“Hey!” Tyler’s shout wakes her. Those supportive words, the ones she needs so badly from her boyfriend, have been nothing but a dream. “Hey! Didja forget about me? Where the fuck are you, Lily? What are you doing, Lily? Didja fall asleep? You better not. Not now.”
“Sorry,” she says. Lily fights to keep her eyes open. Tyler’s image on the screen wavers in front of her, his mouth opens and closes. ”You’re nothing but a stupid loser,” he says. “You choose school over me, sleep over me. Call that supportive? Cause I sure don’t.”
Lily feels a hot, red balloon inflates inside her chest, and she wonders how this can really be her life.
◆◆◆
“Grilled havarti and apple, please. On wheat.” Lily orders a drink at Tribeck’s counter. Behind her in line, she smells lavender and lemon. Erica smoothes more hand sanitizer onto her fingers like invisible gloves.
At the register they scuffle over payment. Erica declares her mom has given her money for lunch, and Lily insists she’s the host. In the end Erica says she’ll pay for dessert. “If you’re still hungry,” she adds as a guy with dreads and a pierced septum slides a huge sandwich onto Lily’s tray. The cook at Tribeck’s grills them with real butter from local farms, and the cheese is smoked with cherry wood.
“I’ll still be hungry.” Lily leads them to an outside table under a hummingbird vine trellis and slides into the cast-iron chair. As soon as she’s settled, Lily sends a text to Tyler to let him know where she is.
The girls eat in silence, punctuated by the crunch of kettle chips and fresh coleslaw. “This is so good. I love it here.” Erica leans back in her seat and sips an iced coffee.
“Where’s your mom - at the hotel? Or did she decide to go shopping?”
“Is this even a question? Shopping, of course. She’s decided she needs a new purse. And shoes! Did I mention the shoes?” Erica pushes her plate aside and feels in her pocket. Lily already knows what she needs - more hand sanitizer. “Anyway. I have gossip…”
“Ooh.” Lily picks up the untouched half of Erica’s sandwich and bites in. “Tell me,” she says around ham and arugula.
“Actually, it’s pretty sad. Courtney lost her shit.”
“Ugh.” Lily pulls a face. “Do I have to be sorry for her now?”
“No, but get this. I heard she slapped that guy I told you about, the one I was supposed to meet at the dance. She hit him at Starbucks, hauled off and slapped him. I missed it, but Toni told me later. Yes, that Toni – we text and stuff now.”
“Really?” Erica used to hate Toni, one of the girls who cornered her in the bathroom the day she and Lily met.
“Really. Things are different in high school, you know?” Erica puts away the bottle and opens the kettle chips on her tray.
Lily frowns, swallows the rest of the sandwich, and takes a sip of fresh lemonade. “What happened with Courtney? I mean, she was always a classic Mean Girl, but slapping the guy she dates? Was it self-defense?”
“No, not at all. And get this. Will, the guy I told you about, was covered in bruises. She’d been hitting him for a week, and he never told anyone. Not even his parents.”
Lily drops her sandwich onto the plate. She knows abuse happens in all forms. Parents abuse kids. Kids don’t take care of parents when they get old. There are boyfriends who hit their girlfriends, and vice versa.
Lily feels like she’s jumped into a huge pool in a lead-lined scuba suit. Little prickles cascade down her spine, and she has to pretend to wipe her mouth in her napkin to hide behind.
Because what she feels is jealousy.
Lily is jealous of the boy who wears Courtney’s attacks on his skin, his abuse written in dark splotches of blood like alien hieroglyphics. Now his parents will take him to a doctor or a famous specialist for therapy and make sure he stays away from Courtney’s right hook.
Maybe he’ll change schools. He’ll get sympathy. He’ll get help. But, Lily considers, not all bruises appear on your skin:
Being forced to stay awake when you’re exhausted.
A constant search for validation.
The struggle to stay positive when you’re alone.
The horror of getting used to insults so you almost expect them.
These things don’t appear on your skin. Insults don’t bruise, neglect doesn’t break your arm. No one can see what lies in your heart.
Because when you’re wounded on the inside, no one knows about it.
