Reconstructing Amelia

by Kimberly McCreight

  SYLVIA

  I hope u r rite

  facebook

  OCTOBER 14

  Amelia Baron

  “They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love.” Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  Sylvia Golde Ick enough with the pretentious literary references

  George McDonnell yeah seriously stfu

  Chloe Frankel I thought it was lovely, Amelia. I love that book

  Amelia

  OCTOBER 14

  I woke up with the sun in my eyes. It was low in the sky, just over the top of the brownstones across the street. I squinted and held a hand up to block it as I checked the clock on my nightstand. It was already almost five p.m. and I was babysitting for Kelsey at six thirty. So much for my movie date with Dylan. Not that I really cared. I mean, assuming Dylan wasn’t avoiding going out in public on purpose.

  “Have you seriously read all of these?” Dylan asked.

  When I rolled over in bed, she was at the edge of my room, staring up at all the books on my packed shelves. She was wearing only her tank top and underwear, her hair tied in a thick knot at her neck with some of it falling in loose tendrils around her face. She looked like a princess.

  “I mean, it’s like a full-on library in here.” Her voice was a blend of awe and freaked-out-ness. “I’ve never seen this many books in someone’s house.”

  “What about the library in your house.”

  “My dad collects books,” Dylan said. “He doesn’t actually read them. They might as well be, like, commemorative plates, or guns. You’ve read these, right?”

  I looked up and down the long, crammed shelves. It did seem kind of freakish now that I was seeing it the way Dylan must be. Though it wasn’t as if her carrying around black-belt sudoku puzzles like they were a security blanket was exactly normal either.

  “Not all of them,” I lied. “That would be crazy. Anyway, some of them might be my mom’s, I think.”

  Lying made me feel kind of sad. After all the hiding and sneaking around and pretending I’d done so I could be in the Maggies and stay close to Dylan, it would have been nice to be able to be myself 100 percent when I was alone with her. But I kind of felt like she was always about to slip through my fingers, and I didn’t know which of my quirks wasn’t cutting it. It didn’t help that Dylan was also pretty paranoid that people would find out about us. Like that would be a fate worse than death. I didn’t want to run around Brooklyn declaring our love or marching in the pride parade or anything, at least not yet. But I also didn’t care who found out. The only thing I cared about was Dylan. The one time I’d asked if she was embarrassed about us hadn’t gone well.

  “No,” Dylan had said, all way testy. We’d been in my bedroom, as usual. “I just don’t like anyone at school knowing anything about my personal life, okay?”

  Personal life. It had rolled off her tongue like it was this major thing she was used to hiding. It made me wonder how many boys had kept Dylan’s secrets before me. There could have been other girls, too, for all I knew. That was a question I’d been keeping myself from asking for weeks. I was afraid of the answer. Either way, there’d be drawbacks. But I did keep hoping Dylan would change her mind about keeping us a secret. Because I didn’t know if I was in love with her, but she was all I thought about. And when we were together, I felt connected to something bigger and better than myself. That felt like love to me.

  I wanted Dylan to stay, to order dinner and pretend we were an old married couple. I could even call and tell Kelsey I was sick. I never did that. It was irresponsible, but I would do that for Dylan. I already knew she’d never stay anyway, though. Dylan only ever came over for a couple of hours after school. Then she’d always say she needed to get home for dinner, to do her homework, because her mom needed to talk to her. Maybe that was all true. But it always felt like they were excuses.

  Dylan was still staring up at my shelves.

  “It’s okay if they are all your books or whatever,” she said. I’d always been a bad liar. “I think it’s cool that you love to read.” She backed up and sat down on the edge of the bed next to me. “I think other people picture things in their heads when they read. They imagine whole worlds. For me, there’s only words on a page, that’s it.”

  “You seriously don’t picture anything?” I asked. “That’s so weird.”

  I watched Dylan’s mouth turn down. Weird. Why had I said it like that? Like there was something wrong with her.

