From Where I Watch You

by Shannon Grogan

  “Oh, I know. Your sister’s death is fucking you up right? I’ve heard. Don’t sweat it. We’re only stuck here a few years and as long as we can party it’s all good.”

  I still said nothing.

  “Kara?”

  Pretty Ms. Phillipe looked like she just graduated from college and smiled way too much to be working in an urban public high school. I hated her already.

  “Hmm, says in your file that the last counselor was quite concerned about you, and how you’re dealing with your sister’s death, or rather, how you aren’t dealing with it.”

  I wish I could’ve seen my notes from the last counselor—from here they looked endless, even though we didn’t talk very much. I’ll bet it said I was at risk, cutting, eating disorders, suicide . . .

  “I hated my sister. She was horrible.”

  “Well that’s an unusual reaction to someone dying.”

  “Do they teach you that in counselor school? No one handles death the same way. Maybe you were absent the day they covered that.” I looked down, staring at my fingernails because I didn’t usually talk to authority that way. I tried to make up for it. “My sister wasn’t normal and you don’t know how horrible she was to me.”

  Ms. Phillipe adjusted her scarf and I saw the flush of red at the base of her neck. “It’s just that—”

  The phone rang, cutting her off. She answered and told whoever was on the other line that she was “Melanie Phillipe, School Counselor” and she sounded so proud saying it, I wonder if it was her first time using the school phone.

  Her eyes locked on me, and even though she’s puny, I sensed trouble.

  “Oh. I’ll send her right out.” She hung up. “That was your mother. She’s here to pick you up for your, um, appointment with the gynecologist.” Ms. Phillipe looked at me as though maybe I wasn’t just dealing with Kellen’s death but maybe I was a slut, too. Her face was red and she looked away.

  When I got outside, I knew for damn sure Mom was not taking me to the gyno. And she wasn’t in the office.

  “Kara, dear,” the secretary called out to me. “Your mom is outside in the car. Please tell her next time to come in and sign you out. That’s school policy but I’ll let it slide this time.”

  When I walked out to the front, Noelle stood there.

  “Let’s get coffee? It’s right next to your gynecologist’s office.”

  She smiled, just a quick flash, and then it was gone, and I stood there wondering if I should go back to math class or to Ms. Phillipe.

  Then I saw Gaby walking and she stared at me like she didn’t recognize the best friend she ditched.

  I nodded. “Yeah let’s go.”

  We spent the rest of the school day drinking lattes and gorging on donuts and making fun of Ms. Phillipe and the other faculty we hated. We never said one word about my sister and it was the best day I’d had in a really long time. I made it back in time to get the bus and she disappeared with some guy into the smoker woods.

  6. Glaze and add sprinkles.

  ..........................................................

  Charlie Norton walks by, smiling at me as he heads back to the kitchen. I’m hoping he didn’t see me follow him to church.

  I only notice Noelle has come back from the bathroom when I get a Snowflake Sugar packet in the eye. One of her eyebrows is arched. I catch her sideways smile. I’m caught.

  “Well, well. Such a smile there, Miss McKinley. Is that who I think it is? Is that uh . . .” she taps the table with three fingers. “What’s his name? Charles Norton the Third? Charlie? The guy who fell off the Hill freshman year?”

  “Uh huh, yeah, it is. He’s my mom’s new dishwasher.”

  Noelle is ready to interrogate. “So why are you red, Kar? Ahh, you still want to lose it to Charlie Norton, don’t cha?”

  “Bite me, Noelle. God, you’re worse than a guy. Do you think about anything else besides sex?”

  She shrugs. Fortunately we’re both distracted by a woman sniffing and holding a tissue to her eyes. She latches onto Mom and lets out a big sob. My mother’s arms wrap around her, a weird stranger, like she’s family. Mom says something about the glory of God and all that crap she likes to serve up as a free side dish these days.

