October 12: Riley

Riley

I light another cigarette and take a long drag of it. The smoke mingles with the taste of Evelyn, sweet and spicy in my mouth. My skin is still damp from our extracurricular activities in her car. I’ll take that over English any day. Then I remember how she freaked out. Maybe I grabbed her too hard. Perhaps I am turning into my stepfather. But that could never happen; I could never let that happen. Images of my mother’s bruised neck this morning flutter through my head. I lean against my bike to steady myself. No, I could never do that. I am not him. Maybe Evelyn is just on edge this morning. Something is wrong with her. But hell, something is wrong with all of us. And I’ve got too many of my own wrongs to worry about hers.
I smoke the cigarette slowly to put off time until the second period bell rings. When it does, I slink in through one of the side doors and mesh with the crowds of kids in route to their next class. It is like I was never gone- not that any of them would notice anyway.
Statistics has come surprisingly natural to me. I have found myself doing the homework at the shop while business is slow- and I know Mr. Thomas was shocked when I started turning assignments in. I was even more shocked when he handed me back A’s. I decide that statistics is a class I could actually pass with a good grade, so I may as well take advantage of it. Something about numbers makes me feel good- the way they are perfect and calculated and concrete. Numbers do not lie.
They are far better than words.
“Nicely done, Mister Sutton.” Mr. Thomas hands me my test from last week. At the top of the first page is a ninety-eight in bright red marker. The dork next to me with dirty glasses and terrible jeans looks at my test, then back at his. I catch a glance at his grade- ninety-one. I guess maybe I will keep coming to statistics for now.

I am walking to Psychology with my iPod playing in my ears and my mind wandering when someone bumps into me. I pull my headphones out and spin around, ready to hit someone.
“Watch where you’re going, white boy.” Manny Aviles. And three of his homeboys. I could knock him out right now. I tighten my fist, consider it.
“You ran into me,” I growl.
He steps closer to me, his friends right behind him. “I already let you get away with talking back to me once.” He puts his finger in my face. “Don’t think it will happen again.”
“Violence is for the weak, boys.”
Gabe DeCarteret walks past us and rolls his eyes. Manny and I both look at him. But which one of us is going to be the idiot who punches a gay kid in the face? Neither of us, and Gabe knows that. He keeps walking, unfazed.
“Go to class,” I tell Manny. “Learn something. English, maybe.”
I see in his eyes the kind of anger that I see in Art’s and sometimes in myself: dark, evil, primal anger. His pupils go black and fire ignites in him. I realize that he wants nothing more than to hit me in my jaw, knock me out, and make me disappear. I also know that he won’t, for the same reasons I won’t hit him. We both know it is not worth it. Right now. A write-up and expulsion, possibly juvie? Not taking that risk. But something is going to happen; I can feel it in my core.
He mumbles something in Spanish and walks away with his friends trailing after him. They talk junk all down the hall, but I ignore it and lean against the wall to cool off. I need a cigarette, but the bell is going to ring any second. Samantha West hurries down the hall. I am so thankful that she is here for me to take out my aggression. My entertainment for the hour.
She rolls her eyes when she sees me. I know she probably thinks I am waiting for her; she is conceited like that, thinks everything is about her. I follow her into the classroom just before the bell rings and sit down behind her. I lean up in my desk and put my face next to hers.
“Will I get to see you sling those pompoms today?”
“You’re disgusting,” she sneers.
Mr. Reid starts passing out a diagram of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. His lectures are always boring and rehearsed; I tune him out and keep taunting Samantha.
“Don’t be like that.” I put my hand on her back and she tenses up. I like it. “I was just kidding. I’m grateful to your kind for getting me out of class early.”
She turns around. “My kind?”
I smile. “Yeah. Athletes, preps, rich douche bags. Should I continue?”
“Shut up, Riley.” She turns back around.
Mr. Reid hands me a diagram and looks at me over his glasses. Such a twink. I shake my head and take the paper from him. He begins the lecture and I slide down in my seat and close my eyes. I already know the basic human needs: safety, esteem, acceptance and love and a bunch of other stuff that does not actually exist.
Nobody is safe. And nobody is confident. And nobody is accepted, because nobody accepts anyone. And love; what even is that? Nothing but some made up postcard emotion that people use as an excuse to do crazy things, hurt others, and overdose on their own heartache. Needs are for the weak.
And I refuse to show weakness.

