Already Gone

by Bridget E. Baker

  "A scrap? You think Moby's a scrap? He's probably the only guy I've ever really been into," I said.

  Lacy pursed her lips. "Me too."

  "Oh please, you’ve got an entire class full of nerds. He can’t be the first guy you’ve ever liked."

  Lacy choked. "Mason and I have every class together. He's the most talented natural speaker I've ever heard. He reads all the time for fun, just like me, and he quotes boring old books, just like me. He might be a little more athletic than I am-"

  I snorted.

  "But that doesn't mean we aren't a good match. Face it, Hope, he’s as much a nerd as he is a swimmer."

  I thought about what she was saying and recalled that she thought I was an idiot. She probably thought I wasn't good enough for him. Like somehow reading and math were more important than truly excelling at a sport. I didn't know how to defend myself in this stupid fight, but I thought of another response. It was over the top and I shouldn't have said it, but I was tired of being attacked, and feeling guilty. "I don't think that's why you're a bad match."

  "So you do think Mason won’t want to date me."

  "I don't think it, I know it. He didn't ask you out, did he? He asked me." When I saw her broken face, it twisted my heart, but I was still so angry that it felt good. She thought I was an idiot, and greedy, and I was a bad sister. She had clearly thought it for years, and now I’d met someone really great, and he liked me too, and she thought I wasn't good enough for him just because he was smart. Instead of telling her I was sorry, instead of asking her to forgive me like I should have, I turned on my heel and ran down the hall to my room.

  Then I picked up this dumb book. And now I just feel worse, writing this all out. I should go back now and tell her I'm sorry. I should tell her that I'll forget about Moby. I should tell her she can have him, but I just, I don’t know, I can't do it. I know I ought to, but I don't want to. I want Moby too much, and I'm still too mad. Lacy doesn’t deserve to be rewarded for making me feel like a spoiled brat and a moron. I'm a better fit for him than she is. She'll figure it out eventually, even if it takes her a little while.

  In fact, if I know one thing, it’s that no matter what her problem is, Lacy eventually gets over it. Always.

  Oh, I just heard the door. I should go talk to Mom. BRB.

  Okay, I’m back. I talked to Mom, but not about any of this. I told her Lacy wasn’t feeling great, which I think is true. Then my best friend, Gwen, called. She’s the captain of the track team, and we’ve been friends for ten years. I knew she’d understand, so I told her all about the nightmare tonight and she was completely outraged on my behalf.

  “She called you an idiot? Is she kidding? She can’t even have a normal conversation.”

  “I know,” I said. “Books aren’t everything. Plus, she thought she had dibs on him since she met him first. Except, I actually met him first. I dumped Dave after I met him last week.”

  “Poor Dave,” Gwen said. “He hates Mob- er, Mason. I had no idea Dave even liked you so much.”

  I sighed. “Was he like this when you were together? I didn’t realize we were even officially dating. I think he pays me more attention now than he did when we were together.”

  Gwen moaned. “He did that same crap to me. Actually, he got a little scary for a while before you convinced him to join swim team. I was kind of glad when he decided he liked you so he’d leave me alone.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “He’s harmless, but he has a temper. I guess you don’t have to worry, not with Moby around.” Gwen laughed. “Too bad he doesn’t have a brother for me.”

  “Or for Lacy,” I said.

  After we hung up, I tried to feel good about the fact that Moby had asked me out and not Lacy, but the more I thought about our conversation, the more uneasy I got. I hoped Gwen was right, and I really would have Moby around, but I was starting to wonder whether I’d just paid a really steep price for something I didn’t even have.

  Chapter Nine

  Lacy

  I'm sick of telling my story. I didn't mind at first, but now I don't want to talk-or write-about it anymore.

  "Lacy?" Dr. Brasher says. "You've been sitting there for ten minutes without touching the keys. Maybe you’d like to give talking a go."

  "This laptop is ancient. I’d rather use a typewriter."

