“Sure.”
We plop down on the sofa, overlooking the yard below. I run my finger over the fabric of the cushion. “So how’ve you been?”
He stares at me then says, “I’m okay. I’ve been more worried about you. I-I’d wanted to come see you sooner …” He turns his head, hiding his eyes behind his hand.
“It’s fine. Really. I mean, I’m doing better. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you Alex.” My voice cracks. “So thank you.”
“So many nights, I’ve lain awake wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come home that day. If I’d been a few minutes later.”
“But you weren’t. You got there in time.”
He nods. “I know.”
I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. And when he looks at me, I see all the things he can’t say. How scared he was and is for me. How much he loves me. “I hope you didn’t come all the way here to cry all over me,” I tease.
He half laughs half cries. “Um—no smart ass, I didn’t.”
“Did you just call your mental sister a smart ass?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Ah, when you put it that way you make me sound like an asshole.”
I laugh. “So really, what’ve you been up to? How’s school and all that crap?”
“Actually,” he says, toying with the zipper on his jackets. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”
He’s silent for a minute, and I wait, wondering what he’s going to say. I nudge his knee with mine. “And?”
“And, I’ve decided to take my life into my own hands. I’m dropping out of law school and moving to New York.”
My mouth gapes as I let his words register. “No, fucking way. How did Mom and Dad take the news? I bet they’re shitting themselves right now.”
“Actually.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I haven’t told them yet. You’re the first person I wanted to know. Well, besides Amy.”
“Oh. My. God. They’re going to be super pissed. But I’m happy for you. Do you have a place picked out?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Amy’s parents have an apartment there they’re going to let us stay in. I’ve already been accepted for an internship at a publishing house. We’re heading out tomorrow.”
A mixture of happiness and sadness pours through me. I’m excited that Alex will finally get the chance to do what he wants with his life. But sad that he’ll be so far away from me now. There are so many things I want to say, but the only thing that comes from my mouth is, “Congrats, I’m so happy for you.”
He leans over and hugs me. “You know I’ll only be a phone call away. If you need anything—or want to get away for a while, my door’s always open.”
“I know.”
“You deserve the world, Ellie. Don’t be afraid to go after your dreams too.”
“I’ll try. Promise me you’ll stay in touch.” I rest my head on his shoulder, clinging tight to his jacket as if that alone will keep him here with me.
“You know I will. Like I said, if you need anything …” his voice grows hoarse. “I love you, Ellie. No matter what.”
“Love you too.”
We talk for a few more minutes about my being here in the Institute and his upcoming move before he stands to go. And as I say goodbye, I realize how scared I am to let him leave. How much I’ve depended on him over the years. But I should learn to stand on my own two feet, no matter how much I stumble along the way. He taught me to ride my bike; now I need to teach myself that I’m okay on my own.
Chapter Twelve
When my brother’s gone, I move to the recreation area. My step is lighter and so is my heart. I’m sad Alex is leaving for New York, but am glad he at least stopped in to see me before he went.
I pat the pocket of my jeans, making sure the small picture I drew is still there. It’s nothing compared to the one I did in art, but it’s the best I can do with only crayons. With a sigh, I sit in my usual spot and set up the checkerboard. My gaze swings to the door several times searching for Ky. I’m being ridiculous of course. He’ll either be here, or he won’t. And I can’t let myself get too caught up in him.
I pretend that I don’t need to see him, but a part of me kind of does. Not that I want to be greedy or anything, I mean, I at least got to see Alex today. Ky, if he shows, will be the icing on the cake.
After I set up the chessboard, I move a black piece.
“Don’t tell me; you’re starting without me? You know, that’s kind of cheating,” Ky’s low voice interrupts me.
My heart jumps into my throat, and I turn my eyes to stare at him. His smile is infectious, and I return it.
“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you’d make it today,” I say. Warmth fills me as if someone has dumped liquid sunshine into my veins.
“Don’t tell me you missed me?” He takes a seat, then sets a stack of papers on the table next to him.
A blush creeps up my neck and fans out over my face. “I-um-maybe a little. But it’s only because it’s hard to find people to have legit conversations with in this joint.” Although I’m sure he can see right through this lie, he doesn’t question it.
“Well, I decided to do something for you since my last visit. I got it okayed with your therapist and all.” He slides the papers across to me.
My gaze meets his. Suddenly, I feel as if I’m floating. As if I’m being drawn into Ky’s light. Kind of like a bug floating toward a zapper. Only, I hope this will be less painful.
“What is it?”
He chuckles. “Look and see.”
I flip the pamphlets over to see they’re college booklets. For the art program. My throat thickens. He gets me. Gets me in a way most people don’t. And right now, I want to hug him, to tell him how much it means to have him listen to me. To notice what’s in my heart. To sit here and talk to me, giving me hope—something to look forward to.
“Ky, thank you.”
He nods. “I can tell how much it means to you, your art I mean. So I thought maybe this would give you an idea of what’s out there, should you choose to not be an attorney.”
“Well, if you’re going to make me look at these, then I want you to check out some archaeology schools. I mean, fair is fair.”
