by Susan Vaught
“What are you doing?” Zero’s voice sounded closer, like he was bending down. The foot stayed planted on my back, pushing just a little. “What’s that on your mouth?”
“Wha—hey. Cut that out.” Todd’s feet and legs came striding through the bunch of girl-legs in front of me. He sounded pissed. Volcanoes. He’d probably black my other eye. Paperwork for Ms. Chin. Call to Dad. Unglued Mom. I so had to go to the bathroom.
“I mean it!” Todd’s snarl made me flinch.
Then, “You—” from Kerry.
Zero cut him off with a loud “Whatever, man.”
The foot left my back.
Somebody grabbed my good arm and lifted me to my feet.
I found myself eye to chin with Todd. He tilted his head.
“Your eye—did they hit you?”
I shook my head.
He let out a breath and relaxed a little. Zero said something rude I couldn’t think about or I’d start repeating it, and Todd gave him a Rush glare that shut him right up. Kerry didn’t try to say anything.
Todd kept staring at me. “What is that? Did you put tape over your lips?”
I nodded and thought about the bathroom.
He rolled his eyes. For a second, he looked just like Leza, and just like the Todd I knew before I broke everything. Then he glanced around the room and frowned and let my arm go.
“Can you get it off?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head.
“Here.” He reached up and dug his nails under the tape on both sides. “This is gonna hurt. You ready?”
I shook my head.
“Too bad.” His frown got deeper. “Hold your breath.”
I closed my eyes instead.
Todd ripped the tape clean away. Some of my lips went with it. Todd threw the tape down like it had rabies. I clapped my good hand over my mouth and said words head-injured people weren’t supposed to say.
Ms. Chin picked that minute to bring her clenched hands back into the room.
“Jersey Hatch!” she shouted. “You will not use that kind of language in my classroom. Come here this instant!”
I kept my hand over my mouth and looked at Todd.
He shrugged like, hey, man, you’re on your own with this one. Then he turned around and walked off, all cool and madlike all over again.
Wondering if I had any lips left, I managed to stuff Earth Science in my backpack next to my memory book and make the walk to Ms. Chin. Almost everybody from the next class was sitting down now. If I didn’t go to the bathroom soon, I’d die. I’d just die.
When I got to the front of the class, Ms. Chin grabbed my arm and I knew she meant to march me to the office. The bell rang. Everything went quiet. She narrowed her eyes and said, “God, did you kiss sandpaper or something? No. Don’t answer that. Just … just …” She let me go. “Go to the nurse’s station, okay? You’re bleeding.”
I went to the bathroom instead.
Volcanoes and tectonics and convection currents and all that stuff.
What a relief.
And I managed to go without dropping anything or peeing on myself, and I zipped my fly. When I washed my hands and looked in the mirror, I knew I did need to see the nurse. My top lip was split down the center, and it kept bleeding even when I held toilet paper against it for a minute. If I didn’t let the nurse fix it, it’d get on my shirt, and Mom would see it, and she might unglue over that.
It was hard to get the toilet paper to stick to my lip, but it finally did, and I picked up my backpack and started out of the bathroom. I didn’t have a pass to be in the hall during class, but I figured the toilet-paper-bloody-tape lip would be enough.
I opened the door and walked straight out, almost knocking into a girl coming out of the girls’ bathroom.
For once, I managed to catch somebody and do the steadying.
“Jersey,” the girl said, startled. “Um, thanks.”
I let Todd’s girlfriend go in a hurry. My heart beat really fast all of a sudden, and I opened my mouth to say something intelligent. That’s when I remembered the toilet paper and blood and stuff.
But my fly was zipped.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I pulled off the toilet paper and my lip bled.
Her dark eyes got bigger. She picked at the collar of her white shirt. “What happened?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Tape. My mom.”
“Did Todd do that?” She picked her shirt harder. “Because if he did, I’ll—”
“No! He pulled my lips off. I mean, no. Lips. He helped me.”
