The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  “It comes back?”

  Len glanced to the window, then away. She nodded. “You didn’t play today.”

  It was more question than statement. Sage tipped back the cup, debating her answer. Her eyes snagged on the wall behind Len, the photographs covering every space of it. “Whoa,” she said, standing, and moved beside Len for a better look. Vivid 8x10s, smaller black and whites, even a long panorama, all of them depicting art studio–worthy landscapes. “These are beautiful.”

  “Oh,” Len said. “Um, thank you.”

  “You took them?”

  Len nodded.

  Sage’s gaze fell to a 5x7 on the desk. A framed photo of two girls in shorts and tank tops. They were related; Sage could tell by their noses, the width of their smiles. The blond one’s face felt familiar.

  “Oh, my gosh!” She picked up the frame. “Is this you?”

  Len’s face tightened. “With my sister, Fauna. Yeah.”

  Sage’s eyes darted between real Len—baggy gray sweatshirt, jeans, and gloves—and photo Len—bright red tank, white shorts, freshly washed and curled hair.

  “When was this?” she asked, failing miserably to keep the shock from her voice. Photo Len seemed so happy, a girl who had fun. A girl who was normal.

  Len pulled her sleeve down over her hand. “Last year.”

  What happened? Sage thought. The question must have been all over her face, because Len snatched the frame from her hands and placed it back on the desk.

  “Don’t touch, okay?” she said.

  “Sorry.” Sage turned as she stepped back and noticed more pictures, thumbtacked row by row on the wall above the bed. “Did you take these, too?” In two steps she was across the room, her hands raised to the images.

  “Please!”

  There was a strangled quality to Len’s voice that made Sage’s insides freeze. “Right,” she said, remembering. “No touching.” She clasped her hands behind her back, then followed the photos around the room. Some of the places she recognized. Graveyard Fields. Pack Square. The smoke stacks on Lake Julian. “Is this up on Craggy Mountain?” Sage asked.

  Len nodded.

  Other photos were more general—a forest. Birds on a wire. Headlights blurring the dark.

  Sage’s mouth caught in a half-smile. “Len, these are incredible. I mean, really—”

  “Don’t walk there!”

  Sage’s foot froze midstride. She looked at the carpet where she’d been about to step. Nothing. Just a dead fly by the floorboard and a cobweb under the windowsill. “What is it?”

  “Just, please.” Len motioned her back, like it was a matter of life and death. “You just can’t be over there, okay? Come back.”

  Sage narrowed her eyes but did as Len asked. Len couldn’t seem to keep still, wringing her gloved hands and moving them in and out of her pockets, her feet shuffling like she was nervous in her own room. She was very obviously not looking at the window.

  Sage watched her for a moment, then studied the layout of the room. It was strange, really, a clear waste of space. The room felt colder suddenly. “Why can’t we go over there, in that empty area?”

  “It’s not empty.” Len’s voice was hollow.

  “It looks pretty empty,” Sage said, taking one step toward it. “You could fit a whole—”

  “I said you can’t go there, okay?” A small sound escaped Len, and she jammed herself onto her bed, nails clawing into the edge of the mattress. Her eyes stayed glued to the tan carpet.

  The shadow over Len’s mood poisoned the air, curdling Sage’s curiosity. She reached for her bag, for her phone. Something was really off, clearly, and Sage needed to leave.

  Her phone buzzed once, and then again a few seconds later. Thank God. She didn’t even have to lie. “Dad’s on his way back,” she said, checking the screen. “And Kayla’s looking for me, too.”

  Len nodded, slowly prying her hands from the mattress. “That’s nice.”

  Sage paused. She was pretty sure Len wasn’t being sarcastic. “What is?”

  Len looked up. “Oh, I don’t know.” She hugged herself tight. “You said your friend is looking for you. I just think that’s nice, you know?” She shrugged. “People checking on you.”

