Standing Sideways

by J. Lynn Bailey

  The classroom phone rings, bringing me back to reality. Mr. Joe answers as Miranda takes her seat, her demonic death stare blowing holes in Mr. Joe’s face.

  “Livia?” Mr. Joe’s tone is louder than usual. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Lost in Miranda Stein, I try to register what Mr. Joe said. I shake my head because I’m not sure what he just said.

  Does grief cause hearing loss?

  Poppy’s voice is loud. “Your attention span is the problem, not your hearing, Livia.”

  Poppy is nowhere in sight, and I hate when she does this—this thing where she projects her voice, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Mrs. Brimm wants to see you in her office. Take a hall pass. Come back to class when you’re done.”

  Reluctantly, I pull myself from the comfort of my desk and look to Cao, who’s motioning me toward her.

  She whispers in my ear, “Routine protocol for counselors. Dead sibling. Chat about it. A box to check. Don’t stress.”

  I try to gather my uniformed, prepared response for Mrs. Brimm. My stomach clenches on the pieces of last night’s dinner. She’ll give me the look the Have-Nots do.

  The Have-Nots—those I haven’t seen since Jasper’s passing.

  The Haves—those I have seen.

  Mrs. Brimm will tell me she’s extremely sorry for my loss. She’ll ask me a variety of questions, probably about self-harm, grief. She’ll do this to protect her job, not me. Maybe I’ll tell her about the pills on my nightstand. But maybe I won’t. I probably won’t because, in a matter of seconds, I’m no longer heading to the office but instead to the janitor’s closet.

  I’ll wait here until the bell rings, I tell myself.

  I’ll explain to Mr. Joe that time ran out with Mrs. Brimm. Then, I’ll tell him I don’t have time to talk because I’m too distraught over my conversation with Mrs. Brimm. Knowing him, he’ll arrange a later time for us to speak because he cares about his students. Mrs. Brimm is at Belle’s Hollow High to collect a paycheck.

  I take a sharp left into building B. I open the door to the janitor’s closet and shut it behind me. I feel around for a light. It would have been smart of me to grab my phone from my backpack before I left. But there was no way I was going to be able to get it past Hawk Eyes—Mr. Joe.

  I feel around and find a bucket. Carefully I turn it upside down. Resting my back against a shelf, I take in a deep breath as the tears start to sting my eyes. My chest grows heavy, and all I want to do is cry. This sort of tear debacle comes and goes quite a bit.

  Dr. Elizabeth says I need to breathe through it.

  You know what I want to say to her?

  Sex. That helps. A lot of sex. It helps a lot with the tears. You should try it, Dr. Elizabeth. You’re stiff as a board.

  I want to text Simon. Immediately, I want him to come to the closet.

  Stupid phone.

  But, before I can think another thought, the door opens and closes quickly.

  Shit.

  Please, God, don’t let it be Mr. Lee.

  He’s the sixty-eight-year-old janitor who has been at Belle’s Hollow High since Tracy and my dad were freshmen here.

  And I’d like to believe that I wouldn’t be responsible if I scared him to death, and he had a heart attack. But I’d probably be blamed for murder.

  Headline: Grieving Twin Murders Janitor with Scare Tactic.

  The tall, dark figure punches the door as hard as he/she can.

  Nope. Not Mr. Lee. He doesn’t pack that much punch.

  I’m assuming the person is male because I don’t think a female could hit that hard unless she was Ronda Rousey.

  “Fuck!” he whisper-yells. He—confirming my suspicions of a male—pronounces fuck like there was an O in it and not a U. He punches the door.

  It’s Daniel—aka lone hiker on the Gulch.

  Part of me prays he’ll walk out once his tirade is over. The other part of me is unsure and curious.

  “Same,” I whisper from my bucket that’s becoming a nuisance.

  “Bloody hell!” Daniel rips around and stares in my direction. “Who’s there?”

