by Ginger Scott
“That Jake idiot show up early for breakfast before school?” Grandpa asks.
Before I can explain, his mouth drops open at the sight of a very weary and worn-out Eleanor at the bottom of the steps.
“Hi,” she croaks. I think maybe she believes her lips are smiling but they aren’t. She’s as blank as a canvas, her face ghost white except for the sprinkle of freckles. Even her lips are pale.
“Well hi, young lady. You joining us for eggs this morning?” My grandpa looks to me for approval but I’m dumbstruck because no! Nobody is ever here for eggs. He doesn’t quite understand how bad this is.
“I’d love some,” she says, her voice faint and her body going through motions as she pulls out a chair and slips into it beside me. I stare at her until her eyes manage to find mine, and I wordlessly check on her heart and her head.
“Thanks for letting me take over your bed. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt, ending with a closed-mouth smile. We hold each other’s stare for a few seconds, and I can’t help but sense that she doesn’t know what to say or do next. Not only with me, but with everything.
“I can call off from school today. Stay home, maybe just hang out with you and watch a movie or—”
She shakes her head and mutters, “It’s fine.”
“One military special coming right up,” Grandpa says, sliding the first plate across the table to our guest. Eleanor picks up the fork but when my grandpa turns his attention away she just pokes the barely cooked yolk around her plate.
I tap on the table with my fingertip to get her attention and when she glances up I shake my head and take the fork from her hand. Because I know she’ll feel bad, I take three bites of the eggs for her, doing my best to swallow them without so much as letting them pass over my taste sensors. I silently gag a little, then put the fork down on her plate. The entire scene pushes her mouth up just a tick, the slightest hint of a smile.
I repeat this process with my plate of eggs, impressed when Eleanor knows to play along, telling my grandpa the eggs were great but she’s not very hungry. I clean our dishes and check my phone for the time, struck with a touch of panic when I realize Jake should be at my house in less than five minutes.
“I really can stay home. I don’t mind,” I say to her.
“I know it sounds weird, but that would actually make me feel guilty.” She twists her lips and as crazy as her reasoning might seem to most, I do understand. She doesn’t want the attention, not about her reality anyhow. That’s part of the reason she’s over here and not in her own house.
“I’m not going anywhere. Was planning on working my way through the Sunday puzzle that I never finished, then Dale might come by and take a look at the Bronco. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” Grandpa says.
Eleanor looks to me, I think for a blessing, so I shrug to let her know it’s up to her. Dale offered to poke around the truck for me last night, sometime after I took a huge pot from him. I think I earned a little respect from my grandpa’s crew.
“I should probably check in at least,” she finally says, leaning her head in the direction of her house.
“Suit yourself,” Grandpa says. I’m glad his tone is normal. If I were Eleanor, I don’t know that I would want everyone treating me as though I were fragile, regardless how absolutely delicate I might be.
I meet Eleanor’s gaze one last time, trying to read whether or not she’s ready to go home or just trying not to be a bother. The dim light that’s shown in her eyes a few times over the last few days is completely out this morning. Her sense of hope seems to be history, as is the stupid fight we had. When she appears determined to go back to her house, I rush up the stairs and switch out my shirt for a new one and throw on a thick flannel before running my hands through my hair. It’s a wild mess up there, so I shove my Sox cap on and hope things flatten out enough by fourth hour, when Mrs. Dahl will undoubtedly make me take it off. She’s a Cubs fan.
Eleanor is gone by the time I get back downstairs, so I use the few minutes I have before Jake arrives to fill my grandpa in on what he missed while he was sleeping. As tough of a soul as he is, the man possesses a great deal of empathy for people dealing with loss. I remember him talking to my mom right after Dad died about how there’s a unique ache that accompanies burying one’s child. He was never supposed to outlive my dad. Just like Eleanor was never supposed to lose faith that her sister would be around to follow in her footsteps on the cheer squad.
