by Unknown
“I was disappointed in you last spring. Now, I don’t care about you. Just find another job, brace-face.” Taken completely by surprise, I slam my toe into the stair and in doing so, lose my balance and fall on my knees. My purse lands on the porch, and the contents spill over it and down the stairs. The tears burn my eyes, not just from the fall, but from his words. He never called me names before, like when everyone called me Lacey-Bracey-Four-Eyed-Facey. I don’t look back at him until I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. Finally I turn, and he’s just staring at me, hard, steely, and emotionless. His jaw is set and his lips are pursed.
“Get off my yard,” I growl, willing the tears to stay in their ducts. He holds my eye contact for a long, agonizing moment. I look away first and begin collecting my lip glosses, wallet, pens, tow of Chase’s guitar picks and spare glasses because even though I wear my contacts every day, sometimes they bother me, and I switch them out . . . I feel Henry stare a gain and look at him. He’s staring at the guitar picks in my hand while regret flashes across his face. For one second, he looks tortured, but it’s gone in an instant. I look away and grab my phone, notes from Tasha, and my iPad. I sit on the steps and inspect it to make sure it hasn’t cracked anywhere. It’s fine, and I slide it back into my bag. He’s still standing there staring at me. My left knee stings, and I push up my straight skirt to just above my knee to inspect it. It’s skinned, but otherwise fine. It’s not bleeding, just bruising already. I straighten my spine, square my shoulders, and look back at him expectantly realize he’s still staring at me. He looks like he’s debating something in his head, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He simply turns and walks across the yard to his house and goes inside. I slump, exhausted, and spent, all the resolve gone. Finally, I rise and go inside my house. It’s quiet and dark except for the sound from the TV coming from the great down the hall. I enter the kitchen, grab an apple, and slump again into the couch beside my dad. He’s watching some zany “reality” show on A&E. His arm is draped across the back of the couch, and he’s in sweat pants. I snuggle up to him and lay my head in the crook of his arm. I can’t help it, but I let out a deep breath.
“First day was that bad?” he asks as he hugs me closer to him.
“Both Byron and Henry’s first day, too.” I never told my dad the details of why Henry and I fell out. In fact when I told him we’d had a huge fight and weren’t friends anymore, he didn’t even know we’d become friends again. Both he and mom were so clueless about my life.
“Well, maybe spending time together is what you two need to work out your differences. Hang in there, sweetie,” he says, and I nod into his cologne-scented shirt.
After I finish my apple, I go upstairs to my bedroom with its coral walls and window that faces Henry’s room. My blinds are closed and the curtain is drawn. I added the curtain for added security against checking on him through the blinds. I know if I go over there now, his blinds will be pulled. I go into my attached bathroom and start the tub with bubbles and Epson salts, ready to rid myself of this day, this disaster. In all the drama, past and present, I never imagined I’d be in a situation like this. Over the summer it was fairly easy to avoid Henry; now it would be impossible. I sink into the tub and watch my ceiling. Jessica told us this evening that there would be about four weeks of training. I cross my fingers and hold them in the air like I am actually talking to someone in my ceiling. I continue my thought out loud. “Then I won’t have to see him or work with him as much.” One day at a time. Bonnie Franklin had nothing on me.
Lana
We’re falling into a rhythm, a pattern. All the anxiety about returning to school is behind me. I’ve fallen into the background, and the other freshmen don’t seem to notice me. Britt and I hang out every minute we can, even finding ways to bump into each other in the halls with updates about our days that we can’t fit into texts, even though we text like crazy. She is the instant best friend I always wanted. Just add water and watch our friendship grow. We even have inside jokes, and she intimidates Amanda. Every time Amanda is staring at me hard during lunch, I look at Britt, who is usually glaring at Amanda until she notices and looks away with a red face. I’ve told her most of what happened. I still leave some of it out, but I love my new best friend. Britt, too, has her own clique of matching grunge hipsters, guys with pasted long hair styles that look like bed head, girls with ratty teased braids, all of whom seem to accept me for who I am. It’s rubbing off on me too. Today my hair is pulled back in a teased pony tail with multiple rubber-banded head bands holding stray hairs off my face. I’m wearing a short jean skirt and combat boots that Britt let me borrow and one of my dad’s old Notre Dame T-shirts cut up and tied back together or repurposed over a tank with cotton arm warmers. I’m beginning to like this style. The who cares attitude looks good on me.
