“The day, the year, everything. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but try to take it day by day, at least for the next few weeks.”
I can’t help but smile. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Trying to indoctrinate me with all your AA slogans. A day at a time, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”
Freshman year was not Lucy’s finest moment. Apparently, she inherited the drinking problem that her dad dealt with when we were younger. It was like drinking did one thing to most of us—Chim and I became louder, more obnoxious versions of ourselves, which wasn’t ideal, but at least wasn’t destructive—but Lucy…went dark. Super dark. It was like she turned into a whole other person. Thankfully, after a year and more scary nights than I’d like to remember, she decided to follow in her now-sober father’s footsteps and attend AA meetings with him. She’s been so much better since.
I, on the other hand, should have quit drinking when she did—should have quit partying, quit thinking I was so fucking cool. Doing dumb things. Acting like I was indestructible, like my actions didn’t matter. I should have listened to Lucy—to Jordan. Maybe things would be different right now if I had. Maybe he would be sitting next to me, instead of lying in a hole in the ground….
All of a sudden, my breath is coming out in fast, jagged bursts. The fluorescent lights are getting brighter. They’re burning my pupils.
“Lucy.” I grab her shirtsleeve, gasping. “Lucy.”
She takes one look at me and drops the sandwich that’s midway to her mouth. “Okay, okay. It’s okay. Shhh…breathe.” She puts her hand on my back. “Put your head between your knees. Yeah, like that. Good.” She’s rubbing the small of my back and my head is between my knees and the fuzzy sound in my ears is subsiding, the noises of the cafeteria becoming clearer.
I’m trying to slow my breathing and she’s whispering in my ear—soft, kind things—until I feel semi-okay again. Not like I’m going to vomit all over everyone at our table. Not like my brother’s ghost is going to spontaneously materialize out of my head and start shouting accusations at me.
I straighten up and wipe my eyes.
Everyone at the table is staring at me like I’m a total freak.
Not that I can blame them.
’Cause really, that’s what I am.
I can barely lift my arms high enough to stuff my textbooks into the top of my locker as I wait for Conor and Gwen after school. Apparently, that’s what I do best: wait. Wait for them to show up, wait for the day to end, wait for graduation day to arrive. All the colleges I applied to are far, far away, where no one knows my family, where I can walk down the hallways and not feel like half the student body wants to spit in my face.
Today was the longest day in the history of the known universe. Like, I’m pretty sure that if scientists measured every minute today, they would discover that each one had at least eight more seconds than normal.
All I want to do is go home and lie on my bed with all the lights off and try to pretend this year has already ended.
“Dude.” Conor’s voice breaks me out of my reverie. He walks up to my locker. “What’s up?”
“What?”
“You look like shit, man.” He stops next to me and swings his satchel to his other shoulder. On anyone else the bag would be mocked as a man purse, but once Conor started carrying the thing at the beginning of the year, they caught on, and now they’re all the rage. It’s amazing to me that I’m not still considered semipopular, since Conor still associates with me, but I guess that just goes to show how shunned I really am. “You look miz.”
I roll my eyes. “First of all, please stop with the abbreviations. You sound like a seventh grader. I can’t take it. Second, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just find Gwen and get outta here. I’m beat.”
He shakes his head. “You better not be trying to use that as an excuse to skip out on my band thing tonight. You did that the last four times I asked, and it’s getting a little lame, dude.”
I heave a sigh. “No. I’m not. Get off my back. I’m coming.” Great. Blew my one shot at flaking. I slam my locker shut.
“Good.” He makes a motion with his fingers like I’m watching you and all I can think is Yeah, I’m quite aware you’re watching me—you and everyone else in this prison.
Before we can get deeper into our bickering, Gwen stomps up and collapses onto the door of my locker. “I could hear you guys arguing from down the hall. Can you please stop? This day has been crap; I just want to go home.”
“You too?” Conor nudges her leg with his boot. “Jesus, you Tellers are such grumps.” Gwen and I swing toward him and shoot him death glares. “Whoa, whoa, all right, sorry, guys.” He holds his hands up in front of him and starts backing down the hall. “Peace, man. Let’s GTFO of here.” He turns and strides away with the confidence of someone who knows he’s going to be followed.
“Abbreviations!” I yell at his back. He started using these abbreviations last year, after he briefly dated a freshman, and for whatever reason, they stuck. Thankfully, the girl didn’t.
He shoots his middle finger in the air. Gwen and I roll our eyes at each other but do what we always do—trail after Conor as he walks away.
* * *
—
I pull into our driveway after a quick stop at the hardware store for white paint, and sure enough, there it is, still streaked across our garage door in red: BITCH. I swear it’s gotten bigger since this morning.
I love that it’s still there. Just love it. If Gwen hadn’t already seen it this morning, she couldn’t miss it now.
I sit in the car for a beat too long after Gwenie’s hopped out. Conor notices.
“You okay, man?” He pauses with his hand on the door, looking at me with eyebrows raised.
I grunt affirmatively, shoot him a half smile, and reluctantly get out of the car. I thought I’d learned to temper my expectations of my parents long ago. The fact that my dad hasn’t done shit about this all day shouldn’t be a surprise, but for some idiotic reason it is, and that pisses me off more than anything. How dumb can I be?
“Whatever.” I lean against the driver’s-side door of the Jeep and rub my eyes. “Expected this, right? It’s why we got the paint.”
Conor nods and I think I see a flash of pity run across his face, but it’s gone before I can figure out whether it was actually there or if it was just a figment of my imagination. He walks around to the back of the car and unloads the paint.