Five Things About Ava Andrews

by Margaret Dilloway

  Maybe I do bottle things up. I wish I’d been able to just tell Ty what I was thinking. Even telling him to be quiet would’ve been better than nothing.

  I slip out of bed and get the phone off my desk. It’s after eleven back east. Mom told me that she’d texted Zelia’s mom, but Zelia hasn’t texted me. Almost automatically, I start typing a message to her. But really—she should reach out to me. Right?

  I delete the message. Instead, I text the improv group.

  So a funny thing happened after school. I’m okay now.

  I explain briefly.

  Texts shoot back.

  OMG! says Ryan. That’s crazy.

  You should have come to Fosters Freeze, Chad says.

  Did Ty do this to you??? Cecily says.

  Totally horrible! Babel says.

  Glad you’re not dead, Jonathan says. This makes me smile.

  Through the door I hear Luke’s voice from the living room. “I was so scared.”

  “You did great,” Dad says.

  There’s an unfamiliar noise, like a dog whining in a closed room. I creep toward the door and listen. It’s Luke. I haven’t heard him cry since he was like eight and he broke his leg while he was skateboarding. Even though the bone was trying to push through his skin, he didn’t bawl—he just cried silently.

  A strange sort of ache shakes through me.

  Luke was scared. That means—it must mean—he loves me. I mean, I always kind of knew he did, and he sort of has to because I’m his sister. But he’s never acted like it, the way Hudson does. Until today.

  This makes me feel so warm and squishy inside that I want to hug Luke tight, but he doesn’t like that kind of thing. So I get up and go out to the living room. Dad’s patting Luke on the back. “What are you doing out of bed, Ava?”

  I sit down on Dad’s other side. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Dad and Luke say at the same time.

  “Still.” I hand a box of tissues to Luke. He takes one, honks his nose, doesn’t look at me.

  “It’s not your fault, either, Luke.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know why I’m crying so hard.”

  “You had to hold it together until we got home. It happens.” Mom appears with a mug of hot chocolate. She sets it on the table in front of him, then sits down next to me, her arm around my shoulders. Almost the whole family’s wedged onto the couch.

  “Where’s Hudson?” I ask.

  “Here.” Hudson appears. “You think I can’t hear when there’s hot chocolate going on?” He squishes himself into the couch and it’s just like it was when we were very small, cuddling with Mom and Dad. Except with a lot more body odor.

  “What happened, exactly?” Mom strokes my hair. “I didn’t hear the whole story.”

  I take a shaky breath and start talking. I know they’re exchanging glances above my head. Like Can you believe Ava? To hear me retell the story, it all sounds silly, like I should have never been upset to begin with. “I don’t know why, but it felt like me and Ty were samurai sword fighting.”

  “It’s your fight or flight or freeze. You feel things more than average,” Mom says.

  “Still. He should have left her alone.” Luke gulps down most of his drink, leaving a chocolate mustache.

  “Sometimes when you don’t talk much people get the wrong idea. They think you’re stuck-up or you don’t care.” Dad looks thoughtful.

  “That’s not fair.” I point at my face. “This is just how I look. Why do people assume they know what I’m thinking?”

  Mom smiles. “I remember one time when I was a new mother; Hudson was four months old. I was almost done with the shopping and he just started bawling. He wasn’t dirty, wasn’t hungry. I decided to get in line as fast as I could. Well, some lady started glaring at me.”

  I imagine this like I was there, and it makes me angry. “That’s not nice.”

  “I snapped at her, ‘Haven’t you ever seen a baby crying before?’ and she looked so startled,” Mom says. “She said, ‘I was honestly just trying to add up my grocery bill.’ Then I realized she hadn’t been glaring at me—I happened to look at her while she was frowning and then she made eye contact.” She shakes her head. “You’re right, nobody knows what you’re thinking. And what other people think is none of your business. So what if people think you’re snobby because you’re quiet? That’s on them.”

  “Besides,” Hudson adds, “most people are thinking about themselves. Not about you.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking about myself like ninety-nine percent of the time,” Luke says.