Group has noticed too. Bindi smiled at me when I came in. I guess I exuded confidence. We sit there quietly until Will arrives and slinks into the seat next to me, looking at the group apologetically.
“OK Let’s get started,” Dr. Mase says with a tight smile. “Anything new anyone would like to share?” He looks around the group, and no one says anything. “Patrick, let’s start with you then.”
“My art teacher wants me to apply to the arts program at Butler University. She said if it’s something I love to do, then I shouldn’t be afraid to pursue it. She went to school there and seems to think she can help me get in.” He runs his hand through his hair as he looks questioningly at Dr. Mase.
“How does that make you feel?” Dr. Mase asks as he writes something down. Anna L. watches what he writes out of the corner of her eye. I roll my eyes.
“It’s a lot of pressure. Butler is hard to get into, to begin with. I’ve been chewing my nails a lot.” He holds up his hands to show us. His cuticles are red and puffy where he’s chewed them below the quick.
“Do you feel like chewing your nails relieves that pressure?” Dr. Mase asks, looking him in the eyes.
“Yes,” Patrick answers honestly.
“Does it hurt when you chew your nails down that far?” Patrick had better be careful when he answers that question. He hesitates and then answers honestly.
“Yes.” He looks down at his hands.
“Guys, you all use self-harm as a way to deal with your fear, pain, and to escape. Pain is your release. Cutting is not the only way you self-harm. Patrick you have to recognize when you are falling back into old habits and coping mechanisms.” Patrick nodded. “So what can you do to change the way your mind wants you to deal?”
“Find a healthier way to relieve the stress, like . . . maybe . . . running? I enjoy running in gym, and there’s a walking trail by my house. Should I try that?” He looks hopefully at Dr. Mase.
“That’s a good place to start. Exercise gives you endorphins, which in turn brighten your mood and counteracts depression. Running, because it’s pretty monotonous, can allow your brain to relax and work through your feelings, sometimes before you even realize what’s going on. Keep a journal too, of how you feel before you go for a run, how long you run, and how you feel after. I think you will be surprised by your results, Patrick. I want to talk about it at our next session, OK?” Patrick nods; Dr. Mase writes, and Anna L watches. “Who’s next?” he asks when he’s done. “Anna? We haven’t heard from you in a while.” Anna’s face turns red as he watches her.
“I didn’t want to talk today if that’s OK,” she says, but she knows it’s not. Dr. Mase wants us to participate if we don’t we get an extra private session. Since we’ve all been through rehab and are in recovery, he feels that when we hide ourselves, it will be easier to hide our cutting. She smooths her skirt but doesn’t look up.
“My ex-stepfather was paroled last week.” We sit there silently for a long moment before she continues. “I guess he’s paid his debt to society,” she says bitterly.
“Anna, there are still the conditions to his parole. He’s a lifetime registered sex offender, and your m
other has a restraining order for both of you,” Dr. Mase soothes.
“I know. It’s just, Mom went to the hearing, and when she told me, it brought back all those nights when he came into my bedroom and all the things he did and said to me and all those fights with her when I finally told her but she didn’t believe me. I wanted to cut really bad. I wanted to cut deep.” She still doesn’t look up, but her skirt splashes with a tear, turning the khaki to brown in that spot.
“But, you didn’t,” Bindi whispers, encouragement in her voice.
“No, I didn’t,” she says as another tear splashes. I am the first to rise, to cross the circle and to bend over and hug her. As much as I can’t stand the girl, I don’t live her life. I don’t know what she goes through to make herself the way she is. She sits there shocked for a moment before hugging me back. Then I feel Bindi’s arms around us, along with the boys. Anna begins to sob, and I find myself crying for her, too, and maybe for all of us a little. After the group hug, we all go back to our seats, and Dr. Mase looks at me.
