by Erin Stewart
“Well, while you were undergoing your transformation, our little guys had one of their own.” Inside, instead of worms, three white beetles crawl around. “And that’s not all. I also had a mildly soul-changing epiphany. After our talk on bravery, I realized I’ve been totally throwing away my shot.”
“Hamilton.”
“Yes, yes, you know all the songs. But my point is that I’ve decided to stop being a colossal coward, and I have you to thank for inspiring me.”
I groan, and Asad holds up his hands like I’ve busted him dealing drugs.
“I know, I know. You hate that word, but it’s true. You’ll be proud to know that next year I will no longer be the man behind the lights. I will be trying out for an actual, honest-to-goodness part in the play.”
“What about dear old dad?”
“I told him straight out that I’m not interested in medical school and that it’s my life and I want to play my own role, so I’m doing drama, and that doesn’t make me less of a man. And you know what he said?”
I shake my head.
“Nothing. He said absolutely nothing. Not one word to me in three days.” He says this like the silent treatment is a victory. “Three days! But guess what. I’m still alive. I didn’t die of shame. He didn’t die of disappointment. And since that revelation didn’t end in a fatality, I’m going to face another fear. It’s a doozy, but I think I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To jump. But it all hinges on your answer to a very important question.”
“Which is…?”
Asad scans the classroom and leans in close to me.
“Not here. After school, meet me in the lighting booth?”
I nod, pretending to concentrate insanely hard on my journal-entry description of our former mealworms turned beetles. I use tweezers to remove the dead skin they left behind.
Amazing how one week can change everything.
* * *
Getting through the rest of the day is basically torture. A few people comment on my eyes. Sage tells me she can better imagine what I used to look like, which I think she means as a compliment.
Kenzie tells me at lunch that drama hasn’t been the same without me. I don’t think she means it as a compliment.
Even Vice Principal Lynch stops me in the hall to say it’s good to see me back. He actually smiles, which is kind of amazing considering I’ve never seen him do that before to anyone. His lips snap back into his usual perma-scowl after approximately one-tenth of a second, but still, I saw it.
By lunchtime, Piper’s given up her walker and resigned herself to her wheelchair.
“Not bad for the first day,” she says, trying to smile while rubbing her legs and sneaking a pain pill. She tells me about all the slings and bars and crazy contraptions the physical therapist uses to help her walk farther each session. She taps the spokes of her wheelchair. “I bet I’ll make it a full day without this baby soon.”
All I can think about, though, is Asad and his question that only I can answer.
Maybe it’s something silly. Like do I think he should experiment with different-colored spotlights. My gut tells me it’s bigger, though, the way his eyes came alive.
When the afternoon bell rings, I reach the booth before Asad, which only makes the suspense more unbearable because the first thing I see when I walk in—right there on top of all his switches and dimmers and control panels—is a bouquet of bright pink gerbera daisies. Did I tell him they were my favorite? Who knows. Who cares. My chest tightens, almost like it used to in the burn unit, like there’s not enough oxygen and too much oxygen at the same time.
A small card peeks out from the stems of the flowers. Should I look?
No. Definitely not.
I’m just about to look anyway when the door flies open. Asad skids into the room, plunks himself down in his rolling chair, crossing his feet up on a control panel while he leans back with his hands behind his head.
“Here’s the thing, Ava Lee. I’m tired of waiting and wishing. I want to be like you—go out and grab life.”
My eyes flick between Asad’s face and the bouquet. How is he acting so calm with those flowers sitting right there? With “the question” looming between us?
“Okay, so what exactly are you grabbing?” I say.
He puts his feet on the ground and inches toward me, his dark pupils dancing.
“So remember how I told you one time that quantity is not key when it comes to chicks?”
“Right, right, your dubious chick count of girls you’ve invited to your lighting booth seduction lair.”
Asad scoops up the flowers next to him.
“Exactly. Because I’ve been waiting for the right one. And I think I found her—actually I found her a while ago.” His smile drops slightly. “But I’ve been too scared to tell her because she’s…well…it’s like in The Phantom of the Opera, where Leroux writes love is only unhappy when the lover isn’t sure their love will be returned. And right now, I’m unsure to the max.”
I push myself off the control panel, filling the space between us.
“You should just tell her.”
I take another step closer to him, my skin buzzing, but not with the itch I’m used to. This time, the buzzing is wonderfully alive, electric as it zaps pieces of my skin I thought were long past feeling.
“That’s where I need your help,” he says with earnest eyes. “You’re her closest friend. Do I even have a chance?”
I stop my advance midstep, the buzzing switched off, replacing the electric heat with ice through my veins.
“Piper,” I say, more to myself than to him. “This is about Piper.”
Asad blinks up at me, confusion clouding his face for a split second as he lowers the flowers between us.
“Of course. Who else?”
39
“The flowers are for Piper.”
Asad holds up the bouquet. “Took me forever to find her signature hot pink.”
