The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  Wait. Caroline had spoken to him?

  Caroline reached over and gave me a hug. I smelled her perfume, and her old white T-shirt was soft on my chin.

  “Doesn’t Mike say the same thing to you? That you’re not a normal teenager?” I asked, pulling away first.

  I heard real regret in her voice when she said, “I guess I became one. But that wasn’t the plan. When I was a gymnast, I was going to be a national champion like you.”

  * * *

  “What the hell was that?” Izzie asked when I rejoined her. I wasn’t imagining it; people were staring at me as they walked by. I wore cutoffs and an oversize long-sleeve black T-shirt. My hair hung straight to the tops of my shoulder blades and now I self-consciously tucked one side behind my ear.

  “She was making sure I was okay after last night.”

  “I heard you were the one who answered Van’s phone late last night. That you were with him when they needed help with Max,” Izzie said, sounding somewhere between confused and aggressive. It was like she could tell something was different about me today. For the hundredth time, I replayed the moment when my lips first touched Van’s, followed by him firmly but gently pulling me on top of him.…

  My brain was buzzing with Caroline’s weird warning. And I felt like I should be in the know about Max. In my mind, I was one of them, and I hated that in the bright light of today, I clearly was not.

  Colette and Preeti slowly approached us, as if they wanted to make sure Izzie and I weren’t fighting. Colette started in. “You were there last night? At Seba’s secret club?” When she used his first name, it was with a familiarity that was misplaced.

  “Yep,” I said clearly, maybe enunciating a little too much on the “p.”

  “Did you know they were renting rooms?” The way she said it—kind of impressed and in awe—made me sick.

  “Wait. Back up. Tell us what happened! People are saying you and Van were together at your house before it happened?” Preeti asked. From her tone, it sounded like I had performed a miracle, like the parting of the Red Sea.

  Everyone was waiting for my answer. If I said we had been together, it would make it sound like something it wasn’t. But after last night, I wondered what it was, exactly.

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  That seemed to make sense to the group. Colette nodded.

  “Does anyone know more about Max?” I asked. At that point, I still thought I would hear from Van.

  “Oh, I heard he’s fine. Back home.”

  “I never want to have my stomach pumped. They stick a tube down and then don’t they use charcoal or something?”

  “Oh, gross. Not before lunch. Come on, let’s get our table.”

  Life moved on. But Izzie was watching me closely. I knew she saw the red staining my cheeks.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  TUESDAY, APRIL 19

  That was the first night that Van was a no-show.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  TUESDAY, APRIL 19

  The humid night poured through my open window, softly blowing my curtains. It had been three days since I last remembered falling asleep for more than a brief nap. Slowly, I moved the curtains aside to glance across the street. Van’s bedroom was black.

  I adjusted the strap of my tank top and felt a strip of sweat where the skinny strap had been.

  After Van didn’t show for the first time in sixteen nights, I thought maybe it was something I’d done during the emergency. Maybe Van thought I’d overstepped?

  Or what if he regretted what happened right before the phone call? I had been positive Van felt what I had. In my mind, Van couldn’t have that kind of chemistry with anyone else. But now I was second-guessing everything.

  Then I’d received one text from Van that read: Max is back at home. He’s fine.

  It felt curt to me and made me more paranoid. I’d decided not to text back.

  Van hadn’t been at school again. Caroline had said he was under “house arrest.” But how would she know? Had they stayed friends and I’d had no clue? I became acutely aware that I only saw Van from 1 A.M. to 4 A.M. every night.

  That conversation in the classroom with Caroline continued to bother me. I kept seeing the unsteady expression on her face when she first sat down in the classroom and confronted me. There was a moment of vulnerability that brought me back to the day I hit my head and I wanted to know why. And why it made me uneasy.

  A text came in from Coach Mike: Great news—it’s official. Construction on the swim center will begin in June. Let’s prove we’ve earned it. So see you on FRIDAY. I know you’re not supposed to come on FRIDAY but you should come on FRIDAY. So I’ll see you FRIDAY? Right?

