Anything But Ordinary

by Lara Avery

  “There are counselors available.…”

  “Dr. Warren?” Bryce interrupted. A flock of birds scattered from a nearby tree, matching Bryce’s flurried thoughts. “I don’t think I want to tell them at all.”

  The doctor looked at her sternly. “Are you sure?”

  “I—” Bryce searched for the words, watching the birds reassemble around the pool, pecking at the water. “I don’t want them to think they could do something when they can’t. I don’t want them to scramble around, trying to fix things, and argue about the right way to do it. I don’t want them to spend any more time in the hospital. I want them to be happy. I’ll have to lie to them, but at least they’ll be happy.”

  She expected Dr. Warren to object, to insist that no, Bryce couldn’t do this on her own. That the hospital should help them through this transition. All the things Bryce had heard before.

  Instead, Dr. Warren’s face broke into a sad smile. She lifted her arms and pulled Bryce to her chest. “All right, honey,” she said. “All right.”

  Bryce allowed herself to stay next to Dr. Warren for a long time, and the doctor didn’t let go either. They had always bumped heads, but the doctor had been steady for her in that way, like a rock she could never move. So Bryce just leaned against her now.

  They got up to go and walked through the park’s paths, Dr. Warren rolling up the sleeves of her linen blouse against the heat. Bryce decided she would call her parents and ride home with them. She wanted to hear about their date.

  “If you need anything, you know where I am,” the doctor said as she got into her car. “Things are going to get…harder in the next few weeks. I can help with that if you call me.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Warren.”

  “And take care, Bryce.” She smiled. A breeze finally picked up, rustling the leaves above them.

  I’ll try, Bryce thought. I’ll try.

  eady, aim, hit.

  And hit. And hit. Bryce felt wood breaking little by little under the force of her blows, driving the nail deep. She’d been helping her dad fix up the barn, and the physical work felt good. Muscles in her shoulders that hadn’t been used since five years ago, when she swam for three hours every day, were crying out in pain. But the ache was the equivalent of a stretch in the morning. It was a pure, happy ache of waking up. Sweat pricked her forehead.

  The barn was shady and cooler than outside, but after an hour with the hammer Bryce was more heated and out of breath than she should have been. She wasn’t about to tell her dad that, though, hammering away next to her. She couldn’t risk him asking why.

  It had been a week since the canceled wedding, since she had spoken with Dr. Warren, and Bryce was starting to get headaches more often than she used to. Small, dull headaches that went away quickly. Her breath was getting short after she walked up the stairs.

  There was no way she’d ruin everything by letting on, not after last week, when her dad surprised her mom with a trip to a bed-and-breakfast for their anniversary. They stole kisses in front of Sydney and Bryce, and when they waved from the car Sydney had graced her with one of her rare smiles.

  She told Bryce last year at this time their mom completely forgot their anniversary. “Dad threw away the crappy bouquet he bought for her when she came into the kitchen to refill her wineglass. Neither of them said a word.”

  Sydney had stayed home a couple of nights last week. “I’m not going to leave an invalid all by herself,” she had said, flopping on the couch in her thigh-high socks and enormous T-shirt, this one covered in a picture of Courtney Love collapsed onstage.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Bryce had protested. She wondered if Sydney had noticed she was starting to move slower these days, to match her lungs. But Syd just smiled and tossed her the remote.

  The barn was really starting to shape up. Bryce pounded in the last nail on a long row and stepped back to admire the job. In one Saturday she and her dad had managed to replace most of the rotting beams in the walls and floors. It looked a bit patchy with the bright yellow of the new wood standing out from the rest, but it didn’t smell like mold anymore.

  “Now, what about the plane?” Bryce sidled up to her dad, nudging him with her elbow.

  He put his arm around her. “We’ll see, Brycey. We’ll see.”

  She helped him pack up his tools, and they headed into the house. They’d been at it all day, and it was getting dark.

  When they got in, Sydney was padding around the halls in various stages of dress, digging through drawers for eyeliner or jewelry. She scurried around while Bryce ate dinner with her parents, shoving the contents of her plate into her mouth before applying lipstick.

