by Shiloh White
I walked over and placed my hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” I told her. Anna was quiet for a moment, her face still tilted at the bread, her eyes showing that same blank stare they did on the bus.
Then she shook her head and forced a smile.
“It's okay,” Anna said. “She probably just lost a patient at the hospital today. Always puts her in a bad mood.” I raised an eyebrow at her, questioning how quickly she'd felt okay. She was trying to do her thing and make the situation better, but it felt fake. I could see right through it.
“Anyway,” she shrugged, ignoring my expression, “I should probably get studying. Let's take this batch out and you can take half of it home."
Anna helped me load up the bread into a small box. I thanked her and gave her a hug before grabbing my backpack and leaving. On the way home, I kept replaying that moment over and over—the look in Anna's eyes just before her mom looked away. That empty, scared and helpless look. I realized I'd seen it on her face before.
Years ago, in elementary school, we got a graded test back from the teacher. I showed Anna mine, grinning from ear to ear at my first A of the school year. When she looked down at her test, then at me, Anna's eyes had the same emptiness in them. It was a look of pity, like she wasn't...good enough. Then Anna ran out of the classroom, throwing her report in the trash. I got up to see her report and saw that she'd failed the test.
The memory was fresh in my mind, since I'd seen the entire scene play out last week when Chug Zone-Hopped us to the Dust. He said he slingshot us off a nearby Depression Zone...
I stopped just outside my front door and sat on the front porch while I tried to connect the dots. That Depression Zone must have belonged to someone in the hotel at that time. And, no one else could have remembered the way Anna looked except for two people: me and...Anna. Which meant…
My best friend was fighting Depression, and by not being there, I'd spent the entire week making it stronger.
62. An Uncool (Get it?) Epilogue
I picked up a rock off the porch and threw it as far as I could.
I was pissed I didn’t see it sooner.
The battle you'll be fighting is a lot worse than the one we have to face. Those were the Lieutenant's words. Did she know about Anna? How could she unless she was monitoring my friend? Why would that even be the case? Then again, they monitored everyone with Depression, so…
I ran my fingers through my head and sighed. It wasn’t the best way to calm down, but I had to try something.
I was probably over-thinking the whole thing. After all, I couldn't even fight this battle. They told me the first time I was at the Dust: you can’t conquer someone else's Depression. At the end of the day, that’s their battle.
So then...what was mine?
While I tried to figure that out, I did what any friend would—and should—do. I made sure I was there for her. I repaid her the debt I racked up when I was young, selfish, and heartbroken, and the interest from this week.
It was actually easier than I thought, once I stopped thinking about the Dust every two seconds. Sure, Lieutenant Hollister's words continued to torment me, but every time I thought about going back or trying to fight it from there, my decision popped into my head.
I remembered I made the decision to be here, thinking back to the promise I made Dart. I needed to stay safe. I needed to be here for my friend and family…
Also, every time I tried to make a plan to do something about it, I remembered I couldn't.
In other news, I ended up having more time that went to my mother. Woodstock's choice to stand up to his mom—despite how mega-scary she was—pushed me to at least not shut my mother out when she wanted to talk. Somehow, I even agreed to going on the picnic she mentioned before I left for the field trip. And I felt pretty good about it right up until my mom started talking on the way there.
“I'm so excited!” Alice exclaimed.
“Alice, that's great. But please, chill out.” I said.
I had to remind her to keep her hands on the wheel because every time she thought about our picnic, she wanted to put her fists up in the air—and off the steering wheel.
“I know,” she said. “I'm just real glad you finally agreed to come. There's so many parts of my life I never got the chance to share with you, and this is one of them.”
She smiled lovingly at me, and I returned it with an awkward—and pretty much fake—half-grin. The reason I never got the side of my life that belonged to my mother was because she left thirteen years in. The only memory that really stuck out was how much she loved to argue with Lucas. That…and painting. My mom did leave me that.
“It's just a picnic, though.” I stammered. We'd gone on them before with the whole family. And, we weren't going anywhere over the top, either. She told me before we left that our picnic would be at the huge tree in the school park. Which just happened to be the same one she used to bring me to for painting lessons.
Nothing special.
“Just a picnic?” Alice scoffs. “It's much more than that! It's time for you and me to reconnect. To catch up. I'll finally get to share some of the things you've been missing for the past few years."
I fidgeted in my seat. I reached down and started fiddling with the nearest thing I could find, which happened to be the bottom of my shirt. Alice brought up the last few years like they were a trifle time. Like accidentally knocking something in the trash can. Like all you had to do was pull it out, rinse it off, and voila—here's three years of your life back!
Also, I didn't even choose to come because I wanted to reconnect. I just felt I owed it to Woodstock. Every time my mother tried to communicate with me, Gordon's words just played in my head like a nagging tape on replay:
He gave his life for you. You should honor that.
