Michael picks up the office phone on the first ring. “Tommy? Where are you?”
Holding his phone to my ear, I know I’ve screwed everything up so badly. Maybe if I’d made a different choice, Erica and I would be hanging out right now. Maybe she’d love this slide. We’d try to fit, but we’d get stuck and laugh about it. Maybe we’d date through high school and help each other through all the world suck. She’d go to CalArts and major in Animation, and I’d go to Thornton for songwriting while keeping up with guitar. We’d check out weird museums and wild concerts but always love the beach the most. We’d date for a long time. Maybe forever. And we’d both be so happy.
“Tommy?” Michael repeats into the phone.
“I dropped the glass of orange juice on purpose,” I whisper, knowing he won’t understand. “The morning after, when I heard her come down the stairs, I knew the guys would hear her too. Give her a hard time. So, I knocked over the glass to interrupt Zac talking about her. Distract them all so she could leave in peace. Because even then, I knew what we’d done was inexcusable. That I’d just stood there and watched them strip her and write on her. That I wrote on her.
“I’d been so mad, and I thought it was at her—I let it be at her—when I saw Zac kissing her. But she was so drunk, she didn’t know what was going on. And I didn’t say anything, couldn’t stand up to him, just watched him put his fucking hands all over her instead of flattening him like I should’ve done before driving her home.
“And I should’ve gone after her the next morning. Said something to her. Anything. Given her a ride. Because that whole time, all she was asking for was a hand up—for me to help her, Mikey. For anyone to. Instead, I yelled at her and told her off. Told her I didn’t want anything to do with her. I made her believe…” I choke. “I made her believe it was her fault. And the worst part? She believed me, Mikey. She believed me so much, she tried to kill herself. To not ever be here again. To not exist anymore. Because of us, because of me…” My voice snaps.
“Thomas,” Michael says. “I need you to come home, okay? I need you to finish your crying or whatever it is you need to do. Then I need you to get your head straight and come home. Everything will be okay.”
“How can you even say that?” I demand, tossing down the pages. “Nothing’s ever going to be okay again.”
“I promise you it will be. But, Tommy?”
The pages rustle in the wind. I press my face to my palm. “Yeah?”
“If you’re looking for redemption in all this, you’re not going to find it. The only thing you can do now is the right thing.”
“But they’ll hate me. They’ll all hate me.” The rubber bark at my feet blurs black.
“They might. But what’s worse: Having others hate you for a while or hating yourself forever?”
“But I’ll lose music school. I’ll lose everything.”
“You might.”
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out, gathering all my courage to ask: “How? How can I do it?”
“I’ll help you, kid,” he says softly.
It takes a long time for me to pull myself together, to finally breathe right again, but Michael stays on the line while I do, not saying anything. I’m exhausted, can’t remember ever being so tired, like I could flop back in this hard plastic tube and go to sleep for the rest of eternity.
“Mikey?” I say into the phone.
“Yeah, Tommy?”
“I wanna come home now, okay?”
He exhales into the phone. “You’ve made the right choice. I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”
I read him the park name from the sign on the fence, then click to end the call and cover my face.
It hurts. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. But staring down at Erica Strange fluttering in the breeze, I know now what I have to do.
ERICA
“HE SENT HER. HE SENT her!” I yell, head spinning, throat aching. “And she came for him, not me!”
Caylee’s just left, and fury lights my bones. A hairbrush, pillow, Scrabble tiles fly across the room. Anything I can get my hands on.
“Who sent her, Bug?” Mom asks. “Tell me what’s going on.” She’s not understanding. She doesn’t know.
“She was never on my side. Never.” My legs pummel sheets, fists pound the mattress, vision darkens.
Mom’s grabbing my ankles. “Erica, please calm down. Help me understand.”
“She was always going to choose him, don’t you see? Always!” I’m in a tunnel, a narrowing tunnel.
“Bug, please stop flailing! You’re hurting yourself!”
Her agonized cry snaps me out of it. The world looms large again, blackness receding.
I look at her, breathing hard. She’s flustered, face contorted with fear.
I look down. She’s right. My IV’s straining, close to tearing again.
I stop, still myself, breathe deeply. For a fraction of a second, I’m transported back to our apartment in the minutes before I took the pills, slamming the door in Mom’s face and refusing to open up to her even after she pleaded with me to. Then I blink several times till my vision rights itself.
I’ve been so selfish, so very selfish. Everything I’ve put her through…
“Mom,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt myself anymore. I promise.”
And I’ve never meant it more. Maybe one day I can do it for me, too, but in this moment it’s for Mom, for Erica Strange. I think of Austin’s words, that my reactions need to come in service of myself, not against me.
But now, where to start?
How about from the very beginning?
“Something… something bad happened to me. Something so horrible…” My voice cracks, but I push through the broken. “And I really need to tell you about it.”
THOMAS
“YOU READY?” MICHAEL ASKS.
He sits next to me on the bed in his old room, one hand on my shoulder, the other gripping his phone. I’ve told him everything, face stiff from crying so hard again.
