“That’s amazing,” my mom sighed, gripping my hand.
“So when do I get to try it?” I asked.
“Well…” Dr. Banz took a breath, smiled. “We’ve been looking to deepen the pool a little bit. It’s not ready to be tested outside my supervision but we are looking to fly in some potential candidates to participate in the next phase of our study.”
“Fly in. As in go to Germany?” my mom asked.
Germany? It felt so far away.
“How long?” I asked.
“Three to four months,” Dr. Banz said.
I inhaled. “When?”
“Dr. Banz and Mr. Vogle will be with us until the end of the month,” Dr. Sabine said. “You could leave for Germany right after graduation.”
“In four weeks?” I asked.
My mom leaned forward. “We’ll have to think about it.”
Dr. Sabine nodded. “Of course.”
I almost said no, that I was ready to go, that I’d wanted to find a cure more than anything and that I was ready. But then I started thinking about a barrage of creepy German doctors that looked like Vogle. I thought about the drug being a fluke. Of it not working for me or worse…What if I ended up in a permanent coma and then I couldn’t find Roman and I couldn’t go to college and one day my mom would be bent over my bedside, grey hair falling into her face as she told them to pull the plug?
I realized that I’d always felt safer doing the trials under Dr. Sabine’s supervision because I knew they’d been properly vetted by the time they finally reached her small office in Austin from whatever European laboratory they’d come from. But this was new and scary and what if I couldn’t do it? Or even worse, if I could do it, what would happen to Roman if the drugs finally worked?
After the appointment my mom and I had lunch at a little outdoor café downtown. I was pushing my pasta around the plate, trying not to think about dying.
“You thinking about what Dr. Sabine said?” my mom asked.
I nodded.
“You don’t have to do it, you know.”
“I know.”
“If it’s too much, it’s too much. The trial will still go on without you and if they find a cure then it won’t be long before it makes it to Dr. Sabine.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then they keep trying. We keep trying too.”
“And what if trying means we go to Germany?”
She looked at me, reaching a hand across the table. “Then we go to Germany.” She folded her napkin into her lap. “You know me, I’m the nervous wreck who worries about every little thing. But you’re different. I still remember the day you climbed that old oak tree behind your grandparents’ farmhouse. Grandpa caught you dragging the ladder over to reach the first branch.”
“Yeah and he took it away.”
“He said, ‘you want to climb that tree? Then climb it on your own and climb down on your own.’”
“He always said if I couldn’t climb back down without his help then I couldn’t climb at all.”
“Right, and you did it. You were, what, six years old? You climbed that tree to the very top and then you just sat there.”
“For an entire day,” I laughed. “I couldn’t figure out how to get down.”
“And he wouldn’t help you. I remember I was so scared. Your grandpa sat under that tree all afternoon waiting for you to come down but he must have nodded off because when I went to check on you, you weren’t in the tree. You were sitting at the kitchen table with your grandmother and drinking a glass of milk.”
I started to laugh. “Milk. Yeah, I remember that. Not how I got down but I do remember the milk.”
“No one’s really sure how you did it but the point is that you did and you’ve always been that way. You always figure things out.”
“So you’re saying I should sleep on it?”
“Not too long.” She smiled. “You’ll figure it out, Bryn.”
I tried to believe her. I wanted to. But suddenly I felt small, like I was still that little kid who’d climbed that tree, only minus the boldness.
“Do you want to see something?” she asked.
“What?”
“We just finished a design project in Bluestone Park.”
I glanced across the street, the trees lining the footpath in full bloom.
“We can stop by Amy’s for some ice cream on the way back.”
I smiled. “And suddenly I’m feeling a lot better.”
We decided to walk, leaving the car at the restaurant and cutting through the food trucks on our way to the other side of the park. I looped our arms and it felt strange being so close.
I usually rushed our hugs and pulled away when she tried to kiss me on the cheek. I was distant because being close made me feel weak. But in that moment, I was weak. I was worried. About Germany and Roman and my mom and me. So I reached for her and she reached back.
I saw the crows first. Black. Bulky. Paper feathers quavering in the wind. They circled the fountain like they were guarding it, wings extended, sharp beaks opened wide. It had three tiers, the fountain. Birds were splashing near the top and moss scaled the marble design, spilling onto the ground in long scrolls that looked synthetic.
“I thought it was such a lucky coincidence that we finished it just in time for the museum’s newest installation to go up. I thought the birds were a little creepy at first but I figured it was something you’d like.”
I could feel her watching my face, waiting for it to change, for me to smile.
“It’s less modern than what—”
“Are you sure I’ve never seen this before?” I stopped her.
She shook her head. “They put all of the landscaping in last week.”
“And the birds?”
“A few days ago. You were—”
“Sleeping.” But I remembered it. All of it. “Are you…?” And then I was quiet, just staring at the birds splashing in the bath. Cardinals.
We stood there for a long time and I could see my mom’s face in the corner of my eye. Worried. Tired.