So I agreed to the picnic. But whether it was two hours or twenty minutes with just the two of us, I wasn't exactly looking for a recap on the last three years of my mother's life. Or whatever other bits of history she planned to dredge up.
But that was my mom for you. Always living life by the seat of her pants, making decisions she didn't think over and getting results she didn't plan. At least until she fell off her seat and went a little crazy, right before she left. Hanging around her lately, a thought hung in the back of my head like an itch, that...maybe she'd always been a little crazy.
Alice looked over at me for a second, then turned back to the road. She pursed her lips and I watched some of the excitement leak out of her face. Then she cracked the window, as if to let the excitement filter out of the car.
“I'll go slow,” Alice said. “I promise. In fact, there's really just one thing I want to share with you at the picnic."
Great, I thought. She doesn't want to scare me. She just wants to hike up my anxiety.
I wish she hadn't told me. I wish I never made the comment that I did. I was even beginning to wish I'd just stayed home. Was I really even ready to reconnect with her—this woman who called herself my mother, but walked out on me?
I couldn't help myself from looking at her again while she drove, examining her the way you would study an exhibit in an art gallery. Unable to decide whether you enjoyed the piece or wanted to claw the image out of your head. Then I caught a glimpse of her eyes. The same green eyes I inherited. Only, my mother's held something special. Despite her waning excitement, I could still see the gleam in her eyes.
It was bright and wild-eyed like a child, ready to turn over every rock the world put in front of her. It was untamable. The same untamable expression I remembered from when I was really young. She would always grin and get that gleam in her eye when she was about to teach me something new about painting. It was the part of my mom I actually wanted to remember.
It was enough for the anxiety to be extracted from my system, and for me to play along with my mom's excitement. I stuttered at first, but brought myself to ask her, “So what is it you want to show me?"
Alice hit her blinker and began
turning into the school park's parking lot. “It's not a what,” she said. “It's a who. And he's actually there now."
But I didn't need her to tell me that. There was only one other car in the parking lot as we entered, and my eyes were already to it. Well, not on the car, but on the man leaning against the trunk of it. His arms were folded as if he'd made himself comfortable waiting there. As we pulled into the lot, he smiled, and I recognized it. I also remembered his same freshly cut style of blond hair.
Actually, the longer I looked at him, the more I realized I recognized every part of this guy. Minus the striped outfit, he looked exactly the same as when he was about to drive us into a wall of grayness, which I still had the occasional nightmare about. In fact, he looked pretty much the same as he did the last time I saw him—when he was pulling me into the Abandoned Zone's dome. The only different was a dark blue hoodie.
And yet, Alice pointed to him and smiled like everything was perfectly fine. The next few words out of her mouth made so little sense; I pinched my leg to make sure this wasn't a new form of my nightmare. Then I asked her to repeat what she said.
“I said,” Alice grinned and turned into a parking spot, “that's my brother. Your—"
“Uncle.” I answered.
I sat petrified in the passenger seat of the car, staring at the man as he waved at us like any other normal human being.
“That's right,” Alice confirmed. “Uncle Justin."
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I was going to put this part at the bottom, but I think this is the most important thing to tell you guys:
Thank you for waiting.
I know I scheduled this book for summer of 2018, and…I just wasn’t satisfied with it until September. So to everyone who waited, and still took the time to read this book, I am grateful to you. I hope you enjoyed it, and I can’t wait to share the next one with you—which will be sooner than you think…
Thank you to Wesley, for brainstorming the original idea with me on that Target trip, and convincing me to just start writing.
Thank you to Gabi & Mrs. Doyle, for being my first-ever customers, and for allowing me to sign the first printed copy of The Rogue Agent.
Also, thanks to Mom, for continuing to be my “Number 1 fan,” and Dad, for pushing me farther than I thought possible.
And a special thank you to the many baristas who (somehow) didn’t kick me out of their cafes after seeing the expressions I make at my computer screen while writing.
Lastly, thank you to those of you who plan to continue to support me. Every writer needs a faithful reader—that’s what makes writing worth it.
If you liked (or didn’t like) the book, tell me why!
You can reach me on Twitter “@DepressionForce” (One word, exactly how it’s spelled). I’d love to hear what you have to say!
If you’ve got a WHOLE LOT to say, you can contact me with a longer message through my blog website, www.staleice.com.
Your suggestions could make all the difference in
Lucy’s next story!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hi, I’m Shiloh! I’ve lived in Southern California since 1999. My passion for writing travels back to elementary school, when Rick Riordan’s “The Lightning Thief,” was placed in my hands. I officially began my writing career at 17, right after graduating college.
And I don’t plan to stop any time soon.
Lucy’s story continues in…
LUCY HALE AND THE DEPRESSION FORCE
Book 3:
The Hidden Host
Coming Winter 2019!