  Before my sister died, my mom was a straightlaced, no-nonsense, black-and-white, successful defense lawyer. Today she’s a full-fledged Holy Roller and we’re practically poor.

  Mom dances over. “See how the Savior blesses us with all this good we are doing?” She kisses my cheek and Noelle’s forehead before disappearing into the kitchen.

  I hear a loud “Praise, Jesus!” from behind the kitchen door. The “Hallelujah!” that follows sounds like Charlie’s voice.

  I roll my eyes while Noelle smiles.

  “I love your mom, Kar.”

  I stretch my hands out in front of me. My cuticles are stained with three different shades of food coloring. I tear open the sugar packet Noelle threw at me and sprinkle it on the table.

  “Okay, back to Charlie.” Noelle props an elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm. “You want him. Your face is red and your eyes have that lusty, glazed look.”

  I use the edge of the packet to push my tiny sugar pile into a neat line while I try to ignore Noelle. “Shut up, No.”

  She cracks her knuckles. “Such a crab today, Kara. Maybe you need to eat some sprinkles, too. I know you want Charlie Norton, Kar. You’ve been saving yourself for him for years.”

  “Why do you have to be a bitch about everything?”

  “Can a day ever pass without you calling me a bitch, Kar? I’m just trying to help you get some. Mason and Charlie used to be friends. I’ll find out if he’s seeing anyone.”

  I pick up my bag. “Are we ten years old? Why don’t you pass him a check-the-box note, too.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Hey, come and visit me at work? Mason’s working tonight.” She takes a sip of her latte.

  I stand up without a word and walk to the apartment door.

  “Just trying to help!” I hear Noelle call out after me.

  Upstairs, I pull books out of my bag and stack them on the bed. My math book misses the pile, sliding off the bed and crashing to the floor, and suddenly I see the purple droplets and bloody-red flecks on an envelope poking out from under the book. Breath catches in my throat. Carefully I use two fingers to push the book aside, revealing the whole envelope.

  I scoot back up to my bed, my fingers digging into the quilt until they hurt. Did the envelope slip out of my math book or did he leave it here?

  Mom keeps her keys on a hook in her kitchen office that’s open to everyone who might wander back there. Suddenly I’m certain. He was here. He came into my room.

  I leave everything on the floor and go back to the front door. Maybe if I re-enter and focus I’ll notice something off. The Oriental rug covers half of the scuffed wood planks in the living room. The tiny coffee table holds a half-dead candle and Mom’s coffee mug from this morning. The tiny kitchen has dishes drying in the bamboo rack, and the tile counter is wiped clean like always. The bathroom and Mom’s room look untouched.

  Back in my room, my hands shake as I pluck the envelope off the floor.

  I look around at my room through a stranger’s eyes. A few dirty clothes on the floor, a bowl with ice cream residue in it from last week. Did I leave the closet door open? I never do; a childhood habit born of fear. I rush to the closet. Everything seems normal and untouched. One of Kellen’s dorm boxes sits on the floor.

  I rip open the envelope and sit down on the bed. This note is only one word:

  Competition?

  So he knows about the contest, but how could he? I’m being stupid; of course he knows. He’s watching. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here.

  I run downstairs, wondering whether I should tell Mom
he was in our apartment. I’m standing in the doorway, practically out of breath with my heart pounding, watching Mom flutter around the café, complimenting this person, touching that person, smiling constantly.

  Why is she like this? These people are strangers!

  She’s so weird and she’s making a fool of herself.

  But she looks happy.

  She twirls by me with a plate of food. Tilting her head to the side, she smiles and stares at me in that way she has, waiting for me to say something.

  Just like I had to wait for her to speak to me, all those times I caught her staring out the window. Staring but not seeing the pumpkins rotting on the neighbor’s porch. Not seeing the living daughter waiting for her mom to acknowledge the fact that she still breathed and needed her.

  “Just a minute, sweetie, I’ll be right back. Looks like you need to tell me something.” Mom raises one eyebrow at me, and then she’s off, parking the sandwich plate in front of an old guy. Mom leans down to him, pinching and then kissing his cheek. She’s beaming when she gets up and heads back behind the counter.

