Things I Should Have Known

by Claire Lazebnik

  She’s silent. I glance over at her. Her lip is thrust out, and her brows are drawn together.

  “I’m sorry,” I say wearily. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just really stressed right now.”

  “You think you’re so much smarter than me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re my little sister, you know. You’re younger than I am by forty-three months.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to text Diana. I’d rather talk to her.”

  “You do that.”

  She curls up again with her iPad, and I hear her tip-tapping on it.

  I could use someone to talk to too—​I feel like I’m losing my mind with all this waiting. But James and I are broken up, and if I call her, Sarah will want to talk about that, and Mom comes as a package deal with Ron.

  I stare at my phone. Text me, I order David silently.

  My phone stays dark and quiet.

  So much for telepathic communication.

  After another half an hour of staring uncomprehendingly at words on a page, pretending to do homework, I finally break down and text him again.

  please tell me they found him

  Nothing.

  I stay up until one without hearing anything else from David. Even after I go to bed, I keep picturing Ethan out in the dark, scared and hungry and alone—​or worse, cornered by brutal faceless people who want to hurt him. What ability does he have to defend himself against anything threatening? To navigate a city’s streets alone? He can’t even deal with a chili pepper.

  I doze off finally but then wake up an hour later, my heart pounding, terrified that something’s wrong with Ivy, who—​I sit up and check—​is snoring peacefully in her bed. Why am I worried about her? She’s not the one who’s wandering the streets alone.

  And then I realize I was dreaming about her, only I can’t remember any details, just that something very bad was happening to her and I couldn’t stop it, and even though the dream has vanished, I can’t get rid of the sick fear it left in its wake.

  No more texts when I get up the next morning, and no David in school that day, either. I’m desperate for information. I can’t sit still. I feel like a million tiny bugs are crawling all over my skin, and it’s hard to breathe. I have no idea what anyone’s saying in any of my classes, and I can’t focus on the quiz I have to take in AP bio. Not that I care. School seems meaningless today.

  What if they never find Ethan? What if he’s been beaten up? Or locked up in some maniac’s shed? Or killed?

  There are too many awful possibilities, and the longer he’s gone, the more the worst seems possible.

  At lunch, I sit with a bunch of kids, who talk about how hard the quiz was, like getting As in school actually matters. I barely pay attention, just keep checking my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a text.

  When we walk out of the cafeteria, Sarah says, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just some stuff going on at home.” I don’t think I should tell her about Ethan. David probably doesn’t want people to know—​he’s a pretty private guy. And I don’t want anyone pestering him for information. Except me, of course.

  “Is that why you were ignoring James?”

  “I wasn’t.” James was at the same table, but we were sitting far apart and couldn’t really talk.

  “He kept trying to say hi to you, and you totally ignored him.”

  “I honestly didn’t hear him.”

  “I’d better tell him that. He looked hurt, and I want you guys to get along. You’re my two closest friends. It’s no fun if you’re fighting.”

  “We’re not fighting! Seriously. I want us to be friends too.”

  “Well, then maybe you should try not to ignore him,” she says. “You could join the conversation now and then too, you know. You were pretty spacy at lunch.”

  “Sorry.” I’m too tired to argue or defend myself—​and it all seems so ridiculously petty that I don’t want to, anyway.

  I text David when I get home. I can’t wait any longer. any news?

  My phone vibrates a minute later.

  no

  Shit

  And there the conversation ends.

  My mom calls from the car on her way back from picking up Ivy. “You hear anything about Ethan?”

  “Just that there’s no news.”

  “Oh, God. I hope he’s okay.”

  She’s on Bluetooth, so I can hear Ivy say, “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  Mom just sighs and tells me they’ll be home soon.

  When she puts dinner on the table, I’m not hungry. I just want to lie on my bed and try to distract myself with videos. I tell Mom I’m skipping dinner, and Ron starts to object, but Mom actually shushes him for once and lets me escape.

  Ivy comes up to our room when they’re done eating.

  “Are you sick?” she asks.

  “I don’t feel great.”

  “We had chicken Marsala. I didn’t like the mushrooms, so Mom said I could scrape them off. It was okay then, but I don’t want her to make it again. The mashed potatoes were good, though. It was all from Trader Joe’s. I like their macaroni and cheese better.”

  “Yeah, it’s good stuff,” I say dully.

  Nothing from David all evening long. I’m so tired by this point that I fall asleep on my bed fully dressed. I wake up a couple of hours later and wiggle out of my jeans, but I can’t get back to sleep.

  Fears for Ethan and fears for Ivy circle around my mind, chasing each other, tormenting me.

  I’m brushing my teeth the next morning when my phone vibrates. I snatch at it eagerly.

  He’s home

  I’m so relieved I lean over the sink and close my eyes for a second. Then I drop my toothbrush and punch out a text: is he okay? who found him? where was he?

  And David texts back . . . nothing.