  "Are you sure that's the problem? You did fine on it yesterday." Dr. Brasher folds his hands under his chin again. It’s freaking annoying. For a shrink, he sure has some things to work on himself. Like not irritating his patients so badly they can't think straight.

  "Look, doc, the thing is, I really feel like you can see what happened next at this point. You don't need me to spell it all out for you, do you?"

  He shakes his head. "I don't need you to spell it out for me, no."

  I stand up, relieved, and stretch my legs. "Phew. I did not want to have to spend another day hunched over that stone age hunk of metal."

  Dr. Brasher points at the laptop. "I don’t need you to spell it out for me, but I do need you to spell it out for you."

  "What?" I groan and pace back and forth. "You're kidding, right?"

  "You're operating under some kind of mistaken belief that we're here for me, or for the Court, or for your mother, or your sister, or the principal, or your friend Drew, or anyone else on the planet. None of those are correct. We're here for you, Lacy. This is your life and you're floundering. You've undergone a substantial trauma, a life-changing event. You can't continue on exactly in the same way, and people are worried, understandably worried-"

  "I wish it was none of your business what I did with my life. Why do you think you can make it any better?" I start for the door. I don't care what the Court wants. I don't care what Dr. Brasher wants. I'm sick of giving things up for Hope. I'm sick of poking at memories that make me want to curl up and cry. It hurts too much.

  "Lacy," he says, and I realize he's right behind me.

  I mean to yell, but the words come out as a whisper instead for some reason. “Nothing can bring her back.”

  I spin around and it's not until I’m facing him that I realize I’m already crying. Big, messy tears roll down my face.

  I hiccup and his eyes soften.

  I shake my head and step back a few inches. "If it all stopped there, a little fight with Drew, a spat with Hope, my mom stuck at work, things would still be fine. She’d be here to tell me I’m an idiot. She’d be here for me to cry to. This next part, this is where it all goes wrong, like really wrong," I say. "I can't do it. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

  "That's how you know you need to," he says.

  His hand reaches out for my arm and I let him lead me gently back to the enormous relic he keeps calling a laptop. I stare at the screen for a moment before I have any idea what to write. But then it comes to me and my fingers fly over the keys. When I force myself to think about it, every single ugly moment looms in front of me, crystal clear.

  * * *

  My phone rang. Early. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the number. Unknown. I didn't see my mom last night, and now I'm worried maybe she didn't make it back. What if she crashed her car on the way, or it's her plant calling, or worse, a hospital? My mom usually works in research, but sometimes she has to go down and supervise stuff on the plant floor. What if there was some kind of awful spill or something?

  "Hello?" I asked, my voice scratchy.

  "Miss Shelton?"

  "Yeah?" I cleared my throat, trying to sound alert. "This is Miss Shelton."

  "I'm sorry for calling so early, but I was concerned I might miss you if I waited. I’ve called your coach several times and never heard back from her, so I thought I’d give you a ring. I'm only calling so early because I’m assuming you can't answer your phone at school."

  "Who is this?" I asked.

  "Oh, I apologize for being so rude," he said, "This is Mr. Langston, your first judge from the Katy tournament."

  "Oh." I sat up st
raight in bed, wide awake and relieved it wasn’t about Mom. "Great. What can I do for you?"

  "I know it's short notice at this point, but I was wondering whether you were attending the Clear Creek tournament this weekend."

  I wracked my brain. Where was Clear Creek? Was it close? It sounded familiar. I'd waited too long to reply though and I had to say something.

  "I'm sorry," I said, "I don't think we are. I can talk to my Coach, though. I don’t know why she wasn’t answering her phone, but maybe we can sign up late."

  "The friend I told you about is in town on some other business, and I thought I might persuade him to extend his trip and come see you and your partner Mason debate for a few rounds."

  "Oh," I said, "well, I’ll talk to my coach today and let you know."

  "Great," he said. "Please do call or text me back and let me know."

  "I will. Thanks for calling." I wanted to scream with excitement when I hung up, but it was 6:45 a.m., so I settled for a little jumping up and down instead.