When Jake picks me up, I go through everything that happened last night again, leaving out some of the details like the way it felt having her come to me, how I held her until I was sure she was asleep. He’d focus on my shit when the important part is that Eleanor is not okay. He must have filled in Gemma because by the time the lunch hour arrives, the two of them act as if they were there with her all night and I am just now learning about everything.
It’s easier to let them dominate the conversation, and since only a few of Eleanor’s closer friends are around, I decide not to interject and stop them from gossiping. It doesn’t keep my arm from remaining flexed and primed to take a swing at anyone who says something inappropriate, though. Not that a punch thrown by me would have much of an effect, but it would be enough to get Jake on his feet with a few follow-up rounds.
No matter how many times I replay the last twenty-four hours in my head, I can’t make sense of them. Nothing that is happening feels fair. How could it, I guess?
I’ve texted Eleanor twice so far today, just to make sure she’s holding it together. She hasn’t written back, which only heightens the visuals in my mind of her walking around her dark house like a zombie with no one willing to talk to her. By the time my last hour is over, I’ve convinced myself to sprint home and break my way into her house to make sure she’s all right.
“Dude, what? Are you ditching me too?” Jake catches me halfway through the parking lot and pulls up beside me. I note that Gemma isn’t in the car with him and scrunch my brow.
“Gemma skipped last hour. She faked menstrual cramps and you know Mr. Donellan,” Jake says.
“Let me guess, he plugged his ears and said lalala.” Mr. Donellan teaches computer science and is basically afraid of human interaction and uncomfortable conversations. When my dad died, Mr. Donellan actually said the words, “There, there” to me while flat-palming my shoulder twice when I came back to school. The mere mention of the word menstruation probably made him want to dive into a cave and never come out.
“I’m headed straight home, so hop in,” Jake says.
I glance around and decide that’s a lot more efficient than running, especially since Gemma isn’t here to sidetrack us with stops at her house or the coffee shop.
“So you and Gemma are like, for real, huh?” Jake and I haven’t had a tutoring session in a week so I feel behind on the latest school gossip. It almost always revolves around him and whomever he’s dating or just broke up with.
“I kinda think so. I mean, it’s weird, but she’s always so . . . interesting.” His eyes squint while he speaks and stares out the windshield. His epiphany makes me laugh.
“My God, I think you may have finally hit maturity. Yes, Jake,” I say, pausing to pat his shoulder like a proud papa. “Girls are in fact interesting.”
“Shut up. She’s hot too,” he adds, brushing me off, probably because he’s also experiencing actual feelings. I roll my eyes and pull my phone out to see if Eleanor’s texted me back. When I see she hasn’t, I breathe in deep through my nose in an attempt to undo the knot in my chest that has just gotten tighter.
“She’s fine, you know. I mean, not fine, but she’s okay.” Jake’s reassurance rolls off me like water.
“Yeah, probably,” I dismiss.
“No, seriously. I know she’s okay. That’s why Gemma skipped last hour. She went to hang out with her. They’re probably binge watching that island dating show or something.”
I blink at these ne
w details, instantly jealous of Gemma. The sensation fills me up like an ever-expanding poison, and even though I’m logical enough to reason that it’s ridiculous, that I’m being unfair, I can’t help the feeling. All she has to do is write me back, but she doesn’t have time for that because she’s too busy watching dating paradise reality shows with Gemma. Gemma didn’t give up her bed last night.
I’m quiet for the rest of the ride home, and I’m pretty sure Jake can tell that I’m simmering because he lets me be. The Volkswagen is gone for the first time in two weeks, probably because someone had to pick Gemma up from school. Dale’s pickup truck is in our driveway when Jake stops in front of my house, and I vow to myself that I won’t so much as glance at the Trombley place for the rest of the day.
It takes me exactly six seconds to break that promise.
“Oh hey, I know you hate parties and shit, but Gemma just texted,” Jake hollers from his window, halting me halfway up my walkway. “There’s a bonfire at the Molinas’ place tonight after the game, and I guess Elle insists on going. You think maybe you wanna come just to keep an eye on her? With me, of course.”
