by Rachel Vail
“Mom. No. I don’t,” I begged. I just needed to be alone. “Sorry, I have a lot of homework I need—”
“It’s only four o’clock, Gracie!” She laughed, in honestly the most judgy way. I am not just saying that to justify what happened next. It was that little snorting nose-exhale non-laugh laugh of hers. Like she was saying, It’s midafternoon, Gracie; why would you be doing homework now? Why aren’t you on any sports teams like the cool kids, you cloddish loser?
“I know what time it is. Thanks.”
“You can’t spare two minutes to chat with your mom?”
“Mom!” I took a deep breath, trying not to explode. “I really want to get started on—”
“I made some banana muffins. Come have a snack,” she said. “Do you know where the handprint plate is, by the way? I couldn’t find it.”
“No!” I said. Well, shouted.
“Oh . . . kay,” she said in a completely suspicious way.
“What?” I yelled. “What do you even want from me?”
“Gracie,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!”
“Well, I don’t like your tone of voice.”
“No? Too bad!”
“Excuse me?”
“What?” I yelled. “I’m obnoxious? I’m loud? Yeah, I am. You can say it. I know that’s what you’re thinking, what you’re always thinking. I’m not perfect like Bret. Second prize! You had a good one the first time, but now you’re stuck with a big, oafish, loud, sweaty screw-up who doesn’t do sports!”
“What? Gracie!”
“I broke it! Isn’t that what you’re implying? Fine, Sherlock—you win! I broke it, and I threw away the pieces. I admit it. Happy?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bret’s plate! If you want to accuse me, just go ahead and accuse me! Stop looking at me all bug-eyed!”
“You broke the plate?” Mom asked.
“It was an accident!”
“The plate with her handprint on it? In blue? And her name?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, every muscle tensed. Please don’t be mad, I silently prayed.
She didn’t respond.
I wished I had continued taking the coward’s way out. Who was I trying to kid? I’d rather be unblamed than brave. Tocktick. Please? She could look around for the plate, ask Dad if he’d seen it, and I’d stay silent and ashamed.
Nope. Ticktock. Too late.
“What . . .” Mom’s voice was small and unrecognizable, like a child’s. “What happened?”
“I just . . . I took it out yesterday, and I was trying to be careful, but then I . . . I don’t know what happened. I just . . . It smashed on the floor into powder and pieces, and I can’t . . . I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay,” Mom said, still in that baby voice, not looking at me. “Accidents happen.”
“No! It’s not okay!” Wait, what? I was all tangled up.
“Gracie!”
“You can be mad at me, Mom!”
“It’s a plate.” She shrugged. “What’s done is done.”
“Mom! You loved that plate! Don’t lie! I know you’re mad!”
“Gracie, being mad won’t change—”
“It was Bret’s handprint! I smashed it after you took such special care of it my whole life and I broke it and why didn’t you ever take me to make a handprint plate?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you— Gracie, did you smash the plate on purpose?”
“No!” I yelled.
“Because you were jealous?” Mom asked. “Of Bret?”
“No!”
Her eyes narrowed. “It sure sounds to me like you smashed that plate on purpose, to hurt me for some reason!”
“I have to go,” I said.
“Go where?”
I didn’t know. “I just need . . . please. Please. Please just . . . I’m . . . I want to take Lightning out to the park.”
“What?”
I dashed to my closet and dumped the too-small pair of black pumps out of their shoe box onto the floor. I don’t need pumps; I’m obviously disinvited from the opera, Mom. News flash. Nobody likes me anymore, including you. Including Emmett.
At my desk, I stabbed a pen through the shoe box lid while my mother watched, her face all cartoonishly concerned. Save it. I stabbed and stabbed the pen through the lid to make air holes for my tort so she wouldn’t suffocate like I felt I might.
