Left Behind

by Vi Keeland

  “Fine. Fine. Just stop yelling at me. I’ll drive you home after practice and then come back to the library.”

  “Do you know how it looks when you hang out with them in public?” The way her lip twists up in a snarl makes her beautiful face turn ugly.

  “Yeah. It looks like I have real friends, ones that aren’t even more plastic than their credit cards,” I shoot back, my voice laced with contempt I no longer try to hide.

  Eyes wide, she has the audacity to look appalled. “My friends are not plastic!”

  “I have to get to class.” I open the door leading inside from the now empty courtyard. Everyone’s already gone and I’m going to be late for English. I hold the door open and speak without turning back to face her, “You coming or not?”

  Emily huffs, but stomps through the door. God forbid she be caught in the courtyard alone.

  ***

  I sit in English class staring at Mr. Hartley, but I don’t hear a word he says. My head is so jumbled, wondering where Emily and I veered off course to wind up in such different places. For the last eight years, we’ve always been Zack and Em. I don’t think I ever really gave any thought to dating anyone else, everyone always just assumed Emily and I would wind up together, including me. But I’m not sure I can do it anymore. Some days, I barely recognize who she is; she’s changed so much.

  I used to think her attitude was part of her insecurity, putting other people down made her feel better about herself. On the outside, everyone sees a beautiful girl, full of confidence, fearless. Only I know the truth. She was criticized for years.

  When we were younger, Emily hated her mother’s fixation on social status. I remember one time, when we were ten or eleven, we rode our bikes to the park the day after a heavy rainstorm. The dirt under the swings had turned into thick, squishy mud. We spent hours chasing each other, tossing handfuls of mud until the only white visible was the whites of our eyes. We had the greatest day; neither of us could stop smiling. Until Mrs. Bennett caught sight of us. She freaked out, worried what people might think if they saw her daughter covered in dirt.

  For years Emily complained about her mother’s obsessiveness over how things looked. How she looked. But then, a little at a time, she started to become the very thing she despised. The criticized became the critic. I know it’s not really her fault. So for a long time, I put up with Emily putting people down, with no one ever being good enough, because that’s all that she’s ever known. But I’m tired of making excuses about who she’s become to people…making excuses to myself.

  “You okay?” Allie Parker breaks me out of deep thought. I look around, finding the class half empty. Guess I didn’t hear the bell ring.

  “Uh…yeah. I’m just tired today. Coach has us doing extra practice time with the game coming up.” It’s not a lie. The whole team has been putting in extra time, although physically I’m not tired at all.

  “I can cover your part of the project. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” Allie offers, a sweet smile on her face. She really is pretty. How have I never noticed it before? Dark hair, pale skin, green eyes with a hint of grey in them. The color is really unusual and I find myself staring to get a better look.

  “You okay?” Allie tilts her head to the side, her smile fading to a look of concern. I force myself to snap out of it.

  “Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. I’ll meet you at the library after practice.”

  “Okay. But if you change your mind…we’ll cover it. No worries.”

  ***

  Cheerleading practice ended before football practice today and, as usual, Emily is waiting for me outside of the locker room. I’m not sure what I expected after the scene in the courtyard a few hours ago, but she takes my hand and starts walking and talking as if nothing even happened.

  “How long do you think you’ll be at the library tonight?” she says, as though the subject hadn’t sparked a heated argument only a short while ago.

  “I have no idea, why?”

  “My parents are going out to dinner with the Schumers tonight, they won’t be back until late. Thought maybe you could stop over and help me with a few things.” She turns and walks backward, still holding my hand. Her hips sway with each step. I don’t ask what she needs help with, yet she continues anyway. “Like taking off my bra…rubbing night cream into my skin…,” Emily trails off, allowing my brain to fill in the rest.

  A year ago, I would have jumped at the chance, but my head just isn’t lined up with the rest of my body that responds to her invitation without thinking. “Let me see how late we get done.”

  I drop her off and head back to the library. Being around her could give a guy whiplash. One minute she’s hot, the next she’s cold. Something about it seems more off than the usual mood swings I’ve come to accept as part of the charm that is Emily Bennett. Her highs are just higher these days and her lows are lower.

  ***

  Allie and our two other English project partners are at the library working by the time I arrive. They’re so easy to be around, it’s a nice change to spend time with people who actually enjoy reading a book. Even if Emily had fun doing any of her homework, she’d never admit it for fear the cool police might catch her and kick her out of the elite club. The one she’s the president and poster child for these days.

  “Thank god, you’re here. Allie and Cory want to do our project based on The Scarlet Letter. I need you on my side, dude.” Keller Daughtry looks desperate for some testosterone to join him in the fight.

  Our project is to read a book that is considered adult lit, pull out the conflicts and resolution, and incorporate the elements into a younger, more appropriate story aimed at an elementary school student.

  “You want to write a story about an adulterer for seven year olds?” I take off my jacket, turn a chair around backwards to sit, and jump right into the middle of the debate.