  Hold your breath.

  Don’t say a word.

  I need to say a word. I just scared him half to death, I answer myself.

  But part of me doesn’t care—the disconnected part of me.

  “This was my closet first,” I whisper.

  I can now make out his outline. His shoulders lower, and his breathing becomes paced, as if me being a girl changes things.

  “I’m sorry, but it isn’t. I called dibs on it quite some time ago.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Besides, you haven’t recently been in here to stake your claim, so I took over.”

  I’ve never once set foot in the janitor’s closet until this morning, but I’m trying to prove a point. “I call override dibs. Been at Belle’s Hollow since freshman year. I have ancestral rights. It overrides your quite some time ago.”

  “What? You make up the rules as you see fit?”

  I can see him leaning against the shelving, still trying to relax.

  “I don’t make rules, Daniel. It’s written as a law in the constitution of Belle’s Hollow High.” I shrug. “You can see it for yourself. It’s on a scroll, hidden in the school’s trophy case.” I’m totally lying. And I can’t explain why this is pouring from my mouth.

  “You’re a liar, Livia.”

  How does he know who I am? Can he see me somehow?

  I let him sweat the silence. Because I have no idea what I’m going to say next. He’s called my bluff. “Truce?”

  He casually pulls the string for the light, and the tiny closet illuminates. He’s even taller than I remember from this morning. His hair is a darker red with his beanie off. His chest is broad, as if he works out to keep in shape. But it could be muscles or a rare chest deformity. I’ve seen those on the Discovery Channel. He’s still wearing the same red jacket, though it’s unzipped now.

  “Livia Stone,” Daniel says in an accusatory tone. “Since you don’t know where the light is, I call your bluff and your override dibs. And I’ll raise you rights for next week. But I’ll share today since today is your first day back.” His next words are paced, calculated, well thought out. “I won’t give you the words I’m certain you’re used to hearing.” Daniel’s words are hushed. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to your brother.”

  He said brother like brotha. As if Jasper were just a friend.

  That removes me only momentarily from my grief, and I like the way this makes me feel. Like, just for a millisecond, I can eat minestrone soup and read a book and pretend like life hasn’t been flipped upside down, as if Jasper never died or he never lived. Relief rushes through me, but the sinking feeling rubs up against my shoulder, forewarning my grief’s return.

  “Jasper. His name is Jasper,” I say. Saying is rather than was confirms I’m still his twin. But he’s still dead.

  And nothing has changed. And everything has changed.

  He leans back, still waiting for me to continue. Patient.

  The moment of silence seems to sting and drag on.

  “What was he like? Jasper, I mean.”

  The bell rings, but neither of us moves. Daniel clicks off the light.

  Nobody has asked that before. Maybe it’s because everyone knew Jasper, or maybe it’s because they didn’t want to ask a question that would beg for an answer that perhaps they didn’t want to hear.

  Jasper hasn’t become a memory yet. His hands. His heart. His laugh. I can still hear it, and this makes my eyes sting.

  But I give Daniel the most honest answer I have, “Half of me. And only the good parts.”

  Because I think of the unsavory things I’ve done in the past month. The decisions I’ve made, not like the Livia and Jasper Stone I used to be. The meticulous, soon-to-be Ivy Leaguer whose passion for achievement and dream-chasing was lost between October 1 and now.

  “I lost
my dignity on Hawthorne Hill.”

  Shut up, Liv.

  My mouth betrays me as I continue, “I lost my self-worth between here and LA. And I think I lost my pride on purpose.” I begin to chew on my thumb.

  Jasper always used to slap my hand away. He hated the fact that I bit my nails. I do, too, but I can’t help it.

  I reach for the light and click it on to see Daniel’s face. “Why are you here in Belle’s Hollow?”

  The tardy bell rings, signifying to students that those late will sit in detention.

  “You’ll need to leave first. Just so the rumors don’t start. Not about us, but about who owns claim over this closet.” He smirks.