After class I head towards Evelyn’s locker without saying anything to Samantha. I would hate to give her a reason to believe that I want her acceptance. And I hate myself for boosting her bleach-blonde confidence. Walking through the hall, I ignore the faces that blur around me like an old painting. A few girls wave to me, some say hey. I give them each a half-smile and do not waste my energy waving. But there is one face that stands out from the blur. In fact, her face is not blurry at all. It is crystal clear- porcelain and perfect, pale and soft, and I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“Audrey.” I don’t recognize my own voice when her name rolls off my tongue. I wipe my hands on my jeans and step closer to her.
She looks up from her locker and smiles. She is so awkward and I find it unbearably hot. “Hey.” Her voice is so soft, and sweet like cream.
“What’s up?”
She just shrugs and I’m not sure what to say next. The color in her faces deepens; her cheeks are flushed with rose and her lips turn crimson. The way she becomes smitten makes me even more so. I stuff my hands in my pocket and try to think of something to say.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” My mind reverts to our woodshop project. “We’ve got a birdhouse to make.”
She nods. “Sure thing. Two o’clock, right?”
“You got it.”
She stands there and for a moment, I wonder if maybe I am misreading her. Perhaps she is not smitten with me. Maybe she’s annoyed, irritated. Maybe I don’t know girls as well as I thought I did, although Audrey is hardly like any other girl. Her clothes, her hair, her makeup (or the lack-of), her presence are all different from any girl I’ve ever met. She is nothing like Evelyn.
Evelyn. I feel a set of fingernails close around my arm. Evelyn stares up at me with hard eyes and a straight mouth.
“I’m ready. Let’s get out of here.”
“Whatever.” I snatch my arm away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Audrey.”
Audrey smiles and Evelyn groans. She stomps away, making a scene that the people around us are too self-involved to watch. Before going after Evelyn, I smile at Audrey and touch her arm.
“Do me a favor. Don’t ever become a bitch. Stay sweet, okay?”
She forces a smile and nods slowly. “I will, thanks.”
“Good.”
It takes everything in me to pull my hand away from her body and follow Evelyn down the hall. I take my time so that Evelyn can cool off and I can get my hormones back in line. After I get my food, I find her sitting at our table in the back of the cafeteria. She is picking at a baked potato and making every effort for me to see that she is mad.
I sit down next to her and pretend not to notice. After several seconds, she turns to me and smiles sarcastically.
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Saturday, Ev.” I laugh and open my orange juice. “How old are you again?”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” She punches my thigh. “Why will you be seeing Audrey on a Saturday?”
“She’s my shop partner.” I shrug. “And she needs extra help with that birdhouse.”
She huffs. “Maybe I should go over to Tyler’s house and work on our birdhouse with him. How would you like that?”
“I wouldn’t care,” I insist. “I’m not your boyfriend, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” She turns away from me. “Maybe I’ll sit with him at the pep rally, too.”
I know she is trying to piss me off, and I know just how to push her buttons back. So I take a bite of my pizza and shrug it off.
“Go for it. I’m not going to the pep rally anyway.” I take a swig of juice. “I hate those damn things. I’m skipping for sure.”
“I’ll go with you.” She turns back to me- just like I knew she would.
“You can’t. I’m going to the shop early.”
“Oh.” She sighs. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Go to the pep rally,” I tell her. “It won’t be that bad, I’m sure.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
She is so annoying that I want to choke her. I consider getting up and leaving, never talking to her again. But then I remember that I don’t have any plans for the night, and nobody else to make them with.
“I have to get my hours in, Ev.” I finish off my pizza. “You want me to be able to go to the game, right? I can’t just not show up for work.”
“Alright,” she grumbles.
I stand up, relieved, and dump my tray in the trashcan. “Pick me up around seven. Cool?”
“Sure.” She crosses her arms and sulks.
“Good.”
Before she can say anything else, I sneak through one of the side doors in the cafeteria and out to the parking lot. I light a cigarette before I am even at my motorcycle. At the car beside my bike, a group of girls is huddled together. They look up when they hear me.
I realize that one of them is Cordelia; another is Janey. Their weird friends are with them, too. Cordelia nods in my direction and blows smoke out of her mouth.
“What’s up, Riley?”
Janey looks down at the pavement and doesn’t say anything.
“Hey ladies,” I mumble. “What are you guys doing?”
“Nothing,” they all say in unison.
Sure looks like nothing- nothing I want to be a part of. I put my helmet on without asking anymore questions and hurry out of the lot.
My destination is hardly a car garage. I pull into the parking lot of the Better Minds Psychiatry offices and park my bike in the corner. Mom schedules my monthly appointments for me. I guess technically I’m not skipping class since Mom already called the school and told them I’d be leaving early. Evelyn does not need to know that, though.
The waiting room smells like cinnamon potpourri. The lights are low and stacks of health magazines lie scattered on every end table. Red and green couches and chairs line three of the walls. I walk up to the receptionist, who smiles and runs her fingers over her hair.
“Hello, Riley.” She types away on her computer. “You’re a little early.”
“I know.” I rest my elbows on the edge of the counter. “We just had a pep rally today, so I thought I would go ahead and leave.”
“You don’t want to show your school spirit?” She smiles.
“What do you think?”
She laughs and picks up the phone. “Riley Sutton is here,” she says. A few seconds later she hangs up the phone. “Doctor DeCarteret will be with you soon.”
“Sweet.” I sit down in the corner and pretend to read one of the magazines. Mostly I sulk and stew about the fact that I am still forced to see a psychiatrist once a month.
It has been five years since I was sitting in my seventh grade language arts class and my teacher asked me a question about The Good Earth. As if I had actually read that book. Five hundred pages about growing rice? Not my thing. When I told my teacher I didn’t know the answer, he laughed in my face. I will never forget what he said to me that day,
I give up. You are unfixable, Riley. And I am done trying to fix you. Get out of my classroom. Those words cut through me like a dull knife. Me, unfixable? Because I hadn’t read a book? I stood up, gathered my things, and walked to the front of the class. Maybe I should have just walked out, told the principal about my evil teacher. But I didn’t. I picked up my desk and threw it straight at his head.
“Why would you do that, Riley?” My principal had asked. She stared at me from the other side of her desk with her hands and lips pursed.
“He said I was unfixable,” I said with my arms crossed. My face was still hot with anger.
“They are just words, Riley.” She clucked her tongue. “They don’t mean anything. They are just words.”
That being my sixth suspension of the year, I was told I was not allowed back in school until I was tested by a psychiatrist. Principal Miller told my mom I could not step foot in school until a psychiatrist signed a piece of paper stating that I was not a harm to myself or anyone else. I took advantage of the suspension. Mom let me eat ice cream and play video games all day, and said that everything would be okay as soon as I saw the psychiatrist and the tests said I was normal.
Except I wasn’t.
After talking to Dr. DeCarteret and going through my entire life story with her, she brought me and my mom in to tell me that she did find something.
“It’s nothing major,” she had explained. “But something that will explain a lot of your actions as of late. And maybe it will help you understand yourself a little better. I just want you to know that you are perfectly normal, Riley. Okay?”
I nodded my head and listened as she told me all about my chemical imbalance. Apparently everything wasn’t lining up in my head. She explained exactly why some days I felt completely fine and other days, I wanted to kill myself. She told me all about why I was the way I was, and told me it would be something I would have to live with for the rest of my life.
Bipolar Disorder.
Completely normal. Right.
Ever since then, Dr. DeCarteret has spent an hour out of every month trying to fix the boy who was dubbed unfixable at age twelve. She calls me into her office and I toss the magazine aside and follow her down the hall. Her office is cozy and cluttered. She has shelves stacked full of books and papers to the right. Her desk is big and covered with files and sticky notes. She pulls a pen from behind her ear and sits down.
“Alright, Riley.” She smiles. “Let’s get started.”
“Okay.” I sit down in the big chair in front of her desk and lean back.
“How is everything going?”
“Good.”
“How are you liking school?” She opens my file. “How are your classes?”
“Good.”
She jots something down on a blank page and nods. “And how is everything at home? I didn’t see your mom out there. Is everything going okay?”
“Yes.”
She puts the pen down and sighs. “Riley, don’t do that. You know I hate when you do that.” She smiles. “Talk to me. You know I care.”
Oddly enough, I believe her. Although that doesn’t exactly make me jump at the opportunity to lay everything out there. I look at the cross hanging on her wall. I see one hanging from her neck as well. No wonder she cares; her god requires her to.
“Everything is going okay,” I say. “School is going alright. I really like statistics.”
“Statistics, huh?” She writes something down. “Why statistics?”
I shrug. “Numbers are real. They don’t lie.”
“That’s true.” She nods. “There is something comforting in that, isn’t there?”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“How are things going with Art?” She leans forward and places her hand under her chin. “Are you two getting along better?”
“I just stay away from him.” I cross my arms. “I hate the guy, Doctor D. That’s going to be the same every time I come in here.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I just have to document this stuff. And I just want to know what’s going on.” She pauses for a few seconds. “Have you been taking your medicine?”
“Yes,” I lie.
She raises an eyebrow. “Riley.”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “When I remember.”
“That’s something you shouldn’t forget.” She writes on the paper. “That medicine is what helps to balance everything out. It’s what helps your mood swings, you know.”
“I know,” I assure her. “I’ll start remembering to take it.”
“Alright. Is everything else okay? Any new girlfriends or anything I should be aware of?”
“Please, Doctor D.” I laugh. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
She chuckles. “I need to know about these types of things. New relationships and events can trigger different mood swings. I just need to be aware.”
“No new girlfriends.”
“Fair enough.” She makes several notes on the paper. “Is there anything else you want to talk about? Have you had any major lows recently?”
“A few,” I admit. “Most of them have happened because of Art. He’s brutal, you know?”
“I know.” She sighs. “How have you been handling those lows?”
“I go to the basement and punch the fuck out my bag.” I say it without thinking and feel bad when her face scrunches up. “I’m sorry. It slipped.”
She shakes her head. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re punching something inanimate rather than other people, especially Art.”
One day, I consider telling her. But I simply nod.
“I’m very proud you, Riley.” She puts her pen down and smiles. “You are handling things very well. I know it’s not easy with your disorder.”
Disorder. That word just sounds cold, clinical. It makes me sound like I’m some sort of freak who can’t get his feelings together. Disorder, noun: lack of order; confusion; to disturb the normal physical or mental health of…
The power that one word can have over a human being.
I answer all of her questions and she buys into everything I say. She checks everything off and I am signed off as (somewhat) normal for another month. She writes out a new prescription so I can continue to have medicine-induced good days.
Uncle Eddie has given me the night off. Despite Evelyn thinking that I am working at the shop, I stop at the gas station for cigarettes and a piece of pound cake. I take the short drive home and finish my cigarette before going inside. Mom is sitting on the couch watching a soap opera.
“Hey, Ma.” I sit down in the chair next to her. It is older than I am; I sink right down and the springs poke through my jeans. I unwrap my pound cake and offer her a piece. She stares at the television.
I take a bite of the cake and chew it up. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” She reaches for her mug on the coffee table and takes a sip from it. “Long day.” She stares ahead.
“Me too.” I take another bite. “I saw Doctor DeCarteret today. She says I’m doing fine. And I got a ninety-eight on my statistics test. Highest grade in the class.”
“That’s nice.”
“I was thinking maybe I would put it on the refrigerator. “ I chuckle. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? Riley with an A.”
“Sure, honey.” She puts the mug down and settles back into the couch. “Could you bring me my heating pad? My back is especially sore today.”
I sigh and go into the kitchen to get her heating pad. I heat it up for a few minutes and sit on the counter while I finish my cake. When the timer beeps, I take the pad out and bring it into the living room. She sits up and I slide the pad between her back and the couch. She sits back and sighs.
“Thank you, honey.” She closes her eyes and lays her head back.
“No problem, Mom.” I stand there for a second, silently begging her to talk to me- really talk to me. When she doesn’t, I rub her shoulders and neck. “I’m gonna go downstairs.”
When I turn away from her, my eyes are wet. I rub them before anything can escape. In my room, I change into shorts, a white shirt, and tennis shoes. Once I am downstairs, I turn up the stereo and put on my gloves. I work on my technique, hitting and kicking the bag over and over again. I don’t stop for water, don’t stop to breathe, don’t stop to think. I just hit the bag constantly, driving my padded fists into it like it is Manny or Art or my bipolar disorder or me.
When I am lightheaded, I lay down on the cement floor and suck in huge gulps of air. I close my eyes and get lost in the heavy chords of the Breaking Benjamin album blasting through the speakers. At some point, I drift off into a calm, alternative-coated oblivion. When a foot crushes against my ribcage a few minutes later, I nearly choke. I open my eyes and see Art staring down at me.
“What are you, deaf? I said turn that shit down.”
I stand up and rip the stereo cord out of the wall. He stands there with his hands on his hips and his eyes glassed over. I take my gloves off and throw them on the floor.
“What are you going to do?” He taunts me. “Are you going to hit me? I dare you, little boy. Let’s see what kind of man you are.”
I ball my fists up. Every ounce of me turns hot. My mouth goes sour, my muscles tighten, my eyes water, and I grit my teeth so hard that I think my head might explode. He must see it in me, because his expression changes. Without saying another word, he walks up the stairs. Two more seconds and I would have hit him.
Instead, I drive my fist into the cement wall with all of the strength I can gather. My knuckles crack against the hard rock. One would think that I would regret that decision, but I do not even feel the pain. I let out a loud growl and tap my head against the wall over and over again, letting hot tears fall from my eyes. Everything in my head goes black and I slump back down to the floor.
It isn’t until I am out of the shower and dressed that I start to feel the pain. All of the adrenaline has worn off, Art has gone to the liquor store, and I stand in front of my mirror with a towel wrapped around my waist and a throbbing hand. A couple of my knuckles are cut, and blood threatens to seep out. I try moving my fingers. They move, so I know my hand isn’t broken. Must be pretty damn close, though. I decide that maybe it would be best if I did take my medicine. I pop one of the tiny white pills and swallow it dry. I chase it with a couple of aspirin for my hand.
I get dressed with one hand, then lay on my bed with the sore one propped on my stomach until I hear Evelyn honk outside. I grab my jacket. My mom is still sitting in her same spot on the couch, only now she is watching the Game Show Network.
“I’ll be back later, Mom.”
She does not respond, just stares ahead at Pat Sajak on the television screen. I hurry outside where Evelyn is waiting in her car.
“Hey,” she says.
I don’t say anything. I just close my door and she drives off without pushing it any farther, which surprises me.
A few minutes later, she notices my swollen hand. “What happened to your hand?”
It is still throbbing. It would be nice if she would take it into her own hands, put ice on it, kiss it. But that would show weakness, so I shrug it off like it’s nothing.
“I was boxing.”
“Without gloves?” She knows I’m not an idiot; although, punching cement walls almost qualifies.
“Ev, don’t.” I look out the window so she doesn’t see my eyes watering. “I’m fine.”
“Fine.”
We ride to school in silence and I am grateful for that. I hate when people ask questions, pry. My business is nobody else’s and I like to keep it that way. It’s bad enough I have to spill my guts to Dr. DeCarteret once a month. The last thing I need is another psychiatrist.
I spend most of the game wondering why I showed up in the first place. I hate school sports, I hate the people who play them, and I hate the people worship the people who play them. Samantha does her stupid stunts and cheers down on the track in front of the stands. Ruby conducts the pep band at the end of the home side. Anderson does his football thing- they don’t take him out for the entire game. People show up with their faces painted red and with pompoms and megaphones and posters. It is pathetic and I curse myself for having given seven of my hard earned dollars to support this circus.
Evelyn sits close to me, with her arm through mine. I decide not to fight her on it. She tries to make small talk, but gives up by the second quarter. The pain in my hand has dulled a little, but it is still there. Whenever I think about it, I get pissed off all over again. Shortly after halftime, Evelyn moves her face close to mine.
“Want to get out of here?”
I’m not in the mood for sex, but to my surprise she suggests something else. “I can get some weed and we can just chill somewhere. What do you think?
Relieved and desperate for a pick-me-up, I nod. “I need to chill.” And that has never been more true. She gets up and I follow her. The people behind us mumble something about her low-cut shirt, but she ignores it so I do, too.
When we are out in the mix of the Five Points’ student body, she grabs my arm. “Just let me find Brian. I’ll meet you at the car.”
I’d rather not hang out around with Brian and his crew of lames, so I agree to wait at the car. She goes one way and I go the other. On my way to the car, my phone buzzes. It is a text message from Audrey, who says she cannot make it tomorrow and that she is sorry. Sure she is. Girls. I close my phone and sigh. While I wait for Evelyn, I smoke a cigarette and stare up at the sky. I blow the smoke out slowly and remind myself that I need to quit; Audrey is allergic to cigarette smoke, she said.
I hear Evelyn’s voice chattering away to someone on her cellphone. I finish my cigarette before she can ask for a hit and stomp it out.
“Let’s go girl,” I say. My mouth start to water for a good high.
Then I see it in her face: something is not okay. She looks pale, panicked. I put my hands on her shoulders. “What is it?”
She doesn’t respond, just listens to the voice on the other end. Finally, “Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay?”
She. It must be her mother. For some reason I start to panic, too. A moment later, Evelyn gets off the phone. “I’m on my way,” she says before hanging up.
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
“My mom is in the hospital.” Her eyes are empty.
“What? What happened?”
“There was a fire at the hotel where she works. I’ve got to go.” She pulls her keys and the bag of weed out of her pocket. “She’s in the hospital and I have to go. Here.” She hands me the weed.
“Don’t be crazy. I’ll drive.”
She unlocks the door with shaky hands. “No. I need to go alone. I’ll drop you off at your place.”
Something comes over me; something weird, sensitive. “Evelyn, you are not okay right now.” I rub her back.
She spins around. “Riley, I don’t want you to come with me.” Her voice is cold, on frosty edge. “I just need to be alone, okay?”
“Okay,” I surrender. “But call me. Call me if you need anything?” I don’t know where this is coming from, but I go with it. Because she is obviously hurting, and for some reason that makes me hurt.

