Our Broken Pieces

by Sarah White

  A small laugh escapes my lips, and while I know he’s just trying to make me feel better, I don’t fight it because it’s kind of working. “Yellow. I’ve seen yellow.” I feel him smile against my head.

  “Yes, yellow can be romantic. Not brown.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper as I pull away. His head tips to the side as he takes in my puffy wet face. A small frown turns his lips just before he pulls the sleeve of his hoodie down over his hand and raises it up to dry the tears from my cheek. As I watch him through my tear-filled eyes, I wonder why he’s being so nice to me. We barely know each other.

  As if reading my mind he says, “Sorry if that was weird that I grabbed you like that. You seemed upset when you ran past and I figured you’d want some privacy.” I smile weakly at him and lift my shirt at the collar and wipe my own face. I quickly realize my mistake when I see that my white shirt is streaked with black mascara and is see-through in a few spots. Of course today would be the first day I tried to put on a little makeup again.

  When I look back up, Gabe is smiling at me but trying to hide it in case I don’t find it funny. “Here,” he says as he lowers his backpack to the ground and reaches for the bottom of his hoodie. When he begins to lift it over his head, the shirt underneath moves slightly with it and I catch a glimpse of the hard, tan plane of his abs above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. “Take this.” He hands me the warm, dark hoodie so that I can cover my shirt. I let my backpack slip from my shoulders and then pull the soft fabric over my head, breathing in his scent as it moves over my face.

  “Thanks.” I step over to the sinks and take in my image in the mirror. I look terrible. “And thank you for pulling me in here. You must think I’m crazy.”

  “Right, because watching your ex-boyfriend ask your best friend to prom should be a real joy.”

  “You always this nice to girls who cry at school?” I turn around and lean against one of the sinks.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen any other girl who was alone while it happened.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Usually that’s something covered by girl code.”

  “Girl code?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Yes. Girl cries, friends immediately swarm and offer reassuring affirmations that seem to pull her through.” He takes a step closer and lifts a finger, slowly rotating it as if to show my general area. His eyes move from mine long enough to take a quick look around. “You’re missing your swarm.”

  I nod my head in agreement. “My swarm was a little busy watching my nightmare play out in the quad.” He laughs softly and nods his head as well. He moves beside me and turns so he can sit on the edge of the sink. When I see that it doesn’t fall from the wall, I pull myself up too. It’s interesting that taking my weight off my feet also makes my shoulders feel lighter. It probably has more to do with having a friend to share this moment with than gravity.

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing I was there.” He nudges my shoulder with his own.

  “What class am I making you late for?”

  “AP English.”

  “How is it? I love English, but I didn’t want to take on too much. I’m in AP chemistry and AP history.” Hearing he has an AP class makes me happy that we might have more than our therapists’ waiting room in common.

  “It’s cool. I’ve always loved reading, but I hated that in all my English classes the teachers seemed to be bogged down by trying to get the kids who didn’t read the book to participate. In AP, everyone can follow along with the topic and has something to add to the discussion. It’s my only AP class. We can’t all handle two AP classes.” His shoulder nudges mine again as he teases me. I push back against it.

  “Maybe I can’t handle it,” I say with a sigh. “I thought taking AP classes would make it easier to get into a good college, and I’d be able to skip some of the intro level classes next year, but I hadn’t really planned on having to overcome some serious high school drama right when I’m supposed to be studying for the exams.”

  “It’ll be worth it in the end. High school drama stays in high school.”

  “I hope so. I used to think this would be the best part of being here. I was so sure that the end of my senior year was going to be epic. I’d have great grades, go to parties, hang out with my friends, and spend time with my boyfriend. I actually had a little anxiety thinking about how sad I was going to be when prom was over and I’d graduated.” I look into his empathetic eyes. “Now I have anxiety that it won’t be over soon enough.” The school bell rings loud out in the hallway and echoes off the walls around us.

  “I think everyone should be in class now if you want to make an escape.” He slides off the sink and onto his feet. “I’ll walk you.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “I’m not going back to class. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” I wipe my face one more time, clearing away the last of the tears that had fallen on my cheeks.

  “I can get you out the back gate if you want to go home.”

  “Really? That would be amazing. I don’t want you to get in trouble, though.” I slide off the sink and stand facing him.

  “I won’t get in trouble, but it’ll go down as a truancy for you.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t go to class like this. Everyone will know they made me cry.” I turn around to splash some cold water on my face and then use rough brown paper towels to dry it. We put on our backpacks and I consider giving him back his book now, but there is something about knowing I have a reason to sit by him on Tuesday that makes me decide against it.

  He was right, everyone has gone to class by the time we move the trash can, push open the door, and step out into the empty hallway. He stops for a second and pulls the hood up over my head and then grabs my hand. I hadn’t noticed until now that I’ve missed holding hands. I let him pull me toward the back gate as we both scan the quad for teachers. Our school’s pool is open to the public on the weekends when there isn’t a swim meet or polo game, so there is a gate that makes it possible for people to come on campus without going through the main entrance.

