“Okay, fine,” Mom says, standing up with her plate. “But if you’re not going to eat, then you’re going to help me clean up this mess.”
I open my mouth to tell her I wasn’t the one who made the mess so I shouldn’t be the one to clean it up, but the determined set of her jaw stops me. She’s hell-bent on pushing me to do something this morning.
Wordlessly, I swallow my bacon and start loading the dishwasher. Mom wipes the stovetop while Tobias lingers at the table, slowly drinking his apple juice. We clean in silence for a few minutes, but it’s a silence even heavier than the slab of greasy pork fat in my stomach.
Finally, Mom joins me at the sink and says, “So. How do you think school’s going? In general, I mean. Are you starting to readjust?”
I scrape a glob of pancake batter off the spatula I’m rinsing. “I guess.”
“Have you reconnected with any of your friends?”
Ah. And there it is. The question is delivered so casually, as if it had only just occurred to her. A week has passed since Dad came home and saw me in Ethan’s car, and ever since then, I’ve been waiting for her to bring it up. My father obviously told her about it right away, but since Dad doesn’t talk to me any more than he has to and Mom is still following Dr. Lemke’s be-patient-and-follow-Dara’s-lead advice, I thought I might be off the hook.
I guess not.
“No,” I say, twisting around to place the spatula in the dishwasher. I’m not lying. Sure, Ethan drove me home last Friday and updated me on his life, but that doesn’t mean we’ve reconnected. It’s not like we hang out at school or anything. We barely even see each other, and the odd time we do cross paths, we nod at each other like we’re vague acquaintances.
Reconnection has definitely not transpired.
My mother runs her dishcloth under the tap for the tenth time, rinsing out soap that’s no longer there. “What about Ethan?” she asks. The forced nonchalance in her tone has sharpened to an anxious edge.
“What about him?”
She folds the cloth and drapes it over the tap. “Well, he drives you home from school, so naturally I assumed you’ve become friends with him again.”
“He drove me home from school. Once. And that doesn’t mean we’ve become friends again.”
“Mom?” Tobias says from the table, where he’s still sitting, watching us and listening. “Can I have more apple juice?”
Mom doesn’t take her eyes from me. “One sec, bud.”
“So what if Ethan and I did become friends again?” I shut the dishwasher with a bang. “What difference does it make?”
She looks away, sweeping a lock of hair off her forehead. “We discussed this before school started, Dara. Your dad and I think it would be best if you left Ethan alone for now. It’s a sensitive situation and emotions are probably still running high . . .” She sighs and faces me again, leaning her hip against the edge of the counter. “We’re also concerned that spending time with Ethan might undo some of the progress you’ve made this year. He’s all wrapped up with Aubrey and what happened and—”
“Of course he is,” I cut in. “He’s her brother. Was. And a lot of things are wrapped up with Aubrey and what happened. Do you expect me to avoid every single thing connected to her? I can’t live in denial anymore. I won’t.”
“Mom?” Tobias says again. “I want more juice, please.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Look, I know you want to face things, and we’re proud of you for that. We just think it might be beneficial for you to move forward instead of falling back into the life you had . . . before. Why don’t you try making some new friends?”
“Friends?” I barked out a laugh. “You think I can make friends in that school, Mom? People look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb. They think if they so much as say hi to me, I’m going to freak out and push them in front of a truck.”
She winces and turns pale. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh. And I do understand her concern. Still, I can’t seem to help myself this morning. Since the second I woke up, I’ve been frustrated and pissed off and spoiling for a fight.
“Dara, honey,” she says gently. “I think we may need help working through this. How about we schedule a family session with Dr. Lemke?”
“Why? So the three of you can band together and dope me up again so you don’t have to deal with me? No, thanks.”
Mom’s cheeks go from ashen to bright pink. “Dara.”
“I really, really need some more apple juice over here,” Tobias says loudly.