  “Not a story about an adulterer…we can make it about a less mature type of sin…but I think the main points, the moral of the story, can be simplified easily enough.” Allie says.

  “Zack, help me here. Tell these two that Scarlet Letter is a chick book and we should do something a little more interesting.” Keller leans back in his chair, hands locked behind his head, waiting for me to defend his position.

  I look over at Allie. Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know, Keller, Scarlet Letter might work.”

  Allie smiles victoriously, giving Keller no time to rebut. “So it’s settled, our book is Scarlet Letter…how about we each write down what lesson we think the book is supposed to teach and then swap papers and see if we can come up with a way to relate the message to young kids.”

  It takes a little convincing from the three of us, but Keller agrees to give Allie’s idea a try. Nine o’clock rolls around too quickly and the librarian is practically kicking us out as we finally decide the plot for our storybook. I’m the only one with a car tonight, so I offer to drive everyone home. I drop off Cory and Keller first, even though they live closer to me and it would’ve made more sense to drop them off after Allie.

  I pull up in front of Allie’s house, our comfortable conversation falling into a lull. Suddenly there’s uneasiness between us. At least that’s what I feel, although I’m not sure Allie feels the same way. Or maybe she’s just really good at hiding it. “So, are you going to the bonfire Saturday night?” I ask.

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “You should go,” I say, with a hint of desperation in my voice that surprises even me when I hear it.

  Allie smiles, turning to face me. It’s dark, but I can see the green in her eyes light up. “Okay. Maybe I will.”

  “Then maybe I’ll see you there,” I tease.

  She giggles and leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride home, Zack.”

  “No problem.” I watch her walk to the door, telling myself it’s the gentlemanly thing to do…make sure she gets in the house okay and all. But the way my eyes stay glued
to her every step of the way is anything but gentlemanly.

  Pulling into my driveway, I wait patiently as the garage door slowly rolls up. Across the street, the light is on in Emily’s room. I’m sure she left it on to tell me she’s awake. Her parents’ car isn’t in the driveway yet.

  I get out of the car in the garage, and press the button to lower the door. There’s time for me to duck underneath, but instead I watch the door creep down until it reaches the floor and Emily’s house is no longer in sight. I’m sure I’ll get an earful tomorrow morning for not coming by. But tonight, it just doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.

  Chapter 7

  Nikki—

  Brookside, Texas

  When I look out the kitchen window for the twentieth time in the last hour, Ashley tries to get me to relax. “Never thought I’d see the day where you’re anxious to see Evil Evans,” she teases.

  “What if she didn’t find her?”

  “She did. Don’t worry.”

  Four long days of waiting, not hearing a word from Ms. Evans, had me convinced that I was just a file to her. Not a person whose future depended on her being able to spend more than an hour on one of the forty-plus kids in her caseload. Until today, when she called and said she needed to talk to me.

  “You don’t know that,” I say.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” My words come out a bit curt. It’s a tone I’ve never taken with Ashley and her eyebrows arch in surprise.

  “I may not have heard the words, but I know it in my heart. I know things have to work out for you, Nikki.”

  “What makes you so sure?” I murmur.

  The sound of tires pulling into the trailer’s gravel driveway saves Ashley from having to answer. She slips out with a weak smile. I have the door open waiting before Ms. Evans even exits her car.

  “You look tired today, Nikki.” She glances around at the sparse furnishings and sighs. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  My heart lurches in my chest. The doctors always asked me to sit whenever they had to deliver bad news. I wonder if adults think I might fall over if they tell me something I don’t want to hear. Something irrational inside of me tells me that if I stand, she won’t be able to give me bad news.

  “I’d rather stand.” I say, trying my best to not come off difficult. I’m in no mood to waste time debating the benefits of sitting versus standing.

  Ms. Evans takes a deep breath and looks at me for a minute before nodding and sitting down herself. She takes out an oversized leather planner, the zipper bulging to contain all of the different manila folders shoved inside. Shuffling though at least a dozen worn folders with notes scribbled all over their outsides, she stops at one and pulls it out from the pile. It’s fatter than all the others.

  “I found your Aunt, Nikki.”

  Excited. Scared. Nervous. Anxious. I decide to sit after all.

  “She wants to meet you.”

  “Really?” My heart races with excitement. “Where is she?”

  “She’s here, in Texas.”

  “She lives in Texas?” My hopes raised, there’s no hiding how I feel. Ms. Evans reads my face and I see her expression falter.

  “No. I’m afraid she lives in California”

  “So why is she in Texas? Did she come to see me?”

  “She came in for your mother’s funeral.”

  My eyes widen. I’ve seen my Aunt and don’t even know it. “Really?”

  “Yes. She thinks she saw you in the parking lot when she pulled in. But you looked upset and she didn’t want to make it worse by approaching you.”

  “But…but Mom’s funeral was a week ago. Why is she still here?”

  “She’s been trying to figure out what to do. She wasn’t sure if she should reach out to you.”

