List of Ten

by Halli Gomez

She left the room and closed the door with a soft click. I went to my bed and lay down. I may have been a lot of things, but I wasn’t a jerk. I knew I had a decent family and that Dad tried as hard as he could. But what could he do when he couldn’t understand?

  Okay, I had no idea what it felt like to have a wife leave me, but that didn’t change the answers I needed to get. Actually, it added to them. When I found Mom, I would get the answers for Dad, whether he wanted them or not.

  I opened my phone and added another sublist: Mom.

  1. Dad and Terri—No

  2. Internet—in progress

  I put my phone on the night table and went to the bathroom to take my medicine. Back in my room, I crawled under the covers and wished my list was complete.

  FEBRUARY 16

  The comfort of the cafeteria’s back table called to me, but I couldn’t fight the urge to peek at the one in the middle. Rainn’s green hair streaks stood out in the sea of other girls’ pink and purple ones. And Khory, well, she was mesmerizing.

  “Hey, Troy, you sitting with us today?” Jay snuck up from behind, his lunch bag slung over one shoulder.

  I glanced toward my regular seat. Empty. Riley and Nicholas leaned toward each other. It didn’t look like they missed whatever comment I’d contribute. I turned back to Khory. She and Rainn faced each other instead of the table, backs straight. Rainn had her hand on Khory’s arm like she was trying to control a tree branch in the wind. They seemed deep in a conversation too, but I bet they weren’t debating DC Comics versus Marvel, although that could get pretty intense at times. So it was probably one of those girl issues I didn’t want to know about, or a boy. I gasped. Were they talking about me?

  I didn’t want to know but followed Jay to the dead center of the room and sat next to him. The girls looked up and shifted to face us. Khory smiled at me. I sighed, smiled back, and tried not to do anything stupid, like blurt out “I love you!”

  “What’s so serious?” Jay asked. “Wait. If it’s about what some guy did or did not do, I don’t care.”

  Rainn glared at Jay. “It’s about the guy. He’s coming back to Richmond.”

  It was clear the guy was Krista’s killer by the way disgust dripped off each word. I knew from the article headlines his name was Steven Wesley, but they never used it. Did they do that for the same reason I never said Tourette out loud? The same misguided belief that if I never said it, it wouldn’t hurt so bad?

  The word Tourette bubbled in my throat to taunt me. I swallowed as if that would push it back down where it belonged. It snuck up again. Guttural. I let out a noise, which sounded like the letter m. I bowed my head and fumbled with my sandwich.

  “He’s in Florida, but he’s being brought back here to face a judge.” Khory gripped her lunch bag. “We’re going to speak. My family. And me. I’m going to speak for Krista.”

  Jay shoved his lunch to the side and leaned across the table. “What are you going to say?”

  Khory slouched. “I’m not really sure. I have time to think about it, write it out maybe, but I want him to live. It’s not an anti-death-penalty issue or a religious thing. I don’t want him to roam free and torture society, but think about it, if he gets the death penalty, it’s done for him. It’s a waste.”

  “He is the worst part of humanity. Because of him, Krista didn’t get to live. That’s the waste,” Jay said.

  Khory sighed. “I know, but I just feel everyone has good deep inside. And bad, yes, but if he were put in different circumstances, like jail, he could pull out the good.

  I never would have used jail and good in the same sentence. Jay, Rainn, and I glanced at one another. Jay’s mouth hung open. Rainn shrugged.

  “You have to focus on the numbers,” Rainn said. “Khory and I researched him and based on his birthday, the guy is a seven. The symbol of the philosopher. On the positive side, he is introspective, but thoughtful.”

  “And on the negative side?” Jay asked.

  “Well, he may be secretive and pessimistic,” she said.

  “Great. So he sits and thinks about what he did for the next fifty years? I’m not seeing how that’s going to help anyone,” Jay argued.

  “Ugh, you don’t understand.” Rainn sighed and dug in her lunch bag.

