Something to Say

by Lisa Moore Ramée

  I’m so shocked, I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should apologize, but I don’t know for what exactly. We did a fundraiser in fourth grade to raise money to help kids with cancer. The stories were sad, and pretty much everyone brought whatever they had in their piggy banks to help. I felt so bad for those kids, but Aubrey is standing right here in front of me, looking healthy and not a bit sick.

  “Are you okay now?” I ask, and then I look at the floor, worried about the answer.

  “I’m fine,” he says, and then he narrows his eyes at me. “So what happened to you?”

  I twist the end of my ponytail, hoping it will work for me like it works for Aubrey. Instead, I feel worse. Like I’m on a stage. With a hot spotlight shining in my face. “My grandfather had a stroke. I made him have it. Just like I made my brother get hurt playing basketball, and I—” I stop quick because I can’t admit to the other thing. “I hurt them both. Because I wanted my brother home, and I wanted Gee to put down the gun.”

  Aubrey’s eyes don’t get big until I say the word gun.

  My chest goes up and down so hard it hurts. I can’t catch my breath.

  “Jenae,” Aubrey says, speaking slowly; it must be hard for him. “You can’t control stuff like that.”

  “You don’t know,” I tell him. “You don’t.”

  “I know it’s completely impossible,” Aubrey says. “You didn’t make those things happen. That’s quack!” His voice is getting ramped up . . . and loud.

  “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, Aubrey. I know what I know.”

  “You can’t know something like that!” he shouts at me.

  I shake my head at Aubrey. There’s no use trying to explain something that sounds impossible.

  “Okay, make me do something,” he says. “Anything. Something small.” He puts his hands on his hips, waiting, staring hard at me.

  “I can’t,” I say. My fingers twist together, and I try to slow my breathing. I don’t know how to make him understand. “I think it only works when I’m really upset,” I mumble.

  “You really believe this?” Aubrey’s golden eyes search my face as if he’s waiting for me to shout out, Gotchu! As if it all might be some big joke.

  But I just nod slowly. Just because it sounds ridiculous doesn’t make it untrue. I gulp down the tears that want to spill out, and ocean saltiness burns my throat.

  The bell rings.

  “Come on, let’s get to class,” Aubrey says.

  My feet follow Aubrey’s.

  In English, Mr. Humphries rubs his hands together like something exciting is going to happen. “I thought we could limber up our minds by giving impromptu speeches on the reading from Friday.” He seems to be looking right at me. “The more you practice speaking in front of people, the easier it will get.”

  I will not a give a speech today. NO. I WILL NOT GIVE A SPEECH TODAY. NO! NO! I shout it over and over in my head. I’m concentrating so hard, I think I might pass out.

  33

  A Little Invisible

  Mr. Humphries steps around his desk.

  “You know, the more I think about it, I’d rather have you write up your thoughts,” he says. “I want you to really think about Coraline and how some of her decision-making might mirror your own.” Mr. Humphries pauses, and for a minute he looks confused, like he was reading a book and accidentally skipped a page.

  I look back at Aubrey. Now he knows. That’s what I can do.

  For the rest of the period I watch my hand write line after line of thoughts about a girl whose mother has button eyes. A girl who is, sometimes, a little invisible.

  I think about mice. And spiders. And Malcolm. And Gee. And my dad. And wanting something too much.

  When the bell rings, it makes me jump. I quickly gather my things together so I can get to my last period, but when I get out into the hallway, Aubrey grabs my arm.

  “You did not make Mr. Humphries not assign a speech,” he whispers. Well, tries to whisper, but he’s so aggravated his voice is husky but loud, and a few people glance over at us.

  I guess this is what being friends with someone means. Them knowing what you’re thinking before you’ve said a word.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Jenae!”

  “I have to get to class,” I say as I pull away.

  I’ve done awful things with my mind, and being sorry doesn’t cut it, but making Mr. Humphries change his mind about us giving speeches today? I’m not sorry about that at all.

