He interrupts, pointing at the array of paintings. “Which one do you want to pass in?”
I glance back. “None of them.”
“I can’t give you a grade if you do not give me one.”
I don’t answer. I’ll take the fail, because right now I feel like I’m falling again and the only safe place to land is in my bed.
I toss a pill in my mouth, hoping to fade away. Too many of Shale’s words jumble and repeat in my thoughts. I can’t escape the sharp smell of turpentine piercing my nose. My breath is shallow as I curl into a ball and then stretch out and then toss onto my back. I want away, away, away, but all I can do is stay, burdened by pills and words and gravity.
I have no idea how much time has passed, when, near the foot of my bed, Sorel stuffs clothing into my backpack.
“What are you doing?” I ask. My tongue is thick.
“Breaking you outta here. Graduation. Tomorrow. Yeehaw!”
“But my uncle.” I roll onto my side.
“Not to worry, been taken care of. I got their address from Connie and sent them a sparkly little graduation party invitation with flowers on it.”
“And?”
“It had the RSVP info, and your aunt, well, she’s got something up her ass, but after some sweet schoolgirl charm, she consented to have you go to the weekend fiesta at my family’s lake house in the mountains, then return to my parents’ house in Virginia for the remainder of the week, until you go to summer school. That’s option one anyway.”
I raise my eyebrows. The plan has my attention. I admire her moxie. I sit up. “There’s another option?” I ask, unused to choices as of late.
“Two, actually,” she says mischievously.
“They are?”
“You could go back to their place and hang with what sounds like the tightest couple of people on the planet, and that’s saying something. Wait until you meet my parents. Or—” She pauses for dramatic effect. “You can remember me always as your nearest and dearest friend and go stay with Grant and his brother for the rest of the week in New York City. But, of course, no one needs to know that.”
“Sorel, I don’t understand, how did—? What did—” But I can’t say any more; my eyes mist, and my lips tremble.
“Don’t cry, PJ. Was it the wrong thing to do?” Sorel asks with an uncharacteristic gentleness in her voice.
I cover my face.
“PJ, I can call them back, if—” She interrupts herself. “Did something happen between you and Grant? I just thought it would be fun after everything you’ve been through.”
I sweep my arms around her. I cry into what looks like the beginning of dreadlocks in her raven-dark hair. She hugs me stiffly in return, as if she isn’t used to the exchange of affection, from me anyway.
“Sorel,” I say between sobs, “that’s the nicest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
She looks taken aback. “Really? You’re that easy? A phone call and a fuck and you’re driven to tears,” she says brashly.
“Really.” I swallow hard and wipe my eyes. “I’ve been going it alone for most of my life. I mean like alone alone. No sweetness, y’know?”
“Yeah, well, money isn’t always good company either.”
“Sappiness aside, that was really nice of you, and yeah, they suck,” I say, referring to my aunt and uncle.
“No more sulking. I mean, mope if you really want to, but after I snag that diploma tomorrow, you and I are on our way to freedom.” She cheers. “But get packing, because the Volvo doesn’t wait for late arrivals. Oh, but first you’ll need to endure lunch with my parents,” she says sardonically.
A sliver of hope, borne on the kindness of a friend, creeps into the muddy, darkened corners of my mind.
After Sorel leaves, I try to pull myself fully out of the depths of mental muck. I idly fold my clothing and pack up the few incidental items I’ve accumulated. I reach up to the shelf in my closet for the cardboard box and return my magazine collection, trinkets, and the stuffed bear. I roll up the Shrapnels poster and tuck Frida away.
When the sun takes its leave for the day, I wander down to the common room and find Charmindy gathered with a bunch of other girls from the dorm; they’re talking over a movie and eating popcorn. The room quiets when I enter. Charmindy brightens. “Want some popcorn?” She holds out the bowl.
I can almost hear the boos and feel the rotten tomatoes sailing my way from the audience. But no one says anything, which is almost worse. Then I catch a few flickering smiles and not the insulting, surly kind.