“Yeah.” She gets into her car.
“I’ll find a ride home. Don’t worry about it.”
She pulls out of the parking lot a few seconds later, leaving me standing there with a bag of weed and a huge lump of confusion right next to the rock where my heart used to be.

Instead of trying to find a ride home, I decide to walk. I realize that it is too many blocks away to count, but for some reason I don’t mind. I wrap myself up in a coat of soft green herbs. I smoke most of the weed and give the rest to a couple of kids outside of the movie theater.
“Thanks, dude.” The one with the shaggy blonde says. They run off and I don’t feel bad at all.
I walk down the sidewalks, busy with people living their lives. The street lights and headlights blur in my head like one of those fancy pictures. I smoke the rest of my pack of cigarettes, making each one slow and delicious. The high is a peaceful and painless bliss. I do not feel my hand, I do not acknowledge the thoughts fogging my head, I do not feel my hand as it throbs. This is perfect- not feeling anything. Yet somehow, I feel everything. For so long I have been able to feel nothing, but today I realized that it is possible for me to feel something. It is possible for me to need something.
I feel like a wreck, like a screw-up with nothing in front of him. I am just a rebel with no cause, a broken hand and a chemical imbalance. And maybe I am scared. But I need to feel like maybe I can be okay if I try. I need more than sex. I need something real, something more than words. Because words don’t mean anything. Although, they could mean everything. And I want something, too. I want something- and that something has the devil’s hair and the voice of an angel. And I want her to want me. I’ve got my own hierarchy of needs.


And I vow to satisfy my needs.

October 12: Evelyn

When I’m being touched, something ignites in me. He runs his fingertips lightly over my thighs and it feels like razor blades are pricking my skin. He slides his tongue over all of the right places- below my ears, over my collarbone, my top lip. The weight of him crushes down on my ribs. But the pain is okay; I like it, even. His cologne drives me over the edge, mixed with car grease and cigarettes. The smell swirls in my head until I’m dizzy. His hand moves clumsily under my skirt. He cuts off my moans with his teeth, biting my bottom lip. He kisses me until we’re both done. I fill myself with his kiss, his hand, his smell. I am completely and intimately intoxicated.
Intimacy leaves the worst hangover.
“Jesus.” Riley climbs off of me and moves into the front seat of my Nova. He lights a cigarette without rolling down the window.
“Right?” I sit up, leaving my shirt unbuttoned. I run my fingers through my hair and reach for my lip gloss.
We both steady our breathing, him with his cigarette and me with my makeup. I pop a mint in my mouth and lean back in the seat. He hands me the cigarette and I take a slow drag before handing it back to him.
“I’ve got a test in history,” I mumble. “Fuck me.”
“Again?” Riley chuckles.
“Funny.” I take the cigarette from him and pull from it. “What’s going on tonight?”
“What do you mean?” He takes the cigarette back.
“I mean what are we doing tonight? Did you want to go to the football game? Because I’m taking my sister out to dinner, but I’m free after that. And I was thinking-“
“I don’t know.” Riley shrugs. “I might have stuff to do.”
“Stuff? What stuff?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He pulls his jacket on and lights another cigarette. “I just might be busy. You’re not my only priority, you know.”
“Whatever, Riley.” I put my heels on and open the door. “It’s not like I was asking you out on a date. I just thought maybe we could do something besides fuck every once in a while.”
“But why?” He gets out and puts his arm around my waist. “We’re so good at it.”
“Get off of me.” I push him away.
“Chill out, Ev. I was just kidding.” He reaches for my hand but I turn away and head towards the school. “Evelyn!”
“No.”
He grabs my arm and I react. I spin around and push him as hard as I can, pounding my tiny fists into his chest. I think I probably hurt myself more than I hurt him, but I don’t care.
“I said no!” My face gets hot and my eyes burn.
“Easy, girl.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and completely ignores the fact that I just pushed all of my weight into him. He stutters for a second. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to; I just wanted to get your attention.”
I don’t say anything, just breath out in quick, heavy gasps.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, I just-“
“It’s all good.” He puts his arms around me and rests his chin on the top of my head. In this moment I feel closer to him than I ever have before. Is he actually showing some sort of empathy? Or is he just scared to lose my ass? Either way, I breathe relief and embarrassment into his shirt.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry.” He buries his hands in my hair. “We’ll go to the game tonight, okay? I’m not busy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, girl.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m gonna smoke another one. Good luck on your test.”
“Thanks.”
He pats my butt when I turn away. Not too much empathy, I guess.