  “That’s cool, that’s what I mean,” I added, but it was too late.

  “Yeah, whatever, it’s totally not. But I’m not like you, Amelia. I’m not like anyone.” Dylan jerked up from the bed then and grabbed her jeans. Her face was empty as she wriggled into them. Once she got that faraway look on her face, I knew our date was over. “I’ve got to go. My mom’s big episode is on tonight. She’s having friends over to watch it. I have to help her get ready.”

  She sounded like a robot.

  “Sure, okay,” I sat up in bed and pulled my own shirt back on. Then there they were, pressing up against the insides of my lips again. The questions that had no good answers. But this time I couldn’t stop myself. “Am I the first girl you’ve been with?”

  “What difference does it make?” At least she didn’t seem freaked-out by the question. I’d figured it would have sent her jetting for the door. “I’m with you now, aren’t I?”

  Dylan pulled her jacket on and picked up her bag, then untwisted her hair from the knot it had been dangling in. She’d told me once that her mom hated it when she wore her hair up. She said it made Dylan’s jaw look too wide.

  “It doesn’t matter, I guess. But are you with me with me?” I felt kind of sick to my stomach. This was a mistake, trying to make her talk to me about this stuff. I should have just been happy with what I was getting from her. But I couldn’t get myself to shut up. “Because sometimes it feels like maybe you don’t want to be.”

  Dylan smiled then, the brightness rushing back to her face. She came over and bounced down onto the bed next to me. Her hip was pressed against my leg as she smoothed some hair out from in front of my face and tucked it behind my ear.

  “I like you, Amelia,” she said. “But I want what we have to be about us and not proving some point or whatever to everybody at Grace Hall or in the Maggies. This isn’t anybody’s business but ours.”

  She hadn’t answered my question, I knew that. But putting how she felt that way was romantic. Like it was us against the world. I was a stupid jerk, messing with the good thing we had. Why did I need so bad for people to know about us? Because I was a freak, that’s why. I couldn’t just let things be. That was what happened when you spent as much time alone as I did. You got weird and clingy.

  I nodded. “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “It’s okay. I get it.” Dylan smiled, as she leaned forward to kiss me. “You’re a little needy. Most of the time, it’s pretty cute.”

  Dylan hadn’t been gone ten minutes when I heard a weird noise downstairs. I was at my desk finishing my biology homework. I froze and listened again. But I had to be hearing things. I should have turned on some stupid lights downstairs because already it was practically dark outside. And now, I was stuck way up in my bedroom in a house that was getting dark fast. It was a total rookie mistake. The kind I didn’t usually make because I was such an expert at being on my own.

  I held my breath and listened for the same noise. For a second there was nothing. I was about to take a deep breath when there it came again. A quiet thump, thump, then a louder thud. Like someone was banging into stuff in the dark because they didn’t know their way around. Holy crap, could there seriously be someone in my house?

  I grabbed up my cell phone and dialed 911, but I didn’t press Send. What if the noise turned out to be nothing—which I was totally sure was the case—and my mom found out I’d called the police? She’d be totally freaked that I’d been that
freaked. Then she’d feel all guilty that I was home alone and scared. One way or another I’d end up getting Leelah back. And Leelah would mean the end of the Maggies. And Dylan.

  I kept my finger over the Send key on my phone as I crept toward the door. I poked my head out of my bedroom and looked down the steps. It was dark down there except for a teeny glow coming up from the ground floor. Someone must have turned on a light in the kitchen, a small one, over the stove, maybe, or in the bathroom. There was a chance I’d left it on, or maybe my mom had before she left for work. But I didn’t think so.

  I couldn’t just sit there and wait to see if there was someone downstairs waiting for the chance to, I don’t know, murder me or something. I was much better off heading down to check it out. If I got trapped up in my room, there’d be no escape. I started down the stairs, my back sliding down the wall. My finger still on Send. I could hear the cabinets opening and closing now. Drawers sliding open and shut. There was definitely someone down there searching for something. Someone who didn’t know where to look.