  Bryce flopped on the couch with a bowl of M&M’s and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. She was really reading it this time, not just for school. She was putting herself into the story, the way Sam would imagine it. If she could picture his peaceful face, the story unfolding under his closed eyes, it made her feel better about whatever was waiting for her.

  “Bryce.” Bryce followed the path of Sydney’s fishnetted legs up to her made-up face. “Can I borrow your pearl earrings?”

  “What for?” Bryce asked. But she knew what for.

  “I was thinking about putting them in my soup,” Sydney said sarcastically.

  Bryce filtered a handful of M&M’s in her mouth, excluding the red ones, which she hated. “No, Syd. I’m sorry. You may not wear my vintage pearl earrings.”

  “Ugh!” Sydney protested. “Why not?”

  Bryce stood up. “Because I’m going to wear them.”

  “To read Huck Finn?”

  “No, silly!” Bryce pinched her sister’s cheeks. “I’m going out with you!” She brushed past Sydney toward the kitchen.

  “Bry—this…” Sydney started. “This is a bad idea.”

  “It’s a fantastic idea! I wanna see your world, Syd.” Bryce made an arc over her head with her hand, face frozen in a dramatic, Judy Garland smile. She was imitating Sydney back when she was a little girl, back when she wanted to be a Broadway star. “I want to see the world over the rainbow!”

  Sydney snorted, shaking her head. “You’re a freaking nut job.”

  “I approve.” Bryce heard her mom’s voice from behind the couch. “You two could use some time out of the house together.”

  Sydney turned around in shock. Bryce looked back at her mom. “Really?”

  Their mother nodded, humming the first few notes of “The Hustle.” She’d had a glass of wine with dinner.

  Bryce looked at Sydney, her eyebrows raised. “How often is that going to happen? Now I have to come out.”

  Sydney surrendered. “You have five minutes.”

  Bryce took the stairs slowly. She couldn’t help imagining with a pang what she would be doing tonight if she and Carter were still talking. Maybe ride out to the Big Chief Drive-In. The outdoor movie theater was one of the last ones left in Tennessee, with all of its old neon and rusty decorations from the fifties. When the nights were hot and the mosquitoes weren’t too bad, they sat on top of his car, drinking slushies. The whole night when they kissed he tasted like blue-raspberry.

  “Stop,” she whispered aloud, throwing on her blue dress from the rehearsal dinner and her bridesmaid heels. Stop thinking about Carter. He knew what was happening to her, and they couldn’t hide from it. Seeing each other would only cause them both more pain.

  “And what time will you be home?” their mother was saying when Bryce came upstairs.

  “One a.m.,” Sydney said. “Now please move, we’re going to be late!” They could hear the engine of her friend’s blue muscle car humming outside.

  Bryce’s mom stepped aside and swept to kiss her youngest daughter’s cheek as she went through the door. Then she kissed Bryce.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  By the time they scrambled down the sidewalk and shoved themselves into the backseat, Bryce’s breaths were coming thin and painful. She closed her mouth, trying to bring in air thro
ugh her nose. This was definitely a bad idea. But something made her come out.

  Maybe it was the way her parents’ footsteps drifted from above down to her room, the sounds of them being and talking. Or the fact that she hadn’t bothered to fill her drawers with any pants or long-sleeved shirts for fall, because she didn’t know if she was going to wear them.

  She would make this worth it.

  In the car, Sydney didn’t acknowledge Bryce. Either she was mortified by her dorky older sister or she just couldn’t hear her over the roaring engine and chest-rattling bass beat.

  Bryce rolled down the window a crack to get some fresh air. Sydney’s friends were all boys, skinny with tattoos and hairstyles slicked back like James Dean.

  They pulled up to a red brick warehouse in a row of identical-looking warehouses. They were in Nashville’s industrial district, or what was left of it. The only thing to distinguish their spot from the rest of the sprawling buildings was a huge, red number 2 painted above a slatted metal door.

  Bryce got out and Sydney motioned to her friends to go inside. Bryce was about to tell her not to worry, she’d be in the back, when Sydney said, “This is Lounge Two. This is where I work.” Sydney put a cigarette between her lips and lit up.