Forty-five minutes into my exam, the page is still blank. In hindsight, maybe I didn’t know as much about the Aztecs as I thought I did. I reread the five exam questions over and over again. Mr. McCloy’s instructions were to pick the three we knew the most about and answer them in a detailed essay. I consider asking him what we should do if we don’t know anything about any of them, but considering he can barely stand me as it is, I decide against it.
I curse the girl sitting next to me, who is writing so fast I think she might snap her wrist. I spend the rest of the period searching my brain for something- anything that I can write about. All of my thoughts come back to Riley. Why is it that I can remember exactly where he put his hands last night, or what he was wearing last Tuesday, but I cannot remember a single thing about the Mesozoic Era? I scribble a few sentences for each question. When the bell rings, I turn my paper in and avoid any sort of eye contact with Mr. McCloy. He just looks at my paper and shakes his head. What exactly did he expect?

At lunch, I fight with Riley and he tells me he is skipping the pep rally. We sit in the corner at our usual table and he pulls on my hair while he eats his pizza.
“I’ll go with you,” I tell him. I take a cookie from his tray and eat it.
He shakes his head. “You can’t. I’m going to go to the shop early.”
“Oh,” I mumble and eat the rest of the cookie. “So what am I supposed to do?”
He shrugs. “Go to the pep rally. It won’t be that bad, I’m sure.”
“Then why aren’t you going?”
“I have to get my hours in, Ev.” He finishes his pizza. “You want me to be able to go to the game right? I can’t just not show up for work.”
“Alright.”
“Pick me up around seven. Cool?” He stands up with his tray.
I cross my arms and sigh. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll see you tonight.”
He dumps his tray and leaves without kissing me, hugging me, or even smiling. It is like he didn’t even notice that I was mad. Funny how guys have selective ignorance. Unable to do anything about it, I dump my tray and head to the woodshop room when the bell rings.
Tyler is sitting at our station when I get there. He is dressed in faded blue jeans, a blue and green flannel shirt, and a hat. Such a Southern boy. When he sees me he smiles. His smile is beautiful and big, his teeth perfect. He’s good. Too good.
“Hey Tyler.” I throw my notebook down and sit on the stool next to him. “Ready for this pep rally?”
“My first Chicago pep rally.” He smiles. “I guess I’m excited. What about you?”
“If it means getting me out of class for a little bit, I’m definitely excited.” I laugh and so does he. His laugh is so playful, so innocent. I wonder if he has ever kissed a girl. He has to have, with his perfect mouth.
He looks around the room. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I sneer. “And Riley is skipping. School spirit kind of cramps his style, I guess.”
“I see.” Tyler rolls his eyes. “You should sit with me.”
His notion is so unexpected that I don’t answer for a few seconds. “Sure. Okay.”
“Sweet.” He turns to face Mr. Henley, who goes over the pep rally rules and instructions. My eyes trace the lines of his shirt. I get lost for a moment in the maze and don’t snap out of it until the bell rings and everyone gets up to head to the gym.
I follow Tyler and the rest of my class to the gym. All of the juniors file in at the top of the bleachers. Tyler and I sit in the farthest corner against the wall.
“How has your day been?” He asks. I cannot help but wonder if he actually cares. And if he does- why?
“Well, I failed my history test this morning,” I grumble. I think about how I skipped first period to hang out with Riley in the back seat of my car. I decide Tyler does not need to know about that. “The rest of the day has been okay, I guess.”
“You don’t like history?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not really. I’m terrible at remembering things.”
“I love history.” He smiles. “If you ever need any help, I’d be happy to tutor you. You can come over any time. My mom, she makes great mac and cheese. She’d love to have you over for dinner sometime.”
I don’t know if he is hitting on me, or if he just feels bad for me. Some part of me doesn’t really care. And the other part of me doesn’t know what to say. So like an idiot, I don’t say anything.
I remain seated for the entire pep rally. Tyler stands up and cheers, like a good student with school pride. When Ruby speaks, I tune her out and imagine her having a heart attack in the middle of the gym floor. Then I decide that would be terrible because people would just talk about her even more, and send her flowers and cards. Poor Ruby. Bless her heart.
When Samantha and Anderson give their speeches, I close my eyes and lean back against the wall. Pep rallies should be optional. I should not have to submit to the torture of watching Five Points’ president and first lady be glorified by all of their followers with their red pompoms and confetti. When it is finally over, Tyler and I walk to the parking lot together.
“Are you going to the game?” I ask him.
“I’m not sure. My sister Lily just moved up here with my grandparents, so we might be doing family stuff.”
“Sister?” I didn’t know he had any siblings. Then again, I guess I never really knew much about him.
“Twin sister, actually.” He nods. “She doesn’t look anything like me, though.”
We stop at my car. “Why did she move up here so late?”
“Just… reasons.” He shrugs. “Anyway, maybe I’ll see you at the game.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. For some reason I want to keep pushing him about this sister. “Have fun with your sister. I’m getting ready to go see mine.”
“You have fun, too.” He smiles and waves. “Goodbye, Evelyn.”
When he’s gone, I get into my car and start it. Something weird is happening and I cannot figure it out. Tyler Green is something special, something new. And I am desperate to climb out of the old.


