Love Always, Mia

by Cecily Wolfe

  He hums again.

  “Have you been reading our English assignment? You sound so literary.”

  This is true, and his perceptiveness makes me laugh.

  “You caught me. Do you ever do that, just pick up the style or tone of whatever you’re reading, even for a little bit?”

  I hear a long sniff, and wonder if he has a cold.

  Or if it’s just a result of his refusal to wear a warmer coat.

  “Probably, although I read manga most of the time, except for school assignments, so I don’t know how that would carry over into my everyday talk. I guess it could happen.”

  Cassidy likes manga, and I’m about to ask him what series he likes to see if they are anything I recognize from her favorites when he continues.

  “Do you want to walk to school together tomorrow? I don’t think we leave at the same time, otherwise we would have run into each other before.”

  I wonder why I haven’t thought of this myself, and nod as if he can see me.

  “Sure. That’s a good idea.”

  The silence between us feels awkward, but I’m not sure why.

  “Mia? Are you worried about Josh because you’re afraid of him?”

  He’s wrong, and I immediately feel defensive, because he’s already asked if I’m afraid of my parents, too.

  And I’m not.

  I don’t think so.

  “No. Why do you think I’m scared of everyone? Is that how I seem to you?”

  My tone is a little icy, like my bedroom right before the heat kicks on and begins to flow over my feet from the floor register, although I don’t mean to be cold to him.

  He’s concerned, and it comes across with every word he’s said.

  “No, it doesn’t. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, text me the time and I’ll meet you at the end of the street. Don’t study too hard, okay?”

  This time, I know the silence means he’s gone, and I wish I had stopped myself from being so rude.

  If he’s worried I’m afraid, I must have given him that idea myself, so it’s not his fault.

  The rest of the day goes as any other Sunday, with more homework, reading, and dinner time during which my mother actually smiles at me, but only because I refused the bowl of tiny buttered potatoes I usually love.

  I can’t possibly eat much, not with my mind so scattered, and I head back to my room wondering if I should call Eli back.

  Instead, I start to text him, but I can’t think of anything to say except for a time to meet, and another thank you for last night.

  For listening to me, for sharing the warmth and kindness he enjoys with his parents.

  For being the first really good friend I’ve ever had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Megan meets me at my locker the next morning, after Eli and I stumble through fresh snow together, focusing on weather talk and wondering if we might get a snow day later this week because of storm predictions.

  “We could build a snowman, have a snowball fight.”

  My suggestions surprise me, as I’ve done neither since my sister died, and my invitation reminds me how much I loved playing outside in the winter with her, both alone and with her friends.

  I cringe at memories of Paul pulling her close every chance he could when he was a part of it, kissing her when she wasn't ready or didn't want it at the time.

  Why couldn’t I see it then?

  Because you were a little girl, Kayla would probably say. It wasn’t anything for you to notice or worry about.

  “You could have warned me, you know. That was some bombshell you dropped on Josh, on us, Friday. But I’m glad you’re okay, so that’s what’s important.”

  Megan’s babbling is so unlike her I stop after I open my locker and stare at her.

  “Warned you about what?”

  Is she really saying I should have told her I wanted to break up with Josh?

  Isn’t that just between him and me?

  “Incoming.”

  She points a finger behind me, and I know before I even look Josh is headed my way.

  His voice is full of laughter as he answers one girl, and then another, who approaches him, their voices only one of so many who talk to him every day.

  He’s so popular, so why does he care if I want to be with him or not?

  “No one’s ever dumped him before.”

  Before I can respond to Megan's revelation, I feel Josh’s fingers on my elbow and I turn to face him with a smile plastered on my face, hoping nothing will happen.

  Nothing like the laundry room kiss.

  Of course it won’t, not here in front of everyone.

  “Hey, Mia. How was the rest of your weekend?”

  Josh’s smile is sunny and reassuring, but his eyes are flat and cold.

  I keep my smile intact as I nod.

  “Good, thanks. Yours?”

  He leans in a little closer and I have to force myself not to back away as his hand slides down to capture my fingers in his own.

  “Excellent. Why don’t I walk you to class?”

  Josh has always given me the physical distance I’ve needed, as if he could tell I wasn’t ready for whatever some of the other girls might want, as they so obviously showed him as they leaned close while they spoke with him, giggling and flirting openly.

  But now, after I’ve explained I don’t want to be his girlfriend anymore, he’s clutching my hand so tight it’s starting to hurt.

  We have an audience, but I don’t want to encourage him.

  I don’t want to go back on what I told him Friday night, not after it was so difficult for me to say, and not because I was afraid but because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Eli’s question rises up in my mind, and I realize this was exactly what I was afraid of.

  Does Josh think I would backtrack and go along with this, as if Friday night never happened?

  I tug at our hands and shake my head, my sigh shaky as I feel Megan step up closer behind me.

