The Institute

by Kayla Howarth

  ***

  “I’m sorry,” I say to Shilah as we pack our belongings into boxes.

  He doesn’t respond. I don’t know if he’s angry at me for what I’ve done, or feels guilty that if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have to move at all.

  We pack in silence. I can’t believe how much stuff we’ve accumulated in the three years we’ve been here.

  It takes a while, and we even skip dinner, but we nearly get the whole spare bedroom boxed up when there’s a knock at the door. My heart sinks into my stomach.

  They’ve come for me.

  The window is my only escape route, but there’s no point climbing out of it. Where would I go?

  I hear Dad open the door and a woman’s voice greeting him. Making my way towards the doorway of the spare room, I eavesdrop. “Hello, Mr. Daniels, I’m Drew Stanley’s mum. Can I come in for a moment?”

  “Please do.”

  As much as Dad hates dealing with people, he’s certainly learnt how to hide that part of him when he needs to.

  “Stay here,” I tell Shilah.

  Walking into the kitchen where Dad has welcomed her in, I notice immediately she isn’t alone. Drew’s here as well. He stands with his hands in his pockets, looking at the dirty kitchen floor. Shouldn’t he still be at the hospital?

  “We just wanted to come by and thank you,” Drew’s mother says to me.

  “Me?”

  “Of course. I’d say saving my son’s life is cause for a bit of gratitude, don’t you think?”

  I cringe. Maybe a long time ago, that would’ve been true.

  “Could you two kids leave us for a moment?” Dad interjects.

  This can’t be good.

  I lead Drew out to the front porch. The silence between us is awkward, and I don’t know how to fill the gaping void. His deep green eyes seem brighter now at night than they were earlier in the sunlight, and they’re preventing me from being able to think clearly.

  I sit on the stoop of the porch, and he sits next to me, a little closer than expected or necessary, but I don’t mind. I try not to let my nerves get the better of me as they have every other time I’ve been near him, but I’m already beginning to fidget.

  “So, are you okay?” he asks.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m not the one who was in a car accident.”

  He shrugs and more awkward silence fills the air between us.

  Say something. Anything. Any words will do. “I’m fine,” I manage to get out.

  Drew looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s Jax …”

  The air leaves my lungs, as if someone’s punched me, and I find it difficult to take in enough air. I knew when I was holding Jax’s hand that his chances of survival were minimal, but hearing the words will make it real. Drew takes my hand but is silent, as if he can’t bring himself to say the words out loud. Not that it matters. I already know what he’s going to say.

  “He didn’t make it, did he,” I say, more a statement than a question.

  “No … he didn’t.”

  Drew makes eye contact with me just as my eyes well up with tears. I quickly avert my gaze and stare down at our hands because I don’t know where else to look.

  “I should’ve done more, we should’ve tried to help him,” I say. The guilt inside me is making me feel sick to my stomach.

  “Allira, there was nothing we could do. Look at me.” Drew takes his finger and places it under my chin, gently lifting my face. I didn’t even realise he knew my name. “There was nothing we could’ve done. You were amazing today, and if there was something that could’ve been done, you would’ve done it. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you were there for me today. If you weren’t … well, I don’t want to even think about what—”

  “Don’t. Don’t think about that,” I interrupt. Our faces are so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.

  I can’t hold in my emotions any longer, and the tears start flowing. Drew moves his head away from mine and wraps his arm around my shoulders. It’s comforting to feel his touch, to have his warmth surround me. I know he’s just doing it to console me, but I hope the feeling will last forever.

  Of course, this is the moment his mother comes out and startles us both. We quickly pull away from each other and stand up. I wipe the tears from my face as she addresses me.

  “Thank you again, Allira. You have no idea how grateful I am that you were there.” She puts her hand on my shoulder when she walks past me, giving me an appreciative smile.

  “So I guess I’ll see you when school starts back,” Drew says, giving me a tight-lipped smile before following his mother down the path that leads to our front gate.

  No, you won’t.

  Dad’s sitting at the dining table when I go back inside.

  “What did she want?” I ask without knowing if I actually want to hear the answer.

  “She knows how much you risked saving her son. I told her you weren’t Defective and—”

  “I’m not!” I interrupt.

  “I know you aren’t, and she doesn’t believe you are either.”

  “She doesn’t?”

  “No, she doesn’t. She wanted to come by and assure us that she won’t say anything to anyone about you. She knows what this town can be like.”

  For a moment, I’m filled with hope. “Does that mean … do we get to stay?”

  “I don’t know about that, Allira. I don’t like that we have to trust these people not to say anything.”

  Shilah finally comes out of hiding. “What’s happening? Are we still packing, or …”

  Dad’s got his analysing face on. His brow is furrowed and his lips are pursed. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he assesses every part of the situation, trying to work out what to do from here. “I guess we can put off moving for a little while, but the first sign of trouble and we’re out of here. It’ll probably work out better this way. Leaving so soon after the accident might have created more unwanted attention. There’s only two weeks left of your summer break. I suggest you both lay low until you have to go back to school.”

  He said “suggest” like we have a choice, but Shilah and I both know it wasn’t a suggestion at all.

  Shilah and I go to walk off before Dad adds, “Don’t worry about unpacking what you’ve already packed tonight. It might be handy to keep all of that stuff boxed up in case we need to leave suddenly. How about you go to your rooms?”

  It’s like I’m seven years old again and being punished for talking about Shilah being Defective a little too loud for my parents’ liking.

  “Dad, why me? I didn’t even do anything wrong,” Shilah pleads as I start walking to my room. His whining makes him sound like he’s five years old, not sixteen. I’m only fifteen months older than him, but maturity-wise, I feel there’s a bigger gap between us.

  There’s no way I’m going to argue my punishment. I know I deserve it. Actually, I think I’m getting off pretty light. I don’t really think I could possibly lay any lower than I already have this summer, though. Today excluded, of course. So I guess that’s it then—my summer is officially over.