“Your turn, Adam.” Shaw laces her fingers in her lap. She lifts her chin, scrutinizing me.
Bollocks. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to do anything, I just wanted to move. Feel my legs swing, feel my feet pounding the earth—”
“Walk across thin ice?” Mum’s voice reaches a breaking point. She shifts in her seat.
“I didn’t think it’d break.” I answer in a soft voice.
“No, you didn’t think.”
Dr. Shaw hands Mum a box of tissues. “Lisa, tell Adam how you felt when you saw him on the ground.”
“I was terrified. I thought he tried to kill himself. After everything we’ve been through, he’s been through, he’s really giving up.” She snags a tissue from the box and dabs at her eyes. “Things were supposed to be better, not worse.”
Shaw slides her gaze to me. “Your mother doesn’t want you to die.”
I shoot to my feet. “I don’t want to die either!”
Shaw lifts her chin. “Your actions don’t support what you’re saying.”
I stalk to the window. “Then why’d I crawl back to shore?”
“The instinct to survive is powerful. People often panic during an attempt, but sometimes the will to live happens too late. You were lucky.”
“How many times do I have to say I’m not actively plotting my death?”
“There are other concerning behaviors.”
“Such as?”
“I see you haven’t brought your pillow and you’re not wearing a mask.”
“Bloody hell,” I murmur. My pillow is neatly packed in my rolling suitcase and I haven’t worn a mask since school yesterday. “I forgot.”
“I was going to tell him to wear it, but I thought you should see what he’s doing.” Mum oh so conveniently throws me under the bus. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“You’ve made up your minds, then, so what do you want me to do?” I ask.
Mum blows her nose. “He needs another medication. The anti-depressant isn’t working enough.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Lisa.” Shaw fetches a pill bottle from her mahogany cabinet. She hands it to Mum. “Methylphenidate Hydrochloride. It’s usually prescribed for ADHD, but it can also be used to augment anti-depressants, and it can work quickly. Considering yesterday’s scare, I’d say time is of utmost importance and it’s a good thing I have these samples. Lisa, give him three tablets every morning.”
“Yes, doctor.” Mum holds the bottle like it’s her salvation.
“What will it do to me?” I eye the thing, my new adversary.
“If you’re so worried about the pill’s effects, why don’t you take a dose here and I can observe you for an hour or two? You and your Mum can sit in the waiting room.”
I’d rather not.
“Good idea,” Mum says.
Shaw walks to the door. “Hang on a minute. I’ll get some water.”
She reappears a few minutes later. “Here you go.” She offers me a paper cup of water and a smile.
With both of them watching, I swallow a pill and chase it down with the entire cup of water and a prayer.
Mum tucks the bottle into her purse. “What happens if this doesn’t work?”
“We may have to consider psychiatric hospitalization.”
As the new medication dissolves into my system, so does my newfound freedom and new life, evaporated by Mum’s worries and Shaw’s dictates.
* * *
My heart pounds in my chest, thumping away as if it’s running for its life. No matter how much deep breathing exercises or how still I try to lie in bed, it keeps racing. These unsteady arrhythmias were supposed to be a thing of the past, something buried with my old heart.
It has to be the medicine. I’d Google it, but the last time I did that Shaw argued her way out of it and Mum didn’t believe me. Besides, refusing to take it will earn me a one-way ticket to the psych ward.
I launch out of bed, hyped on whatever the bloody hell is in this pill. I pace the floor, cringing at every creek and moan of the hardwoods. It’s half past two in the morning, so Mum and Dad are asleep, but I’m sure Mum’s got her ear trained on me. I could sneeze and she’d be at my door.
I spin around the four walls of my room. My new prison.
“It’s alright, Adam. Just calm down,” I say.
My heart pounds harder, laughing at me. It’s not okay, it says. Poor thing wants to escape too.
I dash to my dormer window and unlock it. The seal groans a bit when I lift it. Cool air streaks in. I take in giant lungfuls of it.
I dig around my closet for a torch—flashlight as Americans call them—and train the beam on the oak tree. The trunk bifurcates half way up. One long, thick arm leans toward my window. On windy nights, its smaller branches strike the pane. Little talons scratching for entry.
None are thick enough to hold my weight.
I track the torch beam along the roof edge. The pitch isn’t too steep. I can walk on it, no problem.
Charged on adrenaline, I yank on trainers and a pullover, and make like a tightrope walker. The torch is my spotlight and the night my audience. I make it to the top, then straddle the peak. Larry would be proud.
Ambient light from the nearby city washes the eastern sky in a peachy glow. It’s a false sunrise. I’d love to watch the real one. With Darby.
I click off the torch and scratch the back of my head with it. What would she think of me treading on the ice? She’d probably laugh or call me an idiot. It wouldn’t be a judgmental laugh though and I doubt she’d accuse me of attempting suicide.
The chimney is a short butt slide away, so I scoot over to it. I shiver against the cold brick, tucking my hands in my sleeves.
