“My dad yells at my mom.” Grover’s words make me freeze. His eyes stay closed. “She’s tried to divorce him five times, but she can never follow through. Last year, he was arrested for public indecency. The cops found him riding his bike around town without any pants on. And the year before that he tried to kill himself. I found him passed out on the bathroom floor.”
“Grover,” I start to say.
“And I’m scared I’ll be just like him. That no matter how hard I look, I’ll always be lost.” He inhales and pushes more words out. “I’m scared that waiting to die will be my only way of living.”
“What do you need from me?” I ask.
The second I say it I know I’ve found the right question.
“Remind me that I’m not him,” Grover says.
I rub my fingers together until they’re coated in Vaseline, like thick water that won’t come off. My heart pounds in my chest as I move Grover’s hair from his forehead with my other hand. When my skin connects with his, shivers run across my arms. I’m electric when I touch him and terrified at the same time. Like I’m breaking open over and over again.
But so is he.
We’re breaking open with life.
I feel it.
And Grover needs to feel it, too.
I glance around the room to see if anyone is looking at us, but no one is. I take my time rubbing circles around his forehead even though my cheeks are burning and my fingers tremble. I can’t rush this.
The room is so quiet. Grover is so quiet.
I listen to the sound of his breathing.
A whisper in. A whoosh out. Whisper. Whoosh. Whisper. Whoosh.
I move from Grover’s forehead to his cheeks. Breathing doesn’t always sound this way. Breathing doesn’t always sound so natural.
My fingers stroke the bridge of his nose.
Sometimes the only way to breathe is through a machine.
My throat closes tight, but Grover says nothing. He just breathes and he breathes. So I do the same.
For a moment, I pull away. I shake my hands out at my sides and feel the air between my fingers.
Again, I feel.
“Are you okay?” Grover finally speaks, his eyes still closed.
I didn’t breathe before I got here. That’s why my dad cried. That’s why I’m here.
“Yes,” I say.
I go back to him—to his face and his skin and to the shape of him. I circle my finger over his eyebrows and around the soft spot right under his bottom eyelashes. My fingertips travel down the side of his face to his jaw. They stop there.
His chest rises.
Grover is not his dad. He is alive.
I lean in.
His chest falls.
I lean in closer.
His chest rises.
My hand presses against his cheek now, and still he doesn’t open his eyes.
His chest falls.
I lean in so that my lips are inches away from his.
Grover breathes in.
I close my eyes.
He exhales.
I feel his breath on my mouth.
I feel.
I lick my lips and taste the air that’s been inside of Grover.
Beautiful breath.
“You are not your dad,” I say. I place my hand on Grover’s chest. When it lands there, he shudders. For just a moment, he doesn’t move. I don’t move. I feel his heart beat through the soft cotton of his shirt. And, again, he takes a breath. In and out. In and out. He repeats the simplest—the most instinctual—act of living. Over and over.
He is alive.
The moment I think my hand has stayed too long on him, that if I don’t move now I might never let go, Grover puts his hand on top of mine. His voice is soft, nearly a whisper. “I’m so glad you’re real.”
“And you’re alive,” I whisper back.
Slowly, he opens his eyes.
“Remind me to write a thank-you note to the makers of Vaseline. Signed every teenage boy.”
CHAPTER 21
Dear Mom and Dad,
Have you ever had a Charleston Chew? I’m not sure why they’re named Charleston Chew. Maybe they were created in South Carolina? Or the person who invented them was named Charleston, which would be a really weird name, but who am I to judge? My name is Zander.
By the way, why is my name Zander? Did you think I was going to be a boy? You should know Zander isn’t really a unisex name. Did you try to make up for it when you picked Molly’s name? Hers is so girly.
Did you notice what I did right there? Hers is so girly. Present tense. See. Molly can still be present tense even though she’s dead. “Molly is dead” is present tense. And you spent so many years worrying about her being past tense.
