Standing Sideways

by J. Lynn Bailey

  When I’m heading to my next class, Mr. Joe is heading straight for me, in the same path, the outside hallway, underneath the awning that connects building B to building C. An invisible orchestra plays a sinful line of notes as our free space comes to a close.

  If I walked away now, it would look as if I was avoiding him—which I am, which isn’t good, which is easier if I do, which I shouldn’t do, but I want to.

  But there’s no running now because we’re stopped, facing each other, staring.

  I take my foot and push imaginary pebbles out of the walkway. This never works in the movies, but I try it anyway.

  At any moment, I know he’ll begin The Declaration of Livia Stone, The Bad—a lecture series.

  He begins, “Has anyone told you that you’re a runner?” His voice is light. A bit frothy, but he’s not mad. His movements are quick, like his words.

  “A runner? Like a competitive runner?” I ask, clearly confused.

  “No. You run from problems you can’t solve. Instead of solving them, you run from them.”

  I feel like a little girl being scolded by her mother for running down to the creek when she should have just stayed by the house. “No.”

  “Well, now, they have,” Mr. Joe sighs. He pulls down on his plaid shirt. “Livia, you have so much potential, and you are throwing it all away. All away.” He moves his hands in such a way. “I’m frustrated with you for not seeing that. I know how bad you hurt, Liv; trust me, I do. But this is your senior year—the deal-breaker year. And, if you don’t get your stuff together now, it will take a long time to get there again. If ever.”

  “Why are you pushing me so hard, Mr. Joe?” comes out of my mouth.

  Mr. Joe takes his hands and smooths his hair, as if he’s not prepared to field this question. He sighs. “Forget it. You want to throw your future away? Then, so be it. But don’t say I wasn’t here to help.” And he slides past me and keeps walking, his thin-laced fancy shoes tapping with each hasty step. “You’re taking the easy road, Liv,” he calls behind him. “Easy-roaders only make it to the curb.”

  Usually, when a situation I’ve been dreading is faced, I feel better but not this time. This time, I feel worse. I feel like Mr. Joe has it right. And I have it all wrong.

  “Do you think I should text Daniel? See how he’s doing?”

  Cao and I are at lunch, sitting at the fifty-yard line on the football field, and I’m trying to distract myself from the email. The big, fat email that sits in my inbox, waiting for a response.

  Cao, her humongous, round black sunglasses resting on the tip of her nose, leans back and absorbs the bright yellow circle shining in the sky. She pulls her head back and looks at me. “You haven’t yet?”

  I shake my head, looking at my phone.

  Cao puts her face back toward the sun.

  “I’m just going to text him.”

  “Who?”

  “Daniel.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  I ask how he’s doing and if he needs anything, how his mom is doing, and if his dad is there in three short, choppy sentences. I hit Send.

  It says Delivered under the text, and impatiently, I wait for his reply.

  “I met with Mr. Joe today. Well, met is a strong word. Ran into, I guess.”

  “Did he give you the speech that you’d expected?”

  “Actually, no. I thought he’d give the slow, meaningful speech though emotionless. Unaffected. The normal one we’re used to in class.” And then I realize that we aren’t in the same class anymore. A piece of my ego—the one that cares about college, my future—falls off the side of the planet.

  “And he didn’t?” Cao takes her eyes from the sun that’s quickly being whisked away by the clouds.

  “No. He was angry. Like really disappointed. Said that I had potential and that I was throwing it all away.” I pick at the grass blades of the field that our community gathers on every Friday night from October to December.

  “Wait. Mr. Joe was angry?”

  I nod.

  My phone chimes, and my heart jumps. It’s a Blog Heiress update.

  Cao looks down at her phone, too, with the update.

  I swallow as I open up the post.

  BLOG HEIRESS

  Well, Belle’s Bitches, it’s been a long 24 hours. And busy. Between scandal and immoral behavior among Belle’s Hollow’s finest, I can’t keep up. I’ve been a busy kitten unwinding this big ball of yarn, only to find the plot keeps on getting messier and messier.

