Neither of us said anything for a while as we kept walking. It was my turn to ask him something. Last year when Audrey liked Max Sherman and she met up with him to work on a science project, we planned questions she could ask him in case the conversation turned awkward. But I couldn’t remember any of those questions now.
“If you could have any one superpower, what would it be?” I finally asked.
Ryan likes superheroes, so it’s one of the go-to conversation starters he brainstormed with Jenna.
“Flying,” Jake said without any hesitation. He didn’t even act like I’d just said anything surprising, so maybe all boys like thinking about superpowers, not just Ry. “You?”
I took in a big breath and let it out in a cloud of air. When Ryan used to ask me, I’d say being invisible or reading people’s minds. One time I told him I’d want the power to blink at my computer and have my English paper finish itself, but Ryan said that wasn’t a real superpower.
“I wish I had the power to make the world less messed up. So everything isn’t so unfair. Like, to make it so people who already have more than their share of everything would get zapped if they tried to buy more fancy stuff they didn’t need or something.”
Ryan might say that’s not a real superpower, either.
Jake laughed, but by the time he talked, his voice sounded serious. “I think you kind of have that power already. I mean, not the zapping part maybe, but the part about making the world less messed up. Just look at the Simplicity-a-Thon. All those people raised money for a good cause because of you.”
I shrugged and felt my cheeks go warm again. “Not just because of me.”
“Mostly,” Jake said. “You just . . . you care about stuff that matters. You’re the best person I know.”
He stopped where he was, and I kept walking, so he reached out and held on to my arm gently, right below the elbow, so I’d stop, too.
He was looking right at me, and his face is so, so cute, and his eyes are so, so kind, and he was smiling just a tiny bit—a private, just-for-me smile. His ears weren’t covered, and they must have been freezing, and I wanted to put my hands over them to warm them up.
But then I shifted my weight, and the edge of the perfume box dug into my hip. Suddenly, I could only think of how disappointed in me Sierra would be if she knew I’d taken it. How upset Mariah’s dad would be if he asked Mariah to wear the perfume for a special occasion and found out it was gone.
And if Jake knew what I’d done—what I couldn’t stop myself from doing—would he understand that I was only trying to help? Would he still think I’m the best person he knows?
“Lauren?” Jake said.
“It’s so cold,” I told him, jumping up and down a little. “We should keep walking.”
“OK, sure. Right. Let’s go.”
I couldn’t look at him while we walked, though. I didn’t want to see his just-for-me smile fade and his kind brown eyes switch from happy to confused.
After Jake’s mom picked him up, I knocked on Sierra’s door, even though I knew she might be mad at me already and what I had to tell her would make her madder. Carl told me she was in her room and to go on up, and by the time I’d climbed up the stairs and stood in her doorway, my tears were spilling out.
Sierra was lying facedown on her bed, leaning on her elbows and reading our English book. When she saw me, she jumped up.
“What is it?” she said. “Lauren, what’s wrong?”
I pulled the perfume box out of my pocket. “I didn’t mean to take it. But Mariah will never use it, and I just . . . I couldn’t help it, Sierra. I’m sorry.”
Sierra closed her door, hugged me, and then pulled me over to the bed.
“You could give it back to Mariah on Monday,” she said. “You could say . . . I don’t know. We could come up with something. Some explanation.”
She didn’t sound mad. And she did hug me. But I couldn’t do what she was telling me to.
“There’s no way to explain it,” I said. “We should just add it to the other stuff I’ve taken. We have to just sell it now.”
Sierra’s forehead wrinkled up, and she pressed her lips together.
“I’m getting kind of worried.” She said it so softly, I almost couldn’t hear her, and something in me shifted.
“Maybe if we can get to a thousand dollars, we can stop,” I said.
That was a good number, $1,000. Maybe that was enough for ten sessions for someone like Hailey, and ten sessions could do a lot. I could feel like I’d done something meaningful if I made it to $1,000, and then Sierra and I could go back to normal.
“Are we close to a thousand dollars?” Sierra asked, and I nodded.
This was feeling better and better, having a definite number goal to get to. “We’re more than halfway there. If I get a few more really good things, we could do it before New Year’s, maybe. And then we could deliver it all to Jenna, and that would be it.”
“I guess,” Sierra said.
I held out the perfume bottle. “Will you hide this with the rest of the stuff?”
