Other Echoes

by Noe Dearden

  *****

  After her parents left her room, Emi lay on the bed alone in the half-dark. She spent almost an hour listlessly scrolling through her favorite ballet videos on her laptop, steeping herself in the delicacy of Suzanne Farrell and the quiet dignity of Marianna Tcherkassky. Both dancers had studied at the School of American Ballet. They were perfect.

  Most days, Emi could watch these ballet videos endlessly, but tonight it was only making her more depressed. She clicked shut the laptop and pulled her cloth-bound diary from under her mattress, flipping to a new page.

  Dear Diary,

  Today sucked. But I’m not going to dwell on that. What would be the point?

  So. School starts on Monday. The thought makes my stomach churn.

  (Or maybe that’s because I just ate half my weight in hamburger. Blech.)

  Technically, it’s not school that’s making me nauseous. It’s more the thought of facing all my friends on Monday morning.

  Is it even fair to call them that: MY friends? They’re primarily Kainoa’s friends, after all. I was just the girlfriend who tagged along wherever he went. Gradually, his group became my group. We hung out together, ate lunch together. But were those people really my FRIENDS?

  I’ll never forget how everybody in Kainoa’s group treated me like an outsider for most of eighth grade when I started dating him. The girls were the worst. I remember how they used to completely disregard my presence unless Kainoa was around. And how I would sometimes catch them exchanging not-so-secret looks with one another while I was talking.

  At the time, I figured the other girls were jealous because Kainoa had chosen me and not one of them.

  Oh, the bitter irony of it all. Now I know how they must have felt!

  I mean, Natalie wasn’t even in our group of friends last year. She was an outsider. A nobody. Before I introduced her to Kainoa, she was just a shy, awkward Korean girl from ballet class who nobody cared about. I was seriously the only person who was nice enough to pay her any attention last year.

  So yeah, IRONY is the big word of the day.

  And now what?

  Where do I stand now that Kainoa and I are broken up? Are his friends still my friends? Or am I officially off the social map?

  We’ll see what happens Monday. Maybe my “friends” will still be my friends.

  But I’m not holding my breath.

  She stuffed her diary back under the bed and was about to take a shower when there was a knock at the door.

  “I already said I’m not going back to ballet,” Emi called out to whichever meddlesome parent was knocking. “End of discussion.”

  “It’s Charlotte.”

  Emi considered telling her cousin to go away, but curiosity got the better of her. What could Charlotte possibly want? Or was she delivering a message from mom?

  Emi dragged herself into a standing position and opened the door a crack.

  “What do you want?”

  “I thought you might like dessert.” Charlotte had two ice cream sandwiches in her hand.

  Emi wanted to say something cutting, but her angry energy seemed to have all drained away. In fact, she found she was genuinely touched that her cousin had thought of her at all, let alone cared enough to visit.

  “Thanks,” she said and accepted one of the ice creams.

  “Can I come in?”

  Though reluctant to sacrifice her personal time, Emi was also grateful to have the company of someone other than her parents. As an only child, this was an unfamiliar feeling. She stepped aside.

  “I’m sorry about the dramatic scene at dinner,” Emi said, falling back against the mountain of pillows on her bed. “Just so you know, my parents basically freak out about everything, so it’s probably something you should get used to if you’re going to be in this family.”

  Charlotte was silently examining the ballet shrine Emi had constructed on her bulletin board. It was mostly a mosaic of photographs she had cut from Dance Magazine, but there were also souvenirs from ballet performances she’d gone to in New York City and San Francisco. Emi even had an autograph from Mikhail Baryshnikov that her parents had given to her for her eleventh birthday. It was accompanied by a cartoon her dad had drawn for her of a dancing cat called “Baryshni-cat.”

  “Are you ready for school tomorrow?” Emi asked Charlotte.

  “I don’t really know what to expect,” Charlotte confessed. She had unwrapped her ice cream sandwich but wasn’t eating it.

  “Expect preppy nerds,” Emi said. “And homework. Plenty of homework.”

  “I thought you liked your school.”

  “Yeah, but I’m in a bad mood.” She took a bite of her ice cream sandwich. It felt like years since the last time she’d had chocolate. How could she have forgotten how good this was? “Do you know what classes you’re taking?”

  “Spanish, Geometry, World History, English and Biology.”

  “Bummer. We won’t have a single class together. Are you taking general music or art?”

  “I think music.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” Emi sighed. “You’d have had Mr. Kerrigan for art. Since we destroyed his car, that might have been a little awkward.”

  Charlotte was thoughtful. “He didn’t seem angry.”

  “Yeah, he’s super nice. And they say he’s a good teacher. But he’s also kind of weird.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Emi cast a nervous glance at her bedroom door. “I’m probably not supposed to say, but if you promise to keep it a secret...”

  Charlotte leaned forward, obviously intrigued by the sudden conspiratorial tone in Emi’s voice.

  “He killed his daughter.”

  “What?” Charlotte gasped.

  “By accident,” Emi amended quickly. “He ran over her with his car.”

  “How does that make him ‘weird’?” Charlotte asked, sounding a little upset. “It’s awful.”

  “I didn’t mean ‘weird’ like ‘weird,’” Emi said. “I meant ‘weird’ as in ‘wracked by guilt and self-hatred.’ That kind of weird.”

  “How did he run over his own kid?” Charlotte asked after a while. “How does something like that even happen?”

  “She was a toddler, and he was backing his car out the driveway. I guess he didn’t see her. At least, that’s what I overheard my dad telling my mom. Like I said, I don’t think this is common knowledge, so don’t go spreading it around.”

  Charlotte sat heavily onto Emi’s desk chair. “Where’s his wife?”

  “They’re separated.” Emi tossed her ice cream wrapper towards the trashcan and missed by several feet. “They’ll probably get a divorce. Even the best marriages can’t withstand that kind of thing.”

  “He must hate himself so much,” Charlotte whispered.

  “Yeah, basically he was so upset he couldn’t work. He lost his job at some design firm and came out here. It sucks because he’s so nice, you know? Crappy stuff like that should only happen to jerks and sociopaths. But I guess if he were a sociopath, he wouldn’t feel guilty.”

  Charlotte stood up very suddenly. “I should go,” she said in a strange voice. “It’s getting late.”

  Emi checked her alarm clock. “It’s only 8:30.”

  “But we have to get up early for school, don’t we?” Charlotte was already halfway out the door.

  “Hey!” Emi said. “Wait a minute.”

  Charlotte paused with her hand poised on the doorknob. She looked very circumspect for some reason.

  “Thanks for the ice cream,” Emi said sincerely. “It was nice.”

  Charlotte was so taken off guard that she actually smiled -- the first genuine expression of joy Emi had ever seen her make.