The only issue with Charleston Chews is that the chocolate sticks to your teeth and gets caught in the crevasses. Please make me a dentist appointment for when I get home.
Z
We stand around a lit campfire as Kerry leads us in our fifth James Taylor song for the evening and Hayes plays the guitar. “You’ve Got a Friend” has never sounded worse.
Cassie sits next to me and whispers, “So you’re in, right?”
I nod. As if I could ever be out. I can’t leave her now and I don’t want to.
When the sing-along is over and we’ve abused James Taylor’s entire collection of sappy ballads, Kerry gathers the entire camp around him.
“Tonight is Black Out Night. Every light at camp will be turned off. The fire extinguished. Every sound silent. There will be no talking.”
Hayes and a junior counselor named Shiloh dump a pile of sand on top of the lit bonfire, and it sizzles to nothing.
“The only guides you will have as we find our way home are the stars in the sky and the light in your soul. But that’s okay. Trust yourself. You may be lost, but trust that you know where you’re going. Trust that you can find yourself even in the darkness.”
I look up at the sky and then at Cassie in the dark. She gags herself.
“The counselors will lead you blindfolded to the fence that lines the property of camp. It is your job to find your way back to us.” Campers start looking from one person to the next. Even I get a bit nervous. I’ve seen a good portion of camp, but nowhere near all of it. The property is expansive. Cassie, on the other hand, just yawns exaggeratedly. “Don’t worry,” Kerry says through the tension. “Each of you will be given a whistle. If you fear you’re lost, blow the whistle and a counselor will come and find you. You have one hour to make it back. Then the lights will come back on, and we will meet in the Circle of Hope. Your reward for completing the task?” Kerry smiles. “S’mores.”
“Some reward,” Cassie whispers. “A fat-sicle made out of marshmallow. Why doesn’t Kerry just give us diabetes?”
The counselors line us up single file, handing out whistles, and blindfolding each camper, placing our hands on the person in front of us. When the entire camp is ready, Kerry says, “We pray to Saint Anthony that the lost be found. That the soul be free. That life be everlasting.”
And we start walking.
I hold on tight to Cassie in front of me. She walks at a steady pace. At one point the line slows down and I run into her back. Her hair smells like the lake. I saw her practicing her kicking today when I left arts and crafts. She took off her life jacket to float on her own in the red zone and a junior counselor blew a loud whistle and made her put it back on. Cassie looked annoyed, but I could see satisfaction on her face.
I smell her hair again as I step behind her.
“When they break us up, just stay put. I’ll find you,” Cassie whispers to me in the dark.
My mom would have a stroke if she knew I was out in the woods alone with no way of getting back. And didn’t Madison say there are bears here? I grip tighter on Cassie’s shoulders.
“Relax, Z.”
The line comes to a stop and someone detaches my hands from Cassie’s shoulders. For a moment, I stand in the dark like a buoy
out at sea just waiting for a wave to hit it and make it move. When I’m about to take off my blindfold, someone grabs my hands and leads me away.
“I’ve got you, Zander,” Madison’s voice is in my ear. She places my hand on something cold. “Count back from one hundred and then remove your blindfold.”
I hear footsteps backing away from me and then it’s quiet. I start counting in my head, but my hand stays put. I don’t let go of what I’m touching. I used to like disappearing into my head, but now with every number my heart pulses harder. I couldn’t disappear if I wanted to. I’d miss living too much.
When I get to one, I rip the blindfold off. I’m standing at the fence that lines Camp Padua—the fence that separates the world and me. The air is silent. I spin in a circle looking for anyone, but all I see are trees and all I smell is pine. I miss Cassie’s hair.
But she said she’d find me.
I run my hand along the cold metal boundary. Everything I left is on the other side—people and stores and school and Molly’s empty room. But what I want is Cassie.
An empty feeling comes over me. I don’t want to go to the other side of the fence. Madison is right. I’m not lost here at camp. But out there . . . I step away from the boundary.
