by Vera Hollins
I put the glass down on the counter with a loud thud, needing some space. I’d just lost my brother. I couldn’t care less about that stupid money or what I would spend it on once I turned twenty-one.
“Great.” I formed a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll leave you two alone to discuss global warming or whatever intellectual topic you had in mind. Just don’t fight, okay? Peace on earth and all that. See ya.”
I kissed Dad on the cheek in farewell and rushed upstairs. My feet took me past Steven’s room, but then they paused. Pain came to life in my chest as the memory of our argument—of the last time we ever spoke—came back to taunt me. My feet brought me back to his door, and I pressed my hand to it.
“Who needs that stupid trust fund anyway?” I muttered to myself, my fingers curling against the wood. “I don’t want that money. All it’s ever going to do is remind me that you’re gone and that I finally lost you.” I took a breath. “Or had I already lost you? When did I lose you? The day you started using? The day we became strangers? When?”
I banged his door with the side of my fist. Taking a deep breath, I opened it and took a step inside. Mom had cleaned his room and ventilated it after the funeral, taking away the clutter and stench that was so him. I almost wanted to mess up his made bed and grab the clothes from his closet and scatter them all over the floor, just to feel like he was here. And I almost did just that.
I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. I was shaking.
“And the worst part is that I have to accept you’re gone. I have to accept this reality in which you don’t exist. Why do I have to accept it? I don’t want to. I don’t ever want that. I want you back. Come back . . .” My voice broke on those last words.
My breathing came in short gasps as pressure built in my head. I couldn’t stay here a minute longer. I closed the door and darted to my room, willing the image of his empty room away.
I needed to punch the shit out of my punching bag.
It was the only way for me to stay sane enough to deal with this crazy day.
The rest of the week rolled by quickly, all the days blending into the same fog of confusion and tormenting memories. Sar, Jess, and Kev had been there to lighten my mood whenever I needed it, bombarding me with their funny texts or hanging out with me after school, which had allowed me to get my mind off the depressing stuff. They had also given me birthday gifts—a box set of Green Day’s studio albums from Sar and Hayden, a one hundred dollar book voucher from Jess and Blake, and a makeup set from Kev and Marcus. I hadn’t wanted any gifts, but they had surely brought a dash of the normalcy I craved.
By Sunday, I felt like I was almost back to my old self, if I didn’t count the occasional knotting of my stomach or the old recurrent nightmares that plagued me more often than they had before. My knuckles were bruised from punching my bag for hours on end, but that didn’t stop me from seeking the next fix, feeding myself with physical pain and exhaustion until I couldn’t think anymore. I wanted to forget that the last week had ever happened and return to my routine.
I hauled myself out of bed after another restless night and took a long, hot shower, getting ready to go to Eli’s house. Strangely enough, I didn’t think of these visits as an obligation anymore. They were more a temporary escape from my home, which felt emptier than ever, even with the risk of seeing Masen. He’d stayed true to his word and didn’t fight me anymore, although I’d caught him staring at me too many times not to suspect he was plotting something, and that something was probably my demise.
I dressed in my favorite Green Day T-shirt, skull-patterned black jeans, and Dr. Martens with a graffiti design, and used a straightening iron to make my bob shaggy. By the time I was finished, I could almost fool myself into thinking I was a queen and unstoppable.
I looked at myself in the mirror and grinned, giving myself a thumbs-up. “Here we go!”
I played “It Ain’t Lonely at the Bottom” by NOFX really loudly on my way to Eli’s house, bobbing my head to the rhythm of the music and singing along, even though I had a terrible voice and humankind would be better off without ever hearing it. It helped with this whole act that the balance of my world wasn’t disrupted and I was in control.
Hayden’s and Blake’s cars were parked in the driveway when I arrived, which left me with little space to park my own car. I managed to squeeze my Ford Fiesta between Blake’s Dodge Challenger and the sidewalk, tempted to tell these “bad boys” to buy cars that didn’t occupy ten freaking parking spots next time, thank you very much.
Masen hovered over the engine of his car with a wrench in his hand, while Hayden and Blake worked on their own cars. Their conversation ceased when I got out of my car. Masen fixed his stare on me for, it seemed, the hundredth time this week, and it created this strange awareness in me I hadn’t felt before.
Now that I thought about it, his stares had been somehow different ever since last Sunday, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I looked away and focused all my attention on Hayden and Blake, purposely ignoring Masen in case this was his new tactic to unnerve me.
“What is this? A car-repair convention?” I asked as I passed them.
Blake snorted. “How did you know?”
“Your car sounds like it actually should be a part of that convention,” Hayden said, giving me one of his famous blank stares. “When was the last time you took it to a car mechanic?”
I flexed my bicep as I tilted up my chin. “I don’t need a car mechanic when I can do everything on my own.”
Blake looked at me under his brows. “You know how to fix cars?”
Acid rushed through my belly. No, I don’t know. Steven did. Steven always fixed my car.
I grinned. “I will one day.” Blake snorted again.
