Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I’m not eating on the floor. It’s unsanitary.”

  “You vacuum twice a day and routinely fog the place with Lysol,” Violet says. “We could do brain surgery here.”

  “Why would we want to do that?” Jemma eases into a criss-cross position, her body angled away from mine.

  “Thanks for including me.” I take a bite of pizza, savoring the comfort of gooey cheese and garlic. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing!” Violet takes her spot beside me, a plate in one hand and a flavored water in the other. “We wanted to do this for you. Didn’t we, Jemma?”

  Jemma picks a half-price pepperoni off her slice. “This wasn’t my idea, and Violet made me.”

  “I never would’ve guessed.”

  “How was your day?” Violet asks. “Any update?”

  “My mom’s still the same.” It’s kind of her to ask, but it all feels too raw to talk about.

  “Well.” Violet puts down her plate and gives Jemma the heavy eye. “Jemma, is there anything you’d like to say to Katie?”

  Jemma chews slowly. “Can’t think of anything.”

  “Jemma.” Violet’s mom-voice is just as good as Millie’s.

  My dark-headed roommate sighs, expelling a weary breath as if it somehow relieves a burden. “I…I, um, forgot what I was going to say.”

  Violet feeds our roommate her next line. “I’m sorry.”

  Jemma nods toward Violet. “She says she’s sorry.”

  “No.” Violet rolls her eyes. “That’s what you say.” She leans forward, waiting. “Go ahead.” Her lips mouth the words in case Jemma needs a refresher. I’m sorry.

  Jemma huffs as she hands me a napkin. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday. I didn’t know your mom was dying, and clearly I need to work in some exception clauses to our rules and routines.”

  Though Jemma says it with zero feeling, I know it cost her. “Thank you. Apology accepted.”

  “Now, this is where you apologize for staying in the bathroom too long.”

  “Jemma, we talked about this.” Violet pops the top on her can of fizzy water. “Remember what we said?”

  “Violet made me role play.” Jemma’s eyes stay on her plate of pizza. “It’s not my lowest point with a roommate, but it was still stupid.”

  “Katie doesn’t owe you anything. And we agreed we’re going to be accommodating and tell her we’re here to help her if she needs us.”

  Jemma shrugs. “My helping abilities pretty much extend to science tutoring and hacking video games.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need that.” I’m beginning to realize Jemma isn’t always trying to be intentionally difficult. Often—but not always. Her brain just works differently. It would be nice if some of those synapses prodded her to be a bit nicer, but this is definitely progress. “Thanks for dinner. It was very thoughtful of you. Of both of you.”

  “That’s what roomies do.” Violet grabs another slice of pizza. “Roomies and friends.”

  When my phone buzzes at midnight, I sit straight up in bed, desperate to shut that thing down before it sounds the alert system known as Jemma.

  Reading the name on the screen, I catch my breath and feel my heart quicken.

  Because my ex-boyfriend Charlie Benson has called my phone.

  I climb down my ladder and pad into the bathroom, shutting the door. “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?” he asks. “I’m sorry I’m calling so late.”

  That voice. Husky, with vowels softened from the tilt of his Texas drawl, and just deep enough to glide across your ear and dance over your skin. It reminds me of holding hands at the drive-in, kissing beneath the twinkling stars on my back porch, and home. And this weekend, I could sure use some home.

  “It’s fine.” I clear my throat, hoping I sound equally alluring. Or at least like I’m upright and conscious. “This is…quite the surprise.”

  He laughs, a husky chuckle that always made me smile. “This is going to sound weird, but you’ve been on my mind for days. I know I shouldn’t have called, but I was thinking about you, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I’d made the call. I just wondered if you were okay?”

  I open my mouth to respond, to give him a sassy, flippant response in the affirmative, only to find a broken sob takes its place. I turn my face away from the receiver and try to gather my wits. My throat feels like it’s suddenly swollen three times its normal size. Why is it the harder you try not to cry, the more you can't control it, and you know if you speak, you're going to sound like a psychotic blubbery fool in the midst of a breakdown?

