Micah: The Good Girl

by Ashley Woodfolk

  “Hey, Milo,” Micah finally said to the empty room. She kept her voice low, like she would at church. She looked down the hall at the front door behind her and listened, but she heard no jingle of keys, footsteps, or other signs that her parents were around. She stepped inside. The room still looked just as he’d left it.

  The walls were plastered with posters of airborne basketball players and long-haired bands Micah had never heard of. There were still clothes in the closet and a collection of sneakers under the bed. Micah touched a brush that still had spirals of dark hair curled around the bristles, and she slipped on a pair of his glasses before glancing into a nearby mirror.

  Micah’s face was a strange mixture of her parents’ features. She had her mother’s wide nose and her father’s high cheekbones, her mom’s pointy chin and her dad’s thick hair. At some angles she looked like them both, and in certain light like neither of them at all. But her brother, Milo, had looked just like her, and there were photos of him all over the apartment.

  On the fridge there were pictures of him as a baby and a kindergartner alongside sketches he’d done—sophisticated crayon drawings that showed his early talent. There were black-and-white photos of him as a scrawny kid tucked into the corner of the mirror in her mom’s vanity along with clippings from magazines that had featured some of his tween-age masterpieces. And in the hallway there were photographs of him, a thin and tall teen with Micah’s eyes but a grin that was all his own, standing proudly beside his work at gallery openings.

  “So we have this big project due before the start of senior year. I’m freaking out about what to do,” she said to no one at all. She sat on his bed and ran her fingers across his duvet. “Do you think a painting that incorporated found objects would be cool? Or is that trying too hard?” She glanced over at the mirror again. Looking at her reflection sometimes really felt like looking at her brother. “I can hear you now,” Micah said, laughing to herself a bit. Then, in a deeper voice, she muttered, “People gonna think you unoriginal as hell, Mike-Mike.” If Milo had heard her bad impression of him, Micah thought, he would have said, That don’t sound nothing like me, big head.

  Micah crossed the room and opened the top drawer of his dresser slowly so she wouldn’t make any noise. She knew her parents would be home soon and she didn’t want her mom to know she was in here. While her dad might be okay with her hanging out in the room sometimes, she didn’t want him to discover her snooping.

  “You know this art stuff has never come as easily for me as it did for you, but I’ve never been this unsure about a painting before. Maybe it’s because of everything that’s going on with Ty and how I’ve been feeling in therapy. Maybe it’s because ambulances are scaring the crap out of me again.”

  She dug a little deeper into the drawer, pushing socks and T-shirts aside. His scent, freshly cut grass and spicy deodorant, hit her like a slap in the face. She held her breath for a second, then changed her mind and took a big whiff. “Maybe it’s because of what next month is.”

  She saw the sketchbook beside a well-worn Bible. She’d known the sketchbook was here for nearly a year, but she hadn’t opened it since it happened. She reached for it.

  “Micah?” her mother’s voice rang out in the hallway. She must have just gotten home. “Where are you, honey?”

  Micah grabbed the sketchbook. She tucked it into the back of her skirt and pulled her shirt down over it.

  “Bye, Milo,” she said, stepping silently into the hall.

  “Coming!” she called to her mom.

  * * *

  In her room that night, Micah paged through Milo’s sketchbook. She saw drawings of little kids on the subway and dogs at the park, and dozens of original graffiti tags that would never get thrown up on a wall. There were lots of sketches of Micah laughing or twirling in one of her many skirts, and dozens of her parents, Michelle and Paul Dupree, doing unexciting things like making sandwiches or drinking coffee.

  Micah flipped through nearly half of the thick book right there on her bed and paused only when she landed on a self-portrait Milo had drawn. The lines of his thick eyebrows and broad nose made Micah ache.

  A few pages later, when she found a sketch of dozens of people on the museum stairs where they used to meet, she slowly closed the book. She’d had enough for one night.

  TUESDAY, JUNE 30, 4:00 P.M.

