Black Box

by Cassia Leo

  next two weeks with me.

  ‘Hey, you’re just as bloody as I am in that picture. Unless you’re just trying to tell me I look like a telekinetic teenage girl.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I meant.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Have you seen today’s boy bands? Trust me, teenage girls love guys that look like teenage girls.’

  I laugh as I think of how lucky I was to get in a plane crash today. It would have been a great excuse to give if I had called to reschedule the meeting with Kane. But I didn’t. The more time I spend with Mikki, the more I realize how happy I am right now. I don’t need a record deal and I certainly don’t need the money. And Mikki doesn’t need the constant traveling or the lack of privacy. All I need is right here in Boston.

  She glances through the emergency-room doors at the curb, then turns to me. ‘You should call your parents.’

  I shake my head. ‘My relationship with my parents is not the same as yours. Your parents have fucked up, but they had good intentions. My parents’ intentions are for me to not fuck up their reputation anymore. I don’t need their pity for being in a plane crash that resulted in a grand total of eight stitches.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not just afraid to introduce me to them?’

  ‘What? Don’t even fucking think that. If I’m afraid of anything it’s of you getting scared off by their smugness.’

  She shrugs as she folds the paper picture and tucks it into her back pocket. ‘Maybe you don’t need their pity and you don’t need them to accept me. But maybe they deserve to know that you survived.’

  ‘They know. I called my sister and I texted my mom while you were getting your cranial X-ray.’

  ‘Well, I guess you took care of that.’

  The car pulls up and I grab her arm to stop her before she exits through the sliding doors. ‘Being a part of my family means being a part of the phoniness and the deceit. The way they pretend like everything is okay. Like me going to Harvard means that I’m over what happened with Jordan. That my mother’s alcoholism isn’t a problem or the way she pretends not to know that my father is a cheating bastard. My parents live in their own land of denial and I refuse to live there with them.’ I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to talk about this now. ‘If you want to know that part of me, I’ll maintain a relationship with them for you. But, honestly, I hope you’ll tell me that I’m enough.’

  She smiles. ‘You’re more than enough. You’re my circuit breaker.’

  I shake my head as I lace my fingers through hers and pull her outside, back into the snow, where it all began. ‘A circuit breaker cuts the power when the circuit is being overloaded.’

  ‘Then I rest my case.’ She taps her skull as I open the car door for her. ‘I think you’ve prevented these circuits from overloading on multiple occasions. You’re like a superhero for crazy people.’

  I pretend to brush something off my shoulder. ‘All in a day’s work.’

  When I call my parents on the way home to tell them that I’ll be having a two-week slumber party with Crush at his apartment before Spring semester begins, they flip out for about ten seconds. Before I remind them that Crush is the only reason I’m still talking to them. The moment I enter my home, I’m drawn in by the lingering aroma of pancakes and coffee: Saturday-morning breakfast. I’ll have to learn how to make my mom’s special pancakes so I can make them for Crush.

  Meaghan insists on getting a rundown on exactly what happened on the plane and I try to be as succinct as possible. The adoring looks my mom is directing at Crush and me are making me nervous. She watches Crush and me going back and forth, telling the story, and once we get to the part where we were reunited in the emergency room, her eyes tear up. I smile at her as I try to hold back my tears.

  Eventually, I lead Crush upstairs so he can wait while I pack another suitcase with clothes and toiletries for a few days. The airline is allowing us to pick up our carry-ons tomorrow, but they’re holding all the checked baggage for a few more days, for further testing. I took that to mean they’re looking for a way to blame the crash on someone else. Doesn’t matter. As long as I get my purse back, I don’t care if I ever get the stuff in my suitcase or my carry-on.

  I open my bedroom door and let Crush enter ahead of me. He walks to the foot of my bed then looks around at the black comforter, the hot-pink wall behind my headboard, and the opposite wall that’s plastered with dozens of papers where I’ve doodled my favorite quotes from books I’ve read. In the center of the wall is a purple letter-sized piece of thin tissue paper with the Black Box quote he tweeted me four years ago.

  ‘It’s the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see before I close my eyes every night.’

  His gaze roams over every inch of the wall. Occasionally, his fingers reach up to trace the lines of the curvy letters inked in a simple black ballpoint pen. He comes to a Dante quote on the far right side of the wall near the corner and he stands there for a moment, mesmerized.

  He turns around and walks toward me as he recites the quote. ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’

  I smile as I wrap my arms around him. ‘I’m glad I met you.’

  I hold onto Crush tightly and think to myself, I agree with Elvis; some things are meant to be. And I do believe in fate, but I don’t believe Crush and I are meant to be together until we grow old and gray. I believe we were supposed to die the night we met on Twitter, and in that parking lot a year later, and again on that plane today, but we cheated death three times. I don’t know how much longer we can continue to escape our fate, and that scares me.