  A discomfort she couldn’t name slipped over Sage. “I mean, people check on you, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Len said too quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, totally. My mom and dad.” She gave a small, strange laugh. “Totally.”

  “Okaaay.” Whatever this feeling was, Sage hated it. Hated that she couldn’t name it, that it had sneaked up without her control. “Well, see you later.” And then she was away from the room, away from the house, away from the serious weirdness of Len Madder.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LEN

  LEN CURLED UNDER HER COMFORTER. WHAT HAD SHE been thinking, bringing Sage to her house? To her room? Len had held it in as best she could, but her freakness had slipped through the cracks anyway. Sage would probably tell all her cool friends how crazy Len was, and they’d tell the whole school, and—

  Stop, Len. Just. Stop.

  She flattened herself on her back, eyes closed beneath the blanket, and pictured the worry as one of Dad’s thought leaves floating away on a river. But the leaf kept swirling instead of moving ahead.

  Whatever. Bad visualizations were the least of her problems. Did she really have dementia? A sharp stab of intuition gutted her in the ribs. You know you do. And if she was losing her mind, why even bother with the Melford? With anything at all?

  You can’t just give up. Intuition again. It might take years. Nonni had held on for so long, alternating stretches of confusion with equally long stretches of clarity before the confusion finally won out.

  The air beneath the comforter grew hot and stifling. Len threw the blanket back and sat up. Maybe she should Google childhood dementia again. She’d only read a few lines in one online entry, enough to tell that her symptoms were the same. Maybe there was something else, though, some kind of home remedy?

  Don’t! Her brain screamed. What if you read something worse?

  Her body, half-poised to get out of bed and open her laptop, froze. Of course she would find something worse—another worry for her brain’s riptide, another thing to drag her under. No, she couldn’t look. She didn’t want to know.

  Across the room, the emptiness near the window beckoned her, pulled at her like a magnetic force. She strained so hard to not look that her neck muscles twitched.

  She turned on the bed, away from the window. Without the Melford Scholarship, she’d never get out of here, and she had to get out of here. And if she lost it before then, well, at least she’d have something to focus on. Something to drown out the horrible shrieks of everything else in her head.

  Len pulled her camera onto the bed and flipped through the digital images she’d taken Friday night under the bleachers. A couple of them had potential—odd angles and bizarre shadow patterns. Several of them might even be usable. Not by themselves, probably, but perhaps as part of a larger project.

  She found the final ones, the ones she’d shot right before Sage staggered under the stands, right before she vomited everywhere. “I wonder,” Len muttered. She zoomed in, searching for any hint about where Sage had been, a clue Len maybe unknowingly captured. Because something had happened to Sage, Len felt sure of it.

  Len’s head cleared a little. She flipped to the next photo and zoomed again, forcing all of her concentration to the image.

  Nothing.

  Still, it comforted her, knowing that even superstar athlete Sage Zendasky had pretty bad moments—that nobody’s world was perfect all the time. Len could barely believe the Sage from her room was the same person who, last week, had made her opponents look like they were about to cry.

  Len set the camera next to her. What was stranger, though, was the way she’d felt when Sage had been here. For the first time in months, she’d felt close to normal. Or closer, at least. Too bad s
he hadn’t been able to hold it together for the ten minutes Sage had stayed.

  Footsteps padded down the hall, and Mom appeared at the door. “Hey, sweetie.” She took in Len’s bed, the comforter twisted and sprawled like a shattered cocoon. Her eyes moved to Len and she must have seen something she didn’t like, because her face changed, saddened. She stepped into the room. “What are you up to?”

  Len picked up the camera. “Just going through images.” She shrugged. “For the Melford.”

  It was impossible to miss the glint of pride in Mom’s face. Len looked away.

  “How’re you doing?” Mom sat down, and Len scooted a few inches, making room for her on the twin mattress. Her mouth stayed shut.

  Mom pulled Len’s hair away from her neck, combing it with her fingers. “You’re still sad,” she said, softly, “about what happened.”