  First, as you know, Leah Moran was spotted at Belle’s Hollow Women’s Clinic not too long ago. I’m not sure if Leah has gained a few pounds or if her clothes are fitting a bit too tight, but it looks like she might be sporting a baby bump. Keep your eyes peeled and your mind open.

  Second, Haunted House theme won for this year’s prom. It has been scheduled for November 28. Get dressed in your scariest shit and bring a date. Tickets are on sale at the Associated Student Body office, or you can buy them online when the link becomes available. Plus, I heard someone’s bringing Jack and Daniel, so drink the punch. ;)

  Third, the school carnival is next week.

  Fourth, Mr. Lowery is off to rehab! But don’t think we’re getting away with NOT taking Chemistry. They are bringing in some wet-behind-the-ears teacher fresh out of college to fill his spot. Hope he’s a hottie!

  Fifth, see how it’s getting juicier and juicier as we go along? Apparently, after Livia’s drug bust, Principal Lundberg and Mr. Marty were working late on the Stone case when Livia swore she didn’t take the pills.

  Oh, please.

  Caught red-handed and still won’t confess.

  Apparently, her dad—alcoholic, back to dad, back to lawyer—threw his card down like a bad mic drop. It’s funny what you can get away with when you have a lawyer dad to protect you.

  Fifth, and certainly not least, late, late into the evening, Principal Lundberg—married—and Mr. Marty—in his so dated Hawaii Five-0 glasses with his pants hiked up to his crotch so far in fact that you can tell what side Princess Sophia sits on—grabbed dinner at Las Cazuela’s.

  I’d say there’s more than meets the eye here.

  BAE anyone?

  P.S. PARTY at Mark Pattison’s this Friday night!

  TTFN!

  BeLHo

  I feel my heartbeat in my ears. The want to punch the writer of BeLHo in the face is prevalent and exists within my fists.

  “Why does she have it out for me so bad?” It’s more of a rhetorical question.

  I check my text messages, trying to distract myself. Still no response from Daniel, which makes my stomach roll into knots as I try to forget about the blog post.

  I need a drink.

  “She’s just trying to get under your skin, so you’ll react.”

  I play back BeLHo’s words. It’s funny what you can get away with when you have a lawyer dad to protect you.

  “And how about her outing Mr. Lowery for going to rehab? Totally messed up. It’s like her heart is ice, and her lips are steel.” Cao slips her sunglasses off.

  I check my text messages. “Maybe I should call Daniel?”

  “Won’t hurt.”

  I pull up his number and hit Call.

  Ring one.

  Ring two.

  Ring three.

  Ring four.

  Ring five.

  And then I hear his voice mail. His voice is eloquent, as if I can hear when he licks his lips, when he pauses, and when he uses syllables. Like I can feel his accent over the phone. Hear the way he smells.

  What if Rose died?

  I hear the message beep.

  Shit.

  A message.

  “Uh, hey, uh, Daniel. Just, uh, checking up—I mean, checking in on you.” My face turns to fire. I shake my head. “I’m just calling to make sure you’re all right. Call me when you get a minute. Gi-give Rose my best.” The word best trails off with my stupidity because, now, I think of a million different ways I could have lef
t the message, and none of them involve checking up. I hit End.

  “Smooth,” Cao says with a smile, putting her rice bowl that her mom packed her, again, untouched, back in her backpack.

  I shake my head, tapping my phone to my lip.

  We make our way back from the field, and my phone begins to ring.

  It’s Daniel.

  Don’t sound like you’ve just run a half-marathon. Jeez, Liv. Breathe. But answer!

  “H-hello?”

  “Hello, Livia?” The voice is familiar, but it’s not Daniel’s.

  “This is Dr. Pearson, Daniel’s dad.”

  Twenty-Nine Days After Jasper and Liv’s Dad Left

  “Liv, are you awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  Footsteps to my bed.

  “I got an email from Dad.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You care.”

  “I don’t, so shut up.”

  “We need to give him a chance to explain.”

  “Get out of my room, Jasper.”

  I hang up the phone. “Rose died.” I try to swallow, but I can’t.

