The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  “I don’t know. Everything is weird right now,” I said.

  “That is true. Okay, so you’re supposed to turn off all screens. No reading on a device, even. Have you tried all of this already?”

  “Sort of. The first week, I had to take a ‘brain break.’ Dim lights, no screens, no reading.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “What about you? Your light is always on.” No. Things were coming out of my mouth unplanned.

  Van raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yeah. I’m failing. It’s too hard to pass the night in the dark, without entertainment. I read on my phone all night.”

  “You don’t try to sleep anymore?”

  “I seem to nod off when I’m reading or watching something on my computer. The second I make it a thing—set the stage—it’s too much pressure. But then again, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in three weeks.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “She. Anyway, she said it could be a number of things: stress, PTSD, depression, a shift in sleep patterns at our age. I asked her if taking recreational drugs could do it, thinking maybe that one night messed me up. She wasn’t sure. But she said something else is overpowering my need for sleep. She said if you have anxiety at night, the stress response takes over and overrides your circadian rhythm. You’re flooded with cortisol, your blood pressure spikes, and now you’re in this flight-or-fight mode and your brain is on the lookout for potential threats.”

  Damn, he was well-informed. And smart. I could relate to everything he was describing because that was exactly what was happening to me. There was a lot of comfort knowing I wasn’t alone, that this was a common phenomenon. Maybe I wasn’t losing my mind.

  “But don’t worry. The doctor said exhaustion catches up to all of us.”

  That sounded ominous. “And there are sleeping pills,” I said.

  “Yeah, the doctor didn’t really want to give them to me but after she sent me home, telling me to turn my room into a spa and recommending yoga, my mom called the office five days later and insisted on drugs. SATs coming up, all that.” He shrugged.

  Grades, college applications around the corner, I silently filled in the rest. Diving competition wasn’t the only reason why spring of junior year was an especially bad time to stop sleeping.

  “But the Ambien didn’t work?”

  “Not really. I mostly feel hungover after I take it. But it should help you.” When Van quickly said that, I knew he completely understood the mental game of falling asleep—you couldn’t psych yourself out because then you wouldn’t sleep. No jinxing yourself. If you visualized it and believed in it wholeheartedly, it might actually happen. It was all about maintaining low stress. When the frustration hit, then it was over.

  “So, anyway, don’t be like me; put your screens away, all that.” Van smiled and a dimple appeared in his cheek.

  “Why did you quit trying?” I asked. “To sleep, I mean.”

  “The last time I fell asleep, or more like passed out, something happened to me. Or it didn’t. I don’t know. Everyone is telling me I’m crazy. They could be right.…” Van drifted off and looked up at me, self-conscious. He placed both hands on the black plastic armrests as if to come to standing. And to leave, presumably.

  “What if you aren’t crazy?” I said. I thought of Van’s strained interaction with Max and Wilson at school and the fact that I never saw them together anymore.

  Instead of getting annoyed that I’d insinuated his best friends were lying, Van’s eyes seemed full of questions, waiting for me to say more. Wanting me to say more.

  “I don’t know what I’m talking about,” I said quickly. “I just know there’s got to be a connection between what you think you saw—the girl disappearing into the greenbelt—and me seeing the very same thing. You obviously weren’t imagining it. Unless I was, too.”

  Van leaned his head back on my desk chair and glanced toward the window again.

  “When I walk up, they stop talking,” Van said suddenly. He stood and walked to the window, staring out into the night. For a long moment, I didn’t think he would say anything else. Then, slowly, worries he’d been holding on to began to come out. “But why would they lie to me? Could Max be hooking up with Caroline? Did he hurt her? Sometimes I think maybe they’re trying to protect me from something—like there’s a secret video that’s about to surface. I can’t tell if it’s me or them, but since that night, things haven’t been the same.”

  I joined him at the window, not wanting him to feel alone. “I’ve thought about it,” I said, “and there’s one thing I think I know for sure. I highly doubt Caroline would ever cheat on you with Max. Or Wilson. Or Seba. Or anyone.”

