Now Is Everything

by Amy Giles

  BRADY: Why didn’t you ever report him?

  DK: I had no evidence! How do you report someone on a hunch? My gut said so. But Hadley was tight lipped. And I never saw any physical evidence. No bruising, cuts. You know how many times I told my teachers I fell down the stairs when I was a kid?

  I regret it, to be honest. Every time I was ready to make a call, I’d look at her and she seemed so pulled together.

  BRADY: Did Hadley ever tell you anything?

  DK: No, never. And I tried to get it out of her.

  Here’s the rub. She’s turning eighteen in a couple of months. I asked her about college. She said her father wanted her to go to Cornell because he went there. I was just glad she had a plan to put distance between him and her. But I asked her, “Where do you want to go?”

  This surprised the hell out of me. She said she wanted to stay home and commute to a local college. I figured she’d bolt out of that house like a bat out of hell the first chance she got, you know? What kind of a mind fuck did that guy pull on that girl? ’Scuse my French.

  now

  Rowan and Melissa follow me back to my room. I didn’t invite them, but it doesn’t look like I can shake them either.

  Rowan leaps on my roommate’s bed. As her head sinks down into the pillow, it clicks.

  “You’re my roommate?”

  “Lucky you!” Rowan says, crossing her feet at her ankles. Melissa makes herself at home on my bed. Her fingers absently roam along her forearm until she finds what she’s looking for and plucks at a lone hair. Rowan yells, “Stop!”

  Rowan looks at me, her pursed lips coaxing one deep dimple from below the surface. “Do you know she plucked every single one of her pubes?”

  I flinch first at the word, then at the visual.

  Melissa blinks back, her face a placid lake. “People pay good money for a clean cooch.”

  That makes Rowan laugh. Melissa follows with a slower chuckle. My chest tightens, reminding me there is nothing to be happy about. I clear my throat and shuffle the cards in my hand.

  I sit down on the other end of my bed, away from Melissa. “One more round?” I’m not entirely comfortable around these two; cards are a neutral activity to keep us occupied.

  Rowan pulls her legs up under her as I deal onto her bed. Watery sunlight streams in through the window, bringing out all of the dark red in her curls. She is thick and hearty, with creamy skin and healthy flushed cheeks. Melissa is the opposite: pale and fragile looking, her skin almost translucent, like she’s made of glass.

  “Sooo.” Rowan peeks up from her cards. “You know you’re kind of a celebrity, right?”

  I glance up at her, frowning. “Huh?”

  She shoots Melissa a glance, like Noah and Meaghan used to. Melissa isn’t cut out for covert cues; her eyes are glued to her cards, the thin skin of her forehead puckered in confusion. Rowan sighs in exasperation.

  “Have you watched TV at all since you got here?” Rowan asks.

  “No.” Something unpleasant stirs back to life, the tingling after the Novocain wears off.

  “You’ve been on the news every day. They’re calling you Miracle Girl.” After she puts down three twos on my mattress, she picks up a card and kicks Melissa to let her know it’s her turn.

  “WHAT?” I jump up off my bed.

  Rowan’s face lights up, both dimples at attention. “Good to see you coming back to life. I’m so sick of all the zombies around here.” This time she makes an exaggerated wide-eyed head tilt toward Melissa.

  Melissa takes a long time poring over her cards, so Rowan continues. “We know everything about you. Did you know you were going to be the saledictorian?”

  “Salutatorian?” I correct her, sitting back down. “No. They don’t make that decision until March anyway.” Talking about life before the crash stirs those last ghastly images back to the surface. I change the subject. “Why are you here?”

  Melissa finally puts down two sixes. Rowan stares at her in disbelief then shakes her head. “Melissa . . . you can’t put down unless you have three of a kind of something.”

  Melissa blinks. “Oh.” She then takes back her cards and starts all over.

  Rowan looks at me and shrugs, her face an open book. “I’m what they call a cutter.” She lifts both arms up.

  “Why?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “Shit, you think I know?” She bristles. “It helps me let go of stuff.”

