by Gemma Weir
“One of them knows who did it.”
“Mr. Miller, the faculty will be looking into today’s incident in due course,” he says, looking from side to side at the group of kids that’s formed. He lifts his hands and makes a shooing motion. “Can you all make your way back to your homerooms please?” When no one moves, he claps his hands together. “Now, people, move.”
The crowd gradually starts to disperse but I don’t move.
“Mr. Miller, I believe your homeroom is in that direction,” he says, pointing toward the corridor to our right.
“Yeah,” I say with a disdainful glare as I turn and walk away. But instead of going to my class, I walk the opposite way; straight out of the building and starting the long walk back to her.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I dial Zeke’s number. It rings out. I end the call and try Griffin’s, the same happens. I don’t have Emmy’s number, so I try Nova’s instead. Her cell goes straight to the answering service.
“Fuck,” I shout, stabbing at the screen of my cell and shoving it back into my pocket. I walk along the highway, following the main road back toward Nova’s house. They may be able to ignore my calls, but they’ll have to listen to me if I’m at the door to their house.
It takes over an hour to walk from the school to her house. By the time I get there my feet are sore and my cell battery is almost dead from the constant calls I’ve been making to Zeke, Griffin, and Nova’s numbers.
She needs to know this wasn’t me. I need her to know that I might be an asshole, but I would never do this. I rap on her front door repeatedly until it finally opens, but instead of Nova or one of our friends, her dad appears. He opens the door just wide enough to walk through, then closes it firmly behind him.
“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, but I’m gonna give you thirty seconds to get the hell off my property and away from my daughter.” His face is twisted in pain and pure unadulterated rage, and I take an instinctive step back.
“I didn’t do this. This wasn’t me.”
“I don’t give a shit about your excuses, kid. This is your last warning. Stay away from my kids; all of them.”
With that parting shot, he turns away, opens the door and disappears back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
“Fuck,” I shout, lifting my hands to my head and pulling at my hair. “Fuck.”
What the hell do I do now? How can I convince her that I didn’t do this if I can’t get near her and she isn’t answering her phone? Turning my back on the house, I walk down to the sidewalk, sinking to the floor and sitting on the curb.
Burying my head in my hands, I try to figure out how I can get to her, because fuck I need to get to her. But why would she even believe me? I’ve done some fucked up things to her since we met. I’ve messed with her, manipulated her, blackmailed her. Shit, I wouldn’t believe a word I said either. But I’ve always been honest with her; I’ve never lied to her.
I don’t know how long I sit on the ground, not willing to leave, but unsure where the hell I even go from here. When the sun starts to lower in the sky, a truck pulls up alongside me, the window lowers and a familiar voice rasps. “Get in, kid.”
Sleaze idles at the curb, but I don’t want to leave. I can’t leave here without convincing her I’m not responsible for what happened today.
“I can’t leave.”
The engine turns off and I hear Sleaze’s door open, then close. A second later he lowers himself down to the ground, sitting next to me on the curb. “What the fuck happened today?”
Sighing, I drop my head into my hands. “There was a pep rally and someone rigged a video of Nova to play. It was of her upset, talking to Zeke and she said some stuff. The entire school watched and then she threw up and ran out. By the time I caught up with her, she was on the floor in the hallway. She was on the floor crying and…” I trail off struggling to get the words out.
“Echo’s about ready to come out here and beat the shit out of you, kid. He thinks you did this.”
“They all think I did it. Nova thinks I did it,” I say, my voice breaking a little.
“And did you?”
Lifting my head, I turn to look at Sleaze, locking my eyes with his and hoping he can see the truth in my words. “I swear to God, this wasn’t me.”
Sleaze stares at me for a long moment, searching for the lie, but he won’t find one. He nods his head once in a single decisive movement and all of the air in my body rushes out in a relieved exhale. He believes me.
“Why would the others think this was you?”
“Because I’ve done some fucked-up shit. I’ve done some stuff to Nova, some messed up stuff, and I’m guessing she told them about it. I wouldn’t believe this wasn’t me either if I was them; but if I can see her, then I think I can get her… get them all… to believe me.” I say, shame and guilt filling me until tears pool in my eyes.
“Why does it matter that they believe you?” Sleaze asks, his voice hard.
“Because I was an asshole to her.”
“So, you were an asshole, it happens. But why does it matter to you that she knows this wasn’t you?”
“Because,” I reply petulantly
“Just because,” he prods.
“Because I like her, okay? I fucking like her a lot and I know I’ve been a psycho dick to her, but I wouldn’t go this far. I would never go this far.”
Sleaze smiles, lifting his huge paw like hand and placing it on my shoulder. “Come on, kid, let’s go home.”
“I can’t,” I say, looking over my shoulder at the house behind me.
“You aren’t getting in there tonight. Let’s regroup and see if Brandi can help.” He stands, offering his hand to help me up.
I glance at the house again, then reluctantly, I take his hand, letting him pull me up. I walk away, climbing into Sleaze’s truck and watching her get farther and farther away, until her home is completely out of sight.
