I'm from Nowhere

by Suzanne Myers

  The other kids seem to like it. Maybe more than the times I sang Cat Power or Neko Case or whatever.

  “Finally,” Chazzy says. “Dude, we were getting so sick of Aimee Mann.”

  Gigi stops me by the door at the end of class. “That was good,” she says. “I know you didn’t want to do that.” She touches my arm lightly. “And I’m glad your mom’s okay.”

  Hannah manages to take the train up from the city after spending the day at New York Hospital having a million tests to make sure she is fully thawed and back to normal. I guess one good side effect of her almost dying in Greenland is that she gets to come to Parents’ Weekend, since she had to stop in New York on her way back to California. A cab drops her in the driveway in front of Baldwin. I catch sight of her through the window, standing alone with her one small bag, and my throat catches. I don’t even recognize her.

  My mother is so tiny, littler than the eighth graders I sometimes see visiting the school. She doesn’t look like she could be anyone’s mother. I want to run over and collapse on her, sobbing like a two-year-old, but she looks so frail I think I’m probably going to have to be the one to hold her up. Hannah insists she’s fine, that she just gets tired more easily than before. Ha. Understatement of understatements.

  We sit by the fire in the lobby of her hotel, drinking hot apple cider. Hannah wants to walk around and see the campus, show me the rooms where she lived and see what’s changed, but she says maybe later in the weekend. She’s too worn out from the trip and feels jet-lagged right now. So instead she tells me about falling under the ice, how when you really start to freeze you get warm instead of cold.

  “Right, like, that’s at the point when you’re about to die, Mom,” I say.

  “I guess,” she says, and blushes, as if it was silly of her to almost die.

  “How’s your new family?” she asks, not avoiding the topic like I expected her to. Maybe when you almost die, you realize there’s no point in skirting the truth.

  “Complicated,” I tell her.

  “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

  “I guess,” I agree. But I smile. Really, she’s been through enough in the last two months. I feel bad about how mad I got at her right before the accident.

  She doesn’t mention Ed right away, so I decide not to yet. Instead she goes back to asking about Hardwick: What are my friends like? Which teachers are the best? Is Selby still so overheated in the winter that you have to leave all the windows open?

  I talk about Gigi. I debate whether to ask her about Ms. Taubin, what Hannah did to hurt her feelings so badly, and then decide against it. Instead, I describe which room in Selby is mine, and she tells me she had the same room her Upper Year. She asks about Chazzy.

  “You’ll like him,” I tell her. “You’ll meet him this weekend. He’s funny and smart. He makes me feel funny and smart. Like when we’re together, somehow we’re both our funniest and smartest.”

  That makes her smile again. Then she asks how it’s going with Honor. I consider telling her what really happened over Thanksgiving, but decide it wouldn’t be fair to Honor. Crazy, I know. What makes me protect her?

  “I know she hasn’t been very nice to you,” Hannah says. “It must be hard to be thrown together like this. Hard for both of you. This must have really rocked her world.”

  “I guess,” I say, feeling a sulk come over me like a heavy weight, even though I’ve had the same thought myself. I don’t see why Honor deserves her sympathy. I was the one Hannah kept the secret from all those years. Honor got to have both of her parents the whole time.

  “Don’t go all teen on me,” Hannah scolds. “That will make for a long and tedious weekend.”

  I glare at her. I’ve earned the right not to be nice in this situation. “Honor has the same anchor I do. Did Ed give it to you?”

  Hannah shakes her head, like it’s dicey territory and she’s not sure how far to wade in. “No,” she says. “That was my mother’s. It’s a Stone Cove tradition. It’s like a club. If you’ve been on the island a long time.”

  “The country club?” I’d walked past the entrance to the Anchor Club, Stone Cove Island’s golf and tennis club, on my way back to Great-Aunt Helen’s.

