What Unbreakable Looks Like

by Kate McLaughlin

  “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know why I’m weird.”

  “I said awkward, not weird.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Not really.”

  I stare at her. “I just told you I was whored out, and you want to argue semantics?”

  “I’m arguing word choice, not meaning.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word “whored” either. “I freaked you out, didn’t I?”

  “Yep,” she replies honestly. I’m disappointed. I thought maybe she could be a friend.

  “There’s only one thing to do,” she says, slapping her hands on her thighs. “Come with me.”

  Hesitantly, I stand and follow after her as she hops to her feet and leaves the room. She takes me to a doorway, snaps on a light, and begins descending the stairs to the basement. I balk at following her into the unknown.

  I need to decide whether I’m going to run or take a chance on trusting someone other than myself.

  I draw a deep breath.

  “Coming?” Elsa calls up the stairs.

  I grab the railing tight, forcing one foot in front of the other, slowly following her down.

  The basement is fully furnished with couches and a TV with a game console. There’s a drum kit in the corner.

  “Your brother’s?” I ask.

  She grins as she turns on the TV. “Mine.”

  I’m impressed. She shoves a microphone into my hand. “What’s this for?”

  “Karaoke, baby,” she replies, a mic in her own hand. “We’re singing the weird away.”

  “I can’t sing,” I tell her, horrified.

  “Neither can I,” she says with a laugh. The music for an ABBA song starts, and I begin laughing.

  “Come on, Dancing Queen!” Elsa urges, bumping her hip against my thigh. “Work with me.”

  The words come up on the screen and she begins to sing. She’s not bad. I join in—I’m not bad either. We smile at each other.

  When Krys comes to pick me up, my throat is sore from singing, but I feel strangely light and free. Isis is still asleep, so I pick her up and carry her out to the car, singing under my breath. The puppy doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Are you singing ABBA?” my aunt asks when we pull into the drive, and I laugh.

  I think maybe Elsa is magic. Or maybe this is what having a friend feels like.

  * * *

  Since I’m out of Sparrow Brook early, Krys signed me up for online classes to help me catch up on school. Mom never really cared if I went to school or not, so at the end of grade ten—when Mitch first started sniffing around—I started fucking off on classes. I never finished the year, but I did some testing, and it was decided I basically had the sophomore stuff down, so I just have to catch up on grade eleven and I can start this coming school year as a senior.

  I’ve always kind of hated school. I don’t expect that to change, but Krys is determined to make me some kind of brainiac.

  “You’re going to college,” she says. “You’re having every opportunity you can get to have your best life.”

  “Okay,” I say. Whatever. I don’t really care either way. The idea of “best life” isn’t something I can wrap my head around.

  “What do you want to be?” she asks me.

  I blink. “I don’t know. A stripper?”

  The horrified look on her face makes me laugh. “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “When I was little, I wanted to be a singer.”

  She smiles. “So did I. What do you enjoy doing?”

  I shrug. “I like taking care of Isis. I like writing about stuff. I like makeup.”

  “Well, there are three options right there. You could become a vet, or a writer, or a makeup artist.”

  “Okay.”

  Her face tightens. I frustrate her sometimes.

  I try again, thinking about it. “I couldn’t deal with dying animals, so maybe a writer or makeup person.”

  A tiny smile curves her lips and eases the tension in my chest. “There. Something to think about, anyway.”

  She’s right. Now that those ideas are in my head, I do think about them. I kind of like the idea of being a writer. I always feel better after I journal and write down how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking.

  Not that I feel a whole lot still. Every once in a while, I still get overwhelmed. I’ve been with Krys and Jamal a couple of weeks—no sign of Mitch or Frank, and nothing horrible has happened—but I woke up sobbing last night. I cried for, like, ever, it seemed. Cried myself back to sleep. I woke up feeling like ass, but also strangely better, like I’d been carrying around all those tears and just needed to dump them.

