by S. Massery
She nods and unbuckles her seat belt.
I automatically grip the steering wheel tighter, and she twists onto her knees to reach for my bag on the seat behind her.
“Where would it be?”
“Um…”
I know I had it when I was on the bus going to the meet. Parker had texted me and Skylar, and Margo had wished me good luck.
“Maybe the side pocket? If you don’t see it, I’ll check at your house.”
“Yeah, I got nothing.” She flips back around.
“Okay.”
“How’s your mom?” Skylar asks.
I shrug. “Fine, I guess. The same.”
She purses her lips. “She didn’t go to the hospital?”
“No.”
I don’t remember the last time she left the house.
We get to Skylar’s house, and Parker’s car is already there. Rather—her mom’s car. But she’s not in it, and she’s not on the porch.
“There,” Skylar says, pointing. Her voice has a little hitch in it.
I follow her finger across the sloping lawn to her neighbor’s house.
Parker and Jake Morrison are standing almost six feet apart, talking. Parker’s arms are crossed over her chest.
Jake lifts his hand and waves at us, and Parker whips around.
She says something to him, then comes in our direction.
Jake watches her for a long moment, then walks back to his house.
“Weird,” I mumble. “How was it, growing up next to Liam and Jake?”
Skylar snorts. “It wasn’t a walk in the park, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Parker reaches us and bounces over to me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “You both did amazing! Second and third place!”
I grin. “We shouldn’t have let that Lion’s Head girl get past us. It was the end.”
“Oh, stop. We did fine.”
“Fine is only good if we don’t plan on going to State—”
“You won the meet, though,” Parker cuts in.
Cross-country scores teams by points, which means it is wholly dependent on how everyone on the team does—not just individually.
It’s a small condolence, but it also worries me. I don’t like relying on people.
“The best part is that we have tomorrow off,” Skylar says. “I’m going to stay in bed until noon watching movies.”
Parker giggles. “That sounds fantastic.”
“I…” I glance away. “I don’t know.”
I’ll probably play nursemaid to Noah, while Dad catches up on work from his missed Friday evening.
Who knows.
“I’ll call your phone, Ri. Is the volume on?”
I nod and circle around to where my bag is. I still haven’t managed to use the water bottle, so I have a plastic one shoved in with my spiked shoes and jersey.
No phone.
“It’s ringing,” she whispers.
But we don’t hear anything.
“Hello?” Skylar’s eyes widen. “Who is this?”
She pulls back and stares at her screen.
“Someone answered, but they hung up.”
I shiver. “Maybe it fell out on the bus. Can I borrow yours…?”
She hands it to me, and I step away to call Dad. He answers in his brisk business voice.
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Riley. I tried calling you earlier. Where’s your phone?”
“I don’t know. Can we track it?”
He grunts. “Yeah, hang on.”
“How’s Noah?” I ask.
Not for the first time today, I’m a little pissed that I even went to the meet in the first place. If my future didn’t hinge on every single meet, I would’ve skipped it.
“Fine, fine,” Dad says. He’s distracted—probably from the Find My Phone app. “We’re heading home soon. Will you be there?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, it’s at the school. I can’t get much more detailed than that, unfortunately.”
I click my tongue. “Must’ve dropped it on the bus. Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you soon.”
He doesn’t ask about the meet, and I don’t offer any more information. I cross back to Skylar and Parker, who watch me worriedly.
“You didn’t say anything about Noah,” Parker says to me.
I shrug. I didn’t say anything about the stalker, either. “I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy morning. I’ve got to go get my phone, then go home. I’ll talk to you both tomorrow?”
They nod at me, and I climb back in my car. It’s a little weird without my phone—I’m disconnected from reality, almost.
Still, the drive back to Emery-Rose passes quickly, and I park next to the two busses that took us this morning.
I pry open the doors, casting a quick look around me, and hurry up the steps.
The bus is eerily silent. It’s wrong to be in here without permission.
Moving fast, I walk down the aisles and check on and under all the rows of seats.
Nothing.
I repeat the same thing on the other bus, then search around the parking lot.
And then I smack my forehead.
Skylar and I went into the school to return the big cooler and ducked into the locker room to use the bathroom.
“I’m an idiot,” I say to myself.
And lucky for me, I still have a key.
I let myself in the front door and make sure it locks behind me, then hurry down the hall to the athletic department. The wing is dark and creepy, but I keep my hand along the wall as I go.
Finally, I get to the girls’ locker room and yank the door open. The lights take a second to flicker on, and even then it’s just the automated sensor ones. They’re dim and sparse, just enough so people can find their way in and out.
My stomach twists.
I don’t know why anxiety is suddenly taking over, but I try not to let it slow my movements. Just get your phone and get out.
I search the rows of lockers, pausing at mine. It’s on the end of the row at eye level, easy to spot. The lock is missing.
I squint at it in the low light. It doesn’t look like it’s booby trapped or anything… So I lift the handle and pull it open, jumping back automatically.
