I whirl around, the weight of anger and sadness and everything else Grover makes me feel when he touches me crushing my chest. I don’t want to feel any of it. I want to disappear again. I want to go back to the way I was, when things didn’t hurt and I didn’t care about the broken pieces at my feet. I run full speed at Grover and hit him in the chest. I hit him as hard as I hit the tetherball. It hurts my hands down to the bone.
“I don’t know what Molly was like, okay! I don’t know anything about her! Is that what you want to hear?” I yell as I stumble back, my feet unable to keep up with the momentum of my body. The rain falls heavy around us in the darkness. My foot catches something on the ground and twists in an unnatural way as pain shoots up my leg. I yelp as I land in a puddle.
Grover lunges toward me, but I move away from him. My clothes are covered in mud, my hands dirty as I wipe my wet face.
“Don’t,” I say, my throat burning from holding back tears. I grab my throbbing ankle. “Don’t touch me.”
I get to my feet, most of my weight resting on my good foot.
“Please, let me take you to the nurse. You’re bleeding.” Grover points to the stream of blood running down my leg from a gash in my knee.
I turn away from him without saying a word and limp toward the cabin. The pain gets worse with every step I take. Once inside, I get my suitcase out from under my bed and pull out Molly’s old quilt. Mud drips on the ground. My sock is soaked with blood from my knee. I want to punch a hole right through the fabric. Instead, I squeeze it with everything I have in me. Then I fall to my knees on the hard cabin floor and stuff my face into the worn fabric. With every inhale, I try to smell her. To smell my little sister like she slept wrapped in this quilt yesterday, but the truth is that she never slept in this quilt—not how I wanted her to sleep in it.
When I finally get up, my leg is crusted over with dry blood. I take off my wet clothes and get in the shower. My ankle is swollen and bruised, but not as bad as I thought it would be. When I’m finished in the bathroom, I hear the rest of the girls and Madison come back to the cabin. I change into my pajama pants and University of Arizona sweatshirt and limp out, ready to climb into bed.
“What the hell happened to you?” Cassie asks as I stuff my wet, bloodied clothes into my laundry bag.
“Nothing.”
“Zander, I want you to have freedom this summer, but please don’t leave group activities without telling me,” Madison says as she locks the door. “I was worried.”
“Fine,” I say as I climb under Molly’s quilt and pull it up to my ears. Mud and blood stain the fabric, but somehow it makes me feel better. Like finally someone actually lived while sleeping with it.
CHAPTER 12
Mom and President Cleveland,
I’ve decided I want to be a lighthouse operator. Is that what you call a person who guides ships safely into their harbor? Anyway, I’d like to be the guardian of ships.
Please send word if that job still exists. And also more underwear.
Your son,
Grover Cleveland
The window in the bathroom is open, and Cassie’s bed is empty when I wake up in the middle of the night. I can feel my heartbeat in my ankle, and my knee throbs like little grains of dirt are slowly manifesting into a bacterial infection. My mom is going to flip if I come back damaged from camp.
I limp to the bathroom and dab my skin with a wet washcloth. At first it stings, but then relief hits. I lean on the sink and stare at the open window. A visceral part of me needs to know just what Cassie does every night by herself.
I climb onto the toilet seat and pull myself up to see how she gets in and out of here. Even with the significant size difference between Cassie and me, I think I can fit through the window easily.
Before I can think about the consequences or how I’ll get back in, I fall through the window, landing on the ground on my one foot like a pelican. My flip-flop sinks into the mud a bit as I set my other foot down gingerly. It’s exhilarating and liberating. I have to hold in a yelp of excitement. I did it. I escaped a locked room.
The clouds have cleared, and the moon hangs like a crescent just off to the side in the sky. I tiptoe with a limp away from the cabin.
Down at the lake, the dock glows in the moonlight. That’s where I find her. Cassie sits staring out at the water. I don’t know why I thought she would be here. But she is. I also don’t know why I crawled out a small bathroom window with a busted ankle and no way of getting back in. But I did. And it feels good.
The moment I step on the metal dock and it rattles, Cassie jerks to attention.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.
“None of your business,” Cassie bites. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid your massive body weight is going to sink the dock.”
“I don’t have massive body weight.”
“I saw you put down that macaroni and cheese tonight, fatty.” Cassie puffs out her cheeks.
I step closer, ignoring her jabs. Cassie goes rigid, the whites of her eyes becoming more pronounced. “Relax. If the dock sinks, I’ll save you, okay?”
“Why would you save me? I wouldn’t save you.”
“Because at least you’re honest about it.”
Cassie has a doubtful look on her face. It’s odd to see her falter. If she wasn’t confident about something, I’m sure she’d be confident about being not confident.
“I promise I’ll save you,” I say again, and Cassie eases the dagger eyes back a few notches. Her legs hang over the end of the dock, but she keeps her feet flexed so they don’t touch the water, like she’s hovering above something that might burn her.
“Why are you fucking limping?” she asks as I sit down next to her.
“I twisted my ankle.” I pull off my flip-flops and dip my toes into the cold water. I shimmy closer to the edge of the dock so I can immerse my swollen ankle, and I sigh.