  “We have some newspaper stuff to talk about, Josh. Can you give us some time?”

  His eyes narrow but only for the briefest moment, only long enough for me to notice.

  Does Megan see it, too?

  When he drops my hand, he pushes at it , as if he can’t wait to break the contact between us, although he’s the one who initiated it.

  Who is this Josh?

  “I’ll see you both later.”

  My hand flexes at my side, as if my body needs to stretch itself, rid itself of Josh’s touch.

  “He needs time. Alex is talking to him, too. It’s not like you’re going around bragging that you broke up with him, and you won’t. That's not who you are, and Josh knows it. It’s a shock, that’s all.”

  Megan’s words rush out at me like a physical blow, her excuses for him sounding strange in her voice.

  Is she covering for him because of Alex, or does she really believe what she’s saying?

  I might be reading too much into this, and after a few more days, especially with everyone watching him here at school, he’ll calm down.

  Surely he could find another girl who would be a better fit for him, one who would give him more attention.

  One who wouldn’t mind if he kissed her like that.

  Krystal and Bethany don’t know I’ve broken up with him, or at least, I haven’t told them, but when I sit down in Mr. Carl’s class, Krystal is waiting, pouncing before my butt hits the chair.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Or was it just spontaneous? What happened? Why didn’t you text or call me?”

  Although she and Bethany are my friends, we aren’t close, and right now, I wish we were, like Kayla was with Cassidy and Sarah.

  They told each other everything.

  Sometimes I’d stand in the hallway between our bedrooms, listening to their late night conversations, although I didn’t always understand what they were talking about.

  They laughed, they cried.

  They listened intently, one v
oice speaking somberly while the other two remained quiet, patient and interested.

  I think of Eli yesterday, how he sat silently while I spoke, with no interruption or indication he was tired of hearing me.

  That he was judging me.

  “I’m sorry, it was a mess. We’ll have to talk about it later, okay? Not with everyone around.”

  But it seems like everyone already knows, which makes no sense.

  Josh wouldn’t want this to get around, or at least, it doesn’t seem like it, not after he grabbed me this morning as if we were closer than ever, making sure to create a scene so the crowd around us would think there was nothing wrong.

  “Ladies.”

  The teacher steps between us, and I back away. His pants are too tight, and I wrinkle my nose at the cologne he’s drenched himself in.

  Krystal giggles, and I shake my head, turning away from them both.

  The band room, right.

  Wait, doesn’t Mr. Carl teach all morning?

  I struggle to think of the classes he teaches, and when.

  Sometimes he’s in the cafeteria during lunch, like all teachers, taking his turn patrolling the tables and keeping rowdy kids at bay.

  But he’s in here with a class right before.

  During fourth period.

  “Mia. Do you have an answer, or are you unprepared? Did you complete the reading?”

  Krystal pokes me just as Mr. Carl’s voice reaches me, and I nod, then shake my head.

  “Yes, I did. I missed the question, though. I’m sorry.”

  Someone giggles beside me, and a few other students join in.

  He repeats the question and I answer it, vaguely aware of certain words whispered around me.

  “He broke up with her.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “He could have whoever he wants.”

  Oh, so that’s how it is.

  Instead of trying to convince me to come back to him, he’s decided to tell everyone he’s the one who broke up with me.

  “Very good, Mia. Now, for the next section . . .”

  No one seems to be paying attention to him now, instead focusing on me, and he doesn’t bother to say anything about the growing hum of whispers.

  “I feel bad for her.”

  “She’s always been so quiet, and he needs someone more . . . interesting.”

  I smile. I can’t help it.

  It’s true I’m quiet, and I’m not interesting.

  But my smile fades as I consider what else finds its way into my hearing.

  The pity.

  I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me for any reason, not after the weight of so much of that held me down after Kayla died.

  Still does.

  I blow out a long breath as the bell rings, reminding me I need to figure out how I’m going to get out of Ohio history to peek into the band room after my next class.

  What will I find there?

  Or who?

  I wrinkle my nose, because it occurs to me I might see more than I’d like to, in more ways than one, and I wonder if I can avoid that.

  The band room is two hallways over from my Ohio history class, near a restroom. It’s the largest room in the building besides the gym and theater, with smaller rooms tucked away inside.

  Perfect for any personal business, especially with the soundproofing in each.

  Yuck.

  Krystal is incredulous as we leave Mr. Carl's class together, muttering her disbelief in my romantic situation as we’re jostled between girls in a hurry not just to head to their next class but to get close to me and ask questions.

  “Is it true?”

  “Did you cheat on him?”

  “Why aren’t you sad?”

  I snort at the second question, and they back away just as they start asking the third.

  Do they expect me to walk around in tears?

  I guess if Josh broke up with me, and I was as infatuated with him as they seem to be, that’s a realistic expectation.

  But right now, my thoughts are on the best way to get to the band room undetected, without anyone catching me in the hall or finding me actually in the room.