I could still feel Masen staring at me, and it was becoming too annoying to ignore it. I whipped my glare to him. “Will you stop it? I’m not a billboard. Look away.”
He raised his brow, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Why should I look away? Am I breaking some law?”
“The thing that’s going to be broken is your nose if you keep looking at me, and I’ll personally take care of it.”
His only response was to stare at me with even more intensity. Asshole. I flipped him off and marched off to the house.
Since the front door had been left open, I didn’t bother closing it behind me. I’d hardly made it more than a few steps down the hallway when my super-powerful ears caught Blake’s hushed voice. “I think you should find a way out.”
I stopped, my spy senses awakening.
“I already told you, that’s not an option,” Masen replied in an equally hushed tone.
I slid out of sight and pressed myself against the wall, breathing as quietly as possible, just in case.
“You’d be crazy to keep going there when it’s already like this.”
“I know, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Blake’s right,” Hayden said. “If the cops are really snooping around, T is done for.”
I frowned. Cops were trying to bring down their stupid gang? Hallelujah.
I took a step closer to the door to hear them better.
“You don’t want to go down with him,” Blake said.
“It’s easy for you to say,” Masen replied. “Both of you are loaded. I don’t have the luxury of getting out.”
“I’ve told you many times I would help you,” Hayden told him.
“And I’ve told you many times I don’t need anyone’s charity.”
Someone stopped behind me. “What are you doing?” he asked loudly enough for the guys to hear him.
Fuck. I swiveled around and met the gaze of a man who looked like an older version of Eli and Masen—sapphire-blue eyes, angular face, and blond hair graying at the temples. He was dressed in business casual attire and carrying some folders in his hand, his brows knitted together.
I grinned at him. “I’m practicing my spy techniques because I’m applying to a spy academy this summer, beli
eve it or not. Johnny English is going to be my mentor!” I could literally feel the guys’ gazes burning into me from the side. I stuck out my hand for a handshake. “I’m Melissa Brooks. Your son’s closest confidant.” I winked at him.
He raised one eyebrow and looked between me and Masen, who watched our interaction intently. His dad smiled as realization hit him, and he accepted my handshake quite eagerly.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Melissa. I’m Douglas, but you can call me Doug. Masen didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend.” Wait. What? “Why didn’t you tell me anything, son?”
Hayden and Blake erupted into laughter.
I raised my hands in the air in denial. “No, no, no. You got it all wrong. His girlfriend?” I pointed at the skunk in question. “Not in a million and one years. With all due respect, Doug, I wouldn’t wish something so abominable even on my worst enemies. I was talking about your other son, Eli.”
“Eli.” He studied me closely. “Melissa Brooks . . . right. You’re from Student Code.”
I nodded vigorously. “Exactly. I’m here to see your younger son. I don’t have anything to do with him.” I waved dismissively in Masen’s direction. He wore the biggest scowl in the history of scowls.
“Nothing except a crying session,” he mouthed silently at me, and my heart jumped to my throat.
I glanced at his dad, Blake, and Hayden to see if they had seen that, but luckily, they hadn’t. I glared at Masen, clenching my hand. I was going to punch him into another orbit.
“Are you having a good time with Elijah?” Doug asked. “He can be withdrawn and shy, but I assure you, he’s a good boy.”
I nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! Eli is an angel. We’re getting along just fine.”
He smiled warmly. “That’s good to hear. God knows he needs friends.”
“Fear not!” I pressed my hand to my chest. “We’ve already formed a seal of friendship that binds us together forever!”
His answering smile wavered, then ebbed into a thin line. “Was that your brother? Steven Brooks?” I grew still. “We covered a story about a teenager who overdosed and died last week.”
My spine went rigid. “Yes. That’s my—was my brother.”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s such a tragedy.”
I ground my teeth together, forcing myself to take even breaths. I didn’t need to stand here and listen to him point out the obvious, especially not under Masen’s incessant stare.
“Yeah, it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find Eli.”
Doug headed out the door. “Yes, of course. He’s on the back porch. Just stay strong, all right?”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thanks. I will.”
Eli was reading a book when I stepped out, so into it he didn’t even hear me. The book was mounted on a holder connected to his wheelchair, which had little hooks that held the book open.
“Hey, General Fabulous!” I saluted him.
He saluted me back, his lips curving into a bigger smile than usual. Now, that’s progress.
“General Awesome, you’re here.”
Was it my imagination, or was he happier to see me? I stopped for a moment to soak that in, warmth nestling in my chest.
“What are you reading?”
“The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan.”
“Ah. Percy Jackson. Are you a fan?”
“Definitely. My favorite is The Titan’s Curse. How about you? Have you read the books?”
“Only the first two. They were okay.”
“You must read The Titan’s Curse. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
I nodded. “How’s Pigi?”
“He’s good. He had tummy issues yesterday, so Mace had to massage his tummy and give him meds.”
An image of Masen massaging that fluff and giving him meds popped into my mind, and I frowned, baffled. I couldn’t imagine him doing something so . . . so sweet.
I inclined my head. “Are you sure he didn’t just feed him poison?”
