by Cecily Wolfe
“Come stay at my house. We have a pullout sofa in the family room, and I promise I won’t try anything.”
I think of the fireplace, of the warmth and welcome I’ll find if I walk home with Eli right now.
And the promise he just made . . . I know he means it, but a not so small part of me wishes he would break it.
If I accepted his invitation.
But I shake my head instead.
“I’ll be fine. My sister’s friends are coming into town tomorrow, and I should clean my room or . . . something.”
My thoughts are, as usual for the past few days, jumbled up, with memories of Jackie’s hopeful face as she stared at me in the hall, the scent of cotton candy Mr. Duncan carried with him after I ran out of the band room . . .
And Eli’s revelation.
But he’s so cool, so sure of himself.
So confident and easy with all the negative attention he gets.
With his reputation.
With the distance it creates between him and everyone else.
“Why me, Eli?”
He’s staring at the table, his hands splayed out under his gaze as he takes a deep breath.
“I just knew. You never looked at me like everyone else does, and there’s something about you . . . it felt as if I already knew you in some way.”
He looks up at me, and while his answer is vague, I understand what he’s saying.
“Why don’t we eat this, uh, whatever I’m going to cook up, and then I’ll head home so you can clean your room.”
I nod, suddenly worried about the eating part.
But it’s vegetables, which Kayla loved, so I watch Eli cut everything up haphazardly, the quiet surrounding us comfortable and welcome, as if he belongs here with me.
The smell of the food fills the air, and my stomach does a little flip, as if it can’t decide to be hungry or revolted by the lingering scent of oil from the pan.
Once Eli is gone, I’ll do something more important than cleaning my room. Something that will keep Mr. Duncan from using Jackie or any other student again.
I manage a few bites as Eli attempts to eat without obviously watching me, which makes me smile. He offers to pack up the leftovers and wash the dishes, but I push him towards the front door instead, handing his coat to him with a smile.
“Your parents are probably worried about you, right? Why don’t you call me later, and you can come over and meet Sarah and Cassidy tomorrow.”
The words come out as my thoughts tangle together, one subject to another, but Eli takes both of my hands after he pulls his coat on and watches me speak, patient as always.
What happened to send him to the hospital, for his doctor to change his meds so suddenly?
I can’t help thinking of Paul, of his erratic, frightening behavior, of the way he would camp out on our front porch waiting for Kayla to take him back whenever she broke up with him.
“Are you cold?”
I’m shivering, but not because of the temperature.
So I shake my head, a little harder as I continue to do it, more for me than for him.
Eli isn’t Paul, and I’m not my sister.
I’m not Kayla.
“I don’t like leaving you alone, but I think your neighbors will be keeping watch, especially after the free show they had earlier.”
What will his parents think about the bruises on his face?
Before I can ask him how he’s going to explain his injuries, he closes the distance between us and kisses me so lightly I barely feel it.
I grab the front of his coat and hold him there, pressing my lips to his a little harder until I feel him smile against them.
“I’ll call you in a bit, if that’s not too pushy.”
I’m not sure how he can say this when I’m the one holding onto him right now, but I shake my head to reassure him.
I have one call to make, right now, before I do anything else.
But I have to be sure it's to the right person, the one who can help the quickest, someone who will know how to make my accusation stick.
As soon as I close the door behind Eli, I lock it and move over to stand in front of the window so I can watch him walk down the street.
He stops at the corner and waves, although I’m sure he can’t see me, and I press the palm of my hand against the glass, cold under my skin.
And then he’s gone.
There’s a business card in my pocket, a little crumpled from the time I’ve sat on it in the kitchen, but I pull it out and stare at the name and number.
If I call the police officer who answered the 9-1-1 call tonight, would it cause trouble for Eli?
Would she focus on the reason for her appearance, or would she listen to me, to my concern for Jackie, and to the patched together evidence I have, which isn’t much to go on as far as actual proof?
But if I wait for something more substantial, what will happen to Jackie, or any other girls Mr. Duncan might be abusing, in the meantime?
Chapter Thirty
Texts from Cassidy and Sarah, both back in my hometown and staying at Sarah’s house, fill my phone screen as I sit on the floor by my bed with my blankets drawn around and over me.
The house is quiet, as it usually is, and I’m strangely comforted by the idea I’m here alone.
No one here with expectations or demands, but also, no awareness I’m not by myself, just feeling like it because I’m being ignored.
My parents and I have nothing in common, and I guess I don’t have anything to talk to them about any more than they have to me.
Except the forbidden subject.
Kayla.
How much did I enjoy telling the counselor about my sister? How much did I laugh as I recounted silly stories, interactions with her that had felt so distant until I shared them out loud?
Maybe Eli is right, and I should talk to her more, about whatever comes to mind.
I tap out the numbers from the police officer’s business card into my phone, and in moments, she answers, and I explain who I am and why I’m calling in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone else.