My eyes are so swollen I can barely open them, but the tears are still flowing down my cheeks, even hours later.
The doctor I saw at the ER prescribed me a mild sedative that made me feel fuzzy and calm on the outside, even though inside I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Tomorrow, I have an appointment to meet with a psychiatrist to see if I need to be medicated.
I really am crazy.
I don’t remember much after seeing Valentine in the hallway at school. Apparently, Zeke lifted me up and he, Emmy, and Griffin had gotten me into his car and we’d all left. Both Mom and Dad were here when we pulled up to the house and from there everything else is a blur with only flashes of clarity.
I’m home now, in my own bed, with Emmy curled into one side of me and my mom the other. The hysteria has faded and now all I can feel is an overwhelming sense of sadness. What happened yesterday, that video, it pushed me over the edge. But almost as bad as the entire school witnessing my epic meltdown was watching myself and knowing that I’m not okay.
Valentine. For the hundredth time in the last couple of hours, his face as I screamed at him not to touch me flashes into my mind. I’ve seen him smug and victorious, I’ve seen him angry and cruel, but I’ve never seen him look the way he did when he was telling me this wasn’t him.
His eyes had been haunted. Surely seeing me fall from my pedestal would have made him happy? My destruction, my ruin was always his intention, so why wasn’t he pleased?
The morning sunlight is shining through the gaps in my blinds and I’m guessing none of us are going to school today. I’m not sure I can ever go back there and face the sneers and laughter from the other kids anyway.
Emmy stirs next to me, her red hair a crazy mess of curls and tangles. “Hey,” she whispers, when she blinks open her eyes and looks at me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice barely a rasp.
Tears fill her eyes and she lifts her arm, hugging me tightly. “Yesterday was…” She trails off, because really what is there to say?
&n
bsp; “Yeah, it was.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.”
Her arms loosen and she pulls away slightly. “He was here yesterday.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Valentine.”
“Valentine came here?” I gasp, shocked and a little confused.
“Yeah, just after you got back from the hospital. Your dad spoke to him, warned him to stay the hell away from you and us.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you think he came?” She asks.
“I don’t know, maybe he just came to make sure he did a thorough job. He warned me he’d ruin me,” I say, my voice cracking a little.
“You’re not ruined, Nova, just a little broken that’s all. We’ll fix you, we all will.”
I nod, unable to speak, not wanting to tell her that I’m not sure I am fixable.
“I’m serious. You, me, Zeke, Griff, your parents and mine and everyone else, we’ll hold all of your shattered pieces until you can make them fit together again. We’re Sinners, Nova, and…”
“Sinners look after their own,” I whisper, echoing the words she’d told me only a few days earlier.
“Exactly. You’re my best friend, my sister. I just wish you’d have told me what was going on with you; how much you were struggling.”
More tears spill from my eyes and a lump forms in my throat, but I reach for her hand and squeeze it tightly. She squeezes back, and for the first time since that video started playing yesterday, I feel a slither of hope.
None of us go to school. Mom and Dad try to force the twins and Zeke to go, but they refuse, and after seeing the determination on their faces, Mom nods and we all end up crashed out in the living room. Emmy and Griffin don’t leave either. Everyone crowds around me, metaphorically holding me together and I realize that I’ve never been more grateful for my family than I am now.
When it’s time for me to go to my psychiatric appointment, we all pile into the car with Dad following behind on his bike, and as a group we walk into the doctor’s office. Dr. Hargreaves is a woman a similar age to my mom. She greets me warmly and tells me to call her Dot. She introduces herself to all of my family, not even blinking at the amount of people I’ve brought with me.
Mom and I follow her into her office while the others stay in the waiting room, and it isn’t until she closes the door behind us, that I start to feel nervous. My all too familiar doubts swirl to life in my head and the urge to run away becomes strong enough that I have to hold onto the arm of my seat to keep me in place. Dot hands me a form on a clipboard and I begin to read it as she speaks quietly with my mom.
The questions surprise me.
Describe yourself in three words.
What is your most prominent emotion right at this moment?
The questions go on for a full page, always a little unexpected and basic; but for some reason I struggle to answer them. Lifting my pen to the page, I try to think of three words to describe me. The first things that come to mind are crazy, broken, and ruined.
As I write the words, a single tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek. Normally I would have lied and put happy or blessed, or some other bullshit that the average teenager would write. But yesterday proved that I’m not okay. I am not okay, and now that everyone has seen what a mess I am, it’s time for me to be honest with myself and with everyone else.
My best friend told me that my family would literally hold my shattered pieces together until I figured out how they fit again. They deserve for me to try just as hard as they are to fix me.
By the time I’ve answered every question, I feel downtrodden and exhausted. Finally admitting how overwhelmed I am, even if it’s only on a piece of paper has taken it out of me and the urge to curl up into a ball is incredibly tempting.
“Are you all done?” Dot asks.
I nod and hand her the clipboard when she reaches for it.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to ask your mom to step out for a little while. We can always ask her to come back in at any point.”
“Okay,” I say, looking to my mom and finding her eyes red-rimmed and glassy.