  Dr. Patel: So, how are you feeling as we approach the anniversary? How are things at home?

  Micah: Okay, I guess. Maybe I’m a little anxious.

  Dr. Patel: Just a little?

  Micah: To be real with you, I had another panic attack.

  Dr. Patel: That’s the third one in less than a month.

  Micah: I know.

  Dr. Patel: Are ambulances still your main trigger?

  Micah: Yeah, but I think if I wasn’t taking that medicine, this would all be worse.

  Dr. Patel: Did you try calling someone, like we talked about last time?

  Micah: I called Noelle. And she helped a bit.

  Dr. Patel: Maybe next time, if there is a next time, try listening to music until you get past the siren.

  Micah: Ah, like turn it way, way up? Hadn’t thought of that. Thanks, Doc. That’s a good idea.

  Dr. Patel: I may talk to your parents about trying a different medication. How are they doing? This has to be a tough time for them, too.

  Micah: Dad’s just getting quiet, the way he always does when something he doesn’t wanna talk about is happening. Mom’s doing that thing where she cleans everything but avoids his room like she’ll catch a zombie virus if she even gets close to the door.

  Dr. Patel: I see. And are you still visiting his room in secret?

  Micah: Sometimes. Mostly when I have questions or I need to talk to someone who gets me.

  Dr. Patel: What kinds of questions?

  Micah: Oh, you know. How do I keep Mom’s plants alive while she’s away on business? He used to do that—water the plants for her. Or, like, why is Dad so obsessed with that one meat loaf recipe, and how does he always screw it up?

  Dr. Patel: [laughs]

  Micah: Or, I guess . . . Is it wrong to want to be close to someone?

  Dr. Patel: Tell me a little more about that last one.

  Micah: Ugh. Do I have to?

  Dr. Patel: You don’t have to do anything here, you know that, Micah. But . . .

  Micah: But it might make things more interesting if I do.

  Dr. Patel: You’d make my job a little easier, kid.

  Micah: Well, I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about some of the stuff I was raised to believe.

  Dr. Patel: Say more.

  Micah: Because of Ty. Because of how we feel about each other. Like, it can’t be wrong—to love someone. And I guess I’ve been thinking about it all more because of Milo, too—because of how he . . . ran out of time.

  Dr. Patel: I see. And so you have questions about faith?

  Micah: More like I have questions about . . . sex. Sorry, is this weird?

  Dr. Patel: Not to me.

  Micah: Cool. Well, me and Milo never talked about that stuff. But I don’t know. Now I wish we had.

  Dr. Patel: I see. And does going into that room help you answer questions about plants and meat loaf and sex? Or is it more about feeling close to him?

  Micah: I guess I like imagining what it might have been like, you know? To still have a brother to talk to about all that stuff.

  “You have to go?” Lux asked Micah. They were on Micah’s rooftop, where they’d hang out year-round if they were able to. They were eating giant ice pops they’d bought at the bodega on the corner and waiting for fireworks. Firecrackers had been popping and sparklers fizzing all afternoon, but the really fun stuff wouldn’t start until after sunset. Unfortunately, Micah would probably miss most of it. “You�
��re always at church.”

  She was always at church. Bible study on Wednesdays, regular services on Sunday, plus her job at the camp. And occasionally her parents asked her to go to prayer services on random days, too. Even though it was the Fourth of July, this was one of those days.

  “Yes she has to go,” Tobyn and Noelle replied in unison. Both of their lips were stained bright red by their cherry ice pops.

  “Her mom will flip if she doesn’t,” Tobyn added.

  “I like going,” Micah told them, and Noelle rolled her eyes.

  “Suuuure you do,” she said.

  But the truth was, Micah really did. She’d had questions lately about faith and life and how the two were meant to go together, but she liked having something to question and something to believe in. She didn’t know how to talk to Noelle, Tobyn, and Lux about that, though.