  “Work?” Bryce’s eyes widened. Sydney let out a loud, barking laugh.

  “Chill, Bryce. This isn’t a strip club, it’s a music venue.” She spoke in a voice Bryce didn’t fully recognize but didn’t dislike, either. It was tough. Professional.

  Bryce’s face grew hot. “I didn’t think it was a strip club!”

  “I go around the club and get people’s drink orders when there’s a show.”

  “Is there a show tonight?”

  “Every weekend. A DJ set. And you’re lucky, this one’s amazing. He’s from South London.”

  “Why haven’t you told Mom and Dad?”

  At the mention of their parents, Sydney tensed, taking a deep drag. “They stopped giving a shit about anything after your accident, Bryce. And this place was my saving grace. Swear to God. I mean, yeah, drinking is kind of part of the job. Customers want to take shots with you, you do it. But they’re going to make me a bartender when school starts, and they’ve already booked a few bands I found online. They like me here, Bryce.” Sydney’s face lit up. “They think I have good taste in music.”

  “That’s…that’s awesome, Syd,” Bryce said, meaning it. She felt proud. “But you should tell Mom and Dad. Especially now that”—she swallowed back dark thoughts—“now that things seem to be getting better.”

  “Yeah.” Sydney stamped out her cigarette under her heel. “Hmm.”

  “They won’t freak out about it, you’re going to be eighteen.”

  “Shh…” Syd looked around. “Twenty-one. I’m twenty-one.”

  Bryce couldn’t help but laugh as they headed toward the door. “So you’ve been twenty-one for three years now?”

  Sydney laughed with Bryce, putting her arm around her waist. “Eternal youth, sis. Eternal youth.”

  The door opened and they were lost in sound pumping from endless speakers, sound she couldn’t help comparing to a thousand cicada melodies, amplified, buzzing, dipping in and out and dripping down like drops of drum rain. She could actually see the tones around her, floating in the air and humming around her, looking like the translucent, shimmering bubbles she used to blow as a little girl.

  A tall, skinny, tattooed guy bobbed over a laptop, brushing his hand on a turntable in a jerky rhythm. The dance floor was full of everyone from Vanderbilt sorority girls in peachy dresses to guys in Atlanta Hawks jerseys with cornrows.

  Bryce slipped onto a bar stool near where Sydney was clocking in and took the frosty martini glass she slid toward her.

  “Lemon drop,” she said as she loaded a tray with drinks.

  It was exactly that, in liquid form. Sweet, tart, bouncing on Bryce’s tongue. She nodded her head to the beat and realized in the last half hour, she hadn’t thought once about empty drawers.

  An hour later, after her third lemon drop, Bryce was on the dance floor, smashing against sweaty bodies. She was gasping for breath, but so was everyone else. The beats had sped up, still steady, still rolling and swooping like a roller coaster. Everyone jumped with them. The lights flashed so fast it was as if Bryce were dancing slow.

  Sydney appeared, the bright strobe catching her in choppy poses as she approached. The beat got faster. Bryce bobbed and weaved with the best of them.

  “Bryce!” Sydney yelled.

  “Syd!” Bryce yelled back. “I’m having so much fun!” Her lungs seized up, squeezing, so she stopped jumping. It was nothing worse than a 100-meter freestyle, she told herself.

  “Awesome!” Syd replied. “Hey, so, I’m starving and I have a quick break. We’re going to get something to eat. You wanna come?”

  “No, thanks!” Bryce yelled. “I think I’m gonna have another drink!”

  “Okay.” Syd squeezed Bryce’s arm. “Take it easy, okay? I’ll be back in five.”

  She disappeared in the bumping bodies.

  Bryce looked for the direction of the bar, finally spotting it. She took a step. The floor tilted. “Uh-oh,” she muttered.

  That old, familiar feverish feeling crept up her body, and she couldn’t tell the difference between the strobe light and the flickering of her eyesight. Each beam burst with pain like needles in her eyes. The lights wouldn’t stop. They were cutting red in her eyes. She tried to signal the person next to her, but she couldn’t quite find her arms in the numbing heat that was spreading from her spine.

  Bryce tried to take another step, but she was no longer in Lounge 2.

