The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  Kayla raised her eyebrows.

  “There’re some more tests,” Sage blurted. “They take longer. I’m waiting until then.”

  “Really?” Kayla asked. “There’s a chance you could still play?” The hope in her voice was unbearable.

  Sage wrapped her arms around herself. “A small one, but yeah.” What was she doing? “I just”—she shrugged—“I wanna wait until then, okay? Until it’s for sure, for sure.”

  Kayla looked at her for a long moment, but finally nodded. “I guess I get that.”

  “I’ll see you.” Sage ducked back into the hallway. She felt bad for lying, but it was hard enough having to face pity from her family. Once the team found out, the whole school would know. The pity would pile on, mountains and mountains of it. It would bury her alive.

  She grimaced. She was stronger than futile worrying, and she didn’t have time for that anyway. The late bell sounded and Len still hadn’t showed up to the study hall room. Sage took off at a walk-run, switch-backing several times to avoid hall monitors.

  Part of her felt stupid. She was probably completely overreacting, and she barely knew Len anyway. But Len had helped her yesterday, and Sage had heard enough schoolwide lectures to know that sometimes people couldn’t ask for help directly. What if Len was one of those people? What if yesterday was a plea and Sage ignored it? If something happened, she’d never forgive herself.

  She burst through the double doors and fast-walked to the edge of the parking lot, stepping into the road just as a navy Camry rounded the corner.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said, as its horn blared. The driver flipped her off.

  She cut through a backyard to save time. The house, more of a tangerine color than it appeared at night, was still easy enough to find. A pickup truck stood under a carport, but the house looked dark.

  “Len?” Sage rapped on the front door.

  Somewhere above her, birds trilled and answered. Sage knocked harder.

  “Len! Are you there?” She put her face to the glass and the door gave a little. Before she could think better of it, Sage leaned into it, like she remembered Len doing, and pushed her way inside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  LEN

  LEN SAT ON THE EDGE OF THE TUB, HER SNOOPY PAJAMA pants rolled up thigh high. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shaved. She spread a thin layer of green body wash onto her legs and pulled the razor from ankle to pajama fabric, erasing a smooth line of hair. Again and again she pulled it, like a mantra.

  It felt good, shaving. Like starting over. Or becoming new.

  She turned on the tap and splashed a couple drops on her face, still groggy with sleep. The morning was half over, but if the construction sounds of the new condos going in behind her neighborhood hadn’t worn through her subconscious, she’d probably still be in bed. Not that she’d done anything taxing yesterday. Not really.

  She glanced at the digital clock perched on the sink, still surprised she’d slept through her alarm. Dad had left a note—painting at the lake again—but she wished he’d nudged her before leaving. Wasn’t it kind of his job to make sure she got to school?

  Her arm grazed the shower curtain, which was gathered on her left side, and she noticed the cloth had a dark stain. Mildew, maybe, or mold. Wasn’t black mold deadly? She should take it down. Throw it in the washer. But what if the spot accidentally touched her? She squeezed a drop of body wash onto her arm and bent forward, holding it under the faucet.

  The water pounded against her skin, hot and brutal. It echoed the pounding of her heart when she’d arrived home last night, empty-handed.

  “I don’t understand,” Mom had said when Len thrust the money back at her. “You were gone almost an hour. Why don’t you have the groceries?”

  Len hadn’t known how to explain the confusion that had sent everything spinning. The certainty that she couldn’t buy any of the things in her cart, that they were dirty and might hurt someone. That she was trying to keep everyone safe.

  “What’s going on?” Dad had asked, appearing in the kitchen with paint brush in hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just wanted a little help,” Mom had said. “I have to make that crisp for the morning, and now I’ve lost an entire hour.” She’d covered her face, shoulders trembling. “I’m just so tired.”

  “The fruit wasn’t good,” Len had said, but Mom stopped her.

  “That doesn’t make any sense! All of it was bad? In the entire store?”