  “Ha! Why do you think that?”

  “I can’t imagine her choosing one of them over you. I mean, the boys at our school are pretty silly, and cocky, and immature compared to you.” I realized I’d gone too far and Van was looking way too interested in what I had to say about him. “Look, I’m sure at least part of what’s going on is that you’re dating Caroline now. They’re hanging out with Seba. Everything changes. Eventually.”

  Van turned his full attention on me. There was something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip, like he was really seeing me.

  It made me remember that we were in my bedroom together. But somehow, Van was making it not strange. It was again that feeling of recognition between us. And now we had a bond because we had the same problem.

  “Are you getting tired? I should go and let you lie down,” Van said. But he didn’t make a move to go.

  “It will probably take a few more minutes to kick in,” I said, not wanting him to leave. We stood next to each other, quietly watching the house. The patterned curtains twitched and stirred but when I refocused my tired eyes, they were still. It must have been the branches of the oak tree. I crossed back to the bed and sank down into the mattress, my limbs suddenly languid.

  “Tell me about what happens when you try to sleep,” Van said.

  I propped myself up on my elbows, dipped my head back, and felt the effects of the Ambien taking hold. A light-headedness, more relaxed, liquid.

  “I can’t sleep. That’s it,” I answered.

  “I mean, do you drift? Are you wide-awake?”

  “I’m lying there trying to remember things. And to forget others.”

  I realized I’d spoken out loud.

  “What do you mean?” Van didn’t seem freaked out. More like intrigued.

  I raised my head. “Nothing,” I backtracked. “Dive-related stuff, mostly. The accident.”

  What I didn’t say: I’m trying to remember my accident and I’m trying to forget how bad it felt when I saw you kissing Caroline.

  But there was also another category altogether: something I was trying to both remember and forget. A push-and-pull. A gray area. I’d kept so busy that I’d never had this kind of time to think. It was a vast, formless ocean of time. If I didn’t stay vigilant and grounded, it felt like it was going to pull me under and I’d be lost.

  “That’s why we call them accidents,” Van was saying. “We all make mistakes.”

  It was such a kind thing to say and Van was the only person who had said it. Beside Mike’s initial words at the hospital, people seemed to assume I didn’t need reassurance. “Thank you.” I smiled at Van. Somehow eye contact was easier in this looser, relaxed state.

  Then abruptly Van turned away like he wanted to break contact. He went back to the window, watching.

  “Is the house breathing yet?” I asked.

  Van gave me a half smile, knowing I understood what he’d explained earlier. “Not yet.” Then, “Try to sleep. I can let myself out.”

  When he got to my bedroom door, Van tossed over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THURSDAY, APRIL 7

  After Van left and I lay in my bed, I started to drift off multiple times. But every time, I became aware that I was
falling asleep and I’d startle myself awake. I must have finally slept for a couple of hours because I woke up to the sound of my alarm, with a dry mouth and a heavy head.

  By English class in the afternoon, I still felt out of it.

  “No, no.” Izzie playfully swatted Sam’s hand away when he reached out for her homework to copy. He sat back in his desk chair, smirking. Everyone was dying for Izzie to ask Sam to prom but she was being stubborn, waiting on him to ask first.

  My peripheral vision was trained on the classroom door. I hadn’t seen Van yet today.

  We’d ignored each other for so long and now I wasn’t sure if anything would change between us in public.

  The bell rang and still no Van. Maybe he was cutting last period and had left early with his friends. Or more likely he was with Caroline. I found that whenever Van skipped class and there wasn’t that electric presence on the other side of the room, the hour went 100 percent more slowly.

  As the class settled for an extra minute while we waited on stragglers, I put my head down on my arms, less self-conscious since Van wasn’t in the room. My head was throbbing and my nose was running. For just a moment, I’d rest in the dim space.

  Once I cut out the outside stimulation, Izzie and Sam’s conversation rang loud and clear in my ears.