  A few days before that, I lost my temper over something and had to go a few rounds with the Wavemaster. My arms and shoulders are still sore. Again, though, I felt better. Dr. Lisa thinks it’s good I’m finally letting my emotions out. I only wish when they happened, they weren’t so … much. It makes me feel crazy.

  It would be easier if I had my pills. Easier to go back to Mitch and not try to be anything other than what he made me. I can’t do that, and I know it. I hate him for the fact that I even think it.

  It’s after dinner and I’m reading a book I got the other day at the bookstore. Krys lets me get as many books as I want, but I try to keep it in check. This weekend, we’re getting me a library card. It’s the most exciting thing in my life right now. I’m such a nerd.

  The doorbell rings. A few seconds later I hear Krys talking to someone. A guy. My heart seizes up.

  “Hey, Lex?” she calls upstairs. “Zack is here.”

  Riiiight. My tutor. Like I need one. I’m not stupid. But, hell, if he makes getting through these online classes and summer school easier, I guess I can eat it.

  “Be right down,” I call back. I get off my bed and look at myself in the mirror. My hair’s piled up in a messy bun. I’m wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt. It’s April, but it snowed yesterday. I hate the cold.

  Should I change? Maybe put on some lip gloss? He is a guy, after all. It’s amazing what shiny lips can do. Maybe put on something that shows more cleavage? Or take my bra off altogether? That might be fun.

  I can’t be bothered to do any of it. Besides, Krys will notice.

  I grab my notebook and head downstairs. Zack is in the kitchen, drinking a glass of soda. He’s taller than I remember, and his shoulders wider. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker. Intimidating—that’s what he is. I don’t like it.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “How frigging tall are you?” I ask, frowning.

  “Six-three,” he replies. “Four, actually. Is that a problem?”

  “Why would it be a problem?”

  He arches a dark brow. “’Cause you’re looking at me like it’s a problem.”

  I force my forehead to relax. “Sorry.”

  “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

  “Yeah, we do. My aunt set this up. I assume she’s paying you for your time.” Imagine that, and no pimp to hand it over to.

  He lifts his chin, like he needs to make his head any higher than mine. “I’m not going to work with someone who has a problem with me.”

  “I don’t have a problem. You have a problem with me. I saw how you looked at me at the mall.”

  Now he’s frowning. “Because you were staring at my mother’s hands. Looking at her like she’s a freak and less than you.”

  Less than me? Asshole, no one is less than me. “I don’t give a fuck about her hands. I was wondering if she had any pills I could steal.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” Shit, I’m angry. Not needing-to-hit-something angry, but pissed.

  “You an addict?” He sits down at the table, like he’s planning to stay awhile.

  “I’m going to NA meetings, so yeah, I guess so.”

  He looks at me with those dark eyes. It’s like he can see inside me. “My dad’s a drunk.”

  “Yay, hi
m.”

  Instead of getting mad, Zack smiles a little. “Exactly. I don’t have a lot of sympathy.”

  “Not asking for it.”

  “Fair enough.” He glances at the books he’s set on the table. “You want help with school shit though?”

  I’m tempted to say no, but that would be giving in. “Yeah. I do. You want to give it?”

  A single nod. “I do.”

  I pull out a chair and sit, slapping my notebook onto the polished wood. “Bring it.”

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “I dunno. You tell me.”

  “English is always a good start,” he says. “Did you read any of the books I gave Krys?”

  I nod. “I read To Kill a Mockingbird and The Crucible.”

  His eyes light up a little. “What did you think of the Miller?”

  “Bitches be crazy. Accusing people of witchcraft and shit.”

  Zack stares at me for a minute. “Seriously?”

  I want to slap him with my notebook. I want to slap myself. That was something Poppy would say. “I liked it—kind of. Part of me admired Abigail for how she manipulated all those people, but I don’t like that she did it just because of a guy.”

  “Most people don’t sympathize with Abigail. Proctor is considered the hero of the story.”