  “I get it,” I said. It just slipped out. I pressed my lips together, more shocked than anyone to agree with her, and that I did it out loud.

  “You believe in numerology?” Khory asked. “I never would have guessed.”

  Jay nudged me. “Dude, don’t encourage her. I thought you’d be on my side with all this breathing, mystical stuff.”

  I took a bite of my sandwich to avoid blurting anything else out. After HQ sadistically planted the number ten in my brain, I had to do something while hiding in my room. I read about processed foods, astrology (I’m a Leo, by the way), and numerology. I thought it was all crap, but I couldn’t deny the numbers.

  Based on my birthday, I’m a seven too. It freaked me out back then because it’s an odd number, and now Rainn just used it to explain a child killer. But the definition and how it determines my future fit. Especially my connection to the number ten, which meant completion and fulfillment.

  Rainn sat up straight and folded her hands on the table. She beamed. I guess she never had backup before, and apparently she’d take anyone. I wanted to tell her not to get carried away. I still thought the breathing in and out to the count of ten was bullshit.

  I shrugged. “So, Khory, what do you mean him dying would be a waste?” A clear get-the-attention-off-of-me subject change.

  “I just think everyone has something to contribute to society. Who knows, maybe the guy was a lawyer or teacher. He can use those things in jail,” she said.

  “Yeah, he can teach others to commit crimes. Or as a lawyer, he could teach them to get away with it,” Jay said. “Sorry, Khory, I don’t get it. But at least he’ll spend the rest of his life paying for what he did.”

  “And if you don’t have anything to contribute?” I asked. I thought about Jude and his hand being crushed in mine. Him being safe from my tics would be an added benefit.

  “Numerology and fortune-telling. Interesting,” Khory said. “Well, everyone has a choice, don’t they? To be good or bad, productive or a slug?”

  “Sure,” I said, but I didn’t believe it.

  For someone who knew firsthand how a bad guy could ruin your life, Khory had an incredibly delusional view on life. What if you didn’t want to live? Even though you could contribute a lot to society. What if you chose not to?

  “Well, I think Khory is really brave,” Rainn said.

  “I’m trying. Hey, it’s something else I can add to the list. Facing your fear. Yeah, that’s it.”

  Khory took out her phone. I wanted to take out my own list and type updates, or at least read it again, but ours couldn’t be compared. And as excited as she was to add to hers, I was just as anxious to cross things off mine.

  . . . . . . . . . .

  I clicked on links and read internet pages until my finger was sore and my eyes crossed. It was just as if Mom had disappeared. How could that be when everything was everywhere? I thought I’d die of boredom way before April 6. So much for Principal Brooks’s lecture that what you put on the internet will be there forever. Either he lied or Mom never turned on a computer. Or she never existed. No. Every neck twitch and hand squeeze reminded me of how real she was.

  I put a pillow behind my back and leaned against the wall. For me, the internet was for school, video-game research, and a few other things like finding TS groups. But social media? Never. The last thing I wanted to do was take pictures of myself and post them for the world to make fun of. Maybe Mom was the same, which meant I needed to research a more old-fashioned way of keeping pictures and memories. The photo albums in the family room.

  My phone beeped just as I picked it up to add to my list. It scared the hell out of me. And when I saw the name, my heart pounded.

  KHORY: Do you fee
l like tutoring me this weekend?

  Really? She had to ask if I wanted to spend time with her? Even for tutoring? Good to know I wasn’t obvious like a drooling lovesick puppy.

  ME: I can help.

  I hit Send. The phone rang. I pressed the green button.

  “Hi.” Ugh. One day I’ll amaze her with a great conversation.

  “Hi. Is it okay that I called? Sometimes it’s easier than texting,” she said. “I know, who would say that, right?”

  A smile ran through my entire body. She was nothing like the girls who took selfies every time they changed desks. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “So, the whole numerology thing . . . Rainn’s pretty happy she has someone on her side.”

  “Well, you know, I wanted to help her out,” I said.

  “So, did you really figure it out? What number you are?”