Piper pink.
“I know she busts my balls a lot, but we’ve been hanging out a lot more this year, and I think maybe she’s starting to see me differently. Or see me at all.”
I back slowly toward the door, feeling the walls of the already-too-small room closing in. How did I not see it? He took her to get the tattoo. He wanted her to try out for drama. It’s always been about Piper.
“You like Piper. She’s the one you like,” I say, still trying to make sense of the words.
Asad scrunches his eyebrows.
“Why do you keep saying that?” He stops short. Awareness washes away his smile. “Did you think—?”
“No.” I cut him off before he can verbalize my embarrassment. “Maybe. I didn’t know.”
“Oh,” he says in a half-breath, half-word sigh. He studies the flowers like he’s hoping they’ll open a portal out of this awkward moment. When he looks up, his face contorts in a grimace. I can only imagine what mine looks like.
“I like you, too, of course, just not that way,” he says.
Of course. Not that way. Never that way. Not for me.
I nod and reach for the door handle.
“No, it’s fine. I—I just have to go.”
Asad hits his palm into his forehead.
“Idiot! Idiot!”
He stands close to me, the flowers between us again. Her flowers. In his eyes, something foreign—a look I’m well versed in, just not from him.
Pity.
“I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew. I’ve had a crush on her since middle school.” His face twists like my insides. “It’s gonna be weird now, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. Please stop talking.
“Asad, really. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I step back, the door against my heels. I’m ou
t of room to retreat. I grab the door handle behind me as Asad steps closer.
“Seriously, Ava. I meant what I said the other night. I’m so glad you’re in my life. When Piper asked me to look out for you, I never would have guessed you’d end up being one of my closest friends. Now I’ve gone and screwed it all up.”
My fingers slide off the knob.
“Wait. What?”
“You are, really. You’ve got to know how much I value our friendship.”
“No. Not that. The other thing. Piper asked you to look out for me? When?”
Asad shrugs. “I don’t know, before drama club.”
The day I wanted to bolt from the auditorium. He convinced me to stay. Held my hand.
Made me hope.
“You only talked to me because Piper asked you to?”
“No, I also talked to you in class on your first day, remember? You totally shafted me.”
I remember. He talked to me. I was rude. And yet he was still nice and welcoming and over-the-top friendly at drama. Because Piper asked him to be my pity friend. Because he’d do anything for her.
And she knew it.
I turn my back to Asad, awkwardly trying to open the door without backing any closer to him or her flowers. He grabs my arm.
“Don’t leave it like this, Ava. Who cares how we met? What matters is you’re one of my closest friends now.”
Friends. Of course—the Burned Girl: friend zone for life.
I shake him off. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Somewhere not here.”
He shouts my name as I go, but I ignore him as I run from the lighting booth, down the small staircase, and to the main auditorium. Tears prick my eyes, the saltiness stinging my still-tender skin.
Asad’s not the idiot; I am. One little eye surgery and suddenly I’m going to have a happily-ever-after.
The surgery couldn’t fix this.
It couldn’t fix me.
* * *
As I flee to the parking lot, I almost barrel into Kenzie and Piper.
“Whoa, whoa, where’s the fire?” Kenzie immediately covers her mouth, her eyes wide. “I swear I did not mean that.”
Piper’s still back in her wheelchair, her face red, mascara smeared. The tear streak down Kenzie’s cheek tells me I’ve walked into the middle of an argument. I brush past them both. The last thing I need is to get involved in more drama.
But Kenzie stops me, her hand on my shoulder.
“I think we should talk. Maybe at my house? I can’t go into this play with all these bad feelings—”
I shake Kenzie off and start walking. Piper wheels next to me.
“Yeah, Ava and I already have plans.”
I stare down at her. Did she know Asad liked her? Does she like him?
I turn back to Kenzie. “Actually, maybe I will come over.”
Piper taps hard on my arm and half whispers, “Umm. What are you doing? You are not going with her.”
I look down at her. “You’re not in charge of who I hang out with. I’ll go if I want.”
Kenzie raises her eyebrows. “I think we all—”
“Butt out,” Piper says.
Kenzie holds up her hands and backs away, but not too far, loitering within earshot as Piper tugs my sleeve to bring me closer to her. I resist.
“Ava, what are you doing? We talked about this. She’s just using you to get to me.”
I yank my arm from her grip. “Right. Because you can’t imagine a world where everything doesn’t revolve around you.”
Piper sits back in her chair, lowering her voice so Kenzie can’t hear us. “I thought we were past this. I told you to do whatever you want, just not her, okay?”
“Oh, okay. Then how about Asad? You know, the guy who was only my friend as a favor to you.”
This piece of information surprises her, judging by her halting response. “No, it was— It wasn’t like that. I just asked him—”
“You asked him to take pity on me. And he did it because surprise, surprise, he likes you. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Piper picks at the wrist of her compression garments.