  “Sort of. It’s more of a social club. It’s like the island’s local version of the Social Register. A way for a bunch of old, snobby families to stick together. If you’ve been there long enough, they give you a diamond anchor. Black diamonds, because the traditional anchor is iron. The men get a signet ring with a black anchor. Edward’s family was another of those families that had been on the island forever.”

  “He told me you weren’t into rules,” I say.

  “Some rules. Some of their rules. I knew if they got wind of Ed and me—of you—they would never let it go. It would be like some crazy arranged royal wedding. In their minds only, obviously. The rest of the world wouldn’t care. I couldn’t stand the idea of being handled and managed like that.”

  “Even though you loved Ed,” I say.

  Hannah doesn’t answer.

  “Sorry. I just think you should have told me. It’s not fair that you decided it was easier for you to keep it secret. Don’t you think I deserve to have a father?”

  “Of course, Wren. It wasn’t that I was never going to tell you.”

  “No? When were you going to?”

  She looks at me like she’s waiting for the answer to come to her. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “Look, Wren, you have to remember how young I was and the point I was at in my life. I wasn’t all that much older than you are now. I had just finished college. I was just starting to live my own life. That family is very controlling. Edward’s family. And my family. There’s nothing my parents wanted more than for me to marry someone like Edward. That’s one reason I didn’t tell anyone. I could never have gotten away. He could never have left New York. He had his family business to run, and he always knew that’s what he would do.”

  I sigh. “They do have newspapers in New York, you know. I hear there’s even a pretty good one.”

  “Wren, if I had become Mrs. Gibson, there would have been no room for that. Especially at the age I was. I hadn’t even gotten started yet. Then later, I was worried about custody and getting enmeshed again . . . You won’t believe me, probably, but I am glad you met him. I am glad you like him. I’m especially glad he was there when you needed him. I hadn’t really thought that part through, I guess, the possibility . . .” She musters an odd, wan smile at this point, like someone in a movie. “Anyway, you do like him, right?”

  “Yeah, I like him. Don’t you?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen him in sixteen years. But I did. Yes. Of course.”

  “I know what you mean about the family,” I admit. “It’s definitely a whole scene. But I wouldn’t mind being a little enmeshed. And having a family. They were nice to me. Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” says Hannah. “That’s okay.”

  “I have an awesome little brother. That’s kind of fun.”

  “Right. That’s fun. And a sister your age.”

  “Less fun. Although I’ll admit, sort of interesting. Or something. It’s all so weird. It’s always been just the two of us.”

  Without warning, my mother bursts into tears.

  “Hannah! What? I’m not going anywhere. It’s not like I’m leaving you for the fabulous Gibsons—”

  “I shouldn’t have sent you away,” she sobs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Don’t cry, Mom. I’m glad.” Well, glad might be an oversimplification, but on balance . . .

  She sniffs, then laughs. “I’m a little emotional since the accident,” she says, wiping away tears. “Ignore me. Actually, maybe you could sit and read to me? I still get headaches when I read to myself.”

  Back in the hotel room, Hannah takes off her boots and stretches
out on her bed in her stockings. It’s funny that her feet are smaller than mine. Weird that you can end up bigger than your parents.

  I read her every article in the in local Connecticut tourism magazine, followed by the room service menu, until she falls asleep, snuggled under the perfect flecked-linen blanket Honor picked out. She does look better, I think, really believing it for the first time. It’s possible that life could go back to normal, whatever that means now.

  I look out the window into the fading afternoon light, thinking about how nothing in my life is the same as it was three months ago.

  All Hardwick alums are invited to skit night. They don’t sit with the students, but in the back of the chapel. As we find our seats, the Lowers herded together on the left side behind the Last Years, I turn and see Hannah standing in the back, looking for a seat.

  From across the way, Ms. Taubin is trying to catch Hannah’s eye. She waves, and Hannah notices her. Hannah smiles and waves back. Ms. Taubin smiles too, though I’m pretty sure Hannah doesn’t know who she is. My mom is terrible at recognizing people, and I’ve seen her do the same generic smile and wave before, when she couldn’t place someone but knew she should. Ms. Taubin doesn’t notice, though. She just seems happy to be seen.

