I held my packet by the staple. “Take a look at page one.”
They held up their papers, squinting at them, beginning to read.
I swallowed. “Christa? Would you read the first entry, please?” My pulse raced just beneath my skin.
She cleared her throat, sat up, and started.
11/16/2003
Dear Juliet,
I’m sorry that Mother took away your toys. Please don’t be sad. Everything is going to be good someday. If you practice you will get better. It took me a long time to make sure my shoes were lined up straight, too. You’re already so much better than I was! And I thought your hair looked super. Don’t worry about what Mother said. You’re so good at braiding. I’m sorry she spanked you. Go give her a hug and say how nice her perfume smells. Maybe she’ll let you borrow some!
I love you!
Katherina
Her voice was chipper and happy, and you could hear the exclamation points. She’d picked up the voice of an eight-year-old easily.
She looked up and pinched her eyebrows together. “This is a letter from a child,” she guessed.
I smiled gently and nodded.
“Ana?” I gestured, and she sat up. “Next one, please?”
Ana leaned forward, setting her elbows on her knees, and started.
7/14/2004
Dear Juliet,
Mother is right. You are no good! You can’t even keep your shirt from getting wrinkly before family pictures! You are worthless, and I hate you! Everyone hates you! I wish I had a different sister! You’re ugly and stupid! Everyone laughs at you, and Daddy doesn’t even want you. He only wants me! I wish you were dead!
I pressed my lips between my teeth and breathed in. I didn’t want to look up, so I just kept going.
“Sydney, turn the page. Read the next one, please,” I said, flipping the page over.
Sydney hesitated and then cleared her throat.
9/2/2010
Dear Juliet,
I made a new friend today. Her name is Tate, and she doesn’t have a mom. I wish we didn’t have a mom. Maybe you would be safe then. I love you, Juliet, and I think Tate will love you, too. She’s so beautiful and cool and kind. She makes me laugh, and I wish I could introduce her to Dad. He talked to me today, you know? Well, of course you do.
I hate that he can’t remember you most of the time, and I hate that he’s in that hospital, but at least he gives me hugs. Even if he can’t remember me, he’s the only person that gives me hugs. I wish I could see you. I wish I could look in the mirror and still see you there. I’ll bet you look awesome, and I miss your music. Why did you leave? Why won’t you come home?
Katherina
Sydney’s voice fell raspy and soft. “These are a child’s diary entries, aren’t they? To her sister,” she assumed.
I sighed. “Perhaps,” I said, looking around at the girls’ troubled faces. Jake hid behind his sunglasses, but I could tell he was listening.
“What’s the child feeling?” I asked.
“Anger,” Jake ventured. “Innocence. And a lot of sadness.”
I nodded, strolling down the row of seats past each student. “This child has no one to talk to,” I pointed out. “She’s hurting, and she has nowhere to turn to.” I tipped my chin down, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Jake, will you read the next one, please?”
He stayed back, leaning against the concrete but turning his attention to the paper.
3/24/2011
Dear Mother,
I can’t wait to leave you. It’s all I think about. Three more years, and I’m going to college, and I never want to see you again. I feel guilty every time Liam kisses me. I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I’m not doing anything wrong! Everyone kisses their boyfriend and does more! I want to feel. I want to laugh and let go. I want to be happy. Were you ever happy? Did you ever love my father? Me? I feel like I could sink to the bottom of the ocean and never need air. I’m dead.
Katherina
Jake sat up, studying the paper, and then looked up at me. “Juliet is her alter ego,” he stated. “When she writes to Juliet, she’s angry at her. Disappointed. Condescending.” He took off his glasses and squinted at me. “But when she writes to her mother, she’s angry and disappointed in herself. Juliet and Katherina are the same girl.”
My chest flooded with icy heat, and my heart jackhammered through my chest. Jesus. Jake might not be on drugs after all.
I inhaled a breath and looked down. “It’s possible,” I offered, and looked to the girls. “Christa, will you read the next one, please?”
