by Cecily Wolfe
But when I roll over and stand up, a wave of dizziness pushes me back down, and I sit on my bed for a few moments, considering I’ve never felt more thirsty in my life.
I have my fingers on my throat, swallowing hard against the dryness, when my mother walks in, not bothering, as usual, to knock on the door.
“I have eggs and toast downstairs, and some orange juice.”
She holds out a tiny glass with painted lemons and oranges on it, filled nearly to the brim with juice.
It smells wonderful, sweet and tempting.
I shake my head.
“No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”
My mother glances at my hand, and I drop it from my collarbone, where it had come to rest when she stepped in.
I wonder how she brought the glass upstairs without spilling the juice when it’s so full, and I stare at it, blinking a few times to clear my sight.
“Mia, you have to eat something. Drink something.”
Why, I want to ask, although it’s a stupid question.
“You have another appointment with the counselor tomorrow, and today I have a meeting with your principal about getting your homework, as well as making sure you can take your midterms. For someone who has never been in trouble before, this punishment is unacceptable.”
My phone flickers to life at my thigh, and I look down at it before returning my focus to her.
She’s fuzzy again, and I duck my head to my chest and tense my shoulders to ease some of the stiffness from sleeping from them.
I stare at her as saliva fills my mouth, under and over my tongue while I stare at the glass of juice.
Surely one tiny glass of it won’t hurt?
As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, my mother closes the distance between us and holds the glass out under my nose.
“Vitamin C. We all need it, especially in the winter.”
Has she ever told me I needed anything?
I grab it, sloshing a little over the side, and am sorry to lose the few drops I’ll be missing as I swallow the rest in one gulp, coughing hard once afterwards.
My stomach gurgles, and I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
“I have to get ready to go to the school, so I’ll leave the eggs and toast out. You can heat everything up if you want later, or wait until I’m home and I’ll make you something else for lunch.”
My phone flashes again, and my mother backs out of the room, as if the light has told her it’s time for her to go.
I smile, right before she leaves.
The smile she offers me in return is one I haven’t seen before, one I can’t place, but it eases the churning in my stomach and makes me wish she would stay a few more moments.
Texts from Megan, promising to stop by after school today, and the same from Krystal and Bethany, both of whom hope the cafeteria isn’t out of Zebra Cakes again.
Nothing from Eli.
Josh’s texts have slowed down, and I scroll past a few that contain words I’ve never heard from his lips before, tempted to delete them but sure I shouldn’t, just in case.
In case what?
I can’t keep my thoughts clear, as if the jumble of reactions I’m having to the messages are overlapping and congealing, like the thick orange grease on the macaroni and cheese at dinner last night.
The thought of it makes me want to vomit.
Could I possibly sneak out and get to Eli’s house while my mother is gone? She’ll be there as long as she can manage to keep the principal occupied with her protests, I’m sure.
I stumble into the bathroom and shower as quickly as I can, but it feels slow, as if I’m moving through a vat of water instead of a hot stream, and stuff myself into thermal underwear and jeans, twisting my damp hair into a bun at the nape of my neck.
My mother walks around silently downstairs, the house so quiet I would be surprised to learn anyone lives here, if I didn’t already know we do.
Do we, really?
I shake my head and blow out a silent breath, because I need to get out of my head and over to Eli’s, to talk to him and find out if I can help him in any way.
If he’s not allowed to use his phone, there must be a way for us to communicate, otherwise he’ll be all alone.
The garage door hums and I tiptoe down the stairs, the empty walls staring at me as I slide carefully from one step to the other.
Josh’s house is full of photos, including school pictures, sports poses, family shots . . .
Krystal’s parents have a huge one of her and her older sister as toddlers where they’re playing in a sandbox together and laughing, which embarrasses Krystal since neither of them have bathing suit tops on, and the photo is prominently displayed in their front hallway.
Bethany hates the one with her little brothers, mostly because it was taken before she had braces and some jerks at school called her Snaggletooth. But it sits in a large frame on a table in her living room, as if her parents are pleased to show the world their goofy family, loved whether their teeth are straight or not.
But we have no pictures on the walls.
Not of any of us.
The garage door hums again, closing this time, and I shuffle to the front door to peek out of the window to the side, making sure I see my mother's car turn at the end of the street before I grab my coat.
Would Eli’s mother turn me away?
Maybe his parents aren’t even home, and we would be lucky enough to have some time together to figure things out before I had to creep away.
The prospect is exciting, the idea of sneaking around and doing what we want instead of what is expected of us a welcome rush of heat in my chest as I stumble through the chunky snowdrifts.
My feet are cold and heavy, my lungs filling with icy air.
I smile up at the sky full of snow, blinking as a few stray flakes flutter into my eyes.
But I’m tired when I reach Eli’s house and notice the car in the driveway, a sense of fear holding me back at the street corner.
If I sat here on the concrete for a moment, just to catch my breath . . .
