by Cecily Wolfe
But he turns away, heading back the way he came, and I feel myself deflate.
What did I expect?
I push that negative thought from my mind, along with the weight of my hair, which is falling out of its elastic.
Kayla and her friends used to play with my hair all the time, working it into fancy braids and ponytails, but I don’t care enough about it to bother to learn how to do all of that.
Right now, I don’t even want to brush it.
Everything from my backpack is on the floor, tugged out and dumped unceremoniously yesterday, when it felt like everything took too much effort.
It still does.
My bedroom door opens suddenly, and I’m surprised at the break in the silence.
“Mia, clean yourself up. We’re going to a counselor, and you’re going to get over this rebellious phase right now.”
My mother’s words are barely sinking in as she continues.
I don’t see my father anywhere, but he didn’t leave for work yet, or I would have seen his car backing out of our driveway. Besides, it should be too early for either of them to be more than wandering, robe-clad figures bleary-eyed over coffee.
“I’m going to call the school today and see about getting you cleared to take your midterms. This is ridiculous.”
As she stomps away, the cool mint green of her robe swishing around like a wave of water, I wonder why she thinks the school will bend the rules for me.
It’s a policy that under suspension, a student can’t complete any work.
Everything gets a zero.
I realize my hands are stinging, and look down to see they are starting to scab over the scrapes.
How are Eli’s hands? His knees?
I push through the items on the floor with my bare toes to see if I can find my phone so I can text him to ask.
Even if he can't reply right now, when he's allowed to use his phone again he'll see it and know I'm worried.
My sister would be horrified by this mess. She was so neat and clean, with everything in its place all the time.
I fall to my knees and pick everything up, stacking the books and notebooks neatly and lifting them up to my desk.
My journal is nowhere to be found, and I panic, my heart racing as I consider my mother may have taken it again.
But it’s under the bed, as if it is hiding itself, waiting for me to find it and tell her this new tale of woe.
Instead, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but what I see behind the lids, in my mind and heart, is Kayla on her last day, that morning when she made me cinnamon toast because I always made a mess of it.
I haven’t eaten it since.
I think of the can of Diet Coke, fresh from the fridge, that she held against her knee.
How many clues did I miss?
Was there some way I could have known it was her last day, that she’d had enough and was willing to risk everything to take the pain away?
A chill makes me shudder enough to drag me from my memories, and I realize I’ve nearly stepped on my phone, distracted by the image of Kayla teasing me that morning, her smile familiar and loving.
It’s dead, just like she is.
Horrified by how my mind is working, I plug it in and rush into the bathroom, knowing if I discover my mother in there it won’t matter.
I’ll shove her out and lock myself in, just to have some time to myself under the hot spray of the shower, without her voice interrupting my attempt to get out of my head and focus on something else.
Something I can do that would make my sister happy.
Fortunately, my mother isn’t upstairs at all, and I can’t hear her downstairs.
I wonder what my father thinks of this counselor idea. When we first lost Kayla, everyone said we should all go to counseling or a support group, but my mother brushed the suggestions off, assuring all who mentioned it that we would be fine.
And here we are.
The flare of heat on my skinned knees feels distant as I soak myself in the shower, watching my skin turn pink, then red.
“Don’t use all the hot water, Mia. I need to take a shower, too.”
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here when my father’s voice interrupts my mindless stare.
What did it feel like, I wonder, when Kayla took that hit of heroin? The only one she ever took, that some stranger gave her in a bedroom at a party, while her friends and boyfriend searched for her?
Did the feeling come quickly, the rush an instant relief from her pain?
Did she realize she wasn’t ever going to feel pain, or anything else, again?
“Mia! Come out right now! We don’t have time for you to be acting so selfishly. Our appointment is in half an hour.”
Without bothering to respond, I turn off the water and get out of the shower, drying myself off just enough to make it out of the bathroom and down the hall without dripping on the carpet.
Both of my parents stand aside to let me by, watching me silently.
I ignore them.
Thankfully, my phone has charged enough for me to see some of the new messages. One from Megan asking if I want the laptop I use for newspaper layout and email distribution (yes!), another from Dante assuring me the newspaper needs me and the suspension won’t affect my work there if I still want to do it (this isn’t true, as a suspension means all school activities, but I answer him with a grateful yes and thank you), and a string of messages mixed between Krystal, Bethany, and Josh.
My two friends alternate between expressions of disbelief (OMG! and srsly?) and asking if I need anything, if my mother will let them come and visit (probably not).
And Josh?
I have to smile at the first text from him I see.
Do u have enuf root beer?
It’s not like him to use text speak or phonetic spelling, unlike Krystal and Bethany, and that along with the question itself makes me wonder for a moment if I’ve misread all that has passed between us lately.
But then a series of messages from him fill my screen, and they grow more and more personal.
