by E. C. Myers
It couldn't have been Nathan anyway. Ephraim hadn't told him he was going to the hospital.
Maybe the stress was finally getting to him. Ephraim turned around and noticed a door near the corner. He wandered over and read the small sign mounted above it: Morgue. That was where they had the body that supposedly looked like Ephraim. He actually reached for the handle before he stopped himself. He wasn't really going in there, was he? He glanced back at the nurse's station. She wasn't paying attention to him anymore.
It was probably locked anyway. But when he nudged it slightly, it opened. It would just take a second to slip through.
No, he wasn't going to sneak into a hospital morgue. As morbidly curious as he was, he couldn't see himself doing something like that. He pulled the door shut and went back to the waiting room. He dropped his mother's purse on the seat beside him with the chips and Twinkies.
Ephraim popped open the soda can, and it fizzed all over his right leg before he could move it to arm's length over the floor. He'd shaken it too much when he ran down the hall.
“Perfect,” he muttered. The dark wet patch on his jeans quickly grew cold and sticky against his skin in the air-conditioned room. At least that would keep him up for a while. He had a long night ahead of him.
They moved Ephraim's mother out of the ICU in the morning to a room on the third floor, uncomfortably close to the Psychiatric Ward in the next wing.
She looked awful, like someone who'd had her stomach pumped the night before. Like someone who had almost died. The curtains were drawn against the morning sunlight, and the fluorescent bulb above her bed didn't improve her features. Her skin was sallow and her lips were dry and cracked. She didn't look like his mother at all. His eyes burned as if he was going to cry, but he was all out of tears.
“Hey, Mom.” Ephraim saw fear on his mother's face when he approached her bedside, but it faded, replaced with a wan smile. He leaned over and hugged her, surprised at how frail she felt. A plastic tube ran from the back of her hand to an IV drip next to a monitor.
“Is that my purse? It looks good on you,” she said.
He tugged the strap from his shoulder and placed the bag on the table tray over her bed.
“Oh, thank God,” she said. She pawed through it. “I'm dying for a cigarette.”
“Don't say that,” Ephraim said. She looked at him sharply. “You can't smoke here anyway.”
He dragged a chair closer and sat, suddenly exhausted. He hadn't gotten any sleep at all.
He wanted to take her hand. He wanted to talk to her, but she wouldn't look at him. He talked anyway.
“Mom. What happened last night?”
She shook her head. “I thought…well, never mind what I thought. I was wrong.” She pulled the plastic bag out of her purse and cradled it in her lap.
“Those aren't mine,” he said. “Mistaken identity.” He took the bag from her gently and laid it on a side table. “I didn't die. Obviously.”
She laughed. “Of course not.”
“But even if I had…God, Mom. How could you do that to yourself?” He squeezed the bed railing. “Suicide, Mom? Really?”
“I'm sorry, Ephraim. I don't know what I was thinking.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You're all I have, honey.”
“It's my fault,” he said. “I should have been home sooner. I was late leaving school. I had no idea you were going through all that.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
“School?” His mother looked around the room, squinting. “What time is it?” He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd asked him what day it was.
Ephraim checked his watch. “Just after seven. In the morning.” He glanced at the broken watch in the plastic bag.
“Then why aren't you at school, young man?”
“Are you kidding? It's the last day. And you're in the hospital.”
“You've never missed a day of school and I don't want you to start now. You shouldn't be here, Ephraim. I don't want you to see me like this.” She wiped away her tears and smiled weakly.
What about all the times he'd found her drunk on the couch in front of the television? All the times he'd plucked a burning cigarette from her hand so that she wouldn't set their apartment on fire?
She got out a tube of lipstick and a small mirror. She examined her reflection then pulled out more makeup.
“I'm staying with you,” he said.
“Go. You can't do anything more for me right now.”
He wished people would stop saying that. Wasn't he doing something just being there?