My lips turn up. “Thanks,” I say, belatedly answering Charmindy. I take a handful of the popcorn and settle on the arm of one of the couches.
Along with most of the other girls, I wear flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but our similarities end there. They all seem comfortable with one another, swapping stories and laughter like they belong. Via Charmindy, I have a visa to their world, but I feel like I’ll never be a citizen.
On one level, I connect with Sorel, Charmindy on another, the kids from back in the city too, and then Grant, wonderful Grant. Even if he doesn’t understand me, it’s like he accepts me without question. That’s rare and maybe special. Part of me wants a place in this room full of normal girls, with their braids and lip gloss. Molly talks about how much she loves Charmindy’s thick, lush hair, while Rhodesia bubbles with delight about a boy.
The untamed side of me, the one raised by wolves, regards their chatter as so trivial I almost feel embarrassed for them.
Despite this, Viv Brooks is the best place I’ve ever lived, with its reliable electricity and warm running water. It’s safe and clean. The people are mostly kind, except Terran and her cohorts. She sits across the room, pretentious and glaring, but she’ll graduate tomorrow. It isn’t likely I’ll ever see her again. I take in the pendant in the shape of a star around her neck, glittering in the lambent light of the TV screen. The necklace she’d claimed had gone missing. I suppose lost things have a way of turning up.
I slide onto the couch I’ve been perched on and help myself to another handful of popcorn. I half listen to the conversation, half watch the movie, and at least from the outside, it might look like I belong.
Later, I forgo a pill, but sleep proves elusive. My mind repeatedly crash-lands on memories. The kernels of popcorn roll and burst in my otherwise empty stomach. The ridges of my hips press into the mattress beneath me. I recall my mother’s near-skeletal body, bone thin and skin sagging.
I hear a whisper; maybe it’s my heart. I belong with me. I almost instantly forget it, but like a seed planted in fertile earth, those words dig down, preparing the ground to help me reclaim my mind, heart, and body. What little I have amounts to those three things, and they are mine and mine alone.
Chapter 31
The sun streams in, warming me, and I recall my turbulent night: the jostle of stale thoughts, the currents of uncertainty, and the velocity of time moving me forward when I haven’t let go, creating drag.
After a shower, I pull on a pair of ruby-striped leggings, a belted minidress, and boots, along with my denim jacket, an appropriate-enough outfit for graduation day. I swipe on my Diva red lipstick and blink under my curtain of bangs and brows, suddenly afraid of the girl I see in the mirror.
I step out into the morning sun. Crystalline fragments of light sprinkle the dewy leaves of the trees like jewels. The new day brings a semi-clear mind. Or maybe it’s the lack of a pill coursing through my system that’s untangled my thoughts. I’ll go to the dining hall. I’ll eat breakfast. Maybe I’ll even interact with humanity. Simple. Straightforward.
I settle into a corner table with a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, and a coffee. As I take a sip, I watch parents and students, grandparents, and siblings wander in and out of the dining hall, eating omelets made-to-order, homemade coffee cake, pancakes, and waffle
s. The syrupy smell invites a kind of nostalgia I’ve never had before.
Grant saunters through the wooden double doors. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him properly. Of course, there’s the back of his head in math, but otherwise I’ve steered clear, afraid of what he’ll see if he gazes too long at me. Since the news of my mother, I haven’t looked much beyond the sidewalk, books, and homework, or my internal longings.
He towers several inches taller than most of the people in the room, but he hides behind his long hair. He wears jeans and a slate-colored sweatshirt and carries a book. I watch him dispense cereal, select a banana out of the basket, and pour himself a cup of coffee.
He subtly scans the dining hall, not scowling but not smiling either. When his eyes find me, they sparkle, and he quickly strides in my direction.
Just a few feet away, his sad smile slides across his face as if I’m a mirage that might vanish if he comes any closer. It’s the same smile from the night we collapsed in the snow, our laughter whirling in the wind.