A man comes out of Eli’s house, followed by a woman, and they embrace, holding each other tightly for a long moment.
His parents.
His father turns away and walks down the sidewalk to the car, and his mother holds her hand to her forehead like she has a headache as she watches the car ease down the driveway and I worry, for a moment, he’ll see me.
But the car heads in the other direction, and I watch it until it fades from my sight.
Only to find Eli’s mother watching me when I look back at his house.
Chapter Twenty Five
I step carefully as I close the distance between us, and her expression is blank, so different from when we first met, I’m shaking harder, more out of fear than the cold, once we’re face to face.
Not exactly.
I can’t find the energy to take the steps up to meet her, although I know I’m afraid of what her emotionless stance means for my visit.
For my chances at seeing Eli.
“Mia. Come in out of the cold.”
She extends a hand to me, and I watch it, shivering, as I take it, as if my hand and arm have minds of their own.
When she closes the front door behind us, I stand with my arms wrapped around me, as much for warmth as for reassurance.
How can I reassure myself, though, when I don’t know what she’s thinking?
She, and Eli’s father, must know I’m the reason he’s in so much trouble.
“Eli said you enjoyed the fireplace when you were here last time, so why don’t we go in the living room and sit at the hearth?”
It sounds so homey, that single word, welcoming and warm.
I nod, forcing myself to smile enough to indicate my agreement.
Instead of facing the glowing flames, I follow her example and sit with my back to it on the stone ledge, closer than before so within a moment, I no longer need my coat.
Once I tug it
off, Eli’s mother takes it, as if she was waiting, and rests it over the arm of a nearby chair, clearly not worried the dampness of the fabric will hurt the furniture.
“Is Eli here? Am I allowed to visit him?”
My voice sounds as shaky as my body, and when she reaches out, again, with her arm, I huddle into myself.
Her arm around my back is more comforting than the fire behind us, and I sigh against the contact, unable to remember if and when my mother ever did the same, and if it felt like this at all.
“Eli isn’t here, so if you’re worried because he hasn’t texted or called, that’s why. I’m sure he wouldn’t ignore you if he had access to his phone, even though we've told him we don't want him using it right now.”
A rush of possibilities threatens to overwhelm my thoughts, but before I can respond, she continues, rubbing my arm as she pulls me closer.
“You’re so thin, Mia. No wonder he was worried about you.”
I feel my mouth drop open.
She’s wrong, because as my mother has said for years, I have what she calls reserves in the fat department, but if I’ve made Eli worry for any reason . . .
Except on the roof. I know that upset him, and I didn’t do it with that aim in mind.
“He’s safe, and he’ll be home soon. Once he is, I’m sure he’ll let you know how he’s doing.”
I don’t like the sound of this, mostly because I can’t figure out what she means.
Did they send him away? Did a family member take him in to get him away from here?
Away from me?
Or is it something worse?
“Are you mad at him for getting in trouble so much? For getting expelled, even though it was my fault?”
This is none of my business, as my mother would say, but Eli's mother doesn't seem to mind that I've asked.
“No, not at all. Just worried. We’re doing what we can to make things right. As right as they can be, for him.”
If she hadn’t said he’d be home soon, I’d worry they sent him to military school.
But they don’t seem like the kind of parents to get rid of their kid because he wasn’t living up to their expectations.
Or someone else’s.
“Mia? When was the last time you had something to eat?”
I wrinkle my nose, mostly because the idea makes me feel sick.
My mother’s disgusting macaroni and cheese . . . no, I didn’t eat any of that.
How could I?
“I was going to heat up some chicken noodle soup. Why don’t you have some with me?”
She pats my back firmly, encouragingly, and I look over at her.
“It’s homemade. Not by me, though, but by Eli’s father. He’s a very good cook, and so is Eli.”
That’s new information, and I wonder why he hasn’t told me this, that he likes to cook.
There’s so much I don’t know about him.
Will he want to share more of himself with me when he’s back, or will he be upset that his life is a mess, all because I wanted to impress him?
I nod and let her help me stand up, and we head into the kitchen, where I forget I have to be home soon as I take tiny sips of the delicious hot soup she heats up on the stove, enjoying the nourishment and acceptance Eli’s mother offers me.
She drives me home later, and I wonder if the neighbors will tell my parents I was gone.
“Call me if you need anything, Mia. It’s no trouble at all.”
I have her number in my phone now, after we spoke while we ate and she promised to send me more information on Eli when she could.
But why can’t she now?
Fortunately, my mother is still gone, and my stomach, gurgling with chicken soup, starts to churn as I try to settle back into work on the teacher-student relationship dilemma.
I stare at the limited notes I’ve made with the clues so far, both from the informant and my own observations, as I sit on my bed.
Even if I do figure this out, who can I tell? While I’m suspended, I’m not supposed to be on school property, and if I don’t have definite evidence to give someone like the vice principal . . .