  When I finally emerged from my room, Hope was already gone. She had driven to school in our car, alone. I saw my mom sitting at the kitchen table and couldn't help whining a little. I sat down, put my hands on the table and plonked my face down on them. "Hope took the car. How am I supposed to get to school, huh?"

  "I'll take you on my way to work," my mom said. "No big deal. You better hurry, or we'll both be late."

  I grumbled, but I ate a quick bowl of cereal, ran a brush through my hair, and twisted it back into its normal knot. Then I grabbed my backpack. "I'm ready."

  "Don't you need a lunch?" My mom looked concerned. "I don't know what's going on with you two girls. Hope didn't say, but I can tell something’s off kilter. Feel like talking about it?"

  I sighed. "Mason and Moby are the same person, Mom, and told Hope he’d come hang out with her, and told me he was busy."

  She closed her eyes. She didn't say anything for a moment. "Well that’s lousy. I'm sorry, Lacy."

  She was sorry for me because she knew, just like I did, which of us any sane guy would pick. Sometimes it really sucked to be the smart one. Why couldn't I have gotten boobs instead of brains? I'd have been fine with a healthy mixture of looks and smarts, even. She can keep her chest, but maybe give me her perfect legs, and a little athletic ability. Luminous eyes and flawless skin. I forced myself to stop picking at the zit on my chin.

  "It's not fair, Mom. She has loads and loads of guys, anyone she wants. Why can't she leave just this one guy alone?"

  "I don't think that’s entirely fair," my mom said.

  "Why?" I smear some peanut butter on a piece of bread. "Because she met him first? You think they're fated to be some kind of epic love story? Oh, please. Epic for Hope happens twelve times a year."

  My mom laughed. "No, I don't think they're Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy."

  "If they are fated, it’s more like Pocahontas and John Smith."

  My mom frowned. “Who’s Pocahontas in this scenario?”

  I smeared the jam and smashed the two pieces of bread together then shoved it into a baggie. "I’m not talking about race or looks. I’m saying they may as well not speak the same language. Mom, she doesn't get half of the things he says. He's smart, like really smart. He's in all honors classes."

  Mom frowned. "Your sister’s bright, you know. She hasn’t applied herself much, but she could. Maybe he’ll be good for her. And don’t forget, he's also a swimmer, and from what Hope told me, an amazing one." Mom stood up. "The thing is, I would be happy for him to date either of my daughters from what I’ve heard, but I don’t particularly appreciate the fact that he’s driving a wedge between you."

  "Mom, you’ve never paid any attention to it, but that wedge has been there for a while."

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "You two are best friends. You always have been.”

  I choked. “Back in preschool maybe. Now I barely even see her. We share no classes, and we both do activities that take up a lot of time. And they aren’t the same.”

  “You still spend all summer together.”

  “We’re both outside, but I’m cowering under an umbrella reading while she sunbathes and tries to shake off all the guys hanging on her every move.”

  My mom rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic. You played volleyball together almost every day.”

  She’s right. We did. I’d set, and she’d spike.

  “And you share clothes all the time, and we watch movies together every Friday. And we get ice cream together every week. You have more in common than you’re acknowledging.”

  “If you call her taking anything nice I have sharing, that’s true,” I say. “But whenever only one of us can have something, it’s always her and never me.”

  My mom put her hand against my chin. “You feel that way, because she’s the baby. The baby is always a little more spoiled, but sweetheart, I did her the disservice here, not you. You know how to handle anything. She doesn’t handle setbacks or disappointment nearly as well as you do, and life is just a long series of disappointment. How you react determines the path you chart.”

  I slumped in my chair. “Great. I’m glad to hear you’ve prepared me to handle it well when I’m the complete failure you expect me to be.”

  She shook her head. “You know that when one door closes, there’s always a window open. You’ve never resented helping your sister, who doesn’t have nearly the grit and tenacity you do, or quite the same mental acuity if we’re being brutally honest. And now this boy has come along and he’s creating problems. If this continues, I swear I’m going to take him out.”