  When we reach the combination padlock on the visitors’ gate, he lets go of my hand and picks up the lock. His fingers move quickly, spinning the dial back and forth until the lock clicks open and he can push the gate far enough for me to slip through. Once I’m on the other side he returns the lock and spins the dial. His hands reach up and hang on to the chain link in front of him.

  “I’ll see you Tuesday for our appointments?” His tone makes it sound more like a question than a statement. I’m looking forward to seeing him again.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He smiles and nods his head. I turn around and head for my car, telling myself the sooner I get there, the sooner I can pull the loose fabric of his sweatshirt up to my face again and let his scent wipe away the bad events of today.

  ten

  BOTH OF MY parents work Monday through Friday, which means when I come home during school hours I get the place completely to myself. I toe my shoes off once I’m in my room and drop my backpack to the floor. I should be doing homework since skipping my classes today will mean even more work for me next week, but I need to escape, so I pull my paperback out and throw myself onto my bed.

  I try to concentrate on the words on the page, but when I get to the end of a paragraph I have no idea what I’ve just read. After a few minutes I give up and toss the book down on the floor beside my bed. It’s times like these that I think about calling Elle. I know she would answer because she’s been trying to talk to me since that dreadful morning I discovered her with Brady, but I won’t give her a chance. And that’s why I can’t call her, I remind myself. I wouldn’t be speaking to my friend, I’d be talking to someone who has repeatedly hurt me, who has used the things I told her in the strictest confidence to separate me from the people I thought were my friends, even as she tried to apologize to me. My best option is to stick to my plan of keeping my distance from her, because a conversation with her
could only lead to an epic verbal bashing or the agreement that we would never be friends again. I’m not emotionally strong enough to handle either of those options. I remind myself for the thousandth time that missing someone doesn’t mean they were right for you—it just means it’s hard to watch them go.

  I had worried so much about Brady asking Elle to prom, but the worst part about today wasn’t so much that he asked her, but how he asked her. The Brady I knew would never have made a big show of asking me to prom. In fact one time last summer when Brady and I were hanging out we pulled out an old yearbook and flipped through the pages. Both of us lay on our stomachs on my bed and laughed at all the pictures of the over-the-top invites. It’s completely uncharacteristic of him to put on such a show after being so sure that he would not willingly subject himself to that sort of humiliation even if he knew for sure the girl would accept.

  Whether the over-the-top prom invite was something he thought was a great idea, or Elle convinced him he should do it, I don’t know. But I feel a heavy ball of dread sink low in my stomach as I think about all the ways he’s changed from the person who he used to be. And a small part of me can’t help but wonder if the reason he always said he wouldn’t ask me to prom in some elaborate way was because he just didn’t care enough about me.

  My phone vibrates inside my bag, and I drag myself to the edge of my bed and fish it out of the pouch. Brady’s name slides across the top of the screen and I wonder if it’s possible he could sense that I was thinking about him. I feel my heart race and my hands grow shaky. He hasn’t texted me since the morning I found out about Elle.

  BRADY: I’m sorry about today. I forgot you were in Elle’s building third period.

  My pounding heart takes a minute to stumble on its own rhythm before sputtering to a painful achy throb. Laura would want me to focus on the apology, but my brain keeps screaming that it’s not her building. I’ve just decided that it isn’t worth responding when he sends another text.

  BRADY: Whatever. I just needed you to know I didn’t do it on purpose, for what it’s worth.

  ME: Which part wasn’t on purpose? The part where you asked the girl you were seeing behind my back to a dance you know I have to attend, or the part where you did it in such a way that every one of our friends watched you choose her over me again? I’m just trying to follow along.

  BRADY: Maybe one day you’ll forgive me and stop seeing everything I do as an attack on you.

  ME: And maybe someday you will think about me and what it might be like to have to watch you move on so quickly. She was my best friend. I can’t even run to her to help me through losing you.

  BRADY: We didn’t do it to hurt you. It just happened. She can still be your friend and I can be a friend too.

  ME: Thanks, but I think I’ll be choosing my friends a little more wisely in the future.

  I know he won’t respond, but I stare at my phone for ten minutes before I let the screen go dark. I reach for the zipper of my bag and grab a pen from the smallest front pouch. The paperback beside my bed is still within my reach and I flip through the pages until the worn piece of notebook paper springs free.

  Situation: Brady is sorry I screwed up his epic invitation by being a part of their perfect world.

  Feelings: Angry, hurt, alone. Heartache of epic proportions.

  Unhelpful Thoughts: I’m an intruder on the perfect life he is creating without me.

  Alternative Thoughts: Maybe this breakup gives him uncomfortable feelings too. Not the same as mine, but equally heavy.

  I fold the paper up, tuck it back into my book, and then roll onto my back. I pull the hood of Gabe’s sweatshirt around my head, drawing the strings tight so that only my nose sticks out of the dark fabric. I think about calling my mom, but I know it will only make her worry about me, so I just sit in the silence.