Unable to contain my frustration, I whirl around to face my brother. “Get it yourself, Tobias!”
His face crumples, and I immediately regret lashing out at him.
“Tobias, I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step toward him. Before I can get any closer, he jumps up from his chair and runs out of the kitchen.
I give Tobias an hour or so to cool off before I approach him again. He’s sitting on the living room floor in front of the TV, playing a video game. I say his name, but he doesn’t even look at me. “I’m busy,” he says, his mouth set in a scowl.
I stand there for a minute longer, in case he changes his mind and decides to forgive me. When he doesn’t, I return to my room and try to do some math homework. But I’m too agitated to concentrate on sinusoidal graphs right now, so I take a shower instead. That doesn’t help either.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Mom looks up from the pile of wet laundry she’s tossing into the dryer and studies my face. My shower didn’t do much to improve my haggard appearance.
“Did you talk to your brother?” she asks.
“I tried to, but he’s still mad at me.”
She frowns. “He just needs some time.”
This is Mom’s answer for everything. Time, the ultimate cure-all.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I tell her, backing out of the laundry room.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I just . . . need some air.”
She continues to watch me, even as she shuts the dryer and turns it on. “Okay. Bring your phone.”
I nod and then turn to leave before I open my big mouth to remind her that I’m seventeen, not seven, and that I can handle going for a walk on my own. After our altercation in the kitchen earlier, I probably shouldn’t push it.
As I walk, I think about Tobias and start to cry. Why did I yell at him? He was only trying to stop Mom and me from fighting. Conflict makes Tobias feel anxious. When he was really small and our parents would have one of their rare arguments, he’d find me, crawl into my lap with his blanket, and sit there quietly until the bickering stopped. Just thinking about that now, the way he tucked his hard little head into my chest and relied on me for security, makes me feel ten times worse.
I miss the way it used to be, when my brother ran to me instead of running away.
My nose is dripping. I pause and dig out a tissue, wiping my eyes first and then my nose. A woman driving by in her minivan stares at me, the strange girl blubbering on the sidewalk, but I’m used to being stared at by now. Curious looks from classmates and strangers, uneasy glances from my family and therapists . . . Being watched and evaluated is the most human contact I get these days.
In fact, since I came back home, the only person who hasn’t either ignored me or treated me like a dangerous, unpredictable zoo animal is Ethan. The same Ethan who has more reason than anyone to steer clear and judge me from afar.
We practice on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Hunter’s house, he told me in his car last week. Sixty-three Cambridge Drive.
I glance around to get my bearings. Cambridge Drive is only about a ten-minute walk from here. I resume my pace and turn left at the next stop sign, ignoring my mother’s voice in my head. Just because my parents disapprove of my spending time with Ethan doesn’t mean I have to agree. Do they think avoiding him will make my guilt magically disappear? Right. If that were the case, I would’ve just stayed at Aunt Lydia’
s.
As I turn onto Cambridge, my mind is suddenly engulfed in second thoughts. What if Ethan didn’t mean what he said as an invitation? Sure, he gave me the address, but he probably wasn’t expecting me to show up, especially not unannounced like this. I pause on the sidewalk and pull out my phone. The number I have for him is a year and a half old, but I send a quick hello text anyway, thinking maybe it’s still active. Then I start walking again, my steps so small it’s like I’m barely moving.
After five minutes, he still hasn’t answered. I stop for a second time, wondering if I should turn around and go home. But then I think about what he said to me—that music saved him—and I want more than anything to understand how something so simple can do something so incredibly powerful. I need to see it for myself.
I take a breath and keep going.
Sixty-three Cambridge Drive is a white split-level with red shutters. I rub my damp fingers on my pants and ring the doorbell. Moments later, the door swings open to reveal a plump woman with a short blond bob and square-framed glasses.
She seems way too normal and maternal to be badass rocker Hunter Finley’s mom.