  “Yeah. I’m a seven. But not like the guy. I mean, I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” I squeezed my hand.

  “I know that.”

  I listened to her breathe. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I breathed, too.

  “What made you look into it? Was it for the Tourette?” she asked.

  I gasped. My chest tightened. Of course she knew what I had; it wasn’t like I could hide it. But she said the word. It sounded just as bad as me saying it. I took a breath. A little air got in. Then another. More air. Repeat.

  “Troy? Sorry. That was kind of nosy.”

  “Yes.” One step at a time. “I mean no, you’re not nosy. It’s . . . I have a thing for numbers.” Breathe. “Well, just the number ten.”

  I exhaled. Wow. That was more than I’ve said about the TS and OCD out loud in five years. Hardly Qualified would have slapped his leg and demanded I take this opportunity to explain my disorders.

  But I figured Khory would rather hear about the causes of the agricultural revolution than the history of Tourette. Even I didn’t care about Georges Gilles de la Tourette, the associated disorders, and the unknown genes, unless it would make them go away.

  “So what do you do for the Tourette?” she asked. “Wait, I’m being really nosy now. You don’t have to answer. Let’s talk about something else.”

  My hand squeezed the phone. My neck twitched five times. Only five times. I moved it five more to equal ten.

  “Medication. I take medication.” Phew.

  “I haven’t met anyone else with it. Have you?” Khory asked.

  Mom sat across the kitchen table from me. Her neck twitched. Mine twitched in response. I reached out and touched her plate. She studied me; her frown deepened with each tic.

  “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Her neck twitched again. Faster.

  “You hate it, don’t you? When I touch your plate.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “It’s just who you are.”

  “Crazy. That’s what everyone at school says I am, because they don’t do that. Or make weird faces.”

  Mom reached across the table and held my hand. “You’re a very smart, special boy. Don’t believe what they say. They don’t understand Tourette. But we have each other, right?”

  Wrong. She left a year later.

  “I went to a meeting,” I told Khory.

  “Like a support group? I used to go to those. They helped, you know, make you feel connected. Or at least not as alone,” she said. “But there wasn’t anyone like me. There’s no twin-of-kidnapped-girl support group.”

  “I actually wondered about that.”

  “Yeah? Maybe I should start one, but I’d probably be the only member. OMG, I’ve never talked about it like this. Most people see me as the dead girl’s sister. Even Rainn sometimes. But you don’t. I could tell that when we first met.”

  Was it confession time? Could I say the same to her and not humiliate myself? If I did, I’d just avoid her at school. Except for science. And if she approached me in the hall. I was so damn slow I couldn’t outrun a 105-year-old man. But I had to tell her. It was like a compulsion, except this one I didn’t want to fight.

  “I don’t talk about it. Ever. My dad doesn’t even know about the meeting,” I said.

  “Thanks for sharing with me.” I heard the smile in her voice and smiled back. “Listen, my mom’s calling me for dinner, but if you need an excuse when you go to a meeting, you can tell him you’re at my house. I’ll cover for you.”

  That was a great idea, especially because I hadn’t come up with another excuse.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Anytime. See you at school tomorrow.”

  FEBRUARY 18

  Five fifty-five. Dad wasn’t home. He knew I had somewhere to be and had to leave at six, but he probably thought going to Khory’s wasn’t a time-sensitive issue. And if that’s where I was going, he’d be right. But it wasn’t. There was a TS meeting tonight.

  I started the eighth round of ten and was on the ninth round when headlights illuminated the driveway. Five fifty-nine. Way too close. I put my phone in my jacket pocket and met him in the garage.

  “Jude is in the family room. I changed his diaper and gave him a snack about an hour ago. A small one,” I said before Dad even made it to the kitchen. “Sorry, but I have to go. See you later.”

  “Okay, don’t be too late. It’s a school night.”

  “I know.” I walked out the door.

  When I was two houses down, I ran like I was actually meeting Khory. All the way to the bus stop. Excitement and fear of missing the bus propelled me forward.

