Safe, her brain said. You’re safe here.
She never should have agreed to do the meditation, not with everything that was happening. But what was happening? Her thoughts spun to four years ago, when Nonni first started forgetting things—how she told Len she felt like she was going crazy. Did it feel like this?
She took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, just like Dad had learned at the Reiki Training Center downtown, how he’d taught her. She was overreacting, of course. She was fine. Totally fine.
Somewhere in the house, the phone rang. Len took another breath, then another, counting as she waited. Mom or Dad would be in to check on her soon, and everything would feel right again.
She counted higher, slowly, all the way to fifty. The room outside her blanket remained empty.
Len pulled the comforter tighter and told herself that was okay. Besides, her parents were busy. The phone was probably Fauna again, so Mom would be consoling her. And then there was Nonni and the steady stream of medical bills. Dad hadn’t sold a painting in forever, and a nonprofit salary bolstered by occasional commissions only went so far anyway. Her parents didn’t have time to worry about her, and they didn’t need to. She could at least give them that.
She rolled over, puffing the blanket away from her face with a deep exhale. What was it Dad always said? Believe it and it will be. She just needed to think positively. Len scrunched her eyes shut as thoughts whipped through her. None of them were good.
What were those positivity mantras Dad was always going on about? She thought she used to know—there were so many—but the space her memory reached into felt empty. Blank. She curled her body as tightly as she could, suddenly exhausted, and fell asleep without remembering a single one.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAGE
DAD LET SAGE DRIVE THE OLD SUBARU TO SCHOOL the next day, so at least the doctor’s appointment had an upside.
A trio of sophomore girls passed the car as she and Ian climbed out. One of them gave Ian a smile that made Sage remember that to other people he wasn’t just her little brother. Gross. She caught Ian’s self-satisfied expression and knocked his elbow. “Good thing they don’t know what a nerd you are.”
“Me?” Ian snorted. “You like Star Wars!”
Sage feigned indignation. “It’s totally back in pop culture. Everyone likes Star Wars now.”
“Um, no. They don’t.” They stopped as a car pulled into the parking space in front of them. Sage took the opportunity to flex her sore ankle, which had swelled just enough overnight that she’d had to wear sandals.
“It’s the Force, I think,” Sage said, shifting weight back to her foot.
“What is?”
“The whole idea of it. It speaks to me.”
“Because it gives power?” asked Ian.
She looked up at him. “It doesn’t, though. The power is already there, good and bad, in everything. It’s just that some people can control it more than others.” They resumed walking. “It’s not so different from sports, really, the body and mind control. Don’t you think?”
Ian’s eyebrows crinkled. He tousled his hair into perfect messiness and laughed. “I think it’s good you play sports.”
“Oh, shut it.”
At the door, Ian gave her Spock’s Vulcan salute.
“That’s Star Trek, goober!”
“You would know!” He grinned. Then a tidal wave of sophomores overwhelmed them, and he was swept out to sea. Sage made her way to the first floor snack machine, where Kayla waited for her as usual.
“I can’t believe they took away my beloved Reese’s Pieces,” she said. “Look at this stuff. Celery and tree bark. You got an extra quarter?”
Sage added the coin so the machine would release Kayla’s animal crackers, then stuffed six more quarters into the slot. She chose the same granola bar she’d bought for the last two weeks, when the new “healthy” vending machine replaced the candy dispenser. “I don’t know,” Sage said. “I kinda like it.” She bent down to retrieve the bar.
“Ugh. You would.” Kayla’s phone pinged. She leaned against the plexiglass and pulled it out. “Oh no. Did you remember about the physics quiz?”
Sage stood up. “No!”
Kayla groaned. “I’m gonna fail, Sage. You’re good at that stuff, but I haven’t studied, like, at all.”
“We have until after lunch,” Sage said, but her head already pounded. She stuffed the uneaten bar into her bag as they took off for their lockers. Why did her dad have to make that stupid doctor appointment for the only time she might have studied? Why had she taken that extra elective instead of a study hall like a normal person? Why didn’t she keep ibuprofen in her bag?