“Hi,” I say when she smiles at me expectantly. “I’m looking for Hunter and, uh, Ethan?” I say it like I’m not sure he’s here, even though his car is parked along the curb in front of the house.
The woman’s smile grows warmer. “They’re out back, honey. Just pound on the door.”
“Thanks.” I step away and she smiles again before slipping back inside.
Out back. When Ethan said they practiced here, I pictured them in a basement or a garage, not somewhere behind the house. I go around to the backyard. Toward the far left corner, nestled a few feet from the tall privacy fence, stands a square beige structure that looks like an oversized shed. Is this “out back”? Even from several feet away, I can hear muffled drumbeats seeping through the building’s walls. The rhythm matches the dull thump in my head I have from crying. The reminder of how awful my eyes must look—not to mention the rest of me—should send me running back toward the street, but it doesn’t. The vibration of that barely audible music hums through the ground and straight into my feet, propelling them forward.
Seconds before I reach the shed, the door flings open, releasing a blast of sound and a guy around my age who I’ve never seen before in my life. I would’ve remembered. He’s slim and striking with black hair shaped into a kind of halfhearted Mohawk and a sculpted, almost delicate face. He pauses at the sight of me and I try not to stare at his eyes, which look like chips of blue-tinted ice against the light brown shade of his skin.
“Hi there,” he says, cocking his head at me. “Who are you?”
His voice is like honey over gravel. Lead singer, of course. I stuff my hands in my pockets and glance toward the still-open door. The music has been replaced by a collection of different voices. “I’m . . . a friend of Ethan’s.”
He smiles and takes a step forward, offering me his hand to shake. “I’m Kel. Ethan’s in there replacing a string on his Ibanez. Should I tell him you’re out here or did you plan on surprising him? Either way, you’ll probably make his day.”
I tug my hand out of his firm grip and stuff it back into my pocket. Confidence practically oozes from this guy’s pores. He knows he’s hot and he can tell I think so too. And I do, in the same way I might think a painting is pretty. I can appreciate the beauty in a technical, abstract way, but it doesn’t really do much for me. I haven’t been attracted to a guy since—
No. Not going there. A shiver runs through me and I push the memories back down.
“You guys are busy. I’ll just—” I turn to leave, already deeply regretting showing up here unannounced. What was I thinking? That because music helped Ethan heal, it would somehow help me too? So stupid.
“No, wait.” Kel holds up a hand to me as he leans his head in the shed door. “Hey, E. Leggy blonde here to see you.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder after he says this, and I feel my face flush.
Ethan bounds out the door, his gaze immediately landing on me. His expression wavers between confusion and surprise. Before he has a chance to say anything, Hunter Finley steps out of the shed, followed by a cute red-haired girl with a nose ring. They join our growing assembly on the lawn.
“Hi,” the girl says to me.
As I nod at her, it hits me that she sits two tables behind me in chemistry. Since I’m not exactly social at school these days, I’m able to spend a lot of time listening in on conversations around me. So I already know her name is Noelle Jacobs and that she moved here last year, while I was away. I also know she’s been dating Hunter since the summer. What I don’t know is whether she’s aware of who I am. Her expression isn’t telling me anything. She just looks friendly.
Ethan walks over to me, his features relaxing as he adjusts to the shock of my presence. “Guys, this is Dara. She’s, um, an old friend of mine. We go way back.”
I don’t miss the sudden comprehension that flashes across Kel’s face at the sound of my name. He’s heard of me. He knows what I did. They all do. Something like that is impossible to hide from your friends, especially when some of those friends go to Hadfield High. They’ve probably heard the rumors too. Any second now, they’ll start asking questions.
Don’t be such a coward, I tell myself as they all stare at me. Stand here and take whatever they want to dish out. If you can do it at school, you can do it here too.