“How are things going at school Lana?” he asks, his eyes soft.
“Pretty good. No one messes with me anymore if that’s what you’re asking,” I say.
“What did you draw today?” I look down at my hands.
“Bedhead, kamikaze, distance, linger, fever, The Big Pink, and I drew a stick figure with a fire,” I say as I survey them.
“Why Kamikaze?” he asks, concern in his eyes. And I realize kamikaze was the name of the Japanese fighter pilots in World War II using their planes as bombs and killing Americans and themselves.
“I like the way it sounds. I think it would be a cool band name or song, obviously metaphorical, like killing your reputation, or your love for someone. I don’t know,” I say, trying to recover, hoping he believes me because it’s the truth. He smiles, but I’m not sure he does believe me.
On the way home, Mom hums with the music. We don’t really talk a lot anymore. She tells me what to do, but we don’t go shopping or any of the fun stuff we used to do. I guess my suicide didn’t just almost kill me, it killed our relationship too. She doesn’t trust me, but she doesn’t blame me either, which she should. I worry about her.
“Do you think you should talk to someone?” I ask, watching the walls zoom by me.
“About what?” she asks.
“About whatever is going on with you.” I shrug.
“What’s going on with me?” I hate when she is evasive.
“I think you’re depressed,” I say, still not looking at her.
“Honey, I’m fine, just going through a tough time. It will pass soon.” She’s been saying that since I came home from rehab. I drop the subject because I don’t want her to change her mind about letting me hang out with Britt tomorrow after school. We drive the rest of the way in silence.
At home, I go to Lacey’s door and dance across the threshold waiting for her to notice me. She sits at her computer on Status Quo, a social networking site that everyone uses. It was the website that caused all of her problems last year when she, Jade, and Tasha opened an account under the name Farrah Leevar. She only just recently started using Status Quo again, as herself of course. I have an account too, but I rarely use it, and I took all my friends who turned out to not really be my friends off the list; then I made it super private. You can’t even find me if you type in my name, email address, or anything. I don’t use it that much anyway. She’s chatting with Jade and Chase at the same time in two separate chat boxes. I haven’t really gotten to hang out with her in the past week. She worked like crazy last week, and Friday she’s going to Chase’s show in Crawfordsville, and Britt and I are hanging out. We’re probably going to the quicky mart and then who knows. Lacey giggles and types something and then pulls her hair out of the falling messy bun and fixes it again. She’s so pretty, and she doesn’t even know it. Her hair is so straight it always hangs perfectly in the same place. She complains about it having a mind of its own, but really a lot of girls would like to have that problem, where their hair lays perfectly all day. I decide to jump in and enter her room without permission and just lay across the bottom of her bed to watch her. She turns suddenly when she hears the bed squeak.
“Hey,” she smiles and goes back to typing fast in both chat boxes before she goes offline and turns back to me. “What’s up?” She smiles warmly at me.
“We’ve just not talked in a few days, and I wanted to see how you were doing,” I say as I lay my head down on my arm and look at her. She pulls her feet up into her chair and thinks for a minute.
“Did I tell you that I’m working with Byron and Henry at The Video Shop?”
“Seriously? When did that happen?” I ask, rising a little and propping my head up.
“My first day, Wednesday, we have to work together through training, but Henry asked not to work with me after that. Jessica, my manager, said she’d do what she can.” She shrugs, but I can tell it bothers her.
“How does that make you feel?” I ask, channeling Dr. Mase.
“Like a loser.” She frowns.
“You’re not though; you know that right?” I ask. She was there for me last spring in a way I don’t think she fully understands. I was thinking about suicide before she discovered me cutting. Unconsciously, I rub the top of my leg where I used to cut myself.
