“I’m thirsty,” Matt said. He was leaning against the cabinet and he was afraid to move. His legs weren’t under him and he wasn’t sure what to do about that. They watched him as he struggled to stand. His legs were sore and heavy and his blisters hurt. He made it into a chair and smiled, not because he was happy, but because they were looking at him and it made him anxious and sometimes when an uncomfortable feeling was too much inside him he smiled.
“Glad you think this is all so funny,” Nick Parker said.
“He’s not laughing. It’s a grimace,” Lana said.
“He’s lucky he’s not dead,” Nick said. Matt didn’t think luck had anything to do with it, but he didn’t say so. He’d forgotten his Wellbutrin that morning but he was still able to censor himself. That seemed like a good thing. Nick wasn’t someone you wanted to say the wrong thing to. Nick leaned forward quickly and Matt jumped away from him. “I had to carry you from the car. Strip your dirty clothes off of you. Bathe you. Your sister here was panicked this morning. You care about any of that?”
“Please,” Lana said. “Let me handle this.”
“I’m sorry, Lana,” Matt said. “I couldn’t sleep. Spike has these pills that help me sleep.”
“I know,” Lana said. “But those are the same pills that put you in the hospital before. You can’t take them, even if you can’t sleep. Your liver is damaged. It needs time to heal. And you can’t drink while on the Wellbutrin, remember? It can cause seizures.”
Matt shook his head. “I didn’t drink. I just took the sleeping pill. I didn’t take anything but the pill. I drank it down with tap water. Straight from the tap, because Spike’s glasses were dirty. And the Pop-Tarts. They were cherry. I don’t like Pop-Tarts, or cherry-flavored things. But I was hungry and that’s all Spike had.”
He was smiling again, and even though he knew it was making Nick mad he couldn’t stop. He didn’t understand why Nick was there, or why he was so angry. Matt just wanted to sleep. Why did anyone else have to care so much about him wanting to sleep? He remembered his long walk, his run-in with Bucky the bird-killing cat.
“I hope you don’t have an outdoor cat,” he said to Nick. “They’re killing off the songbird population.”
“I’m allergic to cats,” Nick said. He was watching Matt closely, and not in a nice way. “Lana said there was a pipe of some sort? What was in it?”
Matt shook his head, smiled harder, tried to stop but couldn’t. “I’m so thirsty,” he said. His mouth was so dry it hurt to talk. He was hot and cold at the same time. He remembered his missing jacket. “Where’s my jacket?” Matt asked. “My blue fleece one?”
“You didn’t have a jacket when I found you,” Lana said.
“No,” Matt said. “I had it. I brought it. It’s my blue jacket. The one I like. The only one I like. Did you lose my blue jacket?” The feeling in his chest was building: sharp little points of anxiety growing, spreading, trying to break out.
“I’m going to pay a little visit to Spike,” Nick said. “Shut down his little pharmacy. I can look for it when I’m there.”
Lana said something, but Matt couldn’t hear her because the feeling was getting too strong in his chest, the ringing in his ears too loud, the tension in the room too overwhelming. He covered his ears and closed his eyes. He pressed harder and waited until it was quiet and then looked up. There was a tall glass of water in front of him, his Wellbutrin pill beside it, and he was alone in the kitchen. He could hear Lana and Nick in the front room, talking quietly. Matt placed the pill on his tongue and drank the water. It was the best water he’d ever tasted. He drank it all and filled the glass again, using Lana’s pitcher of filtered water. It was much better than Spike’s tap water. He made an English muffin, which was the only breakfast he ever wanted. He was about to sit back down to eat when he heard the front door open, and Byron and Abby’s voices. Matt picked up his food, ready to hurry to his room, but his head was still cottony and his legs were still heavy and he couldn’t move fast. He heard the kids stomp up the stairs to their rooms and he relaxed. He couldn’t carry his food and cover his ears, so if they’d come to the kitchen in their noisy way he would’ve had to leave his breakfast behind.