  “Hey,” Sam said.

  “Yessssss?” Izzie said. I felt her antennae go up.

  “Are you going to prom?”

  Long pause. “Why do you ask?”

  “Want to go?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Oh my god, Izzie. Put him out of his misery.

  “Do you want to be my date to prom?” Sam enunciated every word, annoyed.

  “Sure,” Izzie said easily. She kicked my chair. I smiled into the one-inch space above my desk, feeling my warm breath.

  My fingertips touched the outsides of my bare arms. Thoughts drifted to diving. It had been days since I’d worked out. I was losing muscle. I’d read somewhere that it only took three days for atrophy to begin.

  “Ingrid!”

  My father was calling my name. Waking me up for school.

  “Ingrid!” I heard some laughter. I was suddenly delivered abruptly and terribly into time and space.

  I lifted my head and my hands quickly, self-consciously went to my hair to smooth it back from face.

  “You’re sleeping in my class.” Mr. Brandt was glaring at me.

  My expression may have been unreadable but I knew my face was red. Every single eye in the classroom was on me.

  “Turn off your phone.”

  It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I was confused until I heard the chime. I’d forgotten to silence it. And then there was another chime. Someone was insistent about getting in touch with me right away. With the class watching me, I riffled through my brown leather bag covered in ballpoint pen stains. The texts were all Coach Mike. I have the name of another doctor. Second opinion? The longer out of the water, the harder to get back in. From the look on Mr. Brandt’s face, I stopped there and quickly turned off my phone altogether.

  “This isn’t like you.”

  He hit a nerve. Nothing was like me anymore.

  “She’s recovering from a concussion,” a male voice said from across the room, loudly. Firmly.

  My gaze snapped toward the voice. Van was staring down Mr. Brandt. When had he come in? When I’d fallen asleep. Wonderful.

  Mr. Brandt resumed discussion and I relaxed slightly, though my heart still pounded in my ears.

  Thirty seconds later, when everyone had moved on, Izzie kicked my chair again. When I glanced back at her to acknowledge the incident, I knew Van was trying to catch my eye. Embarrassed, I kept my eyes averted.

  When the bell eventually rang, I bolted. “I gotta go!” I said to Izzie.

  I was halfway down the hall, on my way to the parking lot and the safety of my car, when Izzie caught up to me.

  “Ingrid, wait!” For a second, I wondered if I could ignore her. I slowed.

  I was such a jerk. I’d forgotten all about prom.

  I turned and smiled, ready to discuss Sam.

  “What was that?”

  I looked down into her concerned brown eyes, her stick-straight hair grazing the neckline of her pink tank top.

  “Which part?” There was no point pretending.

  “Van Tagawa just defended your honor.”

  “Oh, whatever.”

  “He did.”

  “He was there, remember? When I got the concussion.”

  “I thought he was sort of … I don’t know … too cool for everyone else, I guess. But that was really nice of him.”

  Here was my chance to tell Izzie everything. I’ve spent the last two nights with him. He’s been in my bedroom. What does it mean? It would be a relief to get her take on what was normal and what wasn’t and to admit to her just how crazy this was making me.

  “Izzie,” I started. I opened my mouth to tell her. Because then I’d also know I wasn’t making it up. I trailed off when I saw Van headed down the hall toward us. Caroline walked with him, their arms touching. Van and I met eyes. It was the moment when we decided if our relationship at school would change. I looked away. I had to, because I didn’t want to know that he might look away first.

  In that one second, it was determined. We’d stay strangers at school.

  I acted absorbed in my conversation. When I was sure Van and Caroline had passed, I observed their backs. Van looked excellent in his jeans and Caroline was toned in her sleeveless T-shirt and cutoffs. From their physical ease, I guessed they’d already had sex. Obviously. Had he really texted me last night? It was like the Van at school and the Van from my bedroom were two totally separate people.

