Every Last Word

by Tamara Ireland Stone

  “Of course,” she replies, scooting down, making room next to her. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you all week.”

  “We were worried,” Kaitlyn says. I must look skeptical because she adds, “Really. We were. In fact, I went to your locker a bunch of times looking for you.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I wanted to apologize.”

  I’m still not sure I believe her. If she wanted to apologize so badly, she could have tried a lot harder to find me. She hasn’t texted me once in seven days.

  I catch Hailey giving her a stern look. Kaitlyn sits up straighter and leans in closer to me. “I’m glad you’re here, because I’ve been meaning to talk to you. What I said last week wasn’t funny. I was out of line and I’m sorry. I hope you’ll accept my apology, Sam.”

  Wait. Did she call me Sam?

  I look at Hailey’s smug expression, thinking about the conversation we had in my room last Sunday, and I start to realize what’s happening. Hailey’s been rallying for me from the inside. She doesn’t want me to leave. She’s convinced them to apologize and start calling me Sam from now on. Then this will all be over. And everything can go back to the way it was.

  Am I really such a great friend that they can’t stand to lose me? Or are they merely trying to save face? I’d like to think it’s the former—that I’ve been overreacting all these years and they really are true friends who love me for exactly who I am—but I’m not completely sure.

  Kaitlyn takes a sip of her soda, and then turns to Alexis. “Did you tell her about this weekend?”

  Alexis looks around to be sure no one can hear her, and then she rests her forearms on the table and lowers her voice. “My parents are going out of town. I can’t have another party, because if they catch me again, they’ll take my car away. So we’re keeping it small.”

  “All the guys are coming over,” Olivia pipes in, pointing around the cafeteria as she identifies them. “Travis, Jeremy, Kurt…We still need someone for Hailey. And you can bring AJ, okay? So we can get to know him better.”

  I’m tempted. I don’t want to be, but I am. I’ve been mentally preparing myself to part ways with the Eights all week, but now I’m not so sure I want to leave them behind so completely.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can have both. Now that I think about it, AJ might like being pulled into my circle. I’ve never even asked him. I picture all of us sitting around Alexis’s living room, talking late into the night, everyone getting to know the side of AJ most people don’t get to see and…Wait. What did Olivia just say?

  I turn back to Kaitlyn. “You’re seeing Kurt?” For a split second, she looks a little embarrassed, but she quickly recovers. She cocks her head to one side. “Yeah. We sort of bumped into each other at a party last weekend and got back together.”

  Got back together? I’d hardly call making out with my boyfriend in a coat-check room while I was fifty feet away “together.” But I’m glad she told me. For a minute, I almost forgot why I came over here today.

  “I need to say something to you guys.” The mood shifts instantly. Alexis folds her arms across her chest. Kaitlyn stares at me, eyebrows raised. Olivia bites her lip and fixes her gaze on the table. Hailey brings her hand to her forehead.

  “We’ve been best friends since we were little kids, and there are so many reasons for that. We’ve always had so much fun together. All of my very best memories include you guys.” I’m speaking slowly and clearly, exactly the way Sue coached me. I feel my hands shaking, but I take a deep breath and keep talking. “But we’ve also changed a lot over the years. And I think that’s a good thing. I think we’re supposed to change, and when we do, that has to be okay. I’ve changed over the last few months, and I like the person I’m becoming.”

  “And who is that?” Olivia asks.

  “That’s the thing,” I say with a shrug. “I’m not sure. The truth is, I don’t really know who I am without you guys. But I think I need to find out.”

  It doesn’t come out exactly the way Sue and I practiced, but it’s close and I followed all the rules. I intentionally don’t mention AJ or any of my other friends downstairs, and I’m careful with my words so they don’t think I’m blaming them or anything. We’re growing apart. It’s time to part ways.

  “Did your new boyfriend put you up to this?” Olivia asks.

  “He sounds a little possessive,” Kaitlyn says to her, as if I’m not sitting right here.

  “Stop it,” Hailey interjects. “Now.” I feel her hand on my shoulder and it catches me completely off guard. “I’m not doing this. Not again.”