  Dad had pulled Mom into a hug, shooting Len an “unbelievable!” look over her shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. I’ll go.”

  “You’ve got to finish that commission,” she’d said to his chest. “We need that money! That’s why I asked Len in the first place.”

  “It’s fine. You go to bed and get up early to do this, okay? Tell me what you need.”

  Mom did then, zombie-like, and left the kitchen without another word. She’d looked truly terrible. Dad snatched the car keys from Len’s hands. “Are you doing drugs?”

  “What? No!”

  “What were you doing, then? For the last hour?”

  “I told you. The fruit was bad.” She’d looked down, away from the disappointment radiating off of him, and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry.”

  “Your mother was counting on you,” he’d said, opening the front door. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Len had cried herself to sleep, but not before the first drips of daylight invaded her room.

  The pounding against her arm intensified, and with a jolt, Len snapped back from the memory, jerking her arm away from the gushing water. Her skin was red and raw.

  “Len!” a voice cried, and Len screamed, almost falling backward off the tub. She jumped up, razor high to defend herself, and found herself face-to-face with Sage Zendasky.

  Her brain struggled to compute what it saw. “Sage?”

  “You’re okay!” Sage said, hand flying to her chest. “Wait.” Her eyes zeroed in on Len’s razor. “Were you gonna do something stupid?”

  It took Len a moment to realize what she meant. When she did, humiliation swelled and crashed over her, usurped quickly by anger.

  “Was I going to kill myself?” she said. “No, I was shaving.” She stepped out of the tub, dripping water onto the plastic tiles. “I might have problems, but they’re not that kind.”

  Sage’s forehead wrinkled, and Len immediately regretted using the word problems. How dare Sage make her feel small in her own house. “What are you doing here?” Len demanded.

  For the first time, Sage looked like she might realize how strange this was. “Looking for you,” she said. “You weren’t at school.”

  “Yeah, I slept in.” Len was growing more pissed by the second. Who did this girl think she was that she could just barge into her house? She was lucky Len’s family wasn’t gun crazy. A few houses down and she might have had her head blown off. “What do you care, anyway?”

  “I—” Sage shifted uncomfortably. Len snorted and grabbed a towel for her legs. Thank God she hadn’t been naked.

  “I’m sorry,” Sage said. “And thank you.”

  Len looked up. “What? Why?”

  “For helping me yesterday,” Sage said. “It was really nice of you, and I’m sorry I left like I did, without thanking you. It was shitty.”

  Len frowned. It was a good apology. It seemed real. But she was too used to snark and mockery to be certain. She bent down to dry her feet.

  Sage leaned against the small vanity. “You seemed so upset yesterday, so when you didn’t show up at school…” She shrugged. “I got worried, I guess.”

  Len tried to fathom it. Sage—popular super athlete—worried about her? She rolled her pajama pants back down. “I know I freaked you out yesterday,” she said quietly. “I freak everyone out.” Myself most of all, she thought. She stood up. “It was nice of you, though, to check on me. A little weird, but nice.”

  Sage gave her a small smile. “Anyway,�
�� she said, “do you want to go somewhere, maybe? Because honestly, I don’t feel like going back to school.”

  Len didn’t even try to keep the shock from her voice. “You mean, like, hang out? You and me?”

  Sage’s confidence flickered. “I was just offering,” she said, and if Len hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Sage was embarrassed. She tried to envision how this might be a setup—how she might be the punch line of some cruel joke.

  “Can I pick the place?” Len asked.

  “Sure.”

  “And I can drive?”

  Sage shrugged. “Okay.”

  Len bit the inside of her cheek. This was not an emergency. She should not drive Nonni’s uninsured pickup. But she also realized—suddenly and surprisingly—how much she really, really wanted to go. And if she went, she needed to be in control.

  “Meet me by the front door in five.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SAGE

  “THANKS FOR THE HOOKUP.” SAGE TOOK ANOTHER SIP OF her espresso drink. The small remaining chunk of vanilla ice cream bobbed against her top lip. “What’s it called again?”