My eyes search for Cassie in the darkness. When something buzzes in my ear, I don’t bother swatting it away. It will be back. They always come back. I’m even used to the mosquitoes now. I’ll miss them when I’m home. I’ll miss so much.
Cassie comes out of the darkness then, like a light sent to save me from disappearing down a black hole.
“Come on.” She grins at me. “We need to get down to the lake.”
The farther away from the fence we get, the better I feel. We walk quietly for a while. I just listen to the familiar sounds of camp.
“How did you know this was going to happen?” I ask.
“It happens every year,” Cassie says.
“How many years have you been coming here?”
Cassie shrugs and looks off, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know. Too many.”
“Well, how did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t. I just knew I’d find you eventually.”
“I’m glad you did,” I say.
Cassie makes a face like my compliment is more like a torture device. I mimic it back at her.
The equipment shed on the beach is closed, but not locked. Cassie pulls the doors open to reveal Grover and Bek sitting on the floor in complete darkness.
“Sorry to interrupt, boys.” Cassie walks in and pulls on the dangling string that turns on the shed’s dull light.
“Bek and I were just playing the silent game,” Grover says.
“You lose.” Bek points at Grover.
“I can’t stay silent any longer. It’s too difficult to hold things in. Don’t you think, Zander?” Grover grabs my hand and pulls me down next to him.
“We don’t have time for one of your weird, psychological conversations where everything means something else, Cleve.” Cassie closes the shed doors and begins to dig around the equipment.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes,” the whole group says in unison.
Grover sits back, looking slightly deflated. His hand is inches from mine. Subtly, I move over until the tips of our fingers are touching and his smile comes back.
Cassie pulls the duffel bag out from behind the life jackets, her face beaming. We all sit in a small circle staring at her, like she just found gold. Or drugs. Or a secret stash of beer.
“Jackpot,” she says, unzipping the bag. She places it down in the center of the circle. My stomach does flips as we all lean in to see what’s in the bag.
Uncontrollable giggles erupt out of me as I reach into the bag and pull a piece of its contents free.
“Candy?” I snicker like a little kid. “You stole candy?”
“Yeah, so what?” Cassie says. “The camp nurse is orca fat, like she needs any more candy. I was doing her a favor by stealing her stash.”
“I thought it was pills or booze, but candy? It’s just so . . .”
“So what?”
“So . . . innocent.”
I get up and hug Cassie. She pushes me back.
“Jesus, Z, calm down.”
“I’m just so relieved.” I sit back down next to Grover.
“Relieved that I’m not crazy?”
“Oh no,” I say unwrapping a pack of Skittles. “You’re crazy. You’re just not as crazy as I thought.”
Cassie grabs a box of Nerds. “Thanks, Z.”
We sit, eating the candy out of Cassie’s duffel bag, all of us quiet for a while. Bek downs two chocolate bars in record time. Cassie grimaces at him, and he flashes her a chocolate-coated-teeth smile. Grover laughs as he pops M&M’S in his mouth one at a time.
I move from Skittles to chocolate to Airheads. There’s so much candy. It’s like Halloween in summer. It sticks in my teeth and on the roof of my mouth. The sugar hits my system like adrenaline bombs. I feel giddy and high, but an innocent high, like riding a bike too fast down a hill. I know I might crash, but the wind on my face makes me feel invincible. It’s like I’m making up for every time my mom served me a fruit smoothie with kale instead of ice cream. She used to say that fruit tastes better than artificial sugar anyway. That’s total bullshit. Artificial sweeteners are amazing.
“Why do parents lie to us?” I say with a mouthful of unnatural-blue Airheads.
“To protect us I think,” Grover says.
“From what?” I ask.
“Life. I guess,” he says.
“But if we’re protected from our own lives then are we really living?”
“You sound like Grover, Z.” Cassie rolls her eyes.
“I mean it.” I sit up straight. My head spins a little bit, the candy high taking over. “I don’t want to be protected anymore. If I want to eat high-fructose corn syrup, I want to eat it.”