His eyes focus on me, holding me in place. I can’t look away. “It just so happens, I might’ve grabbed a few.” He sets a couple more papers down in front of us, revealing a small stack of college booklets.
“So, we’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” I grin. “Taking our futures into our own hands.”
His smile falters. “I’m going to try. I attempted to talk to my dad about it. But as soon as he heard that I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps …”
“What did he say?” I prod.
Ky reddens. “He said it was the Devil’s way of trying to change my mind. That I had a path and I needed to stick to it.”
I grip the side of the table. “That’s bull shit, excuse my language—but seriously, having your own thoughts and goals doesn’t make you evil. Hell, some archaeologists have discovered important artifacts that have proven some of the books in the Bible happened. How can that be wrong?”
Ky lets out a long sigh. “I know. It’s just; he’s really pushing this.”
“Well, when it comes time to decide, remember you’ll be an adult. This really is your decision. It might not be popular with your parents, but this is for you.”
“Same goes for you, Ellie.”
Not wanting to talk about depressing things, I change the subject. “So, have you gotten a chance to watch Indiana Jones yet?”
“No, I didn’t have enough time, with all my sneaking around to get these.” He teases holding up the booklets.
I groan. “Then here’s your mission. You have to watch it by the time you come to visit me again.”
He quirks his eyebrows at me. “Are you telling me what to do?”
“Yes. And because I’m unstable, you have to do it,” I kid with him. “Besides, it’s funny and has lots of act
ion. Harrison Ford is totally hot in it.” Okay, maybe he didn’t necessarily need to hear the last part, but it’s too late to take it back now.
“Okay, okay, I’ll watch it. Scouts honor.” He holds up his hands.
“I’m holding you to it.” Before I forget, I fish the folded paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. “This is for you. But you can’t open it until after you leave.”
“What is it?” He watches me, a smirk on his face.
“Nope, I’m not gonna tell you. You’ll have to wait. Now, let’s play checkers, we’re almost out of time.” I hope he likes the drawing I did. It’s of the two of us climbing a pyramid. As we play our game, I wonder if Ky will keep coming back to see me. I want him to but I am also scared to get my hopes up. Because up until now, nothing has ever gone my way.
Chapter Thirteen
D.B. List Number 3: My Parents
As I walk back to my room, I’m already counting down to when Ky will be here again. I never knew someone could make you feel like this. Happy. Content. Grateful. Excited.
“Ellie, wait up,” PJ calls from behind me.
I turn to glance at her. Her cheeks are paler than normal, and there’s panic on her face. When she reaches me, she grips tight to my arm. Her brows furrow, eyes darting everywhere.
“Hey, what’s up?” I say.
“I-it’s following me,” she whispers.
“Who?” I start to spin around, but PJ stops me.
“No. Don’t look, or it’ll know I’ve told you.”
“PJ, who’s following you?”
“The demon. He’s been watching me. Sometimes, he just appears. We have to get back to the room so he can’t find me. Because he told me he wants to tear my face off. I need my face, Ellie.”
I hear the terror in her voice, and it makes my skin crawl. But I know she’s having a hallucination. It scares her enough to forget about how much she likes to rhyme stuff. “C’mon. I’ll draw us some guards to watch over our room.”
We race down the hall. “Slow it down,” Nurse Lisa says.
“Sorry,” I say.
When we get to our room, we rush inside. PJ’s out of breath and frantically searching near our beds and dressers. “It didn’t come in. Maybe we lost it.”
I slump on my bed and reach for my notebooks. As quickly as I can, I sketch some knights. Not my best artwork, but I don’t have time to make them perfect. When I finish them, I tear them from my book. I put two on PJ’s bed. One on her dresser, then I lay the last one at the foot of my bed.
“There. Now we’re protected. Nothing can get passed our knights. Kind of like in the fairytales, how the knights always protect people from all the bad things,” I say.
PJ wipes her eyes and smiles at me. “Ellie, you’re the best—you’re better than all the rest. You always save me when I’m sad, and fight off all the bad.”
“I try.” And she’s back to normal again. For now. If only my own demons and monsters were as easy to defeat. “Why don’t you lay down and get some sleep. I’ll stay awake and keep watch.”
“Are you sure?” She yawns, reaching for her blue fuzzy blanket.
“Yeah. I’ll be up for a while.”
Outside our door, I watch Nurse Lisa check us off her clipboard list. Once again, we’ve been accounted for. I know in fifteen minutes, I’ll see her or one of the others walk by again.
As PJ shuts her eyes and curls into a ball, I reach for my D.B. List. There’s a memory that’s been swimming in my mind today. One I hate recalling. It’s one of the worst ones. But not the worst—but pretty damn close.
Today, I’m adding my douche bag parents to my list. Although there are probably lots of moments where they’ve made my list, this is the one that seems to stick out most.