She lets me speak and doesn’t interrupt with questions or comments until I stop talking.
My fear of babbling about details is overridden by the clarity of how I’ve presented it, my small gathering of notes on the page in front of me on the carpeted floor like a script I’ve followed to stay on point.
“An anonymous tip. That’s how this will work, Mia. A lot of times guys like this will crack under pressure, especially if they’ve been confident about getting away with their crimes for a while.”
She doesn’t sound shocked by my story, and her words make me think she’s handled this sort of situation before.
The thought nearly makes me gag.
“I’ll get on this and let you know what happens, although you might hear something about it before I talk to you again.”
After I hang up, I stare at the carpet where the grease stain from the grilled cheese sandwich mars the pale color for a few moments before I release a sigh of relief. .
I text Eli, then go back to Cassidy and Sarah’s messages. They plan to drive up here tomorrow, but I wonder if they could come earlier.
Like now.
My hands shake and my chest feels heavy, so when my stomach gurgles, I think of what the counselor said about eating.
Everyone has to do it, so when and why has it become such a problem for me?
I crawl around the floor and find my journal.
My letters to Kayla.
While I used to write in it every day, lately the empty pages haven’t called to me.
It isn’t like I’m not thinking of her, but . . .
But what?
I lean back against the foot of my bed, cold again without the blankets surrounding me, and dig a pen out of the pouch at the front of the backpack, holding it close to the blank space I’ve opened to in the journal.
And I start to write, filling pages with t
he saga of the past two weeks, of the roof incident, my feelings for Eli, the situation with Mr. Duncan and Jackie . . .
Somewhere along the line, I stop writing to her and just write, dumping whatever is in my head out onto the clean sheets, muddying them up with everything that weighs me down.
Everything that is holding me back.
I’m so tired when I glance back at my phone, and a wash of relief rushes over me when I see twin texts from Sarah and Cassidy assuring me they’ll be here in a couple of hours.
I hope you’re hungry
I think of all the food my mother bought, the way the refrigerator looks like it’s stocked for a high school athletic team and not one teenage girl for the week, and hope the two of them can help keep some of it from spoiling.
Eli will be back to do the same.
The notebook I’ve used for newspaper work, including my short collection of clues I thought were about a relationship between Krystal and Mr. Carl, has plenty of blank sheets, and I pick it up now, flipping to the next page and considering what my mother thought she was doing, filling the fridge like that.
What I was doing when I refused her misguided attempts to help me, even if they were fueled by a fear of what others would think if I failed at being perfect.
If I wasn’t Kayla, Kayla at her best.
An impossible feat.
But my mother never wanted me to excel, never wanted me to garner attention.
So who was it that wanted me to be like my sister?
I start a letter to a new recipient, and when I begin, I surprise myself by the first line, and the second.
This won’t be a journal entry, and there’s no point in writing it if I don’t give it to the people who need to see it the most.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Once upon a time, I had a sister. You had two daughters, not one. I can’t play your game and act like she never existed anymore.
I scrawl over page after page, wiping under my nose with the back of my hand at times, rubbing my damp cheeks with my sweatshirt sleeve at others, and sign it, finally, with a flourish.
A knock at the front door startles me, and I jump to my feet, pushing the notebook from my knees as I cover my face with my hands before fumbling around for my phone.
Has it really been two hours?
I text Cassidy, who lets me know she and Sarah are here, and tell her I’ll be down in a moment.
While I should wash my face and clean up , I don’t want to keep them waiting in the cold.
But more importantly, selfishly, I can’t wait to see them.
They nearly knock me down as soon as they step inside, both of them grabbing and hugging me tight as a whoosh of icy air fills the hallway.
One of us pushes the door closed, and we laugh until they pull away just enough to look at me closely.
“Are you really here by yourself?”
“Were you sleeping? You look so tired.”
While Sarah is the more diplomatic of my sister’s friends, she isn’t holding back tonight, and her bluntness makes me want to confide everything to them.
I will, I know.
But we have plenty of time, and my stomach is growling now as I realize the smell of Eli’s makeshift stir fry lingers in the house.
“Mia?”
Cassidy peers at me, frowning, and I realize I’ve spaced out thinking about the food while Sarah was rubbing my back.
“Sorry, are you guys hungry? A friend of mine was over earlier and he made this stuff with a bunch of vegetables . . .”
“He?”
They both say the word at the same time, and I can’t help laughing.
“Yeah, he. Do you want to hang up your coats and take off your shoes, so I can tell you about Eli in the kitchen while we eat?”
I wish he was here now to meet them, but I also want him to take care of himself, to rest at home with his parents, who seem to be doing everything they can for him, their concern so evident when I saw them the other day, before I knew where he was and what they were going through together.
Maybe my parents will never be supportive like that, but I can’t wait around to see if they will change.
I don’t have to.
Kayla might be gone, but I’m not alone.
