Wake

by Abria Mattina

  “Great.”

  It’s still only five o’clock, so after he determines that I’m fine and helps me off the floor, Frank says goodnight and goes back to bed for another hour of sleep.

  Shit.

  I hang my head between my knees and breathe deeply.

  “Have you killed him, yet?”

  I have my phone in my hand and Jem’s number selected (he put himself on my speed dial, too) before I catch myself. I shouldn’t call him. For one, it’s five o’clock in the freaking morning. For another, he’s probably fine. He’s not dying that fast.

  What do you care? You’re not involving yourself, remember?

  Maybe so, but advice from beyond the grave is difficult to ignore. Tessa said to kill him one way or another.

  She’s dead. It was a dream.

  I’m really starting to lose my shit.

  I bury my head under my pillow and count the minutes until I have to get up for school. I don’t sleep a wink.

  *

  School is like a minefield. I almost make myself late so I won’t have to run into any of the Harpers in the hallway, and during Math Paige chats my ear off about Chris’s general indecisiveness. Apparently he won’t commit to being in an exclusive relationship with her. I don’t blame him—it’s Paige and it’s only been a few weeks.

  “Just give him some space.” I don’t know if that’s good advice or not; I just like the sound of it at the moment.

  “You think so?” I shouldn’t have said anything. Now if this goes rotten, I’m the one who touched it last.

  “Scratch that, just follow your heart.” Paige is one for platitudes. She often mistakes them for deep philosophy.

  “Maybe I should try to make him jealous.”

  Be a good friend. Be a good friend. “That’s an excellent idea, Paige.”

  I said a good friend!

  The little devil on my shoulder is entirely too persuasive sometimes. Paige sighs tiredly and changes the subject by asking me how my night was.

  “Completely uneventful, actually.”

  Clearly her mind is still on her own romantic woes, because she immediately switches the subject back to Chris. “He’s so…he never wants to do anything with me! Is Luke like that?”

  “What?” Did she just assume we’re in the same category as her and Chris?

  “Like that time he came skating with us. You guys do stuff together, right?”

  Yeah, like fool around on his dad’s couch.

  “We have our shared hobbies. We’re not dating, though.”

  “You should. He’s really cute.”

  I think of that look on his face last night. Luke Thorpe is anything but ‘cute.’

  “He’s only sixteen.”

  “You’re blushing!”

  I turn away and mutter lamely about how hot it is in here.

  *

  Jem isn’t in Social Studies today. I take careful notes that he probably won’t ask to copy. He only cares about this course when it suits him. At the end of the hour I swing by the nurse’s office on my way to French. He isn’t there either.

  “Are you looking for your friend?” the nurse says to me. I guess for how often Jem is in here, she’s noticed that I’m the only one besides his family that talks to him.

  “He’s not been in today,” she says. If he’s not in class and he’s not here, he’s probably at home. I thank the nurse and head off to class.

  Jem hasn’t been sick enough to miss a whole day in awhile. I tell myself that I’m not supposed to care this much, but I’m curious about what happened to him and vaguely annoyed that we can’t be on speaking terms without him getting clingy.

  I put Jem out of my mind. It’s not healthy to get this attached to such a fragile friend.

  Friday

  When I get to Social Studies Jem is already seated, arms folded on the table and head pillowed on top. His face is turned to the side, watching me as I take my seat and arrange my books.

  “Hey,” he murmurs quietly, like he’s expecting rebuff.

  “Hi.”

  He watches me for the rest of the period, but I can’t stand to look at him. He looks so damn sad, and the new pallor in his face worries me. I shouldn’t involve myself in that. It’s bad for me, if past experience is anything to judge by, and probably bad for him too.

  He could really use a bowl of chickpea and kidney bean soup. I hate myself for noticing that.

  When class ends I get up to leave and Jem grabs my sleeve. I look over to see what he wants, but he looks just as bewildered as I feel to find his hand on my shirt. He lets go like the fabric is hot and walks away with his eyes on the floor.