  “They put you in here for that?”

  Rowan twists her lips sarcastically. “There’s other stuff.” She cups a hand to her mouth and whispers loudly. “Spoiler alert: we’re all in psychiatric crisis.”

  Her eyes dart down to my wrists again. “Some guy came here yesterday trying to see you.” Charlie?

  But judging from the look on her face, I get the feeling it’s someone I’d rather not see.

  “I think he’s a cop.”

  then

  On Monday, I drive over to Charlie’s apartment at 6:50 a.m. Since I still have to get myself to school—it’s not like Mom’s going to start driving me this early in the morning even if I’m grounded—we decided we could drive together to buy us about a half hour of alone time before school starts.

  As soon as the car door slams, we’re in each other’s arms, trying to climb over the armrest, to mentally push the dashboard back a few more inches so we don’t crush each other.

  “Let’s go park somewhere,” I say.

  He pulls away with a groan. “And when they call your parents to say you ditched first period?”

  I fall back in my seat and throw my head against the headrest.

  “You ditch all the time, though,” I argue.

  He points to the road. “I don’t get grounded. Drive.” Then he promises, “We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” But he can’t hide his own worry etched on his face.

  Instead of being relieved at his bottomless pit of patience, his reassurance creates a vortex of panic in my stomach. At what point is he going to want to unload his loser girlfriend, who’s not allowed to date, who’s barely allowed to breathe on her own without asking for permission first? Pretty soon he’s going to get tired of me, tired of waiting, and then there’ll be a Claudia or a Kim or a Faith at some party, someone who’s more than willing to make up for all the things I’m not doing.

  Do you want a blow job, Charlie?

  Why yes, yes I do. Thank you for asking.

  I pull out of my spot and turn left at the light, heading up toward the high school. Good thing the roads are empty because my mind is elsewhere, flipping through the kitchen calendar back home for an answer to our problem. Then I remember the embossed invitation that came in the mail a few weeks ago.

  “Charlie!” I say, clutching the steering wheel in excitement. “Saturday night!”

  “What about it?” He looks at me, confused.

  “My parents have some kind of gala in the city. They won’t be home until late.”

  “Ohhh.” He raises his eyebrows knowingly. “What about your sister?”

  “Right, Lila.” How could I forget Lila? “Let me see. Maybe I can work on getting her a sleepover somewhere.”

  My mind races through the names of Lila’s friends. It would actually be good for her to get out of the house. I just have to make sure no one thinks it was my idea.

  Claudia has kicked the game up a notch. Every bathroom at school has the same BJ picture with my name and now my phone number. It’s in the boys’ bathrooms too. I checked when my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I can barely understand the voice mails the boys are leaving; they’re either laughing too hard or saying it so quietly their propositions sound like they’re speaking in Klingon. The obscene calls don’t even really bother me. It’s remedial bullying.

  On my way to Spanish, Mr. Johnson races down the hall, then stops abruptly when he sees me. He lifts a finger, but his open mouth stalls, trying to find the right words.

  “I know.” I let him off the hook.

&nb
sp; Claudia runs around the corner at just that moment, skidding to a stop when she sees me talking to Mr. Johnson. Her mouth drops open; her bottom lip is cracked because of me. She turns and tears down the stairwell so fast her frizzy hair flies behind her like a cape. If only she ran that fast on the field.

  He exhales. “The custodian is going to each bathroom to paint over it. By any chance, do you know who did it?”

  “No,” I lie. It’ll just amp up the feud to yet another level if I tell on Claudia. It ends here.

  “I’ll call your mother and tell her we’re taking it very seriously,” he says, trying to do damage control.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll tell her what happened.”

  “You’re sure?” He eyes me with relief.

  “Absolutely.” I flash him a wide-eyed smile to put him at ease then wave good-bye.