She eased up on her collar, then lowered her hand and rubbed the leg of her jeans. It wasn’t so stinky in the hall. I could smell her perfume, and it wasn’t so hot, and I didn’t need to pee. She had a red hall pass in one of her hands. Her nail polish was red, too. She was really pretty. Not as pretty as Leza, but definitely nice to look at. I knew she wasn’t Elana now. She wasn’t. She wasn’t Elana.
“Cheerleaders,” I muttered. “Peanuts. Lips. Sorry. What’s your name?”
The girl laughed. “Maylynn.”
“Maylynn. Doesn’t sound like Elana.”
I started to cover my mouth, but she caught my hand. “Don’t. It’s okay. You need to go see the nurse.”
“Going.” I nodded. Then the rest erupted like one of Ms. Chin’s volcanoes. “Did I do something awful? To Todd, I mean. Did he tell you? There was this girl, and she told me I’m so self-centered. You’re so self-centered I bet you think I’m mad at you. She said that, and Todd and I had a fight, only I don’t remember. You’re so self-centered I bet you think I’m mad at you.”
Maylynn-not-Elana just looked at me. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Somebody said that. I was selfish. Self-centered,” I stammered idiotically. “Somebody should have said that, right?”
She smiled and shrugged.
“It’s okay,” I said, not wanting to be more stupid. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a volcano.” My lip bled into my mouth. I wiped it with the back of my hand.
“You should go on to the nurse.”
“Maylynn!” Ms. Chin’s voice sliced through the quiet hall. “Did you lose something in that bathroom? Get in here. The quiz is starting.”
To me, Ms. Chin said, “Do I need to take you to the nurse’s office?”
I didn’t need pragmatics to know she wasn’t being nice.
“Maybe you and Todd can talk soon.” Maylynn waved at me. “Good luck.” Then she turned around and jogged over to Ms. Chin.
“Volcanoes,” I called after her. “Eruptions.”
Ms. Chin glared at me and made a shoo-motion with her hand.
I shooed.
chapter 17
I have this dream where both legs work and both arms work and I don’t have any scars on the outside. My mother isn’t broken and my dad isn’t broken. Todd’s my friend, Elana’s my girlfriend except she looks like Maylynn, Mama Rush still lives next door, and Leza’s a scrawny kid with big teeth and lots of braids. They’re smiling and laughing in my backyard, until they see the gun. I’m standing at my window holding it. They all turn to clay. I lift the gun to my mouth, and everyone cracks down the middle. Mom’s arms fall off. Dad’s legs break at the knees. It tastes oily and dusty all at once as I close my lips on cold gunmetal—but I can’t. Not in the mouth. I’m shaking, but I lift the barrel to the side of my head. Todd turns away and snaps into five pieces. Mama Rush puts her head on the table and it shatters. The tip digs into my skin. Leza’s braids fracture. I’m thinking selfish thoughts about nothing at all. Elana-Maylynn falls apart, hands and arms and eyes and face. By the time I pull the trigger, there’s nothing left of any of them. Nothing but dust.
You’re losing it. J.B.’s voice reminded me of Zero or Kerry. Couldn’t tell which. Mom’s never going to talk to you again if you lose it.
I yawned. “Shut up. I want to sleep. Not losing it. And Mom’s talking to me.”
What? A “hello, honey” over
breakfast and a kiss goodnight? J.B. couldn’t touch me, but I imagined him poking my head while I tried to pull the green bedspread over my eyes. She hasn’t even been home most of the week. She’s leaving. She’s gone. She can’t do this anymore.
“She’s still busy with the bank audit. Losing it. It’s almost over.” I rolled over and jerked my pillow on top of my head.
That’s bull. J.B. sounded just as loud.
I threw the pillow onto the floor. “You’re bull. Losing it.”
You and Dad should have gone to the police station by now. That gun needs to get melted. And stop saying “losing it.”
“Losing it.” I sat up. “Bull. Losing it, losing it. Frog farts.”
What time was it? I needed to get dressed.
I’d tried to call Mama Rush a few times during the week, but after she yelled at me for a half hour solid over looking in the box, she wouldn’t talk much and kept telling me she’d see me Saturday. Today. A few times, she didn’t even answer her telephone. I wondered if she was still that mad at me. She probably was. Or maybe she had made up with Romeo man.