  I couldn’t risk waiting much longer to make that 911 call. Once I saw who it was—and they saw me—it’d be way too late. I was halfway down the second set of steps, the ones to the kitchen, when I hit Send. Then I held my breath.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” an operator asked. But whoever was down there in the kitchen would hear me if I answered. “Hello? Nine-one-one, is this an emergency?”

  “Yes,” I whispered finally. “There’s someone in my house and—” Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone there, at the bottom of the steps. “Holy shit!”

  I turned, scrambling back up the steps. When I did, the phone slipped from my hands and bounced down, far out of reach.

  “Amelia! Oh my God, what are you doing?”

  I was all the way at the top of the steps before I realized that it had been my mom’s voice. When I turned to look, she was standing at the bottom looking freaked, holding my phone. She put it to her ear.

  “Hello? Yes, no,” she said to the 911 operator, who must have thought I was getting beaten to death. “That was my daughter. She thought I was an intruder. Yes. No. Sure, hold on.” She looked seriously bugged out as she held the phone up in the air. “She wants to talk to you, to be sure you’re okay. Are you okay, Amelia?”

  It took a lot of convincing before the 911 operator believed that I was actually okay and that it was really my mom she’d been talking to.

  “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?!” I yelled at her when I was off the phone. “You can’t just show up ten hours earlier than you ever do!”

  Between all the stuff with Zadie and the creepy texts about my dad and all that, I was extra jumpy these days.

  “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I didn’t mean to scare you,” my mom said, putting a hand on my back. “I should have texted, you’re right. I was just so excited about sneaking away early. I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Mission accomplished,” I said.

  I was being a jerk, but I couldn’t help it. My whole life felt so beyond ridiculous all of a sudden. I mean, I was home alone all the time. And whatever if it had been my decision not to have Leelah come anymore. It wasn’t really fair that my choice was to be treated like a baby or to live in solitary confinement. I definitely would have been more normal with Dylan if my mom was around more. Maybe I’d have even told her about Dylan and the Maggies and everything, which would have been nice because I really wanted somebody to know. My mom looked down at her shoes for a while, then up to the ceiling. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “You’re right, Amelia. I should never surprise you when you’re home alone,” she said. “I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She looked so tired. So totally exhausted. All of a sudden my throat started tightening up. I went around day after day pretending it didn’t matter that she wasn’t there. Most of the time it didn’t. But right now, it kind of did.

  “It’s fine, Mom, whatever,” I said, because it would be easier on both of us just to pretend that was true.

  “Listen, can we at least try to salvage the night?” She smiled even though she still looked sad. “Hey, maybe we could have a Friday date night on a Tuesday. We could even go to Ginza and have hibachi. Your favorite.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling bad for her. And it did sound fun. Besides, maybe this was my chance. Maybe I could finally talk to her while we were having dinner, about Dylan, the Maggies, even the texts about my dad. All of it. “Yeah, Ginza would be good.”

  “Great,” my mom said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing too hard. “Let’s go now, because I’m starving.”

  I was feeling giddy as I got my coat. This was all actually working out pretty well. I hated having secrets from my mom. It was going to be good to tell her everything finally. And if she had a secret or two from me—like about my dad—this could be her chance to come clean, too. Lately, I’d started even wondering if there was a chance that Uncle Seth could be my dad. He and my mom—as crazy as it was—had been dating around the time I was born. And if there was a genetic part to me liking Dylan and being a late bloomer on that front, Seth had been that way, too. It would make sense. I kind of liked the idea actually. Seth was funny and interesting and supersmart. I could be totally into having him as a dad. And I’d get a half or step or something little sister as a bonus, too.

  There was a knock at the door then. “Who’s that?” my mom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling a little worried it might be Dylan.

  Telling my mom about her would be one thing, but I wasn’t ready for the two of them to meet.