  “John Proctor fucked someone he shouldn’t have and got all bent out of shape when there were consequences. He knew what he was doing.”

  He’s silent for a second and leans back in his chair. “Yeah. He did. What about all those people Abigail accused of being witches, though? Did they deserve what they got?”

  I shrug. “That’s not really how life works, is it? People don’t really get what they deserve. If they did, only bad people would ever be hurt.”

  “You’re right. Abigail doesn’t have to face the consequences of her actions, does she? She runs away.”

  “And becomes a whore. I think she probably paid for her choices.”

  A frown brings his dark brows together. “That’s not in the play.”

  “It’s what happened to the real Abigail. I looked her up.”

  Zack grins, and it startles me. His smile is so … big. His teeth are almost perfectly straight and so freaking white. I have a dentist appointment next week. I want to take a picture of Zack’s mouth and take it with me. Give me teeth like that.

  “I knew English was the right place to start,” he says. “Mr. Bent is going to love you. He’s our English teacher.”

  I just smile. Of course Mr. Bent will love me. Every man I’ve met has said he loved me—at least until he came.

  * * *

  “How was the tutoring session with Zack?” Jamal asks me that night at dinner.

  “All right,” I tell him. “I didn’t catch him looking at my boobs once.”

  Jamal blinks. “Well, that’s good, I guess. Not what I meant, but good.”

  “He’s smart.” I reach for the mashed potatoes. “Really smart. I didn’t understand some of the things he talked about.”

  “His mother’s a professor,” Krys reminds me. “But you’re smart too. You remember that. You just haven’t had the same advantages.”

  “But you will,” Jamal adds. “You have your own in-home professor now too.”

  “What do you teach?” I ask. I’m embarrassed I never asked before.

  “African American Studies. You can sit in on a class sometime if you want.”

  I glance at Krys. She’s smiling. “Sure,” I say.

  “So, do you like Zack?” my aunt asks.

  I start to shrug, but stop myself. “I guess he’s okay. He’s really defensive about his mom, though. He thought I gave her stank eye in the mall.”

  Jamal nods. “He’s very protective of Anna. I get that.”

  “Anyway, I wasn’t looking at her like that at all, so I guess we’re good.” By the time he left, I felt more comfortable with him, especially after we started talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. He seemed to like that I appreciated his notes.

  “He’s top of his class, so I’m glad you’re working with him,” Jamal remarks.

  “I’m not dumb, you know.”

  He looks surprised. Hell, I’m surprised. “I know you’re not. You just have some catching up to do.”

  “Have we made you feel dumb?” Krys asks, a worried frown on her face.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I … I guess I assume people think I’m stupid, because of what I let happen to me.”

  Krys reaches over and grabs my hand. She doesn’t seem to care there’s a knife in it. “You did nothing wrong. I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”

  Good luck.

  The phone rings. Krys gets up to answer it, even though she hasn’t eaten half of what’s on her plate. Mom always used to swear when the phone rang during meals. Once, Frank ripped it right off the wall.

  I keep eating. Jamal flashes me a small smile. I try to smile back.

  A few minutes later, Krys returns to the table. She’s paler than normal.

  “What’s wrong?” Jamal asks.

  My aunt sits down. She takes my hand again—this time my fingers are empty. Hers are cold.

  “What?” I whisper.

  “Sweetie, that was Song from Sparrow Brook. She thought you’d want to know. Sarah Winters died.”

  Who the fuck is Sarah Winters? “Wait … Sarah? My Sarah?”

  She nods. For a second I think she might cry, which is stupid because she never knew Sarah.

  “How?”

  Krys glances at Jamal. “Suicide.”

  The word slams into my soul like a brick. “No.”

  My aunt nods, pressing her lips together. “I’m afraid so.”