  I almost smiled. He wanted to make me laugh with his high-pressure sales tactics. I replaced my phone at my side and continued to stare out onto the street. Alix had called earlier in the week and complained about Mike’s intensity at practice lately. Alix wondered if he was trying to be worthy of a state-of-the-art facility. I wondered if he was feeling desperate to hold on to what he’d built.

  Wilson’s mom’s Mercedes station wagon caught my eye as it passed below, then slowly turned into their driveway farther down the street. Their dark brown house had recently been renovated and now had a wide porch and craftsman-style touches rare in a neighborhood filled with ranch houses.

  In the garage light, I saw that Mira wore all white—white linen pants, white ruffled blouse, and a circular straw purse with Gucci markings. Her straight black hair hung down her back almost to her waist. She looked more LA than Austin, which had been the case since her Indian restaurant had flourished into a restaurant group. Wilson’s other mom, Leigh, was the CFO. What I always remembered about Mira was her habit of eating peaches and cream ice cream bars in satin pajamas in bed. She ate one a night, Wilson had told us as kids. She bought us Popsicles stored in the garage refrigerator so we wouldn’t lay a finger on her stash. Once, when the boys were teasing me, Mira let me up on the bed to eat one beside her. The boys were so jealous and said it was because I was a girl.

  Wilson appeared, exiting the car moments after Mira. I saw him trudge after his mother slowly, clearly in the dog house.

  Mr. Kitchen was watering his grass late at night, close to Wilson’s house, and had no qualms about openly watching them, like he wanted to convey that he had his eye on Wilson. You could just hear what Mr. Kitchen was thinking as he thumbed his white goatee: spoiled kid, self-obsessed parents, no common sense.

  The question was how long the shaming would last and whether Wilson’s parents would forgive him for his part in what happened with Max. Things would be bad enough even without parents ever knowing what had really been going on in the house. Mira was very loving but she and Leigh had always been exacting and tough on Wilson. Wilson’s involvement in the partying had most likely blindsided them. As far as they were concerned, their kid had been on the straight-and-narrow, Ivy League bound. If his outfit of white button-down and black pants was any indication, I imagined Wilson’s social life had been cut short and he was now working every evening and on the weekends at one of his mom’s restaurants where she could watch him.

  Wilson’s garage door closed, putting an end to my brief sighting of one of the boys.

  There was a loud bang as someone slammed the back door of the Moores’ house and my focus shifted to across the street. One second later, Lisa stalked into sight, Kevin close on her heels.

  “Lisa,” Kevin called after her. The two walked onto the front lawn into the glow of the outdoor lighting scheme.

  When she reached the row of olive trees, Lisa turned around and flung Kevin’s hands off of her when he tried to slow her.

  I couldn’t hear their words but Kevin was speaking to her gently. “Just go!” Lisa shouted, not caring if the neighbors heard.

  Maybe she knew about the affair now.

  I saw the scuttle of curtains, and the twins’ faces appeared next to each other in the large front window. One of them
knocked on the glass. Lisa saw them and then swiftly turned around so they couldn’t see her face.

  Lisa swiped her eyes and held her face in her hands for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and walked back to the house, returning to the twins, who were supposed to be in bed.

  Kevin stayed behind. He shook his head slowly and then looked up into the night sky.

  I remembered myself and realized I was spying. I was about to replace the curtain, when another set of headlights traveled into the cul-de-sac. It slowed to a stop at the curb in front of Van’s house.

  Caroline’s BMW. Under the yellow glare of the streetlamp, I glimpsed Van in the front seat.

  I heard my own sharp exhale.

  For endless minutes, they sat in the dark car. I couldn’t see what they were doing.

  Look away, Ingrid.

  But I couldn’t.

  Maybe they were just friends.