Maybe she’ll get married and forget about you, J.B. said as I got dressed. I ignored him.
You really don’t have anybody left, he tried again.
“Leza’s nice to me when she’s not hitting. She likes me.”
No. You like her. She’ll never like you back—at least not like that.
I finally found my shoes under the edge of my bed. Dad had changed my shoelaces … to purple? Purple shoelaces. I picked at one of them. It had lots of spring. Purple spring.
“Shoelaces. Spring. Purple. Leza. Frog farts.” I let out a breath and sat down on my bed. Had to get a grip and focus before I went downstairs. Mom might be awake. If Mom was awake, I needed to have good pragmatics. And the scab still hadn’t come off my top lip, so I shouldn’t use any tape because I’d probably pull off the scab and make myself bleed.
Up and forward.
At least my cheek didn’t hurt anymore, and my eye wasn’t so black. More like light blue with a little green. Gross, really, but nobody asked me about it anymore.
Because nobody really looks at you. You’re invisible.
I shut J.B. out of my mind and picked up my memory book and wrote down a few things.
1. Don’t flip out.
2. Say the alphabet instead of flipping out.
3. Don’t break Mom or Dad.
4. Don’t be a Big Larry.
When I got downstairs, nobody was at the breakfast table and nothing was cooked. Somebody had left money, though, right on the counter where I could see it. I put my memory book down beside it so I wouldn’t forget either of them.
For a second, I looked at my shoelaces. Purple shoelaces. Nobody was up. Was that good or bad? Was I glad or not glad? Purple shoelaces.
Stop it. Stop it. Mom might get up. Quit thinking about shoelaces. If you think about shoelaces, you’ll talk about shoelaces.
Did Mom not want to see me? This would be our first chance to really talk, if she’d gotten up. But she probably didn’t want to talk. Dad probably didn’t want to talk, either. If we didn’t talk, how would I ever say I’m sorry enough times? I’d say it as many times as they wanted. I didn’t mean to break them, especially Mom. I didn’t want to break her. I shouldn’t have looked in that box. Maybe Mom should have punched me harder. I shouldn’t have looked in that box.
Shoelaces, the kitchen was quiet.
Wait a minute. Maybe Dad and Mom were sleeping in together. For some reason, that thought didn’t gross me out like it usually did. It seemed kind of nice. Shoelaces.
I went to the refrigerator and got a few slices of turkey and cheese. After I ate those, I ate a banana and some peanuts. Peanuts were always good. As I was washing my hands, Mom came into the kitchen. She was wearing one of her silk gowns and robes, with matching slippers. The robe seemed really big on her. Her hair was neat and fixed, but her face looked all runny and smudged, like she’d slept in her makeup.
She waved at me. “Hey. You’re up early. I left you some money, did you see?”
“Yes, thanks. Peanuts. Oops. Sorry. Just, thanks, okay?” God, I was worse than Ms. Chin, holding my own hands. My weak hand felt like wet, cold rubber. “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Mom crossed over to where I was standing and took my hands in hers. Her skin didn’t feel like cold rubber. She picked up a kitchen towel and dried mine off as she said, “I know.”
I nodded, still trying not to think about peanuts or shoelaces. For some reason, I had trouble looking at her. Eye to eye. Face to face. But I had trouble looking. That volcano feeling, the one that made me blow words all over Maylynn-not-Elana, built up in my chest. I wished I had some tape. I didn’t care if it pulled my lips off.
Mom finished drying my hands, put the towel down, and took hold of my fingers again. “I know I got really mad at you, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
No, I’m sorry. I pulled the trigger. I broke you. Trigger. I’m sorry I ruined everything. Tears tried to come out of my eyes and the volcano tried to blow up, but I made myself look at the peanut can and think about cheerleaders. Cheerleaders made me laugh. Laughing made me warm inside. Leza made me warm inside.
Mom … made me nervous.
Especially when she tried to be nice. It was better when she growled at me. I knew what she really wanted, then. What she really thought about me and everything else. Growling was better. No volcano. No spewing words. You’ll only say the wrong thing.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“Jersey, look at me.” Mom squeezed my fingers.