Two girls cut in front of them, both glued to their phones and completely oblivious that they’d almost been run over. Sage sidestepped them absently.
“One of these days,” Kayla muttered, “I’m gonna bust someone.” They turned a corner just as another girl rounded it, and Sage collided full force with her.
“Oh!” The girl’s fistful of pens scattered to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Sage said. “I didn’t see you.”
The girl froze, her gloved hands clenched stiffly by her sides. She watched two of the pens roll all the way to the opposite wall.
Sage dropped down to gather them. There must have been ten at least, maybe more. Brand new-looking, too. Sage appreciated the importance of being prepared—one of the gazillion things volleyball had taught her—but ten pens seemed excessive.
“Don’t worry about it,” the girl said, her voice slipping out like an accident.
“No, it was my fault.” Sage stood up, both hands full of pens.
“You’re that volleyball player.” Gloved girl tilted her head.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I’m Sage.”
“Are you okay?”
It took Sage a moment to realize the girl must have seen her pass out. Or heard about it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Here are your pens.” She nodded at the floor. “The last one’s by your shoe.”
Gloved girl stared at Sage’s outstretched hand, expressionless. Behind Sage, Kayla gave an awkward cough.
“Right,” said Sage. She hesitated a moment, then collected the final pen.
The girl inched backward. “You can keep them.”
Sage frowned, suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, they’re yours.”
For just a moment, she held the girl’s eyes. Gloved girl dropped her gaze, but not before Sage saw the panic that filled it. Sage glanced at Kayla, who was staring at them the way people watch a car crash.
“Please take these,” Sage said. The warning bell rang above them. Slowly, the girl nodded and accepted the pens.
“Coming through!” A herd of sophomores, some of them Ian’s friends, barreled around them. Gloved girl backed up, a move that seemed as instinctual as Sage’s volleyball sprawl. Mumbling a quick thank-you, she hurried back the way she’d come.
Sage’s eyes followed her. “That was… weird.”
“You think?” said Kayla. “But it’s Len Madder, so…”
“Her last name’s Madder?”
“I know.” Kayla made a face. “An unfortunate coincidence, since she’s legit crazy.”
Sage couldn’t remember ever having seen the girl before. That wasn’t out of the question, considering the size of their school, but it was more than that. Even now, she had trouble remembering what the girl had looked like: baggy sweatshirt… gray maybe? And was her hair brown? Or more blond? Sage frowned. It was like the girl—Len—had been a part of the background until the whole pen incident forced her into visibility. A person had to really try to be that unnoticeable, didn’t she?
They’d reached their lockers. Sage turned back to Kayla. “So you know her?”
“She’s in my study hall. She’s a junior, though.” Kayla spun her lock until it clicked. “She seemed normal enough at first, but trust me, she’s not.”
“Why?”
Kayl
a shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. She just does weird things, you know? Like”—she flicked her hands—“whatever that was.”
Sage looked back to where she’d collided with Len, realizing she’d seen the look in Len’s face before. The first game of the season, Southview faced Weaverville. Not a bad opponent, but Weaverville was plagued with injuries. The third string sub had slunk onto the court during Sage’s serve, and her stance, well, she knew she was out of her league. Way out. And the terrified, weakest-prey look she gave—right before Sage served a top spin line drive that bloodied her nose—was the same look Len had.
Sage bit her thumbnail.
“Hey.” Kayla snapped her fingers in Sage’s face. “You coming or what? We’re gonna be late.”
“Right. Yeah. I’ll meet you there. I, uh, gotta check something.” Sage left Kayla’s protests and backtracked through the empty hallway, not even sure what she was looking for. Then a door clicked and Len exited the bathroom down the hall. She never made eye contact, but the way Len paused—a heartbeat too long—let Sage know she’d seen her. Len bolted down the Fine Arts Hall.
Sage couldn’t help it. She pushed open the bathroom door. The trashcan sat in the far corner. Inside, atop a mountain of paper towels, lay a fistful of brand-new pens.