He shook his head. “Mace would never do that,” he replied seriously, failing to catch the joke.
“I was just joking.” I winked. “Let’s go and see him.”
“Sure.”
Pigi was eating the hay out of the hay rack when we reached his house and didn’t bother to come when I opened the door and called him.
“Does he respond to his name?”
“Yes, but he can be stubborn sometimes, so he won’t come.”
I smiled and sat cross-legged next to his pen. “Cheeky. Why did he have tummy problems?”
“He has a sensitive stomach, so sometimes he gets gut stasis, which is bad because he can die very quickly if he isn’t treated as soon as possible.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. Their gut movement can slow down or stop working, which can lead to bloating. Ultimately, they will stop eating. When that happens, we have to force feed him to stimulate his gut and prevent more health problems.”
I grimaced. Pigi was eating his hay peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the grim route his life could take. “That sounds stressful.”
“It is.”
Pigi hopped to the side and started drinking water from his water bottle near the hay rack, and I found myself captivated by him. I felt I could watch him the whole day and not get bored.
“Do you have any dreams?” Eli asked me out of nowhere, looking up at the sky.
I looked up at the sky too, tracing the funny shapes of clouds with my eyes. One of them looked like Pikachu.
“Yep. Like, I dream about unlimited supplies of Nutella, learning to speak animal, becoming Margot Robbie’s doppelganger . . .”
Eli giggled. “Wow. Your dreams are even more unrealistic than mine.”
I looked at him. “What are your dreams?”
He dropped his eyes, redness creeping up his cheeks. “They’re stupid, really.”
“Oh, come on. They can’t be more stupid than mine. Tell me.”
He didn’t look at me. “To have a girlfriend. To race cars. To walk again.”
My heart plummeted. So, he did wish he could race. I curled my fingers into a fist, angry at how unfair this world was. There were countless people out there who were rotten to the core but yet had everything. Then there were people like Eli, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but had to go through hardship because life was just that cruel.
I picked up a small rock from the ground and tossed it between my hands, thinking how easy it was to destroy but so hard to build. One second could annihilate everything. Only one.
But, then again, only one second was needed to decide not to give up on our dreams. To keep going despite the setbacks. To keep believing in ourselves.
“You can totally make all of those come true.”
He chuckled, but the sound embodied sadness. “Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. First of all, you’re going to be a chick magnet. You have the face of a model and a super amazing personality. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time before girls are all over you. Secondly, you can be a racer even if you’re paralyzed. There are a lot of quadriplegic race car drivers. Seriously, google it. And thirdly, there’s a man, an ex-quadriplegic, who’s actually able to walk again. It took him many years and lots of hard work, but he did it. Google that, too. So, don’t give up on your dreams, buddy. Or I swear I’ll beat your ass.”
It was heartbreaking to see the mix of wistful longing, hope, and insecurity on his face. It was like he was desperate to believe this but so afraid and insecure.
“You really think that? You’re not just telling me that to make me feel better about myself?”
Had no one ever told him something like this? Had no one ever encouraged him to follow his dreams?
I covered his hand resting on the arm rest with mine. “I really think that. I admit, before I met you, I had no clue about living life with quadriplegia. I haven’t really even given it much thought. I thi
nk I just pictured lonely people closed up in their rooms for the rest of their lives, probably bored to death.
“But yeah, I was so wrong. Blame my lack of knowledge and common misconceptions. Then I researched quadriplegia, and I saw so many positive things. You also showed that to me. You showed me how independent you can be, how much more independent you strive to be. You showed me that life doesn’t end when you end up in a wheelchair. So, hell yeah, I think that.”
Damn, I was starting to sound like a motivational speaker. I didn’t know I had it in me. Sarah and Jess must have rubbed off on me. It was too mushy for my taste, but it was worth it if I got to see a broad smile of joy on his face like now, which was coupled with a twinkle of gratitude in his eyes.
More warmth blanketed me. If I could at least make him smile like this, it would be okay. He would be okay.
“Thank you, Melissa. You’re a true friend.”
“And you’re a true gem. More valuable than gold! One day, I can sell you and get a real good price for you!”
He chuckled. “What would you do with the money?”
“Make sure I had unlimited supplies of Nutella.”
He smiled, but then he looked away, blushing. “Umm. So . . .”
“Yes?”
He fixed his eyes on the ground. “You think I have the face of a model, huh?”
I smiled from ear to ear. “Yes. You’re very pretty. But don’t let that go to your head, okay?”
He returned my gaze, his lips curving into a cheeky smile. “Sure, but you see, some people say I look exactly like Mace . . . so, I guess you think he’s pretty too?”
Geez. I’d misjudged this boy. This sweet angel could definitely be sneaky when he wanted to. “I see what you’re trying to do here, buddy, but you won’t get me to confess anything.”
His smile grew wider. “Are you sure you don’t like Mace? I’ve heard all the girls love him.”
My stomach clenched with a new sensation—something I didn’t like at all—and I frowned because it had no place here. It was completely ridiculous and undeserving of even acknowledging.