  A loud car, the engine thundering.

  It was the same car they were in tonight, and they were speeding along the streets of Nashville. The bass was bumping. The wheels swerved between the yellow lines, barely screeching to a stop at a red light. The driver, one of the tattooed James Deans, turned to the passengers, asking for directions to McDonald’s. He tripped over his words, giggling, and the whole car stank of a bottle of vodka spilled on the floor of the backseat.

  The laughing faces looked familiar. Bryce drew in breath in horror; she had seen this vision before. The dark-haired person next to her—

  Sydney.

  Sydney laughed at her friend driving, telling him to watch the road. At least that was what Bryce thought she was saying. Every second, the bass rattled her chest, and there were no other sounds. Sydney was laughing. The laughter like broken glass. Glass, shattering. And there, just as it had come to her in the CAT scan, was a sharp, sinking feeling that everything here was wrong.

  Sydney had to get out of the car. She had to.

  Bryce tried to pull her away, to open the door, to yell, but she was only half there. Another nauseous wave and Bryce pounded on the invisible barrier between Sydney and herself.

  “Get out! Stop the car!” Bryce screamed.

  But she didn’t hear her. No one did.

  The car lurched into motion and the vision snapped away. Bryce was lying on the sticky floor of Lounge 2, a circle of figures bent over her, shaking her shoulders, calling things she couldn’t make out.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “I’m all right.”

  She stood up, and the crowd of people dispersed, dissolving into the music. Her head felt heavy with heat and pain, and the sight of the swerving car came to her in a flash of hot pain. Was it real? How much time had passed? Was it already happening?

  Where was her sister?

  “Do you know Sydney?” Bryce turned to the first person near her, a short girl with bleached-blond hair.

  “No, honey, but are you okay? Your nose is bleedin’.…”

  Bryce put her tongue up to lick away the blood. It tasted like sticky, salty metal. She wiped the rest away. There was a lot of it.

  “Where’s my sister?” Bryce yelled over the girl, turning to anyone else who would listen. “Does anyone know if Sydney left?”

  Bryce
pushed through the bodies to the door, her feet returning in pinpricks of feeling. The bearded, large bouncer sat on a stool, counting money. “Did you see if Sydney left?”

  He didn’t look up. He pointed outside.

  She pushed open the heavy metal slats and looked wildly around. The air felt like it had gotten frigid, and for some reason smelled like snow. Bryce licked away more blood. A door slammed down the street. It was the B60.

  “SYDNEY!” Bryce screamed. Her sister’s name echoed down the row of empty buildings. Bryce started hobbling toward the car in her heels. She didn’t care how she looked. “Sydney, stop!”

  Sydney stood up from the backseat, her arm draped over the door. “Bryce, Jesus. What?”

  Bryce leaned on the car, wheezing. “Don’t get in.”

  Her eyes darted to the driver. Sydney glanced, too. He looked calm, sober. When Sydney looked away, though, he brought a hand up to his mouth, burping. He was clearly amused with himself.

  “Did you run into something? Go inside and wash your face.”

  “No!” Bryce shook her head. “I won’t. You come with me.” She sounded like a stubborn kid, but she couldn’t get out much more. Her thoughts were trudging through the alcohol.

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “Bryce, I’ll be five minutes. We’re just going to get some fries.”

  But Bryce couldn’t forget the feeling, the incredible urge to get Sydney out, out, out. Pounding on the glass. The terrible lurch forward. Glass, and red. How could she explain?

  Sydney sat in the backseat, pulling the door gently away from Bryce. She wasn’t coming. Bryce would stand in front of the car if she had to.

  “You have to take me home!” Bryce blurted out. “I’m sick. I’ve got a bloody nose. Please. I’m not feeling well.”

  Sydney sighed. “You can’t wait five minutes?”

  “No, now.” Bryce grabbed her arm and yanked her from her seat. Sydney’s foot kicked an open bottle and vodka sloshed out all over the floor. Bryce gripped Sydney tighter.

  Bryce was panting, her makeup running in sweat down her face. Sydney shrugged at the driver.

  “I guess I’ll see you later, Jack.”