  I get to English early, hoping David will be there and I’ll have a chance to talk to him, but he doesn’t show up until Camp has already started the class. She nods at him as he slips through the door—​she’s not the kind of teacher to give a kid a rough time for being a couple of minutes late—​and keeps talking.

  I try to catch his eye, but he just opens his laptop and stares at the screen. His face is pale except for dark-purple bruise-like circles under his eyes.

  Class ends, and I’m on my feet and in front of his desk before he’s even closed his computer. He looks up at me, expressionless.

  “What happened?” I say. “Is he okay? Where did they find him?”

  “I don’t really feel like talking about it now.” He closes his computer and slips it and his schoolbooks under his arm as he stands up.

  “When, then?”

  He shrugs and walks away from me.

  I follow him out into the hallway and grab his arm. People are turning to look at us. Maybe I should care, but I don’t—​I just want to know about Ethan. “Please! Just tell me what happened, and I’ll leave you alone. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I need to know.”

  He turns to me, lowers his voice. “Fine. The police got a call from someone who found Ethan stumbling around on the beach in Santa Monica in the middle of the night. He was soaked from head to toe, and his shoes and shirt were missing, and he was shaking. He said he had been hanging out with people on the beach, but no one was there. It sounds like maybe some kids dared him to go swimming or actually threw him in the ocean or something, but he can’t seem to explain it clearly. He said they were all fooling around together and that they were friends, but he also seems scared of them and said he didn’t want them to come back.” David’s voice is a monotone, but it’s the monotone of someone who’s fighting to stay in control of his emotions. “Because the police brought him in, he keeps asking if he’s going to go to jail and doesn’t believe us when we say no. He screams and tries to hide when he hears loud noises. I wanted to stay home with him today, but my father said I wasn’t allowed to miss another day of school. So I’m
here.”

  “Oh, God, David, I’m so sorry. But at least he’s home now.”

  “Not for long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re going to send him away to some kind of institution. Just like Margot’s always wanted.”

  “Oh, no. They can’t.”

  “Can’t they?”

  “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  His eyes scan my face for a moment, like he’s thinking about that.

  I’m hoping he’ll say no, it’s not my fault. But he doesn’t.

  “I’ve got to get to my next class.” He walks away, his shoulders hunched forward, his head down.

  I watch him go. Kids are swirling and talking and laughing all around me, busily leaving one class and heading to the next, but all I see is David’s retreating back. And I have the strangest feeling about that back—​as slumped over and defeated and round-shouldered as it is. Like it’s something precious to me. Of all the backs in this school, this is the only one that I want to go walking up to and put my arms around. I want to console him, and I want him to console me.

  I can’t believe I feel that way—​it’s ridiculous and embarrassing. David was, not that long ago—​only a few weeks, really—​the last guy in the entire school I wanted anywhere near me. And now it’s almost unbearable that he’s walking away from me like we have nothing to do with each other. I could help him. I know I could. If he’d let me.

  But David cares about his brother the way I care about Ivy—​fiercely and entirely. And now Ethan’s going to be sent away because he ran, and he ran because Ivy broke his heart, and Ivy broke his heart because I didn’t know she was gay and kept pushing them together.

  And I know that as much as David likes me—​and he does like me—​or at least he did until two days ago—​he won’t be able to look at me again without seeing the cause of Ethan’s being sent away. David will ache for his brother every single day. And I’ll be the person who made him ache.

  We can’t be friends. Not if Ethan gets sent away.

  “Chloe? Why are you just standing here?”

  I turn. It’s Sarah.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m really out of it today.” I’m trying to sound like myself, but it’s hard. I’m too depressed to pretend to be all lighthearted and carefree right now. Usually I can pull it off. But not right now.

  “That’s what you said yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just a little overwhelmed by life, I guess.”

  She pats my arm gently. “Do you want me to speak to James for you? I really think he’d be open to talking things out.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I’m okay.” If I weren’t so on edge, I might actually laugh—​it’s almost funny how wrong she is about what’s upsetting me.

  Thirty

  MOM AND IVY get home around five. Before I can even greet them, Ivy runs past me, her face red and unhappy. I can hear her heavy footsteps thumping rapidly up the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Mom.

  “I have no idea. She wouldn’t say a word in the car, but something was obviously upsetting her. She kept muttering to herself and, you know . . .” She mimes hitting her hip with the ball of her right hand.

  “I’ll see if I can get anything out of her.”

  “Thanks.” Mom drops into a chair. “I was just too exhausted to try. I’m going to rest for a minute and try to figure out something for dinner tonight.”

  “It’s an exciting life you lead.” I start to head out of the kitchen. “Oh, wait—​I didn’t tell you about Ethan. The police found him.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Mom says fervently. “Is he okay?”

  “Sort of?” I tell her what David said, and she shivers.

  “What a nightmare. If Ivy were out there on her own, for any reason . . . She’s such an innocent. It’s terrifying.”