“It won’t be the same. None of it will ever be the same.” I’m choking out the words because there’s something in my throat that wants me to stop talking, to never open my mouth again.
Michael sighs a heavy sigh. “You’re right, Tommy. It won’t be.”
“Music school will be over. Uncle Kurt will be so disappointed. There’s no going back.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“God, why do I have to do this?”
He shrugs. “You already know the answer to that one, kid.”
“I just didn’t think I was that kind of guy, you know? Someone who would do something so… unforgivable. I always thought I was one of the good guys, you know? Not like Dad or Zac. But I was both, and I betrayed her.”
I picture Erica’s drawings, so full of color and hope in the beginning, and compare it to the broken girl who wrote the good-bye. Heaving a shaky breath, I take the phone from Michael and dial the number he holds out. The phone rings once, then a deep male voice answers. “Bay City Police. How may I direct your call?”
“Could…” I clear my throat. “Could you transfer me to”—my eyes find the name on the business card—“Officer Rodriguez’s line, please?”
Michael nods his encouragement, squeezing my shoulder.
“One moment.”
The phone rings once, twice. “Officer Rodriguez speaking,” answers a female voice.
All of a sudden, I’m freezing. My whole body shakes, knees jumping violently even when I press my feet into the floor. “Officer Rodriguez?” I say in a rush. “This is Thomas. Thomas VanBrackel. There’s something… something I gotta say.”
I think about Erica, wonder if I’ll ever see her again, knowing her smile won’t ever be for me again. Thomas the Rhymer won’t exist anymore.
Over the line, Officer Rodriguez says, “I’m listening, Thomas.”
On the floor between my Chucks, my eyes find the curled-up p
ages of Erica’s blog, catching a glimpse of a superhero cape and a small bat friend.
But there will always be an Erica Strange.
I take a deep breath, one that shudders through me. Then I open my mouth and let the truth fly free.
ERICA
AFTER TELLING MOM EVERYTHING, I mentioned calling Officer Rodriguez. That’s when Mom asked my permission to bring Valerie in on the conversation, and together, the three of us talked it over. It’s definitely not a decision to make lightly. Everyone knows what happens to girls in the media who speak out. But once I made my decision, we called Officer Rodriguez together, and she got here in no time. Maybe she thought I’d back out. Maybe she was right. Either way, I’m glad she’s here.
While waiting for Officer Rodriguez to finish talking with Mom, I take out the markers Amber gave me. The navy pen the color of Erica Strange’s cape shakes in my fingers, and I know my voice will too. And still…
I’m ready, I whisper to her—my Erica Strange—to help keep my fear at bay. As ready as I’ll ever be, anyway.
Then the officer takes a seat by my bed and begins, talking too slowly, too loudly so that I can be sure to hear. My marker tip drags across the page in a fluid, sweeping motion as questions and names roll from the officer’s tongue like an endless conveyor belt:
Zachary Boyd.
Richard Demoine.
Christopher “Stallion” Lawson.
Forest Stevens.
Thomas VanBrackel.
Tina Marcus.
Caylee Morgan….
How did you meet?
How well did you know…?
…describe your relationship?
…attend the game?
…night of the party?
…when you woke up?
…realized what happened?
…harassment start?
…describe the writing?
…names?
…messages?
…photos?
…video?
My brain is working overtime trying to focus, so the final question catches me off-guard: “What made you change your mind?”
The marker freezes in my hand, and I stare up at Officer Rodriguez until she clarifies, “About telling the truth, I mean.”
“Someone who used to be my best friend,” I say.
Maybe it’s not the answer she was looking for, but the officer nods. “All right, that should be all for now. We’ll let you know if we have any further questions.”
As she stands, pocketing her notebook, she leans over and says just loud enough for my aching ears, “You did the right thing, Erica.”
Something about her parting words rubs me the wrong way, though, as if there’s only one right way to handle this situation—tell the police and all will be well. Justice will be served. And maybe that’s what she believes. But anyone with eyes and ears knows that’s not always true. I don’t even want to think about the possibility of a trial or how hard it’s going to be moving forward, how brutal people’s rash judgments can be. But I remind myself I have Mom, and Valerie, and Amber on my side. I even have an alter-ego supergirl with a loyal bat sidekick who will help see me through, and I have to pray that’s enough.
Still, what about individuals who don’t go to the police—can you really blame them? Are they any less because of it? Would I have been less if I’d chosen a different path, any less Erica Strange?
As I arc the marker across the page, I decide Officer Rodriguez is wrong; there is no “right.” There’s only learning how to survive something so horrible that living may sometimes feel impossible. There’s only acknowledging that it happened and admitting—even to yourself—how greatly it affected you. In my mind, if there’s any right in all this, that’s it. And that’s the heroic part.
Almost like she can read my thoughts, Mom pats my arm and hands me another tissue, enunciating each word: “Stay brave, Bug. It’s going to be okay.”