  I know what she means. We all do. She’s not going to let them treat me the way we all treated Sarah. And I realize that no matter what happens today, Hailey now knows which side she’s on, and it’s mine.

  “She’s right,” Alexis says. “You’re our friend. We love you. You should do what makes you happy.”

  Kaitlyn raises her eyebrows. Olivia won’t look at me. Hailey still has her hand on my shoulder. Alexis is smiling at me, and it looks genuine.

  I’m still trying to get my head around this whole thing. I’m having a hard time believing those words just came out of Alexis’s mouth, but she sounds sincere. Maybe it’s a game. Maybe I’m about to be the punch line of some big joke, or the focal point of some nasty piece of gossip. Even if I am, I can’t do anything about it anyway.

  I give Hailey’s hand a grateful squeeze as I stand up.

  “I’ll see you guys later.” I walk through the cafeteria doors, leaving my friends behind. Feeling all the pain of letting them go. And knowing I did the right thing.

  “How are you today, Sam?” Colleen stands up from behind the counter as I open the door.

  She used to practically sing her “It must be Wednesday” line, but today, I get the same awkward greeting I got last week, her voice dropping into a lower octave when she says my name, her lips pursed sympathetically while she waits for my reply. I tell her I’m fine.

  I’ve already apologized for bursting in here that day, and she insisted I had nothing to be sorry for. That she’d already forgotten all about it. Clearly, she hasn’t.

  “She’s waiting for you. Go on in.”

  I was kind of hoping Sue would suggest moving our meeting to her backyard oasis, where we could talk in comfortable chairs around a fountain and among flowers, but no such luck.

  When I step into her office, she stands up from behind her desk and crosses the room to meet me halfway. “Wow. You look different today,” she says, beaming at me.

  “Do I?” I ask, like I don’t know what she’s talking about. But I do. I’m wearing jeans and a plain, long-sleeve T-shirt. My hair is long and straight, but I didn’t flat iron it or anything. And I’m hardly wearing any makeup, just a light bit of foundation, some blush, and mascara. I’ve been scaling back over the last few weeks. This feels more like me. And I have an extra hour to sleep now.

  “If it weren’t for the holiday decorations all over town and the fact that I have to cook Christmas dinner for twenty people next week, I’d swear it was the middle of July,” she says. “You look relaxed. And happy. Like Summer Sam.”

  I’m not sure how to explain it, but I don’t feel like Summer Sam. I’m more relaxed, happier than she ever was, because even in July I was dreading August, and finding it hard to be truly happy when the sand was flowing into the bottom half of the hourglass and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  “Summer Sam was always…” I pause, searching for the right word, and settle on: “Temporary. But this feels pretty permanent.”

  Sue smiles.

  “I registered for the advanced swim program today. Five a.m. practices every morning.” I roll my eyes. “But year-round meets, a chance to swim at Junior Nationals, and a much better shot at a scholarship.”

  Now she’s beaming. “Well, that’s certainly cause for celebration.” Sue glides over to the minifridge and removes a bottle of sparkling apple cider. She pours it int
o two plastic champagne flutes and returns, handing one to me.

  “To Sam,” she says, raising her glass in the air.

  I clink mine against it and echo her words. “To Sam.”

  We take our ciders over to our chairs. I kick off my shoes and Sue hands me my putty. I take sips from my glass as I fill her in on my week, and she listens and nods. She doesn’t have her leather-bound portfolio on her lap like she usually does, so I have a feeling this is going to be a light session. After the last few, I imagine we could both use one.

  Three weeks ago, we spent the entire time role-playing my breakup with the Crazy Eights. The week after that, I spent the whole time crying, wondering if I’d made the right decision. Last week, we switched gears, and Sue convinced me to recite the poem I wrote for Caroline. And then she asked me to read more of my poems, and I cried even harder.

  As I was reading, I started to realize how much the number three has been impacting my thoughts and actions, and by the end of our session, I told her I wanted to work harder to control my impulses. Which meant I had to fess up about the odometer.