She blinks her tears away so she won’t break down in a New England sandwich shop. “You look tired.” Erica, as usual, appears to read Lily’s thoughts. “Practice kicking your butt?”
“Yeah.” Actually, practice has been a distraction, a haven from the hellish dreams when she finally falls asleep. She has a new nightmare of a huge eye watching her as she swims through the endless dream-mazes. It blinks, disappears, and leaves her alone in cold, dark silence. A few times she’s woken with tears on her cheeks.
If she opens up about any of this to Erica, Lily knows she won’t be able to stop. Her voice will dissolve in sobs, and she’ll ugly-cry right there in the middle of Tribecks’ patio on this beautiful autumn day.
And there’s more. If she talks about the whole situation with Tyler, it will become real. If Lily speaks the words in her heart, she’ll give isolation and exhaustion real power over her life.
Instead, she makes herself giggle at Erica’s jokes, steals a chip, and talks about how much she misses New Jersey. She mentions how lame Prescot is lately, how her classmates have become weird and stuck-up.
Lily laughs and talks, waving her hands for emphasis. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in Tribeck’s glass front, a pretty girl with bright hair, athletic build, and good skin. She’s amazed at how carefree she looks.
Please save me, she thinks. It’s a silent prayer. Maybe the friend who knows her so well will see the scars no doctor can find, the hidden heart that lies underwater like a dreadful treasure.
She finishes her sandwich and eyes Erica, who is applying more hand sanitizer under the table. Even if Lily did reach out to her friend, what would she say?
Would Erica even believe her?
14
As fall gets colder, Lily feels like she lives inside a glass aquarium. She can see the other students at Prescot as they meet up for lunch, hang out after class, arrange ski trips and parties, but she’s separated from the laughter and brightness of their lives.
Lily’s day is layered with class, practice, and Facetime with Tyler. He tells her he’s her protector against isolation.
There’s always a message to send, a Facebook post to Like, unspoken questions she has to answer. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you faithful? She’s forgotten what it’s like to be alone without his voice in her head.
She understands the rules he’s put in place for her: Always be accessible. Keep Tyler updated of every action, even if he complains you text too much. Be beautiful. Be perfect. Don’t ask questions. Don’t tell him how much your stomach aches. Illness is disgusting. Say his name over and over on Facetime, even if he doesn’t answer for hours.
Tyler? Tyler? Tyler, are you there?
She’s not allowed to have her own life, or opinions, or dreams. The thought of an hour to herself, a free zone of time without the constant pressure to check-in, is lovely and impossible.
Fantasies like these are dangerous, and Lily does her best to stay away from them. She concentrates on the good things in her life: Erica, Vincent, the guinea pigs. And Tyler, of course. Can’t wait to see you, she texts him and tries not to wonder if it’s true.
To make things worse, Lily’s swim times continue to swing up and down, with more bad days than good ones. Split seconds creep back onto her time. Her vision seems clouded, fogged with exhaustion.
Robert glares from under his haystack eyebrows from where he towers over her at the side of the pool. She leans on her elbows, lets the weight of her skull bow forward in defeat. 23 seconds, once in her grasp, now
seems out of reach.
As she swims, the water seems to thicken like amber around a trapped insect. When Lily retreats to the locker room, her arms and legs shiver from the effort of moving.
Dry land isn’t much better. Lily checks the plates a few times to make certain no one has snuck a few ten pounders on as extra ballast. Invested in lifting weights, it isn’t until the end of the workout she realizes Haddigan is on the bench next to her.
“Hey.” Haddigan grins, as if Lily is the one person she hoped to see out of the entire student body. “Lats are kicking my butt today.”
Lily exhales with pure relief. She isn’t crazy. She’s not isolated. Everyone has a rough time now and then. “Mine too! And that practice today, ugh. My times suck.”
“We’re nowhere near tapering yet. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
The words of support let the knots in Lily’s stomach dissolve. “Want to hang out after dinner tonight? I’ve got to finish that physics paper, but after we could go get ice cream.”
“Sure.” Haddigan stops when Lily’s phone goes off with a blare of rap music.