  But I am sorry that Aubrey is right in front of school when I come out at the end of the day. Of course he wants to try and convince me I don’t know what I know. I don’t want to listen.

  “I gotta go,” I say, and start walking down the street.

  Aubrey just follows me. “Jenae,” he says, his voice serious and low. “You need to quit.”

  I stop and face him. “You were there. You saw Mr. Humphries getting ready to assign a speech and then decide not to. And he didn’t know why.”

  “People change their minds all the time.”

  It’s hot, and I feel my feet starting to melt into the sidewalk. I notice the Sylvia Mendez banner is gone. I wonder if the people on the corner with John Wayne signs took it down or if it was our principal. I wipe the sweat off the back of my neck.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Aubrey asks, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion.

  “About your cancer,” I say softly, not sure how I should say it. I look at him and then look at the ground.

  “That’s a quack thing to be sorry for.”

  I can’t tell by Aubrey’s voice if he’s annoyed. I look up, and he’s smiling at me.

  I nod at him, because maybe he’s right, and then I turn away and start walking down the street again.

  Aubrey keeps walking next to me, even though he should know I don’t want company right now. We walk half a block without either of us saying anything. Then he says, “So you made your brother’s knee get messed up and you made your grandfather have a stroke. And you made Mr. Humphries not assign a speech today. Is that it? With your superpower, haven’t you done a bunch more?”

  I don’t want to answer that question. I haven’t done a bunch more, but I did one other thing. A very bad thing.

  34

  The Worst Person Ever

  When I was little, all I wanted was for Mama and my dad to stay together—for us to be complete. But my parents fought all the time. We didn’t live with Gee then. We had a small house that made it really easy to hear all the fighting. Their fights made our house feel wrong. Like it had a bad attitude. One night it got so bad, I aimed one thought at my dad as hard as I could. Telling him, JUST GO. And he did. At first, Mama seemed happy, and I thought I had done a good thing. But then she got so sad. With one thought, I made my dad leave and broke Mama’s heart. And I couldn’t take it back. No matter how much I begged the universe. All I could do was become as small and quiet as I could be and try as hard as I could not to make anything else bad happen. But I did anyway.

  “No,” I say so quietly, I’m not sure if Aubrey heard me.

  Then I say, “It doesn’t matter. I just have to stop.” I take a step away from him, but he grabs my arm.

  When I look at his hand, he quickly lets go.

  “You know Astrid Dane is fantasy, right?” he asks. “It’s not real? Stuff like that, magical stuff, can’t really happen.”

  “I’m not dumb,” I say, even though that’s exactly how I feel. I don’t know how to explain that magic, real magic, isn’t real, but this is.

  “I know you’re not,” he says, sounding like he feels sorry for me. Then his wide grin is back, and I can tell he is ready to change the subject. Me too.

  “Hey, you know what?” He takes his cell phone out of his back pocket. “We should exchange numbers. In case, you know, something happens again and you want to tell me?”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. I didn’t know it was
possible to feel good and bad at the same time. Us having each other’s numbers feels like it settles the friendship question, but I can’t help thinking about the persuasive speech and how I’m plotting to get out of it. I hate the idea of giving Aubrey my phone number when he’s probably going to want to delete it soon. Still, I tell him my number.

  He taps away, and then he gives me a small smile. “I texted you mine,” he says.

  I feel my phone vibrate in my bag, but I don’t pull it out.

  We start walking down the street again, and the sun feels good on my face and both of our Astrid Dane bags are swinging back and forth, and I’m feeling like having a friend is something I could get used to, when I remember I don’t deserve one speck of happiness. Not an atom’s worth. Not a neutron or neuron or whatever it is that’s smaller than an atom.

  I stop again. I shift over on the sidewalk so other people walking home from school can pass by. “You probably shouldn’t come over today.”