While my heart freaks out in its nest made of lungs and vessels, I tip my head back and search the cosmos for answers. How many sleepless nights did Larry spend huddled on frozen mountain peaks, desperately trying to discover the meaning of life? The stars inspired him. They led him on a journey around the planet. Would my parents and Shaw be placated if I told them I wanted to travel, wander ancient ruins, seek guidance from the wise, and photograph the natural wonders of the world?
A slight twinkle peeks through the inky black above. It’s a star, inviting me to chat.
I extend my hand up toward it. “What am I supposed to do?”
It twinkles again. A steady whisper. A hiccup of light.
A figment of my imagination.
I close my eyes and lower my chin. Stars are volatile, fusion-fueled fireballs of energy—equally involved in bestowing life as they are at destroying it. Stars don’t have consciences or motivation. They just are.
Darby is like a star in her own way. She is who she is and however someone reacts to her is of no concern to her. Maybe I can take a cue from her and the trillions of suns making up our universe and forget about writing a Live Life List. I can just be. I don’t have to do anything grandiose to prove myself to Mum, Dad, or Shaw.
I can be me.
Whoever that happens to be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darby
Day two of home schooling. I’m already daydreaming of playing hooky, but skipping out when I’m the only student is a bit problematic. Mom set up the dining room as a home office for Dad and a classroom for me so Dad can make sure I didn’t blow off studying. Every so often, he glances at me over the edge of his laptop.
He points at my tablet. “How’s it coming along?”
Small talk with Dad. Ugh. Gag. I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. The mess of letters and words on the screen makes no sense. Even though I’ve been Skyping with a live tutor, it’s obvious I’ll never figure it out. I replay the tutorial he recorded for me again, taking slow, deep breaths, internally screaming every curse word I know.
Dad clears his throat. “I asked a question, Darby.”
I imagine punching my fist through the screen or bashing the tablet on the table unti
l it breaks in half. “Fine.”
He closes his laptop. “I haven’t seen you do anything for the past fifteen minutes.”
“I was watching a tutorial.”
“Show me.”
“Dad.”
He circles the table to peer over my shoulder.
I tip the screen up. “See?”
The doorbell rings.
I’m half out of my seat before Dad stops me.
“Sit tight. I’ll get it,” he says.
I tiptoe behind him, hanging back a few feet while he answers the door.
“Is Darby here?” Stephanie Veene slides past Dad without waiting for him to invite her in. She carries a large, flat package wrapped in hot pink polka dot paper.
“What’re you doing here?” I’m tempted to shove her outside so I can slam the door in her face.
Stephanie’s heels click on the floor. “I’m sorry about Daniel. He was a good guy.”
I pick some paint off my jeans. All colors I used on Adam’s painting. “What do you want?”
“Darby.” Dad scolds. He shuts the door and props his elbow on the newel post.
“It’s okay, Mr. Fox. Darby and I aren’t very close in school.” The perfect little angel gives Dad a sweet smile.
I want to gag.
“Well, it’s very nice of you to stop by and offer your condolences.” Dad shoots a “be nice” look at me.
I sigh. “Come in, Stephanie. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I can’t stay long.”
Thank. God.
We head to the dining room to sit. Dad quietly slips into the kitchen—blessedly out of sight.
Stephanie sets the gift on the table. “I thought flowers would be weird, so I brought you a canvas because I know you like to paint. I asked the art teacher what kind you use. Hopefully the size works.”
If it’s what I think it is, then Stephanie paid a lot for it. I reach out to touch the wrapping paper. “You didn’t have to do that. A card would’ve been fine.”
“I got a bunch of generic cards from my best friends when my grandmother died, like it was an obligation or something. It kind of pissed me off, so I didn’t want to do that for you.” Stephanie avoids eye contact with me by taking in the room and Mom’s kitschy décor. Mom dresses like an artsy hippy, but her decorating tends toward farmhouse country. She says it reminds her of growing up down south. Whatever.
I do my best to suppress a blush. I doubt Miss Rich Girl Stephanie’s home looks like this. “Sorry about your grandma. I didn’t know.”
“It was a couple years ago during summer.”
“Look, we’re not friends and there’s no sense in pretending otherwise. Tell me why you’re really here.”
She rolls her eyes. “God, Darby, don’t be paranoid. I feel bad for you, okay? You lost your brother and he was a twin. That’s like harder and stuff.”
I wince. She’s right. I just didn’t expect to get sympathy from her. “It sucks. A lot.”
“It’s so terrible. The whole school is shaken up.”
“Everyone loved Daniel.” And they hate me.
“Have your friends called or stopped by?”
I almost say “what friends,” then stop myself short. “No.”
“That’s lame. What’s wrong with them?”
I shrug. The only kid I actually want to hang out with is Adam. Or, I used to, before Shaw told me he has my brother’s heart.
“Are you ever going to come back to school?”
“Dunno.”
“It’s so weird without you guys.” She drags her fingers along the table edge and scrunches her nose.
Checking for dust? “Yeah, it’s a tragedy to lose an MVP and an outsider on the same day.”
She makes eye contact. “You’re only an outsider because you put yourself there.”
“Thanks for the tip. So … how’s your new boyfriend?”
She frowns with confusion.
“Eric.”
Her mouth forms an “O,” then widens into a smile. “Eric was a project.”
“Huh?”