Christa rushed to flip the page.
12/11/13
Dear Juliet,
There’s a new guy at school. He keeps looking at me. Mother would never approve of him, but I can’t help it. I can’t wait to get to school every day and feel him watching me. He makes me feel beautiful, and I love the way my heart rushes. I hide it, but I love it. Being inside my head these days is a lot more fun than it used to be!
Christa smiled wide, and I saw the others try to bite back theirs.
“I like that feeling.” She laughed, and I remembered loving it, too. Jax was something I looked forward to, and he gave me tunnel vision. Catching him looking at me always made me feel beautiful.
I cleared my throat of the tears I’d been holding back. “I’ll read the last one.”
6/16/2014
Dear Juliet,
I’m sorry that I let others make you feel bad. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for you. I should’ve saved you a long time ago, but I wasn’t strong enough. You are beautiful. You were the best at making friendship bracelets at camp in fourth grade, Shane thinks you make the best deviled eggs, and Tate loves your crazy stories. You are worthy of all the love the world has to offer. Your friends stay by your side, and someday you will find a man who thinks the world of you, and you’ll both have children that will be so lucky to have you as a mother. If you want to scale waterfalls in Ecuador and kayak off the coasts of Alaska, then you have to do it. Toss the umbrella and enjoy the rain. Roll down the window and stick your head out. Take off your shoes and go barefoot.
I love you.
I pursed my lips, trying desperately to hold back the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. Looking around, I noticed Christa wiping tears away and Sydney staring at the paper and clutching the sides in both of her fists. Ana rested her head in her hand, looking touched.
And Jake. Jake flipped back to the front page and looked to be rereading the whole thing again. Amusement tickled my lips, and I smiled.
“Wait a minute,” Ana called. “That last entry is dated today.”
I nodded. “Yes, it was. So”—I quickly changed the subject—“Jake has suggested that Juliet and Katherina are the same person. Who agrees with him?”
I waited, looking between the girls and Jake. One by one they began raising their hands, and I wasn’t sure if they really thought that or they weren’t sure what to think and just agreed. It didn’t matter. The answers weren’t as important as the process.
“Okay,” I started. “Let’s run with that. If Katherina is writing to herself—a girl she calls Juliet—why does she do it instead of just writing ‘Dear Diary’? Or instead of just sharing her thoughts on a page? Why is she writing to herself?”
“Because she feels alone.” Ana shrugged.
“Maybe she’s got a personality disorder?” Christa offered a timid smile, and I nodded in response to their responses, trying not to grin.
“Because,” Sydney piped up, “she can be whoever she wants on the page.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. “What do you mean?”
She licked her lips, sitting up straighter. “In the first entry, she’s supportive but a little condescending, like she’s taking care of Juliet. Like Juliet’s the little sister in need of guidance. Then she gets angry at her, acting like she’s perfect and not the disgrace Juliet is. In both entries, Juliet is portrayed as sad and
not good enough. When she writes as Katherina, she gets to be more than that. She gets to be strong and confident.”
I continued, listening and drifting down the aisle.
“Then,” Sydney kept going. “You see her transfer her anger to her mother, saying things she wouldn’t say to her face. She’s also kinder to Juliet as if she begins to realize not everything is her fault.” And she glanced at Jake and then back at me. “Juliet’s not her alter ego. Katherina is.”
My heart tightened in my chest.
Wow.
“So,” I prompted. “Journaling did what for her?”
“Gave her an outlet,” someone said.
Jake spoke up. “Let her say what needed to be said when no one else would listen.”
“It was a release.”
“It saved her life.” And I looked over at Sydney, the girl I didn’t see eye to eye with, but all of a sudden she seemed to get it.
“Writing can be very public and also very private. I want you to forget the rules today,” I said. “I’m going to give you twenty or so minutes. Go put in your iPods, spread out, go to the grass, and write. This isn’t graded. I don’t care about grammar or conventions. I want you to write to yourself as if you’re going to read this twenty years from now. Share who you are right now. What you want. Where you want to go. What you hope to accomplish and what you hope to gain from friends and family. There are no rules. Just write to an older you.”