CHAPTER SIX
LEN
MS. SAFFRON WAS UPLOADING DOROTHEA LANGE IMAGES to the whiteboard when Len slipped into Photography. She couldn’t believe she’d run into that Sage girl again, and what if she noticed the pens? The last thing Len needed was more whispers. More laughs. Another person thinking she was nuts.
She pinched the space between her tired eyes. Please don’t let her see the pens.
“Len.” Ms. Saffron’s voice crumbled her thoughts. “How kind of you to join us.”
A flush fanned Len’s neck. “Sorry.”
Ms. Saffron waved off the apology. “Notebooks out,” she told the class. “We’ve got a lot to cover today.” She opened a PowerPoint document beside the photographs.
“Um, Ms. Saffron?” Len moved closer to her teacher’s desk. “Could I… borrow a pen? Please?”
Ms. Saffron shot her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “I believe you still have one of mine from yesterday,” she said. “And two from last week, if I’m not mistaken.”
The flush crept to Len’s ears. She hated throwing away those pens, and she hated looking like an idiot. But at least now she was safe.
“I’m sorry. I keep losing them.” Eyes peered up from notebooks, but she couldn’t meet any of them. “I really don’t have anything to write with.”
Ms. Saffron sighed and dug out a thick, black pen from the eARTh cup on her desk. “Please,” she said, holding it out, “return it after class.”
Len’s eyes ping-ponged between it and the un-touched writing utensils in the cup. Ms. Saffron shook the pen at her, clearly exasperated.
“Would it be okay if I picked another one?” Len asked. Someone behind her sniggered.
“Beggars really can’t be—” Ms. Saffron met Len’s brown eyes with her own fierce blue ones, then her voice trailed off. Len swallowed. What had her teacher seen that made her stop?
Ms. Saffron gestured to the cup. “Take your pick,” she said, then turned to the rest of the room, business-as-usual. “Let’s talk about documentary photography.”
* * *
Len returned the pen as soon as class ended. Ms. Saffron put a hand on her sleeve.
“Is everything all right, Len?”
“What do you mean?”
A crease split Ms. Saffron’s usually smooth forehead. “You don’t have a quiz or anything next period, do you?”
Len shook her head. Her classmates filed into the hallway.
“Good. I’ll write you a pass.” Ms. Saffron walked to the file cabinet at the back of the room and returned holding a manila folder. Madder, L was written across the tab in small, tight script. “You know,” Ms. Saffron said, “I was really excited to see your name on my roster again this term.” She flipped through the file. “Last semester you demonstrated an immediate affinity for photography. A way of capturing images—of giving them a story, an urgency—that I haven’t seen from a student in a long time.” She held out a print. “This, for instance.”
Len took hold of the image, a naturescape she’d submitted as part of last semester’s final portfolio. Her beloved North Carolina mountains, slightly out of focus and bursting with juicy spring greens, colored the background. Several images of a wayward leaf—she’d been playing with shutter speed—were spliced together in the foreground. Len could almost see Fauna on the edge of the shot, grinning, just out of the camera’s peripheral range.
“Was that taken on the Parkway somewhere?” Ms. Saffron asked.
Len nodded. “One of the trails, yeah. My sister and I used to explore them.”
“And what were you thinking when you shot this?”
Len handed the photo back. “I don’t know.”
Ms. Saffron arched her plucked brows. “The assignment was to express your current mood with an image, so…” When Len didn’t respond, she added, “This is clearly a joyful photograph. It’s airy, light. Free. You were experiencing some kind of happiness, yes?”
Len’s face tightened. Unwelcome memories split the cracks she’d tried to fill:
Fauna, whisper-shrieking the news. Len, her camera jamming against her chest bone as she bounced like an excited child. The stray leaf, swirling dance-like along the windswept trail. Fauna, arms outstretched and twirling, imitating it.
“I guess, yeah,” Len said. “I was happy.” She picked a gray fuzz off her sweatshirt. “I was sort of, I don’t know, playing.”