Epilogue
Summer in Ohio is unpredictable.
I’ve never liked anything unpredictable, mostly because Kayla didn’t.
Or at least, that’s what I thought.
But when a surprise thunderstorm interrupts the picnic Eli and I are sharing in the park, close to a hiking trail we’ve come to consider our favorite hang out, I squeal, laughing as I’m immediately soaked with warm rain.
“This is so romantic!”
I call out to Eli over the roar of the storm, and a burst of lightning follows a sudden crash of thunder, the world around us rocking as he pulls me close with one arm, the other hand rummaging around inside the bag his mother packed for us to fish out an umbrella.
“It’s late for this, but she must have suspected this might happen.”
He sounds amused rather than annoyed, even as a trail of rain spills into his eyes.
The bright umbrella, covered with a bright pattern of colorful circles, unfurls over us as I slide closer to him, and he leans in to kiss me on the cheek.
But I turn to him at the last moment and our lips meet, not for the first time.
“You weren’t being sarcastic, were you, Mia?”
No, I wasn’t.
This is romantic.
I’m shivering, although the rain is warm and Eli’s arm around me makes me feel cozy and loved.
His mom packed us a simple picnic lunch, with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, strawberries, and one of my sister’s favorites, celery sticks with cream cheese.
I never liked them much when I was little, but now, as I take the time to taste everything and think of what I’m putting in my body as fuel, not as some sort of reward or punishment, I’m enjoying each bite more, even if I still don’t think celery will every end up on a favorite list for me.
“We shouldn’t stay too much longer when we’re wet like this. I’m sure one of us will end up with a cold, if not both.”
Eli rests his head on my shoulder, his arm at my back as he rests his hand on the blanket underneath us.
We’ve agreed to take care of ourselves more, even as we want to take care of each other, and part of that is being brutally honest when we notice something that doesn’t seem right.
When I stopped eating again as Kayla’s birthday grew near in the spring. When he didn’t sleep for two days and couldn’t stop talking, for no reason anyone could figure out afterwards.
When my parents returned from their cruise, I had added more to the letter I wrote them the night Cassidy and Sarah came to visit, and offered it to them folded up in an envelope, insisting they read it at that moment no matter how tired they were.
Has much changed since then, between the three of us?
Little, but there’s more to my world than my parents now.
More than the memory of the sister I adored.
“Let’s go. I know you wanted to spend some more time writing today, too, so I shouldn’t keep you all to myself.”
We kiss again, this time, more lingeringly, and not in a way that proves Eli’s claim in the least bit.
I smile against his lips and laugh a little.
He’s right, though.
I kept writing for the school newspaper, more than I had before, when my suspension was over, and while I hadn’t been able to make up the work I missed because the suspension policy was inflexible, I did pass all my classes and will be back on the paper in the fall as a junior editor.
And contributing more short stories along with news coverage, like the one I wrote about the firing of the vice principal, who admitted to relationships with several students over the course of his ten year career and is now facing jail time.
Fortunately, Jackie’s name wasn’t released, and whi
le she must have known how Mr. Duncan was found out, she never spoke to me about it.
“Krystal and Bethany are coming over tonight, too, so you might be onto something when it comes to me getting some writing done soon.”
Eli touches the tip of his nose to mine and closes his eyes.
“I don’t think your parents will ever get used to the two of them overtaking your house during sleepovers, will they?”
We both laugh, because it’s true. Krystal and Bethany are forces of nature, and whenever they descend upon my family’s quiet domain, my parents only come out of their room for necessities.
The three of us dance and sing until the middle of the night, and leave dishes emptied of ice cream sundaes in the sink by morning.
I don’t know if it’s my mother or father who cleans up after us, but whoever it is never reprimands me, which is new.
“Will you want to see me tomorrow, Mia? If you aren’t tired of me yet?”
I can’t imagine being tired of Eli, but his teasing words make me think for a moment.
He sits back and stares at me, frowning.
“What is it? Are you tired of me?”
My smile is swift and sure as I shake my head reassuringly.
“I don’t think that’s possible, Eli. I was just thinking, though, and wondering . . .”
Can Kayla see me now?
Can she see I’m wearing a pale lilac t-shirt, a color I’ve come to realize is a favorite?
I’ve stopped trying to be my sister, down to the colors I prefer, and the way I wear my hair.
Eli tugs on a long, thin strand that has escaped the high bun I twisted up on my head earlier this morning.
But I’m wearing my baby bracelet, refashioned into one that fits my thin wrist now, my name in the original beads along with new beads that spell out her name.
She’ll always be close to my heart, but I’ve realized there’s room for others there, too.
Others who have helped to fill the emptiness losing her left inside me.
“Why don’t you wonder back at my house, inside, out of the rain?”
I’ve been silent for so long I didn’t realize he was waiting for me to continue.
“After a detour to A & W for root beer floats?”