My sister lives with my grandparents on the other side of town. It’s not much nicer than my side, but she seems to like it okay. Not that she really has much of a choice. When I pull into the driveway, Celia is waiting on the porch. She is practically in the car before I can get out.
“Is Nonna home?”
She opens the door on the passenger side and nods. “She’s in there. Cooking something.”
“Well can you give me a minute to say hey to her?” I close my door. “What’s your hurry?”
She shrugs. “I’m just hungry.”
Everyone tells me we could be twins, but I don’t see it. Her hair is long and wavy and looks like honey. Her skin is like honey, too. She’s lighter than me and skinnier, too. She is wearing too much eyeliner and lip gloss, her shirt is too low-cut, and her jeans are too tight. She looks exactly like me when I was her age. Maybe we could be twins.
She follows me into the house, which is smaller than mine. The place smells like sugar and basil, the bittersweet smell of Italy and memories. I hear my grandma chopping away at something in the kitchen and follow the sound.
“Hey, Nonna.”
She puts the knife down and smiles wide. She’s short and plump, with golden skin that’s barely wrinkled. The kitchen is small and she makes use of every inch of it. Baking pans and tomatoes are on every counter. She laughs her loud, hearty laugh and cradles my head in her hands.
“My angel.” She stares at me. “How are you, angel?”
“I’m good, Nonna.” When she finally lets go of my head, I reach for a cannoli and bite half of it. “Where’s Nonno?”
“He’s doing work.” She turns back to her cutting board and chops an onion. “How is school? You’re doing okay?”
“I’m doing okay,” I assure her. “I’m passing.”
Celia leans against the wall, clearly uninterested and ready to leave. I shoot her a glance; she sighs and types away on her phone.
“I’m sure you are okay.” Nonna’s accent is thick with Sicilian blood. “I miss you; your Nonno misses you too, you know.”
“I know. I’ll come by more,” I lie. “School is just hard right now.”
She nods. “You could stay here for dinner. I will make manicotti. That is still your favorite, no?” She claps her hands together.
“Still my favorite.” I would love to spend the evening stuffing myself full of Nonna’s free manicotti and antipasto. I look at Celia, who’s eyes are begging me to say no. “But, I already told Celia we’d get Japanese.”
Nonna nods slowly and I can tell she’s sad. Lonely, maybe. “Okay. You girls be careful.” She wraps her arms around my neck and whispers, “ti voglio bene.”
“I love you too, Nonna.” I kiss both of her cheeks. “I’ll see you soon.”
With that, I follow Celia out of the house.
“Finally,” she groans.
“What the hell is your problem?” And then I remember. She is fourteen- that is her problem. “Forget it. Let’s go eat.”
I start the car and pull out of the driveway. Neither of us say anything for the first few minutes. It always starts like this.
“Can we just skip the Japanese food and go straight to dessert?” Celia types on her phone. “I want ice cream and I have plans tonight.”
My stomach screams at me but I shrug it off. “Sure. You need to eat though; you’re too skinny.”
“Please,” Celia sneers. “You’re skinnier than I am. I guess Mom is still forgetting to buy groceries?”
“Something like that.”
A few minutes later I pull into the parking lot of Scoops ice cream shop. The store is empty except for a kid behind the counter, and Gabe DeCarteret, who is licking a cone and singing.
“Hey, girls,” he says and smiles.
“Hey, Gabe.” I stand in front of the ice cream and for a solid ten seconds, consider buying one scoop of every flavor. I am hungry enough; I could eat it all. “I’ll take two scoops of chocolate.”
“Okay!” He gets a paper cup and starts scooping. “What about you, honey?” He looks at Celia.
“Peanut butter swirl,” she mumbles and moves to a table in the corner.
“Sorry about her,” I tell Gabe. “She’s barely a teenager and thinks she’s a grown woman.”
“Don’t they all?” Gabe smiles and hands me the first bowl of ice cream. “She looks just like you. Is she your sister?”
“Is it that obvious?” I pick up two spoons. “She’s a trip.”
“She’s pretty.” Gabe scoops the second bowl and hands it to me. “I think something is wrong with her.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “It’s her eyes. They’re gone; you can tell she’s not here. They’re sort of… empty. Like yours.”
My heart jumps.
“And mine,” he adds. He hands me the second bowl. “It’s on the house. Just talk to her.”
“Alright,” I whisper. “Thanks, Gabe.”
“It’s nothing.”
At our table, Celia is punching keys on her phone. She does not look up when I hand her the ice cream.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
“Do me a favor and put that phone away for ten minutes.” My voice gets harsh. “I’m your sister. Those other important people you’re talking to can wait.”
“I’m sorry.” She stuffs the phone in her pocket and takes a bite of ice cream. “So talk. What’s going on with you?”
“Same shit, different day.” I take a bite of ice cream and let it sit on my tongue. “School sucks and Mom’s boyfriend is a total drag.”
“So I’ve heard.” Celia nods. “How’s the step-brother? I can’t believe I haven’t gotten to meet him yet. Is he cute?”
“Please, Celia.” I roll my eyes. “He’s nothing. He’s a piece of scum that sleeps in your old bed. I try to see him as little as possible.”
“That’s my bed.” She shakes her head.
“I know,” I whisper. “But you’re better now. It’s good for you, being at Nonna’s. She’s good for you.”
“Whatever.” She slams her spoon down. “That house is a fucking prison. I’m dying there, Ev. Nonna is cool, sure. But she’s strict and doesn’t know anything about being fourteen right now.”
“She knows everything about being fourteen,” I assure her. “And Celia, you don’t exactly make it easy for people, you know. She only wants what’s best for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She rolls her eyes. “I just don’t deserve this. I messed up; I get it. But you mess up all the time, and they haven’t kicked you out yet.”
“You tried to kill yourself, Cee.” I try to keep my voice down; Gabe is staring at us. “Or did you forget that part?”
“How could I forget?” Celia sighs. “And I didn’t try to kill myself. I took too many sleeping pills. Sue me.”
“An entire bottle, Celia.” I stop eating and stare at her. “Look, I get it. You know that I know exactly where you’re coming from. I went through the same thing, remember?”
She shuts down. Immediately her body closes off and she stares at the table. She refuses to talk to me or anyone else about our past. It took over a year in counseling for the guidance counselor to get Celia to admit that she had been molested, that we both had. That the man who was like a father to us had destroyed her body until she was ten years old. To this day, Celia claims that she did not try to kill herself. The sleeping pills she had been prescribed were not working anymore, so she just decided to take a few extra- so she says. She ended up taking the entire bottle and washing it down with a Dr. Pepper. My mom found her in her bedroom. She still refuses to believe that Celia told the truth. Not my Jay, he would never do that. Mom always was naïve. Celia was twelve then. And Mom decided it would be best for her to move in with my grandparents. She thinks she was doing Celia a favor; I think she took the easy way out.
“Can we please talk about something else?” She runs her fingers through her hair. “I get enough of this from my therapist.”
“Fair enough,” I mumble and take another bite of ice cream. “Talk.”
“Any boys?” She smiles.
I roll my eyes. “Plenty.”
“Anyone in particular?”
I consider telling her about Riley. But then I remember that Riley is not my boyfriend. Then I consider telling her about Tyler; but he is no one in particular. I shake my head. “No.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“What about you? What’s going on in your life?”
She blushes. “Well, there is this one boy.”
“There always is.”
“Shut up, Evelyn.” She laughs. “This one is serious. He’s so nice and funny and I think he really likes me. His name is Bryson. He’s black.”
“Okay?” I shrug. “Is that supposed to piss me off?”
She sighs.
“Look, Celia.” I take her hand. “I’m your big sister. And with you being gone, I feel like I’m not getting to fulfill all of my sisterly duties. So just hear me out, alright?”
“Go.”
“I’m sure you want me to tell you that this Bryson kid is madly in love with you, and that he’s going to sweep you off of your feet. And I’m sure you’d like for me to tell you that you’re going to live happily ever after with him.”
“That would be nice.” She giggles.
“But if I told you that, I’d be a liar.” I squeeze her hand. “The truth is that guys suck. They’re terrible people, really. And the ones who are our age are the worst.”
“So you’re saying I need to find someone older?” She smiles.
“Celia, I’m serious.” I sigh. “I know I’m not exactly the best role model. I kind of suck when it comes to guys, so I don’t have much room to talk. But you have so much more to offer than I do.”
“Like what?”
“You’re beautiful, and talented, and you’re so smart. You deserve everything. I’m not asking you to be a saint.” I lean back in my chair. “I’m just asking you to save yourself, and give yourself to a guy who deserves it. Not some piece of shit who doesn’t deserve you.”
“But sometimes I feel like all I have to offer a guy is my body.” She looks down and sighs. “It seems like that’s all they want.”
“It is,” I tell her. “I wish it were different, but this isn’t a fairy tale.”
“So what, I’m supposed to be a nun?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just be careful what you do and who you do it with. If not for yourself, do it for me.”
“Alright.”
“Promise me, Celia.” I kick her leg under the table.
“I got it!” She rubs her leg and laughs. “I promise I won’t do anything stupid. But only if you promise me the same thing.”
She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. She stares at me; sees right through me. She knows everything I am, everything I’ve done. She knows everything I have been through- the one person who sees through the wall I’ve put up for so long. For a few seconds, neither of us say anything. She sits across from me, my spitting image- if not on the outside, at least all the way down into her soul. My eyes burn when tears try to form. But I don’t let them. I swallow the lump of realization in my throat and nod.
“I promise.”

I drop her off outside of Nonna’s house. We sit in the car for a minute, with hesitation and sorrow stirring in the air around us. I put my hand on her leg and she places her hand over mine.
“Thanks for the ice cream.”
“No problem.” I stare out the windshield. “Call me sometime.”
“I will.” She opens her door. “Have fun at the game tonight. Be safe.”
“You too.”
“I love you, Evelyn.”
“I love you too, Cee.”
She closes the door and I wait for her to get in the house before I leave. As soon as I pull away, the tears fall. They splash on the steering wheel, slide down my cheek and onto my chest. They soak into my shirt. When they mix with my mascara, my eyes burn. But I don’t wipe them away. I stare at the road through burning eyes and somehow make my way to Riley’s house.
I pull a napkin out of the glove compartment and wipe my cheeks. I pull down the sun visor and fix my makeup. A few seconds later, I look as good as new. Riley never lets me come in, so I honk the horn and wait for him to come out. He opens the front door a few seconds later. Dressed in a black V-neck t-shirt and tight jeans, he is totally to die for. He puts his leather jacket on and I feel my mouth water. Nothing stupid, I remind myself.
“Hey,” I say when he gets in the car.
He is quiet and simply throws his head back in a half-nod. I am not in the mood to fight so instead of saying anything else, I pull out of the driveway and head towards the school.
“What happened to your hand?” I look down and see his hand, balled in a fist. His knuckles are bruised and bloody.
He shrugs. “I was boxing.”
“Without gloves?”
“Ev, don’t.” He puts his hand in his pocket and stares out the window. “I’m fine.”
“Fine.”

