Every Shiny Thing

by Jensen, Cordelia; Morrison, Laurie;

  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.