“You did, didn’t you? You knew all along?” I press.
She doesn’t look up. “Yes.”
All the hurt and embarrassment rushes to my face, making me hot and itchy like I was on the first day of school walking through the halls, everyone staring at me. I thought it couldn’t get worse than that.
I was wrong.
“And you didn’t bother to mention that?”
Piper’s head snaps up. “I tried to stop you. I tried to tell you—”
“You told me he was friend material. You couldn’t have been more specific, like, oh I don’t know, ‘He’s been in love with me since we were zygotes.’ Then maybe I wouldn’t have just made a colossal fool of myself.”
Piper furrows her brow. “What happened?”
“You happened. You told me in the hospital that you needed me. What you needed was a charity project. But I’m done.”
Piper’s mouth turns downward. “With what, me?”
“You said yourself I should get my own life.”
“You should.”
“It’s pretty hard to do that from inside your shadow.”
Piper straightens up in her chair and glares at me, her face red. I stare right back. When I don’t flinch, she throws her hands up.
“Well, there you have it. If I’m such a strain on you, then you’re right, it’s time to get your own life and stop trying to live mine.”
I unclasp the phoenix necklace from my neck and hold it out to her.
She scoffs. “Keep it.”
“I don’t want it anymore.”
Piper grabs the necklace. “Fine!” Curling her fingers into a fist, she stretches back her arm, and when she thrusts it forward, the gold phoenix and chain fly through the air, disappearing into the grass. She turns her wheels away from me and pumps back toward the school, her own wings flapping furiously behind her.
Kenzie starts to open the door for Piper, who yells that she doesn’t need help and then heaves forward to forcefully push Kenzie out of the way. I walk toward the road. When I reach the intersection, I keep going. The tears I’ve been holding back finally burst their bounds. Even my newly constructed eyelids are no match.
I fish my headphones from the bottom of my bag and put them on as I walk toward Cora’s store, trying to ignore the stares from the people at bus stops and traffic lights who have every right to stare at the crying mutant girl. As I walk, snow flurries begin to fall around me, powdering the ground and the newly blossomed daffodils. In the distance, a white fog conceals the mountains.
Glenn was right: spring is a tease, and winter is never going to end.
By the time I trek the two miles to Smith’s, I’m shivering. I roam the aisles, searching for Cora, rubbing my cold hands together. Two elementary-school-aged girls in soccer uniforms hustle out of the cereal aisle with a giggle when I pass them. I hear them in the next aisle over, still whispering, unsuccessfully stifling their laughter.
I imagine Josh Turner holding his Corn Pops, paralyzed with fear at the sight of the girl he used to kiss. I crumple to the floor, the memory crippling me.
The way he looked at me. The horror in his eyes. The pity in Asad’s.
Why did I think it could be different?
I don’t even try to stop the darkness that swallows me. I sink into it slowly, swimming in it, letting it envelop me in its familiar nothingness.
Just like the black holes Dad used to tell me about, the weight of my own gravity tugs me inward.
Right there next to the Kellogg’s, I implode.
At some point, Cora crouches next to me, tugging off
my headphones. She pulls me against her, and I bury my face in her shoulder.
“Let’s go home,” she says.
I shake my head, muttering into her shirtsleeve. She holds my chin up so she can hear me.
“I can’t,” I say again.
“Sure we can. I’ll tell my boss I’m leaving early, and whatever happened, we’ll fix it.”
“No,” I say, the tears stinging me again. “We can’t. It’s gone.”
“What is, honey? What’s gone?”
My mouth pressed into her shoulder, I whisper the word that haunts me.
“Home.”
May 9
There'snoplacelikehome
There'snoplacelikehome
There'snoplacelikehome
What if
there's just
noplace?
40
Piper calls me three times in the night.
I don’t answer.
I don’t even hear her final call, and only see the missed call when I wake up to Cora siting on the edge of my bed, where I’ve wrapped myself up tight in Sara’s quilt so not even one speck of light can find me.
She taps me gently.
“Ava, we need to talk to you.”
When I open my eyes, the first thing I see are Sara’s empty shelves. I flip to the other side, where they can’t mock me.
“You shouldn’t have wasted Sara’s dolls for me,” I say, feeling particularly sorry for myself as the memory of yesterday yawns awake in my brain. “For nothing.”
Cora doesn’t do her usual optimism full-court press, but instead smooths my hair and kisses my forehead.
“I’m not sorry one bit,” she says. “Come on out when you’re ready. Dr. Layne is here.”
Groan.
“You called in professional help? I’m fine.”
Cora flicks the switch on my wall, making me blink as she floods the room with light.
“No,” she says, more forcefully than normal. “You’re not.”
An impromptu Committee on Ava’s Life sits around the room. Layne sits on the couch, her usual pristine makeup applied sloppily and not at all in some places, so I can see the discoloration of her scars. Glenn leans against the wall, his eyes on the floor, hands shoved deep into his front pockets.