  Sue pointed to the putty in my hands. “What if you took a chunk of that with you today and used it to cover the numbers?” I’d squeezed it in between my fingers and told her that might work. “If you feel like you truly need to remove it before you park, go ahead,” she says. “Then put it back. But see if you can keep it on there for good.”

  I still think about those numbers every time I park, but I haven’t cheated once.

  We talk about AJ next. I fill her in on everything, and then I tell her he drove me to my appointment today.

  “He needed some new guitar strings, and the music store is a couple blocks away.” I take a sip of my sparkling cider, thinking about how the whole conversation with AJ played out.

  We’ve talked a lot about Sue over the last few weeks. He knows how important she is to me, and that I want him to meet her someday. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, but I liked the idea of him dropping me off. I told him he could meet Colleen if he wanted to.

  “I kind of needed him to see where I go on Wednesdays.”

  I can tell she’s proud of me. I’m feeling a little proud of myself, too. It feels good to talk. It feels good to be surrounded by people who make it so easy.

  And then she asks me about Caroline, and I get quiet for a long time.

  Finally, I tell her how my stomach falls every time I look at the other end of my locker bank and find it empty, and how I often sit in the first row of the theater during lunch, writing in the dark like the two of us used to do. I admit that last week, I started making a playlist of songs that were popular during Caroline’s high school years and titled it Right Beside You after the lyrics in a Snow Patrol song.

  “I miss her. A lot. Every day.” The lump in my throat swells and I can feel my eyes welling up. I don’t want to cry. Not today.

  Sue must be able to tell from the look on my face, because she stands and claps her hands together once. “Hey,” she says excitedly. “I have something for you.”

  She walks over to her desk and returns carrying a box wrapped in bright blue paper with a big white bow around the center. She hands it to me.

  “You got me a Christmas present? Let me guess. A shiny new brain? A healthy one this time?” I give it a little shake. Damn. Too light.

  “It’s just a little something. I couldn’t resist. It spoke to me—said you two needed each other.”

  “Hey, if I can talk to imaginary people, I guess you can talk to inanimate objects.” I tug at the bow and it falls to the floor. I pull the lid off the box. “No way,” I say. I hold the T-shirt up in front of me so I can read the big block letters: I AM SILENTLY CORRECTING YOUR GRAMMAR.

  “Sue, this is awesome. It’s so…” I stop short of saying the first thing that pops into my head. Then I say it anyway. “Caroline.”

  I stand up and hug her, even though I’m not supposed to, and she hugs me back, despite the fact that we’re breaking her “professional distance” code. I layer my new shirt over the top of my long-sleeved tee and model it for her. “What do you think?” I ask.

  “Perfect,” she says.

  No. It’s not perfect. But it’s me.

  When our time is up, I leave her office and head back to the waiting room, realizing that, for the first time in five years, we didn’t talk about the Crazy Eights.

  AJ had said he’d meet me downstairs, so I’m surprised to find him in the waiting room. “Hey,” he says. “Nice shirt.”

  “Thanks. It was a gift from Sue.” I point to Colleen. “Did you two meet?”

  “We did,” she says. She’s no longer wearing that pity-stare. She’s looking at us with the glowing, giddy expression I’m more accustomed to.

  “See you next Wednesday,” I tell her.

  AJ and I walk out the doors and stop in front of the elevators, and once we’re out of Sue’s office and away from Colleen’s curious eyes, he wraps his arms around me. I feel his fingers in my hair and his breath on my neck, and he doesn’t say a word, he just hugs me tight for the longest time. I love the way I fit in his arms. How my ear rests perfectly against his chest and I can hear his heartbeat.

  “Thanks for coming today,” I tell him.

  “I’m glad I did.”

  “Me too.”

  I reach out and press the elevator button. Once. I feel the urge to push it two more times, but I grab AJ’s hand and kiss it instead.