  I catch a glimpse of him on my way to French. He’s leaning against his locker door and visibly trying not to be sick. Poor guy. He sees me looking at him and gives me a glare that makes me truly glad that looks cannot in fact kill.

  I deserve that.

  *

  I can’t decide if I should go to Elise’s party tonight. I said I would and I already bought her gift, but Jem will be there. It takes about twenty minutes of pacing to come to the conclusion that it’s Elise’s party, and that my problems with Jem shouldn’t interfere with making tonight special for her. I have no issues with Elise, after all.

  And looks can’t really kill.

  I make garlic knots as a hostess gift, five of which fall victim to Frank’s appetite before I manage to pack them up to take with me. As I clean up the mess from preparing garlic knots, I consider what else I could bring. Jem ate yogurt at lunch today, but didn’t finish his juice. He barely drank half of it. His lips were dry today in Soc and he was breathing slower than normal.

  Peeled, seeded cucumbers find their way into the blender with vanilla yogurt, honey and lots of milk. Tessa always wanted cinnamon with her Dehydration Shakes, as she called them—can his stomach handle that? Jem generally does well with barely spiced foods, so I play it safe and season with a few tablespoons of orange juice to bring out the sweetness of the cucumber.

  I pour the shake into a thermos for the road, and go upstairs to get ready. Shower, dress, a touch of makeup, and I’m out of reasons to stall. Why am I going to his house again?

  Because Elise is too much of a sweetheart to skip out on.

  I still feel weird about going. I don’t know many of Elise’s other friends. What if I have no one to talk to, and Jem uses that as an excuse to corner me? He would rather sequester me alone with him than crawl out of his shell, and the thought of an entire evening in his company makes me nervous. I can’t stand to be around him that long. He…upsets me.

  I pick up the phone and consider whom to call. It doesn’t take long to come up with a suitable friend, and I dial. The phone rings five times before I get an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Want to come to a party with me tonight?”

  *

  The line of parked cars stretches from the Harpers’ front porch, down the long driveway, and out onto the shoulders of the road. I guess ‘just a few friends’ is relative to someone as social as Elise.

  “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this house,” Hannah says as I find a place to park. “It looks so nice from outside.”

  “It’s gorgeous inside, too.”

  Hannah smiles. “I’m not surprised you’ve been inside.” I can’t put my finger on exactly why that remark irritates me. It’s unsettling to not know the origins of my own moods.

  When we enter the front hall Elise skips through the crowd—there must be fifty people here—to welcome us.

  “Willa!” she sings. “What took you so long?” It’s only ten-thirty, but judging by the noise level, Hannah and I are a little late. “Who’ve you brought with you?” Elise asks as she folds Hannah’s hand between hers in welcome. I introduce Hannah.

  I give Elise her birthday gift right then, since it might actually work with what she’s already wearing. Her gift is small enough to fit in my pocket: it’s an ebony wood ring with a lion’s head carve
d into the upper half. Word has it Gryffindor is her favorite Hogwarts house.

  Elise is pleased with the ring and garlic knots. She leads the way to the kitchen and even gives me a serving tray to put them out on.

  “Do they have to warm up in the oven?”

  “They’re good warm, but they don’t have to be.” I put Jem’s thermos in the fridge to keep cool while Elise and Hannah start putting the knots on the tray. Elise notices my other ‘gift.’

  “He’s around.”

  And I was just about to be glad that I haven’t run into Jem yet, because it’s going to be extremely awkward when I do.

  It might even break me.

  I don’t regret my decision to bring Hannah along. We find seats on the porch, and though I don’t know many people here, she knows a few people from the drama club’s stage crew. We hang out with them awhile and talk, and it is so sweet to watch the way Hannah looks at the puppy-eyed kid, Brian. She regards him with genuine affection, not just infatuation.