Tyler’s alert. “Sorry, Haddy, sorry.” Lily scans the text about how his team is lame and college sucks. Lily sucks her lip as she writes a few words of consolation.
Haddigan sits up and slings a towel around her neck. “Think I’ll go in to the trainers for more adjustments. You have class, right?”
Lily nods. “I’ll call you later.” Does she sound too eager, like a kid who pulls on mom’s skirt? It’s impossible to tell. Haddigan’s face stays calm as she waves goodbye and disappears through glass doors, another lost opportunity for friendship.
Already Lily’s phone is blowing up with demands from Tyler. He knows her schedule and has timed her day to the minute. Are you on your way to get changed? You should be done with practice, right? Text me as soon as you get to class. Don’t forget. Text when you’re done. Text. Text me. Text.
Lily’s appetite has died, murdered by the constant, dull ache in her gut. The dreams of the watery maze continue to overwhelm her at night, and when she wakes it’s as though she never slept.
Prescot’s campus, painted in red, yellow and orange, wavers in front of Lily as she walks to class. The half-eaten power bar in her hand tastes like sand. Cronuts, bagels, egg sandwiches – none of the breakfast options at the grill tempt her.
She stops at a water fountain, drinks until her stomach swells. Maybe she’s just dehydrated, a common side effect from her sport – swimmers all sweat, of course, but they can’t feel it in the pool. Lily, like everyone else on the team, has to concentrate on her fluid intake.
The loss of appetite, the weird dreams, her swim times – she can blame them all on dehydration. It must be the answer. Lily stands up, sends another text to Tyler so he’ll know where she is, and goes to class.
In the middle of the group exploration of Life at Versailles under the Sun King, Lily gets up to go to the bathroom. When she returns, Yasmin is in the middle of an intense, whispered conversation. “She wants to hang out with us tonight. I heard Haddigan talked to her this morning. But we just can’t watch her go down like this. Have you seen her? She’s on the phone all the time with him – I think she has to text him before and after each class. It’s painful to watch…”
Staci flicks her eyes sideways at Lily and nudges Yasmin, whose whisper cuts off like blood flow under a tourniquet.
◆◆◆
“They just don’t get me, y’know?” Tyler slouches on his bed in the Rosemont dorm and flips a pen between long, shapely fingers. “Jealousy, probably.”
A flush of love pierces Lily. Why has she ever doubted him? He’s the one who understands her, ever since the very beginning. Everyone who’s not Tyler thinks she’s crazy and ‘painful to watch.’ She wishes she could reach into the iPad screen and touch the wrinkle between his brows. “It’s the same way here. And my 50 went above 25 seconds again. ”
“Oh, I hit that time in 8th grade. Anyway. The coach says my time isn’t where it should be. So dumb. Of course I’m better than the rest, goes without saying, but his expectations are ridiculous. What, am I at the Olympics? And Ben thought it was so funny when the asshole coach chewed me out. Like he could ever hope to reach my level.”
Tyler flips the pen onto the bed and leans back against a pile of pillows. One is marked in blue and orange with the looped swirls of Prescot’s logo, the cushion she sent him for a three-month anniversary gift.
“Maybe he just doesn’t understand how hard it is to be the best.” Lily crosses her ankles and smiles into the iPad screen.
“How would you know? You’ve never been number one.” Tyler flings the pen across the room. She hears a clunk as it hits the opposite wall. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get out of here.”
“’Kay.” She nods, prepares to end the call.
“I’ve got somewhere to be, Lily. Jesus.”
“No, it’s fine! I told you, do what you gotta do.”
“Yeah, right.” Tyler frowns, rubs the back of his neck with one palm. Did a former girlfriend tell him his muscles bulged when he bent his arm like that? “Meet me in Jersey. Soon.”
“Oh! Uh, okay. Actually, I have a trip home planned…”
“Perfect. Change it to the 11th.” He leans forward, and the screen fades to black without a good-bye.
Lily taps one fingernail against her teeth. The night stretches out in front of her, blank and dark. She sends Tyler the date of her upcoming visit and slumps back in the desk chair. If she goes home to meet him, will he actually show up? Or will he yell at her for being demanding when she asks about it, the date he has requested?