  Fear is crippling. Fear of the future can convince us that there is no way out and nothing is ever going to get better. Fear is blinding; it can make us miss the warning signs flashing right in front of our eyes. It can also make you miss those brilliant flashes of color, when the world isn’t so gray. But, if you think about it, being afraid isn’t such a bad thing. Because fear is a reminder that you still have something to lose. Something worth holding onto.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I’m sorry that it’s come to this. I never wanted to hurt you guys, and especially not Meaghan, but I think you’ll all be better off this way. If you don’t believe me, keep reading.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about luck and how some people seem to have it and others don’t. I think there’s a quote from Abraham Lincoln or Benjamin Franklin about how hard work makes us luckier. Well, I’ve been working hard just trying to stay above water this year and I still have lousy luck.

  Things you don’t know about me:

  I have a tattoo you’ve never seen.

  I’ve been cutting myself since I was nine.

  I’m failing four out of six classes right now.

  I didn’t go to school at all last week.

  Mom, you asked me why I started taking lunch to school three months ago. I try to remember to take lunch every day, but I forgot again this morning. I wouldn’t have gone into the cafeteria if it weren’t for the fact that I also forgot to eat breakfast this morning. (I forget a lot of stuff lately. I think I’m going crazy. Nope, I know I’m going crazy.) Well, who do you think I saw in the cafeteria? Brad and Nellie were just a few bodies behind me in line. Nellie was talking about me, loud enough so I could hear. Calling me names again. Brad called me a loser and said I should kill myself. I think telling someone to kill themselves has become the new ultimate insult because it really seems to work. It gets you thinking. And you know what I’ve been thinking for the last four hours?

  I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. This isn’t the life I signed up for. Is this what you imagined for me when you found out you were pregnant with me, Mom? A weak daughter who offers to help a cute guy study and ends up with a bad reputation? A daughter who can’t stand up for herself? Or did you imagine a happy kid who’s popular and gets straight As? Because that’s never going to be me.

  I’m not li
ke everyone else. I don’t care what Kim Kardashian is wearing and I hate putting on makeup. I just want to lie in bed and forget that I exist.

  Dad, you’re always telling me to cheer up, but it’s not that easy! Don’t you think I want to be happy? You tell me to stop wearing black because it sends the wrong message. But I like the color black. Does that mean there’s something wrong with me?

  I’m not invisible. I’m here and I’m suffering. And I don’t know how to stop it.

  I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Part of me is wishing, hoping that someone or something will give me a sign that this isn’t it. This is not the way I’m going to feel for the rest of my life.

  I love you guys.

  Mikki

  I set down my pen and swipe my hands over my cheeks to wipe away the tears. My stomach is clenched so tightly, I’d probably break in half if someone walked in on me right now. I glance at the purse on my bed then back to the letter on the top of the desk where I’m sitting. I grab my laptop from the right side of the desk and lay it on top of the letter as I log into Twitter, my fake Twitter account, and I get an idea. I’ve never actually tweeted from this account. This is the account where I follow celebrities and authors I like. Today, I’ll send out my first tweet.

  burninbushytail: just finished writing my suicide letter.

  I almost don’t hit send, but then I realize I don’t fucking care. If no one responds, I’ll just delete the tweet and kill myself.

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail You can’t die today because today’s your lucky day.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Why is it my lucky day? Did I win a new car?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Better. I’m going to share a quote with you from a very special book. Do you like books?

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes I love books.

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail So do I. This is from my favorite book.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Waiting . . .

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail This black box is yours to keep, to stash your troubles away. Just lock it up and call my name and I’ll be there always.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes what’s a black box?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Can’t tell you, but I can give you a hint. We all have one, but it breaks easily.

  The first thing that comes to mind is a heart and this instantly brings tears to my eyes. This black box is yours to keep, to stash your troubles away.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes What’s the book about?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Can’t tell you that either.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Not even a hint? Does it have a happy ending?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Someone wise once told me that not all books have happy endings, but that doesn’t mean . . .

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail . . . they’re not worth the read. Same person also told me you should never spoil the ending of a great story.

  I get a strange feeling he’s no longer talking about the ending to the story in a book. And suddenly I’m desperate to know more about this book, as if knowing the ending will give me some clue as to how my story ends.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Just one hint. Please?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail OK. . . spoiler alert: Everything is going to be okay.

  I open the top drawer of my desk and grab a small packet of tissues from the pile of junk I dumped in there the last time I cleaned out my purse. I take a moment to compose myself before I respond.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes What’s your name?

  There’s a long pause and I begin to think he’s gone.

