by H Hunting
I take a deep breath and fight the panic creeping down my spine over the little lie I’m about to tell. “Oh crap!”
My dad glances at me, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I left my math binder at school, and we have a test on Friday I need to study for.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll stop at the school and pick it up on the way home from practice.”
I let my knee bounce and run my hands up and down my thighs. “Can we stop on the way to practice? Sometimes they lock the doors to the hallway my locker is in before five, and then I can’t get to it. It’s an algebra test, and I got a few questions wrong on the last assignment. I don’t want to mess it up again.”
My dad looks at the clock and then down at my shaking legs. The little lies make my throat feel tight. We do have an algebra test, but I almost always have perfect scores on my math. But if my dad thinks it’s going to make me anxious during practice, he’s more likely to stop for me. He doesn’t understand my worry the way my mom does, and he doesn’t read my cues the same way either.
My mom would know I’m faking it, and she’d make me use my strategies to help calm down. My dad always goes right into solve-the-problem mode.
“You can’t be late for practice.” He grips the wheel, obviously considering it.
“I won’t be late. It’ll just take me a minute to grab it. Please? I really need to study tonight.” My voice cracks, because some of my anxiety is real. I need to get to Lavender, and if he doesn’t stop so I can, I’ll end up having a real panic attack. Practice will be a mess, and it’ll be a huge downward spiral that will take me hours to get out of.
I’ll feel guilty that I let down my team, and I’ll feel even worse that I couldn’t help Lavender. The sooner I can get to her, the better everything will be.
“Okay, but you run in and grab your textbook and that’s it.” He taps on the wheel, frowning.
I nod vigorously. “I’ll be super fast.”
He pulls up to the front doors of the school, and I jump out before the car even comes to a full stop. As soon as I’m inside, I text Lavender to tell her I’m here and on my way to the theater.
She doesn’t ask any questions, like how I managed to get here when I have practice.
I burst through the door that leads directly to the stage. I know the drama room well, even though there’s no way I would ever be part of any kind of production.
I search for Courtney in the group of kids standing around, but I don’t see her.
I head for the hall leading to the prop room, and one of the boys calls out, “The gym is on the other side of the school.”
The drama teacher, Miss Garrett, calls my name, but I ignore her. My whole body breaks out in a cold sweat. I’m going to get in trouble for this—from Miss Garrett and definitely from my dad when I’m not back in two minutes—but I don’t care. Lavender needs me.
It’s dark behind the curtains, like a starless night sky, because the walls are painted black. As soon as I start down the hall, the noise of the students on the stage disappears, replaced by Courtney’s nasal voice.
“What’s wrong with you? You just do this to get attention. You know no one likes you, right? Everyone thinks you’re a weirdo and a loser. They’re only nice to you because of your brothers and Kody.”
I rush toward her voice and the plaintive, low sound of Lavender trying not to cry. When I finally reach them, I find not only Courtney, but two of her other friends too. They form a wall in front of the prop room, blocking the way out. The room is dark, but the glow of a phone illuminates the girls’ faces and the fact that one of them is covering the light switch with her hand.
They don’t notice me, so I approach quietly, waiting until I’m right behind them before I growl, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Courtney shrieks, and the other two girls gasp and spin around. I slap the light switch on the wall, bathing the prop room in a harsh fluorescent glow. Rage makes my blood boil when I see Lavender backed into a corner, curled in on herself on the floor, forearms pressed against her ears to protect her from their words, face tucked into her knees, hands clenched into fists.
Courtney raises her hands, eyes wide, feigning innocence. “Kody! Oh my gosh, Lavender’s having one of her meltdowns, and we were trying to help.”
I get in real close and drop my voice. “By calling her a weirdo and a loser? Get outta my way, now.”
I push between them and crouch down in front of Lavender, acting as her shield. “Leave us alone,” I snap, running a gentle hand over the back of her head and softening my tone. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
A full-body shudder runs through her, and she makes a sound, but there aren’t any words yet. I wrap her in a protective hug and whisper the calming words that help bring her back down.
“Just ignore them, Lavender. It’s you and me right now. I got you.” I put my hand over one of hers and encourage her to unclench her fist so I can put her palm against the side of my neck. This helps the most, for her to feel how much her panic is mine too, and then we breathe together until she’s calm again.
Her palm is damp and slick, and her nails bite briefly into the side of my neck as I flatten it there. I’m worried she’s hurt herself. It happens sometimes when the panic gets really bad, like that time she got locked in the closet.
The sound of heels coming down the hall barely registers as Lavender drags in deep, gasping breaths, struggling to match her breathing to mine.
“What’s going on back here?” Miss Garrett demands.
“Lavender’s having an episode. We were trying to help her, but you know how she gets, Miss G,” Courtney lies.
“You should’ve come to get me instead of trying to handle it yourself,” she chastises. “Kody? What are you doing here?”
“I’m helping. And Courtney is a liar. They were bullying Lavender, calling her names and making things worse.” I don’t bother looking over my shoulder when I address the teacher.