It’s not like she has a choice. No need to even think twice. If she doesn’t appear in New Jersey on the 11th, Tyler will take it out on her for weeks.
The other dorm room bed is empty since she still doesn’t have a roommate. There aren’t even sheets on the bed, just a gray mattress stained from where a former student must have spilled makeup or fruit punch.
The dark screen of her laptop reflects the vacant bed. Lily kicks the desk. Should she head outside, prowl the floors, find Yasmin and Haddigan? “Hey, guys! What’s up? I was heading downstairs and heard music, so…”
Instead, Lily pulls out her phone and scrolls through her texts. Although Tyler once said he fixed the Erica problem, she still has the hate texts from freshman year where she saved them in her message archives. You’re a bitch. You can’t even talk to me now, bitch? Hope everyone finds out what a slut you are, bitch.
Erica now has a different number. The messages she sends are typical: What’s up for the weekend? Had a blast at your school – still drooling over those sandwiches. Wish you lived closer. So proud of you, tho! Love you, bby.
Lily feels a spike of curiosity. There’s no way the same person could have written both sets of texts. Erica would never call Lily a bitch. Ever.
There’s a little ‘i’ button beside the archived messages, the first ones she got. Lily clicks it to see the information, a number she once knew by heart as well as Erica’s name.
She can’t resist pressing the green Dial button. The other end rings several times, a muted sound like a ship’s horn lost in fog.
Lily’s just about to hang up, when the line clicks. “How did you get this number?” a voice demands.
“This is Lily.” She hasn’t thought it out, what she’d say if anyone picked up. “Who is this?”
No response, just silence on the other end. A few seconds pass, and Lily hears another click followed by a long hum. The other person has ended the call.
Every instinct tells her the voice belongs to the person who sent her the hate-texts, and that’s not even the worst part. Lily recognizes the voice.
I’ve heard this person before, she thinks. Female. Older. But where? The answer teases her until she gives up and goes to bed.
Beyond her window, there are sounds of music and stupid party games. Laughter chases Lily into her dreams. There, she swims
alone in the underground maze, watched by one unforgiving eye.
◆◆◆
Bubbles in the hydrotherapy whirlpool burst like tiny grenades with a whiff of chlorine. Lily lies back in the swirls of water to chase health and happiness. Deep down, she knows the cure for her slow freestyle times and choppy swim strokes won’t come from whirlpools or deep-tissue massage.
No one can see what lies in your heart, not even if they crack open your ribs and dissect it.
What lies inside Tyler’s heart? Lily knows he wants to win when he competes, just like her. They both live with endless laps and impossible workouts. Other than that, she’s not sure of what drives him.
Control? Yeah, definitely that.
It’s been a terrible morning in the pool. Her shoulder aches. She knows her sprint stroke is wrong, the dolphin kicks didn’t work out the way Coach wanted, she’s far off her best times, her mind’s not in the game. With a sigh, she gets up and dries off, still in her suit. One of the chiropractors hands her a dry towel and tells her to wait for a check-up.
“Hey.” Robert sinks into the metal chair beside hers. “Trainers are all backed up, huh? Competition season is nuts.” His eyes close as he rubs them with large thumbs. “Lord, it was hard to get out of the bed this morning. Seems to get tougher each year, and it was bad enough when I was young and foolish.”
Lily lets her head clunk against the chipped wall inside the trainer’s room. She’s in for a Talk with a capital T. “Have I done something wrong?” The question sounds clipped, annoyed, as if he’s a huge interruption instead of her coach.
His eyes measure her, dark brown pupils rimmed with red. “I want to show you this.” He tilts up one butt cheek as he feels in a back pocket with a hand the size of a tennis racket, withdraws an ancient wallet, and flips it open.
There’s a picture of a woman inside a plastic sleeve, skin lighter than his, with a smile so wide it crinkles her eyes. She wears a summer dress patterned with daisies, cut straight across her neck. It exposes more amber skin, smooth and young even in the old photo.
A Cold and Quiet Place Page 15