“You can come back this afternoon,” she said. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“If you're sure…” He stood and took her hand. “I told them it was a mistake, Mom. You mixed up your medications, you were confused and drunk. You didn't mean to do anything.”
“I'll see you later,” she said firmly.
He bent over her, and she pecked him on the cheek.
“Have a good day,” she said.
The last day of school was just one long assembly where they handed out awards and gave drawn-out speeches. Ephraim had never had much school spirit. As soon as it was obvious there wouldn't be news about a local teen dying in an accident, he tuned out the rest of the announcements. He kept falling asleep, and Nathan would jab him in the ribs to wake him up.
When Ephraim wasn't drifting off, his mind wandered. He pictured his mother unconscious in the kitchen. He wondered who had been killed by that bus; he could understand if the administration didn't want to make a statement before the student was identified, but it was strange that none of his classmates were gossiping about it either. Someone must have known the victim, even if he went to another school.
Most of all, he thought about Jena.
Ephraim was probably the only student at Summerside High who was sorry summer vacation was starting, for one reason: Jena Kim. He would miss seeing her every day, watching her at lunch, arranging “coincidental” run-ins at her locker between classes. It would be a challenge finding excuses to visit the library while she was working there without seeming too much like a stalker.
She was actually looking at him. Had she noticed him staring at her? Her short black hair was clipped back over her ears, and she wore her geek-chic red horn-rimmed glasses today. Though she tended toward plain T-shirts and jeans, she had an endless assortment of trendy frames, to the point where Ephraim wondered if she actually needed corrective lenses or just liked the fashion statement. Jena wore her intelligence proudly, while other girls were just trying to fit in.
This blatant individualism would usually draw the wrong kind of attention in high school, but she had such an easygoing personality that it only made her more appealing. Jena always had guys chasing after her, both because of her exotic half-Asian cuteness and for the homework answers she sometimes shared, or possibly because she presented herself as a challenge—she hadn't returned anyone's interest yet, including Ephraim's. Rumors sometimes flew around that Jena only liked girls, but Ephraim was not discouraged. He ignored them, just like the jokes that linked Ephraim and Nathan as a couple because they were together all the time. If there'd been any truth to that, it wasn't something he'd be ashamed of, so the comments weren't all that hurtful. Denying rumors gave them more power.
Jena was smiling now. He flicked his eyes away from her, then back. Still smiling. At him.
Nathan elbowed him hard. “Dude.”
Everyone was looking at Ephraim, smiling. No, they weren't smiling—they were laughing.
“Ephraim Scott!”
He finally heard the principal call his name.
“Crap,” Ephraim said, too loudly. He jumped up from his seat, and the laughter increased. His face hot, he edged his way to the aisle and moved to the front of the auditorium. The steps up to the stage seemed like a mountain, and the walk to the podium took an eternity. At least he didn't trip.
“Congratulations, Mr. Scott,” Principal Crawford said. He handed Ephraim a paper certificat
e that looked like it had been laser printed on fake parchment.
“Uh, thanks.” He shook Crawford's hand. The man's hand was thin and sandpapery, but he had a firm grip. Ephraim turned back to the stairs.
“The other way, son,” Crawford whispered.
“Huh?” Ephraim turned.
Crawford jerked his head over his shoulder, toward the stairs on the other end of the stage.
“Oh. Sorry. Thanks.”
He slunk past the podium while Crawford called another name. Ephraim missed the last step on his way down and lurched without quite falling. A flash went off in the audience, and he lost his sense of direction for a moment. He passed Jena's seat on his way back to his own and smiled at her. She didn't notice.
When Ephraim plopped back down in his seat, Nathan held up his digital camera. “Not smooth. But I got a great shot.” He swiveled the LCD panel on the back out to show Ephraim stumbling forward at the bottom of the steps with a comical expression.
“Thanks,” Ephraim said.
“Congratulations on your award,” Nathan said.