  “Tell us something we don’t know.” Hudson gives Luke a gentle kick with the side of his foot.

  Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t make things easier with Ty. I blow out a breath. “My project’s still not done.”

  “You can ask for an extension,” Dad says. “You still want to work with that kid?”

  I shrug. It’s not like Ty did it on purpose. I mean, I get into arguments all the time with my brothers and my heart’s fine during those.

  I think it was a mess of everything else that was happening. Ty and the library. Navegando Point. The heat. Fighting with Zelia.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Luke says.

  That pushes me into a decision. Luke means well, but he’s not going to tell me what to do. Neither is Ty.

  I don’t think Ty’s bad, I really don’t. He and I don’t understand each other, is the problem.

  Cecily said that Ryan used to be a bully, until he did improv and learned that other people have feelings. Ty just doesn’t seem to get my point of view. I want one more try to make him understand. “That’s up to me.” I struggle out of the comfy couch. “I’m going to make myself a hot chocolate. Anyone else want anything?”

  “I’ll make you one.” Mom gets up, but I’m already moving.

  “It’s not like it’s hard. It’s a packet.” I go in the kitchen first. I need to show them I’m fine, just fine, not a porcelain doll that’s been glued back together.

  I’m strong. I’m mostly normal. And I want to be regular, forever. I want to do what I want to do without feeling so awful. My napkin project. Getting along with difficult kids. Cotillion. Going to Maine. Improv. Protesting Navegando Point.

  I go back to my room and grab a notebook. I have ideas, and I need to write them down.

  Chapter 29

  Dr. White says I can go back to school in a week, so I spend the rest of the days hanging out at home. Cecily, Ryan, and Chad all come over after school on Wednesday and we watch She-Ra together, settling on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn. “Ty’s been out of school all week,” Cecily tells me, and I wonder if it’s because of what happened.

  If I were him, I’d feel really bad. Not to mention anxious.

  I find myself hoping Ty’s okay. That he just developed a cold and that’s why he’s out.

  Zelia texts me while we’re watching She-Ra. Are you okay? Your mom told my mom everything.

  She’s probably feeling a little guilty, like Ty. Maybe not that bad, but kind of. I glance up at my friends. These are the people who are here, right now. They keep their word. They wouldn’t just throw me under the bus for summer camp like Zelia did.

  Maybe, after our last conversation, I don’t want to talk to her.

  Ryan nudges me. “You’re missing the good part!”

  I put away my phone.

  My parents fuss over me all week, and on Thursday, Dad takes me to see Mr. Matt. He gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.” I look at the Halloween decorations in his office. Lots of coloring-book pumpkins—they must be from his other patients.

  I walk over to the window and look down at the stream. There’s so much swirling around inside me, like sand churned up by ocean waves. I’m not sure where to start. Should I tell him about how mean Zelia was? About Ty? About how Luke actually loves me or how I found out my friends we
re there for me?

  It’s too much to think about, let alone talk about. If I start talking, those waves will take over. I might start crying. So I’m quiet.

  “Tell me what it was like,” Mr. Matt prompts. “You must have been scared.”

  I count three turtles today, thinking back to being in the ambulance and then in the hospital. “I wasn’t scared at the time,” I say finally. “I was getting through it.”

  “That’s normal.”

  I flop down into the chair. If I don’t think about this, I won’t start bawling. “I’m barely freaking out at all.” Ever since I’ve been home, I’ve had people around me. I haven’t been alone at all. Maybe that’s why. “I’m processing it all very well.” Ha. I’ve used his own words. I grin at him, pretending I’m a character in a spy movie who fights a bunch of people without breaking a sweat.

  Mr. Matt grins back. “Good use of the word, Ava.” He shifts. “Honestly, if I were you, I’d be freaking out a lot.”

  Suddenly the wave comes for me. I grab a tissue from the box he keeps nearby and wipe my eyes.

  “It’s okay to cry,” Mr. Matt says.