  I see the scar under his right eye as he pushes the door open for me, shedding in more light.

  “It would be dumb if this turned into a custody battle.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” I stay seated and dagger myself to death with the whys of what I just told him.

  “Another conversation for another time.” His lips are in a thin red line.

  I stand and step out into the light of the hallway. I look back at him. “I’ll send an eviction notice.”

  “And I’ll see you in detention.” He lets the door slowly shut in front of him.

  What was I thinking?

  I kick myself on the way back to Mr. Joe’s to collect my things.

  “I lost my dignity on Hawthorne Hill.”

  Christ. I’m sure he couldn’t wait to get this loon—me—out of that closet.

  I peek my head in, but the classroom is empty—except for Mr. Joe.

  “You’re late.” He doesn’t look up. He continues to work at his desk on his computer.

  I sigh and push myself through the door. “Sorry. Got caught up with Mrs. Brimm,” I lie.

  He stops typing. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t go, Liv.”

  Why can’t I stop lying?

  I sit down because Mr. Joe, I’ve learned, likes to talk. And this is going to be a long one.

  He takes off his glasses and comes around the side of his desk to sit on the front part. “Livia, you’re an amazing writer. You’re smart.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I heard back from Dr. Livingston at Harvey College, Liv. He’s really impressed with your sample we sent him. He’d like to see more.”

  We sent him a writing sample of mine during the summer, one I totally forgot about.

  “I believe in you. But what I care more about is your well-being. The person you are versus the student with all this potential.” He’s not using slang, so I know he’s serious. Not that he’s ever not serious, but sometimes, he just tends to be more not serious. Now isn’t one of those times.

  “Look, I told him what happened with your brother. And, of course, he’d already heard.” Mr. Joe pauses. “Liv, there’s a lot you need to make up in this course.” He drums his fingers on his desk. “I’m wondering—”

  “What? You want to give up on me? Because my brother died, you think I can’t hack this? The pressure of getting into college and everything else?”

  Mr. Joe is taken aback.

  Hell, I’m taken aback.

  “No. Actually, quite the opposite. You need a tutor to pass this class, and I will set aside my personal time to work on your essays for Harvey. And maybe we can do an additional essay if Dr. Livingston would be willing to give us feedback.” He crosses his arms. “It’s a lot of work. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll meet the challenges set out in front of you. But let’s be clear, Liv. You give me one hundred percent, and I’ll give you one hundred percent. And absolutely no lying. Or the agreement is off.” He extends his hand. “Fair?”

  “Yeah, fair.” I shake on it.

  Mr. Joe walks back around his desk. He slides his finger across the stack of papers. “You need to get one paper to me tomorrow, so I can send it off to Dr. Livingston. I’ll also double count it for the class. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here.” He hands me a slip of paper. “Get to class.” It’s an excuse for being late to second period.

  “Thanks,” I manage to say and grab my bag.

  “You’re welcome. And, Livia?”

  I stop and turn around.

  “I know what you’re going through. I know what loss feels like.”

  I nod. We all know about Mr. Joe’s heartbreak.

  He stares at me. “The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.”

  “Norman Cousins,” I say, tilting my head.

  “Brah,” he says as a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. But it quickly disappears as he looks back down at his paperwork—a scapegoat for the sadness I see that creeps in and around his eyes. He carelessly bites his lower lip.

  As if the quote were written for Mr. Joe and me. As if Mr. Joe’s tone and his pitch were the absolute truth of Mr. Cousins’s intent. Because, when Mr. Joe said it, I felt every single word.

  “Now, go. You’re already late.” He shoos me away.

  I don’t see Daniel for the rest of the day, and I’m grateful. I know I will inevitably have to face him. He’ll probably ask what I meant but maybe not. I hope not.

  It’s the end of fifth period, and I’m waiting in the handicap stall in building B for Cao.