Suddenly Courtney and her friends are loud, defensive, calling me a liar.
Lavender scrambles to get closer, to hide more of herself. She’s tiny, the smallest girl in her class, and I’m already five-seven, so I dwarf her and cover her almost completely, keeping her safe from Courtney and the other mean girls. She buries her face against my chest, trying to muffle the desperate sounds that leak out of her.
I keep telling her it’s okay and that I’m here and no one can see her while Miss Garrett orders the girls to go to the office.
“Kody, I need you to let go of Lavender, please,” Miss Garrett says.
“Just give me a minute. I can make it better,” I tell her.
Miss Garrett touches my shoulder. “I know you’re trying to be a good friend, but this isn’t appropriate.”
“She needs me!” I snap.
“If you don’t do as I ask, Kody, I’m going to have to get the principal.”
Lavender takes a deep breath and lifts her head, those bright blue eyes meeting mine. She mouths the words I’m sorry and drops her hand from the side of my neck.
I don’t want to let her go, but I also don’t want to get in trouble with the principal, and I’m already going to be in shit with my dad over this. There’s no winning, Lavender is going to be embarrassed, and there’s a good chance she won’t be at school tomorrow as a result.
“Oh my goodness, Kody! Are you okay?” Miss Garrett’s eyes are wide with shock, and her horrified gaze is locked on the side of my neck.
I don’t understand, at least not until I rub my sweat-damp skin and look down at Lavender’s palms, which are decorated with crescent-shaped cuts, oozing blood because her nails are too long again. She curls her fingers into fists to hide the damage.
“It’s fine. I’m not hurt; Lavender is,” I tell her.
“Did those girls do this to you?” Miss Garrett crouches down beside us.
Lavender shakes her head, eyes darting between me and Miss Garrett.
“It happe
ns when she’s really upset; she can’t control it,” I explain, encouraging Lavender to open her hands.
Miss Garrett’s hand comes up to cover her mouth, but she quickly schools her expression and clears her throat, her eyes soft. “We need to get you to the office so we can get those looked at, Lavender.”
Now that the panic is over, for both me and Lavender, I can see how big the problems are here, and now I’m worried about a lot more than hockey practice and my dad being mad that I lied. I’m worried about Lavender getting bullied even worse because of this, and what Queenie is going to say when I have therapy later this week. But I shove that into the box in my head and lock it for now. I’ll have lots of time to worry later.
“Can we clean up her hands first, please, Miss Garrett?”
She purses her lips and nods slowly. “Of course.” I can tell she’s unsure about leaving me alone with Lavender, but she pushes to a stand. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she’s gone, I turn back to Lavender. “Has it been this bad for a while? And don’t lie; I’ll know if you’re not telling the truth.”
She licks her lips, her tongue running over the scar on the bottom one. “I was handling it okay until today,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“You’re going to be in trouble.”
I shrug, like it doesn’t matter. She’s already upset enough. She doesn’t need more things to worry about. So I lie, not wanting to send her back into the panic. “It’s gonna be fine.”
Miss Garrett returns with damp paper towels, and we clean up Lavender’s hands and the side of my neck. We’re on our way to the front office when it finally registers that my phone is buzzing in my pocket. I’m scared to answer it, aware my dad is going to freak out. I don’t have a chance to figure out what I’m going to tell him, though, because he’s in the office when we arrive.
My dad is a really big guy. He’s over six feet tall with wide shoulders. He’s mostly calm, and he doesn’t get mad about much. My mom calls him her big teddy bear. It’s kinda gross the way they are with each other. But my mom is right; my dad is soft, and the second he sees Lavender, head bowed, shoulders curled in like she’s trying to hide herself from the world, the anger drains from his face and empathy settles in its place.
Sometimes it bugs me how different my dad is about Lavender and my mom’s anxiety than he is mine.
His gaze shifts between Lavender and me as all the pieces come together, but it’s Miss Garrett he addresses. “What’s going on?”
Her smile is strained and questioning. “There was an incident, and Kody was trying to help.”
“Lavender, are you okay, honey?” my dad asks softly.
She wrings her hands and nods, peeking up at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want Kodiak to get in trouble.”
His face softens even more, and a sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. I don’t like the way it makes my stomach feel. “I know that, sweetheart.”
Miss Kay, the guidance counselor, appears in her office doorway, and she and Miss Garrett exchange a look as Lavender wordlessly moves into her office. She glances over her shoulder once more, expression full of uncertainty.
I spend the next half hour in the principal’s office with my dad and Miss Garrett, explaining what happened. I don’t really know Lavender’s side of the story, but I tell them mine—how I know Courtney has been saying things to Lavender for a while, that I didn’t know how bad it was, and that I overheard them saying mean things to her when I found them trapping her in the prop room.
Eventually they ask me to have a seat in the office and wait while they talk to my dad. There are no devices allowed in the office, so I ask if I can use the bathroom. While I’m in there, I delete all the messages between Lavender and me. It’s going to cause me trouble, and there will be consequences, but I don’t really care at this point.