  I replay Dr. Pearson’s words in my head. “It’s probably in his best interest if you give him space right now.” Like he asked me to tea, but really, he was telling me to stay away from his son, and he made it sound like a compliment.

  Cao’s hand slips into mine as I take steps I’m not sure I’m taking. “I say we make the party at Mark’s tomorrow night. I think you need a break. And you need to chill.” Her voice isn’t more than a whisper.

  I nod, thinking I might need a drink—or several—to tide me over before school is out. But I think of Cao and driving her home. I can’t do that to her. I wonder if she can find her own ride, like the other day.

  “Listen, Cao, there’s something I need to do after school. Can you find a ride?” Either I’ll drink or go to the hospital to see Daniel. Either way, I give myself some alone time so I can do one or both.

  Does Daniel really not want to see me?

  I could go to the hospital. But what’s the point?

  Have they left the hospital?

  Where’s her body?

  Is Daniel okay?

  Do I really need to give him space?

  “Please don’t make me call my mom again. Last time, she showed up in my dad’s VW bus, restored in cherry red. Liv, it backfired when she pulled up to the front of the school.”

  Cao’s parents are older than most. In their sixties, they still like to live their glory days with some sort of piece from their past—whether it be the bus, the music, or the Kush they smoke on occasion that Cao and I used to smell late into the evening. I’m sure Cao threw that in Beth’s face when she caught her smoking cigarettes.

  “I just have something I need to do,” I lie.

  My gut tells me I need to go to the hospital, but my head tells me I need to stop at the liquor store. Like I’m old enough. Like they’ll sell it to me—which, most likely, will be problematic until the age of twenty-one.

  “Poppy,” I say when I get in my car after school, “where are you? You’ve been MIA, and I’m pissed about it.”

  Still, no answer.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Beth go by in the bright red VW bus, and guilt begins at my throat, but I swallow through it, just like I swallowed the pills. I’m probably saving Cao’s life by not letting her ride with me.

  You could have given her a ride and then went and drank.

  Shut up, Conscience.

  Booze.

  Hospital.

  Alcohol.

  Hospital.

  Relief.

  Hospital.

  From Belle’s Hollow High to Redwood Memorial, it’s a left, right, left, and a right again off Redwood Way. I turn left even though I really want to go home and dig through our shed in the back, but I don’t.

  I still have the power of choice. I can’t be an alcoholic.

  Questions start to filter through my head in the two-minute drive it takes to get to the hospital.

  1. Why would Daniel not want to see me?

  2. Why would Dr. Pearson tell me Daniel needs space unless it’s true that he does need space, and he doesn’t want me around?

  3. What if I’m going to the wrong hospital?

  I pull into the parking lot.

  4. What if Dr. Pearson is here with Daniel? What will I say to him?

  5. (Again) What if I’m at the wrong hospital? What if they are at St. Joseph’s Hospital, twenty minutes north? It’s a bigger facility.

  I park.

  6. What if Daniel flips out because I’m here?

  Livia, seriously.

  7. What am I doing here?

  I get out of the car.

  8. What if some things are worth fighting for?

  Booze would have been the better option.

  The sliding glass doors make a seamless whooshing sound, and the sterilized air wafts out in one big push. I check in with the elderly woman behind the volunteer desk.

  Dear God, what do I say to her?

  I approach the desk.

  I’m looking for the late Rose Pearson.

  Where’s your morgue?

  Please, direct me to the Pearson family who just lost a family member.

  Where’s the cafeteria? I’m starved.

  “I’m looking for Rose Pearson.” I swallow the tiny bit of fear that creeps in.

  The volunteer at the desk scans a list.

  Many things go through my head as I watch her well-groomed fingernail go down the list.

  The Stones probably weren’t on a list when Jasper died because there was no list. He didn’t need a hospital. He didn’t go to the hospital. Because, when he died, it was instant, the FBI said.

  We had to wait several days before the FBI released his body back to us.

  This is new territory for me, being on a list—or rather, pretending to be.