She blew air straight up, and it made the front pieces of her blond hair float above her head for just a second.
“Please, Sierra. I don’t know what else to do.”
She nodded, just once. “But you’ll stop by New Year’s? So, less than one more month?”
“By New Year’s. Definitely. As long as we’ve gotten a thousand dollars.”
Anne called Sierra down to dinner, and I headed back home.
After I listed the perfume online, I clicked over to the part of the website where people post about things they’re looking for.
Most of the listings were for big stuff I couldn’t get. TVs and couches and dining room chairs. But a few were for jewelry—a rose gold chain to match a pendant, a vintage Art Deco engagement ring.
And then I saw it. A post from a guy who was looking for a holiday gift for his girlfriend. She’d lost her favorite bracelet, he said, and he wanted to replace it, but the designer didn’t make the style anymore. He’d pay $300 if someone had a bracelet like it that was in good condition.
He’d posted a photo, zoomed in to show the bracelet on a girl’s hand. Swirly silver, like Mom’s ring, but with big blue stones instead of a honey-colored one.
I thought of the gold-rimmed invitation Mom had stuck to our fridge, and Audrey’s mom’s giant jewelry collection. Audrey and I used to raid it and then take glamorous pictures of ourselves wearing fancy necklaces and bracelets and hair clips.
Three hundred dollars would get us almost all the way to one thousand. And I knew just where I could get the bracelet this guy was looking for.
SIERRA
From the Looks of It
I try to work on my history essay,
try to think through a thesis
make ideas fall into place
like the settling colors of a kaleidoscope,
but all I can think about now is Mom’s sober self.
The one who would listen to every detail of my day,
the one who would buy me too many school supplies.
My eye wanders to a paper on top of a stack.
A thank-you for a donation
to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia’s Cancer Center.
In Amy’s name.
She died of cancer.
Not an accident.
Not something anyone could have prevented.
They probably did everything they could
to save her,
but it didn’t matter.
A framed picture of her looks down on me.
Pale brown skin,
glasses,
tight curls,
full smile.
Go back to my essay
but think of Amy,
so young and sick,
I’m not sure
what it is
I want to say.
My ideas are colors,
floating,
nothing
&
nbsp; stays still, in place.
Nothing
falls
into a pattern.
A Part of Me
Carl walks in
the donation paper still in my hand.
I tell him sorry.
He says he will tell me
all about Amy if I want to know.
A part of me does,
but another part of me still doesn’t.
I tell him no, that’s OK.
Look back to the computer.
Think of him telling me about the garden, compost.
How he seems to like to teach.
Ask him instead—
my colors, swirling—
for help
with my essay.
Open / Shut
Carl stays up with me
way past my bedtime
and we finish an outline.
In the end, he had me find the proof
before the statement.
A new way to think.
He walks me to my room,
Seeger wagging his tail behind,
says that was actually fun.
I laugh and say
he needs to get out more.
He pats me on the head,
opens his mouth
but then shuts it again.
I open the door.
I mean to say thank you
when I say good night.
Sleeping Garden
Before bed,
I look out the window,
at the sleeping garden, quiet
waiting to bloom
under
the
moon
light’s
glow.
The Same
The next day Anne says
she knows I know
about Amy’s cancer.
She says, after Amy died,
she was a mess.
Amy was so young, just eight.
It was so unfair.
She just wanted to forget her. The pain.
She left the house as much as she could.
But on one trip to New Orleans
on a tour
they went to an old graveyard.
She didn’t want to go in,
she stood with her hands on the gates.
But through them she could read
something inscribed on one tombstone.
It read:
Just because a person is dead
doesn’t mean that they weren’t—
beaming, fully—alive.
And she made a pact with herself,
to keep, to remember, to hold
to come back home.
I almost reach out for her hand then, but—
She hands me a pamphlet:
AlaTeen.
Says it’s for kids
like me.
“Foster kids?”
I ask.
She says no, half smiles.
“It’s for kids with moms like yours.
Parents with addictions.”
How could other teens help me help Mom?
It makes no sense.
Besides,
my mom isn’t just someone who drinks,
she’s someone who loves
the beach,
kaleidoscopes,
fun houses.
She’s the one who believed in me the most.
“No one has a mom like mine,”
I whisper.
“Their experiences don’t have to be exactly like yours,”
she says,
“to feel the same.”