When he starts to mention Eli, the innuendo becomes clear, the words turning into profanity and accusations about what Eli and I were doing on the roof.
He was saving my life, I want to respond, but I don’t.
I don’t answer him at all.
Eventually his name disappears from my screen, and an email from the school secretary outlining the terms of my suspension appears.
I don’t read it.
Eli’s name doesn’t show up until I find a text from the weekend.
When will his parents let him use his phone again?
Are they making him go to counseling, too?
They seem so laid back, so accepting of his behavior so far . . . maybe this is a breaking point for them, especially since his punishment was worse than mine.
The phone hums underneath my fingers and I jump, nearly dropping it.
“Hello?”
It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I answer anyway, not bothering to consider I should let it go to voicemail since I don’t know who it is.
“Mia?”
As if summoned from my thoughts, Eli whispers just loud enough for me to hear him, and I take a few steps back to sit heavily on my bed.
“Eli! What’s going on with you? Did you get suspended, too?”
I’m hoping he’ll agree with me, but he’s silent for a moment too long before answering.
“No. I hope it wasn’t too creepy of me to show up this morning, just watching to see if you would see me so I could be sure you were okay.”
Kayla’s friend Sarah would say it was romantic, although I'm not sure why she comes to mind.
She’s been dating the boy who hosted the party where Kayla died, off and on for years, and I can’t imagine what sort of conflict that must be for her.
How can she look at him without seeing Kayla?
Without remembering that night, whatever she saw when she, C
assidy, and Paul went into the bedroom at that party?
Chapter Twenty
“I’m using my mom’s phone. She went to the store to grab a few things, and she usually takes it with her. I think she left it here on purpose so I could call you.”
That doesn’t make sense, since Eli has his own phone and if I read his gesture outside correctly, he's not allowed to use it, but I wait for him to continue, sure he’ll explain.
“I got kicked out of school, but it’s not a big deal. I’m going to do an online one for now, and see how that goes. Obviously my parents aren’t happy about what happened, but they believe what I told them, about helping you.”
I wonder if he can hear my big sigh of relief, not that he was expelled but that his parents are so understanding.
“But I have to go to this counselor. I used to talk to him before but I stopped for a while. He has a group therapy thing for kids who have, uh, issues.”
Eli doesn’t have issues, except his need for attention.
But I don’t know him all that well, not really, and if he’s okay with this group thing, that’s all that matters.
“My mom is taking me to a counselor, too. Today.”
My voice sounds too calm, a little breathy, and Eli hears something in it he must not like.
“You don’t want to go, do you? You sound scared.”
Eli sounds afraid now, and I’m sorry I’ve upset him.
My fingers close up around the big, fluffy towel I have wrapped around myself, the pool of folds of it filling my lap and fitting perfectly into my fist.
“I don’t know what I am, honestly. And they’re going on this cruise next week, so at least I won’t have to deal with my mother. That’s good, right?”
Why am I asking Eli this? Of course it’s good. I can work on the newspaper, although we won’t have a daily while winter break is in session.
And the teacher-student relationship problem.
I can definitely work on that.
Something flickers at the edge of my thoughts, something I can’t quite remember but seems important.
Important to this mystery, a clue I’ve picked up but somehow haven’t connected to the rest of what I know.
Which isn’t much.
“I’m not supposed to go out anymore, not without one of my parents with me, but they know you, and they know how important you are to me, so . . .”
I pull my legs up and tuck them under me, curling over myself and savoring his last few words.
Have I ever been important to anyone, since my sister died?
“Mia?”
“Mia!”
Eli’s voice is soft and concerned, my mother’s, fierce and demanding.
“I have to go, but I’ll call you later, if I don’t get my phone taken away.”
I whisper as loudly as I dare and hang up, knowing Eli won’t be offended by my abruptness, then shove my phone under my pillow.
If I do call him, he won't be able to answer.
“Why are you just sitting on your bed? Get dressed. I had to do a lot of calling and begging to get this appointment with such short notice. You’re going to spend your suspension working on your attitude and behavior, so we don’t start the new year off on the wrong foot.”
I think of Kayla and her bad knee, and smile a little.
She’d have something to say to our mother about that expression.
My mother stares at me for a long moment, and I feel the smile on my face fix itself, defiant, as if it has a mind of its own.
“And you’re not going to ruin this vacation for me. You’ll stay here by yourself, and the neighbors will check on you. I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson, and since this is the first time you’ve ever done anything like this, we’re trusting you to be on your best behavior.”
I’ve always been on my best behavior, just like my sister.
When my mother closes the door behind her with a loud click, not quite slamming it, I let out a long breath and rest my hand on my stomach, which feels hollow.
I shake my head against the strangeness of it and push my hair out of my face, tugging it up into a ponytail as I stand up, and search for an elastic to wrap around it.