“I guess. I have a feeling that in their eyes I’ll always be. I mean it’s not like it really matters. I don’t want to be anything with Henry anymore, and I never wanted to be friends with the Double B’s. But it would be nice if things went back to when I didn’t exist.” She shrugs and begins chipping the pearly white nail polish off her toes. “I mean,” she continues as she looks up at the ceiling, “people at school aren’t shunning me anymore. Why can’t they just ignore me again? I feel like I have a scarlet L across my forehead or something.” She rolls her eyes and says, “Enough about me; how are you? How’s school for you?” I shrug.
“I’m pretty much ignored, which is OK with me. Amanda might be scheming something, but nothing has happened so far,” I say, rolling on my back.
“What makes you think she’s planning something?” Lacey cocks her head to the side.
“Because it’s what I would do, before,” I say, not looking at her. It’s been a long time since Lacey and I were in the same school. Yea, I tortured her, but it was nothing compared to the stuff I did to other kids. I once unscrewed a toilet seat in the restroom that Darma Jenkins always used to use after lunch, so she fell into the toilet. Then my clique and I waited until she came out and followed her down the hall chanting “pooper-scooper” behind her. She missed school for a week, and I’m not sure she’s been the same since. I should apologize to her.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Lacey asks, narrowing her eyes at me. I didn’t realize I had been silent for so long.
“As much as I sometimes hate what I’ve become, I’m kind of glad too that I had the attitude change. I don’t want to be her anymore.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I think she sees through that because she comes over to the bed and lays down beside me and looks at me. It’s like the kind of “seeing my soul” look.
“I wish there was a different way for your attitude to change to what it is now. I’m just glad you’re still around,” she says, and I have to admit I am too.
Lacey
When I told Chase about working with Henry and Byron and my confrontation with Henry the night I started my job, he brought me a bunch of applications from the Metropolis Mall in Plainfield, two suburbs south of Brownsburg. Then every night we worked, he came in and rented a movie or game, spending about forty-five minutes on his “quest” and watching the boys closely the whole time. It was a little embarrassing. So I’m surprised that here it is eight-thirty on Thursday evening, and he hasn’t made an appearance yet. The night actually seems to be going smoothly. Both Byron and Henry are stocking shelves together, and I’m working the scanner and cash register with Vanessa. She’s a freshm
an at IUPUI and doesn’t have a boyfriend, which she’s been rambling about all-freakin-night. Every time she brings it up again, she looks at Byron. She’s totally not on his radar or his type. Being in the background and never noticed means that I take in a lot. Blond pretty boy skater Byron likes shiny, sparkly, popular girls. Byron dresses in expensive, alternative fashions and rarely wears an outfit more than a few times, ever. Byron likes his tight clique and rarely lets outsiders in. Well, he’s never let an outsider in, and I’m proof of that. His twin sister Bea is like him in every way, except she’s the shiny popular girl who likes alternative skater boys. We should call them the Nega-Wonder Twins because the way they control the school is very much a supernatural power. I snicker at the thought of them donned in leotards and capes with masks covering their faces—not those two. Then I laugh out loud, and Vanessa looks at me strangely while Henry and Byron glare. I shake my head to try to tell them it’s nothing to be concerned with, but they all just stare at me like I’m a freak. I feel my face darkening as the doorbell rings.
“Hi, welcome to The Video Shop,” Vanessa calls out and gives the customer, a man in his late twenties, her brightest smile. He smiles back, and she’s back to explaining the tabs on our screen. I feel bad because I haven’t really been paying attention. I know it all stands for something and will come in handy, but how hard can it be to check out a DVD, and I know more about computers than any of these kids. Byron and Henry both worked the counter last weekend with no issues. Not that it’s a competition, but I’m ready.
“Hey, Lacey, Henry, can you come help me?” Jessica calls from the back door. We both look up at the mention of our names and then at each other warily. We go back, and Jessica has large window posters spread out over the table in the lounge. She smiles at us almost like she’s testing the waters to see how we really will work together. I pep talk myself into being on my best behavior. I need this job, at least until I can find something else.