  Meaghan didn’t meet me at my locker before any of my classes today, which is strange, because I know she’s here. Her ancient Subaru Outback was in the parking lot this morning. When I get to Spanish, she makes a dramatic statement by sitting three rows away from Charlie, her back stiff as a rod. Charlie points to her with his pen and lifts his shoulders. I start to walk to her, but he waves me over.

  “Claudia’s been—” he starts to break it to me.

  “I know.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket. “My butt’s been vibrating all day.”

  His eyes go cold.

  “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Really, it’ll blow over.” Then I laugh. “Get it? Blow?”

  He shakes his head, still not able to find the humor in it.

  “Let me talk to Meaghan. I’ll be right back.”

  Crouching down next to her, I fold my hands under my chin and rest them on her desk. She pretends not to notice me. Why she never joined the drama club, I’ll never know.

  “What’s up?”

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Olivia told me you beat up Claudia at lacrosse practice.”

  I groan. “Good news travels fast.”

  She focuses on the open book in front of her. “I called you.”

  “Oh.” I breathe. Now I know what’s going on. High-Maintenance Meaghan. “I got grounded.”

  “Did you have your phone taken away?” She’s still not making eye contact.

  “No,” I admit. “But I was in a bad place.”

  Her lips twist to the side. “Bad enough that you didn’t even talk to Charlie?”

  I choose my words carefully. “Charlie came and found me at the lacrosse game. Otherwise I wouldn’t have seen him either.”

  She breathes in deeply through her nose. “You know . . . you’re dangerously close to turning into one of them.” She points across the room to Brian and April, sitting hip to hip on the radiator.

  I sigh in frustration. My friendship with Meaghan was the one part of my life that was easy. Why is it so out of balance now, just because of Charlie?

  “Look, I’m sorry. I should have called.” I press my hands together in a pleading gesture. “I throw myself on the mercy of the court.”

  She glances at me then quickly looks away. But I know Meaghan; I saw the twinkle in her green eyes. I’m almost there. She scans the ceiling for a verdict.

  “Um . . . have you been to the bathroom yet?” she whispers.

  I lean closer. “I’m suddenly the most popular girl in school.” She smirks. I stand up and my hip aches from the effort. “Come sit with us?”

  “Promise not to shut me out anymore?” She collects her books and follows me.

  “I promise,” I assure her, even though I know it’s a promise I can’t keep.

  Grandma’s car is parked in the driveway when I get home.

  I drop my backpack in the mudroom and rush to the kitchen. She’s at the table with Mom, drinking Lipton tea with lemon and eating the Lorna Doone cookies she always brings over on her infrequent visits. Grandma likes a cookie with her tea, and she can never find one in our house. I also think it’s a not-so-subtle “to hell with you and your food rules” to my dad.

  “There she is! My beauty!” She stands up and opens her arms for me. My mother sips her tea, watching us with a tight smile as Grandma envelops me in one of her fierce hugs.

  “Let me look at you.” She holds me at arm’s length, admiring everything from my end-of-the-day fly-aways to the tips of my scuffed sneakers. “Oh, Hadley. How am I old enough to have a granddaughter ready to head off to college?” Her veiny hand flutters to her mouth, and she sighs.

  My mother frowns. “How do you think I feel having a daughter old enough to go off to college?”

  Grandma carefully sits back down in her seat. She passes the cookies to me, and I take one, ignoring Mom’s critical glare.

  Her hand reaches across the table to grab mine and squeezes. “So, Hadley, tell me. What schools are you looking at?” Her eyes—blue like my mother’s, but kind—gaze at me with pride. Unconditional love must have skipped a generation.

  Mom pushes a napkin across the table to catch my falling crumbs.

  “Cornell,” Mom answers before I have a chance.

  “Oh.” Grandma’s voice is arctic. “Like Miles?” Layers of accusations lie beneath that question.

  Mom smiles tightly and takes another sip of her tea.

  “What other colleges?” Grandma turns back to me.

  Mom answers for me again. “Miles is fairly certain she’ll get in to Cornell.”

  Grandma’s eyes lock on mine. “Is that where you want to go, Hadley?”