  “Are you family to Mrs. Pearson?” Her voice is soft. The chain that attaches to her bifocals is bright gold, most likely a Walgreens purchase. Her eyes grow shifty. As if perhaps she doesn’t know that I know that Rose Pearson is on the dead list.

  “Yes, niece.” If lying were a career, I’d be the CEO. I lick my lips and try to explain, “I know she’s passed. Really, I’m just looking for my…cousin and uncle.”

  “Hmm. Let me make a phone call, dear.”

  Think quickly, Liv.

  She’s probably calling the authorities because she knows I’m lying. She’s probably a grandmother. Grandmothers have an uncanny bullshit detector.

  “Oh, you know what?” I point to my phone and pretend it’s ringing. “This is my uncle now.” I hold the receiver to my ear. “Hey, Uncle Rob.” My words are cut short in my make-believe game because I don’t remember what Daniel’s dad’s name is. “Yeah, all right. See you there,” I finish. “That was my uncle, and they’re at the cafeteria.”

  “Oh, good, dear.” Her voice is wobbly from age. She nods and sits down behind the volunteer desk, waiting for the next liar.

  Now what? I think to myself as I walk away. I roam the hospital for Daniel?

  I pull my phone back out of my pocket and look for a text from him. Still, nothing. Does he not have his phone yet?

  Hospital staff walk past me as if I’m supposed to be here. As if I were invited. As if I’m not sneaking around, looking for my cousin.

  I know that asking for directions to a place I don’t know is not productive. I sit down in the waiting room and stare at my phone.

  Maybe these are all signs that I shouldn’t be here and that this was all wrong, coming here.

  The words, Sit, wait, hold tight, come to my head.

  I lean back in my chair next to the gigantic fish tank. The fish are unaffected by the hustle of the hospital—the sick, the dying, the tests, the results, the people—unless, of course, you’re a kid who taps on the tank until the fish are huddled in a corner.

  Their wide eyes approach me. The tails move back and
forth, curious yet cautious. I see a piece of my reflection in the glass, and I can’t help but notice my gaunt face and the dark circles under my eyes from fake sleep.

  “Paging Dr. Pearson. Dr. Pearson, please report to the Radiology department, please,” comes over the intercom.

  I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket, and quietly walk the wall that separates the waiting folks and the four-way stop for medical staff and/or visitors.

  Looking to the other waiting room across the way, I see a woman and her two daughters staring at me. I give an awkward smile. The woman reaches over to her daughters, as if to say, Don’t stare. The woman continues reading her magazine while her daughters plug away at their phones.

  There’s a sign with an arrow that says Radiology Department, Patient Rooms 1-33 and Cafeteria. Pretending I’m not a creeper, I push my shoulders back and pretend to seep confidence.

  As I’m following the hallway down to the Radiology department, Dr. Pearson passes me, and my heart stops. I can tell it’s him by his stride—curt and quick, as if he uses it to communicate his importance—and his shoes.

  Is he working?

  Why else would he have his scrubs on?

  But I thought he worked at St. Joseph’s?

  I’m sure though, surgeons can work at multiple locations. Right?

  This pisses me off even more, knowing Daniel is probably by himself somewhere while his father can’t get his feelings together enough to be there for his son.

  I text Daniel again as I stalk behind Dr. Pearson.

  Me: Where are you??

  Dr. Pearson pulls a phone from his scrubs. It’s Daniel’s phone. I can tell by the cover on the back. It’s black with silver wording on the back.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Immediately, I stop, turn, and pretend to read a flyer on the wall. Thank God, there’s something to read there, or this would look extremely awkward.

  What if Dr. Pearson has Daniel captive somewhere against his will?

  No, that can’t be. Because I’m certain Daniel would contact me from a home computer, explaining the situation.

  I stare at the Employee of the Month award like it’s the Holy Grail.

  With Dr. Pearson down the hallway and around the corner, I run/walk, knowing he’s gained at least twenty seconds on me. When I turn one more left, the Radiology desk is right in front of me with Dr. Pearson standing front and center. His shoulders have taken a plunge; his demeanor has changed as he stands at the desk.