  “An affogato.” Len smiled. “I can’t believe you’ve never had one.” She wrapped her gloved hands around her own handcrafted mug. “And that you’ve never been here.”

  They sat at the back of Espresso Yourself on either end of a three-seater sofa with the kitschiest fabric Sage had ever seen: dogs and roosters frolicked along an ideal country landscape, complete with apple trees and fish in ponds. Oddly, the sofa and the two chairs opposite it sat on a platform about eight inches above the rest of the floor. If it hadn’t been for the furniture, Sage would have guessed it was a stage.

  “We don’t ever come to Hendersonville,” Sage said. “I like the vibe of this place, though.” She stared back at the long line by the bar, every table in the place full. They’d been lucky to grab the sofa, although apparently it wasn’t the most coveted seating. “Honestly, I can’t believe how packed it is. It’s a weekday morning.”

  “Apple season brings the tourists,” Len said. “It gets almost as bad as some of the Asheville shops. My Nonni and I used to come here all the time. The owner loved her, hence the free drinks.” Her voice faded, and her focus narrowed on a large canvas on the wall. “The art is good, though. All local. And they bring some fun bands.”

  “So this is a stage?”

  Len nodded. “All the sound equipment is behind those curtains.” She pulled her drink close to her. “I mean, I haven’t gotten to go in a while. But it’s what they used to do.”

  Sage bristled, because something in Len’s tone recalled that night under the bleachers. She’d shocked Sage first by her mere presence, then by her words: It’s all over you… loss.

  Anyone else would have seen a senior vomiting beneath the stands and thought one thing: alcohol. Or, if they were more naïve, maybe food poisoning. But one look at Sage, and Len had known it was so much more.

  No, Sage realized. She didn’t just know it. She recognized it. Because she’d lost something, too. She thought of the picture in Len’s room, showing the sleeveless, smiling girl she used to be. What had happened to her?

  Sage’s iPhone buzzed. Len didn’t look up, but Sage angled it away from her just in case.

  Kayla: Where are you?

  Sage ran her thumb across the screen as Len sunk deeper into her chair, her hair falling forward to partly conceal her face.

  Sage: Home. Didn’t feel great. Talk later.

  As she switched her phone to silent, the reality of her situation slammed into her—skipping school to sip ice cream coffee with Len Madder. In Hendersonville. It was not how she imagined her day. It wasn’t the worst time she’d ever had, though.

  She let out a tiny, bemused laugh.

  Len’s head snapped up. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “What?”

  “Because if you are,” Len said, “let’s cut the bullshit and leave right now.” She stood up.

  “Whoa,” Sage said, glancing at the table nearest them, which was crowded with three college-age people. None of them looked up from their laptops. “I’m not making fun of you,” she said. “Why would you even think that?”

  Len’s eyes narrowed. “You were laughing,” she said. “Looking at me and laughing, right after you texted.” She pulled her mug closer, shrinking into herself. “Your friend thinks I’m a loser. I can tell. Why else would you be here? This”—she gestured to herself and then to Sage—“doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Sage jumped up. She had no idea what to say, only that they couldn’t leave, not like this. “You’re right,” she said. “You and me, together, here. It’s random. Sure. But that’s what I was laughing about, honestly. And look.” She handed over her phone. “That text was Kayla asking where I was. I just left, remember?”

  Len stared at the screen. Sage wanted to tell her she had the wrong idea about Kayla, that she wouldn’t have purposefully made Len feel bad. Something stopped her, though. Because what if she had?

  She looked at the floor before meeting Len’s eyes. “I’m sorry Kayla was shitty to you. But I’m not her, and I swear, all I wanted to do was get away from school. From everything. And honestly, you looked terrible when I found you, so, I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d want to come, too.”

  Len handed back the phone. “You didn’t want her to know you were with me.”

  “What?”

  “Kayla.” Len crossed her arms. “You told her you were at home.”