She gripped my shoulders and then she said, “You know I’ll be right there with you if you want to go to Germany. Or if you don’t, I’ll be right there too.”
“I know,” I said. “You always are.”
“And I always will be.”
Hot tears pricked at my lashes. I blinked. Because she was wrong. Because she would get older and so would I. She wouldn’t always be there. Whether I still needed her or not, she wouldn’t always be there.
That’s why I had to do it. That’s why I had to swallow the fear and go to Germany. Because things were happening to me. Because I was seeing things and feelings things. And because my mom couldn’t take care of me forever. At some point I had to start taking care of myself.
25
Roman
The film tapered off, darkness lingering for just a second before light trickled onto the screen again. I saw me standing on the beach. Young. Maybe ten. I was cradling a football. It disappeared out of frame and then I started running into the water, hurdling over waves as the ball flew through the air. I dove, missed, a wave crashing over my head.
The screen cut to my mom. She was sitting under an umbrella, eyes hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses, mouth shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. She was flipping through a magazine, pages fighting the wind. She wasn’t looking at the camera or my dad or me.
I felt a searing pain in my skull. Light. That damned light was burning me from the inside and then it disappeared. I blinked, eyes adjusting as I watched the tape cut to the faint beam of flashlights. They were racing across stone, fighting our shadows. Another light blinked on, then another—a whole row of them lining a narrow bridge. The camera shook, my dad ducking, me watching from between my fingers as a swarm of bats flew over our heads. A man in cargo shorts pointed out the drawings along the walls—crude stick figures and geometric shapes. Simple. White paint. Like the ones I’d seen when Bryn and I had h
idden from the rain.
The camera zoomed in on my face and the light returned. I doubled over, hands gripping my scalp, the smell of gasoline singeing my nose, and then the flash was gone again. I tried to catch my breath. I tried to focus. I looked up and my dad and I were walking along some boardwalk. We played the skeet shooting game and he won me a vintage jersey.
It cut to me squaring up to bat, missing, squaring up again. I saw us building a fort in our backyard. I saw me eating a thick slice of watermelon, seeds dripping down my chin. I saw my childhood bedroom, sports posters tacked along the walls, my Green Bay Packers bed spread in a clump on the floor.
I watched a kaleidoscope composition of Christmases and birthdays and New Year’s Eves; trips to the beach; to amusement parks; to the pet store, everything pulsing in and out between bright flashes of light. I watched Sunday mornings in my pajamas, my dad and I spooning Reese’s Puffs out of a popcorn bowl while we watched the pre-game.
There was another flash, that screaming pain between my ears returning. I smelled something burning. I heard a loud shriek that made my eyes water. I tore at the grass. Waiting to see. Waiting to remember.
And then I did.
I sat there, panting, eyes burning. And I remembered.
My dad liked chocolate milk and so did I. We used to take turns folding laundry during the commercials. He had big feet and I used to try to climb the stairs in his shoes. He only knew how to cook breakfast and on nights when my mom stayed in her room we’d make chocolate chip pancakes and fill the sink with every pan and every dish we had, dirty for no reason, soaking until the next morning when my dad would wake up early, dress shirt rolled to his elbows, to scrub them clean.
I was an only child and I always would be. An accident that never felt like one because my dad was my best friend. Was. Until…he wasn’t.
But after sitting on the top of that hill until my legs were numb, I still couldn’t remember what had happened, what had changed. And I still couldn’t remember what my mother looked like when she smiled.
26
Bryn
I was hiding out in the art room, breathing in the smell of charcoal and acrylics and catching up on homework while I waited for Felix to update me on the files he’d decrypted.
Apparently he and Dani weren’t speaking. She and Matt had gotten into a huge fight in the middle of the school parking lot in front of everyone. Something I’d missed because I was taking a make-up history test. She’d run to her car, peeling out of the lot. Then Felix punched Matt in the face.
I tried to find somewhere neutral to meet up, not to mention quiet. I wasn’t sure how much trouble Felix might get in if someone found out what he’d done.
I used to eat lunch in the art room with Mrs. Castillo a lot during freshman year. She’d even let me keep the spare key and I used it to grab extra supplies now and then or to hide from the rest of the world.
I was working on stats, trying to solve the problems in reverse from the answers in the back of the book while I waited to hear from Felix. I cleared the page, the metal around the eraser letting out a shrill squeak. Then the door clicked open. I’d forgotten to lock it. Mrs. Castillo was supposed to be in a meeting until two. I thought maybe she’d gotten out early but then I saw Drew. He closed the door behind him, reached for the light switch.
“Don’t.”
I’d spent the last week on edge, waiting for another episode, waiting for Felix to send me the files he’d found. I couldn’t sleep and had spent the night before scrolling through tour photos on Mismatched Machine’s website. Nothing turned up, not yet, which only heightened my anxiety even more. If Drew knew what was best for him he would have backpedaled right then and there. But he didn’t.