  “Why not?” Aubrey asks me, and he sounds so curious, as if he can’t think of any possible reason for him not to come over. He shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other.

  It’s sort of irritating for someone to think they should be able to go anywhere or do anything. That they’re just welcome every single place.

  “Because I don’t want you to,” I say. And I don’t want to sound mean and angry, but I know that’s exactly how I sound. And I can’t tell Aubrey it’s because even though he doesn’t believe I’m the worst person ever, he’s going to soon.

  Aubrey looks at me hard and tilts his head the way a dog does when it’s trying to figure something out, and then he nods and says, “Got it.”

  I nod back with a hard snap of my head and then turn stiffly on my heel and start down the street, knowing he’s watching me, knowing if I turn around and say, Never mind, come on, he’ll be right there. I pick my feet up faster and let myself get swallowed up in the stream of people.

  If Aubrey came to my house with me, we could watch Astrid Dane videos and get started on homework. As much as I fought against it, having a friend, having Aubrey, has been nice. Better than nice. And maybe, maybe, no matter what I’ve done, I do deserve that one small thing.

  I turn around, expecting Aubrey to be there. Expecting him to know me well enough to have snuck behind me like he did before and be standing there with that mile-wide grin pasted across his face.

  But he’s not.

  35

  Can’t or Won’t

  My feet drag along the sidewalk, and my bag bumps annoyingly into my hip.

  The house feels lonely when I get home. No Western movie blasting on the TV, no music coming from Malcolm’s room. I kick off my shoes and think about leaving them right there in the middle of the living room, but then think better of it and carry them up to my room.

  I sit on my bed, letting grumpiness crawl all over me. Nothing seems fair.

  I fall back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s a crack in the plaster that looks like lightning. Gee’s had it plastered over a few times, but it always comes right back. Old is like that, Gee says. Determined. Gee made it seem as if old was a good thing, but how good is old, if it makes it easy for you to have a stroke?

  “I didn’t mean it,” I whisper. I roll over and grab an Astrid Dane graphic novel from my bookcase. But after flipping through a few pages, even that doesn’t make me feel better. Then I hear the front door open and close, and I rush out to the stair landing, hoping I’ll see Gee coming through the door, but it’s just Mama. It’s too early for her to be home from work, and my legs get wobbly.

  “Mama?” I ask, my voice as shaky as my legs. “Is everything okay?”

  Mama looks up at me, and her face is full of worry, but then she gives me a half smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  I don’t believe her. “Did something happen?” I want to rush downstairs and get closer to her, but I’m afraid.

  “Is Gee . . . ?” I can’t make myself ask.

  “I don’t know, Jenae,” she says, and then I guess she realizes how that sounds because she quickly adds, “He’s okay. I mean he’s still at the hospital, but I think they’ll release him soon. The doctors say—” She snaps her fingers and points to the spot in front of her. “Girl, can you come down here? I’m getting a crick in my neck staring up these stairs.”

  “What do the doctors say?” I ask as I come down the stairs.

  She doesn’t answer until I’m right in front of her. “He’s not talking. And they don’t know why. Strokes can affect speech, but this seems strange to them. That’s why they’ve been keeping him. Trying to find out what’s going on.”

  “He can’t talk?”

  She shakes her head. “They don’t know. He’s not trying to say anything. So they don’t know if he can’t or won’t.”

  “What do you mean, won’t?” I think of Gee and how he loves telling me stories about back in the day. How he teases me and Mama and anybody else nearby.

  Mama rubs her temples. “I’m talking plain English, Jenae—what exactly do you not understand? Won’t. Will not.” She glances up the stairs. “Where’s your brother?”

  I shrug. “He wasn’t here when I got home.” Malcolm’s been pretty sour the last few days. Before Gee’s stroke, he seemed like he was getting better, or at least he seemed less angry, and I had begun to think my plan was working. I was sure my texts to Rox had gotten her to get in touch with Malcolm. But I haven’t texted her since Gee’s stroke. Maybe Malcolm is sad about Gee like I am, but maybe he’s bothered that he hasn’t heard from Rox. I better text her again.