Normally, I keep my gym shoes and clothes in there during the week, and then I take everything home for the weekend. My travel deodorant stays in the back of my locker, as does a pack of gum.
But now…
My stickered water bottle sits front and center.
Someone is messing with me.
Right?
I take it, but immediately it feels wrong.
Heavier than it should, even if it was completely filled with water. Which, for the record, it wasn’t. It was barely half full when I dropped it, and that’s the way it remained… on my desk. In my room.
Someone was in my room.
The intrusion steals my breath away.
A sudden loud noise breaks the silence, and I cringe.
It takes me a long moment to realize it’s my phone.
I slam my locker shut, tucking the offending water bottle under my arm, and hurry toward the ringing.
My phone is propped up against one of the sinks in the little bathroom area at the back of the locker room.
The caller ID says it’s Mom’s cell phone.
My heart immediately picks up speed, beating double time.
If I wasn’t already freaked out, this is the icing on the cake. She never calls.
I grab my phone and answer it, bringing it to my ear. “Mom? Are you okay?”
Her breathing fills my ear.
And then the worst thing imaginable:
She says, “I don’t think so.”
Depression runs in the family. If you trace our family history back far enough, you’ll see it pops up again and again. We don’t call it depression, though. It’s a nameless fog that creeps over our minds, until we don’t realize that we’re chin-high in water with no end in sight.
That’s how it kills.
I suspect my grandfather committed suicide when he was forty-three, and the town covered it up. Why? Because he was in politics and no one wanted a scandal. No one wanted to embarrass my grandmother, either.
I found an old newspaper article about how he died peacefully in his home. But no one dies of natural causes at forty-three. That was my mom’s dad. My mom’s brother has been on antidepressants since I can remember.
Noah covered up his negative thoughts with drugs. Pick-me-ups, he called them. Partying. Pretending he was okay when he was most definitely not.
Once he was off them, there was a time we were worried he would try to commit suicide. They helped him adjust in rehab, extending his stay as an inpatient from one month to eight.
And me? I used Eli fucking Black to help make me feel something. I used his sharp jabs as a way to see if I could still feel pain. And his kisses evoked other emotions. He swept away the fog in my brain when I most needed him.
When I thought Mom might die.
But my mother... she was a trooper. She fought through the hard shit with a smile. Well, most of the time. She never gave up—that’s the important part.
I was raised by a strong woman.
Somewhere along the line, that strong woman disappeared. I wish like hell I knew where she went or how I could bring her back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, clutching the phone tighter to my face.
“Honey?”
Her voice is raspy. It used to get like that when she went through treatment. I spent so much time in her hospital room, I got used to the way her voice changed from when she was on the edge of sleep to fully awake. Pain was the undercurrent of her words.
I didn’t realize until right this moment that the pain never left.
“Mom?”
She’s silent for a moment except for ragged breathing.
I sink to the floor, pressing my back on the lockers. “Talk to me.”
“I just don’t think I can do it anymore,” she whispers.
A weight crushes down on my chest. “Don’t say that.”
“Liz died,” she continues. “She was three years younger than me. Had been in remission for a year and a half—” Her voice cracks. “And now Noah…”
I cover my mouth with my hand.
“Noah’s okay, though. He’s coming home soon. Him and Dad.”
I can’t do this. I can’t comfort her about the woman who used to braid my hair while Mom played music, making us guess the artist or the title. They were roommates on the oncology wing, both fighting their cancer.
Liz became family.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she repeats. “I’ve fought and I’ve fought, and I’m just going to end up back there with tubes coming out of my body. What’s the point of any of this?”
I swallow. “You’re talking like... Your cancer is gone. You’ve been in remission for two years. You’re okay.”
Why is it hard to breathe?
This is different from the other phone calls I’ve gotten from her. Different, too, from the way she used to talk about death. Her and Liz made Death into a warrior that they would defeat. But now… not so much.
“I can’t keep fighting.”
Her voice is so low, I can barely hear her.
Alarm bells sound in my head. Screaming sirens.
“Where are you?” I demand. It’s her cell—I wouldn’t question if she had decided to go to Liz’s house, or the hospital.
Who knows?
“Home.”
What was once home is now an empty house. We’ve been ghosts circling each other for ages. Dad is never there. Noah’s been… weird. Working a lot, avoiding our parents. And now stabbed, in a hospital bed.
Depression runs in our family.
“Wait for me,” I tell her, jumping to my feet. Fear is icy and hot at the same time, spurring me into action. “Just, whatever you’re planning, wait. Okay?”
My heart is in my throat, and it’s going to beat out of my skin at this rate. I run out the locker room’s side door which leads to the parking lot.
“I don’t want you to see me like this, honey. I just wanted to say…”
“Save it, Mom,” I beg. “I’m on my way.”
I get all the way to my car when I realize I don’t have my keys.