  “We need to work on her independence,” I say. “Start making her do more and more stuff on her own and make sure she learns to find her way safely home from anywhere without us. So this never happens to her.”

  “We should,” Mom says with a weary sigh. “Someday.”

  I find Ivy in our bedroom, walking in circles on the rug, one hand hammering and hammering against her thigh, the other weaving through the air in spirals. She suddenly slaps hard at her forehead.

  “Don’t do that!” I go to her and take both her hands in mine and squeeze them tightly. “What’s going on? Why are you upset?”

  “I’m not upset.” Her eyes dart around the room blindly.

  “Yeah, right. And I’m not Chloe.”

  “You’re being sarcastic.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong. I might be able to help.”

  She pulls her hands away, shaking her head.

  “Come on. Tell me. If you want me to keep it a secret, I will.”

  She hesitates, her body trembling with tension, and then she drops her head and whispers, “Diana doesn’t like me.”

  Oh, crap. “Why do you say that? You guys had fun together the other day.”

  Ivy shakes her head. “She doesn’t like me the way I like her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I tried to kiss her.”

  “Wow.” I sit down on the edge of my bed. “You move fast.”

  She flutters her hands anxiously. “Do you think I shouldn’t have done that?”

  “I don’t know. What led up to it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What made you decide to kiss her?”

  “I wanted to.” Her hands are back to their repetitive motions.

  “But where were you when it happened? What were you doing?”

  “It was break. We were outside. We were just walking around the yard. I said she was pretty and she said thank you and then I held her hand and then we walked like that and then we stopped because we were at the fence and then I tried to kiss her on the cheek but she moved away and said don’t do that.”

  “Maybe she’s just not into kissing?”

  She flails her arms. “But I said I liked her and we should go out like you and James used to go out. And she said we can’t because we’re both girls. So I said, yes you can if you’re gay and I’m gay. And she said that gay people aren’t normal and could we go back to the main yard now. And she wouldn’t hold my hand anymore. I tried but she wouldn’t let me.”

  “Oh, Ivy, I’m sorry.” I get up and put my arms around her. She averts her head but doesn’t push me away. “It hurts to be rejected. I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve had my own rejections.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I mean . . . I might not have rushed into a kiss quite that quickly.”

  She twists away from me.

  “But it doesn’t really matter,” I say. “I don’t think you and Diana were meant to be, anyway.”

  “Meant to be what?”

  “Together. If she’s not gay, she’s probably not going to feel comfortable going out with a girl, even one she likes a lot.”

  “She could be bisexual.”

  “It doesn’t sound like she is.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t like me.”

  “I’m sure she does, Ivy. How could she not?”

  “She said gay people aren’t normal.”

  “Well, that’s just wrong. Not to mention mean.”

  Ivy sinks down on her bed and huddles her arms and legs together like she’s trying to shrink down to nothing. “It’s not fair. I love her, but she doesn’t love me.”

  “It happens a lot. Listen to the radio—​every song is about that.”

  “This is real.”

  “I know. I’m just saying that it happens to everyone at some point.”

  “I want to be with her all the time, but I can’t be. Maybe we can get together sometimes, but not the way I want to be together always.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ives. That just suck
s.”

  “It feels so bad,” she says. “So bad.”

  I sit next to her. “I know. It’s the worst feeling in the world, wanting to be with someone and knowing you can’t.”

  “Yeah,” she says.

  I say slowly, “And the worst part is that you know there’s nothing you can do to force them to want to be with you—​that it’s the one thing in your life that you can’t just make happen, no matter how much you want it to and no matter how hard you try.”

  “Huh?” she says.

  “Never mind,” I say. “I was just thinking out loud.”

  David doesn’t talk to me in English class the next day, just stares at his laptop and ignores everyone, including Ms. Campanelli, who occasionally glances at him hopefully when people say stupid things. But she gets no help from him.

  At lunch, I bring my tray to David’s table and ask if I can join him. He says, “Feel free to sit here, but I’m about to leave,” and starts to load his dishes on his tray. So I go sit with some other friends, and I notice from there that David has stopped cleaning his place and gone back to doing whatever he was doing on his laptop. So he was lying about leaving to get rid of me. Which hurts.

  James comes and joins our group. This time I make sure I smile and wave at him, so he won’t think I’m ignoring him again. He waves back and flashes an uncomfortable—​but not angry—​smile. Sarah arrives at the table and takes the seat across from him. They start talking, but they’re at the other end of the table, so I can’t hear what they’re talking about.

  Other conversations wash over me. Jana complains about an unfair grade; Lambert says his grandparents are giving him an old car they don’t use, and he’s annoyed that they expect him to pay something toward it; Caroline Penner whines about how she can’t go to a Coldplay concert that weekend because her little sister is performing in her school play and her parents are making her go to that instead.

  Every kid in that cafeteria is only thinking about himself.

  Except no. There’s one person in the room who cares about someone other than himself, and I feel more connected to him than anyone else in the room.

  But he won’t even look at me.