  “Katie? Hey, are you there? Can you hear me?”

  I nod my head as if he can see it.

  “Talk to me,” he says. “Please.”

  I take a few deep breaths, finding my voice. “Things aren’t okay.” I haven’t admitted that to anyone, not even Maxine.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s my mom. Bobbie Ann.” Images of her lying in that stark hospital room flash before me. “She OD’d in prison, and I don’t think she’s going to make it this time.”

  Charlie’s a guy of facts and logistics, so I expect him to ask for background information, to want to know all the missing details. But he doesn’t. “How are you feeling?”

  “I don’t know. It’s all so strange. This outcome was always a possibility, right? But now that it's here, it doesn't look like I thought it would or feel like I expected.”

  “Do you want me to come to Texas?”

  My eyes well at the offer, at Charlie's benevolent friendship. The terrible, reckless thing is, I so badly want to say, “Yes, get on a plane and come see me. And while we’re at it, can we turn back time before we so politely parted ways? Remember when you were my boyfriend, and I adored you, but maybe didn’t know I adored you, and things made sense?”

  “No,” I say instead. “Of course not. I’m going to be okay. But thank you.” I sniffle into the phone, a sound that echoes loud and undignified in the hollow corners of the bathroom. “I miss…” You. “High school. I miss how easy things were. I miss the pizza place and our group of friends and seeing my family every night.”

  “I miss that too,” Charlie says. “I miss…a lot of things about how it used to be.”

  Old memories dance through my mind. The two of us briefly together in high school, trying to find our way as a couple. His calls and texts when I needed a friend, even though we were both later dating other people. The off-key way he’d sing happy birthday to me every year, knowing I was missing my mom. I think of Charlie’s skin tanned from the summer, his brown hair with copper highlights that glint in the sun. Cheering him on at football games. His presence at all my plays. The smell of his cologne and the touch of his hand.

  “Have you made friends at school?”

  Charlie’s question jerks me from my swoony trip down memory lane. “What?”

  “Have you met a lot of people at Hendrix?”

  Why does everyone keep asking me that? “I’m working on it. One of my roommates is nice.”

  He laughs. “Just one?”

  “The other will be a successful dictator of a small country one day.” My lips pull into a smile, and I realize I already feel better. “How about you, Charlie?”

  “We’re not through talking about you.”

  The topic of my mom is too heavy to hold for the moment. I want to hear more of our old banter. “How about we take a commercial break on the topic of me. Tell me about the friends you’ve made, the straight A’s you’re getting, and how Chicago feels like your second home.”

  “It’s rained for two weeks, my roommate’s never here, and I’m going to tutoring most mornings to keep my head above water.” He releases a long breath. “This stuff is hard.”

  “You’d think they could’ve warned us about that.”

  “I think they did, but they should’ve added some visual aids. Maybe shown us some reenactments of the misery that college could possibl
y be. But I have had some fun. I like the independence, and I think after the shock of change wears off, it’s gonna get better.”

  “Yeah, it’s not all flunked tests and militant roommates.”

  “Except for an acute case of homesickness, I do like Chicago. But it’s no In Between.”

  “Nothing is.”

  “At least you can go home every weekend if you want to.”

  “I think the point is that I’m not supposed to.” Fatigue loosens my tongue and pries off my filter. “If this were a Disney movie, I’d fall and hit my head. I’d wake up, and it would be the first day of school senior year that I’d get to do all over.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Is that what you want?”

  My gosh, yes. “It would be nice to break into just the right song every time I felt blue.”

  “Dancing on the cafeteria tabletops. I can see it,” Charlie says before we fall silent for a long, comfortable moment. “I’m praying for you, Katie. You can do this.”

  “I miss you, Benson.” There. I said it. The truest thing I know right now.