As they began to dig in their backpacks, I walked back to the stage and grabbed the last journal I’d used. Flipping it open, I sat down on a bench and completed the assignment, too.
CHAPTER 18
JAXON
“Jared!” I call. “Catch!”
My new brother throws his hands up in the air and runs to capture the old, faded football. A car honks, and he twists around, dashing off the street to get out of the way.
“You trying to get me killed?” he jokes, smiling at me, and I run to throw my shoulder into his stomach.
“Ahhhhhh!” I tackle him to the sidewalk.
He laughs, grunting as he hits the concrete. We’ve gotten tons of scrapes already today, but we don’t care.
Ever since my half brother showed up last week to visit for the summer, we’ve spent every waking minute together. Almost, anyway. We’ve played football and gone to the movies, and he’s taught me how to climb trees, even though we have to walk a lot of blocks to get to the nearest park.
Jared lives with his mom a few hours away, and this is the first time he’s met our dad.
I know he hates it here. I’m sure it’s not as pretty as his mom’s house. But I feel safe with him here. My dad’s friends haven’t bothered me since he showed up, and even though I know he can’t, I keep hoping that he’ll take me with him when he goes home. I don’t want to be alone again, and I know that he’ll protect me.
I let myself dream it, for a little while, anyway.
“When you come to visit me, you’ll get to play on the grass and climb trees right in your yard,” he tells me, ruffling my hair.
I nudge away, grinning. “Stop it. I’m not a baby.”
We rise to our feet, and he looks at me, shaking his head. “Does Dad have those parties a lot?” he asks me about all the noise last night.
I nod, leading the way back toward the house. “Yeah, but it’s best to stay out of the way.”
“Why?”
I shrug and stare off down the street. “Some of the people don’t like kids.” Or they like them too much.
I’m thirteen now, and even though I barely remember what it was like to live with my foster family, I know how bad things make me feel.
And what I feel now is a lot worse than what I felt when I was five. No one should have to see the dirty things I see going on at my house. I thought it was normal, but I don’t think it is. My friends at school don’t have dirty houses that smell bad.
During the parties, I usually leave and camp out on the wood chips underneath the playground. When I get home in the morning, everyone is passed out or too out of it to be bothered with me.
I see the old gray car coming down the road, and my stomach flips.
I turn to Jared. “Let’s go to the park,” I urge.
“It’s almost dinnertime,” he points out. “Plus, I wanted to see if I could use Dad’s phone to call my mom and Tate.”
My cheeks ache, because I’m trying not to cry, and I want to bury myself in his T-shirt. It’s such a stupid feeling, and I feel dumb, but it would make me feel better.
Jared is bigger, and he always wears black. If I can wrap my arms around him, I can dive into where it’s dark, and I feel as if maybe I can hide.
I see them get out of the car, my father’s friend Gordon and my father’s girlfriend, Sherilynn. I turn toward Jared, giving them my back.
“Jax!” Gordon calls, and I wince.
Jared’s eyes flash over my head, and then he looks down to me. “Who is that?”
I try to calm my breathing, but my stomach is lurching. “That’s Gordon. Dad’s friend.”
“Jax!” he calls again, and pain shoots through my stomach. I reach out, wrap my arms around my brother’s waist, squeezing the wind out of him as I bury my face in his shirt.
Jared’s here. Jared’s here. Jared’s here. He’ll protect me.
But Jared was only fourteen. He couldn’t help me.
It was then that I knew my days as a child were over. There was no one coming to save me, and I was simply a prisoner by choice. I was on my own, and I was done being helpless.
I punched the black bag, jabbing my fist at it again and again, swinging my right and then my left. My fists, wrapped in tape, threw blow after blow. Right, right, left. Right, right, left, rear back, kick, right fist again.