  Chazzy is way behind me, about ten rows. I wave at him, and he shrugs at me like, “Too bad we can’t sit together.” I shrug back.

  This year’s skit is a takeoff on How the Grinch Stole Christmas, with the Grinch depicted by Mr. Armitage, the grouchy European history teacher; Cindy Lou Who played by Gigi, obviously; and Max the dog played by Bennett Hale. Everyone laughs as the Grinch tries to steal the candy cane from the mouth of the sleeping Suki Sidwell, who chomps down on it like a terrier, and Galen Anderson, the ethereal official beauty of that grade, gets to lead the Whos in their “Fah Who Foraze!” carol, dressed in a long flannel nightgown.

  After the Winter Festival skit, the Last Years lead the procession out of the chapel, wearing crowns made from evergreen boughs, and the rest of us follow in a straggly, energized, giggling throng. Chazzy is far ahead of me. The alumni have already gone outside, and Hannah has said she’ll go straight back to the hotel to rest, so I don’t bother trying to catch up.

  Outside the cold air almost has a taste, like wintergreen. I think about what Christmas will be like in California: sunny and cool with twinkly lights on palm trees and wreaths on car hoods; thin, watercolor sky; the even sameness of every day. It fills me momentarily with longing, and then as I imagine actually returning to my life there and leaving Hardwick, my stomach knots. I feel suddenly the full impact of how much I want to come back next year, how much I want to be Suki Sidwell someday, gnawing the candy cane and growling, making my Last Year classmates and the rest of the school laugh.

  I think about Christmas. I think about next summer. I wonder what Hannah will do when Edward visits us in December. (He has some business in LA so is planning a detour to Ventura to see us. I haven’t told Hannah about it yet.) I wonder, but I also know it’s not going to be resolved right here and right now.

  “Nick, are you coming?” shouts Lauren Benaceraf from the path. When I look up, I see Nick standing right in front of me, looking expectant. I’m confused. He’s waiting for me?

  “No, I think I’m going to hang here. See you.” He nods for her to go and turns back to me. She lingers as long as she respectably can, pretending she’s looking for something in her bag, then starts to walk away.

  “What’d you think?” he asks.

  “The skit? Oh, funny. Really great.” Why me? I think. Why now? Because I stopped thinking about him for a minute and he noticed?

  “Hale makes an awesome dog, don’t you think?” Nick says.

  So here it is, my big chance, staring me in the face. It’s like the night in the pool: this short, electric distance between us that I can cross if I want to. And then I will be on the other side with Nick. For a second I see Lauren’s face, panicked and desperate as she turns away, walking as slowly as she can so Nick can catch up if he changes his mind. Students mill past us, making their way to Hale or back to their dorms.

  “It’s so crazy that you and Honor are sisters,” he says. An observation, I think, rather than a compliment. News travels fast.

  “Yup,” I say. “It’s crazy, all right.”

  But Nick keeps looking right into my eyes, like I’m the only person here. I can have what I’ve wanted right now, if I just reach out and take it. I expected to. But I don’t. Now that it’s finally here, I don’t.

  “You know, I should go,” I say. “Chazzy’s waiting for me.”

  It’s not completely a lie. Chazzy probably is waiting for me somewhere, full of things to say, happy to see me as always, not thinking about how to act or make conversation, ready to pick up where we left off.

  Nick looks surprised. “Really?” he asks. I can tell he thinks that I’m chickening out. He knows I’ve been a mess over him all semester. He’s not an idiot. And anyway, he’s used to reading the signs. He’s had a lot of practice. I’m embarrassed now, seeing plainly how obvious I’ve been and how easy he assumed this would be.

  “Okay. Don’t want to keep Chazzy waiting.” He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. For a minute I think he’s going to pat my head, like I’m a little girl. Instead he kisses me. A real kiss.