  “I miss you, Parker. You’ll keep me updated?”

  “Yeah. I’ll shoot you a text if anything changes.”

  “I don’t want a text. I want to hear your voice.”

  That sounds all kinds of romantic, though I know that's surely not how he means it. “I'll do what I can.”

  “Don’t forget there are people back home who love you.”

  Does that include him?

  “Is it okay if I call again?” he asks. “I want to stay in the loop, but I don’t want to cause problems.”

  “Will your girlfriend mind?”

  “We’re kind of on pause right now.”

  Oh. Well. “You won’t cause problems.” No more than Tate and I already have. “Good night.”

  “Get some sleep, Parker. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  I feel almost bereft when he hangs up. I could’ve stayed on the phone all night, even if we did nothing else but breathe into the void.

  After peeling open the door like it’s set with a booby trap, I tiptoe across the room and climb the ladder back to my bunk. I rest my head on the cool pillow and tug on the blankets.

  I think of the soft, oversized football t-shirt I’m wearing beneath the sheet.

  And the boy who once gave it to me back in In Between.

  Chapter Twelve

  When I walk into Curie dorm Friday afternoon after another trip to the hospital, two things greet me: a large gathering of kids playing Dungeons & Dragons…and Tate.

  One look at my boyfriend and I know the moratorium I’ve put on sharing my mom news is over.

  “Hey,” he says as he rises from a sunken couch. “Where have you been?" I hear the suspicion mixed in with the concern.

  "I had an errand to run." I did make it to my first class, but after that, I cut out and left. Who knows how much time I have left, and she’s so alone. Those two thoughts clash in my head until I can hardly take it.

  “An errand so important you'd miss school? I waited for you before your science class, and then when you didn't show up there, I waited for you after your fitness class. Did you skip the whole day?”

  “Not completely.” I attempt a crooked smile. “Some kids hold off on the skipping thing ’til they’re at least sophomores, but I like to get a head start.”

  Tate doesn’t even pretend to laugh. “Katie, what's going on?"

  This is the point that I tell him everything. Like I did on the phone with Charlie last night. Why can’t I just spit it out?

  Amidst the rise of the laughter and whoops of dismay nearby, Tate steps closer, his hand sliding down my arm. "Have you been crying?"

  I shrug a dismissive shoulder. “It's been a bad day, okay? I promise I’ll fill you in, but right now, I need to go upstairs, pack, and read through my script for the play.”

  “What play?”

  “Seriously, Tate?”

  His cheeks flush pink. “Oh. That play. Right. So…the play you auditioned for?”

  “Yes.” My one word is a stab.

  “You made it?”

  “I got a part—something I told your voicemail days ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I must’ve missed it. But that’s great.” He catches my expression. “Isn’t it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Will you stop saying that? Clearly, it’s not fine. And you’re not fine.”

  And we aren’t fine. He didn’t say it, but I heard it all the same.

  “I got a small part. I have one whole line, and rehearsals start Sunday night. And then I still need to pack to go home this weekend.” I see his face fall, and I roll my eyes. “You’re not coming to In Between, are you?”

  We’d made plans. He was going home to see his family, and then he’d travel to In Between on Sunday for church and dinner with my family.

  “I want to, but something’s come up.”

  “Let me guess, the fraternity.”

  “I can’t get out of it.”

  Was he in a fraternity or a cult? “Fine.”

  “See. There you go again with the fine. I told you this Greek stuff was going to be time-consuming. I obviously didn't realize it would be every minute, and it's not like I enjoy how little I see you.”

  I rub a hand over my tired face, certain there’s no makeup remaining anyway. “Seriously, I don’t want to get into this.”

  “Things will calm down. You’ll see.”

  “You didn’t even ask me about my audition.”

  “You haven’t asked me about the fraternity.”

  “I feel like I have a decent grip on how that’s going. It’s all you talk about.”