My eyes flutter closed and I draw a quick breath to erase the childish bitterness from my face before turning to face him. I will be the only person looking out for her. I know what happens to Jake at parties, and his attention span does not become acute.
“Yeah. Pick me up on your way, after the game. And I can drive home.”
My offer earns me a grin from my friend, and he mutters something else about being here after eight but I’m no longer listening. I’m busy checking a window. A dark and empty window I know better than to look at.
Fourteen
I am probably the only teenager who is openly honest with his parent about going to a party where there will definitely be underage drinking and probably a lot of pot. I told my mom because I am going to be incredibly late. The party won’t even get going until 10 or 11 p.m., and I plan on making sure Eleanor makes it home in one piece. Why she is putting herself in this environment baffles me. There is nothing about the scene outside Jake’s car that says calming and good for someone going through a trauma.
This marks the third party of my high school experience. We roll up to the dirt lot next to the Molina house, and it’s as if nothing has changed since my first party two and a half years ago at the very same residence.
The Molina family is huge, seven kids in all. Three are in college, three are in high school, and the oldest is married and lives out of state. The most talked about parties in Oak Forest happen at the Molina house. The vacant lot was once slated to become a park, but that never happened, which makes it perfect for bonfires and messes. Plus, they’re on the outskirts enough that cops tend to look the other way since there isn’t anyone nearby to annoy with party noise.
The Molinas throw enormous parties every time their parents are out of town, which is at least a dozen times a year. They own several restaurants near the Indiana border and try to visit them each once a month. The Molina girls, freshmen twins, shatter every strict rule they’ve been imprisoned with whenever their brothers throw one of these parties. Honestly, I don’t know how someone hasn’t died at one of these ragers.
The music assaults my ears as soon as we step into the dirt from the peaceful quiet of Jake’s car. I am already miserable. Add it to the speaker-buzzing bass sounds and a dense layer of smoke from a poorly built pit fire, and I’m basically in a circle of hell.
“Loosen up, dude.” Jake walks behind me and grabs my shoulders, shaking them as if that is going to break through my social anxieties.
“I’ll relax when we find Gemma and Eleanor,” I say. I probably won’t relax, but at least it’ll ease the knot in my stomach.
“You are unnaturally responsible for her, you know?” Jake mocks me.
I scrunch my shoulders and glare at him while we make our way through the dusty field toward the blaze someone just tossed a new log on.
“I’m just being a good friend. That’s all,” I say, and for the most part, that’s the truth.
“Whatever.” Jake leaves me to stand by myself with that response while he hops in the beer line to get a cup and fill it at the keg.
“Jonah! Oh my God, you’re never at these!” Slender arms wrap around my neck and I recognize the long glittered fingernails that accompany the shrill, drunk voice.
“Hey, Mandy. Yep. Senior year and all, so ya know—woo!” I raise both hands and shake them with my fingers stretched. Mandy and I have gone to school together almost as long as Jake and I have, and for an entire week our freshman year, I was her boyfriend. We could not be more opposite. She said yes because Jake dared her to, and I asked because I was fourteen, a pushover for peer pressure. Plus, Mandy is a cheerleader. I’m pretty sure she cheated on me with her next boyfriend. Regardless, ever since, she takes every opportunity to flirt with me. I don’t know whether it’s because she regrets ever breaking up or because she likes to string people along. Things really peaked at the beginning of the school year when she took off her bra in the middle of Lit class and tossed it to me. Four desks away. I shoved it in my backpack and threw it away when I got home.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Her mouth is practically in my ear, somehow making her louder than the music that’s blasting.
“Yeah!” I shout back, taking a step away to gain some space. I shove my hands into my pockets, giving her the opening to pull my beanie from my head and tug it on her own.
“Oh, hey!” I run one hand through my hair and reach for my hat with my other. Mandy dances away, though, in a series of drunken steps punctuated with a very tipsy laugh.
“Thank you, Jonah!” She blows me a kiss, swinging her arm out when she does and running it into the chest of some football player who gets her attention next.