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail You can call me Jordan.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Is that your real name?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail No, but I used to know a Jordan who was almost as cool as you.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes Don’t you want to know my name?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Can we make a deal?

  Now I pause for a moment to wipe away more tears as I realize this person who doesn’t even know me cared enough to respond to my cry for help.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes What kind of deal?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail If we ever meet in person, we’ll tell each other our names.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes How are we going to meet in person if we don’t know each other?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail We met here tonight and you probably didn’t think that was possible until five minutes ago. Think about it.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes But how will we recognize each other?

  crushedeyes: @burninbushytail Judging by your profile pic, I’m thinking I’ll recognize a girl with a giant bunny head resting on her shoulders.

  I glance at his profile pic, which I hadn’t noticed until now, and laugh out loud. It’s a large glass full of crushed ice.

  burninbushytail: @crushedeyes I guess I’ll recognize you when

  The knock at the door makes me slam my laptop shut. I turn around in my desk chair and shout, ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me,’ my mom calls back to me. ‘Can I come in?’

  My eyes flit back to my laptop and my heart pounds as I realize I have to delete all those tweets. I yank the suicide letter out from underneath the laptop and crumple it up. Then I stuff it into the bottom of my waste bin before I head for the door. When I open the door, my mom is smiling and her hands are tucked behind her back. But her smile disappears when she sees my face.

  ‘Have you been crying?’

  ‘I’m fine. What do you have behind your back?’

  ‘I brought you something from Aunt Crystal’s house.’ She brings her hands forward, revealing a plate of Aunt Crystal’s homemade chocolate-chip muffins. ‘Want one?’

  My stomach gurgles at the sight of the muffins. It’s past six in the evening and I haven’t eaten anything all day. Aunt Crystal always makes these just for me and my mom picks them up on her way home from work. As I reach for a muffin, I think of the mysterious guy who just saved my life on Twitter. Then I look into my mom’s worried eyes and the tears come again.

  Once you see the good in someone, it’s hard not to notice the good in everyone.

  ‘Mom . . . I’m not okay. I need to talk.’

  Chapter One

  ‘Feels Like the End’ by Mikky Ekko

  Chapter Two

  ‘Tomorrow Will Be Kinder’ by The Secret Sisters

  ‘Take You Higher’ by Goodwill & Hook N Sling

  Chapter Three

  ‘Boston’ by Augustana

  Chapter Four

  ‘I’m In Here’ by Sia

  Chapter Six

  ‘Breathe Me’ by Sia

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Feel It All’ by KT Tunstall

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Nothin’ On You’ by B.o.B feat. Bruno Mars

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Nocturne In E Flat Major’ by Frederic Chopin

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Now Is Not The Time’ by Chvrches

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Us’ by Regina Spektor

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘Silk’ by Giselle

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Feeling Good’ by Nina Simone

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Hold You In My Arms’ by Ray LaMontagne

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘The Beacon’ by A Fine Frenzy

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘Shelter’ by Birdy

  ‘In A Sentimental Mood’ by Art Tatum

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘Let It Be Me’ by Ray LaMontagne

  Chapter Forty

  ‘Eye Of Your Storm’ by Kyler England

  Chapter Forty-One

  ‘Can’t Help Falling Love’ by Ingrid Michaelson

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘The Way I Am’ by Ingrid Michaelson

  Chapter Forty-Three

 
; ‘Clair De Lune’ by Flight Facilities feat. Christine Hoberg

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ‘Those Eyes’ by Feint

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ‘Tourist’ by Yuna

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘Now My Feet Won’t Touch The Ground’ by Coldplay

  Listen to the playlist on YouTube.

  Listen to the playlist on Spotify.

  Author’s Note

  If you or someone you know needs assistance or information about sexual assault or abuse, please contact the Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN) at www.rainn.org or call 1-800-656-HOPE. Or, if you are in the UK, contact the Rape Crisis Centre at www.rapecrisis.org.uk or call 0808 802 9999.

  For your local suicide hotline number, please visit www.suicidehotlines.com or www.suicidepreventionlifeline.com. If you or someone you know has contemplated suicide, please call 1-800-273-TALK.

  You can also visit www.samaritans.org.

  Acknowledgments

  I always feel like I’m writing a Grammy acceptance speech when I write the acknowledgments in a book. I guess in a way a book is a bit like a piece of music. And I have so many collaborators to thank this time around.

  My beta readers: Jordana Rodriguez, Kristin Shaw, Paula Jackman, Sam Stettner, Sarah Arndt, Cathy Archer, Carrie Raasch, Jodie Stipetich, Jennifer Mirabelli, Haley Douglas, Vilma Gonzalez, and Deborah Meissner. This is a group of people who endure my mood swings, my doubts, my never-ending typos, and my