  It’s pouring outside. AJ, Cameron, Chelsea, Jessica, Sydney, and I are gathered around a table in the cafeteria. Emily would be here, but her mom lost her long battle with cancer, and she hasn’t been at school since we returned from winter break. The funeral is tomorrow and Emily asked AJ to play one of her mom’s favorite songs. We’ll all be there, of course.

  I glance over at the spot where I used to sit. Alexis, Kaitlyn, Olivia, and Hailey are all where they belong, eating and chatting as usual. We haven’t said much to each other in the last month, but they all look happy, even Hailey.

  AJ rests his hand on my knee. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” I push my food around my plate. “I’m not very hungry today.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. We still have another thirty minutes before lunch is over. “I think I’ll go write for a bit.”

  “Have fun,” he says, giving my leg a squeeze.

  I stand up, grabbing my tray off the table and telling everyone I’ll see them later. Before I leave, I wrap my free arm around AJ’s neck from behind. “Love you,” I whisper in his ear.

  The rain is coming down harder, which doesn’t matter that much until the covered walkway comes to an end and there’s no other way to get to the theater’s double doors than to cross the open grass. I throw my jacket over my head and make a run for it.

  Once I’m inside, I toss my jacket over a chair in the back row and walk down the aisle to the front of the theater. I sit in the chair I always sit in, open my yellow notebook to an empty page, and fish around in the bottom of my backpack until I find a mechanical pencil. I click it once, twice, three times. And then I hear Shrink-Sue’s voice in my head, telling me to click it again, so I give it a fourth click. I stop, resisting the urge to click it two more times.

  I scoot back into the chair and slide down low, kicking my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, staring up at the ceiling and trying to decide where to start. I tap the eraser against the paper. I’m at a loss. I close my eyes and sit like that for a few minutes, breathing in the musky smell of this room, running my fingernails back and forth across the upholstery. I never expected to feel a connection to this place, and now, sometimes it’s the only place I want to be.

  It’s been a tough week. I can’t stop thinking about Emily. I want to write a poem for her, something that expresses how sorry I am and tells her how much her friendship means to me, but the words aren’t coming today. I let out a groan and look down at my feet.

  I see a pair of boots,
right next to my shoes. Then legs, crossed at the ankles, mirroring my posture exactly. My gaze travels up slowly, carefully, like I’m afraid any sudden movement will cause me to lose her.

  When I reach her face, I suck in a breath. Then I give her the biggest smile.

  “Hey. I’m glad you’re here,” I say, tapping the page with my pencil. “I could use your help with this.”

  Her head falls to the side and she smiles back at me. “Anytime,” she says as she reaches over and takes my hand in hers.

  I want to keep looking at her, but instead, I let my eyes fall shut.

  “Actually,” I whisper, “I think I’ve got this one.”

  When I open my eyes again, Caroline is gone.

  And I start filling the page with words.

  I became interested in writing a story about a teen with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) when a close family friend was diagnosed four years ago, at age twelve. I sympathized with and related to her battle with insomnia, her struggles to interpret her friends’ words and actions, and her challenges to control a stream of negative, often terrifying thoughts she simply couldn’t turn off.

  I knew she wasn’t alone. I wanted to learn more about this disorder and to understand what it was like to live inside her mind. She was eager to share her experience, and I was honored when she agreed to work with me on this novel.

  Over the last two years, I’ve done extensive research on OCD and what some refer to as Purely Obsessional or “Pure-O” OCD, where the emphasis is more on internal thoughts and images than external compulsions. I’ve learned that many professionals consider the term a bit of a misnomer—compulsions are still part of the disorder, they’re simply easier to hide—but many people with OCD use “Pure-O” to differentiate an obsession with their thoughts from the better-known external behaviors, like ritualized hand washing or lock checking.

  I have read hundreds of blogs written by adults and teens, detailing what it’s like to live with OCD and Pure-O. I have pored over articles and medical journals filled with exhaustive information about treatments and medications. I’ve consulted closely with four mental-health professionals to be sure this work of fiction portrays an accurate account of OCD, while also demonstrating the value of a strong patient-therapist relationship. It has been enlightening, inspiring, and heartbreaking.