  I should tell her about the notes. I should tell her about everything.

  I can’t tell her.

  I can’t handle her getting upset ever again.

  I won’t worry her with any of it because she can’t handle it. She’d make me quit my job and my leash would get even shorter—she’d probably make sure I have a chaperone walking me to school and then it would be goodbye contest for sure. It’s better to keep her in the dark and deal with it on my own. So I leave. Outside, the Ave crawls with college students from Seattle Pacific University. The crowd suffocates me and my eyes flick to every face that passes, looking for eye contact that holds more meaning than it should.

  A few minutes later I’m sitting across the street at The Teakettle, drinking one of their overpriced tea lattes. Here, the tables are full of college kids with laptops and teapots and tea cozies and mismatched cups and saucers. Most of the customers are girls, which makes me feel safer.

  Halfway through my tea I’m calm enough to sift through my notebook full of design ideas for the contest. I can’t stop thinking that he was in my room and I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I should tell Noelle. But I know I won’t.

  Cookie decorating is an art, even though people have always teased me about it. I think Noelle understands, but she never misses an opportunity to give me shit over it.

  He was in my room.

  I sketch a cookie and try to focus. My drawing takes the shape of a fabulous high heel shoe I saw in a store window last week. Since I won’t wear them, I turn them into cookie art. I take inspiration from everything—clothes, nature, people, and pop culture. Holidays, too.

  Mom sold out of my last holiday cookie, my glittery silver skulls. When I showed her she gasped and said they were Satanic and grabbed a napkin to cover them up. Not fast enough though. One of her customers saw it and ordered three dozen for her kid’s Halloween party and Mom made an extra trip to church afterward.

  Did he see my private things? Did he take anything?

  My intention was to work on contest designs—Valentines—but I end up sketching the daisy-adorned teapot sitting at the end of the counter. The baking part and design comes easily. The problem is getting to San Francisco. Plane tickets cost serious money. I could ask Dad for it, like Noelle suggested, but then I’d have to talk to him, and I really don’t want to waste my breath. Besides, I need to stockpile stuff all year so that when summer comes I’ll have a big supply of short answers to his questions. I’d rather earn money at Crockett’s.

  I turn the page in my notebook and see two old notes. The very first and second.

  Wear more green, it brings out your eyes.

  Back then, I didn’t know the notes would be a regular thing.

  Hmm, leaving the top button of your blouse undone for me?

  After that one I made sure all of my shirts had high necks.

  A reflection in the window startles me.

  “Sprinkles,” Charlie says, sitting down next to me with a smile.

  I sip my tea quickly.

  “Just got off and saw you head over here,” he says. “No cooking today?”

  I hear the snark in his voice and I’m not sure if he’s intentionally trying to piss me off. “Baking. I am a baker, not a cook,” I tell him.

  “You’re not avoiding me are you, Sprinkles? You kind of ignored me back there.”

  “I didn’t see you,” I lie. “I think you better get back. I can smell those crusty dishes from here.”

  Charlie laughs, but I still keep my eyes on my notebook. My right hand is on the page with the shoe cookie because I don’t want Charlie to see it. I want to disappear because I can feel my face burning up. But a big part of me wants to ask him where he’s been today.

  “I’m off, Sprinkles.” He grabs the contest postcard poking out of my notebook. “What’s this?”

  I try to grab it back but he holds it just out of my reach until I give up, unwilling to make a spectacle of myself. Charlie reads it in silence and then hands it back. “So you’re sneaking off to California to compete in a baking contest, huh?”

  “I’m not sneaking anywhere. I can do what I want.” What the hell? I know it will come to that, because Mom won’t let me go, but how does he know I won’t tell her?

  Charlie sits back down on the stool next to me. Another quarter inch and his knee would touch mine. “Sure you can.” He pauses. “What time does the bus drop you off?”