But then I look at Ethan and see the anxiety on his face, and my brief surge of bravery starts to falter. This isn’t three nosy strangers cornering me by the music room. These are his friends. He shouldn’t have to defend me to them.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted your practice.” I quickly turn from the group and head toward the street and freedom. This was too much, too soon. I should have tried reconnecting with him one-on-one before showing up here and making a fool out of myself in front of his friends.
“Dara, wait!” Ethan catches up and slips in front of me, blocking my path. “Don’t leave. Please. I was just surprised to see you, okay? I didn’t expect—”
“I know,” I say, skirting around him.
“No. You don’t know.” He moves in front of me again, his hand lifting to touch my arm. Seeing the warning in my eyes, he quickly drops it. “Please,” he says again. “Stick around for a bit. You still haven’t met Corey, our bass player. His girlfriend’s here too. Julia. You can’t leave without meeting everyone and hearing us play.”
My head starts thumping again, only now there’s no rhythm to it at all. It’s erratic and painful and I know it won’t let up until I’m home, alone in my room.
“I have to go, Ethan,” I say.
This time, when I brush past him, he doesn’t try to stop me. This time, it’s me who disappears just as fast as I arrived.
twelve
Sophomore Year
AUBREY LOST HER PHONE PRIVILEGES AGAIN IN February when her parents caught her texting outside the designated time frame they’d set up for her. Because of this, we’d resorted to an old-fashioned method of communication—leaving notes in each other’s lockers.
Studying in library after school but I’ll be done by 3:45. Wait for me? Need to talk.
I examined Aubrey’s latest note as I stood at my locker after last class. Her familiar slanted scrawl looked slightly wobbly, like she’d written it in a hurry. What now? I thought, shutting my locker. She’d seemed fine the last time I’d seen her, three hours ago at lunch. Was she fighting with Justin again? God, I hoped not. If she begged me to intervene like she did last time, I’d refuse. I wasn’t their relationship mediator.
Stuffing the note in my backpack, I made my way through the emptying halls to the library. I knew Aubrey was expecting me to head to the main doors, where we met most days before walking home together, but I was too curious and impatient to stand around waiting. Maybe seeing me would inspire her to finish studying faster.
When I entered the library,
the first thing I noticed was the back of Aubrey’s dark head, bent over a mess of papers on the table in front of her. And sitting next to her, twirling a pencil between two fingers, was Travis Rausch.
“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself as I approached them. They had their backs to me, so neither of them registered my presence until I plunked down in the chair across from Travis.
“Shepard,” he said, his neck turning red like it did when he was embarrassed. “Where’d you come from?”
I glanced at Aubrey, who had paused in writing down what looked like an algebra formula, and then at the papers and work sheets scattered on the tabletop. “Since when do you two study together?” I asked. “You’re not even in the same math class.” Aubrey took advanced math, of course, and Travis and I were in the same regular, non-genius class.
“We were both here at the same time, so . . .” Aubrey shrugged and flicked a look at Travis, whose gaze stayed locked on the pencil in his hand.
They were acting weird. I wondered if Paige knew Travis was here, sitting mere inches from Aubrey. She hadn’t said anything about it in biology last period. And Justin . . . I didn’t think he’d like the idea of his girlfriend huddling together with another guy in a virtually deserted library, even if the guy in question was Travis.
“I gotta get home.” Travis stood up and slapped his math book closed, then shoved it in his backpack along with the pencil. “See you tonight, McCrae.”
“Sure thing, Rausch,” Aubrey replied with a smile.
Travis grinned back and gave us a small salute as he turned to leave. Once he was gone, I leveled a what-the-hell-was-that look at my best friend. “‘Rausch’?” I asked. Calling people by their last names was Travis’s thing, not hers. How much time did they spend together if his quirks were already rubbing off on her?
Aubrey shrugged again. “I say it to tease him.”
I picked up a paper and scanned its contents. Algebra formulas, like I’d thought—the same ones I’d learned last week in math class. “Do you think he has a crush on you?”
These Things I’ve Done Page 9