Ephraim read the certificate in his hands: Perfect Attendance. He couldn't believe it—he had outnerded the nerds. Of course, he hadn't gone to school every day because he enjoyed it. He was happy to have any excuse to leave his apartment. He also liked to see Jena. He hadn't even skipped on the unofficial cut day, thinking that she of all people would be in school. She wasn't. She'd gone to Six Flags in Jersey like everyone else.
Jena got a host of awards during the rest of the morning assembly: National Honor Society, Science Scholar, Math Scholar. They probably should have given her a seat up on the stage to save time. Whenever she walked up, she was greeted with thunderous applause, cheers from the Chess Club and newspaper staff, and wolf whistles from the football team.
Ephraim tracked her graceful movements while she walked up to receive an award for most valuable member of the Quiz Bowl. He didn't even know the school had a Quiz Bowl.
“Why don't you just ask her out?” Nathan asked.
“She turns everyone down.”
Nathan's camera flashed, and he showed Ephraim a zoomed-in shot of Jena walking down the stairs, which more than made up for the embarrassing picture of Ephraim tripping.
“She's probably worried that dating will interfere with her studies. I don't get it. She's cute and all, but it's just not cool to obsess over a geek.” Nathan frowned. “Even if she lets you copy her notes.”
Ephraim had copied her notes more than once when he didn't actually need them, just for an excuse to talk to her. Jena had nice handwriting. It had lots of neat loops and circles dotting the i's, one of the only distinctly “girly” things about her.
“Like you know what's cool. Besides, we're geeks,” Ephraim said.
“Yeah, but we're not smart geeks. That's a whole other thing. I mean, she's in Chess Club. Do you really want to date a girl who's smarter than you?”
“Yes.”
“If she's too smart, she'll know better than to go out with you.” Nathan shook his head. “Now, her friends, on the other hand…”
Jena slid back into her seat between Mary and Shelley Morales. They admired Jena's latest award, passing the plaque between them. He wondered if their mother had told them about seeing him at the hospital. He wondered if Jena knew.
“You okay?” Nathan said. “You've been out of it all morning. If I didn't know you, I'd suspect you were stoned.”
Maybe summer vacation wouldn't be so bad. Chances were, no one would find out that his mother had attempted suicide, and even if they did, by September no one would care anymore.
“I'm okay,” Ephraim said. “Just looking forward to getting out of here.”
After the assembly, Ephraim and Nathan ran into Jena and the twins outside the physics classroom. The halls were emptying quickly.
“Hi, Ephraim,” Jena said. The twins simply nodded. Few people could tell the willowy girls apart, so they were jointly called “Mary Shelley” most of the time, which didn't seem to faze them. They practically encouraged it, usually wearing matching outfits the way they had in junior high, though it was more sexy than cutesy now.
“Hey,” Ephraim said. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Congratulations on all your awards, Jena. I think you collected them all.”
“All but one.” She pointed at the rolled-up paper in his hand. “How much you want for it?”
Ephraim grinned.
The twin on Jena's right spoke. “Sorry to hear about your mother, Ephraim.”
“Thanks,” he said, worrying over how much they had been told. Wasn't there some kind of doctor-patient confidentiality?
The one on Jena's left nodded. “Our mother's dropping us at the train station on her way to work. I'm sure you could ride with her to the hospital if you're going back there for visiting hours.”
“Um, yeah. That would be great.” Ephraim still hadn't told Nathan about his mother. His friend was uncharacteristically silent, as if the conversation didn't register. He looked dazed, and his hands were locked tightly around his camera. Ephraim knew what was affecting him: the identical brunettes had the best figures in school, and they weren't shy about flaunting them.
“Where are you guys going?” Ephraim asked.
“Dinner and dancing in the city,” Jena said. “To celebrate.”
“A girls’ night out,” Mary and Shelley said quickly.
“Will your mother be all right?” Jena asked.
“She's fine now.” Ephraim was embarrassed, even as he was pleased at her show of concern. “No big deal.”