I have unanswered messages from Maverick too, but I leave them alone for now. He’ll find out what happened eventually, and he’s still on the ice, where I should be right now. I splash cold water on my face and try to calm my breathing. There isn’t anything I can do about it now, so I try not to focus on all the what-ifs.
By the time I get back to the office, my dad is waiting for me, grim-faced. He’s silent on the way to the car, and my unease grows until it feels like I’m choking. I climb into the passenger seat, but all I want to do is run, to shut my brain off and stop it from racing. My mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty.
My dad holds out his hand, palm up. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what he wants. I slip my phone out of my pocket and set it in his palm. I was smart enough to change Lavender’s contact back to her name while I was in the bathroom. I even put a picture of purple flowers on it.
He stares at the empty message screen for a few seconds before he holds it up for me to see. “Erasing your conversation with Lavender tells me you have something to hide, Kodiak.”
I plant my palms firmly on my thighs, to keep them still and avoid fidgeting. “I didn’t want to get her in trouble.”
I can feel his eyes on me. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and keep my head down.
“Well, that’s part of the problem, then, isn’t it?”
I look over at him, confused.
“If the content of your messages with Lavender could get her into trouble, that’s an issue in itself, not to mention that you lied to me outright about leaving your math book at school. I don’t even understand what your plan was. You had to know I was going to find out.”
I throw my hands in the air. “You wouldn’t have stopped at the school if I’d told you why!”
“You’re absolutely right. I would’ve called the school and had an adult—namely her guidance counselor—find her so they could deal with the situation at a school level. I also would’ve called Violet or Alex to let them know there was an issue. You are thirteen years old. You cannot make yourself her savior.”
“You don’t understand what it’s like! I make it better for her! I can help when no one else can.”
“You lied to me, knowing full well I was going to find out. This is a real problem.”
“But I was right. Courtney was bullying her! You didn’t hear what she said to Lavender.”
“A teacher would have intervened,” he says.
I scoff. “Yeah, right. You know what happens when Lavender panics. She can’t even talk, so how was anyone going to help her?”
My dad is quiet for so long that I sneak a peek at him. He’s rubbing his forehead, head bowed in something that looks a lot like defeat. “What happens when you’re in high school next year, and she’s still in middle school?”
I don’t want to talk about next year. “River will be there.”
It’s weird. They’re twins, but he can’t help her when she’s in that state. She says it’s because she feels his frustration at not understanding.
“He wasn’t there today, and it wasn’t him she messaged, was it?” my dad asks.
“Maybe she messaged him before me, but I answered first.”
“Maybe, but I have a feeling that’s not what’s been happening. This is getting worse, not better, and it has been for some time now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek again, not wanting to acknowledge the truth.
“What happens if she messages you next year, looking for your help? What are you going to do when your high school is miles away from here?”
My legs start bouncing, even though I try to push them down and keep my feet flat on the floor. My head is spinning, my thoughts out of control. All I can see is Lavender curled up in a ball somewhere I can’t get to her—a black void I can’t reach into and pull her out of.
Suddenly it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the car. I clench and release my fists, aware there are things I can do to stop this, but I’m unable to find the will to use any of them. Instead, I let the panic take over, washi
ng through me like a toxin.
“Shit,” my dad mutters.
He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off and yell, “Don’t!”
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m itching to get out of my skin. My dad barely has the SUV in park, and I’m already running through the garage. I want to be alone with my thoughts so I can spiral in peace.
But my mom is right there, blocking the way up the stairs. Her expression makes the guilt almost unmanageable. So much disappointment.
And fear.
I don’t know what the fear is about. Is she scared of me, for me?
I press my palms against my temples—the headache already starting—screw my eyes closed so I can’t see her face, and grip my hair. Anything to distract me from the jumble of thoughts slicing through my brain.
What if I’m not there next year?
What if they separate us?
What if I stop being able to fix things?
What if someone else is better at helping her than me?
Black spots form in my vision, and I keep fighting to breathe.
“Kodiak, honey, you need to sit down.” My mom grabs me by the shoulders. “RJ, your help, please.”
Two strong hands grip me under my arms, and I sink to the floor.
My head is swimming. It’s too full. I just want Lavender to be okay.
“This is out of control,” my dad says.
“Queenie’s on her way over.” My mom’s warm palm rests against my cheek.
“What about—” My dad doesn’t finish the sentence, but I think he wants to know about Lavender, and so do I.
My mom doesn’t answer the unasked question directly. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she says. “I don’t know how to help them.”
Age 13
I DON’T GO to school the next day. My session with Queenie was exhausting, and I had a hard time sleeping. I don’t get up until late, and still feel tired. I want to know how Lavender is doing and make sure she’s okay. My parents have confiscated my phone, so I have no way of getting in touch with her without going to her house. Maverick is my best friend, so I’m there a lot, but I worry that’s going to change.