment. I felt like I had so many barely healed emotional bruises, the thought of going back to school was almost not something I could reconcile myself to doing. “Yeah,” I heard myself say.
“High school sucks,” Callie said, grabbing a fry from my plate and smiling. She was always doing that, alternating typical mom-type stuff, like, Are you nervous about school Monday? with comments like High school sucks, which made her seem more like my friend. Of course, Dad had been like that, too. They really were — had been — a lot alike. I wondered what went wrong. I both desperately wanted to know and not to know.
“At least Eli will be there,” she told me. “He’ll help you get reacclimated.”
“I guess,” I said. I didn’t add that seeing Eli was still almost more stressful than school. I had not told her about the night Dad died — she seemed to have guessed the most important part, but I knew I was going to my grave without ever telling the story of the morning after to anyone. It was bad enough Eli existed in the world to know it, too.
“We have to get up early tomorrow,” she observed, frowning a little. “We were lazy last week at Europa.”
“Yep,” I said, listlessly making a French-fry pyramid.
“I’ve never seen you not eat fries,” Callie told me.
I didn’t point out how many fry-eating opportunities of mine she had, in fact, missed. Things were still too tenuous. “I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry everything’s so hard right now.”
“It’s not your fault.” She shot me a look. “Okay, it’s nowhere near all your fault,” I amended, making myself smile at her.
“Thanks for that,” she said. “Oh, hey, wait — I got you something. It’s not an amazing phone, but I took in the old one and got you the same number.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I accepted the small silver phone. Maybe this one would actually last the year. “Thanks, Callie. That’s really nice of you.”
“It’s nothing. I just want to thank you for — you know — letting me keep you, or at least trying it out until college. I mean it, Lexi. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”
I nodded, tears unaccountably pricking my eyes. “’S okay,” I mumbled.
I poked at the half burger lying on my plate, thinking about Eli. He’d wanted to join us for dinner, but I had talked him out of it. I knew he would be busy making amends with his own parents for running away, spending his college money on a car, and missing school since early December.
So it was just Callie and me. It was both comforting and surreal to be back in my old neighborhood. Absolutely everything had changed for me, but looking around, everything here looked exactly the same.
13 Broome Street — Wednesday, January 5
“I heard she went crazy and stole a car. They had to legit lock her up. In Florida. Can you even imagine?”
This comment was the best one. I wish I hadn’t been in a bathroom stall, unable to find out who said it, so I could have asked them to write it in my yearbook.
The rumors were flying about me and Eli. I was definitely no longer invisible, and it made me weirdly happy. It was sort of a thrill to hear people actually talking about me. (It wouldn’t last, of course; I was pretty sure I’d be back to being part of the walls by graduation.) The fact that Bailey had left soon after I did only added fuel to the fire.
I was thinking a lot about Bailey lately, now that I was back in these hallways and classrooms, where she and I had once been friends. Bailey may not have always been a perfect friend, might have taken advantage of me sometimes — but I had let her. If I hadn’t learned anything else in the last four months, it was that I didn’t want to be Doormat Girl ever again. I just hoped she was happy at her new school. Just hoped she’d be happy again, period.
First thing Monday, I had an appointment with the headmaster. As I walked toward the office, my stomach felt like I had a dead ferret in there. I’d heard from Eli that there was a new headmaster, though, which made me happy. Dr. Cranston had never exactly been crazy about me. Her compassion for me at the worst moment of my life would have fit in one of those little triangular paper cups she kept in her office by the water cooler.
This new headmaster had to see me differently, though; I had to make sure that he did. I’d made a New Year’s resolution, one I was determined to keep: I was going to take school seriously. I was going to go in there and murder this last semester, and apply and get into a great college. Somehow.
The headmaster’s name was Dr. Browning. I sat carefully in one of the chairs that faced his big desk.
“Miss Ryan,” he intoned, disapproval evident in his voice. “You’ve had quite a year,” he observed, laying what I assumed was my student file down on his desk.
Browning had embraced the stereotype and was wearing actual tweed, complete with those weird little elbow patches on his jacket. Those have always bothered me — what were they for? Just in case a sudden game of rugby erupted and he didn’t have time to shuck his jacket? I pulled my attention back to the meeting at hand and reminded myself of my resolution.
“I really have,” I told him.
“I’m very sorry about your father,” he said next, surprising me. “And I must apologize, it seems, for my predecessor’s handling of your … situation. She ought to have assisted you in locating your mother. I hold Eleanor Cranston largely responsible for your having to hare off to parts unknown to track down your parent.” He actually sounded sort of angry. I enjoyed his use of hare as a verb and felt myself relax a little.