He could hear Nick’s gravelly voice and Graham’s nasally one going back and forth, could hear Lana in the middle of them, but he couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying. They were laughing but it wasn’t a real laugh, not a happy one. It was like Matt’s anxious smile. The kind of laughter people did when there was nothing funny at all.
11
* * *
Abby
Abby showed up for her morning meeting with Mr. Franks ten minutes early. Her mom said that would make a good impression, would show that she was serious about his class. She’d been too nervous to eat that morning. Was still so nervous that she couldn’t stop fidgeting. She hoped that wouldn’t ruin the good impression. She was wearing a new sky-blue blouse and the locket her grandma Gloria had given her when she was twelve: one side held Abby’s eighth-grade school picture and the other side held a picture of her grandma as a teenager looking so much like Abby they could’ve been twins. Abby adjusted the necklace, her sweater, and checked her earrings. Her hair was tightly braided and holding fine. She looked just like the straight-A student she was. Or had been, until Mr. Franks came along.
Mr. Franks poked his graying head out the door and nodded at Abby. She came in and fidgeted some more as he dug through the papers on his desk. She waited for him to sit behind the huge wooden desk that filled one corner of the room. He only ever sat on the front corner of the desk during lectures, but she figured he must use the actual chair on serious occasions, like scolding students for tanking midterms.
Instead, Mr. Franks carried his papers over and sat next to Abby on one of the teetering metal stools at the big lab table. He rested his loafers on the rung of the chair and put his elbows on the black countertop like any high school kid. It made Abby even more nervous, having him at her side. She’d rather be lectured from across the room, with the big desk between them. He was so close that Abby could see every pore on his nose. He had some blackheads there. Abby looked away, stared at the sleeping Bunsen burner and white filmy beakers in front of her. No matter how many times they washed the beakers, they never got clean.
“So, Abby.” Mr. Franks picked up the papers and smacked the edge of them on the tabletop, as if to line them up, even though they were already neatly stacked. “How are things at home?”
She looked at him in surprise. Even though he was leaning back, she could feel him invading her space. His light brown eyes were intense, almost glowing, magnified by his glasses. She shrugged. “Things are okay, I guess. I mean, my parents sort of split up.”
“Sort of?” he asked, rotating the stack and tapping it on the table again.
“I mean, they did. My dad moved out and everything. But we’re okay. I’m okay.”
Mr. Franks nodded and put the papers down. He folded his hands on top of the pile and twiddled his thumbs. He almost seemed nervous himself. On top of the stack was a slim, glossy brochure. All Abby could make out was a black shadow of a young girl’s silhouette on it. Mr. Frank’s hands were covering the words below the girl. Abby could tell the girl wasn’t wearing obvious clothes. Oh, god, she thought, what if he’s a pervert? And here she was, alone with him behind a thick door, in the lone lab building at the back of school, and hardly any students at school this early. If she screamed, who would hear her?
“I’ve noticed that you don’t eat in the cafeteria anymore. I used to see you in there every day. Now you’re usually on the track running at lunch. Is that right?” he asked.
He wanted to know where she was all the time. Like a stalker. Abby sighed and tucked her cold, nervous hands under her legs. Maybe he was just trying to recruit her for track? Because Gabe was right, she had gotten faster. She was timing herself now. And Mr. Franks was chummy with the track coach. Abby had seen them together at lunch, carrying their
sandwiches and coffees and laughing. Maybe Gabe had said something to them about her new speed?
“I play soccer. Running helps with that. But I don’t have any real interest in track. I mean, my brother runs track, and I guess he likes it, but . . .”
“You’ve lost quite a bit of weight this year, haven’t you?” Mr. Franks said. It didn’t sound like a question. He had been watching her. Way too closely.
Abby pulled her sweater shut and crossed her arms. “Not really, I don’t think. I mean, I don’t weigh myself obsessively, so I don’t know exactly what I weigh. But I eat breakfast every single day. It’s the most important meal of the day.” She needed to stop talking. It was always the talking that got people into trouble. “You know, I’ve grown some. Maybe I look thinner because I’m taller?”