  Her determined stare made me smile. "So are you planning to poison him, or turn the dogs on him?"

  She laughed. "I knew I should’ve gotten some dogs. Think it's too late now?"

  I shoved my lunch into my backpack and sank into a kitchen chair. "I don't know what to do."

  She put her hand on my head. "I know sweetheart, and I'm supposed to have the answers." She stroked my head over and over, but said nothing. Finally, she sighed. "The worst part about being a mom is when your kids get so old you can't just fix their problems anymore. If Hope took your Cheerios, I'd just get you more. When she wanted your stuffed animal, I'd find you another. When she wanted to play on the playground and you wanted to read, we'd go to the playground, but I’d bring you a book. But this one is beyond me. I'm really sorry, but I think you and Hope are going to have to work this out without my help."

  It might have helped if Mom had ever bothered to teach Hope to get her own stuff and stop taking mine, instead of getting me a new toy or cereal bowl every time. I didn’t mention that. Instead, I stuck out my lip. "I hope we can work it out too, but I thought about something this morning. Last night I assumed Mason asked Hope out, or maybe that when I asked him, he made up an excuse because he didn’t like me, and then she asked and he said yes. But there’s another possibility. Maybe Mason didn’t ask Hope out. If she invited him over, she would have done it before I did, and he already had plans when I asked him. Maybe he came over for her because he’d already agreed to do it. Maybe he does like me, and if he does, I'm not backing down. If Mason likes me, I don't care whether it hurts her feelings. I'm sick of letting Hope have whatever she wants. I don’t want a new bowl of Cheerios this time."

  "Hope's like your dad," Mom said, a note of quiet warning in her voice. "She's a force of nature. I’m worried that if you don't step back and she gets what she wants anyway, you might hate her forever."

  This time, I was not going to hand it over without a fight. "I might anyway."

  My mom sat down next to me then and handed me the car keys.

  "Mom?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

  She held one hand up to her temple. "I have a migraine. I'm going to call in sick to work."

  I felt guilty then, really guilty. I knew why she had a migraine. This time it wasn’t missing dad or lack of sleep from a late night at the plant. This time, her head hurt because o
f me. "I'm sorry."

  She held up her hand. "I can't talk anymore right now, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I wish I didn't get these, but would you mind calling in for me? I'm going to head for my room." She set her phone on the table and shuffled back down the hall to her bedroom.

  I called Drew's dad and he wasn't surprised. My mom would have been his boss if she wasn't always calling in sick. He’d told me that often enough. But as it was, we were lucky he was understanding enough that she still had a paycheck. I drove to school and parked my mom's new-ish Honda in the back of the parking lot. I barely made it to the front desk in time for announcements. Any other kid would’ve been counted late. I guess I should’ve been grateful to be me, but I didn't feel particularly blessed.

  I raced to first period that day, eager to ask Ms. Harris about going to the tournament that weekend in Clear Lake. Sometimes if they have enough space, you can sign up late. When I walked in the door, I made a beeline for Ms. Harris's office. She was in a great mood that morning. Her bizarre, much younger boyfriend had just bought her a brand new Mustang and she wanted to show it off. After I dutifully oohed and aahed at the photos, and followed her over to the window so she could point it out for me in the parking lot, she called Clear Lake, and they agreed to add our team to the roster. I was over the moon.

  Until I looked back into the classroom and saw Drew in her normal seat and Mason sitting in mine. Uh, awkward.

  I walked over and grabbed a plastic chair from the back of the room by the extemporaneous files. I dragged it up behind them. "Sooo,” I dragged out the word. “How are you guys?"

  They didn't look at each other. Drew wore her typical type of clothing, a black dress and boots, with her signature eyeliner and dark sparkles smeared over each eyelid. Mason wore jeans and a polo shirt that clung to his chest. Drew sat with her arms crossed, glaring at him, and I kind of agreed with her, even though I had no real reason to fault him. The more I thought about it, the less I could really think of that he’d done wrong.