  I made it, jumped in line behind five other people, then found a seat by the window in the last row. My neck twitched, but it was more like background music than in-your-face heavy metal.

  Trees, houses, and buildings flew by. If only tomorrow would. It would be torture to sit through another day at school knowing being alone with Khory waited at the end. I leaned my head against the window and pictured her smiling with the pink lip gloss. I sank into the bus seat, and my hands rested on my legs. Just the thought of kissing her made me weak. Breathe in. Breathe out. The bus pulled over at my stop. I thought about staying on, riding it for the next hour and enjoying this new feeling, but I had to get back to reality.

  I got off and walked toward the seven-story hospital building. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I bent down and touched the sidewalk. The grittiness felt good on my fingertips. I dragged them across the ground in front of me, then stood up and counted again.

  “Hi. I’m Susan.”

  I turned to my left and stared into brown eyes that were tired and helpful at the same time. They belonged to the meeting’s host.

  I rolled my shoulders back. “Hi. I’m Troy.”

  She didn’t offer to shake my hand. Maybe because I just scraped them across the sidewalk coated with chewed gum and dirt. Clearly I didn’t have a germ obsession, but maybe she did.

  “The bathrooms are disgusting,” I blurted out, my TS brain overriding my filter. Normally I wasn’t a blurter, but I seemed to do this a lot lately. If this was a new tic, would I say inappropriate things in front of Khory? Or to her? I shivered.

  “I know. I try to go at home or hold it until I’m about to explode.”

  I nodded. Why didn’t I go before I left?

  “I’m glad you came back. Are you here alone?”

  “Yes.” I glanced at the hospital in front of us. “My parents couldn’t come. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. We have reading material up front if you want to take some home to them. And they’re welcome whenever you’re ready.”

  When I’m ready? Was it that obvious?

  We walked into the hospital and turned left at the information desk. The meeting was in the same room as last time. Susan went to the front, and I took a seat in the back.

  The smell of burnt coffee was back, along with a few people from last time. The husband and wife whose son was doing better in school, the man who called him a jerk, and the guy who flapped his arms. There were people I didn’t r
ecognize from last time, some with TS and some not. At least not that I could tell. There were all sorts of tics that ran through your brain and tormented only you, like crazy or inappropriate thoughts that could be so macabre they’re better left in your mind.

  “Good evening everyone. I’m Susan. Just a reminder, we have pamphlets up here in case anyone’s interested. And coffee and cookies in the back.”

  Everyone turned toward the refreshment table, but no one got up. A few people turned to the front, then back to the table a few times, but it wasn’t because they were contemplating an after-dinner treat.

  “After our last meeting when Frank and Rita discussed their success with the Americans with Disabilities Act in their son’s school, I printed out some basic information.” Susan picked up a stack of papers and waved them in the air. “I’d like to start the discussion tonight. For those who don’t know, my son has Tourette, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and sensory processing disorder. He is happily married and has two wonderful children. My grandson, his oldest, was just diagnosed with Tourette. Of course, we already knew.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not the best news, but we are confident he’ll have a better time of it than his dad. We know more now, medications are different, and there are alternative therapies.”

  Was she crazy? A better time? Compared to what, the dark ages?

  I scanned the room. People nodded. As the leader of this so-called support group, it should have been obvious things still sucked. This was my second time here, and I knew that. My hands squeezed into tight fists. The only thing we knew for sure was that it was genetic. And one more thing, her son was selfish for having kids in the first place.

  My hands squeezed again, daring my fingers to dig right through my palms and draw blood. I opened them and shoved them under my thighs. I counted, cursed HQ, and closed my eyes.

  Sometime during my episode, she stopped talking. The conversation moved around the room.

  “Hi, I’m Jo.”

  Jo sat on the aisle with a golden retriever at her feet. She waved her arms in the air and her leg bounced. It stopped, then bounced again. She waved her arms in the air again. The dog sat up, nuzzled her hand, and rested his head in her lap. Her leg stopped bouncing.