  I’m so shocked, I can’t move. Instead of feeling thrilled, I feel angry. I said no, and he still kissed me. Like no one can say no to him, or he can’t imagine anyone could really mean it if they did. Like he just can’t stand to lose any competition.

  I realize at that moment what it is I actually want. And standing here, outside the chapel, flirting with Nick suddenly feels like a huge waste of time.

  “I’m sure,” I tell him, unsure how to back away from the kiss now that I’m standing here, our noses inches apart. Really, someone should write a guidebook. There aren’t that many situations to cover, right? It would be a big help. And where are the teachers when you actually need them? I decide on a polite—I hope—smile.

  “See you,” I say, turning up the path.

  “See you,” he says. He sounds both annoyed and amused. I can almost feel him watching me walk away.

  Do I tell Chazzy what just happened? No. There’s no reason to hurt his feelings. And it’s too late to talk tonight, anyway. I won’t tell anyone. I’m sure Nick won’t, either. Instead of being mad, maybe I should be grateful to him for helping me make up my mind.

  Up ahead on the path, I see Honor. She turns when she hears my footsteps, and when she realizes it’s me, her face clouds over. But she waits for me to catch up.

  “Hey.” She almost growls it.

  Now what? God, she’s exhausting.

  Clearly Honor’s mad at me again, but this time feels different. This time she’s mad not like you’re mad at someone you wish didn’t exist, but like you’re mad at someone you have to deal with every day, someone who’s not going anywhere, like you would be mad at someone you’ve been mad at before and will be again, with other emotions and events scattered in between. This time, she is mad at me like I’m not invisible.

  “You know why he didn’t come this weekend, right? He didn’t want to see your mother.” I don’t get why Honor would be mad that Ed doesn’t want to see my mother. I would think she would see that as a win for her side. Advantage, Team Honor.

  “I thought your mother and Ed divided up holidays and school events,” I add. I had assumed that since Thanksgiving was Ed’s, Parents’ Weekend would be Honor’s and Ned’s mother’s event.

  “No!” she says. “He always comes to this. He always goes to skit night. He’s not here because he doesn’t want to see your mother. As in, he wants to see her.”

  She looks at me like I’m the stupidest girl she’s ever met.

  “Forget it,” she says. “It’s almost like you’re from another planet.” I know that
doesn’t sound like a compliment as I write it, but the way she said it, it almost sounded nice. We keep walking without talking. I can’t reassure her that Ed doesn’t want to see my mother, can I? I have no idea what he wants.

  When we are almost back at Selby, Honor says, “So you’re staying.” And then out of the blue, “Ned thinks we should invite you to France this summer.”

  “That’s nice,” I reply. “You don’t have to . . .”

  “Obviously. It’s so Ned, always thinking of others. I’m sure you have plans,” she says, even though summer is still six months away. “It’s not like you have anything to do with that part of my family.”

  “Honor. It’s really okay. I’m not trying to invade your whole life.”

  Honor nods. “I never said thanks. At the horse show,” she says, all brisk, like now she’s in a hurry to get upstairs to our room. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” I tell her. “Although not anytime soon, okay?” I follow her up the stairs, those stairs with the hollowed-out footsteps of two hundred years’ worth of students’ feet. From the hallway, I can hear Eloise and India giggling. We enter the room, and they burst into gossip.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Did you hear?” India babbles.

  “Nick broke up with Lauren!” Eloise reports, like she’s breaking a big news story.

  “I know,” I say.

  Everybody turns to me, a beat of surprise puncturing the mayhem, and then they dive right back in.

  “We ran into her outside Hale. She’s a mess. She couldn’t even talk about it,” says India.

  “That didn’t last long,” says Honor dryly.

  “Maybe they’ll get back together,” I say. “You never know.”

  “No way,” says Eloise. “Honor, what happened?”

  Eloise and India hang on her, waiting for the inside scoop. Honor shrugs and deflects their gaze by turning her face to the window and looking cryptic. “You know . . .” she trails off.