Suddenly, I’m choking on chicken broth and I shove my notebook away so I can rush into the bathroom.
This is what I get for eating so much.
Brushing my teeth doesn’t combat the icky feeling that envelops me now, as if a thin film of slime covers my skin, so I get into the shower and take my time, standing under the hot stream until the steam starts to make me feel dizzy.
I wrap myself in a thick towel from a stack under the sink, but when I step out into the hall, my mother is waiting there for me.
My body recoils from her, and I stumble back into the bathroom as she frowns.
“Why is your face so puffy and red? What have you been doing?”
I don’t know what either condition would mean, but I don’t want her to know I ate anything or that it didn’t agree with me.
“Taking a shower, working on the newspaper assignments. That’s all.”
When she lifts a hand towards me, I fight the urge to move further away, and she rests her hand on my shoulder.
“When did you get so thin, Mia? How did this happen?”
Her words are a strange echo of Eli’s mother’s earlier, and I narrow my eyes.
“We have an appointment with the counselor again tomorrow, and then the day after, your father and I are leaving. We’re taking a day and night to ourselves before we meet up with his colleagues.”
Whatever concern I thought I heard in her voice now must have been a hallucination, a product of the dizziness in the shower and maybe, some dull hope left in me from when I was little.
A hope that I could win her affection, prove to her I was worthy of her attention.
Like Kayla was.
I nod, if for no other reason than to get her out of my face so I can go back to considering the teacher situation, which needs to be stopped.
My head feels clearer now, and I feel confident I can get through tomorrow and whatever my mother expects of me before she’s gone.
I fall asleep with my notebook and pen, little written to add to the list of details I have so far.
For some reason, the cotton candy scent returns to me again and again.
It seems significant, but I’m missing why.
And where else had I smelled it, not long ago?
A text from Cassidy greets me when I check my phone, just as my mother knocks on my bedroom door and I rub grit from my eyes, the sun blinding me for a moment as I sit up in bed.
Wait, I think to myself, wondering if I’m dreaming.
My mother is knocking on my door.
She has never knocked on my door; she always lets herself in, as if I have no right to any privacy.
“Yes?”
My voice sounds rough, my throat scratchy, and I remember how I was sick last night as my stomach gurgles again.
I shake my head as if to tell it to stop, and my mother opens the door, peeking in.
“We’re leaving for the counselor in half an hour. I was just making sure you were up.”
The door clicks closed before I can answer, and I shake my head again, turning my focus back to my phone.
Sarah and I will be there the day after tomorrow, sorry to be early but we can’t wait to see you
I fumble as I tap out a reply, my hands shaking.
The timing is so perfect, it's almost surreal.
My parents had reluctantly agreed to the visit, their desire to keep all talk of my sister forbidden bound to be upended by any time with Kayla’s best friends, so they can’t deny me this now.
Or can they?
It doesn’t matter, I consider, lifting my chin as if my mother could see my defiance.
I’m not telling them, and I’m also not telling Cassidy about my suspension.
We’ll have time to talk about it when we’re together, when my parents are far away and can do nothing to prevent it.
I�
��m smiling as I head downstairs, dressed and presentable with my hair brushed up into a neat ponytail like my mother prefers.
She nods to me with approval, and I notice my father is already gone.
The fuzzy feeling fills my head again, which I realize has been creeping up on me more often over the past few days.
There’s no time to wonder about it, though, as my mother is waiting for me to come with her to the counselor, who I’m sure will report every word I say to her.
Kayla might tell me to make the best of it, to say what I want to say to my mother through this medium.
But I don’t know what that is.
Or maybe I don’t know how to say it.
Chapter Twenty Six
The counselor shocks me by asking about Kayla, and within minutes I’m laughing and she’s offering me a bottle of water.
Shouldn’t I be crying, instead of telling her about some silly incidents my sister and I shared?
What will my mother think of it, especially if she doesn’t know some of the stories I’m sharing with this complete stranger?
Once, Kayla snuck outside to meet her boyfriend, on a night when Cassidy and Sarah were staying over.
The two of them weren’t happy she was leaving, but they were understanding, as the three of them always were with each other.
I happened to walk into Kayla’s bedroom as she was adding the finishing touches to her perfectly made-up face, spritzing herself with the cotton candy body spray Paul loved so much.
When I wave my hand in the air in front of me and the counselor smiles thoughtfully, as if she is actually listening, I remember.
I remember Jackie in the hall at school, coming close to me as she noticed I dropped the key to the newspaper room.
And I stand up, blinking several times to clear my thoughts.
Because the next one ties in with this memory, and I don’t like where it’s leading me.
“Is everything alright, Mia? Do you need to take a break?”
If she’s a counselor, could she help me with this?
Would she be able to go to my school and tell them what I’ve just realized?
But I don’t have any proof, and I’m suspended, so why would they believe me?
Why would this woman believe me?