Mom looks at Dot, then back to me. She rises from her chair, leans down and kisses my forehead. “I love you, baby girl.”
“Love you too,” I whisper, watching as she leaves the room.
“Okay, Nova, I know this is a strange environment, but I’d like for you to try to relax as much as possible. All we’re going to do is have a chat. This session is just going to be about getting to know each other. I’ll start, my name is Dorothea Hargreaves, but everyone calls me Dot. I’m married, I have two kids, and I have doctorate in psychiatry from Columbia University.”
Dot stares at me expectantly and I take a deep breath, hardening my resolve to be honest, to do whatever I have to do to fix myself. “I’m Nova Stubbs, I’m eighteen, and I’m a senior at Archer’s Creek High.”
“You have a lot of people who came with you today, tell me about them.”
“Err, there’s my mom and dad; my three brothers Zeke, Dill, and Leo; and my best friends Emmy and Griffin.”
“Are you the oldest, youngest, or in the middle?”
“I’m the oldest. Zeke is a year younger than me, but he’s a senior too, and Dill and Leo are both fifteen.”
“Tell me about your mom and dad.”
“They’re pretty great. Mom’s an accountant and Dad runs a private security company. They’re disgustingly in love; always kissing each other, not exactly what you want to see your parents doing.”
Dot laughs. “How about your friends Emmy and Griffin, how long have you known them?”
“I’ve known Emmy my entire life, our parents are friends and she’s only a couple of months younger than me. We grew up together. Griffin moved here about ten years ago, but it feels like he’s always been here, they’re family.”
“That’s great, family and friends are important,” she says with a smile. “Tell me about school.”
I still, not wanting to even think about school, my classmates or the pep rally yesterday. I shake my head and swallow convulsively. The silence as she waits for me to respond is stifling, but the words just won’t come.
“Okay, we’ll leave that for a minute,” Dot says warmly. “Tell me about the other people in your life.”
The pressure in my chest lifts with her words, and I feel like I can breathe again. I tell her about my extended family, about the club, about all of my aunties and uncles, and she listens, occasionally asking questions, but mainly just staying quiet and listening to me talk.
“So your auntie and uncle are foster carers?”
“Yes, Ethan was their first foster kid, but they’ve had loads over the last few years.”
“Do they have any children living with them at the moment?”
I nod. “Yes, they have Sabrina, Callum, and...” I pause not really wanting to say his name, not sure if I can.
“And?” she prompts
“And Valentine.” I finally say, forcing his name past my lips.
“Tell me about Valentine,” Dot asks.
Tears spill from my eyes without me realizing they were building and I twist the fingers that I hadn’t realized were shaking together in my lap. “He… He arrived about three weeks ago. He’s a senior.”
“Okay, and how has he integrated? The rest of your auntie and uncle’s children, you consider family, even Ethan who was originally a foster placement. So is Valentine family?”
I shake my head, my heart beating like a drum in my chest as I remember the way he touched me, the way I touched him. The way he made my loud mind quiet, how he brought me to orgasm and kissed me until I was breathless. Then I think about the video, about seeing myself falling apart, clutching my head and crying on that screen.
“No, he’s not family.”
Dot glances at her wristwatch, then back to me. “I’m afraid that we’re out of time. I’m going to have you schedule an appointment every day f
or the next week or so, then we can reassess. Is that okay with you?”
I nod. “I don’t want to go back to school,” I blurt out.
Her smile is sad but understanding. “I’m going to recommend that you receive all your assignments at home, at least for the next week.”
A relieved burst of air escapes from me and I feel myself sink lower into the couch beneath me. “Thank you.”
Dot smiles, then rises from her seat. I follow suit, standing upright on shaky legs.
“Nova,” Dot says as I reach the door. “You’ll be okay. It’s going to take some time, but you’ll be okay.”
I nod, not sure that I completely believe her assurances, but really wanting to.
When we get home, we all pile into the basement. No one mentions my appointment or my meltdown yesterday, they just crowd around me silently offering their support. Hours later, when Mom and Dad have gone back upstairs and we’re watching the second movie of the day, Zeke and Griffin eye each other, then stand and head to the refrigerator on the far side of the room. A few minutes later when they haven’t come back, I glance over the back of the couch and spot them, their heads together, talking in hushed tones.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Zeke lifts his head, eyeing Griffin warily before looking to me and smiling. “Nothing, Sis. You want a drink?”
“No thanks, and bullshit. You’re obvious talking about something you don’t want me to hear. What is it?”
Zeke’s smile hardens into a brittle line. “Nothing you need to worry about. Griff and I are going to take care of it. You just concentrate on you.”
My pulse races and I turn fully in my seat. “Zeke, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on? What are you going to take care of?”
I watch as he looks to Griffin, who shrugs. His sigh is resigned and weary. “Griff and I are going to go and speak to Valentine.”
“Why?”
“To make sure he doesn’t keep sniffing around you or turn up at the house again.”
“What?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
“He turned up yesterday, then he came again today,” Griffin says ruefully.
“Emmy told me he was here yesterday. He came again today?” My words are slow.