“Are you trying to rub it in?” Cassie asks.
“No. This feels good.”
Cassie looks off toward the moon, a sharp, annoyed expression on her face.
“I told you, I can teach you how to swim.” Her feet stay just inches above the water, as a cooler breeze blows. I wait for her to say something back, but she doesn’t. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
“No.”
She’s lying. With her lack of body weight, I’d guess she’s cold all the time. I pull off my University of Arizona sweatshirt and hand it to her. “Here,” I say.
“I said I’m not cold.”
“Well, in case you get cold, then.” Cassie groans like I just asked her to wear a chicken suit and stand on a street corner dancing with a sign. But it doesn’t stop me from handing over the sweatshirt. I know what she needs, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
The reflection of the moon on the surface of the lake makes it look like one big black satin sheet, something slick and smooth. Something someone could disappear under.
“My dad got me the sweatshirt,” I say.
“Am I supposed to care?”
“He went to the University of Arizona.”
“And I bet you take family trips back there every summer.” Cassie’s voice gets animated and sarcastically sweet. “Your dad walks you around campus, telling old fraternity stories and claiming those were the best years of his life. And then he buys you a sweatshirt and tells you how he can’t wait for you to go there.”
I tap the water with my feet, making little ripples. “Actually he ordered the sweatshirt online,” I say. Cassie finally looks at me. “Until this summer, the farthest I’d traveled in the past seven years was to a swim meet a few towns over.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?”
“No,” I say flatly and flick the water again with my toes. “You can have the sweatshirt. I don’t want it.”
“Like have it forever?” she asks and I n
od. Cassie holds it up against her body. “It’s way too big for me.” But she puts it on.
We sit in silence for a while as I run through a million questions for Cassie that dangle just on the tip of my tongue. Why does she come down here every night? When was the last time someone actually gave her something? Does she remember how much it hurt when she got the scar on her leg? But I don’t ask her anything. I hold the questions for later, and for now we just sit together. Sometimes silence is needed the most when life is so full of noise. And Cassie’s life must be full of a lot of noise.
At one point Cassie puts her foot so close to the water, I think she’s going to touch it, and a moment later, she stands up.
“Wait until I’m off the dock. I don’t want you rocking it,” she says.
She makes her way toward the beach like she’s walking a tightrope, both arms out for balance and right down the center. I wait, watching her, my baggy sweatshirt hanging down almost below her shorts. I slip on my flip-flops and limp over to meet her.
“Tomorrow, you’re gonna teach me how to swim,” she says. When I nod, Cassie grabs my elbow. Her skin is rough, and I almost pull away out of instinct. She shifts in close, and her arm becomes like a lever holding me up. I take some of the pressure off my bad foot and lean into Cassie as she helps me walk back to the cabin.
At the bathroom window, she groans as she hoists me off the ground.
“No more macaroni and cheese, Z.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“You shut up.”
When I hear the sound of a stick breaking, I stop frozen halfway in the window and look around.
“Did you hear that?” I whisper.
“Relax, Z. What’s the worst they can do to us?” Cassie struggles under my weight. “Get in the window. I can’t hold you much longer.”
I look over my shoulder one more time and spot a long shadow hiding in the trees. It’s a familiar shape. Not one I expected to see. And then it disappears.
CHAPTER 13
Cher Papa,
J’ai récemment souffert de paralysie. Je n’ai pas été vacciné contre la poliomyélite. Je réfléchis à ma nouvelle condition.
Cordialement,
Alex Trebek
Puddles of the rain sparkle on the archery field in the morning. It’s already hot, and the fact that I have my bathing suit on under my clothes isn’t helping. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead and wave a mosquito off of my skin.
Hayes hands me a plastic bow and arrow set, and I run my hand over the suction cup end. I don’t know if Grover will come to archery today, and I haven’t decided if I care.
“You’re here early,” Hayes says.
“I skipped breakfast.”
“That’s not good, Durga,” he says. “If you want to feed your mind, you need to feed your body. Warriors need energy.”
“Why do you think I’m a warrior?” I say. I leave out the part in my head that screams that I don’t feel like a warrior.
Hayes smiles a slow grin. “We’re all warriors in our own internal battles. Durga exists in you here.” Hayes points at my heart. “But you need food.”
He proceeds to tell me about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which he learned about while getting his childhood development degree. How, if we don’t have food and water, we can’t feel safe, and if we can’t feel safe then we can’t feel loved, and if we can’t feel loved then we can’t have self-esteem, and if we can’t feel self-esteem then we can never have full self-actualization.
“All of that stuff starts with food and water?” I ask.
“That’s why everyone needs a healthy breakfast, Durga.” Hayes pulls a granola bar out of his pocket. “Eat this.”
So I do because if Hayes stops calling me Durga, I’ll be upset and—realizing that I’ll be upset—feeling that I’ll be upset doesn’t bother me so much anymore. If Maslow is right, I’m working my way up the hierarchy, and I don’t want to come tumbling down now.