  I was acting like Luke had, being fake-cool. I was bottling. Mr. Matt’s right—I need to get it out. I nod, more tears already coming, and this time I don’t try to stop them. “I thought I was going to die,” I admit. “And I couldn’t stop it.” A sob escapes me, and it sounds kind of like the one Luke let out. Maybe there’s some particular sound of crying that runs in our family.

  “But you didn’t.” Mr. Matt gets up and pours water from a cooler into a cup. He hands it to me.

  I blow my nose, then drink. The tears stop. “Yeah. I’m here.” I pick up the stress ball, considering. Dr. White always told me that the ICD was only there to protect me, like having my own personal medical crew with me at all times. He said that actually I’m safer than most people. “It could have been worse. Like if I didn’t have the ICD. That would have been really bad.”

  It reminds me of what Dad says sometimes when people complain about getting old: “It’s better than the alternative.”

  I’d rather have the ICD than not be here at all.

  “It did its job. It kept you safe,” Mr. Matt says.

  With that realization, a kind of calm comes over me, and the mix of thoughts settle like sand in water. I put down the stress ball and blow out a breath. The thought I want to talk about is Zelia. But that will set me off again, and I’m feeling as raw as a new sunburn.

  Instead I talk about someone else. “There’s this kid who’s been my project partner.” This is the first time I’ve really volunteered anything without Mr. Matt prompting me. Maybe it’s just taken me a whole year to get that comfortable with him.

  Or maybe it’s that I’m getting more comfortable with myself.

  Mr. Matt sits back in his chair. “Tell me about him.”

  I spill the whole story from the beginning. How Ty thought I was snooty. Our fights. The vice principal. The shock incident. How I want to work with him anyway.

  “It’s interesting that you still want to give him another chance after all that’s happened.” Mr. Matt chews on his pen.

  “I just don’t think he really understood me.” I imagine how I look to other people. How other people look to me. What do I really know about Ty? Do I know if he has any invisible disabilities? For all I know, he does. A twinge of guilt vibrates in my stomach. I made assumptions about him just like he made about me. “Maybe I could’ve tried harder to understand him, too.”

  Mr. Matt nods. “That’s very mature of you, Ava.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at Mr. Matt, for once taking the compliment instead of trying to hide from it. I’m not actually trying to be mature. I’m just trying to do what feels right to me. I look at the turtles again.

  Now maybe I can bring up Zelia without falling apart. I turn back to Mr. Matt, but he’s putting away his clipboard. “That’s our time for today,” he says with a smile. And I have to admit, I’m a little relieved.

  At lunch on Monday, I walk out into the courtyard with my lunch. Then I hear my name, a thing that hasn’t happened since Zelia left. “Ava!” Cecily’s waving from under the lunch arbor. Ryan and Chad sit across from her.

  I walk over. “What’s up?”

  “You’re here!” Chad leaps over and bear-hugs me. The others join in until we’re having a group hug. We rock back and forth for a minute. Their faces are right next to mine, and I can smell the onion Cecily ate on her sandwich and the ranch Doritos on Ryan’s breath, plus their varying stinky smells since we all had PE this morning—but I don’t mind. Not one bit.

  I close my eyes. It’s so nice to be part of a group. I always thought that Zelia gave me everything I needed, but maybe asking her to be everything was too much. These kids all give me different things. Cecily’s steady. Ryan shows me a different point of view. And Chad is just plain fun.

  “No PDA!” some grown-up lunch monitor yells.

  “This isn’t PDA!” Ryan protests, and we giggle and step back from each other. “Sheesh. Can’t even hug your friends these days.”

  I check my phone the way I often do at lunch. There’s a text from Mom. Hope you have a great day. Love you. A text from Dad saying the same thing. A text from Hudson offering to pick me up after school.

  A text from Zelia.

  Ava, I know you’re okay because my mom talked to your mom. I know you hate me. But I want to talk to you. Call me?

  My throat gets a lump.