“But,” he went on, “as Dr. Cranston is now the problem of the Immaculate Heart School in Boston, we shall move on. Thankfully, it seems, in looking at your records, that you will be able to complete your senior year this semester, with sufficient credits for graduation. I imagine that is your wish?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. I absolutely want to graduate. I’ll take whatever classes I need to.”
“You missed an English credit and world history last term,” he told me, “and this semester you need to take physics to complete the science requirement. Many of the other seniors will have a far less taxing schedule,” he warned. “But you can do it if you set your mind to it.”
“I can — I will.”
“Very well,” he said. “I will see to it your schedule is changed. Miss Ryan.” He leaned forward then, almost smiled. He seemed like a serious guy, even though he was probably not that much older than my mom. But his eyes were a nice, kind brown. Of course, he would have been an improvement on Cranston had he been an actual snake.
“Miss Ryan, I think it is very admirable how you have managed your circumstances these last few months. You found yourself in very dire straits, and you seem to have kept your wits about you, all on your own, and come out just fine. Though I hadn’t met you until today, only read your file, I am proud of you. You may find, having come through the crucible of such an experience, that you will now have a clearer sense of who you are and what you want. I hope that you will use this knowledge wisely.”
He stood then and I belatedly followed suit; he shook my
hand and sent me on my way.
I was back, easy as that. Thanks to Nick Tarus, who found my mother; Eli Katz, who gave up his college money to buy a car and come get me; and Callie, for coming back to New York with me and being my parent again. And I owed massive thanks to Lina and her father and her sister for taking me in, feeding me, and giving me a job. Dr. Browning had been wrong about that one thing: I hadn’t done it all on my own, in the end.
I threw myself into schoolwork; I had enough catch-up work to keep me busy every night. I got into a routine in the new little apartment. It didn’t really feel like ours — Callie had sublet the place from a friend, and her decor was still in place. I didn’t even hang up my gargoyle lights in the tiny second bedroom. Callie had tried to give me the biggest one, one of the many manifestations of her guilt, but I didn’t want to let her guilt turn me into an evil princess, so I turned her down. Compared to the room I’d had in Lina’s trailer, my new digs were gigantic. There was a bed with a pretty light yellow quilt, and matching curtains. At first I put the ring Nick had given me on the top of the dresser, but then I decided to put it in a drawer.
Lina and I Skyped sometimes, but it was hard, because when she wasn’t working, I was in school. She kept me updated on all the Europa gossip. The first time we spoke, the show was outside Baltimore, and I wished I had a car so I could just go see everyone in person. Not that missing any more school was actually an option.
Eli would walk me home every afternoon, but then he had to go straight home. He was a step beyond grounded for running off to Florida — something closer to house arrest: school, work at his uncle’s deli (to pay back the college fund), homework, and bed. But he never complained, not to me, anyway.
As for Callie, she was a little bit like a caged bird. Before she got a job, she was always dutifully on her perch when I came home from school. But it only took her two weeks to find a pretty decent job as a receptionist in a dentist’s office nearby. I could see the marks of strain, though. She was the real gypsy — though not a fortune teller, clearly, given her life choices. But I was grateful to her for going through the motions of boring-ness for me, for staying put when she wanted to roam.
As part of my get-into-college resolution, I rejoined the yearbook staff. I had joined for much the same reason at the beginning of the year, and had started going to meetings, but of course I’d missed most of the work putting the book together.
One afternoon, when I was typing in names for the colophon, I was surprised to see my name listed in with the rest of the staff. I told the assistant editor, Samantha, “You didn’t need to put me in there.”
She looked up from the computer screen across from me. “What are you doing right now?” she asked me.
“I’m typing in names,” I said, puzzled.
Samantha sighed. “I mean, are you working on the yearbook?” she asked.
“Um, is that a trick question?”
“You wouldn’t think so.” She snorted. “You’re working on the yearbook. Therefore, you are on the yearbook staff, genius.” She smiled, taking all the sting out of the insult.
I looked at her and realized in that second that I had never really noticed Samantha Myers before — if I had, I would have seen someone who could have, maybe, been my friend at Sheldon. If I hadn’t been walking around with my mind made up about everyone in this place.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I was actually a little mad at you while you were gone,” Samantha said.
“Why?”
“We voted for senior superlatives right before you left, do you remember?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You got one — did you know?”
“Most likely to be invisible?” I asked. I wasn’t the most anything else in this class. Or hadn’t been, until I’d gained a smidge of notoriety from my disappearing act.
Samantha laughed. “No, you got most likely to never leave New York.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “I got a really good candid of you and Eli out on the steps, looking very permanently rooted here, I might add. I designed the spread, and then boom — you took off and proved us all wrong! I had to redo the whole spread and use Tish Morgan and James Andrews instead.”