They’re probably forgotten in the locker room, along with the water bottle.
“Shit!” I scream.
I kick my tire and turn around, stopping dead. I stare at Eli, who must’ve followed me.
Who witnessed everything.
I approach him quickly, reaching out to grab his arm. I don’t know why—the thought that he might bolt, or refuse, doesn’t occur to me until after I’ve latched on.
“Eli. I need you to take me home. My mom—” I shake my head. “She’s going to hurt herself.”
He’s the last person I should ask.
He’s the last person I trust.
But… he’s here. And he’s looking at me with concern written all over his features, like I just told him my house was on fire—perhaps it is.
I can only think about what is happening in my mother’s head.
“Okay,” he agrees.
26
Riley
Two Years Ago
Eli tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and smiles at me.
This is it. Our first time coming out as actually… liking each other. We talked about dating, but the word never felt real because no dates were happening. He’d come over to my house or I would go over to his. We would do homework, talk. Sometimes he’d drive me places.
It’s still a secret we’ve been hiding for months, and what better time than a party?
One at Amelie’s house, nonetheless. I’d been here over the summer with the other girls, giggling over magazines and stealing sips of liquor straight from the bottles on her parents’ wet bar. We hang out here after cheerleading practice, and on the weekends we take turns trying on clothes from her extensive wardrobe.
My relationship with Eli is new and exciting, but worse: captivating. I’ve fallen head over heels for the boy in a matter of months.
I went back to school for my sophomore year, finally caved and joined the cheerleaders. In public, Eli and I trade barbs like it’s our job. We grin viciously at each other.
And then… we go back to his place or mine and make out for hours.
Or talk.
But we haven’t had sex. Not yet, anyway.
Maybe tonight.
Enjoying Eli’s company has been a dangerous secret to keep, but I think we’ve both enjoyed the deception. The hidden smiles and looks.
I thought I was living before he came into my life, but I was numb.
And I think he’s been numb, too.
Together, we brought color back into our minds. A kaleidoscope of emotions I hadn’t realized was closed off to me is suddenly accessible again.
“Ready?” Eli asks, smiling down at me.
I nod.
He kisses me quickly on the lips, there and then gone.
Maybe no one will be fazed. They’ll say, Oh, of course. We knew you two were circling each other for the better part of a year. This was bound to happen.
Besides, there’s the whole stereotypical lacrosse player and cheerleader thing. It’s almost meant to happen.
Amelie might be pissed, though.
She made it perfectly clear that the golden boys—Caleb, Eli, Theo, Liam—are the worst of the bunch. Every time Eli and I talked, even if it was to insult each other, she’d glare at us.
We make our way up the sidewalk.
There isn’t the usual loud music pouring from the house, and the curtains are drawn closed. Light slips out, illuminating the front lawn and walkway, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was going to be a quiet affair.
Usually the music is so loud, it can’t be contained. Our ears always ring after it’s gone, too. An echo of the party staying with us.
&n
bsp; “Are they going to freak out?” Sudden nerves twist my stomach.
I’ve been feeling on the verge of nausea all week, but this moment cements it. I’m ready to hurl.
He stops. “Listen, Riley.”
I tilt my head.
“Whatever happens, whatever their reaction…” He blows out a breath. “I don’t want anything to change between us. Fuck them, you know?”
“Right,” I say slowly. “You think they’re going to react badly?”
He frowns, then shakes his head. “Not at all. But trying to predict a cheerleader’s mood—”
I smack him, and he bursts out laughing.
“See?”
I try to withhold my smile. I can never last long, though, and soon it’s breaking across my face. I reach up on my toes, and he graces my lips with another kiss.
He lingers this time, and my face slowly heats.
“Let’s do this,” he says.
We climb the porch stairs and enter. The music is louder in here, but not so bad as to kill my hearing. It’s also…
“Are they playing classical music?” I whisper to Eli.
He shrugs. “Maybe Amelie’s sister switched it as a prank?”
We walk farther inside. My palm is hot on his arm, but he doesn’t complain. The party area is in the back of the house, down a few steps. The kitchen and living room are open, and they lead out onto an impressive patio with a pool. It’s a very airy home, built for entertaining.
But it’s empty.
The school year is almost over. Spring break is just around the corner, and before we know it, summer will be upon us. Eli will be a senior, and I’ll be a junior.
The cool air whips through the house, tugging at our clothes.
“Maybe they’re outside,” Eli suggests.
Weird.
We go onto the back porch, and then we see them: what looks like every upperclassman from Emery-Rose has spread out on the lawn, wearing black. They all hold candles.
Amelie steps forward, candle-free, and throws her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Riley. I just couldn’t imagine—”
“What?” I detach myself from her, sort of difficult to manage one-handed, and glance between her and Eli.
I can’t read his expression.
He scowls at Amelie.
“Your mom, Riley. When we found out she died, we knew there was something we should do. After all…” Amelie grimaces. “What sort of mother does that?”