I take a deep breath and head into the dining room, where for once both my parents sit, reading newspapers. Normally they’re on their phones or going over cases. I know if I’m going to ask them about art camp, it has to be now. They have no idea that I’ve been secretly meeting with my teacher after school for art lessons and art club. I wasn’t allowed to take art classes for school, due to my parents saying I’d never go anywhere with it—that I need to take honors and AP classes—stuff like math and science, and things that’d matter on a college applications.
But I love art. And Ms. Dormer had entered one of my pieces in a competition for a chance to attend a month-long camp in New York. There’d be famous artists there instructing and mentoring students and kids.
Hands sweating, I clear my throat. “Hey, can I talk to you guys for a few minutes?”
Mom looks up from her paper. “Sure. What do you need?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about going to art camp this year. Instead of doing the internship at the law firm.”
Dad’s jaw tightens. “Absolutely not. You know how many strings I pulled to get you this internship? People would kill to have this opportunity.”
“Will you at least listen to what I have to say? I worked hard to earn a scholarship. They’re going to have artists from all over the world come in and work with kids. My artwork was good enough to get me in …”
Mom dropped her paper. “Your artwork? You’re not in any art classes.”
“I-I know. But I’ve been working with Ms. Dormer after school. She says I have great potential—”
“Damn it, Ellie. So you’ve been sneaking around behind our backs? And now you expect us to just let you go to this art camp?” Mom glares.
I shrink back. This is exactly how I thought everything would go. “I love art, why is that such a big deal.”
“Because you’re supposed to be focusing on school and your classes. Last week you got an A- on that test, which had you really been studying after school like you said, it probably would’ve been an A.”
My hands clench and tears stream down my face. “I work my butt off. I don’t understand why I can’t have something fun to do—something I enjoy.”
“There will be time for fun later,” Mom says.
“You mean, like you and Dad? Because you never do anything but work. You’re always on your phones or meeting with clients or gone.”
Mom slaps my face, and I stagger back. “That’s enough. I said no. You’re going to be working at Heller, Dickinson, and Peterson this summer, end of story.”
With a sob, I run from the room. I slip my phone out of my pocket and dial Grandpa’s number. He answers on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Grandpa, it’s Ellie,” I sob.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Mom and Dad said no to the art camp. Th-they wouldn’t even hear me out.”
“How about I come pick you up for a little while, get you out of there.”
I sit on the couch, my knees tuck under my chin. “If you could …”
“Just let me grab my wallet and keys, and I’ll be right there. But before you go, put your mom on the phone.”
I don’t want to see or talk to my mom right now, but I do what Grandpa asks and go into the dining room, where she’s bitching about me to my dad. “Grandpa wants to talk to you.”
Her lips turn down into a frown. “So, you called him about all this? Why do you always bring him into the middle of things?”
I want to tell her it’s because he actually listens to me. He cares about my thoughts, feelings, and my life. But instead, I hand her the phone.
“Hello, Dad. Yes. I’m sorry Ellie called you. No. It’s fine, she can go get ice cream with you, but I don’t want her out too late.”
When she’s done, she hands the phone back to me. “Grandpa?”
“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Thank you, and I love you.”
“Love you too, El. Don’t you worry about anything. This will all blow over. And I promise I’ll see what I can do to try and convince your mom and dad to let you go.”
We talk for a few more minutes, and then Grandpa hangs up, and I go to get
ready.
Once I change my clothes, I go to wait for him on the porch. I’m not sure what I’d do without my grandpa. He’s always here to dry my tears—to encourage me—to make sure I know someone loves me.
As the minutes tick away, I glance at the clock on my cell and realize he’s running late. I wait longer, rocking back and forth on the porch swing. Grandma must’ve asked him to do something before he left.
My gaze flickers back and forth watching for Grandpa’s old pick-up truck. When an hour has passed, I decide I should probably call to make sure he’s still coming. It’s not like him to be late.
When I push in the front door, I hear the phone in the kitchen ringing, I move to answer it, but Mom gets there before me.
“Hello? Mom? What’s wrong?” Mom’s face crumples. “Oh, God. We’ll be right there …”
Mom drops the phone, her eyes wet with tears and turns to me. “Your grandpa was in a car accident.”
My knees wobble beneath me. “I-is he okay?”
She shakes her head no. “He’s dead Ellie.”
“Dead,” I whisper. The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I reach to steady myself against the counter. He can’t be dead. I just talked to him. He’s coming to see me.
Mom grabs my arm. At first, I think she might hug me. Something she doesn’t do often, but instead, she shakes me. “He’s dead. Because you had to act like a spoiled brat. Because you had to call him when you didn’t get your own way.”
My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe. My vision swims as tears pour from my eyes. But she’s right. It is my fault. If I hadn’t called him, then he wouldn’t have been on the road. He never would’ve gotten hit.
It’s my fault that Grandpa is dead.
My fault.
God, I hate this memory. I try not to think about it too often because if I do, it festers and eats away at me. My head swirls with darkness, and I attempt to push it away. But how can I forget it? The way my mom looked at me that day. How Grandpa had only been coming to get me because I needed him. I need him now too, but he’s gone. He’s been gone for over a year now.
The D.B. List Page 6