The game is barely into the third quarter before Riley starts to get antsy. He is distant, barely talking or paying attention to the game. I put my arm through his and he does not even pull away.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask softly in his ear. “I can get some weed and we can just chill somewhere. What do you think?”
He nods. “I need to chill.”
Yeah, you do. I consider saying it aloud, but decide it’s not worth it. I take his hand and he follows me up the cement bleachers and out into the parking lot where most of the kids are hanging out.
“Just let me find Brian. I’ll meet you at the car.”
“Alright.”
I do not know what is wrong with him, but I am hoping that whatever it is can be fixed with a few hits of Brian’s good green. I find him standing in his usual spot behind the concession stands with his friends.
“Hey boys.” I cross my arms and the guys turn to me. Brian looks me up and down and for a second I think he might be into me. “I’ll take a gram.”
I pull a twenty out of my tight jeans and hand it to him. He would never give it to me for free, no matter how tight my jeans were. He’s not interested in me; just my money. He slips a tiny plastic bag into my hand and just like that, the deal is over.
He chuckles. “Be a good girl.” The other guys laugh, too.
“No promises,” I say and run my hands over his chest. “I’ll see you around. Bye boys.”
“Bye, Ev.” Brian shakes his head and smiles.
I hurry to my car. I’m not far away when I feel someone grab my ass. My phone vibrates in my pocket at the same time.
“Let me get it,” the guy behind me says.
“Fuck off.” I pull my phone out, expecting it to be Riley telling me to hurry up. When I look at the phone and see Derek’s number, I am not sure how I feel. But something tells me to answer it. I decide that I will deal with the asshole and his wandering hands later.
“Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Evelyn,” Derek’s voice is rushed. He seems out of breath. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the football game.” I roll my eyes. “I go out every Friday night. And yes, I remembered to take the trash out before I left-“
“Evelyn.” Derek cuts me off. “It’s your mom.”
I stop a few feet away from my car. Riley is leaned against the hood, smoking a cigarette. He stands up when he sees me.
“Let’s go, girl.” He must see whatever is going on in my face because he drops his cigarette and walks towards me. “What is it?”
I hold my hand up and listen to Derek’s voice on the other end. “There was a fire at the hotel tonight. She was working a double, and…”
His voice trails off and I feel my face get hot. “Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay, Derek.”
Riley’s face scrunches up with confusion. I push past him and pull my keys out of my jacket. He follows me and moves in front of me so I can’t get to the door.
Derek sighs. “She’s okay.”
I breathe out the giant gulp of air that has been ballooning inside of my lungs since I answered the call. I take in short, fast breaths and Riley puts his hand on my back.
Derek continues, “They’re keeping her overnight to make sure everything is alright, but for now she is stable. She’s got some burns on her, though. And she’s totally out right now.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hang up the phone and Riley turns me around. “What’s going on?”
“My mom is in the hospital.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“What? What happened?”
“There was a fire at the hotel where she works. I’ve got to go. She’s in the hospital and I have to go. Here.” I hand him the bag of weed.
“Don’t be crazy.” Riley shakes his head. “I’ll drive.”
“No.” I unlock the door. “I need to go alone. I’ll drop you off at your place.”
“Evelyn,” he rubs my back. “You are not okay right now.”
“Riley, I don’t want you to come with me.” I put my hands on his chest. “I just need to go alone, okay?”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and sighs. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“But call me, okay?” He nudges me with his elbow. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“I’ll find a ride home. Don’t worry about it.”
I get in the car and he watches me drive away. I drive to the hospital as fast as my Nova will go, and as fast as all of the traffic lights and unmarked police cars will let me. Every light seems to turn red as I get closer and closer to the hospital. I consider calling Celia or my Nonna, but decide there is no reason to worry them when I do not have the details.
The hospital smells like pain. It smells like accidents and new life and forced death and heartache. I find out where my mom is and hurry to the sixth floor. Room six-thirteen is small. Derek sits in a chair next to the bed where my mom lies. She has gauze wrapped around her arms and neck. Her face looks pale and bruised.
“Evelyn,” Derek says when I walk in. I can tell he has been crying. His eyes are red and soupy. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes my body. I do not stop him.
“Is she okay?”
“She will be.” He lets go of me and forces a smile. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee. I need it. Would you stay here with her?”
“Sure,” I mumble.
He leaves the room and I sit down in the chair. I put my hand on my mom’s leg and stare at her. She is there, but not really. They have her doped up on pain medicine. I wonder how the high feels, if she can feel anything. I wonder if there is anything going on in her head.
I lay my head on the edge of her bed and let my tears soak into the coarse white sheets. Mom doesn’t wake up. I let all of my tears fall; I cry more than I have in my entire lifetime. When Derek comes back, he tells me he is going to pick Alex up from the school. He tells me I can stay the night with my mom if I want to. I do not say anything, don’t even look up from the bed. But he understands. And when he puts his hand on my back, I know his touch is sincere, fatherly.
I cry until my head hurts, until my temples pound. I cry until all of the water is drained from me and my stomach hurts from heaving. Riley calls six times, but I do not answer. I turn my phone off and stuff it in my pocket. I fall asleep with my head next to my mother’s thigh, like I did when I was little and she knew who I was. Before my childhood was ripped to shreds and I developed my distorted impression of love; before I forgot how to love someone.
Sometime before I fall asleep, when my eyes are too dry to stay open and my throat hurts from screaming into the sheets, I decide that I will find love again. I decide that I am worth it, and that perhaps I need to be loved more than I thought I did.


I vow to remember what love is.