  “Is Ty gonna be there?” Lux asked next. Her lips were purple from her grape ice pop.

  “Probably,” Noelle said.

  “Oh.” Tobyn grinned. “So that’s why you like going.”

  “That is not why,” Micah said. She pulled her phone out and opened her camera. There was no way the bright blue color on her lips would wear off before she got to the church. It made her cringe to think of Ty seeing her with a weird-colored mouth. She knew her mom would have something to say about it, too. “I mean, that’s not the only reason why.”

  They all laughed.

  “What’s up with you two, anyway?” Tobyn asked. “Any updates?” She’d finished her ice pop and tilted herself forward into a handstand. The girl hated sitting still, and sugar only increased her antsiness. Tobyn has the same high energy as her sister, Micah thought, remembering the way Devyn jumped around the stage when they went to see her band perform in the spring.

  “Nothing is ‘up’ with us,” Micah said at first. But a minute later, she gave in. She turned to Noelle. “We’re thinking about maybe not waiting.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Noelle asked. She walked over to where Micah was lounging on one of the roof deck lawn chairs and squinted at Micah hard through her wire-rimmed glasses. “Goody-Goody Micah Dupree is thinking about not waiting?”

  Micah shielded her eyes and looked up. She shrugged. Then nodded.

  “They’ve been making out all summer,” Lux said. She licked a bit of purple syrup that was trickling down her wrist. “This shouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “You’re really going to do it, then?” Tobyn asked. She let her legs fall backward before crab-walking closer to her friends.

  “She won’t,” Noelle answered for her. “Because of, you know, Jesus.” She smirked and Tobyn giggled, and Lux looked like she was waiting for Micah to say something.

  Micah’s nostrils flared. Noelle could be so sweet, and then in an instant she could turn on you. Micah loved her friend, but she hated her sometimes, too.

  “It’s not that simple,” Micah said.

  But Noelle wouldn’t stop talking. “The Bible says not to do . . . that . . . outside of marriage, right? So if you do it, you’re gonna go to hell. And Good-Girl Micah could never do anything that might end in hellfire. Besides, what would Mommy and Daddy say?”

  “Don’t be a dick, Noelle,” Tobyn said.

  “What?” Noelle asked innocently.

  Micah knew Noelle was right. Until very recently, she had believed the Bible without question. And she and Ty were worried about her parents finding out.

  But Micah wanted Ty. She didn’t know why; she just knew that all of a sudden she felt really ready. But could she be making a mistake?

  Micah didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She was starting to feel panicky. As she grabbed her bag to leave, Milo’s sketchbook fell out.

  “What’s this?” Noelle asked, snatching it up. She opened the book and started flipping through the pages. “Whoa, Micah. I thought painting was your thing. When’d you get so good at drawing?”

  The other girls came over to look through the book, too, and Micah felt her chest starting to get tight like it did when she heard an ambulance—just like it had the other day.

  “Give it back,” Micah said so quietly that none of the girls heard her.

  “Holy shit,” Lux said, looking up. “Since when do you do graffiti?” She flipped the book around and pointed to one of Milo’s tags. “Or sketches with this much detail?”

  “Wow,” Tobyn said next. “You’ve been holding out.”

  “It’s not mine,” Micah said. She squeezed her eyes shut and spoke louder. “It’s Milo’s. Give it back.”

  “Oh,” they all said at the same time. Noelle and Tobyn knew everything about Milo. That her perfect big brother had been on the verge of becoming famous when he died. Lux only knew that his name made Micah go quiet. But they all could see that this book meant something special to her.

  Noelle closed the book and handed it back to Micah. “Sorry, boo.”

  Micah swallowed hard and started tucking it into her bag. Even with the sketchbook now back in her possession, she didn’t feel her anxiety fading. As Micah tucked the sketchbook into her bag, she checked the time on her phone and realized she was going to be late.

  “I gotta go,” she said.

  “Aww, M, don’t be like that!” Noelle said.