  Sage rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t say where I was without answering a million questions, and honestly, I’m kind of having a good time just sitting here.”

  That was true. But maybe, possibly, what Len said was true, too. Sage shoved the thought away. “Look,” Sage said, “what are we doing? Do you want to leave or not?”

  Len huddled further into herself and shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Sage sunk back into the sofa. “Cool, because I want to finish this deliciousness.” She picked up her mug and took a huge gulp. “Honestly, this might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  Len sat back down, her head tilted. “You say honestly a lot.”

  Sage blinked at her, then lifted a shoulder. “I guess I need to work on my vocabulary.”

  That made Len laugh—a genuine, honest-to-God, I’m-okay laugh. She’d been so miserable a moment before, and now she was laughing. Sage smiled back at her. It was such a little thing, but for some reason she felt like she’d just scored an ace. Now she could capitalize on it.

  “Since we’re being honest,” Sage said, nodding toward Len’s hands, “what’s the deal with your gloves?”

  Len’s smile evaporated. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. It’s seventy-something degrees outside and you’re wearing long sleeves, jeans, and knit gloves. You wear them to school, too. Why?”

  “I just like them.” Len’s whole body had gone rigid, like it might break if she moved the tiniest fraction. “Artistic flair and all.”

  Sage stared at her over her mug. Len was lying, and she was pretty sure Len knew that Sage knew she was lying. “Okaay,” Sage said slowly.

  The espresso machine whirred behind them. Soft jazz cooed over the speakers. Sage wondered if maybe they should have left before, when Len wanted to.

  “I get cold,” Len said suddenly. “It doesn’t matter how hot it is. Sometimes”—her eyes fixated on the refurnished hutch by the wall, faux flowers spilling from the vases atop it—“I get really, really cold.”

  It wasn’t a full answer, Sage could tell. But the way Len’s voice strained, the tight way she held herself, like it took all her energy to keep still, Sage knew those words had cost her something.

  Sage thought again of that night under the bleachers and later how Len had recognized Sage’s panic, had helped her without ever asking what was wrong. She remembered her first interaction with Len, when she’d si
zed her up as weak and fearful.

  She had miscalculated, Sage realized. There was fear, definitely. Probably pain, too. But underneath all of that, there was something else. Something terribly strong.

  “I can’t play volleyball anymore.” Sage snapped her mouth shut, shocked that the words had tumbled out. She kept her eyes on the hutch, but felt Len’s gaze swivel toward her.

  “You mean, for the rest of the season?” Len asked.

  “No.” Sage met her eyes. “I mean for the rest of my life.”

  Len’s eyes widened the tiniest bit, but she didn’t twist her face into pity. She didn’t mention that surely coaching opportunities were available and she could still be part of the team even from the bench. She didn’t tell her it was going to be okay.

  “I have this heart condition,” Sage said. “It’s why I fainted.” She flexed her palm, like she did—used to do—before serving. “I can’t play because they say I could die.”

  Len put her mug down on the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Sage nodded, and her heart unclenched in what felt terribly similar to relief. She wasn’t sure what it was from precisely, but her body vibrated with the force of it.

  Something vibrated from Len, too. Sage could feel it. Not pity, though. Then the word came to her, and for the first time in her life she thought she really understood what it was: empathy. Len could give it because something in her life was terribly wrong as well—something she didn’t want to talk about. Sage could almost feel Len’s sadness, a heaviness thrumming in her bones. And yet there she sat, holding the weight of Sage’s grief without cracking an inch.

  She took a deep breath, Len’s strength making her braver. “You’re the first person I’ve actually told that to,” Sage said, forcing back the hot pricks behind her eyes. “My family knows, obviously, and they told my coach.” Her voice cracked. “And Kayla.”

  Len nodded. “Why did you tell me?”

  “I don’t know.” Sage felt stupid suddenly. “I guess I thought you’d get it.”

  Len nodded. “I won’t say anything,” she said. “You’ll have to tell them, though, won’t you? The rest of the team?”