  “I’m surprised you’re not on stage crew,” I say to Hannah. “You’re so organized.”

  Brian takes the bait and looks up from his drink. “Yeah, it’s not too late to join. The school play isn’t till May, and we always need extra hands.” Hannah flushes at the attention. “Tall people always come in handy on the crew,” he concludes, and I want to kick him.

  Hannah hunches down a little, conscious of her height. She’s tall for a girl, but not freakishly so.

  “I wish I had long legs like yours.”

  We three look down at Hannah’s legs, casually extended in front of her and crossed at the ankle. She really does have beautiful legs.

  Hannah blushes and mumbles “Thanks.” Brian doesn’t say anything, but he’s giving her this weird, eager smile. If they weren’t so cute, they’d be kind of dorky.

  It’s after midnight when Hannah finally works up the guts to just ask Brian to dance. I quickly make an excuse of going inside for another drink, both to avoid having to dance too and to give them some privacy.

  Jem’s thermos is still in the fridge. I haven’t seen him all night. Granted, I’ve been out on the porch and it’s probably too chilly out there for him. I take the thermos out of the fridge and go to look for him. I try the obvious places first: living room, front room, hallway, and backyard—nothing. I even check unlikely places, like the laundry room and garage, but he isn’t there either.

  I run into Elise near the stereo—she’s giggling her way through some sort of partnered dance with a Latina girl whose name I don’t know—and ask if she’s seen Jem around.

  “He went upstairs for a bit.”

  In the spirit of wishful thinking, I check the library first. I really don’t want to have to knock on Jem’s bedroom door. That would imply that I want to spend one-on-one time with him, and just the thought of that creeps me out. But he isn’t in the library.

  “Damn it.”

  I weigh the thermos in my hand, considering whether I should just leave it in the fridge. But he looked dehydrated this afternoon…

  I walk softly down the hall to Jem’s room, like a thief trying not to get caught, and knock on his door. Maybe I should just leave the thermos on the carpet and run.

  Jem doesn’t answer. I put my ear to the door and listen. Nothing. Maybe he went back downstairs…

  The soft thump of a small object on carpet changes my mind. I knock again and he still doesn’t answer.

  I test the door handle. It isn’t locked. I slide the door open a crack and peer into the dim room on the other side. Jem is asleep, but it doesn’t look like he planned it that way. He’s laying across the foot of the bed, for one, and still fully clothed, for another. His left arm hangs over the edge of the mattress. He’s going to get pins and needles like that.

  The object I heard fall turns out to be his cell phone. It rests just under his limp arm, glowing up at me. The screen reads No New Messages. I wonder whom he was trying to contact.

  I pick up the phone and place it on his nightstand. His arm is trickier. I have to move it very slowly and gently to lay it across his chest without waking him, and then remove his watch so carefully you’d think I was trying to steal it. It’s hard to tell with only the small amount of light coming up the stairs, but he still looks dehydrated and ill. A big part of me wants to wake him up and offer him the thermos, but I don’t know where that gesture will lead, and I’m not exactly up for an early morning heart-to-heart in his bedroom. I fold Jem’s comforter in half to keep him warm and close the door softly behind me. I want to go home.

  I find Hannah with Brian in the living room and tell her that I’m going to take off.

  “Oh…okay,” she says unsurely. I know she wants to stay with Brian. She wants to dance some more and talk to him and maybe even sneak a kiss or two.

  “Maybe Brian can drive you home? You guys look like you’re having fun.”

  Hannah and Brian exchange questioning looks. “Uh…sure I can take her home.” Hannah blushes a little. I hug her goodbye and leave her to an evening of romantic possibilities.

  That night I dream of a highway surrounded by tall firs. I’m home. There is no sun, no rain, no wind; only the highway and the smell of gasoline and the vibration of tires under my body. I was never any good at running away. I always drove.