October 12: Brian

“Are you listening to me?”
I shake myself awake and sit up in the chair in front of Ms. McConnell. She leans forward over her desk and stares at me.
“You’re not listening, are you?”
“I am,” I insist and rub my eyes. “I hear you.”
“You hear me, but you aren’t listening.” She sighs. “Brian, I’m worried about you. Your grades are not very good-”
“It’s the first month.”
“You’ve missed twelve class periods already. And from what I am hearing from your teachers, you may as well not even be there when you do show up for class.”
I don’t say anything.
“Are you high right now?”
I bite my tongue.
“Don’t lie to me, Brian.” She stares hard without blinking. “Are you high?”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
She grits her teeth. “On what?”
I shrug. “Weed, a couple pills.”
“Is that all?”
I decide it’s probably a bad idea to tell her I’m still a little strung out on meth from last night.
“That’s it.”
“Brian.” She sighs. “You’ve got to stop this. Two years ago you were at the top of your class. What happened?”
“High school happened.” I chuckle.
“This isn’t funny, Brian. Is there something you want to talk about? Is everything okay at home? How’s your dad?”
“Everything is just fine,” I assure her. “There’s nothing I want to talk about. My dad is perfect. Didn’t you read that article about him in the paper last week?”
She shakes her head. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Yeah, everybody’s so fucking worried about me.” I stand up. “Do yourself a favor and stop worrying about me. If I mess up, it’s on my ass. You’re still gonna get your paycheck and go on with your perfect little life.”
“Brian, sit down.” Her face flushes bright red. First time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice. “That’s not how this works. We’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. You know nothing about my life.”
“And you don’t know shit about mine!” My voice echoes throughout the room, shatters the stiff air. I pull my backpack over my shoulder. “So stop pretending you do just because you’ve got some degree plastered on your wall.”
I swear she tears up. But she doesn’t let any of the tears go. She swallows hard and closes her eyes. I wish I could eat my words, force them down like bitter blackberries and pretend she never heard them. She speaks before I can apologize.
“Just go to class, Brian.” She sighs. “Please. Just go to class.”
I know it’s completely terrible that the first thing I want to do when I leave her office is shoot up. My meth habits are becoming more frequent lately. I know I need to cut back. Crank is not something I need to be addicted to, and each hit is one step closer to being just that. I guess I should just be happy it’s Ms. McConnell who caught me smoking this morning, and not Mr. Hall. He would’ve called my dad for sure. And I’d be packing my bags to leave for boot camp.
What did she expect me to say to her? No, Ms. McConnell, everything is not okay. In fact, everything is miserable. My dad is drowning himself in work, and he doesn’t even know that my mom has been calling from rehab. She’s supposed to get out in a few weeks, and even though I miss her, I’m terrified. I’m scared I’m becoming them- addicted to everything that’s bad for me. I’m worried that it might already be too late, that I could be addicted to crystal. I’m sick of everything around me: school, home, my friends, weed. I’m sick. No. Everything is not okay.
Yeah, that would never work. I wipe the tears from my face with my shirt sleeve. I rub my cheeks raw, so hard that they sting. I sit down on a bench in the lobby outside of the gym. Anyone could walk by, but I don’t care. I close my eyes and try to convince myself that I don’t need the meth. I don’t need it. I’m not an addict.
“Are you okay?” A soft voice echoes in my ear.
“I swear, if I have to hear that one more time.” I open my eyes and see a girl I’ve never seen before.
She’s kind of short with dark brown hair that’s pulled back into a loose braid. Wisps of hair curl around her face. And it’s a face like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are almost as dark as her hair, big and beautiful. Her lips are full, her teeth straight. Her body is perfect too, from what I can see under her floral button-down shirt and jeans. Curves. Perfect curves.
The meth is fucking with my head, I think. Except she’s real.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “You just… You look like you’re not okay. So I guess it was a stupid question.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Just a bad day, that’s all. Bad week, really.”
She nods. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re not okay either?”
“I’m new here.” She comes a few steps closer. “I have no idea where I’m going.”
“What are you looking for?”
She looks down at the piece of paper in her hand. “I’m looking for Miss McConnell’s office.” She says it more like a question than a statement.
“Oh, you’re gonna want to give her a few minutes.” I half-smile. “I just came from there.”
“Oh.”
God, she’s beautiful. And I have no idea who she is, and- even better- she has no idea who I am.
“I’m Brian.”
“Lily. Well, Lillian. But nobody ever calls me that. Except my mom, she calls me Lillian sometimes when she’s mad at me, but that’s it.”
She’s totally flustered and I chuckle. “You can sit down if you want, Lily.”
She smiles. “Okay.” She sits down next to me. Our legs almost touch, but they don’t. I force myself to breath.
“Where are you from?”
“North Carolina.” Southern. I should have known; she’s got a slow, sweet tea drawl.
“So today is your first day?”
“Second.” She shakes her head.
“And nobody gave you the grand tour of this amazing place?” I wave my arms around.
She catches on to my sarcasm. “Well, this girl kind of gave me a tour. Her name was Ruby, and she was in a big hurry. She said something about a pep rally meeting and announcements and band practice and I lost track.”
“Yeah, that’s Ruby for you. Busy.” Always too busy.
“Anyway, she showed me where my first class was and never showed up for the rest of the tour.” She shrugs. “I found my other classes okay, but I still don’t really know where I’m going. And now I have to talk to this guidance counselor about getting me out of Chemistry. I hate it.”
“I feel you.” I laugh. “I’ve already failed it once. Who do you have?”
She shrugs. “Some crazy lady named Kate. She seems cool, though.”
“I have her too. Third period.”
“That’s when I have her.” Lily scowls. “I don’t remember seeing you there yesterday, though.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I haven’t been there very much lately.”
She laughs. “So you’ve already failed it once, but you’re still skipping class? Very smart.”
“I never said I was smart.” I crack a smile. “Maybe I just need some motivation.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I mean, maybe if you stayed in the class I’d have a reason to show up.”
She blushes again.
“If not, I guess I’ll just have to keep on skipping and fail again. My success is in your hands, Lily.”
“No pressure.” She giggles. “Alright, I’ll stay in dreadful chemistry. But only if you promise to come to class every day.”
“Every day?” I grumble.
She holds out her pinky. The glittery pink polish on her nails catches my eye.
“Every day.”
I wrap my pinky around hers. The electricity in that touch is packed with more heat than the best weed I’ve ever had. No high has ever felt this powerful. In this moment, I realize this is one promise that I could actually keep.
“Deal.”
When the bell rings, we walk to chemistry together. She sits at my lab table right across from me.
“So nice of you to show up, Mister Phillips.” Kate smiles sarcastically. “What’s the special occasion?”
I shrug. “Sudden change of heart.”
Lily smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. Kate looks me up and down, takes a few sniffs, and then walks away. I guess I don’t smell too much like weed today.
“Alright class, let’s get started.” Kate writes a bunch of chemical reactions on the board.
My eyes lock with Lily’s. She blushes and pulls on her hair, copies a problem, then looks back at me. I consider asking Kate what this reaction is that I’m feeling right now. What kind of chemical properties are going crazy in my head? So much heat, unbelievable power. Her eyes pull me into her. Is that magnetism? I don’t know what it is. Even Kate couldn’t understand this kind of chemistry. I don’t think I blink one time for the next eighty-nine minutes.
I consider asking Lily to eat lunch with me, but that would mean explaining her to my friends. And the last thing I want is for her to meet the guys.
“This girl from my French class asked me to eat with her today,” Lily says once we are out of class. “I guess I will.”
I can’t help but be a little relieved. “Okay. You don’t want to eat with my friends anyway. Trust me.”
“They can’t be that bad.”
If she only knew. “Thanks for making me go to chemistry. I needed it.”
She nods. “Thanks for convincing me to stay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lily.”
I watch as she walks away, a little reluctant. I’m reluctant to see her go, but the last thing I need is the guys cracking jokes and offering her a hit off of their cigarettes. Suddenly I realize I’m not high anymore. Not substance-induced high, anyway. And as Lily looks back at me over her shoulder, I realize that something is terribly wrong with this picture.
She has absolutely no idea who I am.

“What’s up with you, man?” Lex asks on the way to lunch. “You’re acting weird.”
“Seriously,” Donovan agrees.
“It’s nothing,” I assure them.
“Brian!” Someone calls my name from the other side of the lobby. We all stop and I realize it’s Ms. McConnell. She hurries towards us.
“Uh-oh,” Charlie mumbles.
“I need you to come with me.” She ignores the guys and stares straight at me.
“Haven’t you seen enough of me today?” I sneer. “And besides, it’s my lunch period.”
“You have an early dismissal.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
My dad walks up behind Ms. McConnell in an expensive suit. His hands are stuffed in his pockets. The lines on his forehead are creased and he stares hard at me.
“Dad.” My face gets hot. “What are you doing here?”
“We’ll talk about it in the car.” His voice is steady. “Let’s go, Son.”
The guys stand awkwardly beside me for a few seconds before Lex breaks the tension.
“I guess we’ll see you tonight.”
“Yeah, football game?” Michael asks.
“I guess so,” I mumble.
They go into the cafeteria, leaving me in the lobby standing next to my guidance counselor and my dad. As the lobby clears out, a million thoughts rush into my head. The last time dad took off for work was to tell me that my mom was in an accident. What could be his reason now? Did Ms. McConnell tell him I was skipping? Does he know I’m failing? Oh God, if he sends me to boot camp I’ll die.
“Come on, Brian.” Dad squeezes my shoulder.
“What about my truck?”
“I’ll drop you off later and you can pick it up.” He pushes me towards the front of the school. “Thank you, Misses McConnell.”
“You’re welcome.” She looks at me with soft, concerned eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Brian.”
What is that supposed to mean? Does it mean they aren’t sending me away? Or was she just saying it so I would think they weren’t sending me off? The thoughts cram inside of my head and crash against the walls of my skull.
Dad is silent until we get to the car. When I can’t take it anymore, I finally ask him.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Just get in the car, Brian.” He opens his door.
“Not until you tell me where we’re going.” I cross my arms.
He sighs. “Your mom called the office this morning.”
I suck in a breath.
“Did you know she’s been trying to call us? They’re almost ready to release her.”
The words dance around on my tongue. I could tell him the truth or I could lie, blame it on a faulty answering machine.
“No,” I finally manage. “I had no idea.”
His shoulders relax; he believes me.
“What are we going to do, Dad?”
“We’re going to get in the car and drive to the rehab center.” His eyes are distant. “I don’t know what’s going to happen from there, but she wants to see us. She wants to see you.”
We get in the car and drive for forty-five minutes in complete silence. Dad’s phone rings so many times that he turns it off. I can tell by the way he grips the steering wheel that he is just as nervous as I am. I imagine that his thoughts are going just as fast as mine, maybe faster. Neither one of us knows what is going to happen. I have not seen my mom since I was in fifth grade, and now all of sudden she exists again. Seven years is a long time.
I remember that I have one Xanax left in my pocket from this morning. I slip my hand in my pocket and pull it out. Dad is so focused on the road and whatever is in his head that he doesn’t even notice when I slip the pill into my mouth and swallow it dry.
No way could I handle this sober.