Sweat drenched my chest and back, and my hair stuck to my body as I whipped around and threw four uppercuts on the bag behind me and darted out my leg again, jabbing the bag to my right.
“I want you to be better.”
I growled, throwing punch after punch, blow after blow, until my knuckles burned.
“So, are you hiding?”
I jerked up and spun around to see Tate in the doorway.
My chest rose and fell as fast as my heartbeat. “Hello to you, too,” I mumbled sarcastically before turning to continue my attack on the bags.
We hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and I knew my brother’s girlfriend was going to start in on me about Juliet.
I knew it, because she’d tracked me down. After dropping Juliet off the other night, I’d come straight to Madoc’s house to stay awhile and get my head straight with some distance. After five days of being here, I was still working on that.
“Look, I’m not going to pry,” she continued. “K.C.’s not talking about it, but I saw you drop her off last weekend, and I know something is wrong. Katherine called, too. You haven’t returned her texts, and she was worried. I said I would check on you.”
I punched the bag, zoning in on the small tear in the leather. I hadn’t meant to worry Jared’s mom.
“I know you want to be alone, but Jared’s coming home this afternoon,” she said, “and I want you there.” She circled around to stand on the other side of the bag, holding it for me. “Please come home.”
I hesitated, blinking, and then continued lighter punches. Jared would kill me if I hurt her, after all.
“Her name’s Juliet,” I reminded her.
“I know.”
“I can’t come home, Tate.”
Her long blond hair swayed as I jabbed the bag harder and harder.
“Yes, you can,” she implored, grunting every time I hit the heavy bag. “You can always come home.”
I looked down at her. “She must hate me,” I whispered, more to myself. “I can just picture her nose turned up so high that she’s probably getting nosebleeds.” I punched the bag harder, feeling guilty at Tate’s wince.
But then she laughed. “Actually she hasn’t talked about you.�
��
I stopped and stood up straight. After what had happened at the fun house and at the Loop, I was sure she’d have to talk to somebody.
But she wasn’t talking about me? Like at all?
“Yeah.” Tate nodded. “She’s fine. Hasn’t said one word about you. She’s getting busy applying for her student loans. She’s thinking about changing her major to education to be a teacher, and she’s getting her job back at the movie theater for the summer.”
“Loans?” I pinched my eyebrows together. “Why would she have to do that?”
Tate folded her lips between her teeth, thinking. “Well, her mother has withdrawn her support. K.C.—” She shook her head. “Juliet, I mean, will probably have to get loans to finish school.”
I scowled, turning away and wiping the sweat off my forehead. What a vindictive bitch. Her mother was almost as bad as my father.
No mothers. No fathers. I couldn’t help the grin that escaped, remembering her words.
“She’s fine, Jax,” Tate said behind me as I grabbed a towel to wipe off. “In fact, I’ve never seen her so centered. Like she knows who she is and what she wants now.”
“That’s great, Tate,” I bit out, throwing the towel down. “Glad to hear it. I’ve got a workout to finish.”
Awesome. I was coming apart without her, and she was ready to take on the world without me.
I felt Tate move behind me, and I didn’t look at her as she made her way to the door.
But she stopped before she left the room. “She got a tattoo as well.” Tate’s eyes were on me, her voice light and inquiring. “Angel wings on the back of her neck. Both of them broken,” she said. “Underneath, it reads ‘Only Ever You.’ ”
I closed my eyes.
I wasn’t sure when Tate left the room. All I remember is lowering myself into the chair and burying my head in my hands, feeling as if I were falling and would never hit the ground.
“I don’t like having to chase you down,” Ciaran said.
I let out an aggravated sigh, ignoring my employer’s scowl across the computer screen. Pulling out a half dozen flash drives, I dumped them on my desk in my room at Madoc’s house. When Jared’s mom—my mom now, too—had married Madoc’s dad, she made sure I had a room of my own here, even though this was technically Madoc and Fallon’s house now, and my own home was only a twenty-minute drive away.
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