  I shove my chair back from the table so hard it scrapes the floor, and I bolt from the room. I run up the stairs to my room, closing the door behind me. I lean against it, breathing hard. I know it’s true. I know she’s gone, but I don’t want her to be. I’m so …

  Angry. Sad. Hurt. I want to put my fist through the wall. I want to cut myself to let this feeling out. I want to hurt someone. I want to hurt me.

  I grab Mr. Whiskers off the bed and throw him across the room. I want to rip his legs off. Rip him to shreds. I stomp over and pick him up again. I look into his plastic eyes.

  A tear slides down my cheek, followed by another. They’re fat and hot, scalding my skin. It’s like someone turned on a tap—I can’t make them stop. I fall against the wall and slide down to the floor, clutching the stuffed cat in my arms. I’m so sorry for hurting him.

  Isis wiggles out from under my bed and waddles over to me, her head down. She climbs up onto my lap, front paws on Mr. Whiskers. She stands up, licking at my wet face. I hold her in one arm, the stuffed cat in the other, and cry until I think my head’s going to explode.

  Why couldn’t I have stayed numb?

  chapter seven

  Days go by and turn into weeks and before I know it, it’s the first of June. Thoughts of Sarah drift to the back of my mind. It’s not like I really knew her. Not like I could have helped her. I can barely help myself. Thinking about her doesn’t do me any good, so I stop thinking about her. Dr. Lisa keeps wanting me to talk about it, but I’m done.

  I would have been done with everybody if they’d only let me. Krys and Jamal won’t let me stay in my room. Elsa won’t let me mope and sulk. Even Zack, who isn’t really a friend, keeps showing up. Sometimes I think that’s all life is—just showing up. I’ve known too many people who have decided to fuck off instead.

  But it’s Elsa who has been the most relentless. She calls me almost every night and tells me about her day. Sometimes, she just shows up. Once, she joined in on the tutoring session with Zack. On weekends, she comes over or invites me over there. She has become my friend whether I want her or not, and I don’t want her. That’s not true. I do want her, even though I figure someday she’ll be gone like everyone else.

  “I can’t believe you have to go to sum
mer school,” she says, not for the first time, as we’re walking Caesar and Cleo one evening after dinner.

  “I’m kind of looking forward to it.” I’m surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth. “At least it will get me out of the house.”

  She shoots me a narrow glance. “Freak.”

  I laugh as I pick up Cleo’s lead. All the puppies have found new homes except for the ones Elsa and her brother got to keep. The two of them are curled up with Isis asleep, which is good because they’ll howl like crazy if they discover their parents are going for a walk without them.

  I haven’t explored the neighborhood much—not alone. Krys and I have gone for walks, but I get nervous if we’re too far from the house. I keep looking for Frank or Mitch, even though there’s been no sign. I feel personally safe with Elsa, but not so much physically. I mean, she’s like a pixie. Still, having the adult dogs with us helps. Caesar and Cleo are totally sweet with us, but they’re fiercely protective of their humans, and I am now included in that group.

  It’s just beginning to get dark as we leave the house. I’m a little nervous as we start walking, despite Cleo’s reassuring presence. I suppose I’ll always be this way—more leery of potential dangers than other people. I’m not worried about someone trying to grab us; that kind of stuff doesn’t happen as much as people think. The real danger is from people who have gotten to know you, earned your trust. I’m afraid Mitch will find me, or that I’ll run into someone from the motel.

  “Are we still on for Saturday?” Elsa asks as we walk. She knows that talking helps ease my anxiety, and she is really, really good at talking.

  “Yep! Krys said she’d drive us if we want.”

  “Okay. I don’t think I’ll be able to get the car, so sure.” She glances over. “You going to get your learner’s permit soon?”

  “I have an appointment next week.” Something else to be nervous about. What if I smash up the car and Krys decides to get rid of me? I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help but think it. I keep waiting for her and Jamal to decide they made a mistake. Every time DCF checks in, I think they’re going to tell the case worker to take me with her when she goes, but they haven’t yet. I’m starting to believe they’re not going to ask. That’s even scarier than expecting them to bail.