“Gracie,” Mom said again. “I don’t know what just happened. What’s—”
“I’m just going to the park!” I said. “If I had a normal pet like a dog, I’d be walking it in the park every day, by myself. Like any normal fourteen-year-old. But instead I just stay home all the time like a pitiful baby. I don’t do any sports after school because of you! Because you want me to come straight home every day!”
“I don’t want you to—What?”
“Yes, you do! Because you’re paranoid I’m gonna die! So I don’t get to be on a team or have a dog. I have a tortoise! You can’t even cuddle a tortoise. But fine! I have a tortoise! Hooray. I’m taking it out for a fricking walk!”
I grabbed Lightning and shoved her into the box. She skittered around in it, surprised to be in there, awakened from her nap and body-slammed into lady-shoe jail.
“Ah no,” Mom said, blocking my doorway. “I don’t think you are, young lady.”
“Watch me.” I slammed the cover onto the shoe box.
“Gracie! This is so unlike you!”
“No, it’s not!” I said, grabbing my sneakers from near her slipper-wearing feet. “This is exactly like me!”
“Well, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re not storming out of here like—”
“Like what?” I shoved my feet into my sneakers without untying them, which I know drives Mom nuts because it crushes the backs, but too bad; I didn’t even care anymore. “Like a person? Like a normal teenager instead of a cartoon Bitmoji of Sunshine Girl? Gah!” I grabbed the box with Lightning in it and faced Mom. I’m a tiny bit taller than she is, I realized. If I look straight ahead, my eyes hit her forehead. I squinted down at her.
“Gracie.” She reached out to touch my arm. Like stupid Riley did. I yanked away and maybe slammed poor Lightning into the side of the box.
“Stop it!” I yelled.
Mom flinched.
“I’ve been so scared of making you mad, Mom—or sad, disappointing you in any way my whole life, I’ve become you! Never mad, never sad, never anything but fine! Well, guess what! I’m not fine and neither are you!”
I yanked my necklace down by the yellow stone, because it had twisted around and was choking me. The chain pulled hard on the back of my neck, cutting into it, and then snapped. A few little pieces of metal sprinkled down on the floor, and the yellow part sank in my hand. I tossed it toward the shoes. Whatever. Good-bye to it. I didn’t care.
“Gracie!” Mom was yelling.
I pushed past her, Lightning in the shoe box, grabbing my keys off the hook on my way out the door. Maybe I pushed Mom a little more roughly than I meant to.
“Gracie!” Mom yelled, rubbing her arm. “Get back here this minute!”
“No!” I yelled as I dashed down the stairs.
“Gracie!” Mom yelled after me. “Don’t you dare storm out of this . . . Gracie! Gracie Grant, you get back here now! Gracie!” I heard my name echoing in the stairwell as I raced down, down, down, away from her, away from the sticky net she was trying to catch me in.
Failing.
She couldn’t catch me in it, couldn’t keep me in.
I was gone.
44
ALONE, OR, CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR
Lightning was so fast in the grass, down
in Riverside Park. I’m not saying that as an excuse. She just looked so happy, is all I’m saying. When I took her out of the shoe box and set her down on the grass, she froze, like What? Then she looked around—left, right, left again, like, Wait, seriously? I had no idea! There’s all this? And I get to be in it?
She started sprinting across the field of green, stopping for a few seconds to sample the clover, then off again. I smiled and watched her, my reptile role model. I didn’t care that the seat of my jeans was getting a bit damp from last night’s rain left over on the ground. Who was going to see me anyway? The sky was crystal blue, the grass was electric green, my tortoise was happier than ever. And then my phone buzzed.
Yes!
Emmett? Sienna?
Mom.
Texting that it was not okay in our family to storm out like that and I better come home right now, and then asking me to at least let her know where I am, then at least that I am okay.
I held the phone, staring at it. Willed myself to answer. No reason to torture her. Answer, Gracie. Just say, I’m fine. Be home soon.
What can I say in my own defense? I just wanted the minute, as awful as that seems. As awful as it is. I just wanted the minute.