  I think about the retirement home and all the residents that I miss talking to. I feel guilty for canceling my shifts. Then I think about my running shoes in my open closet. I loosen the hood and help it off. I turn my head and look at them, one on its side like I left them weeks ago. I consider going for a run, but can’t seem to muster up any excitement for the idea. Instead I continue to lie on my bed, replaying the prom proposal over and over in my head.

  The rest of the morning passes quietly. Around lunchtime I think for a minute about making a sandwich, but nothing sounds good. It’s not until two o’clock that I finally come out of the warm cocoon of Gabe’s hoodie. Rosie texts me to ask if I’m okay and to see where I’m hiding. I tell her I’m fine and that I left school and came home. I know she’s going to call Mom and tell her because it might appear that this is becoming routine. She’s probably freaking out.

  When my phone rings a few minutes later I already know who it is. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Your sister is worried about you. She said you left school today. This can’t become a habit. What’s going on?” My mom doesn’t sound angry, just concerned. Maybe she’s worried I’ll never get past this.

  “He asked her to prom today.”

  “Oh, Everly, I’m so sorry. That had to sting.” I feel the knot in my throat grow with her words. “Do you need me to come home? I might be able to move a few appointments around.”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll be okay. I see Laura on Tuesday.” I want my mom to be here with me, but I know it won’t be enough. She’s hugged me at least fifty times since Brady broke my heart, but her arms don’t fill the empty space in my chest and I know that my inability to get myself together shouldn’t affect the lives of her patients.

  “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll be home early tonight. We can watch a show after dinner if you’re up to it. Maybe a comedy?”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you.” I don’t tell her I know I won’t be up to it. I’ll want to climb into bed, longing for the few hours my brain can shut down.

  “I love you more.”

  By the time Rosie gets home from school I’ve managed to clean myself up a bit. I don’t put on makeup after I wash my face, but I do brush my hair and smooth some country apple lotion on my neck and chest. I’ve taken off Gabe’s hoodie and folded it so that I can return it Tuesday at our appointments. Rosie peeks into my room and smiles when she sees I’m not a complete disaster.

  “It was lame. I think Shane is going to outdo him when he asks Lizzy.” She pushes open my door and sits next to Gabe’s hoodie on my bed. I watch as she runs her fingers across the black fabric. “Who does this belong to?”

  “A friend.” I unzip my backpack, trying to act nonchalant about her question.

  “Like, a guy friend?” She smiles at me and I can see the curiosity in her eyes. I tilt my head and raise my brows.

  “He’s just a friend, Rosie. Don’t go getting all excited.” I pick up the sweatshirt and hold it to my chest, not wanting her to touch it anymore.

  “Heather said she saw you with some boy during third period. I thought she was crazy.” Her legs are crossed and she’s now leaning back on her hands, kicking her foot up and down at an excited pace.

  “Maybe Heather should worry more about herself than other people. It’s like she’s allergic to minding her own business.” I motion for Rosie to get out of my room. She laughs and jumps to her feet.

  “Fine, but I want all the details about this ‘friend’ so I don’t have to hear them from the girls at practice.” She leaves my room and I follow her. I lean against the doorframe as I watch her walking down the hall.

  “I don’t understand why anyone is talking about me at your practice.”

  “Everly, you have no idea how much those girls envy you. You’re smart and pretty. Once you stop trying to hide from everyone, boys are going to be lining up for a chance to go out with you.”

  “Promise me something then,” I say as I look into her eyes.

  “Anything.”

  “Slap me if I ever think about handing my heart over to a boy again.” I mean it. I need her to be a part of my recovery plan. She can stand guard over m
y heart, since I clearly have been careless with it. She rolls her eyes at my declaration as she steps into her room and shuts the door.

  eleven

  AFTER MY EXCHANGE with Rosie I spend another twenty minutes in my room just staring at the ceiling, but eventually I stop thinking about Brady and Gabe and Elle, and begin thinking about how in the world I am ever going to feel happy again. Brady was a big part of my life and was certainly part of a lot of happy moments, but I never thought of myself as that girl whose whole world revolved around her boyfriend (though I am quickly finding out that a big chunk of mine actually did). Even with Brady I was someone who hung out with friends, was always working on an event for student council, and could spend hours getting lost in the stories the residents of the retirement home told me.

  I roll over and pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the name I want to call. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Angie. It’s Everly.” I hope she can’t tell how nervous I am to be reaching out to her as a friend and not on student council business.

  “I know. I have you saved as a contact.” She giggles softly. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering what you’re doing later. Maybe we could hang out or something? It’s okay if you’re busy.” I want to make sure to build in an excuse for her.

  “Actually, I was just finishing up my homework. Do you want to head over to the mall with me? My mom left me money to buy my shoes for prom. We could grab dinner at the food court.”

  I’m smiling ear to ear, but I tell myself to tone it down when I answer. “That sounds fun. Thanks.” We decide that she will drive and I rush around my room, grabbing my phone and keys before heading out front to wait. I’m a little worried that we won’t have anything to talk about and that there will be long moments of silence when we have nothing to say to each other, but I try not to think about it too much.