  Saturday

  I wake up numb. It feels good. I throw on the first clothes I find and drag my feet down to the kitchen. I need to do groceries today, and before I even consider breakfast I grab a piece of paper to make a list.

  We need the usual stuff: eggs, milk, butter, and bread. I make a list of vegetables I feel like using and check the freezer to determine our meat supply. I open the cupboard to check our stock of oatmeal and cereal, and find the honey jar almost empty. I can’t have used that much already…

  But I did. Two months of making soups and drinks for Jem adds up. I take the empty jar down from the shelf and stare at it. Should I buy more? Should I keep making him food? He needs it. I enjoy doing it. I worry about him when I don’t do it. But does that mean I should?

  I end up buying honey. And ginger. And rice flour. And after I’m done checking out, I hate myself. I’m a foolish masochist, revisiting all the painful shit in my life just so he can gain a pound or two. I should stop. Let him eat Jell-O and fend for himself.

  But then I’d really hate myself.

  When I get home from the grocery store there is a box of hinges on the porch. A note rests on top, penned in Luke’s wide, sprawling hand.

  I told Frank I’d drop these off for the greenhouse windows. Sorry I couldn’t stick around. Dad needs my help today. – Luke

  He’s drawn a big ‘O’ underneath and filled it with X’s. How downright cheeky of him.

  I change into my plaid work shirt and head through the garage toward the shed with the new box of hinges. It can go on one of the overburdened shelves with Frank’s tools and the rest of the greenhouse parts.

  When I open the door at the side of the garage and nearly walk into the bumper of a blue Neon. I didn’t even hear him arrive. Jem steps out of his brother’s car, watching me intently, as I kick the side door shut behind me.

  “You could have called before coming over.”

  “You could have answered.” He notices the box in my hands and frowns.

  I walk away, through the side gate and toward the back shed. Jem follows me slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to be too intrusive. That’s a new thing for him.

  I put the box inside with all the other crap and step back into the wan light of day. Jem studies me with a scowl as I replace the padlock on the shed door.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Are you still mad at me?” he demands.

  “Yes.” Probably not for the reasons he’s thinking, but that wasn’t the question. He asked if I was mad, and I am.

  Jem steps forward and stands close enough to invade my personal space. He corners me between the shed wall and his tall frame, looming over me li
ke a bully spoiling for a fight.

  “And you won’t even listen to an apology?” he snarls.

  “Piss off, Harper.” I put my hands on his shoulders and push him back. “You have no right to intimidate me like that.”

  “Why won’t you look at me?” he demands.

  “Why does it matter?” He takes another step in my direction and I back away. Space is a very good thing right now. Last time he lost his temper, he shoved me into shelves hard enough to cause bruises and kicked a chair. I don’t want to be the thing he lashes out against this time, and I don’t want to have to hit him back when I know he’s still unwell.

  “You know why it’s important to me,” he snaps. That selfish ass. All he thinks about is his own ego and emotional wellbeing. It never occurs to him that it might be difficult for me to look at him, no matter what my reason.

  “No, why is it important to me?”

  It occurs to him now, but as usual, he twists it with selfishness. Jem gapes at me with a wounded look and takes a step back. All he perceives is rejection, with no thought spared for what’s going on in my head. He tries and fails to compose his face into blankness before turning away and walking toward the gate. He folds his arms around his front as he goes.

  Fuck him, I think, and lean back against the shed door. Jem has a way of sucking all the energy out of me. Since I met him all he’s done is take from me and give barely anything in return. I’m crazy to hang out with him. I’m crazy to like him. The entire dynamic of this friendship is downright unhealthy.

  He didn’t latch the gate properly when he left. I slowly make my way across the muddy lawn to close it, and when I get close I see the front bumper of the Neon around the corner of the house, still in the driveway. He hasn’t left yet.

  I feel like a bitch just for contemplating it, but I know that I should stick up for myself and run him off. If he’s loitering around waiting for me to cave and give him what he wants, he can forget it.