  Len’s head snapped up. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.” Hurt bloomed in Mom’s voice. The circles beneath her eyes looked darker. “It’s just that it’s been several months now.” She stroked Len’s hair again, kneaded the pressure point at the base of her skull. “I miss your laugh.”

  The cords of Len’s throat tightened as Mom glanced across the room to the window. “You know, that extra bookcase by our bed would fit perfectly there. Should I—”

  “No.” Len’s eyes slammed shut, her teeth clamping her tongue until she felt blood mingle with saliva.

  “What about moving the desk there, then, like it used to be? You’d have better access to the closet.”

  Len’s eyes shot open. “I like my room the way it is, okay? Is this why you came in? To talk about decorating?”

  Mom’s shoulders slumped. “It was just an idea, Lennie. A random thought.”

  They both knew that wasn’t true. They both pretended that it was.

  “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.” Mom smoothed the blanket beside Len’s knees.

  “What kind of favor?”

  Mom sighed, long and tired. “I just remembered I promised to bake that pear and apple crisp for the birthday at work tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something, and people specifically requested the crisp. Even gave me money for the ingredients—” Her voice wavered, and Len knew how it must have pained Mom to take money for such a small thing. It pained Len just to hear about it.

  Mom rubbed her forehead. “Anyway, I completely forgot, and I’ve got some food on the stove for Nonni, and some things I’m taking tomorrow. Would you mind terribly running to the grocery?”

  Len nodded, glad for the excuse to leave. “Yeah, sure.” She stood and found her boots, slipping her socked feet inside.

  Mom frowned. “Won’t you be hot in those?”

  She might be, actually. But that was a small price. “I like them,” she said stiffly. “Are the keys by the door?”

  Mom’s brow stayed scrunched, but she didn’t press. “Yes.” She handed Len a five-dollar bill, six ones, and a coupon for 50 cents off a produce purchase. “If there’s any left, maybe grab a milk, but only if it’s on sale.”

  * * *

  Len stood between the two sets of automatic doors at Ingle’s Grocery, staring at the rows of carts. She’d already let three people go around her because she couldn’t decide. Why did all the carts have rust spots? Or a previous patron’s garbage littered inside? Who’d want their food touching that stuff? She watched an elderly man unhook one of the smaller carts from the line and push it into the store, oblivious to the plastic deli bag caught in the cart’s base.

  It wasn’t until one of the cart collectors asked if she needed help that she finally forced herself to choose one that looked fairly new, muttering a “No, thanks” that came out so softly she was certain nobody else heard.

  She found the apples first. It didn’t make sense to choose four single ones when a whole bag of Galas cost about the same. Plus, some of the single apples looked grimy. She found a decent looking bundle and grabbed the gathered plastic above the tie to lift it into the cart.

  The pears were a bit trickier, spanning colors from greenish yellow to light brown. What were ripe pears even supposed to look like?

  “You have to feel them,” a voice said.

  Len looked up. A sharply dressed woman, probably close to Nonni’s age, smiled down at her.

  “The pears,” the woman said. “You’re trying to choose, aren’t you?”

  Len nodded.

  “Like this,” said the woman. She reached out and squeezed the tops of different pears. “You’re looking for one that’s not quite firm, but not too soft, either. You need just the right combination. A balance.”

  Len’s insides twisted. The woman was touching all of them. Who knew what else her hands had touched, what she was transferring to the fruit. Len sneaked a glance at the woman’s cart. Rust spots speckled the handle bar.

  Len’s heart jumped. Rust caused tetanus. Could you get it by eating traces? Had her parents had tetanus shots? Had she? How long did those last? Was there tetanus on all those pears? What if she bought some and Mom used them and people died, all because of her?

  Thoughts, mountains of them, piled on top of her.

  “Honey?” The woman’s voice brought her back. Len managed to nod.

  “This one.” The woman held out a pear, mottled green and yellow. A dark spot marred its side.