  “And now she wants to meet me? Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? I thought you’d be thrilled with the news.”

  I am happy. At least I think I am…but something makes me feel even more unsettled than before Ms. Evans came in to tell me my fate. “She wants to see me to decide if she wants to take me, doesn’t she?”

  “It’s not like that, Nikki.”

  “Has she agreed to take me?” I ask pointedly.

  “No. But she hasn’t said no either.”

  “So she’s undecided.”

  “I think she wants to do what’s best for you. She wants to meet you. Get to know you a little better.”

  Great. A test. Just what I need now. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Pushing panic aside, I do my best not to show fear. “Okay.”

  Ms. Evans smiles at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she likes me today.

  “I’ll pick you up at noon and you two can have lunch. Get to know each other a bit.”

  As if I had any other choice, I force a smile and nod.

  ***

  I tear through all of my taped boxes and Ashley’s entire closet, trying to decide what to wear. There’s just no outfit that screams, I’m a kid you never met, but you should let me live with you anyway. I finally settle for jeans and a pink shirt. The shirt is a bit frou-frou for my taste, but Ashley swears it makes me look sweet and innocent. I’ll take any help I can get.

  The whole ride to the restaurant we’re meeting my Aunt at, Ms. Evans tries to make small talk, but I’m too nervous to participate much. I stare out the window, watching the trailer parks fade into the distance as Houston gets closer and closer.

  “Mrs. Nichols is very nice, I think you’ll like her.” Evil Evans says as we pull into a parking lot.

  “Mrs. Nichols? Is that what I should call her? I guess she’s married?” I’d gone over so many things in my head…thought I was thoroughly prepared for today, but already there’s two things I haven’t even thought of. What do I call her? And what if she’s married and already has kids? Maybe they won’t want another mouth to feed.

  “Relax.” Ms. Evans reaches down and covers my hand with hers. I’m not sure why, but I let her.

  “I think you can call her Claire, or Mrs. Nichols if that makes you more comfortable. And, no, she isn’t married. She’s a widow.”

  “How did her husband die?” I have no idea why I ask the question, but I really want to know the answer for some reason.

  “I didn’t ask, Nikki.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t either?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

  “I think you’ll be fine. You ask what you need to ask. This needs to work for both of you. Not just Mrs. Nichols.” She pats the hand she’s still holding.

  I take a deep breath and blow out an exaggerated exhale.

  “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  ***

  Claire Nichols is nothing like I expected. She’s tall, unlike the petite size my mother and I are. Or were. The petite size my mother was. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a simple ponytail, yet it leaves her looking sophisticated and stylish. She’s wearing a sweater set and skirt, very modern and pretty.

  Ms. Evans makes the awkward introductions and leaves us after only a few minutes to deal with another emergency. The second one that’s come up during the two hours I’ve been with her.

  “How are you holding up, Nikki?” It seems to be a popular question that grownups like to ask. Very generic, open ended.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really?” Claire waits till she catches my gaze. Her eyes take my breath away. They’re the same as Mom’s, pale blue with a dark ring of greenish blue around the outside.

  “You have Mom’s eyes.” The words tumble from my lips and I hear them wobble as they reach the air.

  Claire smiles hesitantly. “Our mom used to say if it wasn’t for our eyes, she’d never believe we were sisters.”

  “You weren’t a lot alike, I guess.”

  She shakes her head. “You have her eyes too.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you know you
r mom had a sister, Nikki?”

  Unsure what the right answer is, I lie. “Yes.” Claire taking me home with her is step one in my plan to find my own sister. I need to make her think my mom would have really wanted me to be with her. My guess is that’s actually the furthest thing from the truth, since Mom didn’t tell me she had a sister until after she died.

  “I’m surprised,” Claire says, and I can see the shock on her face. She isn’t lying.

  “My mother said she was sorry she stopped speaking to you a long time ago. She regretted it, Aunt Claire.” I force the Aunt in, hoping it might help. Shoot…she looks skeptical.

  “She did? I mean, no disrespect to your mom. She was my sister, after all, but in all the years I spent with her, I never saw her show any regret. I thought it was something that her…” She stops abruptly, looking as if she’s said something wrong. Is she afraid to mention Mom’s illness, or does she think I don’t know Mom was mentally ill? I lived with her for seventeen years. How could she think I didn’t know?

  “I know all about my mom’s illness. She needed me to know so I could help her. Plus, it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to hide, if you know what I mean.”

  A combination of relief and dread wash over her pale pretty face. It’s something I’m used to. Nobody wants to talk to a kid about mental illness. People would feel more comfortable telling a child her mother has cancer than that she has a psychiatric disease. Mental illness is taboo in society. I don’t get it. I never have. But I’ve learned to deal with it. Everyone was so comfortable talking about Mom’s diabetes— a condition she was born with and one she needed to take insulin for her entire life. But when the conversation turned to the illness in Mom’s head, everyone got afraid.