  Cecily notices my expression. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, put away the phone. If Zelia’s only going to be nice to me because she feels bad that I was sick, then I don’t want to be her friend. “Everything’s fine.”

  We sit down at the table and I unwrap my almond butter and jelly sandwich, ignoring the butterflies that come up when I think about my idea. It’s okay. They’re baby butterflies. “I’ve been thinking about what else we can do besides the flyers.”

  Chad wrinkles his nose. “That was a disaster.”

  “What if . . . ?” I swallow some water to help me get these next words out because half of me can’t believe I’m saying them. But we already did it at Fosters Freeze, so will it really be so bad? I remember what Luke said, about how I need to deal with the real world. This is the real world, isn’t it? I mean, organizing a protest isn’t just like walking down the street. It’s like poking a bear. “What if we do an improv show down there? Maybe with the grown-up teams. Show everyone what will be missing if Navegando Point goes away.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Ryan exclaims.

  “You’re not just yes, and–ing me, are you?” I close my eyes.

  “No, Ava. It is a good idea and we should ask Miss Gwen about it right now.” Cecily takes out her phone.

  I look at their lit-up faces and how they’re practically rubbing their hands together with excitement and realize I didn’t have to second-guess myself. I do have good ideas. I can do things. All of them.

  “Saturday after class, then,” I say to Cecily, and she puts that in the email.

  Ty’s been absent since I got back, so we can’t work on our project. I hope Luke didn’t scare him into changing schools or something.

  Mr. Sukow takes me aside during class on Tuesday. “How are you doing, Ava?”

  “I’m okay.” Today I look directly at him, not at his nose or his hairline. Maybe that shock scared away some of my nervousness around him.

  His face is all scrunched up with concern and maybe guilt. He had to have known Ty and I didn’t get along, right? I mean, anyone with two okay-working eyes would see that. But maybe he’s got so many students he doesn’t pay attention to each relationship.

  “I’m going to give you extra time for your project. You want to work on it alone?” His brow furrows with concern, and it makes me feel squirmy inside. Is this the kind of special treatment that Ty was talking about? Why should I be the only one who does a solo project?

 
I chew my lip. It would be so easy to knock out this project all by myself. It probably wouldn’t have to be that great.

  But avoiding people hasn’t worked. Not talking to people hasn’t gotten me what I wanted. Staying quiet never got me what I really needed, either.

  I suck in air, look Mr. Sukow in the eye. “Is he actually sick?” I ask Mr. Sukow. “Or is he staying home because of what happened to me?”

  Mr. Sukow crosses his arms. “I don’t know for sure, but my guess is probably more of the latter.”

  I should be glad he’s not here, but I’m not. He didn’t know doing that would hurt me. My throat aches a little, thinking about Ty sitting at home. I wonder if he cried like Luke did. If anyone made him hot chocolate.

  Ty and I don’t have to be friends. We just have to work on this paper napkin project. And I want to tell Ty about me. I want him to understand.

  Suddenly I know what to do. “Can I get his homework packet?” I ask. “I’ll take it to him.”

  Chapter 30

  Nana Linda finds Ty’s mom’s number in the school directory and calls her, simply saying I want to drop off his homework. Then, later in the afternoon, she drives me over there. He lives in an apartment building behind a gas station on a busy street, kind of far from the school. It would probably take him an hour to walk home, and more than that to get to school—it’s all uphill.

  As I get out of the car, the rush hour traffic honks and revs, and it makes my insides itch. I’m glad we live in a quieter area that’s not so crowded. I wonder if we lived here, if I’d be even more anxious. Or if I’d learn how to deal.

  We walk up a narrow, winding concrete path past two-story brown apartments. The kitchen windows all open to the courtyard, and people move around inside. From the windows come all kinds of different dinner scents: hamburgers and roasting vegetables and Mexican food spices and other spices I’ve never smelled before. There’s a happy, busy hum that we don’t have on our street, where most of the living spaces and windows are in the back, where the street can’t see.

  Nana Linda rings their doorbell. “I’m going to let you do the talking, sweetie.”