  “This boy,” Mama mutters as she heads to the kitchen.

  “Mama,” I say, following her, “how will they know? Whether Gee can’t or—” My question doesn’t make it past my lips because Mama is just standing in the kitchen staring out the window, looking so down it makes me worry she’s about to start crying.

  “Mama?” I whisper, scared that she must not have told me the truth about Gee and he’s really so much worse.

  Mama doesn’t answer right away, but then she pats her hair as if a few strands have gotten out of place and gives me a half-hearted smile. She gets iced tea out of the fridge and nods at it to ask if I want a glass, but I shake my head. After she takes a good long sip, she says, “Coach Naz, one of your brother’s assistant coaches? Has been calling me every few days to check in, but today the head coach called. Coach Julius. Since Malcolm hasn’t registered for fall quarter, they’re thinking he doesn’t plan on coming back. And if he doesn’t . . . he’ll for sure lose his scholarship. The quarter is about to start.” Her fingers grip so tight around her glass, I worry she might crack it.

  “It’ll be okay, Mama,” I say fast, even though I don’t know if that’s true.

  “Humph,” she says, like I don’t know a thing. Then she walks over to the sink and pours out the rest of her tea. She leans back against the counter, and it’s as if she’s just now seeing me. “Did you even brush your hair today?”

  My hands fly to my head, trying to smooth the wild wisps of hair snaking around my head. I actually don’t think I did, but I say, “Yes, Mama.”

  Mama sighs and shakes her head. “You really don’t care, do you?”

  I care about so many things. Maybe too many, and maybe too much, but the things I care about Mama would say don’t matter. And the things she wants me to care about I just don’t get. I wish I could make her see me as I am instead of what I’m not.

  36

  Battle Scars

  I text Rox before I start my homework.

  Gee had a stroke. And Malcolm is so grumpy again. He said he wished you two were close like you used to be. He needs someone to talk to. We’re both scared about Gee.

  Rox texts me back a few minutes later.

  Oh no. I always loved your grandpa. Is he all right?

  I don’t know.

  I hear the front door close downstairs, and I almost drop my phone. It must be Malcolm ge
tting back, and I feel as if he’s caught me texting Rox, even though I know that’s silly. I quickly text:

  Will you talk to Malcolm?

  I’m not sure if I’m really the person he wants to talk to. He hurt me so I hurt him and now it might be too late.

  I feel bad for a second because maybe Rox is right. Maybe Malcolm really doesn’t want to hear from her. But I can’t risk letting go of my plan.

  It’s not too late. Before Gee’s stroke he was talking about you and his voice was all smiley. He said he wished things hadn’t gotten so messed up. I know he wants to call you but he’s afraid.

  I bite my lip hard after texting that. Saying Malcolm is afraid feels like I pushed him outside naked.

  If you’re sure it won’t make him mad. I’ll ask him if he wants to get together.

  Yay! But don’t tell him I told you anything. He’d be embarrassed.

  Got it.

  With a relieved sigh, I shove my phone under my pillow and finish up my homework.

  When I head downstairs a little while later, I find Malcolm on the couch. His knee-bender machine is next to him, but he’s not using it.

  He repositions himself, making room for me. He’s wearing shorts, and without his brace, I can see the big scar slashed across his knee. It’s raised and darker than his skin. It makes him look like a warrior.

  “Where were you earlier?” I ask, hoping he might have been at PT.

  He frowns, and I expect him to say I’m not the boss of him and it’s none of my business, but instead he says, “Just driving around. Needed to get out of the house.”

  That doesn’t sound so bad. Gee says getting out in the world can make a problem seem smaller. But it doesn’t seem like Malcolm’s drive helped him at all.