“Sorry.” Peanuts, peanuts, peanuts, frog farts, cheerleaders. I blinked. Made myself do what she asked me to do. Yeah, she definitely slept in her makeup. Why was I thinking about her makeup? Shoelaces. Big fat purple springy shoelaces. Don’t explode. Trigger. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Mom sighed. I wondered if she could hear my brain. Shoelaces.
“You don’t need to apologize anymore.” She squeezed my fingers even tighter. I kept looking at her smeared-up face and didn’t say shoelaces or peanuts or anything else out loud. “I’m the one who’s sorry. So, so sorry I hit you. That won’t ever happen again, I promise.”
“It’s okay,” I managed. “Peanuts. Sorry.”
Mom didn’t seem to notice the extra word. She just went right on choking my fingers to death and talking. “It’s not okay. I’m the mom. Moms don’t hit their babies like I hit you.”
“Not a baby,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”
Oh, no. She had tears. If she let her tears go, I’d flip out and sob like a little kid. Peanuts. Shoelaces!
I didn’t know what to do. No idea what to say. Pragmatics, Hatch. Yeah, right. Big Larry. Ruiner.
Hoping for the best, I nodded.
Mom smiled.
I wanted to smile back, or run. Both. Peanuts. Shoelaces. I had purple shoelaces. Did she want me to say something else? She looked like she wanted me to say something else, but I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t go sideways. If I tried to talk, I’d be a volcano.
Mom’s smile got a little sad, but she kept it up for a few seconds. Then she let go of my hands and went to get herself a glass of juice.
I pocketed the money on the counter and picked up the phone to call a cab.
“That’s okay,” Mom said. She downed her orange juice. “I’ll drive you, or your father will. Jersey, I’m proud of you, honey. For … for holding it together as well as you have. And for sticking with Mama Rush, and trying so hard with your friends.”
The telephone rang in my hand. It scared me so bad I dropped it.
Mom grabbed it off the floor, looked to see who was calling, then hit the button and said, “Hello?” And, “Oh, okay. Sure, Mama Rush. I’ll tell him. Yes, I’ll tell him that, too.” She paused and frowned. “And that. You, too. I hope you feel better.”
When she hung up, the first thing out of my mouth was, “Shoelaces. Is
something wrong with Mama Rush?”
My head buzzed. I almost couldn’t think enough to listen to Mom’s answer.
“No, not really. Well, yes. She’s at The Palace, but she said she’s come down with the flu and she doesn’t feel like meeting with you today.” Mom sounded worried for me, like I might get all upset.
I was getting all upset. “But she’s okay? She’s really okay, right?”
Mom frowned all over again, then made her expression turn into a smile. “Yes. Settle down. She said to tell you she’s not mad at you anymore.”
“Good. That’s good.” I tried to breathe right.
“You—ah—told her about that box, didn’t you? About the gun?”
The look on Mom’s face was way past weird. I blinked at her, trying not to make mistakes. Probably I’d make one no matter what I said, even though I didn’t really know why. “Yes. Box. Sorry.”
“Do you tell her everything?” Mom crossed her arms. She wasn’t frowning, but she didn’t smile, either.
“Sorry.” I swallowed and blinked. “No. Yes. Sorry.”
Mom shook her head. Sad and mad flickered like candles on her face, then went out. Back to flat and blank. “I miss the Rush family. We used to do a lot of things together. But you and Todd were growing apart—then, well, what happened. Leza was so upset, and Todd. And we spent so much time at the hospitals. After that, it just didn’t seem normal when we talked to them. It didn’t seem normal when we talked to anybody.”
Leza upset. Okay. Leza told me that before. But Todd? Todd upset? Leza and Todd upset? Now I really wanted to run. But Mom kept talking.
“Mama Rush said she’s working on fixing some more of your presents, and that you should go to Leza’s track meet. It’s the last one before cross-country starts.”
“Cross-country.” I tried to catch my breath. “Presents.” My hands made fists and I had to make my fingers relax. “Okay, okay.”
“Okay you’ll go to the track meet?” Mom sounded confused. “Or okay about Mama Rush?”
One, two, three, four …
Breathing as best I could, I said, “Okay to both, I guess.”