I was picturing the woman at the Hungarian Pastry Shop, sitting there all alone with her book and her tea, her yellow necklace (in my mind anyway) and her bitten croissant, owning the day in a way I have never owned a day, not a single minute of a day. I always have to either be within reach of my parents’ fingertips or at least have a signed permission slip. To assure them that I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m not dead.
I never get to just be.
Alone.
Actually fine.
I never realized how much oxygen that took up until I was sitting there, just looking up at the near-cloudless blue sky through the gaudily pink tree above me, and then noticing how the sky spread itself, smooth as blue frosting, over the dark Hudson River. So much sky. To my right, all the way up past the George Washington Bridge; to my left, down past the skyscrapers of Midtown and Downtown and, beyond them, to the ocean. Endless sky. Sky’s the limit. Sky forever upward but not forever down; down only to me. Because where’s the bottom of the sky? Right here where I am. The only end point of the sky is the top of the ground. From the ground up, I realized, is all sky. So, even as I slumped there in the damp green grass, I was sitting in the sky.
Sitting in the sky and catching my breath. Breathing in and out, easily, watching the one poof of a cloud float its lazy solo way north toward the bridge.
Free.
Like me, for this one time, this first time. Just sitting there, leaning back on my elbows, by myself and actually okay, not pretending to be okay or acting okay so that nobody would have to worry about me. Not automatically quickly saying, I’m fine! because that’s what I have to say to make sure nobody is stressed. I closed my eyes and smelled, really smelled the nose-tickling herbiness of the grass and the slightly overdoing-it perfume of maybe that pink blossomy stuff in the branches above me. Actually used my senses. Not faking it, like usual.
I started laughing a little, realizing I was thinking, Wait. Seriously? I had no idea! There’s all this? And I get to be in it?
My phone buzzed again. I opened my eyes to check.
DAD: Not okay, Gracie. Text your mother NOW.
I took a deep breath.
Then another.
I closed my eyes and just smelled the spicy sweetness again, just that. Just smell.
Just a minute. One minute all for myself.
So selfish.
Shhhh. One more breath.
Okay. I opened my eyes, picked my phone back up, and started a new text to both of my parents.
me: I’m fine I just need a half hour or so. I’m in the park I’ll come home soon. you can punish me or whatever you want then. sorry. ILYSM.
I held my phone and stared at it. Waiting. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before the dreaded three pulsating dots showed.
MOM: No, Gracie. Not half an hour. Not ten minutes. Now.
DAD: Where are you?
Ugh, I thought. I just told you; I’m in Riverside Park. I’m fine. I’m safe. I am just sitting on the green grass with the bluest endless sky around and above me and the joggers sweatily racing past, and the river, oblivious, flowing in both directions beyond that.
I. Am. Fine.
One breath for myself; then I’ll respond. Two more breaths. One. Two.
Okay. Just want to close my eyes for one minute and take one more breath, just me, alone and fine, not answering to anybody, even the damp grass beneath me. Okay. But no apologies this time. Be strong, Gracie. Not sorry. Actually fine.
me: you guys I’m in Riverside Park down near the water just past 105th I think? I’m fine I’ll be home soon. okay?
One last look around at the freedom of being out here alone. Well, not alone. Me and my tortoise.
Wait.
Where is . . .
Oh no.
Lightning was nowhere.
Lightning was gone.
45
LOST
on my way! I texted my parents.
I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes and tried to blot the tears out, and the sunshine, too. Ugh, how had this happened? Why was I so muddleheaded and irresponsible and selfish? Was this, like, divine punishment for taking five minutes to myself? For paying attention only to my own self for five selfish minutes?
Or something bigger?
For liking AJ, which I don’t even anymore? For being rude to my mother?
For growing up?
For growing up and taking it for granted, when my older sister who is half my age now and stuck there never got to grow up?