As I eat, someone comes up behind me, and when I turn around, I come face to face with Grover. I practically choke. Maybe I will come tumbling down.
“You weren’t at breakfast. Big party last night?” he asks. Grover smiles the type of grin I can’t read. Not that I can usually tell what’s going to come out of his mouth. Whenever I think I know, I’m reminded I have no idea.
I hold up the granola bar. “Did you know that food is the doorway to self-actualization?”
“And all this time I thought I was eating because of my heightened mental and emotional state.”
I don’t laugh even though the inside of me wants to. It wants to feel better, which is something so new and different I’m not sure what to do. I press the feeling down with a breath and look at the ground.
“How’s your foot?” he asks.
I consciously even out my weight. The pressure pinches my ankle just a little, but soaking it in the cold water last night seems to have helped.
“I’ll survive.”
“Yes, you will.” Grover steps close to me, drawing my attention back up. Part of me wants to punch him in his cute nose and part of me wants to touch his lips so I can feel his smile. Either way, I don’t like it. “I brought you something,” he says, digging in his pocket.
“You didn’t need to . . .” I take a step back from Grover but he grabs me. I cross my arms over my chest as he holds up a bottle.
“Antiseptic. For your knee.” He digs deeper. “Neosporin and a Band-Aid. I want you to remember me for the rest of your life but not because I gave you a scar.”
“Thanks.” I hold out my hand.
“Let me.” He kneels down in front of me and touches the tip of his finger to the scab forming on my knee. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“Don’t.” I pull away from his touch.
Grover looks up at me with his big eyes. For the first time, he doesn’t look like the confident Grover I’ve seen every day. He looks like a little boy with problems. Real problems, the kind you don’t want any kid to have. I know the look well.
“Fine.” I step forward slowly.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.” He sprays the antiseptic on my skin. It burns and I grit my teeth. Grover lightly blows on my scrape, his breath making the pain go away. He dabs the Neosporin on my skin. I bite my lower lip, tears welling in my eyes. It’s like everything inside of me hurts and feels euphoric at the same time. And I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know how to feel like this. It was easy with Coop because he made me feel nothing. I’m a rag doll with him. But with Grover, it’s as if every one of my senses lights up. Like I’m on fire and covered in water and floating in the air all at the same time.
“Almost done,” he says as he unwraps the Band-Aid. “To protect it, so it doesn’t break open.”
Break open.
That’s how this feels.
When I can’t take it anymore, I pull back. “Grover, you don’t need to save me.”
He stands up, putting the first aid stuff back in his pocket. “I want to.”
“But you didn’t need to,” I say. I’m my own warrior. I don’t need someone else fighting my battles.
“Okay,” he says.
“You have . . .” I point at his knees. They’re covered in dirt from kneeling on the ground. Without any more words, I bend down in front of Grover, my hand shaking as I reach for him. But I take a deep breath and know what I have to do. I touch him. My skin connects with Grover’s skin, and I brush the dirt off of his knee. It’s simple and yet not. It’s everything.
“Maybe I’m the one who needs saving,” he says. When I stand up, he’s smiling, the confidence back in his eyes.
“I know you were there last night,” I say. “You’re there every night, aren’t you?”
He nods. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case she ever decides to jump in,” Grover says.
The air in my lungs falls to the ground in a cascade of reality, and I feel like I’m breaki
ng all over again. Grover watches Cassie so he can save her.
“Grover, I didn’t see you get here.” Hayes comes up next to us.
I take a step back, my cheeks on fire, and hand Hayes my granola bar wrapper. “Thanks for the food.”
“You’re on your way to self-actualization, Durga.”
“Something like that,” I say.
CHAPTER 14
Cooper,
Molly’s birthday is September 16th and I know you saw my mom in the grocery store.
Zander
PS—You’re dumped.
“You actually have to step in the water,” I say.
“No.” Cassie crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’m not wearing that thing.”
“You have to,” I say.
“I can see the mold growing on it.” Cassie points to the orange life vest in my hand.
“You’re not allowed in the water without it.” I glance at the counselor on duty.
Cassie narrows her eyes. “You look like a lesbian in that swimsuit.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Whatever, Ellen. All I’m saying is that you probably like to eat box. No wonder you’re terrible at blow jobs.”
“I’m not bad at giving blow jobs!” I yell too loud. Cassie smiles a wicked grin. “And I’m not a lesbian.”
“Could have fooled me. I better tell Cleve before he gets too invested.”
We stand inches from the waterline of Lake Kimball, Cassie in a hot-pink string bikini and me in my black razorback one-piece. It took forever just to get her off her towel.
“Forget it. You clearly don’t want to learn how to swim.” I take a step back.
“Fine.” Cassie goes back to sit on her towel.
I’m about to walk away and give up when I remember—Cassie makes you hate her so she can be right—that no one cares about her. And I do actually care about her or I wouldn’t have offered to teach her how to swim. I wouldn’t have climbed out the bathroom window and risked getting caught by Madison, or worse, Kerry. I stomp over to her as she sits on her towel.
“Stay here and don’t move,” I say.
The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland Page 9