“Can I sit here?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, taking another sip of coffee.
“Good to see you,” he says as he settles in, confident now that I’m real.
“You too.”
“Ready for summer?” he asks.
“I guess so. You?”
“Back to Scotland for a couple of months, but first I’m going to spend a week in New York City with my brother. Maybe we could hang out while I’m there.”
Sorel hasn’t told him her plans. What if it doesn’t work out? Where will I stay? But what if it does work out? My hands start to sweat next to the warmth of the coffee cup. Maybe she saved it as a surprise. He watches me, expectantly.
“That’d be great. I’ll be at summer school there, so yeah.” My lips feel like turning up at the corners.
Grant and I easily slip in and out of conversation. We exchange measured shyness, as though we’re meeting for the first time all over again. I finish my coffee and set the mug on the tray. My eyes linger on him. He hasn’t shaved in a while, the scruff coming in, just as I noticed when we left Montreal. His hand drums softly on the table. I recall those fingers trailing my shoulder, my neck, my cheek. I crave him and his touch.
“Sticking around to watch Sorel in her cap and gown?” he asks, looking up between bites, innocently unaware of my thoughts.
“I am.” I look up, and there she is, wearing her usual uniform, a tatty combination of a black skirt, fishnet tights, and a shirt sticking out from beneath a snug sweater. “Speak of the devil,” I say.
She flashes a mock look of anger at my comment. Pepper gets her breakfast like her own personal waiter. “I’m your angel, remember,” she says, looking at me meaningfully, then at Grant. “So kids, after I tear off down the aisle with my diploma, we’re going to have a fancy-shmancy lunch with my lovely and pleasant parents. You’ll have to be on your best behavior. Easy on the swears, and no mention of parties, piracy, or any other high seas adventures. You catch?”
Grant raises his eyebrows, perhaps realizing we’ll be sharing another meal together later.
Then Sorel says, “Kidding. I don’t care what the frick you do.” Her voice is louder than the polite dining hall chatter surrounding us. Pepper places a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast in front of Sorel. “We are going to have one kick-ass weekend,” she declares as she jabs a slippery sausage with her fork.
I sit between Grant and Pepper on the bleachers relegated for students, while the parents and families sit in chairs on the lawn behind the graduating class. Amid cheering and clapping, my awareness pulls me to the warmth of Grant’s leg leaning absently against mine. How did I let all those months slip away from me?
Grant still must like me; Sorel wouldn’t have arranged the party otherwise, but worry creases my forehead. It’s been months since we’ve had a meaningful conversation, since I’ve done more than simply exist. Maybe he doesn’t want to be friends or talk. Maybe he just wants to . . . I’d settle for that too. But I wouldn’t blame him; I don’t always want to be friends with myself.
After Sorel makes a triumphant bound across the stage, doubt continues to niggle at me. When we return to the lawn a few goldenrod graduation programs scatter on the grass, lonely and abandoned. An abundance of hugging, crying, and shoulder slapping occupies the groups and pairs around me. I scan the crowd for Sorel to congratulate her, but Grant catches my attention. He’s talking to a girl named Suzy from my Spanish class. I can’t see his expression, but she grins flirtatiously. I didn’t know they knew each other, but then again, I haven’t noticed much all spring. She laughs at something he says. A lump forms in my throat. Sorel said Grant used to hang around with a lot of girls; maybe Suzy was one of them.
I take a risk and slip my arm around Grant’s back, grasping his side beneath my fingers. I could melt there, against him. I count the heartbeats hammering in my chest.
“Hey,” he says like something he’d lost finally found its way back to him. He slides his arm over my shoulder. His smile is irrepressible.
I tilt my head up and flash him a question in the form of a smile, the first in a while. The world generously offers us a moment that is entirely our own. My surroundings fade away. Suzy’s bouncy voice quiets, and it’s just the two of us. His eyes are as blue as the sky and burn away every doubt, fear, and concern I’ve ever had in my life. It lasts mere seconds, but my heart records it forever.