  Van and Caroline’s progress down the hall was suddenly halted by Seba. Seba ditched an underclassman who seemed to be pestering him—probably for nothing good—and planted himself in front of Caroline, messing with the flow of traffic. With their backs facing me, I could only see Seba’s face. They were still close enough that I could hear every word.

  “What up, y’all? Hey, beautiful,” I heard him say to Caroline.

  “Who are you? Where did you come from again?” Van asked sarcastically.

  “When are you finally going to admit you want something else?” Seba looked serious for a second, his eyes trained on Caroline’s.

  “Move,” Van said.

  Caroline gave a peal of fake laughter. “Seba,” she said indulgently, condescendingly brushing him off. Seba quickly altered his expression into a sly grin. He nodded at Caroline, walked backward for a few steps, and then turned around.

  Then, without a word, Caroline disentangled her hand from Van’s and caught up to a group of seniors. I saw her breeze past Max. They didn’t make eye contact, as if they didn’t even know each other. Was it on purpose?

  “What?” Izzie said.

  “What?” I repeated, distracted. I caught sight of Wilson. He lounged against some lockers, one foot on the ground, one leg propped against the row of maroon metal behind him. As the crowds flooded by in the halls, he was motionless, watching me. Watching me watch Van and Caroline. I looked away, rattled.

  “Oh my god. Tell me!” Izzie demanded, her eyes flashing.

  “It’s nothing. Let’s talk about your prom date.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THURSDAY, APRIL 7

  “Hi.”

  Caroline rolled up next to me in her black Volvo, tinted window at half-mast.

  “Hey.” I gave her a quick smile. I was walking home while everyone drove past. I’d forgotten my mom was using my car today while hers was in the shop.

  “Want to ride with me? Stop by practice? Everyone wants to see you. Especially Mike.”

  Did she know I’d been with her boyfriend for the past three nights? Did she want to confront me?

  “Come on,” Caroline coaxed. “You should show your face. Show everyone that they can’t forget about you. It’ll be good,” she said d
efinitively. “When you stay away, it makes it too hard to come back.”

  Looking at her porcelain face, I saw she didn’t know a thing about Van and me spending time together. She genuinely wanted to help me.

  “Hop in. I can drive you home after.”

  It was a bad idea. I hated being trapped. But she’d hit a nerve about the importance of showing my face. And I simply wanted to hang out with her.

  The car’s buttery leather interior smelled like heaven, as did her fresh perfume. “Throw that in the back. Wait, let me see it.” She took her gray woven leather tote bag from the passenger seat as I got in. She rummaged through it while distractedly pulling out of the high school parking lot. We passed Van, Wilson, and Max’s hangout area and I saw Wilson and Max take note that I was in the passenger seat as the shadow of the car played over the boys.

  Caroline dug in her bag, steering with her knees, focused mostly on the contents neatly packaged inside: folded black cotton sweater with a few blond hairs stuck to it, an AirPod case and a heavy, brick-like paperback of Middlemarch. I worried she was going to kill us both until, thankfully, she found what she’d been looking for—a small Louis Vuitton pouch. She unzipped it and took out a breath mint.

  “Want one?”

  I reached into the tin. They were some kind of fancy herbal mint I’d never seen. Everything she owned and touched was interesting and beautiful. Including her boyfriend, I thought. It was like Caroline operated on every cylinder and excelled at every aspect of life, no facet left unconsidered: her hair, her gear, her brain, her athleticism. When I marveled that she could listen to podcasts on 2x speed while doing her homework, she modestly shrugged and said she was just weird, that it was like her brain always needed to be stimulated. All I could focus on was diving, then homework. I didn’t pay enough attention to what I wore, blogs, art. I wasn’t jealous, exactly. I always learned something when we talked. Who knew you could go to a small, walled village in France for spring break and study lavender production through a program she’d found online?

  Caroline took a left, choosing the slower route to practice, passing through the thick of downtown. At a stoplight, I watched grackles hop up on empty tables outside a café, nabbing remnants left behind.