  “Mother! Don’t interfere! This is my family!” It’s an old argument between them. The scab never heals, and the two of them pick at it every time they get together.

  Grandma shrugs and sips her tea. “Are you sure about that, Courtney?”

  With so few words, Grandma made her point. Mom pushes her chair back with a screech. She winces and glances down to make sure she didn’t scratch the wood floor.

  “You know what? I’m going to pick up Lila from school. Why don’t you two spend some quality time together?” She storms off to get her purse, leaving behind a cold breeze in her wake. Moments later, the house rumbles as the garage door opens and shuts.

  Grandma looks at me with innocent blue eyes. She shrugs. “I can’t help myself.”

  I pluck another cookie from the package. “That’s what I love about you, Grandma.”

  The rain starts not long after Lila and Mom come home.

  “Looks like it’s not passing anytime soon,” Grandma says, watching pensively through the window as a fierce storm blows through, flooding the road. Garbage cans that have waited patiently all day for their owners to return roll down the block, thudding like bass drums. The last of the fallen leaves glue themselves to whatever surface they come across like orange and red papier-mâché.

  Lila wraps her arms around Grandma’s waist. “Stay over! You can sleep in my room!”

  Grandma smiles down at her and runs her fingers through Lila’s hair. Then she glances over at Mom, who has traded in her Lipton for her bottomless wineglass.

  “Of course, stay,” my mother says in a clipped tone, sipping her wine.

  Grandma purses her lips. “I don’t want to put you out, Courtney.”

  “Grandma, you’re being silly!” Lila argues. “We have five bedrooms! We only use three of them! I even have a trundle bed. We could have a sleepover.”

  “She’ll sleep in the guest room, Lila,” Mom says sharply then turns to Grandma. “You wouldn’t be comfortable in the trundle. It’s for little kids.”

  Grandma nods and smiles, but her chin dimples the way Lila’s does when she’s holding back tears. She turns away and busies herself opening cabinets until she finds what she’s looking for.

  “What time does Miles come back from work?” Grandma asks, her voice guarded, as she gathers plates for dinner.

  “Don’t bother setting a plate for him. He always comes home so late,” Mom says over her shoulder.

  I sidle up clo
se to Grandma and mumble, “If at all.”

  Grandma’s shoulders stiffen as she closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  “Okay, well. Just us four girls then.” She looks over at my mother, who is viciously chopping vegetables. Grandma walks over to her and places a hand on Mom’s shoulders. “It’ll be nice,” Grandma says, trying to soften my mother. “Like old times.”

  Mom dices the carrots with fierce downward chops. “Sure. Nice.” She stops dicing to take a long sip of wine.

  I reach for the silverware drawer handle at the same time as Lila. Our hands touch.

  “Holding hands makes it a lot harder to set the table,” I tease. Lila snatches her hand away.

  I laugh but Lila doesn’t. She glares at me and walks away.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask. She doesn’t answer.

  Dinner is a train wreck. Grandma and Mom barely talk to each other and Lila is in a pissy mood, but only with me it seems. She babbles on and on to Grandma, making sure her back is to me all through dinner.

  After we clear the table, with Lila still giving me the silent treatment, we head upstairs to do homework. I’m a few steps from my bedroom when Mom and Grandma start bickering.

  “I never feel welcome in your home!” Grandma says, and there’s a catch to her voice, as if she might actually be crying.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t roll out the red carpet for you, Mom!”

  “That’s not it, and you know it! Miles doesn’t like me . . .”

  She’s not wrong. My dad always makes fun of her. “She won’t let me throw away the tea bag, Courtney! She says you can get more than one use out of it!” He laughed at that, at Grandma’s expense. In front of Grandma, while my mother just sat by and watched. She never once stood up for her mother. Not that she’s ever stood up for me either.

  “I look around your house and you know what I see? Stuff! Nothing but stuff! Is that all that matters to you?”

  I shut my door and call Charlie.

  “Hey, Muscles.” His voice turns my insides gooey.