  Len’s hands didn’t move. “It looks, uh, damaged.”

  The woman tssked. “They’ve all got a few marks, but that’s just their nature. Trust me. This one will be perfect.” She placed it into the top of Len’s cart. “How many more do you need?”

  Len shrank away from her. Didn’t this woman have her own shopping to do? “That’s it, thanks.” She pushed the cart away quickly, like she had someplace she needed to be. The pear bounced along, nearly slipping out the leg hole in the child’s seat.

  Child.

  The word spun through her. Child. Child. Child. It twisted and reformed. Nadia.

  Nadia would never sit in a shopping cart. She’d never shop for groceries or help Fauna and Diane cook. She’d never do anything. Because of Len. Because Len hadn’t been careful.

  Len whirled the cart into the bread aisle, away from the stares of customers meandering the produce section. The pear bumped and tumbled, this time tipping out the hole. It hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled to the edge of the bottom shelf. Len knelt down, her hands still clinging to the cart handle, and waited for the panic to pass.

  When she could finally breathe again, her body felt weightless, her head airy. When was the last time she’d eaten? What time was it? How long had she been here? She stood up.

  “Hey,” said a guy in a Save the Bees T-shirt. He scooped up the battered pear. “This yours?”

  Len considered the fruit, then the cart beside her, holding the solo bag of apples. There was rust on the side, a bit near the back, too. How had she missed it?

  Heat poured into her. She needed to get out of here. She needed to take a shower.

  “Hello?” the guy said again.

  “Not mine,” she said, and turned, leaving the pear and the cart behind her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SAGE

  SAGE FELT LIKE A JERK ALL NIGHT. LEN WAS THE ONLY reason the entire school hadn’t witnessed her mortifying breakdown, and she was pretty sure she’d left without even saying thank you. Yeah, Len was odd and it had gotten kind of uncomfortable at her house. But that was no excuse for leaving like she did.

  Tuesday morning she lingered in the Fine Arts Hall, where she’d seen Len disappear the first day they’d met. The warning bell rang, then the late bell, but Len never showed.

  “That’s your second tardy, Sage,” her teacher said as she slipped into Calculus. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  Sage nodded and slid into her seat in the second row. Maybe Len had come early, before Sage arrived? Or maybe she had a dentist appointment or something? Sage tapped her pencil against the side of her notebook, trying to focus, but L
en’s words echoed in her head: I just think that’s nice, you know. People checking on you.

  “Does anyone have questions about last night’s assignments?”

  Sage looked down at her work. It wasn’t just Len’s words that bothered her, but the way she’d said them. The longing in her voice.

  As she copied down equations from the board, discomfort vined around her, the same something’s-not-right feeling that had made her leave so abruptly the night before.

  * * *

  As soon as Calc ended, Sage raced upstairs to Kayla’s study hall.

  “What are you doing here?” Kayla asked.

  “I need to talk to Len.” Sage craned her neck to look behind Kayla. “She has this block with you, right?”

  “Right, but…” She crinkled her nose. “Len Madder? Why?”

  Sage scooted by her into the classroom.

  “She usually sits over there.” Kayla pointed to the far back corner. “I don’t see her stuff, though.”

  “Does she often miss class?”

  “I don’t know, Sage. She sits back there and doesn’t talk to anyone. Half the time I don’t even see her. What is going on?”

  Sage raked her hands across her face. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Hey,” Kayla said as Sage headed out. “We still haven’t talked.” She widened her eyes knowingly. “About… everything.”

  Sage had been so focused on Len that for a few blissful moments she’d almost forgotten her own misery. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “We texted anyway.”

  “Barely,” said Kayla. “And that’s not the same.” Her face turned soft. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” Sage snapped, looking anywhere but Kayla’s eyes. “I’m dealing with it.”

  “Are you?” Kayla whispered, and Sage’s whole body burned. “When are you going to tell the rest of the team?”

  “I will tell them,” Sage said. “I just—”