“Me and Eli?” I asked.
“Yeah, he was voted the guy most likely never to leave,” she said, laughing, “and then he left, too!”
“That’s funny,” I told her. “Me and Eli getting voted for that.”
“It’s not all that surprising,” Samantha said. “We all knew you were both going to college here, probably getting married to each other, and having hipster babies.”
“Getting married? Me and Eli?” I was horrified to realize my voice had just come out really high-pitched.
“Well, lots of people thought that,” Samantha said, sounding a tad defensive. “You guys were always together. I know, you’re thinking of Bailey Conners. But she was just a temporary distraction, obviously.”
My brain started working on all the input Samantha had just given it, and I quickly steered the conversation away from me and toward her new boyfriend, Brandon. We kept talking about Brandon until I’d finished the page and could tactfully extricate myself.
Most likely to never leave New York? As I walked home, I realized something: I was a little happy that I had been voted for a superlative. But what I was actually happier about, in a weird way, was the fact that I had proven them wrong.
“We have to talk,” Callie announced when I got home.
I was surprised at her serious tone. She had treated me with kid gloves since our arrival here, clearly not wanting to upset me or the tenuous truce we had formed. Callie knew I needed her, to finish school, to have a way to live. But I knew she wanted me to stick around for more than just those reasons.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ve got some homework, though. Can we talk later?”
“No. I want to … Can we please just talk now?” She began pacing in front of me as I sat on the small love seat that took up a good portion of the living room. I felt my stomach drop a little. I had grown very unfond of news. “I know you aren’t going to want to talk to me about this. But I’ve decided I don’t care. I mean, I’ve decided that no matter the consequences — if you’re mad, or even if you decide to leave, that I can’t just be quiet anymore.”
Whoa. This sounded like a super fun conversation. “What is it?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“I can see something here.” She continued pacing. “And it’s not because I have some special mom powers or some amazing insight into you. I know we’re just getting to know each other again.” She took a deep breath. “Lexi, I’ve lived with you for a couple weeks now, I’ve paid attention. There’s something you need to do before you can ever even think of forgiving me, or your father, or even deciding what you’re going to do next year.”
“What’s that?” I asked, afraid suddenly of her insight. I remembered, long ago, not being able to get anything by her.
She took another huge breath, stopping to kneel in front of where I sat. “You need to forgive yourself.”
“For what?” I asked, my voice unnaturally loud.
“I think I know, but I’m not sure.” She looked at me expectantly.
I sat squirming under her gaze. “I thought I had,” I whispered.
“Have you? Then why do you look like you’re going to throw up right now?”
“Bad sushi?” I asked, but then gave up the halfhearted attempt at funny misdirection. “Mom,” I started, and barely noted that I’d just used the word for the first time in almost ten years. “I want to. I want to move past it.”
“Have you told anybody about it? What you did?”
I shook my head miserably. “It’s not even a big deal,” I said, feeling pathetic and stupid. “Everyone at school does worse, all the time, before breakfast, even. I’m so pathetic.”
“Oh, honey, you’re not pathetic!” She leaned forward and put her arms around me. “If you don’t want
to talk about it, you don’t have to. But if you want to tell somebody about it … if you want to tell me, I promise I will just listen and then throw it away. Whatever it is, it will pale in comparison to my awfulness. If it makes you feel any better.”
I hugged her back. “It might,” I admitted and tried to smile.
So I told my mother everything about the night I had betrayed my friend Bailey by fooling around with her boyfriend, betrayed Gavin by not being there on the last night of his life, betrayed myself by doing what I’d done.
She listened and didn’t say anything, just made little sounds of comfort or understanding. She interjected nothing at all about Gavin, though she might have wanted to. I thought it would feel awful to look at Callie and know that she knew about the worst thing I’d ever done, but she didn’t show any signs of judging me. And I felt lighter, somehow, now that I’d said it all out loud.
As I was heading back to my room, I turned back toward my mom. I was starting to think of her that way again, already. “Mom?”
“What, Lex?”
“You don’t have to stay here. It’s not that I don’t want you to!” I added when I saw her face. “It’s just, that’s one thing I’ve learned this year. I think you need to figure out where you belong. Just leave me an address and a phone number — how about that?”
“Deal.” Callie smiled, then walked over to me and gave me another hug. “It will all work out,” she said in my ear, before releasing me and heading back down the hallway to her room. “Night, Lex,” she called over her shoulder. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I called back without thinking.
Mike’s Diner, Bowery — Friday, January 21
“So, the causes leading up to World War I, in order of importance. Go.”
“Arrrghh, my brain hurts!” I complained, laying my head dramatically on the table in front of me, narrowly missing the remainder of Eli’s eggs.