  That was naive. They weren’t just friends.

  Van let himself out from the passenger side and stepped up onto his front lawn. I could only see his back as he lingered, waiting for Caroline.

  A weird rational voice in my head said, It’s high school. Of course they would be on-again, off-again. Followed by the darker thought: She always gets what she wants.

  That was unfair. It was Van’s choice, too.

  It was okay, I told myself. There was no reason to feel shell-shocked. Or even disappointed. Van and I had never been a couple. We’d only hung out to pass the time. I didn’t have a claim on him just because we’d kissed one time.

  Caroline turned off the engine and exited the car like a polite date, ready to walk Van to his doorstep.

  Kevin’s bark jarred me. I’d forgotten he was standing in the shadows.

  “Get your ass inside. Your mother is worried sick,” Kevin said, loud enough for neighbors like me to hear.

  From my slice of window, I saw Van saunter past Kevin, cocky. Don’t do it, I thought.

  Van walked close enough to Kevin to brush his shoulder when he passed by. Like the quick strike of a snake, Kevin grabbed Van’s shirtfront. For such a heavy guy, the speed was unexpected. Van towered over Kevin but leaned back, startled by the move. Then, slowly, Van placed his hand on top of Kevin’s and pried it off. Kevin watched Van let himself in through the garage.

  Caroline had halted once she saw Kevin and for a second, she stood frozen, her slim frame and suntanned skin illuminated in the headlights. When Kevin set his sights on her, she remembered herself and swiftly crossed back to her car.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw Caroline’s naked expression in the classroom again. This time it was accompanied by that metallic taste I’d had when I came out of EDMR. Then a sharp fragment of a different memory—my view of her as I climbed the ladder seconds before the accident. Why were the memories tied together? One had followed the other, flashing through my mind throughout the day, nagging me.

  I remembered Alix’s words. Look at them.

  I let the curtain settle into place behind me. I became very methodical. It was better than feeling stupid.

  I powered off my phone.

  I gathered up everything that reminded me of Van. My favorite jeans I’d worn the night Van and I had biked to karaoke were still unwashed. Funny how I’d been reluctant to clean them and now I collected them so I could wash everything on hot. Twice.

  Van had left a sweatshirt on the back of my desk chair a week ago. When he didn’t collect it night after night, I folded it up and put it in my drawer before my mom asked any questions. I’d covered my favorite bathing suit with it—the one I’d been wearing when I had the accident—as if Van’s sweatshirt could give my bathing suit healing energy. Now I ripped open the drawer, removed the navy-blue hoodie and, still unable to look at my bathing suit, slammed the drawer closed with my foot.

  I dropped my face into Van’s sweatshirt and breathed him in, letting the world go dark again.

  I heard my mom’s voice from years ago. This is what we do: We don’t look back.

  When I was too young to know better, I’d asked my mom how she got over my dad so quickly. She’d given me a look. Then after a rare introspective pause, she’d said it had helped having moved from Sweden at a young age. At first, she was so homesick she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak to anyone new. Then she realized it was better if she stopped thinking about home altogether. What was the point if she wasn’t going back? That was when she got a life.

  It had made an impression and moving forward was something I’d mastered. I’d gotten sloppy with Van. He was the past.

  That metallic, rising nausea was worsening.

  I decided to take a shower. The pressure was intense and for a moment, I let the water drill my face.

  The image of Caroline looking up at me from that desk slipped into my head again. Why? What was it? There was something about her expression that was bothering me. That naked expression reminded me of something else. It was like a floating fragment that hit against something else in my brain.

  Then, suddenly, a piece of memory broke loose.

  After all this time, I remembered my last dive. Like walking into a different world, I relived the entire sequence of events.