  I get a text from Simon.

  Simon: Hawthorne Hill. After school?

  My body fills with anguish and need. Every inch of me, my skin creeps, as if ants are holding it hostage just above my muscles. My grief is not only matched by Simon’s, but it’s also understood in ways that others cannot understand. And, in some weird, sick way, it makes the loss so much less. It makes the heart ache less.

  Me: Yes.

  “Nana-nana-boo-boo, I can’t see you,” Cao says.

  “Seriously, that was, like, the second grade. I’m in the handicap stall, like you asked me to be.” I roll my eyes.

  Cao laughs and opens the door to the stall.

  “I need to tell you something,” I say. All of a sudden, I need to clear the air with her about Simon.

  “Yeah, I know; it’s obvious.” She slips her phone back into her pocket but not before it chimes. She looks at the text. “Damn it, Mother. Enough with the Chinese shit.”

  I run my fingers through my hair, and the bile gathers in my throat, ready for takeoff. “I’m sleeping with Simon.”

  Cao slowly looks from her phone. “Wait. Hold the food cart. What?”

  I chew on the inside of my lip. My eyes dance from the toilet to the stall door and back again. Cao looks like I just told her that I’m pregnant. I might as well have.

  In all our years of friendship, I’ve never seen her speechless.

  “Please, say something, Cao. Please.”

  She hears the desperation in my voice, the need to feel okay, the need to feel the sense of normalcy I felt just a month ago.

  “Well, there goes the city.”

  Cao has a knack for taking cliché sayings and changing the words—whether on purpose or not, I’m not sure.

  “There goes the neighborhood,” I clarify, still in shock that I’ve finally told someone, someone who isn’t red-haired and blue-eyed and from the UK—or Hull.

  Poppy: “Lying by omission is still lying.”

  Poppy, seriously.

  “Liv, you have got to put a stop to this. He’s got a girlfriend. A friend of yours.”

  Friend might be a strong word for Whitney and me, I try to justify.

  Poppy: “Justifying your behavior is for the goats!”

  Poppy, would you please just be quiet for a minute? I can’t think.

  Cao reaches for my hand. “Look, I’ve done a lot of reading up on grief lately, and you’re trying to fill a need. A void. I know Simon was extremely close with Jasper. But this isn’t going to bring him back.” She gently rubs the skin between my thumb and index finger.

  I know.

  And yet I keep lying.

  I know.

  And yet I
continue to make the wrong decisions.

  I know.

  And yet I seem to push the right ideas out of the way. The good ones. The solid ones. And pull the wrong ideas, the bad decisions, back into the forefront of my mind.

  “I know,” I say but for my personal reassurance and justification.

  But do I? Do I really know? Or is this just a vice that grieving people use to protect whatever truth they want to believe?

  “Come on. Let’s go to Bob’s and grab some cheese fries and a large Cherry Coke on the boulders.”

  “Rocks,” I say as she puts her hand in mine.

  Bob’s Footlongs is the hot dog, burger, cheesy fries capital of the world, according to anyone who steps foot inside.

  Right across the street from the high school, Bob’s is where I’ve worked for the past year and has been in existence since the 1950s. The look, orange-and-white stripes, and the logo, a wiener dog in a bun, are just a few of the rarities that makes Bob’s…well, Bob’s. We take orders with a pen and paper. Cash and local checks only. And the cash registers are considered antiques. It’s like stepping back in time when customers come in. It has Belle’s Hollow High memorabilia dating back to the 1950s with yearbook pictures, football trophies, and even an award for Humboldt County’s Best Eatery in 2006. From fishing pictures to family photos of Linda’s, the owner’s family, both past and present, it’s a fixture in Belle’s Hollow. It’s where you can get hush puppies and nacho dogs and frozen burritos. And they make the best shakes in the county.

  The old-fashioned cowbell that hangs from the front door to signify a new customer rings as Cao and I walk in.