I’m not getting my hat back.
Fuck.
“I see Mandy found you,” Jake teases as he steps up to my side and hands me a cup. I shake my head but he pushes it at me, insisting.
“It’s Sprite. So you don’t look like a douchebag.”
I grimace but take the cup. I hate that shit, like that matters. The fact I’m the designated driver should be celebrated instead of brand me as a loser.
“Gemma and Elle are by the fire, on the other side. Smoke’s blowing this way,” Jake says.
I glare at him, my mouth a straight line while my eyes burn from the ash.
“Ya think?”
“Shut up and drink your Sprite,” my friend spits back, flicking the bottom of my cup enough that I spill most of the soda on my pants.
Great.
I remember all of the reasons I really hate parties the second we clear through the smoke and enter the crowd of drunken, obnoxious teenagers hovering around a poorly built fire. Cups in the air, half of them are dancing, bodies grinding together in ways I’m sure they think are sexy but are just—
And then I see her.
Eleanor is spinning in a slow circle, her arms above her head, hands twisting together from the buzz of whatever she drank, smoked or took. Maybe a little of all of that. My eyes meet Gemma’s when Eleanor’s back is to me and the plea for help is clear. I rush away from Jake, who’s taking his time mingling with the crowd of people who seem to love him. The closer I get to the girls, the clearer the danger is. It’s not so much that Eleanor is out of her mind and dancing on a table, but that she’s wearing a long shirt without any pants, her body probably freezing because, even though the fire keeps things warm, it’s nearing thirty degrees outside.
“Jonah, I swear, she was out of my sight for maybe five minutes. I don’t know.”
I sense the panic in Gemma’s voice and do my best to form a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay. I’m driving, and I can always take her home. Can we get her to come down from there?” I step to the side, trying to catch Eleanor’s attention, but before I can, two hands pound into my chest and shove me backward several feet.
“Hey, fuckw
ad! Who do you think you are?” This guy is not one of Jake’s friends. As well liked as my best friend is, he isn’t the “it” guy everywhere. And the Molinas invite people from lots of places to their parties, including the junior college. I’m guessing that’s where Shakespeare here hails from. He’s about twice as thick as I am, but only half of that is muscle so I feel like, if anything, I can knock him over then outrun him.
“I’m her friend, and I’m here to make sure assholes like you don’t take advantage of her,” I shout. My voice carries enough over the music that Eleanor must hear me, crouching down so she can see me better.
“Jonah!” She sounds like Mandy, but her eyes are far more lost. There are two hearts drawn on her cheek in yellow and blue, probably a little touch Gemma gave her to make her feel better about not cheering at the game. I should have gone with her, sat by her so she wasn’t alone or surrounded by people who don’t fully understand what she’s going through.
“Hi, Elle. Maybe let’s get you some water, huh? And you can have my flannel.” I start to take it off, but she pushes my arms down and rejects the idea.
“No, I’m good. I’m dancing, and I’ve decided it’s not my fault! I don’t care what Morgan says.” She stands quickly and immediately goes back to swaying her hips and giving the growing number of scumbags, including the dickhead who clearly was not threatened by me, more to look at than they deserve.
I exhale, my chest pounding with anger and frustration and worry. I’m not equipped for situations like this, but it’s Eleanor, and it’s not as though I can simply wash my hands of this and go home. Besides, I’m the driver and somebody has to get Jake home.
I meet Gemma’s worried stare.
“Are you driving?” I notice she isn’t holding a cup and her eyes look clear as day. She flashes me Eleanor’s keys.
“I figured one of us needed to have our wits about us. She was insistent on coming. She texted me all day long, venting about Morgan telling her she should stay home and be with the family more, that she wasn’t doing enough, especially since she was supposed to be watching Addy. I think she’s really cracked, Jonah. It wasn’t like that at all, and Morgan is taking it out on her because she’s a bitch and that’s how she deals with crises. I’m worried about her.” She glances back up at her friend, the flickering glow of the flames lighting up her intense features.