  “Huh?”

  “The bus? After school?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Around three.”

  “Right. I can tell you that every afternoon around three o’clock, your mom starts asking all of us questions. If we’ve seen you come in yet. By the time you actually show up, she’s asked me probably five times. So I’m betting you haven’t told her about this contest, have you?”

  I stay silent.

  “You don’t think she’ll let you go?” he asks.

  I say nothing.

  “Why so secretive?” he prods.

  I pull the notebook closer and rest my arms on it before I look at him. “How about you, Charlie? You’re the secretive one.” I’m pushing him away but I feel this pull inside, wanting him here next to me. When he doesn’t answer, I keep going. “What happened? You left freshman year, loved by everyone with an XX chromosome, and possibly an XY chromosome—I mean we do live in the city. Then one day—poof! You disappear?”

  Charlie turns and looks out the window.

  I continue. “What? Now you can’t talk?”

  “Maybe when we get to know each other better, I’ll fill you in,” he says.

  “Don’t bother,” I say, yet I still hold the promise in his words.

  “You’ve changed, Kara. I guess it’s hard not to, I mean with what happened. Your mom seems . . . she’s, uh, taking things well. She’s nicer than I remember.”

  He throws this out so casually, like the fact that Mom is different is a good thing. What does he know about anything? I turn away from him and dig into my bag, hoping he’ll just leave. “I have homework.”

  As he slides off the stool I feel bad, and wish I could say something to keep him there, but I can’t. I sit there, cookie designs forgotten, chewing on a red pencil and staring out the window.

  A trolleybus passes by and the overhead wire shoots out sparks. Passengers stare out the window or bury their heads in books. One guy’s asleep with his head against the window and his mouth hanging open.

  A boy I don’t know strolls past, stopping to read the cluster of garage band posters stuck on the glass, but I see him eyeing me. His eyes flick back to the posters and mine go back to my sketches. When I peek again, his eyes meet mine and he moves on. It’s nothing. I’m being paranoid.

  always watching you.


  June: Thirteen-Year-Old Carrot’s

  Summer Fun Before High School

  Splash.

  “Don’t you wonder if his dick hurts when it hits the water?” Gaby asks.

  She says this a little too loud. One of the lifeguards is walking by. An older high school boy. He smiles at us. Gaby’s the only one of us with the nerve to blow him a kiss.

  “You’re really gross, Gaby,” I say.

  “Hey don’t lez out on me, you guys. Am I the only one who appreciates dick around here? I need new friends.”

  With that, Jen grabs her hand and I kiss her cheek because she’s always accusing us of being gay anyway.

  “Eww, get off me, psychos! You two better enjoy this because it’s the only dick you’ll see until you’re twenty, I’m sure!”

  We are all laughing now and I hop into the water and dive under and when I come up for air, Nate Hansen is right there, smiling at me. My eye stings from the mascara. The sun makes it worse and I have to squint even more.

  I start laughing because I’m a royal idiot and I’m nervous because we just ogled his junk. At school I would never be nervous talking to him—in fact, at school, he’d probably be too nervous to talk to me. But like the dork that I am I swim away and hope he never knows we were watching him.

  When I pop up again, Jen and Gaby are pointing and laughing.

  I cover my chest with both hands. “Am I nipping out?” I hear my voice come out a little higher pitched than normal.

  “No stupid, your face!” Jen hollers.

  “Raccoon much, Kar?” Gaby asks.

  I wipe my eyes like I always do when I come out of the water but this time mascara comes off on my palms. My friends bust up laughing again, pointing and whispering.

  “I don’t see what’s so hilarious!” I yell.

  “Kara, you’re such a babycakes,” Gaby says.

  “Yeah, Kar. And you need waterproof mascara, duh!” Jen adds.

  They both laugh again and I grab the edge of the pool, watching the water slide back under the ledge. It gets sucked into that unknown place where pool water goes, and I want to get sucked in with it.