“Oh! Before I forget,” Jena said. “I have something for you.”
“You do?” Ephraim's heart started pounding, and he felt something quiver in his gut.
She rummaged in her bag then held out a white plastic card.
His library card.
He closed his hand over it, the hard edges pressing against his palm and fingers. Blood rushed in his ears.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“You left it at the circulation desk the other day. What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Thanks…I didn't know I'd lost it.” He pulled out his wallet and snuck a glance at the one he'd recovered at the hospital. They were identical. He tucked the two of them inside together, then snapped his wallet shut and squeezed it tightly.
“I figured you'd need it, since I see you at the library a lot,” Jena said. “I'll be working there again this summer, so I guess I'll run into you.”
He nodded. Was that an invitation? Did she actually want to see him there or was she just being polite?
“Coming, Ephraim?” said the twin on Jena's right.
“I need to empty out my locker,” he said. “Meet you outside?”
“Don't be long.” The twins spoke in chorus. How did they do that?
“I'll be right out,” he said.
The three girls split around Ephraim and Nathan as they passed, and then smoothly merged back into a row as they walked down the hall. Nathan turned and stared after them as they left, then he joined Ephraim at his locker.
“What was that about Madeline?” Nathan said.
Ephraim didn't know when it had started, but Nathan called Ephraim's mother by her first name. She actually enjoyed it.
“She's in the hospital. Nothing serious.” He couldn't bear to go into the details right now.
“Shit, no wonder you're such a mess. Sorry to hear it. I'll drive you over there. I'd like to see her, too.”
“No no, that's okay. Mrs. Morales is taking me, and I think my mom doesn't want a lot of attention at the moment. Thanks, though.”
“Hey, I bet this'll take your mind off your troubles!” Nathan said. He showed Ephraim a picture of the three girls on his camera. They were cut off just below the shoulders and above their thighs.
“Your framing's off,” Ephraim said.
“No, it isn't.” Nathan grinned and pointed out Mary and Shelley's impressive cleavage in th
eir blue summer dresses. “It's a shame Jena doesn't have much up there, but she isn't bad. Especially when she isn't wearing those frumpy shirts she usually has on.”
Ephraim had to agree. It was nice to see Jena in a skirt. The growth spurt she'd had the summer before their freshman year of high school had distracted Ephraim into almost failing Algebra, the one class they'd shared that first semester. A lot of guys paid more attention to her that year, until she began covering herself up. Now they all wondered what she was hiding.
“She's hot the way she is,” Ephraim said. “How did you sneak that picture anyway?” Ephraim was unable to tear his eyes from it.
“I turned off the shutter sound. But wait, there's more.”
Nathan clicked over to the next picture, a shot of Mary, Shelley, and Jena from behind.
“Pervert,” Ephraim said. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Make sure you e-mail me a copy of that as soon as you get home.”
“I could charge for these!” Nathan leaned his wiry body against a locker and gazed blissfully at the camera screen. His long blond hair fell over his eyes. “Listen, when you get in their car, try to sit between them—”
“I'm not going to cop a feel. Their mother will be in the car.” Not to mention Jena. He wondered if he could sit close to her, though he supposed he'd be forced to ride shotgun.
“That's what makes it extra naughty. They probably won't say anything in front of her. Come on, look at those calves!” Nathan exclaimed. Ephraim rolled his eyes.
When he opened his locker, a piece of paper fluttered out. He bent to retrieve it from the floor.
“‘Make a wish and flip the coin to make it come true,’” he read. It looked like Nathan's handwriting. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tossed it to his friend.
Nathan read it. “Weird. I don't know.”
“That isn't your handwriting?” Ephraim was sure of it.
“I did not leave a note in your locker. That's so elementary school.” Nathan scrunched up his eyes as he looked at it again. “It does look like my handwriting. A little. But I don't know what it's supposed to mean. What coin? It doesn't make any sense.”