  Micah wasn’t mad at them, but the longer she stood there, the harder it became for her to breathe. She thought of them seeing all of Milo’s art, and how much better his was than hers. Their expectations of her when it came to Ty. The way Noelle had said, “Because of, you know, Jesus,” like what Micah had been raised to believe was stupid. Like deciding to have sex was something easy.

  “Stay up here if you want,” she said. The four of them had spent enough time on her roof that they could show themselves out. “But make sure you close the door when you head back downstairs. And don’t forget anything. I won’t be back up here tonight.”

  * * *

  “You’re late,” her father said as she squeezed into the pew to sit down beside him.

  “Only by a few minutes,” she started to explain. “The girls were on the roof and—”

  “I know. It’s fine. Just don’t let it happen again, all right?”

  He didn’t look at her as he said it, so she knew there would be hell to pay later. She could tell by the slant of his head and the way he avoided her eyes that he was annoyed about more than her being late. He wouldn’t tell her why while they were here, though. Her father was not a man who made scenes.

  “I’m sorry,” Micah said softly. But he had already turned away from her.

  Her mother leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, folded down Micah’s collar, and smoothed it with her hand until it lay flat.

  “Honey, why is your mouth blue?” she whispered.

  “Ice pop,” Micah answered, and her mother shook her head and smiled.

  “Maybe skip that next time if it’s this close to when you’ll be attending church.”

  Micah nodded as she pulled her Bible from her bag. “Is Daddy mad at me?”

  Her mom pressed her lips together tightly and scooted a bit closer to her daughter. “Well,” she whispered, “Sister Patrice called us. She said you and Ty have been disappearing at camp during lunch, and yesterday she caught you kissing in the back parking lot.”

  Micah’s breath quickened. She glanced sideways at her dad, but he was watching Pastor Bridges as he paced across the pulpit.

  “I understand. You like him. You’re a teenager. These things happen. But your father is . . . not happy. To say the very least.”

  Sometimes her mother could convince her father to be sensible. Like the time Micah lost her brand-new cell phone, or the one time she skipped a class (and got caught). But when it came to his feelings about boys, her father rarely budged.

  “Oh,” Micah said. She knew she’d get an earful the second they
got home, so she tried to enjoy her last few hours of peace.

  As she sat in the wooden pew between her parents, Micah held her Bible in her lap. It felt as heavy as a stone. Unlike the Bible she’d found in Milo’s drawer, which was dog-eared and all marked up, the pages in this one were still crisp because she only ever opened it during service. It made her feel guilty, like she was letting someone down.

  She bowed her head and tried to listen as Pastor Bridges prayed, but she kept thinking about Ty. That made her feel guilty, too. She could see him sitting a few rows away. She lifted her eyes and let them linger on the back of his neck for a moment, until he turned and looked right at her like he’d felt her staring. He frowned and mouthed, You good?

  Micah looked at her lap, then looked toward the pulpit, waiting for the next Scripture so she could flip to the right page and sink into the words. She would do anything to get away from how she felt when she looked at Ty, and the fact that they might be forced to wait after all, assuming her dad ever let her see him again.

  “You and Tyriq Valentine think you’re grown, huh?”

  They’d barely made it through the door of their apartment before her father laid into her about Ty and camp and kissing.

  “No, Daddy. Of course we don’t,” Micah said. She hung her purse by the door and looked at her shoes.

  “Coulda fooled me. Kissing behind church when you’re supposed to be working sounds like the behavior of someone who thinks they’re real grown.”

  “It only happened a few times, I swear,” Micah said.

  “Don’t swear, Micah Nicole,” her father answered.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  “So, since you and Ty think you’re grown, you can have some grown-up responsibilities for the next week. You’ll only be spending money you earn, so hand over your credit card.”

  Micah gave this up willingly. She didn’t use it much, only for things like movie tickets or the occasional new skirt when she went shopping with the girls.