Ms. Saffron smiled. “Exactly. The shot’s not perfect technically, but the viewer can feel that play—of you and the leaf—when we look at it. And that’s what brings it to life.”
Len tugged her backpack straps snugger as Ms. Saffron pulled out more images—Len’s submissions from the start of the school year.
“And these.” Ms. Saffron spread them on her desk. Another landscape. A black and white of her father painting the energy plant from the bank of the lake, right across from the high school and her house. A silhouette of her mom practicing yoga in Pack Square.
The bell rang for the next block period. Len’s head jerked toward the door.
“It’s my planning period,” Ms. Saffron said. “We won’t be disturbed.” She tapped the photos. “Even though they’re all different types of pictures, all of these exhibit the same kind of energy.” Her hand waved, like it could pull the right words from the air. “Almost an exuberance.”
Len’s throat tightened.
“It strikes me,” Ms. Saffron continued, “that most of the photos you turned in last month, just like the ones you took last semester, they’re all outside.” She spread more pictures—Len’s most recent assignments on shadow and texture—on the desk.
“Your current work, however…” Ms. Saffron half-sat on the edge of her desk, her black slacks hitching up, revealing a silver anklet. “What were you thinking as you shot each of these? What made you take them all indoors?”
Anger caught Len off guard. “You tell us to vary our scenes,” she said stiffly.
Ms. Saffron frowned. “You never got back to me. Are your plans the same as last semester? Do you still want to compete for the Melford Scholarship?”
Len focused on the image nearest her, a close-up of a battered, ornate mantel she’d found at her favorite thrift shop downtown. The Melford dream seemed so far away now. So ridiculously unattainable.
“I know it can be difficult to imagine,” Ms. Saffron pressed, “being the first one in your family to attend college—”
“Fauna went to cooking school,” Len blurted, though she didn’t know why. It had been the perfect choice for her, pairing beautifully with Diane’s finance degree to ensure their startup restaurant’s success. But it wasn’t technically a “college” college. Even Fauna said so.
&
nbsp; Ms. Saffron crossed her legs. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question. Do you—”
“Yes,” said Len. For a tiny breath, she felt like old Len. Len from four months ago. Len from before. “I want the scholarship.” Then she remembered the swollen front door. The pile of bills near the toaster. The house—once her refuge—that now squeezed her insufferably every time she stepped inside it.
There was only one way away from all that.
“I need it,” she whispered.
Something else nudged the side of her mind, like the whispers of a dream wanting remembering. Len wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew—she knew—she couldn’t let it pierce her consciousness. Something terrible would happen. She put her hands to her temples.
Ms. Saffron’s clipped, mango-colored nails clicked against the desktop. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Len? Because I know you could win one of those scholarships. You’ve got the talent. But it’s extremely competitive, and the portfolio required is extensive. It can’t be completed in one semester.” She pursed her lips. “And, well, I hate to say this, but it’s my job, if we’re going to prepare you to have a shot. Lately”—she waved her hand over the photographs—“your works feels… quite honestly, it feels sterile.”
Len had never been punched before, but she suspected it might feel a lot like the way Ms. Saffron’s words tucked into her. She might be losing hold on the other aspects of her life, but her photography—she thought she’d managed to protect that part of herself. The best part.
“Len,” Ms. Saffron said. “Is something going on?”
“No.” Len stood as tall as her five-foot-six-inch frame allowed, determined not to let her last thread of dignity unravel. “I’ll do better.”
“You’re very talented,” Ms. Saffron repeated, but Len didn’t need pity praise.
Len glanced at the clock. “I should get to class.”
“Right.” Ms. Saffron sighed. “I’ll get your pass.” She slid the photographs back into the file and handed Len a list of handwritten photo prompts. “Try these,” she said. “See if they help unblock some of your creative energy.” She scribbled out a hall pass, but before handing it over, added, “You know there’s a counselor here.”
The Edge of Anything Page 3