  If a teacher and student are in there, will it be locked?

  From the inside?

  “We’ll talk later. It’s not what you think.”

  A titter of overdramatic giggles punctuate my statement, meant for Krystal alone but obviously loud enough for our audience to hear.

  I don’t dignify their noise with a look or word, and walk out into the crowded hall with her and parting ways, her tiny wave and narrowed eyes belying her curiosity as we part ways.

  While I force myself to pay more attention in the following class, the teacher doesn’t call on me, and as the interest in my personal life grows more subdued, I’m able to consider my best plan of action is to get a pass to the restroom, and if I take too long, just say it’s female problems.

  I don’t like lying, but this clue is too important not to follow up on.

  If I had a test in Ohio history today, or even a quiz, this might have been a total washout, but we have some independent study time to work on plans for a project before our school trip in the spring, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.

  When I approach the teacher’s desk to ask to use the restroom, Mrs. Beale looks me up and down for a moment before writing out a slip with my name, date, and time on it.

  “Is everything okay, Mia? You look tired. It’s none of my business, I know, but you seem a bit anemic. You might want to get that checked into.”

  Her voice is soft and concerned, and I feel bad I’m lying to her.

  “I’m fine, but I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

  Her observation might come in handy if I get caught, so I make a mental note to use her words if I’m questioned.

  I am tired, and if she thinks I look anemic, that helps my story.

  Hopefully, it won’t come to that, and I put it out of my mind as I head down the hall and towards the band room as quietly as I can, my tennis shoes squeaking on the floor in the empty space in front of me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My hand shakes as I touch the knob of the band room door, part of me hoping the cold, worn metal won’t move when I twist it.

  But it does, and I push the door into the room, which is cold and dark except for the sunlight streaming through the grubby windows.

  There’s a glare that blinds me for a moment, and then I hear a voice, small and distant, a little whiny.

  It’s coming from one of the practice rooms in the back corner, and it grows more insistent as I take tiny steps closer, hoping whoever it is didn’t hear me open the door.

  But if they did, they wouldn’t continue to talk, would they?

  As I grow closer, I hear a girl’s voice I recognize, but it isn’t someone I talk to often, I think, because I can’t place it.

  She’s not crying, but she sounds close, like she might burst into tears any moment.

  The man’s voice doesn’t sound familiar, though, and it definitely isn’t Mr. Carl.

  I scrunch my face up in concentration, trying to identify the girl’s tone and inflections.

  Someone I’ve talked to recently, I think, but who?

  I can’t make out the words, not exactly, but he’s shushing her and she sniffles, then giggles.

  The door opens with a bang and I flatten myself against the wall beside the practice room, covering my mouth to hold back a scream.

  A tall boy with shaggy red hair stomps around and grabs a folder along with some loose paper from a black music stand near the windows, then turns around, lifting his chin as he peers across the room.

  “Is anyone there?”

  When he calls out, I notice whoever is in the practice room has gone silent like me, the murmurs and sighs halting as if they’ve stopped whatever they just started.

  Good.

  I feel myself frown against my hand, disgusted by the thought of what might be going
on in there.

  Why can’t I place the girl’s voice?

  The red-haired boy stands still in the cold, dim room for a long moment, then shakes his head, leaving the room with another loud bang of the door behind him.

  I clench my fists up close to my face, struggling to figure out what to do next.

  If I stay, I might be able to catch the two of them as they leave.

  But they’ll see me, too.

  And what if they do?

  That might be best, actually, to bring a stop to what he’s doing with her, but I hadn’t thought this far ahead and I wonder if there’s anything I’m missing about that scenario.

  Is there a way for me to see them without them noticing?

  There is a slim vertical window beside the practice room door, but it’s dark inside and from my angle, I can’t see whoever is in there.

  His voice rises now, and he tells her she’s beautiful, that he loves her, and . . .

  I don’t want to hear the sounds that replace his words now, and I’m glad I didn’t bring anything for lunch because there’s no way I could eat after overhearing this.

  Instead of waiting, something in me tells me it’s time to go, and not just because I don’t want to listen anymore.

  I tiptoe quickly and quietly back to the door and slip out into the hall.

  Fortunately, no one is there, and I take a moment to rest against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to clear my head.

  “Do you have a pass, Mia?”

  My body stiffens as I hold back my second scream of the day when the vice principal speaks just a few feet away from me, his tone more curious than angry.

  “Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, I do.”

  I fish the note from my back pocket and offer it to him.

  “Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”

  When I shake my head violently, he peers closer and I force myself to smile.

  “You don’t look well, Mia. Why don’t you come with me.”

  I back away, towards my classroom, as I shake my head more slowly now, realizing I’m acting weird.

  “I’m fine, really. Just a restroom break.”

  My smile feels weak, my head dizzy, swimming with what I’ve heard and the need to piece the information together.