She pushes the wrapped canvas aside. “Yeah, his buddy—the guy you danced with at that party—and him tried to double team Mads. They got her drunk and I think they tried to rufie her. It didn’t go anywhere because I showed up before they unzipped their pants, but Mads was pretty upset and nobody, I mean nobody, messes with my friends.”
“They tried to rape her?”
Stephanie’s face darkens. “Yeah. I stopped them.”
Jeez. My stomach curdles. Madeline was … well, she didn’t have much of a personality, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be taken advantage of. To think Stephanie rescued her. “I … I didn’t know.”
She spins the bracelet around her wrist. “He goes to a different school. And they weren’t dating.”
“So why’d you rag on me? We just danced.”
She bites her lip. “Look, I know now that you had nothing to do with it or with that guy and I’m sorry for calling you out for no reason. You have your brother to thank for setting me straight.”
I lower my gaze. I have Daniel to thank for a lot of things. How am I going to manage without him? Tears spring to my eyes. I clench my jaw. I can’t break down now. Not with Stephanie Veene watching. “How?”
“He explained everything to me before the game. That you didn’t know the kid and stuff.”
He’d tried to help me when I’d accused him of doing nothing. I clear my throat, choking on my grief. I dig my fingernails into my thighs to stop the memories and tears from flowing. “So where does throwing yourself at Eric fit into all this?”
“You got ringside seats for that outside the second floor bathroom.” She barks a laugh. “For a minute, I thought you’d totally screw it up.”
I think of the mess of pictures clogging my camera phone app.
She leans on her elbows and tucks her chin conspiratorially. “What’s the best way to get a guy back? Make him fall in love with you, and then crush him. Mads is too sweet and innocent, so I had to do it. Eric was totally wrecked when I dumped him. He sobbed. Sobbed.” A mischievous twist takes over her mouth.
“Wow. But what about Guyliner?”
“Who?”
“The guy I danced with.”
She narrows her eyes. “Oh, he’s next.”
She stuck up for the underdog and took some asshole down a few pegs. Sounds like something I’d do. Stephanie and I can’t possibly something in common. I must be in some sort of nightmare.
She laughs, clapping her hands with satisfaction. “I. Can’t. Wait.”
“You know, in a different world, we might be friends.”
“Why not this one?”
I don’t have an answer for that, other than because she hates me, but I don’t really feel like heading down that road, so I stay quiet.
She stands. “Look, when you’re ready, give me a call. We’ll hang out. But it’s totally up to you.”
I stare up at her, shocked.
“You look like you don’t believe me and that’s okay. I know we’re not close. But I’m not tricking you. The mask I wear at school is just that—a mask. I’m a normal person underneath and I suspect you’re a normal person under your mask. I just hope you let someone in, even if it’s not me.” She flips her hair cheerleader style and heads down the hallway.
I peek around the doorway.
Dad meets her in the foyer. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Fox. I’m sorry for your loss.”
I scramble to my seat before Dad locks the door. He joins me a moment later and returns to work like nothing happened.
Not long after, Mom comes home. She greets Dad with a kiss. “Darby, we have to get going or we’ll be late for your therapy session.”
“I’ll order take out so it’s here when you get home,” Dad says.
“Good idea.”
Mom rushes me to the car like she’s afraid I’m going to skip out.
In Shaw’s office, I immediately gush about Stephanie. Shaw sits with her ankles crossed and eyebrows bent the whole time. At the end of it, I let out a long breath, finally empty.
“Sometimes people treat you differently after a tragedy or loss. Do you think you’ll take her up on your offer and call her?” Shaw asks.
“No, it’d be totally weird. I mean, she was Daniel’s friend, not mine. Besides, we hate each other.”
“If she hated you, she wouldn’t stop by your house or bring such a thoughtful gift.”
“Unless she’s trying to trick me.” I chew on a hangnail.
“What motivation would she have for that?”
I tell her my revenge plot of sharing photos of Perfect Stephanie in a tongue war with Baddy Eric. “I thought it would destroy her popularity and make her understand what it’s like to be a nobody.”
I expect Shaw to give me a look of disapproval—a raised eyebrow, an unsettled twist of her mouth, or even a distinct lifting of her chin. She doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, she says, “Justice is different for everyone. How would taking her down make you feel?”
“At the time, I thought it’d make things right. I wanted to see her suffer.”
“And now?”
“She was nice.”
“You don’t trust nice.”
“Not after she told me about manipulating Eric.”
“What about Adam? He’s nice.”
My breath catches. He is nice. But so what? He’s hiding a secret inside his chest, like Stephanie kept a secret from Eric. She ended up wrecking him in the end. Adam’s secret nearly destroyed me too. So much for nice.
“Does he know he has my brother’s heart?” I ask.
Shaw hesitates, then says, “No, but that doesn’t change the reality of it. Someone else has your brother’s heart.”
“Yeah, but if he wasn’t told … ” … then I can’t hold his secret against him. I scrunch my nose.
“Ignorance isn’t innocence,” Shaw reasons.
I stand and pace the room. “You were willing to bend the rules for me. Why not tell Adam whose heart he has?”
Under My Skin Page 19