“How’s it going?”
“Stats,” I said, not looking at him.
He let his bag slip onto the table, someone’s drawing crinkling under the weight as he sat down in the seat across from me.
“You busy?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Bryn, I wanted to ask you something.”
I let out an annoyed breath. “Whatever. We’re friends.”
“Not that.”
He was waiting for me to look at him. I didn’t. In the corner of my eye I saw him reach for my stats book.
“I wanted to know if—”
But then there was a shudder. I looked up and Drew’s hands were at his sides and he reached for the book again, repeating himself.
“I wanted to know if you’d go to prom with me.”
“What?” The lead in my pencil cracked. Prom?
“I know you’ve kind of been avoiding me—”
Another shudder.
“I know you’ve kind of been avoiding me. I’ve tried to give you space. I just thought maybe we could start over.”
I was frozen, trapped in some kind of loop.
“Did you hear—?”
He stuttered, the scene resetting again.
“Did you hear me?”
I gripped my neck, trying to will the echo to stop. Stop. Stop.
“Bryn. Prom?” His voice was normal again but his face wasn’t. He almost looked angry.
I finally managed to speak. “What?” There were other words—expletives mostly—flitting in that elusive place between my mouth and my brain. But I couldn’t pin them down. I gripped the side of the table, afraid I was about to fall over.
What the hell just happened?
“Prom?” His voice quavered, anxious. “With me?”
I looked back down at my book, still trying to compose myself, but not before I got a good look at his face. It looked strange in the corner of my eye, the boy I’d first met hidden under sharp cheekbones and a permanent tan—older than I’d ever seen him.
“Um, I’m not going,” I said.
“You’re not? It’s our senior prom.”
“I went last year.”
“Yeah. With me.”
“I remember.”
Drew had gotten drunk and tried to rip my dress off in Candace Johnson’s bathroom. I’d walked home alone.
“We had—”
“Fun?” I stood, my pulse still racing. “You had fun getting shitfaced while I cried myself to sleep.” I chewed on my lip, cheeks burning. Why did I just say that?
“I didn’t know you were that upset. I…don’t even remember much about that night after the dance. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” I headed for the door, desperate for some air.
He reached for my hand, stopped me. “Let me make it up to you? This year we’ll—”
“I have to go.”
“Bryn, would you listen to me? Look I get that you’re pissed, but Jesus, it’s been months. Fucking get over it. I have.”
I looked him in the eye. “Well, good for you.” I flung my bag over my shoulder, reached for the door.
“I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have—”
But I was already wading into the fray of students getting back from lunch. When I glanced back, Drew was already walking in the opposite direction, shoulders tensed.
My cell phone buzzed and I looked down to see a message from Felix. He told me to meet him in the library.
The row of computers lining the windows was mostly empty despite the fact that every student should have been studying for finals. I found Felix sitting down in the far corner of the room, out of sight.
I sat down next to him. “So?”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “Done.”
I reached for it but he pulled away.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said.
I wondered what he’d found—about me, about my disease. Bad things I might rather not know. The truth.
“Yes.”
He loaded the flash drive and opened the first file. There were over a thousand images, all scans of someone’s hand written notes, the shadow of the binding clear at the edge of every page.<
br />
“What is this?” I asked.
Felix was quiet.
“I know you’ve already looked at this,” I said. “Spill.”
“It’s about a girl,” he said.
“A girl with KLS?”
He nodded, clicking through a few more images.
“These look ancient,” I said.
“Late 1970s. At least, I think so. That was the only date I could find.”
I looked at Felix. “How long have you had these?”
He was quiet.
“Felix.”
“Since last week.”
“What?”
“I just wanted—”
“What? To make me go crazy?”
“Actually, the opposite.” He lowered his voice. “Look, I know you can handle yourself, I just…”
“What are you getting at?”
“If there was something bad in there, I mean really bad…I didn’t want you to freak out.”
“You didn’t want me to have an episode,” I clarified.
“Or worse. You’re my best friend, Bryn, and I know how you are. When shit’s bothering you, you don’t say a word and if I’d sent you these files and you’d found something, that’s exactly what you would have done. Keep everyone in the dark so you don’t have to deal. So I read it. Most of it. Okay, a lot, but most of it’s pretty boring. The point is I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”
I swallowed. “Felix…”
“No way. Don’t give me that face.”
I hugged him and he patted me once on the back.
Mrs. Mendoza came around the corner, cleared her throat.
Felix pulled away. “That’s…good. Thanks.”
I had a free period next and Felix skipped Health while we scrolled through the journal from the beginning. It read like notes taken by a doctor—names and dates and dosages all concerning a girl named Eve. But it was all in German and we mostly just scanned every other page, hoping for some bit in English, some kind of clue.
“This folder looks familiar,” Felix said. “I think I saw a few short letters in English the first time I looked through everything.”
The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4 Page 20