She tries to look at me
but I don’t want to look back
instead I hang on to
a picture of Mom and me in the ocean,
riding the same wave together,
all the way to shore.
Hiding
When I go upstairs,
I stop by Lauren’s things
in Amy’s room
and know I can’t keep her secret
much longer.
Now that I know that Amy was sick,
and the room is a way to keep her alive,
not in a creepy way
in a way of celebration,
it feels even worse
hiding stolen things in there.
I take it all out
then—
think of Lauren saying
only a month more.
Think of how Lauren’s lost someone, too.
Pack it all back.
One
by
one.
Surprise
After school
two voice messages:
one from Cassidy
singing me her new favorite song.
I delete it.
Then feel guilty.
Then,
Anne, who says
she, Maude, & I are going to visit Mom
for family time at the rehab.
My stomach cartwheels.
I’m going to see Mom!
Maude and Anne pick me up.
The rehab is closer to where we used to live.
The place looks like a hospital.
Think of how much Mom hated visiting Nan there.
Mom looks small
but her eyes look clear.
And so pretty.
I break from Anne and Maude.
And run to her.
Mom and I don’t let go of each other’s hands.
We have to participate in a group.
All the patients and their families.
I wonder why Anne stays.
Each patient has to apologize to their families, “make amends.”
Mom says, “So sorry, baby. This will be it. I will get better.”
And then she looks sad when she says, “You look so grown up.”
And then, “Sometimes I miss you being young.”
I squeeze her hand harder,
I want to tell her I still need her.
But then, Mom turns to Anne, I can tell it is so hard for her,
but the counselor looks at her
and she does it, says,
“Thank you for taking care of my kid.”
And even though I know I am the child and she is the parent,
at that moment I feel proud.
Wide-Eyed
Maude says Mom
will be released soon.
She’s done great.
They think she’s ready
to get a job, a house.
I wonder where she will stay when she gets out?
Lena’s?
I text Cassidy
a wide-eyed, surprised emoticon
next to it, the words:
I saw Mom!!!
She texts back a smiling cat
with heart eyes.
I think how Lauren
would probably say
something more meaningful back.
Shoot a thumbs-up in response to her cat.
As we wind back down Germantown Ave.,
back to Anne and Carl’s,
think of Mom’s clear eyes
how she thanked Anne
think how
I wish Mom being so strong
didn’t just remind me
of when
she was doing so much worse.
So Much Worse
That day,
my thirteenth birthday,
she had been sober
for more than a month—
long for her—
but then she got dumped by her alcoholic boyfriend
he told her she was “no fun” anymore
and she said she had to have some champagne
to spite him and
to celebrate the birth of her little girl.
The fact that I was now actually
a teenager.
It made her cry.
How grown up I was.
How she missed her little girl. Her shadow.
She said i
f I went with her
she would buy me whatever I wanted
from the mall.
I told her I didn’t care.
All I wanted for my birthday was for her to not drink.
But she refused, so I went with her,
knowing this way she’d be safer.
We went to this new Mexican place,
big sombreros spinning on the walls,
oversized margarita glasses.
I told her she said champagne.
At least when she had champagne,
I thought, she usually got a headache
and passed out.
The bubbles, she would say, groaning.
But liquor?
Anything could happen.
She said though it didn’t matter really
as long as there was a kick to it.
As if I wasn’t smart enough
to keep track
to know the differences
between all kinds of drunk.
To distract her from a sip,
I asked her if she would buy me
new jeans like Cassidy’s.
She said:
Whatever you want, baby.
But one margarita spilled into
another.
And I didn’t even know where she got all that money.
Some other new guy?
The waiter kept asking me why I wasn’t in school.
Noon on a Thursday.
I kept saying I was sick that morning.
Then I got better.
I kept coloring
a Mexican mouse
even though I was too old.
And she kept ordering.
Six.
Seven.
I told her party over.
Time for my jeans.
But then she said we had to have cake.
To celebrate.
And when she said it,
in between sips,
she told me the story I loved:
the day she met my dad.
How he made her feel like a balloon
had been blown up in her chest.
How she thought she’d float away with him.
Except she never finished the story.
Nancy the mall security woman came.
Asked me again why I wasn’t in school.
Again.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen us here.
Mom told her to mind her business.
Shouted a racial slur.
Like Nan would have done.
I apologized for her.
She grabbed my hand, led me out of the restaurant.
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