  “Oh hi,” my mom said, in her trying-to-be-social voice. “How are you?”

  When she opened the door all the way, there was Kelsey standing out on our front stoop wearing a cute red cocktail dress and a full face of makeup.

  “Hi,” she said, looking confused. “Amelia, I thought you were babysitting the boys tonight? Did I mix something up?”

  I got a text from Heather the next day, in the middle of school. PHOTOG. UR HOUSE 1 HOUR. I’d totally forgotten about agreeing to play Zadie’s stupid game.

  “Who’s that from?” Sylvia asked, trying to look over my shoulder at the message.

  We were sitting in the school courtyard eating the Yogo Monster we’d bought for lunch down on Seventh Avenue. It was sunny, and we were both wearing sunglasses and light jackets, trying to pretend it was still warm enough to be sitting outside eating frozen yogurt. I dropped my phone in my bag so she couldn’t read the message.

  “My mom.”

  “In the middle of a workday?” Sylvia asked, her eyes big and shocked. “Be still my heart. If she keeps this up, she’ll win Mother of the Year.”

  “Stop it, Sylvia,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”

  And I was feeling punchy about my mom after we’d never gotten the chance to talk the night before. She was passed out in bed when I got home from babysitting, glasses still on, a New York magazine gripped in her hands. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.

  Then after sleeping on it, I’d decided in the morning that I wasn’t ready yet to tell her about Dylan after all. I would. Just not yet. I loved my mom, and we were close, but just thinking about the time she’d told me about where babies came from still gave me the willies. She’d done the best she could to make it casual and normal, but it had still been all kinds of icky. And this was me having sex. Even if I left out the actual sex part, it was still me with a girl. Maybe it should have been the same as me telling her that I was seeing a guy, but it felt a lot more complicated.

  Sylvia shrugged. “Whatever, just trying to help.”

  I looked around the courtyard.

  “Where’s Ian today?”

  I didn’t feel like talking to her anymore, and Ian was always a surefire distraction.

  “Where is Ian?” Sylvia growled. “That’s a very, very good question. One that I
don’t have an answer to because I haven’t heard from that asshole all day.”

  “Asshole?” I asked. Sylvia never talked about Ian that way. Not even as a joke. “What’s that about?”

  “Hello? I texted you about it last night. Do you even read my messages anymore?”

  “Oh right, the gRaCeFULLY thing? Come on, Sylvia. You’re going to believe that stupid thing? It’s all made up.”

  “Not all of it,” she said. “There’s been plenty of stuff on there about me that I wish wasn’t true but totally is.”

  “Whatever, I don’t believe it,” I said. “Ian’s crazy about you.”

  And I really didn’t believe it. I’d seen Ian at a lot of Maggie parties. He’d had lots of chances to cheat, especially with Zadie, who was still hanging on him every chance she got. But as far as I knew, he hadn’t taken her up on it. I hadn’t seen him take anybody up on anything. Sylvia looked down into her plain, nonfat Yogo Monster mixed with Chips Ahoy! cookies, and jabbed at it with her spoon. She shook her head.

  “Well, he’s been MIA a lot lately, and he’s got all these lame excuses, like his dad having a last-minute gallery show or his kid sister’s doctor’s appointment. His mom getting him an interview with some art agent? I mean, is there even such a thing as an art agent?”

  “If there is,” I said, “I feel like Ian would have one.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes, then stared off. I watched her face slowly sinking. Sylvia being mad was bad. Sylvia sad was terrible. She always got all shrunken, like a wrinkled balloon.

  “I know what cheating feels like,” Sylvia said quietly. When she looked at me, her eyes were glassy. “It feels like this. And it seriously fucking sucks.”

  “Maybe he just needs some space or whatever.”

  But Sylvia was right. She did usually have good instincts about this stuff. I thought about Zadie again. With a girl like her, maybe it was only a matter of time.

  “Space, right.” Sylvia laughed, but not like it was funny. “To find a new ho.”