“Maybe,” Mr. Franks said. He stared at her until she had to look away. This was even worse than him being a pervert. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I can see you’re under some stress lately, and I don’t think the classwork is the issue. I feel like your troubles are something else.”
“I’m not in any trouble,” she said defensively. But of course she was in trouble, or she wouldn’t have been there, suffering under his judgmental look.
“I heard that you fainted last week.”
“Dehydration. Coach Zimmerman said it sometimes happens with serious athletes who push themselves too hard. Gatorade is my new best friend.” She smiled, hard, while her heart hammered in her chest.
“I hope that’s all it was,” Mr. Franks said. “But is it possible there’s another explanation?” Mr. Franks slid the brochure across the table, gave it a little spin so the words beneath the shadow-girl were facing her. Anorexia Nervosa, it read, in thick black bold italics. Abby’s stomach clenched. If she’d had any food in it she would’ve heaved for sure. “You see, it’s my responsibility as a teacher to let Mrs. Geller know if one of my students is struggling with an issue like . . .” He tapped his index finger on the brochure.
Mrs. Geller was the guidance counselor. She was ancient and had a shaky voice and big white dentures and a habit of calling everyone “dear” in this fake whisper voice that Abby didn’t trust. And she smelled like baby powder. There was no way Abby could handle having this kind of conversation with her.
“Oh, please don’t do that. There’s no need. Really.” Abby pulled the brochure closer. “I’ll look this over. I really don’t think this is my problem. I mean, I eat three meals a day. And snacks. I’m a very healthy weight. There’s an obesity epidemic in this country, you know? There are other kids who should worry you more.”
“I know,” he said, staring at her. “It’s just that . . . I have a daughter. She’s in college now, and doing much better, but there was a time, when she was about your age, that this”—he touched the hip of the girl on the brochure, very nearly touching Abby’s hand—“was a problem for her. She was just your size. About your height. That same gauntness . . .” He stroked his cheek with his knuckles as he stared at Abby’s face. She squirmed. It was stuffy in the lab, and she was feeling claustrophobic.
“I promise to read this, okay? There’s no need for me to see Mrs. Geller.” Abby opened the brochure for good measure and pretended to look inside. There was a list of warning signs. The word control in huge script in the background. She closed it again. “Can I do something about the midterm? I thought that was what you wanted to talk to me about.”
Mr. Franks waved his hand. “No worries there. You already racked up the most extra credit points in the entire class. Do well on the final, get your labs in, do the rest on time, and you’ll be fine. But . . .”
Abby had already gotten up and now she had to sit back down.
“You know, it can affect your concentration, and your recall. Undereating.”
Abby was pretty sure undereating wasn’t a word, but she didn’t say anything. She had been having trouble concentrating, hadn’t she? She couldn’t focus in class, or on her labs. And she couldn’t remember simple things, like how to take a midterm without cracking under the pressure. But that didn’t make him right.
“I promise it’s not that,” she said. Her voice was shaking. He looked her over one last time, and reluctantly dismissed her.
Abby took the brochure and fled. Her hand was trembling as she tucked it into her bag, and her legs felt wobbly and weak. She needed to run. Just three and a half hours until lunch, and then she’d have a chance to run off the shaky feeling. But if she ran today, would Mr. Franks be watching? This was a disaster. Worse than getting yelled at or kicked right out of class. What if he called her mom about this?
Emily met Abby at her locker. “So, how was it?” she asked.
“Not terrible. I need to get my labs done right away and ace the final. With my extra credit, maybe I can still pull a B.” She had no idea what grade she was headed for, and it felt strange to lie to Emily, but it wasn’t like she could tell her what they’d really talked about. Abby shook her head, shoved her books into her locker, taking extra care to hide the brochure between her chemistry and history books.
“So that’s not so bad,” Emily said.
“A B? Not bad? It’ll blow my whole average.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Emily gave her the sympathy she was fishing for, laying one of her long arms across Abby’s shoulders. “What can I do to help?”
Abby, now suddenly self-conscious about Emily touching her body, shrugged off Emily’s half hug.