“Say it, sister.” Bek gives me a fist pump with his chubby hand.
“Just prepare to get fat.” Cassie shakes her head.
“At least it would be my choice to get fat. My parents never ask me anything. I mean, I take French because my dad told me I had to take it.” My hands start to shake at my side. Like the sugar has overloaded my system, I start talking without thinking. “They didn’t ask me how I felt about Molly either. They didn’t ask if I wanted my practically dead sister living in my house for six years. Six years! They just moved her down the hallway from me and made me love her. They made me love her. But my parents were lying. They knew she was dead the whole time. They knew it!”
“Zander.” Grover grabs one of my shaking hands, forcing my eyes to come into focus. Bek and Cassie stare at me. My chin falls to my chest and, again, I let go.
“She choked on an apple,” I say. “Molly choked on an apple when she was two.” I let the words I’ve said sit around me. “Our neighbor down the street used to watch Molly when my mom and dad were at work and I was at school. Mrs. Moore was her name. She was really nice. Every day when my mom and I picked Molly up, she’d give me a sucker. Those little ones that come in all different flavors like root beer and coconut that cashiers at the grocery store give out to kids.” I take a breath, practically able to taste one. “Mrs. Moore was in the kitchen doing the dishes or something after Molly had eaten lunch and Molly was in the living room playing. When Mrs. Moore went to check on her she found Molly passed out on the floor, a slice of apple in her hand. Molly had suffocated. When they got to the hospital, she was put on life support. There were so many machines and sounds and she was just lying there like she might wake up. Like she was asleep.”
I suck in a breath and hold it inside of me. Beautiful, real breath. Then I exhale the rest out.
“My parents couldn’t let go of her, even though the doctors tried to reason with them. They said it was unlikely she would ever wake up, but my parents wouldn’t listen. They insisted on bringing her home. They filled her room with
machines—everything she needed to stay alive. But she wasn’t living. She wasn’t running or jumping or talking. She was just lying there, breathing because a machine said she could. And the worst part is that I got used to it. I got used to seeing her and talking to her. I watched her grow and get long. And then one day it all ended. Molly’s body gave out. Just like the doctors said—she never woke up. By then Mrs. Moore had moved away. I heard my neighbor say that she couldn’t stand seeing our house, knowing what was inside and what she had done, so she moved back to California. And now all that’s left in Molly’s room is silence.”
The shed stays quiet for a moment, and then Grover says, “That’s why you don’t eat apples.”
“My parents never asked me what I wanted. My mom quit her job to take care of Molly. She changed our whole lives so that we lived in a bubble. A bubble made of healthy food and good choices and hovering parents who made sure I never made a mistake.” I stop and correct myself. “Almost never. But bubbles burst and people die no matter how hard we try to stay alive.”
“What mistake did you make?” Bek asks.
I look at him and then Cassie. It’s time for me to fulfill my promise to her. “I almost drowned at a swim meet.”
“What?” she screams.
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
“God, Z, I trusted you.”
I start to talk fast now, fidgeting with my hands. Grover said it’s hard to stay silent. It’s hard to hold things in. People can drown in silence just as easily as drowning in a pool.
“My parents made me sign up for swim team after Molly died,” I say, words spilling from my mouth. “They thought it would help me ‘get back out there.’ That’s what my dad said. ‘Get back out there.’ But I didn’t want to be out there. I wanted noise in my house again. I hate silence. But I did it. I went to every practice and every meet. I lived with the smell of chlorine on my skin and my coach’s bad breath. I became a machine. A living and breathing machine. Just like Molly. I felt nothing. I moved when people told me to. I ate when my mom told me to. I kissed Coop when he told me to. I swam when my coach told me to. And then one day I was in the middle of a relay race and I was winning. I could see the girls beside me through the water. They were trying so hard to beat me. And I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I won. I didn’t care if I lost. I didn’t care. So I stopped. Right there in the middle of the pool. I stopped moving. I stopped breathing. And I let myself sink to the bottom.”
The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland Page 14