Fine! Sorry! Okay? Is that what you want, God or universe or fate? Sorry. I’m sorry. Whoever is hiding my tortoise from me, to make this point? I suck—I admit it. Please show me where Lightning is. Please don’t kill an innocent tortoise just because I’m horrible.
I picked up the empty shoe box and lid, searching around frantically. A hawk circled overhead. Don’t hawks eat tortoises? I could picture it so clearly. This is how I’d find Lightning: the hawk would swoop down to grab Lightning, and I’d see her the second before the hawk got her in his beak, too late. I scanned the whole patch of grass. No torts. Maybe she’d ventured onto the path and gotten run over by a biker? No smooshed torts that I could see. Maybe she kept going across the path and then over the edge onto the rocks or into the Hudson? Would a tortoise know not to do that? They are land animals. They have to have some instinct not to do that, right?
Sure, a tortoise who gets stuck head-down in a boot probably has awesome instincts out in the wild world.
Plus, honestly, how big could her brain be inside that tiny head of hers? Like, the size of a pea at most? A sesame seed? She’s obviously a genius among tortoises, but still, the bar is necessarily low. No offense! Oh, Lightning, where are you?
Please come back. I promise anything. I won’t demand independence ever again. Or I will be more responsible. I won’t be jealous. I’ll be a better friend. Or I’ll be more honest. I’ll never eat a croissant or wish for one or . . .
MOM: I’m not angry, sweetheart. I just want to understand what’s going on.
Maybe I should disappear too?
No. Bad idea. Also, not one of my skills. I have to go home. On we trudge. I have to tell them what happened, what I did, after they finally let me have a pet, one week later and this. Admit it, and let them see the real, horrible, irresponsible disaster zone I am.
And ask them not to forgive me but to help me find her.
Quick. Before it’s too late.
I hurried up the steps toward the street.
People stared and then looked away. It’s New York City. Everybody has seen way weirder stuff than
an overgrown weeping girl with a big nose and an empty shoe box, gulping and snuffling her tripping way up Riverside Drive.
me: sorry sorry sorry almost home
Luckily we have no doorman in our building, so unlike in Sienna’s and Michaela’s, there’s nobody to fake-smile at, no fancy men in their crisp uniforms to say hello, hello to, like a parrot on a perch. There’s just the heavy door you pull open, and then the even heavier second door you unlock and push open. You can keep sobbing and drooling and leaking your nose goo or whatever other disaster is happening to your face all the way across the lobby without anyone to fake okay for, and for another minute just be the hot mess you truly are.
Into the elevator.
But then, at the last second, literally—after I pressed 8 and slumped against the elevator’s back wall as the door slid shut, I jolted upright and pressed 4.
Emmett hadn’t answered my texts, and hated me.
Still: Please be home, Emmett. Please.
46
NOT LIKELY TO MAKE TRAVEL CHARADES TEAM EITHER
Emmett’s sister, Daphne, answered the door. “Wow, come in,” she said. “You okay?”
I shook my head and showed her the empty shoe box. I was having trouble catching my breath.
“You need to borrow shoes? You lost your shoes?”
I kept shaking my head, and, to my shame, crying harder.
“Were you mugged? Did somebody steal your shoes? Gracie, what happened?”
I just gasped in response. No words. The worst round of charades ever.
“Emmett! Gracie’s here.” Daphne put her arm around me, guiding me into their hallway, past the small table covered with their mom’s decorative candles. I hunched over, gulping air.
Emmett opened his door and peeked out, his face grim until he saw me. I must’ve looked as bad as I felt, because his anger melted instantly into concern.
“What happened?” he asked.
I tried to answer but failed.
“She can’t talk,” Daphne said.
I honestly couldn’t breathe in or out, though I was kind of panting really fast, like a dog after a hard run. I was trying to tell them both I was fine, just needed a second, but also that Lightning was lost—help, help—but don’t worry; everything is fine! All that came out of my mouth was a strangled gasping sound.