From the images in my head and the pictures that sit on our mantels and tables at home, I know that mom had blonde hair. She liked to keep it just above the shoulders, curled under. I remember her hair being crispy from all of the hairspray she used to keep her bangs in place over her forehead. She smelled like butterscotch candy. She never wore bright colors, only neutrals. She was serious, almost too serious. And then she would get home from work and make a drink. After three or four, she wasn’t so serious anymore. Sometimes she would even pay me a little bit of attention. Until she got to six or seven drinks. Then Dad would carry her up the stairs and into their bedroom before returning to his study and working for hours on end.
Once I started getting older, Dad stayed at the office later and later. Mom drank more and more. Too many memories of cold pizza and cereal for dinner, getting myself ready for school, forgotten soccer games and parent-teacher conferences. Too many memories that I’m not ready to bring back just yet. This is what I remember about my mother.
So when we get off the elevator in the rehabilitation center, I’m not sure what to expect. Will she look the same? Is her hair still crispy? Do they even allow hairspray here? Is she still serious?
“Just relax,” Dad mumbles. He must sense my fear. “We are going to be fine.” We. I guess he’s scared too.
“She’s usually pretty quiet,” The nurse tells us. She is a short black lady with curly wet hair. My dad and I follow her down the hall stiffly. “But, she has made it clear that she wants to see both of you.”
The hallway is long, empty, and eerily quiet. The nurse takes us into a big room with a bunch of tables and couches in it.
“I’ll be right back.” She pats me on the shoulder and leaves.
Dad sits down at a table in the corner and I sit down next to him. The air in the room is cold, still. We take turns sipping in short gasps of it. Footsteps echo in the hall. I rub my hands on my jeans.
Dad and I both suck in a breath when Mom walks in behind the nurse. She’s almost a foot taller than the black lady. Dad stands up; so do I.
“My boys,” Mom mumbles. She walks towards us with a smile on her face. The smile is tired, weak. But it’s there. I try to force one but none of my muscles seem to be working right.
When she wraps her arms around me, it feels strange hugging her back. She doesn’t smell like butterscotch anymore. She holds the hug for a little longer than I’m comfortable with before moving on to Dad. It seems like Dad has trouble remembering how to hug too, but after several seconds he slips into a comfortable embrace and closes his eyes.
“I’ve missed you guys.” Mom looks me over. “I can’t believe this is my son. You’re huge.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I laugh and Dad does to.
“You know what I mean. I haven’t seen you in years. Too many years.” She points to a table. “Let’s sit down.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” the nurse says.
I sit down first, and she pushes a chair right next to me and sits down. Dad sits across from us and rests his hands in his lap. We stare at each other for several seconds.
“Well,” Mom sighs. “How is school going? If my math is correct, you’re a senior this year, right?”
“Not really,” I mutter. “School hasn’t been going so well.”
“What does that mean?” She looks at my dad. “What do you mean, ‘not really?’?”
“I messed up,” I confess. “I’m not graduating this year.”
“Why not?”
I shrug.
“What’s going on?” She stares at my Dad. “John?”
“Brian’s just hit a few bumps.” Dad’s voice is quiet. “He’s back on track now, right Brian?”
“Yeah.”
“He should’ve never gotten off of the right track.” Mom taps her fingertips on the table. “All I wanted was for you to take care of our son while I was away. And now look at him. Dirty clothes, he needs a haircut, failing classes, he smells like cigarettes-”
“Mom, I’m sitting right here.”
“Don’t do this, Christine. Not today.” Dad lowers his head. “Brian is doing just fine; he’ll be fine.”
“Clearly.” Mom sneers. “I should’ve never left him with you.”
“Not that you had much of a choice.” Dad’s voice booms. “You’ve been gone for seven years, Christine. And Brian is his own man now. He can grow his hair out if he wants to.”
“Thanks Dad,” I mumble.
“I guess it’s just not what I was expecting.” Mom sighs. “We had plans, John. Specific plans, remember?”
“I believe those plans were ruined a long time ago,” Dad says.
Their voices get louder and louder and I’m so thankful I popped that Xanax earlier. I pull myself out of the room mentally. I’ve become good at that, pretending I’m not there. I let myself float up and away like a balloon until Dad stands up and pushes his chair.
“Enough!” His scream pulls at my string until I’m back in the room. “Are we really doing this? After all this time, it’s like nothing has changed.”
“Don’t pretend like this is my fault,” Mom mutters.
“I’m not so sure I like you sober as much as I thought I would,” Dad sneers. “We’re finished here.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Mom stands up. “You can’t leave.”
“We’ll come back next week,” Dad promises. “This is too much.” He shakes his head and walks out of the room.
“Brian,” Mom whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her voice quivers.
This isn’t the mother that I remember. Then again, maybe I’m just delusional as to which memories are real and which ones I made up. And just like that, the images I’d played in my head for years about our first reunion are shattered like a cheap bowl. Not exactly how this had played out in my mind.
“Don’t sweat it.” I don’t know what else to say, so I follow my dad out into the hallway and ignore the nurse’s puzzled look when we walk by her forty-five minutes before our hour is up.


“Snap out of it.” Lex waves his hand in front of my face. “Are you that gone?”
I blink my eyes. “Sorry, man. That was some good shit.” I ruffle my hands through my hair and sigh. I’ve been out of it for the entire game.
We stand in the parking lot along with a third of the student body. I haven’t watched a single play of the game; I’m not here for football. I’ve got enough weed in my pocket to put me away for a long time, but I don’t care. The cops around here are the ones that got stuck working at the school because they couldn’t cut it in the real world.
“Looks like you’ve got another customer,” Charlie says and nods towards Evelyn, who is walking our way.
“Hey boys.” She crosses her arms. Her lips are painted red and her hair is especially crazy. “I’ll take a gram.”
She holds out a twenty and taps her foot, which is wrapped in a six-inch shiny black heel. The exchange is so fast nobody would ever see it. I slip a small bag into her hand and stuff the money in my pocket.
“Be a good girl,” I tease her.
“No promises.” She winks and runs her hand over my chest and stomach. “I’ll see you around. Bye boys.” She waves at the guys.
“Later Ev,” Thomas mumbles. They all stare at her ass until she’s out of sight. I’m over it.
“Brian,” a voice calls behind me.
I turn around and see Lily. She’s wearing a white jacket that hugs her curves and looks soft. Her hair is out of the braid and teases her shoulders. Her cheeks are red; she’s probably not used to Chicago nights yet.
“Hey, Lily.” I clear my throat. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” She points to the girl beside her. “Hannah made me come tonight.”
“I told her she needed to get out,” the girl says.
“Right,” I mumble.
Lex puts his hand on my shoulder. “Who is this?”
I sigh and turn to the guys. “This is Lily. She’s from North Carolina.”
“A real Southern belle, huh?” Michael licks his lips. “Remind me to venture down South more often.”
Lily shifts from foot to foot. I swallow the lump in my throat and beg the awkward silence to go away and come again some other time. I’ve had enough of that for one day.
“So are you here to buy some bud?” Lex smiles at her.
I consider punching him square in his jaw, but instead I clench mine and squeeze my fingers into tight balls. The last thing I need is to cause a scene.
“Some what?” Lily asks.
“You know… bud.” Lex holds his fingers up to his mouth like he’s smoking a joint. “Grass?”
“Kush,” Thomas says.
“Mary Jane,” adds Michael.
Then Donovan, “Weed.”
“My man Brian sells the best stuff in town.” Lex pats me on the back.
“Cool it, dude.” I brush his hand away.
“What are they talking about?” Lily scowls. “You don’t sell drugs, do you?”
I could lie. I could tell her that they’re just messing around with her because she’s new and she’s pretty. I could bite my tongue and not say anything. I could walk away all together. After all, she’s just a girl.
But she’s not. And I cannot.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
She stares at me for several seconds. Her face goes pale; her eyes darken even more than they already are. She nods slowly.
“You were right,” she sneers. “You never said you were smart.”
She walks away with Hannah following behind her. Something crawls up my throat and into my head. I don’t know what it is. Anger? Sadness? I cannot possibly be tearing up. I think I am feeling something. I do not even remember the last time I actually felt something.
“What the hell was that all about?” Lex puts his arm around me.
“Get off me, man.” I pull away from him and start walking towards the front gate.
“Dude, where are you going?” Thomas calls after me.
I hurry to my truck, letting the cool air fight with the hot tears pooling in my eyes. When I get there, I lean against the side of the truck and let out a long sigh.
“Fuck!” I kick the front tire over and over again, and then pound my fists on the hood.
Something has got to give, I decide. I cannot keep this up. All of the moments from the day come flooding back into my head and crash around until I can’t breathe. I find the nearest trashcan and throw the rest of the weed away before returning to my truck and falling down on the pavement.
I sit there, reminding myself to breathe. I come down from my high faster than I ever have before, with my body tingling and my pulse racing. I punch myself over and over again in the leg until I can’t feel it anymore. I pound my fist against my thigh- for being so high, for screwing things up with Lily, for failing school, for disappointing my mom, and for being a disgrace to my dad. They’re both fucked. And they say the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, but I am rotten. From the outside all the way into my core, everything about me is screwed up, bitter, bad. And I can’t do it anymore.


I vow to find my good again.