“Nothing, I guess.” Abby quickly undid her braid and combed out her hair with her fingers. She’d braided it wet and now it was pressed into crimped waves. It was probably going to frizz. Not that she cared. The day was already a disaster. She heard a pair of girls giggle a few lockers down and knew without looking that it was about her. Snickering kids had been following her around since she’d fainted. She was getting tired of laughing it off, chalking it up to dehydration and hating the taste of Gatorade. When she’d been invisible she’d wanted to be seen. And now that everyone noticed her she wanted to be invisible again.
Abby’s scalp prickled and she turned to look behind her. Gabe was standing with his cluster of jocks, staring right at her. He smiled and gave her a little wave, and she smiled back before she had to turn away.
“Oh, my god,” she whispered.
Emily giggled. “Never mind. I think help just arrived.”
“He smiled at me,” she said. “And waved. In front of his friends.”
“And . . .” Em nodded toward something behind Abby. Abby held her breath as she turned. There he was, walking up to her, the glowing tan of his skin setting off the whiteness of his teeth, the tiny crooked bottom tooth that she loved shining right at her.
“Hey,” Gabe said.
“Hi.”
Emily made a cross between a cough and a giggle and excused herself, leaving Abby to humiliate herself without backup. Thanks a lot, she thought as she watched Emily’s thick black ponytail retreat, swinging like the tail of some exotic animal.
“I saw you coming out of Mr. Franks’s room this morning. You looked kind of upset.”
She sighed. Here it was. Let the humiliation begin. She knew Gabe knew about the fainting, because Caitlin was one of the biggest gossips in school, and she’d personally mentioned it to Abby no less than four times. Acting like she was concerned about Abby, then giggling when Abby explained, again, what had happened.
“Yeah, I met with him about my blown grade. I’m not upset, just bummed. Mad at myself. He said I’ll be okay if I get my labs done and ace the final.”
She tugged on her charm bracelet, spinning the little Monopoly silver shoe around and around the chain.
“You can do that, no problem,” he said.
“I hope so. I have two labs to make up. Plus the one due Friday.”
Gabe eyed her bracelet, nodding slowly. He reached over and touched the charm with one finger, stopping Abby from her nervous spinning.
“I haven’t finished mine y
et, either. We can work on it together if you want.”
She would’ve responded if she could breathe, but she couldn’t.
“Who gave you this?” he asked, fingering the charms one by one.
“My dad. Right after he moved out. He got this little Monopoly shoe, because he thought that’s what I always was when we played. I’m always the dog, though. Byron’s the shoe.”
Gabe smiled and pushed up his sleeve, revealing a big silver watch with a blue face and lots of shiny dials.
“From mine. Dive watch. I don’t dive.”
They laughed together and Gabe looked around. Abby figured he was making sure Caitlin wasn’t coming. He narrowed his eyes at the girls behind Abby, who were still giggling away.
“What?” he asked them.
“Make sure she doesn’t faint from the sheer shock of you speaking to her,” one of them cackled. Abby recognized her voice as one of Caitlin’s cronies. She refused to turn around and look at her, though.
“Make sure you get your ass out of here before I tell Caitlin you two went dress-shopping without her. She finds out you bought that dress she had her eye on, it’ll be like Carrie at the prom.”
Abby heard a locker slam and two pairs of feet stomp away. She could not have loved Gabe more than she did in that moment.
“I actually have a bunch of stuff this week, but how about next Tuesday after school?” he said. “For our first joint study session.”
“Sure. I think I’m free.” Did he say first? Like there could be more than one?
Gabe rubbed his face. He was one of the boys who was already shaving. “And what are you doing for the science fair project?”
Abby had been excited that every student in her chemistry class was required to submit a project to the school science fair, up until today. Now she shook her head and a queasy feeling took over. She suddenly hated everything about chemistry.
“I’ve had a bunch of ideas, but I haven’t had time to pick one, let alone get started. I’ll probably do something lame like one of those elementary school volcanoes.”
The Art of Adapting Page 10