Suzy clears her throat and flips her hair, reminding us she’s there.
Sounds, smells, and activity return me to the sweeping field at Laurel Hill and this glorious day.
She looks impatiently at Grant. “So, will you think about it? We’ll be there all weekend.” Her gum snaps and pops.
“Uh,” he mumbles, then turns back to me, his eyes twinkling like he’s entranced.
“Have you seen Sorel?” I ask.
He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say that he’s seen me.
Suzy studies her manicure. She couldn’t have known we were together, because up until that point, neither did I. She couldn’t have known that the gesture, with my arm across Grant’s back, my hip against his, and the smiles we exchanged act like adhesive. Grant had been waiting for me all this time, patiently, diligently, and wordlessly.
Chapter 32
Sorel honks for me outside Viv Brooks. Charmindy left the day before. We talked about sharing a room together senior year. I leave my suitcase and boxes in a neat pile next to hers in the center of the empty room, labeled with my name for storage. I close the door behind me.
Amped, Sorel bobs her head to a punk song.
I slide into the backseat next to Grant.
Sorel shouts, “Good riddance, Laurel Hill,” followed by a cackle, and cranks the stereo higher.
We cruise for about a half hour before pulling into the parking lot of a white colonial building, the restaurant where we’ll meet her parents. Flags and flowers decorate the front porch.
“The fun gets paused here, folks.” Sorel becomes subdued, fussing with her lipstick and hair in the visor mirror.
Inside, the classical music playing in the background contrasts with the punk anthem I have stuck in my head. The four of us look out of place, but somehow I feel like I belong with this pod of misfits, Grant with his long hair, Pepper with his piercings, and Sorel with her boot-kicking attitude.
Sorel introduces us to Blake and Sheila.
“Mr. and Mrs. Randall,” her father corrects.
“Blake and Sheila,” she says firmly, with a thin, insincere smile.
I can’t imagine how she got the name Sorel. Mrs. Randall, a delicate woman, wears a taupe suit with matching stockings and pumps. Mr. Randall, also in a suit and tie, which won’t stay put over his paunch, has thinning hair. The Randalls are bland, beige, soggy breakfast cereal. Never mind her name; how did Sorel come from this pair?
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The meal, fraught with tension and oblique animosity, resembles the many meals I’ve shared with any given combination of the Jaegers. No stranger to trying to make things as swift and painless as possible, I sacrifice myself as a buffer, making light comments and asking Mr. and Mrs. Randall friendly and polite questions. Not wanting to endure the discomfort any longer than necessary, in no time we’re back in the Volvo. Quickest lunch, ever.
“Your parents are such stiffs,” Pepper remarks.
“Tell me about it. But that is the second to last time I’ll need to interact with Blake and Sheila,” she says with a smile marked by scorn. “Just a couple of days back at their house, packing up, and then we hit the road.”
“You’re going cross-country with Sorel, Pepper?” I ask.
He grins. “Just me and Sweet Potato on the open road.”
Sorel shoots him a look. Grant stifles a laugh.
“While we’re on the topic of summer plans,” she says over her shoulder, “Grant, are you excited about a week in New York City with Gavin?”
“Totally. I haven’t seen my brother in ages. It’ll be nice before I have to go deal with my father.”
“Would you like company?” she asks.
Grant looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“PJ was supposed to head out west with me, but Pooky Pooky got permission from Mommy and Daddy to come with, and I think she’s heard enough of the cutesy-wootsy, so now she’s all on her wee lonesome.” Pepper’s ears are fuchsia, and Sorel plows on. “What would you think if she stayed with you and Gavin?”
Grant wears that same sad smile, like maybe I’ll say no. “I mean, yeah, would you want to?” he asks.
I edge closer to him in my seat. I tell myself not to be afraid. “I’d love to.” Now I’m pink.
I hear him exhale. “I think I should ask Gav—wait, Sorel, how did you know my brother’s name?”
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