  Van’s hand was on Caroline’s back and she looked around to see who was watching her with an insolent expression. Then Caroline walked back to the team. With no choice but to take my turn, I headed to the three-meter springboard. At the bottom of the ladder, I took one last look. That was always the point when I’d automatically glance to Coach Mike. Before a dive, I would look at him in the distance, looking at me, ready for me to go. Caroline was talking to Coach Mike but he was annoyed and walked a few feet away. All I could see was his back.

  In my previous memory of that day, Coach Mike was watching my dive. Just like always. Arms folded in, ready to analyze my dive and give me his feedback. Because he never missed a moment. He and I were the perfect team.

  Maybe the break in routine had been enough to unnerve me. Because, for the first time, instead of lightly skipping up to the top, adjusting the fulcrum, taking my place, seeing my dive and shutting everything else out like the incredible machine I trusted myself to be, I was aware of the many layers around me. The heavy chlorinated air, the splashes and voices echoing off the walls.

  With no choice, I went ahead.

  I could feel exactly what had happened now. I could rewind and actually feel in my body the mistake of leaning back a millisecond too early. Why this ability to see had disappeared for weeks, I didn’t know. Why Caroline’s face had been the trigger to remembering, I didn’t know. But it was over. I understood what had gone wrong. At least physically.

  I thrust open the large glass door, opaque with steam. I reached for the worn yellow towel Van had probably dried his hands on. The shower had been a few degrees too hot and, light-headed, I pushed out of the bathroom for the cooler air of my bedroom. I dropped the towel.

  Had it mattered that much to me that Coach Mike wasn’t paying attention? It was one time. Was I worried he was losing interest because of the little mistakes I’d started to make? That I was that easy to move on from?

  After drying off, I wrapped the towel around me, sat on the edge of my bed, and texted Coach Mike: I know you said Friday but can I meet with you before practice tomorrow?

  Coach Mike texted back immediately: “Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more intelligently.”—Henry Ford.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20

  I’d fallen into a restless sleep just before it was time to wake up. When the alarm sounded, I was already exhausted and I couldn’t imagine pulling myself out of bed, getting dressed, and completing the day of school ahead of me. Last night I’d noticed my fingers were puffy. I went online and read that my body was most likely having an inflammatory response due to lack of sleep. Insomnia was breaking down my health now.

  When I finally rose from my bed, I turned my phone back on. I had one missed call from Van. N
o message. But that was fine. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say yet. Not until I got some sleep. Until then, I was too afraid I might cry in front of him.

  At lunchtime, the sea of kids rushed around me but my mind was on the cafeteria. If I could make it in there, I’d be safe. No more opportunities for chance encounters. Wilson, Seba, and Max were still absent. I knew Van was at school because I’d seen his car.

  I may have let an expression of Oh no pass across my face when I saw that I’d just missed my chance to skirt out of the main hall in time. Van and some of his soccer friends were entering from another wing.

  Van beelined for me as if he knew this was where he’d find me. He hefted his backpack to his other shoulder and plowed through the masses, a head taller than most. Like the exhausted zombie I was, I forgot to stop staring. I could never picture him in between sightings, driving myself just crazy enough to go back for another look. Today, Van wore a light blue T-shirt, jeans, and Vans. A voice in my head said, How weird. We’ve kissed. Seeing him now, Van represented everything to me: friendship, love, family. Nothing I could have like other, normal people.

  “Hey,” he said, coming right up to me. Why did it feel like all life stopped and everyone—teems of people—watched? Because they were watching. The two of us talking was a strange sight. Beautiful Van and quiet me who no one really knew.

  “Can we talk?” Van tilted his head a bit to find my eyes.

  I noticed now how my first impression was off. Van didn’t look like himself. Something in his eyes had changed. He was dreading this conversation.

  I drew a deep breath but it made that staggered sound, like I was about to cry. That couldn’t happen. I trained my eyes on a point just over his shoulder. A poster for what else? Prom. Swirly red-painted cursive advertised the tickets, the day, the time. The poster depicted an old-fashioned couple dancing ballroom-style with a horse and carriage behind them.