I nod, staring down at my beautifully messy Erica Strange, tear-splattered and all, knowing that so many images I haven’t yet drawn need to come before this one—images of unforeseen storms and lightning-tattered capes, of mist-engulfed castles and cloaked villains made of words, of looming cliff faces and near-fatal shark attacks. But I keep drawing this final image of Erica Strange, with a crashing ocean wave emblem now burning bright where before there was none, clambering aboard a pirate ship. Because once, many moons ago, a badass superhero girl taught me that sometimes you have to write the ending you want before you can know where you need to begin. This is where we used to differ, she and I. But now, I think we might just be on the same page.
As I add in fierce, female supers surrounding Erica Strange, I realize something else, too. For the first time since I got here, since waking up Sunday, if even for just this tiny, glorious glimmer of a moment, I think I believe my mother’s words:
It’s going to be okay.
RESOURCES LIST
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
1-800-273-8255 (hotline, available 24/7)
RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)
https://www.rainn.org/ (live chat and hotline, available 24/7)
National Sexual Assault Hotline
1-800-656-HOPE (4673)
National Sexual Violence Resource Center
https://www.nsvrc.org/
Stomp Out Bullying
https://www.stompoutbullying.org/
The (free) Be Strong app
https://bestrong.global/
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people deserve colossal thanks for helping launch this debut, so this list is long and mighty! Profuse thanks to:
Carl for his endless love, silliness, and sense of adventure. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. Your faith in me and my writing is the reason I’m here, especially when I sometimes doubted. Your hugs are world-class, and even after all these years, you’re still my favorite part of every day. (You too, Mau-town!)
My rock-star agent, Sara Crowe, who saw a glimmer in this manuscript and believed in it since Day One, well before the book was ready for the world. Thank you for your tremendous patience, for your incredible insight into all things publishing, and for finding this book the perfect home. I’m so lucky to work with you!
The whole crew at Pippin Properties for your relentless and fierce advocating of kidlit authors and their novels, and for helping bring this one to life.
My superhero editor, Liesa Abrams, who understood my exact vision for this book, who fearlessly championed its message, and whose guiding light made it shine. Meeting you over the world’s best gluten-free bagels felt like the perfect kind of fate. You are exceptional in every way, Liesa!
The whole team at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, whose magical touch lifted this novel to new heights, including Morgan York and Alison Velea for being the world’s greatest managing editors, as well as copyeditor Crystal Velasquez and proofreader Stephanie Evans for their keen eyes. Special thanks to Sarah Creech for the gorgeous cover and her brilliant expertise in all things art; to Mara Anastas, who supported early acquisition of this book; and to Krista Vitola for so graciously stepping in and seeing this book through to the end. Y’all are the greatest!
The supremely talented Emma Vieceli for taking my weird “supergirl with bat sidekick” storyline and putting her own badass spin on it so that Erica Strange could soar off the page in a way I never dreamed possible. The illustrations are perfection, Emma. I’m forever grateful!
Ashley for navigating this publishing journey right by my side, and for being the world’s greatest CP, friend, listener, and cheerer. (Long live our state-hopping escapades, white-noise debriefs, and hours on the phone with all the crunchy snacks!) We always said we could, and here we are, my debut sister! **Buy her gorgeous debut, Amelia Unabridged!** Thank you for everything. I’d be utterly lost without you.
Lucy for bringing such light to my life even in
dark times, and for being there when I needed you most. Thank you for all the talks, tears, laughter, #wfiw!, plus all the baking and crafts a heart could hold. What would I do without you? And Jenn, we’ve grown so much together since meeting—thank you for always holding space for me and forever accepting me as I am. To say I’m proud of who we’ve become is the world’s greatest understatement. You’re unstoppable, friend. Endless thanks to you both for our many adventures, from Mad Hatter tea parties to roaring twenties plane rides to Buc-ee’s pit stops. Team JammyPack, FTW!
Jessi and Clay, I cherish your love and kickass friendships immensely. Our weekly check-ins are a lifeline for me, as is each magical retreat spent in your company and celebrating every victory—both large and small—together. I cannot wait to return the favor and rejoice in your debuts in the very near future! And special thanks, Jessi, for the generous and insightful sensitivity read. I hope I did you proud, friend.
And to all my Hollins sisters and fierce cupcake warriors. You know who you are! Thank you for helping me create an inclusive Hogwarts built on late-night study sessions and firefly-lit campus strolls, rocking chair porches in thunderstorms and ghost stories in the graveyard, plus all the Carvin magic to fill a whole soul. Attending Hollins was one of my best life decisions because it gave me y’all. And to Hollins University herself—thank you for eternally restoring my belief in magic.
My New England homegirls, Lisl and Basia, for being the world’s greatest beachcombing, antique-store-scouring, and adventure-loving ladies I could ask for. I thank my lucky stars every day that we all wound up together. Love you, babes!
My family—especially my sister, Megan; mother, Sonia; and Aunt Cathy—for their endless cheerleading. Thanks also, Megs, for being a fierce and loyal sister always, and for fighting off my childhood bullies; Mom, for always letting me check out as many library books as my small arms could hold; and Aunt Cathy, for all those magical summers, spent just the two of us, that were such a lifeline for me. I love you more than words can express!
After the Ink Dries Page 25