There’s a sense of satisfaction growing inside me, as if this has been a long time coming, this stupid act that nearly got me seriously hurt if not killed.
Eli’s guilt over the dare that encouraged me to climb out of that window and up that ladder brings me down a notch, and I wish I had waited until the weather was better to prove my bravery to him.
He didn’t expect me to do it right then, and I didn’t think about what would happen if I did.
At least he isn’t angry with me, and I have that to hold onto while I deal with the hoops I have to jump through today to please my mother.
My father stares at me as I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I shrink back as he reaches out and touches the top of my head.
“You’re not a little girl anymore, are you, Mia?”
He sounds sad, and I see there are wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, which I’ve never noticed before.
Or maybe I didn’t look closely enough, especially when half the time I do see him he's wearing glasses.
I turn away and he drops his hand, leaving me standing alone by the front door.
There's a chill from a space around the door that isn’t sealed well, a tiny opening but enough for the cold to squeak through, silent and potent enough to cause me to shiver.
“Come in here and eat something for breakfast. You look terrible.”
When I laugh at my mother’s command, for once demanding I eat but not the first time she’s insulted my appearance, she starts to speak to my father in a low, annoyed voice, but I can’t make out the words.
A dull acceptance of this situation washes over me, and while I’ve never truly fought against the circumstances of my life, I wonder if this is going to be it.
As if that icy venture onto the school roof will be all that I can do, all that I’ll be allowed to get away with until I’m grown.
Three and a half years . . .
No.
It can’t be.
I keep my mouth closed as my parents take me to the counselor’s office, where I nod and smile vaguely, saying little and admitting nothing to the woman, who seems very nice in a way some teachers can be when they are meeting you for the first time, as if there’s a film over them to keep them clean.
I can’t believe my father came with us. When he suggests we go out to a restaurant for lunch, the small, hopeful smile on his face painful to see, I almost feel the urge to eat.
“She’s being punished, so no. We’ll be eating on the cruise ship soon enough, enjoying some time away from all this stress.”
My father, who is in the front passenger seat, looks at me through the rearview mirror with a tiny, apologetic smile as my mother passes down her verdict.
Why doesn’t he speak up and tell her what he wants to do?
Why is something so inconsequential as lunch a variable she has to control, even now?
I smile back at him, hoping I appear reassuring, because I want to be, but he looks away and out the window, his shoulders hunching over.
“Once a week. I have to take you to this counselor once a week until this is cleared up, Mia. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
My mother finally talks to me once we’re home and my father is mumbling about heading into his office as he distances himself as quickly as he can, rushing into the kitchen and snapping the coffee maker on to warm up this morning’s leftovers.
I’m cold, and as I rub my hands over my arms, I wish I could go to Eli’s house and sit in front of the fireplace, side by side with him.
“I have things to do, Mia, so you need to find a way to keep yourself occupied and out of trouble.”
My mother follows my father into the kitchen, but he leaves the room as she steps into it.
He grabs my hand and squeezes it on his way to the fron
t door, but he leaves before I can respond to this simple gesture.
I’m not sure what to make of it, except he’s trying to be supportive, maybe, for once in my life.
I don’t want to be hopeful if I'll end up disappointed.
My mother leaves me alone for a few hours, and I huddle on my bed, folding in on myself under a knitted blanket one of our grandmothers made for Kayla when she was little.
I keep it tucked away in my closet, and strangely enough, my mother hasn’t discovered it.
It’s faded from the red Kayla loved to a pale pink.
I pull the blanket over my head, wondering if my life would be different if any of my grandparents were still alive.
Would they have loved me as much as they adored Kayla?
I answer texts from Bethany and Krystal, assuring them I’m fine and I’ll keep in touch, promising more details to feed their curiosity.
Megan tells me she’ll stop by after school today with the laptop and some notes from teachers who have approached her, telling her they hope I’m okay.
Something unfurls in my chest, and I stamp it down, not wanting to complicate my thoughts and feelings right now.
I make sure to answer all the texts I have waiting for me, reassuring and thanking, promising and agreeing.
Except Josh's.
When my parents are gone, the neighbors are supposed to look out for me.
They are gone during the day, working like everyone else, and when they’re home, they can’t possibly be staring at our house every single moment.
I’ll be able to let Eli in, and sneak out to see him, too.
If his parents don’t get in our way.
I pull hard at the blanket, feeling my hair getting caught in the stitches as the yarn stretches around me tight.
What if we went somewhere else, the two of us, somewhere far away from here, where we could be on our own, work and make our own way.
So what if we’re fifteen?
Sixteen is less than a year away for me, and I’m sure some businesses will hire fifteen year olds.
Won’t they?
I start to tap out a message to Eli, but I’m not sure how to word it.
What if his parents check his texts now?
What if my mother does the same with mine?