  “At least I don’t hide anything from you.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  Tate’s immediate silence belies the tension on his face, like he’s holding back his own anger. “Then tell me what’s going on,” he finally says. “Maybe I can help.”

  I’ve kept him in the dark long enough. “I got a call a week ago.” The details of this story don’t get any easier to explain. “My bio mom somehow OD’d in prison, and she’s in ICU at Stafford County Hospital.” The next words still sound like they belong in someone else’s story. “She’s not expected to make it.”

  Tate pulls me into his arms, and my cheek presses against his chest. "Katie, I'm so sorry. Why wouldn’t you tell me something like this? I could’ve gone to the hospital with you.”

  And miss some social event? “It’s all very new. I’m still coming to terms with it.”

  His hand caresses the back of my hair. “You used to tell me everything. I’ve walked through a lot of Bobbie Ann stuff with you.” When I lived with my mom a few summers ago, it was Tate who befriended me and helped me get through. He brought me food, introduced me to his friends, and stepped in which things got desperate. “I know things are hectic, and I haven’t been around. But I’m here for you. Hey, I don’t have to be anywhere for another hour. I'll get you something to eat, and we can talk.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll take a rain check.”

  “If you’re not gonna talk to me, tell me you have somebody you’re confiding in. Your parents? Maxine? Frances? Someone?”

  I think of last night’s unexpected phone call with Charlie. “I’ve talked to someone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s my first weekend back home since school started, and I’m a little bummed there wasn’t a parade waiting for me at the city limits. Clearly, In Between hasn’t missed me as much as I’ve missed it. Sure, I only live an hour away, but it might as well be a whole continent apart for as far as I feel from my old life.

  When I pull into the driveway, everything seems somehow different. Same neighborhood. Same streets. Same old house. Same family inside.

  Same crazy grandmother doing the splits in the living room holding pom-poms while a rap song plays from her phone nearby. Totally normal.

  Yet things feel shifted. A
s if the house and everyone in it has taken on a new shape to absorb the space of my absence.

  “I’m home!” Rocky, the horse-dog, runs and jumps on me, giving me his version of a slobbery hug before I can even put my bag down. “Hey, boy. Who’s my good boy? Did you miss me?”

  “There’s my college girl.” Millie breezes in, elegant in her yoga pants and tunic, wrapping me in a soft hug. “I’ve missed this face.”

  I sniff the sweet-scented air. “Enough to bake me cookies that contain trash ingredients you completely disapprove of?”

  “You know it.” She kisses my forehead. “Though I do have some gluten-free alternatives I’d like you to at least consider.”

  “Consider them considered”—I kiss her right back—“and denied.”

  She brushes some stray hair from my face. “I know you’re tired of your tech-challenged mom asking you, but I still can’t get into the Hendrix parent portal.”

  Yeah, that horrible internet site that lets parents see all grades, absences, and any notes and comments from instructors. “I’ll help you with it later. Maybe your password is wrong.”

  Maxine ups the volume on her music and spins on her toe, arms outstretched like she’s suddenly possessed by the spirit of bad dance moves.

  I take a step back from her flailing limbs. “I’m afraid to ask what this is.”

  James pops out of his office, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm, and joins us. “If we record it, it could be documentation for her admittance to a padded cell.”

  Maxine cackles, her glossy pink lips curving into a wide grin. “You can't get rid of me that easily, James. Though I admire how you frequently try." She attempts another pirouette, this time sticking a landing that faces me. “This is part of my routine for Mrs. Silver Texas.”

  “And why are you doing that at our house?” I ask.

  James takes my bag. “That's what I'd like to know.”

  “Because this place has good energy. Happy vibes. Winner vibes. I feel like my artistic expression is more free to run and play here.” She grabs her water bottle and collapses onto the couch. “Plus, Sam says if I knock over one more thing with my high kicks, he's taking it out of my next Social Security check."